Indigo

"Must you go?" You whisper as you walk up to John's side, hands wringing in your deep plum colored dress.

"It'll only be a few days," John answers as he dutifully slides from his horse, handing the reins to Simon as he does. "I've doubled your security. For their sake and mine, stay inside the grounds." He says, his tone soft, but you feel the command.

"Of course," you reply as you tilt your head back to look up at him. "I don't have anything to give you.” Traditionally speaking, you should always present your knight with your favor.

“I have plenty of you with me,” he smiles as he cups your jaw, the gloves rough on your skin. And you can see what he is talking about. The small scratch marks that slide under the collar of his shirt. A yellowing bruise on his jugular from where you bit down in surprise when his fingers explored your backside the other night. And the very subtle bleaching of his normal dark brown beard and mustache.

You bite your lip, eyes darting to his other men before back to your King. It doesn't feel right sending them off without a good luck charm, old superstitions eating away at you.

"Wait," you breathe, stepping out of John's grip and work on hiking up your dress.

There is a delicate little knife, strapped to a garter that bites into your thigh. It was a gift from Kyle, the blade no thicker than your finger but sharp enough to split a hair. He had gifted it to you when a liaison of not exactly friendly diplomats came to dinner. Just in case, he whispered as he cornered you in the hallway and slipped it up your leg.

Johnny grins, nudging his mare to block you from view of the other guards as you unsheathe the weapon and let your dress fall back down again. Before John can protest, you slide the knife along your bodice near your heart, cutting into the delicate purple silk inlayed with gold vines and flowers. The Queen's colors.

"Here," you whisper as you tie it around John's thick wrist as he watches you. "And the rest of you," you state, looking up at the other three who are watching intently. Bending down, you cut strips of the purple silk away from the bottom of the skirt and wait for the men to offer you the hilt of their swords.

You tie the material as tightly as you can before giving John one last kiss and making them all swear they will come home to you. They leave you standing at the gate, arms wrapped tight around yourself to cover your exposed undergarments and to keep yourself together. Since your marriage, you and John had not spent a single night apart, and now you were losing all four of your comforts for who knew how long.

The days are long, whittling them away with walks along the grounds, music, reading, embroidery, and hosting other ladies of the court.

But the nights. The nights are even longer.

The bed is cold, no matter how many hot pans your maids put in. It's also too large; you feel exposed without John's arms around you. Or Simon's solid body perched on the bed for you to press against as you wait for John to return from a meeting. And when you wake up in the dark, you long for Johnny's soft whisper asking if there is something you need. Or Kyle's broad hand running along your back to soothe you back to sleep.

It's been weeks with very little updates aside from John was alive, but the troops were taking heavy losses. You toss and turn most nights, spending many of them pacing the bedroom and staring out the window. As if staring at the horizon would bring news, or them home. The days drag, you spend most of them in a haze, sleeping more and more to make up for the lack of sleep at night.

Then one night, as you sit by the fire staring at the embers, the bedroom door bangs open. You shriek, jumping up from your seat, and instantly grab a robe to cover yourself. The people in the door silhouettes are nothing but shadows, but there is no mistaking John's build. His broad shoulders, the bulge in his arms, and the sure stance.

"John?" You ask, dropping the robe and taking a step toward him. He doesn't say anything as he walks into the room, hand undoing the clasp of his cloak. You take another tentative step toward him.

"My King?" You ask as Johnny steps into the light to take the discarded garment.

"My Queen," John answers as he clears the gap between the two of you, hands grabbing your face to gently hold it, eyes roving over you as if to assure himself you are okay.

He looks exhausted. The circles under his eyes are dark, but his skin is darker, as if he's been out in the sun. You can see a cut on his cheek that's healing, and other various marks on him that weren't lovingly left by you. His hands are calloused as they brush along your delicate skin, and you want to cry at the tenderness with which he holds and looks at you.

"You should have sent word you were coming home, I would have prepared," you babble as you hear the bedroom door click shut and the other footsteps of Simon and Kyle walking further into the room. "I would have waited up for you. A proper feast and," you grab onto John's waist as he smiles.

