Heath spends some time in his morning bed not rising to face the day, but instead reflecting on his recent sexual activity. First was Sethis who came crashing into Heath's life like a storm and vanishing just as fast. But Heath could already feel the heat building at the thought of his return. The memory of that sculpted body, those rough hands, that relentless hunger - it lit a fire low in his gut. Sethis had made it clear his next free week was going to be spent buried in Heath, every inch, every night. It'd be a full-course feast, and Heath wanted to be the only thing on the menu. He was desperate to squeeze out every breathless hour he could with Sethis inside him, again and again.
Then there was his trip to the city. Fortunately, it hadn't been too expensive, thanks to staying at Mr. Tau's house. He'd happily offered to pay money, but the manly silver fox thought they could come to another arrangement. It had felt ecstatic to be paying his way like a whore. Instead of rent, any time Mr. Tau had spent at home was spent inside Heath's mouth, hands, and ass. The older man had the sexual appetite that Heath happily met. Mr. Tau hadn't mentioned how much of a dry spell he'd been in before meeting Heath. He drank from Heath like a camel to an oasis, sucking and fucking the young man more times than he could count. Heath arrived home, heart-lightened and sexual needs throughly satisfied.
Then there was Jergan who had found chances in all his off hours to use Heath as a stress relief fuck. The two had a fuck buddy situation that Heath was happy to keep going. The element of secrecy had them sneaking around to fuck like rabbits in heat. Jergan had years of pent-up frustration to release into and onto Heath who accepted. They'd been getting a lot of looks and gossip about their unlikely friendship, but if they only knew.
The days that had been so ordinary now felt full of potential Heath couldn't begin to imagine.
--------------
Midday came on his first day of work and the heat was relentless. Heath despised days like this - not just because of the sweltering air that wrapped around him like a suffocating blanket, but because of the way people whispered. The blacksmith could handle the heat of his forge, but when the sun burned just as fiercely, the air inside became unbearable. Sweat poured off him, thick and pungent, and he could feel the glances, hear the hushed murmurs, like the heat was his doing. Like he was the reason the forge reeked. Days like this didn't just make him uncomfortable. They left him lonely.
He'd only been back for a day - how quickly some fleeting attention turned to loneliness, only to return like a heavy rain cloud pressing against his heart.
By day's end, all Heath wanted was to wash away the weight of judgment clinging to his skin. But even home offered little relief as he'd scrub himself clean only to be drenched in sweat again. The thought made his chest tighten, but he knew a better way. As a child, when his father's judgment became too much to bear, he'd slip away to the woods and river. There, beneath the whispering trees and the cool embrace of the water, he was free. No whispers, no stares. Just him and the quiet rhythm of the world, a place where he truly existed.
‐--------
The path to Heath's sanctuary was a narrow, winding trail, half-hidden by overgrown ferns and thick roots. Towering trees stretched high above, their branches weaving together. The scent of damp earth and moss filled the air, mingling with the crisp, fresh scent of the river ahead.
As he stepped deeper into the woods, the sound of rushing water grew louder, a steady, soothing presence against the distant hum of insects and rustling leaves. Smooth stones lined the bank of the river, sloping gently into the cool embrace of the water. This was his place, untouched and undisturbed. Here, the world's judgment couldn't reach him.
Without hesitation, Heath peels off his sweat-drenched clothes, letting them drop onto the rocks below next to his stuff he'd stopped by home for. The evening air kisses his bare skin, cool in contrast to the lingering heat of the day. He wades into the river, the crisp water wrapping around his tree trunks sized legs. Inch by inch, he moves deeper, until the current laps at his ample waist, then his furred chest, before he finally pushes off the riverbed and let himself sink beneath the surface.
For a moment, he simply drifts, the water washing away the grime, the sweat, the weight of unspoken judgment. He kicks off, gliding through the deep pool, the fading day's light flickering through the branches across his bare skin. With each stroke, his tension unravels, dissolving into the cool currents.
After a while, his limbs heavy with satisfaction, he wades back to shore. He grabs the towel he had brought, spreading it over the sun-warmed stones before lying down, letting the night air dry him. His skin still tingled from the water's touch, and for the first time all day, he felt like himself.
"It's about time you showed back up."
