The Laws of Ilyria - 12/17 (part a)
Title: The Laws of Ilyria
Author: radiogaga33
Pairing: Adam/Tommy, Adam/Kris (friendship)
Setting: Fantasy AU
Rating: NC-17 (NC-17 overall)
Word Count: ~10300
Beta: sweet_poeia
Disclaimers: No claims to any copyrights, trademarks, or any other intellectual property. I do not own these characters. They belong to themselves. This is purely a work of fiction. It never happened.
Author’s Notes: Another chapter with a lot happening. Sorry for long haitus between chapters.
Warnings: Pseudo-slavefic.
Summary: Adam is a conquering king hell-bent on revenge against the ruler who destroyed his life as a child. He ends up taking the ruler’s son, Tommy, as tribute after winning the war between the kingdoms. Events unfold.
The Laws of Ilyria
Chapter 12
There was a word dancing along the blurred edges of Tommy’s consciousness. It was an amorphous thing, a contradictory thing, distant yet close, familiar yet alien all at once. If Tommy had to describe it, he would say it was almost like music from another room, a brilliant, fleeting melody drifting through the air, something Tommy had heard once perhaps, something halfway between a vague recollection and a long abandoned hope.
The word continued to tease at him, a whirling dervish spinning madly, nearly revealing itself one moment, before racing away the next. Any other night, Tommy would have chased it. He would have hurried after it, would have wrestled it to the ground and struggled with it until it revealed itself to him. But not tonight. Tonight, Tommy was exhausted, mind and body moving lethargically as he slowly made his way towards the slave camp and his cold, thin cot.
As he walked through the caravan formation, little snippets of conversation swirled past him, friendly whispers here, a loud guffaw there, but Tommy noticed nothing, not while his fists were clenched tight, damp and white-knuckled at his sides as his mind kept turning over newly-formed memories. Even now, after everything that had happened in Lord Lambert’s tent, Tommy couldn’t believe his daring. He didn’t know where he had found the wherewithal, how he had pulled together enough courage to go to the king’s tent uninvited and confess everything to him. Somehow, he had stared down his fear, rebelled against that voice in his head that was pushing at him even now, words accusatory and cutting.
Tommy thought of how patient Lord Lambert had been, the way he’d waited during their meal, never once pushing, seemingly content to wait until Tommy was ready to speak. He thought of the way the way Lord Lambert’s blue eyes had burned with emotion when Tommy had told him about his father words. He had looked fierce, like the way he’d looked that night when Tommy had injured his leg, like an avenging god out of the old myths Tommy loved so much. But he hadn’t been afraid of the king. Even in his agitation and desperation, Tommy had known instinctively that all that emotion, all that fierceness was driven by genuine care, and a desire to protect.
“Don’t listen to that voice anymore. Listen to mine. When you hear it, think of my words. There is no weakness in this. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” If he’d ever doubted before, he didn’t now. Lord Lambert cared for him. Tommy had seen it in his eyes, clear as day, and it was that truth that had cut through his careening thoughts and emotions, it was what had made him rebel against that voice and his father’s admonitions, more so than any reasoned argument or cold logic.
”Did I hurt you here? Tommy thought of the way Lord Lambert had touched him, slowly, reverently. He recalled the heat of him, the feeling of the king’s breath fanning across his naked skin, the devastating sensation of his tongue thrusting into Tommy’s body, and then later, sliding along the aching length of his cock. Tommy’s steps faltered at that last memory, hands clenching tighter and muscles tensing for a moment as he shuddered with remembered pleasure. It had felt like fire, like the sweetest insanity, terrifying yet exhilarating, like flying, like being free for the first time in his entire life.
Lord Lambert had given him that, and yet, when Tommy had reached out for him, the king’s features had tightened, and his bright eyes had become cloudy and unfocused.
Why did he pull away after everything that had happened between them? It was the question Tommy had been asking himself ever since he slipped out of Lord Lambert’s tent. He’d wanted Tommy to touch him, of that much Tommy was certain. He’d wanted it and still he’d denied what Tommy had freely offered, what Tommy had made clear that he wantedto do.
“I can’t.” There had been a strange undercurrent of desperation in those terse words, a sort of wildness or abiding fear that Tommy couldn’t make himself understand. Once again, his steps faltered and he stopped for a moment a few yards away from the slave camp.
“This is weakness.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Did I hurt you here?”
“I can’t.”
It was too much, too many questions, too many emotions. They careened wildly in his skull, pushing at him, threatening to drive him into a tailspin where he stood. And all the while, there was that elusive word flitting about on the edges, playing fast and loose with Tommy’s sanity. It was too much. Exhaustion flooded him completely then, dulling his senses and thickening his blood, draining so much out of him that he was already asleep before his head touched the slightly elevated portion of his cot. Tomorrow. It would all be easier tomorrow.
Only it wasn’t. Tommy sat up in his cot at dawn’s first light, eyes bloodshot and body aching from restless sleep, only to discover that daylight would prove to be no help. As he sat there, elbows resting on his thighs in a weary stance, the questions kept coming in a never-ending rush. Could he really do this? Could he really cast off everything he’d believed for years, everything his father had ever said? And if he did, what would he gain in return? Lord Lambert had made love to him, yes, but he’d pushed him away as well, as if he couldn’t stand Tommy’s touch or Tommy’s presence.
No. Tommy brushed off the thought forcefully. No, that wasn’t true. Lord Lambert had wanted his touch. There had been desire written plainly across his face as he’d stared down at Tommy towards the end. But there had been something else as well, something dark, something that looked like…fear. It made no sense. What could the king have to fear from him? Tommy didn’t know. And when the sound of the morning bell pierced through the air an hour later, rousing the slaves around him from their slumber, Tommy still didn’t know. All he knew was that for the first time in his life, he could breathe properly. For the first time in his life, he felt free, and the feeling was intoxicating, frightening, delightful…addictive. Already, Tommy was desperate for more of it, and for the man who had given it to him.
But he would have to wait. Today, the caravan would reach the kingdom of Batuur and make camp outside the city walls. As a protectorate of Elysia, Batuur was obliged to provide food, clothing and supplies to Lord Lambert’s caravan. Because of this, the hunting party would not ride today, and Tommy had no hope of seeing Lord Lambert unless he was summoned or sought the king out himself.
Maybe he’ll call for me. It was the thought that Tommy repeated to himself all morning and afternoon as the caravan marched through the outskirts of Batuur. All day long, he waited with baited breath, expecting that any moment, a solder would ride back through the formation and tell him that the King of Elysia was calling for him. It didn’t happen. And three hours after the caravan had made night camp in Batuur, Tommy looked up at the full moon in dismay, and accepted for the first time that day it was never going to happen. Lord Lambert wasn’t going to summon him.
Tommy stared at the untouched plate of food perched on his knee. He could…he could go to the king’s tent, couldn’t he? Immediately, his heartbeat accelerated sharply at the thought. Lord Lambert had said he could return whenever he wanted, so why not today? Why not tonight? Because I’m afraid. Tommy pushed the wayward thought away. He had already made his decision last night, by going to Lord Lambert’s tent. He’d already chosen. This thing-whatever it was-between Lord Lambert and himself was more important than his fear, and Tommy wasn’t ready to let go. He couldn’t let go, not now, not yet.
