Thaelen Giving Comfort

The Human Enemy’s Land, Eleven Hundred Years Before

Gera’s fingers worked through the knots in Thaelen’s hair as Thaelen drank from his neck, his body pressed tight to Thaelen’s chest to chest, his knee between Thaelen’s resting against Thaelen’s balls. Thaelen wasn’t a fool, he thought as he dragged his tongue over his blood slave’s skin to heal the wound, Gera’s attempts at seduction were becoming more and more blatant as the weeks passed within the cell and their conditions improved.

They now had two basic pallet beds, a table and two chairs, a chest of clothing, a hip bath which the servants filled once a week, and a wooden, lidded chamber pot which was emptied three times a day. Gera was fed three substantial, often spell laced meals daily, and they were both supplied with wine.

Thaelen’s chains remained in place, but he was given enough slack between Lady Beupraxia’s visits to move around the cell.

Gera had become bored and horny but was not confident enough to ask outright for