by R. D. Hero
"No, of course not," Frederick replied with an expansive wave of his hand. He was still smiling, but this time the expression was wry and clearly stated he had admitted defeat.
*~*~*
"You smell rank," Moshe growled at Raleigh, shoving him backwards into their chambers. Following closely behind, Moshe's eyes were narrowed, lip curled. Grasping the door, he turned to swing it shut, and then returned his hard stare to Raleigh. "Did I not tell you to wash with me when we stopped at the inn?"
Raleigh felt a smile worm its way across his face as well as he considered him. "You dare speak to me in such a way …" he said softly.
Snorting, Moshe crossed his arms. "As it is my duty to please you, at the very least, you could not smell like pig shit."
A barking laugh escaped Raleigh. With only a bit of a limp, he moved forward, bracing his palm flat against Moshe's chest, and none too gently shoved him back against the door. Raleigh saw the grimace that followed Moshe knocking his head against it, but those brilliant green eyes opened, and they were flashing. "Disgusting," Moshe spat, his hand curling around Raleigh's wrist. "Do not touch me."
"You said it yourself," Raleigh replied, smirking, "it is your duty. You owe a marital debt to me."
Even as he spoke, he curled his other hand over the back of Moshe's head, unable to quell the slight clench of worry. When he did, Moshe's expression of disdain only broke for a moment, his gaze warming, and he looked close to dropping the whole farce, but then his countenance hardened again.
Raleigh, however, was all too close to losing his breath. His mouth was dry, his heart beating rapidly. For as long as it had been since they had lain together, it had been even longer since they had played one of their games. Leaning in, Raleigh pressed his face against Moshe's neck and licked his warm skin, dragging his tongue up. He heard Moshe gasp, felt the grip tighten around his wrist.
He pulled back, his head tilted. "Does your lord and husband still repel you?"
Moshe glared at him. "You are swine. You are the dirt beneath my boots, you kidnapper—mph!"
Raleigh smirked against Moshe's lips, clasped the small of his back and pulled him in. That line Raleigh knew all too well, had heard it when it was sincere—when he was fifteen and had roped Moshe up and taken him to a beautiful spot by the river Raleigh had discovered on his own. He had wanted to share it with Moshe, and only Moshe.
Feeling nimble hands clutch the front of his vest, Raleigh squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, holding Moshe as close as he could. His cock throbbed with need, and he felt Moshe's hard against his thigh. He loosened one hand to reach down and cup Moshe's length, massaging it gently as Moshe panted and thrusted against Raleigh's palm. "Oh, oh," was all Moshe was able to say.
Exhaling with amusement, Raleigh released him, and then bent to grab him and lift him up. Moshe quickly circled his hands around Raleigh's neck, hurling curses at Raleigh at a fiery pace.
"There, there," Raleigh said, heading for the bed. "I can be gentle, if you earn it."
Everything was thrumming—his soul to his toes, even his heart. He had Moshe in his grasp, had Moshe flushed and aching. This had been Raleigh's fantasy for so long, as he had watched Moshe practice down in the courtyard of Chaylain. His own husband, and yet Raleigh feared to touch him. But now …
He would steal one last kiss, and then he would dump Moshe on the bed. He would strip Moshe, and flip him over and—
"Ah."
It was said with the smallest of breaths from Raleigh's lips.
But the pain. It was a thunderbolt straight from his knee to his spine, and then everywhere. His entire body seized.
"Raleigh?" Moshe said, his eyebrows pinching together. He sounded a little breathless with how tightly Raleigh was holding him. When all Raleigh could do was grimace, Moshe struggled, dropping down to his feet. "Raleigh?" he said again, grasping Raleigh's upper arms.
Raleigh wished it was gone—that tone in Moshe's voice, that … what was it? That warble, that weird inflection that drove a spike straight through Raleigh. "It's—" Raleigh started, swallowing with great care, and then finished, "—nothing."
Moshe was silent, and for a brief respite, Raleigh thought he could just pretend that this was not happening, that he had not witnessed yet another crippling moment of weakness. But then that grip tightened, and he felt Moshe breathing close to his neck—for that was as high as he could reach—and kissing his collarbone. "Raleigh," Moshe said softly, "Let me … please let me, I asked the physician how to massage—"
"No," Raleigh growled, pushing him away. "There is no need."
