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Against All Odds	By : RotSeele Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 1617 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft. I do not make any money from this story. The characters contained herein do not belong to me. A request for WindrunnerProductions.

Chapter List
- 1-Against All Odds
- 1
It was dark and gloomy. It looked like rain. Sparradrap took a deep breath and smelled smoke, blood, and earth (wet dog, but he wasn’t going to open that can of worms) and salt water. The holy priest gazed out at the lowlands and fought to keep from running his fingers through his short, swept black hair. His blue eyes, clear as crystal, swept from the haze beyond to the lighthouse below. The coast of Gilneas. A battle for Gilneas. A battleground that was a constant on-going thing between the Horde and Alliance. The human priest gave in to the urge and rubbed the back of his hand against a clean-shaven cheek, then turned to look behind him.
He fought not to blush like a schoolgirl.
Sitting behind him, honing the edge of his blade with a whetstone, was a man who could make panties spontaneously combust with nary a glance. But he was oblivious of that. Spar was confident of that fact because the fury warrior didn’t even notice Spar’s own reactions to him.
Gilnean but not worgen, Filex struck a powerful image. His hair was swept up in a tail much akin to King Varian’s but was a chestnut brown. His eyes were vivid green, always sparkling - unless one mentioned the Forsaken in front of him, and then he turned from happy-go-lucky to a seriously scary bastard. The same thing happened if you even started a word with ‘Gil’ in it. It took quite a bit of time for Spar to calm Filex down and usually the preferred method of calming was to enter the constant push and pull of war between Alliance and Horde in battlegrounds.
Spar smiled as he remembered the first time he’d met Filex. It had been right after Gilneas fell and the worgen had been given a new home in the Howling Oak in Darnassus. Filex, accompanied by his brother who had been affected by the worgen curse, had decided to make their home in Stormwind instead. And that was where Filex and Spar had met. Well, more accurately, in Stormwind’s auction house. The two had engaged in a bidding war for some item Spar couldn’t even remember now. Spar had won, and when he’d gone to collect his item, there was Filex, looking fierce and ready to rip Spar’s head from his shoulders.
Before Filex could even open his mouth to begin a verbal tirade, Spar calmly met his gaze and said, “One step closer and I’ll smite you so hard, your head and ass will switch places.”
Filex had stopped. Grinned. And they had become best friends, and were still.
“Keep staring like that and your eyes will dry out.”
Spar jumped at the sound of Filex’s voice and a crimson stain spread across his cheeks before he could stop it. “Well, maybe if you were doing something more interesting, I wouldn’t be staring.”
Filex snorted. Spar closed his eyes. Idiot. Fool. Sparradrap cursed himself. It took some time for him to get his emotions under control. Not that it was easy to do with the warrior standing right next to him now. It was a struggle for Spar to keep from blushing on the best of days when Filex was with him. He loved the warrior with everything in him, but he couldn’t tell Filex. Not without ruining what they had already, and their friendship was too valuable to Spar to lose because an inadvertent slip of the tongue made Filex look at him in disgust. Better to pretend nothing was different and keep Filex a friend than tell him the truth and lose him forever.
Filex, thank the Light, seemed not to notice Spar’s inner turmoil. Instead, the warrior was looking out at the soon-to-be battleground below, shielding his eyes from what little dreary sunlight there was. His eyes held a look of pain and determination; this was his home, and he would defend it to his last breath. “So we’ll take the lighthouse first, and then the beach-head.”
“No,” said Spar. “Lighthouse, then Water Works. Most of the Horde stays at the beach.”
“With you as my healer, that won’t matter.”
A little flutter of pleasure that made his body warm in ways that made Spar glad he was wearing a heavy cloth robe. “We’re going to the Water Works, moron. Then we can go to the beach if you really want to give me a heart attack.”
Filex laughed and slung an arm around Spar’s shoulder, oblivious or ignoring the way the priest tensed as he was pulled close. “If you died, who’d heal me?”
“If you died, who’d protect me? Stick to the plan, dumbass.”
