Tino had been shocked and startled and laughed at it as a joke, and what he had said was, “I am not really female”, and Berwald had wondered if what he was mattered at all.
Because he was not really male, either.
Yet then the song of ancient fathers would be sung, and Berwald ran before the words he had never heard before spurted out of his chest, and the desire at the pit of his stomach was postponed.
He kissed Tino the next night.
The troll had been surprised at first, the chortled gasp of his name dying on his lips, tusks moving to be involuntarily sharp against Berwald’s mouth, yet Berwald didn’t care. He bowed down and kissed Tino again and again until his tongue darted out in response and they tasted each other, mouths open with want. Berwald pressed Tino against the wall, feeling his small, lean body writhe in response, and there was a little, low voiced growl in the back of Tino’s throat that escaped him as the taller man forced his tongue into his mouth.
Tino’s hands went up to take Berwald’s face and demand him to kiss harder.
They breathed each other in and sucked and tasted and licked, battling for access and warmth and finding willingness in surrender. The way Berwald’s heart jumped down and down and down and set in the pit of his belly made it painfully obvious to himself that he yearned for Tino in the most carnal of ways, a way his mother’s God would never approve of.
Tino smiled, breathless, pupils dilated and darkening his gorgeous eyes, and he sniffed the air briefly before moaning and saying, “Berwald, I can smell you”.
Berwald knew that he meant his arousal. If it stroke him as wrong, as animalistic, that Tino could smell his urges, it disappeared as soon as Tino slid one of his hands into his hair and pulled him down for another kiss.
But when the song of ancient fathers sounded, Berwald had to part or he would moan the words to it into Tino’s mouth.
Tino’s mouth was red and his lips plump when they separated, yet his tongue was blue.
He was already hard when he ran down the valley the next sundown, yet his erection didn’t slow him down. He had dreamt of Tino and of his small frame and his clawing hands and the way his skin sometimes felt like stone or scales or moss and now he wanted to know if what he’d dreamt was true.
Hungry lips and sharp tusks greeted him at the entrance of the cavern, and as the tongue he now knew was blue licked his own he grabbed the troll’s ass with two big hands and felt his tail graze them.
“I could smell you again” Tino whispered between hungry licks and bites, “you smell like musk and mist… and a bit like the Christian blood you have inside”
Berwald grunted. His tongue traced the line of the other’s jaw.
“It doesn’t stink… it smells of danger. But I know you wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”
How he could be so composed when Berwald himself was barely able to restrain himself from ravaging him he didn’t know. Berwald answered with a sloppy, hungry, horny kiss.
Tino smiled into it and said, “Then you can have me”
They fell to the floor outside of the tavern, and when Tino sat on his lap he felt both hardness and wetness through his pants and when he came after they rut against each other with their clothes on he knew that his mother’s Heaven would be closed to him forever.
Now, at dusk, after going with a dizzy head and bitemarks on his neck and shoulders at dawn, he walks slowly.
He’ll take Tino tonight. He’ll make him his once and for all.
At the entrance of the tavern, where the music echoes lightly, a hand that isn’t soft but feels like stone and scales and moss takes his and the whisper is low and it says “…like musk and mist and danger and want…” and he is pulled into a room where the music is a background noise compared to Tino’s hitched breathing.
They kiss.
Tino’s tongue is the taste he has wanted all his life, everything he’s ever needed. They kiss and they bite at each other’s lips, and if at some point Tino’s tusks scratch some skin it doesn’t matter because it’s just more to taste, more to feel, and there isn’t an inch of space, a particle of air between their faces as they swallow each other in that lock their mouths keep.
Under Bergets Rot [2/4]
Because he was not really male, either.
Yet then the song of ancient fathers would be sung, and Berwald ran before the words he had never heard before spurted out of his chest, and the desire at the pit of his stomach was postponed.
He kissed Tino the next night.
The troll had been surprised at first, the chortled gasp of his name dying on his lips, tusks moving to be involuntarily sharp against Berwald’s mouth, yet Berwald didn’t care. He bowed down and kissed Tino again and again until his tongue darted out in response and they tasted each other, mouths open with want. Berwald pressed Tino against the wall, feeling his small, lean body writhe in response, and there was a little, low voiced growl in the back of Tino’s throat that escaped him as the taller man forced his tongue into his mouth.
Tino’s hands went up to take Berwald’s face and demand him to kiss harder.
They breathed each other in and sucked and tasted and licked, battling for access and warmth and finding willingness in surrender. The way Berwald’s heart jumped down and down and down and set in the pit of his belly made it painfully obvious to himself that he yearned for Tino in the most carnal of ways, a way his mother’s God would never approve of.
Tino smiled, breathless, pupils dilated and darkening his gorgeous eyes, and he sniffed the air briefly before moaning and saying, “Berwald, I can smell you”.
Berwald knew that he meant his arousal. If it stroke him as wrong, as animalistic, that Tino could smell his urges, it disappeared as soon as Tino slid one of his hands into his hair and pulled him down for another kiss.
But when the song of ancient fathers sounded, Berwald had to part or he would moan the words to it into Tino’s mouth.
Tino’s mouth was red and his lips plump when they separated, yet his tongue was blue.
He was already hard when he ran down the valley the next sundown, yet his erection didn’t slow him down. He had dreamt of Tino and of his small frame and his clawing hands and the way his skin sometimes felt like stone or scales or moss and now he wanted to know if what he’d dreamt was true.
Hungry lips and sharp tusks greeted him at the entrance of the cavern, and as the tongue he now knew was blue licked his own he grabbed the troll’s ass with two big hands and felt his tail graze them.
“I could smell you again” Tino whispered between hungry licks and bites, “you smell like musk and mist… and a bit like the Christian blood you have inside”
Berwald grunted. His tongue traced the line of the other’s jaw.
“It doesn’t stink… it smells of danger. But I know you wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”
How he could be so composed when Berwald himself was barely able to restrain himself from ravaging him he didn’t know. Berwald answered with a sloppy, hungry, horny kiss.
Tino smiled into it and said, “Then you can have me”
They fell to the floor outside of the tavern, and when Tino sat on his lap he felt both hardness and wetness through his pants and when he came after they rut against each other with their clothes on he knew that his mother’s Heaven would be closed to him forever.
Now, at dusk, after going with a dizzy head and bitemarks on his neck and shoulders at dawn, he walks slowly.
He’ll take Tino tonight. He’ll make him his once and for all.
At the entrance of the tavern, where the music echoes lightly, a hand that isn’t soft but feels like stone and scales and moss takes his and the whisper is low and it says “…like musk and mist and danger and want…” and he is pulled into a room where the music is a background noise compared to Tino’s hitched breathing.
They kiss.
Tino’s tongue is the taste he has wanted all his life, everything he’s ever needed. They kiss and they bite at each other’s lips, and if at some point Tino’s tusks scratch some skin it doesn’t matter because it’s just more to taste, more to feel, and there isn’t an inch of space, a particle of air between their faces as they swallow each other in that lock their mouths keep.