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The heavy wooden door creaked shut behind them, confining paladin Sir Michael the Brave and cleric William the Wise to the familiar stone walls of their quarters in the Grand Citadel of Eladoria. The clash of steel, the roar of spells, the agonizing cries of death, and the triumphant uproar of victory still rang in their ears.
Their cottage was filled with comforting scents of incense mixed with fruits, flowers, and herbs. There were also memories of everywhere they had explored in their travels, fascinating trinkets and more trinkets that they had compiled over the years as keepsakes. Michael was rather fond of those. Those things immediately surrounded them in a warm embrace. They were finally home.
“Michael, hold still,” William said in a commanding yet worried tone. Swinging his scepter from one side to the other with his usual splendor, he lit up all the candles, illuminating their quarters. In order to find the components required for his restoration ritual, his calloused hands opened his satchel of sacred artifacts. “Gods, where did I store that mortar and pestle?” He thought out loud, his voice barely above an anxious whisper. William’s mind was racing as he moved frantically. His steps swished his purple clerical robes across the cold stone floor as his shaky hands darted across the cluttered shelves and unkempt counters of their quarters, rummaging through vials of glowing elixirs, bundles of dried herbs, and arcane tomes etched with healing runes.
Michael, who was still standing close to the door after taking his loyal chestnut companion, their horse Earth to the stables, set his helmet aside with a soft clink and took off his gauntlets while watching William with a smitten smile spreading across his lips. He watched as William set his scepter aside in haste, placing it uncharacteristically carelessly against a corner. Michael’s reflexes allowed him to catch it before it rolled to the floor and broke.
A quiet laugh escaped him. Not in jest, never, but because he was touched by the sweetness of William’s tenderness and devotion. Michael knew William was more than capable of casting quicker, less rudimentary spells. But he was also aware that William was searching for his mortar and pestle simply because Michael enjoyed the scent of the particular flowers William meticulously gathered for his potions. He knew William well enough to know that he wanted to please—pamper, if you will—Michael with handmade ointments rather than harsher touches, despite it being a more prolonged process. These small moments were evidence of how deeply William cherished and cared for Michael, even when there was no cause, such as today.
“That wound on your neck is really deep. I can mend it, if only you—”
“My dearest,” Michael interrupted softly, with his usual velvety voice reserved for his cleric. He straightened, wincing only briefly before his gaze met William’s across the room. With unwavering tenderness, he went on, “I assure you I am unharmed.” Michael extended his hand, palm up. It was a gesture William knew well: a silent invitation to draw closer and seek the testimony that everything was alright. “Come,” Michael ordered, but it came out more like a plea than anything else. He wanted William close at all times. Always.
William paused, his fingers hovering over a vial, his eyes meeting Michael’s. He scanned Michael’s form: the proud stance, the way his other hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword, as if the battle had been nothing but a stroll. Although Michael was lean, he had a strong, muscular physique hidden. That was definitely what caught their enemies off guard, as they would usually think of him as yet another excuse for a soldier. Little did they know. William was sure even the gods themselves trembled at his might.
His eyes continued to wander, following the elaborate crowned heart on Michael’s coat of arms, which he had just removed from his back, and the delicate matching hearts engraved on his armor: on the center of his breastplate, and on each of his pauldrons. He had dared to dabble in painting and the arts himself, sneaking away to carve those hidden emblems as a vow, as a reminder of their love. Each heart pulsed with meaning, a testament to the cleric’s devoutness. William selfishly, albeit wholeheartedly, believed that it was his unconditional love for his paladin that protected him whenever he was in peril, wherever he went.
William hesitated, frustrated at Michael’s lack of alarm, then stepped closer, his boots echoing softly as he neared, placing his hand in the offered one. Michael gently guided William’s hand, pressing it firmly over the armor that still bore the dents and scorch marks from the day’s combat. Beneath the armor, William could feel it: the steady, powerful thrum of Michael’s heartbeat, alive and unbroken. “See? There is no need to fret. I am here. I am here, whole and yours.”
William’s eyes darted across Michael’s face as he drank in the sight of him: the smears of blood, sweat, and dirt glistening on his skin, the split lip from a glancing blow, the bruises on Michael’s jaw, and the shallow cuts tracing his freckled cheeks. With the hollowness of the cut on his neck, William thought it prudent to later remind Michael again of the uselessness of his helmet, the one he insists on using despite its ineffectiveness. His long, dark, beautiful hair was matted and unruly, sticking to his forehead and nape, contrasting perfectly against his fair skin. It was blacker than any raven’s plumage. William’s own totem of luck. William was not much of a lover of the goblet, but he swears upon the gods that he could get inebriated on Michael’s beauty alone. He has. Countless times, in fact. Its charm was undoubtedly more potent than any spellbound draught.
Under that intense scrutiny, Michael felt a flutter of nervousness, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard. His hand tingled where it held William’s. He might as well have started sweating like an adolescent. Michael felt a rush of crimson heat creep up his neck, as vivid and unexpected as if this were their very first forbidden glance back in the shadowed training grounds. But he could not—would not—look away. After all, he was called Michael the Brave for a reason.
