by Eli Easton
“As you say.” For once, Christian and Livermore looked tired. It was a hot day, and the young knight, glistening with sweat, gazed at the river longingly from his mount.
“Let’s set the camp back from the river, so we’ll not be seen by anyone drifting by,” William said.
They found a small clearing in the woods not far from the river and tended the horses together in silence. It was still early for supper, and there was not the usual haste to set up camp before nightfall.
William glanced at Christian as he finished feeding Livermore. “Go bathe while it’s light. I’ll finish with the horses and start the fire.”
“No, you go. I’ll make the fire,” Christian offered.
William growled. “You are not my squire, Christian. I can start the bedamned fire for once. Go on, before I pick you up and toss you in the water myself.”
Christian opened his mouth to protest, but the look on William’s face stopped him. He grinned and gave a courtly bow. “As you wish, m’lord.” He took some soap from his saddlebags and ran off toward the river with a whoop of joy.
William chuckled to himself. He stretched and started looking around for deadwood, his heart inexplicably light. Gathering the wood did not take long. William dumped it in the center of the clearing and looked at it for a moment. The sun was still warm. It would be a waste of wood to start the fire now. Besides, he, too, was hot and sweaty, and the river beckoned. With a lazy grin, he answered.
When William stepped from the woods onto the stony riverbank and saw Christian in the river, his happy anticipation of a bath was snuffed out like a candle caught in the gust of a brewing storm.
Christian was completely naked and hip-deep in the water, hair and skin wet, as he scrubbed at his arms with a bit of cloth and lye soap. William’s knees were suddenly unwilling to support him. It would be weak to retreat into the forest now, even if he had the will to do so, and he did not. But neither could he bear to disturb this vision. So he quietly made his way to a large, flat rock on the riverbank and sat, his legs bent and spread, arms on his knees. And watched.
By the Holy Virgin. Clothed, Christian was striking. Naked, he was inhuman—a heavenly vision. His shoulders and arms were roped with muscle. His chest and stomach were so lean and pale that every ridge, curve, and nuance that lay beneath the skin could be seen. The bumpy plain of his abdomen marched from breastbone to the waterline like a cobbled road. A girdle of muscle topped his narrow hips and veed inward, disappearing below the lucky tide.
As they’d ridden farther and farther from his father’s castle, Christian’s face had gradually let slack its defenses. And now, as he bathed, it was open and vulnerable, with a vaguely dreamy look in those dark eyes. He looked like a male nymph or a godling.
Christian dunked under the water, rinsing himself. Then he floated onto his back, legs kicking. This raised his hips to the surface, revealing his cock, which was long and thick in its silken sheath and slightly swollen.
William drew in a ragged breath. Perfect. Christian was so damnably perfect.
The world William inhabited was frequently ugly. Any market in the land was rife with faces ravaged by fevers and pox. Malformations of limbs were not uncommon, by birth or the crude setting of broken bones. Equally as common were cleft lips, disfiguring birthmarks, scars, and the effects of malnutrition. Men were ofttimes coarse and unwashed. Women had a brief youthful bloom that faded quickly, like wildflowers in the field. But Christian… he was unique, a rose blooming on a frozen tundra. Had Christian been a woman, he might have married a king. As a man, he could have any woman’s bed—or all of them.
He could inspire ballads.
He could inspire wars.
William watched, bewitched, as Christian’s lazy kicks spun him closer to the riverbank. He stood suddenly, and he was only thigh-deep—thigh-deep, with water streaming down his skin, and partially erect.
Christian looked down at himself with a musing, distant look, his thoughts faraway. His hand skimmed down his chest to grasp himself with a small, secret smile. He glanced up then, toward the woods, as if to verify he was alone—and froze when he saw William sitting on the rock.
Christian’s hand fell from his cock in horror, and then both hands came up to cover it. His cheeks stained scarlet, sending red tendrils as far down as his jaw. He abruptly turned his back.
