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3 Kingsway 9:28 Dragon

Fearghal laughingly dipped the point of his practice sword down and pressed it against Rory Gilmore's throat as he lay flat on his back in the dust of the practice yard, under a blazing hot sun.

Gilmore grinned up at him. "I yield!" he cried, squinting up at Fearghal.

Fearghal stepped back and extend his hand to help Gilmore up. "You almost had me there," he admitted.

Gilmore's green eyes glowed with humour. "I know," he smirked. "Your day is coming soon, My Lord. One of these days it will be you on your back, yielding to me!" he boasted.

Fearghal burst out laughing. "Oh-ho! Bold words, my friend. Let's hope I don't make you eat them!"

Gilmore laughed over his shoulder as he walked over to the bucket of water at the side of the practice yard, shaded by the fence. He grasped the ladle, raised it to his mouth and drank greedily from it. He started to strip off his gauntlets, shoulder guards, throwing them carelessly on the ground, and then grasped the bottom of his splint mail chest piece and wrestled his way out of it, while Fearghal looked on, amused. Gilmore's linen shirt was plastered to his body with sweat. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Gilmore tore it off over his head, tossing it aside. He stooped and lifted the bucket then upended it over his head.

Fearghal felt a sudden blaze of desire course through him as the water streamed over Gilmore's head, plastering the sweat-darkened hair even closer to his head. Rivulets of water ran down his neck and over his torso, the muscles shivering involuntarily as cool water met hot skin. Fearghal almost moaned aloud at the unexpected urge that coursed through him; the urge to stride over there and kiss Rory Gilmore hard, and then lick the water from his skin.

~o~O~o~

17 Harvestmere 9:29 Dragon

Fearghal, Ser Gilmore and Ser Arrol walked down the lane to the village in the fading light. They had spent the last few hours training and sparring and after cleaning up, changing and a quick meal had hurried out of Castle Cousland towards The Fat Badger for a well-deserved drink.

The summer had suddenly faded into autumn and dusk was arriving earlier each day. By the time they got down to the tavern it was almost completely dark; chinks of light gleamed through closed shutters. Fearghal pushed open the door and light and noise spilled out into the gloom. The three men stepped into the bright, warm tavern. Ser Gilmore hurriedly shut the door as a chorus of protest arose at the sudden draught. The tap room was packed; mostly men from Castle Cousland but there was a respectable contingent representing the village too.

Ser Arrol looked around the room frowning. "Most of this lot are supposed to be on guard duty at five bells," he muttered.

Fearghal rolled his eyes. "Give them a break, Marcus. It's still early for all its dark."

Arrol snorted. "That's all right for you to say, you won't have to rouse the sluggards in the morning. It's like trying to raise the dead!"

Fearghal laughed and started pushing his way to the bar. He heard Gilmore chuckle behind him.

"Maybe you should get an early night yourself; set them an example," suggested Gilmore slyly.

"Not on your life! I've earned this," Arrol declared fervently. "Anyway," he grumbled," my good example would be wasted on this lot."

Fearghal turned from the bar and passed two pints of ale back to Gilmore and Arrol. As he rejoined the other two, one of the Castle men looked up and spotted them.

"Evenin' m'lord, sers," he called, lifting his own pint in salute. The other men sat at the table looked up smiling and murmuring as Fearghal returned the greeting, then raised his flagon to his mouth, drinking deeply.

Fearghal caught sight of a huge man sitting on a settle and grinned. "Bennet, your good lady wife is looking for you, I believe."

Bennet blanched and drained his pint. "I'd best be off," he muttered, ignoring the sniggering that broke out around him.

"Yeah, you don't want any more injuries," teased one of his companions to more sniggering.

"Hey, Bennet," called another voice. "Do you 'ave to sit down for that mite of a woman to black your eye?"

The big man scowled at his companions. "You're all a bunch of bastards," he growled. "I told you. That was an accident."

The sniggering gave way to open laughter.

"Yeah, yeah. We know," replied his tormentor. "You big girl's blouse," he muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear, causing another outburst of laughter at Bennet's expense.

Bennet stood and pushed his way to the door, disappearing into the night.

Fearghal grinned. "Excellent, now two of us can sit down!" he announced happily to more chuckles, as he scooted round the table and sat on the settle. Gilmore joined him and Arrol pulled up a chair and sat at the end of the table.

"So," asked Gilmore curiously, "is Bennet's wife really looking for him?"

