[ Fic ] And Thus They Shall Fall (JDM/JA, NC-17) (1/4)
Title: And Thus They Shall Fall
Author: souslelys
Pairing: JDM/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: +2300
Opera prompt: Giulio Cesare (by Handel): Monarchs of two opposing armies, Cleopatra and Caesar start a whirlwind affair that could bring both their kingdoms crashing down. for spnopera
Note: Jensen is 18yo.
AN: This is currently a WIP. Apologies everyone, I wish I could have finished it in time, but writing just did not work out with my schedule these past few months, and I didn't have the heart to cut it down and stuff it into a shorter story. I do intend to finish this, and I hope you enjoy this first part. Thank you to the mods for their generous extension, and for holding this challenge! And thank you to saltandburnboysfor her kind cheerleading <3
The lamplight has dimmed by the time his guards and officers file out, casting shadows over the deep red and gold fabrics adorning his chambers. The stress of the day lays heavy over Jeffrey’s shoulders, the triumph of his most recent victory in the battlefield already giving way to plans for the next battle, the next time he will stain his sword.
Whispers have snuck past his growing borders, the kingdom across the sea sharpening their blades, and setting ships off the coast in preparation. Led by ruthless sibling co-regents, he has no doubt of these rumours. If he does not strike first, they certainly will, and his people already covet the rich, fertile lands along the Great River.
And Jeffrey, Jeffrey lives at the whims of the people.
Sighing, he slumps over the table, crude clay markers spread strategically over the map of the land. His figure is the tallest, a laurel etched into the fire-burnt head. The opposing army, dyed dark gold like treasures to be taken, are scattered on the other side of the blue - his spies’ best guesses as to where they will be positioned.
He places a marker facing the enemy head-on in the waters, and another on a hidden port south of where the army has concentrated itself.
The tip of his finger fiddles with the golden figure, slightly tipping it forward. And thus they shall fall.
Two soft knocks and the chamber doors swing open with a groan, and he glances up as three servants file in. One places a plate laden with food upon his table, refilling the oil lamps as the other two shoulder a roll of rug into the room, setting it upon the ground before gathering up the existing carpet. He nods absently, dismissing them.
After months of travelling with his legion, he has learned to appreciate food that hasn’t been spoilt by the stench of blood and peppered with ashes. As he lifts a loaf of bread from the basket, a folded piece of papyrus catches his eye, trapped beneath the bowl.
Consider it a gift.
Every pulse of his veins suddenly thunderous in his ears, the word poison flashing through his mind.
“The food is untainted,” says a low voice out of the shadows. Jeff stands abruptly, hand closing over the hilt of his sword as the robed stranger in front of him steps forward, the unravelled rug at his feet. Firelight dances in the man’s eyes, luxurious silk tunic draped across slim shoulders, falling delicately around a trim waist and billowy, satin pants. The amused, honeyed voice speaks again through the shawl wrapped around his face, “It hasn’t been touched by my people, at least. Though I imagine a man like you would have enemies aplenty.”
“And what would you know of my enemies?” Jeff demands, voice dropping to Commander: rough dangerous tones that have soldiers scrambling out of his path. The man tenses but stays his ground, staring through the opening of his shawl. His clothing is thin, but flows loosely enough to conceal a small weapon. A dagger, perhaps. Jeff takes a step forward and to the side, blocking the way to the door.
“Plenty, I would say, since you would count me as one of them,” the man declares, pulling the shawl down, revealing short, dark hair, and a face still soft with boyish youth.
The same, striking face stamped into the coins they trade across the sea.
0-0-0
Jeff doesn’t kill him. He should - the prince’s pretty head would make a clear enough war declaration.
And yet.
“You transported yourself here - in a rug,” Jeff says, gesturing roughly at the rich purple-gold fabric with his sword hand, incredulity in his voice not quite masking how impressive he finds the feat. Daring, but foolish.
