Lord of Misrule (4 page)

“Up,” Dan directed, offering a hand to assist. He smirked when confronted with the results of his appreciative touches; the reverse strip-tease had the same effect. Taj’s cock was hard and a little moist at the end. Since it was at face level, Dan took the opportunity to brush the undershirt and panels of the long tunic aside, glancing up at Taj’s face, giving him an amused questioning look. Taj smirked and nodded, and Dan set to work eagerly, as his own erection throbbed within his confining leggings.

Taj’s hands landed on Dan’s shoulders, moving restlessly to his head as Dan sucked him, hips making tiny thrusts, not guiding but showing that his pleasure was too much to remain fully passive. His involuntary sighs communicated the same. Dan didn’t need them to know Taj was enjoying himself, but they were welcome anyway.

Dan pulled off for a moment, his breath and lips teasing Taj’s sensitive flesh. “Would you like to sit down?”

Taj shivered. “I think I had better. You are wondrously skilled at this.” He returned to his place on the edge of the bed, careful of the new clothes, and Dan crawled forward to resume his task.

It took little to bring Taj to the brink, and in moments he was releasing a cry of pleasure as he spilled in Dan’s hungry mouth. Dan let him have a moment to breathe before licking his spent cock clean. Taj’s fingers, still holding Dan’s shoulders, tightened and he pulled Dan up into a fierce kiss. Dan’s hands came up to hold him by the temples as he groaned into Taj’s mouth. Taj devoured his mouth while he slid one hand down Dan’s bare chest and into his pants, wrapping around his achingly hard cock and working it relentlessly. Taj set a quick rhythm, and in moments Dan was moaning out his release as he pressed Taj’s forehead to his own.

“Looks like you’ll have to change those pants,” Taj said, hints of Keegan’s accent in his voice.

“Good thing they were already dirty,” Dan said with a grin, still struggling to catch his breath. “Now, where were we?”

He snagged the discarded towel from earlier to clean them up, and finished his valet duties in the nude. In short order, he’d helped Taj into his leggings and boots, and Dan rose to finish with the buttons, add a belt, and drape a short cloak edged with faux fur around Taj’s shoulders. He fastened the clasp, and then adjusted the draping so that the cloak framed Taj’s rich new clothes.

He stood back and admired his work for a moment. “Turn around and let me look at you.” Taj obliged, and Dan made a few adjustments, smoothing and fine-tuning but mostly just enjoying the feel of the richly textured fabrics sliding over Taj’s lean form. “You are gorgeous.”

Taj went over to the mirrored closet door and looked. “I’m speechless. Thank you, sweetheart. I look like a prince or something.”

“You’re a lord tonight. I wanted you to look the part and not have to borrow someone else’s garb.”

“This can’t have been cheap.”

Dan shrugged. “It’s Christmas.”

Taj looked at him, eyes brimming with love. “I am grateful for the clothes, but even more grateful for you.”

There was nothing Dan could do but kiss him in reply.

T
HE
hall echoed with festive sounds: laughter, music, and children playing. Keegan Arey lounged in the ornate central chair, resplendent in his finery. Matilda the Cook was beside him in an apron of silk and velvet, and they were both crowned with circlets of ivy and red ribbon. The Duke and Duchess were in rough garb, Her Excellency seated on one of the benches with the commoners. Sir Edric Bearsbane leaned over the back of Keegan’s chair, whispering risqué comments in his ear—and occasionally licking his earlobe—as they watched the knights and children compete in a mock war, armed with pillows.

“Who knew Konrad’s daughter was more vicious in battle than he?” Edric laughed as the young lady in question responded to a tackle from one of the squires by kicking him in the groin.

Keegan snorted. “It seems the little ones have routed the soldiers, my lady,” he said to Matilda. “Would you like to bestow the honors?”

She agreed and signaled the herald to ring the bell, to the obvious relief of the defeated knights. She awarded the children tokens for their bravery and cleverness, and the duke solemnly handed over his sword to the oldest girl, bowing before her on bended knee. The war over, the little ones ran to the ladies-in-waiting for their refreshments.

All around the room were tables with displays from the Arts and Sciences Guild: carefully painted illuminated manuscripts, woven wreaths of wheat, fine embroidery, hand-carved woodwork, intricate metalwork and jewelry. The Minister of Arts had given out awards, honoring the artists with titles of Master or Mistress of their craft.

