Chapter 11
Pip
Magical plumbing was so much better than Earth plumbing. The shower in Aeldryc’s room was even better than the one in mine, and after he’d fucked me two nights in a row, we’d taken to sleeping in his bed (also far superior).
He was insatiable for me, and I was going to enjoy that for as long as it lasted, especially after his comment about not being very sexually motivated.
And today I wanted to be extra clean, because after his third time fucking my hole, he’d asked me if he could lick me there, and I wanted to be able to say yes to that question.
Aeldryc was already out of the shower, because Aeldryc showered the way he did everything else: with the brisk efficiency of someone who had never indulged in anything just for the fun of it.
The clink of buckles echoed from the bedchamber as he dressed, heavy boots crossing the stone.
I stayed under the water for another ten minutes because I could and because the magical water pressure was insane.
I stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel.
Aeldryc was talking to someone in the sitting room.
They sounded funny, muffled by the castle walls, or…
I realized I’d taken my aetherwoven ring off to shower, and I searched around for the pretty little circle of wood, frantic for a moment that I’d lost it.
I found it by the soap and slipped it back on, smiling as his conversation went from lyrical but unintelligible hum to clear words that I could easily understand.
He was speaking to a palace footman about a message from the Queen.
He was walking back into the bedroom as I came out of the bathroom. In his dark leather Grey Guard armor, he looked like a recruitment poster for an army I would eagerly enlist in.
“You look good,” I said. The morning light was catching the angles of his face in a way that made me want to drop the towel and start the morning on my knees, with a mouth full of cock. Which, incidentally, was the reason both of us had needed a shower in the first place.
His eyes traveled from my face to the towel to my shoulders, and something shifted in his expression—a flicker of heat quickly contained, like a door cracked open and shut.
“I asked Ilyndra for a different aetherwoven object, one that’ll help you read. She says it may take some adjusting for your mind to catch up with the written word and…”
“How exactly does it work? The aetherweaving.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “It’s something only elves understand, drawing on the essence of life force and nature, or something.
She gave me a few things, since you may be in Qoksmere for a while, and she said you seemed like the sort who’d want options.
” He handed over a small velvet pouch. “Keep at least two on you at all times. I will not have you isolated by the inability to communicate.”
I blinked up at him. “Won’t I just be stuck in my room when you’re not around?”
“That’s a matter for the Queen to decide, but I have given her my recommendations.”
“Which are?”
“Your freedom. Which is why I want you to have the aetherwoven objects. Open.”
Smiling, I opened the soft pouch and took out the items. There was a bracelet made of fine silver chain, with carved wooden beads, and a beautiful pendant on a gold chain, a beaded anklet, and a leather and fabric cuff. “They’re so beautiful. Is this amber?”
Aeldryc nodded. “Elves can enchant anything that has organic origins, so amber, leather, silk. You must wear it against your skin to work, though eventually I don’t think you’ll need it at all. Now get dressed,” he said. “We have an audience with the Queen.”
“The Queen? Now?” I pouted. “I thought you were about to fuck me again.”
“Later. We need to be in her sitting room within the hour. Trousers.”
“Sir, yes sir.” I saluted. He swatted my ass as I passed, a sharp crack of palm on wet skin that echoed off the stone walls. I grinned, bending over the bed. “A proper spanking would help me focus.”
He growled, stepping forward to brace a hand on my back. He delivered two more hard smacks that sent a delicious sting through me. “Oh, fuck yes.”
He bit my ass, his voice a low command. “Get. Dressed.”
I shot him a triumphant look as I walked past, cupping the hard ridge in his trousers. “You won’t last.”
“Pip. The Queen.”
“Fine, fine,” I walked naked across the apartment, to my bedroom, and shuffled through the wardrobe, looking for something to wear.
My lips twitched as I reached for my newest pair of altered trousers. Yesterday, I’d asked if he had needle and thread, and he’d given me a small sewing kit. It was just the kind of kit you used for mending, but there was enough thread in there for me to take full advantage.
I’d gotten good with a needle back when it was the only thing that made foster care bearable, working with scraps from Goodwill bags and a needle stolen from Mrs. Patterson’s mending basket.
My hands knew this work better than anything.
It made me think of the sewing table in my apartment back in San Jose, with its new sewing machine and growing collection of yarn.
If I still had an apartment. I shook the thought off, not wanting to think about what would happen to all my things if my landlord had already evicted me.
Things were good here. I was getting fucked senseless by magical dick on the regular.
Smiling at the thought of making that magical dick hard, I tugged on my most recent creation. I had taken a pair of the full-length trousers from the wardrobe and re-hemmed them with a neat rolled hem and invisible stitching, into shorts that fit so perfectly I’d never give them up.
I spun and looked at my ass over my shoulder. The hem sat right where the curve of my ass started, which was the optimal shorts length for men who wanted to get their holes fucked with wild abandon. This was a scientific fact I had confirmed through years of empirical research.
I reached for one of the shirts, not caring which.
Men’s shirts kind of all looked the same in Qoksmere: they were all crafted from off-white blousy linen and meant to be worn under prettier things.
I hadn’t decided what I’d do to make the shirts more my style, but the lacing at the throat gave me some options.
I tucked it into the shorts, then pulled on a pretty purple waistcoat, and buttoned halfway, styling it to look nice with the shirt and shorts.
When I walked out, Aeldryc was in the corridor. His eyes went to the shorts. His jaw tightened.
“Those are not trousers.”
“They were trousers! I improved them. Look at this hem.” I turned and lifted the edge to show him the stitching. “You gave me the sewing kit!”
“I thought you needed to mend something.” Aeldryc’s hand twitched at his side as his eyes dropped to the bare skin I’d revealed. The iron bracket on the wall next to his head let out a soft hum.
“On our walk to breakfast the other day, I saw an ogre in a loincloth. This is no worse than that!”
“That was different. That was cultural attire?”
“So? Shorts are my culture!” I wasn’t sure why I was being so stubborn about the trousers.
Perhaps it was because of the way they made Aeldryc look at me.
Or maybe I didn’t want to completely lose who I was in all the pomp and circumstance of the palace.
I was a modern man with excellent fashion sense and a perfectly healthy and normal obsession with shorts. I mean, who didn’t like shorts?
“The Queen,” he said, his voice strained, “is expecting us. And those—”
A throat cleared behind us. We both turned to find a palace footman standing at the end of the corridor, resplendent in the Queen’s livery. He looked at my shorts and quickly shuttered his reaction.
“Commander, the Queen will receive you now.”
Aeldryc looked at me. Looked at the footman. Looked at the shorts. I could imagine the rapid cost-benefit analysis happening in his head, and he must have concluded that wrestling me into full-length trousers would take longer than the Queen’s patience would allow, because he gave a firm nod.
“Fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”