30 Lemons Challenge #17: A Squire's Tale. Edward/Russel, NC-17
Chrstphrl and I were discussing knights because my husband was designing a jousting video game, and I said it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that knights and their squires were lovers out of necessity, if not out of deeper reasons, back in the day. Chrstphrl agreed, and the bunny showed up today wearing feathers and pretending to be a turkey.
I’m vegetarian, so I invited it in, and this is what came about. NC-17 because I'm a pervert. This is my nod to the holiday of thanks, and in posting it, I’d like to say that I’m thankful for my friends. They keep me going.
Chrstphrl, AcexKeikai, SailorMac, and MagicalElf, I’m looking at you.
[EDIT] My girl did FREAKIN' GORGEOUS FANART for me, and it goes PERFECTLY with my story. Now go look at it. That's an order.
[ANOTHER EDIT]: *squeal* More fanart for this story! Go see it here then leave a comment because that drawing is just THAT CUTE. *dies happy*
A Squire’s Tale
by Mistress Quickly
“Tend my horse, Squire,” said the knight, holding out the reigns with a weary sigh. “I have ridden him many miles. He is in need of water and fresh hay.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the squire, wearily brushing his hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand. He took the reigns and led the horse down the slope of the estate where they would pass the night, turning every so often to glance behind at his lord, heart pounding in his chest at the sight of the man, head tilted back and eyes closed, long blonde hair spilling down the back of his tunic as he stood still, allowing the rain to fall on his handsome face.
He’ll catch cold, doing that, thought the squire, watching the knight’s stock-still form grow wetter and wetter in the rain. I ought to tell him to stop, for his own good ...
But his rank and the stone he tripped over, sending him stumbling to his knees, both prevented him from taking any such action, instead reducing him to limping and cursing, scowling at the mud smeared on the knee of his trousers.
“Brother, are you all right?”
The squire sighed. “Yes, Fletcher, I’m fine. Tripped, is all.”
“You should be more careful,” said Fletcher, reaching out to take the reigns from his brother, soothing the horse with gentle words and a handful of hay. “Sir Edward usually thinks your clumsiness is funny, but he’s tired from our journey and probably won’t take well to you being covered in mud.”
“Yes, I know,” said the squire. “But really, if he doesn’t like having a clumsy squire fumbling around, he really ought to hire a proper servant. Your cooking skills alone save us from being sent away, I’m sure of it. He never calls on me for help when we travel to do the King’s bidding, and I can’t clean worth anything. Don’t know why he’s kept me around, really.”
“Because brothers should not be parted and, as you’ve pointed out, your sibling has a way with food preparation that makes him indispensable,” said a voice from the doorway of the stable. The squire jumped and looked guilty, instinctively stepping between the shadow of the knight and his younger brother.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said. “I will hold my tongue.”
The knight looked at him, long and hard, then nodded. “I have need of a bath,” he said. “Accompany me to the river, Russel, while your brother sees to supper.”
The squire bowed, squeezing the small hand that slipped into his, then hurried out of the stable, following his lord down the hill, away from the cottage where they were passing the night, head bowed respectfully. He did his best to keep his eyes downcast, but the swish of the knight’s tunic, brushing the backs of the man’s thighs, was hypnotic.
Russel sighed. It was going to be a long night.
~*~*~*~
“Undress me, Russel,” said Edward, holding out his arms.
Russel did as he was told, not trusting himself to speak as he unlaced the front of Edward’s tunic, parting the dirt-stained material over the man’s broad chest, then fumbled with the thick leather of Edward’s belt, unfastening it and dropping it to the soft, rain-wet grass. He bunched the hem of the tunic in his hands, sliding it over the knight’s muscular arms, taking care not to tangle it Edward’s long blonde hair.
“The rest as well,” said Edward, watching Russel with glowing golden eyes.
Russel swallowed hard. “Yes, my lord,” he said.
