Imprint - 21. Ch. 4 Part IV

IV

They stopped at a roadhouse, the first seen in days; not big enough to house them all, straws were drawn to decide who got a room and who camped outdoors. Of course, one of those rooms was guaranteed. The garden out back looked mouthwatering, the thought of getting to eat something other than rabbit stew was almost as good as getting to sleep in an actual bed.

Not to mention fucking in an actual bed.

He was better at getting that fancy coat off, the first time fumbling for over ten minutes at it, now he could peel it off in a little over five. Canaan could do it even faster, somehow, the movements of his hands were hard to follow. Strife still preferred to do it himself, he found it was an odd turn on. Sex with him was an amusing pastime, better now that they had left behind the lies in favor of more rewarding games.

When they were done and had fallen silent, the door opened and Jacender came in with their food, leaving it without a word, just a glance and a nod. Strife had by now gotten used to the odd relaxed boundaries between Canaan and his men, though it had been a surprise at first, the way they walked right in, the suspicious timing of their entrance (enough so that he said something, Canaan's response had been a cocky look and a “didn't realize you were so modest.”). He knew it was a particular quirk of the Wolf's (a necessary one, maybe, with the insane amount of mods he had, clothing must've been uncomfortable), it wasn't about Strife, wasn't about displaying him like a prize. And there was no hostility between him and the rest of the men for it to cause any problems.

That had been another surprise, Strife had been expecting sneering resentment, coming in as he was as the boss's new bed toy (exclusively so, at that). Not only did that not happen, but by the end of the first day of travel he knew everyone's name. They were a friendlier bunch than he might've thought, at least among themselves; they acted like a tribe, and Strife was instantly accepted as one of them, as though Canaan's approval were all that was needed.

That was a curious thing, too. Canaan was the clear leader, someone they all respected, and yet he didn't rule with the iron fist Strife had always imagined from the stories told; less a dictator and more the center they all orbited around. And it worked, perfectly from what he saw. He questioned it once, Canaan's answer had been brief, “I'm not in the habit of collecting people that need to be nannied.” Further questions brought that, “Men kept on a tight leash rebel, eventually. Better to find people that want to be here, know what they're doing, know to do it and don't need to be watched.”

Strife supposed that was smart, and explained why the group was so small, and why they worked so well in spite of that. It didn't answer the central question that was bugging him more with each passing day: why do these people, competent and independent as they are, follow him? Willingly? What is it about Canaan that attracted this?

Bugging him, because if he wanted to be honest, he was beginning to see it, to sense without understanding. There was something compelling about the Black Wolf, something that made it hard to look away from him, made him seem like something different, something... Strife wasn't sure, he couldn't put his finger on it yet, but he couldn't deny it either.

It wasn't the sex, that's for sure. Amazing as it was. But lots of men were good in bed (probably), its not something he'd get all starry eyed over. Definitely not; most likely not.

The food was as good as it had looked; the room, while simple, was comfortable and warm. Strife stretched on his stomach, Canaan sat across from him against the wall, the platter between them. Strife made a nuisance of himself by snatching choice pieces of meat, breads and fruit away from Canaan's fingers just before they could reach, popping them in his own mouth instead.

After a while, Canaan fixed him with a look; still mostly unreadable but Strife liked to think he was getting to know the man a little by now, enough to know he could put a stop to this if he were truly annoyed.

Strife shrugged with a teasing smile, “I'm sorry, but who came first?”

Something in those eyes changed, a very subtle difference; Strife thought of it as laughter. He gestured with a hand, “Enjoy your win.”

“Don't mind if I do,” swallowing the last bite in his mouth, Strife rolled onto his back, propping both feet in the Wolf's lap, wiggling his toes expectantly.

Canaan sighed quietly, wrapping his fingers gently around the left foot, getting down to work.

Strife relaxed against the pillows, relishing the sensation; for once he didn't try to hold back any sound he made, “Oh fuck, you are surprisingly good at that, you know?”

“Why should it be a surprise?” Mismatched eyes glanced down at him, a smile buried somewhere deep within, “All it takes is a knowledge of anatomy. Something every good killer should have.”

Strife nodded lazily, “You're better than Alarich, too.” He considered what that would imply, the thought a thrilling one. In the following silence, he waved that away, “My last decent foot massage. Never mind.”