“I was going to ask if the water is cold,” William teased, though his voice sounded deep and rough. “But the evidence suggests that it cannot be as cold as all that.”
“I didn’t know you were there,” Christian said, a rather obvious statement.
For a moment he seemed frozen with panic or indecision. He did not turn around—but neither did he walk farther into the river to cover himself. His shoulders relaxed in acceptance and then… then he shifted ever so slightly, his back stiffening in confidence as if he were saying Look at me, then.
The air grew heavy and charged. William felt it thickening around him even as he blinked in dazed attention at his new view. He stared in awe at the shape of Christian’s back—his shoulders so broad for that slender frame, his torso narrowing to the tender flesh of his waist, dimpled there at the small of his back, and then swelling again into the plush curves of his arse….
William had been hard since he first glimpsed Christian in the river. But now a powerful lust—a crude word, a crude emotion, but accurate enough—curled around William’s chest and groin like a constricting snake, and squeezed. He could scarcely breathe.
Oh God. By the saints, by the Virgin, by the most sacred blood.
He was suddenly aware that he was standing on a knife’s edge.
Over the weeks they’d been together, without William even realizing it, the firmament of his resolve and control and self-denial had been eaten away far below the surface. And now he could feel how thin the thread was that held him in check—perilously, horrifyingly, inconsequentially thin. He wanted Christian fiercely, and he was a hair’s breadth from taking him.
He stood abruptly and headed for the woods.
“William.” Christian’s voice rang out sharply, stopping him in his tracks.
William paused, his back to the river. He could not look.
“They call you the Lion. I wouldn’t have expected you to be such a dog-hearted coward.”
Christian’s voice held disdain. And those words, those outrageous, inflammatory words, made William tremble, literally shake in his boots.
No man spoke to him like that.
William was filled with an imperative urge to stride into that river and grab Christian, push him, tackle him, hold him down, make him take it back—those words—to make him… beg. To take him, to crush him, to kiss him. To fuck him.
William’s trembling fingers scrabbled at the laces of his gambeson, and, with a muttered curse, he ripped it over his head and threw it. He yanked off first one boot, then the other, hurling them at the trees furiously and causing birds to take flight in alarm. Then his linen shirt was pulled over his head and away, suffering a nasty tear from his fit of pique. He only barely refrained from spitting on it for good measure.
He almost left his hose on, striding toward the river still in them. But the wool was a bastard to dry, and he needed something more to assuage his wrath before he got his hands on anything that could bruise. So he stopped and yanked them down. He was so hard that his cock slapped against his belly loudly as it pulled free of his hose. In his rage, he felt not the slightest prickle of shame.
Christian was wide-eyed as William stormed into the water. He put his hands up in front of himself, as if to ward William off, but his face told a different story. He gazed up and down William’s approaching form with unmistakable hunger, lingering on his chest, then his cock. And if he’d intended to run, like any sane man would have done, it was too late, because suddenly William was there.
William grabbed Christian’s upper arms in his strong hands and pulled Christian up, holding him so their faces were on a level and
his feet were off the riverbed. William didn’t bring Christian close. He just held him, firmly. And he glared, growling low in his throat.
Christian licked his lips, looking slightly nervous. But his eyes were heated, and they slipped from William’s eyes to linger on his lips and then down to the muscles of his chest. When Christian met William’s eyes again, it was abundantly clear that he wasn’t going to struggle, wasn’t going to resist, or even defend himself with that wicked tongue. He tilted his head back slightly, his eyes going half-lidded, as if offering his throat.
God’s teeth! The man was more beautiful than anything in the heavens or on the earth. And William’s anger merged with a strangling desire.
“Do you. Want me?” William asked through gritted teeth, because he wanted to do this, he had to. But he wouldn’t take what was not freely offered.
Christian answered fiercely. “Since the first time I saw you on the jousting field and every minute since.”
William pulled Christian in, wrapped him in strong arms, and kissed him.
Oh.