It was time now for a dance lesson from the Fencing Master, with every able-bodied adult joining in, despite the protests of some of the young men. Adults and children held hands, following the Master’s instructions as they formed spiral patterns, in and out and under each others’ arms. Edric mostly got the steps right, although Keegan picked up the moves far more quickly, to Edric’s chagrin. Once each group had at least four people who knew what they were doing, the Fencing Master declared them instructed well enough. The minstrels—two pipers, a woman with a lute, and one with an Irish drum—struck up a lively folk tune, and the dance began.

“You know, it is said that dancing is an opportunity to ascertain the health of a prospective spouse,” Keegan said in an undertone as he and Edric stood, arms outstretched to make a bridge under which the rest of their set passed. “It reveals if he is sound of limb, shapely of form, displays how he moves, and whether he can keep a decent rhythm without faltering.”

Edric grinned, nodding. “I’ve heard no complaints so far.”

“You just stepped on my foot.”

“Aside from that,” Edric said, dismissively. “And you can get close enough to touch and savor one another’s forms.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a lewd manner as he reached to give Keegan’s ass a quick squeeze.

“Indeed. It is clear that we should dance more often.” Keegan winked and twisted as he took Edric’s hand, leading his partner under the bridge of the next couple’s arms. It was so good to see Keegan like this, relaxed and enjoying the results of the many months of planning, wearing the mantle of Lordly leadership with such ease and grace. Edric was much relieved to see his beloved in such high spirits. He was also finding it extremely arousing.

To Edric’s amusement, the dancing theme resurfaced a few hours later, as the crowd was entertained by the exotic music and moves of the Desert Roses, a troupe of scandalously flesh-baring women from the Far East who shimmied and undulated to the beat of drums and finger cymbals. The peasants made appreciative noises as the dancers flirted with both men and women.

“If I was interested in the pleasures women offer, I confess my blood would be up,” Edric murmured, once again leaning on the side of Keegan’s throne.

The Lord of Misrule made a thoughtful noise. “I had a friend at school who danced in that style. I contemplated learning for a while.”

“You almost took belly dance lessons?” Edric asked, coughing to cover the way his voice squeaked in surprise.

“There are many things you do not know about me,” Keegan replied in a lofty tone.

Edric blinked, trying to clear the image of Keegan—nearly naked in the light of oil lamps, undulating, a puddle of fine silk at his feet—from his mind. It took a moment. “You will forever be a mystery to me,” he finally managed to say. “As enticing as my imaginings are, I think you possess enough seductive grace already, my lord.”

Keegan twisted around to give him a quick kiss. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“That
is
what I’m hoping,” Edric agreed with a grin.

They applauded as the show ended, and Lady Matilda stood to announce the feast. Keegan escorted her to her place, and then took his at the opposite end of the long banquet table. The nobles took on the serving duties, humbly decked in rough-woven aprons and caps, to the amusement of all the peasants and merchants. Sir Edric was not excused from this by his role as the Lord of Misrule’s consort; rather, he was made the temporary Lord’s personal servant, in place of the duke.

Keegan was kind enough to save Edric the spot beside him, though, and once the food had been brought to the table and all were seated, the feasting began. Edric tasted some of everything: roasted fish, fowl, and beast, as well as a rich stew of vegetables and barley. There were dishes with exotic spices from distant lands, as well as more ordinary fare for the less adventurous. Edric ate until he was groaning with discomfort, having worked up an appetite, and unable to resist sampling all of the strange foods. Keegan shook his head in amusement at his partner’s gluttony and stayed with the more familiar fowl, although it was clear he was getting tipsy from the mead and spiced wine.

As the adults began to settle back into their chairs, the men loosening their belts and women tugging to loosen their stays, Matilda finally granted the children permission to serve the sweets. A little boy carried around a tray of slices of moist gingerbread and honeyed fruitcake, helping himself to a bite for every adult who was offered one.

With many of the adults well on their way to intoxication, and the noise level rising as the children ran around the hall working off the sugar they’d just consumed, Matilda declared the feast completed. The crowd adjourned to the entertainment area, Edric collapsing into a sprawl, wishing he hadn’t eaten so much. Keegan poked him in the belly, eyes dancing with amusement, before he turned to the group.