Tommy let his eyelids slide closed for a long moment where he sat by a bonfire in the slave camp, legs stretched out in front of him. He let himself fall into memories of the night before, into one memory in particular. If he tried hard enough, he could almost feel it again, the dizzying warmth of Lord Lambert’s embrace, the way he had wrapped his arms tightly around Tommy and whispered against his ear. You’re like magic. For the briefest of moments, he could feel Lord Lambert’s lips against the delicate shell of his ear, could feel the rush of delight that had greeted the king’s words. He wanted to feel that again, to share that intimacy again. Tommy looked up at the moon once more, measuring the hour. He was done waiting.
Ten minutes later, Tommy found himself standing a few yards away from Lord Lambert’s tent, whispering words of encouragement to himself. He could do this. He had to do this. He was so engrossed in the herculean feat of trying to calm his jangled nerves that he didn’t notice the man approaching him until he spoke.
“Tommy?”
Tommy started with surprise at the sound of the High General’s voice.
“Vice-Lord Allen. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you,” Tommy said, nerves pitching his voice higher than normal.
“’Vice-Lord Allen’? Are we back to that now?” Kristopher asked with a casual smile.
“I’m sorry. Kristopher. Of course.” Tommy let out a weak laugh. “You’ll have to forgive me. My brain is a bit addled tonight.”
“Think nothing of it,” Kristopher replied. “So, what are you doing here?”
Tommy’s gaze darted away. “I was just looking for…for…”
“For Adam?” Kristopher finished with a knowing look in his brown eyes and a half-smile curling his lips.
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid, he isn’t here. Adam has gone into the city to meet with Lord Pittman. In fact, I’m supposed to be there already, but I had to discuss tomorrow’s plans with the division chiefs. I’m going into the city now. Would you like me to tell him that you were looking for him?”
“Yes. I mean, no! I mean….” Tommy let out a loud sigh of frustration. “I don’t know.”
“Are you alright?”
Tommy’s gaze shifted back to meet Kristopher’s.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” Kristopher’s eyes had grown dark with concern.
“Yes. I’m alright,” Tommy replied weakly. “You should go. I don’t mean to keep you.”
Kristopher stared at him uncertainly. “Alright. And Adam?”
“Don’t tell him anything. Please.”
Kristopher’s gaze swept over Tommy once more. “If you say so. Goodnight, Tommy.”
“Goodnight,” Tommy replied, disappointment welling in his chest as Kristopher walked away.
He’d come for nothing. Tommy turned around with a defeated sigh and began to walk away from Lord Lambert’s tent. He’d only gone twenty yards before he stopped himself suddenly, pivoted on his heel, walked back to the king’s tent, and settled down on a large rock beside it. He would wait for as long as it took.
In the end, Tommy had to wait for hours. By the time he heard the sound of Lord Lambert’s sandals scraping along the ground, it was the dead of night, and Tommy was shivering in the eerily silent, cold night air. But the moment he saw the king draw near, he jumped to his feet eagerly.
“My lord.”
Adam stared at him in surprise. “Prince Thomas? What are you doing here?”
Tommy clenched his hands tightly at his sides to keep them from trembling. He couldn’t tell if they shook from the cold or from his trepidation at seeing Lord Lambert again after what seemed like an eternity, when in truth, it had only been one day. Tommy stared at him for a long moment, surprised anew at how beautiful he was, like a dream come to life. Even in this state, with ennui etched into his features, and weariness plainly evident in his slumped shoulders and bloodshot eyes, he was beautiful.
“Prince Thomas?”
Tommy flushed with embarrassment when he realized he’d been so busy staring that he he’d failed to answer Lord Lambert’s question.
“Kristopher told me that you’d gone into the city to meet with Lord Pittman. I’ve been waiting for your return.”
“It’s the middle of the night. Why are you still here at this hour?”
“I wanted to see you.” Tommy cocked his head slightly in the direction of the entrance to the king’s tent. “Perhaps, I could come in with you for a moment?”
There it was again, that look of wariness, of fear. And once again, Tommy didn’t understand it.
“I can’t.”
“My lord-”
“I’m exhausted, Prince Thomas. Politics,” he said wryly. “There is no subject that kings of Ilyria hold dearer. Well, except for me, that is. I find it intolerable and tedious, and after six hours of it, I’m completely exhausted.”
It was an excuse. Tommy could tell from the way Lord Lambert shuffled slightly on his feet and refused to meet Tommy’s gaze.
“I only want to talk to you,” Tommy said, trying again.
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ll be no use to you in this state. We’ll talk later.”
“When, later?”
“I don’t know. Just later.”
Tommy stared at the king for a long moment. As much as he’d hoped for something more, Tommy knew he would have to be satisfied with that answer. He sighed softly and began to turn away.
“Goodnight, my lord.”
“Goodnight.”
Morning found Tommy marching determinedly through the caravan formation, delicate jaw clenched tight and lips set in a hard line. After a long, sleepless night spent nursing his disappointment and frustrated desire, Tommy had finally had enough. Lord Lambert had said “later.” Tommy shielded his eyes and looked eastwards at the sky. This was “later.” But as he drew near the king’s tent, Tommy’s determined steps faltered and he slowed almost to a crawl. Lord Lambert was standing with Kristopher and the four generals of his army, talking rapidly, forehead furrowed and hands gesturing sharply.
Of course. The caravan was due to begin the march towards Syriana tomorrow, and today would be spent gathering supplies from Batuur and completing any repairs needed. In his hurry to see Lord Lambert, Tommy had forgotten. But just as he was considering returning to the slave camp, the king looked up, as if he’d sensed Tommy’s presence and caught his gaze from across the clearing. Tommy felt himself flush with heat, the intensity in Lord Lambert’s impossibly blue eyes almost tangible despite the distance between them. Lord Lambert stopped speaking and stared at him for a long, suspended moment before turning back to continue his conversation with the generals.
For the next five minutes of the meeting with the generals, Lord Lambert did not pause again, or spare so much as one glance in Tommy’s direction. For his part, Tommy stood rooted to the spot, watching, trying to hide his irrational disappointment about Lord Lambert’s not having cut the meeting short and hurrying to Tommy’s side. It was ridiculous he knew, but that realization didn’t make it any easier to breathe.
Tommy wasn’t faring any better when Lord Lambert turned towards his horse after the generals had disbanded, instead of coming to Tommy or motioning for Tommy to come to him. After a moment of confusion, Tommy finally moved, taking a few hesitant steps across the clearing before stopping dead in his tracks thirty feet away from where the king stood. As he watched, a soldier approached the king, carrying his sheathed sword and shield, both items gleaming brightly in the sun from being freshly polished. He watched Lord Lambert’s lips curl in a half-smile as he bent his head to whisper something while his hand clasped the man’s left shoulder tightly. Almost instantly, jealousy displaced Tommy’s confusion and disappointment, burning hot in the pit of his stomach. But as he stared, eyes tracing over the soldier’s broad shoulders, his muscular body, and finally, his handsome, rugged face, the heat of jealously quickly gave over to despair. What if that man was what Lord Lambert wanted? What if what happened two nights ago had been about pity and making amends and not about desire? What if Lord Lambert wanted a man who already knew all the things that Tommy was only just admitting he wanted, all the things Tommy had yet to discover or learn? What if Tommy was making a fool of himself, chasing after Lord Lambert like he was?
“Go to him.”
