Chapter 20
The guest quarters in Mirn's east wing are more luxurious than anything Ivah has experienced in months of campaign life, but the fine furnishings and elegant tapestries do little to ease the restless energy that has kept him pacing since the servants departed.
He's bathed away the grime of travel and battle, changed into clean clothes provided by his hosts, and shared a meal that spoke to the prosperity and hospitality of Bellamy's kingdom.
But through it all, his thoughts have remained focused on the impossible reality of where he finds himself: alive, safe, and somehow welcomed—however tentatively—into the heart of what was once enemy territory.
The political implications of the day's revelations continue to unfold in his mind like a complex battle plan, each possibility spawning a dozen others in an endless chain of consequences and contingencies.
Tomorrow will bring difficult conversations, delicate negotiations, and decisions that could reshape the future of both their kingdoms. The resistance they'll face, the challenges of building trust between peoples who have spent generations as enemies, the simple practical difficulties of maintaining any kind of relationship across such vast political divides—all of it enough to overwhelm even the most optimistic strategist.
But underneath the tactical concerns runs a deeper current of wonder and hope that he hardly dares acknowledge.
For the first time since this impossible love affair began, they're not hiding.
Not sneaking around borders or meeting in secret, not pretending their feelings don't exist or apologizing for what they've found in each other.
A soft knock at his door interrupts his brooding, and his heart leaps with sudden, irrational hope even as his rational mind reminds him that it could be anyone—servants with additional provisions, guards with questions about his men, even Queen Amelli herself seeking a private conversation about the future.
But when he opens the door, it's Bellamy standing in the corridor, and the sight of him makes Ivah's breath catch in his throat.
Bellamy wears nothing but a robe, deep blue and embroidered in gold to match the rest of the castle's finery.
The belt has been untied, and the open front reveals an enticing stretch of pale skin that nearly glows in the candlelight.
One of his bare feet rests atop the other, and he toes at the top of his foot while he waits there, watching Ivah watch him.
"Your Highness," Ivah greets. He makes no attempt to hide his desire for what's being offered.
"I wasn't sure—" Bellamy starts, then hesitates.
Ivah doesn't hesitate. He reaches out with both hands, framing the prince's face with the careful reverence of someone touching something precious beyond price.
The kiss that follows is everything Ivah has needed since they parted in the throne room—desperate relief, overwhelming gratitude, and the simple miracle of being able to hold the person he loves without fear of discovery or separation.
Bellamy melts into his embrace, his hands fisting in Ivah's shirt, pulling him closer as if he could somehow merge their very souls through the intensity of contact.
When they break apart, both breathing hard, Ivah draws him into the room and closes the door behind them with movements that suggest barely controlled restraint.
He could reach out for him then, throw him down on the bed to make worthwhile use of its silken covers and plush pillows—something better than sleeping.
But there's a gleam in Bellamy's eye that bewitches him, and so he stands looming over the smaller man, breathing in his clean scent and learning the lines of his face as if for the first time.
He doesn't look away even when Bellamy reaches for his arm, and he feels delicate fingers begin to unbuckle his bracer.
One leather strap is undone, followed quickly by the second, and then the metal cuff comes away in Bellamy's hand.
It's set on a nearby table, and shortly after that the other is removed with just as much care as the first. All the while Ivah watches closely as Bellamy remains attentive to every detail, his green eyes tracking the path of his own fingers as they caress the worn leather guards strapped to Ivah's elbows.
Piece by piece he slowly removes the remaining armor until there's nothing left but Ivah's pants and boots.
A small, warm hand comes to rest between his shoulders, firm but soothing, as if reminding him that someone else is there.
It's soon joined by another, and then Bellamy's palms are sliding over him as he moves from one side of Ivah's body to the other, mapping the deep scars and hills of muscle on his back, side, and finally his chest.
They stand facing one another, and this time it's his eyes Bellamy holds with his steady gaze throughout the ministrations of his fingers.
He pulls roughly at the leather ties of Ivah's pants, trying to wrench the knots apart.
