The Solstice Play – A Sumeria Sons Ficlit #SumeriasSons

From my family to yours, Happy Holidays!

The Solstice Play – A Sumeria Sons Ficlit

Tristan

With the festive decorations, the Hall of Shamash looked bright and cheerful. Brian shifted nervously in the seat next to me. Here on the balcony, we had the best view of the house, overlooking the dais that normally held the Council of Five's desks. Now it was decorated with cardboard cutouts brightly painted to look like fertile wetlands. Bolts of blue felt covered the floor, representing water.

Under the tutelage of the Goddess Uttu, the children of all the Tribes were being instructed in our ancient history. On this Winter Solstice, a few of the pups were going to act out the Great Flood. Justus and his sisters, Neoma and Dawn, along with their close friends Malek and Ira were participating. They had begged the triplets be allowed to be in the play as well. Ushna was the first one to capitulate, convincing Brian and me that it would be fun.

"You know," I said to Brian as I leaned into him. "You could just go down there and help out like Ushna is." And then Brian would be close enough to the boys that he would stop snarling at everyone. This was supposed to be a carefree night. We were all protective of the pups, but Brian more so than anyone.

Brian slouched down in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. For the moment, we were alone on the balcony and Brian could be himself. He was always guarded and aloof with everyone outside our inner circle. I loved seeing his grumpy-grouch side, but I didn't tease him. The last several months had been full of changes since Marduk and Inanna were defeated and the government confronted. Every time we left the safety of the ranch, Brian switch to hyper-alertness, even when we were in the relative safety of one of the Tri-Cities. We were currently visiting Bahbelle, staying with Ushna's parents for the holidays. I was pleased to see the citizens seemed to be adapting well to the new location at the base of the Rocky Mountains.

Watching the humans look for Bahbelle in the old location in Georgia was… The elbow in my ribs caused me to grunt. "Ouch! Now you need to kiss it and make it better."

Brian straightened a little and leered, then frowned. "Don't distract me from chastising you."

"All I was doing was sitting here," I scoffed.

"You had that look on your face." He pointed at my mouth, like that would explain the jab he gave me.

I pulled at my cheeks. "Sorry," I said sarcastically. "I don't think it's going anywhere."

He elbowed me again. "Don't be a smart-aleck."

"Hey, it's my best character trait," I defended.

He glanced at my groin. "Not in my opinion." Brian frowned again. "Stop doing that. Now I can't remember what I was originally going to say."

I grinned, feeling accomplished. I slouched in the seat and widened my legs. "I know exactly what you can do while you try to remember."

Below on the stage, Usha appeared at the wings and crossed to the middle. He planted his fists on his hips and looked up at us. "We can hear you."

Brian turned bright red. Not the lightly pink cheeks of sweet embarrassment. Nope. His whole head and neck turned fire engine red. I pulled at the collar of his shirt to see how far the color went and he slapped my hand away, muttering, "Asshole," under his breath.

"I just thought you would want to know before you went from PG talking to bow-chica-wow-wow with innocent ears around." Ushna grinned. "We are ready. If you have no objections, I'll tell security to allow people in."

After I nodded, Ushna walked off stage. He was wearing my favorite pair of wranglers. Brian and I groaned in unison. Ushna threw a flirty smile over his shoulder before disappearing behind the curtain.

Brian leaned forward, and I watched him count the number of warriors on the ground floor. "The boys should have at least four guards on each of them. We think we routed out all the members of the Servants of the Glorious One, but some nefarious organizations are like cockroaches. You think you got them all—"

I cut him off. "There are a dozen guards down there. More out in the reception hall and on the grounds. All the children are perfectly safe."

There were also various warriors, in civilian cloths, drifting through the crowds. I took every precaution so the pups could have some fun.

"Are you sure you don't want to go down there?"

Brian let out a long breath. "I'll stay, for now."

I smiled and gripped his thigh. The balcony started filling with family and friends. Neesie sat next to me with Lonnie on her other side. Stan and Theo, hood pulled up over Theo's scarred face, took the seats next to Brian. I was glad Stan convinced Theo to come to the play. He rarely left Sanctuary.

