*This is a chapter from a longer work by me that I’ve adapted to work as its own stand-alone story. I’ve previously posted another chapter [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/c38gx2/even_dungeons_can_be_pleasant_in_a_good_company/). The full story (WIP) can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054345), but you don’t need to read it to get the stand-alones.*
___
Scandalous events were unfolding at Behem Castle.
Now if you told that to anyone in the entire kingdom, you’d be met with immediate incredulity. What, Behem? But that’s the most proper and respectable place in this whole proper and respectable country! All misbehaviour is efficiently culled there, thanks to the efforts of that stern and pious soul, the Lady of Behem, a true guardian of morality. Surely, you must be mistaken?
Not the least surprised would be the castle’s denizens themselves. These long hot days just after Midsummer looked to them perfectly ordinary. Even with that war going on less than a hundred miles away, the atmosphere here, within these well-guarded walls, was sleepy and stagnant. The soldiers kept their dull watch, posted along the battlements. The servants criss-crossed the grassy courtyard, going on about their respectable business. An elderly cook adjusted her apron and swept the dust off the kitchen’s threshold with an elderly broom. Then she leaned against the whitewashed wall, pleasantly cool in the deep blue shadow, and scrutinised this familiar space.
Across the courtyard the chapel to the gods soared to the sky, a grand structure that dominated its environs; its garden was to the right, though it was obscured by the tangle of gnarled junipers, which reached like a dark band all the way to the massive and yellowish armoury tower.
Now a glimpse of light colour appeared in the corner of the old woman’s eye, to the left of the chapel. Walking briskly along the grass, dressed all in white, was the girl. Not just any girl. The cook leaned on her broom and licked her withered lips, watching her carefully. That young lady over there was a princess, a princess of distant royal kinship. Lady Gabrielle. She’d been quite the talk of the castle’s servants when she first arrived here some two months ago. It was claimed that she had been caught doing unseemly things, that she was sent here in hopes of improving her character, under watchful eyes of the chapel’s monks and away from the temptations of the capital city.
Now, the cook naturally didn’t believe these rumours, and scolded anyone foolish enough to spread them. The girl was of noble blood. The nobles don’t do unseemly things. That’s why they’re noble. That’s why they sit above the common folk, and if the common folk grow wayward, they punish and correct them. This is how we all live in harmony. And this is how it should be.
The cook shrugged and retired indoors, the world making perfect sense to her.
By the chapel’s oaken door a soldier was standing idly, hoping for an excuse to slip inside. They’d set up a temporary infirmary there, for the wounded that they had carted over here from the war. The soldier was eager to hear their tales. About the battles they fought. About the things they’ve seen. About Kontaria.
Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea after all, to invade that place? Kontaria, that land of forests and lakes, of songs and sagas, so close yet so mysterious. They said that the people who lived there were wild, savage, definitely not respectable. Many alarming and titillating tales were circulating about them. They certainly seemed to fight well, as the invasion was stalling.
Presently the man straightened up and bowed his head slightly, chain mail clinking around his body. Past him, headed for the chapel’s garden, walked the princess, carrying a book and a tune. He glanced after her as she rounded the building’s corner. She was about twenty, very pretty, with her long blond hair and dark blue eyes, though on her face she tended to wear a smile even more derisive than most of the nobility’s. The soldier understood that she had a bit of a reputation. Rumour had it that they sent her here because she’d been caught with a boy, in a situation noble ladies had no business ever being caught. He ruminated on that for a second. Maybe she’s into soldiers, too? Oh, who cares. Never a good idea to mingle with the high-born; blue blood close to you only brings disaster. Besides, all he wanted to do now was to hear of the war, to discuss manoeuvres, plans, tactics. He very much doubted that the princess ever concerned herself with plans or tactics.
Anyway, there was clearly no point standing out here in the summer sun any longer. He’d try again in the evening, maybe. With unhurried steps he wandered off, towards the bathhouse, whose owner was an avid dice player; and towards dice only he now happily channelled all his thoughts of conquest.