“A cheer for my Lady Matilda and all the chefs,” he called, and the crowd shouted their approval. “Before the evening festivities begin, we’ll have the Little Mischief Maker’s Parade,” he said, nodding at the older children to round up the little ones. Keegan cemented his place as the cleverest Lord of Misrule ever by directing the “parade” to run circuits around the hall until the children’s energy was clearly spent. He nudged Edric, who made a few token sounds of protest, and then gave into his Lord’s demands to lead the children on one final stroll around the hall, pausing to bid farewell to the Lord and Lady of Misrule. The youngest, a boy, gave Keegan a small purple felt bear with a large
E
embroidered on its tummy, to Edric’s delight. “To keep you company at night,” the boy’s mother said, winking, as she collected her son and hastened him off to bed.

The children gone, Santiago’s Saucy Scoundrels and Strumpets began to gather on stage for the more adult portion of the entertainment, as the Duke made his way through the crowd filling goblets and mugs with potent wine. At Santiago’s cue, the players tumbled and danced around the hall, joking with the guests as they blustered their way through an improvised—and interactive—version of the supposedly virtuous Sir Galahad’s adventures.

“We may need to keep the part about the ‘virginal’ knight’s horse out of the minutes,” Duchess Alicia said, leaning over and fixing Keegan with an inebriated squint. “To protect his reputation. The horse’s, I mean.”

Edric turned away, laughing into his hand, while Keegan kept an admirably straight face.

“Ah, my lady, one hesitates to even speculate.…”

“I’m doing a lot more than speculating,” Edric snorted, and he and Keegan both dissolved into guffaws as the Duchess tried—and failed—to scowl reprovingly at them.

The play was concluded with a round of hearty laughter and enthusiastic applause. As midnight approached, the revelry became more informal, and the adults who remained settled around the hearth, talking in small groups. A few storytellers formed circles, and in a far corner, a minstrel with the lute played a quiet tune Edric couldn’t recognize.

He was listening to a giggling young woman sing “Blow Thy Horn, Hunter”, when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Fruit, my lord?” asked Keegan, holding out a clove-studded tangerine.

Edric took it, eyebrows raised. “Time for coupling already, is it?” Keegan nodded. “I would never say no to your sweet gifts,” Edric replied, standing. He took the fruit and carefully pulled out a clove with his teeth. Pulling Keegan up against the length of his body, he brought their lips together to pass the spice back into his beloved’s mouth with his tongue. Keegan broke the kiss long enough to spit out the clove, then re-mated his lips to Edric’s, their kisses wet and slow until they forgot to breathe, forgot their audience, forgot the game entirely.

“To your beds!” cried Duchess Alicia, laughing. “Is it not enough that we must listen to the sounds of your coupling, must we watch as well? Or shall I invite the marshals to haul you off to the stocks for indecency? You have been warned.”

Edric groaned, caught like a misbehaving boy. “My apologies, Your Excellency. We will respectfully make our farewells, having feasted and fought, and get on to the fornicating in privacy.”

Konrad raised a mug in toast to the “Three Barbarian Fs,” and everyone who heard the exchange laughed. Edric took the cloven fruit and passed it to Lady Alicia, who removed a clove with her fingers and presented her hand to be kissed. That done, she perused the men in the hall for a moment and set off toward the one who had caught her interest with a hungry glint in her eye. The cloven fruit was indeed one of the favored pastimes among the Barony of the Redwoods.

K
EEGAN
and Edric shed their clothes with due haste, fingers nimble as they helped each other out of buttons and laces as quickly as they could, and tumbled naked onto the bed in their hotel room. The two joined mouths parted only in grudging deference to the need for air, kisses hungry. The entire feast had been a tease, a celebration and culmination of their accomplishments. Of Taj’s especially, and the success of the event—the sight of Taj on a throne, at ease, commanding, accepting the fawning and flattery as his due—had been a powerful aphrodisiac for Dan. To say nothing of the mead. He was shaking with lust, ravenous for Taj, and his dick ached from what seemed like hours of foreplay.

Dan rolled them over so Taj was on top, arms and legs wrapped around his lover in an inescapable embrace. Taj seemed disinclined to object, if the way he moaned was any indication, sitting back to brace his hands on Dan’s chest, fingers pressing into firm muscle as he ground their erections together. They took a moment to each catch their breath, laughing a little at their shared impatience.