Filex laughed again. “Fine, fine, whatever you want, angel-cakes. I’ll follow your lead like a good little warrior.”
Spar rolled his eyes. “Idiot.”
“Yup.”
“You’re not supposed to agree.”
“Agree with what?”
Spar sighed deeply. “Never mind.”
Filex grinned. Spar avoided looking right at the warrior’s face, because if he did, he’d either smack his friend or kiss him or both. Spar bit the inside of his cheek and drove the thought from his mind before his cheeks became too red.
A horn sounded, the call to battle. Filex was quick to mount his horse and pulled Sparradrap up behind him. Spar wrapped his arms as best as he could around Filex’s waist - which wasn’t as easy as one would think because of the plate armor - and then glowered daggers at the back of the Gilnean’s head when Filex crowed, “Hold on tight, princess!”
Then they were off, the Alliance squad racing down the hill toward the lighthouse. Some of the team split early and began the madcap dash to the Water Works, just as their perennial enemy, the Horde, was doing. It wasn’t long before the sounds of battle reached them; Spar could hear the cries of men and women as the Alliance and Horde clashed - and then the cries were much closer as a small group of Horde crested the hill that lead to the beach and raced down toward the lighthouse.
Filex was immediately off his horse with Spar not far behind. The human warrior was quick to meet his first enemy - a goblin hunter - with a vicious bladestorm. The hunter squealed as her world suddenly became dark with whirling blades and try as she might, her arrows did nothing to stop Filex’s advance. Her pet - a scorpid - charged Filex, but Spar managed to deter it by smacking it with a smite spell. It was enough for Filex to finish with the hunter and drive his blade down through the scorpid’s carapace. The goblin was a bloody smear on the ground, struggling to move, but Filex quickly ended her with a piercing blow to the back of her neck.
He leaped backwards, avoiding a blood elf warrior’s charge and engaging him with enough savagery that the blood elf quickly regretted choosing Filex as his target. The blood elf was quickly dispatched and Filex moved to flank Spar to protect the priest from the orc warlock trying to chaos bolt the man down. Spar was holding his own well enough, but the priest had few offensive spells; eventually the warlock would’ve overwhelmed him. However, Sparradrap had Filex, and the warlock only had a Shivarra who was currently mesmerizing a draenei shaman. The warlock didn’t last long under Filex’s assault.
And the lighthouse belonged to the Alliance.
Filex turned, panting, to Spar. The priest has a small slice on his right cheek that was lightly bleeding, but other than that, he was unharmed. Filex let out a silent breath of relief. A whistle brough his horse and he mounted quickly. He offered his hand to Spar. “Mi’lady.”
Spar’s eyes narrowed as he took Filex’s hand. “Call me that again, and I’ll forget I’m supposed to heal you.”
Filex laughed and hauled Spar up behind him. “As you wish.”
“I mean it.”
“Sure you do.”
Spar’s cheeks colored and he was grateful Filex couldn’t see him. “I really do.”
“You mean it as much as Wildhammer dwarves like to stay on the ground.”
Ass. Spar didn’t say it, but he was sure Filex knew he was thinking it, and that the warrior was grinning like a fool.
They raced from the lighthouse to the Water Works. A fierce battle raged there between the Alliance and the Horde, each side vying with one another for control of the area. Spar dismounted first this time to keep enough distance between the Horde and himself, and Filex launched himself into the fray without hesitation. His blade flashed in the grey light, his blade glinting with crimson blood as he swung. Any injury he received Spar was quick to heal and soon that fact was noticed. Spar felt the back of his neck tingle and ducked on instinct. He felt the rush of wind pass over his head and scrambled out of the way as the orc warrior - an orc warrior in full arena gear, and accompanied by a frost mage in an equal amount of gear - came in quickly, his twin blades flashing rapidly as he tried to kill the priest. Spar gasped as he tripped over something and fell hard on his back. His gorge rose as he realized the something he’d tripped over was a severed arm, but he had no time to be sick. He scrambled backwards as fast as he could, trying to put as much distance between him, the orc warrior, and the mage as he could.
