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Boring. Everything is boring. The tales Ser Rudolphe tells the Prince of Starkhaven and his family are boring, the dinner they’ve had was boring, brought by boring servants with their boring good manners. The entertainment of the evening - a young bard with her guitar - is boring beyond belief. Nathaniel doesn’t know much about music, but he knows boredom, and this is it.The only interesting thing about this evening is how the youngest of the Prince’s sons keeps looking at him - equally bored, except when his eyes rest on him. Nathaniel doesn’t know what to do with that; the way the boy - well, the man, for he can’t be much younger than him - stares at him is confusing. A slender finger traces the edge of his wine glass, a strange intensity to his countenance as he watches Nathaniel, as if assessing him for whatever reason.He tries not to flush under the attention, but it’s hard; the man is relentless. Unluckily for him, everything else around him is boring. Sure, it’s all grand and very polite, but he wants none of that - no, he’s twenty years old and this is not his world. He yearns for an adventure, a little adrenaline to help him feel alive.The young man - Sebastian, was it? - seems… not so boring.
“Aren’t you tired of this party?” Sebastian whispers into Nathaniel’s ear, stealing a moment when everyone else is distracted by the bard’s song. An utterly dreadful, mind-numbing performance designed particularly to put the group in a coma so she can rob them blind and disappear into the night, no doubt.The squire jerks and looks at him in astonishment, denials undoubtedly forming in his mind. He can’t have that. “I’ve something to show you,” he interrupts the man before he has time to respond, “if you’re interested.”“What do you mean?” Nathaniel asks without missing a beat. Not gullible, it seems. Sebastian doesn’t mind; a challenge always does make the victory taste all the more sweeter. He can’t quite suppress the smile that grows on his lips. “What do you know about archery?”Nathaniel’s eyes widen, and Sebastian congratulates himself on hitting the mark, even if it was a shot in the dark. “We could head to the courtyard and target practice. Let these old, stuffy fools enjoy their nice and polite company,” he grins, hoping the words hit home as well as the ones before. Nathaniel nods, and Sebastian makes up an excuse for his father, leading their young visitor away from the awful gathering. He doesn’t miss the judgment in his father’s eyes, but when has that ever stopped him before?
Sebastian leans in close, his fingers covering those of his own, his breath hot against his skin. This was a bad idea; how is he supposed to see the target in the darkness of the night, and more importantly, how is he to focus with a royal heir breathing down his neck? If there’s colour on his cheeks, it’s because it’s a hot summer’s night, and nothing else.“Ah, but you’ll have to pull it a little tighter,” Sebastian murmurs, guiding his hand, “treat it like you would a lovely lady: show her that you mean it, but always keep the suspense going.”The words tickle the hairs at the back of his neck, their smoothness almost angering him; he’s never one to lose a battle of quick words and quicker thinking, but the Prince has him at a disadvantage - where he is quick-witted, the Prince is shameless. “And does that generally work for you?” Sebastian laughs and presses closer, his entire body draped over Nathaniel’s back as he pulls the bow taut and releases the string without a warning. “I’ve yet to have it fail me, and as you can see…” taking a step back, he gestures at the target, a grin on his face.A bullseye, because of course it would have to be one. Nathaniel isn’t sure if he’s impressed or annoyed by the arrogance of his companion, but he’s certainly not bored anymore.
Nathaniel is still tense under his companionable touch, but if he’ll play his cards right, he’ll be upstairs in his room very soon, ready for whatever his mood dictates; he’s not the first squire he’s seduced, but certainly the most handsome of them all. Black hair falls on his shoulders, inviting him to run his fingers through them, to bury his nose in the clean strands. The stolen wine has painted his lips red, and Sebastian can’t resist licking his own at the sight.The squire’s fingers trace the contours of his bow, and he could almost swear it was an erotic gesture if it wasn’t for the childish awe on his face: he’s enthralled by the weapon, impressed with its efficiency to the point where Sebastian feels jealous of it. An inanimate object, for Maker’s sake, but there it is; he wants those fingers on him, mapping out his body. If the man found his life’s calling, that’s nice, but it isn’t what he had in mind.“I have some more of that wine up in my room,” he says, the sound of his voice husky to his ears, “as well as a couple of more bows, and a collection of different kind of arrows. Do you want to..?” He’s halfway through the sentence as Nathaniel, to his great surprise, meets his eyes and nods, getting up from the pavement he’s seated on.