They’d wed several years ago, yet Michael felt as though it was their first encounter every single time. They had been only foolish children who did not know any better back when they first met. They were wide-eyed boys barely out of their childhood, stumbling into their teenage years with awkward moments full of yearning and jealousy, laughter and tears, clumsy kisses, and whispered confessions. Now, at twenty-four, they were both men: mature warriors hardened by years of battles, their bodies marked with the scars of defeat and victory. Michael’s build bore the weight of leadership, while William’s hands, once inexperienced, now wielded holy magic with practice and dexterity. But underneath it all, that young, pure spark of love endured and rekindled with each glance, each touch.
It was rather absurd, he knew, that despite all these years of conflicts and promises, William still made his heart race like a novice knight facing his very first foe. However, Michael did not concern himself with the intensity of his devotion. The more devoted he was to his cleric, the merrier and more fulfilled Michael felt about it all.
In an effort to put an end to William’s distress, Michael kissed his palm and knuckles. Following William’s every small movement, Michael knew the tension had been resolved when he saw him sigh with relief and almost melt before him. They breathed in each other’s silence as they swayed from side to side, forehead to forehead.
“You complete fool,” William whispered, not a drop of aggravation in his tone. He sounded quite enamored, actually. He prodded Michael on the chest with his fists. His fingers traced and unfastened the clasp of Michael’s scarlet cape. Looking over his shoulder, Michael watched as the cape cascaded down at their feet, the hearts on his shoulder pads in full display now. “You charge in like a storm, and for what?”
Michael’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it did tug at the cut on his lip. Why, and he calls me the foolish one. The answer is rather obvious, is it not? “For you, my love. Always for you.”
William’s eyes softened further, a mix of admiration and lingering concern flickering in their hazel greenish depths. He cupped Michael’s face gently, thumb brushing over the split lip as if to heal it with mere touch. “I could have defended myself, you know.”
“Could have. Precisely. I did what I did to make sure you would be untouched,” Michael replied, his expression and tone a little stern and serious, but that only spoke of his protectiveness and affection.
“I highly treasure your protection, and therefore I thank you most sincerely. I do worry for you more than words could ever express, though, so do not do that again. Do I make myself clear?”
Tipping his head down, Michael chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through his armor. Beneath the bravado, he said vulnerably, “You have known me long enough to know that is the one promise I could never keep.”
“What am I to do if any sort of serious mishap ever happens to you, Michael? We have been lucky, but it is not wise to keep tempting fate. Gods, just thinking of losing you—Ugh, I cannot bear it.”
“The one thing that could ever be the death of me is you, my beloved,” Michael’s expression melted into a mischievous grin, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. He trailed kisses along the extent of William’s clothed arm, not daring to cease eye contact. He knew his lover well; knew William to be proud to a certain point, then give in to Michael’s brainless, albeit quite captivating antics. “And, oh, what a blissful end would that be.”
“What is it with you tonight, gods,” William muttered to himself, looking away, his hat moving askew with the turn of his head. There was an adorable blush on his cheeks. “This is no time for flippancy. I am serious.”
“So am I,” Michael said, no longer austere. “But we need not concern ourselves with further combats for a while. We have prevailed, my dear.”
It was rare—and impossibly vexing—but William recognized when Michael had a point. Tonight was one of those times. Realizing it was pointless to argue with that stubborn head of his, William glared at him, then sighed, defeated, as he felt himself soften again, getting closer. This man. This perfectly imperfect man. “Then allow me, at least, to tend to you.”
“There is no need for you to bear such a burden,” Michael said, his voice low and reluctant, though his body betrayed him by leaning in William’s direction. “I can see you’re still furious at me.” It was but a dance, one they’d grown much too accustomed to. This was simply Michael’s peculiar way of asking, trying his luck: May I have the honor?
“It is no trouble. And I guarantee to be less furious if you let me take care of you,” William assured, distancing himself from Michael and approaching the necessary ingredients. As his unspoken I thought you’d never ask, he added, “Therewithal, you could never deny me this pleasure, could you? Your heart is much too true to refuse.”
“Then it is settled,” Michael replied, a proud smirk growing on his lips. He moved closer to William with the intention of sealing their deal with a kiss. William allowed him to get close enough to feel their breaths mingle, but then he, tauntingly and as softly as he could manage, pushed Michael away to take a seat at the table right by their shelf of runes.
“Yes,” William said, hiding the bewitched, wicked smile that was forming on his lips by turning his back to Michael and leaving him there to whither. Oh, unfortunate soul. “Indeed, it is.”
William set to work on his concoctions gracefully, humming chants under his breath as he ground a variety of petals in the mortar with careful grinds. The process was laborious, requiring the infusion of holy incantations whispered over vials to awaken the natural essences into powerful ointments that would soothe Michael’s wounds without the harsh bite of quicker spells.
Michael watched from his seat, his gaze lingering on William’s focused form, the cleric’s robes swaying gently with each motion, the silver stars that decorated them reflecting the light of the candelabra around them, his tall hat casting shadows on their walls. Michael smiled when the air filled with the earthy scent of crushed lavender—his favorite.
