Post by Griff on Jun 27, 2011 17:18:57 GMT 10
Title: A Bitter Taste
Pairing: Jon/Raoul
Rating: R
Summary: They were happy, once. But now, all they have left is a bitter taste they won't forget.
Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CASS!
-
“You're late,” Jon twirled a quill idly, meeting Raoul's eye with a pointed eyebrow.
“I'm not sure how that works,” Raoul joked, slapping the dust off his breeches. “You sent a messenger to fetch me as soon as I arrived. I've arrived and now I'm here. There wasn't much time to be late.”
“I sent a rider to summon the Own two months ago.”
“Oh, that.” Raoul sighed, “There were bandits. And more bandits. Then some spidrens.” he paused thoughtfully, “and Masbolle kept saying something about an evil unicorn, but that might just be my concussion talking.”
“And a new dam, recovery aid in a village ransacked six months ago, an emergency search and rescue for a pair of lovers who fell asleep in a barn, and, of course,” Jon ground in annoyance, “Your tragic crippling stumble into a hut.”
“I told you I had a concussion,” Raoul pointed out helpfully.
Jon was not amused. “We aren't boys anymore.”
The light-hearted humor evaportated, leaving Lord Goldenlake sharp and sober, “You've made that very clear, Jon.”
“Your Majesty,” his king corrected, standing.
“Oh, by the Gods, don't you start,” Raoul growled. “I'm here. You win. Jon is all powerful. He does what he will, when he wills it, and the rest of us petty mortals get to stand aside. Thank you for the reminder. I'd almost begun to like you, again.”
“It is not my duty to be likable.”
“No,” Raoul moued mockingly, “it's your duty to dutifully ensure all of us dutiful knights are doing our duty.”
“Ever a grown man,” Jon snapped back. “The Progress is important and I asked you to be here. This is the time for a show of force in faces. I need you standing with me.”
“Ah,” Raoul nodded, “of course. You need my face and Alanna's face, but damn if you have our happiness. That's just silly business.”
“Damn it, Raoul,” Jonathan's voice cut the air like a whip, face turning steadily red. “Your happiness doesn't matter! You are a knight and you have a duty to be done and I will see it done.”
“Of course,” his Knight Commander replied icily. “It would be devastating if I missed that cross-step turn in the new waltz. The court would never recover.”
Jon's demeanor went dark. “I am your king,” he warned, “and I will have your respect.”
“My king,” Raoul nodded, “Answer me this, Your Majesty. Are you lonely at night, you and your crown, or is tossing old lovers by the wayside what helps you get your rocks off in these trying times.”
“It's quite warm in my bed, with my wife,” Jon's sneered.
“And the kingdom rejoiced,” Raoul mocked, “because their handsome prince met his handsome princess and they made perfectly handsome babies so he could marry them off to other handsome royals, completely ignoring the trail of broken hearts he left behind them.”
“Wallowing in self-pity?” Jon scoffed, “How like you.”
“Oh, I'm bitter and you know that, but you've known that for years,” Raoul shrugged off his pain, “I'm talking about Kally's boy, what was his name? Do you even know?”
“It doesn't matter. She had a duty and, unlike you, she did it.”
“Kicking and screaming all the way to docks, as I recall,” Raoul countered. “What about Roald? Your eldest son, who's never so much as kissed a girl, married off.”
“There is nothing to interfere with their happiness,” Jon dismissed. “They're well-matched.”
“Except for the fact that boy has no interest in bedding anyone!”
Jon growled, “He's young, he'll learn.”
“Because it was such a difficult lesson for you to learn,” Raoul spat. “He's never had the urge to so much as touch another human being and you're forcing him into the marriage bed. What happens when his wife never becomes pregnant? Who gets the blame for that? If your father taught us anything, it's that Contes never take the blame. It's always their wife. So you've doomed them both to unhappiness.”
“Roald is reclusive in his personal life, that does not make him – malfunctioning!”
“I never said he was malfunctioning!” Raoul bellowed, “I said you've doomed a perfectly happy boy to a life of misery because of duty!”
“Thrice-blast you, Raoul,” Jonathan hissed, pressing him back, “I've had enough. One more word -”
“And you'll what?” Raoul shook his head, “Break my heart? Too late. Send me away? Please do. Force me to endure endless torture? I'm already here. So, tell me what you'll do? Take my lands? My titles? Lock me in the tower with the last lover who crossed you? Because we can't have that,” He laughed cruely, “Heavens forbid anyone tell Jonathan of Conte he's wrong in the privacy of his own tent.” Raoul's voice dropped to the barest of whispers, “Who knows what gods might listening?”
Jonathan shook with fury, fists clenched and shaking. Raoul lived for Jon's temper; it was the only time he wasn't charming. His face glowed a ridiculous red and his eyes bulged, and he was nothing but a man with too much power. Just like the boy Raoul used to know.
It was also the pettiest reaches of Jon's soul and Raoul admitted a sick satisfaction digging it out and laying Jon's sins on the surface. It made him hurt and he'd hurt Raoul often enough it was only fair.
Jon bared his teeth and hissed,“Are you finished?”
“Should I be?” Raoul asked, “Am I off to the chopping block, or do I get to keep my tongue for another day?”
And then, like it was all too often these days, Jon crushed his mouth to Raoul's with a violent will to silence him. Jon was a mighty man, but magic was of little use in the bedroom and Raoul muscled him back against his desk with sheer size.
Hand wrapped tight against the nap of Jonathan's neck, forcing him to bear his neck while Raoul pulled at his belt, he knows this is the bitter taste of love, but neither of them will ever let it go.