“Merchants are easily bought,” the Prince says, chin held high, valley-green eyes clear and bright. Proud and vulnerable as a caged bird. “And people do not make a habit of stabbing through a perfectly good carpet.”
“And should I expect the whole of your kingdom’s army to be delivered to my doorstep through the trade routes?” Jeffrey asks, taking another step closer, slowly crowding the boy against the wall, watching the nervous flutter of eyelashes. One shout, and Jeff’s men would come through the door, but he doesn’t want to call them in just yet. “Are you declaring war on the Republic, little Prince?”
“I’m not here to declare war, Morgan,” the boy says, irritation furrowing his brow. He straightens his back, no doubt to remind Jeff that they’re nearly the same height. “I want to negotiate.”
Josef and Jensen - the oddly named children of the river royalty. Jeffrey has been briefed about them. Josef being the older, broader-jawed and blunt-nosed brother, assuming the marble likenesses and busts are accurate.
So this bold, delicately featured boy must be Jensen.
“Does your King brother know you’re here, little Prince Jensen?” It’s amusing, watching indignant fury flit through green eyes again. Such a lively young thing. It would be a shame to send him back in pieces. There’s always the possibility of taking him hostage, demanding surrender. Jeff would emerge victorious without losing so much as a single soldier. Just a quick strike to the head, and the boy is his. It’s tempting, but curiosity has always gotten the best of Jeff, and he’s fascinated by the Prince in front of him.
Jensen jumps slightly when his back meets the wall, Jeff forcing him back with his mere presence.
Jeff knows the face of fear - has seen it on cowards, on his men in the battlefield, on his enemies the moment before he swings his sword - and he sees a glimpse of it in Jensen’s eyes, in the slight tremor of his lip. But he also knows bravery, and it’s clear in the determined set of Jensen’s jaw and the defiant posture of his shoulders.
Rare, for royalty.
“I’m here by my own right. To meet with you - one leader to another - to negotiate peace,” Jensen says with all the regality someone so young can muster. “To stop the war that you and my brother are planning.”
“Is that so?” Jeff stops, toe-to-toe with the boy, arm coming up to rest on the wall next to Jensen’s head. He’s smiling darkly as he leans in, other hand running lightly along the v-shaped collar of Jensen’s silk tunic, smile widening as Jensen tries to escape the touch by pushing himself back into the wall. He dips a finger beneath the collar, meeting with warm, smooth skin, nudging enough of the tunic aside to reveal honeyed freckles across his chest. “And what exactly are you willing to put on the table? I’ve no need for more gold pieces.”
From this close, he can see the curve of long, dark eyelashes1, and Jeff is reminded of the virgins of his youth - wide-eyed and pink with innocence.
Jeff had only meant it as a tease, had wanted to scare the boy into retracting his bold words. Now Jeff can’t seem to tear his eyes away. A distant part of himself is telling him to stop, instinct built from years of experience flashing warnings in his mind - all of it - swallowed up by lust and siren fog.
There’s an offer here, heating the air between them as Jensen traps his gaze and draws him in, and Jeff has to wonder whether the sweet vulnerability he had witnessed a moment ago had been some sort of false lure.
It’s slow, the way Jensen lifts onto his toes to bring their faces together, mouth landing on Jeff’s as lightly as a butterfly - and Jeff surprises himself by how hungrily he rushes in to meet him.
His hand is behind Jensen’s head in an instant, saving the boy from smacking into the bare stone as Jeff crashes into him, rough scrape of his beard upon soft lips and sensitive skin, and his tongue dipping aggressively into the Prince’s warm, open mouth.
Jensen’s tongue slides against Jeff’s in gentle flicks, hesitant and unsure and Jeff presses into him all the harder, cock stiffening beneath his tunic, straining the linen. He drags his open palms down Jensen’s clothed back, and Jeff groans, drowning in dark pleasure as his hands easily span the boy’s slim waist.
