Earthly Desires Read online

  Dmitri held his hips tightly and didn’t stop until he finally groaned and flung himself on top of Efrosin, rubbing his cock between Efrosin’s buttocks. He wrapped his arms around Efrosin and clung tight, all of his weight bearing down on Efrosin’s knees and hands, which sunk deeper into the muck.

  “Please,” Efrosin begged, and he realized he’d said it so many times now, it was a litany, a chant, and it had lost all meaning until he added, “Fuck me.”

  Dmitri pulled back enough to get his hand between them, and Efosin yelled at the thick intrusion as Dmitri pushed his cock head against Efrosin’s tender asshole, and then Efrosin’s skin prickled with encompassing pleasure as Dmitri breached the muscle, sliding inside—steady, heavy, and filling him with weight.

  Dmitri’s long, strong fingers gripped Efrosin’s cock, and together they rocked and moaned in the mud at the edge of the lake, the water splashing against their thighs. When Efrosin’s wrists gave out and he fell down to his elbows, it splashed them in the face as they hunched and writhed together.

  Dmitri’s teeth raked over Efrosin’s shoulder then latched onto the back of his neck, worrying there as he rammed his cock into Efrosin. Then, like an escaped prayer, Efrosin cried out, his body tensing as he reached into the surprisingly deep well of feeling inside him, grabbing fistfuls of wet dirt as he did.

  Time stopped, shot through with rapture, until Efrosin burst out of the depths and back up to the edges of his skin, bringing it all with him. Wild cries and convulsions rattled him as he shot his seed into the water that had always been home.

  Gasping and exhausted, Efrosin could barely keep his face above the surface while Dmitri moved inside him with slamming, long strokes. He reached back to grab Dmitri’s hip and clutch him close when Dmitri cried out against his back, and hot, heavy bursts of his pleasure filled Efrosin’s ass.

  “Don’t go,” Dmitri whispered. Efrosin opened his mouth to say the things he knew he’d say at any other time. Easy things. Hurtful things. The kinds of things that had tripped off his tongue since he’d uttered his first words.

  But there in the shallows as the stars twinkled into sight, the heavy warmth of Dmitri’s body covering his, and with Dmitri’s spendings weighing inside him, he stayed silent instead.

  Chapter Six

  After they’d trysted, they had both been covered in so much mud that they’d had to dive back into the deeper parts of the lake with Dmitri’s soap to scrub themselves clean. Then Dmitri had strapped Efrosin to his chest again—this time naked as night was black, unwilling to risk him getting caught on a breeze as he put his clothes on.

  He’d carried him back through the thick forest, walking slowly in the dark so as not to trip over downed limbs or undergrowth. All the while, Efrosin tormented him by pressing kisses onto the crook of his neck, licking the shell of his ear and sucking maddeningly on his earlobe. By the time they reached the cabin, both of their pricks were aching, and Dmitri had wasted no time tying Efrosin to the bed and buggering him again until, exhausted, they’d finally slept.

  At dawn, Dmitri listened to the sounds of the cabin creaking, and the crackle of the dying embers in the fireplace. He watched Efrosin sleep in the trappings of the covers Dmitri had rigged to keep him against the mattress, additionally secured by the weight of Dmitri’s leg tossed over Efrosin’s body.

  Efrosin’s eyelashes lay against his cheek, and his mouth was slightly open, red-lipped from such quantities of kissing and biting, as well as the exertion of sucking Dmitri’s prick. A pleasant expression danced on Efrosin’s face, as though he was dreaming about something vaguely amusing. Dmitri touched his finger to the corner of Efrosin’s up-turned mouth and decided that, knowing Efrosin, he probably was.

  Dmitri remembered Efrosin’s words the night before. “Is it always this way, Dmitri?” Efrosin had asked. “I’m so happy. I don’t think I’ve ever been quite this happy. I’ve been delighted and cheerful and eager and silly and many other things, but this is a different thing altogether. I feel quite full with it.”

  Looking at Efrosin, so effortlessly handsome in his sleep, Dmitri felt full with it too. But then he frowned as the heaviness of reality settled over him. This couldn’t last for long, and that it might in fact end this very day filled him with a sense of wounded despair. Yet what was best for Efrosin had to come before his own petty needs and wants.