The minutes stretched into a quiet ritual. The only sounds that broke the companionable silence were the soft scrape of the pestle, the occasional clink of glass, the rustle of parchment, and the faint burr of arcane energy. William could sense Michael’s eyes on him, watching his every move, and it endeared him.
As William stirred a glowing elixir, Michael reminded him that there were messages awaiting dispatch to the High Council. That was William’s cue to add and say they needed to provision certain supplies, both for personal and general use. “Those duties demand our prompt attention until the end of next week,” he said. Michael nodded, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the table.
As the ointment and potion neared completion, their fragrances mingling in the air, William approached his scepter, using it to add the final touch to the potion. William turned to Michael with a tender resolve, which prompted him to immediately spread his legs open, welcoming William between them.
“Here, drink,” William ordered delicately as he held out the bottle. Michael reached out and held William in place by putting his arms around his legs, just above his knees, and instinctively pulled him closer. Still standing tall, William raised his scepter with his free hand and used its tip to gently brush a stray of Michael's hair off his face.
Michael obeyed in an instant. William watched intently as Michael’s sweaty, faintly dirty throat swallowed his healing. William looked away as if it were much of an explicit act for him to witness, clearing his throat and almost choking on his own saliva. Thankfully, Michael had his eyes closed and did not see William’s physical ordeal. William breathed in, trying to simmer down.
Gently, William dipped his index and middle fingers into the cooling balm and began tending to the bruises and wounds on Michael’s face. Firstly, his digits smeared over Michael’s lip. As if sensing the tension in the air, Michael attempted a bite at his finger humorously; the giggle from William that it granted him was like music to his ears. Then, the shallow cuts that traced his cheeks and the darkening mark on his jaw disappeared as William worked slowly, his thumb smoothing the ointment over the injuries, his eyes attentive as the swelling eased; the pain fading from Michael’s expression. Although the preparation of the potion was time-consuming, its efficiency was instantaneous, curing the deeper cut on Michael’s neck, which had left only a faint scar.
“There,” William said softly, pleased with his success. Then he murmured, pointing to Michael’s armor and indirectly urging him to stand up, “You have carried this weight all day.” Michael rose to his feet, towering a few inches taller. William liked it very much that his man was taller than he was. He set his scepter aside. “Allow me to lift it from you.” As he reached for the clasps of Michael’s breastplate and pauldrons, William could feel how the metal was still warm from the heat of the battle and Michael’s sweat. With the practiced ease of having done it thousands of times before, William unbuckled the pieces, removed Michael’s chainmail shirt, completely freeing his paladin from his metal skin.
Michael was now only in his white linen shirt and leg protection. William let his palms glide over Michael’s chest, sweat seeping through the fabric. William could not help but notice the way Michael’s heart quickened as soon as his touch was on him. Unbeknownst to Michael, William could not suppress the flutter in his own chest. It overflowed through his lips in a dreamlike sigh.
Michael’s breath hitched, a soft protest forming on his lips as William’s hands lingered, tracing the damp fabric. “Thank you, my darling.” Although he was the protector, the one who carried burdens for others, Michael granted himself to be cared for and needed in this special, exclusive manner.
“You are well aware that I take great joy in looking after you,” William replied, holding Michael’s face in his hands, his eyes dark with affection, looking for Michael’s, his tone firm yet tender. “I need to make up to you somehow, after everything you do for me.”
“I’d suffer hell for you selflessly,” Michael let out earnestly, then continued, “Yet I must have been blessed enough to have you care for me in return.”
“You know,” William began. Now that Michael’s injuries had been either minimized or cured, he pulled a cloth out of one of the cabinet drawers, dampening it under the natural spring of cold water. “When word came that the enemy had marked us as a target rather than allies, you did storm in like a tempest unleashed. But it was not just duty that drove you, was it?”
Michael’s pulse quickened, that familiar heat coiling in his chest. Not from the battle, no, but from the sting of memory. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table as if gripping the hilt of his sword again. “I’m afraid I do not take your meaning,” he said, his voice steady, but his eyes darted away, tracing the cracks between each stone on the floor rather than meeting William in the eye. Michael hoped it hadn’t been evident. Gods, just thinking about it made him feel bilious.
“You loathed that Nog the Bard convinced the other clan to join us by using my healing powers to boost our morale,” William pressed, his tone calm but probing, as he pressed the damp cloth to Michael’s face, wiping away the grime with gentle rubs. The cool fabric did very little to quell the flush creeping up Michael’s neck.
“I did not say it,” Michael noted, his jaw clenching as the words barely escaped him. Had William not been so attuned to Michael’s every word, he would have missed it. Damn it all, how could William see through him so easily? The memory flashed unbidden: Nog’s smug grin at having convinced those sickening barbarians, the way those warriors had clulstered around William like moths to a flame, their unworthy hands reaching for the cleric’s touch, their eyes devouring what was his.
It pained him because it was as though he could hear their malicious thoughts echoing in his mind like a chorus of blasphemies. It made Michael’s blood burn hotter than any forge, his pulse thundering as the desire to annihilate each of them took possession of him.
The alliance had started innocently enough, or so it seemed. Michael, leading their party alongside William, Nog the Bard, and Sundar the Bold, had encountered the rival clan during a tense border skirmish. Eladoria’s forces were stretched thin, backed only by a handful of rangers, wizards, and paladins, so they had hoped those outsiders could bolster their ranks in the looming battle.
