Authors: R. Cooper
“My lord!” The duke of war was practically
sputtering. Here Bertie had thought soldiers a brave, lusty
lot.
“I am not moving.” He stopped short of
touching Godric, but Godric was so warm and so near that Bertie
felt dizzy with it. “I know you are mad at me, but you ought to get
your rest, you stubborn, precious fool.”
He expected an argument, or a refusal, or at
least to get picked up and dropped back into the other bed. Godric,
still sitting up, only stared at him.
“I am not angry, my lord,” he said at
last.
“What?” Bertie was quite tired and
frustratingly close to the fire of his soul. Eloquence was beyond
him. “But this is just like before at the Keep, when you tried to
tell me and I insisted on staying anyway.”
Godric only continued to regard him with
bemused wonder.
“I was not angry then either, my lord.” He
spoke as though this had been clear. Bertie almost frowned. Godric
could stuff his apologies, if that was what he was on about. Bertie
squinted at him in the near dark, trying hard not to get too
distracted by the bare skin within reach.
“But….” Bertie started to argue, then
rethought it and went silent as he pulled over Godric’s pillow to
him so he could be more comfortable as he relived those last
moments.
The night of the feast, riders had come with
the news of boats off the coast, boats carved with the griffins and
eagles of the Green Men. The court with all its knights and
soldiers had ridden out the next morning.
It had been a bright morning, not too cold.
Despite the sunshine, Bertie had stayed inside his room in one of
the towers, holding his new cat and regretting that he’d given in
to the pleading looks of the villagers.
He’d had no business staying, not that his
brother had tried to change his mind. With Godric silent behind
him, Aethir had swept in to embrace Bertie and told him he was
pleased to see Bertie honoring their father, although he’d warned
Bertie to hurry back to Camlann before the first snows. Godric had
said not a word, not then. He had returned moments later and stood
by one window, not seeming to hear the nervous crowds far
below.
Bertie recalled hurrying over to him and
then barely stopping himself in time to save Godric’s dignity, and
how instead of being grateful, Godric had seemed strangely taken
aback by Bertie’s restraint. He had stiffened and then taken a
small step toward the door.
“Have you lost my brother already, my dear
Godric?” Bertie had teased hurriedly to keep him there, and because
what he’d wanted to say had been praise for Godric’s appearance,
and worry for him, and entreaties for Godric to take Bertie with
him.
Godric had frowned, just as he was frowning
now, and so Bertie had dropped his gaze.
Outside in the courtyard, Godric’s horse had
been waiting, with a saddle with stirrups as his people rode,
bedecked in Aethir’s colors. Godric himself had been armed with his
broadsword at his side and a helmet under his arm, an array of
short daggers in his belt. His other hand had held flowers, long
red amaranthus and the white stars of bittersweet.
Someone must have thrown them at him. It was
how soldiers were honored. If someone had especially longed for his
return, if Godric had had a lover, the flowers would have been
woven into his hair.
After the incident with the cat the night
before, Bertie had deliberately kept himself from sneaking out to
pick some. Godric had been embarrassed enough about the cat, and
then furiously quiet since Bertie had announced his intention to
stay. He had only broken his silence once they had stood there,
after long moments of staring without saying farewell.
His words had been sharp and unusually
plentiful, shaking with hints of what the invaders had done during
the last wars, of how far away Godric would be from Bertie and what
would happen if Bertie stayed in the valley much longer.
“But they need me to, beloved,” Bertie had
tried to explain, babbling away about traditions and blood and duty
as Godric’s frown had only intensified.
“Then you must promise me that you will send
for me if you feel the faintest threat, and that you will return to
the capital as soon as possible. You must, my lord.”
They were nearly words to swoon over. Bertie
had tried to control himself with a laugh. “Really, Godric, I
don’t….”
“Promise me, my lord.” Godric had shifted
and with his armor gleaming had ducked his head in a manner too
like begging. “Please.”
“I….” Bertie could not see him like that. “I
swear,” he had promised, as though he would not fly to Godric if he
had the chance. It had seemed a fool’s request and an easy vow to
make.
