Heat of Battle

Van Michaels

The sudden absence of sound left his ears ringing. Zaxx Éltrèsciu leaned heavily on his sword a moment, eyes scanning the battlefield to verify that yes, this fight seemed to be over. At least for now, anyway - so far the enemy had fallen back and rallied twice, unwilling to relinquish this resonant vale without serious bloodshed.

Of course, Zaxx reminded himself sharply, neither was his king, though that one never ventured closer to a battlefield than a map pinned across his dining table. Zaxx breathed in the burnt air, tasting the futility of this war. Yes, claiming sovereignty over a true resonant vale would bring power and legitimacy to the throne, but to do so at such a cost was inhuman. If the legends were true and the world itself listened to the affairs of the mortals swarming it, this fighting like spoilt children for the right to claim a parcel of land would surely be taken as the highest insult. And if the world itself could withhold magic from the hands of men, what then? Zaxx suspected that even this would not stop the fighting, for each side would accuse the other of keeping a secret reserve of magical energy and then demand that it be shared under threat of war.

Here, beneath his feet, elemental powers pooled and permeated the ground, making the land fertile for healing herbs and witchrod trees. The very stones shimmered with potent forces, making them ideal for demon cages and the like. In a perfect world, humble folks would share and nurture this bounty in peace and mutual respect.

Zaxx reminded himself that this was hardly a perfect world.

This battle alone had stretched across the valley and lasted nearly a fortnight. Resources were nearly drained: supply lines were no longer reliable as there just weren't enough soldiers to ensure safe passage, and the nearby towns had been scoured clean. Nearly every soldier present had taken a turn at the healers'; fortunately, only a few would be permanently marked by it. In spite of the king's insistence that two battlemages were sufficient to turn the tide of this fight, Zaxx knew that, should the enemy rally yet again, things would not go well.

Zaxx straightened and cast about for their commander in the hopes they would finally be told it was time to go home. If that weren't the case, he was set to follow as far as the man might lead them, but he wasn't sure the regular troops would be able to hold out much longer.

But General Gïordan Mathos was nowhere to be seen. Zaxx frowned; this was odd. The sword-slender mage tended to make himself conspicuous, surveying the damage and gathering the wounded to the healers' tent. But Zaxx saw no flicker of pale light through the smoke, no sign of lingering magic to pinpoint the man's location.

"Ah, my friend, you're probably shepherding the injured like always," he muttered to himself, turning away from the scorched battlefield. "Gods grant you are not among them, you stubborn bastard…"

Partway to the healers' tent, Zaxx paused. That sixth sense or whatever it was that seemed to link all Djinn-class mages told him he was going the wrong way: the one he sought was alone among flames. The thought that Gïordan might actually be injured this time shocked Zaxx into sudden motion. He turned and sprinted back the way he had come.

A dark figure leaned against a smoldering trebuchet, his head lowered between upraised arms. Silver hair fluttered in the rising heat like smoke.

Zaxx approached cautiously. Friend or no, startling this one was a bad idea at the best of times, and he had the feeling this was not the best of times. "Gii? Are you all right?"

The lean form seemed to tremble. Gïordan shook his head, glancing warningly at Zaxx from under his arm. "Go away, Zaxx. You don't want to be here."

Zaxx narrowed his eyes and looked more closely, letting his Sight speak to him. What he saw made his chest ache.

Gïordan was on fire. The elemental energies in his blood hadn't cooled as the battle ended: they raged unabated, scorching from the inside. If the man didn't find a way to tame the wild power it would cause him agony for hours. And by the looks of it, sheer will wasn't working.

Zaxx sighed and shook his head. He'd never seen his friend like this, helpless in the grip of his own magic. Usually Gïordan would just shrug it off with only a brief, dramatic flare to his eyes to show for it. But then, this had been a long, drawn-out fight; none of the men had had proper rest or the chance to balance their energies. Why should he be surprised that Gïordan was not immune? He made up his mind, and took a step closer.

Luminous sea-green eyes glared up at him. "Don't."

"Let me help."

The voice dropped to a low purr, more promise than threat. "I'll hurt you."

Zaxx smiled and held out his hand. "I won't let you."

Gïordan seemed to hang on the edge of a precipice for several heartbeats before moving at the speed of thought to grab Zaxx and pin him to the side of the trebuchet. His eyes flared bright as demon fire as he leaned against his captive, blood-borne magic rising within them both. "I am not like the others you toy with!" he hissed, though his body strained to prove otherwise. His eyes half-closed as he pressed against Zaxx's leather-clad hip, an unfamiliar rush stealing his breath. "I control the fire - it does not control me!"