“Filex!”
Nothing.
“Filex!”
The orc warrior vanished from sight as the tide of battle separated him from Spar. Spar managed to get to his feet and hurried to hide himself in a clump of Alliance fighters, healing them as he looked around for Filex. He couldn’t see his friend, couldn’t spot that tell-tale ponytail amid the fighters here. Spar’s heart leapt into his throat and his blood roared in his ears. He wanted to leave, to go look for Filex, but then the orc warrior and his frost mage friend joined battle with the group Spar was with, and he had no choice but to stay heal them.
Be careful, Filex. Please be careful. And come back to me in one piece. Please, come back to me!
******
Whether it was the heat of battle or simply the flow of bodies, Filex lost sight of Spar and caught sight of a small group of Horde breaking from the battle at Water Works and making for the lighthouse. Cursing, and trusting Sparradrap to be right behind him, Filex broke from the Water Works battle and made a mad dash for the lighthouse. He barely made it in time to help the two Alliance defenders there make an effort to try and keep the lighthouse under Alliance control. The draenei shaman and night elf druid took their cue from Filex in who to attack, but it was three versus four, soon five, as the Horde attackers gained aid in the form of an arena-geared blood elf frost mage. As fast as the shaman could attack, and as fast as the druid could heal, the mage was faster.
Filex managed to kill one of the Horde healers - a troll monk - but gained a shallow wound in his side for his effort. It had been worse upon the initial blow, but the druid had been rolling healing spells on him. She’d gone down seconds before the wound had healed completely. The Gilnean and the draenei fought hard, but the four remaining Horde were tenacious. Filex killed two more Horde, earning a deep rent in his chestplate as the blood elf paladin he’d been engaged with used his dying breath to deliver what should’ve been a killing blow to Filex, but the shaman had switched from offensive to defensive and had blown his heroism ability. That granted Filex the extra strength to deal with the second opponent, a Tauren feral druid, who tore Filex’s left thigh to ribbons before she was finally put down.
It was just the frost mage and a death knight then, a challenge even on fair terms.
Without Spar, Filex knew he wouldn’t survive much longer. He could barely stand on his ruined leg, and his chest hurt something fierce. I shouldn’t have left him. What was I thinking? I’m such an idiot. Leaving him unprotected- His thoughts jarred to a stop as a frost bolt hit him square in the face; Filex flew off his feet and hit the ground, tumbling heels over head until he fetched up hard against something solid. He tasted blood; he’d bitten his tongue. When his vision cleared, he saw the draenei fall under the death knight’s onslaught. The mage focused on him.
Spar. Spar, I’m so sorry.
Filex struggled to his feet. He felt dizzy, weak. He held his ground. A smile bloomed on the mage’s face. The death knight - a Forsaken - followed the mage’s gaze. The death grip went off like a whip-crack - Filex flew through the air and barely got his sword between him and the rune blade in time to save him from instant death. As it was, his own blade crashed back into him, driving the breath from his lungs and quite possibly breaking his nose. He hit the ground choking but somehow had the wherewithal to roll to the side, avoiding a skewering blow that would’ve killed him, and managed to stagger to his feet. The death knight slashed him across the back, from shoulder to hip, renting a gap in his armor. A follow up strike cut flesh and spilled blood.
Filex somehow stumbled away. Somehow gripped the reins of his horse, and barely felt the wrenching pain in his shoulder as the animal bolted. His befuddled mind began to finally accept the fact he was dying, and began to plague Filex with all manner of regrets. Regrets of leaving his brother alone in the world, of not being able to see him one last time. Regrets of leaving Spar behind, who’d end up blaming himself for Filex’s death. He wasn’t sure when his fingers released the reins - he certainly hadn’t told them to - but he felt the impact jar his bones. He probably rolled or skidded a good few feet, but Filex didn’t feel it. His body was cold, numb. He couldn’t see anything but the trampled, muddy ground pressed against his cheek, ground that was slowly turning a shade of red as his blood drained from his wounds.
