Chapter Text
In the year of our Lord 1337, whispers of war travelled far and wide across the realm, filling the air with promises of bloodshed to come.
Armies would soon march against the horizon, bringing death, calamity, and pestilence in their wake.
But our story doesn’t begin with epic tales of war.
…
I’m a coward. I always have been. But I tried.
This time something in me changed. It roared. I could no longer bear witness to the injustice happening before me; not with my ramen on the line.
I stepped forward, eyes lasering upon the thug with the gun.
“Oi, put the gun down, punk. Or else I will have to put YOU down.”
Is what I would have said—if I hadn't got shot mid-"Oi."
It’s funny how things work. I have spent my whole life cowering away, and the first time I try to be the hero I get shot in the head.
Ha, funny… Also, where am I going? Why is the darkness not going away?
Is this the afterlife; just pure darkness and my own thoughts?
I thought I would at least get a sexy angel to count how many times I had jerked off to unholy anime girls.
Wait, what is that sound…?
…
“Is he awake?” a man’s worried whisper cut through the dark
What could they be worried about? I did not know. All I could see was black; black and the constant annoying whispering around me.
“Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum…” the holy whispers repeated themselves over and over. It did sound pretty old to be a sexy angel. Perhaps I would only get one of those old, saggy, boring angels; just like my life.
“Aye, did his hand just twitch?” one of the men asked, his voice excited.
But it wasn’t his question that caught my attention, but the distinctive rattle of metal when he moved.
Since when does the afterlife have metal? Perhaps they have computers too…
“Shh, let the dead transcend into the kingdom of heaven.” the boring old angel shushed him up, before resuming his prayers. “Proficiscere, anima christiana, de hoc mundo…”
My eyes opened in red pain, the dim light feeling like a thousand cuts over my eyelids as I blinked awake.
“Can you guys keep it down for a sec? I’m kinda trying to die over here,” I retorted, kinda surprised to hear my own voice.
Since when did it become so high pitched? I sound like a high schooler more than a grown ass man. Sheesh, guess it’s my fault for not going out much.
I got up, ready to face the angels of the afterlife.
But what greeted me was neither my shitty apartment nor the darkness of death, no.
I found myself surrounded by sixteen posers cosplaying as knights and a single old fart draped in white robes and golden nonsense.
The cosplayers’ armor looked sick, tho.
Even as a medieval nerd, I had to admit it was pretty legit. They even had surcoats with a coat of arms and everything, tho I don’t recognize that house.
Perhaps it is a fictional one?
“Yo, that’s some sick armor… Can I touch it? Is it, like, aluminum or something? Looks expensive, for sure,” I said, as I slowly leaned forward to appreciate it closer.
“Jesu-Marie! He lives!” the first cosplayer yelled, hurting my little ears.
“It’s a miracle! God has saved his life!” another cosplayer yelled. This one looked like a blonde twink, but like, with less makeup than one would imagine.
“The Lord be praised! God has answered our prayers and brought back our young Lord from the dead. We have been blessed!” the old fart exclaimed, looking at me like I’d just clawed my way out of a grave. Which, to be fair, is kind of how I felt like.
Every inch of my exposed skin felt raw, and then, a sudden devilish itch attacked my lower stomach, as if something had closed awfully fast.
Something wasn’t right.
Everything was different: the room, the soft sheets under me, the cosplayers…
Even the air smelled different; thick with the putrid scent of blood and incense.
It was cold, grey and looking more like a suffocating cell rather than an actual bedroom.
And what’s more, there was some kind of big cloth hung on the stone walls. It was a colorful drawing of really badly drawn knights fighting other equally badly drawn knights. It was the kind of bad that was good.
Despite my current situation, I couldn’t help but chuckle a little.
But my attention quickly went back to the men surrounding me.
Their cosplays were clearly medieval, and by the looks of it, the expensive stuff.
It was wild how detailed they were. The chainmail skirts were riveted, instead of the shitty butted one.
Some of them even had bronze and brass lining on their harnesses, but it wasn’t shiny, like right out of the production line. It was rather a dull looking satin.
