Page 95 of Oath
Clyde pulled him up then, swift and sure, strong hands wrapped around Aerion’s wrists. Aerion was bent over the edge of the bed with a grip that was gentle in intent and blunt in execution.
“You wanted me to take you,” Clyde said, voice low and rough with desire. Aerion could not see his knights face, but his hands bunched in the blankets, his own cock twitching with excitement.
Clyde held Aerion there for a moment, looking down at the Archduke. Some part of him, a loyal knight, was disturbed by his own feelings. But he loved this man and would never deny what he love wanted.
He ran one hand down Aerion’s spine until he reached the band of Aerion’s loosened trousers and yanked them down fully. He stroked his lords pale cheek, kneading the soft flesh gently, tilting his head back in response to Aerion’s moans.
He longed to bury himself deep between those cheeks, fucking his arrogant peacock into submission. But he was a loyal hound and Aerion’s pleasure came before his own.
One hand pressed between Aerion’s shoulder blades, he held the man in place, while his fingers found their way into Aerion’s hot hole. He worked slowly, scissoring and kneading until the Archduke writhed beneath him, gasping and whimpering.
“Damn you,” Aerion breathed, half laughing, his back arching to display himself better. “Just fuck me already.” The hand on Aerion’s back pulled at the robe. Aerion let it slide off his arms until he was naked beneath his lover.
Clyde’s hand slid between them, fingers curling around Aerion’s cock, finding him already slick and warm. With the other hand, his positioned himself, his tip teasing the loosened ring of muscles. He took Aerion from behind with the slow, measured force of a man restraining himself. He set a hardrhythm then: pelvis lifting, thrusting into Aerion’s warm, yielding body, the friction delicious and terrible. He leaned forward, one hand splayed flat over Aerion’s lower back while the other stroked the prince’s cock, fingers rolling expertly along the shaft in time with each deep drive. Aerion’s moans came quick and bright now—sharp, defiant, braided with pleading—and his nails raked the blankets as he rode the fire Clyde stoked beneath him.
“Fuck—yes,” Aerion whimpered, words jagged, voice thin with need. He tried to twist his hips to meet Clyde’s stride, to make the angle deeper, to find the place that drew stars across his vision. Clyde obliged without mercy, driving harder until Aerion’s world narrowed to thrusts and the slick squeeze of heat.
They climbed together: Aerion’s breath rasping as Clyde’s strokes found a steady song, fingers pumping his cock in time, the pressure at the base building with a slow, relentless insistence. Clyde’s own breath hitched and then become a ragged rhythm to match Aerion’s cries. With one final, powerful plunge and a shuddering grip on Aerion’s hip, Clyde drove them both over the edge.
Aerion came first—head thrown back, throat open in a raw, guttural exclamation—his release spilling hot and blinding, trembling limbs folding at the sudden ease. Clyde followed, muscles tensing, groaning his name into the air as he emptied himself deep and molten inside the Archduke.
They collapsed together, rain-soft and breathless, Clyde still seated behind Aerion with a hand pressed to the small of his back as if to reassure that neither of them would slip away. Aerion turned, face slick with sweat and satisfaction, and kissed the scarred knuckles that had claimed him.
He spoke softly, as if afraid to break the stillness. “You swore an oath.”
“I did,” Clyde murmured, fingers tracing idle patterns along his shoulder. “And I’ll keep it until my last breath.”
Aerion smiled, small and tired and unbearably fond. “Then I suppose I’ll have to keep you alive.”
He lifted his head, kissed him again—slow, languid, claiming and tender all at once. Outside, the world kept raining, soft and endless, washing clean the stones of Valemont.
And inside, for the first time in years, the Archduke and his knight were at peace.