Down below, the civilians entered the auditorium and claimed seats. I was excited. Such performances had fallen out of practice when the last of the Lycan kings died. Finding information on the different celebrations had taken the elder of the King's Library a little time to find. The pups chose the Great Flood for Solstice to celebrate new beginnings, which was wholly appropriate considering the changes that had taken place this past year.

Once the seats were filled, Dawn stepped onto the stage, looking enchanting in a diaphanous dress of sparkling white with matching butterfly wings. With graceful poise she waited for the crowd to hush before bringing the microphone to her mouth and introducing herself as the narrator of the play.

Out of the corner of my eye, Theo leaned forward, his concealing hood slipping down as he watched Dawn with evident pride.

"And it came to pass that Enlil, King of the Gods, became upset that humans were overpopulating the Earth. He called a meeting of his brothers and sisters."

On stage, four kids walked to the center. Ira was dressed as Enlil with long flowing robes, a beard that was tucked into his belt, and a set of wings. Malek was the Sky God, Anu. A few people snickered at his white wig, the hair sticking out like he'd been electrocuted and a blue-belted robed that ended at the knee. Neoma was the Goddess Ki. She refused to wear a skirt, saying that it would be ridiculous to fight in. Instead, she wore white pants and a turtleneck sweater with matching knee-high boots. At her belt hung a cudgel and atop her head a crown of ram's horns.

Brian growled under his breath and sat straighter. Atar was dressed in a Halloween lion onesie. A puppy chest harness connected him to the leash that Neoma held. She patiently walked slowly so that Brian could keep up with her as she joined the other gods on the stage.

"You agreed to that?" Brian whispered harshly. He didn't look at me, not really needing me to answer the question.

I chuckled under my breath. He had no idea what would be coming. I was going to have a ball watching this play unfold.

Justus was the last to jump on stage and the laughter in the room grew. He wore a huge black wig with long curly hair and a loincloth. That was it. I stifled a laugh and I heard Theo cough. Someone had went to town on Justus with a bottle of self-tanner and some kind of sparkly bronzer. He was mottled brown and orange,  not by design. Justus stopped next to Neoma and posed. His wig dipped into his eyes and he quickly pushed it back into place while retaining his stance.

Theo's cough turned into a choke, Stan slapping him on the back a couple of times. "Is he wearing anything under the loincloth," Theo wheezed.

"Goddess, I hope so," Stan replied.

I wiped my eyes, laughing as silently as I could. I didn't think he did.

The door to the balcony opened and I turned to see Cory letting in Randy and surprisingly—or perhaps not—the Goddess Ereshkigal. For some reason, she had taken a liking to Justus and often visited at odd times of the day or evening.

Down below, the God Enlil was upset about there being so many humans, filling up the world, making all manner of noise, and creating chaos. He sent drought and famine and there were still too many. "I have decided, there will be a flood to wash away all this trash!"

"Sounds like Enlil," Ereshkigal commented, sitting somewhere behind me. "I always thought he was a blind fool."

The argument raged among the gods and goddess. Atar was sitting on his butt his gaze hopping from one person to another, his eyes wide.

"Enough!" Enlil exclaimed, hands raised in the air." I have made up my mind and you are all sworn to secrecy."

Anu and Ki held onto Enki's arms as he lunged as if to attack Enlil. He snarled, "You cannot kill the life that all of the gods have helped to create. Life is precious in every form!"

Without warning, Atar the lion cub lunged and attacked Enlil with a might roar. My brows climbed my forehead and Brian's mouth was formed in a large, round O. Behind me, Ereshkigal gave a rusty laugh. "Oh, I wish that had really happened. Get him, little lion. Bite him hard!"

Enlil stumbled and fell on his butt, Atar pulling on the end of Enlil's robe while Ki tugged on Atar's leash, bent over laughing. Enlil didn't break character, raising his fist and promising retribution which earned him a bite on the ankle.

The auditorium was filled with the crowd's amusement. Enki picked up the lion cub and tucked him under his arm. "You haven't heard the last of me, Enlil!" Enki exclaimed, exiting the stage.

When I glanced at Brian his earlier indignation was replaced by pride. Stan wondered aloud how long it would take for the self-tanner to wear off. Below, the stage was being reset with a new scene. A cardboard house was erected with a back drop of a city.

