The sun blazed in its last few minutes of life away out on the edge of the world. From his vantage point on the massive dune, Marik watched the desert undulate savagely in the high winds. The flying sand in the distance turned the bright light from the sun into a spectacular blood red inferno that covered the entire sky. So different from this morning... Marik breathed in deeply and felt a chill as his memories flooded into him.
The chill of the desert night was still heavy over the sands, and not even a faint whisper of wind could be heard. The sun was not due to rise for an hour yet, but Marik was almost fully dressed for battle. His thick bear fur loincloth protected his sensitive areas, and the tight leather straps over his bulging muscles were covered with knives, daggers, and arrows. On his back was a bow, a quiver and a heavy broadsword. He tied back the irritating wisps of his long blonde hair with a small string of tendon, before settling back into studying the camp below.
The low tents were dark, and the only light that signalled the location was from the massive communal bonfire in the centre. Even so, he knew that the Clumidian warriors had posted no guard, having seen no movement in the shadows since the second hour past nightfall. He smiled. Why would they post watchers, when they were in the heart of their homeland? They had little to fear... except for the band of warriors armed to the teeth waiting silently above them.
Marik felt someone approach from behind him.
"Chief, the warriors are waiting where you positioned them." Marik sighed.
"And yet, Kor, I remember telling you to go and lead the southern group..." Kor moved forward and crouched next to the leader, who was still watching the camp silently. He had seen a few more seasons than Marik, but his cropped hair was still thick and black. They were equally built, and Kor carried just as many weapons, although he preferred a heavy axe to Marik's broadsword. The slightly older man reached out and touched the young chieftain's cheek, then let his hand slide softly down his back to rest on the taut flank of the warrior.
"You know I will not let you go into battle without me at your side."
Marik stiffened, and moved out of the touch.
"But I am the chieftain, and I ordered you to lead the other assault. It is not for you to decide who I fight with." Marik's voice was low and measured as he spoke, but his irritation was obvious. "Fine, you fight with us. Is the camp guarded?" Kor expelled his breath explosively, and earned a glare from the silent leader.
"I tried to leave five of the men, but they refused to stay. Then Aidan came and said he and the other concubines could look after the camp as well as any of our fighters." The older man snorted, and continued. "I finally convinced Duru to wait, but he wasn't pleased. And Aidan wouldn't listen either, you need to talk to him!" Marik turned and looked at Kor for a long moment. When the old warrior turned crimson, he nodded, dismissing Kor, leaving Marik to ponder in the silence of the night.
Aidan. Marik felt all chill from the night leave him at the merest thought of his slight frame, the tantalizing curves, his creamy flesh, luscious lips and tender touch... Stop it! he thought, now is not the time. I have to focus! Later... Suddenly his normally solemn face split into a grin. He wondered what Aidan had called Kor this time. It must have been something good to get such a bright response. For all his gentle, kind and caring nature, Aidan could not stand the rutting warrior that was Kor. Of course, the feeling was mutual; Kor detested the golden beauty, and went out of his way to try and make life miserable for him. Not that he had much hope of that. Aidan laughed at the cruellest tricks, and turned them back on their engineer. It was one of the favoured pass times of the camp, to watch the two of them go at it, and laugh at Kor's failures. Still, Kor was a great warrior, and Marik would have to talk to Aidan. He couldn't let it get to the point where Kor would lay a hand on his baby. He didn't know what he'd do if it came to that.
The sun had just fallen over the brink, but Marik still stared out over the desert. He was naked, his battle gear having been taken back to his tent by the slaves. He breathed out slowly, and surveyed the smoke rising from the camp below him.
The glow from the sun was turning the sky pale pink as the warriors soared down the dune, running low, with weapons drawn. But no cries of battle passed there lips; this was a sneak attack. The padded like the feared cats of the desert, silent and deadly, into the camp. Warriors broke off into each tent that they passed. Marik saw a slightly larger tent, decorated with intricate designs made with beads sewn onto the leather, and ink patterns made during the curing process. He carefully stepped over the pegs that held the structure upright, and moved aside the flap that served as a door.
Instantly he was hit by a sweet smelling concoction, of herbs and flowers. This must be the shaman's tent, he thought... Marik spied his target, lying prone on a pile of cushions. The old man was wearing a cloak of some kind. It was made from the coat of some animal, that appeared to be a horse. But it was the colour that was amazing: pure white, decorated only by a few quills from some strange desert creature. It needed nothing else, the simplicity enhanced its beauty. Aidan would love this, he thought, but there was no way to take it from the man without waking him. Swiftly he plunged the knife through the shaman's heart, and twisted it to elicit the soft dying gasp of the old man. As he pulled out the knife, red rivulets of blood poured from the wound, staining the beautiful white cloak.
