Today's teaser is from my M/M short story Reckless, which appeared in gay romance anthology, The Handsome Prince.
The prince just grins. “Stop being sulky, Tancred.” He clasps my face firmly, framing it in his hands, looking me in the eyes. “I know how much you’ve done for me. I haven’t forgotten. I appreciate every bit.” Then he swoops in and plants a kiss on my lips. It’s a firm, quick, masculine kiss – a prince’s benison. The sort of intimacy only royalty gives one the right to bestow.
Once more I hear the thunder of the boar’s feet.
I react without thinking, just as in the woods. Reaching round, my hand grips the back of Alberic’s neck, holding him so that he can’t pull away. My mouth seizes his. Angrily. Needfully. For a moment I know nothing but his lips, his tongue, the taste of the wine he’s been drinking, the taint of my own blood. For a moment he does not react. Then he tries to pull back – and I hold him, refusing to let him go. I am too hungry for his mouth.
I don’t know why I do it. It just happens.
Eventually he pushes me hard in the chest and we break with a gasp.
“What was that?” His voice is a hoarse whisper.
God have mercy on me, I say to myself, my eyes suddenly opened to my actions. What had I been thinking of? I’m as shocked as he is, but unlike Alberic I’m stunned into a kind of resignation. My voice sounds unfamiliar as I say the unsayable: “That was love, sire.”
“What?”
I’m going to be exiled. I’ll never see him again. Terror makes me dizzy. My brown eyes meet his wide blue ones. “I love you.”
“Of course you do – I’m your prince!”
“No, Alberic.”
There’s a rising note in his voice. “As a brother to me, then!”
I shake my head. “No.”
The blow takes me by surprise: back-handed across the face and hard enough to stagger me. I put my hand up to my cheek. He’s in a panic, I tell myself. He has no idea how to react to such a shock. I have always been like his elder brother.
“Get on your knees, vassal!”
I obey. I feel sick, the conflicting instincts tearing at each other inside me. I half expect Alberic to strike me again, but he throws up his hands instead.
“This is a joke, isn’t it? A sick joke!” My one blessing is that Alberic isn’t shouting: his voice is raspy with strain but kept deliberately quiet. If he does start shouting at me then there are plenty of people within earshot who would hear everything.
“No joke, sire.”
“But I’ve seen you! With women!”
“Women are,” I shrug, unable to say out loud I did what was expected of me; “... all very well. But it’s you alone that I love.”
“You want to fuck me?”
I don’t answer. Yes, I want to fuck him. I want to wrap him in my arms and feel his hot hard muscles contesting mine. I want to be inside him and him to be in me. I want to feel his strength and his eagerness and his appetite. I want to taste him: his spunk and his sweat, his tears and his kisses.
I cannot say that. I don’t have to. He reads it in my eyes.
“How dare you?” I’ve never seen Alberic look so distressed. The blood has risen in an unbecoming flush to his face. “How...?” he chokes. “You want to play the woman for me, do you?” He fumbles at his insulted crotch. “You want this, do you? You like it?’ Unlacing his hose, he pulls out the member in question. ‘Then suck my cock. Kneel there and take it.”
It’s half-hard, I see, and my heart wallops painfully against the inside of my breastbone. If he thinks he’s humiliating me then he has misjudged badly. I’ve fantasised about his cock for years. I’ve seen it when he’s undressed, when we swim together, when he makes water; I’ve seen it shrivelled with chill, and all perky of a morning, and long and silky and relaxed when he stretches his body out after exercising. His prick is almost as familiar to me as my own, and a ghostly accompaniment to my every erection. How can I recoil now, when there are nights I’ve lain in my bed and tasted my own semen on my fingers and pretended it was Alberic’s?
“There.” He’s nearly crying. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” And he shoves it into my face and thrusts it into my unresisting mouth. Soft skin; thick meat wrapped in satin. It is my first. Strange to think that I’ve never had a man in my mouth before; I’ve never dared risk the public shame, the destruction of my life at his side. It tastes unfamiliar – musky, sweaty, faintly pissy – and yet my mouth fastens upon it with instinctive appetite. And though it’s easily manageable at first, so that I can engulf the whole thing and lap at his scrotum with my tongue, it doesn’t stay that way. In moments it’s thickening, lengthening, hardening. I have to move back as it fills my mouth and nudges into my throat.
Merciful God, but it excites me. Every thrust of his makes my own cock jump and swell. I grab at myself through the cloth of my hose, knowing that I have an inexcusable hard-on already, should he look down. Can he tell how eager my sucking is, how grateful? That the tears he has forced to my eyes are not simply testament to how he is choking me with his polearm?
Alberic gasps my name. His spread hands frame his crotch as he thrusts clumsily into my mouth. He’s hard now: really hard: his weapon set and braced like a boar spear. I get one hand on his cock just to gain myself breathing space, and he freezes. My tongue traces the slit of his glans, tasting a slippery ooze there, exploring the tiny wrinkled delta of his frenum until he moans in his chest. The noise is half protest, half plea.
It is a signal that changes everything.
I rise to my feet, his shaft still gripped in my fingers. We are matched in height as well as in physique, so we lock gazes eye-to-eye. There is no anger in him any more: I’ve sucked it all out of him and taken it for my own. There is only fear in his wide eyes, and need. I can still taste his cock on my bruised lips. The scent of him is intoxicating. I give his prick a little tug, caressing the ball of my thumb across his slippery glans. The tilt of his hips tells me I have him captive. The emerald on the ring he’s gifted me gleams.
“You don’t want me to stop, do you?” I growl.
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