And so the day was progressing in Behem, that exemplary citadel of virtue and righteousness. From the vaulted chambers of the Great Hall carved in black and white stone, to the cool and columnated nave of the chapel, to all the kitchens, armouries, houses, watchtowers, kennels and smithies and stables, everyone was thinking pious thoughts, or martial thoughts, or stern thoughts, and no mischief was taking place.
And in the middle of all that good behaviour, Princess Gabrielle paused by an ancient juniper bush and threw a quick, sharp glance behind her. Neither the woman by the kitchens nor the soldier by the oaken door were watching her anymore. All clear.
Barely anyone ever wandered into the chapel garden. It was filled with medicinal herbs for the monks’ use, and shaded with several old trees. The sprawling junipers isolated it from the rest of the courtyard, hiding you from prying eyes.
Now watch Gabrielle move. Though she’s careful not to make a sound, her steps appear careless. Though this place bears heavily down on her, her back is straight. Though she’s on constant lookout, her eyes are directed straight forward, mocking and studiously confident.
When you’re being guarded, the first thing you learn to conceal is the guardedness itself.
Keep your guard up. You learn that when you’re brought up to be pious and respectable, while in your heart affection broods and in time desire seizes you by the throat. You learn that when you live at the court, and around you great nobles rise to and plummet from royal grace, live their days in splendour and then slip and fall, fall hard. You learn that when you slip yourself, and the people you trusted let you fall, push you down even, if only that means that they can remain standing.
Thus, with this unassailable walk, Gabrielle moved towards the far end of the garden, towards the limestone wall of the armoury tower. The book she was carrying was just a decoy, an excuse to use if anyone did find her here. Her mind had for days been occupied by something quite other than literature – it had been working full-time on the plan she was forming, and the careful tactics that it required.
On the ground level of the tower’s wall were two vaulted niches, large enough to sit in. Deep within each there was a window, set up with flaking iron bars. They belonged to the castle’s old dungeon. A dungeon that had been unused for years – until very recently.
She took one more look around, and listened. The air was still; the herbs and the trees stirred not in the heat. A fat and shiny green lizard, sunning itself on the limestone, seemed to be the only other living creature around. Cautiously, Gabrielle perched by the outer edge of one of the niches and leaned to the barred window.
“You there?” she asked, softly.
From below, there was a light sound, quick silent movement; a pair of hands seized the bars from the inside, and behind them a face appeared – a broad grin, bright pale eyes, and messy auburn hair.
“I’m here. Where else do you propose I could be, exactly?”
This. This situation here. This was the scandal quietly gestating in Behem.
Was it of Gabrielle’s deliberate making? No, she wouldn’t say so. This whole thing would never have even started if she’d only been treated with some basic decency; with just a touch of humanity.
Good one. The Lady of this castle had no time for humanity. The Lady was at war; always at war between Good and Evil. Those obedient, strict, and uniform, those were good, and deserved the Lady’s love; those curious, lax, and irregular, those were evil, and deserved the Lady’s hate. Gabrielle – she was of the evil. The mere presence of a girl of her… tarnished… reputation in Behem was an embarrassment, only to be endured because her father the Prince himself had discreetly requested it.
He knew what he was asking for. He had to protect his asset. You can’t advantageously marry off an asset of a tarnished reputation. The asset’s character needs to improve. Let the asset sit in this place of great reputation for a while, and maybe it will soak some up.
And so she’s been soaking, for two months now, isolated here from all companionship, all entertainment. She was not to step beyond the castle’s walls, ostensibly for her own safety. She was not to write or receive letters. She was to study religious texts with the monks all mornings, and contemplate them all afternoons. How was that supposed to improve her character, she wasn’t sure; it seemed rather more calculated to break it, or perhaps, failing that, to have her die of sheer frustration and relieve everyone of her presence.
