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“He said it’s fine by him.”
Olberic crossed his arms and took a long swig of ale from his mug, his brows so furrowed he might as well have his eyes shut.
He looked quite annoyed.
Erhardt’s eyes widened.
He looked at Olberic with a mixture of disbelief and amusement on his face.
“Well,” he said, putting down his mug, “what do you say?”
“I say I don’t care,” Olberic lied, looking him in the eyes as he shrugged, “but I will be there. I don't trust you enough to leave you alone with him. These are my terms,” he grumbled, dead serious.
Erhardt nearly choked on his ale.
“Oh— you mean you are going to sit down and watch?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. A smug smile now curved his lips.
“…you really are a pervert, you know that?” he said, before he winced and groaned in pain when Olberic's armored boot kicked his shin hard under the table.
“And you really are an asshole and a dickhead,” Olberic hissed under his breath not to disturb the few other guests in the Wellspring tavern, already raising their heads at the clinking of their mugs.
Then he leaned forward and looked at Erhardt with what was presumably his most intimidating gaze.
“Make one wrong move, Erhardt, and you are dead before you know it.”
Erhardt rolled his eyes.
“Do not worry. I won’t harm your precious scholar,” he huffed, leaning back in his chair.
Then he smiled.
“I’ll treat him well.”
—
It was always hot in Wellspring.
The desert sun warmed up the golden sand, making it impossible to go outside during the hot hours of the day.
The shimmer on the surface of the oasis in the middle of the small town blinded anyone who dared look at it.
But it was not the unbearable heat that made Olberic sweat and grip the arm of the wooden chair so tightly he heard it crack, no.
It was something else.
It was the way Erhardt's fingers, stripped of the white gloves, were effortlessly undoing Cyrus' silk shirt, one pearl button at a time.
"Thank you for sharing this beautiful sight with me," Erhardt spoke softly and he smiled, his eyes not leaving his fingertips as they slowly slipped the last pearly bead out of its buttonhole.
“I am a curious man,” the scholar replied, smiling in response and blushing lightly.
“I believe my dear Olberic has already told you.”
On his knees upon the soft mattress in the center of the room, Cyrus sat with both hands diligently placed on his thighs as Erhardt undressed him.
He turned to Olberic, sitting in a wooden chair not far from the bed, seeking confirmation that he was fine with letting the blond knight have his way with him for that afternoon.
Olberic rested his chin on the back of his hand and coughed into his fist.
He gave him a quick nod, without looking him in the eyes.
He loved Cyrus more than anything in the world, and he could not hide from himself that he was rather reluctant at the idea of having to share him, even if it was just for one time.
With Erhardt, no less.
That bastard did not deserve Cyrus.
But the scholar seemed rather curious when he heard the offer, and to him, being curious was basically a fancier way of saying he was beyond excited.
Never ever would he deny his partner the chance to satisfy his curiosity.
The scene before his eyes seemed unreal, almost ethereal; in the dim light of the room, thin blades of light filtering through the thick curtains made the stone walls and the white sheets of the inn room glow.
Golden dust motes lazily danced in the sunlight between the two men sitting on their knees in the middle of the bed.
“Yes, he said something along those lines,” Erhardt said absentmindedly as he admired Cyrus’ pale chest and ran his index finger across it until it reached the hem of his shirt and slid it off the delicate shoulders.
He gently took Cyrus’ chin between his thumb and his finger and turned his head away from Olberic’s chair, so that the scholar could looking at him in the eyes.
“Don’t worry about him,” he whispered as their faces drew closer, “focus on me now.”
Erhardt briefly touched Cyrus’ lips with his own and paused, hesitating when the scholar placed a hand on his chest.
Olberic felt splinters stabbing his palm, so tight was his grip on the arm of the old wooden chair.
Then Erhardt gently took Cyrus’ face in both hands, tug his hair behind his ear and away from his face, and kissed him.
