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His tongue is smoother than oil

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Richard has three hard rules about the people who share his bed. They cannot demand things from him, they will not linger too long, and above all, they will not tell his mother.

The guest sitting in front of him has broken all three and it is only because Richard is getting progressively drunker and less steady that he does not attempt to throw him out.

“Really, Philip,” he says as he leans back in his chair, sipping his fourth glass of wine (fifth? Sixth? He's lost track and doesn't really care at this point). “I hardly thought you capable of such unseemly displays. Throwing yourself into my brother's coffin and weeping like some widow? Even my mother has more dignity than that.”

“Your mother would gladly bury your father in dirt if he was unwise enough to close his eyes around her, Richard. Unlike you, I actually like some of your family.” Philip took his own wine glass and drained it. “Geoffrey was a good friend.”

Richard snorts. “A good friend? To hear tale of it, you leapt upon his body like you wished to embrace it one last time before the worms took it. Is your wife even colder than the grave?”

“Do say hello to Alais for me, Richard. I understand it may be a hardship considering you're not speaking with your father currently.”

“I suppose your own family is upset that you haven't been able to produce an heir. It must be so dreadful to have no legacy.”

“Whereas legitimacy has never been an issue for you, I assume. How is my namesake doing?”

“Not everything is about you, Philip.” Richard placed a hand on the side of his chair and stood up, proud of the fact that he only leaned slightly. “Except for the reason why you're here in the middle of the night.”

“I can't just visit?” Philip asked, smiling gently. “Comfort a friend in his time of need?”

“If I thought you were actually here to give me solace, I would jump out this window and try to drown myself in the moat,” Richard said. “No, you want something and I've learned enough to just ask you to spare the honeyed words and tell me directly.”

Philip shrugged. “Very well. I suppose you're finally learning to hold your temper. Your mother would be proud.” At Richard's darkening face, he relented. “You are correct in assuming I'm not just here to share your bed, though that will be part of the favor I ask from you.”

“And why on Earth would I do you a favor?”

“Because it benefits you as well. And your brother.”

“If John was on fire, I would chop down an entire forest to keep the blaze going.” Richard clenched his hand around his wine glass and with one smooth motion, threw it against the stone wall. “You may exit out the window over there if your plot involves him. Mind the tapestries, I understand mother was rather fond of them.”

Philip laughs. “I'd hardly plot with your brother. Much as he has a certain... innocent charm, I find young men with tempers and the tongues to match more agreeable. No, Richard, I was speaking of Geoffrey.”

“He's dead.”

“Well, yes, I think we've well established that fact. We're all rather upset about it. Some of us more than others.”

“And yet, you're still talking about him. What on earth could I possibly do with Geoffrey other than build a rather ugly statue devoted to him and sneak it into father's bedchamber to give the old man a fright?”

“You could fuck him.”

This called for something a bit stronger than a glass of wine. Richard took the jug sitting next to him and drank from it directly. When he had to stop to take a breath, he said, “I believe I will need an explanation. A good one.”


Richard was sitting back in his chair, the world now definitely spinning in new directions. Across from him, Philip continued to smile his strange, sweet smile as he casually dropped the wine glass to the floor.

“You see, Richard, it's no use pretending you don't miss him.”

“What among all the backstabbing, plotting, and just truly unkind words made you think that I would want that treacherous snake back?”

“Richard, Richard. Did you not think Geoffrey wouldn't tell me about you fucking him? He found it rather charming bedchamber talk. And I must admit it, it did make me rise every time he told me how you would thrust him up against the wall, your breath hot against his neck, as you told him how you hated him so much. I admired the purity of your brotherly devotion.”

“Philip--”

“It's perfectly fine, Richard. I'd hardly tell your mother that her beloved heir was fucking her slightly less beloved younger son. After all, what a shock that would be to her. You know how she feels about blood ties.”

Richard scowled. “So Geoffrey couldn't keep his tongue silent. It wouldn't be the first time.”

“Don't undervalue his tongue, Richard. It was capable of quite a number of delightful things. And that's one of the reasons why I need him back. Along with the usual political alliances, balance of power, and making your father positively incandescent with rage.”

