Otherworld Ink

Bren had never liked sharing personal information. He believed in the twin virtues of privacy and minding your own damn business, and he acted accordingly. Unfortunately, he’d come up against a problem that required advice. Expert advice.

And there was only one place in his backwater village he could get it.

The carpenter’s workshop was a pleasantly open building with large windows that let in the light and broad double doors that could allow the passage of a finished table or bed frame. The scent of fresh-cut pine and the subtler scents of hardwoods permeated the air. In every corner there stood half-completed projects, from the disassembled pieces of little boxes to uncut slabs with measurements drawn in charcoal. Bren could even see a small spoked wheel, half-sanded—a spare for the wheeled chair Kole’s father used.

Mercifully, the only people inside were the shop’s two owners. The most conspicuous of the pair was Dorin, whose height and breadth led some to suspect he had a touch of giant blood somewhere in his ancestry. He sat hunched over a pair of carved wooden fawns, adding the last fine details with a small chisel.

Hale looked slight compared to his husband, but this was just an optical illusion. A point that was reinforced as the man casually lifted a slab of wood that must have weighed as much as Bren did. It was impressive, but not why Bren was here.

“Hi, Bren!” Hale greeted, looking up from examining the marks on the wood slab. “Did your mother change her mind on the dimensions for that shelf? I was just about to make the first cut.”

“No, no. It’s not about that. I just… I need some advice.”

“Oh? Thinking of taking up woodworking?” Hale asked, half joking.

In his nervousness, Bren replied with a poor joke of his own.

“Different kind of ‘wood’ to be working with.”

There was a pause as Hale processed. Then he grinned like someone had handed him a new chisel.

“I knew it! It’s Kole, isn’t it? That nice half-elf boy?”

Bren’s ears burned, and his eyes glued themselves to the floor.

“It is!” Hale dropped the wood slab in his eagerness, shaking the ground on impact. He didn’t seem to notice. “Tell me everything! What do you need to know?”

The excitement was not mutual. Bren had resolved to ask for help with the same enthusiasm one used to ask the blacksmith to pull a bad tooth. Mercifully, Dorin only looked mildly interested, sparing just a glance before continuing his carving.

“Look, I’m not here to share details. I just need to know how some things work, and I figure you two…” Bren glanced back and forth between the pair then cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“Right, right.” Hale nodded with exaggerated understanding. “No need to overshare. …Unless you want to, of course.”

Hale wasn’t the worst gossip Bren knew—that title went to Mrs. Fields who owned the mill—but Bren still thought he took a bit too much pleasure in having his nose in everyone’s business.

“I just need to know how some things work.”

“Like what?” Hale tapped his chin. “Don’t tell me you need to know what goes where? I should have some blank paper around here if you need me to draw diagrams. I can think of a few positions that would be good for beginners.”

“No! No, I already know about that stuff.” Kind of. A bit. In any case, Bren didn’t think his dignity could survive diagrams. “I just need to know about… logistics. Like how you figure out who, you know… tops.”

It was hard to get the words out, and he regretted it as soon as he had. It felt like such a stupid question, like it was something he should already know instinctively. People certainly had their own ideas about how these things worked, but Bren and Kole were about the same age, height, and build so it was hard to say that any of the usual “guidelines” applied.

To his surprise, Dorin answered first.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” he said without looking up. “Just see what feels right when you get to that point. You can take turns trying or, hells, even flip a coin for it. There’s more to sex than putting your dick in a hole. Focus on making each other feel good, and the rest will sort itself out.”

That… actually sounded sensible. Reassuring, even. Maybe Bren had been making a big deal out of nothing.

“No, no, no! Hold on a minute, babe.” Hale quickly covered Dorin’s ears. “Listen to me, Bren: you are at a crossroads right now. This is where you set the tone for your entire relationship. You have a unique chance to secure the best position all for yourself. You have to be the bottom!”

Dorin snorted, but made no move to remove the hands from his head. Hale ignored him and continued.

“Topping is a fool’s game! If you want to feel something around your dick, you can have your own hand any time. But when you want to get fucked, what are you supposed to do? Oh, you can try certain vegetables, and I’ve certainly carved a few things in the right shape, but then you’ve still got to do all the work yourself, and-“

Dorin cleared his throat, interrupting the deluge of far-too-personal information. A mercy, given that Bren was on the verge of bursting into awkward flames and disintegrating into the floor.

“Hush!” Hale scolded his husband. “I’m passing on my wisdom. And you can’t hear right now!”

He returned his earnest attention to Bren. “What I’m saying is, no matter what anyone tells you, it is surprisingly hard to ‘go fuck yourself’. If you ever get the opportunity to have someone else do it, do not pass it up!”