Dawn stepped back onto stage. "The hero of this tale is a gudug priest who is sometimes called Zi-ud-sura or Atra-hasis. But the descendants of Enkidu and Gilgamesh know him best as Utnapishtim, the ancestor of Gilgamesh. Chieftain and priest, Utnapishtim was at the river when he heard a whisper in the reeds."

Ushna was briefly visible as he escorted Ramsey onto the stage. He wore a brown onesie that had tall reeds glued to the fabric. Ushna sat him on the floor next to the blue felt river. Utnapishtim came out of the cardboard house wearing a brown belted-tunic that went to his knees. He crossed to sit next to Ramsey, dipping his fishing pole in the water. Poor Ramsey was staring at the crowd with huge eyes. He grabbed his feet and rocked, making the reeds swish, drawing his attention to the bushy ends over his head.

Enki crawled onto the stage, holding the front of the loincloth against his groin.  

"Oh, dear Goddess," Theo groaned.

Stopping on the other side of Ramsey, Enki lay on the stage and told Utnapishtim that a great storm was coming. "Remove your house and build a boat." Ramsey squealed and waved at Enki. "You will gather your wife, family, relatives, the craftsmen—"

"And craftswomen," Neoma whispered, close enough to a microphone so we all heard her.

When Enki didn't respond to Ramsey's wave he grabbed Enki's hair.

Enki grabbed his wig before it was pulled completely off his head. "And craftswomen." He finally got Ramsey to let his hair go. "And baby animals and grains."

On the other side of the stage at the house, little Brian in a pink bunny costume peeked his head out the door and looked around with a devilish grin. A couple of months ago, the triplets had turned one year old. They were walking, though their balance was precarious. The bunny toddled on two legs then dropped and crawled like a bullet toward the reeds right as Enki was wrapping up with Utnapishtim. The bunny jumped onto the reeds and the reeds gave a high-pitched scream that made everyone laugh.

"Is there anyone watching the boys at all?" Brian snarled. 

I shouldn't have to remind him that the triplets were escape artists. I would almost bet that Atar did something really cute to draw all attention to him so that his brother could get away from their caregivers. It was a popular tactic they employed, and I was surprised that there were still people who fell for the maneuver.

The rabbit rolled in the reeds until Utnapishtim grabbed the bunny and then turned and ran back to the house when the reeds snarled and attempted to follow. Enki quickly picked up Ramsey and passed him off to Ushna.

Dawn returned to the stage as kids swarmed the set. The house and village were removed, replaced with a large boat.

"And then the storm came," Dawn said as the lights lowered. Neesie startled when a rumble of thunder came and the lights flashed. "You could say it was the storm of the century. Even the gods and goddesses were terrified and fled to Dilmun." Behind her a group of gods ran across the stage huddled together, leaving a trail of colorful feathers shed by their costumes. "Utnapishtim had readied everything as he'd been counseled." Kids dressed as villagers hurried from the curtains to the door of the boat.

In the midst of the group acting out the flood, the lion Atar charged out the boat's door and then crawled as quickly as he could toward Dawn. Behind him, another lion—someone had redressed Ramsey—followed. Dawn covered the microphone. "Atar. Ramsey. Go back. You're supposed to be fleeing the storm."

A high-pitched squeal sounded before little Brian in the pinky bunny costume and wearing Ki's ram's horn crown chased the lions.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, the first sighting of a jackalope was witnessed in 5000 BCE," Dawn deadpanned as the rabbit snarled and tackled the slower lion.

I was laughing so hard, I didn't have the air to call Brian's name as he hopped over his hair and rushed out of the balcony, Neesie following behind.

"I have never heard of this jackalope, Randy. Is there one on the ranch that I can see?" Ereshkigal said from behind me.

I couldn't help it. I laughed until I cried.

After the play finished and we met obligations at the reception, Ushna, Brian, and I met everyone at Ushna's parents house. When I walked in Theo and Stan were talking to Justus about his loincloth.

"Why didn't you wear anything underneath?" Theo questioned.

Justus sounded incredulous. "It's called method acting, Dad. I needed to be authentic to the time period. I interviewed Enki very carefully. He said people didn't wear anything under the loincloth."