"I have no idea... probably," replied Fearghal, his blue eyes twinkling. "She might be grateful for an early night with him."

"Yeah," agreed one of the other men. "For all she's so small, he's the only man big enough to 'andle er, if you know what I mean." He winked.

"I 'eard her Gran were a dwarf," offered another.

"That would explain her mean right hook then," said Gilmore dryly to more laughter.

Fearghal caught the eye of the Innkeeper and gestured for a round of ale for everyone. He felt the tension ease out of him and relaxed against the back of the settle. It was a bit of a crush and he was suddenly painfully aware of Gilmore's body pressed against his side. He tried to ignore him and concentrate on the various conversations that had broken out around him. He could feel the pressure of Gilmore's thigh against his own. He only half-heard Ser Arrol telling the men about their sparring earlier in the day.

"So, Ser Gilmore," called a voice, "'ave you made his lordship beg for mercy yet?"

Gilmore smiled wryly. "No, not yet, Fenwick," he admitted. He twisted his head and smirked at Fearghal. "But I will," he promised.

At his words Fearghal froze. Maker, he's going to kill me saying things like that! Fearghal sipped his pint, trying to calm the feelings that raged in him at Gilmore's words. Since he'd developed his crush on Rory Gilmore, everything sounded like a double entendre.

"I wish you'd bloody hurry about it," grumbled Fenwick.

Gilmore laughed. "I'm working on it, believe me."

Fearghal almost choked on his ale; he could have sworn he felt Gilmore's thigh rub against his own. Maferath's balls!

"Anyway, Fenwick. Why the sudden interest in my prowess?" enquired Gilmore.

Fearghal concentrated on his ale. I wish they'd change the bloody subject.

"Some of us got a sweepstake going on it," admitted Fenwick, to the amusement of the others.

Fearghal was grateful when Ser Arrol, mindful of the time, rounded up most of the men from the castle and reminded them of how early they had to be up in the morning. Grumbling good-naturedly they allowed themselves to be herded out of the tavern. Fearghal headed back to the bar and returned with more ale for himself and Gilmore, seating himself at the far end of the settle. It was much easier to chat with Gilmore when his leg wasn't pressed against him; he could almost forget how badly he wanted him.

Two hours later Fearghal and Gilmore rose and headed slightly unsteadily for the door. They weaved up the hill in silence. Fearghal found himself trying to put some distance between himself and Gilmore, which disturbed him. He had tried to keep a tight rein on his feelings, worried about ruining his friendship with Gilmore if the other man guessed what was going through his mind. 'But I'm ruining it anyway,' he though sadly. He staggered slightly, having meandered a little way off the path onto rougher ground.

"Careful, Fearghal!" Gilmore was slipping an arm around his waist in an attempt to steady him.

Startled, and not a little guilty about the feelings Gilmore's touch aroused in him, he tried to pull away. Fearghal lost his balance completely, pulling Gilmore down on top of him. He lay there for a long moment, winded. He frowned, waiting for Gilmore to get off him but Gilmore wasn't moving. Fearghal twisted his head to the side, embarrassed as he felt his body respond to the man who lay on him. Maker! He'll know!

"Fearghal." Gilmore's voice was little more than a soft breath of air on Fearghal's cheek.

Fearghal turned his head and looked up. Gilmore was gazing down at him. In the pale moonlight his pale skin looked almost silver, his green eyes huge dark orbs.

"Fearghal." There was just the barest hint of a question in Gilmore's voice.

Sobering, Fearghal realised that he could feel something pressing into his hip. Almost without realising what he was doing, Fearghal raised his hands and cradled Gilmore's face.

"I yield," he muttered hoarsely. "I yield, Rory."

In the moonlight, Fearghal, saw Gilmore's small, unmistakably triumphant smile. He lifted his head and brushed his lips against Gilmore's, exalting in the shiver he felt ripple through the other man. His hand slipped round to cup Gilmore's head, pulling it down, and Fearghal kissed him again, more firmly. Gilmore nibbled gently at his lower lip and Fearghal gasped as a jolt of pleasure shot through him, then Gilmore's tongue was in his mouth.

~o~O~o~

Fearghal and Rory crept past the unoccupied guest rooms. Fearghal raised a finger to his lips and signalled Rory to wait, then crept into the vestibule that led to the private family quarters. The doors to both his parents' room and Fergus's room were closed. Softly Fearghal crept to the doors and listened. He heard his father snoring; from behind Fergus's door came a low laugh and a higher-pitched giggle. Fearghal grinned to himself. Fergus and Oriana sound like they're having too much fun to worry about what anyone else is up to.