Nog, ever the charismatic diplomat, had mentioned William in his stories, singing of the wise one’s healing brilliance to rally the barbarians' spirits. But whispers in the campfires revealed the truth: the group plotted to slaughter the party for their enchanted weapons, sparing only William, whose calm demeanor and unforgettable presence had drawn flirtatious murmurs from some warriors, men and women alike. He is very courtly and kind. He’s got beautiful eyes and a beautiful mouth to match. Comments about “trying their luck” with the cleric, as if he were a prize to be claimed.
Michael could not abide it. He was frustrated with those traitors—for their betrayal, yes, but more for their lingering glances, the way they approached William like wolves scenting prey, belittling Michael’s presence and feelings, and calling him a fool, a weak man behind his back. Despite the risks: the pact’s rupture could very well ignite a full-scale war or draw the kingdom’s wrath, he resolved to strike first. Sundar had argued for caution, the wizards cautioned of magical repercussions, and even Nog hesitated, but Michael’s mind was set, and his eyes were blinded. They had crossed an unforgivable line.
It had gone as far as to make Michael see things that were not there, especially when Sundar the Bold, whom he considered to be a close acquaintance, thought it in good taste to, after their battle, strip off his armor and beg William to tend to his chest and hip wounds, his bare skin glistening under the torchligth while whispering sweet nothings in his ear like a madman. True to his name, Sundar had acted with bold flair, but it was all harmless fun, a jest to poke at Michael, who was staring daggers and pretending not to have a hemorrhagic stroke from the sight. That just added to Michael’s annoyance, as irrational as it sounds, fueling the green-eyed monster that clawed at his insides, because now Sundar had made William laugh, and that would never do.
No sooner had Michael seen them than William ran towards him, holding his arms out to embrace him and kiss him senseless, though, making him forget anything else.
“You did not have to,” William said simply, jolting Michael out of his recollection, his fingers lingering on Michael’s cheek, tilting his chin up to force eye contact. “I saw how you glimpsed those men hovering near, seeking my healing touch. There was fire in your eyes.”
Michael looked away, visibly embarrassed by the truth laid bare, his heart pounding with the admission. Thumpthumpthump. He cleared his throat, then said, “You speak true. I stormed in for you, yes—to shield you from the harm that they had furtively planned. But…gods,” as he kept going, his shoulders dropped, his face leaning into William’s palm, “I-I despised seeing those traitors basking in your care, their eyes lingering on you like you were theirs to claim. I fought not just for justice, but to show them, and remind myself, that you belong to me alone.”
Oh. Oh.
It was one thing to know it, but it certainly felt different to hear him say it. William did not feel intimidated by Michael’s mortification. Instead, he was rather pleased with how the possessiveness was adorned with the loss of his composure, the stumbling over his words, and the blush of his freckled cheeks. He said, as lovingly as humanly possible, “It is unwarranted and reckless to let yourself be controlled by this green-eyed monster.”
“But, William, you did not see the way they looked at you, did not hear what they said about—”
“No, I did not see the way they looked at me because, amongst all of them, I could only take notice of you, Michael. You.”
As William gazed upon his paladin, something shifted within him. The worry, that gnawing, persistent fear that had clawed at his insides and almost ripped his heart out, melted away as urgently as it arrived. The sight of Michael, wounded yet victorious—his body a testament to strength and survival—mighty yet soft—there he stood, chivalrous and vulnerable—stirred something deep within him. It was not pity or protection; it was desire, raw and consuming, the need to claim and be claimed anew. He wanted to revel in the aftermath of Michael’s glory and adoration.
As much as that was William’s biggest wish for the night, he knew better than to make things easier for Michael. After all that fretting and irrational, albeit rather enticing, jealousy, William deserved nothing more than to be entertained. Yes, he wanted his husband to woo him a little more before taking him to bed, the world be damned! As a helpless provoker, William leaned in, as though he was about to plant a kiss on Michael’s mouth. Michael leaned in, closing his eyes, prepared for the kiss like the fool he was. William suppressed a laugh.
Speaking directly into Michael’s ear, making sure his lips were brushing his earlobe, William said, “I must say, despite all my worry, you were magnificent today.” He pressed gentle kisses along the heated skin of Michael’s collarbone. Leaning back, he caught the frustration in Michael’s face after being fooled once again. William, untying the strands of Michael’s lace-up linen shirt deliberately slow, said, “Your bravery and skill never fail to amaze me.” Michael’s resentment quickly turned into pride, though. There was a boastful grin threatening to bloom across his face. “You fight like a god.”
“Oh, do I?” Michael asked, his voice deep, though his cheeks burned hotter. He was no smooth talker, not like his William, who wielded words like incantations. All Michael knew how to do was be eager and happy to comply. And shiver, utterly smitten. He drew closer.
“You captured not just the enemy, but hearts aplenty—mine most of all, though I suspect a few admirers among the nobles and peasants alike won’t soon forget your valor,” William hooked his fingers on the sides of the linen, pulling it up by its edges, leaving Michael bare-chested, with chills all over him. “Not after how you saved Eladoria. Have I reasons to be jealous?”