"Here, let us put them to bed," Ushna's mother, Donya, said reaching for Atar. The pups had fallen asleep almost as soon as we climbed into the car.

Behind me Ushna handed little Brian over to his father, Hami. Brian followed them out of the room with Ramsey, whispering he'd be back, which I doubted. He wouldn't leave them for another half hour and with as tired as we all were, Brian would fall asleep watching over the boys.

Taking Ushna's hand, we followed the voices to Donya's kitchen. Justus still wore his costume and wig. The orange of the self-tanner was hideously bright under the florescent lights. The kids grinned up at me. Donya had food trays out on the table and counters. My stomach rumbled.

"Who helped you with the…" Stan made a motion that meant he was talking about Justus's skin.

"Uncle Tristan," Justus, Neoma, and Dawn said at once. I stuffed a roll of salami into my mouth and grinned.

"Method acting," was all I said when they turned their horrified gaze to me. I grinned wider. Playing and planning with the kids had been the best stress reliever, while giving everyone a solstice they wouldn't soon forget. I couldn't wait to see the video of what went on backstage. 

Thank you for stopping by and reading!!

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?

Enjoy!

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.

Flash Fiction: The Wrong Story #ValespianPact

This series of flash fiction/ficlits surrounds the mounting tension between Prince Mestor and Warlord Sohm'lan and this takes place during Striker. If you haven't read the first part, Unwanted Attention, you can find it HERE.

For those who haven't read Alpha Trine and Striker, you could read these but I didn't go into detail about the people or the situation on board The Gorgon. So there is a chance that you'll be lost since it relies heavily that the reader already knows the main stories.

This is unedited and copyright by me. Enjoy!

The Wrong Story

On his way to the Oethra 7, Sohm'lan calmed enough to remember that no Mar'Sani had ever been injured in Atlainticia's seas, especially in the dream. Perhaps the injuries were merely bruises and such. He had convinced himself of exactly that… then the lift doors opened to the corridor outside of Captain Dargon Kal-Turak's cabin. The bitter scent of Prince Azaes and Prince Mestor's anger coupled with the fact that Prince Zeus was bleeding caused alarm and fear to grip Sohm'lan's heart. 

Prince Zeus barred the door against the aggravated Elite Honor Guard. The meager hope the situation wasn't as bad as he first thought staggered Sohm'lan with the first whiff of not only Prince Zeus's blood but that of the twins. He rudely pushed Mayra and Athena out of the way to reach Prince Zeus in time to catch him when he fainted. Not that Sohm'lan cared if he offended them. One simply did not allow a person of the royal house to fall. That was a lesson impressed upon him by his father and a tenement that served him well over the years. Becoming a warlord had not been easy. Putting the royal family before himself had been his way of life even before Niobe passed into the fade.

"Monticore!" Sohm'lan's commanding voice caused the honor guard to come to attention. "Two clear the room."

He rose to his feet gently cradling Prince Zeus to him, unconcerned with the prince's nudity. No, what made his blood run cold was the fact that Prince Azaes and Prince Mestor lay in crumpled heaps upon the cabin floor.

"The lavatory's door won't engage," one of the Monticore reported. "When we first arrived, Captain Kal-Turak opened the door for the princes, but now he is not present. He may be stuck in the laboratory." The Monticore glanced at Prince Zeus and then his brothers, their suspicion plain to see.

"Prince Zeus did not say the captain had a hand in their condition." Sohm'lan waited for the guards to agree. "Then until evidence presents otherwise the captain is innocent. Find a way to free him from the laboratory."

Not being able to immediately rush to Prince Mestor's side caused an unsettling disquiet to take up residence in Sohm'lan's gut. He was taken aback by the unbidden emotion and forced himself to focus on the situation at hand. Once the Monticore deemed the room clear, Sohm'lan pointed to Prince Azaes, commanding two to move the prince to one side of the sleeping platform. Still holding Prince Zeus, he placed him in the middle next to Prince Azaes, then finally — finally — he turned to Prince Mestor. He tamped down on the hiss-click of warning when a guard turned to help him lift Prince Mestor. He couldn't allow anything, not even his emotions, to interfere with the care of his Water Sons.

