the last of the knitting porn! Congrats, you survived...

[the_lepic]

Baldwin's secret pastime 4/4
By ratherbrightred
Baldwin/Tiberias
NC-17!
Warnings: handicrafts, the return of ticklish!Baldwin




I had returned Baldwin to his rooms that morning wrapped in one of my big blue capes, his face tucked under the hood. Anyone who knew him would have recognized his dainty shuffle down the hall, but we attracted no undue attention.

"Have dinner with me tonight," he told me, pushing the hood away and taking hold of my hand.

"Yes, of course."

"And stay with me, so Richard doesn't find me missing from my bed."

"Of course, Baldwin." I kissed his forehead and collected my cape, steeling myself for a long and possibly embarrassing day at work, depending on Richard's discretion about his discovery that morning. He evidently talked enough to let someone know we should have two teacups, and the nice ones at that, so I wasn't terribly surprised when I was greeted with a series of whistles and slaps on the back when I walked into my office. "It isn't what you think," I said quickly.

"Yes it is!" they replied, and I decided not to say anything more. We had plenty to do that day-multiple hangings, a variety of legal disputes to settle, and I was supposed to inspect repairs being made to the city walls. There was so much to do that I knew I would never make the dinner plans Baldwin had insisted on. I sent a page to tell him, and decided to wrap up my building inspection as quickly as I could; maybe I would arrive in time for dessert. I knew nothing about architecture or engineering, so it didn't take me long to pronounce the repairs a success and make my way back to the king's chambers. I planned to tell Baldwin I had arrived before taking a much-needed bath. The wall inspection had pushed me from dusty into filthy, and I also knew that in addition to having sweated through my uniform, the juices from one of the unfortunate dead bodies had somehow oozed onto my boots.

When I arrived, I couldn't resist pausing to run my undoubtedly dirty palm down Baldwin's warm, bare back. He was lying on his stomach in bed, his bandaged feet in the air, propped up on his elbows and reading something intently.

"Hello," he said absently, engrossed in his book. "There's dinner for you on the table." So there was. He rolled over to one side and watched me wash my hands at the basin before sitting down to eat. Chicken. Perfect. "Little Baldwin ate your dessert, I'm sorry…"

"No matter," I said, my eyes glued to his hollow hipbones and his little bandaged hand, which was quite boldly making its way toward his half-hard cock. He still wore his mask, and it was peculiarly attractive , his silver face overpowering his pale skin.

"You smell good," he said, surely joking. I laughed, apologizing and assuring him I would take a bath as soon as I was finished eating. I should have done it immediately, but I was famished. "No, don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't take a bath. Please. I mean it, I like how you smell."

"I smell of shit and dirt and dead people."

"Well, I'm practically dead myself, so I must appreciate their particular odor."

"Don't talk like that." I pulled the last of the meat from the last of the bones with my teeth and started in on the vegetables. "What are you reading?"

He moved his hand from his cock, which he had been just barely stroking with his fingertips, and picked up the book. "Mrs. Gilbert's pattern book. She lent it to me. I saw her this afternoon. Making progress on your sweater."

"Excellent." I finished the vegetables and sat back for a moment, enjoying the feeling of food in my stomach. In truth, I didn't eat enough, often skipping meals or just forgetting to eat, so this dinner was well-timed. I probably would have ended up going to bed hungry or nicking a snack from the kitchen instead of eating properly.

"Did you meet Godfrey's son today?" Baldwin asked, his hand slowly creeping back toward his cock as he watched me wrestle with my uniform.

"Yes," I said, thinking that I would miss Godfrey very much, even if he did molest Baldwin in his sleep.

"I thought him a very handsome young man," Baldwin watched me intently, his eyes fixed on my hands as they fumbled with my chain mail fastenings. "Why do you have to wear the chain mail all the time? Doesn't it get hot?"

"Unbearably."

"Why then?" A piece of it fell to the ground, then another. I was almost down to my last layer of filthy clothing, soaked with sweat and still wet in places.

"Just in case, I suppose. If there's some sort of emergency, I should be ready for it, no?"

"I suppose." Baldwin started touching himself in earnest as I rid myself of the last bits of my uniform, quite naked in front of him, and literally itching to wash.

"Please, Baldwin, I must bathe, I'm filthy-"

"No, no bath, come to bed."

"But-"

"No."