Pairing: Jon/Raoul
Rating: R
Summary: They were happy, once. But now, all they have left is a bitter taste they won't forget.
Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CASS!
-
“You're late,” Jon twirled a quill idly, meeting Raoul's eye with a pointed eyebrow.
“I'm not sure how that works,” Raoul joked, slapping the dust off his breeches. “You sent a messenger to fetch me as soon as I arrived. I've arrived and now I'm here. There wasn't much time to be late.”
“I sent a rider to summon the Own two months ago.”
“Oh, that.” Raoul sighed, “There were bandits. And more bandits. Then some spidrens.” he paused thoughtfully, “and Masbolle kept saying something about an evil unicorn, but that might just be my concussion talking.”
“And a new dam, recovery aid in a village ransacked six months ago, an emergency search and rescue for a pair of lovers who fell asleep in a barn, and, of course,” Jon ground in annoyance, “Your tragic crippling stumble into a hut.”
“I told you I had a concussion,” Raoul pointed out helpfully.
Jon was not amused. “We aren't boys anymore.”
The light-hearted humor evaportated, leaving Lord Goldenlake sharp and sober, “You've made that very clear, Jon.”
“Your Majesty,” his king corrected, standing.
“Oh, by the Gods, don't you start,” Raoul growled. “I'm here. You win. Jon is all powerful. He does what he will, when he wills it, and the rest of us petty mortals get to stand aside. Thank you for the reminder. I'd almost begun to like you, again.”
“It is not my duty to be likable.”
“No,” Raoul moued mockingly, “it's your duty to dutifully ensure all of us dutiful knights are doing our duty.”
“Ever a grown man,” Jon snapped back. “The Progress is important and I asked you to be here. This is the time for a show of force in faces. I need you standing with me.”
“Ah,” Raoul nodded, “of course. You need my face and Alanna's face, but damn if you have our happiness. That's just silly business.”
“Damn it, Raoul,” Jonathan's voice cut the air like a whip, face turning steadily red. “Your happiness doesn't matter! You are a knight and you have a duty to be done and I will see it done.”
“Of course,” his Knight Commander replied icily. “It would be devastating if I missed that cross-step turn in the new waltz. The court would never recover.”
Jon's demeanor went dark. “I am your king,” he warned, “and I will have your respect.”
“My king,” Raoul nodded, “Answer me this, Your Majesty. Are you lonely at night, you and your crown, or is tossing old lovers by the wayside what helps you get your rocks off in these trying times.”
“It's quite warm in my bed, with my wife,” Jon's sneered.
“And the kingdom rejoiced,” Raoul mocked, “because their handsome prince met his handsome princess and they made perfectly handsome babies so he could marry them off to other handsome royals, completely ignoring the trail of broken hearts he left behind them.”
“Wallowing in self-pity?” Jon scoffed, “How like you.”
“Oh, I'm bitter and you know that, but you've known that for years,” Raoul shrugged off his pain, “I'm talking about Kally's boy, what was his name? Do you even know?”
“It doesn't matter. She had a duty and, unlike you, she did it.”
“Kicking and screaming all the way to docks, as I recall,” Raoul countered. “What about Roald? Your eldest son, who's never so much as kissed a girl, married off.”
“There is nothing to interfere with their happiness,” Jon dismissed. “They're well-matched.”
“Except for the fact that boy has no interest in bedding anyone!”
Jon growled, “He's young, he'll learn.”
“Because it was such a difficult lesson for you to learn,” Raoul spat. “He's never had the urge to so much as touch another human being and you're forcing him into the marriage bed. What happens when his wife never becomes pregnant? Who gets the blame for that? If your father taught us anything, it's that Contes never take the blame. It's always their wife. So you've doomed them both to unhappiness.”
“Roald is reclusive in his personal life, that does not make him – malfunctioning!”
“I never said he was malfunctioning!” Raoul bellowed, “I said you've doomed a perfectly happy boy to a life of misery because of duty!”
“Thrice-blast you, Raoul,” Jonathan hissed, pressing him back, “I've had enough. One more word -”
“And you'll what?” Raoul shook his head, “Break my heart? Too late. Send me away? Please do. Force me to endure endless torture? I'm already here. So, tell me what you'll do? Take my lands? My titles? Lock me in the tower with the last lover who crossed you? Because we can't have that,” He laughed cruely, “Heavens forbid anyone tell Jonathan of Conte he's wrong in the privacy of his own tent.” Raoul's voice dropped to the barest of whispers, “Who knows what gods might listening?”
Jonathan shook with fury, fists clenched and shaking. Raoul lived for Jon's temper; it was the only time he wasn't charming. His face glowed a ridiculous red and his eyes bulged, and he was nothing but a man with too much power. Just like the boy Raoul used to know.
It was also the pettiest reaches of Jon's soul and Raoul admitted a sick satisfaction digging it out and laying Jon's sins on the surface. It made him hurt and he'd hurt Raoul often enough it was only fair.
Jon bared his teeth and hissed,“Are you finished?”
“Should I be?” Raoul asked, “Am I off to the chopping block, or do I get to keep my tongue for another day?”
And then, like it was all too often these days, Jon crushed his mouth to Raoul's with a violent will to silence him. Jon was a mighty man, but magic was of little use in the bedroom and Raoul muscled him back against his desk with sheer size.
Hand wrapped tight against the nap of Jonathan's neck, forcing him to bear his neck while Raoul pulled at his belt, he knows this is the bitter taste of love, but neither of them will ever let it go.