He pulls back to look at the boy in his arms, uncontrollably digging his hips into Jensen when he sees the wet, reddened mess he’s made of the Prince’s mouth. There’s still determination in Jensen’s heavy-lidded eyes, but the green’s darkened, washed through with arousal. It’s not enough. Jeff wants to see him lost in every sensation, he wants to drink down every reaction he elicits from this beautiful boy with his mouth, his hands, his cock.
It’s all too easy to drag the boy into the bed in the centre of the room, pushing him flat on his back and then covering him with his body. The Prince’s tunic is askew, exposing more of that tempting collarbone and Jeff has half a mind to rip it off of him, to tear into the rich fabric and take the Prince in the tatters of his royal garments.
He moves to do just that, before Jensen’s hand catches him on his chest, halting his very breath.
“Do you accept?” Jensen asks sharply, moving to even their gazes, his breath hitching when Jeff’s cock grinds against his own.
“Am I the first?” The question comes out hoarse, rough with the very thought. He has his suspicions, but it’s difficult to believe that the people of the Kingdom could leave such a temptation untouched for so long. Hunger and jealousy fuel the desire building low in his gut, and he wants, so much, to be the one to take the boy first. But either way, he intends to own the young Prince, make him into a writhing, pleasure-bound thing that can only beg for Jeff’s mercy and touch.
He barely hears Jensen’s embarrassed whisper, but sees his answer in the flush that all but explodes across the boy’s face and chest, right up to his ears.
“Do you accept?” Jensen asks again through gritted teeth, still mortified with his own admission, and angling himself into Jeff, clearly worried he hasn’t guaranteed Jeff’s compliance.
Jeff growls, easing his hips up and off for the sake of his own sanity. He looks down at the boy beneath him, at everything that is being offered up to him on a platter - War the furthest thing from his mind - and the Great General has never felt more helpless than when the yes falls from his lips and he drops into Jensen once more.
The kissing is frenzied now, Jeff biting and licking plush lips until they swell with blood, hands tugging the boy’s tunic apart, slipping underneath to run rough fingers over the flat of the boy’s nipples. Jensen shudders, arching up, and Jeff traps him against the bed with his broad-shouldered weight, circling the hardening nubs and teasing with his nails. Jensen cries out softly at that, biting his own lip. Jeff feels the whole-body shudder all against his front.
Jensen’s tunic tears easily during Jeff’s exploration, revealing more and more of Jensen’s pale skin. Jeff wants to bite everywhere he can reach, wants every inch of him to ache with the memory of Jeff’s mouth. He starts at the base of Jensen’s throat, worrying his teeth into his skin, wondering which of the Kingdom’s infamously opulent pieces of jewelry the boy will need to wear in order to hide the bruising marks he intends to summon. He licks at the boy’s nipples, just to feel him writhe in his hold, before trailing his mouth down, down, down.
Briefly parting from Jensen, he reaches behind him to grab the salve from the foot of the bed, dropping it next to Jensen’s body.
Jensen’s pants are removed next, and Jeff roughly spreads Jensen’s legs apart, crawling up between them as he captures his mouth once more dipping his fingers into the small pot, coating them with slick. He nearly spends himself at the sight before him, Jensen’s parted legs and his hardened cock curving towards the plane of his stomach. Jeff cups his balls, rolling them gently and letting Jensen shudder and shake. His large hand wraps around Jensen’s dick, and enjoying Jensen’s high gasp as he begins to stroke, keeping his fist tight and gripping tighter and twisting his wrist as he passes over the sensitive head.
The boy is beside himself, legs dropping to the bed and feet flat and digging into the sheets. Beautiful. Jeff is relentless, letting Jensen thrust into his fist as he hastens his strokes until Jensen cries out, loudly and helplessly spilling over Jeff’s hand. He doesn’t let go until Jensen is whining and trembling at his touch.