He crossed quietly to his own room and gestured to Rory to follow him. Moments later they were safely in Fearghal's room. The servants had been in earlier to light the lamps; they wouldn't be back tonight, unless summoned. He turned to Rory, suddenly unsure of himself. He'd wanted this so badly for so long now, he was afraid he was going to mess up somehow.

As Fearghal hesitated, Rory stepped close.

"I've wanted to do this for such a long time, Fearghal," Rory confessed, leaning in to kiss him.

Fearghal's legs turned to jelly at the slow, sensual kiss, exploring but not demanding. Part of him wanted to grasp, to snatch, to tear greedily at the man who had been the object of his desire for over a year, yet the kiss was so deliciously slow, so full of promise, he never wanted it to end. Instead, he struggled to restrain the passion that blazed through him and returned the kiss, tentatively exploring Rory's mouth with his own.

Fearghal's arms came up and he clasped Rory to him, gasping at how glorious that hard body felt pressed against his own. That gasp frayed some of Rory's self-control and his tongue plunged into Fearghal's mouth, the kiss now hungry and commanding. Rory's hands skimmed over Fearghal, then he was tugging Fearghal's shirt free of his breeches and his hands were underneath it, hitching it up higher and higher. Aching with desire Fearghal ground his pelvis against the other man, feeling Rory's hard erection through the cloth of their breeches.

Fearghal whimpered as fingers grazed over his skin. He released Rory and tore himself away from the searing kiss; he ripped his shirt off over his head, then grasped Rory's shirt and started pulling it up. Rory raised his arms, allowing Fearghal to pull the shirt off. Fearghal reached out only to find his wrist caught in Rory's strong fist.

"Tut-tut, you yielded to me, remember?" Rory reminded him with a sly smile.

Fearghal swallowed nervously. This wasn't what he'd expected at all; he was used to being the one in charge. He gazed into Rory's eyes, normally so green, now almost black with desire. He nodded slowly, and relaxed his arm in Rory's grip. Rory leaned in and kissed Fearghal lightly, his mouth moving along his jaw and down his neck, occasionally sucking, sometimes nipping lightly with his teeth.

Fearghal trembled as Rory's hands resumed their exploration. The other man's hands and mouth seemed to be all over him and he was awash with sensation. Fingernails scraped down his back and a hand briefly cupped his backside, then was gone, moving on. Rory's mouth suckled, nipped and teased at the skin on Fearghal's shoulders, his chest, his arms. Fearghal whimpered; he desperately wanted to reciprocate but every time he tried, Rory withdrew, tutting at him. Fearghal growled, torn between passion and frustration; he was unused to being so passive.

Fearghal's insides lurched as he felt a tug at the laces of his breeches. In moments Rory had them untied and pushed them down, along with Fearghal's braies, exposing Fearghal's erection. Fearghal held his breath as long, slim fingers fluttered down his chest and on over his belly. Rory slowly lowered himself to his knees, his mouth trailing kisses in the wake of his teasing fingers. Fearghal gasped as Rory ran his tongue from the bottom of his shaft to the top.

Unable to resist, Fearghal reached out and ran his hand through Rory's hair, pulling Rory's head towards his twitching cock; he was surprised at how soft and silky the flaming red hair felt under his fingers. Rory looked up at Fearghal, his eyes smouldering and ran his tongue over his lips, then dipped his head and covered Fearghal with his mouth. Fearghal groaned and thrust his hips forward. Rory's head dipped lower, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked; Fearghal's legs quivered as he looked down, drinking in the sight of his cock buried in Rory Gilmore's mouth. Fearghal groaned loudly as he felt callused hands reach round and caress his backside, firm fingers parting his cheeks.

"Rory, I'm... I can't..." rasped Fearghal as his fingers clenched in the silky red hair and his hips thrust as he came in Rory's mouth. Fearghal shuddered and moaned as Rory sucked hard, milking him. His legs trembling, Fearghal unsteadily sank to his knees, pulling Rory close and kissing him hard. A thrill rippled through him at the bitter taste on Rory's tongue. Fearghal's fingers brushed against the front of Rory's breeches, tracing the outline of the hard cock he could feel swelling against the cloth.

