Friday, October 6, 2017

Flash Fiction: Healing Touch #ValespianPact

This will be the last flash fiction for Prince Mestor and Warlord Sohm'lan. I decided to go ahead an write a novella for them. Since their relationship is intertwined with the overall Valespian plot, the novella will take place during Striker and end with HFN. They just kept talking to me and something that was supposed to be a quick and fun 2-3k is currently over 8k with these three "flash fictions".

The next flash fictions will be things that happened on the side during Alpha Trine and Striker. A few topics I'm thinking about exploring are: Rathmar's disappearance from court, the GryFalconi getting to know the Chimera triplets, I think that I'm going to introduce Azaes's future empress, Ariafella. 

Do y'all have any suggestions? Anything or anyone that you'd like to see more of from the Valespian Pact?


Copyright 2017 Lexi Ander

Healing Touch

~Prince Mestor

Mestor hadn't hurt this bad in a long while. He tried to console himself. Fighting is son of Poseidon and coming away with only a couple of injuries was probably fortuitous. The raw energy rolling off the tailless skink had warned him, but Zeus had been in mortal danger. He snarled, remembering the bruising around Zeus's throat. Next time, he would be better aware. Nethus would not escape unscathed.

"Should I call and have pain meds delivered," Sohm'lan asked.

Mister snapped his teeth together, cutting off the snarl. "No, I am fine." Which was not quite a lie.

Sohm'lan snorted, his disbelief evident. Taking advantage of the situation, Mestor leaned more heavily against Sohm'lan. His leg was throbbing and the walk from the Oethra 7 only aggravated the wound, but he could have made the lavatory on his own… Maybe.

When they entered, Sohm'lan leaned him against the prep counter. Mestor had removed the jacket but the shirt underneath remained, cut up the side so Mayra could to get to his wound. What remained hung in tatters on his frame.

Warlord Sohm'lan worked on the clasps without meeting Mestor's gaze. He'd been attempting to get Sohm'lan's attention for a little over a year now and had been rebuffed at every turn. His visions warned him time and again that the situation was precarious. Sohm'lan was his Water Father and his superior on the battlefield. Mestor valued Sohm'lan's unwavering friendship, but he yearned for so much more.

Before they had left Atlainticia, Mestor contracted an agency that provided anonymous surrogates. He and Meme had met with the director, and she helped him sift through the egg candidates. Those selected would be set aside under Mestor's name. When he was ready he would initiate the impregnation clause; he and his partner could have as many younglings as they wanted. As per the laws, Mestor would never meet the surrogates, but he'd make sure the females were well compensated.

When he first started pursuing Sohm'lan, Meme was the first to notice his interest. She'd patiently rung all his carefully crafted plans from him. So far, she was the only one he had confided in, who knew he desired Sohm'lan as his mate. She'd warned him the road he'd chosen would be rough. He thought he understood, besides, he had the slight touch of foresight like his father. Surely that would help him to ease his way into Sohm'lan's heart. The last several months taught him how wrong he was.

Mestor winced as he stood, the stitches in his abdomen pulling sharply has he attempted to shrug off the remains of the shirt.

"Remain still," Sohm'lan snapped.

With a gentleness that belied his snarling countenance, Sohm'lan unclasped the sleeves and pulled the shirt down Mestor's arms. When Sohm'lan stopped and stared at the bandages on Mestor's lower torso, he looked down to see a faint red blooming against the stark white of the cloth. Sohm'lan nostrils flared as he inhaled, anger flashing across his countenance.

"You stubborn, reckless fool. You should have told me you pulled a stitch, accepted help from me," he snarled.

Mestor frowned. He'd been injured before and Sohm'lan hadn't acted like this. Warmth flooded him at what Sohm'lan's behavior possibly meant. He hid his grin and plastered on a grimace.

"I am fine," he said, watching every nuance, every emotion that flickered across Sohm'lan's expression. Last night he had wondered if his pursuit of the warlord was a fruitless endeavor, that his visions had lead him astray. But today proved Sohm'lan wasn't as unaffected as he acted. Knowing that, Mestor needed to move carefully, for he was sure one wrong move would push Sohm'lan away forever.