There is so much that Jeff has planned for the boy, but it’s too much. Jeff all but tears his tunic and toga over his head, reaching for himself with the hand covered still in salve and Jensen, fucking into his fist with quick snaps of his hips.
He comes hard all over his fist and spurting across Jensen’s bare chest, like Jensen’s a common whore, and not royalty from across the sea. Jeff collapses next to him, exhausted and sated, trying to keep his eyes open. He’s well-aware despite words and sex pacts, the boy could still be a danger to him. But Jensen seems too dazed to move his limbs, settling instead into the soft pillows and sheets. With a sense of deep satisfaction, he sees the boy’s eyelids droop with unmistakeable fatigue, then fall shut. Jeff counts ten of Jensen’s deep, even breaths before succumbing to sleep.
0-0-0
--END PART ONE--
SNEAK PREVIEW:
He belatedly registers the groan of the chamber door, too caught up in the small whimpers the Prince is letting slip between panting breaths. The awareness of an additional presence, prickles and nags at his mind and Jeff forces himself to look up.
His second-in-command is standing at the gap between the open doors, his soldier’s helmet still in his hands and a few messenger scrolls in the other, surprise clear across his face.
“Damn it all Jared. What do you want?” Jeff curses his lieutenant, wondering what in the hell he’s thinking. It’s then that he notices Jensen peering through the gaps in Jeff’s arms trying to blink past his dazed arousal.
The expression on Jared’s face schools back into that of a soldier. “A message from the fleet commander, sir.” Irritatingly enough, Jensen suddenly stiffens beneath Jeff, suddenly alert and listening.
It also doesn’t escape Jeff’s notice that while his lieutenant is speaking to him, his eyes are on Jensen, as if Jeff doesn’t have the boy naked and pinned to the bed with his hips.
Something shadowy and possessive makes Jeff snarl, trying to cover as much of Jensen from sight as he can. “Leave the scrolls on the table, and get out.”
Jared does so quickly, head bowed. Jeff will have to deal with him later.
0-0-0
AN: Thank you for reading!
Author: souslelys
Pairing: JDM/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: +2300
Opera prompt: Giulio Cesare (by Handel): Monarchs of two opposing armies, Cleopatra and Caesar start a whirlwind affair that could bring both their kingdoms crashing down. for spnopera
Note: Jensen is 18yo.
AN: This is currently a WIP. Apologies everyone, I wish I could have finished it in time, but writing just did not work out with my schedule these past few months, and I didn't have the heart to cut it down and stuff it into a shorter story. I do intend to finish this, and I hope you enjoy this first part. Thank you to the mods for their generous extension, and for holding this challenge! And thank you to saltandburnboysfor her kind cheerleading <3
The lamplight has dimmed by the time his guards and officers file out, casting shadows over the deep red and gold fabrics adorning his chambers. The stress of the day lays heavy over Jeffrey’s shoulders, the triumph of his most recent victory in the battlefield already giving way to plans for the next battle, the next time he will stain his sword.
Whispers have snuck past his growing borders, the kingdom across the sea sharpening their blades, and setting ships off the coast in preparation. Led by ruthless sibling co-regents, he has no doubt of these rumours. If he does not strike first, they certainly will, and his people already covet the rich, fertile lands along the Great River.
And Jeffrey, Jeffrey lives at the whims of the people.
Sighing, he slumps over the table, crude clay markers spread strategically over the map of the land. His figure is the tallest, a laurel etched into the fire-burnt head. The opposing army, dyed dark gold like treasures to be taken, are scattered on the other side of the blue - his spies’ best guesses as to where they will be positioned.
He places a marker facing the enemy head-on in the waters, and another on a hidden port south of where the army has concentrated itself.
The tip of his finger fiddles with the golden figure, slightly tipping it forward. And thus they shall fall.
