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between his legs.
    “No,” Tarn growled, leaning in to pull Dit’s hand out. “Strip.”
    Dit moaned protest but then began to scrabble at his clothes. “You going to fuck me if I do?”
    “If it would please you,” Tarn said, and dragged Dit’s breeches down to expose him.
    He had a pretty cock, long and pink, springing out of a cluster of golden curls and topped with a flushed and perfectly rounded head. Tarn knelt down and nuzzled it, sliding his mouth over the top, his eyes closing as he savored the taste and weight of it on his lips. He always liked doing this, enjoying the startled gratitude and joy it won him.
    “Oh,” Dit groaned. “I’ll come. I—oh—”
    Tarn pulled off reluctantly, enjoying the wet pop as Dit’s cock slid free of his mouth. He peered up at Dit and was pleased to see him naked, the whole bare length of him stretched out, all pale skin, pink blushes, and scatters of golden hair across his chest. His eyes were wide, and his pretty mouth slick and red.
    Without breaking his gaze, Tarn slid his fingers into his mouth, wetting them well, and then slid them behind Dit’s balls, searching for his hidden opening. When he found it, he traced his wet fingers around the rim, and Dit arched his back and moaned.
    He sobbed when Tarn worked his fingers inside and found that secret place that he so loved about men, teasing it until Dit quivered around his fingers, his thighs flexing and his breath coming fast. When Tarn pulled his fingers away, Dit gasped, “Oil! In my pocket! Hurry!”
    Tarn had to scrabble through their discarded clothes to find it but was pleased when he did. It was thin, fine stuff, and smelled of musk and flowers. He gladly coated his cock with it, shivering at its cool slick touch. Last time he had done this, all they had to hand was wool grease—smooth, but nowhere near so sweet smelling.
    Dit had turned himself around, thrusting his ass out. Tarn hummed approval and stepped up behind him, then dropped a slow kiss on the nape of his neck, nuzzling through tumbling curls. Then he positioned himself between those spread legs and pushed in slowly, luxuriating in the tightness pressing around his cock.
    He was flushed with heat by the time Dit groaned his name, but he kept up the slow press forward. Tarn eased Dit open even as the man began to rock up against him, until he was buried to the hilt, his hands over Dit’s where they leaned against the crates, Dit’s back pressed to his chest.
    “Move,” Dit groaned, and Tarn obliged him, drawing back and then thrusting in hard, shocking a cry out of Dit. Again and another cry, this one choking on Tarn’s name, and now he had found his rhythm. He fucked Dit steadily and as the man writhed beneath him, his hot passage clutching at Tarn, it reminded Tarn of all the human lovers who had come before—how they had moved beneath him in the same sweet surrender, how much he had loved them all, whether it had been for a night or for the length of their lives.
    The orgasm rose in him unexpectedly, blazing out of his balls in a first warning shimmer of lightning, and he reached around to grasp Dit’s cock, gasping, “Come for me.”
    Dit obliged with a scream, his hole tightening and convulsing, and Tarn roared his delight, emptying himself in one last thrust.
    It took him long moments to catch his breath. Then he turned Dit over gently to see his face.
    Dit blinked up at him lazily, his whole body still slack with bliss. Amused, Tarn nuzzled a kiss to his lips and stood back to survey his conquest—how Dit slumped against the crates, his whole body languid with satisfaction, how his stomach and his thighs were streaked with white trickles, come still dribbling out of his ass.
    “Pretty,” Tarn observed and crouched down to lick him clean.
    By the time he was done, Dit was sighing under his touch again. He lifted himself up on his elbows to smile at Tarn, his eyes hot. “One night, you said?”
    “Just that,” Tarn agreed,