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same hands spun him, pushing him back against the wall and they were face to face, just inches apart. Now lust spiced the fury in Sai's face. A glimmer of pain and despair lurked there as well, and it was all so clear. All these years, Sai had been grieving. All these years, he'd set aside everything to hunt for Arick, and when he found him, it was in the worst possible place: at the wrong end of a sword.
    Arick opened his mouth to speak, but strong hands were in his hair, holding him in place. A solid, heavy body crushed his and his words were blocked by a bruising kiss. Teeth struck, Sai's tongue thrust into his mouth, and the softness of love was absent. The burning embrace held only anger and lust and painful despair. Submitting to Sai's fury, Arick opened his mouth and stopped resisting, no longer fighting, no longer defending himself.
    If Sai wanted to fell him where he stood, he had the right.
    With lips bruised and skin bleeding, he dropped his head back against the wall, eyes falling closed. He reached, stroked a hand along the other man's naked skin, groaning at the memories. So many memories: Sai at his forge, lost in the magical world of fire and steel, water and wind. They were sparring; he was shocked to discover that the Sword Master was a master of swordplay as well. They'd fought side by side more than once, staggering away from the battlefield to fight and fuck and love each other until consciousness slipped away.
    A rough, calloused hand gripped his cock, jerking Arick from his memories. Sai pumped and pulled at him, drawing him to painful erection. He gasped, his knees going weak.
    "Face the wall," Sai growled. Arick obeyed, opening his legs, knowing just how far to spread, how far to bend.
    "Spit." Sai's hand was in front of his face. Arick's mouth suddenly went dry. He swallowed, trying his best to summon the saliva that would spare him a measure of pain.
    The Sword Master didn't bother to finish undressing. Arick heard the rustle of fabric, and then felt the sudden, overwhelming presence of his body, fingers tearing away fabric, probing and thrusting, barely lubed by Arick's spit. He winced and grimaced, but made no sound. The fingers retreated and the head of Sai's cock took their place, pushing, a hard, formidable presence. So familiar. So painful in so many ways.
    He didn't make it all the way in, nor did he last long. Sai went deep enough to sear white-hot pleasure through Arick's body. One hand dug into his hip, the other clamped the back of his neck, holding Arick away from him, pressing his face to the wall. Sai slammed into his body so hard that Arick needed both hands to brace himself.
    They fucked in silence, no grunts of pain, no moans of pleasure. It was punishment and grief.
    It was revenge.
    It was divine.
    With a final deep thrust, Sai went rigid as a statue, and then thrust wildly, his hot semen pumping into Arick's ass. Sai panted, his breath hot on Arick's neck. His arms slipped away, bracing his weight on the wall, hemming Arick in. His cock softened and slipped away.
    Sometime during the storm fuck Arick had also come, spilling on the floor of the cave. The room smelled like sweat, blood, and semen. When Sai pushed away from the wall, Arick's legs went loose and weak; he slid to the floor, his forehead pressed to the cool wall. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed, turning his head just a bit. Sai was on the floor, sitting with his hands draped over his knees, his head hanging down. His pants were still unfastened. Arick turned his face to the wall again, unable to process what had just happened. He swallowed, trying to speak through a dry throat.
    Sai spoke first.
    "I'm sorry."
    CHAPTER 8
    Outside, the rain fell steadily; the major rage of the storm had passed. The swollen waterways still roared, but inside the cave, the sounds of thunder and water were muffled. Sai was cold, wet, and in pain. He sat with his back to the wall, watching the other man through a fall of