The King's Men Ch. 05

He never fucked me where I longed to have his cock working, but it was not long before he was sending for me to give him a massage rather than me following him around and asking him if he wanted one.

To my knowledge he had never replaced Kobus in his bed, when Kobus displaced Guido in Guy's bed. But I made known to myself that there was no physical reason why he could not easily reach an erection or produce a prodigious amount of cum out of a very nice, long, and plump cock.

"Why is it, sire, that you never have had a lover since Kobus?" I boldly asked one day when I had sucked him dry during a massage and then found that he wanted me again before I had finished working his muscles.

"I don't do it lightly, Lambert," he said. "And I will not do it for you, if that is why you are asking."

"No, sire, it is not. I know that one such as I could not aspire to one such as you. You have a cock suitable for a king."

He stiffened then, and I heard his ragged intake of breath.

"The king, sire," I pressed further. "Why is it that you never have lain with the king?"

"You presume, servant," he said angrily.

"I feel how you stiffen at the mention of his name," I persisted. "I see how you look at him, how you watch him, your gaze going lovingly over the curves of his body, lost in the deep, soft blue of his eyes. Your cock stiffens at the sight of him on the practice field, the hardness of his muscles, the fullness of his lips, the way the world lights up when he smiles at you, the blondness of his curls. The way that line of hair runs down under the hem of his breechcloth. The blondness of his bush. I know as we have both been there when he bathed. The plump roundness of his nether cheeks, the curve of his cock up from his belly. The blush of his bulb, its slit ripe for a tongue or a probing finger. And I feel the engorging of your cock at my lips even as I say these things."

"Oh, God, enough," he cried out, and he stopped my speech with his cock plunging up between my waiting lips and pumping, pumping, pumping in a frenzy until he ejaculated, his muscles relaxed, and he collapsed on the divan.

"I ask again, sire. Why have you never lain with the king? You want to."

"Because he doesn't want me." It came out as a strangled cry. "If he did, he would command."

"There you are wrong, sire. I see how he looks at you, how his eyes follow you on the practice field and even in the supper hall. He very much wants you. But he needs what you need."

There was no immediate response from Rene, and in exasperation, I blurted out, "The king commands in the field and in temporal matters—and he does it superbly. But the king is such a man as to want another man to command him in the bed. I've watched him. His eyes are on you to command him in the bedchamber. His channel aches for your cocking. He wants what you gave Kobus." Glory be, I thought, that I didn't have to tell him that the king would have taken Duke Gano's command in the bedchamber as easily as Rene's and that it was only by my plotting and hand that Rene's reluctance and naiveté were not to be his undoing.

"You said he needs what I need. What did you mean by that?" the question was an anguished whisper.

"He needs a first time."

"I have waited for years," Rene sobbed. "There are no first times with this king for a man laying with a man. He is a king."

"He is first and uppermost a man. You do him no service by holding him beyond reach when he obviously aches for you so. There was a first time with you and Kobus," I whispered. "And that only happened because Kobus, the queen, and I made it so."

"What are you saying?"

"Did you regret having Kobus as a lover?"

"No. No, of course not."

"Neither would the king regret having you as a lover. I know this is so. And I know it is right. And not just for the two of you, but for the kingdom."

"Explain yourself. About Kobus and me that first time."

"Do you not remember being in a haze?" I asked. I was slowly stroking his cock with my hand now, bringing him back to arousal in body to bring him back to arousal in mind as well.

"Yes. But I was tired and it was the drink."

"Not those entirely, no. Not those to an extent where it counted. There was a potion. An otherwise harmless potion."

"A potion? A . . . yes, yes, Lambert. That, with your hand. I could . . . all day. Oh, god yes."

"And you could be doing it with the king," I whispered. "Yes, a potion. Do you remember how you felt? Was Kobus desirable to you? Was his touch electric? Did you feel all of the power and strength of you flowing to your hard cock? Did your inhibitions against doing what your body clearly wanted lessen?"

"Yes, and yes," Rene answered.

"It was the potion. I have the potion."