"Stop saying such especially when I know it is not true. You do not have to put on a front for me. I know your battle honor and would never question…" Sohm'lan's gaze moved up Mestor's chest. Many a lover complemented him on his strong physique. His body had been honed over the years by swordplay and combat practice. He held his breath as Sohm'lan looked him over. When the tension became unbearable, he moved to unclasped his pants, resisting the urge to reach for Sohm'lan.

The movement seemed to snap Sohm'lan out of his thoughts. He hissed and knocked Mestor's hands aside and began to work on the belt. At any other time, Mestor's arousal would be evident. To have Sohm'lan run his hands over Mestor's scales was a dream. He wouldn't have been able to keep his arousal hidden, but the pain overruled his body, and for that Mestor was thankful. If an erection had protruded from his sheath, he had no doubts that Sohm'lan would've left him where he stood. As it was, Sohm'lan carefully removed Mestor's pans without a clue to how much Mestor wanted him.

The bandage around his thigh had a larger, darker bloom of red. Sohm'lan's hand trembled when he stroked the white cloth. Mestor was astonished to see Sohm'lan's murderous expression when he spun to the shower and turned it on. Steam immediately clouded the air. When he turned back, he'd drawn his belt knife, but Mestor wasn't afraid. Without a word of warning, he cut away the bandages, his fingertips skirting the edges of the stitched wounds. Mestor's scales tightened at the caress. He wished vehemently Sohm'lan would run his claws all over his scales in a similar way. Well, if he got lucky, he would feel Sohm'lan's mouth on him, even if clinically. Later he would have to thank Azaes for the suggestion. Mestor had been searching for a way to propose the same without causing Sohm'lan to be suspicious. He had realized that any suggestion from him would have caused Sohm'lan to storm off.

Now that he thought about it, he wondered if Azaes had known Mestor was gently pursuing Sohm'lan. Sure, he had confided in Meme, but he'd said nothing to his twin. Azaes was very fond and protective of Sohm'lan. Mestor didn't have a track record for being a serious lover. He had his reasons, but he didn't want to hash them out with Azaes. Now that Azaes had opened this door for Mestor, he was going to use the situation to his advantage.

Instead of placing his hand over Sohm'lan's where it rested against him, Mestor pushed off the prep counter and limped to the shower. That his injured leg had turned stiff as Sohm'lan had undressed him hadn't been apparent until he stepped in the shower in his foot caught on the lip. This stumble wasn't orchestrated like the one in the cabin had been. Mestor flailed, sure he was going to go down hard. He gritted his teeth so he would not cry out in pain.

Suddenly, Sohm'lan was there, his arm wrapped around Mestor's chest, a hand on his hip. Sohm'lan was snarling curse words Mestor had never heard him utter before. He would have taken the time to admire Sohm'lan's inventiveness but the pain in his abdomen and leg had stolen his breath.

Even though Mestor braced his hands on the shower walls, his claws scraping against the natural stone, Sohm'lan didn't release him. He was surrounded by the warlord, understanding for the first time how much larger than him Sohm'lan was. His body was completely enveloped by Sohm'lan larger one. What really pissed him off was that he was too injured to properly enjoy the situation.

"Mestor, I need you to answer me." Sohm'lan's voice was rough, close to his ear and he realized Sohm'lan had been speaking to him for several minutes, but he'd been too caught up in the pain to hear. And yet, he couldn't reply because Sohm'lan had used his name and only his name. No honorific. No title. He paused to savor the sound, to set it in his memory so that he could pull it out when he needed encouragement.

He had to see Sohm'lan's face. Carefully, he turned, the warm water sloughing over his scales, washing away the sour sent he carried back with him from the dream. Sohm'lan's blue eyes bore into him, concern stamped across his features. Mestor wondered if Sohm'lan realized what he'd said.

"We need to get you off your feet." Sohm'lan stepped away, leaving Mestor filling bereft. "The sooner we put Prince Azaes's nonsense idea to bed, the sooner I can get you the proper pain medication."

Just the thought of Sohm'lan putting his mouth on him made Mestor stomach flip with unbridled excitement. That coupled with the sight of Sohm'lan's hard body draped in wet clothing made Mestor's mouth go dry. Material stuck to every curve of Sohm'lan's body and Mestor wanted to peel the layers off. Lust coursed through his veins. Thankfully, the steamy stall cloaked the potency of the pheromones he emitted. Mestor needed to get himself under control before the water was shut off.

