astralis 728 Posted April 12, 2021 Popular Post Share Posted April 12, 2021 Author's Note: I came up with the idea of a manservant having an affair with a king after I binge-watched The Tudors, because it's a great show, lol. So I made up these guys and then proceeded to never do anything with them for four years. Two years ago I thought of this situation for them and never wrote it for some reason, but earlier I made a post about it and it inspired me to just write the damn thing. There is infidelity here of the king cheating on the queen but it's really not the main focus and I don't think anyone involved cares, so if that sort of thing bothers you just proceed with caution, but it's really not touched on much. Oh, also, I don't do OC character descriptions in the narrative because I'm so used to writing fic, but if you wanna picture these guys they're both pretty tall and slender, with high cheekbones, and Lanrys has pale blond hair (almost white) and blue eyes, and Ranlyn has Greek and Ethiopian heritage so his skin is much darker, and he has longish thick black curls. _______________________________________________________________________ Ranlyn stood watching the king from his place behind the banquet table. For some time now Lanrys had been shifting uneasily in his seat; not to where anyone observing him casually would notice, but Ranlyn’s observations of his majesty were never casual, and so he saw, every forty-five seconds or so, how Lanrys would shift his thighs, or cross his ankles, or tense his hand in his lap. The pageboy had been refilling his wine glass at a steady rate all evening; it was possible Lanrys was drunk, but Ranlyn knew he disliked inebriation, especially in public. Indeed as the pageboy came forward for the sixth time in two hours Ranlyn saw the liquid coming from his pitcher was clear, not red. So Lanrys had been drinking water, mostly. And the feast itself had been going for close to four hours, with no sign of slowing. Perhaps the food was disagreeing with him? —Except Lanrys was eating the same as everyone else, and no other guests were visibly uncomfortable. And Lanrys had his food tested in the kitchens prior to being served. Ranlyn knew also that Lanrys would never, ever leave the banquet hall before his guests, barring some type of invasion from enemies. There was little chance of that tonight; they were celebrating Lanrys’ unexpected victory over the neighboring kingdom in the most recent battle, and Ranlyn—though he was “only” a manservant, as the queen often liked to remind him—knew victory-related feasts could go all night. So Lanrys would continue to sit there crossing and uncrossing his legs beneath the heavy velvet tablecloth, knuckles white against his goblet, exhaling quietly every so often beneath the voices raised around him in conversation. No one around him seemed to notice his discomfort, until he accidentally bumped the queen with his elbow some minutes later. She turned to glare at him; she’d nearly spilled her own drink into her long-finished food. “Sit still,” Ranlyn heard her hiss, low enough the other servants wouldn’t catch it. “For fuck’s sake, Lanrys—” “Sorry,” Lanrys muttered. He dragged his hand down his mouth; momentarily, reflexively, his head swiveled backwards, and his eyes sought out Ranlyn. His discomfort was even more evident face-on; his cheeks were faintly flushed, eyes bright with embarrassment, and— Oh. Oh. Suddenly Ranlyn understood what was going on. He felt so stupid, not figuring it out already. His heart began to pound a little harder in his chest, for some reason. He bit his lower lip, trying to decide what to do; Lanrys had already turned back to face his guests, and Ranlyn could see the side of his face where he was pretending to smile and enjoy himself. By shifting his position just slightly to the right Ranlyn could see beneath the table better; Lanrys’ hands were twisting the cloth over and over, evidently trying not to hold himself. He crossed his ankles again, then uncrossed them. He tapped one foot against the floor. His thighs were stuck together. Ranlyn knew the queen would make a big deal out of it if he approached the table without an invitation. Since Lanrys had already turned away from him Ranlyn knew it was unlikely he could get his attention again, at least without calling unnecessary attention to himself. But then the duke unexpectedly made it easy on him; he got up and called for a dance. The minstrels began to pick up a livelier tune