Heath freezes, every muscle going taut. The voice cuts through the peace, deep and familiar, rich with the weight of something he thought he'd left behind. That voice was so much like his father's, with the same rumbling baritone that once filled their home with heavy words and heavier silence. His heartbeat pounds against his ribs, fear creeping in beneath his skin. The water that had soothed him moments ago feels cold now, useless against the heat rising in his chest. He pushes himself up and turns only to have the breath stolen from his lips. It isn't his father. This isn't his father. He knows that. He knows because he was the one who buried the man. He saw the dirt swallow him with his own eyes. But standing there, in the dim light is Uncle Garland, his father's twin brother. Despite himself, it's as if the past has come back to claim him.
"Garland."
Garland was a cruel man. Growing up, his own father was hardly a saint, but Garland was a sadist. He seemed to find joy in belittling Heath, pushing his limits with jabs and insults. Uncle Garland made sure Heath suffered for the sins of his father, poisoning the world against him. He whispered in the ears of other boys in town, laughing about how Heath was too stupid to fight back and how he was just a big, dumb ox without the guts to use his strength. Heath's "peers" took the words as permission. Every shove in the streets, every taunt thrown his way, every prank meant to humiliate him - they all started with his uncle's poison. If Heath tried to defend himself, Garland was there to twist the story. If Heath ignored them, they'd amp up their games. And so, Heath endured. This was how his reputation was set: too dumb to be trusted, too strong to be safe. Heath was sure there were a few who doubted Garland's stories, but they kept their distance.
"Hey, Heath! I heard an interesting rumor. You really interested in men's dicks?"
Heath didn’t respond. Garland’s smirk didn’t waver. If anything, he looked pleased.
"Oh, so it is true. You a fag, boy?"
Heath doesn't respond, turning his back and pulling on his pants. Then Garland was on him, years of brawling experience allowing him to hook Heath's neck under his arm. Locking his grip tight, he drags the bigger man down.
"Should have known you weren't right. Look at you, some rancid pussy. You gonna do something, big man?"
Heath twists in his grip, but all that does is get his nose planted in his uncle's unwashed armpit. Garland taunts, his breath hot against Heath’s ear smelling of alcohol.
"You angry? You gonna be a man for once in your life? No, I don't think so. You're just a dog, a bitch who wants a man's cock up your ass, too scared to bite."
Heath's vision swam with fury, but he didn't fight back. He just let Garland hold him there. If he wanted, he could break the old bastard in half. But then what? He'd only prove his uncle right. So he took it. Just like he always did.
Eventually, his lungs burned for air, but when he finally inhaled, all he got was the thick, rancid stench of Garland's armpit. It was a choking miasma of old sweat, stale musk, and the sour tang of a man who hadn’t bathed in days. The coarse hairs scratched against Heath’s nose, damp with grime and body heat, pressing in like a trap.
"Lick me clean and I'll let you go. Fags love tasting men."
He laughs as he humiliates me like he always does. Just give in and he'll leave you alone. He always has before. Heath knew resistance wasn't an option. Reluctantly, Heath gets his tongue to work, tongue bitter and sour with human tastes assaulting his senses. This was nothing like he'd done for the men he'd been with before. Before, he was obedient and it was enticing. If he'd had the time, he would have licked his men all over happily.
"So it is true, fags like this."
Heath becomes suddenly aware of his body is reacting to the sensory memories and that my uncle can see my hardening chub as he's still naked. Garland drops Heath and the man doesn't catch himself, falling to the ground. Surprised and in slight pain, Heath stays dazed as his uncle goes to the ground and lifts Heath's legs in the air, stroking his babymaker.
"Let's see if a fag's hole is really as good as a pussy."
His own uncle lines up the tip of his dick in Heath's hole. Heath tries to get himself away from this man who's taking things too far, but he's strong. He's afraid. He needs to fight back! He tries to kick, but his ankles become locked behind his head so he's completely exposed and unable to resist. His muscles ache from being stretched so far. Before he can protest how wrong this is, his uncle shoves inside Heath's tight chute dry, uncaring of the discomfort it brought the man. He yells in pain, but knows no one can hear them out here. It was wrong on so many levels - it was his uncle who looked like his own father and was his tormentor. He hated him. And he hated that his body was reacting positively, betraying his mind.