It actually looked like steel—what kind of cosplayers give that much attention to detail?
They kept staring at me, eyes wide, as if I was doing miracles by merely existing.
The room was thick with silence, like they were expecting me to actually say something else.
“My lord, how are you feeling? Is your wound better?” the oldest looking chap said.
The knightly looking grandpa had a funny mustache, but like, in a good way.
He looked like the kind of grandpa that used to be very strict, but then softened up to reveal to be actual softie on the inside.
“Well now that you ask, I do feel awfully well for someone that got shot in the head with a 9mm to be honest. Normally one doesn’t survive those—I think,” I replied, as I swiftly got out of the bed, which proved to be an utter error in judgement.
As soon as my bare feet hit the floor, a thousand frost daggers shot up my legs.
Who in their right mind would use stone floors this cold? At least put a damn rug!
The knights exchanged bewildered glances, clearly searching for answers they didn’t have.
It seems either my jumping like a little girl over a cold floor had unsettled them; or perhaps it had been what I said?
“Just to clarify, you guys aren’t cops nor angels, right? Am I dreaming?” Confusion simmered from my voice, before I hit them with the old classic. “Because usually my dreams include old ladies demanding me money,” I joked, trying to fish for reactions.
Not a single ounce of amusement escaped their faces, not even the slightest chuckle.
Some things don’t change…
“My lord, please don’t exert yourself! Your wound might worsen if you move with haste,” the funny mustache spoke again, unsure whether to approach me or stay put. “Please, sire. Lay down so we can examine it, else you risk falling unconscious again,” he pleaded, as if my very own life was on the line.
“My wound?” I frowned in confusion.
I tapped my forehead, trying to see any remains of the bullet, yet I found none. But my belly was itching; burning in a way it never did before.
I looked down. A bloody brown bandage surprised me.
Dark, stale blood greeted me. It was quite a lot of it, more than I had ever seen in my entire life.
But it didn’t hurt, not at all.
“Please, my lord, take it easy. The wound could open once more if you are not care-“ one of the knights tried to warn me, before I ripped the bandage clean off.
These guys had to be shitting me, cause there was no wound there.
It smelled like blood, yes, but my stomach was looking rather normal… except for the lack of hair. Since when was I so hairless? And why is my waist smaller than usual? And where the fuck is my beer belly? I could swear I had left it here…
Damn, it had been ages since I could actually see my… why am I naked? Why the fuck am I naked?!
“Stop looking, you perverts!” I screamed in wild panic, quickly covering myself with the sheets. Never had I ever sounded more pathetic than now.
God, what is wrong with my voice now?
“W-We are deeply sorry my Lord!” the mustache exclaimed first, turning around immediately like a good soldier, the rest of the knights quickly followed his lead in hurried steps.
“Our deepest apologies sire! We didn’t mean to watch your manhood. We swear!” a red headed knight yelled, cowering behind the blonde knight.
“You have been blessed, Lord Henri!” the soggy fart exclaimed, as he got closer. “Your wound has totally closed by the will of God. You have been graced, my lord!” The zealot in his words was total, leaving no doubts in his mind.
His eyes fixed upon my lower section. “Not a single scratch left! That boar had no chance against our divine lord!” He leaned closer, his glassy eyes boring into my stomach.
The stench of dry blood filled the air, but there were no traces of any injuries.
His wrinkled hand, cold and reverent, hovered over my skin, mere inches away from touching it.
“Oi, hands off of me!” I slapped his hand away; my eyes following his hand as he retreated back into place.
“I’m so sorry, my lord. I-It’s just that I have never seen something quite like it. Your wound… it has healed so fast... We believed you dead, Henri,” the old man repeated that same name, Henri, as if expecting me to recognize it.
My name wasn’t Henri, no; it was… it was… something, something that feels far away now.
My name; it feels distant now, as if it has lost meaning. As if it had never existed.
“Yeah ok, I get it. You guys are surprised and all, but can someone care to bring me actual clothes? Anyone…? It’s kinda cold here.”
