by Cooper, R.
Perhaps this hand holding was what they called flirting in the southern part of the country, for though Bertie had said and done more brazen things and had them done to him, he felt a tremor in his chest and another release of aroused, embarrassed heat throughout his body.
He remembered once or twice in those early days how Godric had asked permission to sit near him and how silly Bertie had found the requests at the time. Now his mouth was dry with hope that Godric might ask him again.
Godric glanced at him and Bertie held his breath.
“May I ask you something, my lord, if it is not too bold?”
“I cannot begin to imagine what from you I would find too bold.” Bertie’s voice dropped to a whisper so as not to break this spell that made his Godric speak so much. Godric laughed. Laughed at long last, as he hadn’t in years.
Bertie wanted to laugh with him, even if suddenly he was certain that Godric was going to ask something innocent and that Bertie was only imagining all these possible southern courting rituals.
“Your brother was right.” Godric added as his delightful laughter finally faded. “After…. When I first met you, he told me that he had never known you to lie. No man more honest, he said.”
Godric’s good humor abruptly disappeared. “When you… when you began to speak of me… as you do now, I was certain you were having fun at my expense. I am sorry to say I forgot your brother’s words to me for some time, living at court. Lords can be the most foolish and dishonest of people.”
That was true enough, even if it stung. “But not you, Godric.”
“I am not a lord.” Godric moved his shoulders.
“Are we back on that again?” Bertie pushed out a tiny sound of exasperation but felt, somehow, that he had once more amused Godric.
“Others care if you do not.” The man argued just the same. Bertie was starting to think it was a consequence of all Godric’s strategizing that he always thought the worst. Bertie was going to have to do something about it if they were to ever get anywhere.
“And what should that matter to a brave champion?” he huffed, and received stillness for a reply. Godric took one breath and then another. Then he nodded.
“Once again, my lord, you are right,” Godric agreed, then picked up the cat and moved it to the side. Ignoring its protests, Godric turned back to Bertie. His stare was so thoughtful and all-seeing that Bertie bit his lip and fought to be patient, to think like a repressed or shy Southern stable boy. Still, he felt he ought to say something.
But it was dark and warm and they were so close together, and Godric was so nearly naked.
So what Bertie said was, “If you are thinking of inviting me to your bed, Godric, you must know my answer is yes.”
There was a flicker in Godric’s expression, as though this answer from Bertie could have possibly been unexpected, and then as if Bertie had not made this very thing clear to Godric a hundred times before, Godric smiled and rubbed at his nose as though pleased, but embarrassed.
“We are already in my bed,” he pointed out in a rough voice and Bertie straightened for one second, held back by surprise, and then his body caught up with his racing mind and heart and launched itself at Godric.
Godric caught him with the tiniest grunt, either in surprise or because of his weight. Bertie did not care, and apologizing would have meant taking his mouth away and he finally had it where he had wanted it for so long. He pressed kisses to Godric’s cheeks and jaw without much aim, landing them north and south until he at last felt Godric’s lips beneath his. They opened for a smile and then moments later in a soft plea for more.
Bertie had not thought Godric could be soft but he was unexpectedly and delightfully so as Bertie was not. Bertie was hard and itching with need, hot as he struggled to throw aside furs and pillows and climb atop Godric. Some part of him warned that he was once again taking advantage, but then his weight toppled them down and Godric’s hands landed at his sides and held him close and that part of him went silent.
Bertie wanted those hands there at his sides, and also up his skirts, and yet also pinned down to the floor so he could have his way unobstructed. He, quite embarrassingly, growled because he could not have Godric everywhere he wanted him at once, but he would not have traded it, not for anything. If he was desperate to touch Godric everywhere then Godric seemed just as desperate to touch him too. Godric made frustrated sounds deep in his throat, as if he wanted to go slow and could not with Bertie rocking into him and drawing kisses from his mouth.
