Prisoner (52 page)

Dieter bent and took his mouth again, leaving Beraht's mouth sore and throbbing before he sank teeth into Beraht's throat, his shoulder. Beraht groaned at the rough treatment and jerked one hand free to grab Dieter's thick hair and yank hard enough that Dieter grunted. He tried to pull his other hand free, but Dieter held fast. Shifting enough to get leverage, Beraht landed an awkward kick.

Laughing, Dieter freed Beraht's second hand and wrapped his own around Beraht's cock. "Stars!" Beraht swore, moving into the rough strokes, trying not to think too hard that it was Dieter, not quite certain he believed the entire situation was real.

He raked his nails down Dieter's chest, liking the lines of red they left in their wake. Dieter bent to take his mouth again, and Beraht shifted his hold to sink his nails into Dieter's shoulders hard enough to leave bruises, keep him close.

The heat of Dieter's body was finer than even the hottest fire, the weight of him familiar and yet not. Beraht swore as Dieter abruptly moved away, and he glared, starting to say something taunting—then forgot what he was going to say as Dieter pulled a small vial from beneath his pillow. "Here I thought the only thing you ever did in your bed was sleep and beat me," he finally said.

Dieter laughed as he coated his fingers with gleaming oil. Beraht stared at him a moment, unable not to, then sat up to turn around—and snarled in annoyance when Dieter lunged, grabbed him, and pinned him on his back once more. "Are you beating me or fucking me?" he demanded, focusing on the annoyance, ignoring the disconcerting realization that Dieter wanted to see him while they fucked.

"Would you know the difference between the two, given how much you appear to enjoy beatings?"

Beraht sneered. "If I cannot tell the difference between your beating me and your fucking me, that is a failing on your part. Are they too busy teaching Krians how to fight that—" He swore as Dieter kissed him and pushed one finger inside him and bit down hard enough on Dieter's lip to draw blood.

Dieter grunted, but did not break the kiss. It reminded Beraht briefly of the Coliseum again, the blood and the desperation. But the passion was new. Different. He moaned into Dieter's mouth as one finger became two then quickly became three.

He was not in the least surprised to learn that Dieter was as good at fucking as he was at everything else. Beraht spread his legs wider as Dieter lined up his cock and pushed inside, fingers biting into Beraht's hip. Once completely inside, Dieter stopped. Beraht fisted a hand in his hair and pulled it again, hard enough that Dieter actually moved.

Smirking, Dieter braced himself and began to fuck Beraht as thoroughly as he had ever beaten him. It had never occurred to Beraht that he would ever be in such a position with the Scarlet Wolf. If the thought ever had crossed his mind, he would have forsaken any chance at the stars and killed himself to avoid going further into madness.

He dragged Dieter down, wrapped his arms around Dieter's sweaty torso,  and raked his nails down his back hard enough to leave marks that would match those on his chest. The hungry kiss Dieter took reopened the just-closed cut in his lip, and at some point Beraht thought his own lip might have split.

When they came, he was not certain who came first, only that they called each other's names.  He was aware of very little afterwards until Dieter's weight finally became impossible to ignore. "You're heavy," he groused. "Get off me."

Dieter made a noise that could have been a grunt or a laugh and bit his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark that would linger before finally rolling off. Silence fell, and Beraht was not inclined to break it. The entire situation still seemed too strange for anything but silence.

Except… it was familiar too. They had shared a bed from the very beginning, when Beraht had thought of nothing except how badly he wished he were able to reach out and slit Dieter's throat in the dark.  For the first time, he was content simply to be there.

Across the room, the fire had gone down a bit, strengthening the dark. It also strengthened the chill, and Beraht turned toward Dieter, too tired to bother fighting with the blankets they had tangled in their haste. Sore and sated, he gave into the exhaustion that swept over him and almost immediately fell asleep in his Wolf's arms.

"Dieter!" Esta halted in the doorway to his office, hair and clothes a mess, no doubt from running about the palace on yet another chase. "Have you seen Benji?"

"No, Majesty," Dieter replied, looking up briefly from his paperwork. Cursing, Esta called a thank you as she vanished to search elsewhere. Dieter reached beneath his desk and yanked, eyeing the gleeful smile on Benji's face. "You are driving your mother mad, prince."

"But her lessons are boring," Benji protested. "I want swords, not forks."

Thinking of his own etiquette lessons, drilled into him at length by his father and a tutor who had brought in at significant expense, all to prepare him for being utterly perfect for the Kaiser… Dieter could only sympathize. "Did you bring your sword, child of the devious Spring Prince?"

Benji laughed, amused as always by, what were to him, Dieter's strange expressions. He squirmed free of Dieter's hold and dropped down to crawl back under the desk, emerging a second later with a well-made wooden sword, the perfect weight and size for training a young child.

Dieter recognized natural talent when he saw it, and while he hoped Benji did not spend his life at war, he was not above training the boy when he should have been learning his forks. "Your mother will worry until she finds you."