Well, at least it’d made her appreciate the idea of a good marital alliance. Maybe if she gets one right, she’d thought, she could consolidate some power, wait for a moment of internal turmoil, and then, one sunny day, send a nice little army here and burn this whole motherfucker to the ground. Oh well. A girl can dream.
Only two things of interest managed to happen over these two months. First, an army stopped by to supply on their way to Kontaria, bringing with it bustle and noise that refused to subside for a whole week. And then, some ten days ago, two injured cavalrymen returned, and brought with them a captive – a Kontarian scout.
Gabrielle was there in the courtyard when they arrived. She remembered it well. The Kontarian boy – he was only about her age – was bound, and he looked so lost and so scared when they took him off the horse and lead him into the dungeon. The idea was to keep him there until some heavyweight from the army stops by while resupplying and takes a moment to interrogate him – an interrogation which the prisoner wouldn’t be likely to survive.
Would she even have cared about that, had she anything other of interest to do? She didn’t know. As it was, the boy was on her mind constantly; his face, his eyes, his plight. And he was Kontarian; did it mean he was like all the tales claimed? She grew curious. She grew restless. A few days after his arrival, she managed to get the dungeon guard to let her secretly talk with the boy for a short while.
That is how it’d begun, the chain of events that now had her sneaking in this garden, plotting plans she really shouldn’t be plotting, and looking into this face. His face, whose expression always betrayed more of his feelings than his words; right now, for example, it was radiating enthusiasm. Gabrielle smiled, and sat down.
“Yeah, make fun of me, won’t you,” she said. “You could just greet me nicely, you know? ‘Good to see you, Gabrielle!’ ‘Couldn’t wait for you to come, Gabrielle!’”
“Why would I say such silly things?”
Her smile bared her upper teeth in a way that would have been predatory, had her eyes not remained so affectionate. “I know you’re thinking them. I can see that on your stupid face!”
He blushed, just a little. “I know that. That’s why I don’t have to add useless words on top too, right? And my face is not stupid, your face is stupid!”
Well, one thing they say about Kontarians is definitely true. They are unruly. Up to a point, anyway.
He never cared too much about her noble birth, even at their first meeting. He’d tried to act hostile to her, then. No wonder. He was just a regular guy, who worked at a horse pasture and enjoyed ball sports and bards’ songs and who was drafted into this war by necessity, and who got captured in his moment of carelessness while scouting, and taken far away from home, lost among his enemies, and waiting to be forced to betray any valuable information he might have. He hadn’t had hope to see a single sympathetic person for the rest of his entire life. He’d been resigned to die with his guard up.
And yet she took a liking to him – he was a lot more quick-witted than she’d credit a forest dweller with being, there was something endearing to his manner that he couldn’t quite plaster over while trying to act tough, and he was probably the only person in Behem that shared her opinion on the place. Besides, his rather threadbare prison garb had revealed to her quite a bit of his skin, of his slender body that, together with his cute face, and to the dismay of the aristocratic standards board within her head, ushered her thoughts towards some definitely impure territories.
He told her his name. He was called Aerin. And this would have been the end of their acquaintance, had something extraordinary not happened days later, on the night of Midsummer.
Back in the present, Gabrielle opened her book at a random page and made herself comfortable. He was somewhat less so – the cell was mostly underground, and to reach the window he had to stand with his toes in a gap among the wall’s stone bricks, embracing the iron bars with his elbows. The cell itself was spacious, intended for maybe ten or more people, and separated from the corridor that lead to it with a massive iron grille that functioned as its entire front wall. He was the dungeon’s only prisoner.
“One more week, Aerin,” she said. “I’ve got the carts and the gatehouse figured out. The carts leave in a week, an hour before dawn. That part is so easy I’m starting to second-guess myself.”
“It all comes down to the guard here, then…?”
“Yeah. Just him.”
“You’re remembering not to put yourself in any danger doing this, right?”
“Will you relax about that already? I know how to watch myself.”