Godric’s fingers were pulling at the laces at the back of Bertie’s dress, so much that he possibly ripped a few in his haste and confusion, but Bertie could not blame him for being unfamiliar with dresses. He shifted and tore his mouth away to pant gratefully when Godric moved his hands to lift his tangled, wayward clothes for him, pulling at the heavy skirts until he found bare skin. Bertie’s knees slid cleanly to the floor on either side of Godric’s body and he was probably dreaming but he was not going to end this one.
“Godric beloved,” he breathed before tipping Godric’s head back for another taste of Godric’s mouth. He could feel the rasp of his beard on Godric’s bare skin and Godric’s pleased shudder beneath him as he answered.
“Yes, my lord?”
Bertie forgot that he was supposed to respond. He pulled away to nip at the column of Godric’s throat while Godric’s hands toyed with his hem, working further and further up Bertie’s thighs until they reached his cock at last. Godric did not hesitate before he started to stroke, his palm dry and then sweaty and nicely damp. His grip was as strong as Bertie had dreamed.
Bertie dropped his head to mouth at Godric’s shoulder, shaking with impatience. Tattoos had no flavor to his tongue other than the pleasing salt and metal of Godric’s skin, but he drove his hips toward Godric’s hand and left bruises as his fingers curled into muscle and he tasted each and every drop of ink. He moaned over the golden sun of Bohdon and scraped his teeth over a puzzling rowan tree, but it was the red dragon curled over Godric’s heart that made Bertie clutch at Godric’s sides and pull away from Godric’s skilled hand.
This was no dream, praise the gods. Bertie could never have imagined that.
“My lord?” Godric asked, his voice hoarse with desire, and for once despite the need, Bertie’s mouth offered him no words at all.
He shook his head mutely but moved, kissing his way down Godric’s flat stomach, glancing up as he shoved Godric’s breeches from his path. His reward was a mouthful of cock and the sound of Godric pleading with him for more.
It seemed oddly right to hear Godric cry out for Bertie, to moan for his lord as he came. It was Godric’s name for him, and with his face hot and his mouth busy, Bertie felt it like a stroke down his back as he swallowed some seed and spit out the rest.
“Yes,” he agreed finally, his lips wet and stinging, his own prick full and unsatisfied as he climbed back over his personal paladin, “Your lord. Let me be your lord, Godric.” Because he wished to be. He would shower Godric in his colors and reward him as no knight had ever been rewarded.
Godric’s eyes blazed at Bertie’s words. His hands were slower at Bertie’s dress laces now that Bertie had brought him off, but he pulled the laces free at last and tugged until all the skirts were gone. Bertie let Godric strip them from him and then stretched his naked body for Godric’s eyes. If Bertie was bony, Godric did not seem to mind. He did not seem to mind at all, until Bertie, who was not used to blushing, felt his face grow hot and had to momentarily glance away from Godric’s fierce stare. When he looked back, Godric’s gaze enveloped him from crown to cock.
To spare himself more foolish blushes, Bertie leaned in to run his tongue along the seam of Godric’s lips and to share a breath when Godric’s lips parted for him. Godric’s fingers were at his back, then at his ass, before withdrawing. Godric was wise and knew better than Bertie what should not be attempted in a feverish rush on a cold floor with nothing to aid them. But the idea of it was enough
to make Bertie writhe and beg against Godric’s mouth, to extract a promise from him that they might someday be this close again. In the meantime, Godric was his to touch and touch he did. Godric gave a tired groan when Bertie ran one hand over his chest, over that rose red dragon, but held tight to Bertie’s hips when Bertie used his other hand to give himself release, sliding his cock between his fingers and against Godric’s skin, with their mouths open and dragging together. It did not take him long, not after waiting for so long, or with Godric’s fingers pressing into him with such promise.