He could not look at Moshe. It hurt his heart not to do so, but his pride … To have Moshe take care of him while he was lying invalid, that would be a breach of all he had implicitly promised Moshe when they wed, when Moshe had finally given in to Raleigh.
All Raleigh could do was stand immobile. "Go and entertain Frederick," he said, jaw clenching. "No doubt he would enjoy that."
"Raleigh—" Moshe said, the tone of his voice edging towards irritation.
"Do what I say."
The air was taut with the frustration between them. Moshe just shook his head and swiftly walked past him while muttering "bastard" under his breath. The door opened and then closed with a quiet click, the lack of force putting Raleigh on edge. But when he knew he was alone, he sighed with relief.
Then he started cursing, hobbling towards the bed. Sinking down on his ass, he clenched his teeth as he brought his leg up to untie his boot, which he then tugged off and threw to the side. He set his leg back down and gripped his knee, sucking in a breath at the renewed stab of pain. Very slowly, he started to massage the most agonizing area, and felt the muscles start to loosen.
He knew that the long journey had put extra strain on his knee; he knew it would be much better with just a short rest on a normal bed, but still, all he could see was Moshe's eyes—the lust draining away from them, replaced by that … worry.
Raleigh frowned. Shucking his vest off, he groaned and fell back.
Above him was the bed's intricate canopy, far more ornate in its design than the ones at Chaylain. Raleigh did not need to look at the rest of the room. He had spent enough winters at Marvle-Dein to know that it matched the canopy in terms of luxury. This was the world Raleigh had stolen Moshe from, only to take him to the freezing edge of the empire to live in a dilapidated heap of stones.
"Ugh." He stretched out, hearing his spine pop, and then sat up just as the door to their chambers opened again. When Frederick stuck his arrogant face in, Raleigh scowled.
"Darling cousin," Frederick said, stepping inside and shutting the door.
"My lord," Raleigh replied, removing his other boot.
"And where is our beloved Moshe?"
Pausing, Raleigh looked up at Frederick from under the flat line of his eyebrows. "Was he not with you?"
Frederick merely shrugged, then stepped lightly to a highback chair that stood facing the bed, and plopped down with one leg over the armrest. "I suppose he's around here somewhere." His expression turned wicked. "Perhaps hiding from you, just as he used to."
"He did not hide from me," Raleigh snapped, taking the bait before he had a moment to think. Exhaling, he shook his head. Coming to Marvle-Dein was like falling back into time when he was still a teenager and Frederick was still able to crow on and on about how Moshe much preferred him to stupid, boorish Raleigh. "Nor did he use to …" he couldn't help but finish.
"Mhm." Frederick brushed his shoulder with a disinterested flick. "Anyway, I have to admit, I was shocked when I received your note, Raleigh—that you were coming, and also that you've decided to take part in the tournament."
"And why would that be so shocking?" Raleigh replied, daring Frederick to say it. He caught the way Frederick's attention had moved to Raleigh's knee, but there was no response to his question.
Instead, Frederick changed subjects again: "I do hope you stay for the winter, Raleigh, not just the tournament. It's been
so long since I've seen you—"
"Since you've seen Moshe," Raleigh said.
"Yes, him as well," Frederick replied, his lip curling with amusement. "But don't be such a grouch; I enjoy visiting with you both, together."
Raleigh snorted at that, shaking his head. However, perhaps some of what Frederick was prattling on about was true; Raleigh had not seen his cousin for several years now. "My apologies," Raleigh said, his eyes on his knee as he bent and unbent his leg, hands clenched into tight fists. "It has been quite some time since Moshe and I have visited."
"Indeed," Frederick replied, his tone lacking any mockery. At least he had the good sense not to jeer when Raleigh conceded on something. "Now—are you really taking part in the tournament?"
"In the one-on-ones, yes," Raleigh replied. "Longsword, perhaps fencing." Frederick was frowning, which was uncharacteristic enough that Raleigh stared. "I am not invalid," Raleigh said. "I can handle a measly swordfight, and a friendly one at that."
"Yes, but it isn't just one fight," Frederick said.