He had a lifetime of reading Sohm'lan's expression and the warlord's stern countenance warned of an underlying anger Sohm'lan didn't give voice to. Mestor refused to sabotage himself and give Sohm'lan a reason to leave him before they tried the healing technique from the story. Something in him that had nothing to do with his desire for Sohm'lan hummed excitedly, as if eagerly waiting for Sohm'lan to open a secret door that Mestor could sense but not see. If he made one wrong move or said the wrong thing, he would chase Sohm'lan away and something indescribable would change for the worse.

For as long as Mestor could remember, he took after his father inheriting a touch of clairvoyance, a talent that ran in his family. Many times he'd taken advantage of this knowing, using the foresight given to him to anticipate the next strike in battle or see the underlying machinations of the court nobles. When it came to Sohm'lan Mestor was extra careful, examining each piece of hyper-intuition given to him. There were times he wanted to scoff at the knowing, but he had been taught to pay attention to his instincts. So he was good, keeping his hands to himself as he washed. Desperately, he tried to not think about how Sohm'lan's hands felt against his scales. The slow sensual torture was driving him mad and when Sohm'lan turned off the water, Mestor released a sigh of relief.

Sohm'lan didn't leave the shower. Instead he quickly stripped off his wet uniform, revealing tantalizing brown scales gleaming like polished gems stretched over impressive musculature. Mestor pressed himself back into the corner before his legs gave out. How many times over the last year had he fantasized about what Sohm'lan would look like with all his body bared to Mestor's sight. The fantasy paled in the face of reality. Sohm'lan's movements were economized, quick and businesslike, unaware that Mestor watched every stroke, his eyes devouring every bit of exposed scale until Mestor couldn't take it anymore. If he stayed, he would shove Sohm'lan against the wall and make sure Sohm'lan reached completion by Mestor's touch alone. Again, the knowing rose up, startling Mestor with the intensity of the vision, warning him away from the action. Mestor reacted without thinking and brushed by Sohm'lan, grabbing one of the two robes hanging on the wall next to the shower before he left the lavatory.

A part of him, the horny part screamed as he walked away. There was an arrogant part of him that knew could have Sohm'lan if he pressed hard enough in the right areas, but it would only be for a night. He wanted Sohm'lan for all time, and because of that desire, he listened to his intuition. Keeping his hands to himself was the path to making that happen. So he followed the knowing, moving in a staggering gait from the receiving room to the antechamber to his bedchamber.

By Poseidon's balls, he hurt and, not for the first time, he wondered if Nethus's barbs or claws were poisoned. His wounds were metaphysical as well as physical. He'd been cut up before but it never felt like this, as if his muscles were first numb to all feeling and then twisting with agony. Perhaps the oddness had to do with receiving the injuries while dreaming of the Waters of Poseidon. Whatever the reason Mestor hoped he found some relief soon.

At the thought he shivered, thinking of Sohm'lan between his legs, his mouth on Mestor's scales, tongue flicking out. Making a rough noise, Mestor headed to the small cabinet that held a very select set of libations that he rarely allowed himself to indulge in. He poured two fingers of Blue Ice into a glass for himself. Listening hard for Sohm'lan's progress in the lavatory, he decided to pour a glass for Sohm'lan as well. He tossed back the burning liquid when Sohm'lan entered the room wearing Mestor's spare robe. To see Sohm'lan wearing something that belonged to him lit a fire in Mestor's blood. It didn't seem as if one glass of Blue Ice was helping, so he poured another. Sohm'lan prowled toward him and Mestor was pretty sure Sohm'lan wasn't aware his walk announced he was a predator on the hunt. Poseidon bless him, he needed to behave and not respond to the challenge in Sohm'lan's eyes.

Mestor knocked back the second drink in one long hard swallow and stored the glass before he crossed to the door that led to his sleeping chamber. Behind him, he heard Sohm'lan take the glass Mestor had left for him.

"It will be more comfortable if you lay down," Sohm'lan said from right behind him. Mestor startled, embarrassed that he was caught staring at the black satin of the sleeping platform. It was a good thing Sohm'lan couldn't read his mind.

Suddenly feeling modest, Mestor clutch the rope to him as he crawled to the center of the sleeping platform and turned to face Sohm'lan only to catch his breath when the stitches pulled across his abdomen.

"Stop trying to seduce me, and just lay down," Sohm'lan growled.