"I don't want a feast," John answers as he slides his hands to your shoulders to toy with the white linen of your sleeping gown. "I don't want the fanfare or people. I've had enough of that," he traces his fingers to the tie in the front of your night slip. "I want you," he pulls on the small bow, "and only you for the next week."

You grin a bit, feeling yourself growing hot as he continues to unlace the top, slowly and deliberately. You glance down at his hands and start to see the favor you had bestowed on him still tied on his wrist. It's worse for wear, fraying and dirty, stained with blood and who knows what else.

"Never took it off," John says as his eyes follow yours. "Not once," he flips his wrist up to show you the knot. "You put it on me, you take it off," he grins as your fingers dig at the tight junction of fabric. Between the blood, sweat, water, and spilled drink, the material has shrunk and become so tight you can't get a grip on the knot.

"Your knife," he barely whispers as he watches you.

"I don't want to cut you," you answer, noticing how there is very little space between it and his skin.

"My blood is yours," he grins as Kyle hands you the knife from your bedside table. "Go on."

You tremble as you slide the blade in the small space, eyes darting between John's face and your work. When you have it wedged, you tug upward, and you hear the sound of the fabric ripping, along with a small intake of breath from John.

"I'm sorry!" You say instantly, dropping the knife to the ground and grabbing his arm. You can see the small well of blood where you had sliced him, it's not deep, and luckily it's clean with how sharp the blade is.

"Just a scratch," John assures you as he wipes it away with his other thumb.

You glance where the cut is still bleeding and quickly snatch up his arm and bring it to your lips. It's a soft gesture, a gentle, quick kiss to the cut to make it better before you trail the kiss up to his wrist, which has evidence of a burn where the fabric had rubbed. You had caused both of those pains, you wanted to be the one to take them away.

John doesn't say a word as you flick your eyes up to him, though you can see the flare in his eyes. How he watches you with a hunger as you kiss his palm, tongue darting out to lick away the last drops of blood from his newest cut. The way he shifts a bit on his feet, and glances at his men, who are all watching with rapt attention.

Dropping your hands from his arm, you take a small step back and finish undoing the last ties of your nightgown and let it fall around your feet in a puddle. In the beginning, you had been too shy to do this in front of John, let alone the other three, but now it didn't matter. You knew that John was yours, and his men worshiped the ground you walked on. There was no need to be afraid.

John works on getting out of his travel clothes, the buttons and knots endless, and you sit prettily on the bed watching. Simon tugs you to him to keep you warm in the chill air, your skin covered in goosebumps. John doesn't struggle for long with his clothes, though.

You grin as Kyle slides his hands down John's chest as he kneels in front of him to loosen his belt and ties. It's the perfect view, even in the dying light from the fire. You can see every angle of John's body, the taught muscle of his chest that gives way to a soft belly before dipping to the v of his hips, where Kyle's hands are placed as he kisses along the skin there. And when Johnny reaches around John from behind and pumps John a few times into Kyle's open mouth, you squirm with delight. A squirm that turns to a sigh as Simon's fingers find your clit and gently rub.

Knowing that John was with his men all these weeks had brought you some comfort. Knowing they would protect him, keep him company, and warm when you couldn't helped dull your worry. But it didn't satisfy your deep ache of loneliness or need. Your own hand and memory couldn't touch what these men did for you, and as Simon spreads your legs wider for John to watch, you groan from the pleasure.

"Look at me," John states as you lean your head back on Simon's shoulder, eyes half closing. Weeks without this make the feeling almost too much, but you open your eyes as Simon eases up. You know he's changed pace to silently indicate that if you don't do what John says, you don't get what you want.

"Beautiful," John answers as you lock eyes with him, knees bending up a bit as you push back against Simon's chest. And, as if in reward, Simon's fingers slip into you. No preamble or preparing for both digits, which makes you hiss with surprise, and a moment of pain, before he begins to pump them in and out of you, deliciously slow.

