Work Text:
It’s been a long day for Hubert—though he only set out six and a half hours ago to his best estimate, absence has made time a dreary prospect to him as of late. He finds himself increasingly at odds with his loyalty to matters of state, and the amount of attention he would like to dedicate to his beloved. For all their devotion to the same empire, Ferdinand requires a type of constant attention that Hubert at first found difficult to juggle with his unfaltering sense of duty.
Yes, Hubert’s work does require that he spend far too much time away from Ferdinand, whose temperament predisposes him to unfortunate stresses and distractions. But after a few mishaps on the road to a more mature relationship, Hubert is convinced his solution has put them both at ease. And now he’s taken appropriate actions, Hubert knows with certainty that Ferdinand longs for his return, eager to feel Hubert’s hands on him again, to have his only love release him from the loneliness that so often plagues him. The very loneliness that has hurt them both, though no more—and this reassurance blesses Hubert’s pace with the speed of urgency as he cuts through secret passages in the palace walls, as impatient as his lover to feel warmth once more in their shared bed, to exchange a needed, breathless reminder that they belong together. Perhaps in the past Hubert would have doubted this, felt a shiver of apprehension before each of their agreed rendez-vous over tea...
But now he’s calmed by a chorus of metal banging on metal, the certain weight of locks steadying his hands as he tackles the last obstacle standing between him and his Ferdinand. Excitement boils out of each and every one of Hubert’s pores, drenches his gloves in a sweat no longer uncomfortable, no…Rather than the apprehension of old, it’s a thrilling excitement that thrums through Hubert’s veins, knowing the inevitability of what’s to come. That, and a little exertion perhaps, given that he has to use his entire body weight to shove open the solid dungeon door. The security mechanism he installed stresses the door’s hinges enough that it scrapes a painful cry of reinforced iron on stone tile, heaves a deep creaking sigh in time with Hubert’s when it finally swings inwards. The locks even jingle a happy chime in welcome, aided by the thud of the heavy door finding place against the wall.
Anything, Hubert reminds himself, to cement their relationship.
Anything to keep Ferdinand happy. To keep him from harm.
Once inside, Hubert first takes in the candle wax staining the walls, a dashing trail of red dripping from the holders. It matches that of Ferdinand’s cheeks, flushed and pretty from how he’s splayed out on the bed, baring himself. More so than the dying light, it’s Ferdinand’s gentle, pleading moans that are the true tell of how long it’s been since Hubert last set foot in here.
Already shaking with anticipation, Hubert keeps his back to the inside of the room while he focuses on the complex magic needed to reverse the lock mechanism and shield the door from view, invisible to any nosy passersby.
“Patience, my love, I’ll be with you—,” Hubert huffs out, breathing strained between words as he drags the dreadful door back to close it, “—in a moment.”
Yet the moans don’t stop once he gets to work, and soon enough the distraction has Hubert fumbling a sigil on a lock. A loud clang resounds across the room when Hubert drops it, the incomplete spell causing it to emanate a searing heat so strong that it quickly eats at his gloves, a familiar smell of acrid burnt flesh filling the room.
“Ferdinand, please!” Hubert snaps. He rolls his shoulders in an ugly crack, takes some deep breaths while he waits for the heat from the device to disperse.
“You know I have to concentrate on this. Or must I remind you what it feels like to touch these locks when they are not prepared?”
Ferdinand stills. Good. A quick look at his hands to check the treated leather isn’t damaged enough to reach his hands, and Hubert is back at work. He doesn’t feel the heat, but can’t afford to not notice a burn and have it blister. Unlike Ferdinand, who still has some scars to show for his stubbornness after their first few visits to this particular dungeon. For all his wonderful traits, listening is not always Ferdinand’s forte, so when the sounds from the bed finally die down Hubert feels a tender pride bloom in his chest.
“There we go,” Hubert whispers as the final lock falls into place, the spell completed to ensure it heats up on touch other than his own.
At long last, Hubert can turn his attention towards the center of the room, where he’s greeted by the sight he’s had on his mind since he left this morning. Though the view is designed to rouse him, Hubert doesn’t make any attempt to claim his prize.
Almost, he reminds himself. Not just yet.
Not until Ferdinand proves how much he wants it.
Not until he proves he can behave.
Ferdinand’s body is framed by shimmering, near transparent curtains hanging off the frame of an ornate four poster bed. The silk off-white sheets appear golden in the soft light, their shine the ideal complement to Ferdinand’s natural glow.