Two soft knocks and the chamber doors swing open with a groan, and he glances up as three servants file in. One places a plate laden with food upon his table, refilling the oil lamps as the other two shoulder a roll of rug into the room, setting it upon the ground before gathering up the existing carpet. He nods absently, dismissing them.
After months of travelling with his legion, he has learned to appreciate food that hasn’t been spoilt by the stench of blood and peppered with ashes. As he lifts a loaf of bread from the basket, a folded piece of papyrus catches his eye, trapped beneath the bowl.
Consider it a gift.
Every pulse of his veins suddenly thunderous in his ears, the word poison flashing through his mind.
“The food is untainted,” says a low voice out of the shadows. Jeff stands abruptly, hand closing over the hilt of his sword as the robed stranger in front of him steps forward, the unravelled rug at his feet. Firelight dances in the man’s eyes, luxurious silk tunic draped across slim shoulders, falling delicately around a trim waist and billowy, satin pants. The amused, honeyed voice speaks again through the shawl wrapped around his face, “It hasn’t been touched by my people, at least. Though I imagine a man like you would have enemies aplenty.”
“And what would you know of my enemies?” Jeff demands, voice dropping to Commander: rough dangerous tones that have soldiers scrambling out of his path. The man tenses but stays his ground, staring through the opening of his shawl. His clothing is thin, but flows loosely enough to conceal a small weapon. A dagger, perhaps. Jeff takes a step forward and to the side, blocking the way to the door.
“Plenty, I would say, since you would count me as one of them,” the man declares, pulling the shawl down, revealing short, dark hair, and a face still soft with boyish youth.
The same, striking face stamped into the coins they trade across the sea.
0-0-0
Jeff doesn’t kill him. He should - the prince’s pretty head would make a clear enough war declaration.
And yet.
“You transported yourself here - in a rug,” Jeff says, gesturing roughly at the rich purple-gold fabric with his sword hand, incredulity in his voice not quite masking how impressive he finds the feat. Daring, but foolish.
“Merchants are easily bought,” the Prince says, chin held high, valley-green eyes clear and bright. Proud and vulnerable as a caged bird. “And people do not make a habit of stabbing through a perfectly good carpet.”
“And should I expect the whole of your kingdom’s army to be delivered to my doorstep through the trade routes?” Jeffrey asks, taking another step closer, slowly crowding the boy against the wall, watching the nervous flutter of eyelashes. One shout, and Jeff’s men would come through the door, but he doesn’t want to call them in just yet. “Are you declaring war on the Republic, little Prince?”
“I’m not here to declare war, Morgan,” the boy says, irritation furrowing his brow. He straightens his back, no doubt to remind Jeff that they’re nearly the same height. “I want to negotiate.”
Josef and Jensen - the oddly named children of the river royalty. Jeffrey has been briefed about them. Josef being the older, broader-jawed and blunt-nosed brother, assuming the marble likenesses and busts are accurate.
So this bold, delicately featured boy must be Jensen.
“Does your King brother know you’re here, little Prince Jensen?” It’s amusing, watching indignant fury flit through green eyes again. Such a lively young thing. It would be a shame to send him back in pieces. There’s always the possibility of taking him hostage, demanding surrender. Jeff would emerge victorious without losing so much as a single soldier. Just a quick strike to the head, and the boy is his. It’s tempting, but curiosity has always gotten the best of Jeff, and he’s fascinated by the Prince in front of him.
Jensen jumps slightly when his back meets the wall, Jeff forcing him back with his mere presence.
Jeff knows the face of fear - has seen it on cowards, on his men in the battlefield, on his enemies the moment before he swings his sword - and he sees a glimpse of it in Jensen’s eyes, in the slight tremor of his lip. But he also knows bravery, and it’s clear in the determined set of Jensen’s jaw and the defiant posture of his shoulders.
Rare, for royalty.
“I’m here by my own right. To meet with you - one leader to another - to negotiate peace,” Jensen says with all the regality someone so young can muster. “To stop the war that you and my brother are planning.”