The pants were tight, thick leather bound at the sides with rawhide laces, Edward’s pale skin rubbed raw where the laces had scrubbed at his skin over miles and miles of riding. Russel was gentle, unlacing the bindings quickly, while taking care not to brush the angry red skin of his knight’s sides. He hesitated, once the pants were unfastened completely, but when Edward didn’t pull away to undress himself, Russel took a deep breath and pulled the material down himself, past strong hips and scarred flesh, firm calves and calloused feet. He swallowed hard, desperately trying to quell the desire to look longer at the proudly erect cock and blonde-dusted balls between Edward’s legs, trying to deny the urge he felt to open his mouth and taste the man’s most intimate flesh.
“Undress and join me,” said Edward, touching Russel’s hair with a brush of his fingertips. And then he was gone, walking down the slick slope to the water’s edge, wading in until his body was submerged, his long hair flowing around him like sunlight.
Russel had never undressed so quickly in his life.
The water was cold, nearly to the point of being unbearable, but Russel waded in, regardless, swimming across the deep part of the river to the shallower area, near a sandbar, where Edward was standing, waist-deep in the water, rubbing his palms over his chest, scrubbing at the scars that covered his right arm, gently massaging the smooth skin of his left.
“Russel,” said Edward, when he saw the boy approaching. “Come and tend to my hair. I believe it may have more earth in it from the last land we visited than we’ve left behind in the country itself.” He made his way closer to the sandbar, kneeling in the smooth pebbles and leaning back, fanning his hair in the cold water.
Russel blushed, settling behind the beautiful man, and ran his hands down the long blonde hair spread around him. Carefully, he cupped water in his palms and poured it onto Edward’s scalp, wetting the roots of the hair, then began to massage, slowly working out the snarls and knots, cleaning each bit of hair as best he knew how, willing the cold water to shrink his erection, to save him the humiliation of arousal.
Edward sighed. “This,” he whispered, “is why I keep you, Russel.”
“Because I wash your hair?” said Russel, hands pausing in the massage he was giving the back of Edward’s scalp.
Edward chuckled. “No, that’s just a side-benefit.”
Russel blinked at him, watching Edward’s eyes slip shut, the man’s cheeks pink in the whipping wind, glistening wet with rain.
“You’re beautiful,” said Edward, eventually, looking up at Russel, his head tipping back far enough that Russel could feel the tickle of the man’s long hair, whispering over the head of his erection. “You walk along beside me, never complaining when you grow tired, carrying your brother, sometimes, when he wearies. When you speak, you do not bore me, and when you are silent, your appearance entertains my imagination in ways I have denied for years.”
Russel continued to massage the man’s scalp, nails scraping the sensitive skin of Edward’s neck, his heart thudding with excitement in his chest.
“I used to wonder, sometimes,” Edward continued, “if I would have to order you to let me ... enjoy you. But you’ve been such a good squire, Russel. Always willing to help me bathe. Always willing to sleep beside me, under my blanket.”
“I do as I’m told,” said Russel, sucking in a sharp breath when Edward sat up, hair dripping all around, and turned, dipping his face into the water and rubbing it with his hands, then throwing his head back, wet and beautiful, rain and river water running down his pale skin.
“Yes,” said Edward. “And you do it very well.”
Then with a wicked smile, he ducked under the water, swimming around Russel’s body, surfacing behind the boy, his hands sliding up Russel’s thighs, then hips, resting just beneath the boy’s bellybutton, teasing the light brown curls around Russel’s painfully stiff cock.
“See?” he said. “I didn’t even have to tell you to be this way for me. It pleases me that you’re this way all on your own.”
Russel shivered. “I ... it just ... um ...” He froze, eyes widening as he felt the tip of Edward’s cock rub against the back of his thigh, pressing hard into the soft flesh of his backside. “Oh.”
Edward chuckled. “Yes,” he said. “Exactly. Now, why don’t you bathe, then let me see what the body I’ve admired can do for me, hmm?”
