#errant words

Casting the spell and the knight doesn't immediately notice anything because it's not like they're touching anything most of the time, just standing guard.  Sure, they "feel" when they grasp the hilt of their sword, but they always feel that, sort of a phantom sensation.

Prince testing to see if the spell worked by laying a hand on the knight's cuirass, a familiar gesture that would raise no eyebrows to an onlooker, but the prince doesn't miss the startled hiss from inside their knight's helmet, the stiffening of the figure, the shiver when he lets his fingers trace down the plate before falling to his side. 

Prince smirking at the confirmation that the spell worked, leaning in and murmuring a tease that doubles as a question, making sure that the knight is okay with this.  Knight nodding and breathlessly confirming consent, though warning the prince that such an enchantment might make it difficult for them to do their duty.  A knight's armour is meant to protect the sensitive creature underneath, after all.

Prince surreptitiously taking their knight's hand, stroking a thumb over the back of their gauntlet, feeling their knight still as all their attention zeroes in on that one point of contact, and assuring them that they have no cause to fret.  After all, their only duty today is to accompany their prince at the banquet that night, where there will be countless other guards to keep away any real danger.  All the knight has to do is stand there, look vaguely menacing, and feel.

Prince teasing their knight mercilessly throughout the banquet, touching them far more than is strictly necessary, enough to merit suspicion from any observant onlooker, and the knight would be embarrassed even without the sensations humming through them.  Knight hissing to their prince in a close moment that this is irresponsible, that the knight needs to at least be able to focus, and the prince is making it all but impossible.  Prince dragging their fingertips down the inside of their knight's arm from elbow to wrist, replying that if the knight can't stay focused in the face of such distraction, then perhaps they aren't a very good knight after all.

Realizing as my mind becomes more alert that one part of me has woken up before the rest. Mumbling a quiet curse. It’s hardly surprising, the way everyone has been carrying on during our journey. Just because I don’t take doesn’t mean I don’t want.

Squirming on my bedroll, weighing my options. I could ignore it, hope that the arousal will fade before we need to get moving. Or I could take care of things, hurriedly, quietly, trying not to think about the others hearing me. About what would happen if one of them found me like this.

One hand reaches down to palm myself over my braies. What if… is there a third option? My travelling companions have made no secret of their willingness to enjoy each other, and that does seem to include me. Could I solicit one of them? Maybe… more than one?

My face flushes red at the thought. No, I tell myself. It still feels presumptuous, and I don’t want anyone doing me any favours. Nothing that they don’t want just as badly as I do, anyway.

Comfortable companionship as they are tended to by a brilliant bath maid, clearly one the knight is familiar with, but nothing too sexual.  Perhaps a little yearning from the squire, not so much for either of them, but brought to the surface by the fact that they are horribly touch-starved and haven't been tended to like this since they were a child being bathed. 

Knight noticing how pliant and relaxed the squire becomes and filing away the information silently, resolving to give the squire more touch in appreciation, in comfort, in companionship.

The room I have been given during my stay at Bloodhaven is by far the most lavish I have ever had the honour of calling my own, if only temporarily. The window offers a beautiful view of the town and the valley beyond, but the room isn’t drafty at all. The bed is almost too soft for me to sleep on; I’m more accustomed to bedrolls and hard cots. It feels incredible of course, but as I stretch out upon it, I feel a new sense of uneasiness.

It’s too empty.

The last few days, I have been in constant proximity to my travelling companions. Their chatter, their presence, was always there. It was dependable, comforting. Even in the barracks, there s always someone nearby, even and especially when you wish there weren’t. Privacy is a commodity to be scrounged for as a knight.

Then again, I can't remember the last time I knew about a tryst before it was happening. I've gotten rather used to going with the flow, to letting the moment take me away. Knowing about it hours beforehand, having time for the nerves to simmer, is an entirely different matter.

Not that I'm having doubts, not for a second. But I want this to be good. It's taken a while for Gray to soften with me. I want this to be good for them.

A spike of fear digs into me as I raise my hand to knock at their door. What if they changed their mind? What if they close off again, or pretend nothing happened between us? What if they aren't even here?

I swallow my fear and knock.

I've been well patched-up after my ordeal in the Hunt, though I am limping a bit. Truthfully, I'm in far better shape than I have any right to be after what happened. The herbs and poultices the medic applied to my leg must have been very powerful indeed. Perhaps they were made from more than nature.

Regardless, I am relieved to be able to attend the masquerade, even in this state. I might not make the best dance partner, but it's nice to see everyone in their finery, in their masks and costumes. Everything feels a little looser.

Could be for my Prince, head bowed in deference, eyes unworthy to meet his. Could be for my captain, my knees already accustomed to taking this position before him. Could be for my jester, my eyes fixed on their leggings, on the bells at the ends of their slippers.

Whoever I kneel for, I’m not asking for much. No need to tease, not today. Instead I ask for assistance in removing my helmet, in uncovering my head. I don’t need anything else to be bared. I don’t need your body. I just want your hands.

Warm, steady palms cupping my chin and my cheek. Deft fingers pushing my hair back from my eyes. Nails scratching lightly at my scalp. Just enough to ground me, to make me certain that we’re both here. That we’re both right where we want to be.

Perhaps a hushed reminder that I’ve pleased you. An assurance that my affections do not fall on deaf ears. That you are happy to care for me like this, you aren’t doing it out of necessity. Perhaps this would be nice, if it’s not too much to hope for.

The Knight is staring down a sleepless night and an unforgiving morning.

Need to be summoned to my prince’s chambers, to be dragged away from my duties, protesting weakly because I can’t just abandon my post, but dreadfully grateful to him for giving me permission to rest.

Need to kneel at my prince’s feet the second he points at the ground, hardly feeling the soreness in my joints anymore, feeling only the stillness of this moment, the simplicity of dropping to the ground and following orders. My post will be fine. My prince requires me, and all I have to do now is obey. Such freedom in servitude.

Need him to gently remove my helmet, setting it carefully aside before taking my face in his hands. Nothing sexual or even that suggestive going on, besides the inherent intimacy of kneeling for him in his private rooms, of breathing in his scent and nuzzling into his palms, hound to master, friend to friend.

Need to look up and see the understanding on his face. He knows what it is to carry too much, even before taking the throne all to himself. He knows what it is to be in command, to take responsibility, and to crave the release of someone telling you it’s okay, you’ve done enough, you’re doing well enough. My prince can be a pain, but he’s not a fool. He sees me, and I see him.

Need him to murmur words of praise as he strokes my hair, telling me it’s okay to let my eyes shut, to unabashedly crumble for him, to speak my mind if my mind has anything left to speak. And all I can say is thank you, over and over, my voice going from strained to soft as I slowly relax, going pliant, returning to myself, returning to him.