With the way the air thickened between them and the look full of mischief in his eyes, it felt as though William was casting a spell on Michael. Michael, already intoxicated, leaned in trying to catch his cleric’s mouth in a kiss and fulfill whatever incantation his cleric had thrown his way, but William had other plans.
“You know you are my heart’s keeper. In this life and in any other.” Michael watched fondly as William nodded, taking in this information in a dominating way, as if saying I'd better and sending shivers down Michael's spine.
“The way you swing that greatsword of yours,” William continued, making the bold move of sliding his hand down, trailing an enchanted path down Michael’s chest, tugging slightly at his chest hair, then down his stomach before giving Michael’s hardening length a light, barely there squeeze. “It is quite…exhilarating.”
“I-Is that so—oh?” Michael said, trying to sound coy. He stuttered, then let out a compliant whine at the sudden caress instead.
“Do not let my flattery swell your ego,” William said, a hint of playful defiance spilling from his lips as he whispered against the pulse point where Michael’s neck met his shoulder, savoring the salt of his sweat and the warmth of his life.
“My wise one, are you trying to seduce me with your divine charms?” He leaned back, his calloused hand cupping William’s cheek, thumb brushing over the soft skin. The touch was tender, but Michael’s breath hitched into a whine when William leaned into it.
“Seduce you? Oh, my brave paladin, as if I need to try,” William teased, tilting his head with feigned innocence, even as his cheeks hollowed around Michael’s fingers, his tongue circling them in slow, torturous swirls. Michael was transfixed. With a loud, lewd pop, William looked him over, eyes lingering on the mouth-watering trail of hairs down his navel to the equally salivating bulge straining his trousers, then said, “Look at you. I have yet to let you kiss me, and you’re already powerless.” To add to his teasing, he raised both of his hands,shrugging, “Not a book of spells in sight.”
“You tease me on purpose,” Michael warned, but his tone was pleading as his hands moved to grip William by the waist, turning him around and pulling him flush against his body by putting both arms around him, making him feel his hardness.
“But teasing is half the fun, is it not?” William replied, playing innocent and reveling in the way he was being manhandled by his man. He ground his ass against Michael, cheeky like that. “Imagine me binding you with silken ropes from my robes, making you beg for release. Would you like that, my paladin?”
Michael buried his head in the crook of William’s neck, licking and kissing where his heartbeat burned like a wildfire, teeth grazing enough to leave marks that would bloom like purple storm clouds come morning.
There was a sweetness in the way William could distinguish Michael’s soundless replies—first a no, then a yes—just by the way his head moved a little desperately against his cheek and shoulder.
“Gods, William, you—” Michael started, but could not for the life of him finish. He could only reach beneath all that damned purple fabric, finding William’s cock, amused to feel how aroused he was.
“Or perchance me on my knees, praying to you as my deity, my mouth tasting you, making you writhe,” William said, stifling a gasp by biting into his own hand, his glove muffling the sound fruitlessly. “But only if you promise to return the favor. Fair trade, don’t you think?”
As one could expect from the artist he was, William’s words painted such vivid images that Michael could not help but groan, all ferocious, his hips bucking against William, his head falling to his nape before kissing that exact spot. Michael ached for him all over.
“You do realize there is no need for a bargain, right, my love?” Michael asked, enlightening the situation with amusement. He raised William’s arms from behind, slender fingers cupping both of his elbows before reaching his hands, nibbling at his gloved fingers and taking the gloves off with his mouth—first one, then the other. “You know I’d feel delighted to have you in any way you’ll let me. Just—let me kiss you. I need the sweet taste of you on me.”
William tittered, scintillating. He turned his body to face Michael again. He tangled a hand in Michael’s hair, letting him place a gentlemanly kiss on his other one. “Patience, my love. The gods do teach us that anticipation heightens the divine.” Yet, even as he spoke, he closed the distance, his lips hovering over Michael’s. So much for patience. “But since you have been so valiant today, perhaps a reward is in order.”
Then, when their lips finally collided, the world narrowed to the heat of their mouths, and it seemed that time itself yielded to their hunger, as if the gods themselves held their breath in reverence to their love.
Michael pulled William impossibly closer, their lips meeting in a fierce kiss. It was wet and urgent, all teeth and tongues. Saliva slicked their lips, dripping down their chins as Michael growled into William’s mouth. William tasted of honey mixed with the salt of his sweat, and Michael was compelled to devour him, sucking on his lower lip until it swelled. Gods, he was irresistible. No other high in the world could ever compare.
When William sucked on Michael’s tongue, Michael moaned softly, his hands roaming greedily lower, squeezing William’s ass through his robes. Michael lifted him effortlessly, like a feather in the grip of a tempest, and set him onto the sturdy wooden counter that served as their makeshift altar. Scrolls tumbled to the ground, vials clinked precariously in their haste, but they were much too occupied to care. William, ever the impatient one, hooked his fingers on the belt of Michael’s trousers, pulling them down clumsily.
“Take them off,” William ordered, less gently this time, and watched as Michael disposed of his pants, almost tripping over his own feet as he took off his boots. William’s mouth watered at the sight of Michael in nothing but his already stained undergarments.