Reluctantly, I climbed into bed beside him and pulled him close to me, my hand pushing him closer while spreading my fingers out over his back. I'd never been in such proximity to his silver mask before. I kissed its lips, pleased to find the metal warm.

"Take it off," he whispered, and I pulled his veil away so I could slip the mask off. "Kiss me again," he added. A bit bossy tonight. I obeyed, pulling his mouth open with my fingers and wrapping my arm around his neck. "I love how you smell, Tiberias-it's your real smell, no soap, no perfume, just you."

"I'll dirty your bandages."

"I don't care." I felt his little tongue on my shoulder, lapping at my salty skin. "You taste good too."

"Tell me, Baldwin, how does the riding go?"

"Better today." He sighed, shifting in my arms and pushing his hips against me.

"Did you sleep well last night?"

He nodded, pulling me on top of him and spreading his legs underneath me. I nibbled at his neck, where the bandages stopped, and kissed the pale line of his collarbone, arriving at his armpit and taking the soft fold of flesh there into my mouth. He giggled, pushing me away, and I smiled, holding him down and pushing my nose into his ticklish underarm. He writhed against me quite seductively, though this was surely unintentional.

"Hold still, Baldwin, so I can tickle you properly." He kicked at me, still giggling uncontrollably, and I grabbed hold of him and forced him into a kiss, smiling when his breath slowed and his body went limp beneath me. Well, most of him was limp. He wrapped his legs around my waist, his calves soft and silky, bandaged up to his thighs.

"I want you inside me," he whispered, pushing me closer with his foot.

"I can't, you aren't ready, I have to-"

"Please, just-do it, please-"

"No, sweetheart," I whispered, stroking his cheek and trying to convince him to let me prepare him.

"You don't understand," he whispered in my ear. "I've been thinking of nothing but this, all day long, I've been wanting you inside me so badly, please, now, I don't care if it hurts me, please-"

"Well, I at least have to get the oil," I said, straining to reach the drawer even as Baldwin was wrapped around me and snaking his hand between us trying to guide me inside him. "Stop it," I hissed, slapping his hand away and fighting my way out of his embrace. I managed to untangle myself and coat my fingers with the oil, pushing inside him even as he complained that he didn't want my fingers. "Quiet, Baldwin, stop fussing. I have to do this, just keep still and let me." I worked as fast as I could, pushing a second finger inside him before giving into his whining. "There, are you happy now?" I asked, pushing inside him quickly, part of me enjoying the little cry of pain he breathed into my ear. "See, it hurts, doesn't it?"

"Oh yes," Baldwin replied, moving against me and biting my shoulder. I could feel his legs shaking, his calves around my waist again.

"You like it, don't you?"

"Yes," he moaned, arching his back underneath me. I shook my head, burying my face in his neck. He was full of surprises. It didn't take him long. There was something very delicate and almost feminine about his long, drawn-out orgasms. He was always breathless and shaky, his legs trembling long after he'd finished, and he inevitably became dead weight in my arms for several minutes after climaxing. This time he recuperated admirably, and was hard again before I pulled out. He almost forced himself on me, his hands pushing my head down to his crotch until I did as he wanted and took him in my mouth, my fingers slipping into his raw but happy hole. I held his come in my mouth and crawled up his body to deposit it between his lips, prompting a long, satisfied moan.

I sat up wearily, feeling not only dirty and tired but also rather lecherous. My sweet, virginal lover, young enough to be my son, liked to be taken roughly. This knowledge was upsetting enough, but what was worse was how much pleasure I took from his little cries of pain.

"I must bathe," I told him, pulling away and dressing as minimally as possible. I decided to stop by my room and pick up fresh clothes, socks for sleeping, and feed Heloise if she was lurking about. Baldwin murmured a protest, holding out his hand for me to stay, but I left quickly, the urge to clean up overpowering Baldwin's sleepy objections. Once home in familiar surroundings, I was tempted to stay there in my comfortable bed, where I might be able to ignore Baldwin and his disturbing preferences. I sighed, gathering up my clean clothes and socks before making my way to the baths, where I counted on hot water and steam to distract me from the soft cry of pain that had reached my ears not long ago.

The steam and water only seemed to feed my apparent need to meditate further on that little cry, and its seeming connection to a heightened arousal on my part. Just thinking about it, remembering his soft breath on my neck and the delicate "Oh" in my ear, these thoughts made me tingle in the steamy bathwater as if I was still taking my pleasure with him. I would never have suspected this of him. Well, I would never have suspected he would take me as a lover in the first place, nor that I would comply so willingly.