Hubert smiles to himself as he takes it all in, pleased with the picture they’ve painted together:
His Ferdinand is naked but for the restraints chaining his wrists above his head to the bed pane, and the bar between his ankles keeping him spread and steady. His cheeks are as flushed and red as the tip of his flagging cock, and likely his lips, though Hubert will need to remove the gag keeping that pretty mouth stuffed before he can reacquaint himself with those. Ferdinand’s eyes widen when Hubert takes a step forward, a visible shiver wracking his body before he stills once more.
“Good boy,” Hubert confirms. “We’ve learned there’s no use making a fuss now, haven't we?”
Another few steps forward. Ferdinand still doesn’t move, but his gaze is pleading when it meets Hubert’s, then flits across the room to an old beaten-up table where a pitcher of water rests. Hubert lets the habitual few seconds of silence fall between them before he acknowledges the demand, satisfied when Ferdinand only asks once, without attempting any sounds or words.
“Yes, of course,” Hubert’s face softens into a smile, “I’ll get you some water. You must be parched.”
There’s no rush in Hubert’s movements, not now he’s at his beloved’s side. He’s filled with a grounding sense of purpose, pauses again before he picks up the pitcher and a stained, dull goblet.
“I wonder,” Hubert speaks calmly, eyes fixed on the trickle of water pouring into the cup, “if you do not sometimes take me for a fool, Ferdinand.”
Hubert trails off when he turns back towards the man in question and takes a sip out of the goblet. Ferdinand doesn’t look over, but if he did, he’d see gaunt eyes blown wide with frenzy, Hubert’s face taking on a ghostly air in the eerie flicker of waning candlelight.
“I offer you my all, devote myself to your every need, yet still... You seek out the attention of other men, invite their smiles, their stolen touches—”
Hubert suddenly slams the goblet back down on the table, to which Ferdinand lets out an unfortunate yelp. Yet as quickly as the sound came, Ferdinand freezes. Not even the slightest intake of breath. Excellent, Hubert notes, he’s learning. Impulsivity, neediness, all those behaviours that bely a total lack of self-control, those wreckless traits are why Ferdinand finds himself here.
To learn to control himself.
Hubert is simply using the most efficient methods available to help him, no matter how painful the process may be to them both.
“I’m sorry”, Hubert apologizes as he pours some more water into the cup, “it is difficult at times, but no matter. That is no reason for me to vent my frustration at you. I do what I must, as I have always done. Duty first and foremost.”
Another thud, this time more controlled when Hubert sets down the pitcher. Ferdinand doesn’t doesn’t move and yet his hesitant, laboured breathing reaches Hubert’s ears across the room, likely helped by the cold, empty echo of untreated stone walls. The hair on the back of Hubert’s neck bristles from it, and the excitement draws him closer.
“But it’s alright, I understand. A difficult creature like you requires more status and recognition than what a shadow like me can hope to provide,” Hubert continues, cup in hand, and makes his way over to the bed, “and that is why I promise to work hard. To captivate your attention. I always knew it would be more difficult to keep your interest than earn it. But as you well know, I have my ways.”
There’s no dip in the mattress when Hubert sits on the edge of the bed, nor when he places his free hand on it to hold himself up as he leans over Ferdinand. It’s already weighed down by the gorgeous, statuesque mass at the center of it.
“You’re so beautiful like this, you have no idea.”
Ferdinand closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, holds it longer than he needs to.
“Soon my sweet,” Hubert chuckles. He allows himself a decadent kiss on Ferdinand’s cheek, and the tension he gets in return has Hubert reeling. That muscular body, arched and taught from the slightest touches. Pained even, if Ferdinand’s trembling is to be believed, whatever power Ferdinand might have had reduced to a dulled, throbbing sensation in his limbs held too long in the same position.
Hubert lingers a moment longer, gloved fingers catching in Ferdinand’s hair where it’s tangled and beginning to mat in places.
“What a mess your hair is becoming,” he points out, “I’m sorry we haven’t had time for it lately. I promise I’ll brush it for you later.”
Ferdinand squeezes his eyes closed and makes a small sound in agreement, then leans into the weight of Hubert’s hand on his cheek before he opens his eyes again, gaze softer now when their eyes meet.
“I’m sorry, your water, come here—”
Hubert has to place the cup on the ground to sit himself proper on the bed and guide Ferdinand to join him, the man’s weight sagging against Hubert’s as he pulls him up to sit. There’s enough give in the chains for him to move should he so wish, but Ferdinand chose to await Hubert’s return lying on his back, legs spread. Though it means Ferdinand’s condition is a little worse for wear from disuse, the gesture warms Hubert’s heart. How wonderful, for his lover to take his desires into consideration like this, to prepare for him the most enticing tableau.
