A Royal Affair

by John Wiltshire

  Aleksey had never had to cope with grief before, and now he was coping with it whilst thrust into a role in which he could not show it. He had to talk about his father all day but only about funeral and coronation arrangements. It was all about him now, his father’s legacy being washed away in order for the new to be brought in. How were the coins to be reminted? The flags altered? The heads of state of Europe to be informed… and so on. He needed me, but I did not know how to help him. I had only a child’s experience of grief: fear overwhelming sadness very effectively. It was not every five-year-old boy who had to face his mother’s hair hanging from a lance.

  Women think men think like them, and if they can only find the right button to press we will unleash all the emotion we carry around inside us. Men do feel things as deeply as women, but our first recourse is not to let this emotion out in speech, tears, or tantrums. We lock it down and let it fester inside us until it comes out in violence, bravado, anger, and cruelty. If a woman had been treated as I was treated on board the whaler sailing to England, I do not believe she would have reacted as I did. She might have cried and begged for relief, as I did during the very worst of it, but she would not have waited her opportunity and then murdered the entire crew, just in sight of land. These painful memories plagued me as I watched Aleksey suffer, powerless to help him. I knew he was feeling things very deeply but also knew he would not cry or rail against his fate.

  But I did not want him to burst out one night and murder everyone.

  Something had to be done. And in trying to do something, Aleksey discovered my secret—that I was not sailing with him—which then achieved what I had been trying to do in the first place.

  I picked my time to get him alone by waking very early, visiting Xavier and making some preparations with him and then joining the king’s servants, who took him hot water in the morning. We were no longer in our villa together. Aleksey had been moved to the citadel, as befitted his new status. I had moved there too and had found a bed sharing a room with the Hesse-Davian citadel guards. They knew me from the war and from my reputation (both as the army’s doctor and the painted savage who had ridden alongside their king in the cavalry charge), so we bunked down relatively harmoniously. It was either that or some ministers, and I preferred the cock measuring and straight talk of the soldiers to all the ministers’ obsequiousness.

  Aleksey woke to find me patiently holding his hot towel for shaving and waiting humbly by his bowl of hot water for washing. I was neither patient nor humble, of course, but as the servants were still present and the ministers starting to arrive, I could do no more than wink at him and watch as he was stripped and washed. That alone was worth the early start.

  As he was dressing, or being dressed I should say—I wondered if he actually had to hold his own cock to piss and determined to ask him if I could only get him alone—that I made my observation that His Majesty was not looking well. Priests, ministers, servants, hangers-on—I had no idea who all these people were, and I doubted Aleksey did either—all stopped what they were doing and stared at the king, as if he were about to die on them, there and then. To be fair, they had experienced something of a bad year with their monarchy. King Gregor had effectively spent the whole of the year dying, then actually had, spectacularly squashed flat. His heir had been missing, presumed not dead for many hours until discovered covered in Saxefalians, and now I was saying their new king looked sick.

  Aleksey had trouble keeping his face straight. I suggested some fresh air. The court thought this an excellent idea. I suggested a ride. Dozens of horses were saddled, including ours.

  To my surprise, Aleksey had a new horse—as befitted a new king, I suppose. It was a gift from the Saxefalians, part of their war reparation. She was Andalusian—a horse of kings. Aleksey had named her Boudica, warrior queen.

  Aleksey thought a ride an excellent idea as well. He was thinking exactly what I was thinking: once we were mounted, no one would be able to catch us. I don’t suppose he had gone quite as far with this as I, for I had us riding to the ends of the earth where no one would ever catch us again. He certainly saw the possibilities of us finally having some time alone together, however.