  Sighing, Dmitri carefully rose and pulled on his warm breeches, dried by the fire the night before. As he slipped on his rough shirt, so much less fine than Efrosin’s soft clothes, he glanced at the bed. Efrosin snuffled softly but didn’t wake. Dmitri looked closer, and he blinked a bit in surprise. Efrosin’s head, hands and legs were touching the mattress. They did not float as they had the morning before, and as Dmitri watched, one of Efrosin’s feet slipped from the bed and dangled close to the ground instead of drifting into the air.

  As Dmitri stared, Efrosin’s foot began to slowly rise, as though regaining its levity, and soon it was floating again. Dmitri frowned, then shrugged as he took up the sharp blade he kept for shaving as he usually did in the mornings. But then, remembering Efrosin’s numerous mentions of Sir Carlisle’s beard, he left it.

  Dmitri tugged his boots into place and quickly shoved his hunting knife, some rope and a biscuit into his bag, deciding to check the traps. He’d never made it the day before, and he did not like to think of an injured animal left suffering in his traps for lack of a human hand to bring it the comfort of death.

  Dmitri hovered by the bed, his hand outstretched to shake Efrosin awake, but at the last moment he refrained, not wanting to disturb Efrosin’s rest after their long night of intense lovemaking. He needed to rest, possibly to heal, after the rough coupling they’d done in the small hours of the morning. Dmitri’s heart felt pricked as he observed the tousled golden hair against Efrosin’s forehead, and the thud of Efrosin’s pulse in his neck. Even it looked light and cheerful, beating away there like the flutter of a bird’s wings.

  He pressed a kiss to Efrosin’s lips and soothed him back to deep sleep with a soft “Shhh,” and then went on his way.

  He hadn’t gone very far into the woods when a black bird swooped onto his path, cawing. Dmitri stepped back, a little frightened by the way the bird snapped its wings and blocked his way. It was then that he felt her, the great, terrible weight of presence behind him. He turned slowly away from the bird, reluctant to take his eyes from it lest it attack, but needing to see what creature had appeared at his back all the same.

  The old woman was small and not small all at once. Her hair was coated with mud, and tiny seedlings grew from her head— evergreens and maples, tiny oaks and baby lindens. Her hands and feet were thick with dirt, almost as if she’d used them to claw out of the earth, and her dress looked made of black moss, with ants and small beetles crawling over it. Her face was startling to look upon, so dirty and streaked with grime, but her eyes glittered provocatively, and her lips curled in a withering smile. Dmitri stared.

  “Don’t you have a kiss for your mother?” she asked, leaning toward him with her mud-smeared lips puckered.

  He pulled back instinctively to get away from the fetid smell of her breath and person. “You’re not my mother. You’re the witch who cursed me as a babe.”

  She cackled. “I’m everyone’s mother, and no one’s mother, boy.” Her fingers curled into claws and she lurched at him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. “If not for me, you’d all be dead—especially you—and yet do any of you want to kiss the old woman, fill her with your sweet young prick?” She spat on the ground.

  Dmitri’s throat felt dry as he swallowed convulsively. The woman—no, the witch— ran one finger down the side of his cheek and trailed it over his lips. “All red and swollen, I see,” she said. “With the telltale signs of a man’s stubble against your chin.” Her finger was bone dry as it touched the tender skin of his jaw, raw from Efrosin’s evening beard. “Cavorting with a missing prince perhaps?”

  Dmitri’s ton
gue felt heavy, as if weighted by magic, and he could only stare at the woman as she nodded slowly and licked her lips with a tongue that was dark as the most fertile soil. “Oh yes, the entire kingdom is looking for him. It seems he floated away.” She tsked slowly. “Such a shame. His father fears he’s dead.”

  Dmitri felt stabbed through with guilt. He hated the thought that anyone might feel the same grief that he endured after his parents’ death. He should have tried harder to get Efrosin back home or to draw attention to his whereabouts. But Efrosin had such need—desires echoed in Dmitri’s own heart.

  “The king’s mourning is full of rage. He holds the prince’s minder responsible, even as the man scours the land for his missing charge. The king will execute the man’s wife and children at dawn should the prince not be returned. The king is an unreasonable man—so cruel, so selfish. I understand him. I’m cruel and selfish too.”