“Is that so?” Jeff stops, toe-to-toe with the boy, arm coming up to rest on the wall next to Jensen’s head. He’s smiling darkly as he leans in, other hand running lightly along the v-shaped collar of Jensen’s silk tunic, smile widening as Jensen tries to escape the touch by pushing himself back into the wall. He dips a finger beneath the collar, meeting with warm, smooth skin, nudging enough of the tunic aside to reveal honeyed freckles across his chest. “And what exactly are you willing to put on the table? I’ve no need for more gold pieces.”
From this close, he can see the curve of long, dark eyelashes1, and Jeff is reminded of the virgins of his youth - wide-eyed and pink with innocence.
Jeff had only meant it as a tease, had wanted to scare the boy into retracting his bold words. Now Jeff can’t seem to tear his eyes away. A distant part of himself is telling him to stop, instinct built from years of experience flashing warnings in his mind - all of it - swallowed up by lust and siren fog.
There’s an offer here, heating the air between them as Jensen traps his gaze and draws him in, and Jeff has to wonder whether the sweet vulnerability he had witnessed a moment ago had been some sort of false lure.
It’s slow, the way Jensen lifts onto his toes to bring their faces together, mouth landing on Jeff’s as lightly as a butterfly - and Jeff surprises himself by how hungrily he rushes in to meet him.
His hand is behind Jensen’s head in an instant, saving the boy from smacking into the bare stone as Jeff crashes into him, rough scrape of his beard upon soft lips and sensitive skin, and his tongue dipping aggressively into the Prince’s warm, open mouth.
Jensen’s tongue slides against Jeff’s in gentle flicks, hesitant and unsure and Jeff presses into him all the harder, cock stiffening beneath his tunic, straining the linen. He drags his open palms down Jensen’s clothed back, and Jeff groans, drowning in dark pleasure as his hands easily span the boy’s slim waist.
He pulls back to look at the boy in his arms, uncontrollably digging his hips into Jensen when he sees the wet, reddened mess he’s made of the Prince’s mouth. There’s still determination in Jensen’s heavy-lidded eyes, but the green’s darkened, washed through with arousal. It’s not enough. Jeff wants to see him lost in every sensation, he wants to drink down every reaction he elicits from this beautiful boy with his mouth, his hands, his cock.
It’s all too easy to drag the boy into the bed in the centre of the room, pushing him flat on his back and then covering him with his body. The Prince’s tunic is askew, exposing more of that tempting collarbone and Jeff has half a mind to rip it off of him, to tear into the rich fabric and take the Prince in the tatters of his royal garments.
He moves to do just that, before Jensen’s hand catches him on his chest, halting his very breath.
“Do you accept?” Jensen asks sharply, moving to even their gazes, his breath hitching when Jeff’s cock grinds against his own.
“Am I the first?” The question comes out hoarse, rough with the very thought. He has his suspicions, but it’s difficult to believe that the people of the Kingdom could leave such a temptation untouched for so long. Hunger and jealousy fuel the desire building low in his gut, and he wants, so much, to be the one to take the boy first. But either way, he intends to own the young Prince, make him into a writhing, pleasure-bound thing that can only beg for Jeff’s mercy and touch.
He barely hears Jensen’s embarrassed whisper, but sees his answer in the flush that all but explodes across the boy’s face and chest, right up to his ears.
“Do you accept?” Jensen asks again through gritted teeth, still mortified with his own admission, and angling himself into Jeff, clearly worried he hasn’t guaranteed Jeff’s compliance.
Jeff growls, easing his hips up and off for the sake of his own sanity. He looks down at the boy beneath him, at everything that is being offered up to him on a platter - War the furthest thing from his mind - and the Great General has never felt more helpless than when the yes falls from his lips and he drops into Jensen once more.