Richard held up one hand. “Hold on. You're saying you can--”

“Bring him back to life, yes. Though I need your help.”

“And I'll help you because--”

“Because you love your brother and I love your brother and we'd both like to fuck a warm living being and not a bag of bones. Because Geoffrey was a brilliant mind and an excellent tactician and a pain in the ass we can use against Henry. Because if you don't help me, I will tell your mother and we will see how far you get without her support.”

“You said you wouldn't tell her.”

“And did you actually believe me?”

“No,” Richard sighs. “Not really. So what do I have to do? Conduct some sort of blood ritual and drain sheep? Sacrifice virgins over an altar? Travel to a far and distant land to find an alchemical formula?” He brightened at that prospect, already dreaming of hot desert sands.

Philip laughed. “Don't worry. Your part in this is simple.” He handed Richard his own glass of wine, now filled to the brim again, and smiled reassuringly. “It's something I think you'll be quite familiar with.”

He drained the glass again. There would not be nearly enough wine for this.


Richard stared at the corpse laying on his bed. It was stiff, cold, covered with hoofprints, and unmistakably his brother. The only major difference was that it wasn't talking, which already made it far more tolerable.

“How did you even get the body out?”

“I have ways.”

“And the reason it's not rotting?”

“I have ways.”

“And--”

Philip patted his head. “Richard, I'd rather you not worry about the details. You won't be required to think for this part of the plan.”

He slumped. “So what am I required to do?”

“You can start by taking off your clothing.”

Richard began to remove his tunic, keeping one eye on Philip as he began to disrobe. It was never a hardship to stare at his muscled body, and Philip had always used this to his advantage. The doublet came next, then the inner tunic, hose, leg bands.

At last, when both of them were naked and Richard stood there uncomfortably, cock dangling limply in front of him, he asked, “What next?”

“You could stop looking like you're going to your own execution, Richard. It's just sex with your brother. It's not like you're trying to sleep with your wife.”

“Well, Philip, you're the one who wants me to fuck a corpse. Even I have standards.”

“You had standards. Now you have a magical cock that can bring your brother back to life because of royal blood.”

“You have royal blood, too, Philip, and I'm far more certain that this is closer to your daily life than mine.”

“We can debate about who's been proven to be less discriminate later, but it has to be your cock. Your mother's blood is strongest in you and we all know that Aquitaine chose her to be its champion.”

“So why not have my mother fuck Geoffrey?”

Richard paused for a few seconds as the words caught up to him.

“Forget I even said that.”

“I really will try to.”

Together, the two men maneuvered the body on the bed until it was positioned on its left. Philip carefully set Geoffrey's head on a cushion and ran a hand through his hair. “We don't want him dying again, after all.”

Richard watched as Philip lied down on the bed, moving himself until his cock brushed against Geoffrey's limp, cool one. “I don't understand why you have to be present, Philip.”

“One, I don't trust you to not lie to me you went through with it and it didn't work. Two, you don't know the words to the ritual and I'm not teaching you them. Three, do you honestly think I would do this without some form of recompense for myself.”

“Fine. But if this is all some sick plot and my father is waiting outside--”

“Richard, trust me.”

“I don't trust you.”

“Then trust that I'll tell your mother if you don't oil up your cock this instant.”

Richard reached for the pot of oil next to him and lathered up until he was slippery. His cock, still soft, glistened in the candlelight. “I believe I've found a serious flaw in your plan. You expect me to get hard thinking of my brother's corpse and contrary to what you think of me, that won't happen.”

“Oh, I know that,” Philip said. “That's why I drugged your wine.”

“What?”

“Richard, you forget I know you. Of course, you're going to take a while to get hard. Believe me, the amount of times I had to coax your cock into rising was infuriating. I don't have time for that tonight.”

He wondered if he should strangle Philip, then realized he'd have to explain two naked, dead bodies in his room and mother really would murder him if he used the tapestries to wrap them up. His cock twitched as he thought about it and he glared at it.

Richard stomped over to the bed. “I hate you. I hate my brother. I hate everything about this.” He lowered himself gingerly behind the body, until his cock was flush with Geoffrey's ass.

