Scenes
430Standing still and quiet, Bortor looks at Nike as he sleeps. The hoophead's form barely fits the bed. Both his feet poke out from under the blanket as he's sprawled on his belly, hugging the pillow.
Bortor takes his time etching the peaceful scene into his memory. A part of him secretly hopes that Nike will wake up. Raise his head sleepily, spot Bortor standing there and lift the blanket in a silent invitation. Maybe he'll even mumble “Come here”, and his voice will hold that trust and fondness that it expresses so easily.
Bortor's about to betray that trust and throw away the fondness.
He shifts his new travel pack on his shoulder. It's full of stolen things, and that's appropriate, as Bortor's head is full of stolen kisses and stolen affection. He shouldn't have done it. He shouldn't have slept with his uncle. He shouldn't have become his lover, and he shouldn't have enjoyed it as he had. He shouldn't have opened up to that love.
Bortor turns and he walks away, leaving Nike asleep in the too small bed.
437
When Bortor returns home, it's in clean clothes and on horseback, so nobody suspects that he had been begging for food for the past two years. He keeps his poncho on for now, so that his family can't see how thin he has become. He tells stories, but they aren't whole. He doesn't tell anybody that he fell in love with the green Armikrogian that uncle Bobuslaw recommended to him as a guide. He doesn't talk about his little adventure on Mount Aratat. Those memories are for him alone.
He suspects that Nike hates him now. He absolutely dreads what will happen when they meet again.
Still, sometimes he has dreams where he's held in a warm and tight embrace. They leave him feeling guilty, and happy, and secure.
Beside the fading memories, worn thin by having been replayed again and again, the occasional dreams are the only thing left to him. And that's good, Bortor thinks. That's good.
He tries not to feel wistful when Alan and Ceola announce happily that they are getting married.
500
Bortor can't quite believe how wildly his heart is hammering in his chest. He and his family have gone to the Neverhood New Year's party as every year. As every year, he was prepared to hear uncle Krevel complain sadly that he wished Nike was there to celebrate with them. He was not prepared to see Nike celebrate with them.
The hoophead greets the Ottoborg clan loudly and hurries to shake their hands, explaining that yes, he has just got here, Klogg is over there dancing with Klaymen. Bortor waits, jittery, until it's his turn. When it comes, he extends his trembling hand. But Nike ignores it completely and instead sweeps him into a hug, disregarding the alarmed cries of the family. The embrace is over before Bortor can lift his arms to return it. Nike glances down at the four punctures in his belly, then looks up to give Bortor a brief smile. He has not forgotten.
And even though Bortor barely gets to speak with Nike for the rest of the day, he's happier than he has been for years.
500
Bortor watches from afar as the twins, Alan, Ceola, and Plekti play in the crisp January snow. Compared to them he has two extra layers of clothing but he still feels cold. Some health issues never passed even after he regained his weight. Being broken apart and cast back together took its toll on him. He could go and play with them, and it would warm him up, too, but then he'd start having trouble breathing and the twins would make fun of him while Ceola would be worried. He doesn't need that. So he stays where he is, shivering secretly.
The twins are holding each other's hands and creating a giant snowman when they nod at each other and let go. The snowman comes tumbling down, much to Plekti's delight.
“Come at us,” Ottimo yells at Alan, falling into a fighting stance.
“Again?” Alan asks, exasperated. “Just get a teacher or something!”
“But we need someone to spar with,” Tuborg whines. “If we can't learn to fight on our own, we'll be screwed if we get caught apart again. Come on Alan. Please?”
As Bortor watches the Neverhoodian and his brothers brawl clumsily in the snow, his mind pieces together a plan. A part of him is inadequately excited about it. Another part is horrified that even after all these years he would be so eager. His affair with Nike ended. It ended on the morning he sneaked off and abandoned the relationship. He should not be so happy about getting Nike to stay on the Brokenhood for a few years as a trainer.
He can't help feeling thrilled, though.
500
When Nike does arrive, the snow has long melted and it's spring. There was some hold-up with Hoborg. Apparently he wanted Nike to stay home for some time before he had to say goodbye again. Everyone in the family agreed, and Bortor was too proud to contradict them.
Now that he's here, he's more grim than Bortor remembers him. He seems somehow sad, and he's bothered by something. When Bortor gathers the courage to ask, the hoophead gives him a look and says reluctantly:
“I can't talk about it. I would, but, I can't.”