"Please. Stop!"
"Look at how much you're leaking. You really are getting wet like a pussy!"
Heath bounces and wiggles my hips, trying to push it out the fat cock he had forced in him, but he couldn't escape. His teeth clench from the pain and effort, tears welling up from the trauma. Heath brings up his arms, but his uncle anticipates that and pushes Heath's ankles a little farther than they can safely go. The pain seems to excite his uncle who begins to fuck him with greater vigor.
Heath's gaze drifts to the nearby river, its surface rippling with the breeze. Unbeknownst to him, his mind had disconnected, sliding somewhere distant and familiar. In that unreachable place, questions swirled, surfacing faster than he could grasp their answers. How had he ended up at his sanctuary? Why was he here? Wasn't he straight? Doesn't he hate me? He didn't understand. The thoughts came like rushing water.
He can't fight back, he can't think while his father's exact voice mocks him while fucking him. He CANNOT look and see the man's face - his psyche won't be able to handle that.
Garland's hot breath brushes against his ear carrying with it the stench of cheap beer heavy as he chuckled low in Heath's ear. He's drunk probably. Like he always was.
"Look at you."
He sneers malicously, tightening his hold just enough to make Heath’s bones creak.
"Big, strong, onwer of the forge, and still nothing but a sniveling pussy. I knew you'd be good for something someday, but who'd have guessed it'd be as a fuck toy!"
Sensations of discomfort get confused with signals of pleasure, but he doesn't notice because he tries, tries, tries not to listen to this piece of shit.
"You think you can even count as a man anymore? Look at you, you're liking this."
His fingers slide over my stomach, slick with my precum.
"Pathetic."
He laughs a deep, ugly sound full of scorn. Suddenly, Heath's crying again, being torn down as a child who still hoped for a world that would accept him. Garland laughs again, balls slapping against his nephew's ass. Heath wishes this would be over.
"You're soft. Always taking it, always holding back like a whipped dog. You're just a scared little brat, always will be. No matter how big you get, you’ll always be beneath me. Fuck, take it, you whore!"
Uncle Garland let the words hang before he floods my asshole with his cum. For a long time, he catches his post orgasm breath, softening cock sliding out. He gets up, leaving Heath on the ground, tears still rolling down his cheeks.
"From now on, you're my masturbation tool. My bitch wife doesn't satisfy me, but gay men got a hole and they like being fucked. You should thank me."
A terrible vision of Heath's future unfurled with suffocating certainty. The days stretched out before him, each one steeped in the same relentless dread; the slow, creeping horror of knowing his uncle would come. Every day. The heavy knock at the door, the grating voice spilling his name like a curse. The sneer. The way those sharp, assessing eyes would rake over him, finding him lacking, ALWAYS lacking. Words, cruel and dismissive, would tumble carelessly from his uncle’s mouth, reducing him to nothing, grinding him down into something even smaller than before. And beneath it all, the deeper horror festered. His father’s ghost, not a whispering shade but something far worse - made manifest in the way his uncle loomed over him, in the way he spoke, in the way he took him as his own to shape and use. His father’s will, his father’s blood, shackled him to this fate. There was no escape. Only the slow march forward, each day bleeding into the next, the weight of it pressing down, pressing in, until there was nothing left of him at all.
...
No.
No, he couldn't be that weak.
He wouldn't be that weak.
He
Must
Fight
BACK
--------------
When Heath came back from that far place his mind retreated, he was initially confused. He's holding something he doesn't remember grabbing - a large stone from the riverside, held in one hand. It's... red. And there's a smell, coppery and stringent. When he feels the rocks press into knees, he's aware he's kneeling. When his vision finally returns, he sees the body before him. Dad. Dad was dead. Dread rises when he realizes it's his Uncle Garland. Fear when he sees his uncle's bloody pulp of a head, skull exposed. Horror when he realizes he's murdered his uncle. He drops the stone, all strength left him. The sight of his dead uncle/dad's cooling corpse, dead by his own hand, commanded his gaze.
--------------
As dawn broke, Heath pressed the final mound of earth into place. The body was buried. His sanctuary had become a grave - one he would never return to. Now he lay curled up in his bed, mind churning the night’s events over and over.
