Chapter Sixteen

Conall knocked before entering his own room, an unnecessary act of politeness that made Fox’s heart beat faster, although Fox huffed ostentatiously once he called for Conall to come in. He had left Conall downstairs and hurried up here to attend to his nighttime routine in private, but had only managed to get through part of it before Conall had knocked.

The second Conall was inside the room, Fox shushed him before he could say a word.

“What?” Fox demanded, too defensively but that couldn’t be helped. “And close the door.”

Conall closed it, then stood for a moment to watch Fox finish smoothing a cream into his face and down his neck. Fox, seated on the edge of the bed with various jars, combs, and a mirror next to him, raised his eyebrows, daring Conall to comment.

“Your skin is very soft,” Conall remarked at last. “I expected something but admittedly not this.”

Thiswas a cream, pale violet in color although the color faded as Fox finished rubbing it in.

“Half of the reason anyone tolerates me is because I’m pretty,” Fox told him stiffly, grateful he’d already used the light oil to keep his legs and arms and tail pleasingly soft as well. “That requires effort.”

“Like maintaining a sword,” Conall agreed, coming into the room to sit at the head of the bed. He started to remove his boots, glancing curiously at Fox a few times as he did.

Fox was in a nightshirt and nothing else. He wiped the last of the cream from his hands and then began to work on his hair, unraveling his braid and all its ribbons.

Conall got his boots off, then picked up the jar of face cream to sniff it. “I didn’t want to ask in front of everyone in case it would upset you, but was there something of your own you wanted to sing?”

“Oh no.” Fox took the jar back because the contents were expensive. “I don’t share those. At least, not here. Not at court. A public house is a friendlier place to experiment.”

Conall nodded in understanding. “If you wanted to, I would listen. I like to hear you sing.”

Fox ducked his head to comb out his hair and coincidentally keep Conall from seeing his blush. “Is that why you chose that song earlier?” The General and the Prince was truly not a short song, nor an easy one.

“One of the reasons,” Conall said, sighing when Fox sat up to flip his hair back.

Fox stared at him, then asked, “May I see your knife? The one you wear to court?”

Conall raised his eyebrows at the request but got up to find the knife and then unsheathed it to hand it to Fox.

Fox hadn’t realized it was more than a simple blade meant for defense. The hilt was silver and gold inlaid into dark, almost black, enamel, in a design of… flowers with a fox head at the center.

“A gift given a long time ago,” Conall explained. “My family name in the ancient tongue means ‘foxlike.’ You didn’t know?” As if anyone knew ancient tongues except scholars. “I had a feeling you didn’t and no one told you.” Conall hadn’t either until now, but he didn’t go on to tell Fox why. He answered Fox’s other unspoken question. “This was from Domvoda, which is why he allows me to carry it in his presence.”

Domvoda rarely gave gifts. Fox had questions but held them in.

“It’s beautiful,” he admitted instead, finding it difficult to tear his gaze from the pointed ears of the tiny fox. “Is it sharp?”

“What good would it be dull?” Conall wondered immediately, then reached out in horror or surprise when Fox pulled a section of his hair straight and used the knife to cut through it.

Fox combed out another section, then repeated the action, getting the length to just above his shoulder before deciding he needed the mirror again. He glanced to Conall, who watched Fox’s hair fall to the floor with wide eyes but said nothing.

“Could you please hold the mirror up for me?” Fox asked quietly, which at least prodded Conall to action. He kept the small hand mirror steady while Fox trimmed some more and made sure everything was even. He still wasn’t speaking. “Nothing to say?” Fox pressed as he finished.

“It’s not my hair.” But Conall had liked it long, had been fond of touching it and combing it with his fingers.

Fox had liked that too, and Conall’s warm gaze on him whenever he saw it styled it differently. He met Conall’s eyes above the mirror and very nearly assured him that it would grow back, that Fox also preferred it long. Then he realized that thinking ahead to fall or winter or next spring was a foolish waste of time. Conall could have grown tired of him by then, or Fox might be banished from court at last. It was better not to think of it at all. There were plenty of other aspects of the future to worry over instead.

“It’s what many knights do, is it not?” Fox asked as a way to explain himself. “Cut their hair before a competition like this, so no one can use a length of hair against them? I’d like to see Byr Din do this and not look ridiculous as a result.”

“This is for him?” Conall let Fox take the mirror and then bent down to gather the fallen locks of Fox’s hair and bring them to the table by the door.

“And the rest of them. I have to keep them on their toes.” Fox went back to studying his much shorter hair, which had more waves and even stronger hints of curls without the rest of his hair to weigh it down. His hair curled on its own but loosely. It now reached beneath the base of his ears and felt a thousand times lighter.