With him at the bars and her at the outer edge of the window’s niche, they were at an arm’s length’s distance. He’d complained about the depth of these niches before – they prevented him from looking upwards, and he’d actually said that he’d never seen the sky in the whole time he’d been here – all he could look at was the grass, some shrubs, and the chapel’s blank wall. Gabrielle was actually fine with keeping a bit away. It’s true, she’d found out first-hand that the Kontarians aren’t as ferocious and hostile as they’re said to be, but a part of her mind, a tiny part which yet nonetheless held a veto right, retained an opinion that it was best not to be close to him when his hands are unchained. She’s a princess of an enemy kingdom, after all. What if he only chooses to appear friendly and grateful, but secretly wishes to strangle her, break her neck, bite through her throat? Yes, these thoughts ran contrary to her feelings, they were like annoying shards scraping at the bottom of her mind. But if you’re watching yourself, you don’t ignore such shards. And she knew how to watch herself.
When his hands *are* chained, though…
In this Kingdom, there is no day in the year more important than Midsummer. It’s a time for joy, for togetherness, a festival when you can forget yourself a bit – for even the inhabitants of this sullen land are human at heart, and need from time to time to do human things.
On the night of the Midsummer festival, very few people remained at the castle – almost everyone went down to the nearby town to celebrate. Gabrielle was obviously compelled to stay – safety reasons, of course, of course – and so she wandered the empty dark grounds like a disheartened ghost, surrounded by silence and fireflies. And that moonless night by chance she noticed that the door to the dungeon guard’s room was left ajar; and when she looked inside, she found the guard himself drunk and asleep.
Oh, that’s an opportunity, she thought. She could go down and try to get Aerin to talk with her again, that boy from a strange land, that single likeminded person in this horrible place. They could while away some time.
Talk? Is that what you want from him? Only that?
She stood very still, looking to the dark passage which lead down to the cells. In the hot night, her mad blood stirred.
What did she have to lose, anyway?
She took from the room a pair of iron fetters. She walked down the narrow stairs. In the light of a single torch, she found herself with Aerin, crossed by the bars.
Let me chain you to these bars, she said. What? Why? He didn’t understand. She was so tired of concealing, so tired of pretending. Because I want you. You’re here against your will, and so am I. I know it wouldn’t matter much in the end, but maybe, just maybe, we could make each other happy for a while?
Hey. Hey, you, Other Human. Don’t die with your guard up.
Are you willing?
Fetters jangled in her extended hand, and in his eyes torchlight glittered.
In the sunny afternoon, Gabrielle smiled to herself, fingers twirling unconsciously across the book’s cover.
“What are you laughing at?” Aerin asked from below.
She bit her lip. “Nothing.”
That night of the Midsummer festival she found him willing, very willing. He allowed himself to be fettered to the cell’s heavy bars. He allowed her to run her hands all along his naked body. She saw willingness in his glittering eyes. She heard willingness in his breaking breath. She felt willingness in the stiffness, firmness, hardness, when she reached and pushed her thumb against the underside if his cock.
And so it happened, that while the Lady of Behem was sternly observing her faithful servants celebrate Midsummer in the town below, the princess in her ward listened to her own moans as they echoed off the dungeon’s walls, stuffed full of Kontarian cock, and feeling truly herself for the first time in months. And towards the morning, as she was returning unsteadily to her chamber, mind in frenzy and body in afterglow, she felt that she found a new purpose here.
She would not let them harm Aerin. He did not deserve to die. Not because of this stupid bullshit war. Her pleas would, of course, find no sympathy here – but she did not intend to ask nicely. She had an urge to just let him go right then, taking advantage of the guard’s drunkenness; but with no plan to get to the border it’d be a useless gesture, a swift recapture the only possible result. Yet she would figure this out. She’d break him out, smuggle him out, whatever would be necessary; somehow, anyhow, she would find a way. Behem had not yet claimed her, and it would not be allowed to claim him. She declared her secret war, for his sake and for hers; they would not be broken.