  We rode out as a group of some forty-seven, I believe: king, counselors, ministers, guards, three priests, servants, four women I cannot identify but who could have been wives of the ministers, and me. We rode sedately toward the beach, for even on horseback Aleksey had to confer, decide, sign, delegate, and rule. I let him take the brunt of this for a while, and then when a lull came, when I saw those not accustomed to such early-morning exercise were tiring, I suggested to the king that he might benefit from a canter—to stir his blood and drive out the bad humors. Everyone loved doctors mentioning humors; I thought it might do the trick. There was a general murmuring of consensus, and Aleksey was allowed to ride faster, alone, away from the group. I swung Xavier out from my position. One glance and we were away, galloping up the sand, our horses desperate for the exercise, their hooves drumming together, muscles bunched and stretched, tails high, manes in our faces. We swerved to the dunes, then galloped up them and into the forest. Without the need for words, I slid to the ground. Aleksey took the reins and preceded me into the darkness of the trees. I covered our tracks and ran to catch him up.

  We were so pleased with our ruse that we wasted the first moments laughing. I fell upon him—literally. We rolled upon the frosty ground, kissing, tearing at our clothes despite the cold. He was so hard I pitied his saddle. I was the same but not for long. As ever with our passion, it was quickly spent in the urgency and the longing. We never had enough time together, so when we did see each other, this always happened. We laughed it off. We would rise again very quickly, and I had not planned this small escape for him just to see him spill or for him to bring me the same relief, although that was a very pleasant start to our day.

  Aleksey lay in my arms, staring at me as if he’d not seen me at all for weeks, whereas we had actually seen each other every day. He roused suddenly. “You will get cold, Niko.”

  I grinned. “That is where you are wrong, sire….”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, don’t start that. It’s sire this, sire that, Your Majesty, your arseing Godhead, all day long.”

  “Tsk-tsk, child, such language from a king. I, for one, am shocked. And I like calling you my sire. It has a kind of equine flavor with vague hints of sexual impropriety, do you not think?” I don’t think Aleksey was much interested in my sense of humor or my thoughts. He was more interested in my body, which suited me very well. I let him roam and explore as much as the frosty ground allowed, but then I felt it was time to show him what I had brought with me. I dragged my breeches up and, holding them with one hand, went to the pack at Xavier’s side and pulled out some kindling, my flint, and some food and wine.

  His eyes lit up. “A picnic!”

  I gave him a look. “A soldierly campfire, I think.” I proceeded to get our fire lit and put some food on to cook.

  “I wonder what they are all doing.”

  “Calling out the army, I should think. How long do you think you have before they write you off and declare someone else king?”

  “God knows. I think they’ll give me a day. I’m quite popular, apparently.”

  I think that was my cue to seize him and tell him he was popular with one person at least. I had almost forgotten the perfection of his lips. I needed to study them now, kissing, pulling off and looking, trying a new place, more study…. He grew impatient and used his tongue to stop my game. Once that was touching mine, all thoughts of play vanished from my mind. He stirred me so easily. I could feel the tip of my member digging into his thigh. How I longed to push in elsewhere, where flesh would part for me. Something of this must have been on his mind too, for he murmured into the kissing, “Being king has not made this decision easier between us, has it?”

  I shook my head and pulled away, but he pulled me back, enfolding me in his arms. “I have been thinking.”


  “Uh-huh. State affairs and important kingly things, I hope.”

  “Nope, about fucking.”

  “Aleksey, you are very bad, and I will have to….” I had him bent over and had got in two hard smacks before he managed to wriggle away and then attempt to take his revenge. I told him he’d gotten soft as king, which was unfair of me as he was no weaker than before. I was just stronger, and he could not take any effective revenge at all—other than denying me everything, which he did, until I was forced to beg. It’s hard to beg effectively whilst laughing, but I carried it off to his kingly satisfaction, and I was allowed my privileges once more. As I was taking full advantage of this, parting his shirt from his shoulders and kissing down his smooth skin toward one nipple, he held my head and repeated, “I’ve been thinking about—stop, Niko. I am trying to talk to you.”

  “I can listen and do this as well. Go on.”

  “I was thinking that if I tried other things, then that might come more easily for me.”

