nothingtoregret: (Milos)
[personal profile] nothingtoregret
Rating: 18
Word Count: 4,497
Summary: Alex has no choice but to have dinner with the Duke, but what happens afterwards is all by choice. Just not by Milos's.


The Duke was waiting at the top of the steps when they returned, all welcoming smiles and bonhomie. Beside him, the picture of ease and relaxed charm, was Sir Kennet. Alex’s expression soured immediately, only lightening with some effort as they dismounted their horses and watched them be led away by a stablehand. “I hope you haven’t been waiting for us.”

“Not for long,” the Duke said in what Milos thought was supposed to be a reassuring manner. “As it is your first night staying with us, I’ve arranged a small dinner.” He clapped his hand against Alex’s shoulder and gave it a companionable squeeze, not seeing the tightening of the skin around his eyes and mouth as Alex managed to force a smile. “Please go and prepare, a servant will fetch you when it’s ready. It should be about half an hour.”

The knight nodded, giving a jerk on the cord that made Milos stumble. “Then, if you’ll excuse me.” He turned the fake smile on Kennet and let it lose some of its shine; the other knight’s smirk widened. Yanking on the rope again and letting a genuine smile spread over his lips as Milos pulled back, scowling, he half-led, half-dragged his slave through the door.

* * *

“Why are you in such a shitty mood?” Milos growled, helping Alex pull his jacket on while giving as little actual assistance as possible. After everything he’d said and done today, he didn’t deserve help.

Dropping himself onto the bed, dragging a hand through his dark hair that left a disordered mess in its wake, Alex let out a sigh. “I told you. If Kennet is investigating this matter, then it doesn’t matter what I do. Evidence will vanish and I’ll have even less idea what’s going on than I had at the beginning.” He squinted up at what he could see of his now untidy hair and sighed again, trying to rearrange it back into some semblance of order.

“If he’s involved in,” Milos hesitated, unable to stop his eyes moving to the doorway just in case anyone was listening, “in the other matter, then it’s already vanished and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about being overheard.” Alex said dryly. “After these last two days, I think everyone and their dog has heard about it.” He rose, flattening the front of his hair with his palm, then paused with his gaze locked on Milos. “Take your clothes off.”

“What, now?” He tried to keep the panic from his voice. Difficult, when he’d already felt the blood drain from his face. Half an hour, less the ten minutes needed to change Alex’s clothing; he did the mental calculations automatically. It was enough time for Alex to finish, based on the other night, but they ran every chance of someone walking in on them. “But you— And your clothes—”

The knight raised an eyebrow. His smirk sent the blood rushing back to Milos’s cheeks again. “Nice as it is to know I’m on your mind in that way, I actually meant that you need to change too.”

Relief dulled the painful pounding of his heart. “I can’t go with you. Things like this, I’m supposed to stay—”

“You do what I tell you. Take your clothes off.”

“But, protocol, and—”

Alex took one heavy step towards him. “Take them off now or I’ll take them off you myself.”

Milos shot backwards, almost falling over his own feet. If Alex decided to forcibly strip him now his worst fears might actually be realised. He’d have brought it on himself. Fingers suddenly nerveless, he fumbled with the buttons of the jacket, working quickly until everything was in a pile on the floor and he stood, naked and shivering, only a foot or so in front of his owner.

Alex caught his upper arm and pulled him to stand in front of the bed as he sat, tilting his head to one side. “Why is your body so hairless?”

“I don’t know, it just is. Most elves are.” He watched Alex’s avid expression and fought back the urge to smack his knee into his chin.

He reached out to drag light fingers over his belly and down to his penis, obviously fascinated, then rose and took a firm hold of his shoulders. Milos flinched, doing his best to suppress the involuntary movement, as Alex propelled him several steps back, then sighed with relief as he turned and moved over to the highboy by the bed. Pulling out the clothes he’d bought him for the dinner party, he threw them over with a humourless smile. “You might as well look respectable.”

“You’re saying I don’t look respectable wearing your clothes?” He started dressing again before Alex could change his mind and decree instead that Milos should follow him to dinner in nothing more than his skin.

“You could make anything look disrespectable.” Alex moved to stand behind him, dragging his fingers through Milos’s troublesome mass of hair, the tearing of tangles audible in the otherwise silent room.

He tried to jerk his head away, gritting his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache as Alex simply twisted his fingers into the strands instead. “If I’m that useless and that much of a disappointment then sell me now and we can all be happy.”