The silence only continued, fingers had stopped moving. Strife cracked an eye open to find Canaan frowning down at him in a look that was almost confusion. He counted it as a win every time he coaxed an expression out of those stoic features; the pleasurable ones were still his favorites, but this was good, too. “What?”

“Did you say Alarich? Rock Haven's inquisitor Alarich?”

“...yeah.”

“You know him?” the frown deepened, “He rubbed your feet?”

“He fucked me,” Strife propped himself up on his elbows, confused himself now, “Wait a minute, you know him?”

Canaan nodded, “Well enough.”

“Alarich didn't exactly strike me as someone that would be hanging out with the Black Wolf.”

“He doesn't. He sometimes has drinks with a mercenary named Canaan.” He looked annoyed, “I don't live in a cave, and I don't take that ridiculous title with me wherever I go.”

“I guess.” Strife laid back down again, snickering to himself, “He ever found out though, can't imagine that'd go over well.”

“That's why I don't tell him. And neither will you.”

“Why would I? Even if I saw him again, and I doubt I will. Already got what I wanted.”

Canaan's hands started moving again, fingers pressing along the arch of his foot. “Which was?”

“What?”

“What you wanted?”

Under the effects of Canaan's talented fingers, the truth almost slipped past his guard; he caught it at the last second, “Nah, I think I'll just keep that to myself for now.” It wasn't that he was trying to hide, he wanted a chance to show off. There was something about the man that made him want to show off for him.

“What about you?” he asked now, “What's your angle here?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you drinking with him? What are you after?”

Canaan shrugged a shoulder, “Decent company. No other reason.”

Despite being on opposite sides of the law, it was easy for Strife to see those two getting along, their temperaments were similar enough. “Still hard to believe its a coincidence.”

“I meet a lot of people. Its not that surprising.” Another short silence, and Canaan spoke again, “I can't see him sleeping with you.”

“Why? You think he doesn't fuck?”

“I know he does,” Canaan's eyes met his, less skeptical than his words would suggest, “Not men.”

Strife scoffed, “Well, what can I say? I'm gorgeous and amazing in bed, I can have anyone I want.” Canaan continued to stare, an eyebrow arching in place of words. Strife couldn't help but laugh, lightly knocking his free foot against the underside of the man's chin, “Say something, asshole. You just go right ahead.”

Canaan smiled; it was a very, very slight one, but still a victory for him, “I'm not arguing that. Just its relevance here.”

He paused a moment before relenting, “Okay fine, its not really. And for a long term affair, it wouldn't have worked. Short term though, an exchange with a clear end in sight. Catch them when they're going out on the road for months on end, good sex with a warm body or a lubed up tree knot and a day dream, most men are picking the body.” He shrugged, “If the body is that repulsive, there are ways around that. Keep the lights off, tie you down so you can't touch me, an orifice is an orifice you can imagine I'm anything you want.”

Canaan gave him a strange look, hard to say what he was thinking; his hands continued to work tension of out his foot. “That doesn't sound like it was much fun for you.”

“Well, I wasn't in it for the orgasms. Certain sacrifices needed to be made.” Though not much of one, really; Alarich had been a decent enough man, and even the ones who weren't were controlled by the circumstances into not going too far with him. He thought of saying something to that effect, but feared it would give away more than he wanted to at this moment. It was only recently that his treatment became a concern, and he didn't want to bring that point up now, either. The incident was long since forgiven.

Canaan's hands moved to the right foot, “I admit, I am intrigued. What this is all about.”

“I'm sure,” he let himself smile, “It'll be worth the wait. Especially if you know him.”

“Will I be surprised?”

“I think so.”

He nodded, “Something to look forward to, then.”

They talked now, a lot more than Strife would've previously thought possible. In bed, after sex, when they were alone, it was endless conversation; a friendly exchange of information, questions shooting back and forth, occasionally answers given, Strife recognized it as a sign of Canaan's respect for him and responded in kind. The Wolf was surprisingly good company, he dare say he enjoyed this particular privilege more than any other. It had not escaped his notice they were retiring from the group earlier and earlier each night, so now even dinner was a post coital activity; he didn't think it was done on purpose, but he didn't think it a coincidence either.

