[FINISHED]One of the best known original m/m romances in Russia, loved by many. It won the Russian Wattys 2015 Award, now it's available in English too.
Alva Ahayrre is a Creedan nobleman and a courtier, a beautiful and frivolous redhead...
He returned home within the hour, pulled his boots off at the entrance to the grand hall, and rushed to wash, stripping on his way. The bath was only a door away when Ithildin flew down the steps from Alva's study, where he usually read at this hour, and flung himself on Alva's neck. But when Alva tried to kiss him, the elf shuddered and stepped back, letting his arms drop.
Alva let a heavy sigh escape. He could read everything in Ithildin's eyes. Alva could not hide from him. Actually, Alva wasn't planning to hide, he just hadn't had time to think. They had never discussed fidelity. Damn me to hell, if I know how the elves feel about cheating!
Ithlidin wrapped his arms around himself, to stop shivering, and said, numbly, "You smell of him."
Alva swore under his breath.
"I am sorry." He said that just to fill up the silence. "I did not think it would hurt you."
What the hell was I thinking? Rather, with what? Damned cretin.
"You did not hurt me. The memories did. You have nothing to be sorry for."
Ithildin bent his head down, the silver hair covered his face, but Alva had already noticed his tears. The icy avalanche of comprehension crushed him.
"You ... know his smell? He had been ... with you?" asked Alva, numbly. Only after asking the question did he understand its implications.
"Forgive me, I can't talk about it." Ithildin's voice, usually so calm and dispassionate, shook.
Still hiding his face, the elf turned and rushed out of the room.
Alva stood under the running water and scraped himself, as if trying to take off the cursed scent with the skin. "Definitely a screw-up and a cretin," was his verdict upon self-reflection. Until now, the sequence of "drink, don't think, swing" defined much of Chevalier Ahayrre's life. Bloody hell, he had hurt Ithildin, his beloved, just because lust made him stupid.
He had plenty to be sorry for. He could not pretend that nothing had happened, that their life began from the moment Ithildin crossed the threshold of his house. The past was always the third in their bed. Had to learn to live with it. Or at least learn not to twist the knife in the wound, if there was no way to take it out. He threw down his towel, and went to the bedroom.
It was dark, and Alva guessed, rather than saw, that Ithildin was on the bed, head buried in the pillow. The young man lay down, and the elf, with a grateful sigh, hugged him.
"Love me. Make me forget. Your love is the only antidote," said Ithildin, his hands on Alva's body, lips seeking his lips. Ithildin's mouth was sweet, tender, voluptuous.
"How can I learn to behave, if punishment is that sweet," was all Alva had time to think before he sealed his lovely elf's mouth with his.
The future looked bright again. Love was no longer an eclipse – it was light. And life.
THE END OF CHAPTER 2
Funny drawing of Kintaro, Ithildin and Alva in chibi form, by Fururin. Aren't they cute? XD
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