Back outside, Marik saw that his warriors were returning from their tents as well, their missions accomplished. He nodded, and they moved on to new structures. Marik crept up to the bonfire that he had seen from the dune. Opposite him, a tent even larger than the shaman's loomed, although it was less decorated. Quietly, he circle the blaze and up to the hide flap.
Inside again he was hit by an overwhelming smell. But this was no set of drying herbs; the pungeant aroma was unmistakeably the smell of male love, the sweat and cum mingling to produce such a heated atmosphere. Marik looked around for the source. Right in the centre of the circular tent was a mound of cushions, and on it lay two men, intertwined in each other's arms. One man was enormous, a solid mountain of muscles, his black skin contrasting sharply to the snow white of his lover. The fair skinned man was little more than a boy, maybe slightly older than Aidan. They were both naked, but their clothes were scattered on the floor. It was easy to see what had happened.
Softly, Marik crept up to the pair, and swiftly plunged his knife into the younger man's heart. It turned out to be a mistake. With the two of them so closely intertwined, it was natural that the stiffening of the young body would wake the sleeping giant. He stirred, and still with his eyes closed, mumbled
"Juku?" When this elicited no response, he squeezed the boy, but the motion caused the wound to spurt blood between them. The giant man stared at the liquid, confused for a moment. Then he looked up and saw Marik standing with the knife still poised over the boy's body. Their eyes met, and locked for a long moment. Then, with a roar he leapt up and charged at the young chieftain. Marik tried to leap to the side, but his legs were knocked from him and he fell heavily to the dirt. Scrambling up, he saw the grief stricken warrior charging at him again. Quickly he rolled and slashed at the mountain of muscle, but the blood pouring from the gash seemed to have little effect on him. Again he charged, and again Marik dodged most of the assault. Slowly, the black man began to tire, and the warrior chief took his opening. Quick as a snake he slid the cold steel of his dagger into the great man's chest. Even he could not stand such a wound, and collapsed to the floor of the tent that was stained with his blood.
Breathing heavily, Marik wiped the sweat from his brow and looked around the tent. One of the items of clothing on the floor caught his eye. It had obviously belonged to the boy, but it looked somewhat familiar.
It was an exact replica of the cloak the shaman had worn, although made smaller to fit his petite frame. Through some stroke of luck, the cloak had not been stained by the blood flying in the tent. Smiling triumphantly, he carefully rolled the beautiful clothing and wrapped it in an old sheet. Now he was ready to return triumphant to his love, and present him with a gift befitting his beauty.
The dried blood and sweat on his naked body were starting to irritate the proud young warrior. He looked once more at the smouldering remains of the camp, then with a glare at the darkening sky, he picked up the parcel at his feet and walked to the camp. As soon as he was in the nomadic settlement that had been home for the last three years, he could feel his step becoming lighter. He walked past the pairs and sometimes more than that of men and boys, who were mostly passed out from rum, sex and battle.
Marik saw the tent that was his own, decorated with intricate designs painted in rare inks from the East. Smiling at what was waiting for him inside, he quickened his pace, leapt over the last prone couple, and sauntered through the door flap. Inside, he summoned his hunting skills. Nothing excited him more than to sneak up upon Aidan, and tickle his creamy sides before the boy even knew he was there. His feet padded over the soft furs and cushions, spoils from previous battles, and brushed aside the silk that Aidan had somehow hung from the roof of the tent to create a sensual net over their bed, a pile of silk cushions. He reached under the thin silken blanket that covered a shapely mound of quivering boy meat, and grabbed... a cushion. Then a pair of arms wrapped around his waist, and a peal of light boyish laughter rang behind him, like a harp played by angels.
"I got you! Finally, I got you for a change!" Marik turned around and had to smile. Aidan looked so pleased with himself, and since he was naked his cavorting antics were even more appealing... As the strong young man reached out for the enticing figure, the boy skipped out of reach. "Hey, don't even think about that yet! You need a bath first, you're filthy!"
"If you say so Aid..." he said, and the young chieftain scooped the boy into his arms, kissing him passionately. Aidan squirmed for a minute, then relaxed. He seems upset about something, the young boy thought. So he allowed Marik to hold his sixteen year old frame for a few moments more, then reached up and took his hand.
"Come on, I've got a surprise for you," he whispered. Marik followed silently, hypnotised by the swaying movement of boyish hips. The young chieftain had never seen a boy move with that sensual roll, which still captured his imagination every time he saw it.
