Fruit, Wine, Kisses. TORTALL.
Roger makes a toast and something begins. (Slash.)
PG-13
"To you, Alex," Roger toasts him with a smile after a pause. Alex returns it a little nervously. He tells himself his hands are trembling - though nearly imperceptibly - from hunger, exhaustion. He's just grabbing at excuses now, lies, all of them.
His sip confirms his guess at the quality of the wine. It's superb, not that he would've expected less from the Duke of Conte. "Thank you, sir." Alex quiets the tremors in his fingers with efforts and takes another sip. Which is stupid, he'd realize that if he was thinking - he's not - because he hasn't had much to eat since breakfast. "May I ask what I have done to deserve the honor?"
Roger bestows one of his more dazzling smiles, which is really saying something, and Alex gets goose bumps. Dammit, he knows how this is affecting Alex.
"For obliging me," he says, and begins to cut one of the pears. "Please - help yourself, Alex."
Roger's voice saying his name is doing funny things to his circulatory system. In a man with less power at his fingertips - or perhaps one less good looking - even rumors of this kind of behavior would exile him from several court circles. It takes effort, but Alex manages not to cut off any of his fingers while peeling an apple.
"I'm flattered you chose me to be your squire, my lord." He's being very careful not to look directly at Roger, but the darting glance through his eyelashes tells him enough. If the Duke becomes any smugger, he's probably going to start purring.
Alex isn't sure that would be a bad thing, to tell the truth.
Mithros, he's not supposed to be acting like this! He hasn't been this nervous around anyone since…well, he can't remember right now. Can't remember much except the fact that this could really get him in a lot
of trouble with some people. People he likes, people he respects, might never - good gods but Roger has nice legs.
"Call me Roger, Alex." Alex can hear the smile in his voice as he says that. "I would like us to be friends, not just squire and knight master," Roger says. "Tell me, I have not had the privilege - or the time, sadly - to see you practice anything but fencing. How are you with the other weapons?"
Then Alex makes the mistake - though, that's really the wrong word, isn't it? - of looking into Roger's eyes. Alex becomes unable to do anything but stare. He hopes his mouth isn't hanging open very much, because as embarrassing as this situation looks like it could become, that would be unbearable.
His eyes are very like his cousin's, the Prince, but lighter. And if Jonathan has eyelashes anything like Roger's, it's no wonder he has so many ladies panting after him. He would like to write poetry - epic poetry - to Roger's eyes. He would call it Ode to Something or Other, and it would fill a small book.
But Alex can't write poetry.
Roger has set his wineglass down on the table and is slowly, gently, aptly, disentangling Alex's from his all too willing fingers. Alex's common sense decides it was fighting a loosing battle and shuts up. There's a very small part of Alex that isn't happy about that.
But it's only a small part. And even that rebellious section of his mind surrenders when Roger kisses him, though - for some absurd reason - his body is still much too tense. And it doesn't seem to be changing anytime soon.
Roger has gentle kisses, and that surprises Alex. For some reason, he'd expected Roger to be more…insistent? Maybe, he can't remember now, all he remembers right now is Roger's tenderness.
He decides it's more fun to be kissed, and to kiss, when his body isn't so tense. Unfortunately, he starts to run out of air.
Roger pulls away just as gently as he'd begun the kiss, and smiles. There is a surprising amount of something in that smile that almost frightens him. Something that confuses him a little. Something - maybe triumph? He doesn't know.
It doesn't stop him from returning Roger's next kiss, however.
The almost-fear doesn't stop him from assisting Roger in the removal of their clothes a few minutes later either.
And for the moment, he's really, really, really glad it doesn't.
Original.