Olberic had to look away immediately and try to focus on something else, anything that wasn’t the sinful scene in front of him. The stained-glass oil lamp on the nightstand? Or perhaps the reddish clay tiles on the floor?
He could still hear the sound of slow kisses, and for fuck’s sake, even Cyrus' quick breathing.
It was not working.
Even though he was starting to feel the heat creep up from under the collar of his linen shirt, he forced himself to look. After all, he was there to keep an eye on Erhardt. Erhardt. Not Cyrus, who was passionately making out with said man, eyes closed, a look of pure bliss on his face.
Olberic watched as they parted for a moment, noticing how moist and red his lover's lips were, and Erhardt took off his own shirt in one swift motion.
Olberic stared at Erhardt's large hand caressing Cyrus' bare waist and squeezing it gently, pressing their bodies together. The scholar had both palms pressed against his chest, eagerly exploring unknown places.
They kissed again, deeper, and Erhardt slowly slid his other hand down Cyrus' lap.
He quickly unbuckled his pants, and when his hand slid inside them the scholar gasped into his mouth; he could see that under the light linen pants, Erhardt was already hard.
Olberic felt his mouth go dry.
How dares he, he thought as he bit his tongue to keep himself from ruining the moment, because Cyrus seemed to be truly enjoying all of that.
Erhardt broke from the kiss to check if Cyrus showed any signs of discomfort, and gave him a reassuring smile when he tugged at the hem of his pants.
“May I?” he asked politely, catching his breath.
“Yes,” Cyrus replied, his voice barely more than a whisper as he let Erhardt gently push him down until his back was pressed against the bed and a pair of hands were tugging his pants off, leaving him lying bare in front of the blond knight.
Olberic knew that Erhardt's hands must have felt much softer and less calloused than his own, because when he dueled he moved so fast that enemy swords could barely touch him.
He wondered for a moment if Cyrus would end up preferring those hands to his, large and scarred, and chewed harder on the inside of his cheek.
He realized he had started bouncing his knee up and down only when he felt his leg tingle.
Until that moment, he had been the only one who got the privilege of seeing Cyrus like that.
And Erhardt must have been feeling something similar to what he had felt the first time, because once he was on his knees between the scholar’s long legs, he took a moment to look at the man beneath him; his hands brushed against the pale skin and all the little moles Olberic knew by heart, the insufferable smile gone and in its place an expression of absolute awe.
“...you truly are a pretty man, professor,” Erhardt finally said, his fingers caressing the scholar's flushed chest.
“Ah– thank you,” Cyrus replied with a coy smile, though to Olberic it was plain to see how embarrassed he was to expose himself like that for the first time to someone that wasn’t him.
“You can thank me,” Erhardt smiled again and bent his head to run his tongue upon the smooth sternum, placing kisses on it until he reached the stomach, “once I will have you utterly satisfied.”
The blond knight was caressing Cyrus' thighs, that were pressed against his hips, and gently lifted both of the scholar's legs by the backs of the knees, so that he was completely at his mercy.
Cyrus winced in surprise and instinctively grabbed the bed sheets.
Olberic stopped breathing.
He felt his heart skip a beat when he saw Erhardt dip his head between Cyrus' thighs and start licking when his lover arched his back and let out a strangled gasp, head thrown back and eyes shut.
Olberic swallowed, but his throat felt as dry as the desert outside. He couldn't take his eyes off them as his ears were assaulted by Cyrus’ short moans, noticing how he had his hand tangled in Erhardt's long hair.
The wet sounds that met each caress of his tongue felt like a siren's song to Olberic, something forbidden yet so terribly seductive.
He was sweating, he realized, when he ran a finger between his collar and the skin of his neck and found it covered in warm drops.
It was not fair, he thought, because why did they look so beautiful, so ethereal.
Cyrus' pale face taken over by pleasure, mouth open and chest heaving, willingly offering his pure body; Erhardt feasted on him, the cascade of his golden curls falling over his toned shoulders where the huge burn scar ran across his entire back, still as bright red and ugly as an open wound.