Stepping back, he watched Mayra and Athena as they carefully administered one treatment after another that failed to heal the wounds the three had. He turned his back sharply to the sleeping platform when the medic withdrew a needle and thread. He was sure he would lose his mind if he watched her pierce their — his — skin with the sharp implement. Instead, he busied himself with the Monticore until Prince Zeus exploded awake, swinging across the room to land before the lavatory. The Monticore had finished cutting through the metal and was ready to open up the attached room.

Once Prince Zeus had been placated, Sohm'lan moved back to the platform were Prince Azaes and Prince Mestor lay awake and alert. Prince Azaes held out his hand and Sohm'lan helped him to sit up, following the conversation with one ear as he turned to Prince Mestor.

Prince Mestor's uniform shirt had been cut down the side so Mayra could access the slice along Prince Mestor's abdomen. The wound was worrisome. If it had been much deeper, Prince Mestor would have been gutted. The pant leg had been cut all the way to the groin, revealing a puncture to the muscle of the upper thigh that missed a major artery by a hair's width. Both wounds had been stitched and bandaged.

A hot rage coursed through Sohm'lan at the thought that his Water Sons had come away from what should have been a safe place, wounded. Other than the battle fought on The Gorgon against the would-be pirates, he couldn't remember the last time any of the three had been physically injured in a fight beyond bruising. Prince Mestor, especially. He was more hotheaded than Prince Azaes or Prince Zeus but instead of that being a liability, Prince Mestor channeled his temper and became one of the more ruthless fighters Sohm'lan had ever trained. Whatever attacked them had to be powerful indeed. When he discovered who dared touch Prince Mestor, Sohm'lan would conduct a hunt, and there would be a reckoning unlike anything the being had ever experienced.

"Come," Prince Azaes motioned to Sohm'lan. He had missed the exchange between Prince Zeus and his brothers and Sohm'lan swallowed back his embarrassment, abashed by his inattentiveness.

"I am hungry but we need to shower before first meal," Prince Mestor mumbled as he limped along next to his brother.

Sohm'lan signaled for four of the eight Monticore to lead the way while he remained one step behind the twins. He did not offer them help. Any suggestion they were impaired would be met with demands for a physical challenge in the wrestling ring. But he watched them notheless, ready to come to their aid if one or both of them fell. The scent of their blood clung to Sohm'lan's nostrils and he thought he would have to shower as well to rid himself of the odor.

"It is peculiar that our advanced medical devices cannot heal the wounds." Prince Azaes mused aloud as if he did not expect anyone to answer.

"I've been thinking about that," Sohm'lan said hesitantly. When Prince Azaes merely looked at him questioningly, he went on. "There is a story my father tells about the first Mar'Sani who set foot on land, following Pegasus the Explorer."

"I have never heard of it." Prince Mestor replied limping stiffly down Oethra 7's ramp to the docking bay of The Gorgon.

Sohm'lan didn't really believe the story would help them but it would distract Prince Azaes and Prince Mestor from the pain. They had a long way to go and with how slowly the two walked, the trek would become more painful, unless their minds were on something else.

"It's a very old story originally written in the ancient tongue. Father translated a copy when he was apprenticing with the famous Bard Stahan Tan."

"Ah! I have heard of Bard Stahan. Father has spoken of him. Do you remember?" Prince Azaes swatted Prince Mestor on the arm.

"I do." Prince Mestor glanced at Sohm'lan out of the corner of his eye.

It was then Sohm'lan realized he walked between the twins, instead of his customary place behind them. Without him realizing it, they had dropped back which was wildly inappropriate. They were far above his station but he could not bring himself to chastise them.

"Father also said your father, Bard Echo, had surpassed Bard Stahan long before Bard Stahan signed off on the completion of your father's training."

"I believe Meme had something to do with that." Prince Mestor chuckled, his shoulder casually brushing against Sohm'lan, causing Sohm'lan's scales to tighten.

"She could never stand for those who took advantage of others. I was present when she had Bard Stahan summoned. She was not in a forgiving mood when Bard Stahan last performed for the palace."

"The next day it was announced that Bard Echo had received his master's endorsement." Prince Mestor brushed against Sohm'lan again, this time catching Sohm'lan's gaze. "I have never heard of better Bard as your father."

