Dami pressed into that familiar heat and strength, stepped back to loosen the padded vest he still wore--he’d removed the weighty armor that went over it hours ago. Busy as he’d been, the vest had seemed a trifle, hardly worth bothering about, even in the sticky midday heat. Now he tore at the bindings that held it in place. Adam helped, but his fingers slipped against the fabric, a sign of his weariness. It was good that they had time to rest before the afternoon battle tomorrow. Adam wasn’t bouncing back from these ordeals as fast as he once did. At last, Dami embraced Adam with nothing but their thin tunics between them. Adam buried his fingers in Dami’s hair, an old, beloved gesture. Dami gripped him harder, as if he wished to absorb the other man into his flesh. Adam’s shaft swelled between them, wide and long, bending just a trifle to the left as it always did. Through the tunic, Dami cupped his liege’s length with a hand long accustomed to lance throwing and practice with sword and axe. Adam thrashed against him, head thrown back, and Dami saw how tightly leashed Adam had been all evening, waiting for this. Cruelly, he stopped, keeping Adam on edge, crying out for release. Adam whimpered a blind protest. “Shh.” Dami kissed his face and eyelids, then tore the tunic off him, admiring the scarred, strong body revealed in the light of the fire they’d lit for warmth. Still erect and unfulfilled, Adam trembled under his gaze but met his eyes, brave in love as in war.