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aleathielOkay, I couldn't resist. Historical slash. Please ignore all errors (I have, for the sake of the story) and don't calculate age differences too carefully if you don't want to be squicked.
By the Grace of God...
NC17
Edward IV/Richard III (before either became king)
By the Grace of God…
“Why have we stopped?” Richard asked furiously as he stormed into his brother’s tent.
Edward looked up calmly, perfectly in control as he infuriatingly was whenever Richard was angry. “Because the men are tired, the horses are tired. We couldn’t continue. A few hours and we’ll march before dawn. Get some sleep.”
“But if we delay she’ll get to London first.”
“She can’t march her men continually either. They’ll have to stop. And I don’t want to kill the army on the way there. We’ll get to London first, Richard.” It was said with firm authority, but Richard knew his brother well enough to hear the desperation concealed beneath the collected exterior, to hear the unspoken We have to.
Anger bled from him as he watched Edward sit again and go back to reading his papers, gathering as much information as he could. “Aren’t you going to sleep?” Richard asked softly.
His brother sighed, looking suddenly far older than his eighteen years. “No,” he replied softly. “I can’t sleep. I can’t concentrate. It just preys constantly on my mind.”
There was no reply to that, and Richard sat beside his brother, reaching his arms around to cradle him. There was not so much difference in their height these days and Richard’s eyes were level with Edward’s ear as his brother refused to look at him.
“We’ll do it. You’ll do it,” Richard reassured, not sure when their positions had reversed. “We’ll get to London before Margaret and you can take the crown.” He’d meant the words to be soothing, but Edward stiffened in his arms and the enormity of what he was saying suddenly hit Richard: his brother would be king if they succeeded. And if they didn’t… his brain refused to go down that track. Since their father and the Nevilles’ open rebellion there had been no going back. The long years of the council pretending that Henry VI was still running the country were now over, disintegrating into lawlessness and disputes as it emerged quite how inadequate and childlike the king really was. Henry might still be king in name, but nobody believed he was running the country. Neutrality had been extinguished by Queen Margaret’s policies and now the country was in two armed camps, the nobility converging on London for the crown and control.
Their father, the Duke of York, had claimed the title King briefly before agreeing to be Protector for the child-heir as if Henry himself no longer lived. When the Queen moved against them there was no return to legitimate power. They took the throne, or they suffered the fate of treason. Richard knew their line had a claim to the throne, some said a stronger claim than the current ruling house since they were descended from a second son rather than a third, albeit through the female line.
All this he’s known, but until that moment the implications of their actions hadn’t really sunk in. He’d seen their father and brother cut down in battle, he’d seen Edward crush the enemy at the head of an army, he’d grown up surrounded by high politics and important nobility, but until he saw the exhaustion on Edward’s hesitant face, he’d not realised the toll it was taking.
“Edward,” he murmured, lifting his brother’s chin. “It’ll be fine in the end. You’re strong enough to rule and you have Warwick to aid you. Someone needs to take firm control of this country and put it back together. I believe you can do that Edward.”
He believed Edward could do anything. He’d grown up in his brother’s shadow, the small dark child, the silent fourth son, while Edward shone. Edward, the golden boy, the heir. Edward, with his blond hair and blue eyes, so different to Richard’s own dull brown like Edmund and George. He tried not to think about Edmund. It was not the time to grieve. Edmund and father would have wanted him to be strong for Edward, would have wanted him to give his brother resolution.
Edward’s hand searched blindly for Richard’s and gripped it so tight that it hurt. When Richard looked up their mouths collided with bruising force.
“I said never again,” Edward growled into Richard’s ear. “But please, once more. I need you tonight.”
Richard immediately moved over and lay back on the small bed. He had refrained from suggesting this because Edward had said never again and Richard would obey his brother’s wishes in anything. He had, of course, thought about it. And seeing Edward shuck off his shirt now, his chest bathed soft bronze from the lamplight Richard could feel himself harden in anticipation of his brother’s touch.