“No.” He yanked Milos’s head back until he had no choice but to lean against his solid body, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against his back. “I like getting a reaction from you far too much.”

Now. It would be now that he’d change his mind and they’d repeat the night before last, with all the pain and blood of before, then he’d expect him to act like nothing had happened in front of the Duke.

Alex released his grip and shoved him forward, turning away. “Put on your boots.”

Milos didn’t bother to remind him that they were actually Alex’s, too glad of the reprieve to argue. When a knock at the door came as he pulled on the second boot, followed by the appearance of a servant around the heavy wood, his relief was complete.

The informal dining room was smaller than the hall they’d eaten in the night before but no less opulently decorated, even down to the painted plates and silverware, and the meal, while scaled back, looked just as delicious as it had before. And looked was all Milos could do, standing behind Alex’s chair with his arms at his sides and his head held high as his owner ate and made stilted conversation with the Duke and his mousy wife and, to his obvious irritation, Sir Kennet. The other knight even pointedly asked about Milos’s health after their meeting with the would-be robber, which earned him a scowl from Alex that just seemed to make Kennet’s smile grow.

It was nice to see someone else push all his buttons for once, even if it was being done by another knight.

It didn’t take long for Alex to finish his meal and, with teeth-aching politeness, make his excuses to leave again. Milos pulled his chair back and replaced it beneath the table again in a perfect demonstration of his servant skills for the Duke, then followed his owner from the room—only to come to an abrupt halt in the hallway as he turned towards the stairs and Alex instead moved towards the kitchen. “Where are you going?”

“Shut up and come with me.”

Knowing better than to argue, at least here where people could see, he glowered at Alex’s back and followed him into the still-bustling kitchen where the smell of food was even more overpowering, setting his stomach growling. The staff came to a halt as Alex entered, the cook in particular pausing with a knife held in a very interesting position as she turned to face him. “Was the food not to your satisfaction, Sir Alexander?”

He smiled reassuringly. “It was, thank you. I was wondering if any had been arranged to be sent to my room?”

Wrongfooted, the cook shook her head, laying the worryingly sharp-looking blade down on the table. “No, sir. Should it have been?”

“Could it be in future, please? I hate to ask, but if I don’t take care of these arrangements then my slave doesn’t eat.” His smile grew as he gestured with his thumb to Milos, and not in a pleasant way. “Obviously, serving a King’s Elite knight means he needs to keep his strength up, or he’s no use to anyone.”

He was no use to anyone anyway, according to him. Difficult as it was, he somehow managed not to snarl out an insult at his owner and, even tougher, resisted the urge to grab one of the nearby fish knives to make good on his revenge. He didn’t think the staff would appreciate a bloodspattered kitchen, for a start. “Do you need anything now, Sir Knight?” The cook asked, giving Milos an uncertain look. He hoped his thoughts weren’t as plain on his face as he suspected.

Alex gave him a thoughtful look too, and judging from the smirk they really were. “No, he’s alright for tonight.”

Bastard! His stomach let out another protesting snarl; he folded his arms and pressed down to make it shut up again. No need to let Alex know for sure just how irritated he was. The knight’s grin widened and he knew he hadn’t succeeded. Taking his leave of the kitchen staff, he turned and grabbed Milos’s collar, dragging him back into the hallway and towards the stairs and only letting go when Milos finally managed to slap his hand away. “Don’t do that!”

“Why? What are you going to do?” The customary smirk returned to his lips. “I think you’ve given in on fighting me.”

“No, I haven’t.” He hissed back, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. The last thing either of them needed was for his disobedience to get around in a place like this. “I’m waiting until I can win.”

“You had plenty of opportunities.” Alex grabbed hold of the collar again and resumed hauling him up the stairs and towards their room. “You didn’t take any of them, even when it was safe to do so. Lost your nerve?”

The door had barely closed behind him when he ripped Alex’s hand from his collar and shoved him away with as much force as he could manage. The knight barely even stumbled. “If I so much as bruise you in a place like this, whether you made me or not I’m the one who’ll be punished!”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “I own you, I’m the one who’ll discipline you.”

“Why do you think the Duke wouldn’t do it and say you’re not capable of doing it properly?”

He tried unsuccessfully to skirt away as Alex reached forward to grab his chin. The grip hurt and Alex knew it. “I,” he breathed, “am perfectly capable of disciplining you. Undress for bed.”

