28A/N: The brighter of those amongst you may have noticed that I have renamed this 'Battle at Pavia'. I felt it had a greater relation to the actual story than the more generic title 'When I hold You'. (This was also once its original name).
Chapter Eight
Francis
I slowly wake up, my head pounding and my cock tingling in a way that I know can't be good even before I open my eyes. For some reason my wrists are sore, and I feel strangely cold. The hairs over my body stand up in an oddly foreboding way.
What the hell happened?
Cracking open my scummy eyes, I'm assaulted by the bright sunlight of morning. Swearing, I try shift and shield my eyes only to find that I can't. Something jerks at my wrists as I try to pull my arms around to my face to rub it, and I slide on something silky against my skin.
It's only once the glare has faded that reality starts to come back to me. Shit. We lost. Yesterday, on the field… We had lost the battle against Charles' troops and I had been captured. I was taken to Charles tent… He… and… his hand…That...that...that bastard!
Fuuuucccckkkk. Did that really happen?
Squirming, I thrash around on the bed of silk I'm lying on, but can't appear to get anywhere. Damn! I need to escape! That horny little sadist might return!
Then when nothing happens and I continue to struggle fruitlessly, I open my eyes properly and take in my surroundings, gradually comprehending the situation I'm in.
I'm lying on a mountain of cushy pillows, all satin and silk, my arms stretched out above me with a rope tying me to a post in the tent. Sunlight streams in from the open flap of the tent, and I can see guards standing outside. Charles isn't here. I'm stark fucking naked. And my penis hurts like hell. Damn.
Gulping, I look down at my naked body, stretched out for all to see, and at the throbbing pain between my thighs. Twitching in shock, I stare at the sight that greets me.
My cock, quivering and bobbing happily in a bizarrely comic fashion, is trussed up in a cheerful red ribbon, the pressure and tight knot around my base keeping me erect and swollen against my will. On the head of my cock, first wrapping tightly around it's base, a perky red bow has been tied...
I blink at it. Fuck! That little bastard.
I flail around on the ridiculous pile of cushions, wriggling against the hold on my arms, only to topple and create a mini-avalanche as the pillows give way, wrenching my arms further above my head. Footsteps sound outside the tent and I panic.
Fuck! No-one can see me like this!
Charles
He's managed to twist the rope tying him to the post in my tent around and around his arms, his face flushed an angry shade of red as he struggles to break free and when I come in his eyes bug wide in fear and his legs snap up to his chest in an attempt to hide his beautifully ornamented cock. His ball sack bulges between his thighs deliciously, but I still frown in disappointment.
Does he not like his present? I had thought it looked nice… He should at least be grateful I didn't give him a butt plug. Maybe next time. He could do with some stretching.
Even if he didn't like it, it was a fair exchange for me letting him off last night. I had practically wept as, after trussing my beloved up, I'd had to go out of the tent and surreptitiously relieve myself on the ground with only my small hands to comfort me. I had been forced to watch my wasted seed spill onto the dry ground sadly. It would have been so much nicer emptying it into his warm, greedy channel.
But more of that later.
I skip over to Francis, snorting at his look of terror as he tugs on the rope binding his arms. "Good morning, my love!" I greet him cheerfully.
"Don't look at me!" He shouts, flustered. The dear. I can only surmise that he's so flustered because he's dazzled by my blinding magnificence. I am one of the most eligable bachelors in Europe. Handsome, too. Gloriously so, some might say.
I smile at him and delicately step closer, smirking as Francis hunches his body over tighter. I put my hands on his knees and force his legs apart, revealing his hidden succulence.
His cock is hard and quivering, swelling and an angry shade of red. Delicious. Francis moans in a manner akin to both despair and desire, and I try not to harden at the sound. Instead, I tut.
"We should really do something about this…" I pause and wait for the inevitable cry of anger as Francis responds to my words, and laugh delightedly when it does.
"No! Don't, I'll-"
"We'll just..." Ignoring his protests, I reach down and without preamble tug at the knot in the bow that releases the constraining, constricting ribbon, and with gasp my little darling bursts out all over my hand and his stomach, staining them a sticky, viscous white. "Oh dear," I murmur, "You've made a mess of yourself again..." I grin a sly grin at my baby.
Francis pants against the cushions, and smirking I push his legs wider, bending my head to lick him all up.
"No..." He protests weakly, hopelessness in his eyes. I lick the semen-covered tip of his flaccid member and he groans, arching up feebly despite the exhaustion of his body, but I've no cause to continue. As long as he knows that he's completely under my control, and that there's no escape, then all will be fine.
I might push him, but I would never break Francis.
Licking my lips free of the last of his come, I bend and press my hand to Francis' hard, broad chest, capturing his soft lips in my own. When my tongue delves into his mouth he reluctantly relents and gives himself up to me, opening his jaw and allowing me to deepen the kiss.
For a moment everything is nearly perfect as I hungrily devour his mouth and he pants wantonly beneath me. I even allow myself a self-satisfied smile. Then the sound of hooves beating the ground interrupts us and I know immediately that if it hadn't been smooth sailing up until now, then it definitely wasn't going to be smooth sailing onwards of this point.
The negotiation parties of the war had arrived, and our time alone together was now over. If I wanted more, if I wanted to keep Francis, then I was going to have to fight for him. But this time I wouldn't be fighting for him in a battle, it would be over a table, in the twisted game of politics.
I press one last kiss to my tired lover's lips. He looks up at me unhappily, and I smile as I stroke a wayward strand of sweaty hair off his forehead.
Now the real battle begins.
...
A/N: Okay, I am really unhappy with this chapter, even if it is longer than the others (I used too many words trying to convey what I wanted). For me it doesn't fit in with the tone of the rest of the story and something just seemed to fall flat! But I really wanted to get another chapter out there because it's been so long!
Cheers for the reviews so far you guys (you are much loved!)!
Music I am currently listening to: Passenger.