It was a sin, Richard knew, but when Edward kissed him again, lining his body up and unfastening Richard’s clothes, Richard wondered if the sin was only that it felt so good. How could God frown upon something to perfect?
Edward’s hands were rough against his cock, soldier’s hands, calloused from sword and bridle, and they were capable hands. Richard felt himself melt into the blanket, struggling ineffectually to grasp Edward’s cock in return. “No, let me,” Edward whispered before sliding down Richard’s pale body and licking the upright shaft of his erection. Richard’s hips bucked and he bit his fist to prevent himself crying out. Edward lavished attention on his brother’s cock, his hands dark against the white skin of Richard’s thighs and stomach as he stroked and tickled gently making Richard wriggle. One finger brushed Richard’s entrance almost accidentally and Richard squirmed, “Please…”
All of a sudden all Edward’s movements stopped and Richard grunted in frustration, hands grasping needily to pull his brother back.
Then Edward was stretched out beside him, not touching him except for the breath against his ear. “Would you like to take me?”
Richard’s cock jumped involuntarily at the words and he reacted instantly, rolling on top of his brother and kissing him, forcing his tongue into Edward’s mouth. Edward’s arms encircled him, fingers digging into the flesh of his hips as they ground urgently against each other. Edward parted his legs so that Richard could settle between them and Richard could feel the damp warmth of his brother’s anticipatory sweat resting against his groin. He moaned, bucking against the heat, revelling in the rub of his brother’s rough hair against his cock.
“I take it that’s yes,” Edward smiled, bending his knees so that his thighs gripped Richard’s sides. “Can you reach the oil?”
Richard reached frantically for the little bottle on the table, rapidly loosing control. The air was filled with the heady scent of leather as he pooled the oil in his hand, rubbing it over his fingers. He knocked over the bottle in his hurry to push his fingers inside Richard, but hardly spared a thought for the saddles in the morning, knowing they‘d get oil from someone else. Edward was writhing beneath him murmuring endearments and encouragements that Richard couldn’t quite make out. When he grazed Edward’s prostate his brother thrust upwards. “Hurry,” he gasped.
Richard reached for the nearly empty bottle on the floor to slick up his cock and as he did so he paused, the scent penetrating his lust and forcing him to think for a second. “Edward,” he said hoarsely. “If I do this you won’t be able to ride in the morning. We’ll be executed if you can’t ride quickly enough.”
“I’ll execute you myself if you don’t do this,” Edward growled in reply, and so with a swift forward movement Richard buried the head of his cock in his brother. Edward threw back his head and exhaled. Richard held still to allow him to relax, then thrust forward again. This time he got much further and his brother’s hips rose to meet him. As they settled into a rhythm, Richard could hear the little noises his brother was making again: his own name repeated in a panting whisper, a mantra for strength. Edward looked beautiful spread out beneath him and Richard felt tears on his cheeks, not from sorrow exactly, but loss. Tomorrow everything would change between them and Edward would be so much more than just his big brother.
As he climaxed, shuddering with the waves of pleasure and then collapsing sweatily against Edward, Richard gasped, “My king.”
He would never know if it was the words, or merely the feeling of his ejaculation that made Edward come at that moment, coating their stomachs with sticky fluid.
As they lay in the aftermath, unwilling to move, unable to sleep, Richard looked into his brother’s eyes and saw a fierce resolution begin to kindle, a determination which would carry him through the time ahead. And when, the next day, they rode through the gates of London, Edward had that same look in his eyes, the look of a king.
AN: Edward IV of England seized the throne in 1461 from the hands of Queen Margaret of Anjou who was ruling in the name of her husband, the incapable Henry VI. The two armies raced towards London in the hope of holding control. Margaret did arrive first, but London refused to open its gates to her and her men, waiting instead for Edward. After his death, Richard himself seized the throne and became the infamous Richard III of England.