He glared back. “No.” Without looking, he gestured to the pile of blankets he’d seen when they’d entered, left there by a helpful servant. “In a place like this, I sleep where I’m supposed to. On the floor.”

The wall slammed into his back and drove the breath from his lungs as Alex shoved with his other hand, pinning him against the cold brickwork. “You do what I tell you, remember?” His breath was hot against his skin. “And if you don’t, I’ll make you.”

“Try it.” He jerked his head free and shoved back.

He might as well have shoved the wall for all the effect it had on Alex’s body. The knight shifted his arm to press hard against Milos’s neck, hit other hand beginning to undo the buttons on his jacket with an ease that would be breathtaking if he had any left to take. As the top fell open, it dropped to his trousers to undo those, before dropping slightly lower and gripping his balls with enough force that he whimpered. “You were saying?”

“I hate you,” he gasped.

Squeezing once, forcing a moan from his slave, he released him again and grabbed his collar, dragging him two steps forward so he could slide the jacket from Milos’s narrow shoulders and, in one quick, rough gesture, shoved the undershirt up. “Raise your arms,” he murmured against his ear, “or I’ll do it again.”

Grudgingly, and biting back another whimper, he did as he was told. The world turned briefly white as the fabric passed over his face, then the cold was attacking his bare chest with vigour. His trousers were shoved down until they met the boots. “What now?” It was hard not to shiver, but he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “You’re going to push me to the floor and do it the way your brother tried?”

“Take off the boots.” Alex kicked him in the shin, not hard enough to bruise but just enough to sting, rapidly unfastening his own clothes. Sitting on the bed to attend to his own boots, his eyes never left Milos as he lowered himself to the floor to pull them off, the trousers following unwillingly.

“Why can’t I just sleep here like I’m supposed to?” Milos whispered.

Dropping his shirt onto the floor, he gave him another slow, contemplative look. “Why are you so scared of sex?”

He could only meet his eyes for a few seconds before his gaze slid away to fix sightlessly on a spot on the floor. “Because it hurts. Because people like you make it hurt.”

“Does it have to?”

Softly, he said, “I don’t know. It usually does.”

Without looking at him, he saw Alex rise and step forward, felt his bare arms brush his shoulders as the knight leaned forward and, with uncharacteristic gentleness, began to undo his collar. A shiver ran through him. “If I said I had no intention of deliberately hurting you that way, would you believe me?” His words tickled his skin.

“No. You’re a knight, you’re lying.”

Alex arched an eyebrow at that. “Then I’ll have to prove it, won’t I?”

That dragged Milos’s eyes back to him, panicked stare taking in his calm expression and relaxed pose. “Do you have to?”

“If I have to wait for you to be ready,” he snorted gently, “then I’ll never prove it. And although I like your fire, you’re strangely appealing when you’re vulnerable too.” Padding across the room, he pulled the tall phial of golden fluid from one of the drawers and held it critically up to the light. “Show me how to use this.”

Milos felt his heart drop. “You’ve never...?”

“No. Stable girls, serving maids and the occasional professional lady mean I never needed anything like this.” He looked from the bottle to Milos, and he had the distinct feeling he was being assessed and compared. When he moved back over him to press the bottle into his palm it was with a slower, more predatory walk.

Milos hesitated, watching Alex sit himself back onto the bed then, to the man’s evident surprise, knelt on the floor in front of his knees. Why it was a surprise to him he didn’t know, how else did he think it was going to work? ...Not that he wanted to know what thoughts were going through his head as, with lips slightly parted, he watched Milos unstopper the bottle and pour a little of the fluid onto his middle two fingers.

Alex took the bottle from him when he offered it, sliding the stopper back in and dropping it to the bed without tearing his eyes from Milos as he reached behind to push first one finger into himself, then with a haste he knew he’d regret, added the second. “What are you—ah—” His sentence dissolved into a gasp as Milos ducked his head and took his already-hardening cock into his mouth.

There were times when he wondered if Alex’s previous encounters had even been intentional, asking a stupid question like that. Glancing up as he moved his head along the shaft, using his free hand to grip the base and stroke with his thumb, he saw that the knight’s eyes had fallen half-closed, the brown irises hidden by his thick dark lashes. It made him feel a little easier, not being watched so openly; in turn Alex’s body responded rapidly to his touch.

He wished it wouldn’t.

“What now?” Alex asked softly, wrapping his hand around the saliva-slicked shaft as Milos raised his head again.