He'd gone to work.
The day was hot.
He went to his sa- that place.
He swam.
He smiled.
He sang a bit.
He enjoyed himself.
His dad found him.
His uncle raped him.
His dad was mocking him.
His uncle would use him. Break him. Hurt him. Abuse him.
. . .
He snuck home, making sure he didn't get noticed.
He got a shovel.
The body was buried somewhere it wouldn't be found.
Heath's muscles currently ached from strain of turning over so much raw earth.
Questions would be asked once his uncle's disappearance was noted.
He would feign ignorance.
No one knew he was meeting with.
No one knew where that place was.
He was safe.
He was safe.
He was safe.
*crowing*
...a new day had begun. He lay awake until the rooster finally ceased its crowing. Finally, he succumbed to exhaustion once it overpowered his lingering anxiety.
--------------
Two weeks had passed. Rumors said his uncle had fled to escape gambling debts. His wife was furious but had already written him off as a lost cause, making no effort to find him. I should be relieved. I am relieved. But every night, the weight of what I did creeps into my dreams, refusing to let me rest. I killed someone and now I see them all the time when I close my eyes.
"Heath!"
I'm pulled from my thoughts by the arrival of Sethis. I want to feel happy, but I can't figure out what kind of face I need to make.
"Sethis."
"Woah. Something happen?"
"It's not important. What have you been up to?"
Sethis notices the shift in topic but lets it pass. He dives into a recap of the past month, detailing his work hunting down bandits. I drift in and out of focus, my mind tugged back to my own troubles. I busy myself in work - it's easier and less suspicious to be lost in labor than in thought. Still, I make sure to nod in the right places and grunt in acknowledgment, but my mind remains elsewhere. Two weeks, and I still feel like it's as fresh as that night. This was the first time he had fought back, the first time he had bloodied his hands. Guilt, shame, and something heavier he couldn't identify hung over thoughts like rain clouds.
"—and that's when the bastard tried to run. Unluckily for him, he only made it three steps for being cut down."
I realize too late that he's been silent too long. I force a smirk.
"Are you okay?"
Sethis watches me too closely, sharp eyes reading me like a book I've forgotten how to close.
"I'm fine."
"Yeah. You're not okay and we both know it."
Frustrated my deception skills aren't better, I exhale through my nose before taking an iron from the fire. Truthfully, I had nothing that needed doing right now, but I'd make it up if it meant I kept busy.
"I should get back to work."
"Work? That's what you're hiding behind?"
My hands curl into fists, but there's no anger in them, just the slow coil of something I can't name.
"I'm just... overworked right now."
Sethis steps closer, lowering his voice.
"I've seen men haunted before, Heath. This isn't just exhaustion."
His expression is unreadable, but his voice is steady. I swallow, my throat dry. My first instinct is to deny everything. To scoff, to turn away, to pretend. But Sethis doesn't drop it, looking to me wanting to help. Somehow, knowing a confidante is in reach makes me feel the most tired I've ever been. I look at Sethis, at the easy way my friend carries himself, the weightlessness of someone who has killed before and walked away.
"It doesn't matter."
"Maybe not now. But it will."
Feeling the truth settle like lead in my gut still doesn't let me open up. When will the other shoe finally drop?
"Can I spend the night at your place?"
"Sure."
"Actually, we should go there now."
"I'm busy."
"Again, you're lying and we both know it. Come on. Please?"
Sethis gets this pleading puppy dog look in his eyes that is so obviously manipulative, it actually makes me crack a smile.
"Yay! I get my way."
"Let me shut down the forge and then we can go."
--------------
"So, who was it?"
Heath's nerves feel like a taut wire and Sethis' comment sends a chill down his spine.
"What do you mean?"
"I've been a fighter long enough to know that haunted look in the eyes of a man who's killed for the first time. That guilt... I've been there."
Sethis breathes deeply and somehow, I feel my heart rate quiet too. Running a hand through his hair, Sethis begins.
"The first time I killed a man, I couldn’t sleep for weeks. It was a job. Bounty work. The man was a thief. Took what he needed, ran when he could, left others to deal with the fallout in his wake. I was young and eager to prove myself having joined the guards. When I caught up to him, he pulled a knife. And... I didn’t give him a chance."