  Dmitri shuddered. “I must get Efrosin back to the castle. He said he could swim…”

  Her eyes flashed and her long nails dug into Dmitri’s chest. “Oh yes, he can swim. But don’t fret, his saviors are on their way. My friend here,” she indicated the bird, “told the young prince’s manservant where they could find him. How long will it be, darling, before they arrive?”

  The bird cawed.

  “Ah, within the hour,” the witch said.

  Dmitri’s emotions swelled inside him, a jumble of relief that Efrosin would be safe, despair at losing him, and violent terror of the witch and her bird. He opened his mouth to speak but could not. The witch raised her other hand and held it to Dmitri’s heart. His eyes bulged and he began to shake; his heart felt as if it was slowing down and growing rigid in his chest.

  He could not break his gaze from the witch’s face. He tried to force his legs to move, to run, but he was held fast to the ground as though he’d been turned to stone. The witch kissed him, shoving her tongue into his mouth, and he gagged at the taste of mud and rotting compost.

  She grimaced when she pulled back and said, “Disgusting. You’re corrupted by love.” Then suddenly Dmitri’s knees buckled and he was on the ground at her feet. She pointed at him. “Stay.”

  He found that he could not move even if he wanted to. He could not even blink.

  “Let me tell you a story, little one,” the old woman said, her teeth shining in the morning light like beads of black onyx. “It’s a very important story, you see. It contains your life and death. So pay attention.”

  And then the witch told Dmitri her tale —and his.

  * * * * *

  Once upon a time, there was a strongrunning river called Inna, named for the beautiful witch of the waters. She was one of four beautiful sisters, each a sorceress, and each holding dominion over an element.

  The first born was Ereshkigal, witch of earth. She was dark and thick of body, with skin that was milky-white and eyes that were the color of fresh dung. She was born old, older than time, and strong. Many common humans believed her to be a steady sort, earthy and rich with generosity. But she shifted violently beneath the surface, full of hot, liquid yearning that boiled and bubbled, passionate and wanting.

  The second born was Aira, witch of the wind. She was beautiful with her white hair, soft as clouds, and her blue eyes as vast as the sky. But she was a flighty, reckless thing, never staying any place for long, darting from lover to lover, changeable as the wind can be, incapable of attachment or loyalty.

  The third born was Uriti, witch of fire. She too was beautiful, with red and bluestreaked hair, bright cheeks and flaming eyes. But she was hot tempered and hard to control, often leaping from bed to bed, burning a path of intense but short-lived passion through the world, destroying many a marriage and home as she went.

  The fourth born was Inna, witch of waters. She was beautiful with light hair and eyes that sparkled like the sun dancing on waves. Her manner was easy and accommodating, flowing from one activity to the next, easily bypassing obstacles and laughing beautifully along the way. Her embrace was complete, and many a man drowned in love for her.

  Then King Leo rode into their lives. He arrived in the valley where the known world converges on the unknown on horseback, bathed in blood from battle, adorned in armor, shining like the sun. The sisters waited there for him, having all four felt the pull of destiny; all together in the same place for the first time in their lives.

  Leo was strong of arm and stronger of mind, unyielding in his intentions. He announced his desire to wed one of them, and commanded each to give their best argument why she, and only she, should be his wife.

  Aira laughed and departed at once, preferring the joy of airy freedom. Uriti raged briefly at his impudence, scorched his armor and then disappeared as well, eager to get back to the bed she had been burning with lust when she’d received the summons.

  Inna, for her part, merely waited to see what would happen next, good-naturedly dancing about, her hair flowing out behind her, and her feet tripping easily over the rocks and fallen trees.

  As for Ereshkigal, she fell in love with him upon first sight.

  The truth of Ereshkigal is that she is not steady. She is cruel, changeable and punishing. Rivers of lava from an erupting volcano are her temper tantrums. The violent lurching of the ground splitting apart, and coming together, destroying everything that has been built on top of the earth are her rages. Winters of starvation after crops fail are her most even-handed punishment. Ereshkigal merely laughs and shrugs as mothers and children waste away, crying out in hunger, and begging, “Why?”