Bortor grows incredibly curious what secret could be grave enough that Nike wouldn't talk about it. But he doesn't pry. He has time. The twins have made it clear that they're talking years when it comes to their training. Half jokingly, they tell Nike not to spare them.
The twins certainly doesn't expect that two weeks after Nike arrives, he'll announce that the training will take place in the family's mountain chalet, as far from civilisation as possible. Bortor doesn't expect it either, and it's a nasty surprise. To top it off Nike declares that the training will take exactly one year, and after it's finished the hoophead will depart on another journey through the klay universe.
Suddenly Bortor's options are very limited.
Which pairing do you prefer?
Nike x Klogg
Nike x Bortor
500
Even though he hates to admit it to himself, on the night before the three leave Bortor all but panics. He walks the entire way from his room to the guest room fighting with himself, his insecurities, his fear of rejection. When he stands before the door he's utterly certain that he'll never have the courage to knock.
Then the door swings open and the hoophead barrels into him.
“I'm sorry!” Nike exclaims, catching the boy before he falls. “I didn't know you were standing there. Do you want something?”
Bortor ignores the question. He can only feel the pair of strong hands on his shoulders, handling him like he weighed nothing, like he was a doll. Nike asks again and when he doesn't receive an answer, he leans in to inspect Bortor's face. He's so close the boy can feel the gush of his breath stroking his forehead.
“Are you alright? You're a little red. Maybe you've eaten something bad.” He rubs his large hands up and down Bortor's arms. The boy sees stars and, unwittingly, moans with sheer desire. As soon as the sound breaks free of him, he wants to take it back. He wants to leave. The tension of the moment is going to break him.
Then Nike is looking at him and his mouth is curving into a slight smile.
“Do you want to come inside?” he asks. His husky voice is heavy with invitation. Does he know what can happen if he lets Bortor inside? The Brokenhoodian dares to lift his gaze and he sees it in Nike's eyes: Yes, he knows exactly. He wants it to happen.
Bortor nods mutely, and slips into the guest room. Whatever Nike wanted to go out for, it's forgotten.
500
Knock, knock. Bortor buries his face in the pillow.
“Bortor?” Ottimo's muffled voice calls. “Wakey wakey, breakfast's ready.”
“I'm coming!” Bortor responds, not moving an inch. His body feels so heavy.
There's a burst of laughter from the other side. “He's coming!” somebody repeats in an erotic voice. “He's coming!”
Immediately Bortor realises that he isn't in his bed. He isn't in his room. This room is-
He jolts up. He's naked. There's a naked Neverhoodian in the bed beside him. Clothes litter the room, furniture is knocked over – oh Quater, what did they do last night?
The sounds of laughing grow distant as Bortor's head fills with hot noise. He remembers now. He can't stop remembering. How hungry Nike was, how little it took to start kissing, how they kissed and where they kissed and how wild-
“Are you too exhausted to get up, little brother?” Ottimo asks and his voice is shaking with mirth. “It's no wonder, you were awake all night! We could bring you breakfast in bed, but I don't think that would be appropriate…” Another boom of snickering. Bortor doesn't know what is worse – that he didn't see to keeping his voice down last night, or how ungracefully hilarious the twins find it.
Bortor's hand is stroked and he starts before he looks. Nike's warm, grey eyes are gazing at him with concern and fondness. The stare has Bortor transfixed.
Nike nods at him in encouragement before he scrambles out of the bed. He stretches his body, then goes to the door, naked, yellow-blue, and glorious. He grasps the handle and jerks the door open.
“Shut the hell up and scram!” he bellows. And then there's no more laughing, only the sound of feet hitting the corridor tiles. What a delicious sound.
Nike closes the door, locks it, and he looks at Bortor seriously. “We were very loud last night and it looks like everybody knows.” (No shit Sherlock, Bortor thinks. Your need to state the obvious is a natural phenomenon.) “There's only one thing I can do about it now.” The hoophead takes a deep breath and before Bortor can panic he says: “Will you be my boyfriend?”
An enormous relief floods Bortor. “I don't think I have a choice,” he grins.
500
The breakfast is the most awkward experience of Bortor's life. He and Nike tried to skip it by simply not leaving their room. But then Caline came in person to tell them to eat with the rest of the family. Refusing wasn't an option. So now they are sitting at the breakfast table opposite each other, pretending that they have an interest in the food. Bortor dreads the moment somebody brings up last night.