Tommy started with surprise when he heard Kristopher’s voice. He turned to his side to find the High General watching him with a look of amusement on his face.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Sure you can. Fortune favors the brave. Remember?”
Tommy took in the soft brown eyes staring into his own, and drew reassurance from the encouragement he saw in them.
“I remember.”
“So, go to him.”
Tommy stopped beside the king a few seconds after the soldier walked away. He tried to ignore the way Lord Lambert tensed immediately in his presence, his face pulling tight with that now-familiar wariness.
“Good morning, my lord.”
“Prince Thomas. What brings you here this morning?” Lord Lambert turned to face him, intense gaze searching Tommy’s face intently.
The scrutiny cut through Tommy’s meager supply of courage and he lost his nerve. “I just…came to see if I could be of service with today’s plans.”
“Of service?”
“Yes. I thought perhaps I could be given a task. I’d rather help here than sit around all day in the slave camp.”
Lord Lambert stared at him for a long moment, long enough that Tommy wondered if the king could see through his lie.
“Alright. Find Captain Thayer and tell him I wish him to go to the blacksmiths with the second cavalry’s division chiefs. Tell him I said you shall supervise gathering supplies for the hunting party.”
Tommy’s eyes widened in shock. He had never expected to be given such an important task. Lord Lambert was willing to put a slave in command of his soldiers? It was unheard of.
“Are you certain, my lord?”
“You’ve marched in caravans before. I’m certain you’ve had far more important tasks.”
“Well, yes, my lord, but I was a prince then.”
“You still are,” Lord Lambert replied with a touch more force that necessary. “And really, it’s about time we took full advantage of your experience and the fact that we have a prince of Ilyria marching in our midst.”
“You aren’t worried that I might disappoint?”
“You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried.”
Tommy’s eyes widened in surprise at Lord Lambert’s words. As if the king had just realized the import of what he’d just said, he stiffened suddenly and moved back a half-step. Tommy watched his hand reach up to curl around the handle of the sheathed sword worn at his side and he couldn’t help the rush of heat that flooded him at the memory of how that hand had caressed his skin two nights ago. The memory combined with the king’s unexpected words helped Tommy regain his nerve.
“And later,” he began. “In the evening. May I come to you then?”
“I shall be in the city all day with Lord Pittman, and in the evening, there is to be a banquet in my honor. I don’t know when I’ll return.”
“I’ll wait,” Tommy replied. “I’ll wait all night if I have to.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I don’t mind.”
Lord Lambert moved back and began fiddling with his horse’s reins. “Listen, I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. This journey is far from finished. There’ll be plenty of time for talking later.”
“But-”
“You should go. You’re wasting daylight already.” With those words, Lord Lambert mounted his horse and pulled the reins taut in his large hands.
Tommy felt like howling in frustration. But instead, he gave a slight bow and marched towards Captain Thayer and the rest of the hunting party. The men stared at him in shock when he delivered Lord Lambert’s message, their faces painted with nearly identical expressions of surprise. The effect was comical, and on any other day, Tommy would have laughed. But not today. Not while confusion, frustration and desire rushed through him, pulling him in a dozen directions at once.
He managed to stay calm during the day, applying himself to his task and fulfilling it admirably enough. But when night fell and the supplies were accounted for and packed away, the veil of calmness fell away, and Tommy found himself shaking. He’d made his decision hours ago. Despite what Lord Lambert had said, Tommy was going to wait for him. He couldn’t imagine muddling through another day without knowing where he stood with the king. So, he slipped into the king’s tent after the evening meal, sat on his bed, and waited. For untold hours, he waited, until at long last, Lord Lambert walked into the softly lit space. And promptly stopped dead in his tracks at the unexpected sight of Tommy rising from his bed.
“Am I making a fool of myself?” Tommy asked before the king could get a word out.
“What?”
“I want to know if I’m making a fool of myself over you. You must know that it isn’t easy for me, to seek you out as I’ve been doing the last two days. I know that I’m a slave now, but I was a prince once, so you’ll have to allow me some measure of pride, my lord. If what happened two nights ago meant nothing to you, if you touched me out of pity or only to make amends, then tell me so and I won’t bother you again. But you should know that it meant something to me. It meant everything.”
Tommy’s voice broke on those final words and he stared down, eyes trained on his feet, waiting for Lord Lambert’s response. But no words came. Instead the king cleared the distance between them in what felt like a split-second, wrapped his arms around Tommy and kissed him. Tommy let out a muffled, high-pitched sound before surprise gave way to desire. He surrendered to the demanding pressure of Lord Lambert’s mouth, parting his lips, and moaning low in his throat at the first silken slide of the king’s tongue against his. Tommy raised his hands to grip Lord Lambert tightly around the waist and he pushed closer, deepening the kiss even further, pouring all his pent-up emotion into the searing-hot slide of soft lips and gently nipping teeth and wet tongues. When Lord Lambert finally pulled away, Tommy pressed his forehead to the king’s chest, trying to catch his breath.
“I’m sorry that I made you feel foolish. I didn’t mean to.” Lord Lambert murmured the words with his lips pressed against Tommy’s hair and his hands stroking Tommy’s lower back.
“I forgive you,” Tommy whispered against Lord Lambert’s chest before pulling back. “But why did you do it? Why were you avoiding me?”
Lord Lambert’s eyes grew dark suddenly and a moment later, he dropped his hands from Tommy’s body and took several steps backward.
“My lord?”
“I can’t explain it,” he said in a strained voice. “There are things that you don’t know, that you don’t understand.”
“So, tell me. Make me understand,” Tommy replied.
“I can’t.”
“But-”
“I’ll tell you another time. I swear. But for now, just…know that I’m sorry for yesterday and today, and that I won’t do it again.”
Tommy stared at Lord Lambert and the strained expression on his face. As much as he wanted to know everything, Tommy hated to see the king’s obvious discomfort. So, instead of pressing further, he decided to let the matter drop and focus instead on this moment and the hope he’d discovered in it.
“See to it that you don’t,” Tommy replied after a brief pause. Then he flashed Lord Lambert a broad smile to take away any perceived forcefulness behind his words.
“I promise,” Lord Lambert replied, his features relaxing for the first time since he’d walked in to discover Tommy standing beside his bed.
“Good. Because for a moment there, I felt patently ridiculous, like I was dancing with myself.” Tommy smiled again and moved closer to the king. “I want you with me, even if all you’re doing is shuffling around a bit.”
“Shuffling around?” Lord Lambert repeated with feigned indignation. “I’ll have you know, sir, that I am an excellent dancer. Just ask anyone.”
Tommy let out a peal of laughter, laughing even harder when Lord Lambert joined in. Oracle, save me, Tommy thought as he watched the king. It should be impossible for anyone, for any creature to look as beautiful as Lord Lambert looked as his shoulders shook with merriment, long black hair falling loosely about his face while his blue eyes quite literally sparkled with delight. Out of nowhere, Tommy felt that word return, dancing along the edges of his consciousness, every bit as elusive as before. But there was no time to chase it now. Instead Tommy moved even closer to the king, and pressed his palms against the silk brocade burgundy tunic he wore.
“Prove it. Dance with me.”
Tommy blinked at the sudden intensity of Lord Lambert’s gaze. There was no mirth now. Far from it. All he saw was naked desire, a need so great that it was palpable in the air between them. Tommy bit back a gasp when Lord Lambert’s hands reached up to close over Tommy’s where they rested on his tunic.