than the one they’d been playing (to aid the digestion) and the duke left the table with his wife, and shortly after so did the queen’s sister, and Lord Nathaniel, accompanied by the woman everyone knew was his mistress, though he said she was only his poor bedridden wife’s chambermaid. Then the banquet table was virtually empty, save for Lanrys and Queen Alice, and she was folding her arms and looking impatiently at the dancers. The other guests in the hall had gotten up to join in the festivities and Alice was tapping her foot—for a very different reason than her husband—and kept giving pointed looks at the others. At last, seeming to run out of patience, she snapped, “Your majesty, will you join me in a dance?” Lanrys’ already pale skin turned even paler. Ranlyn saw the heel of one hand flatten out against his thigh. His legs were crossed so tightly the fabric was straining. “I—no,” he said, “no, I’d just as soon rather sit here and watch. You go on, my love.” Alice’s mouth twisted nastily in one corner, but she didn’t say anything else, just stood and walked off. Once most everyone was out of eyesight—except the old blind earl at the far end of the table, who was already mostly asleep, and the guards, none of whom would dare say anything about anyone—Ranlyn slipped forward, and rested his hand on Lanrys’ shoulder. “Your majesty—” Lanrys jumped, then exhaled sharply. The hand on his thigh flew to his crotch. Ranlyn wondered if he’d let a little out by accident; the idea made his heart pound even harder, until he was nearly nauseous with it. “I didn’t mean to startle your majesty,” Ranlyn said, keeping his voice low. He reached out to take Lanrys’ plate and his now-empty goblet, and he said, “Do you need relief?” “Oh…” Lanrys’ eyes slid partway shut. “Ran…” Ranlyn set the goblet on the plate amidst the deer bones and grape stems. “Tell me what you need, Rys,” he whispered. Lanrys let out a tiny, barely audible whimper. Without much observation he was shifting even more in his seat, openly holding himself, hand shoved between his legs. “You need me to help you to the water closet?” Ranlyn murmured. Lanrys’ cheeks were bright red again. He was shaking one knee so hard the tablecloth was moving. “I—don’t think I could make it,” he mumbled. For some reason this statement—or perhaps Lanrys’ tone, or perhaps a combination of both—shot straight down Ranlyn’s spine, curling heat and tension in the pit of his stomach, and lower still. He swallowed. “Why didn’t you stop drinking?” he asked, still very, very quietly. Lanrys shook his head. He was breathing hard through his nose like a frustrated animal, hands flexing again and again against his thighs. “Couldn’t,” he mumbled, through gritted teeth. “My image, and Alice would’ve asked—fuck—” He made another small whining noise, and Ranlyn’s cock twitched in response. His hand plunged again between his legs and he doubled up a little on himself. “Ran…” “You know you’re the king,” Ranlyn said, heart beating so hard he was sure Lanrys could hear it. “You know you can tell them whatever you—” “I wasn’t thinking,” Lanrys said, and his voice came out sharper than he’d likely meant. “I was thirsty and that boy just kept bringing me drinks and I—oh—Ran, please, I need—” He cut himself off, biting his mouth so hard the flesh turned stark white. Ranlyn swallowed again; he squeezed Lanrys’ shoulder, and looked around. Everyone was still dancing, occupied, not noticing the king sitting flushed and hunched over at the banquet table while his manservant rubbed his arm. “What do you need,” Ranlyn whispered, “tell me, I’ll do anything—are you sure you can’t make it to—” “Yes,” Lanrys said; there was a note of panic in his voice, a frantic thread, and when he looked at Ranlyn his eyes were that same fevered, desperate shade they’d been earlier. He was squirming around in his seat and Ranlyn wondered if anyone else had noticed, and just hadn’t said anything because Lanrys was the king. And if he’d thought of that Lanrys surely had as well, and how embarrassed must he be, breathing unsteadily, shifting his legs, grinding his teeth. “I can’t stand up, it’s too—” He swallowed, gesturing at his bladder with his free hand. “It feels far too heavy, Ran, I—I need relief, I’m going… oh—” He gasped, more audibly this time, and Ranlyn—he hoped only because he was so close, but even beneath the music he heard a faint hissing. Lanrys’ trousers were thick and dark, but there was only so much they’d be able to hide. “I’m