Always eager to obey his lord, Russel pulled away and dove into the water, scrubbing his hair with near-violent haste, then the rest of his body, more mindful than he’d ever been before of the dirt collected on his skin from traveling, the salt of his sweat and the grime of the wilderness. When he surfaced, wet and cold and faintly shivering, Edward was waiting for him, wading in the shallower water by the sandbar, idly cupping water in his left hand and dripping it onto his right, then smoothing his palm over the scarred flesh. Russel swam over to him, dipping his head under the water every so often, the current pushing his hair out of his eyes. When he drew close enough for Edward to hear him, the man looked up and smiled.
“Always so obedient, aren’t you?”
Like I’d say no to the chance to touch you or have you touch me, thought Russel, but he held his tongue, instead standing and bowing as best he could on the slippery stones.
Edward waded over to him. “Are you really so convinced that you’re useless to me, Russel, as you were when speaking with your brother?”
Russel swallowed hard. “I’ll never be more than a squire, if that’s what you mean,” he said.
“Would you like to be a knight someday?”
“No,” said Russel. “It is not my place in this world to be a knight. I’m just a commoner.”
Edward laughed, trailing the scarred fingers of his right hand down Russel’s chest. “You know,” he said, “I was born a commoner myself. My father has no line that I can trace, so I’m as good as a bastard. Did you know that, Russel?”
Russel shook his head, secretly willing those fingers to trail lower, down to his stirring cock.
“Oh yes,” said Edward, fingers tracing Russel’s ribs, then lower, circling his navel. “When my mother died, a Baron took us in, me and my younger brother. Raised us as though we were his own, raised us to be knights.” He sighed, curling his arm around Russel’s hip, tracing the cleft of the younger boy’s butt with the tips of his fingers. “One night, there was a fire. I managed to get my brother out, but a beam fell, crushing my leg. I crawled to safety, but my arm and leg both bear the scars, to this day.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Russel, desperately trying to focus on Edward’s words, on the story of the man he’d followed for years, the man to whom he was loyal, the man he respected and trusted, but it was so hard, focusing with the distraction of Edward’s fingers delving lower, pressing and rubbing, not low enough to satisfy, but close enough to tease.
Edward nodded. “Alphonse remains at Court, mostly. He jousts, so I tease him for spending more time in armor than otherwise.” He squeezed Russel’s backside, hard, stepping closer and rubbing his erection against the boy’s thigh, Russel’s cock rubbing him just above his navel. “I could never serve at court. My scarred hand is repulsive, and my temperament makes the small talk and strict manners ... disagreeable. I much prefer the open countryside, the company of my horse and my squire ... this is the life I have chosen, and I do not regret it.”
And then his hand was moving back around, wrapping around Russel’s erection. “What about you, my faithful squire? You have no aspiration to be a knight, and you follow around a knight who cannot bear to be around others. Are you lonely, wish perhaps for a wife?”
Russel shook his head. “I have never desired to have a wife, my lord, nor have I desired to be a knight,” he said. Then, without thinking, he bent and pressed his mouth to Edward’s, kissing the man deep and slow, his tongue pushing into the warmth of Edward’s mouth, stroking the side of the man’s tongue, tangling with it when Edward overcame his surprise and began to kiss back. When he felt Edward’s hand begin to stroke him, firm strokes from root to crown, he moaned and reached under the water, wrapping his hand around the cock he’d imagined countless times in his fantasies and, tentatively, began to stroke.
In all his fantasies, all of his guilty panting and sweating, slipping out of his lord’s bed to masturbate in the middle of the night, Russel had imagined Edward's cock to be smaller, proportional to the man, but in his hand, heavy and hot and thick, Edward felt enormous, perfect and erotic and male. Russel moaned into the man’s mouth, thrusting his own erection into the rough grip of Edward’s scarred hand, feeling his balls tighten almost immediately, his cock throb and tickle, orgasm close after only a handful of sharp tugs.
He pulled away from the kiss, gasping, to tell Edward to stop, to beg for mercy, for anything to compensate for his utter lack of stamina, but just as he was forming the words, Edward arched and cried out, stiffening for only a heartbeat before slumping forward, panting against Russel’s chest, his semen flowing warm over Russel’s hand in contrast to the chill of the water.
“I am sorry,” he gasped. “It’s been a long time ...”