The younger man raised a hand to Gïordan's shoulder, gripping firmly. "There's no shame in it, Gii. You tell the adepts not to worry about it, right? It's what we have to do to stay sane in spite of the magic. You need it to surge and recede; I can make it happen. Your choice, my friend."

"You don't understand," Gïordan gasped, hell smoldering in his stare, "I've never…"

Zaxx blinked at him. "Never-never?"

"I've never felt the need."

Zaxx had heard rumors that their commander was a strict ascetic who had overcome the demands of flesh, but he really hadn't believed them. True, Gïordan had never shown interest in barracks play, but Zaxx had written that off as a sense of pride in his command, some sort of religion by regulation or the like; surely the man had been taking pleasure in more respectable outlets. Now a terrible thought flashed into life: what if the king hadn't wanted to risk his mageborn nephew, his only male relative, going out and siring bastards? The man's dislike and distrust of Gïordan was no secret. Zaxx knew there wasn't anything visibly missing, but that didn't rule out the possibility of…other means.

In any case, it looked like the elemental fury had finally burned through the interference. Whether stoic will or magical tampering, the lid was off.

Meeting Gïordan's gaze without flinching, Zaxx moved his free hand down between them, cupping and squeezing gently. "You feel it now."

Gïordan moaned softly at the touch, pressing into his friend's hand with clumsy need. "I'll hurt you," he repeated, voice a bare ghost of itself. "I mean it, Zaxx. I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm stronger than you. I couldn't -"

Zaxx covered his friend's mouth with his own, silencing the fears before they could be spoken and bring bad luck. His hands worked at the taller man's leathers, slipping under his harness and unfastening his pants with practiced speed. When his fingers curled around the taut flesh beneath, Gïordan groaned and shuddered. Zaxx could feel the tide of magic rushing through him, through both of them, lapping at the shores of their flesh. To Zaxx it felt thrilling, invigorating, but to his friend it had gone too long and become torment.

Deciding suddenly on the best course of action, Zaxx kissed Gïordan more deeply as he maneuvered him around to lean back against the trebuchet. Zaxx tugged off his gloves and stroked exposed skin with roughened fingertips, trailing elemental fire. With one hand, he unfastened his own pants, easing them open only so far as he would need; when his erection bobbed free, he gripped himself and Gïordan in one strong hand and squeezed.

Gïordan's hands flew up to tangle in Zaxx's wild hair as he kissed back hard enough to bruise. His hips jerked in response to the touch, his cock aching with unaccustomed need. Why he'd never wanted before didn't matter to him at the moment; the only things that existed were the solidness of the trebuchet frame at his back, the strength of the man holding him, and the demanding liquid fire in his veins.

Spent-magic sweat pooled on their skin. His wits spinning but not yet abandoning him, Zaxx gathered some on his fingers and stroked himself lightly, leaving a fine sheen of oil. He broke from the kiss and whispered, "Turn around."

Surprise widened the glowing sea-storm eyes, then narrowed them.

"You don't want to hurt me," Zaxx murmured, "then let me take command. Turn around, Gii."

Gïordan swallowed, then turned. He allowed Zaxx to position him, leaning forward and bracing his hands on the trebuchet frame as Zaxx pushed his pants down until they hobbled him at the knees. He closed his eyes as he felt his coat flung over his hips, the hot air of the battlefield caressing bared skin.

Zaxx's fingers found more trails of magesweat and swept them down into his friend's cleft, seeking heat. Elemental energy sparked lightning at his touch, sensitizing nerves that were already stretched too taut. As those fingers delved inside, Gïordan growled like a panther.

Zaxx's breathing came in ragged gasps already, but he knew he had to take a little bit of time with this. They wouldn't have too long before someone else came looking, to be sure, but what time they did have he had to use well. He slipped in a third finger.

Filled with new sensation, Gïordan gave in to instinct and began rocking back against the intrusion. He wanted to rub himself, try to ease the ache, but for the first time in his life he doubted his balance should he move so much as one finger. Instead, he clutched the scorched oaken frame so hard it creaked.

Mindful of his friend's virginity, Zaxx leaned forward and whispered, "This is going to be intense. Just ride it, and trust me." He slid his fingers free, positioned himself, and began to push.

Gïordan's spine arched and his head snapped back. His mouth opened in a soundless cry. Elemental fire coursed through his body, burning with a pleasure he'd never imagined. It began to move within him like wine swirled in a cup, lapping at the edges but never quite spilling over.

Zaxx listened to the call of the magic, urging him forward. Arcane energy linked the two men, made their intentions one, letting each feel the desire and need in the other and meet it with his own. Zaxx leaned over the leather-draped hips, his lips touching the silken silver hair that clung to the coat in sweat-streaked strands. He breathed in the scent of his friend, so different from any of his other liaisons, so different now from his usual untouchable self.

