At this ball on a spring’s night, there was a man in attendance from whom Judge Magister Ghis could not tear his eyes. His hair, platinum blond, sat combed in several opposing directions so as to not disturb the pattern years beneath a helmet had fixed into it. There was a feathery quality to the locks, particularly the ones which swept over his ears and blended with the unshaven chops along his cheeks. They dusted his face with a softness to offset his harsh facial features. His brow and nose gave an impression like a bird of prey. Even his lips, which Ghis had always thought looked oddly supple in comparison to the rest of him, bore a notch in the top sharper than he’d seen on anyone else.
His frame was strikingly slender in comparison to his armored silhouette, yet by that token it was dense with muscle. He had come with it clad in tight-fitted trousers and a tailcoat of rich slate velveteen over ruffled shirting of blue silk. For its strength and the softness of its covering, that chest dared to have one’s head laid upon it, but Ghis knew the man had no interest in courtship. If he somehow found himself dancing, any partner who moved upon him so tenderly would be pulled back by the scruff and thrown across the ballroom.
Judge Magister Bergan was the most handsome man in attendance and Ghis could not begin to fathom why. Not one to have a favored subject of his scorn rise so brilliantly for all to see, he tried to fashion remarks in his head which could cut the man down.
To whomever your tailor is, I simply must offer my commendations. ‘Tis no small feat, to render a beast fit to walk amongst gentlemen. To do so with cloth alone? I can scarcely believe my eyes.
Ghis went to pay his greetings to Zargabaath. The ball was his sister-in-law’s idea of celebrating her daughter's graduation. The conclusion of her studies meant she had lost her excuse to avoid prospecting for a marriage.
“As always, Ghis, you have my thanks for coming. Clemence will be glad to see you.”
“I’ve yet to see her or her mother. I take it they quarrel in her bedroom as we speak?”
“Nay, they're over by the south wing entrance. Ah— Further to your right.”
“Ah! I see,” Ghis chirped seeing them only about five meters away from the subject of his greater concern. “I must admit, Bergan’s presence has been siphoning away my attention. I wasn't expecting to see him at all.”
“Well, I gave him an invitation—”
“As always.” Ghis chased his interruption with a sip of wine before he further mocked Zargabaath. His tendency to invite his every fellow Judge Magister to every event he could was worth light mockery, but perhaps not on a night when it had been so successful. Drace passed on his invitations more than half the time, but she was there tonight, along with the much more elusive Bergan. Only Gabranth was missing, but that couldn’t be counted against Zargabaath. He always was.
“— and I explained the situation with Clemence,” Zargabaath continued serenely, “that I thought he should come. Perhaps with the musically inclined members of his house, too, that she might have more company with an actual interest in celebrating her accomplishments.”
Ghis thought he had seen more heads with that flaxen shade than usual. It gave him some reassurance to know that he wasn't seeing aspects of Bergan everywhere out of madness.
I suppose it helps that your mane has been combed. How many barbers did it take to restrain you?
“You’ve always taken the time to raise her spirits on nights like this, Ghis, for which she and I both are very grateful, but I fear…”
“Her mother has pulled out all the stops to see her married off.” Again, Ghis interrupted without entirely meaning to. It was a nervous reflex of his to keep the conversation quick, especially with Zargabaath’s generously measured pace of speaking. He was desperate to hide that he stared at Bergan, this time at his trousers, where there seemed to be a bulge along the crease of thigh and hip— and if it was no deception of Ghis's eyes, it was certainly no fault of the tailor. In the pause, he feared Zargabaath had looked to him and traced his gaze.
“Aye. She has mustered an army of bachelors from the broader gentry, as you see before you.”
Ghis forced his eyes up again, and was struck with Bergan’s. He twitched his head upwards at Ghis, furrowed his brows, and gave only the slightest flash of a sneer before he turned back to the circle of guests about him— boisterous and interchangeable young men who no doubt idolized Bergan for his cruel mastery of battle alone.
“I pray Bergan keeps their attention. Clemence should have a far easier night for that.”