Russel didn’t care. Didn’t wait for the man’s apology. He tilted Edward’s chin up and claimed the man’s mouth, once again, kissing him hard and fast for the six swift strokes it took to carry him to orgasm, his throat working a moan as he trembled against his lord, the man’s other hand stroking his side, soothing him through the pleasure.
For a long moment, they stood in the water, the slow current tickling their skin, chilling them until they had to swim back to shore together, wrapping their cloaks about their wet bodies before making their way up to the cottage, wordlessly sharing a small smile as Russel held the door for his lord, following the man to the room where they would sleep. He dressed Edward, as he’d always done before, murmuring in surprise every time the man caught his mouth in a gentle kiss. When he turned to dress himself, he was surprised to feel gentle hands, one smooth and calloused, the other rough and scarred, stroking his back, pulling him close.
“Thank you,” said Edward, softly. “For your loyalty, for your passion.”
Russel turned, lacing his pants, and kissed the man. “My lord,” he said. “Thank you for all you have done for me. Today and before.” Then, when Edward gave him a small smile and began to step away, Russel caught him.
“And my lord?” he said. “I am happy to be in your service.”
They ate with Fletcher in silence, Russel ruffling his brother’s hair as the boy packed away his cooking supplies. He set to work spreading out hay for beds, covering one in his own cloak for Fletcher to sleep on, the other he covered with the rolled blanket they carried with them. When Edward came in, yawning, and lay down, Russel lay with him, smiling at his brother when the boy lay on his own bed.
It wasn’t the first time he’d lain with his lord, certainly, but it felt different, Edward’s hard body pressed against his back, Edward’s good hand draped over his belly. He’d wondered, when first taken into Edward’s service, at his lord’s request that he share a bed with him, but had grown accustomed, over the years, to the closeness, the steady rhythm of his lord’s breathing. But that night, every breath his lord drew pushed the man away, and Russel found he missed the closeness. Every breath his lord breathed out bathed Russel’s skin in warmth, making his cock stiffen uncomfortably in his pants, the memory of Edward’s hands on him torturing him far more than his fantasies ever had.
When he wiggled, wanting to slip out into the night and satisfy his needs, he felt Edward’s arm tighten around him, felt his lord’s lips brush his neck.
“Shh, Russel,” he whispered. “Tomorrow, we will not wait until your brother is nearby to say goodnight to one another. Resist it, just tonight?”
Russel felt his face grow hot, but he nodded. “Yes, my lord,” he said, quietly.
Edward kissed the back of his neck, rocking his hips forward, just a little. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Goodnight, Russel.”
Russel sighed, threading his fingers with his lord’s. “Goodnight, my lord,” he whispered back.
~*~*~*~
Edward was obviously trying not to laugh, reaching up to brush Russel’s hair back, away from the man’s blushing cheeks. His chest was sticky, covered in his lover’s and his own semen, his lips swollen from the deep post-orgasm kiss they’d shared in the middle of Russel’s story.
“That is what you think of, every time we camp out?” he said, watching the man he loved wipe up the smear of semen with his t-shirt. “Wow. No wonder you always want to set up the tent on the first warm night we have.”
Russel rolled his eyes and tossed the wet t-shirt down to the end of the tent, away from their sleeping bags. “You said you wouldn’t make fun of me,” he said, quietly.
Edward pulled him close and kissed him. “I’m not making fun, Russ,” he said. “I like your fantasy.”
“Thanks,” said Russel. Then, with a wicked smile, he added: “Wouldn’t happen anyway. Knights were never shorter than their squires.”
Edward snorted. “Bastard,” he said. “Knights never would have slept cuddled around their squires, either.”
Russel rolled over and kissed him, deep and slow. “No,” he said. “But I would follow you to the end of the earth and back. That much of the story was true.”
And he was so cute, blushing and squirming, that Edward could do little more than kiss him, hands wandering all over the familiar body of his lover, strong muscles under smooth skin.
“Love you, Russ,” he said, softly, cuddling against Russel’s chest, his head tucked under his lover’s chin.