Michael slipped his hand beneath the folds of William’s robe, finding his still-clothed bulge straining against the fabric, and began to rub with deliberate, teasing strokes. Each caress elicited a sharp gasp from his cleric as their kiss turned into something salacious, with them breathing and whimpering into each other’s mouths more than anything else. William’s head jerked back, his hat completely forgotten somewhere on the floor now.
It took him a while, desperation had taken the best of him, but Michael was able to unfasten William’s pants, his fingers deftly rubbing and touching William through his undergarments now.
“Cannot stop thinking about it,” William said in between kisses. Michael was now thrusting against his thighs, mouth open and panting against his neck. He leaned back just enough to show his confusion. “You charging in like a fool because some brute dared to glance my way.”
“I reckoned we were past this—” Michael started, quite embarrassed by his madness being brought up again.
“Even Sundar, Michael, really? As in our comrade Sundar, the one who was there for our—”
Michael had not registered before that moment that William had noticed that not only had he been jealous of those traitors, but Sundar’s antics to rile him up after everything had worked “He overstepped the mark, undressing in front of you and making you—”
“Jealousy becomes you, my love,” William purred, paying no heed to his lover’s complaints, arching his back in Michael’s direction instead, hands going down on him to stroke him through his undergarments. “Gods, as if I’d ever want anyone but you.”
That, along with William’s giggles, ignited a new fire within Michael, who looked at his lover with a renewed fervor in his eyes before claiming his mouth in a kiss that devoured all former doubt and diffidence.
“For heaven’s sake, William, please—” Michael gasped, breaking the kiss just long enough to make his plea, his eyebrows furrowing, “Will you let me have you?”
Yes. Yes yes yes.
Muttering curse words under his breath, William wrapped his legs around Michael’s waist and nodded fervently, all while Michael still touched him from underneath his robes. If there was one thing Michael always did in moments like these, it was to ask. William savored how he entwined his seduction with his asking for permission. A true gentleman, indeed.
“Always,” William reminded him with a nod of his head, hypnotized by where Michael’s long strands of hair clung to his skin. “Claim me as you did in the field.”
In a frenzy, Michael dropped to his knees, his brown eyes black with reverence. His hands slid up William’s legs slowly as he pushed the fabric aside and pulled it up. Underneath his cloak, William wore a white shirt and black trousers. Michael held each of William’s legs in turn, unlacing his boots and tossing them aside, then pulled his pants down. To assist, William raised himself from the counter, bracing against a shelf. Unlike Michael, who was taking his time, William yanked off his own shirt from over his head and pulled Michael up by his hair for another kiss. Michael’s breath came in ragged bursts against William’s lips, his hands gripping his hips with a possessiveness that spoke of his true nature.
In a swift motion, his arms encircled William’s waist and thighs, lifting him from the counter. William’s legs draped gracefully over one forearm, his back supported securely by Michael’s touch. Michael was carrying him as one might bear a sacred relic to its shrine. Each step toward the bed was intentional. He needed a proper altar for his devotion, after all.
William tucked some disobedient, curly strands of Michael’s hair behind his ear before kissing him again—the truth was that it would never be enough—one hand against Michael’s cheek and the other on his chest.
Michael laid William upon the soft linens of their feather-filled mattress, which yielded beneath him. Michael pulled down his undergarments and let out an embarrassed laugh at the way William’s eyes widened, his mouth watering.
Michael kneeled on the mattress. With a gentle, but firm push, he lifted William’s legs, guiding them to rest on his shoulders.
“Let me do what I was born to do, my darling.” Michael’s words were so soft against William’s skin.
“And may I ask what that would be, Sir Michael the Brave?” William asked, all coy and perfect.
“Why, worship you, of course,” Michael said, as easily as breathing.
Michael kissed his way up each leg: first the bridges of his feet, then his ankles, calves, shins, and inner thighs before setting them down to kiss William’s hips. He mouthed at William’s bulge through the stained fabric, dragging his teeth gently along his length, tongue swirling at the tip, delighting in William’s squirms and twists under him. With William’s help in propping himself on his elbows and lifting himself, Michael removed his wet undergarments and kissed his knees.
Balancing on his arms so as not to crush him, Michael continued his journey upwards, leaving a trail of kisses on William’s stomach and chest. He licked and bit his nipples tenderly, making William shake beneath him. Then, he licked William’s mouth open, thrusting his bare, aching cock between William’s thighs, trembling at the feel of William’s length twitching against their stomachs.
William’s beauty was ethereal. Michael could look at him forever. Everything about him, he loved. Michael loved how his eyes were a mix of the prettiest shade of hazel and the most enchanting hue of green. He loved and had memorized each of his moles; he had seen them all. William had them all over.