He looked to Zargabaath, who smiled in agreement, having no more to say on the matter. Ghis swiftly took the chance to excuse himself and look desperately for a sommelier to hail. The wine flowed too slowly for Ghis’s need; he would have to get his own bottle to survive the night. Quickly so, for the moment Bergan saw he was alone, he would—
"Judge Ghis! Ah, ever have you flaunted your superior manners over me, and yet tonight I catch you staring.”
Not immediately did Ghis turn around. He tried first to search the crowd again, but as he was facing a very near end of the room, there was little crowd to be searched while avoiding the menace behind him.
“Without having offered me a greeting, I should add. I must be grateful you favor such ridiculous styles of hair and dress; for that fact alone may I be sure no ill-bred imposter stands before me.”
Ghis met his eyes and stood firm. "Tis only now hearing you speak that I may likewise be certain. Good evening to you, Bergan.” He pursed his lips, and, awaiting Bergan's response, took a deep breath. The moment his nose was met with a scent like air after lightning, he forgot his every intention to jab at the man before him. Still met with only a cutting stare from Bergan, Ghis conceded in something nearing a whimper, “I've never seen you look so ravishing."
"What was that?" Bergan stepped closer, lips twitching at the corners. Ghis was given a sharper impression of that scent: herbs muddled in gin and the spray of the ocean. He envisioned an anvil cloud eclipsing the afternoon sun and saw it before him wearing a blue cravat and a sneer.
"—Gods above, Bergan, even complimenting your attire with a fragrance?” A pitiful effort that was; Ghis's throat was tight and he sounded mousy.
Bergan bared his teeth gleefully. "You forget I am a man of status equaling yours, Ghis."
"N-never,” Ghis stuttered. In fact, I am shocked that you remember, for once— the quip sat in his mind, yet feeling his tongue falter at a single word, he knew he was impotent to wield any more.
Bergan clapped a hand onto Ghis's shoulder. "How about you start over?”
Though Ghis knew Bergan feigned mercy, he felt some strength come to him from his touch. He repeated his concession with a steadier voice. "You look ravishing tonight, Bergan. Truly. I am at a loss for words."
“Very good.” He turned and laughed. “His Honor, Judge Ghis, at a loss for words! A rare night this is.”
At this proclamation to no one in particular, Ghis shrank and smoldered. “The dances will start soon. I promised I’d be about to help Clemence evade her suitors…”
It took the uninitiated Bergan a moment to piece the matter together before he chided, “You mean to go dancing with Zargabaath's niece— are you so embarrassed to be seen with me? Do I put your precious looks to shame?”
“Really, Bergan, you should know that she and Zargabaath both treat me like her godsfather at this point. I’ve a duty of care, and surely you can see the sons of Archades circling about tonight for how foul they are, if not outright then at least for her.”
“You will stay right here, Ghis. Clemence is a smart girl; she will pick out the handful of boys she can tolerate before she needs to call for you to come to her rescue.”
“Well, I— I've no wish to keep you from everyone, either! Weren't you speaking to…” Ghis trailed off, having paid no mind to the faces he’d seen Bergan with. Drace had been one earlier, but now she spoke to Clemence, and that was a heart-to-heart that needed to play out for the young woman's sake. “You hardly ever show your face at these events; there are no doubt many who would speak with you.”
Bergan guffawed. “You know I care not for idle pleasantries.”
"You've surprised me twice already,” Ghis retorted. “Might as well go for a third.”
“Sooner would I take your wretched face in hand and kiss you; how is that for a third?” Bergan lowered his voice to a purr. “You would like that very much, wouldn't you?”
"Let us steal away if you are so tired of the company surrounding us.”
Ghis thought he had made a graceful dodge, neither confirming nor denying how much indeed he would like that. Yet, with a quiet severity that stoked a fire between Ghis's legs, Bergan insisted, “I want to kiss you.”
“Not in front of everyone!” Ghis pleaded, quietly for he could barely speak from his chest, but forcefully, with a hiss like steam from a break in a pipe. He gasped— something inside of him was breaking. He could not hold much longer. “Oh, I feel faint.”
“Some fresh air, then.” Bergan turned sharply, a hand on Ghis's shoulder. “Come with me.”
