Post by devilinthedetails on Jun 7, 2018 1:42:13 GMT 10
Title: Crushing
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: First Crush
Summary: Roger's first crush is vengeful and possessive.
Crushing
Roger was in page training when he realized that his eyes didn’t linger longingly over the curves of the ladies fresh from the convent but they did drift with desire over the strong, shifting chests and the broad shoulders of the boys learning to be knights alongside him. The sweltering summer days when they swam shirtless in the River Olorun were a tantalizing mingling of torment and delight to him. He was determined to keep his attraction secret–dreaming of Carthak where it was said that nobles could bed exotic, exquisitely trained sex slaves of any gender without judgment–and he never expected to encounter anyone in Tortall who would allow him to express his taste for the forbidden.
When he was fourteen–a naive, newly-minted squire in the service of the king, his uncle–Erik of Anak’s Eyrie had shattered this expectation. He had gone to Erik’s chambers to help pack the other boy’s belongings for the ride south to the Bazhir desert, where Erik would squire for Lord Martin of Meron. As they tucked Erik’s clothes into his bag, their fingers had brushed across each other, and, instead of pulling away from one another, they had slid closer together as if drawn together by an invisible thread. Another invisible thread tangled their mouths in a kiss that sliced Roger’s life like scissors into a before and an after.
The kiss was damp and sloppy as a frog’s but somehow was the most beautiful rather than the most revolting sensation Roger had experienced. Their teeth crashed against each other like swords, and their lips had bitten blood from one another. The taste of blood thick and titillating on his tongue, Roger licked his lips to savor the flavor of Erik and knotted his fingers through Erik’s pale blond hair that was a shining testament to his birth along the border with Scanra.
“Nobody can know about this.” Roger tapped a hushing finger against Erik’s pursed mouth. “The world is filled with enemies who would destroy us if they knew about this.”
“We’ll keep quiet until you’re king.” Erik’s eyes were a blue lake Roger sank into as much for refreshment as for the exhilaration of drowning. “When you’re king, we can force everyone to accept our relationship. The Old Ones had an empire and they believed that men loving other men made them more powerful warriors especially if lovers were in the same military company.”
“We’ll build an empire even mightier than the Old Ones when I’m king.” Roger’s hand released Erik’s hair to curl around his cheek stubbled from a rough shave. As he made this promise, he couldn’t have imagined that the warm skin below his palm would be death cold within a month when Erik was felled by a Bazhir arrow to the chest.
When Roger heard of this outrage–weeks after it happened because the death of a single squire was inconsequential and news of it crawled along the realm’s road–he felt as if an arrow had pierced his own heart. Out of his pain, he vowed to have his vengeance upon the Bazhir when Tortall was his kingdom. Any who took what–or who–he loved from him would be crushed beneath his fist as he tightened his grip on his empire to surpass the Old Ones.
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: First Crush
Summary: Roger's first crush is vengeful and possessive.
Crushing
Roger was in page training when he realized that his eyes didn’t linger longingly over the curves of the ladies fresh from the convent but they did drift with desire over the strong, shifting chests and the broad shoulders of the boys learning to be knights alongside him. The sweltering summer days when they swam shirtless in the River Olorun were a tantalizing mingling of torment and delight to him. He was determined to keep his attraction secret–dreaming of Carthak where it was said that nobles could bed exotic, exquisitely trained sex slaves of any gender without judgment–and he never expected to encounter anyone in Tortall who would allow him to express his taste for the forbidden.
When he was fourteen–a naive, newly-minted squire in the service of the king, his uncle–Erik of Anak’s Eyrie had shattered this expectation. He had gone to Erik’s chambers to help pack the other boy’s belongings for the ride south to the Bazhir desert, where Erik would squire for Lord Martin of Meron. As they tucked Erik’s clothes into his bag, their fingers had brushed across each other, and, instead of pulling away from one another, they had slid closer together as if drawn together by an invisible thread. Another invisible thread tangled their mouths in a kiss that sliced Roger’s life like scissors into a before and an after.
The kiss was damp and sloppy as a frog’s but somehow was the most beautiful rather than the most revolting sensation Roger had experienced. Their teeth crashed against each other like swords, and their lips had bitten blood from one another. The taste of blood thick and titillating on his tongue, Roger licked his lips to savor the flavor of Erik and knotted his fingers through Erik’s pale blond hair that was a shining testament to his birth along the border with Scanra.
“Nobody can know about this.” Roger tapped a hushing finger against Erik’s pursed mouth. “The world is filled with enemies who would destroy us if they knew about this.”
“We’ll keep quiet until you’re king.” Erik’s eyes were a blue lake Roger sank into as much for refreshment as for the exhilaration of drowning. “When you’re king, we can force everyone to accept our relationship. The Old Ones had an empire and they believed that men loving other men made them more powerful warriors especially if lovers were in the same military company.”
“We’ll build an empire even mightier than the Old Ones when I’m king.” Roger’s hand released Erik’s hair to curl around his cheek stubbled from a rough shave. As he made this promise, he couldn’t have imagined that the warm skin below his palm would be death cold within a month when Erik was felled by a Bazhir arrow to the chest.
When Roger heard of this outrage–weeks after it happened because the death of a single squire was inconsequential and news of it crawled along the realm’s road–he felt as if an arrow had pierced his own heart. Out of his pain, he vowed to have his vengeance upon the Bazhir when Tortall was his kingdom. Any who took what–or who–he loved from him would be crushed beneath his fist as he tightened his grip on his empire to surpass the Old Ones.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!