So this is how I go out. Dammit. Filex felt his eyes grow heavy. His thoughts turned to Spar, beautiful little holy priest that he was, who had been Filex’s only saving grace. Not just in battles, but in life. He was sure that if he hadn’t met Spar, he would’ve fought hard and to his last breath without any regard to himself or others, and burned himself out as only a warrior could. But Sparradrap had given Filex something to fight for, someone to fight for, and protect. Spar had given him a new purpose in life. Who had given Filex a reason to open up his heart and fall in love. Not that Filex had ever acted on those feelings. It had been far too much fun to watch Spar blush whenever they touched, however innocently, and though Filex had known the feelings he had for Spar, and Spar’s feelings for him, had been one and the same, he’d held back.
Why?
Had it been because he’d believed they’d always be together? Or had he been waiting for Spar to make the first move? Ha. Should’ve known better, moron. Now you’ll never-
******
“C’mon, c’mon,” Spar’s stomach twisted in uncomfortable ways as he waited for the surviving fighters from both teams to leave the battlefield. He’d escaped severe injury thanks to the skills of a guardian druid, a retribution paladin, and mistweaver monk who’d aided him in healing, but you couldn’t tell by the state of his clothes.
His robes were torn, muddy, bloody. He had scrapes across his knees, a cut under his eye, and bruises forming that Spar had chosen to ignore. Once he’d confirmed Filex wasn’t at Water Works once the battle there had begun to show the Alliance as the dominant side, he’d begun to look for a place to conceal himself once the victory horns were sounded. The remaining warriors would’ve dragged him back to Stormwind, and Spar couldn’t leave without finding Filex. His heart pounded with worry; his limbs shook with fear.
When he was certain he was alone, Sparradrap slipped out of his hiding place and began to follow the trail to the beach. He passed corpses of Horde and Alliance alike, but none were Filex. Once he’d combed the beach, Spar turned for the lighthouse. He found more bodies, primarily Alliance, but again none were Filex. He wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved, worried, or both. He combed every inch of the area, then climbed the hill, but the gathering area for the Alliance was empty. He returned to the bottom of the hill and began to comb the road.
His heart stopped as he saw the battered, bloody plate armor lying in the mud. His breath quickened until he was almost hyperventilating. He felt cold and hot at the same time. Tears stung his eyes.
“FILEX!”
Spar ran faster than he ever had before. His renew spell was leaving his lips before he even slid to his knees by the fallen warrior. Filex’s wounds were grievous; lying on his stomach, all Spar could see was the inches deep, bloody gash across his back. Muscle and white bone greeted the priest’s eyes. Half-congealed blood and mud caked the armor and wound. It looked like Filex had been trampled on, or almost trampled, as there were so many prints going this way and that. Spar’s hands shook as they hovered over Filex’s back as if they were unsure of what to do first. Tears stung Spar’s eyes, then stung the cut on his cheek as they spilled over.
“F-Filex...?” Spar whispered, whimpered softly. His trembling fingers touched the warrior’s cold skin, smearing blood and mud on Filex’s cheek. “Filex, c’mon... t-this isn’t funny. Wake up. Wake up. Please?”
The Gilnean remained inert.
Spar choked, then the sob he’d been holding back escaped, and the dam broke. The holy priest screamed in denial, screamed in pain until his throat was raw, and screamed some more. His hands gripped Filex’s pauldrons; he bent over, crying harder than he ever had before. He was speaking, but he wasn’t sure if he was casting spells, begging the Light to give Filex back, apologizing, or doing all of the above. A light mist began to fall, stealing what warmth Spar had left and making his misery more acute.
“I’m sorry,” Spar hiccuped. “I’m so sorry, Filex. I shouldn’t have stayed. I sh-should’ve found you!” He pressed his face into the crook of his arm where it was set on Filex’s pauldron. “Please... please come back to me! Don’t leave me alone! Please, I love you, you can’t leave me!”
The words fell on deaf ears.
“This is all my fault,” Spar whispered, tears still falling, “all my fault. I sh-shouldn’t have lost sight of you. I sh-should’ve followed you. I’m s-sorry. I’m s-so sorry!”