On the way out, he heard the loud thoup of a bottle’s uncorking. He saw a glass being poured at the edge of the crowd ahead of him. When Bergan passed, Ghis stepped out of line just long enough to exchange his own empty glass for the bottle— without a word to the bewildered sommelier.
Ghis took a few steps from the door and leaned against the courtyard wall. The cool air of the evening was a mercy to his burning face. With a few lungfuls of it, his chest calmed enough that heart palpitations were (from above the waist, at least) his sole concern. They would calm as well, if Bergan permitted. Indeed, he stood quiet for the moment.
Ghis felt that his hair was still in place, then wondered why he did— why wouldn't it be?— and sighed. He contemplated the wine he’d snatched; had Bergan kept his distance and threatened Ghis only as an uninvited subject of fantasy, it would have worked wonders. The situation now, uncertain as it was in terms of good or bad, was such that taking his wine at any pace above sipping cordially could only make it worse.
"What you said before, Ghis," Bergan ventured softly from behind him. “Ravishing. You truly think of me so?”
“Why would I— How, even! How could I have lied?" Ghis spoke without turning, for he dared not know what expression Bergan wore. Something distinctly coprophagiac was typical of him and not worth beholding itself, but there was nothing typical about his tone. Ghis knew not how trepidation could be expressed on Bergan's face but that it would be with great pain.
"As I stared at you from afar, I was arming myself to insult you all night— the nerve you had to come dressed so well on a whim— but the moment you locked your eye to mine, the moment I drew breath before you…” Ghis found the will to turn, though he could not yet bear to read Bergan for his heart. He only took another breath of the perfumed air between them. “Look at me now and tell me I was lying, to have called you ravishing. Tell me I stand unaffected by your presentation tonight.”
Bergan did not, and Ghis opened his eyes. Bergan had his fists balled in front of his hips and his brows furrowed. His lips were parted and they trembled, betraying the severity of his entire countenace for the fluttering flame it sheltered.
Ghis was most content to keep this observation to himself, where it made his chest swell. He reached for Bergan's wrist and made another plea. “You are no fool, Bergan. You would be the liar to claim I am unmoved. You have bewitched me, truly, truly.”
“You astonish me with your candor, Ghis,” Bergan chuckled, his ease renewed by Ghis’s display. “This must be very difficult for you. Let us find you somewhere to sit before you collapse.”
With the mouth of the wine bottle, Ghis pointed to an oak tree across the courtyard. “There.”
“To sit, Ghis, not to climb.”
“There's a bench.” You would know this if you humored more of Zargabaath's invitations.
“Ah, but you'll not make it that far.”
“Well, carry me, if you are so concerned!”
Bergan grumbled, though his lips were still pressed into a giddy smile. “You may have my arm.”
It was not offered to Ghis in any gentlemanly manner; instead, it was set across his back. Ghis returned the gesture, his left arm crossing to hold Bergan's shoulder for support— like the wounded comrade I am, he supposed. To his shock, Bergan lifted him off his feet and up over his shoulder, cackling.
Ghis sighed. There was little for it but to hold tight and admire the fine sculpture and suiting of his body. He was tickled to think of how few were graced with this elusive angle of Bergan’s lower back. Amongst those few, he was surely the only one capable of appreciating it.
Eventually, he was lowered and carefully rolled from velvet shoulder to wrought-iron bench. Bergan sat beside him, taking the wine bottle Ghis forgot he was clutching. He took a swig and set it aside, and Ghis had his attention once again. Bergan took his hands.
“I must apologize for ever doubting your partiality to the ways of nobility in getting what one wants. Never did I expect to find them so effective.”
“…Oh, Bergan…” How long have you fancied this, exactly?
Bergan combed his fingers up into Ghis's hair. “Does your heart ache to know that I have outmatched you so handily at your own game?”
“I can hardly think of this as a defeat. Such lengths you went to have me— why, I’m flattered. Proud of you, even.”
He could have stolen a kiss, but he waited. The fine tailoring, the spice he wore, the want that glimmered from the depths of his sunken eyes — All thrilled Ghis beyond expectation, and yet another delight from Bergan awaited. He needed only to wait another moment and ask instead of take.
“Will you kiss me, Bergan?”