She thought that the entire experience had rather improved her character.
She figured out that the windows of his cell opened to the garden, and that the overgrowing bushes provided them with shelter, allowing her to talk to him through the bars unnoticed. They made a good use of this; for the past several days they spent their afternoons talking in low muted voices. About themselves; about Behem; about Kontaria, about the Kingdom, about getting out of here.
For the last several days, too, she’d been devising a plan to break him out. Some parts were already in place (jute sacks; boys stuffed quietly in jute sacks; inconspicuous jute sacks loaded onto supply wagons heading for the border forts). Some parts still required consideration – most importantly, how to get Aerin past the dungeon guard. She was frankly stumped here, and with time running short, she was starting to get anxious. This is what they now spent several hours discussing.
Various ways of distracting, disarming, and all-round disabling the guard were floated; none of them made much sense. The man in question was enormous and meticulous. He required a refined approach, and after a while they had to concur that no solution seemed likely to occur to them today.
There is still time, she reminded herself. A whole week. There was no way they wouldn’t come up with something, just no way. *This has to turn out alright.*
Overhead a seagull drifted bright against the sky, heading east. Gabrielle blinked. What business could have brought it this far inland? Why would you be here, above Behem, when you had the free choice to be literally anywhere else in the world? Then she reflected, and tapped at her dress.
“I’ve got something for you, by the way.” She reached out, instinctively careful to stay out of his arms’ range, and placed near the bars a small flat and round object. He picked it up and examined it, puzzled; it was a hand mirror, in a thin tin frame. “I thought if you held it out at an angle, you could maybe see the sky. Might be silly, but…”
He extended out his hand as far as he could and rotated the mirror. On its surface the lurid limestone whizzed past, and where it ended, the endless blue expanse opened. He stared. High above him, far far far away, clouds were floating lightly by. He had almost forgotten the concept of a long distance. The outside great world still existed beyond his dungeon. It was all still there.
Gabrielle sat motionless, observing the intent focus in his eyes. His eyes were themselves like the sky at that moment, she thought, two lit up pieces lost underground.
Eventually he withdrew the mirror, and gave her that broad, teeth-full grin of his.
“Thanks,” he said. “That’s real nice, actually.”
“Yeah. You’re welcome.”
He leaped to the floor and stepped back from the window, to stretch his ankles. This constant standing on his toes was starting to take a toll on his feet. He was beginning to wonder when will they start to deform to the shape of the gap in the wall. She huddled over to the bars and watched him walk on. Ah, why has fate brought you here, you beautiful boy? Can’t it see that this isn’t where you belong?
“Hey, Aerin?”
“Hmm?”
“What are you going to do when you get back home?”
He leaned on the hallway grating, considering this. “Well, I’ll help out with whatever’s left of the war. I’ll gloat to my friends that I nailed a princess. Then I’ll just get back to my horses, you know. And I’ll be initiated as a warrior – many of us are because, you know, we’re bordered by pricks.”
“Hopefully you’ll be a warrior without any wars to fight in.”
“Yeah. I’d kick too much ass. It’d be unfair.” He ignored her look. “What about you? What’s going to happen to you?”
She lay on her stomach, chin on intertwined fingers. “They’ll have to let me out of here sooner or later. I’m gonna get back to the capital, where I’m gonna live as I had, just more careful this time. And eventually I’m gonna get married off to someone, become a lady of some noble house.”
“That sounds shit.”
“Sometimes, but not necessarily. I think I’ll handle myself pretty well in court politics. If you’re smart enough, you can do fine. I just hope I’ll live in the capital, and not in some shit place like Behem. As long as that happens, I’ll manage.” *This has to turn out alright.*
He gave her a good long look. Her eyes were cast to the side, and she was calm now, thoughtful. She seemed at peace with her fate, if unenthusiastic. Yet he remembered that moment when he’d looked deep into her, on that Midsummer night, when through her naked body he thought he felt her spirit revealed, a spirit unyielding, free and affectionate. Would she find any happiness in the life she described? She jutted her jaw forward and grazed her upper lip with her lower teeth, mulling over her own reflections. She was so beautiful to him right then, so fascinating.