I’d now propose that Edward was later in arriving because he had trouble riding, having been fucked into the mattress by his youngest brother the night before. It’s my historical argument and I’m sticking to it.
By the Grace of God...
NC17
Edward IV/Richard III (before either became king)
By the Grace of God…
“Why have we stopped?” Richard asked furiously as he stormed into his brother’s tent.
Edward looked up calmly, perfectly in control as he infuriatingly was whenever Richard was angry. “Because the men are tired, the horses are tired. We couldn’t continue. A few hours and we’ll march before dawn. Get some sleep.”
“But if we delay she’ll get to London first.”
“She can’t march her men continually either. They’ll have to stop. And I don’t want to kill the army on the way there. We’ll get to London first, Richard.” It was said with firm authority, but Richard knew his brother well enough to hear the desperation concealed beneath the collected exterior, to hear the unspoken We have to.
Anger bled from him as he watched Edward sit again and go back to reading his papers, gathering as much information as he could. “Aren’t you going to sleep?” Richard asked softly.
His brother sighed, looking suddenly far older than his eighteen years. “No,” he replied softly. “I can’t sleep. I can’t concentrate. It just preys constantly on my mind.”
There was no reply to that, and Richard sat beside his brother, reaching his arms around to cradle him. There was not so much difference in their height these days and Richard’s eyes were level with Edward’s ear as his brother refused to look at him.
“We’ll do it. You’ll do it,” Richard reassured, not sure when their positions had reversed. “We’ll get to London before Margaret and you can take the crown.” He’d meant the words to be soothing, but Edward stiffened in his arms and the enormity of what he was saying suddenly hit Richard: his brother would be king if they succeeded. And if they didn’t… his brain refused to go down that track. Since their father and the Nevilles’ open rebellion there had been no going back. The long years of the council pretending that Henry VI was still running the country were now over, disintegrating into lawlessness and disputes as it emerged quite how inadequate and childlike the king really was. Henry might still be king in name, but nobody believed he was running the country. Neutrality had been extinguished by Queen Margaret’s policies and now the country was in two armed camps, the nobility converging on London for the crown and control.
Their father, the Duke of York, had claimed the title King briefly before agreeing to be Protector for the child-heir as if Henry himself no longer lived. When the Queen moved against them there was no return to legitimate power. They took the throne, or they suffered the fate of treason. Richard knew their line had a claim to the throne, some said a stronger claim than the current ruling house since they were descended from a second son rather than a third, albeit through the female line.
All this he’s known, but until that moment the implications of their actions hadn’t really sunk in. He’d seen their father and brother cut down in battle, he’d seen Edward crush the enemy at the head of an army, he’d grown up surrounded by high politics and important nobility, but until he saw the exhaustion on Edward’s hesitant face, he’d not realised the toll it was taking.
“Edward,” he murmured, lifting his brother’s chin. “It’ll be fine in the end. You’re strong enough to rule and you have Warwick to aid you. Someone needs to take firm control of this country and put it back together. I believe you can do that Edward.”
He believed Edward could do anything. He’d grown up in his brother’s shadow, the small dark child, the silent fourth son, while Edward shone. Edward, the golden boy, the heir. Edward, with his blond hair and blue eyes, so different to Richard’s own dull brown like Edmund and George. He tried not to think about Edmund. It was not the time to grieve. Edmund and father would have wanted him to be strong for Edward, would have wanted him to give his brother resolution.
Edward’s hand searched blindly for Richard’s and gripped it so tight that it hurt. When Richard looked up their mouths collided with bruising force.
“I said never again,” Edward growled into Richard’s ear. “But please, once more. I need you tonight.”
Richard immediately moved over and lay back on the small bed. He had refrained from suggesting this because Edward had said never again and Richard would obey his brother’s wishes in anything. He had, of course, thought about it. And seeing Edward shuck off his shirt now, his chest bathed soft bronze from the lamplight Richard could feel himself harden in anticipation of his brother’s touch.