“There there, alright. I know this has been a long day for the both of us. But this exercise helped, didn’t it? Besides, I have made immense progress today on the matter of your safety—”
While Hubert talks, Ferdinand rubs his face against the man’s neck, making these sweet, mewling sounds through the gag that make Hubert melt. It’s criminal how quickly his darling has this effect on him, reducing Hubert to just as much of a trembling mess as he is from the mere expression of affection.
True love perhaps isn’t a lie after all, Hubert can’t help but think.
“—and as I, ah, was saying darling, the final pieces have fallen into place and I was able to take care of the last names on the list without implicating either of us.”
Ferdinand presses up closer against Hubert, rubbing more than his cheek against him now. Instead, Ferdinand’s head lies limp over Hubert’s shoulder, and he’s begun to grind his hips slowly against Hubert’s side, despite Ferdinand's fat little cock not showing any sign of rising from arousal. Oh, how badly his sweetheart must want to hear the grand conclusion to the events, to find the strength to hold himself up on tired legs, his thighs rock hard yet quivering when Hubert runs a hand over them.
“I’ve done my best to make you comfortable here, but it’ll be wonderful to walk in the sunlight together again, won’t it?” Hubert croons, dipping to brush his lips over Ferdinand’s ear, “I can’t wait to have you once more on my arm, free from the interruptions of other men who seek to drive a wedge between us.”
The bed creaks and heaves when Ferdinand suddenly thrusts against Hubert’s side in search of friction against his clothes, but his restraints hold him back when Hubert dodges just out of reach.
“Patience my sweet, will you ever learn the word? If I didn’t know better I may think you’re trying to rush things ahead to get them over and done with.”
Though gentle in meaning, Hubert’s words cut dry through the air like the snap of an angry whip, hitting Ferdinand hard enough for him to recoil. The way Ferdinand scrambles back so that his arms are no longer testing the limit of his chain, the way his eyes widen when denied Hubert’s body, it has them both hanging on the edge of a moment where bodies vibrate with the pulse of the mind’s whirling pace.
And the tension between them tugs at the seams, thins with every passing second until it tears, sends Ferdinand flying back with a thud and a groan against the headboard from the unexpected force of Hubert pushing him back, forearm pressed firm against Ferdinand’s heaving chest. From here, Hubert can take in the bright treasure of amber eyes, across which the final moments of a waning candle flicker, close to its dying breath. Once, twice, three times it glazes over the golden warmth, the one that holds Hubert hostage whenever he dares look into its depths. Finally Ferdinand blinks and in that split second the candlelight behind them expires, as if granted release by its jailed reflection. The air between them steadies when Hubert lets out a laugh and Ferdinand slumps to sit relaxed at the head of the bed. They’re both wound up, too wound up already, acting out the scene one fatal twist away from dramatic anarchy. But this stage was not designed as such, and in this moment Hubert is the sole actor responsible for this play’s intended delivery.
“First water,” Hubert states, voice soothed by the crinkled corners of Ferdinand’s smiling eyes, “then salve for your sore muscles. Understood?”
Their routine proceeds as usual from here, gag soon removed and laid to rest. Ferdinand follows Hubert’s guiding touches, knows not to strain his throat until enough water has graced it. Of course, there are the odd furtive kisses and licks, landing home on Hubert’s dry, long unattended lips. Each moan or whine is met with a calming shush, a gentle breeze over the shell of Ferdinand’s ear. For how broad and bold the trained cavalier is, Hubert is amazed in these moments how pliant and small his body seems, bending to his slightest of touches and guidance. Head tilted back and mouth open, ready to receive the water he sorely needs— unbothered by the drops missing the corner of his mouth and exploring the line of his jaw, journeying down over his Adam's apple. It wasn’t always like this, but the practice of devotion has revealed a Ferdinand so shy and slight, one more akin to prey than the determined conqueror who once sought to stand in the brightest spotlight, recognized by all, and Hubert can’t help but treat him with reverence despite the thrill of power it gifts him.
Here in their own little world, only Hubert’s attention matters. Ferdinand bends towards Hubert, for him, his head hanging forwards seeking the comfort of Hubert’s knee while the mage retrieves a key from his pocket and whispers a spell over it; he shivers in recognition of the moment preceding the fateful click of release, encouraged by a daring pass of Hubert’s lips over his cheek.
Once free, Ferdinand throws himself back onto the bed with an excruciating moan, arms still too numb to lie anywhere but above his head.