The kissing is frenzied now, Jeff biting and licking plush lips until they swell with blood, hands tugging the boy’s tunic apart, slipping underneath to run rough fingers over the flat of the boy’s nipples. Jensen shudders, arching up, and Jeff traps him against the bed with his broad-shouldered weight, circling the hardening nubs and teasing with his nails. Jensen cries out softly at that, biting his own lip. Jeff feels the whole-body shudder all against his front.
Jensen’s tunic tears easily during Jeff’s exploration, revealing more and more of Jensen’s pale skin. Jeff wants to bite everywhere he can reach, wants every inch of him to ache with the memory of Jeff’s mouth. He starts at the base of Jensen’s throat, worrying his teeth into his skin, wondering which of the Kingdom’s infamously opulent pieces of jewelry the boy will need to wear in order to hide the bruising marks he intends to summon. He licks at the boy’s nipples, just to feel him writhe in his hold, before trailing his mouth down, down, down.
Briefly parting from Jensen, he reaches behind him to grab the salve from the foot of the bed, dropping it next to Jensen’s body.
Jensen’s pants are removed next, and Jeff roughly spreads Jensen’s legs apart, crawling up between them as he captures his mouth once more dipping his fingers into the small pot, coating them with slick. He nearly spends himself at the sight before him, Jensen’s parted legs and his hardened cock curving towards the plane of his stomach. Jeff cups his balls, rolling them gently and letting Jensen shudder and shake. His large hand wraps around Jensen’s dick, and enjoying Jensen’s high gasp as he begins to stroke, keeping his fist tight and gripping tighter and twisting his wrist as he passes over the sensitive head.
The boy is beside himself, legs dropping to the bed and feet flat and digging into the sheets. Beautiful. Jeff is relentless, letting Jensen thrust into his fist as he hastens his strokes until Jensen cries out, loudly and helplessly spilling over Jeff’s hand. He doesn’t let go until Jensen is whining and trembling at his touch.
There is so much that Jeff has planned for the boy, but it’s too much. Jeff all but tears his tunic and toga over his head, reaching for himself with the hand covered still in salve and Jensen, fucking into his fist with quick snaps of his hips.
He comes hard all over his fist and spurting across Jensen’s bare chest, like Jensen’s a common whore, and not royalty from across the sea. Jeff collapses next to him, exhausted and sated, trying to keep his eyes open. He’s well-aware despite words and sex pacts, the boy could still be a danger to him. But Jensen seems too dazed to move his limbs, settling instead into the soft pillows and sheets. With a sense of deep satisfaction, he sees the boy’s eyelids droop with unmistakeable fatigue, then fall shut. Jeff counts ten of Jensen’s deep, even breaths before succumbing to sleep.
0-0-0
--END PART ONE--
SNEAK PREVIEW:
He belatedly registers the groan of the chamber door, too caught up in the small whimpers the Prince is letting slip between panting breaths. The awareness of an additional presence, prickles and nags at his mind and Jeff forces himself to look up.
His second-in-command is standing at the gap between the open doors, his soldier’s helmet still in his hands and a few messenger scrolls in the other, surprise clear across his face.
“Damn it all Jared. What do you want?” Jeff curses his lieutenant, wondering what in the hell he’s thinking. It’s then that he notices Jensen peering through the gaps in Jeff’s arms trying to blink past his dazed arousal.
The expression on Jared’s face schools back into that of a soldier. “A message from the fleet commander, sir.” Irritatingly enough, Jensen suddenly stiffens beneath Jeff, suddenly alert and listening.
It also doesn’t escape Jeff’s notice that while his lieutenant is speaking to him, his eyes are on Jensen, as if Jeff doesn’t have the boy naked and pinned to the bed with his hips.
Something shadowy and possessive makes Jeff snarl, trying to cover as much of Jensen from sight as he can. “Leave the scrolls on the table, and get out.”
Jared does so quickly, head bowed. Jeff will have to deal with him later.
0-0-0
AN: Thank you for reading!