One of John's hands finds the back of Kyle's head and pushes him fully on his length, his nose pressed against his pelvis, before he pulls him back. He's not gentle with his men like he is with you. But the way Kyle moans deep in his chest, you know he enjoys it. Just like how Johnny enjoys the tight squeeze of John's other hand on his own freed cock, making him tremble.

It's a wonderful sight to see them like this, to tilt your head back and see Simon's eyes locked on his King as he finger fucks you toward climax. But you need more. You need to feel John. To feel Kyle and Johnny. All of it. And as if John can sense it, he taps Kyle on the shoulder, letting him slide his tongue along his length one more time, before the man rises and he walks toward you.

"Lie back, my love," you say as John climbs into the bed, painfully hard and lubricated from Kyle's spit. "Let me take care of you."

John doesn't object as you climb into his lap, bending forward to help situate the pillows for him with a smile. You slide your center of his length as you shift, and you bite your lip at how easily he slips through your folds. He doesn't miss it either, hands gripping your thighs as you dare to grind down on him a bit, rocking your hips. Fuck it feels good. You push down again, hands grabbing his shoulders as you move forward and back over him until a hand slides between your bodies to notch John at your entrance.

One more roll back and he slips in. Despite Simon's ministrations, it takes you a moment to seat John fully. This angle and weeks of nothing make it difficult, but as Johnny kisses your neck from behind and tells you how good you're doing, you feel your hips connect with John's.

"That's it," John coos as you begin to move, hands braced on his chest now. Ease rise and fall on him sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you can feel the pressure of him right against your cervix. But you can't get what you're looking for, can't move at the right speed, legs tiring as you grind on him, trying to chase the pleasure that seems to linger just out of reach.

"Let me," Johnny offers as you whine in a bit of frustration. Then his hands are on you. Strong and capable as he grips your hip bones and moves you, fingers digging in as he lifts and lowers you, letting you fall back against him.

You can feel Johnny's length digging into your backside as you ride John, and the thrill of what John had asked you about before he left races through you. You needed more time and more preparation, as John explained, before letting Simon and Johnny demonstrate exactly what that meant. It scared you then; it was never something you had learned about, let alone seen. But now, now you want it. Wanted to feel these men inside of you, the only way possible, as the Queen could only have the King's children.

"Next time," John says as he adjusts to sit up fully to take over, letting Johnny slide away. He leans forward to kiss you gently, lips lingering over yours, hands running down your sweaty back to grab your behind. "Next time we will." As if he knew what you were thinking, wanting.

You nod with a small smile before John grabs your hands and places them on the headboard on either side of his head. You know what is coming. He's had enough rest and is ready to take over. And as his hands dig into your soft curves, he sets a brutal pace, using his legs as leverage as he bounces you on him. Arching his hips up as he brings you back down, the smacking sounds fill the room, only to be echoed by another.

You don't look, though, don't glance to see who has Kyle whimpering like that. Your eyes are only for your husband as he stares right back at you; nothing distracts him from your form. From the way you pant his name, or how your fingers hold so tightly to the carved wood frame, you think your palms will bleed from it. He doesn't ease up as you climax, doesn't give you a reprieve as one hand grabs you by the nape of your neck to pull you in for a kiss that steals your breath.

John bites down on your lip as he groans into your mouth, his length twitching as he comes. But he doesn't stop moving, slower, yes, but still pumping into you, making sure he fills you to the brim and nothing leaks out.

When he finishes, you lean forward into him, arms wrapping around him as he grows soft inside you, but you don't rise off him. Instead, you lay there, feeling more content than you have in weeks. Twisting your head to the side, you can see where Simon is sitting in a chair, breathing heavily with his own spend all over his chest and stomach. Kyle has disappeared, to clean up presumably, but Johnny is still by the bed, and with a smile, he tugs the blanket up around you and John.

"Sleep, my love," John breathes into your ear as you continue to just watch him, eyes heavy. "I'll be here when you wake."

"I just want to look at you. I've missed you these months," you say quietly as he smooths the sweat off your forehead.