“Hu—” he croaks, but Hubert won’t allow it. A gloved hand immediately finds his lips in reminder:
“Rest first. Save your words for later.”
The look on Ferdinand’s face is akin to frustration, his brow crinkled in a concerned little frown. But as expected, Ferdinand acquiesces and lays back down without another word to let Hubert continue his work. Hubert soon joins the other on the bed, boots and jacket discarded, gloves carefully tucked away in a pocket. They share a moment of comfortable silence, until Ferdinand snaps up and grabs the sheets in confusion when he suddenly feels the cool sting of salve massaged into his no longer caged ankles, where sharp red lines have cut into his skin.
“You dozed off a moment when your head hit the pillow my dear, not to worry.” Hubert explains as he plants a kiss on his lover’s knee.
“Oh…” Ferdinand musters in return, going limp once more to Hubert’s touch.
You see, Ferdinand has never been especially good at resting, neither of them have in fact. So recently, Hubert has taken to lacing the pitcher with a concoction of his own making before offering water to his beloved.
The disorientation is an unfortunate side effect, but Ferdinand will build up the same resistance as Hubert soon enough, likely over the next few weeks given his current constitution. Though the relaxant is a welcome aid to his lover’s sore limbs, it has other drawbacks that Hubert is working on. All of which would be aided if Ferdinand could accept that to enjoy their final act under these conditions, he also needs to put more effort into taking care of himself before their appointed meetings.
“As I’ve said countless times, rest.”
Hubert is used to repeating instructions calmly. He knows by now the intricacies of Ferdinand’s emotions, and gladly uses this knowledge to help him with his numerous insecurities and failings.
And given that Ferdinand’s cock still lies short and lazy between parted legs, Hubert can only conclude that his patience still needs some work.
“I’ve worked so hard for you darling. You know it isn’t easy for us to find time together like this,” Hubert reminds him, “and yet you do not seem in the slightest excited to see me. Have I failed you in any way?”
“N-no Hubert... I—”
“Shush. There’s no need to explain yourself. I am here to take care of you, am I not? Just like you wanted. Waiting on your hand and foot, like the royalty you are.”
Ferdinand lets out a whine and turns his head to hide it again in the pillow, thrusts his hips upwards to give Hubert a wonderful view of his soft cock bouncing against heavy, burdened balls.
“Now please your highness, allow me to serve you.”
Hubert moves up further on the bed, spreads Ferdinand’s legs as far as he can so as to press his still clothed crotch against Ferdinand’s bare dick, resting his weight on the wider man’s chest when he lies on him to plant a lazy kiss on those parted, thirsty lips.
“Or have I not yet earned your approval with my devotion? Should I—”
A breathless kiss and frail hands tugging at Hubert’s shoulders interrupt the thought, though he laughs and retreats rather than return the kiss with equal fervor.
“That reminds me, you recall that arrogant ponce, from the palace estate committee—”
Ferdinand tugs harder, bringing their lips crashing together. His need is clear enough for Hubert to humour him by shoving his tongue down the thirsty whore’s throat. When Ferdinand moans and releases his grip in response, Hubert withdraws to continue:
“As I was saying, the one who had the gall to—”
This time, Ferdinand musters enough strength to wrap his legs around Hubert’s waist, pressing their cocks together as best he can given the rough fabric of Hubert’s trousers.
“—ask you to dinner, after turning down your plans for the garden expansion—”
Then Ferdinand’s rolling his hips, moans pained from the exertion of it. So eager as usual, and oh so needy. Hubert had warned him to rest, yet here he is, wild and impatient with lust despite the stress he’s putting on his body to express it. So Hubert continues on, not about to enable this reckless behaviour with a reaction.
“There was an unfortunate accident today—”
Hands grab at his hair this time, and Hubert allows himself a bite of Ferdinand’s lower lip when they join. Unforgiving and hard, like the hand that grabs and tugs Ferdinand’s hair in response to expose his neck.
“—the man fell during an inspection, terrible thing.”
Ferdinand cries, a strangled, tortured sound. Patience, as usual, does not come easily to him. But Hubert will teach him, with each slow swipe of his tongue licking up the sweat beading on Ferdinand’s neck.