Heat flared to life in Sohm'lan's stomach at the complement. His family had very humble origins. When Sohm'lan was a youngling, he had vowed he would do everything he could to better his family's circumstances, working diligently to be one of the best warlords on Atlainticia. There were few ways to gain status among the Mar'Sani. Growing up on the streets of Thrace, he'd learned to use his aggression to protect what was his. It was his only worthwhile asset and he put it to use to become Atlainticia's best soldier, and later a royal warlord of unsurpassed skill. For some time, all his extra credits were funneled back to his family. His baby sister married a wealthy merchant, a male of worth that Sohm'lan had thoroughly researched. He then scared the fear of Poseidon into when the male when he requested his sister's hand as his mate.

Sohm'lan's parents changed occupations as people with status did every forty to fifty years. That was when Sohm'lan's father threw himself into his secret passion, apprenticing to become a bard. Now his parents' status had increased through their own endeavors and Sohm'lan could not be more proud.

"What is this story you mentioned?" Prince Azaes asked, drawing him out of his thoughts and Sohm'lan switched his tail to hide his embarrassment.

"My apologies. The story was about the Numina, in the time before the Mar'Sani followed Pegasus to leave the Waters of Poseidon. The Numina would sometimes fight in a section of the ocean above a circle of standing stones. It was believed the stones could sense who was in the right and would sap energy from the one in the wrong. The fighters would be hauled to the shoreline by their family pods and there they would tend the wounds."

"That is an interesting story and I would be interested to find out if it is history or merely a story, but I do not see a correlation between that and our wounds," Prince Mestor said.

The lift doors opened and everyone entered, Prince Azaes and Prince Mestor still kept Sohm'lan between them. Sohm'lan was very aware Prince Mestor hadn't taken his eyes off him. In turn, he directed his attention to Prince Azaes.

"The story mentioned the wounds couldn't be healed by conventional means because the stone's energies interfered with their technology. They resorted to one of their ancient remedies." Sohm'lan opened his mouth to tell them what it was and he faltered, assailed by images of him on the beach and Prince Mestor lying next to him, wounded.

"What did they do?" Prince Mestor prompted.

When Sohm'lan met his gaze, he couldn't look away. Suddenly his throat was parched and the lift was too hot.

"Sohm'lan?" Prince Azaes encouraged.

"Their saliva had special properties. Their pod would take turns licking the wounds until the person was healed," he said in a rush.

Prince Mestor's eyes widened and a sexy smirk twisted his lips. "Huh."

The lift doors opened, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Sohm'lan was relieved this floor only housed the royal family. He'd soon be able to retreat to his quarters where he could… he could… Poseidon help him, his clothes were too tight.

"I think we should try it," Prince Azaes said into the silence.

"What?" Sohm'lan exclaimed.

"Yes!" Prince Mestor hissed before coughing into his fist. Prince Azaes turned to stared his brother, a suspicious glint in his sunrise-yellow eyes. "I mean," Prince Mestor stammered. "We are still children of Poseidon and though we do not live in the Waters we should have the same abilities."

Sohm'lan thought for sure Prince Azaes was going to call Prince Mestor out on the utter skink shit he just spewed, but was disappointed when Prince Azaes only nodded his head. "My thoughts exactly. Our family have lost two people to the Waters. Our bloodline must have a strong connection to the Numina."

Sohm'lan threw up his hands, an uncharacteristic gesture for him, with the Monticore watching nonetheless. "It is a story that only has similarities in regards to the injuries. The Numina were some of the first children of Poseidon. They were fabled to have abilities we are simply not capable of. They could cross any open waters in the galaxy without the aid of a starship. The strongest of them could move whole armies from the Waters of Poseidon to another planet's ocean. They had the ability use the siren's song, heal others with saliva, obviously, and some had the gift of foresight."

Instead of dissuading them, it seemed they became more convinced with his every word. What were they thinking?

"It could not hurt to try. Perhaps the Monticore would volunteer." Prince Mestor's glowing smile caused alarm bells to go off and Sohm'lan scowled at the surrounding Monticore who nodded in agreement. The thought of one of them putting their mouth on Prince Mestor's upper thigh caused his jaw to clinch as he flexed his claws.

"If it works, then we have an emergency medical procedure for our people if they don't have immediate access to medics." Prince Azaes glanced at the guards who were agreeing.