Russel smiled into the settling dark. “I love you too, my lord,” he whispered.
Edward’s steady, sleepy breathing was his only answer. And Russel loved it.
I’m vegetarian, so I invited it in, and this is what came about. NC-17 because I'm a pervert. This is my nod to the holiday of thanks, and in posting it, I’d like to say that I’m thankful for my friends. They keep me going.
Chrstphrl, AcexKeikai, SailorMac, and MagicalElf, I’m looking at you.
[EDIT] My girl did FREAKIN' GORGEOUS FANART for me, and it goes PERFECTLY with my story. Now go look at it. That's an order.
[ANOTHER EDIT]: *squeal* More fanart for this story! Go see it here then leave a comment because that drawing is just THAT CUTE. *dies happy*
A Squire’s Tale
by Mistress Quickly
“Tend my horse, Squire,” said the knight, holding out the reigns with a weary sigh. “I have ridden him many miles. He is in need of water and fresh hay.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the squire, wearily brushing his hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand. He took the reigns and led the horse down the slope of the estate where they would pass the night, turning every so often to glance behind at his lord, heart pounding in his chest at the sight of the man, head tilted back and eyes closed, long blonde hair spilling down the back of his tunic as he stood still, allowing the rain to fall on his handsome face.
He’ll catch cold, doing that, thought the squire, watching the knight’s stock-still form grow wetter and wetter in the rain. I ought to tell him to stop, for his own good ...
But his rank and the stone he tripped over, sending him stumbling to his knees, both prevented him from taking any such action, instead reducing him to limping and cursing, scowling at the mud smeared on the knee of his trousers.
“Brother, are you all right?”
The squire sighed. “Yes, Fletcher, I’m fine. Tripped, is all.”
“You should be more careful,” said Fletcher, reaching out to take the reigns from his brother, soothing the horse with gentle words and a handful of hay. “Sir Edward usually thinks your clumsiness is funny, but he’s tired from our journey and probably won’t take well to you being covered in mud.”
“Yes, I know,” said the squire. “But really, if he doesn’t like having a clumsy squire fumbling around, he really ought to hire a proper servant. Your cooking skills alone save us from being sent away, I’m sure of it. He never calls on me for help when we travel to do the King’s bidding, and I can’t clean worth anything. Don’t know why he’s kept me around, really.”
“Because brothers should not be parted and, as you’ve pointed out, your sibling has a way with food preparation that makes him indispensable,” said a voice from the doorway of the stable. The squire jumped and looked guilty, instinctively stepping between the shadow of the knight and his younger brother.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said. “I will hold my tongue.”
The knight looked at him, long and hard, then nodded. “I have need of a bath,” he said. “Accompany me to the river, Russel, while your brother sees to supper.”
The squire bowed, squeezing the small hand that slipped into his, then hurried out of the stable, following his lord down the hill, away from the cottage where they were passing the night, head bowed respectfully. He did his best to keep his eyes downcast, but the swish of the knight’s tunic, brushing the backs of the man’s thighs, was hypnotic.
Russel sighed. It was going to be a long night.
~*~*~*~
“Undress me, Russel,” said Edward, holding out his arms.
Russel did as he was told, not trusting himself to speak as he unlaced the front of Edward’s tunic, parting the dirt-stained material over the man’s broad chest, then fumbled with the thick leather of Edward’s belt, unfastening it and dropping it to the soft, rain-wet grass. He bunched the hem of the tunic in his hands, sliding it over the knight’s muscular arms, taking care not to tangle it Edward’s long blonde hair.
“The rest as well,” said Edward, watching Russel with glowing golden eyes.
Russel swallowed hard. “Yes, my lord,” he said.
The pants were tight, thick leather bound at the sides with rawhide laces, Edward’s pale skin rubbed raw where the laces had scrubbed at his skin over miles and miles of riding. Russel was gentle, unlacing the bindings quickly, while taking care not to brush the angry red skin of his knight’s sides. He hesitated, once the pants were unfastened completely, but when Edward didn’t pull away to undress himself, Russel took a deep breath and pulled the material down himself, past strong hips and scarred flesh, firm calves and calloused feet. He swallowed hard, desperately trying to quell the desire to look longer at the proudly erect cock and blonde-dusted balls between Edward’s legs, trying to deny the urge he felt to open his mouth and taste the man’s most intimate flesh.