"The massage. It was so arousing. Not unlike your massages."

"I dare say you can massage the king as well as Kobus or I ever did you. But hush, now, and think further on this at your leisure. I can help you. But for now, I feel you tightening up. I feel it in your orbs. For now my hands and lips have other work to do here. For this information, I only ask for the honor to drink of you."

* * * *

I was there, in the chamber, unseen and unmarked, as always, although in full view for anyone who wanted to see me, who needed my assistance, when the king and the king's man first fucked.

It was in the evening, their suppers on tables beside their chairs, the chairs turned three quarters to each other to ease conversation—and, because I had set them—to enhance the view of each other. They had been out hunting, the king and all the king's men, his lieutenant, Rene, at his side the entire time.

They had ridden back exhausted, but happy. This peacetime interlude in their lives was more taxing on a warrior than battles were. It was harder to keep their bodies hard and supple. Neither the king nor Rene need worry about that for some time to come, though.

They had been cleaned—I had helped with both, my hands working efficiently, making sure the king felt my touch on his cock and shuddered at the seemingly innocent arousal it provided. The two of them talking to each other of the crusade the king had pledged to join. Both happy, both seeing an end coming to this dull peacetime.

They were sitting in the chairs, talking and supping and drinking, only in their loosely laced breechcloths. Comfortable with each other. Long-time friends. Total trust between them.

They were both cleaning and sharpening their swords. No servant was ever allowed to do this for a knight. None could be trusted to do this to the knight's level of trust.

The king was complaining about the discomfort of his new boots. They hadn't been crafted just right. He rose and walked over and sat on the end of his enormous, high-poster bed and began to take his boots off.

He had been weaving a bit as he walked, and Rene looked hard at me, perhaps fully seeing me there for the first time.

Yes, I am the one who prepared his drink, I signaled with the expression of my face and hands. And then I nodded and leaned my head toward the king, sitting on the end of his bed.

Rene cleared his throat. "You look tired and tense, my king," he said.

"I am. I should not have foregone the hunt earlier in the week. My muscles complain of it from today's outing. This lack of the demands of battle vex me; I must exercise more."

If I have my way, you will exercise vigorously at night, I thought as I drifted into the shadows.

"May I send for a man to give you a massage?" I could have slapped Rene then for this clumsy approach in this question—volunteering to bring a substitute into the chamber—but the king did not fall in that direction.

"No bother. It is minor. They all will be at their supper now and will do a begrudging job, even though I be king."

"Then perhaps . . . I"

"You?"

"Yes. Perhaps just the shoulders if you feel that might suffice."

"Well . . ."

Rene was kneeling on the bed behind the king, close to him, his hands working the king's shoulders. Claude was rotating his head on his neck and Rene moved his hands to where the skull and neck joined, dug in his fingers gently, and the king let out a long, satisfied sigh.

Rene worked the bicep muscles and then returned to the shoulders briefly. I could see the king relaxing. And I could see something else as well. The crotch of his breechcloth was tented and I could see the bulb of his cock at a slit in the cloth. He could feel the need of Rene in the small of his back. I could tell that for sure. His eyes were hooded and he was panting in short, shallow breaths. I could see the muscles of the king's flat belly knotting. Rene's hands came down onto the king's chest and he was massaging the king's chest muscles, running his fingers over and over the king's now-taut nipples.

It was Claude who made the first, decisive move. I applauded him for that, and I was grateful. Rene was the perfect subject, awaiting the command, to the end in that first coupling. I was despairing of him making an irrevocable declaration openly acknowledging the need, the want, the repressed intention of both.

Rene was looking down the line of Claude's torso, seeing for the first time that the breechcloth had fallen away and that Claude was in full, upward curved erection, arising from his golden bush. At that moment, before Rene could decide what, if anything to do next, Claude raised his face to Rene's and captured Rene's lips with his. The kiss was tentative at first, but then they both hungrily opened to each other, as of a beaver's pilings being swept away by a torrential rain.

