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“What is happening?” Philippe asks, running his hand over the smooth silk of the blindfold.
“No peaking, my love,” Chevalier murmurs in his ear. The press of fingers on Philippe's waist guide his steps.
Chevalier stills him and then - with a gentle tug to the back of his head - the blindfold falls to the floor. He blinks, eyes adjusting to the candlelight, suddenly so bright after the secretive darkness.
“Well?” asks Chevalier. “What do you think?”
For a moment, he doesn't comprehend the question. Then, Philippe sees the creature reclining against the end of his bed.
“What... is the meaning of this?” Philippe frowns as Chevalier steps around him.
“This,” Chevalier replies, arms wide, beaming, “is my wedding gift to you.”
Philippe's frown deepens, still not understanding.
Although Chevalier does not sigh in exasperation, it's only because he instead extends a hand to help the creature to his feet. He's one of the new young men at court, eager for fun and favour. They flock around Chevalier, share in his vanity and fan his ego. He's no boy but his cheeks still remain plump with the fat of youth. He looks up at Philippe with soft doe eyes through long dark lashes. A pink tongue wets pouty lips, whether from nervousness or excitement, he cannot say. The strength of his jawline and the golden curls tumbling to his shoulders are distinctly masculine. Whereas, below the neck and wrapped in a cream satin dress, nipping in his already narrow waist, he becomes decidedly more feminine.
The boy pads forward on bare feet and drops in to a clumsy curtsey.
“It has, I know,” says Chevalier, “been a long time since you bedded a woman. I thought, my darling, you should have some practice before your big performance.”
A grin begins to split Philippe's face but he catches himself, smothers it quickly. It does continue to tug at his mouth, though, threatening to break free of his control.
“He's much prettier than my new wife,” Philippe observes.
“So is a horse,” Chevalier replies. “But, as I couldn't fit one up the stairs-”
Philippe grabs Chevalier by the sleeve, pulling him in to a crushing kiss, all teeth, tongues, and the familiar tickle of Chevalier's moustache across his top lip. They break apart, breathing heavily and Philippe sees the boy watching them, mouth slightly agape, pawing at the front of his skirts. His cheeks are flushed but the boy doesn't look away, even when Chevalier smirks at him.
“Dear me,” says Chevalier, “I rather think you've neglected your bride.”
“Well,” Philippe replies, the smile fighting for its place on his face again, “we can't have that.”
Philippe pushes the boy backwards, then down on to the bed, gathers the skirts up, before dropping to his knees at the end of the bed. Chevalier kneels beside him. Then, his lips curl in to a hungry smile as he pushes the skirts higher, the boy's hard cock peeking out from beneath the pale fabrics.
“I'm fairly certain she doesn't have one of those,” Philippe says.
“The state of her, I wouldn't be so sure,” Chevalier says. Then, he leans forward, holding the boy's cock by the base, and circles his tongue around the foreskin. “This, however, is all for us. A treat before the real work.”
The boy cries out as Chevalier laps at him again. Philippe presses feather-light kisses down his length, nips at soft flesh above his curls. He stifles another cry and clutches at the bed. Philippe nuzzles at his sack, at the warm musky smell of him.
Fingers run through his hair and Philippe looks up to see Chevalier gazing at him. Without breaking eye-contact, Chevalier wraps his lips around the boy's head, sucks noisily. The fingers in his hair tighten as Chevalier's eyes slip closed in pleasure. Philippe regrets kneeling, his breeches uncomfortably tight and, down on the floor, having no dignified way to remove them.
Chevalier draws back, the cock falling free of his mouth, bouncing slightly in mid-air. The boy mewls at the loss of sensation. Eyes hooded, Chevalier licks his lips, as though he is at a banquet and has just devoured the most delicious morsel. Then, the hand slips from Philippe's hair and, with an open palm, he lifts the boy's cock, presenting it to Philippe.