Beneath him, Gïordan fought a losing fight. He felt his composure ripple and shatter, his self control falling away like shards of a broken goblet as the tide within began to surge. He groaned, shoulders tensing and head lowering as though he intended to push the trebuchet over with his bare hands. His fingers crushed the dense wood, squeezing it into a sturdy hand-hold before hanging on for dear life. The solid thickness of flesh pounding into him stole his breath away, commanding pleasure in his body and not allowing him to control anything.

Sweat poured down Zaxx's forehead, stinging his eyes. His legs shook with effort as he fucked the wildcat that was Gïordan, denying his own release until his friend's excess battle magic ignited. That was the only release that mattered now: the sudden flare of heated blood surging through every cell, healing and renewing and granting precious moments of mind-numbing peace.

Not knowing exactly what to expect, Gïordan pushed back against his friend, demanding, needing. The sensations only swept the waves higher; how long before they crested and drowned him? He grunted harshly as he moved, desperation a sheen of sweat on his face, a thin string of saliva falling from his lips.

Now. It must be now, Zaxx knew. Wrapping one arm around his friend's waist, he reached below with his right hand and began to stroke him, light and quick.

Gïordan felt his body tighten, starting between his legs and spreading to every muscle. Liquid fire pooled in his belly.

"Let go," Zaxx growled, his own climax rushing over him, elemental lightning dancing in his veins. His hand clenched on Gïordan's cock in rhythm with his own release.

Gïordan cried out like a wounded angel as the fire erupted, forcing his seed up and out in a frenzy of sensation. The hand around him coaxed and squeezed, holding him suspended in pleasure as electric heat surged through him, searing away the world beyond. The oak beam in his grip screeched and hissed and began to blacken.

Zaxx held on as his sight went silver. He closed his eyes and rode the wave of magic-driven orgasm, a singular experience that could be daunting to the most seasoned bed-hoppers and downright terrifying to the novice. He tried to communicate strength and safety to his dear friend, to give him an anchor against the elemental storm, though it was all he could do to remain conscious.

As the tide began to ebb, Gïordan first became aware of his own breathing: ragged and broken. Next he felt the warm presence at his back, breaths deep and slow. He sighed, the burnt battlefield tang of the air harsh in his throat. Yet even that could not break the spell of calm that held him so gently. For the first time in his life, he felt real: not some tool of the military, not an unwanted complication to the throne, but a real man, alive and vibrant.

A true smile curved his lips, with no darkness behind it.

Zaxx tightened his embrace and murmured, "You okay?"

Unsure of his voice, Gïordan looked back over his shoulder and nodded.

Zaxx carefully disengaged himself, then helped restore his friend's gear to their rightful arrangement before seeing to his own.

Gïordan gripped Zaxx's arm, pulling him into eye contact. "This…doesn't change things, does it?"

Zaxx grinned and clasped Gïordan's other arm. "No, my friend. It does not."

Gïordan scowled sharply. "Not a word, to anyone."

"Gii, you're my friend, my brother by choice - I would never betray you." Gazing into those haunted eyes, Zaxx offered a tiny smile. "We both know too much to be playing that game in the first place."

The taller mage flushed slightly and hid the grim smile that came unbidden by twisting it into a sardonic smirk. "We do. Forgive me for doubting, Zaxx."

"Some things are still sacred, Gïordan."

"Sir! General Mathos!" A young soldier scrambled across the debris. "They sent a rider, they want to negotiate!"

Gïordan gave Zaxx a thoughtful look. "It's not likely they mean to withdraw, but we should at least listen to what they have to say." To the runner he stated, "Ready my horse, and call on the healers for a volunteer to accompany me."

"I don't trust it," Zaxx stated honestly as the boy hurried away on his errand.

"Neither do I." Gïordan unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to his friend. "This will not fall into their hands, nor is it to be returned to the king in my absence."

"Understood." Zaxx accepted the burden, bowing his head as the weight of it touched his soul. "Go in peace, and may peace follow with you."

"Zaxx…thank you." Gïordan's eyes said everything his words could not allow. "To a brighter day, my friend."

Zaxx watched him go, his eyes stinging from the smoke. "One day, my friend," he whispered to the wind, "one day…you will be king." The sheathed sword seemed to twist in his grasp, baring a thin sliver of steel. Zaxx flinched as his finger caught in the gap between hilt and scabbard; a paper-fine slice oozed red. He secured the weapon and brought his hand to his mouth.

The blood tasted like a promise.

Van Michaels lives in Michigan with his life-partner and their five feline children. When he's not parked at the computer, he can often be found behind a pair of birdwatching binoculars, and he can always be bribed with fudge.