Also, while I am posting this -- I have not yet read much of this story because I am saving for when it is all done and I can devour it all in one giant glorious feast, but if you are reading this story then presumably you do not mind serials/WIPs! So you should also go read The Devilstone Registry, a fabulous Wild West-steampunk AU by xbeyondxinsanex, up to chapter 11 of 12. \o/
Steampunk!AU (1300 words in this part)
Adam/Kris, adult, explicit
In which it's good to be the king, and Lord Cowell is not easily embarrassed.
* Steampunk!AU part one
* Steampunk!AU part two
The king stepped in closer, and Kris stared up at him, feeling a little weird and dizzy. Maybe the wine hadn't been the most awesome idea after all. "Kristopher?" the king said.
"Yeah?" Kris said. His eyes really were—amazing. And his mouth was kind of—
"In case no one mentioned it," the king said, "I'm your sovereign. And I'm not to be refused."
"Oh?" Kris said, a little vaguely, because look, it was distracting, and then the king had cupped Kris's face in his hands and was leaning in, and Kris said, "Oh—" and then he was being kissed, sweet and deep and hard.
The king—"Call me Adam," he murmured in Kris's ear—was barely stopping long enough between kisses to let Kris catch his breath.
"Adam?" Kris said, his voice rising. "You want me to call you—" He stopped, because the king had gotten the doublet-lacings undone in about five seconds instead of the half-hour it had taken to do them up in the first place, and his hands were sliding onto Kris's back. They were cool against his stifled skin after all the layers of wool and velvet: palms soft and unhardened, the fingers smooth except for the sorcery calluses on the pads of his ring fingers, and his thigh pressed between Kris's legs as they went tumbling backwards into the huge, soft, velvet-curtained bed.
"Well, I don't want to be called Your Majesty in bed," the king said, laying soft hot kisses along Kris's neck.
"Okay, I can see that would be," Kris said, and choked off as the king's mouth slid onto his collarbone and a hard, wracking shiver went down his back and legs. He clenched a hand into the king's hair, thick and soft, wool and furs under him, velvet overhead, dazed. He'd fumbled around with friends before once or twice, out on the moors, long cold nights guarding the borders or watching the sheep, but this was not the same. He had a brief crazy vision of being rolled up with—Adam—in a heap of uncombed sheepskins and coarse blankets, bits of twigs in his hair and rocks under them, and started laughing, breathless.
"I don't believe you're taking this seriously enough," Adam said.
"I don't believe this is happening," Kris said, but then Adam rolled his hips in a long and grandiose swell against him. "—I could be convinced, though," Kris added, strangled.
"Good," Adam said, kissing his mouth again. "I'll work on that."
His hand was on the lacings of Kris's breeches now, picking open the ties easily, and Kris had a moment: this really was happening, and he wasn't the kind who'd ever wanted to roll into bed with a stranger—he'd always thought it would be nice to wait until—
He caught Adam's hand, halfway down the placket, and blurted out, "I've never actually—"
Adam stared down at him, wide-eyed, incredulous, and then he said, "Is there something wrong with the people where you live?"
"There aren't a lot of us?" Kris said, rolling his eyes. "And a lot of the ones I'm not related to are sheep."
Adam laughed and bent down and bit at Kris's nipple, exposed in the crumpled silk wreck of his doublet. Kris gasped and arched up into his mouth. "So was that a plea for me to stop and preserve your virtue?" Adam said, and licked his tongue over it.
"Uh," Kris said, groaning a little, wavering. "It—I—"
"Because I could," Adam said, and shifted his weight so Kris could feel his cock, hot against his thigh through the breeches and hose. There was a lot of it. Adam nipped at his ear. "Any time you like." The heel of his hand pressed, gently but firm, between Kris's legs; Kris couldn't help rocking into it, and screw it, this was nice too; this was better than nice, holy fuck.
"No," Kris said, strangled, "no, that's okay, just mentioning—"
"Are you sure? Because I wouldn't want to despoil anyone unwilling," Adam added, rubbing his hand back and forth, a long stroke.
"Just shut up and despoil me already!" Kris said, and he hooked a leg around Adam's hip and rolled them over, Adam breaking out into delighted laughter under him.
Kris woke up slow and luxuriously, the heavy bed curtains cutting the light to a watery trickle. Adam was stirring beside him, stretching out, and he rolled up onto his side and looked down at Kris heavy-lidded and pleased. And hey, as long as Kris had lost his virtue anyway—
So he was leaning in to kiss Adam again when there were voices outside the door, and people started to come into the room. Not servants, either, but lords—Lord Cowell and Lord Fuller both, and several other barons. Kris flattened himself into the covers as much as he could, and glared at Adam, who didn't seem at all bothered by an army of nobles wandering into his bedchamber with the dawn.
Adam grinned back at him, a little wolfish, and leaned in to whisper, "What, you didn't know about the levee?"
"Your Majesty," Kris said—"Adam," the king said, still grinning—"Your Majesty," Kris said, pointedly, "I don't know if anyone's ever told you this, but you're a jerk."
The king threw back his head and laughed, wholeheartedly, and then he kissed Kris hard and fast once more and said, "I'm not at all! I won't even make you get out of bed," before he threw back the covers on his side and stepped down out of the curtains stark naked, to let his waiting valet throw a dressing gown over him.
Kris gave serious thought to taking him up on that offer, but after Adam had gotten out, a manservant came around to his side with another robe, and it seemed pointless to hide. Kris wouldn't be seeing any of these people ever again soon as he went back home. Hell, Simon would probably even be happy, since apparently this had been his idea from the start.
Besides, there was a huge slab of pork belly stewed in wine coming into the room, at the head of a dozen dishes, and Kris was starving the second he got a whiff of it. The lords were all busy talking politics, too, and ignoring him, which meant Kris actually got a plate of hot food before any of them did. He made a point of catching Adam's eye from where he stood in a small knot of men as his servants put on his robes, and licking his fingers exaggeratedly.
That didn't work all that well, though, because instead of looking annoyed, Adam narrowed his eyes in that smoky, turned-on way that had meant something amazing was about to happen, and apparently one night was all it had taken for Kris to take that information to heart. Or to other parts of his anatomy. Kris edged over around the corner of the table.
Simon did actually come over, after he'd talked to the king. "You do realize you aren't meant to eat until the king begins?" he said, looking disapprovingly at the plate.
"Lord Cowell," Kris said, "you're going to have to bear with me if I don't really give a damn about your advice anymore."
Cowell snorted. "Yes, go on, I'm perfectly willing to hear you try and convince me you have complaints about your evening."
He looked Kris up and down the dressing gown. Kris glared at him. "I don't have complaints about the night. I've got plenty about you trying to score points against Lord Fuller off our problems and lying to me about it. Not to mention what else you were trying to score points off. Isn't it kind of beneath your dignity to play procurer?"
"Kristopher," Cowell said, utterly unembarrassed, far as Kris could tell, "you're going to have to shed that naivete very quickly. No one at court will ever do anything without at least one selfish motive."
Kris rolled his eyes. "Then it's lucky for me I'm not staying long."
Cowell raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
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