having an accident,” Lanrys breathed out; he was nearly in tears, “Ran, I can’t, I’m, I can’t hold it…” Ranlyn made a decision. He squeezed Lanrys’ shoulder again. “Two seconds,” he said, and Lanrys gave him a panicked look but Ranlyn was already rushing off towards the kitchens. Thankfully they were just down the hall and after setting Lanrys’ plate and goblet down he picked up the first pitcher he saw off the floor. It wasn’t huge, but it would have to do. One of the cooks glared at him, but because he was the king’s manservant no one dared say anything. He was back in the dining hall as quickly as he could be. Lanrys was sitting completely twisted up at the table, hand between his legs, panting. He was still trying to maintain a stoic expression and to keep his upper half still but Ranlyn could see him failing. He rushed back to him and Lanrys turned, winced—then his eyes fell on the pitcher and his mouth dropped open. “Will this do, your—” “Please,” Lanrys gasped. Ranlyn nodded. He looked around, but everyone was either still dancing or else they were not paying attention, and before he could have time to overthink it he ducked beneath the low-hanging tablecloth. Instantly the world was shut out; the velvet was so thick it blocked out much of the sound as well as the light, and Ranlyn had to squint to see Lanrys’ legs. But after a few seconds his eyes had adjusted to the dark and he could see fully now how desperate Lanrys was—thighs fanning in and out, calves and feet squirming and dancing frantically. His hands kept flexing against his crotch and when Ranlyn reached up to curl their fingers together Lanrys stiffened. Ranlyn pulled one hand away and saw even through the dark fabric a damp spot appearing on his trousers. He rested his palm against the outline of Lanrys’ cock as he carefully took his other hand away and Lanrys squeezed his thighs hard around Ranlyn’s wrist. Never mind damp—the fabric was fucking soaked. Oh, darling, Ranlyn thought, feeling a wave of pity rush up in his chest. He pressed a careful kiss to the inside of Lanrys’ knee. “I’m gonna take care of you now,” he whispered, though he doubted Lanrys could hear him. “You’re gonna be okay, love,” and he set the pitcher on the stone floor and, kneeling between Lanrys’ legs, he began to untie the strings at his crotch. It seemed to take forever, even to Ranlyn. Lanrys kept tensing up and trembling violently; he leaked again several more times, once a long, sudden spurt that seemed to go on for a full three seconds before Lanrys could cut it off. He was trying to help Ranlyn with the complex material but his hands were shaking so badly he was just making it worse; finally Ranlyn had to take one of his hands—the skin faintly damp—and bite down gently on his knuckle: Stop. It’s okay. I’ve got this. Lanrys went still, momentarily; then his hand found its way into the thick, soft curls of Ranlyn’s hair. His other hand was still tensing against his thigh but at least it was out of the way and Ranlyn was able to finish undoing his trousers and to pull him out. Ranlyn was half-expecting Lanrys to begin pissing the second his cock was free but he didn’t; remarkably, he held it in, though his whole body was shaking, and the head of his cock was damp with urine. Carefully, Ranlyn positioned the pitcher between Lanrys’ knees. Then he wrapped one hand around Lanrys’ cock and aimed it. He kissed Lanrys’ thigh. And either Lanrys could feel the ceramic of the pitcher on his skin, or else he’d understood Ranlyn’s kiss the way he’d meant it, or else he just couldn’t hold it anymore, because he started pissing. It came out hard and sudden and Ranlyn almost lost his grip on the pitcher; hurriedly he grabbed Lanrys’ hand from where it was clenched around the chair and put it on his cock instead so that he could hold the pitcher more steadily. Lanrys’ urine splashed noisily against the ceramic; Ranlyn was sure it was audible even above the music and the thick velvet. The stream was thick and clear and strong and Ranlyn watched it, watched Lanrys’ body slowly untense itself as more and more piss came out, and wondered why his own stomach was clenching, why his cock was twitching even more. He recognized all the responses from previous sexual encounters, both with Lanrys and with the few others he’d had prior to the castle, but not for this—surely? Lanrys was urinating into a pot, that was all. He’d been desperate, bursting, unable to find relief, unable to sit still, unable to sit