"I don't think we're finished, Ser Gilmore," he rasped, slightly hoarse.

Rory chuckled. "Oh, not nearly, my lord. I have yet to accept your full surrender." His lips twisted in a sly grin as Fearghal's eyes widened. He leaned forward and kissed Fearghal lightly, then stood up and moved to sit on the bed, leaning forward to pull off his boots and socks. Fearghal watched him for a long moment, a flutter of anxiety in his belly, then he too sat himself on the end of the bed and start to pull off his own footwear. His mouth went dry as Rory stood and stripped off his breeches and braies in one swift movement.

Fearghal felt himself stir as his eyes swept over slim hips and taut buttocks. Rory half-turned and Fearghal's eyes darted to the stiff cock jutting out from Rory's body. He felt his breath hitch and tried to tell himself that he had seen Rory naked many times over the years. But not like this! Rory cleared his throat softly and Fearghal's eyes shot up; Rory's mouth was turned up in an amused smile, humour twinkled in the green eyes. Fearghal felt unaccountably shy and lowered his eyes. He pulled at his breeches and braies, which were already around his thighs, glad for something to do.

This is stupid! I'm not some youth that's never been fucked! But it had been a long time. Not because he didn't enjoy it; he did. Rather, that while it was acceptable for him to 'sow his wild oats', even acceptable for him to sow them with other men, it wouldn't do for word to get around that the young Lord of Highever had been fucked by many of the grooms and upwards between Highever and Denerim. Fearghal's many and varied conquests were far more likely to maintain their discretion if they were on the receiving end of his attentions.

Rory Gilmore was a different prospect though. Quite apart from the fact that Fearghal had been lusting after him for the last year, there was the simple fact that Fearghal had never, until tonight, had any inkling of Rory's inclinations or experience. And he's clearly experienced. It spoke volumes about his friend's discretion. Fearghal glanced up again.

Rory was watching him intently. "Do you trust me, Fearghal?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Always, Rory," murmured Fearghal, realising that it was true. He trusted Rory with his very life.

Fearghal stood and went to the small dresser at the side of his bed. He pulled open the top drawer and rummaged around, drawing out a small bottle of oil that he set on top of the dresser. He was taut with tension, a mixture of excitement and anticipation, and jumped as a hand snaked around his waist, then relaxed as he was pulled back against Rory's broad, solid chest. Soft lips nuzzled at his neck, making his breath come in gasps. Fearghal leaned back, pressing his backside against the hot, engorged flesh that pressed against him.

Fearghal half-turned as he felt Rory move away. Rory lay down on the bed and held out his hand to Fearghal, who reached out and took it, allowing Rory to draw him down on to the bed. Fearghal rested on his side and allowed his eyes to sweep over the pale, muscular body beside him. Maker's breath, he's beautiful! Fearghal leaned over and swept his hand over Rory's heavily muscled torso, not missing his lover's gasp as his hand brushed over a nipple. Fearghal let his hand drift back up, and idly tweaked the pale pink nub as he moved in and kissed Rory gently. He felt Rory arch, pressing up against his fingers and his cock begin to harden again.

Fearghal smirked with satisfaction against Rory's mouth as he kissed him and was startled when Rory suddenly bucked under his hand, twisting, forcing Fearghal onto his back. Rory grabbed both of Fearghal's wrists, pinioning them above his head.

"Oh, no you don't! You yielded to me," Rory growled. His expression softened into a mischievous grin. "You are my prisoner. I'll tie you up if I have to!"

Fearghal felt an unexpected frisson at the threat. His cocked twitched and he saw Rory's eyes flick to his groin.

Rory cocked his head to one side, as if trying to decide something. "Would you like that?" he asked, curiously.

Fearghal felt as if he couldn't get enough air to reply. "I-I don't know...I've never... " He paused, closing his eyes briefly, heat flooding his face. "Yes, yes!" he confessed hoarsely, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

Rory looked around the room, searching for something suitable.

"S-second drawer down. There's some b-belts and things that would p-probably do." Fearghal was almost gasping for breath, torn between excitement and nervousness.

Rory bent over him and brushed his lips against Fearghal's. "Don't move," he instructed, his voice harsh. He released his hold of Fearghal's wrists and leaned over, jerking the drawer open. He delved inside it and pulled out a silk cummerbund.