"Daddy knows," Benji said. "He'll stop mommy."

Shaking his head, almost feeling sorry for Esta that her son was all too much like his father, Dieter motioned for Benji to take up position in the center of the room, then began to drill him through the beginner lessons. He didn't think it would be much longer before they moved on to more advanced lessons. Avoiding his mother was already teaching Benji more than any lesson could about stealth and knowing one's enemy.

Dieter laughed softly.

A sharp rap at the door interrupted them, but neither budged from their spot. When the door opened a moment later, Benji abandoned his sword and bolted to the man who stepped. "Uncle Beraht! Can we go riding later?"

Beraht rolled his eyes. "If your mother doesn't lock you in your room for running away from your lessons
again."
He shot a glare at Dieter. "You don't help."

Dieter shrugged. "It is not my fault the woman thinks a seven year old would sit still for etiquette lessons. She should stop the lessons until he is old enough to threaten or blackmail."

"What's blackmail?" Benji asked.

"Nothing," Beraht replied, shooting Dieter another look.

Laughing, Dieter returned to where he'd been leaning against his desk. "Benji, go through all the forms again."

"Yes, General!" Benji said cheerfully, snapping a salute before obeying. His forms were nearly perfect, and Benji immediately made every correction Dieter called out.

Another rap at the door interrupted them a second time, and this time Benji bolted to cling to Dieter, sword clutched tight. "I'm not done yet!" he protested even before the intruder could enter.

"Benji," Matthias said with a fond smile, "your mother is on the warpath. I promise I will talk her into allowing regular sword lessons for you. Until then, please come learn your forks before she teaches knives to all of us."

Dieter and Beraht laughed. "Go," Dieter said firmly.

Grumbling, face dejected, Benji left. Matthias waved and followed him out, and Dieter could just hear him bribing Benji with a visit to Sol and Iah to go fishing in their pond in a few days.

"You shouldn't be encouraging his bad behavior," Beraht said, leaning against the door and folding his arms across his chest.

Dieter shrugged. "Dining etiquette does not require training movements and reactions into the body from a young age. The prince should know how to fight."

"This isn't Kria," Beraht said, but the words were automatic, the easy bickering familiar, normal.

"No, if this were Kria, he would have started at three," Dieter said and levered himself off the desk and stalked across the room, looming over Beraht, who unfolded his arms to brace his hands on Dieter's shoulders. "You're back early."

"The problem had resolved itself by the time I got there," Beraht said. "I had only to authorize a few things and then I was left with nothing to do. I would have been back sooner, but I stopped off to see Sol and Iah. They're doing well and are much busier than I. Why did I get the boring title?" He tilted his head up just a bit more in silent demand.

Dieter gave in, lowering his head to claim Beraht's mouth, the taste of his lover still more intoxicating than any wine could ever be. "You certainly whine as expertly as any noble I've ever met," he said when at last they broke apart.

Beraht kicked him. "Your office is remarkably empty."

"I was tired of the racket," Dieter replied, sliding one hand over Beraht's hip and along his back, tracing the dips and rises of his spine before letting go long enough to lock the door against which Beraht was still braced. He tucked the key away in his jacket before finally returning his full attention to Beraht. "I sent them off to train at the Regenbogen." He smirked briefly as he thought about the fortress that had been reclaimed by Illussor only a year ago.

Beraht rolled his eyes. "You're as smug as any general I've ever met."

Chuckling, Dieter once more covered Beraht's mouth with his own, growling low as knowing fingers landed on the back of his neck and a hand began to open his clothes, even as his own hands were intent upon removing Beraht's. He broke the kiss to taste elsewhere, as stunned now as he had been years ago that this bright Salharan was his to kiss and touch and claim.

"How long do we have until his highness interrupts again?" Beraht asked, the question turning in to a long moan.

"Even his highness hasn't yet figured out how to pick a lock," Dieter said, greedily attacking Beraht's throat, displeased that their three days apart had given his marks time to fade. Fingers tightened in his hair, Beraht shivering in his arms. "As I have the only key, you are my prisoner here until I decide you may leave."

Even as he spoke, he felt fingers wrap around the key in his jacket. He looked up, glaring. Beraht smirked and tapped his cheek with the key. "Who's the prisoner?"

Rolling his eyes, Dieter did not deign to respond, merely attacked Beraht with another hungry kiss as the key fell to the floor.

Megan grew up a military brat and traveled extensively with her family. She is now firmly settled in Ohio, with two roommates and their four cats. She has always been book obsessed, and writing obsessed since she first gave it a whirl in college. Romance and fantasy are her primary obsessions, but she’s game to write just about anything and enjoys a challenge. She is a sucker for stories of enemies becoming lovers. When not writing, Megan is drinking too much coffee, reading still more books, and harassing family and friends, or otherwise doing whatever possible to avoid editing.

She loves to hear from her readers and can be found on her website and livejournal:

http://www.maderr.com

http://maderr.livejournal.com