straight. He’d been nearly in tears and he’d wet his pants a little bit and now as he continued to piss and piss Ranlyn could hear him making those same quiet, moaning noises, and oh, oh fuck— Ranlyn shifted. He was more than half-hard in his trousers, but he couldn’t find relief. He was half-hard from the idea of Lanrys’ desperation, from thinking of how full he’d been, how full and how unbearably strained his bladder must’ve felt. And he was half-hard from Lanrys losing control, and from watching Lanrys piss into this pitcher beneath the table. In public. Where anyone could potentially figure out what was going on. Ranlyn had no idea—he was sure it was just a fluke. But what a fluke it was. He shifted a little, trying to get some friction from his trousers— —and realized the pitcher was filling up. It was more than half full and Lanrys’ stream was not slowing down. Ranlyn had no idea what to do; he tapped Lanrys’ thigh, and then again more insistently, and Lanrys pinched the tip of his cock and jiggled his thighs and managed, with what looked like a Herculean effort, to stop the flow. He pressed the heel of his hand hard on his cock and bent a little to look under the tablecloth. “What’s wrong,” he whispered, “Ran—” He was shaking his knee again, voice strained. “I still have to go so badly, honey, I don’t think I can hold it, I’m not finished—” “I know,” Ranlyn whispered back; his heart was in his throat, he hated seeing Lanrys in pain, or uncertain, or scared. “The pitcher’s almost full, though, and I—” He hesitated. “Do you think you could make it to the water closet now?” Lanrys bit his mouth. Shook his head. His legs were shaking; after maybe half a second a jet of piss shot out of his cock and he groaned, folding one leg over the other, trapping his cock and his hand. “I’ll piss on the fucking floor,” Lanrys grumbled, “I don’t care, I just, it needs to come out—” “What about if we just go outside,” Ranlyn said. “Maybe if you could just make it to the door?” The water closet was halfway on the other side of the castle. But there was a door leading out to the hunting grounds just thirty feet away. Lanrys’ eyebrows pinched together, momentarily. He licked his lips. Then, slowly, he nodded. Ranlyn nodded too. He brought Lanrys’ hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckle he’d bitten. “You’re doing so good, darling,” he murmured, and Lanrys’ cheeks flushed even deeper. He tucked himself back into his trousers and began redoing the threads—fingers still trembling, as Ranlyn inched his way out from beneath the table. He had no idea what to do with the pitcher of urine but decided ultimately his best bet was to leave it there and come back for it later. The feast wouldn’t be over until after midnight, probably, and Ranlyn figured it was just gone eight now. So he had plenty of time. A passing guest gave him an odd look as he straightened up and walked around the table, but he ignored the man and set his hand on Lanrys’ shoulder again. “Ready, your majesty?” Lanrys nodded. “Thank you, sir,” he said, in the formal stiff tone he adopted with Ranlyn when they spoke in public where others could hear them. He stood up, wincing; Ranlyn could see him trying hard not to grab himself, and even in the dim candlelight he saw Lanrys’ crotch shining with fresh dampness. He staggered away from the table, Ranlyn at his side, and together they weaved their way to the door, passing guards and guests who bowed automatically. As they passed through the door Ranlyn glanced back; he saw Alice, talking to Lord Nathaniel, and rolled his eyes. At least she was distracted, he thought, and hurried Lanrys on. They made their way down the field a bit. The night air was cool on their skin; the moon hadn’t risen, but the stars were out, and Ranlyn could just see where he was going as he led Lanrys away from the castle and from prying eyes. The grass was soft and long the further they went; there was a river at the edge of a hill, and Ranlyn was trying to get Lanrys there, but as soon as they were around a corner and away from the windows of the banquet hall Lanrys dropped to his knees and fumbled himself back out. He was already pissing by the time he got out his cock; he tried to aim it but his hands were shaking too much and after a moment he just collapsed back, almost fully seated, pissing hard into the dirt and the grass and a little onto his trousers. Ranlyn knelt behind him to hold him up. Lanrys leaned back against him. His eyes shut. Quiet