“I have an announcement to make,” Nike says suddenly. Bortor is pleading with his eyes: Don't.
“Let's hear it,” Ottoborg smiles energetically, setting down his cocoa.
“Bortor and I are dating,” Nike proclaims simply. “Deal with it.”
Bortor dies inside. Not a little, but a whole lot. This is the worst-case scenario. Not only is Nike blunt about it; he's rude to his family. The Brokenhoodian only has the strength to hide his face in his hands. This was supposed to be the most important moment of his life.
An astonished silence unfolds.
Then Ottoborg clears his throat. “Alright, that's one thing I wanted to know. Thanks for making it official, Nike.”
“No problem,” Nike responds, unfazed. “It would be inappropriate not to make it official.”
“Yes, it would,” the king affirms. Silently Bortor seconds this opinion. It's not like they have the luxury of claiming otherwise. “And the second thing I want to know,” Ottoborg continues, “exactly how long have you two been together?”
Nike cocks his head to the side, obviously confused. “Since… one minute ago.”
Ottoborg shakes his head. “No, I mean… How long… Ugh, for Quater's sake Nike! I didn't think I would learn of my son's first love in this way! This is way too sudden, I can't just 'deal with it'. If you really seduced Bortor on the night you were supposed to leave, I'll never forgive you...”
“No no no,” Nike raises his hands defensively, “that's not how it is! We've… alright, I must admit, we didn't really think it through, but it's not like this is a one night stand! I truly love him. Bortor and I go way back – hasn't he told you?”
All eyes go to the boy. “Bortor?” Caline drawls, somewhat menacing.
The boy shrinks in his seat. “I…” He clears his throat. “I might have left out, uh, a few details. From, um, the time Nike and me met on Mount Aratat.”
“Is that the place where you fell from a hail?” Ottoborg recalls. Bortor nods. “So you got together there?”
“Well… more or less,” Bortor says uncomfortably. “I uh… I thought we wouldn't work out, so… we broke up.” He catches a fierce look from Nike and he breaks out in cold sweat. He knows that Nike is going to contradict him and demand an explanation. In front of his entire family, he's going to ask why Bortor threw him away like a rag doll. Looking the hoophead straight in the eye, the boy shakes his head in desperation. But he knows it's hopeless.
Nike opens his mouth, hesitates… and then falls silent.
Bortor's mouth twitches in a surprised, tired, grateful smile. Is this the first time Nike has shown this sort of consideration? He thinks so.
“Why did you think it wouldn't work out?” Caline asks softly. “Nike is a great person.”
Bortor's heart falls before Gred cuts in: “Does that matter anymore? Obviously it did work out for them. Personally I'm happy for you, brother.” He gives Bortor a wide supportive smile.
“I suppose,” Caline smiles as well. “I'm happy for you, too. I hope you'll make each other happy.”
“Thank you, Caline,” Nike says.
In a secret part of his soul, Bortor dares to hope for that, too.
500
The training group's departure is postponed after the faithful morning. Even Nike, who always has everything straight and square, admits that he needs a while to sort things out. Spring is in full swing and the countryside is lovely. Bortor often goes for walks, with Clementine or without her, to clear his head and get away from his family. More often than not, Nike accompanies him.
The horse likes Nike. Bortor notes this with pleasure, since he trusts a horse's judgement better than that of a person. Sometimes Nike puts Bortor on his shoulders and starts jogging; Clementine likes to jog along with them. She is always challenging Nike to a race by butting against him and cantering a little ahead, but the hoophead rarely gives in. As he says, it's important to get there rather than get there quickly.
Clementine's favour of Nike has one more up side beside the fun. Even though the weather is getting warmer, it's still too cold to make love in the forest. But a horse's body is always warm, and she lets them snuggle up against her and use her as a giant pillow. Or bed. Bortor has never thought of all the various things two could do on a horse.
One day, as they're lying on Clementine's back, dozing in the afternoon light, only half-dressed and thoroughly exhausted, Nike strokes Bortor's cheek and says: “It's time that I start training with the twins. If I stay here any longer, I won't be able to leave.” The boy wants to object until Nike says: “Would you like to go with us?”
501
A year passes and Bortor thinks that he has never been happier. Even his family tells him so when they come down from the mountains: He looks healthy, almost glowing. And he's always smiling. Or, at least, very often compared with before.