Raleigh opened his mouth, closed it, and then averted his gaze.
He heard a low grunt. "... Or is it?" Frederick asked.
"Frederick—"
"Is this really—damn it all, Raleigh—"
He looked up to see that Frederick had stood and was pacing the room with broad steps. "I would say Moshe deserves better than this, but I know how you both enjoy your little competitions."
"Yes," Raleigh said, and Frederick stopped his frantic walking to stare at him. "So if you understand, then don't get involved."
*~*~*
That night at the welcoming dinner, Raleigh and Moshe sat with Frederick at the head table. Most of the guests had arrived by then, and the hall was packed. People were flushed with pleasure and alcohol, most of them even more cheery because their long journeys were over. Observing them idly, Raleigh shifted in his chair, yearning already to return to the stoic halls of Chaylain.
At that thought, he frowned. Even as he watched the guests, his ear was trained towards Moshe and Frederick, who were speaking together amiably. Moshe's words were lacking their usual icy bite, which only meant he was already well on his way towards drunkenness.
Raleigh was almost loath to look at him and witness Moshe flourishing in the company of all these people, especially Frederick. He did not need any reminder that he had taken Moshe away from all this, or rather that he had taken all of this away from Moshe. Now that he was in Marvle-Dein again with its jovial atmosphere, he could truly see how isolated Chaylain was.
"And what are you sulking about?" Frederick was grinning at him from beside Moshe. Their chairs were angled towards each other, both seeming mid deep conversation. Moshe was on the other side of Frederick. When he had sat there, Raleigh had nearly reprimanded him for such obvious insolence, but backed away from doing so as soon as the thought crossed his mind.
Raleigh afforded him a thin smile. "Not sulking, cousin. Mourning the lack of peace and quiet."
Scoffing, Frederick rose his glass to his lips. "Not all of us prefer to live mountain strongholds and eschew all human contact, Raleigh."
If there was an underlying meaning to those words, Raleigh chose not to acknowledge it. He had noticed how Frederick had tipped his head towards Moshe as he spoke, and how Moshe had pointedly stayed out of the conversation, focusing on his food. His obvious avoidance prickled deep in Raleigh, chipped away at already worn confidence. What would Raleigh do if Moshe ever voiced his desire to leave Chaylain for good?
"Perhaps," Raleigh said darkly.
Frederick gave him a friendly pat on his shoulder, and then turned back to Moshe. "I must say, there turnout this year is far greater than last. It must be because you've come."
"Oh?" Moshe replied innocently, but there was a glint in his eye.
"Quite a few of the young lads are eager to see you fight, Moshe. They've heard the stories."
"Stories from when I was young myself," Moshe replied, quirking a wry eyebrow as he took a sip of his wine.
Raleigh's voice rumbled as he cut in, "You are as dangerous as you ever were."
Both Frederick and Moshe considered him, Frederick smiling while nodding in agreement while Moshe's expression was less obvious. It was closed off, even. Raleigh felt like a fool imparting such praise on the clearly unwilling. Setting his jaw mulishly, he focused his attentions on his plate. He heard Frederick chuckle. "And you are still built like an ox, cousin. I doubt your opponents are feeling very confident now that they've seen you in person."
Raleigh scratched his nose, quelling the urge to throw Frederick's complements back in his face, even though Raleigh just knew he was being facetious. Most of the court knew about Raleigh's injury, knew how it had affected him. However, there was no shame in a little goading of his own. "Will you be participating, Frederick?"
Another low chuckle. "No, I'm afraid not. I find that I am not so apt at these games."
Raleigh indulged in a short moment of smugness. No, Frederick as not skilled in competing, nor did he have the drive to do so. He could not pursue Moshe in the way Raleigh had, he would have been put into an early grave if he had ever challenged Moshe to sword fighting.
That brief flicker of self-satisfaction snuffed out. You are in no state to challenge Moshe either, you fool.
With that thought weighing his mood down, Raleigh spent the rest of the evening observing Moshe as subtly as he could—the way he smiled at Frederick so easily, and spoke with the guests who passed by to give their greetings. Usually so reserved, Moshe was practically glowing in a way Raleigh hadn't witnessed for some time.
Clearing his throat, Raleigh stood. "I will see you in the morning."