exhausted moans fell from his lips. “You really needed to go, huh,” Ranlyn murmured, slowly rubbing Lanrys’ side, kissing his neck. “You must’ve been so uncomfortable, love. I’m sorry.” Lanrys shook his head. “‘s all right,” he said, voice rough, a little choked. “Thank you for helping me…” Ranlyn nodded. His chin was on Lanrys’ shoulder. One hand on his thigh. The other on his ribcage. Lanrys’ stream seemed to go on forever, though Ranlyn was sure it couldn’t have been more than a minute, perhaps a minute and a half. At last it slowed to a trickle, then stopped. A few more spurts came out; then Lanrys tucked himself back in for the second time, and wiped his hand on the grass. He turned to Ranlyn and kissed him slowly, heatedly, sucking his lower lip into his mouth with his teeth. “You liked that,” he said, quietly, after a long time. They were kneeling in the grass where Lanrys had just relieved himself; Ranlyn was hard, aching with it, and he’d forgotten how observational Lanrys was, and how smart. His cheeks flushed; in the dim light, against his darkish skin, he knew it wouldn’t be visible, but he also knew he couldn’t hide something like this, not from Lanrys. So he nodded, and Lanrys smiled. It wasn’t mocking; it never was with Lanrys, but Ranlyn still closed his eyes, feeling vaguely ashamed. A moment later Lanrys’ hand was on his cheek. “It’s all right,” he said, still quiet. “It’s okay. You’re just very expressive, and I can tell when you’re aroused.” “Should be able to, you have enough practice,” Ranlyn mumbled, and Lanrys laughed, softly. His thumb stroked Ranlyn’s cheekbone and Ranlyn looked up. Lanrys was smiling at him, gently, head tilted a little to one side. “There was something enjoyable about it,” Lanrys said. “I wouldn’t mind getting into a similar situation sometime. Though perhaps—in private? Just with you?” He looked hesitantly at Ranlyn, and Ranlyn tilted his head a little so he could kiss Lanrys’ palm, and then he drew him forward by his doublet and kissed his mouth. “I would be honored, your majesty,” he murmured, and Lanrys tugged gently at one of his curls before straightening up, and offering Ranlyn his hand. HeyItsClaire, wolferine, O.J. and 4 others 7 Quote Link to comment
HeyItsClaire 33 Posted April 13, 2021 Share Posted April 13, 2021 This is really really good, thank you Quote Link to comment
astralis 728 Posted April 13, 2021 Author Share Posted April 13, 2021 28 minutes ago, HeyItsClaire said: This is really really good, thank you Thanks for reading and commenting, bud! Glad you enjoyed. Quote Link to comment
edangit 1 Posted April 24, 2021 Share Posted April 24, 2021 This was amazing! astralis 1 Quote Link to comment
Spectator9 955 Posted April 25, 2021 Share Posted April 25, 2021 Well done! astralis 1 Quote Link to comment
astralis 728 Posted June 7, 2021 Author Share Posted June 7, 2021 part 2: Lanrys loved visiting his cousins. They lived in an isolated cottage far out on a piece of property Lanrys had purchased for them. It was a three days’ ride on horseback from the castle and Lanrys was in the habit of only taking Ranlyn, despite persistent warnings that he was in danger of being robbed by bandits. They often spent a month or two at the cottage, away from Alice and the pressures of the kingdom. On the ride there and back they camped out in the woods while their horses slept quietly beneath the trees. They were able to relax, to be as open with each other as they wanted. It was a peaceful time, even if Lanrys only got to go once a year, if that. This time was probably going to end up similar to the others. But right now Lanrys had to fucking piss. Ranlyn had watched him fidgeting and squirming uneasily on his horse for the last half-hour, but every time he offered to stop for a moment Lanrys refused, saying they’d gotten a late start, they needed to make good time before nightfall so they wouldn’t have to camp a fourth time, his cousins would worry, etc. Ranlyn was riding kind of alongside him and he could see the way Lanrys was leaning a little forward in the saddle, one hand on the reins, the other holding his crotch. His eyes were determinedly focused ahead, teeth sunk into his lower lip. His cheeks were flushed, and Ranlyn thought, you beautiful stubborn fool. “Your majesty,” he said, as the horses entered a clearing he knew was still half a mile out from the cottage. “Wouldn’t you like to stop? It would only be for a moment—” Lanrys gave him a look. He was gripping himself so hard