The twins are positively buff. Bortor wouldn't have thought it possible, but their shoulders are wider, their limbs thicker. Their reflexes seem to be lightning fast. Bortor takes up the hobby to keep a bouncy ball in his belt pocket and throw it at the twins without a warning. If they can see it coming, they never fail to catch it. And to think that is pure physical prowess! The twins have yet to learn any actual form of martial art. Nike couldn't teach them what he didn't know himself.
Even so, the twins have come to carry Nike in great respect. Bortor likes to jab at them that it's mostly fear, but he knows that it isn't true. During the entire training Nike has kept up an impressive schedule: with twins during the day, with Bortor during the night. He gave both parties his best. No matter what he made the twins do, he always exercised with them: longer, harder, motivating them to do better. And as for Bortor… After the first two weeks he had to tell his lover that tonight he only wanted to cuddle and maybe read a book. His body was too satiated to crave for anything else.
As a result, over the year Nike has got little sleep. Whenever Bortor voiced his concerns about it, the hoophead assured him that it was alright. He was made of best klay so it was nearly impossible for him to hurt himself. In fact, he confessed to Bortor, he was trying to find out how far he could push his body. Sadly he was nearly certain that no effects would show after a mere year.
When they arrive back at the Brokenhood manor, Nike doesn't take a break. Instead he's quick to busy himself with helping out around the house. During the winter Ottoborg ran out of silver, and without the twins to create the metal for him, he decided to investigate the old mine again. With Krevel's help he has located a thick vein that he had missed before, running deep and far into the underground. With enthusiasm Nike offers to dig the mine. The works proceed swiftly. Bortor can see that Nike enjoys working with his brother immensely, and he's happy for him.
Then one day, the ground shakes. Bortor grouses about his spilled coffee, which escalates into a heated discussion with Gred about how common earthquakes actually are on the Brokenhood. Suddenly Tuborg runs inside in disarray.
“There's been a cave-in. Nike is buried in the shaft.”
And Bortor goes cold.
501
For hours they try to extract the Neverhoodian from the collapsed mine. Ottoborg is pacing around mumbling that he shouldn't have made the shaft so steep after all, the twins are designing a digging robot small enough to fit into the tiny mine, while Krevel is doggedly dragging huge stones out one by one. Bortor has never quite realised how strong his uncle is. It's astonishing. It reminds him of Nike.
As for Bortor, he stays by the mine, praying. He isn't strong enough to help with the excavation or smart enough to aid with the engineering. So he does what he can. Trying his best not to panic, he is the voice of reason. He takes it upon himself to keep everyone from losing their heads.
When Krevel plops down next to the mine's entrance, Bortor scuttles to his side.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly. Krevel must be as afraid for his brother as Bortor is.
“Yeah,” the Neverhoodian nods, looking at his palms. They are covered in scratches and tiny tears which heal right before Bortor's eyes. “But… the work? It's just too much. At this rate it will take me days to reach the bottom. Not to mention that there are stones too large to carry. Plus there's always the chance of structural instabilities…” He sighs and runs his hand across his face, smearing dust over his features.
Shivers run down Bortor's spine but he stays strong. “The twins are finally getting somewhere. They're confident that they're only hours away from a working prototype.”
Krevel shakes his head. “Even with that. There's just too much ground to move. The mine was almost fifty meters deep by the time it caved in. If the subsoil was unstable to begin with, digging the same path again will just result into another collapse.” He rubs his forehead with his palm in frustration. “I've been in several cave-ins. I know that every minute that you spend down there drives you crazy. With Nike?” He looks at Bortor and his green eyes are wide with terror. “Can you imagine a claustrophobic in a cave-in? I was surprised that he wanted to go down there in the first place. All the way through, I told him that it was okay to stop. I could see that sometimes he'd get panic attacks, he'd clutch at his chest and it took him minutes before he was able to breathe again. But he was so stubborn about working in there, I let him. Look where it got him.” He balls his fists, and it hits Bortor just how wound-up he is, just how worried. Beneath that calm, collected surface, Krevel isn't calm or collected at all.
“It's going to be alright,” Bortor says, and his voice sounds more certain than he really is. “Nike is made of best klay. He'll be fine.”
“It's not his body that I'm worried about,” Krevel mumbles. Then he sighs and changes the subject: “Has anybody contacted the Neverhood yet?”
Bortor gulps. “No. Everyone's been hoping that we'd get Nike out before it comes down to that.” He thinks about uncle Nehmen and how unhelpfully panicking he will be.
