[AU][C][M] Festivities

Richard sighed again. He didn't want to do any of that. At all. He didn't to play with the boy or have his slave play with him.

Even in his drunken state, he supposed that whatever happens in here would be better than what the slave would endure with Lord Diegon.

"You want to?"

He eyed the redhead slowly.

He was certainly his type. Rather small, almost dainty looking, with some athleticism built up over the years. Those big, pretty eyes, too.

"I wouldn't be opposed."

He would enjoy laying with him.

Richard sipped some more of the water and eyed the redhead in the spinning room. The drunken jealousy started to stew again.

"Would he mind?"

"It's what he's for," Fleck replied delicately.

Just like it was what he was for himself. It didn't matter if they minded or not, and most the time he certainly didn't. The lustful kiss the two of them had shared over that grape suggested that the redhead was just as willing as he was, anyway.

Richard huffed and slumped back on the couch.

He didn't want to two slaves playing in his room. He didn't want to give an order that the other slave may not like.

The tiny sober part of him supplied that punishment for the slave could be worst, and he didn't want to offend high Ecrutezian nobles.

"Fine," he decided, reluctantly. He waved his hand in the air in a shooing motion.

He caught the Prince's hand when it was waved at him, and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

"Thank you. You're a kind man."

He released the hand, and drew himself to his feet, turning to the other slave. He reached for the bottle of oil that had been provided for the Prince's use.

When he dropped to his knees in front of the boy, he crooned at him in soft Ecrutezian, and eased him into a light kiss, which, as Fleck had predicted, quickly became something more as the redhead pressed himself eagerly against him.

Quick moaned conversations made in whispers determined the roles that the two easily slipped into. A shock to anyone within hearing distance (the guards, and the Prince), it was the redhead that took the control, making demands in his sweet voice, and even delivering a few slaps to the larger man when his demands weren't met.

Those slaps and the teasing way the redhead played garnered loud reactions from Fleck. Fleck was naturally quite a loud person in the bedroom (or wherever his partner deemed was the place they play), but being under someones control always bought about stronger reactions. Louder moans, more eager thrusts and whimpers and pleads.

It was when the redhead was teasing his entrance with the oil-slicked head of his cock that his moans and pleads pitched higher and gained more volume. He'd been bent over, knees supporting his weight, chest and cheek pressed into the cushions underneath him, and hands tied together with the length of silk that had been provided, and held behind his back by a firm pale hand.

Once the slave left, he rolled over in his chaise to attempt sleep. Any noises they made he could try to ignore, pretend this never happened.

He did expect them to be so loud.

He certainly didn't expect the to hear most of the noise coming from his slave, or that soft sweet voice of the redhead was giving commands. Being drunk, he decided he was just imagining it.

In the end, voices got to him. He turned over in the chaise and made a soft noise of surprise.

He wasn't just imagining it.

It was the larger, stronger slave bent over. His face pressed into the pillow and his hands tied behind his back. It was his entrance being teased with an oil slick hand.

Richard couldn't look away, struck. The whole room spun around the two slaves.

He assumed that given the choice, he would've preferred to take the redhead. Instead, it was the smaller, dainty looking slave that had taken control.

The redhead crooned as he pushed forwards, and Fleck groaned loudly, back arching, pushing backwards against the new, painfully slow intrusion.

His backside got a light swat, and the redhead gave a sharp little demand to be still, which he obeyed with a little bite of his lip.

The redhead controlled their pace, gripping one of Fleck's hips in the other, and keeping the silk ties held firmly in the other.

Richard bit his own lip, eyes unmoving.

The private display in front of him was obscene. It wasn't something he had seen before. Nothing like the teasing touches between the nobles and slaves from earlier.

He huffed a little, drunken mind unconsciously palmed himself between his legs. The other hand gripped the goblet close to his wet chest.

The act was a back and forth battle between the two of them, with Fleck making small movements that the redhead set straight with a sharp slap or even sharper comment.

The hard pace that the redhead set a high bar for pleasure, which had Fleck blushing and coming quickly.

A fact that the redhead ignored until he had met his own end within the larger slave. As he pulled out, he gave Fleck's backside a firm slap and made another sharp demand.

One that Fleck obeyed eagerly, turning so his backside was facing the Prince, so he could take the boy's cock into his mouth, cleaning it eagerly.

The redhead took hold of the older slave's long hair, and his eyes met Richard's.

Fixated, he continued to palm himself. The laces on his crotch tight and uncomfortable when the display can to its climax - and then more.

It became more obscene when his slave turned and he was faced with his backside - red from the slaps and oil dripped down between his legs.

He turned his gaze up and met the redhead's hazel eyes. He froze in place. The wine only made him so shameless.

The redhead gave a little smirk when Richard froze, and he jerked his hips forwards sharply.

Fleck gagged, hands flying up to grip his hips to keep him from doing it again.

The red-head's hand smoothed over Fleck's hair, petting him.

The doe-eyed by giving him a smirk was an equal shock. Back down in the ballroom, when he was whimpering in his slave's arms, he had thought he was a pliant thing.

With his slave gagging on his knees, he realised how wrong he had been.

His gaze dropped back down to where the pale hand was threaded in dark glossy hair. The rest of his body was still frozen.

The redhead was good at shocking people like this.

He was generally quite a submissive person, a personality bred through his life, being his father's farmhand, and later a slave to a pompous jackass who demanded far too much from him, in reality.