his knuckles were white. Sweat stood out on his forehead despite the cool air and the relatively slow gait of the horses. He opened his mouth and a tiny, pained moan escaped his throat, and then he said, “I thought—fuck. I thought you liked this, Ran.” Ranlyn’s whole body ran hot and cold in dizzying simultaneity. His face must’ve done something he hadn’t intended because Lanrys’ mouth quirked up in a dry smile, and he said, “I didn’t forget the banquet, honey.” Ranlyn huffed. It had been over a month since the banquet, and they had never had a chance to try it out again. There was hardly any time for them to have to themselves during most of the year, and certainly not for anything longer than a brief tryst in one of the side rooms of the castle, Ranlyn sucking Lanrys off against the wall, Lanrys jerking Ranlyn into an empty container. Ranlyn would be a liar—and a shitty one at that—if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But there had been no opportunities, and he’d sort of assumed Lanrys had lost interest. But now— “Assuming you still want it,” Lanrys added, after a moment, and Ranlyn’s grip tightened on his own horse’s reins. “Yes,” he said, “yes, I want,” and Lanrys’ mouth twitched again. Then he winced, plunging his hand deeper between his thighs, doubling up as best he could while sitting. Ranlyn drew up alongside him, close enough they were almost touching, and reached out to lace his fingers over Lanrys’. He could feel the swollen tender bulge of his bladder beneath his trousers. Even though they were casual, they were still tight, and when Ranlyn touched him there he gasped. The pressure on his bladder must have been nearly unbearable. “Nearly there now, love,” Ranlyn murmured, swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat. They rode on like that for a while, until they began to approach the winding path that led straight to the cottage. Then Ranlyn released Lanrys’ hand and pulled on the reins so he’d come in behind him. From the back Lanrys’ squirming was even more evident; Ranlyn could see him making involuntary attempts to press his thighs together, and the arch of his back as he continuously bent forward. As they drew up towards the clearing where the cottage was he moved his hand from his crotch, then winced again. Then they were within sight of the windows, and the cousins were rushing out: his adult cousin Lily and her husband, John, and their three children: Julia, Henry, and Catherine. The children came immediately towards the horses, exclaiming—as they always did—over their manes and fine hair. Ranlyn dismounted and could see Lanrys attempting to do the same, but the effort of moving his legs was proving too much. He offered Lily a tense smile which quickly turned into a frantic glance in Ranlyn’s direction, eyes wide and blaring obvious signals: I need to piss! “Hello, your majesty,” Lily said, curtseying. “Long ride in?” “Uh-huh,” Lanrys said. He was gingerly attempting to extricate one foot from its stirrup without jostling his bladder too much. Ranlyn could see the way his muscles flexed. He hurried around to the other side of the horse and began to ease Lanrys’ foot free from its confines. “Majesty,” he murmured. Lanrys made a tight, borderline panicked noise in the back of his throat. He set his hand on Ranlyn’s shoulder so that Ranlyn felt the tension in his body, the way he was shaking. He swung his other leg over the saddle to dismount and gasped. Ranlyn thought he saw a damp patch between his legs, though it may have only been a shadow. As his feet made contact with the ground he winced, hunching over as subtly as he could, hands heading automatically for his crotch before settling awkwardly at his middle. His younger cousins swarmed them both; Catherine, the youngest, hugged him around the legs, and Ranlyn saw his eyebrows pinch together as he reached out to pat her head. He stepped forward, setting a hand on Lanrys’ shoulder. “Lily,” he said; they switched between using formalities and not so often it was like speaking another language. “Lanrys and I are rather tired after our journey—” “Oh, of course,” Lily said. “Henry, would you run inside and see if Margaret has finished preparing the tea?” Lanrys winced again. His body was dragging itself towards the ground. Ranlyn could see the bulge his bladder made beneath the fabric of his shirt. “Lils, c’mon, you don’t have to put yourself out—” “Not even for my cousin the king?” Lily gave him a look, mouth twisted in a smile not