Milos pointed back to the bottle, trying to push his fingers deeper at the same time without wincing openly where Alex could see. “Put that on your...”

Alex grabbed the bottle, but instead of doing what he was told—as usual—he rose and grabbed Milos’s arm, forcing him to slide his fingers free again as he pulled him to stand. “You’re struggling with that, aren’t you?”

“No, I—” He bit his lip, heart pounding painfully against his ribs, as Alex tipped more of the fluid onto his fingers, copying Milos.

Once finished, the knight held the bottle out towards him; he took it, clutching it tightly to his chest when one of Alex’s strong fingers slowly entered his body. “Like this?”

Milos nodded, trying with only some success not to tense, and said faintly, “and another...”

Alex nodded and moved closer, the head of his cock bumping against his hip as, unbidden, he began to work his fingers in and out of his slave. Milos let out a short gasp and a smile spread across the face in his peripheral vision. “How’s that?”

“Sore,” was all he could manage. He was sure the smile grew. It had been almost half a year since anyone else’s fingers had been pressed so deeply into him. The last ones hadn’t bothered to prepare him at all, preferring instead to take their enjoyment straight away on the frozen path—he shut his eyes, flinching at the memory.

“Did that hurt?”

He started, more at the note of actual concern in Alex’s voice than anything his fingers were doing. “No. It’s nothing.” Nothing except a reminder of why men like Alex couldn’t be trusted, anyway. Worse, he could feel his breath quickening with the knight’s movements and, judging from the way he moved closer, so could Alex. “I think... If you’re ready...” Gods, he’d never had to explain what to do before.

Alex pulled his fingers out faster than Milos was prepared for. It drove another gasp from him that, judging from the way his dick bobbed against his skin, had an interesting—if unwelcome—effect on the man. “Are you ready?”

He snorted, resisting the urge to laugh. He hadn’t cared enough to ask last time. “Just get on with it.”

Reaching around to prise the bottle from Milos’s grip, Alex’s pale arm felt hot beside his own, the pressure of his chest to his skin enough to send his heart racing again. Loud in the silent room, he didn’t need to look to know exactly what Alex’s hand was doing with the liquid: the soft, slick sounds made fear rise in his throat.

One hand dropping to grip Milos’s hip more tightly than was necessary, his breath burning against the back of his neck, Alex shifted slightly and began to push his cock into him.

Milos yelped, trying to squirm out of his grip. “No, wait— The bed—”

“Fuck the bed,” Alex muttered against his ear. “I want to fuck you here. Hold on to the bedpost if you’re worried.” Without giving Milos a say in it, he dragged him two steps sideways, still half-embedded in him, and shoved a hand between his shoulder blades. “Huh? What’s this?”

He felt fingers skirt a circle on his spine and shivered. “Don’t touch that.”

“What is it?” He persisted, and when Milos shivered again took the opportunity to thrust fully into him.

The bedpost was a sudden comfort. He braced his shoulder against it, wrapping both arms around the carved woodwork. The detail scratched over his skin, a counterpoint to the sudden pain and full feeling that was Alex’s selfish gift to him. “It’s my mark,” he forced out, pushing his shoulders up and arching his back. “It was there before you bought me. You just never looked.”

“Oh.” At least this time he gave him a moment to get used to the sudden sensation before he began to move his hips. The finger moved again. Milos didn’t need a mirror to know it was tracing the three thick black lines inside the circle. “What are these?”

“Previous owners.” He felt bigger, thicker, inside than he’d looked. Each thrust made him whimper, sliding easily in and out with the help of the golden liquid. It felt hot too, a spreading warmth throughout his lower body. Had he bought something different? He shuddered again, fingers digging into the wood. “You should—nn—have your name put there too...”

“That feels good?” He could hear the smirk in the bastard’s voice. The hand dropped from his back to his other hip. With a more secure hold Alex began to thrust harder, settling into a rhythm.

Milos let out a groan, screwing his eyes closed. He wanted reassurance now? And the worst part was that with the heat, the angle... He swallowed, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. No. No, not now, not this pooling heat filtering through his chest and down, straight down to—

“Stop,” he moaned, trying to squirm out of Alex’s grip. “No, stop!”

“What?” Alex froze, his hold on Milos’s hips tightening rather than loosening. “Why?”

“Just... Stop, please...” Why now? Out of everything that could happen... Trapped between his owner and the bed, he couldn’t escape. “I can’t...”

Above him, he could feel Alex’s stare burning his skin. “If something is wrong, then tell me.”