“What do you want from me? I need to be certain. I need to hear you say the words.”
Tommy couldn’t control the blush suffusing his face with heat any more than he could slow the sudden pounding in his chest. “I want you to kiss me again. I want you to touch me like you did two nights ago.”
And so he did. While Tommy twisted and gasped and moaned and cried out, Lord Lambert did what he’d asked for, stroking and caressing, wreaking havoc on Tommy’s body with his hands and lips and devastating tongue, driving Tommy’s desire to astronomical heights until finally, he shattered, climaxing with a force that left him shaking and breathless. But when Tommy reached for the king, he pulled away hurriedly, climbing off the bed as if Tommy had burned him.
Tommy sat up with a confused frown. Belatedly, he realized that the king hadn’t removed so much as one article of clothing.
“I want to touch you,” Tommy said quietly.
“Another time.”
“Another time, when?”
“I don’t know. Just…not tonight. I can’t.”
Tommy’s frown deepened. Why was Lord Lambert denying himself what he so clearly wanted, what Tommy was dying to give him?
“You should go.”
Tommy stared at him for a long moment before rising from the bed and dressing himself quickly. He walked towards the entrance to the tent, stopping only when he’d grabbed a hold of the heavy fabric there.
“I’m not sorry I came,” he said.
“Neither am I.”
Tommy turned to face the king. “I mean to return tomorrow night,” he declared baldly, practically daring Lord Lambert to refuse him.
The king let out a wry, almost sad smile. “Then I suppose we shall see each other again very soon.” Tommy nodded in acknowledgement and walked out of the tent.
He returned to Lord Lambert’s tent the next evening, and every evening after that for seven days. Each night was almost identical to the one that came before, all of them variations on a similar theme. Lord Lambert would make love to him each time, driving Tommy wild with indescribable pleasure, only to shy away when Tommy tried to touch him, to give him pleasure in return. Lord Lambert would demur each time, promising “tomorrow” or “later” over and over again until Tommy finally broke.
“I will touch you,” he cried sharply, frustration evident in his tone when Lord Lambert pulled away from him yet again.
“Tomorrow,” the king replied.
Tommy sat up in the bed. “No, not tomorrow. Now.” He could barely believe his boldness, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”
Lord Lambert stared at him, eyes cloudy with emotion. He said nothing.
“Do you want someone else?” Tommy asked.
“No.”
“Then why do you refuse me?”
“Because…I…I just-I can’t!”
The distress in Lord Lambert’s voice gave Tommy pause. There it was again, that wariness, that fear he’d seen before.
“You said that there is no weakness in this,” Tommy began, tone gentler now, trying to bridge the divide between them, to make Lord Lambert understand. “You said that when I hear that that voice in my head, I should hold on to your words instead. And I do. Whenever I doubt myself, I think of you and your words. I remind myself that I have nothing to be ashamed of. But your words alone aren’t enough. I need to…to be with you. Don’t leave me alone in this. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what I’m doing, of who I’m becoming. But mostly I’m afraid that I’ve dreamed all this up somehow, that I’ve imagined everything. You can’t leave me wandering alone.”
Tommy stretched out his left arm toward Lord Lambert where he stood beside the bed. “I need you with me.”
“I can’t.”
Tommy’s fingers curled instinctively, forming a clenched fist before he dropped his arm to his side and climbed off the bed.
“In that case, you’ll have to forgive me.”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems I’ve been laboring under a misapprehension, and for that, I am truly sorry. I won’t trouble you again.”
Tommy grabbed his tunic off the floor and slipped it on rapidly. A moment later, he gathered the rest of his things into his arms and moved quickly towards the entrance to the tent, fighting back an overwhelming urge to cry.
“I’m afraid too.”
The murmured words made Tommy turn around sharply. “What did you say?”
“I said, I’m afraid too.” Lord Lambert’s voice was louder now.
“What can you possibly have to be fear?”
“About a dozen different things. But mostly I’m afraid of what happened that first night. I’m afraid of who I was and of what I did. I’m afraid of how careless I was with you. I know that I gave you pleasure, but I hurt you as well, and the thought of that happening again sickens me. I’m afraid that if you touch me, I’ll lose control again. And I…I can’t bear the thought of hurting you.”
Tommy felt his chest constrict with a sharp, biting sensation. “You wouldn’t hurt me. I trust you.”
“There are things you don’t know….”
“I don’t care. I trust you. Do you think I would come here if I didn’t? My sense of self-preservation is highly developed, believe me. I would not come here and lay myself bare for you if I thought for one moment that you would hurt me.”
When Lord Lambert failed to respond, Tommy dropped his things to the floor and walked up to him.
“Don’t leave me alone in this. Let me in. Please.” Tommy wrapped his hands around Lord Lambert’s and raised all four to press against his own chest. “Please.”
“I can’t….”
“Listen to me.”
“I can’t….”
“Adam, listen to me!”
Hearing his name was what broke through the haze surrounding Lord Lambert, it seemed. Tommy felt him stiffen in surprise to hear the informal address. Finally, Lord Lambert met Tommy’s gaze.
“Let me touch you,” Tommy whispered. “Let me.”
As if he didn’t trust himself to speak, Lord Lambert closed his eyes briefly and nodded his assent. Slowly, Tommy began to undress him, removing his belt, tunic, and undergarment carefully and laying them at the end of the bed in a neat pile. After, he bid the king sit on the bed and made short work of removing his sandals.
He was…stunning. Tommy’s fingers caressed the naked expanse of Lord Lambert’s skin, tracing over each freckle as he went. It should be impossible to be this beautiful, he thought to himself as he moved, kissing, licking, biting, letting himself be guided by Lord Lambert’s responses, by his little gasps and moans. Tommy did everything that Lord Lambert had ever done to him and a few things that Tommy had dreamed up all on his own, late at night in his cot, when his imagination ran hot and wild. He took pride in the way Lord Lambert jerked and moaned, in the way his fingers clutched at the sheets, in the way his neck arched off the bed, and finally, in the way he cried out, lost in the silken pressure of Tommy’s eager tongue, cock jerking as it filled Tommy’s mouth with wet bursts of heat.
They lay together for a long time after that, until Lord Lambert’s heart has slowed down to a more human pace, and Tommy’s face began to ache a little from grinning like a punch-drunk fool. When the king began to shift beneath him, Tommy lifted his head from his chest and sat up beside him.
“I suppose I should go now.”
Lord Lambert considered Tommy’s words for a moment. “If you had your way, what would you do?”
“I would stay.”
“Why? Because my bed is warmer?” There was a trace of mirth in Lord Lambert’s eyes as he said the words.
“Well, there is that, my lord. You also have far better wine.”
Adam chuckled softly, and Tommy almost sighed aloud in pleasure as the rich, deep sound of it washed over him.
“Stay a little longer then. Tell me what else is better in here…with me.”
Tommy showed him instead. He stayed for another hour, tracing constellations in the freckles dotting Lord Lambert’s skin, chasing them down his body and back up again, pressing a kiss to each one as he’d wanted to do since that first morning when the king had walked up to him and asked why Tommy was riding with the hunting party. After Lord Lambert fell asleep, Tommy pulled on the rest of his clothes and slipped out of the tent. As he walked back towards the slave camp, stopping every once in a while to admire the first ribbons of light piercing the dark veil of night, Tommy couldn’t help the little smile tugging at his lips.