“Undress and join me,” said Edward, touching Russel’s hair with a brush of his fingertips. And then he was gone, walking down the slick slope to the water’s edge, wading in until his body was submerged, his long hair flowing around him like sunlight.
Russel had never undressed so quickly in his life.
The water was cold, nearly to the point of being unbearable, but Russel waded in, regardless, swimming across the deep part of the river to the shallower area, near a sandbar, where Edward was standing, waist-deep in the water, rubbing his palms over his chest, scrubbing at the scars that covered his right arm, gently massaging the smooth skin of his left.
“Russel,” said Edward, when he saw the boy approaching. “Come and tend to my hair. I believe it may have more earth in it from the last land we visited than we’ve left behind in the country itself.” He made his way closer to the sandbar, kneeling in the smooth pebbles and leaning back, fanning his hair in the cold water.
Russel blushed, settling behind the beautiful man, and ran his hands down the long blonde hair spread around him. Carefully, he cupped water in his palms and poured it onto Edward’s scalp, wetting the roots of the hair, then began to massage, slowly working out the snarls and knots, cleaning each bit of hair as best he knew how, willing the cold water to shrink his erection, to save him the humiliation of arousal.
Edward sighed. “This,” he whispered, “is why I keep you, Russel.”
“Because I wash your hair?” said Russel, hands pausing in the massage he was giving the back of Edward’s scalp.
Edward chuckled. “No, that’s just a side-benefit.”
Russel blinked at him, watching Edward’s eyes slip shut, the man’s cheeks pink in the whipping wind, glistening wet with rain.
“You’re beautiful,” said Edward, eventually, looking up at Russel, his head tipping back far enough that Russel could feel the tickle of the man’s long hair, whispering over the head of his erection. “You walk along beside me, never complaining when you grow tired, carrying your brother, sometimes, when he wearies. When you speak, you do not bore me, and when you are silent, your appearance entertains my imagination in ways I have denied for years.”
Russel continued to massage the man’s scalp, nails scraping the sensitive skin of Edward’s neck, his heart thudding with excitement in his chest.
“I used to wonder, sometimes,” Edward continued, “if I would have to order you to let me ... enjoy you. But you’ve been such a good squire, Russel. Always willing to help me bathe. Always willing to sleep beside me, under my blanket.”
“I do as I’m told,” said Russel, sucking in a sharp breath when Edward sat up, hair dripping all around, and turned, dipping his face into the water and rubbing it with his hands, then throwing his head back, wet and beautiful, rain and river water running down his pale skin.
“Yes,” said Edward. “And you do it very well.”
Then with a wicked smile, he ducked under the water, swimming around Russel’s body, surfacing behind the boy, his hands sliding up Russel’s thighs, then hips, resting just beneath the boy’s bellybutton, teasing the light brown curls around Russel’s painfully stiff cock.
“See?” he said. “I didn’t even have to tell you to be this way for me. It pleases me that you’re this way all on your own.”
Russel shivered. “I ... it just ... um ...” He froze, eyes widening as he felt the tip of Edward’s cock rub against the back of his thigh, pressing hard into the soft flesh of his backside. “Oh.”
Edward chuckled. “Yes,” he said. “Exactly. Now, why don’t you bathe, then let me see what the body I’ve admired can do for me, hmm?”
Always eager to obey his lord, Russel pulled away and dove into the water, scrubbing his hair with near-violent haste, then the rest of his body, more mindful than he’d ever been before of the dirt collected on his skin from traveling, the salt of his sweat and the grime of the wilderness. When he surfaced, wet and cold and faintly shivering, Edward was waiting for him, wading in the shallower water by the sandbar, idly cupping water in his left hand and dripping it onto his right, then smoothing his palm over the scarred flesh. Russel swam over to him, dipping his head under the water every so often, the current pushing his hair out of his eyes. When he drew close enough for Edward to hear him, the man looked up and smiled.
