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“Come, come,” John hissed, fingers wound tight around Paul’s wrist as he tugged the man along, ducking behind a statue that was supposed to represent his great-great-grandfather, but whose sculptor must’ve been either drunk on ale, or John’s ancestor had truly resembled a turnip.
“Quiet—” John started to whisper, but Paul was already nodding, quietly shuffling as close to the wall as possible, pulling John flush against him to keep them both out of sight.
Paul’s chest pressed against his back, his presence warm and strong, his breath hot and heavy in John’s ear where they were now squished against the wall. John released Paul’s slightly damp fingers and reached back, wrapping an arm around his manservant’s stomach to keep him in place.
The silence hung in the air, the only sounds being Paul’s sharp, tightly controlled inhales and the night guard’s footsteps that were heading towards the passageway wherein the statue stood. John waited, tense, whereas Paul’s body was relaxed, careless in the tight press between the coolness of the wall and John’s burning body.
Paul’s hand that wasn’t squeezed between John’s arm and the wall travelled up to John’s belt, fingering the leather, and just as the guard passed their hiding place, his hot, wet mouth pressed against the nape of John’s neck, his lips sliding over the sweaty skin.
John could barely clamp down the moan that threatened to pull from his lips, a small, distorted breath escaping nonetheless. The guard didn’t take any notice in it; something that in the usual circumstances would be a bad thing. John distantly wondered what would happen if they were spies of a different nation; or assassins sent to finish off the King, instead of the prince and his manservant in the desperate throes of arousal that inarguably had them tightly in its clutches.
He wasn’t sure what exactly was going through Paul’s mind as the man continued mouthing his way over the back of John’s neck, his nose buried deep into the midst of John’s shoulder-length hair. Was he trying to get them caught? He was well aware of what would happen if that came to pass — first of all, the King would have John’s head, if not literally then at least very figuratively, and he might even have Paul’s head — quite literally at that. No, John had no need, nor the smallest desire to get caught; he had expected Paul to remember that.
The guard turned around the corner in the other end of the corridor, and John counted painfully all the way up to thirty before letting out a quivering exhale, turning to give Paul a sharp eye.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, voice irritated but not as angry as it most likely should have been to be at all effective.
“Testing your reflexes, your highness,” Paul gave him an easy smile, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes just about visible in the moonlight the small windows along the corridor let in.
“Find a better place for it next time, will you?” John squinted, trying to appear annoyed, but more amused by Paul’s antics. Truly, those had caught John’s attention in the first place, and who was he to stop his love from taking small pleasures in the midst of otherwise repetitive castle life?
Not that anything they were about to do was anywhere near the usual, nor dull in any sense of the word.
“Where is your sense of adventure?” Paul’s smile didn’t waver, nor did the anticipation in his expression disappear. John eyed at him for a second more before deciding that they had indeed wasted too much time already.
“Frankly, I think I left it in my sheets in the morning. Should we go and look for it?”
Paul’s smile spread into a delighted grin, and then it was him tugging John along, no matter how undignified it would have looked to the outsiders.
“I’m sure it’s buried very deep underneath, considering how well I took care of making the bed,” Paul threw a hot glance at him over his shoulder, and John nearly stumbled into a nearby stone bench, his only saving grace being Paul’s firm fingers entwined with his own.
“Then we just have to dig deep,” John retorted, his mind already conjuring up such images that not many things, mayhap his father, could keep him from making them become reality, and Paul chuckled, picking up a hurried pace.
They dashed through the castle, and with every corner the fire in the pit of John’s stomach seemed to become more urgent, more insistent as it burnt through his insides. His member hung hard and heavy between his legs, making it difficult to run up the stairs that led to his chambers, and judging by Paul’s harsh breathing it was not all that easy for him either.
“After you, your highness,” Paul grabbed the large metal ring to open the heavy wooden doors, “should I prepare a bath?”