KEEP READING
Author: radiogaga33
Pairing: Adam/Tommy, Adam/Kris (friendship)
Setting: Fantasy AU
Rating: NC-17 (NC-17 overall)
Word Count: ~10300
Beta: sweet_poeia
Disclaimers: No claims to any copyrights, trademarks, or any other intellectual property. I do not own these characters. They belong to themselves. This is purely a work of fiction. It never happened.
Author’s Notes: Another chapter with a lot happening. Sorry for long haitus between chapters.
Warnings: Pseudo-slavefic.
Summary: Adam is a conquering king hell-bent on revenge against the ruler who destroyed his life as a child. He ends up taking the ruler’s son, Tommy, as tribute after winning the war between the kingdoms. Events unfold.
The Laws of Ilyria
Chapter 12
There was a word dancing along the blurred edges of Tommy’s consciousness. It was an amorphous thing, a contradictory thing, distant yet close, familiar yet alien all at once. If Tommy had to describe it, he would say it was almost like music from another room, a brilliant, fleeting melody drifting through the air, something Tommy had heard once perhaps, something halfway between a vague recollection and a long abandoned hope.
The word continued to tease at him, a whirling dervish spinning madly, nearly revealing itself one moment, before racing away the next. Any other night, Tommy would have chased it. He would have hurried after it, would have wrestled it to the ground and struggled with it until it revealed itself to him. But not tonight. Tonight, Tommy was exhausted, mind and body moving lethargically as he slowly made his way towards the slave camp and his cold, thin cot.
As he walked through the caravan formation, little snippets of conversation swirled past him, friendly whispers here, a loud guffaw there, but Tommy noticed nothing, not while his fists were clenched tight, damp and white-knuckled at his sides as his mind kept turning over newly-formed memories. Even now, after everything that had happened in Lord Lambert’s tent, Tommy couldn’t believe his daring. He didn’t know where he had found the wherewithal, how he had pulled together enough courage to go to the king’s tent uninvited and confess everything to him. Somehow, he had stared down his fear, rebelled against that voice in his head that was pushing at him even now, words accusatory and cutting.
Tommy thought of how patient Lord Lambert had been, the way he’d waited during their meal, never once pushing, seemingly content to wait until Tommy was ready to speak. He thought of the way the way Lord Lambert’s blue eyes had burned with emotion when Tommy had told him about his father words. He had looked fierce, like the way he’d looked that night when Tommy had injured his leg, like an avenging god out of the old myths Tommy loved so much. But he hadn’t been afraid of the king. Even in his agitation and desperation, Tommy had known instinctively that all that emotion, all that fierceness was driven by genuine care, and a desire to protect.
“Don’t listen to that voice anymore. Listen to mine. When you hear it, think of my words. There is no weakness in this. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” If he’d ever doubted before, he didn’t now. Lord Lambert cared for him. Tommy had seen it in his eyes, clear as day, and it was that truth that had cut through his careening thoughts and emotions, it was what had made him rebel against that voice and his father’s admonitions, more so than any reasoned argument or cold logic.
”Did I hurt you here? Tommy thought of the way Lord Lambert had touched him, slowly, reverently. He recalled the heat of him, the feeling of the king’s breath fanning across his naked skin, the devastating sensation of his tongue thrusting into Tommy’s body, and then later, sliding along the aching length of his cock. Tommy’s steps faltered at that last memory, hands clenching tighter and muscles tensing for a moment as he shuddered with remembered pleasure. It had felt like fire, like the sweetest insanity, terrifying yet exhilarating, like flying, like being free for the first time in his entire life.
Lord Lambert had given him that, and yet, when Tommy had reached out for him, the king’s features had tightened, and his bright eyes had become cloudy and unfocused.
Why did he pull away after everything that had happened between them? It was the question Tommy had been asking himself ever since he slipped out of Lord Lambert’s tent. He’d wanted Tommy to touch him, of that much Tommy was certain. He’d wanted it and still he’d denied what Tommy had freely offered, what Tommy had made clear that he wantedto do.
“I can’t.” There had been a strange undercurrent of desperation in those terse words, a sort of wildness or abiding fear that Tommy couldn’t make himself understand. Once again, his steps faltered and he stopped for a moment a few yards away from the slave camp.
“This is weakness.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Did I hurt you here?”
“I can’t.”
It was too much, too many questions, too many emotions. They careened wildly in his skull, pushing at him, threatening to drive him into a tailspin where he stood. And all the while, there was that elusive word flitting about on the edges, playing fast and loose with Tommy’s sanity. It was too much. Exhaustion flooded him completely then, dulling his senses and thickening his blood, draining so much out of him that he was already asleep before his head touched the slightly elevated portion of his cot. Tomorrow. It would all be easier tomorrow.
Only it wasn’t. Tommy sat up in his cot at dawn’s first light, eyes bloodshot and body aching from restless sleep, only to discover that daylight would prove to be no help. As he sat there, elbows resting on his thighs in a weary stance, the questions kept coming in a never-ending rush. Could he really do this? Could he really cast off everything he’d believed for years, everything his father had ever said? And if he did, what would he gain in return? Lord Lambert had made love to him, yes, but he’d pushed him away as well, as if he couldn’t stand Tommy’s touch or Tommy’s presence.
No. Tommy brushed off the thought forcefully. No, that wasn’t true. Lord Lambert had wanted his touch. There had been desire written plainly across his face as he’d stared down at Tommy towards the end. But there had been something else as well, something dark, something that looked like…fear. It made no sense. What could the king have to fear from him? Tommy didn’t know. And when the sound of the morning bell pierced through the air an hour later, rousing the slaves around him from their slumber, Tommy still didn’t know. All he knew was that for the first time in his life, he could breathe properly. For the first time in his life, he felt free, and the feeling was intoxicating, frightening, delightful…addictive. Already, Tommy was desperate for more of it, and for the man who had given it to him.
But he would have to wait. Today, the caravan would reach the kingdom of Batuur and make camp outside the city walls. As a protectorate of Elysia, Batuur was obliged to provide food, clothing and supplies to Lord Lambert’s caravan. Because of this, the hunting party would not ride today, and Tommy had no hope of seeing Lord Lambert unless he was summoned or sought the king out himself.
Maybe he’ll call for me. It was the thought that Tommy repeated to himself all morning and afternoon as the caravan marched through the outskirts of Batuur. All day long, he waited with baited breath, expecting that any moment, a solder would ride back through the formation and tell him that the King of Elysia was calling for him. It didn’t happen. And three hours after the caravan had made night camp in Batuur, Tommy looked up at the full moon in dismay, and accepted for the first time that day it was never going to happen. Lord Lambert wasn’t going to summon him.
Tommy stared at the untouched plate of food perched on his knee. He could…he could go to the king’s tent, couldn’t he? Immediately, his heartbeat accelerated sharply at the thought. Lord Lambert had said he could return whenever he wanted, so why not today? Why not tonight? Because I’m afraid. Tommy pushed the wayward thought away. He had already made his decision last night, by going to Lord Lambert’s tent. He’d already chosen. This thing-whatever it was-between Lord Lambert and himself was more important than his fear, and Tommy wasn’t ready to let go. He couldn’t let go, not now, not yet.
