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When he hit the water, the air was punched from Miles’ lungs. It was so cold he felt nothing, saw nothing, could only struggle and spasm, limbs frozen. The lake was cold enough that swimming in it spelled certain death, and the moonlight was rapidly receding.
The horses were dead. They’d been attacked. No one was coming — surely not even Wright was stupid enough to dive after his prince. He’d just die. No use in both of them dying. Miles would much rather someone competent survive to guard Franziska, now that she’d be queen.
A hand reached out, someone grabbed the front of Miles’ shirt, and his head was hauled unceremoniously from the lake, gasping and spitting up clear water. They were swimming now, or maybe it was just Miles’ head that was swimming, or maybe he’d already died and his soul was being dragged up to heaven or down to hell. His body left the lake, and he gasped as the cold air hit his wet body and soaked clothes.
He smelled smoke and charred meat. Fat coated his lips.
“Hey,” a voice said urgently. Wright. “My prince, please focus on me. Don’t fall asleep, okay?”
Falling asleep sounded rather nice, now that he thought of it. He closed his eyes — and was rudely awakened by a slap to the face. Miles gasped, and he was picked up into strong arms.
“A little farther,” Wright pleaded. “We’re almost to the cabin, and then I can warm you up.”
Miles struggled weakly against the arms encircling him. He was too hot. He needed to faceplant in the drifting snow. Wright was shivering, even though it was so hot out. He was jogging, and the motion jostled Miles’ pounding head.
A door opened, and it was the same temperature inside the cabin.
“Thank god,” Wright muttered. “There’s already wood in the fireplace.”
He set Miles to flop unceremoniously onto a rug in front of the hearth, and Miles saw that Wright was soaked, his royal combat mage uniform clinging to his skin and highlighting his muscles. So he really had come into the lake after Miles — but how? How was he not dead? How had his muscles not locked up?
Wright pointed at the wood, and a streak of flame leapt from his finger to ignite it into the beginnings of a roaring fire. Miles curled in on himself, suddenly shivering.
“I’m going to need to strip those clothes off,” Wright said. “You’ll feel a lot better once you can dry off.”
Miles muttered his assent, teeth chattering too violently to form coherent words.
Wright’s hands were still wet as they took off Miles’ coat, undid the fasteners on his doublet, unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it away from his skin. When Wright touched his bare skin, Miles realized with a start that his hands weren’t cold at all. They were blazing hot, and Miles leaned into their touch.
Fire magic. Surely, that was how he’d survived. But Wright must have such mighty magic to still be warm. A lake that should have sapped every bit of vitality from him.
Those hands moved to Miles’ pants. Wright was thorough — he left Miles stripped bare from head to toe, leaving him naked and shivering, teeth chattering violently. Unfortunately, Miles had no opportunity to enjoy being stripped by such a handsome man, as he was too focused on the cold.
“Hang on a sec,” Wright said, stripping off his own soaked garments with none of the care he’d shown to Miles.
He threw them to the floor, scabbard and belt clattering against the flagstones, then approached the chest of drawers in the corner of the room — he was completely naked, and Miles couldn’t help but stare. He knew it was improper, but his eyes were drawn by some strange magnetism.
Wright was a statue sculpted by the finest artisan, a work of art unparalleled by anyone. The lines of his muscles were smooth yet strong, and that ass. Years of training showed plainly in his luscious thighs.
There were scars, too: the lines of blades, the silver-smooth skin of burns, even a mark on Wright’s shoulder that seemed to have been left by the claws of a beast. There was an arrow scar on his back — Miles remembered that arrow. Wright had taken it for him.
Most distinctive were the marks on his shoulder blades. Miles had never seen anything like them. They were too uniform and colorful to be a birthmark — shimmering blue lines in the shape of wings spread across his skin. Even tattoos could not be so intense.
Wright turned, arms filled with furs, and Miles quickly averted his eyes. He refused to look as Wright piled furs and blankets over his shoulders.
It was no use. The fur and fabric just scraped against his freezing skin. With shaking, fumbling fingers he couldn’t feel, he tried to at least dry himself off a bit.
“Your lips are blue,” Wright breathed. Miles didn’t look him in the eyes. “That’s no good.”
“Y, ‘m cold,” Miles muttered.
“You might be going hypothermic,” Wright observed. “Your body can’t create enough of its own heat. You’re in trouble, my prince.” He lifted up the blankets from Miles’ shoulder, which seemed counterproductive. “Move over. I’ve got an inner magical furnace. I’ll warm you right up.”