“I know,” Philip said as he slid his arm over Geoffrey's waist, touching Richard's hand, and his voice was fond. “You hate everything.”

Richard took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second before opening them to see his brother's bruised back, cold and white. “But I really hate this.” He began to push himself inside his brother.

His cock immediately was enveloped in chill, and he could hear Philip murmuring low, though what he was saying, he couldn't understand. But his body did and he felt a wave of something warm flow through him, a heat that contrasted with the cold in front of him.

Richard pressed further into Geoffrey, and the heat grew stronger inside him, a burning that caused his body to flush all over. His nipples grew swollen, his balls tightened, and he felt as if his skin was moving, a rippling throughout every muscle that caused him to moan and lay his face against his brother's neck.

Philip's voice grew louder, as Richard fully enveloped himself inside Geoffrey. He could see over his brother's shoulder that Philip was touching Geoffrey's chest, hands moving in rhythmic patterns. His words echoed in Richard's ears, ringing until his head was nothing but a void into which Philip's voice was the only sound to hear.

Suddenly, his trance was broken by Philip's voice. “Richard? Richard!”

He found his tongue. “What, Philip?”

“You can't spend yet. You must hold your cock.”

“Philip!”

“Richard, I need you to hold on. It's not finished yet.”

Richard whined in frustration. The heat was everywhere inside him, his veins liquid fire that ran straight down to his cock, which was a burning mass, surrounded by a cool that was the only thing keeping him from bursting into flames. He had to spend—he had to.

But Geoffrey--

He kept holding on. Philip's voice grew louder and louder and he couldn't even think. Everything was heat and pain and a blackness in his mind and all he could focus on was his cock inside Geoffrey and how much he wanted to--

“It's all right, Richard. It's time.”

And Richard came inside Geoffrey, his cock spending in one smooth rush, the heat running through him into the body in front of him. He felt relief, as the world came back to him in spots of color and Philip's voice, soothing and quiet, coaxing him down. He laid his sweaty forehead against his brother's head and took a deep breath.

“You fucking asshole.”

It took a minute for him to realize that it wasn't Philip saying it, but a rusty, croaked out voice coming from a body now warm and pliant in front of him. Geoffrey's skin turned pink, his ass was now the usual warmth Richard was used to and he was being cursed at.

“You son of a whore, you treacherous jade, you--”

“Don't talk about mother like that,” Richard snapped. “And I missed you too.”

In front of them, Philip said dryly, “Now boys, behave. Some of us still have a ritual to finish.”

“What ritual?” Geoffrey asked, even as Richard was saying “What do you mean, finish?”

“Since I don't wish to repeat myself, Geoffrey, you were dead, but now you're not thanks to your brother fucking you back to life. Richard, just because you spent doesn't mean that we're done.”

“Don't ask, Geoffrey,” Richard said even as his brother opened his mouth. “Just don't. What do we need to do now?”

“We need to switch places.”

“Again?” Geoffrey said. “My ass feels like someone shoved a poker up it and you want to take a turn at it?”

“It's necessary to complete the ritual,” Philip replied. “We don't want your resurrection to be incomplete.”

Richard had already started rising from the bed as Philip stood up and moved over to the pitcher of oil. “Geoffrey, stop complaining. You're only the second one I've heard of to come back from the dead.” He smiled at his brother's petulant expression as he lied down in front of him.

“Your brother is right, Geoffrey,” Philip said, his cock now slick with oil. “Once we're finished here, you can complain at us all you want. Until then, I suggest you find pleasure in the fact that for once, you're the one with all the attention.”

“Yes, this is exactly what I wanted. My brother taking me from behind while you tell me it's for my own good. No doubt you will reward me further by inviting John and my father to join us. Why not add in our mother, too? Make this--

Richard kissed Geoffrey and he stilled his speech in surprise. The kiss deepened and he begrudgingly opened his mouth to Richard's tongue. His mouth tasted of unfamiliar, bitter herbs along with a hint of something sweet, like honey.