Tommy let his eyelids slide closed for a long moment where he sat by a bonfire in the slave camp, legs stretched out in front of him. He let himself fall into memories of the night before, into one memory in particular. If he tried hard enough, he could almost feel it again, the dizzying warmth of Lord Lambert’s embrace, the way he had wrapped his arms tightly around Tommy and whispered against his ear. You’re like magic. For the briefest of moments, he could feel Lord Lambert’s lips against the delicate shell of his ear, could feel the rush of delight that had greeted the king’s words. He wanted to feel that again, to share that intimacy again. Tommy looked up at the moon once more, measuring the hour. He was done waiting.
Ten minutes later, Tommy found himself standing a few yards away from Lord Lambert’s tent, whispering words of encouragement to himself. He could do this. He had to do this. He was so engrossed in the herculean feat of trying to calm his jangled nerves that he didn’t notice the man approaching him until he spoke.
“Tommy?”
Tommy started with surprise at the sound of the High General’s voice.
“Vice-Lord Allen. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you,” Tommy said, nerves pitching his voice higher than normal.
“’Vice-Lord Allen’? Are we back to that now?” Kristopher asked with a casual smile.
“I’m sorry. Kristopher. Of course.” Tommy let out a weak laugh. “You’ll have to forgive me. My brain is a bit addled tonight.”
“Think nothing of it,” Kristopher replied. “So, what are you doing here?”
Tommy’s gaze darted away. “I was just looking for…for…”
“For Adam?” Kristopher finished with a knowing look in his brown eyes and a half-smile curling his lips.
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid, he isn’t here. Adam has gone into the city to meet with Lord Pittman. In fact, I’m supposed to be there already, but I had to discuss tomorrow’s plans with the division chiefs. I’m going into the city now. Would you like me to tell him that you were looking for him?”
“Yes. I mean, no! I mean….” Tommy let out a loud sigh of frustration. “I don’t know.”
“Are you alright?”
Tommy’s gaze shifted back to meet Kristopher’s.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” Kristopher’s eyes had grown dark with concern.
“Yes. I’m alright,” Tommy replied weakly. “You should go. I don’t mean to keep you.”
Kristopher stared at him uncertainly. “Alright. And Adam?”
“Don’t tell him anything. Please.”
Kristopher’s gaze swept over Tommy once more. “If you say so. Goodnight, Tommy.”
“Goodnight,” Tommy replied, disappointment welling in his chest as Kristopher walked away.
He’d come for nothing. Tommy turned around with a defeated sigh and began to walk away from Lord Lambert’s tent. He’d only gone twenty yards before he stopped himself suddenly, pivoted on his heel, walked back to the king’s tent, and settled down on a large rock beside it. He would wait for as long as it took.
In the end, Tommy had to wait for hours. By the time he heard the sound of Lord Lambert’s sandals scraping along the ground, it was the dead of night, and Tommy was shivering in the eerily silent, cold night air. But the moment he saw the king draw near, he jumped to his feet eagerly.
“My lord.”
Adam stared at him in surprise. “Prince Thomas? What are you doing here?”
Tommy clenched his hands tightly at his sides to keep them from trembling. He couldn’t tell if they shook from the cold or from his trepidation at seeing Lord Lambert again after what seemed like an eternity, when in truth, it had only been one day. Tommy stared at him for a long moment, surprised anew at how beautiful he was, like a dream come to life. Even in this state, with ennui etched into his features, and weariness plainly evident in his slumped shoulders and bloodshot eyes, he was beautiful.
“Prince Thomas?”
Tommy flushed with embarrassment when he realized he’d been so busy staring that he he’d failed to answer Lord Lambert’s question.
“Kristopher told me that you’d gone into the city to meet with Lord Pittman. I’ve been waiting for your return.”
“It’s the middle of the night. Why are you still here at this hour?”
“I wanted to see you.” Tommy cocked his head slightly in the direction of the entrance to the king’s tent. “Perhaps, I could come in with you for a moment?”
There it was again, that look of wariness, of fear. And once again, Tommy didn’t understand it.
“I can’t.”
“My lord-”
“I’m exhausted, Prince Thomas. Politics,” he said wryly. “There is no subject that kings of Ilyria hold dearer. Well, except for me, that is. I find it intolerable and tedious, and after six hours of it, I’m completely exhausted.”
It was an excuse. Tommy could tell from the way Lord Lambert shuffled slightly on his feet and refused to meet Tommy’s gaze.
“I only want to talk to you,” Tommy said, trying again.
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ll be no use to you in this state. We’ll talk later.”
“When, later?”
“I don’t know. Just later.”
Tommy stared at the king for a long moment. As much as he’d hoped for something more, Tommy knew he would have to be satisfied with that answer. He sighed softly and began to turn away.
“Goodnight, my lord.”
“Goodnight.”
Morning found Tommy marching determinedly through the caravan formation, delicate jaw clenched tight and lips set in a hard line. After a long, sleepless night spent nursing his disappointment and frustrated desire, Tommy had finally had enough. Lord Lambert had said “later.” Tommy shielded his eyes and looked eastwards at the sky. This was “later.” But as he drew near the king’s tent, Tommy’s determined steps faltered and he slowed almost to a crawl. Lord Lambert was standing with Kristopher and the four generals of his army, talking rapidly, forehead furrowed and hands gesturing sharply.
Of course. The caravan was due to begin the march towards Syriana tomorrow, and today would be spent gathering supplies from Batuur and completing any repairs needed. In his hurry to see Lord Lambert, Tommy had forgotten. But just as he was considering returning to the slave camp, the king looked up, as if he’d sensed Tommy’s presence and caught his gaze from across the clearing. Tommy felt himself flush with heat, the intensity in Lord Lambert’s impossibly blue eyes almost tangible despite the distance between them. Lord Lambert stopped speaking and stared at him for a long, suspended moment before turning back to continue his conversation with the generals.
For the next five minutes of the meeting with the generals, Lord Lambert did not pause again, or spare so much as one glance in Tommy’s direction. For his part, Tommy stood rooted to the spot, watching, trying to hide his irrational disappointment about Lord Lambert’s not having cut the meeting short and hurrying to Tommy’s side. It was ridiculous he knew, but that realization didn’t make it any easier to breathe.
Tommy wasn’t faring any better when Lord Lambert turned towards his horse after the generals had disbanded, instead of coming to Tommy or motioning for Tommy to come to him. After a moment of confusion, Tommy finally moved, taking a few hesitant steps across the clearing before stopping dead in his tracks thirty feet away from where the king stood. As he watched, a soldier approached the king, carrying his sheathed sword and shield, both items gleaming brightly in the sun from being freshly polished. He watched Lord Lambert’s lips curl in a half-smile as he bent his head to whisper something while his hand clasped the man’s left shoulder tightly. Almost instantly, jealousy displaced Tommy’s confusion and disappointment, burning hot in the pit of his stomach. But as he stared, eyes tracing over the soldier’s broad shoulders, his muscular body, and finally, his handsome, rugged face, the heat of jealously quickly gave over to despair. What if that man was what Lord Lambert wanted? What if what happened two nights ago had been about pity and making amends and not about desire? What if Lord Lambert wanted a man who already knew all the things that Tommy was only just admitting he wanted, all the things Tommy had yet to discover or learn? What if Tommy was making a fool of himself, chasing after Lord Lambert like he was?
“Go to him.”
Tommy started with surprise when he heard Kristopher’s voice. He turned to his side to find the High General watching him with a look of amusement on his face.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Sure you can. Fortune favors the brave. Remember?”