It wasn’t time to think about stupid names now.
My skin was turning blue with the unforgiving cold exuding out of these damn walls.
The mustache man immediately barked the order to the younger blonde knight next to him. “Go fetch the lord some proper clothes, lad!” His tone was one of deep embarrassment, as if disappointed with himself.
As the blonde quickly bolted out of the chambers, the grandpa slowly turned around, peeping with his good eye to see if I was still naked.
“I’m so sorry, sire. We meant no disrespect. Your swift recovery has left us without words nor manners.” he said, before kneeling on the cold stone floor.
The rest of the knights followed suit, their knees falling to the floor in unison.
The clickity racket of the steel made the whole situation more serious than it needed to be.
In a way, it felt like these guys were actually and profusely sorry for just… not satisfying me.
“We won’t make this mistake again, my lord,” the old man´s tone was one of reverence, as if he was worshiping me.
What is wrong with these guys? Their little act was starting to freak me out.
“You guys don’t have to be so cordial y’know, it’s not like you did it on purpose or anything, right?” I tried defusing the situation, but it was useless. Their somber faces and rigid postures made it clear; they were absolutely immersed in their little roleplay.
Then, a sudden knock on the door interrupted the moment.
A less sharp-looking man, dressed in a worn-out red gambeson and beat-up skull cap, burst into the chamber with frenetic steps.
His eyes desperately searched into the room, until they fell on me.
He was holding a sealed letter in his shaky hands, grabbing it too tight yet making sure not to crumble it.
“M'lord! A letter from the king. It is-“ the man stopped short in his tracks, as the elderly knight bored his good eye into him with such intensity he was practically drilling a hole through him.
Whatever the new man had done wrong, it seemed to have profusely upset him.
“Have you no respect?!” The grandpa stood up, his heavy footsteps approaching the smaller man. “Entering the Lord's chamber just like that–” His voice cracked as fury deformed his face. “You are in front of a miracle, a miracle! Show your respects to our lord,” he demanded, as the leather from his gauntlets tightened around the handle of his sword.
The shivering man cowered, suddenly small before the enraged knight.
His eyes met mine for support, but I was as confused as I was amused by the free show.
His eyes fell to the floor, and he immediately presented the letter to the knight.
“My apologies, Sir Ludwig! I-I stepped out of line. I meant no offense to the lord, I swear!” He bowed with such desperation he almost hit his head on the ground, as he presented the letter to him.
“Dismissed,” Ludwig said curtly, not even sparing him another glance.
As the guard obeyed and backpedaled out of the room, his eye went to the sealed letter in his gauntlet; it carried a red seal. “My sire, it seems the king has sent you a letter…” he murmured, as he presented the letter to me.
“Uh… ok? Thanks, I guess?” I replied, as I played with the letter in my hands. What exactly was I supposed to do?
The knights looked at me in silence, as if waiting for me to do something; anything.
The silence stretched for a couple seconds, until Ludwig finally coughed.
“Perhaps we should leave our lord in peace? His recovery must have had a toll on him. Please, do rest my lord. I will wait outside your chambers in case you need of me.”
Ludwig gave a subtle nod to the men behind him, signaling them to leave the room, then looked back at me.
He waited for a second, as if expecting any confirmation from me. Yet he found none.
I stared back at him. His face, old and weary on the edges, was tense. His lips tight close, as if he were holding something in them.
There was something in his mind, yet he let it linger there. Whatever it was, it went unanswered.
With a final bow, he retired from what appeared to be “my” chambers. The sound of their heavy plates clashing against each other disappeared into the hall outside, as the heavy oak door closed behind them.
The room, now free from the oppressive presence of the knights, felt a lot bigger.
The cold breeze from the small slits that passed as windows carried a certain salty smell to it. There was certain humidity to it; the smell of the sea perhaps? It is kinda stinky after all…
“Do you plan on staying here or…?” I asked the only man left in the room; the clergy looking man.
His glassy eyes blinked rapidly, as if he had just awakened. Was he asleep just now?