“It would be such a waste for you to become an ordinary noble lady somewhere.”
“Would it? What should I become then, in your opinion?”
“An evil queen.”
She laughed. That boy. “You know what, with your muscle and my evil brains, we could collaborate. We’ll conquer ourselves our own tiny kingdom by the sea. You’ll be the army, I’ll do the evil ruling.”
He drummed his fingers on the iron bars. “Awesome. Seems like a complete country to me, all basics covered.”
“Until we starve to death.”
“Ah, but you forget I more or less know how to plant you a vegetable garden! Also I can swim, like the dolphins can swim. I’ll dive and catch fish and shrimp, for our kingdom by the sea.”
Her eyes brightened. She leaned forward and wove one of her hands in through the window, fingers resting freely on the cell’s wall. “I can see it now. You’ll come back with baskets of the stuff at sundown. I’ll lick the salt off your skin, and no business of the state will ever get done, because of all the fucking that will get in the way.” She shifted her legs. Great, now he got her to think of his naked body. Her abdomen tensed from the inside.
He licked his teeth. “Gods, you really are good at this politics stuff.”
Her lip curled, half playful, half derisive. There it was, that smile of hers again. “It would never work, though.”
“Why?”
“You’re of a free people. You don’t give a shit about royalty. You can’t listen to orders. What would be the point of reigning over you?”
He folded his hands over his chest and pouted. “I so can listen to orders! I’m the best order listener in the world!”
A strand of hair fell over his eye. He looked like such a dork, pouting like that! So unbearably adorable. She rubbed her fingers furiously on the stone. The tension in her abdomen rose, like a tidal wave, like the sea rises. She looked back to the garden. Empty as always. Distant, normal sounds from the courtyard. Aah. She turned to him, and gripped the window bars.
“Can you? I want to see that. First, I order you to strip naked.” It was so cute that, caught off-guard, he still blushed at this.
“Uh, I’m sensing some ulterior motive here.”
“You’re listening to me or not?”
*Drop your guard.*
He cocked his head. Can’t listen to orders? He’ll show her. Defiance by obedience.
She could look at this forever, she thought, as he complied with her wish and stood nude against the grating. His cock was hard already.
“I see you’re excited about this.”
“I just sorta got invested in your political project.”
“Good. I want you to imagine that you’re fucking me.”
“Ah?”
“Get your hand on that dick, boy, and think of my pussy.”
He smiled sheepishly, brought his hips forward to give her a better view, and gave his cock a few uncertain strokes.
She tightened her grip on the bars and licked her lips. “Good. Keep going.” He looked up, into her eyes, and then to the side. He exhaled unevenly. He felt his own hardness, his unconcealed excitement. He wasn’t too sure about being so exposed before her. Her gaze, reaching from above, was on his body. His mind raised a question: did he really want to be so vulnerable, before her, before that menace of a smile?
His cock gave a happy jolt, his diaphragm tingled, his heart hammered in his throat, his very spine lit up. Wordless, his entire self answered him, an answer overwhelming, an answer definite. This was beyond a wanting. This was a delightful, breathtaking imperative. He began stroking himself, with conviction, with determination.
She spoke again. “Use your other hand. Imagine I’m caressing you. I want to touch these abs.” His left hand went to his stomach, sliding across his skin. “Yeah, you like that?”
He muttered in agreement, closed his eyes and raised his head. “You have a sexy neck. I want to touch it.” His hand obeyed, and went to his throat. He felt pleasure mounting rapidly. His knees weakened. He breathed deeper.
