A russet squirrel darted through the dappled shadows of an ancient oak, its tiny claws practically silent against the bark as it deliberately avoided the two men tangled in the grass beneath the canopy. Scurrying toward a woven basket abandoned in the clover, the creature eyed a cluster of plump, sun-ripened grapes. It reached out its paws, but before it could snatch a prize, a breathy, frantic moan echoed from the petite man pinned to the earth. Startled, the squirrel abandoned its plunder, fleeing up the trunk for its life.

  Alistair was pressed firmly against the light cotton blanket, his slender spine bowed into a sharp, desperate arch that offered himself up entirely. Faelan’s rugged hand gripped the nape of Alistair’s neck, weaving through his sweat-dampened hair to hold his face gently but firmly against the fabric, while his other hand secured both of Alistair’s wrists at the small of his back.

  Faelan drove deep inside him, the thick, relentless friction of his cock drawing out unimaginable ecstasy from them both. It was the height of a breathless summer afternoon. The dense, humid heat had layered their skin in a slick sheen of sweat that served to bind them closer, acting as a natural lubricant alongside the spit Faelan used to slick Alistair’s entrance.

  There was a frantic, hungry rhythm to their coupling. Earlier, Faelan had hauled Alistair up onto his knees, roughly coaxing him to take his dick deep into his mouth, savoring the wet warmth of Alistair’s fellatio before flipping him back down onto his stomach. Now, this position—face down, hips arched high to take every punishing thrust—felt like the perfect, unspoken representation of their fractured reality.

  The Gilded Vagabonds had slain a dragon and lived to tell the tale, but the victory had cost them three of their own. Now, the party was splintering. This fevered afternoon in the secluded woods was a stolen moment, perhaps the very last time their bodies would sing together before they went their separate ways into an uncertain future.

  “Nngh… ahh… Faelan—” A choked gasp broke from Alistair’s lips, unraveling into a breathless string of moans as Faelan’s hips snapped forward with a faster, more punishing pace. Alistair’s eyes rolled back, his mouth pooling with saliva, his graceful muscles melting under the overwhelming tide of pleasure. His arsehole twitched and gripped tightly around Faelan’s thick length in pure ecstasy. His mind emptied of the looming grief, flooded entirely with a heavy dose of dopamine and a profound, aching love for the man ravaging him so beautifully.

  The forest grew utterly still, the woodland creatures retreating as the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and Alistair’s escalating cries filled the clearing.

  Faelan remained intensely silent, his jaw clenched in concentration until the final, breaking moment. As he buried himself to the hilt, flooding Alistair’s insides with a heavy, searing load of cum, Faelan’s composure shattered. He tipped his head back and let out a deep, throaty groan—a raw, masculine sound of absolute surrender as he emptied his balls to his heart’s desire.

  The climax sapped the strength from Faelan’s heavy frame, the summer heat compounding his sudden lethargy. He collapsed forward, his broad chest pressing flush against Alistair’s slick, trembling back, his dick still seated deep inside. Faelan rested his cheek against the side of Alistair’s sweat-soaked face, their ragged breaths falling into a synchronized, panting rhythm.

  A shared, breathless smile touched their lips, blooming into a soft chorus of chuckles. Faelan pressed a string of tender, lingering kisses to the corner of Alistair’s mouth, which Alistair eagerly chased, before Faelan finally withdrew with a soft sigh. He slid off Alistair’s back, rolling onto his side in the crushed grass and resting a heavy hand affectionately atop Alistair’s head.

  Alistair shifted, uncurling his limbs to lie flat on his stomach beside his lover, resting his chin comfortably over the swell of Faelan’s right bicep. Their eyes met again, tracing the familiar lines of each other's faces, and they shared another quiet, easy laugh.

  “That Greyback Stag’s ointment…” Faelan began, his voice trailing off as he caught his breath. “It really is something else.”

  “I concur,” Alistair purred, a bright smile gracing his exquisitely feminine features. He leaned in to steal another kiss, his body still humming, his entrance twitching with the lingering aftershocks of his climax.

  Alistair’s gaze drifted past Faelan’s broad chest toward the tree line. “They are taking entirely too long to come back.”

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  Faelan closed his eyes, resting his head back against his free arm. “You know how Lyra gets when she’s sulking. It will take even Helena a fair bit of time to talk her down.”

  Moving with the sudden, liquid grace of a ballet dancer, Alistair sat up. His petite frame made the casual motion look effortlessly beautiful. He reached for the woven basket, retrieving two crisp green apples. He tossed one to Faelan. “Eat. The way we’ve been going at it, we might both expire in this heat.”

  Faelan pushed himself up into a seated position, biting into the fruit as he shifted closer—so close that the damp heat of their bare legs pressed warmly together.

  “Have you thought it through?” Alistair asked softly, the playful air dimming just a fraction.