“He’s only saying that because he’s lazy in bed,” Dorin said, apparently giving up on withholding personal information. Hale made an offended noise.

“You! You can’t hear, remember!”

Bren wished he couldn’t hear anything.

“Is there anything useful you can tell me, or should I just leave?”

“Always use oil,” Dorin said, finally brushing Hale’s hands away from his ears. “More than you think you need. It makes everything more pleasant.”

“Except for oral!” Hale added.

“Yeah. Except that.”

“Okay, that’s… good to know,” Bren said. “So, like, the oil you use on tools, or…?”

“NO!” The objection came from both of them simultaneously.

Dorin cleared his throat.

“Ah, no. Different oil.”

Hale grimaced.

“Otherwise you’re in for an awkward trip to the healer.”

Bren could tell there was a story there. A story he absolutely never needed to hear.

“Then… what kind are you supposed to use?” And where could he get it? Ideally without anyone guessing what he intended to use it for.

“We’ll send you off with something,” Dorin said. “It’s better than you getting desperate and using whatever’s on hand.”

“Trust us on that,” Hale added.

On this matter, Bren would.

In short order, the two set him up with a small jar of oil and instructions on where to discretely buy more. He also found himself holding the two fawns.

“You can pay us back by delivering them,” Dorin explained. “They’re for Leda on the other side of town.”

“They’re actually for her daughter,” Hale added. “Leda hopes that if the kid has some nice toy fawns, she’ll stop trying to bring home the real ones she finds out in the fields.”

The palm-sized fawns were impressively lifelike: one curled flat and low like it was hiding in the grass, the other half-sprawled, pushing itself up on delicate forelimbs with its ears pricked alertly. Bren wasn’t sure they’d be enough to persuade a determined child to give up the real thing, but they might come close.

Dorin offered some parting words.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Just take it slow, listen to each other, and have fun.”

“And for fuck’s sake, let him top!” Hale added, unable to help himself.

Bren mumbled something approaching a polite goodbye and hurriedly retreated with the fawns, the oil, the advice, and what remained of his dignity.

His initial plan had been to make the delivery and retreat home to bury his face in his pillow until the embarrassment receded, but fate was not so accommodating. Less than halfway across town, he spotted Kole at the blacksmith’s shop, saying his goodbyes. Bren paused on reflex, and when Kole turned away from the workshop, he spotted him.

Kole smiled—partly bashful, entirely charming—and Bren’s stomach flipped.

Kole had moved into town a few months back with his parents: an elven mother and a human father who had recently survived an unpleasant encounter with a wyvern. Years ago, Hale had made a wheeled chair for his elderly aunt, and since then, anyone within a week’s travel who needed one would order from him.

The family had made the journey to have the chair properly fitted and had ended up staying. Something about wanting to live “somewhere quiet” and enjoying the “lovely pastoral scenery”. Which all sounded like nice euphemisms for “boring”, but Bren supposed boring might be what you wanted after getting mauled by a wyvern.

“They’re cute,” Kole said, nodding at the carved fawns in Bren’s hands.

“They’re not mine!” Bren said hastily. “I’m just delivering them.”

“Right.” Kole’s gaze lowered. “What’s that?”

Bren realized, with some alarm, that he was looking at the bottle of oil sticking out of his trouser pocket. He hadn’t thought it would be a problem since there was nothing suggestive about it’s appearance, but he hadn’t prepared for anyone to ask about it!

“Nothing!” His voice came out slightly more panicked than intended.

Amusement flickered on Kole’s face, as if he could tell Bren was hiding something but was nice enough not to call him out on it.

“Who are you delivering them to?” Kole asked, mercifully turning the conversation back to the wooden fawns.

This was why Kole was the actual best. He had the decency to let things lie. (Or, at least, to let Bren lie to save some face.)

“Leda. They’re for her daughter.”

“Oh yeah. The little ‘fawn-napper’.” Kole chuckled. “Do you need help delivering those?”

“No, they’re not heavy or anything.” It was only after he’d said this that he realized Kole was making an excuse to join him. “Uh… I mean, you could…”

“I could carry one? In case you need a free hand.”

“Yeah. That’d be good.”

Kole accepted one of the fawns and fell in step next to Bren.

The two of them had been intimate before, but always alone. Bren was too much a private person to allow anything else. But when Kole casually laid a hand on Bren’s lower back, Bren really couldn’t bring himself to object. It felt… nice. And it’s not like anyone was paying special attention to them.

Did he mention it felt nice?

Given where Bren had just come from, it was impossible not to reflect on the recent conversation. He tried to keep his thoughts decent, out of respect for the carved fawn in his hands. It was far too innocent for anyone to be having those kinds of thoughts around it.

Still, though…

Maybe Hale had a point.