A fresh wave of tears escaped the priest. How long he cried, he wasn’t sure, only that once the tears dried up, he was exhausted. Terribly exhausted. Eventually, Spar convinced himself to move. He rose, stared, sniffed hard and fought to keep from bawling again. He forced a watery smile. The least he could do for the man he loved was to bury him in a safe place in the country he loved.
Spar wrestled with Filex’s body until he managed to hook his arms under Filex’s. He fought not to look at the wounds on Filex’s chest - any one of those could be the killing blow. It was slow going. Spar had never been strong physically. Filex had always been the heavy lifter. He managed to drag Filex a few feet at a time, heaving for breath each time, both to keep from bursting into tears and to steel himself for the next step in dragging Filex off the road, toward the dark trees. He had to hide Filex’s grave so the Forsaken wouldn’t find him. A special place, a secret place.
He was halfway into the trees, maybe a quarter of the way into the yard of an abandoned house, when he heard it. Spar paused, unwilling to believe what he’d just heard.
Filex groaned again.
It took everything Spar had to not drop Filex in sheer joy and kiss him right there. Instead, a fresh wave of tears escaped him, full of joy and relief, and he gently set Filex on the wet ground and began to chant his renew spell, calling upon the Light to fill his spells with healing strength.
Filex’s eyes fluttered. Then the Gilnean slowly opened his eyes.
“...Spar?”
“Shh. Don’t talk. Conserve your strength. I’m healing you; it’ll be okay.” Light, he was babbling. Didn’t matter.
“No.”
That single word cut through Spar’s haze of relief. The spell he’d been reciting died on his lips. “What?”
“Don’t waste... on me.” Filex smiled, showing bloody teeth. “I’m done for.”
“Fuck you.”
Filex blinked. “Excuse me?”
Spar’s blue eyes burned; rimmed with red, puffy skin, blood and mud, he looked terrifying. “Fuck you,” he said, spacing out the words. Too many emotions in his voice. Couldn’t single out any one to feel more than the others. “I’m not letting you die. I won’t. You’re going to live. Even if it’s just so I can kick your ass from Stormwind to Ironforge and back, you’re going to live.” He began rolling healing spells on Filex, closing the wounds enough to be able to move him without fear of making the warrior bleed out.
“A-are you... mad at me?” Filex asked in a hoarse whisper.
Spar didn’t answer right away. Using strength borne of anger, the priest dragged Filex to that house. He shouldered the door open, located the bed set in one corner of the one-story cottage, dumped the warrior - armor, blood, and mud - onto the bed, then turned to close the front door. He used unnecessary furniture - kitchen table and its chairs - to barricade the door, then drew the curtains across the windows to shield them. Only then did Spar turn to Filex.
He bared his teeth. “Mad at you? Of course I’m mad at you! Don’t you dare tell me not to heal you!” He stalked toward Filex and began to remove his armor. “I’m not letting you die.”
Naked, but with one quilt to protect his modesty, Filex eyed Spar as the priest began to heal his injuries. Making his voice as meek as possible, Filex asked, “Why?”
Sparradrap slashed a bright-eyed, teary glare at him as he sealed the last wound. “Because I love you, you twat! And I’m gonna make damn sure you stay alive to suffer every minute of it!”
The echo of the words had barely faded when Spar’s eyes went wide. Filex stared, startled himself. He’d known Spar had never intended to tell him, but now, in the heat of anger and fear, the words had just come tumbling out. The Gilnean watched as the color drained from Spar’s face, leaving him looking young and vulnerable.
“I-I’m sorry,” Spar said quickly, drawing back so fast that the alacrity of the priest’s withdrawal snapped Filex out of his stunned funk, “I didn’t... I... ah...”
Filex caught Spar’s wrist, rising far enough off the bed that the quilt fell away from him, leaving him completely exposed. He watched Spar’s face go from colorless to bright red in less than five seconds, and slowly smiled. “I know.”
“...Huh...?”
Filex smiled, slow and lazy. “I know you live me. I’ve known for a while.”