Fearghal felt a thrill of trepidation run through him as Rory wrapped it around his wrists and then tied it to one of the slats in the bed-head. He groaned, hips twitching; his cock was rock hard.

Rory's eyes swept over Fearghal, sprawled naked on the bed, bound to it. Lust flared in his eyes. When his eyes met Fearghal's they were almost black, just the merest hint of green visible around the dilated pupils. He settled himself next to Fearghal and Fearghal groaned as Rory's hand swept down his body. Lips followed hand, teeth grazed over Fearghal's nipples as Rory's hand slipped between his legs and grasped his balls, squeezing them gently.

Fearghal jerked against his bonds as Rory blew over his nipples, his hips thrusting of their own accord. Fearghal tried to relax at the waves of pleasure that swept over him as Rory teased and tormented him with hands and mouth. Not being able to reciprocate was almost unbearable and felt... selfish somehow. Fearghal had always found it intensely gratifying to provoke pleasure in others; he revelled in the feel of skin under his hands and mouth, savoured the moans he elicited from his lovers. Being so completely at the mercy of another was a novel and slightly unnerving experience.

"Oh, Maker, Rory! Please... I... please," gasped Fearghal, almost sobbing. It felt as if every nerve in his body was aflame with desire.

Rory twisted, reaching for the bottle of oil on the dresser. He slowly poured some oil onto his fingers and set the bottle back down. He leaned over Fearghal, kissing him deeply, thrusting his tongue into Fearghal's mouth. Fearghal gasped like a drowning man; his whole body lifted, straining to meet the man who leaned over him. Fearghal went rigid with ecstasy as an oiled finger slipped inside him. His head fell back as he gave himself up to jolts of pleasure that erupted deep inside him as Rory found that sweet spot and brushed his finger over it.

"More... please, Rory," begged Fearghal. A shuddering groan burst from him as a second finger slipped inside him. Fearghal's hips thrust convulsively against Rory's fingers; he felt almost detached from reality. Fearghal felt a tongue swirl across the head of his cock and he groaned again, arching almost off the bed.

Fearghal didn't even realise he'd closed his eyes until they flew open as Rory's mouth left him; he whimpered in disappointment.

"I want you, Fearghal." Rory's voice was thick with desire.

"I yield! I yield, Rory! Please... " implored Fearghal.

Slowly, Rory withdrew his fingers, leaving an aching emptiness in Fearghal. Rory reached for the bottle of oil and knelt between Fearghal's thighs. Fearghal watched, mesmerised, as Rory poured some oil into his palm. Having leaned over to replace the bottle on the dresser, Rory slowly ran his hand over his dripping, twitching cock.

Fearghal flexed his knees up against his chest as Rory edge closer, using his bonds to brace himself. He breathed deeply, struggling to relax, to dispel the tension of anticipation as he felt the head of Rory's cock nudging at him. A thrust, pushing past momentary discomfort, and he heard Rory groan as he entered him. Fearghal lay trembling, fighting to steady his breathing, as Rory pushed in deeper. Then Rory was moving against him and Fearghal was lost in pleasure, in his surrender.

Fearghal thought he would explode when Rory's hand circled his cock, a callused thumb running over the tip. His hips flexed frantically of their own volition, his abdominal muscles trembling with the effort, but he couldn't have stayed still if his life had depended on it. Rory pounded into him, sweat dripping off his face onto Fearghal's shoulder.

"C-come for me, Fearghal," groaned Rory.

The words had Fearghal arching off the bed as he had the most intense orgasm he'd ever experienced. It felt like he came with whole body. He heard someone shout, but he didn't know if it was himself or Rory; he was barely aware of the warm streams of liquid that spurted across his belly and chest.

Fearghal felt as if every muscle in his body convulsed, then Rory's hips were thrusting erratically as he buried his face against Fearghal's neck, roaring as he came hard. Fearghal felt the big warrior on top of him tense, his cock pulsing deep inside him, then Rory collapsed on top of him, quivering.

Fearghal wrapped his legs around Rory's body, holding him close in the only way he could. He twisted his head, kissing the sweat-darkened hair. "I love you, Rory," he whispered.

Rory lifted his head and kissed him gently. "I've loved you for so long, Fearghal," he confessed.

Fearghal closed his eyes and sighed. "I wish I'd known. I feel like I've wasted so much time. Stay with me, Rory."

"Always. You're mine now," murmured Rory.

Fearghal smiled. "Yours," he agreed. "Always."