He spilled onto himself with a cry and left a smaller mess across the red dragon but he fell back against Godric’s chest without much thought to cleaning either of them up. Godric’s heartbeat roared under his ear before Bertie stretched out, easing part of his body to the side and leaving his mouth open beneath Godric’s ear. Throughout it all, Godric’s hand stayed a steady weight on his hip. Their feet touched, mingled hot skin with traces of the outside cold in Godric’s toes. Bertie could not hide his smile.
“We must do that again,” he remarked quietly when he could speak again, pleasing Godric so much that Godric gave another short laugh that was joy, hot and pure, before he answered.
“Yes, my lord.” The man did not need an epic’s worth of words to make Bertie happy, though Bertie knew Godric did not see this as he did and that Godric was not dreaming of finding him at court and dragging him to his rooms to possess him, or of the looks of promise they would exchange at feasts, or of what Bertie would do to him with enough time in a proper bed. Godric was already thinking of the morning and a future where none of that would happen.
When their breathing evened and then Godric’s slowed with the need for sleep, Bertie thought of moving, or speaking. Surely there had to be at least one story that would convince Godric of what they could be, if there was no war, if they were back at Camlann. But then he thought of the few hours left to them and of what burdens were now on Godric’s shoulders and bit his lip to stay quiet and remain where he was.
~~~
Bertie’s memories of the rest of the night and the early hours of morning were a blur of movement and a whisper of breath at his ear until the moment full awareness hit him and he sat up and scrambled to his feet amid the pile of furs that had been laid on top of him.
Godric must have gotten dressed elsewhere, for both he and his noisy armor were gone from the tent. He had left behind a large basin of clean, if painfully cold, water, which was useful for the unpleasant task of cleaning up the dried remnants of the night before.
Bertie had no new clothing to change into, but he pulled on the finer pair of his brother’s breeches under the Count’s heavy skirts to better stay warm. He shaved as well, shivering as he used the equally cold glass of water that had been left with his breakfast offering. The food itself he snatched up and devoured, cold, tough venison tasting as rich as pheasant with roasted apples.
He had no possessions of his own here, save the cat, so he scooped little Godric up and held him close after the cat immediately climbed into his bodice of its own accord. It also sought out a warm embrace and a steadily beating heart, poor thing.
There was still no Godric, but the sun was rising outside, turning dark gray to purple and silver, so Bertie swallowed and left the tent.
It was no good wishing for more, for even a short farewell, but of course he did wish it. Godric could already be on his way somewhere, letting his tent and things follow after him as he helped save a nation, and Bertie might never see him again and it was so easy, too easy, to imagine the kind of goodbyes he should have made.
It probably hadn’t even occurred to Godric that Bertie was scared for him, that while falling asleep in each other’s arms had been wonderful, Bertie might still wish to say something to Godric before he left.
Perhaps he had been afraid Bertie would further embarrass him, which was admittedly a possibility, or cry, or wail for Godric to never leave him. Tears could break free easily enough, Bertie knew, but if Bertie had managed not to give into the need at their last parting he could do so again, even if it killed him.
At the very least Godric could have appeared to chastise Bertie once more for taking risks and then patiently endure Bertie’s worry and love for him in return. It would have only been fair.
It seemed winter already at that moment with Bertie alone and the sun only a hint between the trees. He tightened the sash at his waist to better support the cat and then wrapped his arms about himself as he began to walk. Most of the encampment had already left, ridden out under cover of night. It was alarming that he had not heard a sound, but then, he had been wrapped up with his treasure.
Tents stood out amid so much flattened earth, as did the movements of packing soldiers and the two wagons near the center of the camp. Some of Bertie’s people were climbing into them to assist the soldiers carefully pulling up the wounded and infirm.
There were a few cavalrymen about too, men from the king’s guard and Godric’s tutelage, waiting patiently astride their horses, and though it had not occurred to Bertie, it seemed obvious now that Godric would send along a contingent of men he could not afford to spare.
Bertie was on a perilous fool’s journey; there was no need to add to Godric’s worries by taking away more of his soldiers.