Oh, shit.
The words were written all over Spar’s face. “I c-can explain.” Stammered the priest.
Filex pulled him close, gripped Spar’s neck in a firm, dominant grip and kissed him to silence him. Spar froze immediately at the feel of Filex’s lips against his. His eyes went wide. And Filex felt Spar’s response clearly even through his robes. He pulled back but didn’t release his priest. “I love you, too, Spar.”
He watched emotions flit in Spar’s eyes - uncertainty, happiness, disbelief, fear, joy, myriad others - and Filex smiled. “I love you, Spar.” he repeated, his voice strong in its conviction.
Sparradrap took a shuddering breath. Before he could say anything, Filex kissed him again. This time, Spar responded, wrapping his arms around Filex’s shoulders and pressing closer to him. When they parted this time, Spar whispered, “If you ever tell me not to save your life again, I will bring you back to full health and then kill you myself.”
Filex chuckled. “Of course you will. Now...”
“Now?”
“You’re wearing entirely too many clothes.”
Oh, how red Spar’s face got. “N-no. You’re still healing. You’re-mph.”
Filex muffled Spar with another kiss, this time pushing his tongue into the priest’s mouth. Spar tasted like mint, a taste Filex associated with the smaller man. He made sure to keep Spar sufficiently distracted as he moved his hands from Spar’s neck and wrist to his belt. Once that was gone, Filex opened the clasps holding Spar’s robes closed, then slid his hands inside. His fingers touched smooth warm flesh, and he felt Spar inhale sharply. He didn’t give his priest a chance to step back; Filex slid his hands up from Spar’s chest to his shoulders and let those robes drop to the floor. Then his hands moved south, his fingers whispering over Spar’s skin, down the defined line of his stomach to the hem of his pants.
He barely had them open and his hand inside when Spar caught his wrist. Filex looked at him questioningly.
Panting, flushed, Spar said, “Sit on the bed.”
“Why?”
“So I can make sure you’re fully healed.”
Filex raised a brow. “How about I make sure you’re fully healed?”
Spar blinked - and Filex struck. He maneuvered his priest so skillfully, Spar didn’t even know he was flat on his back on the bed until Filex was atop him, his hand slipping into Spar’s pants to grip his cock. Spar gasped and on reflex grabbed Filex’s shoulders. Filex kissed Spar again as he whimpered, and the warrior began to move his hand up and down Spar’s shaft, feeling the flesh harden under his fingers. When the priest was sufficiently pleasure-drunk, Filex pulled back, and pulled off Spar’s boots and pants, leaving him equally naked. He pushed Spar further up and back onto the bed, and settled between his legs.
Filex wasted no time with words. He began with feather-light kisses along Spar’s jaw, then moved down over his throat. Spar grasped his hair and whimpered, his eyes closed tight. Filex moved his kisses over Spar’s collarbone, then to the flat planes of his chest. He took a few minutes to worry at Spar’s nipples with his teeth and tongue - all the while his hand continued to move up and down Spar’s cock, smearing fluid from the top around the head and shaft each time his palm enclosed the cap and then slid back down to the base - and brought those dusky nubs to their most erect state. Spar’s breathing became sharp then, and his body arched into Filex’s. His noises became slightly louder, whimpers and soft moans became please for Filex to stop or do more - he really wasn’t paying attention beyond the fact Spar was beneath him and whimpering his name in such a delightful way it made his cock hard - and then Filex kissed his way down Spar’s stomach and nosed his way through the thatch of hair at the juncture of Sparradrap’s thighs.
Spar’s fingers tightened in Filex’s hair. “What are you-“
“Shh.” Filex raised his head a bit and smiled up at his priest. “Making you feel good.”
Then he took Spar into his mouth. The priest gasped and arched, but Filex managed to keep his hips somewhat pinned. Spar gripped the sheets beneath him and whimpered, his head tilting backwards as he sucked in air. Filex pulled back until only the head of Spar’s shaft was left settled on his tongue. He waited a few seconds, then went down on his priest, all the way until his nose was buried in coarse curls. Filex bobbed his head, using his tongue and teeth where he could, alternating rough pressure and gentle pressure, working Spar as quickly as he dared. The taste of salty precome told him how close his priest was to release, so Filex knew roughly how much time he had left to play with Spar’s body and ignore his own pleasure.