He should have known. Godric was not the
fool here.
“Well I am sorry I did not listen. Though I
do not think my answer would have been different.” Bertie tried a
laugh and shook away the memories. “I find I don’t much care for
duty, Godric.”
“It can get in the way of your plans, yes.”
Godric closed his empty hands.
“How often has it led to you following after
me and putting up with my ways?” Bertie sighed. “It’s never my
intention to embarrass you. I just seem to. But I do
try
not
to bother you, my Godric.”
“That….” Godric was still peering at him,
with that face he made when receiving new information and had to
quickly adjust his strategies. His brow furrowed. “That was never a
duty, my lord.”
Bertie knew he looked startled. It took him
a moment to remember to blink. When he did not speak, Godric turned
and extended a hand to little Godric, who trotted over like a
puppy, or a very, very smart cat. It rubbed its cheek against his
fingers.
“This cat….” At the words Bertie nearly
flinched but Godric seemed not to notice. “You gave it my name.” To
distract himself, Bertie reached out to pet the cuddly bag of bones
and felt fur ruffled from Godric’s attentions. “To keep it with
you,” Godric went on with a sigh. “You shame me for doubting you.”
Shocked, Bertie almost pulled his hand back, but then Godric went
on. “You are quite brave, you know.”
Bertie very much feared he squeaked.
“For taking in a cat?” He was hot all over.
Godric simply took his hand from his feline counterpart and let it
rest atop Bertie’s for one inconceivable moment. Bertie held his
breath, but there Godric’s hand stayed, two heartbeats, three, and
then Godric took his hand away to resume scratching the cat and
speaking calmly as though he was not leaving Bertie devastated and
yearning.
Perhaps this hand holding was what they
called flirting in the southern part of the country, for though
Bertie had said and done more brazen things and had them done to
him, he felt a tremor in his chest and another release of aroused,
embarrassed heat throughout his body.
He remembered once or twice in those early
days how Godric had asked permission to sit near him and how silly
Bertie had found the requests at the time. Now his mouth was dry
with hope that Godric might ask him again.
Godric glanced at him and Bertie held his
breath.
“May I ask you something, my lord, if it is
not too bold?”
“I cannot
begin
to imagine what from
you I would find too bold.” Bertie’s voice dropped to a whisper so
as not to break this spell that made his Godric speak so much.
Godric
laughed
. Laughed at long last, as he hadn’t in
years.
Bertie wanted to laugh with him, even if
suddenly he was certain that Godric was going to ask something
innocent and that Bertie was only imagining all these possible
southern courting rituals.
“Your brother was right.” Godric added as
his delightful laughter finally faded. “After…. When I first met
you, he told me that he had never known you to lie. No man more
honest, he said.”
Godric’s good humor abruptly disappeared.
“When you… when you began to speak of me… as you do now, I was
certain you were having fun at my expense. I am sorry to say I
forgot your brother’s words to me for some time, living at court.
Lords can be the most foolish and dishonest of people.”
That was true enough, even if it stung. “But
not you, Godric.”
“I am not a lord.” Godric moved his
shoulders.
“Are we back on that again?” Bertie pushed
out a tiny sound of exasperation but felt, somehow, that he had
once more amused Godric.
“Others care if you do not.” The man argued
just the same. Bertie was starting to think it was a consequence of
all Godric’s strategizing that he always thought the worst. Bertie
was going to have to do something about it if they were to ever get
anywhere.
“And what should that matter to a brave
champion?” he huffed, and received stillness for a reply. Godric
took one breath and then another. Then he nodded.
“Once again, my lord, you are right,” Godric
agreed, then picked up the cat and moved it to the side. Ignoring
its protests, Godric turned back to Bertie. His stare was so
thoughtful and all-seeing that Bertie bit his lip and fought to be
patient, to think like a repressed or shy Southern stable boy.
Still, he felt he ought to say something.
But it was dark and warm and they were so
close together, and Godric was so nearly naked.
So what Bertie said was, “If you are
thinking of inviting me to your bed, Godric, you must know my
answer is yes.”
