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(A letter in a golden envelope dripping with red wax and pressed with the seal of the Velasian Church of Samothes. The script swoops and twirls, the hand of a person who writes often and for the pleasure of it.)
Hadrian, Sword of Samothes,
I trust your travels have treated you well and that the light of Samothes blesses your steps. The Velasian church is poorer for your absence, though we all rejoice in the knowledge that you may spread His word to those who lack it.
Your wife and son remain safe and content – they visit the church regularly and we pray for your safety and well-being together. I trust Our Lord will watch over us all in these coming times.
Please let me know of your status and your success abroad. I await your reply with tranquil anticipation.
May the light of Samothes shine upon you,
Exarch Alyosha
(A secret letter, hidden underneath the first.)
My dearest Hadrian,
I miss you. Those words are not nearly enough, yet they are the truest I can muster. The bed is not as warm without you here, though Rosana and I manage in your absence. I miss your hands and I miss your mouth. I miss your everything.
Rosana and I try our best to fill the void you leave in all the usual ways. She tells me stories of when you were first married, whispers about the things she taught you when you were young and inexperienced. She puts her fingers in me and tells me of the first time she put her fingers in you, how you ached and moaned and came and came for her, how you flushed so beautifully under her. I can so clearly picture the face you make when one of us fucks you, mouth slack and eyes shut, and it makes me ache inside that I cannot touch you right this moment.
Oh, if I could… the list of things I would do to you would span Hieron, and Rosana’s list would reach all the way back. We talk of you often, Rosana and I. We spin fantasies together, golden worlds where you’re here and we can touch you until you burst and then touch you more, touch you until you beg us to stop for the sheer pleasure of it.
Last night, Rosana put me on my knees, made me take her until I couldn’t breathe and all the while whispered how if you were here, she would make you sit perfectly still and watch until she was sated. And when I swallowed her whole, she cried out and I knew that you would have been crying out too, desperate for any touch on your aching body. And maybe we would have had mercy on you. Maybe you would have suffered longer. I suppose we will find out next time we are all together, won’t we.
In the meantime, I will ache for you, body and soul. My cunt aches for your cock and for your lips and tongue and fingers. Rosana is beautiful and wise and insatiable and wicked, but there is something about the three of us that is incomparable.
When you read this, do not touch yourself right away. I know you will want to, hard under your armor with that beautiful flush on your cheeks, but Rosana and I know how you love to be good for us. And what we want is for you to stroke yourself slow, just on the edge of bliss but not quite. Do it until you’re gasping, until you’re struggling to muffle your cries from your companions, until you think you’ve suffered enough. You’re a good boy, Hadrian, and we know you’ll be perfect for us even with a continent’s separation.
We keep a fire burning in the hearth for you. Do not keep us waiting for too long, or we may just have to come find you instead.
Yours in breathless anticipation,
Alyosha
That night, Hadrian touches himself slow and light in his tent. He teases himself the way he knows Alyosha would, the way he knows Rosana would. He twists his nipples cruelly between his fingers in the way his wife loves and he puts his own fingers in his mouth and pretends they are his lover’s, though his fingers are far too calloused and thick to compare to Alyosha’s pianist’s hands. He finally comes late in the night, crying out into his pillow after an hour of prolonged teasing on his own cock, following Rosana and Alyosha’s instructions without fail. As he lays there, shaking and sated, he hopes that wherever they are, that he has made them proud.
(A letter in a nondescript envelope. The handwriting is broad and utilitarian, but graceful in its own way.)
Dear husband,
I write to let you know of my well-being and inquire after yours. I know not if you have yet made it to your destination, but I know that Samothes will make your steps light and your will strong as steel. There are rumors of unrest approaching Velas, but I will remain vigilant against any coming threat.
I miss you every day and long for your return.
With love,
Rosana
(A second letter wrought by two separate hands in two different colors of ink.)
My love,
I despise writing letters. I much prefer to do, to act. My hands aren’t made for this kind of work. They’re meant for making things, for fixing and building and taking apart, not for writing love letters. That’s Alyosha’s role in our arrangement.
I think that I would like to take you apart. I think on it often, how easy you are to deconstruct into little pieces with a finger just right, with a tongue on your cock, with a hand on your throat. I miss the sounds you make when I take you apart.
I have instead spent my time learning how to take Alyosha apart. He is much less easy to tame, I admit – less willing to obey than you’ve ever been. He’s a wily one, and with such a talented mouth. But I take him apart all the same. It’s what I do, I suppose.
I hope that wherever you are, you have time to yourself. I hope that you find time to breathe. I know how you can get when I’m not there, but I have faith that you can weather anything.
Yours always,
Rosana
Dearest Hadrian,
I continue to miss you terribly, my love. I think constantly of our times together, almost to the point of distraction. I think of the first time we came together, how eager your mouth was and how sweetly you sang for us. I think of the times Rosana and I would trap you between us, how you would writhe, caught between our bodies. We discuss it often, in hushed whispers. Sometimes, though, I am sitting in prayer when my thoughts stray too far from my duty, and I must pray twice as long to absolve myself of that sin. But between us? I don’t think Samothes will hold it against me.
The other night, Rosana fucked me up against the wall of your bedroom and the imprints of her hands are still visible on my thighs. I feel their presence constantly and it makes me ache to remember it. Has she ever done that to you? Have you ever felt the sheer powerlessness of being lifted off your feet and taken, only able to cling and cry out and shake apart? She is here now, watching me as I write this, and her eyes like brands burning into my skin and I feel her hands gripping my thighs as if the marks were just an hour fresh.