Tommy took in the soft brown eyes staring into his own, and drew reassurance from the encouragement he saw in them.
“I remember.”
“So, go to him.”
Tommy stopped beside the king a few seconds after the soldier walked away. He tried to ignore the way Lord Lambert tensed immediately in his presence, his face pulling tight with that now-familiar wariness.
“Good morning, my lord.”
“Prince Thomas. What brings you here this morning?” Lord Lambert turned to face him, intense gaze searching Tommy’s face intently.
The scrutiny cut through Tommy’s meager supply of courage and he lost his nerve. “I just…came to see if I could be of service with today’s plans.”
“Of service?”
“Yes. I thought perhaps I could be given a task. I’d rather help here than sit around all day in the slave camp.”
Lord Lambert stared at him for a long moment, long enough that Tommy wondered if the king could see through his lie.
“Alright. Find Captain Thayer and tell him I wish him to go to the blacksmiths with the second cavalry’s division chiefs. Tell him I said you shall supervise gathering supplies for the hunting party.”
Tommy’s eyes widened in shock. He had never expected to be given such an important task. Lord Lambert was willing to put a slave in command of his soldiers? It was unheard of.
“Are you certain, my lord?”
“You’ve marched in caravans before. I’m certain you’ve had far more important tasks.”
“Well, yes, my lord, but I was a prince then.”
“You still are,” Lord Lambert replied with a touch more force that necessary. “And really, it’s about time we took full advantage of your experience and the fact that we have a prince of Ilyria marching in our midst.”
“You aren’t worried that I might disappoint?”
“You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried.”
Tommy’s eyes widened in surprise at Lord Lambert’s words. As if the king had just realized the import of what he’d just said, he stiffened suddenly and moved back a half-step. Tommy watched his hand reach up to curl around the handle of the sheathed sword worn at his side and he couldn’t help the rush of heat that flooded him at the memory of how that hand had caressed his skin two nights ago. The memory combined with the king’s unexpected words helped Tommy regain his nerve.
“And later,” he began. “In the evening. May I come to you then?”
“I shall be in the city all day with Lord Pittman, and in the evening, there is to be a banquet in my honor. I don’t know when I’ll return.”
“I’ll wait,” Tommy replied. “I’ll wait all night if I have to.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I don’t mind.”
Lord Lambert moved back and began fiddling with his horse’s reins. “Listen, I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. This journey is far from finished. There’ll be plenty of time for talking later.”
“But-”
“You should go. You’re wasting daylight already.” With those words, Lord Lambert mounted his horse and pulled the reins taut in his large hands.
Tommy felt like howling in frustration. But instead, he gave a slight bow and marched towards Captain Thayer and the rest of the hunting party. The men stared at him in shock when he delivered Lord Lambert’s message, their faces painted with nearly identical expressions of surprise. The effect was comical, and on any other day, Tommy would have laughed. But not today. Not while confusion, frustration and desire rushed through him, pulling him in a dozen directions at once.
He managed to stay calm during the day, applying himself to his task and fulfilling it admirably enough. But when night fell and the supplies were accounted for and packed away, the veil of calmness fell away, and Tommy found himself shaking. He’d made his decision hours ago. Despite what Lord Lambert had said, Tommy was going to wait for him. He couldn’t imagine muddling through another day without knowing where he stood with the king. So, he slipped into the king’s tent after the evening meal, sat on his bed, and waited. For untold hours, he waited, until at long last, Lord Lambert walked into the softly lit space. And promptly stopped dead in his tracks at the unexpected sight of Tommy rising from his bed.
“Am I making a fool of myself?” Tommy asked before the king could get a word out.
“What?”
“I want to know if I’m making a fool of myself over you. You must know that it isn’t easy for me, to seek you out as I’ve been doing the last two days. I know that I’m a slave now, but I was a prince once, so you’ll have to allow me some measure of pride, my lord. If what happened two nights ago meant nothing to you, if you touched me out of pity or only to make amends, then tell me so and I won’t bother you again. But you should know that it meant something to me. It meant everything.”
Tommy’s voice broke on those final words and he stared down, eyes trained on his feet, waiting for Lord Lambert’s response. But no words came. Instead the king cleared the distance between them in what felt like a split-second, wrapped his arms around Tommy and kissed him. Tommy let out a muffled, high-pitched sound before surprise gave way to desire. He surrendered to the demanding pressure of Lord Lambert’s mouth, parting his lips, and moaning low in his throat at the first silken slide of the king’s tongue against his. Tommy raised his hands to grip Lord Lambert tightly around the waist and he pushed closer, deepening the kiss even further, pouring all his pent-up emotion into the searing-hot slide of soft lips and gently nipping teeth and wet tongues. When Lord Lambert finally pulled away, Tommy pressed his forehead to the king’s chest, trying to catch his breath.
“I’m sorry that I made you feel foolish. I didn’t mean to.” Lord Lambert murmured the words with his lips pressed against Tommy’s hair and his hands stroking Tommy’s lower back.
“I forgive you,” Tommy whispered against Lord Lambert’s chest before pulling back. “But why did you do it? Why were you avoiding me?”
Lord Lambert’s eyes grew dark suddenly and a moment later, he dropped his hands from Tommy’s body and took several steps backward.
“My lord?”
“I can’t explain it,” he said in a strained voice. “There are things that you don’t know, that you don’t understand.”
“So, tell me. Make me understand,” Tommy replied.
“I can’t.”
“But-”
“I’ll tell you another time. I swear. But for now, just…know that I’m sorry for yesterday and today, and that I won’t do it again.”
Tommy stared at Lord Lambert and the strained expression on his face. As much as he wanted to know everything, Tommy hated to see the king’s obvious discomfort. So, instead of pressing further, he decided to let the matter drop and focus instead on this moment and the hope he’d discovered in it.
“See to it that you don’t,” Tommy replied after a brief pause. Then he flashed Lord Lambert a broad smile to take away any perceived forcefulness behind his words.
“I promise,” Lord Lambert replied, his features relaxing for the first time since he’d walked in to discover Tommy standing beside his bed.
“Good. Because for a moment there, I felt patently ridiculous, like I was dancing with myself.” Tommy smiled again and moved closer to the king. “I want you with me, even if all you’re doing is shuffling around a bit.”
“Shuffling around?” Lord Lambert repeated with feigned indignation. “I’ll have you know, sir, that I am an excellent dancer. Just ask anyone.”
Tommy let out a peal of laughter, laughing even harder when Lord Lambert joined in. Oracle, save me, Tommy thought as he watched the king. It should be impossible for anyone, for any creature to look as beautiful as Lord Lambert looked as his shoulders shook with merriment, long black hair falling loosely about his face while his blue eyes quite literally sparkled with delight. Out of nowhere, Tommy felt that word return, dancing along the edges of his consciousness, every bit as elusive as before. But there was no time to chase it now. Instead Tommy moved even closer to the king, and pressed his palms against the silk brocade burgundy tunic he wore.
“Prove it. Dance with me.”
Tommy blinked at the sudden intensity of Lord Lambert’s gaze. There was no mirth now. Far from it. All he saw was naked desire, a need so great that it was palpable in the air between them. Tommy bit back a gasp when Lord Lambert’s hands reached up to close over Tommy’s where they rested on his tunic.