I had been with men before, what soldier hasn't, but always strictly within a soldiering context. I had never done anything like this, with a proper bed, conversation, and emotional attachment. A more typical situation would have involved sleeping outside, possibly in a tent, furtively fucking my bedfellow, both of us still clothed, neither of us mentioning it ever again. Among the men who had heckled me that morning, more than a few had participated in such entanglements, giving them no right to bother me about Baldwin, in my opinion. There was something very proper about Baldwin, though-he was the sort of man who would make an affair meaningful and lasting. And he was undeniably sweet, gentle and kind to his core. His illness must be responsible for his compassion.

I wandered back to the king's room, finding him asleep on top of the sheets, his knees curled to his chest. His poor little behind looked red and sore. I kissed the small of his back, patting his bottom gently before covering him up. "I'm sorry I hurt you, sweetheart," I whispered, gathering him in my arms and planting a kiss on his shoulder. He murmured something in response, wriggling closer to me.

In the morning, I opened one eye cautiously, not sure where I was and why it was so light out. Baldwin's bed had no curtains, which was disorienting. I slowly eased the other eye open, squinting in the morning light. I could feel Baldwin's leg wrapped around my hip and his arm across my chest, but when I turned to see if he was awake I was so shocked that I pulled away from him, sitting up to catch my breath before peering down at his face. His bandages had fallen away, not entirely, but enough to reveal his truly horrible skin, as bad as his hand if not worse.

I remembered him as he was when I last saw his bare face, a handsome young man with sharp features and beautiful blue eyes. His eyes were still beautiful, but that was all I had seen of him in years. What met my eyes now was horribly deformed, his upper lip all but gone, his nose open and raw, his ear almost entirely missing. I held my hand close to his cheek, hovering an inch away, not sure what to do next.

I could cover him with something, with his veil or the sheet, and pretend I hadn't seen anything. Or I could send for his nurse to bandage him up again, or try and do so myself, although that would surely wake him. I ended up not having a choice in the matter as his eyes flickered open and looked up at me very tenderly, bringing something of his usual self to the raw, stomach-turning vision before me. He must have seen my expression, because he turned away, covering his face with his hands, then pulling the sheets over the whole mess.

"I'm sorry, Tiberias," he whispered, barely audible through the sheets. "Send for my nurse, she'll fix me up again." I pulled on my clothes and found his attendant, who slept, I was disturbed to note, immediately outside his door. He must have gotten an earful last night. His nurse arrived shortly, and I sat at his writing desk, watching her bandage him up very gently.

"You're a very handsome young man," she told him, patting his cheek and kissing his forehead. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." He looked absolutely crushed when she left. He avoided my eyes, pulling his robes tight around his body and staring at a fixed spot on the floor.

"Baldwin," I whispered, sitting beside him and trying to pull him into my embrace. He moved away, avoiding my touch until he ran out of space and I managed to collect him in my arms. "It's all right, Baldwin."

"I didn't want you to see me like that. I shouldn't have let you stay, it was a mistake, I'm sorry-"

"Sssh, it wasn't a mistake. It's all right, I don't mind."

"You looked horrified. Like I was the foulest sight you had ever laid eyes on."

"I've seen worse," I said, relieved when he smiled.

"Like what?"

"Oh, so it's the worse than Baldwin game? Well, you'll recall that I hang people regularly. Their faces are quite gruesome, and their guts sometimes explode when we don't get rid of the bodies quick enough. I once saw a man's guts splatter so far bits of it landed on the ceiling. I've seen men with their faces burned away in battle, with arrows through their eyes and their noses cut clean off. Once I saw a man with his own balls stuffed in his mouth and his eyes poked out-"

"Enough. I'm sure you've seen worse, but you named dead men, while I'm still alive, at least a little bit alive."

"I saw Godfrey's testicle when he had an arrow shot through it. He lived."

Baldwin smiled, shaking his head. "I should see Balian again before he goes. He seems quite sweet, quite lovely and young and naïve. And what was Godfrey doing showing off his testicle? Dirty old man, even if he is dead."

"He wasn't showing it off, I was helping him get the arrow out."

"Whatever you say."

"Shall we send for Balian? Have morning tea with him?"