The door closes behind him, and he’s quick to push Sebastian against it, his hands pinning the Prince’s above his head. He may not have experience in this, but he’s not about to let that show and lose him the challenge he’s been issued; he dives straight in, capturing the wine-stained lips, swallowing the surprised gasp.He doesn’t give Sebastian the chance to speak before his hands slide down to his hips, gripping them and pulling them against his, rough and insistent. The man is hard against him, instantly on board - his kisses turn harsh, his breaths forceful against Nathaniel’s face.He’s hard, too, trapped in his leather pants, his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Sebastian feels amazing against him, his body taut as a bowstring, back arching from the door, and he can’t help it; he loops an arm through the opening, hand slipping underneath the fine tunic, his skin hot to the touch. Nathaniel’s so focused, so very into it, that he barely has the presence of mind to react when Sebastian pushes him off, tackling him onto the luxurious bed at the center of the room.
“I like your spirit,” Sebastian laughs, settling between Nathaniel’s legs, rushing to undo the man’s breeches - quick, quick, before he recovers from his surprise! - with fingers only slightly shaking. The man had caught him off guard; he’d expected for more groundwork to be laid out before he’d make his move, as the man had given him no indication he’d be interested in this.Nathaniel, however, goes pliant underneath him, even co-operating as he works to undress him, lifting his hips as he pulls off the leggings. The man’s smalls slide off along with the trousers, revealing a cock that almost makes him regret his decision to deflower the man; no, the act hadn’t convinced him - the sheer lust couldn’t quite conceal his inexperience. But, ohh, it would be nice to have that inside of him. He hurries to take it into his hand, cherishing the sigh that escapes Nathaniel’s lips - the man is so responsive, so sweet under his gaze. He shouldn’t have fallen for the act; Nathaniel has him pinned against the bed in a flash, his greater strength and weight keeping him there. A smile creeps on his face as he holds the grey-eyed gaze. “It’s not that I’m not willing, but do you know what you’re doing, Nathaniel? Or do you need me to teach you this, too?”
He ought to take the man up on his offer, but his pride doesn’t allow for it, so he sneers down at him, pulling at his finery. The silk comes off with ease, revealing beautiful brown skin, unmarred by scars, its surface smooth and soft to touch, and for a moment he forgets he’s alleviating boredom; the man underneath him is so beautiful, and it’s getting increasingly difficult to pretend he doesn’t notice.His sneer melts into something nice - something almost tender, he suspects - when the Prince parts his legs and stretches his back, his tunic riding up to reveal a hard cock pressed against a flat stomach. Nathaniel’s mouth waters despite himself, his hand trembling as he reaches for the vial of oil - he assumes - on the night stand, unwilling to keep the man waiting. His secret escapes to taverns finally prove their value as he coats his fingers and finds the entrance - the lewd stories he’s heard too many times for his comfort ensure he knows what he ought to do, the sigh that leaves Sebastian’s lips spurring him on.
It’s not enough - the fingers are too gentle, too slow, too small. He pushes against them nevertheless, taking what he can get until the frustration grows too great, and then he begs - begs! - for more. Luckily, finally, Nathaniel gets the memo and enters him, the last of his hesitance leaving him as he bottoms out.From there on, Sebastian is floating; the snaps of Nathaniel’s hips are hard, bordering on punishing, and he’s woefully underprepared - just the way he likes it - hanging on for dear life, his fingers sunk in the man’s hair, mindless of the strength of his grip. The moans that form at the base of his throat become whines by the time they reach his lips, vibrating straight into Nathaniel’s neck. He doesn’t mind losing - not when losing means winning, not when the loser collects the bounty. It’s embarrassing how quickly he’s overcome when Nathaniel’s hand slips between their stomachs and tugs at his cock, his back arching off the bed as he spends on his stomach.
Sebastian sleeps on his back, his breaths deep and face lax, hair tousled on the pillow they’ve shared. Nathaniel knows he should sneak off; the party must have dissolved by now, ser Rudolphe no doubt furious and ashamed of his disappearance.The concerns are real, but he pushes them to the back of his mind, opting instead to awaken his companion, grinning when the Prince agrees to a rematch. Nathaniel sinks into his body - still pliant - with a sigh, trapping Sebastian’s head between his hands.
When Sebastian finally wakes, the sun is casting its merciless rays inside his rooms, a headache pounding just at the edge of his consciousness. The bed beside him is empty, not that it’s a surprise - he fully expected the squire to leave. A scrunched up paper hits his hand as he scrambles to get up, sore muscles protesting the movements.He unfolds the paper as he sits at the edge of the bed.
“Thanks for the bow.”
Frowning in confusion, he scans the room, finally noticing the empty space where one of his practice bows used to hang. Laughter bubbles out of him, but stops short as the headache makes itself fully known. Perhaps the winner does collect the bounty, after all.