"Ah, yes!" Frederick replied. "Go recuperate, cousin. The journey must have been wearying, especially with your knee."
Raleigh gritted his teeth at that, giving Frederick a curt nod. He didn't want to see what Moshe's expression was. Turning, he strode out of the hall. Especially with my knee? That bastard, to say that in front of Moshe. Is that what Moshe thinks of me as well? Most likely. Raleigh's gate became more stiff and jerky as he walked, his shoulders tense.
"Raleigh!" It was Moshe's voice, and the soft pad of his shoes as he jogged to catch up with Raleigh. When he was close, he slipped an arm around the crook of Raleigh's elbow. "Why did you rush off without me?"
All Raleigh did was grunt, but then he immediately felt ashamed. Moshe was obviously trying to be conciliatory, clinging on to Raleigh like that and speaking in his most needy of voices—charades he knew Raleigh enjoyed. "I was tired, Moshe," Raleigh said. Before he could think better of it, he tacked on, "And I did not wish to interrupt your reunion with Frederick."
Moshe let out a low sigh. "We will be here for weeks, I will have plenty of time to speak with him." He seemed to hesitate before speaking again. "And you know, he wasn't mocking you before. He genuinely worries for you, Raleigh."
Damn it. Raleigh shook off Moshe's arm. "And I suppose you know exactly what he's thinking?"
"What?"
Raleigh stopped walking, and turned to glare at Moshe. "You prefer it here, don't you? To be away from my mountain stronghold."
Moshe's eyebrows pinched, his lips parting. "What does that have to do with anything?"
He hadn't denied it. Raleigh felt his stomach twist. With a dry swallow, he turned and continued down the hallway. He heard Moshe come after him. "Raleigh—" Moshe breathed, "—curse you. Stop walking away from me!"
A hand grabbed his wrist, and Moshe jerked him around. Raleigh felt ridiculous looming over Moshe while being the sulking child. Raleigh sighed. "I'm asking you honestly, Moshe. Are you happier here than at Chaylain?"
He saw a flicker in Moshe's expression, the slight downturn of his lips. "What would you do if I said yes?"
Ice washed over Raleigh. He was surprised that he didn't physically falter. What would he do? Would he tell Moshe to get over that, because he was bound to Raleigh, which meant he was bo
und to Chaylain? Or would he bend … "Moshe," he said slowly, "If you are truly weary of living with me, I would permit you an—" it pained Raleigh to speak, "—extended visit every year." His face twisted, the words sour on his tongue. "But no more than a season," he bit out. He couldn't help it.
He expected to see bold triumph on Moshe's face because he had finally slackened rules he had vowed would always stand. But what he saw was sparking fury in those sharp eyes, and was taken aback.
Moshe dug his fingers into Raleigh's wrist. "You would be fine with that?" he snarled. Before Raleigh could respond, he continued, "And how relieved would you be at my absence, Raleigh? You would have your precious solitude back, of course."
Just the idea of walking Chaylain's halls while knowing Moshe wasn't there already had Raleigh irritated. To consider the idea of being relieved was laughable. He reached forward, cupping the back of Moshe's head to draw their faces close. Moshe's expression turned obstinate as he did so. "Are you mocking my generosity?" Raleigh growled.
He couldn't read the look that passed over Moshe's face. But then he did recognize the smirk. "I just find it hard to believe that you would follow through on such an offer."
"Oh?" Raleigh replied, easing the way his body was tensed, letting a small smile grace his own lips.
Moshe looked downright devious. "What would you do if I decided to never come back, after all?"
It took every ounce of will not to swing back towards rage at that. Raleigh knew Moshe was teasing him, but he had sensed something else there, something honest. Very carefully, he gentled his hold on Moshe, slid his hand down to palm Moshe's neck. "I would have to storm the gate, my beloved."
Moshe relaxed, let out a beleaguered sigh that they both knew was posturing. He leaned in towards Raleigh's touch. "I don't doubt that."
However, to Raleigh's unease, it appeared that he did. But then Moshe smiled at him and took his hand, clearing away Raleigh's thoughts. "Come," Moshe said. "We both need to rest after that journey."
*~*~*
Raleigh was pleased.