Oh, the feel of Christian in his arms. William pressed him tight, crushing that beautiful body against him as firmly as he could without causing harm. Christian’s flesh was warm above from the heat of the sun and cool below from the river. And the lean strength of him, the flat chest against his own, the hard cock pressed next to his, felt so right and perfect that it filled William with shivers of delight and brought a stinging heat to the back of his eyes.
Oh. William was so lost.
He plundered Christian’s mouth, tasting him deeply. His mouth was warm like a summer day and earthy like the woods and… innocent. Christian was all eagerness, almost frantic with desire. He wrapped his arms around William’s shoulders in a painful clutch, and he crushed his lips to William’s as demandingly as a starving newborn lamb attacked the teat. But for all that, his mouth was untutored, his moves hesitant.
How was it possible that no one had ever kissed this man?
The thought brought a wave of tenderness, and William softened his hold. He pressed his palms flat on Christian’s back and relaxed his grip. But Christian would have none of it. He pulled himself in tighter and began to rut against William’s stomach in desperation. His cock was still a bit slippery from the water as it rubbed against William’s dry skin. William groaned, wanting to give him what he needed, what they both needed. He turned and started for the riverbank, following a deep instinct to lay Christian down on the ground and take him.
But then he stopped—Christian was not a woman. William did not know what to do. He knew it was possible to take a man’s arse, but he wasn’t sure how the thing was done, not without brutality and pain. So he swallowed down his pressing need and carried Christian deeper into the water.
Christian couldn’t believe he’d challenged William like that—called him a dog-hearted coward. It was a dangerous gambit. But he’d just… he couldn’t stand it anymore, all the dancing and denial. No man was meant to suffer so much for the want of love. It wasn’t fair.
Ever since the night they’d talked at the fire, Christian had been sure. Well, almost sure. What he’d seen in William’s eyes that night convinced him that William wanted him, that he’d been as aroused as Christian himself. So when he’d caught William watching him on the riverbank, desire written all over his face, Christian had needed, acutely, and he was determined not to accept another diversion. So he’d pushed.
And he’d won. It was William’s colors that lay now, muddied, on the tournament field. But in victory, Christian only felt the desire to surrender completely, to let William take him, do whatever he willed. Dear Holy Mother, anything, as long as William didn’t pull away, as long as this heady feeling didn’t end.
Christian pressed himself hard against that broad frame. William was strong and sturdy and immovable. Nothing in Christian’s entire life had prepared him for how this felt—so safe, so wondrous, so arousing. William’s skin was smooth silk over hard muscle. His lips were as soft as Christian had imagined they would be. His tongue stroked in Christian’s mouth, and every caress spurred Christian’s need higher and higher. William’s cock was as hard as the river stones had been beneath Christian’s feet. William was that hard for him.
Christian rutted helplessly against William’s stomach, along the side of his shaft. The friction on his aching flesh was so pleasurable he couldn’t still his hips or his cries.
William began to carry Christian toward the riverbank, but then suddenly they were moving deeper into the water. William pulled his mouth away.
“Put your legs round me,” he said as the water crept up to Christian’s waist.
Christian did. He wrapped his legs around William’s hips as he’d secretly dreamed of and recaptured William’s mouth, desperate for the taste of him. The cool water lapped at the furrow between Christian’s legs, tickled the undersides of his bollocks in a marvelous fashion. But the new position meant his cock was not as tightly against William’s stomach, and he whined in frustration and tilted his hips, trying to get closer.
“William,” Christian begged.
William groaned in answer and half swam backward, pulling them in deeper.
“By my sword, what you make me feel,” William growled. He pulled Christian in tight, hands on his arse, and ground them together. Yes. There.
The pleasure of it, the sheer sexual pleasure that came from the friction of Christian’s swollen, sensitized cock rubbing against William’s stomach and iron shaft, was so much more intense than anything Christian had ever felt when he’d touched himself that Christian was in awe of it. He got lost in the sensation—being in William’s arms, the sweet heat of his lips and tender tongue, the waves of delight as their cocks rutted against each other between their bodies.