“Uh, oh? Oh, yes, yes, I’m leaving, young lord,” he murmured, as he slowly hunched away from the bed and into the door.
His bony fingers found the door handle, but before leaving, he turned around and looked back at me. His foggy windows passed over me one last time.
“Please, do promise me you will come to the church later, Henri. The men will be pleased to see you in full strength,” he said, with a gleeful smile, before leaving.
His last words left me with the bitter taste of responsibility.
As the door closed one last time, I was left in the darkness of the chamber; alone with my own thoughts.
Just what the fuck was happening…?
…
So… I got shot in the head, died, woke up in a different body and now I’m freezing my ass in a comfy bed.
Really, uh, dramatic much?
Oh, and the king sent me a letter written in a strange language that I can somehow understand.
What does it say? I have no fucking idea…
“To our faithful and beloved cousin, Henri, Marquis of Rouge,
We, Philip, by the Grace of God, King of the Franks, send greetings.
Know that our treacherous vassal, Edward of England, has refused to render Us the homage he owes for Our lands in Aquitaine.
He conspires with the rebellious Flemish and has given shelter to Our enemies. These affronts to God and to the dignity of the Crown of France can no longer be borne.
We therefore command you, by the sacred bonds of fealty you owe Us, to make ready your arms and summon your host.
You are to present yourself with all your sworn knights and a company of no fewer than one hundred men-at-arms, fit for a summer campaign.
You are to march and join with Our royal army at the city of Amiens no later than the feast of Saint John the Baptist,
from whence we shall march to bring our justice upon our rebellious vassal.
Given under our hand and seal at Our palace in Paris, this tenth day of May, in the year of Our Lord, 1337.”
“Cousin”? “Marquis”? “We”? “Us”? What the fuck is he talking about? Why is he speaking in plural?
Am I his cousin…? shit, am I royalty now?
My delusions of grandeur quickly faded away as a soft knock came from my chamber´s door.
“My lord, I bringeth thy clothes. May I dare come in?”
The voice like sing song, gently asked from the other side. Despite the softness of his question, there was a certain spice in his tone. As if he was playing.
“Uh, yeah, I guess.” I doubted myself.
Does he really need to get inside? Can’t he just slip the clothes under the door?
The oak door slowly opened, and a smug looking young man sauntered inside.
His smile, white and wide, carried the confidence of someone that knew what they wanted.
But what caught my attention wasn’t his shit eating smile or his funny accent, but the dress he was wearing. So over the top fairy tale, shit ass red and blue dress, with golden spots and puffy shoulders.
I honestly felt like chuckling, either from amusement or embarrassment.
“Tell me my lord, what do you feel like wearing this wonderful morning?” the balloon head asked, holding some equally over the top dresses in his hands.
“Definitely not that,” I said, while pointing at the bundle of rags he was carrying.
“Also, who the fuck are you again? Sorry, I forgot.”
My manners had seemed to fly out of the window as soon as I saw this guy.
I don’t know what it was, but something in him just made me want to punch him.
“Oh my! Our lord has certainly woken up with an attitude this morning—feisty!”
The clown laughed softly in my face, as if I hadn’t just insulted him in an attempt to act aloof.
“I guess that means you are feeling like wearing red today, don’t you?” His eyes raked over my half-naked body over the sheets, sizing me up.
“Oh fuck off, you think you are funny now? You think you are a funny little bugger?”
I got out of the bed; the sheets sliding away from my naked body as I approached him.
The floor was mercilessly stabbing my soles, but I had already committed to looking baddass…
I stood in front of him. His smaller frame fully enclosed by mine. There was no escaping now, for neither of us.
His eyes, though filled with mischief, were weary on the edges. They didn’t match his attitude at all. And his straight raven hair was unnervingly long, but also so soft looking.
Did this guy just iron his hair?
His eyes didn’t even blink as I closed the distance.
Slowly, they travelled their way down, from my eyes, to my neck, then slowly into my lower section.
He leaned a tad closer, his nose twitching to my smell; the smell of dry blood and fake confidence.
His hand, gently and slowly traced the patch where my bandage used to be.
