Chapter 5: Oil and Fingers

The only oil in the Fort was camellia oil for sword blades.

Han had it brought up from the armory in a plain clay jar.

Qin Shu carried it to the bedchamber door with the face of a man delivering his own funeral.

"For the Marshal's blades," Qin Shu said, to the floor.

"Thank you."

"For all of the Marshal's blades."

"Qin Shu."

"Yes, Marshal. Going, Marshal."

The door shut.

Behind Han, on the black lacquer bed, the Demon Lord of the Black Tide had his face in a pillow.

He was shaking with silent laughter.

"Stop that," Han said.

"I can't. He said blades."

"You are an ancient being of terrible power."

"I'm also a man who has been told I will be oiled with a weapon maintenance product."

Han crossed the room, jar in hand.

Mo rolled onto his back and looked up at him, still laughing, his white hair wild and his robe slipping off one shoulder.

Han's chest hurt, suddenly, in a way that had nothing to do with the hearts.

"Take your clothes off," he said.

"All of them?"

"Yes."

Mo undressed unhurriedly, watching Han's face the entire time.

When he was done he lay back with his arms behind his head, naked and hard and entirely at his ease.

"What would you like, Marshal?"

"I want you to stop being so pleased with yourself."

"That's going to be difficult."

Han set the jar on the bedside table and climbed onto the bed.

He settled over Mo's thighs and leaned down until their foreheads touched, and kissed him, long and open and hungry.

Mo's hands came up to Han's waist.

"Not yet," Han murmured. "Tonight it's you who lies still."

"I'm lying still."

"You are touching me."

"It's a very small touch."

Han caught Mo's wrists and pinned them to the pillow on either side of his head.

It was an idle gesture, because Mo could have broken free in a breath.

Mo went still anyway.

His chest rose and fell fast under Han's, and the red in his eyes warmed.

"I want to learn how you like it," Han said.

"I like whatever you do."

"That's not an answer."

"Zhaohe." Mo's voice was rough. "It's the only answer I have. I've never wanted anyone else's hands."

Han kissed his throat and let go of his wrists, and Mo kept them where they were.

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