That Christian could have a man like this—and not just any man, but William, a man more handsome, stronger, and more decent than any he’d ever known—seemed entirely unreal. As if by all rights, the earth should cleave in two at the audacity of Christian daring to be so happy, daring to get so much.
Then William, with a moan, removed one hand from Christian’s backside and pushed it between them, taking them both in his large hand.
Christian threw back his head at the sensation of those strong, calloused fingers on his shaft, and the press of William’s large cock moving tightly against his own. He couldn’t stop the moans that poured from his throat.
“Christian, look at me,” William ground out.
Christian looked.
“Need to see your eyes. So beautiful,” William panted.
“William.” Christian stared into William’s stormy blue eyes. The level of intimacy in the act shattered him.
“You’re so beautiful, Christian. So fine. You should know that. You should—”
The words were too tender, too much. They tipped Christian over the edge.
“Ah! Oh God!” He squeezed his eyes shut as orgasm overtook him, streaming hot from his flesh into the cool river tide.
“Look at me!” William cried.
Christian forced his eyes open, still in the throes of his release, and he saw William’s pleasure wash across his face. His cock pulsed against Christian’s. Christian drew his hand down quickly to the head of William’s cock, because he had to feel it, needed proof of William’s desire. The hot semen struck his palm with surprising force even underwater. It was such a vulnerable, erotic thing that William was letting him see, letting him feel, that it touched the core of him. William held Christian’s gaze fiercely until the last of the ecstasy had faded from his eyes.
Christian felt profoundly changed. He knew he could never go back to the person he’d been just an hour ago. Something had irrevocably shifted inside him. But as their ardor faded, he suddenly felt unsure. He wanted to bury his face in William’s neck, to feel their heartbeats slowing together in the warm circle of William’s arms. But he feared that, with William’s passion spent, his denial would return and he’d look at Chri
stian like he was perverted and wrong, perhaps want to punish him. Christian tried to pull away.
“No,” William said, pressing him tight.
Christian was stiff for a moment, but when it was clear William was not going to relent, he relaxed in his arms, placing his forehead on William’s shoulder with a sigh.
“I wish you could see yourself as I see you,” William said quietly.
“How do you see me?”
William stroked his back. “Perfect in every way. If I could freeze time and place, I would choose this moment and this river, with you.”
Christian’s heart soared at the words, a stab of joy so acute that it hurt. But then he also heard what William had not said—but we cannot freeze time, and this cannot last.
Christian pushed the thought away, refusing to mar his happiness. He placed his hands on William’s waist, relishing the feel of the taut skin under the water. Say what you like. You are mine and forever will be.
“And you are my perfection,” Christian said, and then quickly, so William need not reply, “Now let me loose, and I’ll hunt us a fine dinner.”
Chapter 11
They worked in companionable silence as they made camp and cooked dinner. Christian caught four rabbits in the forest—the woods were overflowing with them—and William broke out a fresh round of bread from Whalley. They shared a pungent red wine William had purchased at The King’s Horse, where he’d filled his leather costrel. There was no need for idle conversation.
When Christian would have sat several feet away from him at the fire, William patted a place next to him on the log. As they ate, they bumped knees and elbows, but neither moved to put distance between them.
Now that William had taken the step he’d fought all his life, there was no undoing it, and he would not waste time on regret. He didn’t feel ashamed or confused. He felt… strongly protective. He wanted to shield Christian from any more pain, including the pain Christian obviously expected in the form of William’s cruelty. William would never be cruel, not to Christian, not deliberately. But he didn’t have to be, because the situation was cruel enough. William felt the first knot of a great sorrow born under his ribs. He knew how brief a reign this thing between them would have. It had to be brief, for Christian’s own good if not for the sake of William’s honor. But that made him all the more greedy for every moment of it.