He loved that William’s nose was big; that his front teeth were prominent; that his hands were calloused from his scepter and his brushes; that sunlight turned his hair into honey when he did not wear his hat; his proud and vexing nature; that very few knew he had the abilities of a sorcerer; that he knew the recipe to Michael’s favorite ointment by heart; that the spot right behind his right ear left his toes curling after being kissed; that he never wanted to go to sleep unresolved after a fight, yet never apologized first; that he, actually, never had reasons to apologize for anything; that he inspired Michael to write tales and poetry; that his skin was slightly tanner than Michael’s and the contrast looked beautiful when their bodies were entangled; that he made Michael handmade gifts; that his skin was soft; that he was gloomy when in need of sleep; that he believed in Michael more than Michael believed in himself; that it seemed like his voice was made to say Michael’s name in a breathless whisper; how he'd thought Michael's idea of naming their dear Earth as an anagram for heart was brilliant, singing his praises any time people asked about it; that he only slept soundly and far from a nightmare’s harm in Michael’s arms; that he was strong despite everything, the strongest person Michael will ever know; that he was his cleric and Michael was his paladin; that he never failed to bring out the best in Michael; that the sweat of hard work smelled great on him; that he was kind and selfless and amusing; that, after having lived in black and white for so long, William had painted Michael a vibrant, colorful life filled with freedom and wonder just by loving him and letting himself be loved by him. He loved those things and countless others. He loved how—
“Do not stare at me like that,” William said sheepishly, hiding his face behind his hands, unknowingly interrupting Michael’s internal devotion.
“You are perfection incarnated,” Michael whispered against William’s chest, his heart a wild drum inside his ribcage. William’s chest hair tickled his nose. “A gift from the gods themselves.”
“Michael,” was all William could mutter after such praise, his back arching as he squeezed his thighs together to quell the ache.
Driven by an insatiable hunger, William shifted beneath Michael and reached down to grasp both their throbbing cocks, jerking them in unison. He circled Michael’s sensitive tip, eliciting a groan from him as slick precum made each stroke glide effortlessly. His hips bucked upward, fucking into his own fist and against Michael’s cock with raw need like an animal in heat.
As William touched himself and Michael at the same time, Michael peppered kisses all over William’s face: soft, lingering presses on his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his eyelids, his cheeks, and his lips. He whispered praises between each one, drawing giggles and gasps, and shivers from him.
With a flick of his wrist and a flutter of his fingers, William conjured some enchanted oil on both his and Michael’s hands to assist them and make this moment even more comfortable and pleasant.
“This is exactly what I mean—nngh—when I say you will be the death of me,” Michael thought aloud, his face contorting with pleasure at a specific flick of William’s wrist. He brought his middle and ring fingers to William’s entrance, teasingly circling the skin there. “You—uh—are the most beautiful thing my eyes have ever laid upon.”
“Well, so are you. You a—ah—re my most favorite sight,” William gasped, reacting loudly to the way Michael pushed one, then two fingers inside.
Michael smiled, sweet and earnest, eyeing his biggest, sweetest dream coming to life, and equally as wonderfully apart, in front of him.
“Please, William, I—,” Michael begged, though unsure of what he was really asking for. When you’re a starved lover, anything and nothing is sufficient.
Positioning himself between William’s legs, he pulled his fingers out of him abruptly. It caught William off guard; the sensation was so jarring that the rush of cool air where warmth had just been left William clenching around nothing. Michael rubbed the tip of his cock against William’s entrance, to which William simply nodded in desperate abandon.
“Make love to me,” William pleaded, eyes rolling back, teeth biting his lower lip.
“Your wish is my command, my love," Michael said, then did as he was told. Michael thrust in slowly at first, savoring the tight heat, but his neediness took over quickly.
“Mich—oh, fuck, yes,” was all William could gasp, eyebrows furrowing with pleasure.
“Fuck, William, you’re so tight—more, I need more,” he groaned, bottoming out and starting a steady rhythm, his body covering William’s like his coat of arms.
William’s legs wrapped around Michael’s waist, pulling him closer, “Michael, yes—deeper,” he gasped, his fingers raking down Michael’s back.
The rhythm built itself in no time, Michael’s thrusts deep as their bodies moved like one. Sweat slicked their skin, breaths coming in ragged unison like some sort of chant.
“You are my light,” Michael whispered, saliva slicking down his chin as he panted.
“You are my heart,” William said, licking Michael’s collarbone, neck, then cheek. He clung to Michael by putting his arms around his neck, urging him on. “Give it to me harder, my love, I can take it.”
Michael’s thrusts were sloppy, uncoordinated now, erratic with desperation, each one burying himself to the hilt, his balls slapping hard against William’s ass. He panted against William’s ear, lips licking at his ear, “You are mine. Mine.”
“Yes. Yes. Forever yours,” William said, trying his hardest to let out coherent thoughts. Michael shifted, then, hooking William’s legs over his shoulders for a better angle, pounding harder. “And you’re m—nngh—mine.”
“Oathbound, my beloved," Michael replied in between kisses. "Body, heart, and soul.”
There was no other sound around them other than the whispers of each other’s names, moans and whines, and that raw, filthy slide of skin on skin. And unbelievers would claim alchemy to be a hoax.
“Fuck,” William exclaimed, his nails digging crescent moons into Michael’s toned, muscle-strained arm as he watched Michael pound into him, the in and out of his glistening, thick cock; the sway of his hair over his head, putting him in such a trance his eyes rolled back.
“It’s as though you were created for me,” Michael groaned, pressing praises into William’s skin, branding his devotion here and there and everywhere. “Fuck, I could never have enough of you.”