Without hesitating, Philippe goes to take it in his mouth but, as he extends his tongue to take a first lick, Chevalier is there with him, mouths meeting in a messy kiss around the end of the cockhead. His tongue pushes in to Philippe's mouth, taking with it a hint of saltiness. His own tongue drives down in to the boy's slit, lapping at him. He strokes a hand along the boy's flank, feels the muscles firm from riding common amongst most boys of his ilk. The boy spreads his legs wider and Philippe's hand slips down between them, cradles his sack, his thumb rubbing gently at each of its contents in turn, as his fingers probe further back, pressing at the thin skin just behind them, tracing little patterns across it until the pads of his fingers reach -
Philippe pulls his mouth off and draws his hand away, tips of his fingers oily. He looks at Chevalier with something akin to wonder.
"You really planned this," Philippe marvels, the for me going unsaid.
Chevalier sits back on his heels and flicks his hair over his shoulder.
"I have no idea what you are talking about." It comes out a little haughty but there's an unmistakable smile in his eyes. It's that which prompts Philippe to press a kiss to his mouth.
"So what is your plan?" he asks. The corner of Chevalier's moustache twitches upwards. "How shall I take my wife? Do I undress her first?"
"Such hassle," Chevalier tuts. He kisses Philippe again, then murmurs, "You, however, should be naked as a cherub."
Philippe's loose shirt is roughly tugged over his head and thrown to the floor. He climbs to his feet, Chevalier close behind, reaches for the fastenings of his breeches and pushes them off. Chevalier makes a satisfied sound at the sight of him. Philippe overbalances slightly as he hurriedly strips off his stockings but Chevalier is there to catch him, pulling him in and kissing him once more. His hand wraps loosely around Philippe's now free cock, gives the hard length a few languid tugs; Philippe moans in to his mouth, pushes up in to his fist, wanting more.
"Ah, ah, my dear," he chastises, although his hand continues to tease Philippe's cock. With his other, he kneads at the soft flesh of his behind. "You were so interested in my plan a moment ago." He brings his mouth to his ear and drops his voice to a whisper. "You're going to fuck her. You're going to climb on that bed and take her as she is. She's all ready for you, nice and wet like a good wife should be. Just lift her legs up and bury yourself inside her."
It's not until Chevalier slaps his behind, startling him out of his haze of arousal, that Philippe realises it to be an instruction. The boy scrambles back some, making room for him, as Philippe settles himself between his legs. He hooks one, then the other, over his shoulder, making the skirts tumble over his bodice and lifting the boy's behind up. A few rough pumps to ready himself, then Philippe pushes inwards, the boy's hole a little resistant at first but sliding smoothly once the girth of his head is in. The boy lets out a small sob of pleasure and Philippe a groan as he seats himself fully.
He goes pull his hips back but Chevalier's hand on his behind stops him. Then, a finger presses at his hole; the way it circles around before pushing slightly in both well practised and highly arousing. He turns his head to see Chevalier holding a familiar bottle of oil. The stopper makes a soft little pop as Chevalier pulls it out. With a dangerous little smile, he pours it over Philippe's hole, the cleft between his buttocks acting as a ravine, guiding the trickle down to his sack so that it drips obscenely on to the sheets below. That finger then returns, pushing the oil in with it. It's quickly joined by another, uncomfortable at first but insistent, stretching the ring of muscle. Between the tightness around his cock and the finger, intimately familiar with the position of his prostate and pressing firmly on it, all Philippe can do is bury his face in the boy's neck and groan.
Then, the fingers are gone and Philippe feels empty without them. There's a rustle of clothing behind him, followed by Chevalier's cock forcing its way in. It's uncomfortable, a little painful, but Chevalier knows him, knows so well just how rough is enjoyable, how much would actually hurt him. Chevalier snaps his hips forward, bringing them flush together. The fabric of his breeches rubs against Philippe's bare thighs and his arm wraps around Philippe's chest, pulling him upright. The boy's ankles resettle themselves on his shoulders.
"Time to fuck your bride, my love." Chevalier's breath is hot against his cheek. "I can't be expected to do all the work, now can I?"