“By the gods, not at this hour,” John grimaced and walked inside, knowing that Paul’s gaze would be travelling up and down his body, from his flowing locks of auburn hair to where his belt restricted his dark blue tunic from hanging freely, so that it rested over his backside in what Paul would consider the most inviting manner. John knew it to be so, for it was the same for him with his love. There was not an hour where his eyes wouldn’t seek out the man and his attractive form. “I would not have anyone work this late.”
“And still, I am here,” Paul stepped in behind him, closing the door and barring it, just to make sure that no one could get in in the morning without giving them time to prepare themselves.
“It is not work; it is spending time with the man you love,” John turned to throw him a fond glance, watching how the lusty expression in Paul’s eyes melted away to give way for something softer and warmer.
“Indeed… Your sense of adventure awaits, John.”
John’s name rolled from Paul’s lips like from no one else’s. There was love, there. There was respect and loyalty to the one who would become his king someday. But there was also a sense of ownership, a sense of possession that no one else would even dare to put into their voice, because who would dare to own and dominate the crown prince?
“Should you not help me undress first?” John tilted his head, looking at the only person he would voluntarily let rule over him, and Paul’s answering smile made him shudder from head to toe.
“Of course, sire.”
The word sire was whispered huskily, the tone so unlike anything John heard during the day that it nearly made his knees buckle, and his erection throbbed where it pushed against his breeches, more than eager to get out of its confines.
Paul’s nimble fingers reached out to his belt, unbuckling it swiftly. His eyes rested on John’s face, reminding him of what they were about to do; the heaviness of his eyelids implied a desire so strong, Paul wasn’t quite able to keep his body from reacting to it. John’s stomach tightened in response, his mouth dropping open, only for him to gently bite down on his lower lip.
“Now,” Paul said, voice gentle but firm, not giving him any leeway of going anywhere, “hold still.”
John did not even dare to breathe when Paul, still holding the eye contact, wrapped the belt around his throat and tightened it until the cool metal of the buckle rested against John’s Adam’s apple.
“Hold onto this, would you?” Paul asked, a knowing grin on his lips as he offered the free end of the belt in front of John’s lips, and John let his mouth fall open for the man to push it in, both the smell and the taste of the leather filling his senses.
He bit down on the leather gently, minding that teeth marks in his favourite belt would not make him feel quite this good in the morning, and lifted his arms obediently when Paul pulled the tunic over his head in one, practised move.
Silence followed as Paul stepped away to settle the tunic over the backrest of a nearby chair. Saliva was starting to gather on John’s tongue, but he did not swallow, nor would he let go of the belt.
Paul walked over to a chest of drawers that rested in the back of the chambers, and got out a handful of velvety green silk strips that John knew from experience would contrast beautifully against the white bedsheets, the light of the torches casting an orange hue on whoever would occupy the bed. The strips were soft, but sturdy as well, Paul having sewn them himself from the best material he could find — that having been John’s old ceremonial dress, out of use ever since he had outgrown it a few years back.
He watched Paul set them on the bed, then bring out the oil that would serve them well tonight. John’s skin flushed hot with anticipation; he was not sure he could wait.
Done with the necessary preparations, Paul approached him again, his smile having left his face, replaced by the heavy presence of lust, his dark eyes taking in the sight of John standing still with the belt wound around his throat and disappearing into his mouth.
“All done,” Paul declared, stopping right in front of John. They were the same height like this; but somehow John felt smaller, in a way that made his head swirl pleasantly, a welcome change from the usual feeling of being above the others that having been born into this blood had so unfairly thrust upon him.
Paul’s hand came up to take a hold of the leather, unusual power radiating from him, and then he smiled.
“Kneel.”
A shudder wracked through John, a sharp inhale travelling through his nostrils.
Without second-guessing himself or his actions, or the trust he put upon Paul in situations like these, he sank down to his knees, Paul’s hold of the belt forcing him to tilt his head and keep his eyes on the man who had him at him at his mercy.
The only man John would willingly kneel for.
Paul let go of the belt to drag a finger over John’s cheek and down to his exposed throat, smiling down at him in what John recognised was gratitude — showing how much Paul appreciated getting moments like these — and then the man reached down to tug at the leather, the stiff material sliding out of John’s mouth, covered in his glistening saliva.
