Knightkinktober Week 3 | Token/Pining/Pinning
It feels foolish. He is not the bright-eyed youth he once was. He was a King now- he had been for many years. He was not easily smitten or charmed and he had a good head on his shoulders - one that knew better than to dip his toes into the waters of lust because the current was rapid and it was easy to get pulled away.
But...here he was. His eyes lingering on the young Knight as he watched them all ready their horses for the tourney. Feeling like a fawning Prince again, a flush with anxiety and nerves. Were he still a boy he knew he'd stride right over. Test the waters. Give him a token and tuck it boldly between pieces of his armour and tell him if he won he would help him celebrate.
But he is not a boy anymore. And it would likely be so unwelcome as it was- even his staring felt like he was crossing some boundary, and yet he couldn't drag his eyes away. Not as they mounted and did a few test strides around the arena. Not as they *approached* and bowed their head and thanked him for the invitation. His response to that so practiced he hardly even heard what he said, did not process the words leaving his mouth at all.
"Wish me luck, your Highness? Perhaps with your favour I will pull out a victory yet."
The man says it with such smugness that for a moment the King wonders if the man could physically hear his thoughts. He clears his throat. Tries not to stammer as he says, "Of course. Of course, I wish you your victory." He digs out a Handkerchief. It is stupid to give a token. That's the privilege of youth. But he's stunned, and clumsy, and he had been pining since the man first caught his eye. It was presented before he had even thought about it, and accepted and tucked into the man's gauntlet before he had a chance to think about how to take it back and not make a fool of himself.
But it helps, he supposes. Or victory just matters much to the young lad. He fights in the tourney with a passion. Vicious and efficient. The King watches how he grips his sword. Strong hands. Firm grip. He imagines, briefly, those hands wrapped around *him*. Tries to push the thought away. Most of the tourney is trying to push thoughts away. Of that man working his muscles on top of him. Of what those grunts would sound like when they weren't from pain. From pleasure...
It's the same for all three days of the tourney. Trying not to lust for the young man and failing.
He wins. Of course he does. The King avoids him, at the celebration fest. Wants to be free of the lust. Ready for him and all the visiting Knights to leave. He retreats down one of the halls with a glass of wine to soothe his nerves. Stares into the glass for who knows how long.
"You haven't congratulated me, your Highness."
He startles. Straightens and looks up from his cup- and it's being dropped to the floor and spilled as the young Knight grips his wrists and brings them swiftly above his head.
"I noticed how you watched me, my King. The way your eyes trail over me. I thought for sure you'd help me celebrate. A secret tryst with a visiting Knight..."
He lips skim the Kings neck. He can't control the sharp inhale.
"Isn't that what you wanted? Isn't that what you've been pining for, watching me so closely through every challenge?"
The King finds his tongue tied. His heart pounding in ways it hasn't since he was a boy. His face flushed. One gauntleted hand runs down to his hip.
"Well? Tell me you want this."
The King swallows. A tryst. Just one night. Nobody would have to know...
It's all he needs to get out. The Knight's lips crash against his. Those gauntleted fingers wander a little more confidently, as he holds him up against the wall. And the King melts like a simple youth again. Back against the wall.