If Miles had any warmth to spare, blood would have flooded his cheeks. As it was, all he could do was wrap his arms around his knees and not look at his knight, who was totally naked and extraordinarily tempting. Hopefully Wright would just be at his side, where he wouldn’t have to experience the nakedness.
Because he wanted to. He wanted to look and touch and taste. But Wright was his knight. Beholden to his every whim. Miles couldn’t ask that of him.
“W-Wright, that’s, that’s, most, uh, improper,” Miles said, fumbling over his words.
“We must put aside impropriety, I’m afraid. My top concern is your life.”
Wright sat beside him, burning almost painfully, and Miles realized just how cold he was.
“Lie down and turn your back to me,” Wright instructed, and Miles complied.
His heart should have been pounding out of his chest, but it wasn’t. Another sign of his concerning state. He was so tired — the floor seemed like the perfect place to go to sleep.
Then Wright lay down behind him, and Miles was suddenly terribly, achingly awake. Wright was hot, too hot to be healthy, skin far past feverish, sending Miles tingling. The hard line of his chest...the marble legs, intertwined with his...Miles couldn’t cope. His arms wrapped around Miles’ torso, and Miles could feel years of swinging a sword apparent in his corded muscles.
“Don’t go to sleep,” Wright ordered, and his breath was steam-hot on the back of Miles’ neck.
There was something pressed against Miles’ ass. It was Wright’s cock. From what he could feel, it was of considerable size. Miles was frozen.
He was truly in too deep.
“Tell me how you’re feeling,” Wright said.
“My hands are still cold,” Miles said. He tried to tuck his hands into his armpits, but he wasn’t generating any of his own body heat, so it didn’t work.
Wright’s hand fumbled for his, then grasped it. The temperature difference was so extreme that Miles could barely even tell cold from hot.
“Shit. That’s no good. You’ll get frostbite. Turn towards me and put your hands on me.”
“So now you’re the one giving orders?” Miles muttered.
He had to stall. He had to somehow learn fire magic and warm up his own hands in the next minute or two, because there was no way he would survive turning toward Wright naked and putting his hands on that beautiful body.
“Please, my lord,” Wright said with an audible teasing smirk. “You could lose your hands, and then what would I kiss?”
Miles steeled himself and turned, shifting slowly under the blankets, refusing to make eye contact. He sandwiched his arms between them like a barrier, pressing his hands flat against Wright’s pecs. They were the most glorious hand warmers imaginable.
Also, his cock was a treacherous centimeter away from Wright’s.
Miles shifted downward so he could lean his head under Wright’s chin. He closed his eyes. This would be a wonderful place to sleep, even though there was only a single fur and a rug between them and the wood floor. Wright’s arms were wrapped around his back, hands rubbing warmth up and down Miles’ spine in a soothing motion. Above him was the pressure of thick blankets. The fire crackled and popped, the perfect white noise.
“Hey,” Wright said warily. “You’re not going to sleep, are you?”
Miles made an indistinct noise. They’d been riding all day to reach this cabin — he’d earned a few minutes of shut-eye.
“My prince,” Wright said urgently, “you need to stay awake until you’re all warmed up.”
That didn’t seem like a very sensible rule. He’d warm right up while he was asleep.
“Let me sleep,” Miles murmured. “That’s an order from your prince.”
“I did not take an oath to follow your orders,” Wright said. He tightened his grasp around Miles, then hauled him into a sitting position, the two of them slotted together in an undignified tangle of limbs. Miles huffed at the impudence of it all. “I took an oath to protect you. And that includes not letting you sleep while you’re borderline hypothermic.”
Miles made a noise of protest and leaned his head into Wright’s shoulder. He could sleep sitting up just fine in this state, and damn his knight.
“Miles von Karma.”
Wright gripped his chin and forced him to meet his eyes, and Miles was suddenly completely and entirely awake. They were close, so close, closer than they’d ever been, and Miles could see the way that gray and brown swirled in his irises, which were currently leveling Miles with an intense gaze. His pupils reflected deep blue. There was a little scar on his lower lip. His hair was messy. There was ash in his eyebrows and a few tiny spots of blood on his cheek.
