Fishblight Mire gold [m]

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castiel was lovely as any earthen hue the master of the palazzo had ever painted, each guard hair shaded in chocolate and ecru. while armand did not gaze openly upon his companion, the roll of muscles beneath the waters did not go unnoticed, nor the sonorous vibration of the man's words through the lovely column of his throat.
armand, ears falling back against the delicate lines of his skull, nodded then, unsure of what to say. it was not a matter of a barrier to his tongue; he knew well the language in which castiel spoke, but armand did not know if he wished to to answer. there remained in the boy a great chasm of wariness, tempered with the flint of anger that his fleeing had wrought in him.
before he could dwell upon these things, castiel lifted himself up from the water, and armand watch the lake stream in a clear sheet from the man's withers, from his legs and hips and through the dark tangle of pelt between his legs. the boy swallowed and looked down at the surface of the lake -- why did he act this way so soon after he had lost all he held dear?
he supposed it had been fucked into him, and this gave armand a thin bit of pleasure as he too came from the lake. its touch forced his own furs down against his body, that castiel might see the outline of all his bones, the slim, girlish spread of his hindquarters and slender waist tucked up before.
armand pretended that he did not care if the man looked as he fell to meticulous grooming, washing lakewater from each individual hair until at long last his dried cloak began to glow with the light above the pair as if armand were covered in the golden coins of his dowry, paid almost to death for a marriage that would have meant his end.
the boy parted his lips to speak, but his stomach rushed to the fore with its disgusting sound of emptiness, and armand's ears again splayed backward with shame. he need not speak now, castiel knew his weakness.



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