Charles ran his nails through the shorter hairs on the back of Arthur’s head, scritching gently against his scalp before carefully gripping him by the shoulder. 

“Breathe for me,” he commanded, smiling softly when Arthur obeyed, his man’s barrel chest falling and rising evenly against their flannel sheets. 

The windows of their cabin were fogged with early morning condensation, the October morning dawning chilly and damp over Ontario. Arthur’s shoulder always gave him trouble as the weather began to turn at the end of fall. Deep winter was somehow less of an issue, but the first cold, wet month of their long winter was always plagued by aches and pains for the both of them. 

The worst for Arthur, by far, was his left  shoulder. He’s never quite recovered his full mobility after his ill fated stay at the hands of Colm O’Drischol. The whole area was still a mess of scar tissue, gnarled and discolored. Arthur got self-conscious about it at times, thinking it ugly, but Charles was fond of the spot. It was another mark of his man’s resilience, of the many times his beautiful, wild husband had failed to die when fate demanded it of him. 

Still, the area was sore and tender today, hence Charles commanding Arthur to strip bare and lay on their bed so he could stretch him out. 

Charles settled his weight more firmly on the mattress where he kneeled, straddling Arthur’s thighs. “Keep going,” he said, soft, massaging both of Arthur’s shoulders, rolling the heavy muscle under his fingertips to loosen the early morning stiffness. Warm, slick oil glistened against Arthur’s skin in the dawn light. The faint smell of peppermint—a warming herb, one Charles’ mother had taught him to use for sore limbs, a lifetime ago—hung in the air as Charles smoothed his palms up and down the broad expanse of Arthur’s shoulders, working his thumbs parallel to his husband’s spine.

Arthur obeyed, breathing deep and even as Charles dug into him, grunting here and there when those strong hands found a particularly stubborn knot. “Y’ere so good at this,” Arthur mumbled, voice slurred with the remnants of sleep and the bone-deep relaxation setting in. Charles’ weight was perfect across Arthur’s thighs, warm and heavy and deliciously intimate. “You married?”

“For better or worse,” Charles joked back, lightly running the blunt of his nails down Arthur’s back just to watch him squirm, hear the little shuddering gasp of pleasure his man gave over in return. “He’s an old man, and a silly one at that. Keeps pushing his body when it’s not necessary, like he’s tryin’ to impress somebody.” 

“Sounds like a fool,” Arthur sighed, burying his face further in the pillows. A sort of icy heat leached through his body as Charles worked him, a pleasure-pain that left tense muscles loose and pliable. “Run away with me instead.” 

Charles snorted, working his palms down in a circular motion, like kneading out fry bread. “What you got on offer?”

“A thousand kisses.” 

“I dunno,” Charles hummed, considering. He drew his nails lightly back up Arthur’s spine, satisfied at the little shiver of pleasure that earned him. “He kisses me pretty good.”

“Ten thousand kisses,” Arthur countered, reaching back with one hand to grasp Charles by the back of his thigh, pulling him closer. “And I’ll fuck you so nice every night you won’t remember his name by morning.”

Charles rolled his eyes, humping forward so his clothed cock pressed against Arthur’s ass from the back. “Nice try—he fucks me even better.”

“Well, shit,” Arthur groaned, fingers digging hard into the firm resistance of Charles’ hamstring, groping greedily. “Could just shoot ‘im, steal you away with me.” 

“Careful—he’s an old gunslinger,” Charles laughed, swatting Arthur’s hand away, pleased when those thieving fingers pinched him on the ass before retreating. “A little rusty, but he used to be the best draw in the west.” 

Arthur huffed, affronted. “Whadya mean used to?” he whined, making to turn over and stare beseechingly.

Embrace of the King

"and there's nothing complicated about that."

oh but there IS something complicated about that.

inspired by that shared paillaise scene from A Little Sacrifice.

"Teach me, eh?" Hans climbed over him, leveraging his weight to press Henry's body further into the ground and planting his lips against Henry's brow as he spoke. He traveled lower, a loving assault that ended just below his chin.

Commission Based on 'amor et virtus' by Nerdybirdnerd on AO3

|01062026 -

1. borrowing misery from future

2. carrying grief of the past

-having a job

-not having a job

-applying for jobs

-the job market