The grotto was just as Arkin remembered it.

Hardly a surprise, that. The mountains were treacherous; only one with wings could hope to get this deep into the range, and even then, only the surest of fliers would make it past the chaotic winds. He was Frostkin, though – he didn’t need to fear the cold, and could take the longer, surer approach through the chilly currents up above the peaks. It was still a difficult flight, though, and one with no reason to attempt – unless one knew of this place.

Arkin had only shown it to three others in his life. The first was dead now, rest her soul; she’d chosen the risky path of the warden, though, and he thought her spirit would find satisfaction that she’d died protecting her home. The second was as a stranger to him now, cold and aloof, living as a moneylender of all things.

The last, dearest to his heart, was still out there somewhere – his hearth rune still glimmered, however faintly, or at least it had a few days ago when last Arkin was home.

Oh, Surel. Where was the other Frostkin wandering? Somewhere within the stone’s reach, and that was no more than three days’ straight flying, but there was so much wild land within three days of their home. So much chaos. Would the rune still shine when Arkin returned to his den?

Arkin gazed out over the mountains for a moment, watching the swirling snow; then he turned away from the entrance and strode along the wind-scoured tunnel, past twists and turns in the smooth rock. The wind ebbed; the tunnel sloped downward, turning into the ancient course of a long-dry underground stream, bored into the softer limestone. The formations were stranger now, more irregular, with that supreme smoothness of flowstone long-undisturbed. The air grew warmer on the Vhark’s hide as the wind’s voice faded away.

Then he came to the inner grotto, his secret place in the mountains, his hidden treasure. Flowstone aplenty gleamed under his magelight; stalagmites and stalactites and pillars of stone threw dizzying shadows all around. In the harder rock of the walls, though, myriad crystals shone – not the dizzying fire of cut gems, for all these were unworked, but it was still a dazzling sight.

And in the centre of the cavern was a natural basin of stone, where steaming water burbled up from the deep places of the earth, spilling over the farther lip and weaving through nooks and crannies, eventually vanishing into a crevice in the far wall, going down through some hidden course.

In time, the Stonekin would say, the flowing water would change this place; but that was a process of lifetimes. To Arkin’s eye, it was just as it had been when he’d last been here… with Surel.

He remembered that night – oh, how vividly he remembered it; all the clearer when he stripped down and slid into the spring. He remembered the playful gleam in Surel’s sapphire eyes. The other two had appreciated this as a place of beauty, as had Arkin himself; it was Surel who’d enjoyed the place as a lover, though. So often they’d come here – but it was that last time that hung most vividly in his mind.

He’d lain in a little hollow in the basin, just as he did now. Surel had waded in deeper, ducking under the rippling water; it had slid off his hide in a brilliant cascade as he stood up tall, wings spreading, manhood jutting proud – Arkin hadn’t even seen or smelled the least hint of arousal until it was right there in its full glory.

He remembered the taste of it on his tongue, seasoned by the mineral tang of the water but still deliciously the taste of his lover. The low, rumbling groan from overhead, the firm grip on his horns, the warmth of smooth flesh sliding against his tongue.

In the present, he swallowed a whimper, out of habit though there was none here to mind if he let it free, and slipped a hand under the water to rub along either side of his vent, flesh slipping free and into the water…

Surel had thrust into his muzzle for a goodly time, that night, but that hadn’t been how things were to conclude. He’d drawn back with his irrepressible, mischievous grin, easing himself down; his deep breath was all the indication Arkin had of what was to come before the paler Frostkin’s head dipped under the water again, and he vanished under the magelight dancing over the ripples; no mystery where he’d gone, though, one hand cupping under Arkin’s rump, the other gripping the base of his shaft, muzzle enfolding his own manhood in a snugger, firmer heat than the water as he returned the favour in kind.

Arkin shivered, the water churning as he worked his full arousal more urgently, giving himself to the memory.

Surel had often been the one to take the lead when they were at loveplay, but there was enough variety in the younger mage’s tastes that Arkin had never resented it. It had been no different then, when he lifted off of Arkin’s shaft, grinning as usual. “Swallowing you isn’t what I crave,” he’d hissed, voice bouncing strangely off the stone; beckoning, he’d turned, stretching right out to grasp the lip of the basin, his tail breaking the surface to curl with its own invitation.

His body had been so snug, so warm… neither of them had lasted more than two dozen strokes, Arkin filling his lover, then, while still hard inside him, milking Surel’s seed out of them, to mix with the water and be swept away.

The thought of that moment, of Surel’s cry and the tension around Arkin’s member, finally tipped him over. He bucked upwards, his cry this time uninhibited, thrusting his member above the surface as his seed arced out of him, plunging back into the water with a series of soft splashes; and then he sagged, panting.

“Four Winds,” said an echoing voice – familiar, if with a new ragged edge. “I rather think you needed that.”

Arkin gasped, twisting about in the water.

Surel had apparently just finished disrobing, just now dropping his clothing and standing up straight. He was gaunt, his hide scarred, one horn broken – but it was him, really him, grin and all. “Somehow,” he said, “I thought it might be here that I would finally meet you again. Is there yet room in there for another, dear one?”

There was, of course, and Surel’s expression made plain he knew that full well; but for the moment, Arkin surged out of the basin, crossing the distance between them and throwing arms and wings around the other Frostkin, sapphire entangling with cerulean. Mouth to mouth, body to body, flesh to warm, hardening flesh.

Arkin had come here hoping only to find some solace in his memories, but this was beyond belief. There’d be time enough, soon, to learn what the other Vhark had gone through. For now, all that mattered was that Surel was back.