Note: contains explicit sex of a homoerotic nature.

Rumor had it there was a new bard at Jéànty's inn. A half-elf flautist with a flawless reed. Taurin had to see for himself. After maneuvers one night he left the palace grounds and headed for the well-lit inn on the outskirts of town. Setting himself down at the bar, he motioned for the bargirl and ordered a tall drink, straight up. "Strongest you got," he said.

"Knights like yourself usually go for the arla," she said, wiping a glass out before setting it down in front of him. Pouring a frothy amber liquid from a dark bottle, she appraised him and asked, "You off duty?"

Taurin nodded. Looking around, he took in the wooden tables, most already full despite the early hour. "Quite a crowd you got here." He sipped from the glass. The brew was heady and strong, just the way he liked it.

"‘Tis the bard's doing," the bargirl replied. "He can really draw them in."

"Where is he?" Taurin asked. There was no stage that he could see, and no half-elf, either.

The bargirl studied him closely. "He'll be on soon," she promised. "You came to hear his song?"

Taurin nodded again. He was a young soldier, just a year or two in the service of the king, and without his armor few mistook him for a paladin knight. He had a broad chest and narrow waist that interested the girls, a handsome face and cropped blonde hair, a quick mind and slow smile. He was good with a sword, good in a fight, and he loved the heat of battle. But he had a soft spot for bards -- he had always dreamed of music. Whenever a new bard passed through town, he made a point to go and listen for a spell. He had this music inside of him, bottled up inside like emotions held in check, and being a knight, he had no way to let it out. The only instrument his hands every played was a sword, strong and true as it hummed through the air during practice bouts with the other soldiers, but he told himself that one day he would find the maker of the music in his soul.

Before long Taurin felt a hot gaze on his back. Turning, he saw that a slim man had seated himself on a stool in the corner of the inn, his dark eyes staring from a pale face. Staring at him. Taurin felt heat race across his groin at the intensity of the gaze, and he couldn't look away. The man sat with his feet on the lowest rung of the stool, his knees together, but Taurin could tell by the worn fabric of his clothes that this was a bard used to hard living on the road. He had long hair a vibrant shade of eggplant, the purple so deep in places that it looked black, and his eyes were a light violet. On his lap sat a battered case and without looking away from Taurin he opened it, his nimble fingers quickly assembling a beautiful, silver flute. He put the reed to his thin lips and, puckering, closed his eyes and blew softly.

The breathy music carried across the crowded room and pierced Taurin's heart. He felt the notes rain upon him, burning into his soul one by one. As each note faded away, Taurin felt a sadness descend over him at the loss -- he wanted them to last forever. When the song was over, he found himself on the edge of his seat, eager for more.

The bard opened his eyes and met Taurin's gaze again. The hint of a smile toyed around the edges of his mouth. Then he played another song. And another. And another. Each was more beautiful than the last. Taurin forgot his drink, his surroundings, himself. The only thing that existed was the bard and his lovely ethereal music.

And then the concert was over. Amid a smattering of applause the bard rose and left the room. Taurin felt as if he had just awakened from a dream so vivid, it seemed more real than his waking world, but he could only recall fragments and colors and faint, half-remembered sounds. "Where --" he began, looking around for the bard.

At his elbow, the bargirl refilled his glass. He shook his head but she just smiled. "Compliments of the bard," she said. "Seems you took his fancy. Your drinks are on him."

"Where is he?" Taurin asked, downing the glass in one swallow. He was surprised to find his throat dry and his voice harsh to his own ears.

The bargirl shrugged. "He doesn't stick around. Usually one show's the end of it. But don't worry none -- he'll be back tomorrow." A smile crossed her worn features. "The question is, will you?"

Taurin thought of those eyes as wide as pansies in bloom, recalled the sweet sounds of that silvery flute, and knew he couldn't stay away.

****

The next night Taurin returned to Jéànty's and sat at the bar, waiting. A glass of arla appeared in front of him as if by magic, and when he looked up the bargirl smiled. "See you came back," she said. "He hoped you would."

Taurin didn't have to ask who he was. "What's his name?" he asked instead.

"Quim," she replied, moving on to other customers.

Quim. Taurin rolled the name around in his mind, tasting it. Quite unusual, he thought, but then again, so was the man who claimed it. Throughout his daily exercises that morning, Taurin hadn't been able to get the bard out of his thoughts -- when a few of his friends asked him to join them at the mess hall for dinner, he turned them down, eager to return to the inn for another concert.