  The answer, dear child, to that time-old question is this—she despises you for raking the skin of her beloved earth with the tines of your plows, for scarring her, for taking the fruits of her land to multiply and grow your own kind, and not one of you making love to her, stuffing your prick into her old, worn carcass with glee and joy, nor caring if she herself is barren and lonely, not noticing that no one loves her gently, or takes her roughly, or fills her with sweet progeny of her own.

  Selfish, all of you, wanting only what you can have. Wheat and fruit for yourselves, and grass for your horses, scorning the old lady who is too proud to beg for the sweet taste of love. Scorned and laughed at, despised and rejected by men and women alike. Men like Leo, who spit on Ereshkigal despite her love for him.

  “Get thee away from me, wretched old cow with the teeth of rotting corpses,” Leo cried, shoving Ereshkigal aside and setting his eyes on Inna. “Why would I want an old woman like you when I can plow that sweetness there?”

  Ereshkigal boiled, bubbled and raged. For Ereshkigal was the one who was fertile, the one who should be plowed and sown. That was what she was made for, could the fool not see? She was earth, she was mother, she was giving and cruel and harsh and generous. She was young and old. She was the beginning and the end.

  Inna was beautiful but not meant to grow life in her belly, not meant to push that life out and live to do it again. But the king saw only her easy beauty, lusted for her, and wanted her for his own. Inna, for her part, felt the tug of destiny, if not the consuming fire of love, and turned her back on her powers to marry the king, abandoning witchhood to be the wife of King Leo. Death is what comes of a witch subverting her power for the love of a vain, violent king.

  Ereshkigal saw it all. She saw the future and she knew her revenge would come. Her sister would die, and then Ereshkigal would destroy the king’s happiness by cursing his murdering infant son. She made him repellent to the earth, certain that the sky and the stars would claim him ’ere long.

  But even a witch like Ereshkigal cannot control it all. Her sister, Uriti, saved the child with his mother’s gift of water, and within that wet embrace the curse does not hold dominion. Even now the thought makes Ereshkigal shriek with rage.

  And then there is you, born Dmitri, the little farmer, born straight from the dirt of the earth—and fathered by the fairies. Oh yes, my boy. You think that fool woodcutter, old as he was, got your mother with child? Don’t be stupid. Hi
s prick could barely piss much less crow with proud, life-giving seed.

  Once upon a time, there was a lonely woodcutter’s wife. Beautiful and young, married to a man who was good, indeed he was, but he was old and unable to rouse lust in one as ripe as she. The old man traveled often, carting his wood from house to house, selling it for pennies, while his wife was left alone to tend their garden and cabin.

  One such day, the mud-baked earth fairies, those bound to the earth and tasked with making the land fertile, heard the keens of her loneliness and distress. They felt your mother’s wish for a child, and could not bear to see her need go unfulfilled. They are empathetic creatures, earth fairies, obnoxiously eager to encourage life at all turns.

  It can’t be helped. Just as they are bound to the land, they are compelled to meet the needs of humans. So the fairies grew tall with their urge to comfort her, and when they were quite human height, they knocked on her cabin door. For hours they took turns with her.

  Have no fear, boy. It was not rape. She sobbed only with pleasure and grateful joy at the unflagging thrusts of their robust pricks, just as you trembled with gratitude while you plowed the cursed prince you’re harboring in your bed because you could not refuse his need.

  And when the fae left your mother shivering in wanton delight, covered in their mud and filled with their spendings, they returned, right-sized, to her garden. It burst into full bloom and bulged with early ripened crops.

  She was planted full of you, Dmitri, her little farmer. Full of earth and life, making you part mud, and far too much fairy. I sensed the wrong done, the earth fairies planting where they ought only to tend, but they have minds of their own, don’t they? Do they obey Ereshkigal? No, they do not. But I had no need to curse you, boy. Your fairy half binds you to this land, alone for all your days.

  Until you plucked the prince from the sky, seducing him into your arms, weighing him down, undermining my curse. You have seen the evidence yourself. Your presence gives him weight, your very name on his lips drags his toe against my sacred ground. Why do you think he was so taken with you? You fulfill his every need. Oh don’t bother with your sob story of how you never meant to thwart me, that you didn’t know, that you never dared. It is your destiny; you could not have prevented it if you tried.