Rene cupped the king's chin in one hand, keeping their kiss going. The other hand slid down the king's torso along the line of blond, curly hair, down his belly and through his golden bush and captured the king's cock. Almost as if this bold action jolted him, though, Rene started to take his hand away. Claude covered it with one of his own hands, though, and one or the other of them started the slow masturbation of the royal shaft.

The kiss broke and the king whispered something to Rene and Rene whispered back, and then I saw the king stand from the bed and bend completely and grab his ankles. Rene went into a sitting position behind him, and his lips went into the fold of the royal rump. I moved around the room to make sure, and then satisfied myself that one of Rene's hands had moved between Claude's thighs and had resumed the milking of the royal cock.

It was the king who made the move of rising and then sitting in Rene's lap, half skewering his channel on Rene's cock. The king didn't come all of the way down, though. He crouched over Rene's lap and fucked himself slowly on Rene's staff using the traction of the balls of his feet on the floor. It was still the king's choice.

Rene was palming the king's belly with both hands and moaning deeply. In truth they were both moaning.

I walked to them then and sank between their spread knees and took the king's cock in my mouth. He didn't even seem to realize I was there, but he didn't command me away, and his enjoyment of the experience seemed to increase, if the intensity of groans and sighs from both was any measure.

When the royal seed hit the back of my throat, I took it as my due, my reward. As none of this would have happened without my boldness or persistence. In years hence they would both assume they just found each other, I am sure. This is how histories are written. But I knew that it had taken far more than that.

I felt the moment when Claude's body shuddered and Rene's first flow inside the king bathed the royal channel.

I pulled back into the shadows as Rene drew the king up on the bed. They lay there for some time, bodies stretched against each other, hands roaming, whispering to each other.

And then, at a whisper from Claude, Rene was turning the king on his belly and mounting his hips. And riding to paradise.

They did this through the night, finding and loving new positions, solidifying their new life as lovers, and making Rene the true king's man. There still, at the back of my mind, though, was some reservation over what was transpiring.

Toward dawn they settled down in each other's arms and I curled up in the shadows of a corner and slept as well.

I awoke to the sounds of groaning. Rene was sitting on the foot of the bed. The king was crouched between his legs, his mouth covering as much of Rene's cock as possible. Rene's hips were rolling in a slow rhythm that had his cock pushing as far into Claude's mouth as he could take it. The king was gagging, but he would not give up the cock.

I saw Rene bending over the king's bare back, reaching for and achieving a grip on the king's buttocks cheeks with his large, battle-callused hands. He squeezed the orbs and then, with a laugh, he slapped each in succession. He squeezed them again and spread them wide, and I saw the tips of the middle finger of each hand push into and spread apart the opening to the king's channel, the rim of which was rosy red from the previous night's cocking. Claude wiggled his rump but continued sucking Rene's cock.

Suddenly, Rene was aroused beyond control, and he stood and held the king away from him with hands on the king's arms. He turned the king's body and slammed it down on the surface of the bed. Claude arched his back and his head and I heard him laugh with a deep, joyful laugh, as Rene laced his arms under the king's thighs, spread and raising the monarch's legs, and knotted his hands on the king's belly. The bulb of his cock was positioned at Claude's entrance. He pushed the bulb a few inches inside and rotated it, while Claude gasped and groaned. Then he slid fast and deep inside as Claude cried out his passion. The king was panting and groaning and babbling of the master taking when I silently left the room. Rene's cock was giving him no quarter, strongly and cruelly slamming inside the royal hole again and again and again.

I was satisfied. This was what I had been waiting to see—the two taking their natural roles in the bedchamber. Rene taking dominating command as the king wanted him to.

Weeks later, King Claude and Duke Rene left on a crusade to Jerusalem. Claude did not take Blanche with him, leaving her on Kibrit as regent of the kingdom.

Blanche was content in raising the crown prince. As the prince grew older, I realized that I had failed terribly in one aspect of my scheming. The prince was growing up looking the spitting image of Guy, Duke of Gano. Blanche no doubt was happy with this. I had my serious doubts.