Because Wright had defended him. Had taken on those bandits and then dove after Miles like it was nothing, braving the freezing water to save his prince. Over the year he’d served Miles, he could have walked away. He could have adhered to the duty of a guard, and nothing more.
How could Miles have not fallen for him? This predicament was preordained from the start.
“You will stay awake,” Wright ordered, and there was no reverence to royalty in his voice. Just concern, and something steely that made shivers run down Miles’ spine.
“I can’t,” he admitted. “If I stay still, my eyes start closing. And I doubt there’s any way to exercise, ah, sitting in front of this fireplace.”
Wright raised an eyebrow, and the corner of his lip twitched. Belatedly, Miles realized his mistake.
Because there was something they could do in front of this fireplace. Something active that would banish sleep from Miles’ mind entirely.
“Don’t,” Miles ordered.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Obviously you were as well, if you warned me.”
Miles blushed, and he looked away. That was a good sign, though, that he could blush. Phoenix grabbed his hands and blew on them — his breath was visibly steaming, and it wasn’t just vapor hitting cold air. Even the act of blowing hot air was done with such care, a tenderness that Miles had no idea what to do with.
Miles realized, to his horror, that he was about five seconds away from getting hard. He should have just stayed in the lake.
He quickly clambered around, turning his back to Wright and climbing out of his position half in his knight’s lap. Wherever their skin parted, Miles felt a biting chill, and his body yearned for Wright’s furnace-hot skin. But he had to stay strong. They only touched at Miles’ side.
“I-I believe I’m properly warmed up,” he said, voice shaking. He could not give himself an inch, or he’d take a mile.
“No you’re not,” Wright replied. “Sorry, but I need you to get back here. I have to prioritize your life over your comfort.”
“It’s not my comfort I’m worried about,” Miles said. “You…”
“You shouldn’t worry about me.”
“I know,” Miles said. “But I do. Constantly.”
He winced instantly at his mistake. He’d revealed vulnerability in the accidental tenderness in his tone.
“My prince,” Wright breathed. He sounded almost touched. “I want you to tell me what you want. I want you to share your desires with me, not as my prince, but as my friend.”
“I could not do that,” Miles said. “There is...you have sworn yourself to me. I cannot ask for that which should be freely given, knowing it would not be.”
Wright chuckled at that.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” he said. “If I had taken no oath, if I had taken up no sword, if you were but a commoner, I would still dedicate myself to you.”
Miles’ breath hitched and he curled his arms around himself.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do. Now, Miles, tell me what you want from me.”
Miles clapped his hand over his mouth. This conversation was long overdue, and yet he did not know how to start it.
“Shall I go first, to break the ice?” Wright purred. “I want you warm and happy in my arms. I want to touch you in places a man such as me has no right to touch royalty. I want to see you undone, without an ounce of your pretension.”
Miles whined into his palm. He was so cold.
“I have oil with me,” Wright breathed, steamy in a literal sense, into Miles’ ear. “Just say the word, my prince. Or you can silence me on this matter forever. It’s your choice.”
When did Miles last have such a choice? To either seize his desires or be left to himself? This was not the life his father wanted for him. Miles was not to be trusted with his own wants.
He did not have the capacity at the moment to deal with such questions as proper royal conduct. He could only deal with the here and now: Wright’s burning skin, his muscled arms, his whispered filthy words.
Wright had made the first move. To act now would be improper, but not unethical.
“You really want me like that?” Miles said. “That surprises me, given how well you know me.”
Wright laughed, and it sounded like birdsong.
“Yeah, you can be a handful,” he said. “But I still care for you deeply. I still desire you.”
Miles curled into himself, shivering. He could no longer keep up the artificial wall he’d imposed, the thin veneer of professionalism dividing him from the closest person in his life.
“God, I…” he whispered. “Yes. Yes, of course, I want you…I don’t know how you didn’t notice.”
“Of course I noticed,” Wright replied. “You’re not very subtle, at least not to a master of cards who follows you around everywhere. Now, enough talking.” Wright reached for a small bottle on the mantle of the fireplace. “You’re freezing. Come here.”
Miles didn’t need to be told twice. He clambered into Wright’s lap with a blanket around his shoulders, facing him, bashful at his nakedness. Wright looked him up and down with a little smile, eyes glinting bright blue — they seemed bluer, somehow, than they had a moment ago. Like a flame getting hotter.
He put his hands on Wright’s shoulders. They were burning hot, and Miles knew Wright was far stronger than he seemed. Even very skilled fire mages usually couldn’t keep up this kind of output.