Paul’s hand twisted to wrap the belt tightly into his hold, held firmly in one fist, and his other hand delved deep into John’s hair in a possessive hold, pulling. John followed the direction, holding Paul’s eyes until his view was obscured by the man’s red tunic and his face was pressed against the hard, cloth-covered length of his lover.
The belt tightened around his throat, head forced to stay in place as the hand in his hair let go to lift up the hem of the tunic, giving him better access to his task.
Inhaling as much air as he could, John pressed closer and buried his face against Paul’s breeches, opening his mouth with a relished moan, already wishing for the velvety hardness that would glide down his throat, pushing past all his boundaries and rendering him helpless, stealing away all his fine words and royal manners; leaving only someone who did not have power, who could not even voice an argument against the received treatment. Paul was the only one who would give it to him, who could, for John wanted no other.
“Please,” he choked through the belt, laying open-mouthed kisses on Paul’s erection through the rough material. “Please, Paul, my love.”
A beautiful, strangled sound escaped Paul’s throat and John felt triumph, a sense of victory rousing alongside blind-sided desire.
“Serve me well then, if you will,” Paul breathed, an undercurrent of fondness in his voice, before revealing his member and forcing John towards it by pulling on the choking hold he had — not that John wouldn’t have moved for it otherwise, already in the motion of taking whatever his lover could offer him.
He met Paul’s erection with an open mouth, sliding his tongue over the hot, silky head that pushed against his lips, insisting for an entrance. Light disappeared when Paul dropped the hem of his tunic over John’s head, and then it was just him and his task of pleasing Paul to the best of his abilities.
Paul’s hips shifted forward, the wet head of his shaft meeting John’s’ cheek and smearing it with precome, and there was a tug from the belt that cut John’s breath short; it was a clear message, and John took it as such.
Receptive to the quiver in the muscles of Paul’s stomach and the short gasps the man was not biting back, John reached up with his mouth and let his lips wrap around Paul, working his throat open as he swallowed more and more, Paul’s hips canting up with a strangled sound escaping the man’s lips. Another inch of his erection slid in, persistently pushing against the insides of John’s constricted throat until his face was pressed against Paul’s pubic hair, blocking all the rest of his hopes for breathing.
“That’s it— by the gods, John—” Paul groaned, the sound leaving his throat unhinged, and there was another jolt in the bottom of John’s stomach, satisfaction born in the knowledge of being the one to drag that sound out of his lover.
Sweat gathered on his naked back as Paul’s free hand came to rest on top of his tunic-covered head, holding him in place by fisting a handful of both the tunic and John’s hair. Then, ever-so-slowly he started pulling back, the hot, slick weight on John’s tongue moving to allow him a short inhale through his nose, before Paul pushed back in, his member dragging against the insides of John’s throat, taking what belonged to him, and him only.
It was freeing, to kneel there in front of him, view obscured by the tunic and the dark mass of Paul’s body, the man’s hips snapping back and forth with wet, obscene sounds. John let his eyes slide shut, hollowing his cheeks to give more, and a hoarse sound tore through Paul’s throat only to be cut off by a hitching breath, the belt tightening minimally, but enough for John to choke. Saliva and precome pooled in his mouth, dripping out and sliding down his chin, and he fisted his hands into the fabric of his breeches in order to keep himself from reaching out to Paul. He wished there were restraints, for it was becoming more and more difficult as moments passed, Paul pulling his erection far enough for John to latch forward, swallowing around the satin-like skin, sucking on the head to get more of those delicious gasps that created a sensation not unlike honey trickling down his spine.
Paul’s hand tightened in his hair, the other hand holding the belt coming to support his head as well, and then Paul plunged deep into his mouth again, forcing himself as deep as possible, his stomach quivering where John’s nose rested against it.
John held onto his breath for as long as he could, did his best to hold off the cough that threatened to pass through his lips, but in the end he was unable to stop the choking sound, the belt pulling upwards the moment it escaped his throat.