There was a flicker in Godric’s expression,
as though this answer from Bertie could have
possibly
been
unexpected, and then as if Bertie had not made this very thing
clear to Godric a hundred times before, Godric smiled and rubbed at
his nose as though pleased, but embarrassed.
“We are already in my bed,” he pointed out
in a rough voice and Bertie straightened for one second, held back
by surprise, and then his body caught up with his racing mind and
heart and launched itself at Godric.
Godric caught him with the tiniest grunt,
either in surprise or because of his weight. Bertie did not care,
and apologizing would have meant taking his mouth away and he
finally had it where he had wanted it for so long. He pressed
kisses to Godric’s cheeks and jaw without much aim, landing them
north and south until he at last felt Godric’s lips beneath his.
They opened for a smile and then moments later in a soft plea for
more.
Bertie had not thought Godric could be soft
but he was unexpectedly and delightfully so as Bertie was not.
Bertie was hard and itching with need, hot as he struggled to throw
aside furs and pillows and climb atop Godric. Some part of him
warned that he was once again taking advantage, but then his weight
toppled them down and Godric’s hands landed at his sides and held
him close and that part of him went silent.
Bertie wanted those hands there at his
sides, and also up his skirts, and yet also pinned down to the
floor so he could have his way unobstructed. He, quite
embarrassingly, growled because he could not have Godric everywhere
he wanted him at once, but he would not have traded it, not for
anything. If he was desperate to touch Godric everywhere then
Godric seemed just as desperate to touch him too. Godric made
frustrated sounds deep in his throat, as if he wanted to go slow
and could not with Bertie rocking into him and drawing kisses from
his mouth.
Godric’s fingers were pulling at the laces
at the back of Bertie’s dress, so much that he possibly ripped a
few in his haste and confusion, but Bertie could not blame him for
being unfamiliar with dresses. He shifted and tore his mouth away
to pant gratefully when Godric moved his hands to lift his tangled,
wayward clothes for him, pulling at the heavy skirts until he found
bare skin. Bertie’s knees slid cleanly to the floor on either side
of Godric’s body and he was probably dreaming but he was not going
to end this one.
“Godric beloved,” he breathed before tipping
Godric’s head back for another taste of Godric’s mouth. He could
feel the rasp of his beard on Godric’s bare skin and Godric’s
pleased shudder beneath him as he answered.
“Yes, my lord?”
Bertie forgot that he was supposed to
respond. He pulled away to nip at the column of Godric’s throat
while Godric’s hands toyed with his hem, working further and
further up Bertie’s thighs until they reached his cock at last.
Godric did not hesitate before he started to stroke, his palm dry
and then sweaty and nicely damp. His grip was as strong as Bertie
had dreamed.
Bertie dropped his head to mouth at Godric’s
shoulder, shaking with impatience. Tattoos had no flavor to his
tongue other than the pleasing salt and metal of Godric’s skin, but
he drove his hips toward Godric’s hand and left bruises as his
fingers curled into muscle and he tasted each and every drop of
ink. He moaned over the golden sun of Bohdon and scraped his teeth
over a puzzling rowan tree, but it was the red dragon curled over
Godric’s heart that made Bertie clutch at Godric’s sides and pull
away from Godric’s skilled hand.
This was no dream, praise the gods. Bertie
could never have imagined that.
“My lord?” Godric asked, his voice hoarse
with desire, and for once despite the need, Bertie’s mouth offered
him no words at all.
He shook his head mutely but moved, kissing
his way down Godric’s flat stomach, glancing up as he shoved
Godric’s breeches from his path. His reward was a mouthful of cock
and the sound of Godric pleading with him for more.
It seemed oddly right to hear Godric cry out
for Bertie, to moan for his lord as he came. It was Godric’s name
for him, and with his face hot and his mouth busy, Bertie felt it
like a stroke down his back as he swallowed some seed and spit out
the rest.
“Yes,” he agreed finally, his lips wet and
stinging, his own prick full and unsatisfied as he climbed back
over his personal paladin, “Your lord. Let me be your lord,
Godric.” Because he wished to be. He would shower Godric in his
colors and reward him as no knight had ever been rewarded.