His mouth is set in a firm, determined line that dares a response when they refuse to give, and Ivah bites back on a smile.
Eventually they come undone and Bellamy hesitates for only a few seconds before he slowly lowers himself to his knees, his fingers curling around the top and taking the worn leather with him inch by inch as he goes.
When the stiff length of Ivah's cock comes free he hears Bellamy's breath catch and feels the slight tremor that shakes his hands.
Bellamy remains on his knees while Ivah steps back out of his boots.
His trousers are banished to whatever dark corner his armor has gone.
Two rows of dark lashes hide the prince’s eyes from view as he studies the thick shaft standing before him, and it takes every ounce of Ivah's will not to take him by the back of the skull and hurry him along.
Instead he waits, his nerves burning with need.
Eventually he feels soft lips brush first the tip, followed by the tentative lick of the young man's hot, wet tongue.
With each touch Bellamy grows bolder; he opens his mouth wide and takes some of Ivah's length, holding it steady with a gentle hand wrapped around the base.
He strokes it slowly while he makes an admirable attempt to fit more into his mouth, but even determined as he is it seems too much for him.
When he moans his frustration the sound vibrates through his throat, and Ivah growls at the shock of sensation that lights through him.
His hands are fisted at his sides, every instinct to take control held back lest he risk harming his beloved.
It isn't long before Bellamy, clever as he is, finds a different way to achieve his desire.
Soon his lips and tongue are making their way down the underside of Ivah's cock, leaving wet trails as he nips and licks from tip to base.
He sucks at the tender flesh and makes obscene sounds between each slow lap of his tongue.
The light stroking continues throughout, and beneath the robe that hangs about his shoulders Ivah can see Bellamy's other hand working furiously between his own legs.
"Does it arouse you," Ivah asks, "to know that I speared you on that cock and claimed you as mine, and yet you can barely fit your hand around it?"
Bellamy whines high in his throat and sits up on his knees, getting closer and tightening his grip. The hand beneath his robe moves and stills in turns, and it's clear he's fighting to keep from coming in his own hand.
The sight of the young prince struggling to maintain control breaks something in Ivah.
He pulls Bellamy to his feet and moves him toward the bed, and Bellamy goes without a fight, falling face first on the mattress with the tail of his blue robe bunched at his waist. He lies on his stomach with his backside bare, his eyes gone dark and glassy as he looks back over his shoulder.
Ivah kneels behind him, bending the bed beneath his weight as he takes Bellamy's hips with one hand and grabs a bottle of oil from the table.
Ivah presses it into Bellamy’s hand and leans down to whisper hotly in his ear. “Open yourself for me.”
Easing himself back on the mattress, Bellamy spreads his legs, and Ivah greedily takes in the sight of the prince lying open and wanting before him, his smooth chest rising and falling rapidly as he fails to hide his anticipation.
The bottle comes unstoppered and Bellamy tilts some of the contents into his hand.
Then he bends himself at the waist to take Ivah's length and rub the surprisingly warm oil onto his skin, spreading it over every inch until it drips down the base of his shaft and onto the sheets, no doubt ruining them.
Bellamy groans and bites his lip, and then he upends the bottle once more before letting himself fall back onto the bed again.
Slowly, almost nervously, he reaches down between his own legs.
It's a sight that seizes Ivah's breath in his chest.
Bellamy stares hard at the ceiling as he teases himself first, spreading the oil and leaving a mess of slick smeared across his skin.
He makes a choked sound and slips first one finger inside, and then another.
Ivah is utterly transfixed. He watches Bellamy fit three fingers into himself and listens to each quiet huff as he fights to keep control through his self-inflicted torment.
Bellamy gasps, "Ivah, please. Gods, please fuck me–"
It stirs something dark and demanding within Ivah, and he finds that he likes it; without warning he takes the vial and dumps more of the oil over Bellamy's fingers.
He growls and takes Bellamy's backside, lifting him until his cock slots against the well-slicked hole. Bellamy's arms fall to the bed and he braces himself, fingers twisted into the sheets.