  I lifted my head. “Other things?” Our food was ready, so I removed it from the fire to cool a little and opened the wine. I’d brought three bottles, not that I intended to get Aleksey drunk, but I hoped I might persuade him to stay all day and all night, in which case three seemed like a good number.

  “Hmm.” His hand went to the front of my breeches and slid inside. I gritted my teeth at the pleasure, determined to make it last a little longer this time. “You know… what you witnessed in the camp and found so distasteful. I was wondering—”

  “You are very stupid for a king, Aleksey, did you know that?”

  He huffed. “As almost all the other kings of Europe are witless as wood, I suppose being stupid is quite an achievement. Pray, why am I stupid?”

  “I did not find it distasteful. I wanted to do it to you and could not.”

  Color flushed his cheeks. “Oh.” He pouted. “Well, there you are. That is what I was thinking. I would like to… take you in my… mouth and”—he finished in a rush—“then I could, you know, work up to taking you inside my body. What do you think?”

  I pretended to give it very deep thought. But he would have been as stupid as I had accused him of being if he did not know I was only teasing him. “So, sire, you have been thinking about sucking my cock when you were taking counsel of your ministers?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “And receiving priests and taking mass? Thinking about the taste of me upon your tongue?”

  “Nikolai, don’t! I am not such a heathen as you. You are a shockingly bad man. I might have to banish you. One wave of my hand, you know, and you’ll be gone.”

  “Oh, really? Try it!” He did. It didn’t work, and I made him try it many times, whilst I proved to him that I was, indeed, still there. But I was close to spilling by now, and I did not want to waste it, if he wanted to try this new thing. It was not new to me, but I had the sense of all more experienced lovers not to point this out to him just then. It would not have been well received—discussions and explanations possibly having to follow.

  With a look for permission, he eased my breeches down. I lay back, arms folded under my head to stop myself forcing him. Being held and pressed on is extremely unpleasant, as any man will tell you who has indulged in this activity. I felt one tentative touch of tongue to tip and rose in an arc, back bowed, groaning in shocked pleasure. I had done this before, but not with him. My reaction gave him all the encouragement he needed. He opened his mouth and took me in.

  I have had far more experienced men bring me to conclusion in their mouths but never one who gave me such intense pleasure. Unskilled, he broke off to ask me how and where, and I showed him. Innocent, he asked me what, and I tried to explain to him how it felt as he moved and changed position and worked anew to give me pleasure. I’d never been consulted or engaged before, and it was the most erotic thing I have ever experienced: this beautiful man concentrating entirely on my cock, my spill, my delight. For that time, I was the king and he my subject, and both of us reveled in our new roles. When I released, I eased him off and held my cock to spill upon my belly. Not all men like to know the taste of another’s seed, and I did not want him to feel a failure if he was one of these. Instead, I let him spread me around on my hard belly and play. I was entirely sated and content to lie there with his fingers trailing through the glistening mess.

  I held him in my arms as we ate our food, leaning back against a tree, legs stretched side by side toward the fire. His hair was in my face; it had never smelled so sweet before. I commented on this, asking him if I should call him Alexandra, to which he replied that I could try—as I already had two death sentences hanging over my head, one more would not matter.

  I could not work this out. One, I could fathom; after all, I was fucking the king. Death indeed. “Why two? That seems harsh, sire.”

  “You are a deserter, Niko. I have not signed your discharge papers from the army.”

  “Oh. Are you going to?”

  “I can’t. I’m not head of the army anymore, remember?”

  “Well, who can sign them?”

  He chuckled. “No one, until I appoint a new head. Isn’t it wonderful how much power I have?”

  “Perhaps you could use some of it and pass me the wine. So, three death sentences… I am favored of the gods. Is there not a myth of a great warrior who could not die, and he kept getting killed in war but then reviving only to have to fight and die again?”

  “I’ve never heard that, but it would make a good story. How sad. What happened to him when he grew old? Imagine living forever but getting older as well. You would shrivel to nothing.”