Baldwin nodded, and I sent a servant out to find him before helping Baldwin dress. He put his mask on and smoothed out his robes, arranging himself on the couch in his sitting room, then patting the space next to him. I sat down, holding his small hand in my own and rubbing my thumb over his palm absently, forgetting that he couldn't feel my touch. I pulled away when Balian arrived, and we had a very nice conversation over tea. I asked him about France, quickly deducing that his was not a political mind. I told him what I knew of Ibelin. I had been Godfrey's guest there several times.

"Tiberias helped your father get the arrow out of his testicle," Baldwin said proudly, his gloved hand settling on my thigh and squeezing it.

"I trust he told you that story," I said, wondering what to do about Baldwin's hand, which was traveling slowly up my thigh and threatening to slip under my tunic. I put my hand on top of it and started it moving in the opposite direction.

"Of course he did," Balian said. "I have a feeling he told everyone he's ever met about the arrow in the testicle."

"He certainly told me about it. Even offered to show me the scar, but he was forever trying to find excuses to expose himself in my presence."

"Baldwin, this isn't polite conversation. The poor man is dead, and Balian doesn't want to hear such things about his father."

"I suppose not."

"It's all right," Balian said quickly. "More than anything, I'm curious about him."

"Trust me, Baldwin is not the person you want your information from."

We avoided discussing Godfrey and his controversial attempts to feel up the king for the rest of our tea, and I walked Balian back to his room, surprised when he looked me in the eye and asked me if I was Baldwin's lover.

"Only recently," I replied.

"And my father? Was he Baldwin's lover as well?"

"No, I was his first."

"He spoke of Baldwin in such glowing terms."

"I think he may have desired the king but never pursued it."

Balian sighed, perhaps uneasy at the realization that he was surrounded by homosexuals. We said our goodbyes and I retreated to my office, hoping my men had calmed down about Richard's juicy gossip from yesterday. They hadn't. Apparently Richard had come up with some pretext to visit me early that morning, and I wasn't to be found in my untouched bed, so I suffered a fresh round of whistles and lewd comments. Surely there was something in all of Jerusalem more entertaining than my dick and where I stuck it?

That night I found Baldwin fully dressed even though it was quite late. His mask was still on as he clicked away at his knitting with a melancholy air about him.

"Baldwin," I said softly, sitting close beside him and wrapping my arm around his shoulder. "What troubles you? How was riding today?"

"Tiberias, I cannot continue this. I cannot bear to let you see my face as you did this morning." He put the knitting down as I pulled him closer, leaning over and warming his neck with my mouth.

"Don't be silly," I whispered, pushing his veil aside and taking his mask off clumsily. He tried to stop me, but I held both of his slender wrists in my hand and shook my head. I pulled his veil away, then found the edge of his bandages, loosening it and pulling at it gently until I had uncovered his neck, then his chin and mouth, then his nose. He'd shut his eyes tight and looked to be stifling tears, but I kept going, pushing aside the last of his bandages before letting go of his wrists. He immediately covered his face with his hands and tried to get up, but I caught him around the waist and pulled him close, whispering in what was left of his ear.

"I just have to get used to you," I told him, kissing his hair, which was still thick and dark, cropped short like mine. I could smell the strange medicines his nurses plastered on him daily. He was still struggling in my lap, but I held him close until he stopped and relaxed against my shoulder, his hands covering his face. Maybe if we sat there long enough he would forget he was without his bandages. I started talking to him about this and that, telling him the news, who was executed, who was fighting who and why, even making up some things to fill in. I was right; his hands fell away from his face quickly, and he started contributing to the conversation, asking me questions, eventually sitting up in my lap and looking at me.

I tried my best to look calm, normal, not bothered by his disfigured face. I must have succeeded. He kept chatting with me as if nothing was amiss, his hand tracing the embroidery on the front of my uniform, then lingering on the blue fabric. He pushed his hips closer to me, just slightly, but enough to feel that I was growing hard against his thigh. He blushed. I smiled; this was the first time I'd been able to see him blush. I ran my fingertip over his pink cheek, wrapping my hand around his neck and pushing my fingers into his hair. He remembered his situation when he felt my touch and tensed under my hands.

"Baldwin," I whispered, pulling him toward me and kissing his forehead. "Your nurse was right. You're a very handsome young man." He turned away, still blushing. His other ear was entirely missing. I was glad he had looked away; I'm sure my face must have betrayed the combination of sadness and disgust I felt. "Shall I call her again?"

"No, you don't have to," he said, his voice small. "If you don't mind me like this."

"I don't."

"The bandages are hot and uncomfortable," he added, leaning against me, his cheek on my shoulder.