He grabbed a jar of a nearly weightless oil to massage into his hair, ensuring it would stay soft while enhancing the existing curls. Then he slid from the bed to go to one of his trunks. Conall watched him all the while, not sitting down again. His silence was making Fox nervous.

“You don’t like it?” Fox finally asked, though he certainly hadn’t meant to. He shook his head to make shining, especially silky waves and curls bounce and brush his ears. One curl fell across his forehead into his eyes.

Conall exhaled heavily. “You look like you just got out of bed after being thoroughly fucked. You’re going to cause a scene tomorrow. He’ll…. He’ll like it. Once he stops pouting about it.”

“Do you like it?” Fox peered up at Conall without brushing away the curl. “As the one doing the thorough fucking?”

Thatbrought a smile to Conall’s face. “You’re beautiful, always. And sharp.”

Fox grinned, quite pleased, and perched on the bed again to look down into the mirror while he wound his hair in curling rags. Conall made a small noise, confused or upset.

Fox shrugged. “Well, you’ve already seen the rest. Why not this too? My curls are natural but tomorrow there will be heat and sweat, so I am taking no chances.” Tighter curls meant more of his neck would be exposed, but Fox was going to brush the curls out anyway so his hair looked properly tousled. A plan which did not matter until Conall shuffled forward to take a rag and examine it, and somehow Conall stroking a piece of cloth with his finger and not Fox’s invitingly soft skin was a problem. Maybe Fox could ask Conall to tousle his hair for him tomorrow morning in a far more exciting way.

Conall would be too busy more than likely, and Fox shouldn’t hurt Conall’s chances of winning by exhausting him the morning of the first day of the tournament. But Conall was handling the rag with more interest than Fox would have expected.

“If you’d like to be of use…” Fox began uncertainly and Conall said, “Of course, if you show me how it’s done,” before Fox could finish. Then Fox had to sit, shivering and feeling altogether too many things, while Conall affixed the rest of his rags for him.

He didn’t even laugh although Fox must look like a dandelion puff with the bits of white cloth all over his head.

“You didn’t do these any of the other nights,” Conall remarked as he finished. “This is the routine I interrupted?”

Fox admitted nothing. “Do you mind them?”

“They won’t poke me in the eye like the hairpins,” Conall answered mildly. “And they help you make your enemies squirm, which is enjoyable. So I suppose can live with them… and all the jars and creams you’ve been hiding.”

Fox lifted his chin. “I was hoping to get this done early so as to not interrupt your sleep… and yes, so you wouldn’t see all the jars and creams.” Though his work on his hair would have been impossible to conceal. “Anyway, tomorrow is important to you and you should be rested, not bothering with this.”

“Worrying for me again?” Conall took the remaining rags, the mirror and comb, and Fox’s abandoned ribbons and pins to the open trunk before coming back to sit on the bed.

Fox hesitated, but there was no avoiding it now and he’d already revealed himself with this much of his nightly routine, so he got up to return all of his jars save one to the trunk and then hobbled to the bed on his sore feet.

“Byr court slippers,” Fox explained in a hiss when Conall started to rise in concern. “I am never allowed to sit, and I don’t get to walk much, so I am simply standing in the stupid things all day. I don’t care how pretty they are. They’re useless.” He scooped up a dollop of lavender-scented foot cream and began to massage his feet under Conall’s frowning, stunned attention. “You get to wear boots,” Fox reminded him, “so don’t say a word.”

“I can tell Domvoda to get you a chair,” Conall offered and Fox almost leaned over to put a lavender-scented hand over his mouth.

“Don’t,” he warned, only to groan as his feet began to feel better.

Conall frowned harder, then reached out to take Fox by the ankles and turn him around to face him. He paid no attention to Fox’s startled and inelegant squawking. He rubbed in the rest of the cream that Fox hadn’t gotten to yet, his hands larger and much stronger than Fox’s, and then used his knuckles on the sole of each foot. It nearly hurt it felt so wonderful. Fox scrambled not to moan or get hard.

He did moan a little in the end, close to ecstasy for a tiny foot rub, and Conall responded by kissing the top of one foot before releasing Fox and saying, “You’re a strange little thing.”

Fox stared at him, probably every shade of red there was. His feet were tingling. It was blissful.

“Strange,” Conall said again. “You’re kind and giving—don’t deny it, Fox. You were exhausted earlier but offered to sing for everyone to calm their nerves. You’ll do that, but you don’t seem to expect anyone to be kind to you. You don’t know what you’re looking at, do you? You have no idea what’s before you. You really don’t.”

“What’s before me is a knight with lavender-scented foot cream on his hands.” Fox sniffed. “Kindness is one thing. Rubbing someone’s feet is quite another.”