For a moment he could not even imagine breathing; all of his air was cut off, and Paul pulled halfway out before pushing back in, merciless in the way he hung John as if from a rope, John’s own weight working cruelly against him. He could only gurgle helplessly, Paul’s shaft thrusting in and out of his torn throat until black spots started forming in his line of sight.
His body jerked once, twice, and then the offending member disappeared, leaving him panting and quivering with the lack of air, his lungs desperately working to fill themselves again.
“John,” Paul’s voice was soft, the man pulling away from him and releasing the belt, hands coming up to cradle John’s wet cheeks. “Breathe, love, my love.”
John gasped, the noise ragged. His body felt weak and head light, arousal washing over him in waves, and he let his eyes flutter closed as Paul swiped a thumb over his cheekbone before letting it run over John’s swollen lips, slowly pushing it into his slack mouth to press down on his tongue.
“Shall we find your sense of adventure?” Paul smiled, tender and warm, but there was hunger in his eyes that he could not hide, lust clouding his expression. His touch was hot on John’s face, his fingers burning against John’s skin, and John found himself nodding weakly, tongue twitching under Paul’s thumb.
Paul’s responding smile was bright and happy, and John answered in kind when the man pulled away. He watched with his blood thrumming how Paul walked towards the bed, reaching for the silk strips.
“How deep should I dig?” he rasped, finding his voice hoarse and broken, and saw a shudder wrack through Paul’s body; either at the way he sounded, or his words.
Why not both, John thought, unable to keep his aching lips from spreading into a larger, carefree smile.
“As deep as possible, sire,” Paul said with a husky voice, one that made John want to throw himself at the man immediately, press him against the sheets and have his own wicked way with the man. But no, such a thing would have to wait for a while longer, for tonight was Paul’s night, his time to do whatever he chose to do, his chance to have whatever his heart desired.
John would have his turn later, and while he looked forward to it with simmering anticipation, tonight’s actions would not leave him dissatisfied, nor would he decide to do otherwise if offered.
Paul stepped back towards him, holding one of the strips in his hands, wide and long enough to stretch around John’s head without digging into his skin painfully, even when pulled tight.
“Any last words?” Paul raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling with humour, and John pondered over the question, Paul’s playfulness warming his body better than any fireplace could.
“I don’t think so,” he shook his head after a moment of kind smiles shared over the small distance between them. “You are responsible for the cleaning, of course.”
“I shall keep that in mind,” Paul grinned, and gingerly pressed the strip into John’s mouth, tying the ends behind his head into a secure knot, effectively blocking him from all speech.
With a gentle tug to the belt still wrapped around John’s throat, Paul motioned for him to stand up. John obliged gladly, his knees hurting from having rested on the hard stone floor for a while.
Without words, Paul led him towards the bed, sitting him down on the edge by the shoulders. With a smile he knelt down, worked on the laces in John’s leather boots before pulling them off. John’s breeches followed soon after, and there he was, sitting naked in all his royal glory, only the belt around his throat and the gag in his mouth adorning his body — for the time being.
Paul’s palm pressed against his chest, and with a firm touch the man pushed, forcing John to crawl wholly on the bed. His eyes resembled those of two simmering coals, and John’s aching hardness twitched, now free of its restraints, curling up to rest against his lower abdomen as he lay down in the middle of the soft sheets.
“I shall tie you up,” Paul said, and his voice had become something dark, something possessive and hungry. He took the strips of fabric into his hands, leaning over John with all smile disappearing from his face. “I shall tie you up, and take what I want.”
Breathless, John nodded weakly, not resisting when Paul reached out and took a firm hold of his foot, securing one of the strips around his ankle with unwavering confidence. Then he tied the strip to the pole at the foot of the bed before repeating the same treatment to the rest of John’s limbs, effectively restricting all of his movements.
“Here,” Paul took off a chain necklace that usually resided under his shirt, a golden ring dangling from it. He pushed it into John’s left palm, gently curling John’s fingers around it. “Hold onto this. Drop it, and I will stop whatever is happening.”
I shall drop it while you reach your orgasm, my love, John thought at him, eyes narrowing with mirth and mischief at the thought.
“Do not dare,” Paul said immediately, starting to tug off his tunic. “I know what you are thinking, my prince.”
John raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, drawing a soft chuckle from his lover, who chucked away his tunic and breeches with deft movements.
“I shall change your expression into something else in a few moments,” Paul’s voice sounded satisfied as he climbed on top of the bed, moving towards John on his knees.
John had no doubts of that. He followed with keen, lazy eyes as Paul hovered above him, taking him in just as much as John did him. His eyelids were hooded and heavy, the light of the torches dancing on his skin, and John wished he could have this every night — instead of just every so often, when both their schedules allowed it.
Stupid of course, for Paul’s schedule was much set by John himself, but… it was a well-known fact that the prince and his manservant were fond of each other. John could not give in any more than he already had, in case he desired to keep some level of subtlety. The truth to their relationship was only known to few: Richard, who took care of John’s horses and had caught them kissing carelessly behind a haystack; George from the kitchen, who, by being Paul’s most trusted friend had figured it out on his own; and Lady Jane, who had been set to marry John and hated the idea with just as much passion as John had, but had become a trusted friend after they had bonded over their shared dislike at the engagement. They eventually managed to break it off, after Jane had showed remarkable skill in acting by bursting into hopeless tears in front of her father, declaring that not a joyous day would pass if she indeed had to marry to the crown.
(He had believed her. John still cherished the memory of Jane flashing him the largest of teary smiles when Lord Asher’s back was turned.)
The only chance John had was to wait to become king. And after that — after that he could change the law, and take Paul as his own, show that their love was stronger than any tradition. But to wait so long… rather would he have stood in fire than hide his love for years.
As if reading his thoughts, Paul leaned down and pressed his mouth against John’s cheek, a small smile curving on his lips at the sigh John was unable to hold back.
“My prince,” he said softly, breaking the character for a moment, running his hands over John’s biceps and down towards his chest, the touch more loving than erotic.
John tried smiling back but found it an impossible task, which only made Paul huff a fond chuckle.
“I would have you forever,” he breathed against John’s cheek, the words warm and tingly where they met the skin.
You can, John thought in return, and Paul pulled back, their eyes meeting and the stare lasting long enough for his grin to turn into something rather wicked.
“I could hold you here forever,” he murmured, tongue now sweeping over John’s gagged lips. “I could have you writhing and moaning, while you could not speak, nor even beg — you would be at my mercy.”
John let out a hitch-pitched moan at those words, Paul’s tongue pressing shortly against the gag before his mouth travelled down, sliding over John’s throat until it met the leather of the belt.
“I could cut off your moans.” Paul’s hand came up to pull at the belt, a choking sound forced out of John. “I could leave nothing but your shaking body.”
Please, John tried to say, but couldn’t, only a muffled groan making it through the gag and the near suffocating tightness of the belt.
Paul smiled and let go of the belt, the words for now ringing around John’s head like a promise. He had a feeling Paul would realise at least part of what his words had contained.
Paul’s mouth continued its administrations of dragging over John’s skin, stopping to suck at one of his nipples in a way that had John arching his back and sucking in a breath through his nostrils, sounds punched out of his gut without mercy. One of Paul’s hands wrapped around his erection without any preamble, causing his body to jolt violently as his lover’s clever fingers moved up and down, pausing in its movements only for Paul’s thumb to push against John’s slit.
“You look gorgeous, my prince,” Paul said, a tremble in his voice that showed he wasn’t as unaffected by John’s reactions as he seemed to be. “Better than in any ceremonial robes. You should consider showing up at the banquets like this.”
John shot him a sharp glare, only for his eyes roll back in his head as Paul squeezed at his hard length, snickering at his reaction.
Panting harshly through his nose, John forced his eyes open, looking down at the man kneeling between his spread legs, the sight in itself more erotic than anything his mind could conjure up. Paul’s head was a messy pile of dark hair, his eyes rendered black by both lust and the shadows that danced upon his skin, the fire of the torches meeting the blue of the night. His skin, flushed from arousal and the warmth of the room was peppered with small pearls of sweat, and between his legs hung his erection, hard and red, precome gathered at the tip as it awaited release.
