Stolen Moment

Lyon looked toward the castle and set down his bucket. “I am going to speak with Chastaine,” he said, glaring on the chance that anyone dared speak.

No one did, though he caught a couple exchanging knowing smirks. Shifting his glare to them particularly, he did not move until they bent once more to their work, thoroughly chastened.

Turning sharply on his heel, Lyon stalked from the courtyard and into the keep, stalking through the halls and then down the stairs into the cool of the basement.

Near two weeks had passed in pure chaos. The birth of Lady Winifred’s first child, the celebration and christening thereof, then the majority of the keep and the village struck with illness, then visitors come to see the newborn babe…

One thing after another, and ne’er a chance to rest truly throughout. Last night was the first time he and Chastaine had been permitted to sleep without being woken at all hours.

He did not feel like waiting to see if they would be left alone two nights in a row. By the heavens, he was tired of giving his attention to all but he who most deserved it, and barely catching more than a brief smile ere Chastaine was dragged away again.

The basement was almost perfect dark. Dusty light slipped through the few scattered slits, falling half-heartedly across the massive barrels of ale and wine and spirits that Chastaine worked so diligently upon.

“Come to tap the barrels, have you?” Chastaine asked with a soft laugh, and despite their night of rest there was still entirely too much exhaustion in it.

Scowling, Lyon stalked down the path between the neatly arranged rows of barrels and went immediately, easily, into Chastaine’s arms, looping his own around Chastaine’s neck, kissing him deeply, the force of it bruising their lips, and much of the tension built over the course to two long, trying weeks bled from him.

‘Twas entirely unfair that their time was so in demand he had not been permitted to take so much as a kiss until this moment. The whole of the keep complained of the increasing frequency of his glares. Truly they had naught but themselves to blame.

One kiss turned into another, many, for he could not be bothered to cease save for the briefest of pauses required to breathe. Eight years had he gone without even realizing what he had with Chastaine…now he could not bear two weeks without so much as a kiss.

He smiled, could feel Chastaine do the same, and knew ’twas for the same reason.

Removing his arms from where they were wrapped about Chastaine’s neck, he lightly stroked and petted elsewhere, digging his fingers hard and sure into the too-tight muscles of Chastaine’s shoulders, infuriated that so much tension had been inflicted upon him.

Bold and sure as ever, Chastaine’s hands shoved beneath his thigh-length tunic to take firm hold of Lyon’s ass, tugging firmly to bring them together again, taking another kiss that Lyon met full on and gladly, moaning as that brought their cocks together.

‘Twas not near enough, however, and he had come here with a purpose greater than kisses, though the kisses were a very fine thing indeed. He pulled away enough to get at Chastaine’s clothes, unbuckling and unlacing, tugging and shoving, until finally the fine chest was laid bare to him.

He put his mouth to one nipple, biting down sharply, hands splaying elsewhere as he relished the needy gasps that spilled from Chastaine. What he would not give to have a day or three they could spend just the two of them…but they were Seneschals, and knights, and that meant duty must always come before all else.

So stolen moments it would have to be.

Moving to the other nipple, he inflicted upon it the same treatment he had the first, hands moving ever lower to shove away Chastaine’s bothersome hose, that he might take Chastaine’s cock firmly in hand.

“Lyon…” Chastaine said his name on a long moan, spreading his legs the slightest bit to better brace himself.

Lyon kissed him again, the flavor of his lover headier by far than all the spirits and ale around them. Breaking away, he sank to his knees and took Chastaine in, gripping Chastaine’s hips to steady himself as he licked and sucked. He closed his eyes, losing himself to relearning the lover he had been forced to more or less ignore for two weeks, letting Chastaine’s gasps and moans and pleas wash over him, ease him.

A hoarse, barely muffled cry was his only warning before he was swallowing Chastaine’s release, and he licked lingering traces from his mouth as he stood. Immediately his mouth was taken, ravaged, and gladly did he return the fury of it full measure.

Then Chastaine’s hand shoved beneath his clothing, took him firmly in hand, and Lyon broke the kiss to groan in his turn, head falling back as Chastaine began to stroke him. Rough, calloused, hard and sure, Chastaine knew precisely how to stroke and tug, and the sharp nip of teeth to his throat heightened everything, made it all better and worse, and when Chastaine bit down harder it was too much to take, and Lyon muffled his own shout against Chastaine’s shoulder.

Their panting seemed loud in the cool quiet of the basement. Lyon lifted his head to meet the kiss that Chastaine turned to give him, slow and lazy but with the same underlying heat that ever burned between them now.

At last they broke apart, and Chastaine bent to retrieve a cloth which had been tucked into his discarded belt, cleaning his hands before dressing himself.

Lyon could not help but kiss him again, sliding his arms around Chastaine’s waist, feeling the steady weight of arms around his own neck, and what he would give to be permitted to stay this way for more than a few stolen minutes.

“Would that there was time for you to take me,” Chastaine murmured, just to incite him and Lyon glared at him for it, though he had expected such a comment.

“Tonight, if we are left alone long enough,” Lyon said, exacting revenge for the taunt by reaching down to stroke lightly across Chastaine’s groin, swallowing the noise that resulted.

Finally, reluctantly, they broke firmly apart. “I hear you brought down a fine stag for dinner tonight,” Lyon said.

“Aye,” Chastaine replied. “Brice was beside himself waiting to see what might be done with it in his kitchens. I saw the repair of the well was near completion.”

Lyon nodded. “Aye.”

There was naught more to say, really, not between them. With a last touch, Lyon strode back across the cellar and up the stairs to resume work on the well while Chastaine dealt with bringing up what ale they would need for the evening.

Mayhap their luck would hold, and they could both retire early to steal an extra hour or two for themselves.