Old buckets taken out, new buckets brought in, loaf of bread delivered, staler than the day before and dotted with holes where Absolon’s thick fingers had penetrated too deep. With the work done and Absolon about to leave, Ragnar ordered him to stop.
And he did, but the set of his jaw showed how much he hated that he had.
The soldier was still in there. How many times had he barked orders at Absolon only to have them eagerly completed? How many times had he spoken quiet but hard in his ear for him to roll over, to raise his hips, to touch himself, to not touch himself?
“Thank you for what you have brought me, and I know you are trying to make this as comfortable as you’ll allow, but it has been a few days and I would like to bathe. Even horses get groomed daily.”
“You are not a horse.”
“Exactly. I am a man.”
Absolon chuckled. “You are a viper and spit only venom.”
“That may be the same, but the stench coming off me must be worse than any poison. Bring me a change of clothes and a few extra buckets of water so I may wash.”
Absolon’s mouth twitched. “You think you can make these demands?”
“They’re requests. You’re in charge. I know that.”
He narrowed his eyes. Those words would have sounded false to anyone, but it was nevertheless what Absolon wanted to hear. He was in his power, but though he suspected a trap, he’d consider himself strong enough to outplay it.
“Please, Absolon, I know I will die for what I did to you and the pain I have caused you. I am prepared to wait, but surely you can permit this small allowance.”
He grunted by way of response, committal neither one way or the other, and left. If he didn’t return, Ragnar would keep at him until he relented. Or made a mistake. The idea of washing had not been one he had planned on, desperate for anything to keep Absolon talking, to find where the boundaries stood in what he would permit. But now the idea was out it seemed as good and as useful as any. An opportunity to wring of potential. Could he convince Absolon to remove the manacles? Could he get close enough to steal the keys or to wrestle Absolon to the ground and best him? The last seemed impossible but desperate men were sometimes blessed with untold strength, and he was becoming desperate.
His plotting was interrupted by the unlocking of the door. Absolon’s booted foot kicked it open and he marched in with a barrel full of water held on one hand and balanced with the other and advanced towards Ragnar as if he meant to throw all of it at him. Ragnar retreated, his arms up.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. Please, Sol.”
Absolon stopped. “What did you call me?”
“I’m sorry, forget it.”
“What. Did. You. Call. Me?”
Ragnar swallowed. “Sol.”
Absolon growled and dumped the barrel on top of him. A few hundredweight of icy water drenched him and forced him to his knees. The water flooded the floor.
“You don’t get to call me that,” Absolon snarled. “Ever again.”
It was a mistake. He hadn’t wanted that far too familiar name to cross his lips. That had been his name for Absolon, the one he’d whispered in the dead of night to soothe his worries. It had felt sacred then and profane now.
Absolon marched for the door.
Ragnar’s teeth chattered loudly. “You can’t…leave me…like this.”
Absolon sneered. “You’ll dry.”
“I’ll die…of…the chill…before…you kill me.” And he believed it. His skin grew taut and gooseflesh rose across his body. He hugged himself for some warmth but that squeezed out more water. He was going to die from this.
Absolon grumbled and vanished. Ragnar tried to look up, but he was shivering too badly. There had been frost on his water ration that morning and his coat was already struggling to keep him warm. One night like this and he’d freeze.
Booted and dry clothed legs appeared in front of him. “Stand up.”
He did as he was told, digging deep for his noble dignity, but no sooner had he straightened than Absolon’s hands were on him. With both hands he ripped the clothes from Ragnar’s body like they were nothing but tree bark. Ragnar started, about to cover himself, but forced himself to stop. He would endure this. He could perhaps even use it. He held his tongue and watched for the right moment, while the gentle wind scoured his body.
Absolon flung the rags down in a sodden heap. Though the cold would not be flattering, Ragnar stood proud in his wet boots and tracked Absolon’s eyes wherever they went. They slid down his body, explored where his hands and mouth had once traveled, but they did not linger. Absolon was a stablehand and Ragnar was a horse being checked for burrs and nicks. Absolon’s lips disappeared into a thin grim line.
He handed Ragnar a cloth to dry himself, holding it out at arm’s length. Ragnar took it, overreaching far enough to touch Absolon’s hand. He withdrew like he’d been scalded and retreated to the other side of the cell, cloaking himself in shadows.
“You’re going to stand there while I do this?”
“I don’t trust you. When you’re done, I’ll take everything back.”
Ragnar shrugged. He was still cold, his skin tightening on his bones, his boots soaked through and freezing, but he took his time and let Absolon take in all of him. He looked into the shadows to where Absolon’s eyes must be before letting the cloth cover his face. He rubbed his hair dry for far longer than he needed.
He ran the cloth over his face then lengthened his neck to mop it of water and twisted and reached as much of his back as he could, knowing how his muscles stretched, creating a line for Absolon to follow. He dried one arm, long, languorous, then the other, before wiping down his chest, his abdomen, deviating to his left leg, down his thighs, around to his hamstrings and calves, and repeated it down the right.
He straightened and rubbed the cloth over his groin, cleaning his cock and balls of the last drop of moisture. Despite himself—or because of himself—his cock thickened but he turned his back before Absolon could see his full arousal.
He held the cloth out from his body. “Will you dry the rest of my back, please?”
He heard Absolon move and smiled to himself but no sooner had his lips curved than Absolon pushed him against the wall, hand flat in the middle of his back, and crushed him against the stone. Roughly, Absolon scraped the last of the water from his body, his bulk close enough to his naked skin to feel heat. Absolon’s lips appeared close to Ragnar’s ear, hot breath on his skin, lulling Ragnar into closing his eyes. Absolon hadn’t often been like this but when he had…
His cock hardened even as Absolon pinned him down.
“You always were a cheap whore, Ragnar.”
“Then use me, Sol.”
Absolon pressed him harder against the wall. “I told you not to call me that.” His teeth were clammed shut so tight Ragnar could hear them grind. “You’re not worthy of it.”
“Then punish me for it. Take out your hate on me. Use me like I used you.” He swallowed hard. He’d stop at nothing to get away from Absolon. Even this.
“You’re not worth my spit, let alone my seed.”
“You used to enjoy giving me both.”
Air snorted through his nostrils. “Is there nothing that will stop your mouth?”