So the Gilnean moved his right hand, slipping his fingers between the cleft of Spar’s ass. His index finger circled that ring of tight muscle, feeling it grow tighter with the unfamiliar touch. Filex pulled back from Spar’s cock then, letting it slide form his mouth with a wet pop.
“Relax, Spar.” Filex said, fingering that hole again. “I won’t hurt you.”
“My brain understands, but my body doesn’t.” Spar panted. “Give... one second.”
Filex waited a second, his right hand coating its digits in Soar’s fluid - and Filex’s - left on his cock, and when the second was up, Filex pressed his wet index finger against Spar’s hole and pushed in. Spar gasped and hissed, arching. Filex added a second finger and bent over Spar to kiss him, tangling their tongues as his fingers moved inside Spar, stretching tight muscle and pushing deep.
Spar yelped suddenly and his body spasmed. He came between them, his seed coating his stomach and Filex’s. Filex half purred, half growled and slammed now three fingers into Spar, working him into an erection even though Sparradrap was shivering and gasping already. When Spar began to tighten a second time, Filex removed his fingers and gripped his priest’s thighs, spreading them apart and bending Spar almost in half. Before Spar could comprehend what his warrior was about to do, Filex already had his hardened cock in hand and the head positioned against Spar’s loosened hole.
Their eyes met. Held.
Filex groaned as he pushed his cock into Spar. First the head, then the shaft, until he was fully sheathed in his priest. Tight heat gripped Filex’s cock, squeezing him, milking him with each of Spar’s heartbeats. Spar was panting, shivering out of pleasure at being filed like he was. There was the shadow of pain in his eyes, too, but as soon as Filex pulled out and thrust in, that pain vanished. The Gilnean twined his fingers with Spar’s, holding him tight as he thrust into his beloved priest, slow at first, and then as Spar’s body accepted him, harder, going as deep as he could on every thrust.
Then Filex began to speak, whispering almost harshly in Spar’s ear, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment? To tell you... for you to tell me...? Light, Spar, you’re so beautiful, and now you’re all mine.” As if to accentuate his point, Filex bit Spar’s shoulder, earning a cry, a spasm, and leaving a deep dark bruise on an otherwise pale shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Spar panted in return, his eyes closing as pleasure spiked at the base of his spine, bolted to his brain, and sped down to his hardened cock, making liquid bead. He started to say something else, but all that came out was a moan.
Filex picked up his pace, thrusting almost brutally into Spar. The only sounds that filled that one-story cottage were the sounds of wet flesh slapping wet flesh, the sound of two voices panting, and the squeaking of bedsprings.
Then, suddenly, Spar cried, “Filex!” in a breathy tone and his body clamped down tight on Filex, squeezing his cock in a tight, hot vice. Spar came hard, then kind of hard release that left him boneless afterwards, gasping for air. Filex groaned a few thrusts later and slammed deep into Spar one last time before he, too, came, filling his priest with his seed.
Somehow Filex kept his trembling arms from giving out on him, and waited until Spar had relaxed to pull his softening member from his lover’s body. The Gilnean collapsed beside his priest, then, panting himself. He felt Spar cuddle close and he wrapped his arms around him, and brought Sparradrap even closer.
“I love you,” Spar whispered.
“I love you, too.” Filex whispered in return.
There was a long pause. Then, “You’ll never tell me not to heal you again, right?”
Filex was glad Spar couldn’t see him grimace. He’d hoped his lover would’ve forgotten about that. “I’ll never tell you that again.”
“Promise?”
“Swear it.”
“Good.” Another pause. Then Spar said, “I’d hate to be a widow before I have a chance to be a wife.”
Filex’s brain stuttered to a halt. When it began working a second later, he gave in to the urge, and laughed.
- 1
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Against All Odds