It was not difficult to hold himself back that much more— Bergan clearly liked Ghis to plead with him. His grasp on Ghis's head tightened, but he set his lips gently and moved slowly.
Ghis sighed at their parting. “Bergan…”
“I trust that did not offend your delicate sensibilities?” Bergan flashed a wicked grin and dragged him in for another tantalizing kiss. Ghis put his hands on Bergan's shoulders and tried to keep him longer.
“Again— please— allow me, this time.”
At this request, Bergan lowered his hands and set them instead on Ghis's hips. Ghis laced his fingers through Bergan's hair from behind his ears and drew himself in for his taste. He started delicately, like Bergan had, but soon pressed harder and with a slackened jaw hoped to invite Bergan's tongue.
Ghis took in a gasp when Bergan’s hand slipped under the waistband of his trousers. He rushed to unfasten the fly himself before Bergan could tear anything, and then he moved his hands. He would have his lover’s trousers undone just as swiftly, and he would give Bergan something worth playing with in the meantime.
Ghis remembered seeing Bergan's cock in the showers before. It was pierced with rings and bars numbering such that Ghis dared not glance again; at first, he simply knew he would bristle at the pain he felt in his own loins just looking at it, though he kept recalling the image of it in his head. In wondering why Bergan would do such a thing, he concluded that the fear and awe it provoked was something the man relished. That was not to be indulged, he decided, nor was it to be judged; Ghis knew that far more had been asked of Bergan to prove his manhood than he could ever understand.
Bergan's cock sprang out, fully erect. Ghis remembered it being thick and had been reaffirmed that night by its imprint beneath such snug trousers. Yet, he had been ignorant to its exact size; he found now that he could barely close his hand around it. “Gods take me,” swore Ghis with his scarce breath, and at that a laugh rumbled out of Bergan.
“They’re welcome to try.”
Ghis was picked up again as if Bergan could sense he was about to swoon— and swoon he did, casting his arms around Bergan’s neck as he was carried like a bride. Ghis was rested against the crook of the tree and kissed at last with the heat and greedy tongueing and sounds of furious affection which he expected of Bergan. His cock ached for more touch, and he had the promise of it in the grinding of hips between them.
“Lean back. Hold fast to that branch, or I’ll have no choice but to fuck you into the dirt.”
Much as you’d love that, no doubt. Ghis obeyed, rolling his head back to offer new flesh for his lover’s tasting. Lips and tongue met his neck— teeth, too; the first nip Bergan took made Ghis cry out sharply and squeeze his legs tighter around Bergan's waist. The second was slower. He took a greater measure of neck between his teeth and sought to hold it, and had they not been tied to one another Ghis would fear that Bergan would begin a death roll. Ghis felt Bergan's lips close and his teeth relent while his fingers dug to find more skin beneath his collar. He sought to spare Ghis the humiliation of leaving a mark visible to all— such commendable discretion— and so Ghis shifted his weight, freeing his other hand to unfasten his collar. A pleased growl and a stronger bite rewarded him. As he moaned back, he once again held Bergan’s head and marveled at the feel of his hair.
Knowing his dishevelment would please Bergan, Ghis deprived him of it no longer. He let his hand move without thinking. A spat unbuttoned, a shoe pulled off— with this, he had his right leg bare but for a sheer stocking and a portion of his protective linens. As he pulled Ghis's ankle to rest on his shoulder, Bergan scoffed at the combination garment for he could not simply pull it off with the trousers. The thought of defending his preference for its sort was fleeting in Ghis’s mind.
“Tear it open,” he instructed.
“You spoil me.” Bergan kept his eyes fixed to Ghis with a wild grin as he snapped off a button and started to tear from the resulting hole. Ghis closed his eyes. He took in the crisp night air and Bergan's electrifying perfume, and he listened to each rip of linen as if it were a crack of thunder. Against that tree, he was stricken. Upon him was Bergan, a force of nature. Having ever spent his life in aristocratic comfort, Ghis had never before felt eager to submit himself to the elements. No storm had ever approached him so handsomely.
Ghis begged to be kissed again, and so kisses rained upon his neck while a cool, slicked finger pushed into him, unseen. He yelped so loudly that Bergan hushed him for the first time that night. He took to kissing Bergan's neck in turn while he was worked open and to combing through his silken hair.