It was a sin, Richard knew, but when Edward kissed him again, lining his body up and unfastening Richard’s clothes, Richard wondered if the sin was only that it felt so good. How could God frown upon something to perfect?
Edward’s hands were rough against his cock, soldier’s hands, calloused from sword and bridle, and they were capable hands. Richard felt himself melt into the blanket, struggling ineffectually to grasp Edward’s cock in return. “No, let me,” Edward whispered before sliding down Richard’s pale body and licking the upright shaft of his erection. Richard’s hips bucked and he bit his fist to prevent himself crying out. Edward lavished attention on his brother’s cock, his hands dark against the white skin of Richard’s thighs and stomach as he stroked and tickled gently making Richard wriggle. One finger brushed Richard’s entrance almost accidentally and Richard squirmed, “Please…”
All of a sudden all Edward’s movements stopped and Richard grunted in frustration, hands grasping needily to pull his brother back.
Then Edward was stretched out beside him, not touching him except for the breath against his ear. “Would you like to take me?”
Richard’s cock jumped involuntarily at the words and he reacted instantly, rolling on top of his brother and kissing him, forcing his tongue into Edward’s mouth. Edward’s arms encircled him, fingers digging into the flesh of his hips as they ground urgently against each other. Edward parted his legs so that Richard could settle between them and Richard could feel the damp warmth of his brother’s anticipatory sweat resting against his groin. He moaned, bucking against the heat, revelling in the rub of his brother’s rough hair against his cock.
“I take it that’s yes,” Edward smiled, bending his knees so that his thighs gripped Richard’s sides. “Can you reach the oil?”
Richard reached frantically for the little bottle on the table, rapidly loosing control. The air was filled with the heady scent of leather as he pooled the oil in his hand, rubbing it over his fingers. He knocked over the bottle in his hurry to push his fingers inside Richard, but hardly spared a thought for the saddles in the morning, knowing they‘d get oil from someone else. Edward was writhing beneath him murmuring endearments and encouragements that Richard couldn’t quite make out. When he grazed Edward’s prostate his brother thrust upwards. “Hurry,” he gasped.
Richard reached for the nearly empty bottle on the floor to slick up his cock and as he did so he paused, the scent penetrating his lust and forcing him to think for a second. “Edward,” he said hoarsely. “If I do this you won’t be able to ride in the morning. We’ll be executed if you can’t ride quickly enough.”
“I’ll execute you myself if you don’t do this,” Edward growled in reply, and so with a swift forward movement Richard buried the head of his cock in his brother. Edward threw back his head and exhaled. Richard held still to allow him to relax, then thrust forward again. This time he got much further and his brother’s hips rose to meet him. As they settled into a rhythm, Richard could hear the little noises his brother was making again: his own name repeated in a panting whisper, a mantra for strength. Edward looked beautiful spread out beneath him and Richard felt tears on his cheeks, not from sorrow exactly, but loss. Tomorrow everything would change between them and Edward would be so much more than just his big brother.
As he climaxed, shuddering with the waves of pleasure and then collapsing sweatily against Edward, Richard gasped, “My king.”
He would never know if it was the words, or merely the feeling of his ejaculation that made Edward come at that moment, coating their stomachs with sticky fluid.
As they lay in the aftermath, unwilling to move, unable to sleep, Richard looked into his brother’s eyes and saw a fierce resolution begin to kindle, a determination which would carry him through the time ahead. And when, the next day, they rode through the gates of London, Edward had that same look in his eyes, the look of a king.
AN: Edward IV of England seized the throne in 1461 from the hands of Queen Margaret of Anjou who was ruling in the name of her husband, the incapable Henry VI. The two armies raced towards London in the hope of holding control. Margaret did arrive first, but London refused to open its gates to her and her men, waiting instead for Edward. After his death, Richard himself seized the throne and became the infamous Richard III of England.
I’d now propose that Edward was later in arriving because he had trouble riding, having been fucked into the mattress by his youngest brother the night before. It’s my historical argument and I’m sticking to it.
