“I could scarce believe what I was seeing. Aaron’s hands were in Baptiste’s britches, kneading and stroking, the smith groaning all the way from his heart. They moaned into each other’s mouths, hungry as starving wolves. As I watched, Aaron shoved Baptiste backward, the pair colliding with the stone wall. They were heedless of all but each other, lost in passion, too much body and not enough hands. I’d never imagined a scene like this, part of me appalled, part of me fascinated, watching them sway in the forge’s light.