He cracked his eyes open to watch Bergan take a generous pour of oil in a hand that disappeared as it went to slather his cock. He tucked the flask into his breast pocket, and then he shifted Ghis's position, folding his legs and dipping his hips lower until his hole was in line.
Ghis clutched at the bark under his fingers as Bergan pushed into him. He could not spare his hand any longer and flung it back for purchase. He cast his head back, too, and strained not to cry out— but Bergan stopped then, and Ghis had not felt even one of the barbells on the underside of Bergan’s shaft entering him. Panting, he looked back to his lover’s face. Bergan peered down at him serenely. His chest heaved, too, but steadily, and Ghis endeavored to breathe in time. He felt the hands beneath him meandering and massaging. Bergan brought one around to knead his chest and stroke his chin with the pad of his thumb. When he returned it to Ghis’s back, he dragged his left hand up that bare leg, held tight at the knee, leaned his weight forward by a few degrees, and fucked the rest of his way into Ghis. It was a matter of four hard thrusts.
Then, Bergan paused for Ghis to quit his strained whimpering. Again, Ghis fought to breathe any more calmly than a man drowning. Again, he looked to Bergan; Bergan looked down to his cock, rampant and throbbing for it had been neglected. Ghis watched him smirk and reach down to milk it for precome. He worked with slow fascination, thumb caressing the head and sending Ghis further back into his helplessness. He pulled his own cock out slowly, just past the third set, and rammed back in.
So, it began in earnest, with Ghis bent back and trembling. His body was a toy for Bergan, and his fresh-tapped spring of lust for the mad bird of a man was all that kept his soul from abandoning it. He was played with relish nearing cruelty but for his ecstatic cries; by those alone would Bergan know the unchecked thrust of his hips and frenetic jerk of his hand were desperately wanted. Ghis couldn’t manage words, but he managed the name of his lover. Bergan, oh, Bergan— so perfect for the man that Ghis briefly suspected divine ordinance. No— his name was a matter Bergan took in his own hand as skillfully as he took his great flesh-rending blades, or as he took Ghis’s spilling cock. Ghis arched and rolled his head. Tears flowed across the bridge of his nose, along the creases beneath his eye, and down towards his ear. They were to be taken up with kisses once Bergan reined the instinctive roll of his hips in enough to stop.
“You’re not done with me, are you?” Ghis set a challenge on his breath in the stillness. His body had and would ache terribly, but, for the moment, he was awash in bliss.
Bergan was still down to the hilt inside Ghis, and though he started to move again, he did not withdraw any meaningful amount of himself. When Ghis realized there was no heat coming from Bergan's cock, he pieced together where and how Bergan felt his pleasure— somewhere at the base of that rod, and by grinding it, for he had not the flesh to penetrate with. Ghis fought back a sigh. Instead, he pulled his leg back from Bergan's shoulder and set it once again around his waist, and he reached to pull Bergan’s chest down against his.
Again, Bergan’s teeth were at his throat, but they climbed, wanton, up to his ear, while Bergan snarled into him and bucked his hips. He did not thrust; rather, he sought friction along a different axis. His movement was like that of a stuck saw, not least of all in his desperation for release.
“I’ll not let go of you, Bergan, not until you have come for me,” Ghis murmured.
Bergan moaned into his ear and held tighter.
“Or…” For there was a great pang in his heart at the thought of parting, Ghis put his hand on Bergan’s crown one final time and mused, “Mayhap I’ll not let go of you ever.”
A gasp broke out of Bergan, hot against Ghis's neck, and then a hitch of his voice as he fell breathless over the edge and out of Ghis.
Voice enough to groan slowly returned to Bergan. Ghis felt him rubbing up against his taint, spending the last of what he had out on the roots beneath them. He could not tell how much of the splattering he heard was from what had been spilled inside him; he only held fast to Bergan until it was over.
An afterthought struck Ghis which Bergan seemed to share: he could not let go for fear that his legs would crumple beneath him.
