But he had more pressing issues than weird little forest gods at the moment. Who knew how long Dagan would be content splashing in the lake, or when the next opportunity would come. While he didn’t think Dagan would mind that he was having trouble keeping his prick calm lately, Hendrik didn’t want to make it awkward. They both had dicks. They knew how they were. They knew nothing would happen between them for all sorts of reasons. But Hen’s dick had been relatively lifeless for the last few moons, and now that it was back in order it was like he’d forgotten what to do with it. He hid himself in the densest copse of oak trees, which he recognized by their leaves thanks to Dagan’s impromptu nature lessons. He pulled his soaked shorts down around his thighs and took himself in hand.
All it took was a squeeze to get him from half-hard to full erection. He’d tried a few times, back in his lonely camp, when he was desperate to turn off his mind and just sleep but couldn’t. No matter how long or hard he’d jerked it, he hadn’t been able to make anything happen but an uncomfortable amount of chafing the next day. Nutting in his sleep? Not a problem. But apparently a lucid orgasm was too much to ask.
It only took a few firm strokes for him to get that first twitch in his dick that said this time, he might fare better. To speed things up, he pinched his right nip with his free hand. For some reason, that one was always more sensitive, and sure enough he had to bite back a moan as soon as he clamped down on it. He should be keeping watch, even though he knew Dagan wouldn’t come looking for him if he disappeared for a few minutes. For all he knew, he’d be interrupting Hen having a squat in a bush.
Actually, he did have to piss, but that wasn’t about to happen until he took care of this, clearly. His prick felt so heavy, and his balls so tight, and every time he pinched himself he rocked his hips forward to fuck his own hand a little harder.
How did Dagan do it? Surely, he must’ve had to get off a few times, at least, while they’d been on the road. Did he muffle the sound of slapping skin in his soft-looking blankets? Or did he sneak off in the woods and cum on some unsuspecting tree when the mood took him? And—fuck, he hadn’t expected that thought to be so hot, but now he was leaking, and he could cum right now, and it’d feel so good, but he didn’t, because he wanted it to last just a little bit longer and—
He spurted all over his hand and into the underbrush, absurd little plap sounds making him want to laugh even as he shook with pleasure. He stroked himself a few more times, slowly, milking out every drop of cum until one last little dribble slipped between his fingers. He bit back a groan as overstimulation kicked in, that after-orgasm sensation of too much that, by all the burning hells, he had really, really missed.
He let go of his cock, letting it hang heavy between his legs, still swollen, as he turned to lean one arm against a tree for support. As pleasure subsided and relief set in, he sighed.
Ugh. It was going to take forever to piss, now.
*
The moon was still dark, but they didn’t bother with a fire beneath the willow tree; it was too hot an evening. Instead, Dagan lit one of his fine little beeswax candles, and their eyes adjusted quickly. Hen had changed his shorts as soon as he’d taken another quick dip to rid himself of lingering stickiness, and Dagan changed after emerging from the lake with wrinkly palms and a huge smile on his face. They both washed their old shorts and hung them to dry on a low branch, then stretched out on the less-fancy blanket, nibbling fruit leather and summer sausage from their full packs.
Most evenings on the path, Dagan let Hendrik lead the way, socially speaking. If Hen had something to say, he’d listen and respond thoughtfully; if Hen had nothing to say, Dagan sat with him in comfortable silence, watching the stars or the leaves or the bugs or the birds. It was a skill few people had, in Hen’s experience, and one he wouldn’t have expected from someone like Dagan, who seemed so keen to charm everyone he met before they could…
Before they could do what, Hen didn’t know. That was part of the mystery. But with his mind newly cleared and the sultry summer heat bearing down on them, he felt better equipped to ponder the puzzle of his Heart Wood rescuer. They fell into their rhythm easily after eating, packing things away and preparing for the morning. Dagan retrieved the fancy blanket from his bag, as he always did before settling in for the night.
