Post by figgsthepirate on Sept 1, 2011 6:35:26 GMT 10
Title: Friends with Benefits
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,008
Card: Summer
Bingo: sun + sweat + outdoors + trees + somewhere new
Summary: Back at the Palace after two years abroad with his knight-master, Wyldon joins Stefan in the exploration of dormant feelings. Warnings: slash, implied sex
AN: Finally, the moment we've all been waiting for... I hope this doesn't violate the ratings, I tried to keep it (relatively) light.
_______________________________________
“Where are we going?” Squire Wyldon demanded, resenting his own ignorance.
“Somewhere new,” came the vague reply.
All was darkness to him. A blindfold blocked out the sun, though he could hear the tell-tale rustle of leaves and undergrowth as the crisp autumn breeze danced in the boughs of the Royal Forest. Beneath his tripping feet the path wound on, hard-packed earth laced with roots that reached up treacherous fingers to catch the hapless unawares. Briars snagged his clothes and hair, and fallen leaves crunched and shushed underfoot. If he strained above the sounds of their passage through the forest, he could just make out the vague chuckle of water running somewhere ahead.
Wyldon was well and truly lost.
“Here.” With hands made rough from hard work and long days, Stefan untied the blindfold (a clean rag meant for polishing tack) and tucked it into his belt. At his side, Wyldon’s stoic face slipped into awe.
“It’s beautiful.”
Stefan hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and rocked back on his heels, pleased. “I know.”
On impulse, Wyldon threw himself on the ground and rolled over onto his back, limbs stretched endlessly over the grass. Looking up, he could see the crisp blue sky peeping between boughs of fire. Beneath him, the grass spread emerald-green like a carpet from a fairytale, and all around was the sound of water tumbling over rocks. It was like a secret grotto all their own, hidden away from the rest of the world.
“I feel like I’ve been away forever,” Wyldon sighed, closing his eyes and wriggling down into the grass. He kicked off his boots and pushed them away, digging his toes into the cold earth.
Stefan just nodded, still looking thoughtfully down at the boy spread out on the ground. Wyldon had grown tremendously in the past two years, though he was still very much all arms and legs. Still, Stefan could tell by the way his neck and torso were thickening that he was approaching manhood. His hands and feet, always small and rather stringy, had become longer and broader; his palms were heavily calloused and criss-crossed with lines. His mop of brown hair had been shorn off somewhere along his travels, and was now cropped close to his head, showing the strong bones of his face and a small, pocked scar above one eyebrow where he had fallen from a tree as a child.
“What are you looking at?” Wyldon demanded, breaking Stefan from his musings. He kicked out at the young hostler playfully, catching him on the ankle. “Sit down before you fall down.”
Stefan sat, though his face didn’t crease with laughter. Instead he crossed his legs, wrapping his arms protectively around his knees, and looked at the ground.
“Are we friends, Wyl?”
Wyldon laughed, the open laugh of a boy with no cares. “I thought we covered that before I left to go squiring, Stef.”
“We covered a lot o’ things afore you went squirin’ – the least of them bein’ friendship,” Stefan replied dryly.
Wyldon narrowed his eyes, lifting his head from the grass. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Friends don’t kiss, Wyl.” Stefan scrubbed a hand through his already-flyaway hair in agitation. “Friends don’t touch each other like that. Friends talk, and run, and ride together. They don’t do… that.”
Wyldon’s cheek shifted to rest against the grass, and his fingers tore up the green filaments idly. “We’re friends. More than friends, maybe, but still friends at the heart of it. Do you –” He stopped, flushing slightly, but went on doggedly, “Did you not… like it?”
Stefan snorted. “There wasna ever a question o’ that, Wyl-boy.”
The squire’s lips curved into a small smile as he met Stefan’s eyes. “Good.”
With a tender hand, Stefan reached out and smoothed his fingers down the column of Wyldon’s throat, a splash of summer-tanned brown against the collar of his shirt. Beneath his hand, Wyldon swallowed hard, and his pulse leaped under Stefan’s thumb. The hostler’s cheek jerked into a half-smile. And when Wyldon opened his mouth to say something, Stefan leaned down and silenced his lips in a kiss.
It wasn’t like the kiss of two years ago. That kiss had been tentative and inexperienced, with unsure movements and shaking hands. Wyldon’s heart had nearly jumped out his chest with a giddy combination of terror and excitement, and a good portion of those few minutes of boyish intimacy had been wiped blank by his own insecurity. But this – oh, how different this was! Stefan’s mouth was firm and certain, the sandpaper rasp of his unshaven chin sending prickles down his spine. His hostler’s hands smoothed over Wyldon’s tunic to his belt, tugging the fabric free to slip beneath and run the tips of his fingers over his flat belly. And when his tongue pushed into Wyldon’s mouth, the younger boy jerked with surprise and pleasure, eyes popping open.
“Been practicing on the Palace maids, I see,” he gasped, laughter turning into a moan as Stefan transferred his mouth to Wyldon’s neck.
“Purely for t’ sake of research,” Stefan mumbled, fingers working quickly on buttons and laces as he kissed his way down Wyldon’s chest. The squire assisted him, and soon he had pulled off his shirt and tunic, and was lying half-bare beneath the confident ministrations of his friend.
“What if someone finds us?” murmured Wyldon, using the last shred of his self-control to reach down tand hold Stefan’s head still against the half-open hem of his breeches. For all it was such a cool autumn day, every inch of skin seemed to be on fire. Under Stefan’s touch he shuddered and burned, sweat dampening his brow and the smooth line of his back where it arched away from the grass.
Stefan grinned recklessly. “They won’t. This is our place, Wyl-boy. They won’t,” he repeated, and then his hand was inside Wyldon’s breeches and the squire threw back his head, eyes trained sightlessly on the crisp blue sky peering down curiously from above.