  Faelan chewed, a small, weary smile touching his lips. “Yeah. I’ve been mulling it over since the day you and Helena announced you were leaving.”

  “No wonder Lyra is devastated,” Alistair sighed, looking out toward the distant emerald fields. A gentle river wound through the landscape ahead, the pleasant, distant babble of the water offering a cooling illusion against the summer swelter. “First the two of us tell her we’re returning to our duties, and now you decide to pack your bags and vanish as well.”

  “She’ll still have Brimor,” Faelan offered, though the argument sounded thin even to his own ears.

  Alistair paused, a shadow crossing his bright eyes. “We both know Brimor can’t replace what the three of us brought to her. Besides… Brimor hasn’t been the same since we lost Brina.”

  A heavy, shared silence settled over them, the phantom pain of their fallen comrade twisting in their chests.

  Alistair tilted his head, aimlessly twirling a blade of grass between his fingers as he looked back at Faelan. “So… you’ve finally decided to forgive your mother?”

  Faelan leaned back, planting his palms in the dirt to support his weight, his gaze fixed on the rushing river. “There wasn’t anything to forgive her for. I just wanted to prove her wrong.”

  “And you think you’re ready for that now?”

  Faelan flashed a confident, lopsided grin. “Not quite yet. I need to win a few medals first. Earn a rank of actual note.”

  Alistair shifted eagerly onto his knees. “Then why not join the Imperial Qeshi army? I can pull some strings, have you posted in the south, somewhere near Oakhaven. We could see each other constantly. There’s a brilliant adventurer’s guild there for Lyra, too. We could all stay together, Faelan.”

  Faelan’s smile softened into something deeply fond. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Alistair’s worried brow, speaking against his skin. “No, my love. It has to be the Magellan forces. My mother forsook Qesh a long, long time ago.”

  “Forsook?” Alistair frowned. Faelan’s hands were already at his waist, gently easing him back down onto the wool blanket. “I knew she was a legend in the Veridian Fields, but I never knew she was Qeshi.”

  “Yeah. Born and raised,” Faelan murmured, his lips tracing a fiery path down Alistair’s throat, dipping into the hollow of his collarbone.

  As Faelan’s mouth moved lower, capturing one of Alistair’s sensitive nipples and drawing a sharp, squirming gasp from him, Alistair stared up at the sunlight fracturing through the canopy. “Why did she leave, then? Life in Qesh is miles better than in Magellan.”

  Faelan’s movements slowed. He pushed himself up just enough to cast a shadow over Alistair’s torso. An indiscernible ghost of sorrow flickered behind his eyes as he leaned down to kiss Alistair’s eyebrow. “Qesh always reminded her of my father. She spent her life trying to outrun everything that carried his memory.”

  Alistair reached up, his fingers trailing over the sweat on Faelan’s neck. “Why did she never tell you who he was?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “She should have at least given you a name. A description. Something.”

  Faelan didn’t answer. Instead, he resumed his downward descent, his tongue trailing hot, wet kisses down the center of Alistair’s stomach, past his navel, finally arriving at the damp, pre-cum-slicked length of Alistair’s softening dick.

  Alistair’s breath hitched, but he pushed the question again. “If there was a way for you to know who he was… would you want to find out?”

  Faelan paused. He wrapped a calloused hand around Alistair’s cock, playfully tapping it against his own cheek as he looked up. “When I was a boy? I would have traded my sword arm for that kind of information.” He fell silent for a heavy second, the bravado fading into a moment of striking, raw honesty. “But now? I couldn't care less who he is, or was.”

  Faelan let out a quiet sigh, his thumb stroking over the head of Alistair’s cock. “Though… sometimes, when I see you with your father, I do wonder. I wonder how my life might have turned out if both my parents had been there.”

  For a brief, suspended second, the weight of the world they were trying to ignore pressed down on the clearing. Then, Faelan shook his head, burying the melancholy as quickly as it had surfaced. He lowered his mouth back toward Alistair’s crotch. “Now, can we please stop talking about our fathers and focus on fucking?”

  Before Faelan could take him into his mouth, the distinct sound of a woman clearing her throat broke the quiet ambiance of the forest.

  Stepping out from the shadowed brush were two blonde beauties, their expressions a mix of amusement and playful indignation. Lyra stood with her arms crossed over her chest, tapping her foot in the grass. “You boys don’t even have the basic courtesy to wait for us?”

  Faelan froze. He tilted his head to look at them, Alistair’s dick still hovering just inches from his lips, and offered a muffled, unapologetically guilty grin. “Lyra…”

  Alistair craned his neck, a flush rising to his cheeks as he grinned at the women.

  “Honestly, boys,” Helena sighed, a wicked gleam in her eye as she stepped forward, already reaching for the laces of her dress. “Selfish, the pair of you.”