Before Claude and Rene returned from their crusade, I had had enough of scheming and plotting among the nobility and had requested and been granted by Blanche—no doubt now seeing me as a loose end that had seen entirely too much—permission to withdraw to the house of the brothers near Papheas to live out my years in contemplation.

* * * *

My first reaction was to laugh when I'd reread what I'd written. Remembering it now, my "secret" potion for Rene in loosening up the king to his maddeningly tentative advances was a combination of very good brandy, honey, and sugar water. I had no idea what Kobus and Blanche had put into the potion they'd given Rene—or even if it was any more "magical" than what I had given the king for Rene. It had been a gamble, but my own view had turned out a winner. The king only needed to be started in giving himself to Rene—and then Rene only needed a little push once beyond the vale himself in sensing his true role in their couplings. The only potion he had needed was confidence, bravery, and brashness—traits that Guy de Gano had had in full, I'm afraid. It would have been best for all if it had been the other way around. Guy might even have kept his life then.

The laugh, though, caused me to cough and for a pain to run through my chest like a fist had gripped my heart. And it made me think upon what I had written with greater introspection. I had always believed that we servants of the nobility were invisible and of no consequence. After letting all of this story pour out on parchment, the complete truth of it as I had witnessed and lived, I could still believe in the invisibility. But I couldn't believe in the lack of consequence in the presence of servants.

In consolidation of the House of Lusane on the island of Kibrit and its first crucial months of life, the nobles had schemed and intrigued, yes, but many of the momentous events—and some of the most spectacular ones—had been initiated and carried through by the unseen servants.

I have no regrets about the acts that my own hands performed in events save not having kept Guido out of harm's way and not being careful enough to find a princeling who had not been sired by Guy—which would have required a miracle.

But also now that I reread this, I realize that it is too volatile to ever be seen. I can't save and hide this someplace. If this fell into the wrong hands, into the hands of Blanche's enemies at court, to be specific—and there are many—the House of Lusane might be undone. Of course, it could as easily be strengthened as to unravel and fall into dust.

But I came to Kibrit as Blanche's servant and she has let me live and enjoy life here among the monks—some of whom, I am happy to say, have nice cocks and aren't too picky—when it might have been more in her interest to have me dispatched while she was regent. She ruled for Claude for five years while he and Rene were on their crusade. And she ruled rather heavy-handedly, more as a foreign occupier than a Kibrit queen. For this she was resented deeply at court, and a great sigh of relief was sounded when King Claude and Duke Rene rode back into the castle forecourt at Lefkosea. Not a word of reproach was gossiped about when the two men moved directly into the same bedchamber, as grateful were the people of the island that they had returned. I'm sure that his subjects assumed that at least Claude was dominant in that chamber, and I've never heard a hint to the contrary. This most likely means that the king's and king's man's chamber servants are far more discrete than I was able to be.

Blanche quickly retired to the bastion at St. Jerome to enjoy the company of an assortment of men who visited her there. Although she reappeared at court for high celebrations and relations between her and the king were quite proper, neither objected to or sought to change the choices each had made for their lives.

Blanche took the crown prince with her—and the entire court breathed a sigh of relief. I would not dare write of the crown prince if I had not now already decided what must be done with this true, bald, and unvarnished history I've written. But the boy was a brat, demanding and mischievous, and promised, in visage, to grow handsome and troublesome and completely self-centered and self-possessed and to scheme deaths and break hearts and create an army of by-blows—every inch his true father. And if this history reached the wrong hands, I can clearly see that it would be my mistress's undoing. Already I've heard talk in the land of Claude naming Rene his successor—even of adopting him formally.

So, I know what I must do with this parchment, burning its unmentionable truths in the palms of my hands as I hold it before me—in a moment when my heart stops beating so wildly. Perhaps I am getting too old to seek out stable boys' and monks' cocks. I cannot remember needing so long to catch my breath and have my heart return to its regular rhythm.

Just a brief rest and I will stir up the fire and take this parchment and . . .

-FINI-