When Goswin didn't respond, Pace layered his hand over the prince's grip on the hilt of the dagger and held him fast. Gently, he pressed the sharp of the blade closer to his own throat until it kissed his neck. Goswin stared at him with wide eyes sparkling, his breath heaving his shoulders.
“You see the vein there, on the side?”
Pace tilted their joined hold til the blade sat at his pulsepoint. Goswin swallowed.
“Sire?”
“Y-Yes, I see it.”
“That's what you want to sever. It requires a good amount of pressure to get done. You want to have the edge cut in there, then draw across while maintaining that pressure to the other side, to its twin. One movement, like playing a fiddle.”
Goswin's gaze was fixed to the dagger, to the lowlight glittering on the handle and winking on the flat.
“I've never played the fiddle,” murmured Goswin, nervous attention flicking to Pace's face.
Pace grinned just a little. “Gets easier with practice.”
A swallow had the dagger shaving a few low stray hairs of Pace's beard, just shy of cutting into his skin.
“Don't pull away.”
He anticipated Goswin's retraction before he could make it. The prince went wooden.
“You need to overcome that apprehension. Builds mettle.”
He pretended not to notice the stir below the prince's belt or his ungainly shuffle to cover it up. After a long and tense moment, Pace smiled.
“Good. Improving already.”
Goswin rubbed his lips anxiously against themselves. “Must we keep on with this?”
“‘Tis the only way to learn.” Strands of dark chestnut hair fell in Pace's eyes and he dared not move to brush them away. The steel stung cold on his throat, the ghost of it raising goosebumps on his skin. “Now, ain't such a bad posture, this, but you'd want to grab a foe as an anchor if you were attempting this move from the front. ‘Tis easier when you're at their back, since you're pulling instead of pushing.”
Goswin's pupils blew wide and moony. Pace gingerly reached up and guided the dagger away, Goswin's arm rigid but compliant in his grasp.
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Goswin adored the look on Sir Pace's face: brow drawn hard to keep it from curving, carving two harsh lines down his forehead; moustache jumping from pressed lips and a nose twitching into a snarl; eyes heavy-lidded and bright, dazed and alert all at once, half in the pair drifting shut in a wince every now and again. He was undeniably flustered and even more loudly cross about it.
“Take it off,” he demanded, voice all rock and threat. “We've finished. Your thingamajig has proved its design. Release me.”
Goswin grinned up from his genuflect on the floor in front of the chair—the one his clever chain device had Pace bound to with his arms useless at his back, trapped in his now-strung-together gauntlets. The rest of his kit shone in the sunlight from the windows, freshly cleaned and buffed by that skittish little thing Pace called a squire.
His plan had worked perfectly. They were alone, the door to the guest room they occupied was locked, and Sir Pace was stuck in his armour and fasted to his seat, leaving the prince plenty of opportunity to kneel between his knees and toy with his codpiece.
“You said you'd help me test it,” reminded Goswin, coy in tone and ruthless with his hands, trailing along the edge of the plate at the inner crease of the knight's thigh where naught but fabric separated his flesh from the world.
Pace sucked in a breath through his teeth and the chain rattled hard at his back.
“I didn't agree to be leashed and tied like a bloody bird-dog.”
“How else am I to know if the device is an effective restraint?”
“My lord.”
A warning. Goswin raised his eyebrows, feigning overplayed surprise. That only tightened Pace's jaw.
Goswin huffed a laugh through his nose and let his head drop to Pace's armored thigh, playing with the knot holding his codpiece in place, but not loosening it. His dark hair scrubbed against the smooth gleaming metal like feathers on stone. His lips were so close to the knight's codpiece his breath was fogging on the surface of it, obscuring his reflection.
“I reckon it deserves a good and honest trial, don't you? Only reasonable to test it out on a captive under duress.”
Goswin flicked dark eyes alight and crinkling with mischief to meet Pace's glower, indulging in the involuntarily twitch at the corner of his nostril. He wore the same face he donned on the tourney pitch as he was preparing to deal his opponent the final stroke. Still, though, as the chain chattered to confirm, stuck.
The prince's hand cupped Pace's codpiece, warm palm sticking to the slippery metal, and laid pressure on it at the knight's tenderest spot. Pace hissed and squeezed his eyes shut, a grunt catching in his throat.
“I swear, Goswin, when this is through, you'll wish you never had this menace of a thing made,” grumbled Pace.
A chuckle. “I very much doubt that.”
Goswin bent his head and kissed his cloudy reflection on the knight's codpiece, and Pace's hips snapped so suddenly it hurt his nose. Undeterred, Goswin grabbed at Pace's legs and pressed his lips harder to it, mouthing and lapping at it, feeling the metal grow hot against his face. When Pace let out a true moan, Goswin felt his insides flutter with satisfaction and returned the call with his own, groaning as he made out with the plate, his palette flooding with steel and oil.
“Hang me,” huffed Pace, losing his hard-drawn scowl to desperate lust more and more by the second. “What have I done to deserve your torment, you devil? Is dealing with you day-in and day-out not punishment enough?”
Goswin's toying hand strayed further between the knight's legs, below the shield of his codpiece to the veiled heat of his valley, and further to his ass—
Pace let out a yip of a noise Goswin had never heard him make before and suddenly the knight's boot was on his thigh, planted hard but not shoving.
“S-Sire—”
“Fight me off if you truly want to halt me,” murmured Goswin, nuzzling between Pace's legs and kissing, his spit glistening on the metal. “Kick me or crush me between your legs. Surely it wouldn't be difficult to force my yield.”
Pace was panting. “I don't want to have to hurt you.”
The prince's smile was coy and his gaze drunken. “Then don't. Be a good man and take what I give you.”