With Chevalier filling him from behind and his cock filling the boy below him, Philippe begins to thrust. It's the sweetest kind of agony. As he pushes in to the boy, the tight heat of him sucks him in but, as he pulls out, pulling against that suction, it forces him back on to Chevalier who cants his hips just so that, even if Philippe tried to miss it, he lands the most pleasurably every time. His head starts to swim with pleasure, dizzy with it, unable to focus on anything but this moment, the thrust of his hips and the steady presence of his love behind him.
"This is what you should be thinking of." It takes a second for the words to register, so lost to the moment is Philippe. "When you're with her tomorrow." They're a breathy snarl in his ear. "Me. Me, taking you." Chevalier thrusts viciously, making Philippe and the boy, who has Philippe's cock forced deeper in to him, groan. "When you're sheathed inside her. It should be me you think of. Me, like this, behind you. She cannot give you this. Can never give you this."
It's the bruising kiss Chevalier bites in to his neck, one that Philippe knows the collar of his shirt will hide but one he will be able to feel all through his wedding, that pushes him over the edge. He chokes out a cry as his orgasm shudders through him. Without the arm holding him up, he would have no choice but to topple forward, so boneless it leaves him. His head lolls back on to Chevalier's shoulder and he presses a whiskery kiss to Philippe's temple. He tries to pull out of the boy but Chevalier halts his withdrawal.
"Keep it in," whispers Chevalier. "We wouldn't want anything to leak out, now would we?" Another bruising thrust makes Philippe groan. The boy whimpers beneath him. "You have children to father."
With his cock, softening and sensitive, inside the boy and Chevalier taking him from behind, Philippe's head continues to swim. Then, Chevalier is murmuring in his ear again.
"How will she swell with your child if you leave her unsatisfied?"
"You expect me to pleasure her as well?" Philippe grumbles weakly. "Is it not enough that I have to fuck her?"
"The sooner your seed plants itself in her, the less time you have to spend in her bed."
Philippe reaches down, wraps his hand around the boy's cock, works it with rough jerks as Chevalier ups his pace. The boy bucks, arching his back, putting unexpected pressure on Philippe's oversensitive cock. He bites his lip to keep from crying out. Warm, sticky fluid covers his fist as the boy comes with a whimper, pale spend splattering the pale skirts, and goes limp beneath him.
The hand splayed over Philippe's chest tightens in to a claw, smooth nails raking over his skin. Chevalier drops his head to Philippe's shoulder, hair falling over them. His hips snap forward once more, stilling as he comes, growling something that might be 'mine', shuddering through the aftershocks. Then, he pulls out sloppily and sprawls on the bed beside the boy. He sweeps the boy's hair out of his face and presses a kiss to his cheek.
Philippe pulls his softened cock from the boy while Chevalier whispers thanks in his ear. The boy flushes and returns his kiss. Philippe leaves them together for a moment as he climbs from the bed in search of something to wipe the oil and seed from himself. When he returns with a sweet-smelling rag, Chevailer is kissing the boy properly and a hand has snaked its way inside his shirt, stroking his chest. Philippe clears his throat. Chevalier breaks away and smirks at him.
"You can go," Philippe says to the boy. Then, after a beat, adds, "Leave the dress."
The boy scrambles out from under Chevalier who leans back on the bed. The front of his breeches have a dark stain to them, coated with the oil he so carelessly poured over Philippe.
“Take those off before you come bed,” Philippe says, climbing underneath the covers to escape the chill now biting at his bare flesh.
There's a soft sound as the boy's dress hits the floor, followed by the quiet creak of a door being carefully closed.
Chevalier sheds his clothes and joins him in bed, kissing Philippe's hand as he pulls his arm around himself. Philippe presses a kiss of his own to Chevalier's shoulder-blade, before drawing him closer into his arms. He strokes at golden hair and Chevalier relaxes into him.
Together like this, Philippe is reminded of a night, a decade ago now, before his marriage to Henriette. Reminded of the fear he'd seen in Chevalier's eyes. Fear that something might change. Of what a marriage might mean.
“She's just a wife,” Philippe murmurs.
Chevalier takes the hand stroking his hair and squeezes it tightly to his chest.
“Just a wife,” Philippe repeats. “I promise you, she's just a wife.”