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From:

dr_libra_phd

...not one word. (headdesk)

Partied too hard yesterday--well, as hard as one can behind the plexiglass in the labs, but our manager bought us lunch in celebration. Free bagels! And me trying to cut carbs in keto. Wah.

Nevertheless, all that hard bagel and cream cheese eating and soda pop drinking (lol) got me thinking. I have been amiss with sword!porn for you guys. Forgive me. Here are BAMFs with sharp things as foreplay to sex! Hee.

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Part 17A
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(Nicolo)

Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century

He did not remember the sword being this heavy.

Nicolo grasped the hilt. He jerked his hand back as if burned. His chest shrank around his breath the moment he touched the sword. He...

Nicolo turned away. He stared out the doorway, towards the direction Yusuf went to check on the traps and the nets. Nicolo could not see him from here, but he could see the sky was still blue and clear. It was not time yet for the sky to bleed reds and yellows to welcome the sun and release the moon.

The sword was in one of the tall jars they found cracked with disuse when they discovered the abandoned house. It was once meant for oil to preserve fish, but the cracks in the bottom promised no oil would stay within for too long.

Yusuf kept his scimitar with Nicolo's longsword inside the jar unless he was going into the village. And while Nicolo ignored his sword in the vessel, there was comfort seeing their swords together in the container, set by the foot of their bed.

His sword was alone in the pottery right now. Yusuf only removed his scimitar strapped over his shoulders and left it on the table. When they arrived home, Yusuf mumbled he needed to check on their traps. He hesitantly offered to check Nicolo’s nets as well.

It was petty, but Nicolo simply took the reins and led the horse to its stable. He heard Yusuf sigh, but he refused to turn around. Nicolo sensed Yusuf watching as he removed the harness and the bundles on its tethered baskets. He walked by Yusuf, silent as he set the cheeses and stew meat on the table. He walked back out with the sack of chaff and feed to their horse and hens.

As much as he felt twisted up and frustrated. Nicolo could not help brushing his knuckles over Yusuf’s left hip as he passed. Still silent, but Nicolo knew Yusuf would understand his touch. Nicolo would not be angry with Yusuf forever. And the downcast look Yusuf fought so hard to suppress hurt to see and demanded not to be ignored.

Yusuf’s hand brushed over Nicolo’s elbow. He rasped he was going to the stream. He will be back.

Nicolo nodded. He heard the plea underneath that Nicolo be here when he returns.

Nicolo watched Yusuf set down his sword on the table, retrieved a basket to collect anything they caught and left. And he knew Yusuf would return. Regardless, it still ached to see Yusuf's back going farther away from him. He almost called him back. He almost ran up to join him. Instead, Nicolo jerkily twisted around to go back into the house after Yusuf was too far away to see.

Yusuf’s sword felt light in Nicolo’s hand when he picked it up. It was a deadly weapon, lighter yet dealt with much heavier damage Nicolo would have expected. It spoke of the man’s strength and agility required to yield such a sword. Even in the heat of battle, Yusuf had seemed to dance through each strike and blow.

Nicolo pulled off the still bloodied dagger hanging off his right hip. He set it next to Yusuf’s scimitar. He pressed his lips together as he compared the two. He sighed and sat down on the edge of the pallet.

Yusuf was correct, of course. How can Yusuf trust Nicolo against his back with a simple dagger?

Nicolo took a deep breath and stood. He stared at his sword, given to him after training when he stepped down from priesthood and chose a path he thought would bring him closer to God.

The sword was cool in his right hand. He held it point down. It felt like it dragged him to the ground to kneel.

Nicolo recalled how it sang through the air, metal slicing across before contacting flesh and bone. It did not feel as heavy once he started fighting with it. Then, fight fed his bones and sent his blood coursing throughout his limbs. He fought because it was what he trained for, what his heart had believed until he died. First. Second. A curved blade through his heart did not break it.

Watching what he thought was his comrades who shared the same purpose burn and raped everything into the ground crumbled his heart. Watching war frenzied men ignore their faith and morals for flesh, blood and riches broke his heart.

Nicolo gulped back the heavy lump reforming in his chest that wanted to break free. He squeezed the grip of the sword and thought of what it destroyed in the name of false purpose.

But it can be baptized with new purpose.

Nicolo pulled his sword out of the jar.

Nicolo lifted the sword with both hands. He studied the gleam of the blade, the reflections of the sun turned the blade into a swirl of gold.

Behind him, the hens chirped, no longer interested once they realized Nicolo was not there to feed them. Even further back, the horse poked its head out of the narrow stable and softly nickered curiously but continued chewing the chaff in its bucket.

The scabbard, propped up for the short pen around the hens, clinked every so often as the chickens pecked it through the fence in hopes for food.

There was a breeze that lifted the cool water from the stream and blew around Nicolo’s legs. The sun has started its descent from the sky, no longer cooking the top of his head.

And yet sweat stuck Nicolo’s shirt to his back. His trousers clung uncomfortably to his knees and groin. And his hair hung thicker, heavier against his nape despite pulling it all back into a leather tie.

Nicolo set his jaw, shift his left foot forward and swung. The sword hummed high pitched as it cut through the air. He gripped the hilt with both hands and pulled the sword forwarding then arcing up.

Each swing was easier than the last. It felt like memory has settled into Nicolo's bones, guiding his limbs. Step back, pull up the sword, plow through, swing.