“What do you want from me? I need to be certain. I need to hear you say the words.”
Tommy couldn’t control the blush suffusing his face with heat any more than he could slow the sudden pounding in his chest. “I want you to kiss me again. I want you to touch me like you did two nights ago.”
And so he did. While Tommy twisted and gasped and moaned and cried out, Lord Lambert did what he’d asked for, stroking and caressing, wreaking havoc on Tommy’s body with his hands and lips and devastating tongue, driving Tommy’s desire to astronomical heights until finally, he shattered, climaxing with a force that left him shaking and breathless. But when Tommy reached for the king, he pulled away hurriedly, climbing off the bed as if Tommy had burned him.
Tommy sat up with a confused frown. Belatedly, he realized that the king hadn’t removed so much as one article of clothing.
“I want to touch you,” Tommy said quietly.
“Another time.”
“Another time, when?”
“I don’t know. Just…not tonight. I can’t.”
Tommy’s frown deepened. Why was Lord Lambert denying himself what he so clearly wanted, what Tommy was dying to give him?
“You should go.”
Tommy stared at him for a long moment before rising from the bed and dressing himself quickly. He walked towards the entrance to the tent, stopping only when he’d grabbed a hold of the heavy fabric there.
“I’m not sorry I came,” he said.
“Neither am I.”
Tommy turned to face the king. “I mean to return tomorrow night,” he declared baldly, practically daring Lord Lambert to refuse him.
The king let out a wry, almost sad smile. “Then I suppose we shall see each other again very soon.” Tommy nodded in acknowledgement and walked out of the tent.
He returned to Lord Lambert’s tent the next evening, and every evening after that for seven days. Each night was almost identical to the one that came before, all of them variations on a similar theme. Lord Lambert would make love to him each time, driving Tommy wild with indescribable pleasure, only to shy away when Tommy tried to touch him, to give him pleasure in return. Lord Lambert would demur each time, promising “tomorrow” or “later” over and over again until Tommy finally broke.
“I will touch you,” he cried sharply, frustration evident in his tone when Lord Lambert pulled away from him yet again.
“Tomorrow,” the king replied.
Tommy sat up in the bed. “No, not tomorrow. Now.” He could barely believe his boldness, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”
Lord Lambert stared at him, eyes cloudy with emotion. He said nothing.
“Do you want someone else?” Tommy asked.
“No.”
“Then why do you refuse me?”
“Because…I…I just-I can’t!”
The distress in Lord Lambert’s voice gave Tommy pause. There it was again, that wariness, that fear he’d seen before.
“You said that there is no weakness in this,” Tommy began, tone gentler now, trying to bridge the divide between them, to make Lord Lambert understand. “You said that when I hear that that voice in my head, I should hold on to your words instead. And I do. Whenever I doubt myself, I think of you and your words. I remind myself that I have nothing to be ashamed of. But your words alone aren’t enough. I need to…to be with you. Don’t leave me alone in this. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what I’m doing, of who I’m becoming. But mostly I’m afraid that I’ve dreamed all this up somehow, that I’ve imagined everything. You can’t leave me wandering alone.”
Tommy stretched out his left arm toward Lord Lambert where he stood beside the bed. “I need you with me.”
“I can’t.”
Tommy’s fingers curled instinctively, forming a clenched fist before he dropped his arm to his side and climbed off the bed.
“In that case, you’ll have to forgive me.”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems I’ve been laboring under a misapprehension, and for that, I am truly sorry. I won’t trouble you again.”
Tommy grabbed his tunic off the floor and slipped it on rapidly. A moment later, he gathered the rest of his things into his arms and moved quickly towards the entrance to the tent, fighting back an overwhelming urge to cry.
“I’m afraid too.”
The murmured words made Tommy turn around sharply. “What did you say?”
“I said, I’m afraid too.” Lord Lambert’s voice was louder now.
“What can you possibly have to be fear?”
“About a dozen different things. But mostly I’m afraid of what happened that first night. I’m afraid of who I was and of what I did. I’m afraid of how careless I was with you. I know that I gave you pleasure, but I hurt you as well, and the thought of that happening again sickens me. I’m afraid that if you touch me, I’ll lose control again. And I…I can’t bear the thought of hurting you.”
Tommy felt his chest constrict with a sharp, biting sensation. “You wouldn’t hurt me. I trust you.”
“There are things you don’t know….”
“I don’t care. I trust you. Do you think I would come here if I didn’t? My sense of self-preservation is highly developed, believe me. I would not come here and lay myself bare for you if I thought for one moment that you would hurt me.”
When Lord Lambert failed to respond, Tommy dropped his things to the floor and walked up to him.
“Don’t leave me alone in this. Let me in. Please.” Tommy wrapped his hands around Lord Lambert’s and raised all four to press against his own chest. “Please.”
“I can’t….”
“Listen to me.”
“I can’t….”
“Adam, listen to me!”
Hearing his name was what broke through the haze surrounding Lord Lambert, it seemed. Tommy felt him stiffen in surprise to hear the informal address. Finally, Lord Lambert met Tommy’s gaze.
“Let me touch you,” Tommy whispered. “Let me.”
As if he didn’t trust himself to speak, Lord Lambert closed his eyes briefly and nodded his assent. Slowly, Tommy began to undress him, removing his belt, tunic, and undergarment carefully and laying them at the end of the bed in a neat pile. After, he bid the king sit on the bed and made short work of removing his sandals.
He was…stunning. Tommy’s fingers caressed the naked expanse of Lord Lambert’s skin, tracing over each freckle as he went. It should be impossible to be this beautiful, he thought to himself as he moved, kissing, licking, biting, letting himself be guided by Lord Lambert’s responses, by his little gasps and moans. Tommy did everything that Lord Lambert had ever done to him and a few things that Tommy had dreamed up all on his own, late at night in his cot, when his imagination ran hot and wild. He took pride in the way Lord Lambert jerked and moaned, in the way his fingers clutched at the sheets, in the way his neck arched off the bed, and finally, in the way he cried out, lost in the silken pressure of Tommy’s eager tongue, cock jerking as it filled Tommy’s mouth with wet bursts of heat.
They lay together for a long time after that, until Lord Lambert’s heart has slowed down to a more human pace, and Tommy’s face began to ache a little from grinning like a punch-drunk fool. When the king began to shift beneath him, Tommy lifted his head from his chest and sat up beside him.
“I suppose I should go now.”
Lord Lambert considered Tommy’s words for a moment. “If you had your way, what would you do?”
“I would stay.”
“Why? Because my bed is warmer?” There was a trace of mirth in Lord Lambert’s eyes as he said the words.
“Well, there is that, my lord. You also have far better wine.”
Adam chuckled softly, and Tommy almost sighed aloud in pleasure as the rich, deep sound of it washed over him.
“Stay a little longer then. Tell me what else is better in here…with me.”
Tommy showed him instead. He stayed for another hour, tracing constellations in the freckles dotting Lord Lambert’s skin, chasing them down his body and back up again, pressing a kiss to each one as he’d wanted to do since that first morning when the king had walked up to him and asked why Tommy was riding with the hunting party. After Lord Lambert fell asleep, Tommy pulled on the rest of his clothes and slipped out of the tent. As he walked back towards the slave camp, stopping every once in a while to admire the first ribbons of light piercing the dark veil of night, Tommy couldn’t help the little smile tugging at his lips.
KEEP READING