"If I was trying to woo you, old man, I would have foregone the robe," Mestor snarled back, surprised when he settled on his back to see Sohm'lan grinning at him.

Suddenly, Mestor wasn't sure if this was such a good idea. Yes, he wanted Sohm'lan to touch him intimately, but the thought of this being the only time Sohm'lan would do so… Mestor wasn't sure he wanted to carry the memory of what he couldn't have.

Before he could protest, Sohm'lan crawled toward him, those brilliant blue eyes unblinking and steady on Mestor as he pushed Mestor's legs apart. Mestor gripped the luxurious cover, panting like a youngling who'd never had anyone else in his bed before. Sohm'lan pushed aside the robe to reveal the puncture that Mayra used four stitches to close up. The scales were unevenly matched and would need to be realigned by a medical professional from home or the scar would hamper his movement.

Without a word, Sohm'lan settled on his stomach between Mestor's thighs and sniffed the injury. Then he tentatively licked around the edge. Mestor held his breath, reveling in the sensation as Sohm'lan grew bolder, more confident in his actions. When Sohm'lan sealed his mouth over the hole, Mestor couldn't believe how scorching hot Sohm'lan's touch was against his skin. The intense heat delved beneath Mestor's scales when Sohm'lan sucked at the wound. Something reared awake in Mestor, like a predator springing from hiding, igniting his core. One by one, Mestor's scales began to burn as if a living flame licked at him. When Sohm'lan finally rose up, Mestor gasped with him as if the both of them had been running for miles. Sohm'lan's blue eyes flared, alight from an internal flame causing them to glow as Sohm'lan moved up Mestor's body, brushing aside the rope ties and parting the cloth to expose all of Mestor.

He couldn't help it, Mestor moaned when Sohm'lan ran his chin over the scales of Mestor's stomach. He licked over the lower part of the wound, the warmth in Mestor's core rose to greet Sohm'lan's burning lips. Sohm'lan growled, attacking the slash with a vigor that was almost sexual, tongue swiping over Mestor scales. Everywhere Sohm'lan touched, Mestor burned, the sensation washing away the pain of the wound, replaced by his arousal. He was erect, his length sliding out of the sheath, his penis brushing against Sohm'lan as it grew.

"Sohm!" Mestor cried out, his hand going to the back of Sohm'lan's head, pressing Sohm'lan's mouth closer to him. Something was happening. He'd been aroused before, but not like this. Never like this.

Sohm'lan snarled against Mestor, his strong hands gripping Mestor's hips. He wanted to writhe under the flames Sohm'lan had brought to life within him. But all he could do was curl over Sohm'lan where he laved the slash across Mestor's abdomen.

Then, to Mestor's astonishment, Sohm'lan began to glow. Not only his eyes but his brown scales lit like each one hid fire beneath. The glow brightening until the light of the room was eclipsed by Sohm'lan's prismatic shining. Sohm'lan's hand slipped up Mestor's chest, claws scraping over his scales as Sohm'lan forced Mestor to uncurl, pushing him flat against the mound of pillows behind him. Mestor was mesmerized as Sohm'lan slowly licked at the wound, rolling his shining blue eyes to look up Mestor's body. That one expression said he more than liked what he saw.

As Sohm'lan laved, he used his claws to tear through the stitches but Mestor wasn't afraid. He trusted Sohm'lan with his life, with his body, so he didn't protest as Sohm'lan undid Mayra's handiwork.
The hand over Mestor's heart grew warmer, almost too hot for Mestor to bear. With the stitches removed, the wound gaped and blood welled up. Sohm'lan locked his mouth over the lower part and sucked. The slight pain didn't deter Mestor's aching erection. It was as if Sohm'lan was trying to draw out poison from the wound. Mestor would have writhed at the blending of pleasure and pain, but Sohm'lan's hand on his upper torso kept him in place.

The room… the air grew too hot and Mestor panted between the moans Sohm'lan's mouth pulled from him. Sohm'lan looked up at Mestor, his gaze full of dark knowledge that made Mestor's cock throb. The hand over Mestor's chest burned into him until he screamed. Sohm'lan's glow filled the room, causing dark shapes to dance on the walls. Inexplicably, Mestor began to shine as well. First, under Sohm'lan's hand, then the light spread over his scales with each pull of Sohm'lan's mouth until Mestor's light joined Sohm'lan's.