It felt… strange. As if an old wound was supposed to be there.
“You really did recover completely… I knew god wouldn’t take you away from us, Henri,” he whispered, in a tone that sounded almost—caringly?
His fingertips hovered over the scarless spot, his nails grazing the sensitive skin.
“Wha-? Wait—what?” I panicked. Like, no shame in admitting it. I was truly freaked out. I thought I was intimidating him, not flirting with him!
I instinctively took a step back, which proved to be the wrong move.
The smaller twink closed the gap with a quick step, staring right into my eyes.
He was searching for something in them, probing me, almost as if trying to get a reaction out of me.
“You truly lost your memories, didn’t you, Henri?” He tilted his head, stabbing his amber eyes into mine. “You can’t remember me? You can’t remember… us?” His faint whisper travelled through the air.
His breath, shaky and vulnerable, was hitting right in my neck.
Each puff of his warmth sent a shiver down my spine.
It wasn’t the cold biting into me now, no. It was the way his nails traced over my stomach, as if trying to caress what is not there.
“I, uh, eh, so, this, um, yeah, so…. C-Can we re-reset a bit?” I stuttered, hard.
Maybe it was the fireplace, or maybe the fact I had his mouth inches away, but my neck felt awfully hot all of the sudden.
I diverted my eyes elsewhere, incapable of holding the intense eye contact. It was too much.
Why do people like it? It’s like he is trying to pry me open with his damn eyes.
“Sure… my lord” he muttered, lowering his eyes.
The way he said “my lord”, it wasn’t the same as before. He sounded almost disappointed.
“I’m Aime, from the house of Vitré, my liege. Here to serve you in all your needs.”
His voice felt raspy with pain.
What was once a soft lyric now turned into chalk, dry and hurt.
I think I fucked up somehow…
“Ahem, uh, good. Nice to meet you, Aime… I’m Henri—of Rouge, I think.”
My voice was a shaking mess, no longer as steady as I wanted it to be. I was crumbling right in front of him.
“You do know everyone here already knows who you are, don’t you, Henri?” Aime´s eyes met mine once more, gently this time.
“Uh, no. That was kinda my point, y’know. How to explain this…?”
I scratched my neck, turning to look at the wall to try and avoid looking at him.
I didn’t do well socially, especially holding such an intense gaze…
Then I remembered I was giving my naked ass to a total stranger, and immediately turned around with a yelp.
“I uh, kinda got hit in the head, yeah. Pretty hard. Like, so hard it kinda uh, shocked my brain, and stuff.” I babbled, trying my best to explain how a 9mm played piñata with my brain.
The younger man made a face with his brows, looking at me like I had just thrown nonsense right in his face.
He sheepishly chuckled, then, out of nowhere, he bopped my nose.
His smile widened once more, as if this was fun for him.
“Don’t you mean your stomach, silly?” he retorted, while bouncing on his feet.
“A boar attacked you two months ago when you decided to go hunting on your own, remember? The beast pierced your innards with its tusk, but you managed to finish it off with your dagger in an utter show of bravery and resilience!”
He told the tale excitedly, as if I was a hero or something.
It was hard to tell if he was mocking me, or truly impressed by… whatever he thinks I did.
His voice wavered for a moment. His hand met mine, and he grabbed onto it. His fingers interlocked with mine.
The more I leaned away, the closer he got.
His touch burned me. I didn’t want it. I didn't like it… and yet, I was speechless.
I was a victim of my own silence.
“And now you have fully recovered.”
He started, soft and vulnerable, like a prayer on the wind.
“We thought you dead Henri. Dom Adrien was already casting your soul to welcome God; your tombstone was already engraved…”
The corner of his eyes grew weary on the last part. They filled with emotions I could not recognize.
Red strings formed over the white, and what was once perfect amber turned into a mirror.
Whatever this guy was on about; I meant something to him. Though whatever that was it escaped my knowledge.
This was nothing like the dating Sims I used to play…
“Oh, yeah, right, the boar. Yeah, I totally kicked its ass and shit…” I replied, with an awkward smile.