He didn't have to wait long. When the bard entered the room from a back hallway, Taurin watched lithe muscles move beneath travel-worn clothes and held his breath as Quim looked around the room, his steady gaze searching for something. When he saw Taurin, a faint smile flashed across his lips and was gone by the time he reached his stool. Again he watched Taurin from across the room until he began to play, and again Taurin was lost in the music.

As the last few notes drifted away into the crowd, the bard stepped down from his perch and left the room, ducking down the hallway to the back of the inn. Taurin fought the urge to follow him and turned back to the bar.

A torn napkin, folded in half, sat on the rim of his glass.

Looking around, Taurin wondered who had put it there. The bargirl met his gaze from the other end of the bar, but then turned back to the customers, dismissing him. Carefully he picked up the napkin, already damp from the coolness of the glass, and opened it.

Rm 14 it read, scrawled in a hasty hand. Glancing at the doorway through which the bard disappeared, Taurin found himself daring to hope. Downing the rest of his liquor, he stood up and weaved around the tables, heading for the hallway and the unspoken promise that lay beyond.

The hallway was dingy and poorly lit but he could see the wooden doors lining one side, the numbers etched in the wood and shaded with black coal. Number fourteen was at the end of the hall. Taurin stood before the closed door nervous, unsure. What was he doing here? he wondered. What did he hope for?

You're the king's knight, he told himself. A sword at your side, the knowledge of combat in your blood. What's there to be afraid of? What indeed? Raising one gloved hand, he knocked on the door, the wood shaking against the jamb.

"Come in," a melodic voice called from the other side. Taurin complied.

Inside the room, Quim sat on a narrow bed, his flute in his hands as he polished its silvery sheen. The only light came from a small, oily lamp set on a table beside the bed. There was little else in the room -- a rucksack in the corner, a few clothes scattered about the floor, a walking staff propped against one wall. In the dim light Quim's hair looked ebony, flashes of deep purple shining when he moved. He looked up at Taurin, his light eyes like amethyst in his pale face, and when he smiled, those eyes sparkled wetly. "Perhaps you would like to close the door?" Quim asked. His voice was soft and breathy, as if it came from the flute in his hands and not his mouth. "Don't worry -- I won't bite. Not unless you want me to."

Taurin laughed nervously and pushed the door shut behind him. Unsure of what to say, he ran a hand over his short hair to smooth it down and watched the bard rub a weathered rag over the instrument in his hands. He stroked the silver length of the flute slowly, carefully, pressing gently against the delicate reed. Taurin cleared his throat but when he spoke, he was dismayed to find his voice thick, almost breaking. "I heard you play," he said. "Your music is beautiful."

A half-smile pulled at Quim's lips. "Thank you, paladin," he said. His hands caressed the flute while his eyes studied Taurin. "Do you favor music?"

Taurin nodded, unable to speak as Quim eased a finger into the hollow flute, running the cloth around the rim of the instrument's reed before delving inside. Quim asked, "Would you like me to play for you?"

Tearing his gaze from the bard's nimble fingers, Taurin looked around the tiny room. "Here?" he asked. His heart began to beat faster. He thought he felt it against the mail he wore under his tunic, and he was sure the bard heard it, as well.

Quim shrugged. "Perfect for a private concert, no?" He stood up from the bed, suddenly very close to Taurin, the flute between them. The bard was about Taurin's height, maybe a head shorter, his face slightly upturned as he held Taurin's gaze. Taurin could see thin lines around Quim's thin mouth, and suddenly wondered how old the bard was. He looked no more than twenty, but those with elven blood were gifted with a youthful appearance. Taurin's fingers ached to trace those tiny lines, smooth them out, but he held his hands at his sides. "Have a seat," Quim whispered, his breath a citrusy scent that Taurin inhaled deeply.

"Okay," Taurin mumbled. He eased around the bard, his hip bumping Quim's, the mere touch sending lightning across his groin to stiffen his cock. A sweet ache started to throb in his crotch and he sat down on the bed quickly, his tunic covering the budding bulge in his pants.

Quim stood above him, smiling down at the knight. Then he stepped back against the door and, putting the flute to his lips, began to blow gently. Music cascaded around Taurin like a spring rain, filling the room with thrilling notes that danced into his mind and soul. This time Quim kept his eyes open, his gaze on Taurin, as he played. The song was light and carefree, and Taurin swooned to its melody. He closed his eyes and listened with his whole body, letting the song fill his senses until his heart beat in time with the notes that escaped Quim's flute. Without thinking, Taurin lay back on the bed as the music flowed over him.