Krevel nods. “We have to contact them now. I'll go through the teleporter. Have Ottoborg and the twins continue building the robot, it might be helpful after all. But right now we need help.” He takes a deep breath. “I'll get the Guardians.”
501
“So this is the place,” the leader of the Guardians says, setting his hands against his hips and staring at the entrance of the mine. “Smaller than I imagined. Anyway.” He turns to his brothers, all business. It's somewhat soothing how easily he assumes control over the situation. “Dake, Gome, you are utterly useless here. I told you so when we were setting off, I'm telling you again. Go home.”
“Ruuuze,” the Guardian of Water whines, “come on, there's gotta be something! I can-”
“No,” the leader snaps before his brother can finish. “Go home. You too, Dake.”
“Actually,” the Guardian of Fire objects, “I heard making robots involves melting metals. I might be helpful there.”
The leader shoots a glance toward Ottimo and Tuborg. The twins shrug. “It's worth a shot,” they say. “Anything to make the work go faster.”
Ruze rolls his eyes. “Alright, Dake, go help out in the forgery. Gome.”
The water Guardian frowns and quickly says: “If Dake isn't going, I'm not going either!”
“I know. Just go and make yourself useful somehow,” the leader says shortly and ignores the excited “Aye aye sir!” as Gome makes his leave as well. “Arig,” he calls. “Where did you go?”
The single remaining Guardian points to the mine. “He's already inside.”
“Good,” Ruze grunts nodding. “As the Guardian of Earth, he's the only one of us who's actually relevant here. Come on Usha, let's go after him. You need to listen if the Hoodian's still moving while I can loosen up the gravity…” Before they enter the mine, the leader turns back. “You all,” he addresses Bortor and his family. “Go somewhere else. Usha's gonna do some listening and he needs total silence for that. So go, go. I'll let you know as soon as we get somewhere.”
A majority of the addressed obey the order and trail toward the manor. Two people refuse to move.
“And you?” Ruze narrows his eyes.
“I'm not going anywhere,” Krevel states.
“Neither am I,” Bortor joins in.
To his surprise the Guardian cracks a smile. “I didn't expect you would. Fine, you two can stay here. But be quiet. No crying or breakdowns, alright?”
Bortor and Krevel nod. The Guardian nods back and the derelict mine swallows him and his brother up.
501
The guest room is quiet, so quiet. Nike is lying in there, on the bed, wrapped up in tight bandages. His eyes are closed and he doesn't move. He hasn't moved since he was extracted from the mine.
The Guardian of Earth has told them in a hushed voice: “I've done what I can. He needs rest.” But Bortor knows what the Guardian has said to Krevel, his best friend.
“It's horrible. I've never seen a Neverhoodian in such a state. I've tended to severe cases of poisoning, I've seen you after you spent days crushed in a cave-in. Nothing comes close to this. I… I don't think Nike is immortal anymore.”
Bortor is positive that his heart is going to burst with sorrow. He goes out for rides as always, but his gentle horse fails to soothe him. The sweet summer fails to warm him. His own words that Nike is going to be alright fail to convince him.
It's his fault, he knows. If he didn't let Nike work in the mine… If he didn't let Nike exhaust himself with the training… If he didn't go to Nike's room on that night…
In the middle of his worries he realises that he can't imagine being without the hoophead anymore, and it frightens him.
501
Five days later Nike wakes up. Of course he wakes up, Arig has said so, that he only needed to sleep. Still.
Blearily Nike's eyes roam around the chamber, around the people who stand gathered there, holding their breath. For a moment Bortor is afraid that his lover won't recognise him. But then the hoophead's grey eyes fix on him, and slowly Nike smiles.
“Bortor…” he rasps. “I've been calling you…” He tries to lift his arms and spread them out for a hug. He hisses. He tries again, looking at his arms in surprise.
“Don't move yet,” Caline hurries to his side, holding him down gently. “You've been hurt. Take it easy.”
“What do you remember?” Krevel asks uneasily. Bortor doesn't understand why short-term amnesia would be the first of Krevel's concerns. Then he recalls his uncle's words. “It's not his body that I'm worried about”.
Nike blinks. “Hazy,” he mumbles. “Um. Training with the twins? Going for rides… Working in…” His eyes go wide and he utters a swear. Sweat breaks out on his forehead.