The way he says it, so matter-of-factly makes Heath's stomach twist.
"He looked at me like he couldn’t believe it. Like he never thought it would end like that. And the worst part? Neither did I. I was trained, I was prepared, but no one tells you how quiet a dying man is. No one tells you how fast it happens, or how slow your head thoughts feel afterwards."
Heath stares at the ground, jaw clenched. He knows that feeling. Sethis finally looks at him again.
"I used to see his face every time I closed my eyes. Every shadow in the dark looked like him. Some nights, I swore I could hear him gasping for breath."
Sethis shrugs, but there’s no real indifference in it.
"It fades. Not all the way, but enough."
Heath exhales, a little unsteady.
"How?"
"You stop fighting it. You did it. It's done. You can't change it, can't undo it, and can't take it back. So, you do what we all have to do, killer or no - you have to just... live with it. Let time dull the ache and erase the pain."
Let it go with time... if Heath thinks about this feels as temporary, if he thinks of it all as something to overcome, then he feels an odd lack of control. It's out of his hands now. It's a meager comfort, but it's a comfort nonetheless. Silence stretches between them, thick with understanding.
"So, what happened?"
Heath finally opens up and words spill out like water.
--------------
"Any chance I can dig your uncle up and kill him again?"
Heath can't help but crack a smile. The weight on his chest feels a little lighter now that he's finally told someone.
"Seriously. Fuck that man and everything he did. The world's better off without him."
"I still feel guilty about it."
"Don't. He was your abuser AND a rapist. Fuck him. Even if anyone found out, you had every reason to do what you did. Don't beat yourself up over it. If the guilt's eating at you, why not check in on his family? Help them out if they need it."
"That... actually sounds like a good idea. It'll feel weird being kind to them, but at least I won’t be stuck worrying about who he left behind."
"Know what else helps?"
"What?"
"Distraction."
Sethis moves, cupping Heath's face with his warm hands, pulling him into a kiss. Heath closes his eyes, expecting lips on his, but it doesn't happen. He sees Sethis is close, so close, but he waits patiently.
"Why haven't you kiss me?"
"Because I'm not going to force this on you. You have the power of choice here. I'll only kiss you or do anything else if you want it, okay?"
Heath, feeling a sense of control he hasn't felt in days, leans in and kisses his man. It's soft at first, seeking permission, giving Heath the control of the situation. Heath resists for half a second, his mind still tangled in everything he didn’t want to think about, but then he let himself fall into it. It's grounding and he knows he NEEDS this. Sethis doesn’t rush him. The move with familiarity of each other's bodies, becoming something real, something physical, that had nothing to do with blood, guilt, or the hollow ache in his chest. Heath grasps at it like a lifeline, letting himself sink into the heat of Sethis' touch, the steady press of their body against his.
For a little while, he could let it all go. No past, no consequences. Just this.
Peeling away our clothes, our tongues dance. Heath clings onto Sethis, trying to ground himself in the here and now. Thoughts bubble up he needs to repress, so he drops to his knees. He licks along the sides, head, and length of his shaft, worshipping the man with a desperation.
"Fuck. You suck cock so good."
Heath feels this need to control overtake him. He grabs onto Sethis' ass, holding him in place before plunging up and down his erection. Heath sets the pace, taking this dick he's sucking as his possession. Just like his uncle would have done with him. Intrusive thought. Heath gags and shoves Sethis' turgid length as far down his throat as he can, planting his nose in Sethis' public hair. He tries and succeeds in forcing the thoughts out with a prick. Soon, he's bobbing up and down with sloppy precision, gagging and spitting up phlegm like crazy. This goes on until Sethis can barely stay standing on his feet, legs shaking like a newborn mare. They pause briefly, Sethis sprawling out on the couch, his legs covered with fine hairs spread open. Feeling bold, Heath kneels before Sethis, hiking both thighs on either side of his head. Sethis crosses his ankles behind Heath's back in return, and melts as Heath spends a long time pleasuring him.