“I hear they found him—”
Hubert pauses, distracted by Ferdinand’s attempt to grind against him. The pull is undeniable, especially now that he can feel a hardness poke at his own through the unfortunate layer of clothing still separating them. Ferdinand is relentless beneath him, head thrown back and tugging against Hubert’s grip in his hair, pants and moans punctuating each determined thrust. It takes him a few seconds to compose himself, but they’re so close now. Hubert is so close to earning Ferdinand's utmost trust, to prove how worthy he is of keeping him safe. It’s Hubert’s turn to moan, consumed by Ferdinand’s apparent abandon, final words relinquished between measured gasps:
“—limbs askew, bones piercing skin—”
Ferdinand cries out and bucks up hard, only for Hubert to hold him down at the hips as he squirms, spurts, and spends across his own chest, his voice so loud that Hubert wonders if he even heard him. Hubert smiles down at Ferdinand, entirely satisfied, and closes the gap between them to deliver the whispered, passionate conclusion Ferdinand didn’t have the stamina to see himself through to:
“—his head cracked on the very paving he refused to replace.”
Hubert has to gather himself at that, a chill speeding up his spine as he relishes the memory of it. He hauls himself onto his knees and helps himself to a smear of Ferdinand’s seed with his thumb, which he feeds to the helpless mellow creature lying before him, eyes heavy and silly from his recent orgasm.
“Yes, it would seem the goddess favours even heathens at times, would it not?”
The words are lost on Ferdinand in this state, but for once Hubert feels entitled to indulge in small needless pleasures, like a humorous distortion of the truth.
Like the sight of Ferdinand’s pink hole ready for him when he hooks his hands under the man’s knees and presses them back against his chest, revealing the plug that has kept him loose all day.
“But ah, forgive me, I suppose you are not one to enjoy humour making light of hard work. No, such happy accidents are never the doing of fate. Fate is simply…”
The sight of Ferdinand’s thighs distracts Hubert again, who runs his lips over the brand seared onto a patch of freckled skin, a promise Hubert gifted Ferdinand to swear his fealty to him. That not even the fear of hurting Ferdinand could keep Hubert from taking care of him.
“...Determination so bold it cannot be perceived by the simple man.”
And perhaps the concoction was too strong, because for all of Ferdinand’s recent complaints of soreness after his sessions in restraints, he’s now entirely placid, perhaps a little too easily satisfied by his earlier climax. Still, Hubert would not want to disappoint, so he decides not to waste any more time on his own indulgences and pulls out his own cock, trousers and underwear quickly shoved down to allow himself a minimum of movement.
There are times when efficiency is needed even in matters of the flesh, and tonight is one of them. Ferdinand is long spent, but he keeps himself spread for Hubert, holding his own knees tight against his tits. Oh, how Hubert would’ve enjoyed resting his tired head while he suckled on them, but no, he wouldn’t dare claim so much of Ferdinand’s attention when he’s already so tired from their play.
And thanks to the plug, Ferdinand is loose enough to take him in one thrust, a cute hiccup bubbling over his lips when Hubert’s cock finds place deep inside him.
Perhaps it is for the best that Ferdinand is all too compliant today, because Hubert has too much adrenaline coursing through him to control himself once he’s fucking into that slutty hole, bared and wanting. All it takes is the sight of Ferdinand’s own limp cock bouncing and slapping against his come covered stomach as he gets fucked into the headboard, and Hubert is spent. Eyes scrunched closed as he groans out Ferdinand’s name, a welcome flash of white cleansing his mind for a glorious few seconds. In any other circumstances, Hubert might be embarrassed he didn't last more than a minute, but Ferdinand is always so blissful and at peace when he comes that he can’t find it in him to worry about it.
So Hubert simply pulls out and tucks himself away, eyes fixed on his own spend leaking out of Ferdinand as he does so. Ferdinand graciously keeps his legs up for him, that happy smile finally back on his face, and relents once Hubert acknowledges their satisfaction with a kiss to each upturned corner of his lips. Ferdinand lets out a deep sigh, and as if put under a spell, lets his eyes drift closed and dozes off into sleep. Hubert stays at his side, stroking his hair and neatening it the best he can without waking Ferdinand up.
But eventually, Hubert must leave, and Ferdinand doesn’t stir until Hubert is dragging the dungeon door closed once more.
“I love you Hubert,” he calls out softly, almost drowned out by the abrupt screech of metal catching on stone.
The hopeful smile on Ferdinand’s face keeps Hubert hovering by the door, whatever doubt blossomed in his mind quickly stamped out by the risk of leaving it open any longer than explicitly necessary. Still, the goodbye weighs heavy on them both, and Hubert hopes to alleviate it with a parting apology:
“I love you too, Ferdinand. Please forgive me for not being able to stay any longer. I promise to brush your hair for you next time, before we go out. You’ve been so strong and patient, I’m proud of you. I’ll see you soon, my love.”
The door closes before Ferdinand can even reply.