What was I supposed to say?
I killed no boar. Heavens fuck I didn’t even went hunting in my entire life.
Never held a rifle nor any dagger of any kind.
If I supposedly killed a wild boar, shouldn’t I remember it? I surely would!
At least it would have made my sad miserable life a bit more exciting.
“Totally owned that… yep, sure I did, sure I did.”
Aime´s smile deepened. His eyes flashing with more than just excitement this time.
“I had been praying so hard for your wellbeing Henri… You have no idea how scared I was.”
His juvenile features darkened, as he leaned closer into me.
“I thought I had lost you last night. And now you are back. Not a single scar to show… you are a miracle Henri.”
Aime suddenly enclosed me in his arms, hugging me so tightly I thought I was about to die a second time. His warmth surrounded me, and I had no escape.
The clothes he was holding fell to the floor with a heavy thud, echoing in my ears like.
His heart took a beat, then mine followed… or did it completely stop? Perhaps I was dreaming. Perhaps this was all just a really strange, niche and warm dream. Wait, no, it wasn’t me.
Aime was sobbing into my chest; his tears, bitterly warm to the touch, were smearing all over my man tits.
I froze in place.
Someone more empathetic would hug him back.
Someone more confident would push him away.
Someone that isn’t me would do something.
But not me, no. I stood in place, gawking like an idiot.
My muscles tensed up and my throat felt dry with helplessness.
“Yeah, I am, uh, alive? For now? I guess? So don’t worry. I won’t get myself impaled by a wild beast again—I hope.” My voice was as reassuring as an office party.
I did my best to console him by patting his back with an awkward rhythm.
What a pathetic attempt that was…
“You really don’t remember me, Henri? Not at all? Not even a little?” he asked temptingly.
Aime lifted his gaze and looked into my eyes, his teary pearls against my unrecognizable black voids. There was nothing in my eyes. Nothing he could recognize anymore.
“What happened to you, Henri? You were confessing to me your wildest dreams last night, sure your death would come on the morrow… and now you have forgotten me? Why?”
His voice cracked in the end. A crying prayer. He was desperate for any traces of the “old Henri”. But there was only me. Good old disappointing me.
“I’m sorry Aime. I’m not who you think I am… Not even I know who I am anymore. All I know is that I was trying to eat some ramen, then a guy shot me in the head and now I’m stuck here. In this cold chamber; with people I have never met in my life, a king that calls me his cousin, knights that bow before me and you… whatever you are.”
Truth came out of my lips. Blunt as a hammer, subtle as thunder.
I’m sorry Aime. I’m a loser, a fucker. I have no idea how to reveal bad news in the “gentle” way.
I never could. It is just not who I am…
Aime´s head tilted, his eyes narrowing, as if I had just unloaded a bunch of gibberish on him. Which from the looks of it, I did. His hand gently cupped my jaw, forcing me to stare right into his eyes.
“Ramen? Shot? King? What are you talking about Henri?”
His eyes were awfully hot. I tried looking away, but he didn’t allow me to. His fingers were applying just the right amount of pressure to keep me locked in place.
“Fine, you don’t remember a thing. You don’t remember us… Then I shall make you remember…” he whispered into my lips.
His fingers faltered for just a moment, but he quickly steeled himself before launching himself forward. His lips crashing into mine into a desperate kiss.
I went blank.
White—white once more.
I was surrounded by it; by that feeling…
Who was I? Where was I?
It didn’t matter now.
He stole my freedom without asking.
He didn’t ask, he just took… and I gave it to him.
My lips, dry and bloody, opened for his.
What should have been a battle turned into a massacre.
Perhaps it was because this was my first kiss in 27 years of living on this god forsaken planet, or perhaps it was the way he was kissing me, but I lost all senses right there.
It wasn’t just lust what drove him to this, no. He was drowning me in something far deeper than basic animal instincts. He was drowning me with devotion, with love, with desperation.
It was suffocating in the best of ways.
His tongue clashed with mine, intertwining in a dance I thought dead for me.
