The Kings Personal Joker (boyxboy)

Chapter Forty Six

[A/N] Finally the chapter is here. To all those who I have tortured please accept my apology and some raisin scones (only a day old).

There was one window in the room that looked out onto the courtyard. It was made of thick textured glass so it was possible to see what shapes lay beyond the walls of the room but the moon was shining in through it. The circular shape still discernible through the distorted image left behind and the light filtered through the room and even from the odd angle I could see it land on the bed just beside the post, on us. The fireplace and six or seven oil lamps doing a good enough job to keep the place as bright as one could expect at night.

It was in the moonlight, however, that I noticed how strange his skin looked on mine. It was visible to me now, even though it was likely not to him. I was darker than him, his skin a white alabaster, an almost translucent white, soft, the clear beauty ideal of this place. Mine was a warmer tone, something somehow even softer, like a little caramel had been dissolved in milk.

It was hard to deny the fact that our skin looked good together, he looked good on me. It was a stupid thought, a pointless one. What part of this messed up relationship was sustainable? I would give it a few months, if even one, before my skin started to darken in the sun and it would become obvious I was an outsider.

And I was to be married...

Despite myself the lines slipped into my head, quicker and more simply than I had ever come across lyrics before, not pulled from story books or legends, not based on a tune I had heard before.

How sweetly she must smile,
How her little sighs beguile.
Not intimidating her wit,
Not angry, never prone to fit.

Just golden curls and pretty smiles,
Soft, gentle and never hostile.
And warm, and pleasant,
And kind and content...

He drew a teasing finger around me, outlining me, it drew me from my mind and threw me head first into the large warm, soft bed. Back in his grasp. I pursed my lips and closed my eyes, it would be so much more work to say no, to flail my arms and twist and turn... and it would be so deliciously easy to lay here, spread my legs a little wider and say please.

But it would be dishonest. It would mean the ruin of vows yet made...

I reached down and pulled at his hand, he moved and inch and then returned, his eyes turning on me. I grasped his wrist, pulling him again but making no headway. He was immovable.

"Weak little grasp from a strong little man." He smiled.

I felt my frustration rise.

"I will do anything you want- mostly anything, but this cannot happen!" I pleaded him. He made no motion to stop and so I attempted to continue. "Your Majesty, I-"

But before I could finish I gasped loudly, feeling him grip my tightly and stroke from tip to base. I groaned out loud, my Adams apple bobbing as I leaned my head back against the pillow. There were stars in my eyes, I think, I blinked them away as I felt his hand move again.

Curious polite salutations,
Never ignoring protestations.
Never gripping till one aches,
Never having, or just taking.

He started stroking, taking up a consistent rhythm that was both too slow and also too fast. Though my hands pressed at his, attempted to pull him away from me, he was not wrong in his descriptions. There was no power left in my fingers.

Never pulling one apart.
Never gripping at the heart.
Never setting the soul on fire,
Never the heat, the pyre.

I started panting, a bead of sweat dripping off my forehead. I was getting close and I was terrified. Terrified of feeling what I was feeling and of what it would ultimately mean. But even as I felt myself come apart underneath him there was no use denying it, he felt good, his hand felt good on me.