They walked out of the camp, and up the dune that sheltered the tents from the wind. Marik saw a rocky crag rising out of the sand, and heard a faint sound of water. Still Aidan walked on, leading him closer to the foot of the soaring rock. Then, to his amazement, he saw steam, and a fairly large pool, at least the size of their tent.
"Welcome to the pool of pleasures," the boy whispered. Marik walked up and hugged him from behind, pressing his hard shaft between the young man's tender globes. Smiling, Marik picked him up easily, and carried him into the warm waters of the pool. They kissed, slowly, lingering at the last moment, enjoying the firm flavour of the other's lips. Aidan pulled away first, and smiled in the moonlight at the man pressing up to him. He sauntered to the other side of the pool, and pulled a soft skin from a tiger out from under a rock. Then, slowly, he swam on his back towards Marik, his young cock rigid above him. The young man began to rub the sweat and blood from the warrior's body, gently caressing the pain and aches from his sore spots. He crawled around the man, touching and rubbing the bare flesh at his fingers, teasing the points where he knew Marik loved to be touched.
Soon the chieftain felt like a new man, fresh woken from sleep, instead of a battle weary warrior. He grasped Aidan's hips, and planted him squarely in his lap, cuddling the boy to him. As he stroked the boy's long, almost white-blond hair, he remembered the young man, Juku, that he had killed today. Marik buried his face in his lover's neck, full of empathy for the huge warrior of the Clumidites.
"What is it Marik? Something's wrong isn't it?" The young warrior looked up and whispered
"Nothing, nothing's wrong. It's fine baby, it's fine." And he kissed him quickly. Aidan started to protest, but soon gave in as Marik worked his tongue into the boy's eager mouth, and groped through the water for his body. When they moved apart, they were gasping, but quickly returned to each others' lips.
"I hate it when you go out there Marik..." Aidan mumbled through their feverish kisses.
"I hate leaving you here when I go Aidan..." Marik mumbled back, and bit the young man's neck with his lips. When Aidan moaned, Marik sucked hard on the hard nipples that rose perpendicular to the rippled chest. As the boy continued to writhe, Marik worked his hand down to the hard shaft between the creamy thighs, and gently tugged on its length. Then he slid his hand through the gap and into the crevasse between those smooth eggs, and found the tight hole between them. When his finger found its way in side, Aidan cried out, and Marik quickly kissed him again. They pounded their bodies together, and the water grew rough and foamy as though in tune with the passion in their beings. When Marik couldn't hold back anymore, he picked Aidan's moaning body up and carried him out of the water to the soft sands. Placing him gently on all fours, Marik reared behind him and plunged his rock hard length into the boy's anus. Quickly they found their rhythm and moaning set to the crashing of their bodies, the fire in them building and building like the pressure in their cocks. The rocks echoed with their moans, amplified by the water that still swirled, though there was no wind to make waves. The moon shone brightly on their pulsating bodies as they pushed together and away, together and away, together and away. Over and over, pulse after pulse, thrust after thrust, the two young men collided in their passion, loving each other more and more each moment till the pressure burst.
Aidan shot his stream straight to the ground where the desert ate it up, as though it too loved the gorgeous boy's seed. Marik spent his load straight through his lover, and Aidan felt every burst of love from the enormous cannon firing into his bowels, till he felt he would explode from the gooey semen inside him. The two of them thrust several more times, their momentum carrying them through till they collapsed, shaking with exhaustion from their explosive love making.
Aidan snuggled up to the young chief as he pulled the tiger skin over their naked bodies. As the boy rested his head softly on Marik's chest, he thought again of the huge Clumidian warrior, and his lover, lying entwined on silk, safe in their slumber. Then he remembered the blood, and the pain in the mountainous man's eyes as he fell. Marik pulled the boy even closer, crushing him to his chest, as though he could protect him by holding him tighter. Aidan looked up, surprised, and traced a worry line on the young warrior's forehead with a delicate finger.
"Please Marik... tell me what's wrong?" The leader looked down, and saw a tender, sweet and beautiful face, full of care and worry, looking up at him. He smiled, and shook his head.
"Nothing's wrong Aid... We're going home, that's all." Aidan sat up quickly.
"Are you serious?! We're going home?! Are you sure? Can we really?" Marik laughed, and softly kissed the gorgeous boy.
"We are baby, we are. We're going home, and you are going to be my prince at my longhouse. No more wars."
"Promise?"
"I promise baby, I promise." Aidan rolled on top of the strong man and kissed him passionately. They snuggled for a moment, and then the boy rolled off again. Marik turned and wrapped his arms around the slender body, spooning them together. He whispered
"Home..."