Poseidon! What was happening to them? His scales pulled so tight that it almost hurt. The sound of waves crashing against a rocky shore filled his ears. He could taste salty air on his tongue and the smell of Sohm'lan, wholly virile and male, told Mestor that he wasn't the only one needing.

He reached down to wrap his fingers around his erection only for Sohm'lan to knock his hand aside. Mestor whimpered and he closed his eyes against the blinding light spilling from them. When Sohm'lan's fingers wrapped around his length, Mestor's breath left him in a rush. The heat that spilled into him from Sohm'lan seemed to be concentrated under his palm. His touch was almost too hot, threatening to burn the unprotected skin of Mestor's penis. Then Sohm'lan slowly pumped his hand over Mestor's length and he screamed again. It was as if Sohm'lan held a string that was buried in Mestor's core and with each upward glide of Sohm'lan's hand, the cord pulled. The sensation hurt. The pain almost, but not quite, eclipsed the intense pleasure of being stroked. He bowed off the bed when Sohm'lan's teeth sunk into his flesh, then he came. Wave after wave of heat fell over Mestor. He could almost believe he stood in the center of Inferno, Atlainticia's largest volcano.

Mestor cried out again and again, opening his eyes when another voice joined his. The claws of one of Sohm'lan's hand bit into Mestor's hip, while the other held Mestor's pulsing cock, seaman painting both of them. Their combined glow was so bright that Mestor's eyes stung with tears.

Sohm'lan yelled again, as if he were being split asunder. Mestor's ears popped from unseen pressure right as Sohm'lan tore himself away from Mestor. Sohm'lan rolled to his side, his heaving breaths in sync with Mestor's.

"What in hellion was that?" Mestor rasped between gasps. He and Sohm'lan still glowed but were dimming steadily. Mestor blinked several times, the loss of the brilliance leaving behind a blindness, causing the normal light in the room to seem lackluster and dim.

"I would like to know the answer to the question as well." Azaes stood in the doorway to Mestor's bedchamber, wearing only a blue robe and an expression that said he was jealous. "My healing was nothing like that."

Sohm'lan snarled, his sudden rage almost palpable as he rolled off the sleeping platform and stormed past Azaes.

Mestor hissed at his brother, wanting to go after Sohm'lan, terrified he would walk out. Mestor would lose any chance of calling Sohm'lan his. But his body was heavy, as if he lay on the ocean floor. When he didn't hear the door to the main cabin open, he relaxed but only a little. He ached but not in a bad way. When he touched the place where Nethus had sliced him open, he found no wound, not even a raised scar. Glancing down his body, he was surprised. His scales didn't look as if he had been laid open. Instead, he had a bite scar. Mestor remembered Sohm'lan sinking his teeth into him, causing him to come. The mark was a stamp of belonging, of claiming, and Mestor traced the outline with his fingers with a bit of awe and trepidation.

Did Sohm'lan mean to give him the mark? Somehow, he didn't think Sohm'lan was aware of what he'd done. Though the scar brought him great joy, he covered it with his hand when Sohm'lan returned fully dressed and carrying a warm wet cloth and a dry towel. They both ignored Azaes who moved to sit in the chair closest to Mestor's sleeping platform. He took the cloth from Sohm'lan, watching Sohm'lan's expression for some sign that would tell him how Sohm'lan felt about what happened. But he was met with Sohm'lan's blank, professional mask, all his thoughts and feelings hidden away once again.

Mestor didn't know what to do, other than give Sohm'lan an excuse to run. "I'll clean. Azaes can help me. Zeus and Dargon will be arriving soon and we haven't set up first meal yet."

"As you wish, your highness." Sohm'lan turned and left, not seeing the way Mestor grimaced at Sohm'lan's formality. When the door to the cabin swished shut, Mestor let out a breath.

"You want to tell me what happened?" Azaes asked, slouching back in his seat.

"No. Yes. I don't know." Vivid images played over and over in Mestor's mind. He wasn't concerned with how or why they had glowed. No, Mestor only wondered when he could get Sohm'lan in his bed again.


  1. I can't wait for the novella if these men. So good. Thank you!

    1. <3 I'm glad you enjoyed this. I had no idea that writing these two would make this happy. :D

  2. Re reading after the flash fiction of the young Azeas and Mestor. THis is such a intense scene. Beautiful. <3