unlike his own. “You and Ranlyn go inside, sweetie. We’ll make sure your things are taken care of,” gesturing to herself and her husband. “Huh,” Lanrys said, a little like the word had been punched out of him. Ranlyn wanted to protest that wasn’t what he’d meant, but Julia and Catherine were already running to open the door and he couldn’t bear the idea of humiliating Lanrys in front of his cousins, so he just walked with him inside the cottage. Lanrys took small, shuffling steps, thighs brushing together. Ranlyn couldn’t remember how much he’d drunk throughout the day; it was late afternoon now, and they’d emptied several goatskins of water from the time they’d started three days ago, so it can’t have been much… but then Lanrys didn’t have an issue with drinking from streams the way Ranlyn did, and Lanrys was always thirsty when he rode on horseback, and they hadn’t stopped all day because Lanrys was in such a hurry… He stepped over the threshold of the house and paused. “All right, majesty?” Julia asked as she raced ahead of him towards the kitchen area, and Lanrys leaned back against the wall for a second, crossing his legs tightly, before calling back, “Yes, darling, I’m all right. Just stiff from the ride.” He looked at Ranlyn again as he straightened. Fresh sweat had broken out over his forehead. Ranlyn opened his mouth to ask did Lanrys need him to take emergency action, but before he could Henry was calling that the tea was ready, and they walked—Ranlyn adjusting his gait to match Lanrys’ steady limp—into the kitchen. The tea had been boiled in a massive cast-iron skillet over the fire; it smelled hot and good, scented with jasmine and other unidentifiable herbs. The kitchen maid, Margaret, was pouring it into cups set around the table; she paused to curtsey for Lanrys as he walked in and Lanrys offered her a thin smile. When he sat he had to go slow, and Ranlyn noticed he couldn’t quite sit all the way down, as though his muscles were no longer capable of going that way. Ranlyn sat next to him, setting a hand on his thigh out of everyone’s line of vision. “Rys,” he murmured. “‘m fine,” Lanrys said, through gritted teeth. He was obviously lying but Ranlyn couldn’t do anything about it here. He leaned across the table to take the proffered cups for himself and Lanrys, and once all five of them were served they looked at Lanrys. It was his duty to drink first, and none of them would lift their cups before he did. Ranlyn saw his hand slide between his legs, squeezing hard, before he lifted the cup to his mouth and drank. His throat worked determinedly around the liquid. His knee was starting to shake. “What have you been up to since we last visited?” Ranlyn asked the kids, in an effort to distract Lanrys from the issue at hand. Henry launched into a heavy-handed description of the latest fantasy game he and his sisters had invented, and Ranlyn took their distraction as an opportunity to reach down and squeeze Lanrys’ free hand. He squeezed back tightly. He was still shaking. Every so often he’d lift the tea to his mouth, swallow, then wince; the movements were reflexive, but Lanrys clearly wasn’t capable of thinking hard enough to stop doing it, either. As he drained the last dregs of tea Lily and John entered the room; John clapped Lanrys on the back, Lanrys jolted, and Ranlyn watched as the front of his trousers grew noticeably darker. He looked at Lanrys’ face; Lanrys’ mouth was so thin it was bloodless, and Ranlyn knew there really wasn’t much time left, so he set his cup down and stood, stretching exaggeratedly. “Lily,” he said, “John, I’m sorry to leave right as you’re coming in, but I have got to use your outhouse.” He made kind of a show of squeezing his own thighs together. “Long ride, you know.” The kids started giggling. Lily’s face flushed scarlet, but she said, “Well, of course, you know where it is,” and Ranlyn said, “Yeah. Uh. Your majesty?” Lanrys turned his head in a painful-looking motion. “Yeah, Ran.” “Would you—” Ranlyn hesitated, swallowed, thinking, then— “Don’t you need to stretch your legs? From the saddle?” “I—” Lanrys drew in a breath. “Yes. Yes. That’s—yes.” He gripped the edge of the table and slowly dragged himself to his feet. His bladder was visibly swollen now, even through his shirt, and Ranlyn hoped it wasn’t obvious he was staring as he stepped aside to let Lanrys exit first. He followed him out into the hall, and then to the back door. The second they were out of sight of the family Lanrys