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Mattias turned to pluck a leather tie from the dressing table. “No.” Said in a fussy grumble so out of character it drew Náli around the end of the bed and across the room to him.
“You are,” Náli said, as he wound his arms around his waist and propped his chin on his chest so he could grin up at him. “You’re jealous. What’s the matter? Don’t want to share me?”
“No,” Mattias said, matter of fact, and it took all the fun out of teasing. “I don’t.”
“Matti. You know that I have never, nor will I ever love anyone the way that I love you. Right?”
He felt a tremor move through him, a quick breath. Mattias left his hair half-finished in favor of taking Náli gently by the waist, gaze wondrous as it locked with his. His throat jumped. “Yes,” he whispered, as if scared to believe it.
“But don’t tell me about all your illicit conduct and expect me not to get excited by it.”
Mattias frowned. “You’re going to be a needy little terror, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes.”
~*~
“Oh, yes,” he whined, a few hours later. “Matti…right there, yes. Like that.”
In all fairness, he hadn’t meant to get fucked up against the wall inside a hay shed, but he hadn’t been able to resist teasing Mattias until that happened.
His ride with Lady Frida had gone well – which was to say boringly. She was Northern on her mother’s side, and Rhentish on her father’s; almost thirty and looking for a solid Northern allegiance to aid in her father’s seafaring trade business. Serafina liked the match because the family was fabulously rich; likely she thought she could garner a coastal cottage on the picturesque island of Rhent off the coast of Nede, in the South. Frida, by contrast, looked less than enthusiastic about the prospect of making this craggy, barren, smoke-shrouded place her new home, much less snaring a husband not yet twenty.
They chatted about the weather – bleak – and their surroundings – bleaker still – and about the courses to be served at the ball tomorrow evening – those would be rich and studded with as many Southern imports that Serafina had been able to scrounge up in wartimes. They’d parted at the stable with a cordial smile and well-wishes, where a servant had been waiting to inform Náli that he was wanted in for a light luncheon in the Southern salon with his mother and the rest of their houseguests.
“Tell her I’ll be along shortly,” he’d said, sent the man off, and then turned to Mattias. “Captain, might I have a word in private before we leave?”
Enter the aforementioned hay shed, and the low shelf along the wall used for storing rakes and tongs, which Náli now gripped with white knuckles as he rocked backward into the slap of Mattias’s hips against his ass.
Mattias had tried to protest, even once Náli had heeled the heavy door shut and fisted the front of his tunic. “You’re too sore.”
Náli had arched a brow. “Oh, but I wasn’t too sore to sit a horse for the past hour? That was a delight let me tell you.”
Mattias had frowned. “All the more reason to resist.”
Náli had batted his lashes and simpered like a not-so-innocent maiden, sliding in close until their bodies brushed together and he could roll his hips with intent. “Or you could kiss it better.”
To his surprise and delight, Mattias had done so. And when he was on his knees, working Náli sloppily with his mouth until he was biting back keening whines, Náli had produced a vial of oil from his pocket and passed it back, hoping, wishing. Too far gone at that point, growling low in his throat, Mattias had taken the oil, and prepped him, and fucked in deep and slow on one smooth slide.
Náli was, in fact, very sore, and the initial stretch brought the sting of tears to his eyes. But be blinked them away and arched his back prettily until Mattias took a firm grip on his waist and began fucking him properly.
“Gods – yes – that’s – there. Yes. Matti. I–” He bit off a moan – he really was trying to be quiet – and leaned more of his weight into his hands, seeking the angle that would find that magic spot, the one Mattias’s cock kept grazing, every few thrusts, but which he wasn’t hitting dead-on the way Náli wanted. “Please, just–”
Mattias angled his hips down with one hand, and reached between his legs with the other to capture his weeping cock.
Náli howled. Came all over the hay, and his own boots, and the wall, and shuddered and shook as Mattias came after.
He winced when Mattias withdrew, but went easy and pliant when Mattias lifted him upright to lean back against his chest. Mattias kissed the side of his face, breathless himself. “You really are far too loud,” he murmured fondly, and kissed him again.
“Don’t care,” Náli panted.
He did care, though, at least a little, when they walked through the stables, and then the service entrance at the back of the Keep and staff of all sorts took note of his rumpled tunic, the hay that Mattias plucked out of his hair with a quiet curse, and his no-doubt-awkward gait. He needed a long, hot soak in the worst way. He always had been one to push himself too far, and apparently that applied to sex as well.
Soreness would fade.
It was the looks he worried about.
The staff had always been leery of him. Servants at Aeres curtsied or bowed to Erik, greeted him with all the respect he was due – but though some of the new young ones looked on their king with awe sometimes, none of them darted the sorts of flighty, skittering looks the members of Náli’s household sent him. Erik was a strong, austere king who’d proved himself in battle and presided over Aeretollean politics with firm decisiveness.