“Up with you, then,” Bergan said, and he boosted Ghis up by his rear to sit in the crook of the oak. Bergan joined him shortly, offering the bottle of wine. Ghis took a sip, and he found a burl to shelve it on so that he was free to wrap his arms around Bergan. With that soft velveteen coat, his chest was as inviting a rest as Ghis had imagined. His fingers played across Bergan's other shoulder and he found his voice to ask, “Was I good, Bergan?”
“Wouldn't you like to know."
"A delight beyond what you can possibly express, then. I shall take that to heart."
Bergan snorted. "I would have you again, someday soon."
"And I will give myself gladly,” Ghis promised, hand over Bergan’s heart.
Save for his wayward footwear, Ghis had put his clothes back in place. Bergan had yet to fasten his trousers. What lamplight reached them amidst the leaves glinted off every drop of metal. Ghis reached a curious hand to stroke his cock, which was as hard and unfeeling as it had always been. It was made of a smooth rubbery material and riveted to his natural flesh. When he had beheld it before, it had hung flaccid— a different tool from his kit. That Bergan had worn this one tonight was yet another damning exhibit of premeditation.
“Your piercings, Bergan,” Ghis ventured. “I had always assumed they were strictly ornamental.”
“Did you not know?”
“Of course I knew. But, you had surgery for your chest, and so I assumed… as above, so below.”
Bergan squeezed Ghis's hand. “‘Twas offered to me, but I declined. Too long a recovery period for my liking— all to be indistinguishable from ordinary men.”
“What you have instead suits you very well.”
“Do you like it?”
"Do I like it? Bergan, it's been all of ten minutes since you had me nailed to this tree with it, surely your memory does not fail you so.” He put a hand on Bergan’s cheek and continued to tease him. “Come, now, I know you can use your head.”
“I fear I must have you say it plain for me.”
“You'll have to take me to bed and grace me with a proper look before I make any definitive statements on the matter.”
Whether aware of it or not, when Bergan closed his eyes in affectionate resignation, he let Ghis marvel at the glimmer of lamplight on his lashes.
“Just wait before you go dredging the halls, I saw them go this way.” A sharp and familiar voice carried from the other end of the courtyard.
“Is that Drace?”
Before Ghis could offer to go to meet her, Bergan was aground with his trousers fastened once again. So, in the tree, he sighed and waited.
"Bergan, there you are. What have you done with Ghis?"
“It's terrible, Drace— He's got himself stuck in a tree.” Mockery curled his voice, and Ghis only shook his head.
“A tree.”
“That one. He’s already so deep in his cups that he’s gone chasing the simple joys of his long bygone youth. I'm shocked he didn't fall.”
Ghis scoffed and reached for the bottle again. Might as well keep up with his story. Hearing little over the slosh of wine and other sounds involved in drinking, Ghis did not notice that the footsteps had stopped, but he heard Drace’s exasperated sigh. “Pass that down here,” she ordered, and Ghis obeyed.
Bergan continued joking. “Shall we call for a fireman?”
“I believe you put him up to this. You will help him down.”
He grumbled, but picked up the discarded shoe to hold up for Ghis. “Here you are, princess.”
Ghis let out a groan; not so much for the jest itself, but that he imagined an adoring Bergan holding his leg and rubbing his cheek along it as he slipped the shoe over his foot. Would that Drace had given them time and privacy for another round. Would that Ghis himself could handle any further excitement. Would that Bergan could deign to lavish him so— and maybe he could, but that was yet for Ghis to learn.
Drace had turned her back, but she still cast an undignified silhouette in tilting back her head to finish off the bottle. Sharing a snicker, Ghis jumped down with Bergan’s help to ease the drop. For a moment, Bergan's arms lingered about him. A hand cupped his rear and squeezed.
“Clean yourselves up; I'll tell Zargabaath to call off the manhunt. Ghis, I am told you owe the lady Clemence a dance. Bergan…” She turned towards them and lowered her voice. “Not that it makes any difference for now, but next time, try to wait until you’ve both retired for the night. Excuse yourselves and find an empty room, at the very least.”
Ghis and Bergan both froze to look at each other and then at Drace, wide-eyed for her veiled yet precise accusation. Drace, however, only scoffed and smiled as she turned her head aside.
“Tsk, don’t look at me like that— who am I to tell?”