Conan wasn't sure why he had saved the temple acolyte, or maybe he did. A flash of almond shaped eyes, as dark as dusk, slender limbs the color of thick honey, and a flat waist that flared only briefly at the hips under a blue linen wrap, made him more beautiful than many women that Conan had taken to his bed.
The flow of straight dark hair swung as the young man hung on Conan's shoulder and the scent of cinnamon incense tickled Conan's nose as he ran from the avenging stone god rampaging in the temple behind them. Missing the ruby eye,that Conan had tucked in his belt pouch, it was having a hard time crushing all of it's acolytes properly.
"Stop screaming!" Conan growled at the young man and gave the burden on his shoulder a sharp shake without breaking stride. "We are safe!"
As safe as one was in that violent world, he meant, and was satisfied when the acolyte gulped, choked, and finally shut his mouth. Conan could concentrate, then, on navigating the difficult forest terrain and taking them both where a stone god might not choose to follow.
When he finally felt safe enough to stop and make camp, he dumped the acolyte on the ground and pointed a thick finger at him. "Stay," he commanded and the young man nodded and swallowed hard in fear as Conan made a small camp fire.
As he crouched and coaxed the flames to take hold of the tinder, Conan couldn't help flicking glances at the young man who was staring at him, with the same fear that one would regard a saber toothed tiger preparing to eat him. Covered in fanciful blue tattoos and drawn up legs showing his manhood under the linen wrap, Conan had to wonder at his attraction.
It was the need to release the rush of blood that always came with battle, Conan knew. A priesthood of men had made his options limited. The young man had presented himself and found acceptance with Conan's burning need. He would do, Conan decided, and he wouldn't be unpleasant. In fact, Conan was certain that he probably wasn't unskilled, being isolated and also limited in his options in bedmates.
Conan's erection was already straining against his fur loin cloth. A man of action, he didn't allow himself to suffer. He rounded the fire and looked down at the acolyte. The young man's dark eyes looked up at him in fear.
"I saved you," Conan announced firmly. It was clear what was implied and the young man's eyes grew wider.
Conan's big hand sank into the young man's dark silken hair as his other hand released his cock. Standing proud and thick, and already drooling at the tip, he urged the boy's face towards it. He wasn't untried, as Conan had guessed. He closed those lovely eyes and opened his mouth to take his cock into moist heat, his tongue rough against the underside.
He was still terrified, Conan thought, and uncertain of his future, maybe. He supposed that was why the young man sucked with all the skill of a King's whore, even while he was trembling. He allowed Conan to work that mouth up and down the length of his raging manhood by the hand knotted in the young man's hair.
It didn't take long. Conan groaned in relief as he shot his release down the young man's throat. The acolyte swallowed and choked, some of it escaping onto his lips. He licked nervously when Conan pulled out and Conan found that pink tongue, lapping up the last of his release, stirring his blood for another round.
Food first, and rest, in case they were forced to flee again, Conan's survival instincts bade him. There would be time for fucking acolytes later.
"You are mine," Conan announced as he went to tend the fire.
The acolyte blinked at him, at least reassured that he wasn't about to die, yet. It was a long way to a city where Conan could sell his treasure. A warm body in his bed, along the way, would make that journey easier and provide a few extra gold pieces in the slave market after...