“The sort of kindness some might expect from a friend or a lover,” Conall went on, voice even. “Like help with your hair, or intervening on your behalf so you can sit once in a while. He’ll do it if I ask. Sometimes, he’s deliberately cruel. Other times, he’s just a thoughtless prat who’s never had to do anything in his life so he doesn’t know the cost for others.”

“I can manage.” Fox crossed his arms but stayed seated awkwardly, his knees bent, his nightshirt up to his thighs. The air smelled of lavender. “I did ask if you’d hold the mirror,” he reminded Conall pointedly. “You’re too nice to me.”

“Or no one else in this place is nice and you’ve forgotten what care is like.” Conall’s voice softened. “Or you have never known it.” Fox went tense, but instead of scrutinizing him further or asking questions, Conall sighed. “It’s not my place to say that. I’m sorry.”

Fox lowered his head to stare at the last jar on the bed, which he then picked up to make sure it was sealed before he shoved it away.

“It’s not the court,” he said at last to the bedding. “Not only the court,” he corrected himself a second later. “I’ve been alone most of my life. I’ve managed. But you’ve helped me and I am grateful. Don’t think I’m not.”

“Grateful,” Conall echoed with his face turned away.

Fox glanced up curiously. “What is it you think I’m looking at?”

Conall turned back to him. “Me.”

“Of course I’m looking at you.” Fox gestured emphatically at Conall and all that he was. “You massaged my feet! I’m in your bed! I have these,” he grabbed a handful of curling rags, “on my head and you still look at me as if you’d like to be inside me.”

“Well, I would,” Conall admitted frankly.

Fox was half a second away from screaming at him before the words sank in. He heaved a breath and sat there, doing nothing more than tightening his hands on his thighs to inch his nightshirt up higher. “You’re staring,” he murmured, fully aware of what he was doing.

Conall shifted to sit straighter, the headboard at his back, and took his time looking up from what Fox was revealing. “Come here.”

Fox affected a shocked look. “With me like this?”

“With you however you please.” As usual, Conall didn’t hesitate and struck hard enough to leave Fox breathless. “I’d breed you if you asked, Fox.” His interest grew hotter when Fox sputtered. They had nearly done that already. Fox’s mouth moved but he made no sounds. He imagined Conall rutting into him for hours and blushed so hot his freckles would stand out. Conall clearly enjoyed watching him imagine it. “Although perhaps not tonight,” Conall continued when Fox couldn’t get a word out. “I’ll need my strength tomorrow.”

A breeding was a thing from a story. Not the act itself—anyone might fuck, obviously. Anyone hoping for children might fuck a lot. But not many called it that. A breeding made acts done in bed sound ancient, like the rituals still performed for seasons passing or holidays even though no one knew what most of them meant. Many people were receptive and many others were also inclined to be bearers. Domvoda was supposed to be wooing some of them. But he’d been as startled as Fox was now when Fox had suggested a mating for him, as though a mating and a breeding weren’t similar. The act, but done with intent. With feeling. A bond, even if only for the mutual goal of making young. Fox wasn’t even certain what the exact difference was between a breeding and a mating when someone said it that way.

People in passion songs and old adventure stories didn’t just fuck, they had matings. They had breedings, outdated as that seemed. The term breeding even offended some, although Fox suspected a play-breeding pleased many more people than would admit to it.

“I’m not a byr.” Fox finally managed an answer and it was irrelevant nonsense Conall knew already. “No one would ever…. I know you’re teasing me, and I….” He didn’t finish because Conall didn’t jump in to agree. “A breeding,” it emerged whisper-soft, “has never been proposed to me for good reason. In addition to everything unsuitable about me, I have no desire to be a bearer. Unless you meant merely the act of being bred… Not ‘merely,’” Fox amended and dropped his nightshirt to hide his face behind his hands. “You already did that to me. The first night.”

“You think so?” Conall’s voice was deadly quiet.

Fox peered at Conall from between his fingers before slowly lowering his hands. He wet his lips. “I suppose you’re correct. All those times you knotted me wasn’t to breed me. That wouldn’t have been enough.” At least according to all the songs and what Fox heard from others. “It’s more than that. More fucks. More knots.”

“True,” Conall said, continuing to steal Fox’s breath. “You should be so full of seed you’re barely able to move after. Not that you could, because I’d keep you still to make sure it takes. To make sure it’s just me inside you.”

Fox’s toes curled. “You’ll need your strength tomorrow,” he reminded Conall faintly, then came to his senses enough to crawl over Conall’s legs into his lap. His wet would probably ruin Conall’s breeches. He didn’t care. Conall had started this. He could deal with the mess.

As if he didn’t mind Fox on his lap or the drip of warm slick from Fox now seeping into his clothes, Conall settled his hands at Fox’s hips, which left Fox free to arch up and reach between his legs to tease himself.

The nightshirt impeded Conall’s view. Conall had it bunched up within moments, then stopped to frown when Fox swatted his hands away.

