Pluck't

Chapter IV

"What do you mean you need me to undress you?"

Emil stood before Toma with a steaming bath behind them.  The prince held his arms out to either side with an air of expectation.  "I need a valet," he said with a twinge of sorrow in his voice.

What sort of man couldn't undress himself?  Emil sighed and started to unlace Toma's shirt.  He had intended to unlace plenty of shirts tonight, breeches too, but not like this.  He was randy, and revealing more of the Rose's creamy skin wasn't improving matters.

He could definitely see now why they called Toma a beauty.  He was lithe and poised, full of grace.  His slender body crying out to be touched.  His lips were bow-shaped and wanted kissing.  Emil didn't dare.  He told himself not to catch a glimpse of the youth's cock, and thus immediately darted a glance at it.  Pale, long, with a pink head cradled in its sheath.  Emil's own twitched when he imagined having a taste.

"Aren't you going to unbraid my hair?" Toma said, standing naked and too innocent to know shame.

Emil moved around behind Toma, pleased to be out of his range of sight, because his breeches tented, and Emil wasn't small. It was lewd and obvious.  He untied the ribbon holding the braid in place and unraveled the braid, plucking leaves and lichen out of it.  The prince had thick hair, golden as sunlight.  Where it wasn't dirty, the strands gleamed.

"There," Emil said.  "All ready for your bath, Highness."

Toma took Emil's hand.  "Help me."

Emil stood ready to keep Toma balanced as he stepped into the bath.  The prince sighed with relief as he sunk into the water.  His kept his hair swept over the edge of the tub, and he murmurs, "Take the cistern and wash my hair."

Emil shook his head.  The reward for this hot little piece had better be substantial.  He took the cistern from its table by the bed and poured warm water through Emil's hair.  While Toma soaked in luxury,  Emil lathered his hair with a creamy goat's milk soap, then rinsed it in warm water.  Next, he conditioned it with lavender oil.   He was going to run out of money soon, spending it all on the pampered brat.

After the bath, Emil was on hand to offer His Preciousness a towel.  At least he could dry himself off, while Emil sneaked glances at his sweet, untouched form and pictured kissing him, nibbling him, fucking him as he screamed his name.

"I need clothes," Toma said.

Emil replied, "I'll see what I've got."  He sorted through what few garments he had and tossed Toma a crimson shirt and tan breeches.  Toma regarded the clothing expectantly, like it was going to somehow throw itself upon him.  When Toma looked to Emil, Emil glanced up from the Prince's crotch and said, "You can figure it out, I'm sure, Highness."

At least Toma was a quick study, not that putting on a shirt and breeches required all that much intelligence.  Once he was dressed, Emil tossed him a pair of socks with a hole in one of them, then brought Toma his boots.  It was endearing, watching Toma try to figure out putting on his own boots.  Emil considered his lack of assistance a service; a man should know how to dress himself.

"Will you plait my hair?" Toma asked.

"I'll teach you how to do it," Emil said.  He came over to Toma and brushed his hair back from his brow.  Then he slipped behind him and ran a wooden come through his hair.

"Do you have tortoise shell?" Toma asked.

Emil chuckled.  "No, I don't have tortoise shell."  He worked the comb through Toma's hair, mindful of tangles.  He had a gentle hand, despite his inherent strength.  He topped Toma by about three inches.  His calloused hands swept through Toma's hair, and he his breathing hitched.  Those pale strands were so soft, like they was made for touching.  The scent of lavender filled Emil's nostrils as he started the braid he intended Toma to finish.

He found he couldn't stop.  The task gave him a chance to stroke those golden locks, and he took his time.  When he finished the job, he tied his hair off with a tattered old ribbon, then stroked the top of Toma's head under the pretense of tucking strands here and there.

Toma turned back to look at him.  "When do I start?"

Emil smiled crookedly.  "No need.  It's done."

The prince looked confused, but he merely nodded.  "What do we do now?"

Emil glanced over at the bed.  He could think of several things he'd like to do now.  All right, just the one thing, but in several different ways.  He cleared his throat and said, "Let's go downstairs and get you something to eat."

He could hear Toma's stomach rumbling from where he stood.  The prince blushed and glanced aside.  "Yes, I'd like that very much."

~ ~ ~

The common room of the Woodchuck was lively and loud.  All around, people laughed and drank.  Toma and Emil were lucky to find a small table in the corner.  When the serving lad brought their stew and ale, Emil looked him over and smiled.  This is where he would normally ask the man what he was doing later and offer him a little monetary incentive to say 'whatever you want.'

Emil then glanced at Toma, who was shoveling stew into his mouth as fast as he could while still maintaining some semblance of table manners.  Emil sighed.  There went his free evening as the last of his money.  The server was gone by the time Emil could say anything anyway.

That reward had better be spectacular.

Emil ate, and he drank, and he tried not to pay too much attention to the debauchery that gradually got lewder the later the night went on.  There men with women, men with  men, women with women, a whole array of kissing and groping and unsubtle hands up skirts and down breeches.  It wasn't fair.  That was supposed to be Emil's debauchery.  He looked across the table at Toma.  Those soft lips looked so kissable, and Emil could imagine how the prince would moan beneath him.  Maybe just a little plucking... No!  The youth's royal mother would have him hanged.

He emptied his flagon down his gullet and set it down.  One ale each.  It's all he could afford.  One ale for the whole night!  He considered gambling to make some money, but he spied the way people were looking at the beautiful and guileless youth.  Emil didn't dare leave him unattended.  He eyed Toma hard.  This lovely creature was costing him his lifestyle.

Toma looked up at him.  Despite the bruised eye and scratches, he had such a sweet countenance.  "Is all well?" he asked.

Emil smiled despite himself.  "We should turn in."  No use staying awake with no more ale and no willing lads to fill his bed.  He'd take the brat back to the castle, then use the reward to buy a dozen whores, damn it.