“Impressive feat,” Canaan spoke again, “Pulling that off, however many times you did. Lubed tree knot might not be warm, but it is familiar. Most men like familiar.”

“That's what auditions are for. Spend the night riding him, and when he's still coming down from the high, that's when you bring it up. A few months of nights like this, for a trifling cost that's no skin off your teeth. How does that not sound like a good idea, when the alternatives are lacking?”

“You still must have quite the sales pitch to get in the door at all,” finished fulfilling his part of the bet, Canaan pushed his feet off his lap again.

“Yeah, I do,” Strife sat up, legs folding under him, “Five magic words, all I use and all I need.”

“That so?” Canaan leaned forward just slightly, eyes dancing, “Well, go on then. Wow me.”

Grinning, Strife crawled closer, both hands braced on the man's knees to lean in and whisper gently into his ear, “Want to fuck an elf?”

Canaan turned his head, just enough for eye contact; he looked amused. “You're kidding?”

“Nope. Its near fool proof.”

“How?”

“What do you mean, how?” Strife sat back down again, hands to himself, “Have you ever fucked an elf?”

“Yes.”

“I mean other than me.”

“Yes. Twice.” A beat and his head shook just a little, “Um, sorry. That's two elves, not two times. More than that.”

Strife could only stare, surprise rendering him momentarily speechless. The look in Canaan's eyes suggested he was counting this as a personal victory. “I have done a lot, more than most.”

He waffled between admiration and annoyance. When he could speak, he only said, “I'm adding that to the list.”

“Duly noted.”

Both had by now accumulated long lists of things they wanted the other to explain one day; hard to say if these were promises that would ever be made good on, or just a competition to see who could be the most mysterious. He wasn't too proud to admit that Canaan was winning that one by a landslide; demon fairy stories were nothing to the teasing fragments the man himself could offer, hints at things that he'd think impossible if not for his deep down certainty that Canaan wouldn't outright lie to him.

He moved on before he thought too much on it, “Well, your charmed life aside, most people have never even seen an elf. The exiles don't tend to last very long, unless they're really smart or really lucky. I offer an unique experience, people jump on it. So to speak.”

“How is that unique?” he inquired calmly, “Being as, as you already so eloquently put it, an orifice is an orifice?”

Strife shrugged, “Its the exotic factor, and the bragging rights that go along with it. Might be the same old thing, but it feels different somehow. Don't ask me to explain it, I just know its there and use it to my advantage.”

Canaan nodded, “I'm sure it helps that you're very attractive, and know how to play your hand.” A half grin, “Most of the time.”

He let the subtle insult slide, “Well, I got so good at manipulation because I thought for a long time it was all I had. The attractive thing came as something of a surprise.”

Canaan was openly skeptical, “Are you really going to try and convince me you had no idea what you looked like?”

“Its humans that find me so attractive, and I wasn't born among them. Khar'tal was a whole different story.” He shook his head, “The things about me that catch people's eye, the tall, willowy blond thing? About as uncommon as blue sky in the citadel, never would've thought it an asset.”

“And how are such things judged in the citadel?”

Strife thought about it, “Elves there are more about status, so its who you are, who your family is, what you have, what you know. Appearance is pretty far down the list, and as far as that goes,” his jaw tightened a bit, “My ears are too small, my nose is too big and my eyes...just the wrong color.”

He waited, curious what Canaan would do, half expecting the meaningless reassurances on how perfect his features were that he remembered from way back when (welcome then, scorned now). The Wolf just watched him, eyes roaming slowly over his face; he nodded, “I think I understand what you're saying.”

Strife was still, looking back; he saw it, the last thing he did expect to see, but the best response he could've gotten. The vulnerability that knowledge brings was surprisingly far from his mind; he smiled, pleased, “I'm sure you do. You are a smart one, after all.”

“For what its worth, I love the eyes.”

“Really? I seem to remember you saying differently,” he started moving closer.

“You shouldn't mind me, I say a lot of things.”

Strife was back in the man's arms, wound around him, gently exploring his mouth; a further surprise how turned on he was by this, and Canaan passively soaking up the attention rather than fighting for dominance, like he knew it was a reward. Reaching down to take them both in hand, he wouldn't last long this time but if it was a reward it should be fine, no pride lost.

“Which were you?”

“Huh?”