There is something so enthralling about letting another person enter your body – it’s a sacred thing, I think. To be split apart and made whole again by a single act can only be the work of something divine, can it not? Of all people, you know this intimately. I remember every word you gasped when you begged for my fingers and Rosana held your wrists and squeezed at your throat. There was no escape for you then, only an inevitable bliss trapped there between us. You were so warm, so wet and I was lucky enough to be the cause of it all.
When you get this letter, Rosana and I want you to take your time with yourself. Stroke over your lips, your throat, your chest and hips. Don't rush a single part of it - you know if you were here with us, we simply wouldn't let you, but we trust that you'll do what we ask. And when you're done teasing every inch of your skin, you’ll put your fingers inside yourself until you come for us. Know that even here, even far away, Rosana and I will move together in your bed and think of you writhing in your tent upon your own fist, begging us as if it’s Rosana’s fingers in you, as if it’s my hand around your throat. Don’t try and quiet yourself – let everyone hear who’s fucking you so well and so thoroughly. You’ll come like that, just on your fingers and nothing else. You’ll suffer so beautifully, Hadrian, but we both know the release will be that much more exquisite. You deserve exquisite things.
Please write soon. I live like a man dying of thirst, and only your presence will restore me.
Yours in faith and in flesh,
Alyosha
Hadrian bites into his arm as he fits a third finger into himself, oil dripping down his shaking thighs. Alyosha’s words dance through his head as he bears down on his fingers, knees aching and muscles burning from exertion. To be split open, to be torn apart and put back together... He misses desperately the feel of hands and lips and teeth on his skin – nothing he can do to himself compares. But he can’t let his lovers down, can’t disappoint them, so he stretches himself until he can fit his last finger, then his thumb. His other hand comes up to his own throat, squeezing ever so slightly as he lets little moans escape his slack mouth on every exhale. He doesn’t think for a second about who might hear, just fucks himself raw until he comes, crying out into the empty tent and clenching around his own hand. As he cleans himself up and settles into his bedroll, he realizes regretfully that he’ll be aching for the next few days of travel. But he also knows that that’s exactly what Rosana and Alyosha would want.
(A letter, official but slapdash, from Velas.)
Hadrian,
Ordenna has attacked. Benjamin and Rosana and I have escaped but Velas has fallen and the situation is dire. I will send more word when I can. Stay safe.
Alyosha
Hadrian holds the letter close to his chest and prays to a god more distant than ever before.
(A letter in a rough brown envelope, delivery instructions hastily scribbled on the front. Traces of ash mar the paper.)
Hadrian,
Benjamin and I are safe. The Ordennans were merciless, but we made it out before the violence reached us. I have never before missed you quite as much as I did in that moment. I wasn’t able to save much from our house, but it was enough to get us through the coming travels.
Alyosha is with us, and he has been a blessing as we flee. Supplies are lean and unrest plagues our group but he manages to soothe the conflicts before they tear us apart. We have to stick together if we are ever to make it to Rosemerrow alive.
I pray to Samothes every day that you are safe. And though I am loath to admit it, I pray to the others too, the gods who we ignore and the gods who we forget – anyone who will listen. I pray to all of them because our safety is worth more than the jealous wrath of a single god.
I know it will be almost impossible for you to get a letter back to us, so I will have to wait until I see you in Rosemerrow. In the meantime, stay safe, strong, and faithful to those who deserve your faith.
All my love,
Rosana
(Another letter tucked into the envelope, handwriting too beautiful for the coarse paper it is written on.)
Beloved,
More than I want anything in the world, I want to see you safe. I want to hear you breathing, feel your heartbeat, listen to your voice in my ear. I want you in my arms and I want you in my tent and I want…
The lovemaking that happens after a close escape is the kind that breaks you up inside and puts you back together again all at once. When we were finally far enough outside Velas to relax, Rosana and I held each other in my tent, unable to let go for even a moment, grateful to be alive and whole and together. I rode her then, pushed her down and fucked us both until neither of us could form words.
She whispered to me, after, about what we would do once we were reunited with you. For once, we would give you whatever you wanted, no games or tricks or delayed gratification. Just the simplicity of skin on skin, of my lips on yours and her hands on your hips and movement and breath and love beyond measure. I long for that day more than I long for air or water or food or sleep.
We don’t have instructions for you, now. Just… be gentle with yourself. That’s all we ask. We love you so much, Hadrian. I hope that is enough.
Yours always, in sweet longing,
Alyosha
When Hadrian finally sees Alyosha and Rosana again, it is not under the circumstances any of them imagined. There is no tearful meeting, no dramatic kisses on hillsides in the rain, no storybook reunion for them. There is only a hill and there is only Benjamin, scared and lost, and there is Alyosha who watches with a deep, deep sadness in his eyes and there is Rosana, anger and pain and loss writ large across her features. And there is Arrell, who Hadrian can only pray is true to his word. And when it is done, Rosana barely looks at him before she leaves. Alyosha puts an arm around him and leads him off, whispering words of comfort that ring hollow in Hadrian’s ears. And then, it is over.
The letters rest still at the bottom of Hadrian’s pack. He can’t bring himself to read them again, but he cannot throw them away, either. So they weigh him down like so many stones. Maybe one day he’ll read them again, remember a time when he was truly whole. Maybe one day he’ll burn them all. For now, he tries his best to look forward and only forward, towards the dark on the horizon.