broke into a limping run, holding himself as he shuffled forward. He was working frantically at the laces of his trousers, trying to pull himself out before he’d reached the outhouse. Ranlyn followed, watching as he reached the door and banged on it. He was pretty far still, but not so much that he couldn’t hear the muffled sound of someone calling from inside: “Occupied!” “Fuck,” Lanrys groaned, doubling over, legs crossed, hands shoved between them. He looked up at Ranlyn with his eyes shining and the crotch of his trousers darkened again with a fresh burst of piss. Ranlyn’s cock twitched. He swallowed. “It’s bad again, huh, love,” he murmured, when he was close enough he could whisper. Lanrys nodded frantically, extricating one hand so he could drag it down his thigh. He’d gotten his trousers unlaced and all that was necessary now was for him to unsnap and free himself from the confines of fabric. He was dancing from one foot to the other, crossing and recrossing his legs, eyes mostly shut. “I can’t make it,” he whispered. “Fuck, Ran, fuck, I need—” He let out a shaky, unhappy gasp as piss blossomed out again, trickling down his leg. Ranlyn winced; he was almost fully hard, but he couldn’t bear the embarrassment for Lanrys. He walked behind him, laced their fingers together. He moved his hand out of the way and began unsnapping his trousers. “What are you—” “Just to ease the pressure a little, majesty,” Ranlyn said, and reached inside the soaked fabric to pull out Lanrys’ cock. He aimed it away from his feet and nudged his shoulder gently with his chin. Lanrys moaned, “I can’t…” but he was already pissing, hard, into the dirt at his feet. Another moan escaped his lips, soft, relieved, and he leaned backwards a little against Ranlyn. Ranlyn kissed the side of his neck, grinding his hips up a little so Lanrys would feel the friction of his cock against his ass. Lanrys huffed out a short laugh: “You fucking degenerate… oh, fuck, that feels—” From inside the outhouse came the audible sound of britches rustling. Lanrys whimpered, tightening his muscles to cut off his flow, but he couldn’t quite manage to get it under control. As he tucked himself back into his pants he was still dribbling consistently, and Ranlyn had to step in front of him to hide the obvious fact of his accident as the outhouse door swung open. It was a servant Ranlyn vaguely recognized; he looked startled when he saw them, and made an awkward bow: “Majesty—” “Hello,” Lanrys said tightly, and then, “Excuse me,” and he darted past Ranlyn and inside. He didn’t bother shutting the door again; thankfully the servant was smart enough to walk away fast without looking back, so it was very easy indeed for Ranlyn to walk to the crack in the door and watch in the dim interior light as Lanrys dropped to his knees, pulled out his cock again, and began pissing into the hole in the ground. He groaned, more audibly this time. Ranlyn could feel him shuddering where he had his hand resting in his hair. With his other hand he rubbed at himself through his trousers. “Fuck,” Lanrys breathed. His head tipped back into Ranlyn’s hand. His eyes were mostly shut. “Fuck, it feels good, Ran…” His stream gushed out, steady and strong and with no sign of slowing down. Ranlyn moaned involuntarily, tightening his hand in Lanrys’ hair: “You did so good for me, majesty,” he breathed out, “holding it all this time, must’ve been so fucking hard, you were bursting, oh, fuck, there’s so much—” He came in his trousers like a fucking teenager, just as Lanrys’ stream was slowing down into a trickle. It continued for a little while, then tapered off into dribbles, and finally nothing. Lanrys shook his cock a few times, then tucked himself back into his trousers, hoisted himself off the ground, and dragged Ranlyn forward for a savage, brutal kiss. “I’m going to make this such a fucking show for you someday,” he said. “I’m going to make it so good for you. I promise.” Ranlyn licked inside Lanrys’ mouth. He dragged their crotches together; the damp soaked fabric of Lanrys’ against the similarly damp fabric of Ranlyn’s. Eventually they parted, looked down at themselves, and began laughing. “There’s a river nearby,” Lanrys said. “We could go wading, say we’d fallen in.” “I love it when you talk business,” Ranlyn said, and he and Lanrys snickered all the way down to the bank of the river, holding hands in the low heat of the afternoon. Quote Link to comment
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