Lapping at his manhood. Deep-throating in all his man can offer, feeling the flared cockhead stretch deeply in his throat. That tightening and flexing that means he's close, cock about to let loose what it can't hold back any further. Heath urges it along, eager when the first splurt of cum is swallowed. Then it all comes pouring out of the man, Heath never stopping his pumping of Sethis' dick. Sethis grunts in what sounds like pain, orgasming so strong, Heath has to drink down or drown in what feels like whole flagon of the man's seed. Only when Sethis' body eventually falls limp, soul leaving his body post-orgasm, does Heath finally stop moving, holding his cock in his throat. Sethis becomes able to lift his arm and pets Heath. Their eyes meet.
"Good boy."
"!"
Heath takes the question of why being called a "Good boy" excites him and puts it away for later. With a wet pop, Heath releases Sethis' now soft length from his mouth.
"I swear, you're king when it comes to sex."
Heath shifts the way he sits and lies his head on the nearby thigh, sitting and soaking in the after glow. Sethis gently strokes his head slow and calm. Heath doesn't resist, instead he just stares past the room, eyes unfocused. By the time Sethis drifts off, Heath is tangled in his own thoughts.
Though the guilt had felt so intense mere hours ago, now it was a quiet but heavy weight. It had just been sharp and new, but now that the pain had dulled. Now, it wasn't so different from loneliness or sorrow, just another weight he tried to tuck away, another feeling he learned to press down until it stopped making noise. If he could keep doing that, he'd manage.
He calmed himself, softer this time.
He’d be fine.
He’d be fine.
--------------
Sethis had only pretended to sleep, quietly keeping watch over Heath. He'd seen a different side of the man - someone burdened by more than just recent troubles. Something tugged at his heart, a quiet ache he didn't quite recognize. For the first time in his life, Sethis found himself wishing he could take someone else's sorrow away.
--------------
Heath stares at the dull morning sky, massive frame hunched slightly, the greatsword he's repairing cools on the anvil. He's not working, he's just standing, eyes distant. The wind kicks up dust, but Heath doesn't flinch. Jergan stops by on his usual patrol, but his brow furrows as he takes in Heath's state.
"You okay?"
Heath doesn’t answer. His eyes are locked on some fixed point in the distance, jaw rigid.
"You look tired. Did you have trouble sleeping?"
Still nothing. Heath's silence is not intentional, he just stays in his hollow fugue state. Like something drained out of him.
"Hey."
He steps closer, no threat in the movement, just concern. He stops a few paces behind Heath, giving him space before he touches Heath's shoulder, snapping the man back to reality.
"Jergan."
"I'm not trying to pry. I'm not. But I've seen and worked with men carrying ghosts before. You're walking like you got one hanging off your back."
Heath shifts, his shoulders weighed down like he wants to say something but the words are stuck behind that wall he can'tovercome. His knuckles tighten on the hilt of the sword, reconciling whether to confide in Jergan or if that'd be confessing to the law.
"You don't have to tell me right now. But you don't have to carry it alone. You know that, right?"
Silence again. Then, Heath lifts the hammer and resumes to sound of metal meeting metal.
"...Alright. Not today, then."
Jergan turns to leave, pausing only once.
"I'll be here when you're ready."
He walks off, letting the silence settle again. Behind him, Heath doesn't move. Doesn't speak. The weight of his crime still hangs over him like a shadow.
--------------
Sethis answers a knock at the door expecting Heath, but instead Jergan stands there.
"Who're you? Is Heath here?"
"Uh, Sethis. Are you Heath's...?"
"Friend. Can I come in?"
"Is... Heath in trouble?"
"I'm not here as a guardsman, I'm here to talk."
The two pour some ale Heath keeps and drink while sizing one another up.
Jergan stood tall, the crisp lines of his leather guardsman uniform accentuating the lean strength of his frame. The cut of it flattered him, broadening his shoulders and cinching slightly at his waist, the glossy black leather gleaming in the light. His gloved hands rested casually on his belt, but there was a sharpness in his eyes as he took in Sethis.
Sethis, by contrast, was raw physicality. He's broad-chested with arms corded by muscle, his stance casual but coiled with a fighter's ease. His shirt clung to the definition of his torso, the fabric stretched tight across his shoulders, and his posture radiated dominance without arrogance. His gaze raked over Jergan, lingering a half-second too long on the way the uniform hugged his body.