Paul gave him a smile, and opening his perfectly sculpted mouth, leaned down to take John’s aching hardness in, his tongue pressing against the head while his hand slid down to hold him in place.
John keened, head falling back as pleasure rushed through him, swirling through his stomach and slicing its way up, for all the world resembling a sword of the most exquisite crafting. Paul’s knowing mouth took him deeper, engulfing him in wet heat that had him shaking, his hands pulling at the restraints.
“Ngah—” Hips jerking, head falling from side to side, he was subjected to the skillful, knowing use of tongue, Paul’s drool sliding down the sides of his member, the feeling making him shiver. The assault on his senses was almost too much; and still he knew there would be more to come.
He could hear Paul let out short, shallow breaths of pleasure, his moans vibrating around John’s hardness and making him see stars. He attempted to pull at the restraints again, desperate to touch the man he loved, to do anything, but the fabric strips held marvellously as a true show of Paul’s skill as a craftsman, as well as his talent at making knots.
“Ready, your highness?” Paul asked, and at any other time those words would have been nothing out of the ordinary, with no one raising their eyebrows at the question, but now hot and white arousal shot through John’s stomach, slipping into his veins to spread the feeling into his whole body.
He could only let out a weak moan, Paul having rendered him into the writhing mess he so had promised, but the sound was enough for his lover to reach for the bottle of oil that rested at the foot of the bed, and spread a generous amount of it on John’s shaft without heeding to the gasps the action emitted.
Paul positioned himself above John, one of his hands running up his chest before grabbing a hold of the belt. John held his breath, the moment loaded with electricity, with anticipation of things to come — before Paul started sinking down onto his hardness, heat embracing him little by little until Paul was fully seated, head thrown back and eyes half-lidded as he stayed still, quivering from the feeling of being filled, looking dazed and ethereal in the orange lighting of the torches.
He must have been preparing himself while taking John into his mouth.
The thought, alongside with the feeling of Paul’s body taking him like this, was almost too much. Had John been able, he would have been shouting at his gods by now. Instead he was forced to voice his pleasure by wordless, muffled groans, that inarguably sounded erotic even to his own ears. Paul certainly was not left unaffected, judging by the responding moan he let out, his hips moving first ever-so-slightly before they started picking up the pace, the languid, teasing speed soon giving way to frantic rocking that stole John’s breath away.
Lifting himself up to hover on his trembling thighs, Paul wrapped the end of the belt around his fist again, and with the belt tightening around John’s throat to block his airway, he let his body fall down again, only to repeat the same motion in a more rapid succession.
Bound and unable to move, John could only try and gasp for breath as pleasure coursed through him. Paul set up a punishing rhythm, his tight, hot insides dragging against the oily skin of John’s hardness as he impaled himself on John’s member again and again.
“M-my prince,” he cried with a strangled voice, tugging at the belt, his composure disappearing along with the pleasure he could find by using John’s body, back arching as he rocked back and forth, John’s member disappearing in and out of his behind.
John answered with a helpless, choked sound, hands jerking against the ties, and then Paul was leaning over him, mouthing at the gag in what would have been a bruising kiss with something akin to desperation, sweat pooling on his temples.
Gorgeous, John wanted to tell him, worthy of the crown. But that could wait until this was over, until they were lying side by side in the midst of the sheets, tangled together without an inch between them, nothing there to remind them of their obligations or the differences in their status.
He managed to find a small leeway for a jerk of his hips, and as an answer Paul let out a whine that cut through the air between them, a sharp inhale following as John pushed up again to the best of his ability.
“John, by the gods,” Paul groaned and met him halfway, the force of the thrust sending something hot bolting through John’s mind, his vision almost whitening.
Then his airway was cut off again; it was like all sensation disappeared.
Paul hovered above him, the head of John’s member only barely inside him, pushing against the ring of muscle. His eyes were blazing, like two hot coals in the night, a somewhat dangerous expression on his face.
“Tell me, your highness,” he said, voice low and breathy, and John moaned, hips jerking in a desperate attempt to push back into the body awaiting him. “Who do you belong to?”