  “Rather like me now you’ve sucked me dry.”

  He chuckled. “You’re not shriveled, and you’re not nothing even when soft, so stop fishing for compliments. I am a king and do not have to compliment my minions—or their cocks.”

  If he’d wanted to be punished for calling me a minion, he was disappointed. I was too content sitting with him in my arms and smelling his hair.

  He sighed. “I expect they are frantic by now. What are we to tell them when we return?”

  “We are not returning. I am kidnapping you and taking you to the ends of the earth. I will build us a cabin by a stream, and I will teach you to hunt—”

  “I know how to hunt!”

  “Not my way, and don’t interrupt, or I won’t tell you the best parts.”

  “Is this one of your theories?”

  “Not at all, it is all quite real. I have a map and plans and—”

  “And we both know how well our plans work on first contact with the enemy. But go on. I want to hear the good parts.”

  “Hmm, well, we will hunt and fish and make our own clothes.” I ignored his derisive comment on this as he showed me the new lace on his cuffs. “You can still be a king if you want, but you will only have one subject, so I fear your kingdom will be very small. I think I will appoint myself master of the bedchamber.”

  “Surely if I only have one subject in my very small kingdom, then you will be everything, will you not?”

  I smiled into his hair. “All right, then. I will be your everything.” I slid my hands down to his lap and began to slowly unlace him, kissing the back of his neck as I did. He twisted his head around so I could reach his mouth, and I tasted this at the same time as my cold hands found his cock.

  He stilled my hands and whispered into my mouth, “Show me how it can be done, Niko. I was not skilled, but I want to get better. Suck me.”

  I should have taken this invitation calmly, laid him down and showed him how expertly these things could be done, but I did not.

  I fell upon him, overwhelmed with need. I had been thinking about the feel and taste of him in my mouth for so many months that it did not feel like a first time. I was entirely home. I took him very deep: right to the back of my throat. I knew by his sharp cry of delight and shock that he had never even thought this possible. He was in an awkward position to get him deep enough,
so I made him stand against the tree. I knelt to him. This position, me kneeling to him, him the king, added some extra spice I had not planned. It was incredibly erotic. I could stretch my neck and take him down a very long way, and Aleksey was well blessed in his member. I worked him hard, holding his slim naked hips in my hands. He was gripping the trunk of the tree so tightly his nails had whitened. If we had been discovered at that moment, I think we would both have demanded they wait until we had finished, although my demand would have been muffled.

  Finally, I knew he was there. I eased off and encouraged the spill with my tongue and caught the release with open mouth. He pulsed copiously, despite his earlier spills, young as he was and awed as he was by this first experience of such delight. I rose to my feet, seized him once more, and kissed him with a passion he had not yet known. He could taste himself, and I knew that next time he took me so he would want to taste me fully too. I would let him.

  We replenished the fire. I had half a mind to go through with my plan to kidnap him then. I could not bear the thought of returning to the court and seeing him every day but not seeing him. At least in the army, when we had struggled with our mutual unspoken desire, we had actually been able to speak and flirt and be with each other all day. This new life was agony for me, and I told him so. He said his was not a bed of roses either, and we argued about this quite pleasantly as we drank the second bottle of wine. We’d missed the arguing too, he more than me, for no one argued with the king. I promised that I would always take that role on for him, and he was suitably grateful.

  After a while and half a bottle more of wine, I finally asked him how he was feeling—about the death of his father, his brother, and all the changes that had occurred. I am very selfish, for I could have asked him this at the beginning, but I had had other things on my mind and had not wanted to ruin the moment. He told me that he was fine. He was very busy, too busy to mope, as he called it, and then he changed the subject, asking me what I had been doing and how many anal fissures I had explored since he last saw me. I pointed out that I cauterized them, not explored them, but I saw through his attempt to distract me and would have pushed him to admit his sorrow when he came out with unfortunate news.