The passion in him was melting me layer by layer, forcing me to see him; forcing me to acknowledge what was lost.
I don’t know if this was the old Henri taking over, or just my own fucked-up tastes finally breaking free, but my hand found its rightful place in Aime´s neck once more.
It didn’t squeeze, it just hovered over his skin, grazing over the sensitive skin, holding him in place.
Before I knew it, I wasn’t trying to drive my tongue away, but forward.
I was leaning into him, kissing him back as if it was meant to be. As if I belonged here.
His kiss was devotion. Mine was hunger.
His was a desperate prayer. Mine was a desecration.
I was drowning, and yet I didn’t want it to stop.
He was so graceful with his pain—I was raw in mine.
Never had I found such a beautiful vessel to lose myself in…
Perhaps it was the years of built up frustration. Perhaps it was what the world made of me, a bitter, angry loser that has to violently destroy even the purest of altars. Or perhaps I’m just a wicked man.
But I couldn’t stop now.
The room vanished in a cloud of darkness; there was only him.
I was blind. I was deaf. I was in total control.
My hand grew heavier on his neck.
I wanted to carve my signature on him.
Mark him as my own.
But all dreams have to die eventually.
“My lord, Dom Adrien asks if you are ready to meet him at the chapel. The men are eager to see you, sire.”
Sir Ludwig´s voice boomed on the other side of the door, swiftly interrupting my make out session with Aime.
I got yanked out of elysium. Our lips created space; they were no longer mine.
We stared at each other, confusion mixing with lust.
Aime reacted first, untangling himself from and straightening his clothes with practiced swiftness.
I, on the other hand, was still raw. I felt like a volcano about to erupt. Every nerve, every twitch, every single pump of blood through my veins was burning, inciting me to act.
I swallowed the urges down, drowning them in my throat.
I could still taste him; his saliva getting colder in my tongue, leaving that awful after-taste of what could have been.
Aime created more distance between us; he picked up the clothes from the floor and winked at me.
“Keep it in your breeches for now, your lordship.”
We exchanged glances. I didn't recognize him, and yet I was already entangled in emotions I could not understand.
This isn't me, is it? Had I been hiding this part of me all along?
The passing thought did not linger; the more I thought about it, the less I cared.
Besides, Ludwig was getting impatient on the other side.
“Ah! Shit, coming right away! Wait a minute; I just need to get dressed!” I exclaimed, trying not to shake and stutter as much as I covered myself once more with the sheets.
I took a quick look at the dresses that Aime had brought. It was beyond ridicule. Those dresses looked way too uncomfortable, like, what is this? Medieval ass clothing for men on heels?
“Don’t you have something like, a bit more comfortable? Anything at all? What about some actual pants or boots? A shirt perhaps? Something to stop my balls from freezing?” I joked, trying to ease off my own nerves.
“You can use my mouth for that if you want…”
Aime replied, with a smug shit eating smile on his lustful lips.
“What´s the matter, my lord? These are the attires you used to wear. Are they not of your liking anymore?”
His foxlike eyes narrowed, judging my selections.
“Boots? As for hunting? You wish me to fetch you your hunting attire, my liege?”
He tilted his head once more, perplexed by my “odd” requests.
Hadn’t this guy tormented me enough?
Every single insinuation and sly comment had me on the edge.
Also, I think I got hard. Shit, guess I’m gay now. No, wait; I was gay already, wasn’t I? I vaguely remember chatting with a femboy once, tho I think it was a bot…
“Uh, hunting? Sure… as long as you bring me something that doesn’t make me look like you. Not that I’m insulting your, uh, dress.” I tried my best at being diplomatic. It failed, as it was expected. His flirty comments were not helping either.
“Dress? Henri, are you kidding me? This is not a dress you fool! This is a proper gentleman´s attire, you silly bean.”
Aime laughed, doing a mocking bow before opening the chamber's door to leave.
“I will be back with your boots then, your eccentric majesty.”
I unconsciously chuckled; a soft smile creeping in.
But when that door closed, I realized… This wasn’t a dream.
My dreams never let me smile.