“Open the window,” Krevel orders before his brother takes a gasping breath. He pushes Caline away as he takes her place by Nike's side, clasping his hand. “Look at me. I'm here. It's a large, spacious room. You're alright. Do you want to go outside? We can go outside.” Eyes wide with terror, Nike nods. Not very gently, Krevel jams his hands under him and sweeps him up, blanket and everything. “Move please,” he demands as he heads to the door. Bortor's family quickly get out of the way. Krevel carries his brother out of the room. His footsteps can be heard from the corridor: heavy, fast, and fading.
Bortor stands still, not grasping what has happened. Was that the panic attack Krevel has spoken of? But… it wasn't… it didn't look like one! And – and Bortor failed to react. He just stood there! He's been waiting for the moment Nike would wake up for five endless days, thinking of what he could say, of how he would chase away the lingering memories of being buried alive with a hug. But when Nike did wake up, Bortor didn't do anything. He was utterly useless.
Ceola lays a hand on her brother's shoulder. She fishes out a handkerchief and offers it to him. Bortor doesn't get it at first and he only looks at her strangely. His sister smiles a little and dabs at his eyes. Bortor flinches inwardly. Has he been crying?
“Nike needs you,” she whispers into his ear. “You have to go and be there for him.”
Bortor shakes his head. “Uncle Krevel…”
“Uncle Krevel is his family, but you're the one he chose,” Ceola speaks to him, quietly, urgently. “Didn't Usha tell you? He was calling your name the entire time he was buried in the mine…”
A little nudge is all it takes for Bortor to break into a run.
501
Krevel is standing in the middle of the garden, his brother scooped up in his arms. He gazes at Nike's face while Nike gazes up at the sky.
Bortor slows down when he's close to them, anxiety flooding in. He wasn't prepared for what would happen when Nike woke up. Krevel was. There is so much he doesn't know about the hoophead. Maybe this is inappropriate. Maybe Nike doesn't want him here.
“Ah, Bortor,” Krevel half turns to him. And Bortor sees Nike tear his eyes away from the open sky and look at him instead.
“Bortor,” he gasps and it sounds like a prayer. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just couldn't…” He swallows once, twice, and coughs a little. Bortor gets it immediately. He's woken up from a very long sleep enough times. He rushes to the fountain and comes back with a cup of water. Seeing that Nike can't move very well and Krevel's hands are full, he holds it to Nike's lips. The hoophead drinks thirstily, and as he fills his stomach with water, Bortor can feel his soul being filled up with warmth like sun rays after a very long rain. He has Nike back.
After the cup is finished he tells Krevel: “Set me down.”
“Even if you're not in pain, your legs won't carry you,” the Hoodian objects.
“I know. Lay me on the ground.”
More gently than he picked him up, Krevel eases his brother's body into the soft grass. He and Bortor sit down to Nike's both sides, watching him.
“I thought I was getting better,” the hoophead says softly, gazing into the sky. His hand at Bortor's side moves and the boy takes it. Nike squeezes a little. He speaks slowly. “I thought I could overcome it. Everything. My own body's limits. My own fears. I thought… I thought if I pushed myself hard enough… I could break through.” His tongue is sluggish as he asks: “What exactly happened?”
They tell the story.
501
The Guardian of Earth is invited to the Brokenhood once again. He takes half an hour bathing Nike in a green glow. Bortor is present, of course, curled up against his lover. The Guardian doesn't mind. He explains to both of them that he can't actually heal people, not in the way the twins can close up a wound. Instead he gives them life energy, and through it, the power to heal themselves. Since life energy is exactly what Nike is missing, he'll try his best to replenish it.
Bortor supposes that since the Guardian is passing around his own life energy, it's no wonder that he falls into a deep slumber as soon as he's done. While Bortor's watching the green-skinned Hoodian sleep peacefully, he feels Nike's hands crawl over his body.
“I think I'm aroused,” the hoophead purrs into Bortor's ear. The boy shudders.
“Got that much energy in you?” he croaks, angling his head to look at Nike's face.
“Definitely,” the Neverhoodian says in a husky voice. He shifts under Bortor and the boy can feel it – the old, flowing strength of his body. The feeling that he could break him like a twig if he wanted, but he won't, and instead he'll worship him with that gorgeous body as best he can.
They don't intend to end up making love in front of the sleeping Guardian, but Bortor has been too wound up and worried and frustrated to deny himself the pleasure of Nike any longer. And apparently, the same goes for the hoophead.
This time, however, they do remember to keep their voices down.
And Bortor… Bortor is happy.