"Baldwin, come to bed." He nodded, smiling when I picked him up and carried him, easily done, he was so light. I deposited him in bed and pulled off my clothes, searching around for a suitable pair of socks. Baldwin pointed to his knitting basket and I found what I was looking for there. He sat up in bed calmly, not bothered that he was without his mask. I undid his fancy white robes, careful not to damage the fine fastenings. "Are you tired?"

"Yes, I rode today. I think I'm getting better at it."

"As I predicted."

"It still terrifies me."

"Hopefully you won't have to ride anywhere soon."

"And you, are you tired?"

"A bit."

"You are the only person aside from my nurses and doctors who has seen me like this."

"It's a privilege," I told him, pulling his clothes over his head and working on his trousers, pushing him back into his soft featherbed and sliding the silk over his hips and down his legs. I pulled his gloves off carefully, not sure if he was bandaged beneath them. He wasn't. Without thinking too much about it, I unwound the thin cotton wrapping his arms and his legs, curling up behind him and wrapping my arm around his chest, my fingers over his heart. It wasn't exactly pounding, but close to it.

"I must disgust you," he whispered. "I thought surely you would agree that we shouldn't continue this…"

"I'll not give you up so easily," I told him, pulling the sheets over us. "I've known you since you were a child. Something as trivial as a bit of bad skin won't stop me. I'm not exactly a beauty myself. You tolerate my scars quite gracefully, so I will do the same for you."

"But I endanger you-"

"Not at all," I whispered, kissing the top of his head and tightening my grip on him.

"Surely I must."

"Have your nurses become lepers?"

"No…"

"And neither will I. Go to sleep, Baldwin."

He squirmed around to face me, his hand seeking out my somewhat hard cock. He looked down to make sure he'd made contact. "But you-"

"It doesn't matter. You're exhausted. Go to sleep. It'll be there in the morning."

"You're very kind."

"Goodnight," I whispered, kissing his forehead and pushing him back into bed, watching his eyelids soften with sleep. His hand lingered at my crotch, gently rubbing against me until I was quite hard and wide awake. I watched the king's small hand, smaller now that he was missing significant chunks of it. His ring felt cool compared to his inflamed skin. Although I was quite ashamed to do so, I let myself move against him ever so slightly, hoping to relieve myself of what was now an unstoppable hard on, as red and engorged as the diseased skin on Baldwin's hand. His hand, raw and painful as it looked, mirrored my cock in some strange way. I wondered if Baldwin ever masturbated. Surely he did. I reached out and ran my fingertips lightly over his length. He shifted in his sleep but didn't let go of my cock-his grip tightened as I pulled at him gently, slowly, smiling when he parted his legs and made a small sound in the back of his throat. His eyes snapped open when I wet my finger and circled the head of his cock.

"It does matter," he said, smiling at me and tightening his grip on my sensitive flesh.

"Do you touch yourself?"

"Sometimes. Rarely."

"How?"

"Like this, with my hand," he whispered, blushing as he moved his fingers over me.

"How often?"

"Not often. Once a month."

"Is there anything you think of?"

"I confess I've thought of you in the past. Long ago, when I was almost a child."

"Why did you stop?"

"I didn't want such things to intrude on our work together."

I rolled over on my side and pulled him close to me, kissing him, then stopping to open his mouth. "You can open your mouth, you know," I whispered, trying again with more success. I enjoyed the feeling of his skin against my lips-the bandages had always felt strange and dry. He moaned into my mouth, pushing against my hand and squeezing me tight as he came. His hand went limp and fell away from me, leaving me with that strange sort of orgasm that happens when interrupted, an echo of the orgasm that could have been. I grabbed a handful of bandages and wiped up his soft stomach, cleaning myself up before folding him in my arms and kissing him a second time.

"Stay with me," he whispered, pulling away from my kiss and tucking his head under my chin.

"Of course."

"Until I die, stay with me. Sleep with me, be with me always, please-it won't be long."

"Of course," I whispered back, pressing my lips to the top of his head.

"Promise me."

"I promise."

He breathed a sigh of relief, wrapping his arms around me and falling asleep immediately. I stayed up a moment longer, amazed once again that I was in this position. My sweet little king, knitting me socks and sweaters, allowing me into his bed, wishing to have me as his companion until death took him-I never would have expected such an outcome. I settled back in bed and decided to enjoy it while it lasted, vowing to save aside a few pairs of socks to remember him by.