He looked to find Canaan's eyes open and watching him with interest, voice pitched low, “Smart or lucky?”

Pausing the movements of his hand, Strife thought of a response. Thought of flirting with a lie, but again, as usual now, opted for the truth, “Little of both. More lucky in the beginning, but I got smart fast.” He grinned, hand sliding slowly upward, “More than both, I was determined.”

“Determined?”

“For this. To come back, and have my moment.”

“Hmm,” Canaan leaned closer, lips traced along the shell of his ear, “You've had this planned that long?”

Another downward stroke; lips moved to his neck, “In the first week, every detail. Even what I wanted to say.”

“How old were you?”

It was getting harder to think straight, “Equivalent of twelve.”

Canaan's mouth had trailed to his collarbone, “Twelve, and already an Abominable Offense Before the Watchful Eye? Only you, hmm?”

Strife pushed him off, moving backward. Not far, enough to create an inch of space between them, not as much as he should or thought he should, but it was hard to get his keyed up body to cooperate with his outrage. Or his half distracted mind to focus on that outrage, “Wha – what the fuck?”

Canaan was openly confused, a more than slight expression this time, “What?”

Just the sight of that confusion, a clear emotion, pushed aside his remaining arousal, strengthened his resolve. He glared, “You can read this?!”

The confusion smoothed out, and the wall was back in place. Canaan was considering his answer, a little too carefully. “Yes,” then, “Just now.”

“Just now? What the fuck does that mean? What, did I pass it on to you? Like some brothel born rot?”

“No,” another considering pause, “Its been a while, since I've seen Elvish. It took time, to remember.”

“Just now?”

“Recently,” he corrected, “I look at it so often”

It wasn't good enough, Strife pressed, “You know Elvish?”

“I know enough to get by.”

“How?”

Another pause, “As I said, I knew elves other than you. I picked up on the language.”

“Its a complicated language.”

“I'm a quick study.”

“And the only thing more pointlessly dense than their language is their ridiculous Offense system,” Strife shook his head, “How did you even put those words together?”

“Picked up on the culture, too. Need something to talk about in bed.”

He didn't think Canaan was lying to him...but he didn't think it was the whole truth, either. He couldn't begin to fill in the blanks, the whole thing felt impossible. “So then you know why I'm here?” It was a half test, to see what the man really knew.

“Said already I thought I did,” Canaan replied, “But that,” a hand reached out, toward his eye, “is not a particular crime. Its a reaction, the people found you irredeemable.” His lips pressed together, Canaan looked displeased, “Hard to think of a twelve year old as irredeemable, society must be slipping there.”

Strife took a slow breath; the man had passed, perfectly, and he didn't know what to say. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but those elf fuck buddies of yours must've been giving you history lessons. Society has sucked there for a long fucking time.”

“...perhaps.”

Silence, Strife could do nothing but stare and wonder. Eventually, Canaan leaned slightly forward and put a hand on his thigh, “Have I offended you?”

“No,” he answered, no need to think about that, “Just...surprised me.”

“Isn't that a good thing?” spoken with a grin, his hand slid up higher.

“There are limits to that, you know?”

“I know,” he moved closer, “You're used to keeping your own counsel.”

Strife nodded, no point in lying, “You were anybody else, I'd be pretty uncomfortable now.” He realized after it was out that it came as close as anything else to giving voice to the respect he felt. Canaan didn't bat an eye, though.

Canaan shifted closer, legs bracketing his own, both hands on his body now, “Let me make it up to you.”

“You could.” Guided back against the bed, he added, quick but calm, “Looking for a different kind of prize here.”

Canaan hovered over him, face half serious. “I know,” he said. “If I said I will?”

“Why not now?”

“Not the time. Right now, you're my employer. And you have other things to focus on.”

Strife's brows lowered, “Is that really it?”

“Part of it,” he admitted, “I want to see what you do here first.”

“I have to impress you again?”

“It wouldn't be as satisfying if I made it easy.”

“I think I'd live with myself, but whatever. Just stop teasing me already.”

“Noted. And apologies, it was unintentional.”

“Yeah, yeah,” pushing everything else aside, Strife reached up and touched the Wolf's face, ran fingers through black hair, “Let's change the subject.”

“To?”

“To you finding something else to do with your mouth.”

Canaan grinned, “You are the boss.”