Rasnake(24)

More than likely, Cecil had tried to do the same, but while attempting to wait Tallant out he had probably fallen asleep. What time was it? He shifted enough to turn his head and glance over his shoulder. Milton's bed was empty, but had clearly been slept in recently, and he could see so it must be morning at least, possibly early afternoon.

Lord, if Cecil didn't kill him, Milton definitely would; except Milton must have been the one to tell Cecil to get Tallant to bed, so who knew. Turning back around, Tallant immediately froze, staring into bright, sharp, furious green eyes. "Good morning," he said cheerfully. "Possibly good afternoon. I'm not sure which yet."

In reply, Cecil shoved.

Tallant toppled off the bed and landed with a pained grunt on the stone floor.

"What is wrong with you?" Cecil hissed, glaring at him over the side of the bed.

"Depends on who you ask," Tallant replied slowly sitting up. "But, so far as this goes," he motioned to Cecil in his bed, "I'm always a leech. Milton says it's annoying as hell. My siblings said the same thing. It's nothing personal or mischievous. I'm just clingy when extremely tired, the way only using too much magic too fast usually leaves me."

Cecil frowned, not looking even remotely mollified.

"I swear," Tallant said. "There were no games being played. Trust when I say that any games I play with you involving a bed, will also require an absence of clothing." He really should not have said it, but he simply could not resist.

True to form, Cecil flushed dark red, even as he scowled. "I've no interest in games with you, elf."

"Now that's not true," Tallant countered.

Cecil said nothing, merely pushed himself into a sitting position and made to stand. "I have no patience for games," he finally hissed, "especially those played at my expense."

Tallant sprang up and grabbed him, pushed him back down into the bedding. "Make no mistake, little flik. Any game I play with you will be for keeps."

"Is that what your necklace is telling you to do?" Cecil demanded scathingly.

"Not my token," Tallant murmured.

"Get off me," Cecil snapped. "I have things I need to do; I don't have time to play your stupid games."

Tallant rolled off him, and stepped well away from the bed.

Cecil stood up, rumpled and pissy, and Tallant wanted nothing as badly as he wanted to push Cecil back down on his bed and fuck him senseless. He waited until Cecil reached the door, then moved, grabbing him and pushing him against the wall next to the door. Cecil snarled a protest and started to shove him again, but he'd barely gotten a single world out when Tallant muffled it with a kiss.

It only lasted a moment, but it was a moment seared into his memory. He definitely required no token to tell him that Cecil was his. Tallant pulled away. "I don't play games." Cecil looked at him, obviously not certain what to feel—anger, lust, uncertainty, wistfulness, and fear all flickered across his face.

The anger won, and he burst forward, shoving Tallant so hard he tumbled hard to the ground again. "It certainly seems like a game to me," Cecil hissed, then yanked the door open and fled. Tallant picked himself up, shaking his head in amusement. He probably should not be so amused, but Cecil was something else again.

Milton could not be embarrassed or flustered, not so easily as that. Tallant was no better. Twelve years was entirely too much time to get into the sort of situations that stripped men of modesty and shame. Spending a night in jail with not so much as a stitch of clothing between them, only a blanket given to them by a pitying guard, had been one of the main reasons.

He could not remember ever knowing someone so easily flustered by a mere kiss—or maybe it was the execution of the kiss. Hmm. He'd have to try something softer for the next one, once Cecil cooled off enough to drop his guard. There were also more important matters to deal with. After they saved the women, there was the small matter of a marriage to deal with—

But all in good time, and he was honest enough to admit that, should another opportunity present itself, he would shamelessly steal another kiss. Whistling, Tallant strapped his weapons into place, gathered up the books someone had returned to his room, and headed out.

In the great hall, Milton sat alone at the main table, eating breakfast and clearly lost in thought. He looked up as movement caught his eye—then rolled his eyes. "So Cecil just blew through here looking to take heads and questioning your mother's integrity," he said dryly. "I take it Cecil does not approve of your leech-like tendencies?"

Tallant shrugged. "I think he was more upset by the kiss, actually."

Milton's eyes widened in surprise, but then he merely shot Tallant an amused look. "Wasting no time, are we?"

"I am not one to ignore an opportunity when it presents itself."

"Uh-huh," Milton replied. "Let me guess, your token told you to do it."

Ignoring that, Tallant stole Milton's mug and drank down the hot cider.

"Hey!" Milton protested. He motioned for a passing servant to fetch more. "So what happened and why did you take liberties with my brother?"

"Why do you ask?" Tallant replied. "Do you really want to know?"

"Never mind," Milton said hastily. "Not what I meant. I swear to god—"