Chapter 8 Perrin #2
“You need this.” Perrin kept his gaze locked on Hal’s face, refused to look away even as heat flooded his cheeks. “Let me help you. That’s my job, isn’t it? To make sure you’re ready for tomorrow.”
Maybe in part it was true. Yes, preparing Hal was his job.
But this act was about Perrin claiming something for himself, about inserting himself into the space the Nameless Knight had occupied.
He would prove, even if only to himself, that he could give Hal what that aristocratic bastard had only pretended to offer.
Hal stared down at him. Then, finally, he exhaled, a long breath that seemed to carry some of the tension out with it.
His hand came up, fingers threading through Perrin’s dark hair.
The grip was gentle at first, almost tentative, as if he was giving Perrin one last chance to pull away.
Perrin didn’t. Then Hal’s fingers tightened in a possessive grip, and his other hand came to rest against Perrin’s jaw.
Hal slipped his thumb into Perrin’s mouth, pressed against his tongue. Perrin closed his lips around it, and Hal nodded down at him. Very slowly, he slid the slick digit out and gazed down at Perrin with heavy eyes.
“You’re sure?” Hal murmured.
Perrin felt his mind tilt toward that blissful place; sometimes, surrendering to Hal made him feel close to the heavens. He knew, tonight, his knight would take him there. “I’m sure. Let me take care of you.”
The words were barely out before Hal’s hand fisted in his hair, yanking Perrin’s head forward.
Perrin’s breath caught, shooting surprise and arousal through him in equal measure.
Hal’s other hand worked at the laces of his half-undone breeches with shaking fingers, and Perrin realised with a jolt that his knight was nervous.
Perrin reached up, covered Hal’s fumbling hands with his own.
“Let me,” he murmured, and set to work on the laces with the same efficiency he brought to armour maintenance.
The breeches parted, and Hal’s cock sprang free—still half-hard from whatever the Nameless Knight had started, thick and flushed and leaking.
Perrin’s mouth watered. He’d never done this in the light before, the pair of them always having moved in the dark to preserve some pretence of their dynamic. But now, seeing Hal’s body in truth, seeing the way it twitched and how Hal looked down at him, Perrin knew he wanted this.
He leaned forward, pressed his lips to the base of Hal’s cock, and felt the knight’s entire body go rigid above him.
Hal let out a soft moan. Perrin took his time, taking Hal’s cock in his right hand and angling it away.
That gave him a deeper range, and he leaned in to lick over Hal’s balls.
The knight jolted, but he made no sound yet.
Perrin felt determined to earn a real noise out of Ser Halden this time, and so, he teased Hal’s poor, edged cock: slowly licking up the underside, tonguing the prominent vein, and then dragging his tongue over the slit.
Then Hal whimpered, this high, beautiful sound that made Perrin moan in turn.
What power he had suddenly, at that moment, was more than he’d ever possessed in his life.
Then he opened his mouth and sucked at the reddened head, sucked until saliva coated his mouth.
He pooled it over Hal’s cock and slicked it over the length with his hands, and as Hal whispered above him—a breathy chorus of yes, yes—Perrin began to slide down Hal’s length inch by careful inch.
He went until the head bumped the back of his throat, and he had to suppress a gag.
But Hal moaned at the choked sound, and those strong hands came down to press Perrin in place.
Perrin had no choice but to adjust his body and open up his throat, even as his jaw ached and his eyes watered.
But he was a good squire, wasn’t he? All he wanted was to please his knight.
Perrin knew Hal liked him to stay low, to sink all the way down, to move steadily. And as Perrin moved, Hal’s hand tightened in his hair, and the sound he made—low and broken and utterly desperate—told Perrin he was doing something right.
He pulled back, sucked at the head, tasted salt and musk and something uniquely Hal.
His tongue explored the ridge, the sensitive spot just beneath, and Hal’s hips jerked forward involuntarily.
Gagging again, Perrin steadied himself with hands on Hal’s thighs, feeling the muscles bunch and flex beneath his palms.
“Fuck,” Hal gasped. His other hand came down to cup Perrin’s jaw.
“Good–boy,” he grunted, heavy-lidded eyes drinking Perrin in.
That freely given praise made Perrin moan.
His eyebrows crashed together, heat rushing to his groin, and he went limp with it—praise was all he ever wanted, all he ever needed.
He’d endure it all to be Hal’s good boy.
Perrin, own groin ignored, spread his legs involuntarily as he sank lower on Hal’s cock.
He found a rhythm, shallow thrusts that let him breathe between, and focused on the sounds Hal was making.
Each gasp and groan were a revelation, proof that Perrin was affecting him, that he had power here despite being on his knees.
Soon, Hal’s breathing went ragged. He gripped Perrin’s head and moved him like he was nothing, thrusting deeper and deeper into Perrin’s mouth until thick saliva was pooling at the corners of his lips.
Perrin grunted and moaned, letting his eyes roll back as he succumbed to Hal’s force.
He was a vessel for Hal’s pleasure, and it felt right, it felt good.
Ser Hal’s hips moved with increasing urgency, and Perrin let him, opened his throat and took it, felt tears streaming down his face from the effort, but refused to pull away.
He wanted this. Wanted to give Hal release.
Wanted to taste him, to swallow him down, to be the one who put that shattered look on his face.
“Perrin,” Hal warned, his voice strangled. “I’m going to—if you don’t want—”
But Perrin just looked up at him, maintaining eye contact even as Hal fucked deeper into his mouth, and that was apparently all the answer needed. Hal’s grip turned almost painful, his body going rigid, and then he was coming with a choked-off shout, head thrown back to the heavens.
Warmth spluttered into Perrin’s mouth. He moaned and swallowed convulsively as Hal’s cock pulsed on his tongue, each spasm matched by the knight’s harsh breathing above him. When it finally subsided, Perrin pulled off carefully and sat back on his shins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Hal stood above him, chest heaving, his face flushed, and eyes glazed. His touch was light against Perrin’s cheek. For a moment, they just looked at each other—knight and squire, master and shadow, two men seeking pleasure in the dead of night.
Then Hal’s knees buckled, and he sank down beside Perrin. His hand came up to cup the back of Perrin’s neck, pulling him close until their foreheads touched. His breath ghosted across Perrin’s lips, still ragged but slower now, coming back under control.
“Thank you,” Hal whispered, and in them Perrin heard something beyond simple gratitude.
He closed his eyes and drooped against Hal’s strong body, let himself feel the warmth of his knight pressed against him, the gentle pressure of fingers on his neck, and the intimacy of shared breath.
His own pleasure was not something he even cared about in that moment.
This embrace was the greatest gift his knight could have given him.
Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, Hal would face the Nameless Knight, and Perrin would watch from the side lines, and perhaps nothing would change between them in the long run.
But tonight, Perrin had given Hal what he needed. And he had proven, at least to himself, that he mattered beyond the function he served.
“You’re welcome, Ser Halden,” Perrin whispered, and wished his knight would kiss him.
Ser Halden did not. But that was alright.
This embrace would have to be enough.