“Always so obedient, aren’t you?”
Like I’d say no to the chance to touch you or have you touch me, thought Russel, but he held his tongue, instead standing and bowing as best he could on the slippery stones.
Edward waded over to him. “Are you really so convinced that you’re useless to me, Russel, as you were when speaking with your brother?”
Russel swallowed hard. “I’ll never be more than a squire, if that’s what you mean,” he said.
“Would you like to be a knight someday?”
“No,” said Russel. “It is not my place in this world to be a knight. I’m just a commoner.”
Edward laughed, trailing the scarred fingers of his right hand down Russel’s chest. “You know,” he said, “I was born a commoner myself. My father has no line that I can trace, so I’m as good as a bastard. Did you know that, Russel?”
Russel shook his head, secretly willing those fingers to trail lower, down to his stirring cock.
“Oh yes,” said Edward, fingers tracing Russel’s ribs, then lower, circling his navel. “When my mother died, a Baron took us in, me and my younger brother. Raised us as though we were his own, raised us to be knights.” He sighed, curling his arm around Russel’s hip, tracing the cleft of the younger boy’s butt with the tips of his fingers. “One night, there was a fire. I managed to get my brother out, but a beam fell, crushing my leg. I crawled to safety, but my arm and leg both bear the scars, to this day.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Russel, desperately trying to focus on Edward’s words, on the story of the man he’d followed for years, the man to whom he was loyal, the man he respected and trusted, but it was so hard, focusing with the distraction of Edward’s fingers delving lower, pressing and rubbing, not low enough to satisfy, but close enough to tease.
Edward nodded. “Alphonse remains at Court, mostly. He jousts, so I tease him for spending more time in armor than otherwise.” He squeezed Russel’s backside, hard, stepping closer and rubbing his erection against the boy’s thigh, Russel’s cock rubbing him just above his navel. “I could never serve at court. My scarred hand is repulsive, and my temperament makes the small talk and strict manners ... disagreeable. I much prefer the open countryside, the company of my horse and my squire ... this is the life I have chosen, and I do not regret it.”
And then his hand was moving back around, wrapping around Russel’s erection. “What about you, my faithful squire? You have no aspiration to be a knight, and you follow around a knight who cannot bear to be around others. Are you lonely, wish perhaps for a wife?”
Russel shook his head. “I have never desired to have a wife, my lord, nor have I desired to be a knight,” he said. Then, without thinking, he bent and pressed his mouth to Edward’s, kissing the man deep and slow, his tongue pushing into the warmth of Edward’s mouth, stroking the side of the man’s tongue, tangling with it when Edward overcame his surprise and began to kiss back. When he felt Edward’s hand begin to stroke him, firm strokes from root to crown, he moaned and reached under the water, wrapping his hand around the cock he’d imagined countless times in his fantasies and, tentatively, began to stroke.
In all his fantasies, all of his guilty panting and sweating, slipping out of his lord’s bed to masturbate in the middle of the night, Russel had imagined Edward's cock to be smaller, proportional to the man, but in his hand, heavy and hot and thick, Edward felt enormous, perfect and erotic and male. Russel moaned into the man’s mouth, thrusting his own erection into the rough grip of Edward’s scarred hand, feeling his balls tighten almost immediately, his cock throb and tickle, orgasm close after only a handful of sharp tugs.
He pulled away from the kiss, gasping, to tell Edward to stop, to beg for mercy, for anything to compensate for his utter lack of stamina, but just as he was forming the words, Edward arched and cried out, stiffening for only a heartbeat before slumping forward, panting against Russel’s chest, his semen flowing warm over Russel’s hand in contrast to the chill of the water.
“I am sorry,” he gasped. “It’s been a long time ...”