“That’s beautiful. What’s it made of?” Hendrik took the corner of it between two fingers and rubbed it, testing the texture. It was almost like Jak’s silks but furry, somehow.
“Goat hair, I think, but some very special goats. Or something. It smelled like goat armpits for a while, but now I’m quite attached to it. Two of my siblings made it for me before I left. My brother spins and my sister weaves.”
“Which brother and sister?” Hen asked.
“Erron and Alexia. They’re twins—the younger pair of twins. The babies of the family.”
“Tell me about them. And the others.” Hendrik leaned back on his elbows, stretching out his legs.
Dagan turned to face him, pulling both legs up beneath him with remarkable flexibility. “What do you want to know?”
“What do they do, I guess? In the City, you’d never get a license for more than two kids in a family, let alone ten, and parents still fret about their careers and lives.”
“A license?” Dagan’s forehead creased. “For children?”
Hendrik nodded. “You have to use birth control unless you have a license. Otherwise, the City couldn’t support the population. Of course, they give licenses to anyone blooded who asks, even if they already have two or even three, which…makes a lot more sense now than it did before.”
“For the sacrifices,” Dagan supplied, not even a question, really.
“Yeah. It’s—it’s wild to think about how the blooded families live, now that I have some perspective. They have everything handed to them, but they hand over their children for—for that. That’s fucked up.” Was it any wonder Kass’s family never came to see him? Yes, his existence was why they had money, jewels, silks, a big house, the best food. But it was also why the new refugees and criminals in the mines never saw the sun their whole lives, sometimes. It was an imbalance that had never seemed right, exactly. But Hen hadn’t even questioned why it was so wrong.
How could he have been so blind? And even allowing for the fact that Hen was no great thinker, how could hundreds of thousands of Stone City residents be so collectively blind? People with education and intellect like Konstantin and Kajja? Hen had been so wrapped up in his own personal loss, he hadn’t spent much time thinking of the bigger picture while alone in the woods. Now, with someone to bounce ideas off of, someone to stimulate his mind out of its stupor, all kinds of things were coming up.
He hated it, in a way. Not thinking about these things had been convenient, except that it left him free to obsess over the loss of Kass, of everything he’d ever known and loved. Forced him to think about the huge, empty hole that was his life.
So, maybe it was a good trade, after all.
Dagan was nodding, lips pursed thoughtfully. “It doesn’t seem like being allowed to have more children is much of a blessing, for them.”
“No. It really doesn’t,” Hen admitted. Sure, everything else was a blessing. But did it really compare? Could it?
Hen didn’t even like kids, and he didn’t think so.
Dagan asked, “What if another class of family wants more children? Or need them to help with the family business or farm. You have farms, yes?”
“In the Ag District, yeah, but it’s not how you farm here. And kids do help. But they have apprentices from other families and paid workers to help. They don’t have to feed those. Well, some of the apprentices, I guess, but not all.”
“Who grants the licenses?”
“The See. The priests, really, some clerical types who get the petitions. Most families—at least, the families like mine, in the Mid-District, Tavern, or Manufacture—are usually allowed two, especially if one is promised to the Academy or the priesthood.”
“What if a noble child is promised to be a…” Dagan gestured elegantly, as if trying to pull the worlds out of thin air.
“Child of the Blood, yeah. Those families are always rich, and their bloodlines are important.”
“But anyone can marry into it?”
“Right. Well, not anyone, but someone who’s, let’s say, upwardly mobile.”
“Like you.”
Hen nodded, experiencing a sudden pang of worry for Kajja. Was she married already? Fuck, what a terrifying thought, for so many reasons. “Well, like I was, yeah. Now, I’m pretty sure I’m considered downwardly mobile.” Was it selfish or cowardly to hope Kajja might be, too? He couldn’t live with knowing his transgressions had gotten his family thrown back into the mines or shoveling donkey shit, and yet, even that sounded better than being blooded, in a way.
“Downwardly mobile.” Dagan smiled. “Sounds like much more fun.”