"Sohm'lan you tend to Mestor and I'll take one of the volunteers," Prince Azaes said as his cabin door swished open.

Sohm'lan's heart sped up and he was barely able to hide his alarm. "Wait. You cannot be serious," he argued. "It was just a story."

Prince Mestor continue down the corridor moving faster than he had when they first left Captain Kal-Turak's quarters.

"Was it?" Prince Azaes countered as one of the guards slipped into his room. "It won't hurt to find out. You'd better catch up to him." Prince Azaes pointed to where Prince Mestor entered the security code for his rooms.

Sohm'lan didn't want to catch up. He didn't think this was a good idea at all, but it would look suspicious if he backed out or shamed Prince Mestor by ordering another Monticore to take his place.

Three guards arrange themselves outside of Prince Azaes's door and the other four beat Sohm'lan to Prince Mestor's cabin. Prince Mestor stood in the doorway, watching Sohm'lan. The look of eager anticipation on his face made Sohm'lan's scales pull tight. He could have sworn he heard a death knell sounding when he crossed the threshold.

Concentrating too hard on trying to find an excuse not to attend Prince Mestor, Sohm'lan startled when Prince Mestor suddenly nuzzled the back of his neck on the right side of his small spinal ridge. "First, I need your help to shower."

He spun around to tell Prince Mestor absolutely not… only to be confronted with Prince Mestor holding the bandages over his abdomen, the pinched expression saying Prince Mestor was in pain but he would deny it if asked. Though Sohm'lan was proud when his Water Sons pushed through the pain and agony, something about the prince's condition brought out the protector and him. He vowed again he would make the individual rue the day they touched what belonged to him.

Biting back the angry snarl caused by his last thought, Sohm'lan spun on his heel and headed to the lavatory. "I will ready the shower," he barked back over his shoulder, needing a moment to himself.

Prince Mestor was his Water Son to groom and protect, but he was afraid of the depth of this sudden bevy of emotions. He'd loved Prince Mestor since the day the Empress Ashari had laid the youngling in his arms. But this sudden need… He looked down at his trembling fingers hardly recognizing them because he wanted to lay his hands on Mestor, and not in a Water Father way either.

"Niobi, please forgive me," Sohm'lan whispered as he shrugged off his uniform jacket, determined to do his duty while keeping an emotional distance from Prince Mestor.

Not once since her death had he thought about another with any kind of longing. He'd been content to be alone, but this last year, with Prince Mestor stalking him like a lizard on the hunt, Sohm'lan found himself wanting more and feeling guilty for the unwanted need.

There were widows who found other mates. Mar'Sani lived three hundred years on average and losing a mate when young, well, a couple hundred years alone was too much for most. But there were a few who did not find another mate, choosing to go through life living a solitary existence. He had believed he would be one of those individuals. Then Prince Mestor made him question what he thought he knew about himself, what he believed his future would hold.

Hissing in frustration, Sohm'lan switch the controls of the shower from sonic to water. He didn't know if the cleansing gel would aggravate Prince Mestor's wounds, thinking water would be best. He typed in the temperature and set the device to preheat before he returned to the main cabin to find Prince Mestor accepting a uniform from the guards in the corridor. How long had he been in the lavatory, distracted by his inner turmoil? Wait. Was that one of his?

When Prince Mestor turned, seeing Sohm'lan staring at him, he grinned almost sheepishly.

"There is no reason for you to return to your cabin when you could easily change here."

"Nothing is wrong with the uniform I am wearing now." Sohm'lan snapped, frowning suspiciously at Prince Mestor.

The prince draped the uniform over the armor stand. "It's just a precaution." Why did Sohm'lan think Prince Mestor was blowing hot air at him?

"Come, the water will be warm by now." He did not move towards Prince Mestor, curling his hands into fists as Prince Mestor slowly shrugged off his uniform jacket. When the foot of Prince Mestor's injured leg dragged, causing him to hiss and stumble, Sohm'lan shot forward and caught him before he fell. Prince Mestor released a heavy sigh and leaned into Sohm'lan.

He pressed his nose against Prince Mestor's temple and inhaled. "Let's get you in the water."

Thank you for stopping by and reading!!