Cyrus moaned as Erhardt moved higher up and licked his hardened member, caressing it with his tongue to taste the clear nectar dripping from the tip; Olberic could swear he saw Cyrus go cross-eyed for a moment when he brushed his lips against it again.
Then Erhardt lifted his upper body and put two fingers in his mouth before reaching for Cyrus' entrance and pushing them in without facing any resistance.
Olberic heard the scholar moan, louder, and saw him grip the sheets even tighter when his back was off the mattress.
He bit down his knuckles until they turned white, because he hated the fact that he could feel the front of his own pants suddenly getting tighter.
Too tight.
Erhardt started moving his hand back and forth between his thighs, while the other hand still held onto one of the scholar's legs, smiling blissfully as he stared at the man's face.
Olberic noticed that he was lightly grinding his hips against Cyrus' thigh in time with the thrusts of his fingers; he must have been doing a good job with those fingers, because Cyrus shuddered and panted and moaned even louder.
But it wasn’t enough for Erhardt.
He leaned over Cyrus and ran his tongue over one nipple as he added a third finger, and the scholar gasped.
Foolishly, Olberic found himself thinking that all that hair brushing his naked torso must have felt quite nice.
Then Erhardt took the nipple between his lips and bit down, and Cyrus cried out.
"Erhardt," Olberic growled.
It’s too much, he thought as he jumped from his chair in the blink of an eye and all of his muscles twitched, he would make him stop.
He was hurting Cyrus and he would face the consequences.
He would grab him by his stupid hair and—
“Gods, yes!...”
Cyrus' broken voice interrupted his thoughts and automatically forced him back onto his seat.
He bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood.
Cyrus was panting, whining in pleasure and rocking his hips against Erhardt's hand.
"Relax, Olberic," said Erhardt's husky voice, "let him have his fun."
As he said this, he gently bit his collarbone and thrust his fingers into Cyrus one last time, before he shuddered and came with a long moan.
Half-lidded eyes and warm seed on his heaving chest, Cyrus had his legs still shaking in Erhardt's grip when he pulled out his wet fingers.
Sucking in a breath, the blond knight could resist no longer and began unbuckling his own pants, his erection still visible under the fabric.
"Cyrus," he called, "may I?"
Olberic saw a sort of desperate plea in his green eyes.
Cyrus gave him a quick nod.
Olberic pinched the bridge of his nose.
—
By the time Erhardt entered Cyrus and began to fuck him, the scholar was already a moaning mess, lost in pleasure for what felt like hours but was probably just a matter of minutes. Olberic didn't know anymore.
He didn't even know how to hide his own raging erection under his pants when crossing his legs was no longer enough.
The body of the man he loved and the body of the one he had loved, but had never loved him in return pressed together was going to be something he would never forget.
"Olberic, your blade is showing," Erhardt teased as he put his pants back on after they had finished.
"You still have time to join us if you want," he said as he caressed Cyrus’ hip and thigh while the scholar laid on the bed sheets, exhausted.
He had tried to punch him, but Erhardt had unfortunately dodged his fist.
“Such a lucky man you are,” he heard him say something along those lines when they parted.
After Cyrus had cleaned himself, the two of them met in the inn's common room, ready to depart.
“So, has your curiosity been satisfied?” Olberic asked, trying not to look annoyed as he secured the bags with leather straps.
“Thoroughly,” Cyrus replied, “I must admit that Sir Erhardt is quite… skilled,” he said absentmindedly as he stroked his chin.
It took all of Olberic’s willpower not to bite down his fist again, since the marks from that afternoon were still there.
“Though I must say…” Cyrus thought aloud, “I much prefer to indulge in such activities with someone I truly love,” he said, smiling, and took Olberic's hand.
Then he stood on tiptoes and whispered next to his ear, “besides, you have nothing to be jealous of in terms of size and performance.”
As Cyrus planted a kiss on his jaw, Olberic smiled.
It was going to be a good day.