It was quiet as Nicolo went through the stances he learned, back when the sword was too heavy for a body still trying to grow out of the awkward bony elbows and knees. He remembered aching, cramping all the way down his lower back after each training session. He remembered wishing he could lie down, just for a spell, but he needed to clean the stables and tend to the church's pews before he was allowed dinner. It took years of broken bones and sprained backs before the sword finally felt like it was a part of him.

And then the Pope's call came. And he answered. And later died. And then reviving to real salvation. To Yusuf.

Nicolo blinked rapidly, his burning eyes contorting everything before him into shadows. He drew his sword close, struck forward and felt the sword tip him too forward.

With a yelp, Nicolo tumbled to the ground, on his hands and knees, the sword clattering by him.

Nicolo panted, harsh and loud, as he hunched over at a grassy spot on the ground. He stared blankly, confused why there were spots of blood until the metallic sweet taste registered on his tongue. Oh, he bit his lower lip. He could feel the warmth trailing down his chin. There was no pain. It already healed, well before the blood had a chance to dry.

Behind Nicolo, the horse snorted. The hens were still pecking his scabbard.

A soft crunch of grass. Nicolo lifted his head, but there was no one there at the back of the house.

With a sigh, Nicolo retrieved his sword. He studied it with a scowl.

Then Nicolo picked himself back up to try again.

The weary ache on Nicolo's shoulders faded the moment he rolled them back. Another breath, he continued with the advanced techniques.

The third stance was harder than Nicolo remembered, his arms shaking to keep the sword steady as he pulled it back close to his body. He shifted his back foot, moved the weight on his opposite hip and swung.

Forged steel whistled sharp in the air as it cut. Nicolo adjusted the swing, flexed his grip and it skimmed the tall grass in front of him.

Nicolo bent at the waist, knees bend as he gasped. He stared hard at the hip high grass.

A breeze past and the tops of the grass fluttered to the ground.

Nicolo grimaced. Not all of the grass yielded to his sword, though. His thighs quivered from the strain. His trousers were stuck to the back of his thighs and knees. His tunic bunched uncomfortably around his ribs.

And he was worryingly hard. Almost. He felt his cock stirring hot between his legs in the fringes of discomfort. Nicolo pressed the heel of his left hand on the base of his cock. He bit back a groan. His trousers were damp with sweat and stuck to his groin, overheating him more. He pressed firmer and sighed as his cock quieted. He was left with an odd ache, but at least he could stand upright again.

The sky was getting dark. The sun bade Nicolo farewell without him realizing it. The moon was low in the horizon like a pale blue jewel.

The hens have their heads tucked under their wings. The horse poked its head into the still full bucket, no longer hungry.

And Nicolo has not seen Yusuf.

There was a faint smell of the bread in the air and salty stewed meat. Nicolo realized with a pang he was supposed to make the evening meal today. And he was hungry.

Throat working, Nicolo cleaned his blade on the grass now damp with night dew. He went over to the stable, gave the horse a pat on the nose and received a gentle nuzzle into his hair in return. He tested the hens' fence for strength, checked the rooster was asleep and slipped his blade back into the scabbard.

With a deep breath, Nicolo tentatively went around to the house. He stopped by the doorway.

The house was empty.

Nicolo's throat worked. He glanced behind him but Yusuf was nowhere to be seen. Nicolo stood by the doorway. His erection was completely gone by now. And now he felt chilled. He could not bring himself to step inside. The space was small, but it was empty. The walls seemed to stretch back, the space larger and emptier than before.

Chest tight, limbs heavy, Nicolo nearly missed the bowl of stew and the loaf of bread on the table. Yusuf covered the bowl with the bread to keep the stew warm and to soften the bread.

Nicolo's eyes burned for a different reason now as he approached the table. There was his dagger, cleaned of blood and shiny with new polish. It held down a folded square of paper.

Hands shaking, Nicolo opened the note.

Went to take a bath. Eat while still hot. Come find me after eating. If you want.

Underneath the neat script, Yusuf drew in ink a small man with his sword, on the third position. With a fluffy cross-eyed chicken sitting on top of his head.

Nicolo choked on the chuckle that broke free. He scrubbed his burning eyes with a sleeve, getting a good sniff of himself in the process.

Yes, perhaps a bath is in order, after all.

Smiling faintly to himself, Nicolo set aside his sword and sat down to eat.
--------------------------------

Stop refreshing your browser. And stop snickering over there. I can hear yooooou. Yes, 20 chapters. Happy? (throw up hands) I surrender.

But just 20. Really. No, reall- Stop laughing! LOL

More tomorrow. Hoping to get back to my regular morning and evening posting schedule now that school is slowing down for Thanksgiving and my manager hinted she'll stop giving me last minute 8-2am shifts.

Fingers crossed!

From: (Anonymous)

ah yes. twenty. twenty parts i-ix

From:

dr_libra_phd

(sputter) Ah, no! LOL

From: (Anonymous)

ah YES

From: (Anonymous)

Yay 20 chapters! Called it! *Booker success whoop* 😍

I sympathize with 2am shifts, those are brutal. Hope you'll get more normal hours.

From:

dr_libra_phd

Me too! People were goimg on vacation, like abruptly. I'm part time so I'm low in the totem pole. If school was in-person again, I could have applied as a TA or lab assistant, but nope. Sigh.

It's not awful. I do get bagels and breaks to write in my phone. LOL