Wright’s arms wrapped around Miles, pulling them close, chest to chest, and then — then Wright kissed him, fierce and hot, and Miles melted like ice against his lips.
It was all over. He could never go back after this. Could never be satisfied with just one kiss. He wanted this again and again and again, this heat against his skin and pooling in his stomach. He wanted to never again be left in the cold.
Their hips shifted, and Miles moaned deep in his chest. He had no idea how he’d held himself back from this for a whole year. Wright’s hand grabbed his ass, and two oil-slick fingers began spreading him open. Their lips parted, and Miles gasped.
“W-Wright,” he stuttered.
“Phoenix,” Wright corrected. “Call me by my given name. Miles.”
Miles gave a stuttered cry at hearing his name on Phoenix’s lips. His hips rocked back onto Phoenix’s fingers, his cock now fully hard. His toes, which he’d been unable to feel let alone move but ten minutes ago, curled and tingled.
“You like this, huh?” Phoenix chuckled. “You’re awake now.”
“By the stars,” Miles whispered. “Please. There’s no need for foreplay, I’ve been ready for this for months.”
He didn’t need to say more. Phoenix’s hands wrapped around his waist with intimidating strength and picked him up like a sack of potatoes, Miles barely had time to squawk in indignation before he was dropped unceremoniously onto Phoenix’s erect, slick cock, taking it all at once, bottoming out with a cry of pain and pleasure. The stretch and ache was delicious and immediate, tangible proof that Phoenix was inside him, hot and wanting. He bit down on Phoenix’s neck, and felt Phoenix’s gasp in his teeth. His skin was hot as meat fresh from the roasting spit, yet it didn’t burn Miles’ tongue.
“Miles, you’re so good,” Phoenix breathed, steam-hot, into his ear. He began shallowly thrusting up into Miles, who whined, desperate for more. “So good. Better than I ever imagined.”
Phoenix’s fingernails dug deep into Miles’ back almost painfully. Miles let his teeth slide down Phoenix’s neck so he could rest his head on his shoulder. It was so comfortable here — Miles couldn’t remember ever feeling this good before. With every upward snap of Phoenix’s hips, Miles’ cock rutted against the curve of his stomach, muscled yet soft.
“Fuck,” Phoenix hissed, and Miles lifted his head to look up at his face — there were blue flames seeping out between Phoenix’s teeth, licking at the corner of his lips, and Miles couldn’t breathe for a moment.
“I need more,” he demanded. “You can’t fuck me properly like this.”
“Oh?” Phoenix purred, and his words came out with steam.
Rather than his magic ebbing with distraction, arousal only seemed to make his fire roar more. That wasn’t normal. Yet another mystery attached to his personal guard.
“You’re strong,” Miles said. “I know you can do better.”
In one swift motion, Phoenix slammed Miles’ back down on the rug, cock still inside, Miles’ ankles still locked behind his back. His hands rested on either side of Miles’ head, and he stared down like a hawk who’d spotted a mouse. His eyes were bright blue, glowing with something that wasn’t reflected firelight.
“You’re beautiful,” Phoenix told him, matter-of-fact. “And I’m very lucky.”
Miles opened his mouth to say something clever, but Phoenix claimed it with a kiss before he got the chance. It was the kind of kiss he’d obviously been saving up for quite some time, all softness and hunger and pointed intention. Phoenix had kissed his hand when they first met, and Miles had looked down on him, a lighthearted knight with the surname of a craftsman, not a noble. No longer were they prince and knight, servant and served, von Karma and Wright. They were simply two lovers entwined in solitude, no titles between them, no societal propriety to force their hands to only meet gloved in stolen moments. Free from the ice he’d been raised with, Miles was finally warm beneath Phoenix’s body. With no excuse to push him away, his legs spread to let him inside.
He clutched Phoenix’s back, seeking both warmth and closeness with no meaningful difference between the two, as Phoenix began to rock into him, too careful for Miles’ taste. He’d come out of the ambush mercifully unscathed, with only a few aches from the fall into the water, so there was no need to treat him as if he were spun glass. Phoenix’s hips were gentle but his lips were rough, as if trying to kiss Miles five times at once.