Russel didn’t care. Didn’t wait for the man’s apology. He tilted Edward’s chin up and claimed the man’s mouth, once again, kissing him hard and fast for the six swift strokes it took to carry him to orgasm, his throat working a moan as he trembled against his lord, the man’s other hand stroking his side, soothing him through the pleasure.
For a long moment, they stood in the water, the slow current tickling their skin, chilling them until they had to swim back to shore together, wrapping their cloaks about their wet bodies before making their way up to the cottage, wordlessly sharing a small smile as Russel held the door for his lord, following the man to the room where they would sleep. He dressed Edward, as he’d always done before, murmuring in surprise every time the man caught his mouth in a gentle kiss. When he turned to dress himself, he was surprised to feel gentle hands, one smooth and calloused, the other rough and scarred, stroking his back, pulling him close.
“Thank you,” said Edward, softly. “For your loyalty, for your passion.”
Russel turned, lacing his pants, and kissed the man. “My lord,” he said. “Thank you for all you have done for me. Today and before.” Then, when Edward gave him a small smile and began to step away, Russel caught him.
“And my lord?” he said. “I am happy to be in your service.”
They ate with Fletcher in silence, Russel ruffling his brother’s hair as the boy packed away his cooking supplies. He set to work spreading out hay for beds, covering one in his own cloak for Fletcher to sleep on, the other he covered with the rolled blanket they carried with them. When Edward came in, yawning, and lay down, Russel lay with him, smiling at his brother when the boy lay on his own bed.
It wasn’t the first time he’d lain with his lord, certainly, but it felt different, Edward’s hard body pressed against his back, Edward’s good hand draped over his belly. He’d wondered, when first taken into Edward’s service, at his lord’s request that he share a bed with him, but had grown accustomed, over the years, to the closeness, the steady rhythm of his lord’s breathing. But that night, every breath his lord drew pushed the man away, and Russel found he missed the closeness. Every breath his lord breathed out bathed Russel’s skin in warmth, making his cock stiffen uncomfortably in his pants, the memory of Edward’s hands on him torturing him far more than his fantasies ever had.
When he wiggled, wanting to slip out into the night and satisfy his needs, he felt Edward’s arm tighten around him, felt his lord’s lips brush his neck.
“Shh, Russel,” he whispered. “Tomorrow, we will not wait until your brother is nearby to say goodnight to one another. Resist it, just tonight?”
Russel felt his face grow hot, but he nodded. “Yes, my lord,” he said, quietly.
Edward kissed the back of his neck, rocking his hips forward, just a little. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Goodnight, Russel.”
Russel sighed, threading his fingers with his lord’s. “Goodnight, my lord,” he whispered back.
~*~*~*~
Edward was obviously trying not to laugh, reaching up to brush Russel’s hair back, away from the man’s blushing cheeks. His chest was sticky, covered in his lover’s and his own semen, his lips swollen from the deep post-orgasm kiss they’d shared in the middle of Russel’s story.
“That is what you think of, every time we camp out?” he said, watching the man he loved wipe up the smear of semen with his t-shirt. “Wow. No wonder you always want to set up the tent on the first warm night we have.”
Russel rolled his eyes and tossed the wet t-shirt down to the end of the tent, away from their sleeping bags. “You said you wouldn’t make fun of me,” he said, quietly.
Edward pulled him close and kissed him. “I’m not making fun, Russ,” he said. “I like your fantasy.”
“Thanks,” said Russel. Then, with a wicked smile, he added: “Wouldn’t happen anyway. Knights were never shorter than their squires.”
Edward snorted. “Bastard,” he said. “Knights never would have slept cuddled around their squires, either.”
Russel rolled over and kissed him, deep and slow. “No,” he said. “But I would follow you to the end of the earth and back. That much of the story was true.”
And he was so cute, blushing and squirming, that Edward could do little more than kiss him, hands wandering all over the familiar body of his lover, strong muscles under smooth skin.
“Love you, Russ,” he said, softly, cuddling against Russel’s chest, his head tucked under his lover’s chin.
Russel smiled into the settling dark. “I love you too, my lord,” he whispered.
Edward’s steady, sleepy breathing was his only answer. And Russel loved it.