“I can’t...”

Alex laughed, hands squeezing Milos’s hips until he moaned, pressed so hard into him he could feel the warmth from his skin spreading across his backside. “Could it be—? I wonder.” Milos yipped in horror as Alex’s hand slid under his belly, gripping his unwanted, hated erection. “This is what’s wrong?”

He whined softly, jerking forwards. Alex’s other hand grabbed his shoulder and held him in place, even as he tried to twist away. “Please, stop. Don’t.”

“You’re enjoying it, why would I stop?” The hand moved up the length of his shaft, his thumb brushing the head; Milos let out another helpless moan, clinging tightly to the post. “Relax.”

“No.” Why wouldn’t he just leave it—leave him—alone? “Please don’t, please just stop...”

The hand dragged along the bumps of his spine and over his waist down to his hip, fingers sinking into his skin. “No. It feels too good, and you like it too.” Sure of his grip, he started to move again, each thrust shoving Milos painfully against the woodwork.

“Stop it, please. Don’t do this.” He dug his nails into the carvings, not caring if he damaged them.

“How many times do I have to say no?” Alex slammed into him with enough force that he cried out, wrapping his arms more firmly around the post. A hand sneaked under him again, giving his cock several erratic strokes.

“But— Please—” This wasn’t fair. Why, of all people, was this happening with him, and why now?

“No,” Alex repeated, pounding harder into him. If anything, he seemed to revel in the way Milos arched and writhed beneath him, moving harder and faster no matter how loudly or desperately his slave protested. Now and again the hand would return to drag callused fingers along his shaft, driving another moan from him, but the relentless thrusting continued until he was clinging helplessly to the bed and the heat in his belly had moved to fill his balls.

He bit back a sob, determined not to let this bastard knight make him cry after everything. In that second he felt his control slip. Two agonisingly short breaths and he moaned, shaking, coming over the bed frame and carpet.

Behind him, he heard Alex moan in response. No surprise. Every muscle had tensed with the unexpected release: his arms had locked around the bed, his body had in response gripped Alex’s dick firmly. The knight’s fingers dug into his flesh. Each thrust was a rough stab, the slapping of skin on skin deafening despite their ragged breathing filling the room. When Alex came, pressed hard against his slave, he felt it again, and more than before. He felt every pulse, clenched so tightly around him.

“That was your fault,” Alex murmured against his clammy skin, bent over him. “If you’d not held me—if you hadn’t come.”

“That was your fault,” he gasped back, the energy draining from his body, leaving him weak and helpless and only held up by the bastard knight. “If you’d stopped...”

The huff of breath flared over his damp skin. “Why would I stop?” Sliding from him, leaving an empty and aching void, Alex grazed his fingers over Milos’s dark skin again. “It was too much fun to stop.”

With more care than he’d ever thought the knight would manage, Alex prised his fingers from the woodwork and pulled him into a standing position again, catching him as for one awful moment he thought his knees would give out. “Let me sleep on the gods damned floor...” His voice was weaker than he’d have liked.

“Bed.” Alex said firmly. “You can even have your own side.”

For some reason, this sounded like the funniest thing he’d ever heard. How he held back the laugh after the first few seconds of its escape he had no idea, but from Alex’s faint smile he didn’t think he’d get a slap for it. “I need to clean up...”

“Yourself, maybe.” Alex peered around his shoulder to look at the white semen spattered over the carpet and sliding down the mahogany. “That can wait.”

“It’ll stain,” he protested weakly.

“It’s not my bed. It can stain all it likes.”

He could feel Alex’s seed leaking from him already, mixed with the golden liquid and trickling down his leg. He was right. It wasn’t his bed. It wasn’t Milos’s responsibility, cleaning the sheets and the woodwork. He didn’t have to care.

He let the knight lead him to the side of the bed, pushing him onto the mattress and pulling the sheets over him. What did it matter? If the Duke was implicated in anything, then Milos messying up the sheets was the least of his worries.

For the first time in over two weeks, he revelled in being able to sleep without Alex’s bulk draped over him. For that small mercy, the largest of ignominies seemed forgivable.
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nothingtoregret: Spiky-haired AI woman with a painted face. (Default)
Something witty that way went.

About The Author

Totally non-professional webauthor, writer of original fiction, gamer and professional spam-swatter.

Has a head filled with elves, bad-tempered government agents and motorbikes.

Possesses a ridiculous love of flat-pack furniture.

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