“Hhaah.”
“I apologise, but I couldn’t quite understand,” Paul tugged at the belt, and John coughed, eyes rolling back in his head as he fought against the wave of pleasure.
You, he tried again, but all he could produce was another desperate sound against the gag.
“Who?”
“Hhhaah.”
“Who?”
John’s sounds dissolved into a loud, unhinged groan, his body twitching uncontrollably, hands yanking at the restraints with all his force. And it still wasn’t quite enough. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as frustration took over, his erection burning almost painfully, aching with the feeling of Paul’s oiled hole ready to swallow him wholly, but not doing it.
Paul leaned forward, tugging at the belt again to gain John’s attention, and his expression was twisted into a near snarl. The leather around John’s throat tightened and pulled, cutting off all air that John so desperately tried to gasp for.
“Me,” Paul growled, and without a warning slammed his body down, John quite feeling like he would never be able to breathe again, “you belong to me, sire.”
And Paul was bouncing up and down, his hold of the belt giving in but not completely letting go, allowing John to catch a few of those precious breaths. He had been rendered into something weak and powerless, only there to be used, without him having a say in it.
Through a hazy sight he could see Paul’s face twisting, his expression abandoned as he moved, and John had the privilege of seeing his eyes shoot open, his mouth opening and head falling back as his body showed the telltale signs of him reaching his goal.
“John!”
Paul clenched above him, groaning in a long and throaty sound that came straight from his guts, his body shaking and jerking as he came in long, white spurts, the milky substance coating his hand and member in the most erotic way.
A moment passed, Paul trying to catch his breath, before he lifted himself up and sank back down despite the pain it must have caused him.
Shattered and unhinged moans escaped his mouth, his body tightening and twitching around John, and John thought he might as well lose his mind over the sensations.
“Come,” Paul gasped, insistently pushing himself back on John’s rock hard length, “for me, my prince.”
John did not need more; the world disappeared into white shockwaves rippling through him, trails of fire travelling up his body, and for a while there was nothing but pure light.
He did not know how long he just lay there, boneless and gasping against the bed, but once he came back to himself the restraints had disappeared and Paul was lifting the gag from his mouth, a slight quiver in his hands telling about the force of his own orgasm.
“Hello,” he smiled down at John, who gave him a lazy grin back, feeling floaty and mushy, like someone had dumped him into warm water after three days of council meetings.
“Hello, my love,” John rasped, finding he would not mind staying quiet for a while longer. Paul’s smile stretched wide over his teeth, his whole posture radiating the certain serenity man could only acquire from an orgasm.
“Was it to your liking?” Paul asked, sitting back on his heels once the belt had parted from John’s throat. Oddly enough, it felt like something was missing, and John ran an absent-minded hand over his throat. He was sure to have marks on his skin tomorrow — they had learnt it the hard way. “I see I might have to dress you in high-collar vests for the next few days.”
“It was highly appreciated,” John said, coughing into his hand before realising he was still holding Paul’s necklace.
“Here,” he said softly, an imitation of Paul’s words when the man had given the necklace to him. “Your ring.”
Paul took the chain from him with a thankful smile, slipping it around his neck with haste; as if it could fall and disappear if he didn’t act fast enough. Once the ring was resting against his chest he pressed one palm over it, letting out a content sigh.
“Let me clean you up,” John said before he could rethink his words, caught in the moment of adoring the ring against his love’s skin, and Paul barked out a delighted laugh.
“Thought it was my job,” he said, face shining down at John, and John couldn’t help himself anymore; he reached up and pulled Paul down into a tranquil, sensual kiss that soon turned into mere pecks that Paul peppered over his face, humming as he did so. Paul might have showed possessiveness through the restraints; John showed it by tying him down for life.
“Are you questioning the will of your prince?” he asked in good humour as Paul pulled back, their gazes meeting and locking into the gentlest of stares.
“Of course not, sire,” Paul bit down on his lip to keep from laughing.
Silence, and then—
“Well, get to it, then.”
John laughed and got up without complaints. After all, one didn’t disobey the future consort of the king.