Sworn Shield
Breath catching, Roy stretches out to take the foot in hand, wondering at the unmarked skin that inexplicably smells of milk soap and plums. A shiver prickles over his scalp and he leans over to brush a chaste kiss over the dainty ankle, his eyes unfocussed as he moans softly. Gods above and all that’s holy, but the boy is bloody gorgeous.
This is, of course, a dream brought on by a drunken mind. But what a wonderful dream it is.
Roy watches with interest as the prince murmurs sleepily, shivering at the touches and curling in, the covers getting in the way of his knee and pushing the hem of his gown up teasingly. Swallowing at the dizzying rush of heat it provokes, Roy sighs at the slide of fabric over the beautifully round hips, the boy’s thighs rubbing together in his sleep.
The knight slowly and carefully works his spit-slicked middle finger into the boy's silky soft cunt, watching the little hole suckle at his finger in quick jolts as it adjusts to the stretch. In no time at all it's soaking wet and the man feels a very odd surge of pride; the lad is a natural, his toes curling as a thin line of warm wetness curves down Roy’s broad palm to tickle his wrist.