“Oh, my—you are so good to me, Michael,” William managed to say, propping himself on his elbows to switch positions. He pushed gently at Michael’s shoulders, guiding him to sit back on his heels. Despite his confusion, Michael complied. He felt hypnotized. William shifted his legs just right, positioning himself to sit fully on Michael’s veiny cock, feeling every inch of him. Michael’s sticky hands found their way to the small of William’s back, holding him up, ever the gentleman. William pulled him into a sloppy kiss as he ground down. Michael’s mouth on his stifled a particularly loud moan.
“That would be you, my treasure. All you,” Michael’s words came out rough-edged and breathless while pounding into William relentless, imperfect strokes: every thrust slightly off-rhythm but landing deeper and perfectly each time, making William’s vision go all blurry and white. Noticing his excitement about their arrangement, Michael encouraged, “Use me as you wish. Come on.”
William looked down between their sweat-slick bodies at the obscene slide of his own flushed, pulsating length trapped against Michael’s abdomen with each of his thrusts. He whimpered, biting his lip so hard it almost drew blood. His cock was leaving glistening streaks of precum across Michael’s skin, as if that part of his was also painting on a canvas, his stomach muscles fluttering involuntarily.
“So gallant,” William drawled out the words, bouncing on Michael’s lap, the hairs on Michael’s legs prickling at his outer thighs. Tipping his head back, he put his hand on his stomach, a vicious smile spreading across his lips as he felt the throbbing, faint outline of Michael pounding inside of him. He licked a trail from Michael’s collarbone to his earlobe before continuing, Michael’s each thrust emphasizing every syllable out of William’s mouth, “My handsome, striking man.”
At the praise, Michael seemed to melt. William saw as he reacted to his words, his entire face flushing at his flusteredness, and although he tried, right against William’s shoulder, he could not hide his sheepish smile. William smiled as he kissed him again. Gods, how I love him.
It never failed to marvel William how Michael reacted to him, from his skin down to his very bones. There were shivers all over him, his eyes sparkling, even more precious than black tourmaline. Threading his fingers in Michael’s hair, William gave a sharp tug, needing him closer, touching their foreheads, breathing into his mouth. When William took a strand of hair out of Michael’s face to sweetly kiss his cheeks, Michael’s instant reaction was to squeeze William’s ass, all firm and eager, with handprints definitely there.
The intensity peaked. Michael craved more: the primal urge to claim, to dominate in the gentlest of ways. He eased William onto all fours, his voice hoarse. William complied, arching his back with wantonness, presenting himself with a vulnerability that made Michael salivate. He positioned himself behind, gave William’s balls and entrance a few licks, and his ass a few kisses and bites, all while he watched William squirm beautifully, elbows scraping against the sheets. Pulling him closer by the hips, Michael aligned their bodies. The entry was smoother now, the oil still shimmering and doing its magic, but the angle hit deeper, brushing that spot inside William that made stars burst behind his eyelids.
Michael leaned forward for a graceless kiss over William’s shoulder, tongues tangling as his chest pressed against William’s back, hands encircling his torso. Their quarters filled with the sounds of their shared ecstasy: wet slaps, guttural moans, the squelch of ttheir bodies, the creak of the bed.
Michael’s thrusts grew erratic, driven by the sight of William beneath him, all flushed, marked, and utterly his. “Love how you take me—so tight, so perfect,” he groaned, stroking William’s side, thumb circling his hip bone. Trembling on the edge and planting kisses on William’s back, he mumbled, the press of skin and sweat muffling the words, “I love you. My heart beats for you, William.” With the way Michael’s desire was choking him, William sounded much more like Will.
“I love you more than anything,” William gasped, his cheek pressed to the feather-filled pillow, sweat dampening its cover. “Now fill me up, my love. Come on.”
“Together,” Michael urged, one hand reaching around to stroke William, hand tickling at the trail of hair there. He felt William’s cock twitching in his hold. “Let me feel you—worship you until the end.”
As Michael wished, they climaxed together. William came first, body spasming deliciously as he spilled onto the sheets and Michael’s hand with a cry that echoed off the walls. Burying himself deep as release tore through him, Michael filled William, hot and blinding, his legs shaking.
They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, spent and untwined, sweat all over their skin, and hearts beating in tandem. Michael brought his hand up, some of William’s cum slicking his fingers. William held Michael’s wrist gently, bringing one of the dirty fingers to his mouth, watching as Michael’s cheeks went hollow around his own finger. They licked Michael’s fingers clean.
As they lay there, catching their breath and waiting until they were strong enough to rise and draw themselves a bath, Michael pulled William close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I would do it again, you know. I will do it every time.”
William looked up at him, tracing lazy patterns on the hair of Michael’s chest and peppering kisses along his arm, the faint tickle of his armpit hair brushing William’s cheek.
“I know,” William said, feigning sternness, the adoration in his voice betraying him. “Though I wish you would not die for me.”
“Anything for you, my love,” Michael muttered, his hand cradling William’s face as he kissed him soundly. It was unclear whether Michael was agreeing with William’s plea or letting him know how far he would go for him, how their love demanded nothing less from him. In truth, it was a bit of both.