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Philippe found Chevalier in a bath by the fire, neck-deep in water. His cheeks were very pink.

"Good afternoon," said Philippe, straightening his arms so his valet could slip his coat off.

"How's your wife?" said Chevalier.

"Still a virgin."

"Excellent. How long will it be, do you think, before your brother sees the error of his ways and sends her home?"

Philippe straightened his cuffs, trying to ignore the sudden image that popped into his head, of a distraught Liselotte weeping into her pillow. "Months, I expect. Even Athenais took more than a year to fall pregnant."

"Well, that certainly wasn't for want of trying."

"Now, now."

"I heard a rumour that the Queen once discovered them in her bed. Can you imagine?"

"Is that true?"

"Who knows? If it is, it's a wonder everybody kept their heads, is it not?"

Chevalier drained his glass of wine, and set it at the side of the bath with a sad little sigh. "I'd invite you to join me, Mignonette, but the water is sadly cold, so I'm afraid this bath is over."

He got splashily to his feet. Philippe watched, transfixed. Chevalier was all lean lines and pale skin, with a perfect, rounded arse and the face of an angel. His hair hung around his shoulders in damp strands, its natural, gentle wave restored. Philippe far preferred it this way than wound into the tight spirals Chevalier currently favoured. This was the wild spirit he'd fallen in love with all those years ago.

"Do you suppose the Queen made him apologise?" Chevalier snapped his fingers to summon a drying cloth. A servant plucked one from the warming rail by the fire and hurried over, but Philippe intercepted him. 

"Allow me." He held out the cloth. Chevalier raised an eyebrow at him, and stepped out of the bath. "I can just imagine the scene, can't you?" Chevalier said, a smile lighting his face as Philippe wrapped him in warm linen. "Your dear brother, caught between the wrath of his wife and the expectations of his mistress. Do you suppose he fell to his knees and begged forgiveness? And if so, to whom?"

"You know perfectly well, my brother kneels for no-one."

"Not even Montespan?"

"Has that wine gone to your head?"

"Oh, not in public, obviously, but in private...." Chevalier twirled a strand of hair around his finger. "I can imagine it perfectly. Montespan standing tall and regal, pushing your brother around. I bet he loves it. It's not uncommon, you know. A lot of men in power enjoy subjugating themselves to a woman in their spare time. It's a nice change for them."

"Yes, of course, but... my brother?"

"He has more power than anyone else, and therefore more reason. You must have noticed Montespan has him wrapped around her little finger."

"That's true."

"I'm sure if I were a powerful man, I would be the same."

Philippe caught his eye, and a spark fired between them. 

"I'm powerful," said Philippe, and licked his lower lip.

"Indeed you are, my darling," said Chevalier, with a sly smile.

Philippe's heart fluttered. Chevalier cocked his head to one side, a silent challenge.

Philippe sank gracefully to his knees, took Chevalier's hand and kissed his knuckles. "My Lord," he said.

Chevalier hissed in a breath, held it. Let it out slowly. "Mignonette."

Philippe looked up at him, coyly, as if it were not his place to look his master straight in the eye. "What would you have me do, my Lord?"

"Well. Seeing as you're down there, there is a certain... matter, that needs attending to."

Sure enough, directly in front of Philippe was a tell-tale bulge causing Chevalier's drying cloth to jut out.

"As you wish, my Lord," said Philippe. He parted the cloth and Chevalier's prick sprang free, hard as iron. Philippe nuzzled at it, moving down to breathe in the clean, unique scent of him. It made his blood rush, his breath come short.

"Get on with it, boy," said Chevalier, his fingers stroking through Philippe's hair. "You don't want me to catch a cold, do you?"

Outrage stilled Philippe for a moment, gave him pause. But his prick was hard and his mouth watered. There was no real question, in that moment, as to who the master was.

And Philippe liked it.

He flattened his tongue and swept it up the length of Chevalier's cock, pausing for a few licks of the sensitive spot under the head before taking it into his mouth. Then he kept taking it, in one smooth slide, all the way, until it was lodged in his throat and his nose was buried in soft, blond curls. He wrapped his hands around Chevalier's hips and felt the tremble there. Looked up to see Chevalier throw back his head, biting his lower lip. 

Philippe paused. It was like floating, every care disappearing like mist on a warm day. He felt safe. Cared for. Dangerous feelings, but he didn't fight them. A firm but careful tug of Philippe's hair told him to proceed. And he did. He pulled off until he held only the tip of Chevalier's stiff prick on his outstretched tongue, paused to take a breath and plunged back down, so fast it made his eyes water. Then he did it again. This time he wrapped his hand around the wet shaft, and directed his attention to the head. He sucked and licked and did that thing with his tongue that made Chevalier shiver with pleasure. He cradled Chevalier's balls in his palm and whenever they tightened he drew back, giving no more than a soothing stroke and a kiss to his navel as Chevalier fell back from the brink. 

"Oh God," Chevalier whimpered. "I need to...."

Philippe looked up. "My Lord?"

Chevalier cupped Philippe's jaw. "Finish it," he said. His tone was distinctly less commanding, but not entirely pleading. 

"Certainly, My Lord," said Philippe, and took Chevalier back into his mouth. This time he did not draw back as Chevalier's pleasure rose, instead releasing Chevalier's hips in order that he could fuck Philippe's mouth. He took the first spurt across his tongue. Then he looked up and caught the desperate look on Chevalier's face, as if he didn't dare believe what might happen. 

Philippe closed his eyes, and let Chevalier spend across his face. His cheek. His nose. His mouth.

"Thank you," said Philippe, with a little smile at the ragged sound of Chevalier's breathing. "My Lord."

Chevalier cried out, and crumpled to his knees. Philippe held him, and they kissed. Soft and messy, Chevalier licking the spend from Philippe's lips and chin. Sharing it with him. They clutched each other, trembling.

"My darling," Chevalier murmured. "Let me take care of you, now?"

"I think that would be... yes." Philippe wasn't ready yet to think. 

Chevalier scooped him into his arms, and carried him to the bed.

"Mignonette," Chevalier whispered.

"My love," said Philippe, and surrendered himself to Chevalier's hands and mouth, completely.