The final notes had not yet faded away when Taurin felt soft hands on his face, caressing his cheeks, eager fingers running through his hair. He leaned into the touch and opened his eyes to find Quim above him, those violet eyes searching his. The bed creaked as the bard placed a knee on either side of Taurin's hips and a sudden hardness pressed down on Taurin's crotch, rubbing insistently against him. Thrusting up against the bard, Taurin opened his mouth and moaned. Quim's lips covered his, the bard's tongue slipping easily inside, tasting him. Taurin closed his mouth over Quim's bottom lip, tugging gently as his hands found hard nipples under the thin fabric of the bard's shirt. His arms eased beneath the bard's, around his back, and Taurin pulled him closer, deeper, wanting more.

"I could play for you forever," Quim whispered against Taurin's neck, and he moaned at the hot breath on his skin. "I could bathe you in music. I could worship you with song."

To lose himself in this bard -- to lose himself in the music forever. As Quim's tongue traced its way around his chin, Taurin thought it a lovely idea.

****

The next morning Taurin awoke with strong arms around his waist, holding him tight against a warm body. The memory of a night of passion etched into his aching muscles, his weary mind. Turning gently, he looked at Quim in the dim light of the room. The half-elf's eyes were closed, his lashes long and dark, casting slight shadows onto his cheeks. Taurin studied the pale brow, the purple hair falling back softly from a face still and innocent in sleep. Touching the porcelain flesh, he felt its coolness beneath his fingertips, then traced along the curve of Quim's cheek, down his jaw, around the edge of his mouth. He brushed against the thin lips that Quim opened as Taurin rimmed them with one finger.

"My song," Quim said sleepily, taking Taurin's finger into his mouth. His tongue wrapped around it and sucked gently.

Taurin smiled and ran his other hand down Quim's flat belly to brush through the dark softness below. "My bard," he whispered. Beneath his hand Quim hardened, rubbing against his palm. Kissing his nose, Taurin whispered, "I have to go."

Quim looked at him with sad eyes. "Must you?" he murmured.

Curling his finger around Quim's tongue, warm and wet inside his mouth, Taurin nodded. "I'm already late," he said. "I'll have to run an extra two miles to make up for it."

"And what if you never show up?" Quim asked. "What will they do to you then?"

Taurin let his mind play out the consequences. Here beneath the sheets, with Quim pressed close against him, it was easy to think about never returning to a knight's life. To lay in the arms of a lover all day, to listen to his wondrous music, to make sweet love all night. "I would be branded a deserter," Taurin said softly. "I would never work as a guard again. My days as a paladin would be over."

Quim smiled. "You're being overdramatic," he said, taking another of Taurin's fingers into his mouth, kissing the fingertips lightly. "Stay here."

But Taurin shook his head. Meeting Quim's eyes, he whispered, "I can't."

"You are my song," Quim said softly, the look in his eyes pinning Taurin to the bed.

Suddenly Taurin couldn't breathe. His arms wouldn't move, and he could no longer feel the linen wrapped around him or the heat of Quim's body against his. "You are my instrument," the bard said. "The music within you is beautiful and I alone can set it free."

"What --" Taurin tried to ask, but the words wouldn't come. He tried to think of what he wanted to say but the images and thoughts were gone, replaced by notes and scales, trickling through his mind like a musical brook. As he looked around, he couldn't remember where he was, what he felt, who he thought he was supposed to be. Instead, the bed beneath him chimed a discordant E flat, the sheet tugging around his swollen erection rang a sweet high C sharp, the light falling through the small window was a gentle G natural.

And the man in his arms, licking his fingers as if playing a symphony on his soul, was smiling. The purple in his hair and eyes melded into a concerto that threatened to engulf Taurin. Quim's arms entwined around his body, pulling him close, rubbing his chest, his back, his cock. Taurin leaned back and closed his eyes as the bard wrapped a tender hand around his hard dick. When he opened his mouth to gasp in pleasure, silvery notes fell from his lips and Quim whispered, "You are my song. Only I can play you now. Your music belongs to me."

A wave of sensation flooded Taurin as the music exploded within. His world dissolved into notes and chords, and the bard who held the music of his soul in the palm of his hand.

THE END