“Taking it off now will mess up my hair,” Fox scolded even as he leaned forward to nuzzle Conall’s chin and then find his mouth. “But you got me so wet,” he pouted against Conall’s lips. He circled his hole with two fingers to gather some of the slick that said Fox would very much like Conall to play-breed him and then pushed his fingers inside. His gasp made Conall tighten his hold.

Beneath the nightshirt, Conall’s hands were hot as they urged Fox’s thighs farther apart and then spread Fox open. He left Fox to pleasure himself. But not for long, not if Fox had his way.

“Perhaps,” Fox offered coyly, as though he wasn’t teasing himself where Conall couldn’t see so that he’d be slick and ready to be knotted without any more fuss, “if you win….”

The ‘if’ made Conall grunt.

Fox bit Conall’s lower lip for that and gasped for the work of his own fingers, then continued in a breathless whisper. “If you win, you can play-breed me.” Another grunt, another gush around Fox’s fingers, and then a smug heat all through Fox’s chest. “I can almost feel the weight inside me,” he added, pulling his fingers out so he could run them up the length of his cock.

His wet had soaked into Conall’s breeches already, so there was no reason not to open them so Fox could also use his slick fingers on Conall’s cock. He gave the head a squeeze—light, nothing to what his body would do when Conall pinned him down and fucked him and filled him and fucked him again, then curled his fingers to stroke all the way down. There, he stopped, his gaze flying up to Conall’s face.

The knot was more than half formed, thick and hot, the skin tight.

Conall bared his teeth, a snarl without any force behind it. Fox thought Conall might have been embarrassed though he couldn’t imagine why.

“You’re that close to a full knot already from the idea of play-breeding me?” Fox demanded, well, croaked really, before pumping that half-knot to draw another grunt from Conall. Conall, stubbornly, wasn’t speaking.

Fox sat up, pressing their foreheads together, then putting his open mouth to Conall’s until it softened for Fox to kiss him properly. The kiss helped him remember where he was, that he had rags in his hair and Conall was still dressed. There was a tournament in the morning. They could not spend the night doing what he now ached to do.

“I want it too,” he confessed, sighing in relief when Conall relented enough to kiss him back. One kiss with Conall always turned into more, although Fox couldn’t seem to mind. Neither did he mind the press of Conall’s fingertips in his skin and the faint scent of the various creams between them. “Perhaps I should make you wait, not allow you anything except to use your hands or mouth on me.” He squirmed for his own words. “Days, a week, of leaving you hard but not letting you spend so there will be more for me when you finally do.”

Conall turned his head to breathe heavily.

A thrill went down Fox’s spine. “You can beg,” he allowed generously, “as you’re keeping my hole open with your fist or filling me with your tongue. I’ll be aching for it too.” He added that in a whisper, kissing Conall’s stiff jaw until Conall turned back to him. “Desperate to get your cock and your knot, Conall. Your seed. So much I won’t be able to keep it all. Some will slip out.”

“No,” Conall objected, bruising Fox in a way that increased Fox’s shivers.

“You don’t want any to escape?” Fox cooed sympathetically, pausing to stroke the side of Conall’s face. “You want me to stay filled? Plump and sated with so much of your spend inside me? Keep me sealed tight with your knot until I feel so good I can’t even come anymore?”

“Don’t tease.” The hoarse words sent another thrill through Fox. He shook his head, and when that didn’t seem to make Conall understand, Fox kissed him again.

“Fuck it back into me,” he ordered breathlessly. “If any slips out. Breed me right. Fuck it back in. Make me take it, Conall. I wouldn’t… not for anyone else. Just you.”

Conall’s eyes were wide and pretty. Conall was so pretty. Fox should tell him that more, and spur him to fuck harder by whispering about the beautiful young they would not be making when Conall mounted him and bit his neck to keep him still.

Fox rose up, keeping his hold on Conall’s cock so he could direct it to his hole, dragging the head through the slick on his thighs first. He whined, shakier than before, tormented by his own fantasy. “Even if you don’t win,” he promised rashly. “I won’t make you wait. I can’t. Conall, please.”

Conall pulled Fox down onto his cock and held him there while Fox squirmed and whined and tried to work the knot to its full size. Conall held him tighter, rocking up slightly to drive Fox mad but not fucking him. Half a knot was not enough. Fox batted Conall’s hand from his cock and kept wriggling, gasping when his effort was rewarded and Conall’s knot grew larger.

“Until you can’t move,” Conall promised in return, knot swelling inside Fox while Fox writhed on it. “Until you’re full of my seed and locked tight. Until it takes and there is only me.”

“Only you,” Fox answered desperately, and howled to wake the hall when Conall lifted him to pull him back down onto his cock and his swollen knot and finally fuck him.