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,008
Card: Summer
Bingo: sun + sweat + outdoors + trees + somewhere new
Summary: Back at the Palace after two years abroad with his knight-master, Wyldon joins Stefan in the exploration of dormant feelings. Warnings: slash, implied sex
AN: Finally, the moment we've all been waiting for... I hope this doesn't violate the ratings, I tried to keep it (relatively) light.
_______________________________________
“Where are we going?” Squire Wyldon demanded, resenting his own ignorance.
“Somewhere new,” came the vague reply.
All was darkness to him. A blindfold blocked out the sun, though he could hear the tell-tale rustle of leaves and undergrowth as the crisp autumn breeze danced in the boughs of the Royal Forest. Beneath his tripping feet the path wound on, hard-packed earth laced with roots that reached up treacherous fingers to catch the hapless unawares. Briars snagged his clothes and hair, and fallen leaves crunched and shushed underfoot. If he strained above the sounds of their passage through the forest, he could just make out the vague chuckle of water running somewhere ahead.
Wyldon was well and truly lost.
“Here.” With hands made rough from hard work and long days, Stefan untied the blindfold (a clean rag meant for polishing tack) and tucked it into his belt. At his side, Wyldon’s stoic face slipped into awe.
“It’s beautiful.”
Stefan hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and rocked back on his heels, pleased. “I know.”
On impulse, Wyldon threw himself on the ground and rolled over onto his back, limbs stretched endlessly over the grass. Looking up, he could see the crisp blue sky peeping between boughs of fire. Beneath him, the grass spread emerald-green like a carpet from a fairytale, and all around was the sound of water tumbling over rocks. It was like a secret grotto all their own, hidden away from the rest of the world.
“I feel like I’ve been away forever,” Wyldon sighed, closing his eyes and wriggling down into the grass. He kicked off his boots and pushed them away, digging his toes into the cold earth.
Stefan just nodded, still looking thoughtfully down at the boy spread out on the ground. Wyldon had grown tremendously in the past two years, though he was still very much all arms and legs. Still, Stefan could tell by the way his neck and torso were thickening that he was approaching manhood. His hands and feet, always small and rather stringy, had become longer and broader; his palms were heavily calloused and criss-crossed with lines. His mop of brown hair had been shorn off somewhere along his travels, and was now cropped close to his head, showing the strong bones of his face and a small, pocked scar above one eyebrow where he had fallen from a tree as a child.
“What are you looking at?” Wyldon demanded, breaking Stefan from his musings. He kicked out at the young hostler playfully, catching him on the ankle. “Sit down before you fall down.”
Stefan sat, though his face didn’t crease with laughter. Instead he crossed his legs, wrapping his arms protectively around his knees, and looked at the ground.
“Are we friends, Wyl?”
Wyldon laughed, the open laugh of a boy with no cares. “I thought we covered that before I left to go squiring, Stef.”
“We covered a lot o’ things afore you went squirin’ – the least of them bein’ friendship,” Stefan replied dryly.
Wyldon narrowed his eyes, lifting his head from the grass. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Friends don’t kiss, Wyl.” Stefan scrubbed a hand through his already-flyaway hair in agitation. “Friends don’t touch each other like that. Friends talk, and run, and ride together. They don’t do… that.”
Wyldon’s cheek shifted to rest against the grass, and his fingers tore up the green filaments idly. “We’re friends. More than friends, maybe, but still friends at the heart of it. Do you –” He stopped, flushing slightly, but went on doggedly, “Did you not… like it?”
Stefan snorted. “There wasna ever a question o’ that, Wyl-boy.”
The squire’s lips curved into a small smile as he met Stefan’s eyes. “Good.”
With a tender hand, Stefan reached out and smoothed his fingers down the column of Wyldon’s throat, a splash of summer-tanned brown against the collar of his shirt. Beneath his hand, Wyldon swallowed hard, and his pulse leaped under Stefan’s thumb. The hostler’s cheek jerked into a half-smile. And when Wyldon opened his mouth to say something, Stefan leaned down and silenced his lips in a kiss.
It wasn’t like the kiss of two years ago. That kiss had been tentative and inexperienced, with unsure movements and shaking hands. Wyldon’s heart had nearly jumped out his chest with a giddy combination of terror and excitement, and a good portion of those few minutes of boyish intimacy had been wiped blank by his own insecurity. But this – oh, how different this was! Stefan’s mouth was firm and certain, the sandpaper rasp of his unshaven chin sending prickles down his spine. His hostler’s hands smoothed over Wyldon’s tunic to his belt, tugging the fabric free to slip beneath and run the tips of his fingers over his flat belly. And when his tongue pushed into Wyldon’s mouth, the younger boy jerked with surprise and pleasure, eyes popping open.
“Been practicing on the Palace maids, I see,” he gasped, laughter turning into a moan as Stefan transferred his mouth to Wyldon’s neck.
“Purely for t’ sake of research,” Stefan mumbled, fingers working quickly on buttons and laces as he kissed his way down Wyldon’s chest. The squire assisted him, and soon he had pulled off his shirt and tunic, and was lying half-bare beneath the confident ministrations of his friend.
“What if someone finds us?” murmured Wyldon, using the last shred of his self-control to reach down tand hold Stefan’s head still against the half-open hem of his breeches. For all it was such a cool autumn day, every inch of skin seemed to be on fire. Under Stefan’s touch he shuddered and burned, sweat dampening his brow and the smooth line of his back where it arched away from the grass.
Stefan grinned recklessly. “They won’t. This is our place, Wyl-boy. They won’t,” he repeated, and then his hand was inside Wyldon’s breeches and the squire threw back his head, eyes trained sightlessly on the crisp blue sky peering down curiously from above.