The bedroom had always been one place he was allowed control in his experience. This was the one place he was going to enjoy himself this way.

Richard let out a shuddering breath, the tips of his fingers traced over the laced seam of his pants. Then he drew his hand up further so it rested on his wet stomach.

He was caught. Caught between wanting to continue to watch the display and play with himself or standing by his morals and values and putting an end to this. There was a climax but it didn't seem to stop.

Doing neither, he let go of a soft whine instead.

It wasn't long before the redhead released Fleck's hair and let him pull back.

Fleck panted, drawing himself up to his knees and wiping the drool from his chin with the back of his hand. He was panting, and his cheeks were flushed.

That had been some play.

When he had approached the boy after Richard had given him permission, he hadn't expected this from him.

The room constantly spun and there was an ache between his legs as he continued to watch the two slaves. He hadn't moved in the chaise since he turned over.

It seemed like forever when they were finally done.

A blush was heavy on his cheeks - from both the wine and his arousal. He still didn't move or make another sound with the exception of his heavy breathing.

Fleck drew himself to his feet, and took a shaky step. He paused for a moment, then carried on, his footing a little more sure.

He moved past the chaise, not even glancing down at the panting Prince, and stretched out on the low bed. He gave a content little moan as he laid atop the cool sheets.

Just fucked and getting to sleep in such a nice bed.

Idly he thought the Prince should probably be sleeping in the bed, too, and not on the chaise, but he couldn't bring himself to get up.

Richard watched the slave stand and move. He could barely keep focus as he watched him go to lay out on the bed.

He wanted to will him over. Will him between his legs and unlace his pants to help him ease the ache between his legs.

His lips were sealed.

The little redhead joined Fleck on the bed after a moment, curling against his side and throwing a possessive arm over his back.

He nuzzled into Fleck's shoulder and made himself comfortable, then eyes eyes turned to the Prince, and he tilted his head slightly.

What a strange person. He'd wanted that so much. The redhead had little choice but to let him join in. He as the one that he had been given to for the night. Yet he'd held back completely.

Richard met the redhead's eyes, held them for a moment before he let his head fall back down on the chaise. The patterns on the ceiling swirled

He closed his eyes in case he might be sick.

Deciding that he was too comfy on the chaise (and he wasn't prepared to join them on the chaise) he stayed there and ignored the strain in his pants until he felt sleep upon him.

Cuddled together like that, it didn't take long for the two of them to fall into a contented sleep.

Fleck slept soundly, sated for the first time in weeks. They had known right from the moment they had accepted the request for their eldest son's hand that he would be given to someone in the party, so he had been kept alone and sexless since. Pure of another persons touch for what was deemed an appropriate amount of time.

A couple of slave handlers collected the slaves early in the morning - just before the majority of nobles and royals awoke. They sky just showing a hint of light.

The redhead was taken back to Lord Diegon, while the Prince's slave was brought to where he would wash and change to be ready to serve the Prince fresh face.

As handler walked the slave through the palace he explained the situation: The Prince's attendant had fallen ill and they felt it was appropriate that the slave attended the Prince this morning.

The slave was given barely got barely five minutes to clean and dress before he was whisked back up to the Prince's chambers.

A sheet envelope was given that the attendant had written out for the Prince listing his duties for the day.

The slave was given his own list: Sometimes the Prince enjoyed a bath in the morning, other times a sponge bath with the basin of water would do; fresh clothes would be provided and must be put on with care and efficiency; no more touching then necessary; the Prince may want breakfast in his own chambers, he enjoys fruit so don't bother getting meats; if he is hungover, wake him gently and don't open his curtains unless he asks.

An Aldish servant girl was holding the Princes clothes for the day, folded. They were handed to the slave before the guard knocked on the Prince's door to announce he would be attended and the slave was let in.

The Prince was still asleep on the chaise. The slaves movements this morning didn't disturb him.

His chest was still damp from where the spilt the water over himself, the goblet had fell out of his hand during the night and laid on the floor.

The Prince was anything but a picture of grace.

Fleck allowed himself to be herded about with his bland smile on his face, as always.

That smile flat lined as he was given new duties for the day, and left with just a few moments to get himself ready.

The curse that came from his mouth when he was left alone was filthy, even for Ecrutezian standards. He enjoyed the time he spent away from the Prince. He enjoyed the Prince's company, but he spent every other moment of the day with him. Even curled up in the same bed as him over night. This hour away from the Prince every day was time to recharge and relax.

He had a straight expression back on his face when he was herded back to the room.

Then he was left alone with the hungover, sleeping man.

Best start the list.

He crouched besides the Prince, and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Richard," he murmured, trying to rouse him gently. "Prince Richard."

It was the first time he had spoken his name. He was keenly aware that he'd been ordered not to address him as My Prince, and there was very little he could call him otherwise.

Richard awoke with a groan, his head throbbed and he was horribly uncomfortable. Waking up was not what he wanted to do.

He battered the hand away.

"Later, Chester."

He went to roll away only to hit the back of the chaise.

He let out another groan and opened his eyes. Slowly he realised he wasn't in his bed. His boots were still on and, for the first time in this kingdom, cold.

Turning, he frowned when his bleary eyes landed on someone that was definitely wasn't Chester. It was the slave.

"What is it?" He asked, not all too kindly.

He wanted to go back to sleep before his attendent arrived.