#apprentice kipling

Kip smiled cheerlessly. “Sure, Consul.”

She began to push the door shut when she heard a crash. Cursing came from the other side as a large sleeve suddenly wedged between the door and the hinge. 

“Come inside, I mean. Honestly!”

Kip’s protests went ignored as the courtier wheeled her inside the little room lit with only the glow of a thousand candles.

“I don’t like fire,” Kip said, averting her eyes from the way Valerius’ hair spilled over his collarbone. His own robe wasn’t staying on no matter how many times he absently adjusted it. 

“Then let me advise you: don’t catch it.” He wasn’t looking her in the eye as he hardly ever did, but assessing her form instead. The unwelcomed feeling of her nipples growing stiff under the scrutiny of Val’s gaze made Kip lock her jaw and contemplate setting fire to his robe.

“Come here.”

He took her by the wrist and guided her a short distance to a curtain. The Consul wrenched it aside more to make room for Kipling.

Valerius was not so many things to Kip. A yoga partner at times. Mostly someone he looked down his nose at whenever she came to court. She found him beautiful, to be sure. And he would play nice if you caught him at the right hour, or if you bullied him enough. But she found the Consul needy. Much like a plant that was always thirsty or wont to spore incessantly if not pruned frequently enough.

“I’ve noticed your little touch around the grounds,” Val said as he made her sit on the alcove bench and poured wine into a glass from a bottle he had on hand. 

He was speaking of the botanicals that shifted color all over the grounds. The Countess had hired Kipling to install magical indicators that informed guests on the nature of pleasuring in the vicinity. Certain colors coordinated with certain kinks and whatnot. It was a spell she hadn’t quite perfected.

“It isn’t bad. Not your best work, but not bad.”

Kip watched him drink, ever aware of the warmth of the candles and their close proximity to them. 

“If you wanted to share a drink with me so bad, why didn’t you find me in one of the courtyards?”

“Bugs.” Valerius shrugged his shoulder out of a sleeve so Kip could see the inflamed area. “There’s more. In embarrassing places. It’s ruining my whole goddamn night.”

It clicked now. Why Valerius was moping in this hot, tiny room, too self conscious about his dilemma to let anyone else come near him.

“I can’t help you with that,” Kip said, not at all put off by the angry rash. “But maybe I can help take your mind off of it.”

Valerius’ mood immediately turned suspicious. Kip leaned past him, not taking care to keep her nipples from brushing the top of his thigh. She came back with a candle, and held it up between the two of them.

“It’ll only be hot for a moment.”

Kip met Valerius’ gaze, suddenly aware of how flushed he was. It made her wonder how long he had been hiding in here, scratching or rather, trying not to scratch, in this stuffy room.

“The wax might even take some sting out of those bites.”

Valerius blew out the candle. Kip blinked in the wake of his breath – a small sword of coolness bathed in fermented drink. The Consul took a sip from his glass to brace himself before relaxing into the groove of the bench. 

“Go on, Bronne.”

Kip was careful with the wax as she used her knees to position herself over Val’s hips. Wordlessly, the gardener eased over what was very obviously a swelling cock. Valerius pinched his eyes briefly from the friction. Sweet discomfort, he called it when Kip apologized.

She started high, letting the wax drip down the center of his chest where the skin remained unbroken. 

“Untie your robe,” Valerius commanded through the grit of his teeth.

“Put down your wine and untie it yourself.” Kipling quietly shot back, her attention on the next spot where she intended to pour more wax once the first spill cooled off. “I’m busy, Consul.”

There was grunting and some awkward shifting as Valerius found a level surface for his glass before working at the knot Kip had tied at her middle. 

“God, you’re flushed,” she whispered against the courtier’s hairline now that he was close. “You could have passed out in here.” When people did stupid things at the cost of their own health… Kip wasn’t sure why it pulled her in. 

Valerius couldn’t get the knot undone. He was too distracted by the way Kip was studying him, a freshly lit candle clasped in her hand so she could measure the redness in his skin and the sweat clinging to his temples. She kissed him then, dripping new wax over the army of bites on his shoulder as she did so. His skin stung as his tongue briefly tasted Kip’s interest and what he understood to be very, very controlled excitement.

Hard as glass now, Valerius abandoned the knot and coasted his hands over Kip’s pierced nipples. The fabric of her robe was thin enough that he felt her stiffen even more for him.

“Damn your dick,” Kipling swore.

“I have a mouth, you know,” Valerius said in spite of himself. He did not like to offer anything if he could help it. But damn him indeed. What was he supposed to do when Kipling had stayed and tried to help him in his sorry state? When she could be walking her lips up and down someone else’s neck and bringing shy moans to the surface in some other masquerader, but had chosen to stay and reopen that door of unspoken and sporadic intimacy between them. Why shouldn’t he offer to do something nice for her?

Valerius was lying on his back now, his robe barely clinging on. The knot on Kip’s silky covering was still stubbornly tied, but her sleeves had pooled into her elbows and her hem was hiked as high as it would go. Her jaw had gone slack for Valerius as she spilled wax onto his nipples now, blowing them dry between languid sucks where his tummy went soft.

“Are you still itchy, Consul Cheol?”

“Yes,” Val answered dryly. “Still itchy and hot and sweaty… and.” 

His liquid gold eyes had turned fiery as he looked down his stomach at Kip’s coy expression.

“What did you just call me?”

“By your name. Don’t worry, I’m not Fae. Just a gardener.”

Valerius bit his lip as he flipped Kipling over into a position of surrender. Now her back was on the bench and he was panting from the effort.

“Unbelievable. I don’t remember giving you my name.” The one from his mother’s side. The one she had brought from a wartorn world long ago when she came to the shores of Vesuvia by ship.

Vaguely he remembered a time when Kip’s fingers combed out and rebraided his hair, weaving hollyhock in it as she went. The hour was twilight. They might have been lounging in a vineyard. He’d been drunk. It was the only way it could have happened. 

Kipling’s smirk ebbed. “I haven’t told anyone–”

“Hush.” He kissed her. “Hush, you.”

She misunderstood his fluster. He was pleased. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the way the gardener caught him off guard. Maybe it was the tenderness that always came on the back end of her teasing. 

Valerius fumbled for a new candle while he whispered dirty promises into her ear. She unraveled just a little more, that controlled excitement coming more loose. Val knew she was already wet between the legs. He still wanted to quiet her down there. So she would have something to think about the next time she tried to walk by him without looking his way. So if – no, when – the two of them made eye contact again, she would know and he would know.

Kip was panting under Valerius. Because of the tight heat and the places where his body was sticking to hers. And because she didn’t like fire, but was made to look at her least favorite member at court holding a burning candle so close to her skin.

“Say my name again, Bronne. It’s fine,” Valerius said, collecting himself. He tucked most of his hair over one shoulder and the fly-aways behind his exposed ear.

He tested the wax on the back of his hand first, making his intention clear.

“But when you do, mean it. Don’t tease me.”

A hot curse fell from his lips as Kipling slid a hand under his sack. She sat upright, cupping him more confidently. Her answer was in the not-so-gentle way she anchored her other hand in his hair as she kissed him soundly. Another sweet discomfort amidst the stinging and itchy places.

“Say my name,” Val repeated in the break of a kiss. Damn him, he was begging.

He was met with hooded brown eyes and that tightly wound excitement.

Then, promising nothing, Kipling blew out his candle.