“How many is he sending?” he demanded as he hurried over to them, stopping when one soldier lifted his head and he saw it was the sour-faced Captain who did not seem so sour-faced this morning. He wasn’t frowning until he saw Bertie, and then it was merely a brief frown before he returned to the task at hand.
“Only three, Lord Aethelbert,” Torr answered calmly, as though that number were not both too high and too low. Three for over twenty five was not enough to truly guard but it was also too many to take from Godric’s side. Yet three was the same number that had found them hiding around the Keep and brought them here.
Bertie stopped, and blinked. It was the same three, in fact. The same three men.
“Sir Godric did not order us,” the captain added, straightening for a salute that would have made Bertie gape if he had not grown up around the court. “We volunteered now as we did then.”
Bertie felt his mouth go slack despite his previous thought “This talk of duty,” he got out after too long a pause. “Is there no one it does not affect?” He pouted to the gods in general and to the Trickster specifically, and was even more startled when the captain saluted him. Again.
Aethelbert of Clas Draigoch was obeyed, if reluctantly, but never honored. Bertie wet his lips though they would chap in the wind, and waited.
“It is a noble task,” Torr offered, then looked squarely at Bertie with that blank, measured look that Bertie had first seen in his brother and then in Godric years and years ago, that look that said potential costs had been considered as well as the possible benefits and one had decidedly outweighed the other. Bertie distantly wished he knew how to do it, then realized to his dismay that he already did and that was why his brother and Godric had put such trust in him.
He became aware that he was staring and made himself blink again. The captain’s mouth curved up in what could have been a smile before he went back to work. He shrugged as well but the gesture was too pointed to be innocent. Bertie found himself glancing around until he found Torr’s horse and he could see the dried posy still hanging from his saddle. It was one more reason the man spoke madness; Torr had an invasion to help fight so he could return to his beloved, he shouldn’t be devoting himself to looking out for Bertie. But when Torr spoke again, he seemed to disagree. “And someone must see that you are safe, for his sake.”
The hand that smoothed Bertie’s skirt over his hip and nervously patted his combed hair was to buy him a moment as he struggled to control himself. There were so very many thoughts swirling in his mind, like the excited and anxious knots suddenly in his stomach.
A statement like that would imply that the outcome of everything depended on more than just Godric, that the
re were others who dreamed and made their decisions based on what was best for others, and Bertie thought, distantly but fiercely, that with so such people on their side, there was no way they could fail.
“Godric worries about everything, for everyone,” Bertie murmured, because it was true, but also because only the Trickster himself would give Bertie this information at the moment he had to leave.
“But for none so much as you, my lord.” Godric’s warm hearthstone voice carried even when he did not raise it. Bertie spun around to watch him approach. Godric continued to speak. “I had thought this clear.”
Godric was in armor again, his sword at his side, again. Bertie’s chest tightened with pleasure and fear and the nearly overwhelming desire to hold Godric down and prevent him from leaving. It was unfair that everything else in the world outweighed the wants of Bertie’s heart. The gods were both kind and cruel.
“Perhaps to prudish Southerners,” Bertie remarked finally, faintly and not at all evenly, but he managed sad disapproval, even a cluck of his tongue a second later. “Your jaw is already rough.”
“Beards are good for the winter months,” Godric commented back, still calm even if his eyes travelled again and again over Bertie’s face. He came to a stop a short distance from Bertie and scratched his chin. There were a few blossoms in his hand, a scant collection of asters this time.
Bertie frowned at them, at Godric really, a true frown. Hopefully even a scary one. But Godric stood before him and those cursed wagons were behind him, so if this was Bertie’s chance at a farewell then he ought to take it.
“As long as you shave it when I see you again,” he allowed, and froze when this made Godric stop. That thoughtful expression crossed Godric’s face again and Bertie wondered what Godric was dreaming of that made him smile as he did, wide and accepting as if a deal had been struck.