Behind him, he heard, “Yes, that would be the best way to stop his tongue,” and Richard felt it as Philip took his place on the bed. He decided to ignore it and continued kissing Geoffrey, exploring every inch of his mouth. His brother's tongue slipped around his and he could feel him relax against him.

Eventually, Richard pulled away, breathless and panting, as his brother tried to collect himself enough to glare at him. “Richard, I swear--”

“I would advise you to take a deep breath, Geoffrey. You won't be unaware for this part.”

“What do you mean?”

And Philip slid into him, Geoffrey stiffening and letting out a gasp. “You ass,” he said. “I hate you.”

“Yes, your brother already made that clear. I hear tales of your division, but your family is far more united in thought than I previously believed.”

Philip began thrusting into him and Geoffrey's hands clenched around Richard's shoulders. “Do something,” he hissed. “Don't let him win this.”

“This isn't a competition,” Richard replied, one of his hands tracing Geoffrey's nipples.

“Isn't it always?”

“I suppose it is,” he allowed, and placed a hand, still coated with the oil he used earlier to grasp Geoffrey's cock. “I can hardly allow France to win.” His hands began to firmly stroke it.

“Really, Richard. I thought we were all friends here.”

“What gave you that idea?” Another thrust, and Geoffrey moaned as Richard responded by running a finger up the underside of his cock. “I'm pretty sure that we've all betrayed each other at this point.”

“And yet here we are,” Philip said. “Performing an act of great sacrifice to bring a loved one back.”

Geoffrey scoffed. “Great sacrifice indeed. My ass will proclaim you a saint.”

“Hush,” Richard says. “How much longer, Philip?”

“I'm almost finished,” he responds. “You'll know when it's done.”

“Well, it had better be soon,” Geoffrey said, “because I'm almost finished.” Richard's hand was stroking his cock, and he alternated grunts and moans as he twisted between the two of them. “I can't take much more--”

In retrospect, Richard was not surprised by Geoffrey's rather quick spending. Richard had always been told he had excellent technique. What did surprise him was the blast of heat that came from Philip, along with a few muttered words, and the drop into unconsciousness.

“You bastard,” he thought, and then nothing.


When Richard woke up, he could feel a warm body atop him, firm fingers tracing patterns around his nipples. He blearily cracked open one eye.

“I still hate you,” he said.

Philip laughed and bent down to kiss him. “I would hope so.” His cock was rubbing against Richard's own, and he gripped the two of them tightly together. “It would be so disappointing if this had changed you at all.”

“I knew I shouldn't have trusted you,” he managed to gasp out. “What did you do?”

“Oh, don't tell me you're as stupid as John. I believe you can figure it out.”

And the horrible part was he could. He could feel Philip's smugness inside of him, could feel that connection that stretched to him and beyond to Geoffrey, who he could feel some distance away. “A soul bond? Really?”

“Well, that was part of the plan. “Philip's fingers did something and Richard bucked. “Alliances are all well and good, but they can be broken. A bond, however?” He smiled. “Those are a bit more lasting.”

“It didn't help my father or my mother,” Richard said, arching back as Philip worked his cock. “Look at them.”

“I have,” he said simply. “No matter what either of them does, they'll never kill the other one. They'll fight and hate and love and use their own children as weapons, but in the end, they can't take the final step.”

“Damn you,” Richard whispered. “Why did you bring Geoffrey into this?”

Philip shoved a cushion aside and moved to lie down by Richard, grabbing a wine glass from the table nearby. “I could tell you it was because we need his brain or because he'll keep us from too many futile attempts to kill each other or because it will distract your father long enough that he'll make a fatal mistake and we'll all get what we want. It could even be because we love him and he loves us.”

Somewhere, Richard could feel Geoffrey coming closer. He was a hazy, but curious blend of fear and hate and a longing for companionship that took Richard's breath away. His brother was many things, but simple was not one of them. Neither was Philip.

“I suspect,” Richard said, “that much of that is truth, but not entirely.” He propped himself up to see Philip's face, but he already could feel the expanding delight inside him.

“And here I thought you weren't the clever one in the family.”

Philip kissed him again as Geoffrey burst through the room.

“You asses,” he hissed at them. “I'm pregnant.”