She watched his chest swell and fall, his ribs moving under the skin. She pressed her forehead to the bars. She wanted to touch him, for real, so bad. She saw how much he got into it, and it astonished her, exhilarated her. She was wet. Her voice grew low and hoarse. “I want to play with your nipples.” He spread out his fingers and rubbed both of them, with his thumb and his middle finger. His mind was swept away, lost in a powerful current, and delighted at its own embarrassment. He was so thrilled to do whatever she wanted. He was so eager to let her mess with him. Why did it feel this good to be in her power? His lips parted and he moaned. He was very close.
“Who’s your evil queen?”
The answer came out at once, unchecked by his conscious mind. “Gabrielle.”
“Cum for me, boy.” He flinched, and muscles flexed all over him. “Look at me! I want you to look me in the eyes and surrender to me.”
His gaze met hers. His mouth opened, twisted. She got in one final question. “Who are you cumming for?”
Within him, all was aligned. All bits of his body and mind were delighted, and compelled, and certain to answer. “Gabrielle. Gabrielle!” he moaned, gasped, and came. Thick loads of sperm fell heavily on the floor, their splashing noise echoing all over the dungeon. His legs refused to support this whole party anymore. He groaned, slid to his knees, and breathed in deep.
She held up a fist to her mouth and bit down on her knuckles. Now, this will do. This will fucking do.
The silence, for a long moment, was only disturbed with their breathing.
He suddenly felt very, very naked. The force which subjected him so thoroughly now subsided, leaving him dazed and uncertain, in the wreckage of his comfort zone. He opened his eyes and flicked some cum off his right hand. “You’re the worst queen. Look at the mess you’ve made!”
She took one more cautious look behind her, finding nothing. “Come here,” she said.
He glanced at her. She was gripping the bars hard, the bones on the backs of her hands visible through her skin. He blew out air through his mouth and approached the window. She drew back when he jumped up and gripped a bar himself, with his left hand. He showed her his right, fingers glistening.
“See? I won’t get this off now until they bring me water!”
*Drop your guard.*
Her heart pounded, and her muscles felt like jelly. She looked him in the eyes, and then at his hand. Alright, fuck it. Do what you will.
She leaned right up to him and took his hand. Before he knew what was going on she started licking his fingers, sucking off the cum. There was not much of it, a thin film on his skin. It left faint, dull salty aftertaste on her tongue and her throat. When she was done, she looked at him and smiled.
“I told you. I’m going to lick the salt off your skin.”
He gazed, awed. “Oh.”
She drew herself closer still and placed her hands on his cheeks. She could feel his breath on her lips. His eyes were very, very blue.
She kissed him, cautiously, tenderly, the bars limiting them considerably. They closed their eyes and nibbled at each other’s lips for what felt like ages. Through this blissful darkness, she suddenly felt his left hand on her neck, his fingers fondling her in a gentle, massaging caress; she inclined her whole body to that touch, and muttered his name into his mouth. She reached down to and pressed her hand to the warm bare skin between his shoulder blades, the closest to a hug they could manage; she could feel his agitated heart beat.
Eventually, they broke away, but remained there both pressed to the bars, forehead to forehead, eye to eye. She sighed deeply and ruffled his hair.
“You’re my favourite subject, boy.”
“I sure as fuck hope so.” He licked his lips. “You taste like cum, do you know that?”
She smiled, a languid smile. “Your cum tastes great, don’t complain.” She lay her cheek down on the stone and broke out with a bright little giggle. She dug her fingertips lightly into his back and rubbed his muscles. He sighed, deep in his throat.
“Does this feel nice?”
“Mhm.” It felt, in fact, divine. Her hand traced around his shoulder blades, the nape of his neck, the shoulders themselves. He touched his lips to her hair, closed his eyes, and let himself melt under her fingers. She listened to him breathe.
You’ll be fine, Aerin, she thought. This has to turn out alright. We’ll both be fine. Just you wait and see.
Above, the sun was making its wide summertime round. Around them, a million tons of stone stood implacable.
Just wait and see.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/cd1ovk/hey_other_human_mffantasyporn_with_plotporn_with
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