Neither spoke at first. The silence wasn't empty - it crackled.
Jergan's mouth curled, just slightly.
"Do you always size up shared company like this? Or is this something special?"
Sethis tilted his head, a slow grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Not sure yet."
Their eyes lock - charged, dangerous, but layered with curiosity. Each measures the other's strength, but also the edge of appeal just beneath it.
Jergan wonders if Sethis is the reason Heath was off.
Sethis wonders if this guardsman knows of Heath's crime and whether or not he needs to intervene to save Heath.
The tension is cut by Heath arriving home, just to see the two men. Words get lost to Heath who is surprised to see Jergan who he didn't expect. Jergan speaks with ill-hidden contempt.
"Why's he here?"
Jergan nods towards Sethis who continues to look blasé.
"Sethis is a traveler. He stays here when he's in the village. He's a friend."
Sethis chimes in.
"And fuck buddy."
Jergan's eyes narrow, some animalistic part of his brain feels territorial over what is his.
"Jergan is also one of my lovers."
Jergan feels a smug sense of triumph. Lover ranks higher than fuck buddy in his opinion. Sethis grins honestly this time now knowing Jergan is here with an entirely different agenda.
"There you go."
"Why do you sound so proud?"
"Just proving I belong here. Can't say the same for everyone here."
Heath blinks.
"Are you two seriously… measuring dicks right now?"
Sethis leans back lazily against the wall, folding his arms, the grin not leaving his face.
"Not measuring. Just… clarifying the hierarchy. For your benefit, mostly."
Jergan doesn’t bother hiding his smirk now.
"Thought you should know where things stand."
Heath scowls and pushes past them toward the kitchen, grabbing a glass. "What are you, wolves pissing on the same tree?"
Sethis chuckles.
"No, but you do seem to attract a testosterone parade apparently."
Jergan follows him with his gaze as Heath takes a few gulps of ale.
"You didn't tell me he'd be here."
"I didn't think you were coming."
There's a beat of silence. Sethis watches the two, piecing things together quickly, knowing there's more under the surface here. Something unresolved.
"Should I leave you two alone?"
He asks, not without mischief, but with enough perceptiveness to suggest he would, if asked.
"No. I offered to house you, I'm not going to turn you out in the night."
Sethis smiles wider, eyes gleaming. This is getting interesting.
"I meant, I can go to your room since I'm already setup in there."
Jergan takes the verbal bait.
"Fine, then let's all get comfortable."
The room grows thicker with a coiling tension. Sethis arches a brow, clearly enjoying himself now.
"Comfortable? That's rich, coming from someone who walked in like he owns the place."
Jergan turns, slowly, deliberate.
"I don't need to act like I own anything. I'm what he keeps coming back to."
"That so?"
Sethis pushes off the wall, sauntering forward a step.
"I can't judge him for trying a different flavor when his favorite isn't around. Doesn't look like someone thrilled to see their backup flavor."
"Guys."
Headless of Heath intervening, Jergan growls.
"Maybe you should learn how to stay in your lane."
“Or maybe, you should watch the attitude."
Heath slams the glass on the counter. "Enough."
Both men stop mid-glare and look at him.
"You want to mark your territory like dogs? Do it somewhere else."
Jergan’s jaw tightens.
"Who do you want, Heath?"
Sethis asks, tone suddenly too quiet. Deadly calm.
"Let's stop dancing around it."
Heath's breath catches, and for a moment, there's silence. No sound but the hum of something primal simmering beneath it all.
"He already said he won't kick you out, don't make him have to go against his word."
"I'm not going to pick between two egos who care more about outmaneuvering each other than what I want."
But Sethis only smiles, sharp and knowing. "Then tell us what you want."
Heath opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. The air is electric now - raw, charged, teetering between conflict and something more dangerous. Heath swears under his breath, looking between them both.
"I... kind of like that you're feeling territorial..."
While Heath feels ashamed about it, he spent so long feeling unwanted, all the attention is welcome.
"Well then, in that case-"
Sethis throws his arms around the two men's shoulders.
"-why don't we have Heath here take over our, how'd you put it? Dick measuring contest?"
"...well, what do you think Heath?"