Phoenix’s mouth moved from Miles’ lips to his neck, heating his very blood with coal-scalding breath, and Miles gasped indulgently. His whole body lit up with spots of heat everywhere Phoenix touched him, driving away the cold. The heat went far deeper than his skin, straining at his cock and pooling in his stomach, making Miles’s head warm and fuzzy and his breath quick and greedy. His legs clutched at Phoenix’s thighs, careful to not dislodge the blankets above them.
“More,” Miles moaned, hoping that at least in this Phoenix would heed his prince’s orders. “Please, I won’t break.”
“You just fell into freezing water,” Phoenix muttered, voice strained. His hips snapped into Miles, skin against skin and bone against bone, and Miles’ breath stuttered. “You just might.”
“I’m fine,” Miles insisted, “thanks to you.”
“I’ll always protect you, my prince,” Phoenix breathed into his ear, and Miles felt flame lick his earlobe for just a moment.
Miles realized then that Phoenix’s honorifics had never been professional or deferential. He was not bringing chivalrous protocol into their bed. He had always instead brought devotion and desire to the words he said to Miles when the court looked on. The retroactive tenderness of Phoenix’s formality sent shivers down Miles’ spine and a wanton moan spilling from his mouth.
He was safe. He was protected. He was warm. He was free from the admonitions of the king — there was only the fire of the hearth in one ear and the fire of Phoenix’s words in the other.
“Stars above,” Miles whispered. “Phoenix.”
There was a lump in his throat blocking the words that needed to be said, so Miles spoke with his body instead, letting his fingers explore Phoenix’s muscular back, trying somehow to get the damn man to move faster, deeper, to destroy Miles like he deserved. The marks on his shoulder blades felt different from the rest of his skin, smooth yet ridged, almost like feathers. Miles wanted to commit them to memory, to remember every sensation from this night, to engrave the way Phoenix’s lips explored his neck into his mind. Phoenix’s chest pressed flush against his, muscles shifting as he fucked Miles slow and sweet. They were closer than propriety had ever permitted. Yet Miles, to whom courtly manners had always come shamefully unnatural, wanted to somehow be closer still.
Miles’ cock rutted against Phoenix’s warm stomach with every movement, and he bit his lip with a whine. He was drunk on pleasure and heat and perhaps lingering shock from the cold, unable to conceptualize the world beyond warm skin. They’d come to this cabin for an actual reason, but it was no longer important enough to remember.
“Does this feel good?” Phoenix asked, ever so considerate as always.
“I hardly think, ah, y-you need to ask,” Miles replied, closing his eyes as his spine arched. Arousal built like honey between his legs, cock so hard he could feel it strain. “Feels amazing, now for the love of the stars go faster!”
“Tell me if it hurts, all right?”
“You won’t hurt me,” Miles said confidently. And if you do, I have a feeling I’ll enjoy it.
“Hurting people is my job,” Phoenix teased him gently. “I’m very good at it.”
“Your job,” Miles corrected him in a shaking voice, “is to make sure I don’t get hurt. You’re very good at it.”
“I seem to have fallen short at making sure you don’t get impaled,” Phoenix joked, and Miles’ groan this time was of exasperation.
Phoenix thrust into him harder, deeper, more, and Miles cried out Phoenix’s name like a prayer. It no doubt was only by the grace of his training that the man was able to get any leverage, and by the stars was he making good use of it, penetrating Miles like a sword in a scabbard. Every thrust hit his prostate just right, an explosion of pleasure as hot and intense as if Phoenix had used his magic to burn him.
He was being immolated as surely as if Phoenix’s namesake had enveloped him in flaming wings, and he never wanted that fire to die.
Miles whined, his heart pounding, and his hands shook with intermittent cold and hot as his magic spasmed through them. He had never been much good at controlling it, and certainly couldn’t now, brought to the brink of ecstasy like this. Fortunately there was little chance it would hurt Phoenix. His energy was completely monopolized.
“Phoenix,” Miles gasped. “Phoenix, Phoenix, I’m close, please.”
“As you wish,” Phoenix replied, understanding an order only half-given.
His hand moved from Miles’ back to wedge itself between their bodies, taking Miles’ length in his palm and moving up and down. Miles screamed through gritted teeth — Phoenix’s palm was rough and hot and good and too much, too fast and tight for Miles to keep his composure.
He came hot across their stomachs with a cry of ecstasy, heedless of his vulnerability, whining and babbling out Phoenix’s name as Phoenix fucked him through his climax.
“My lord,” Phoenix gasped out.
He kissed Miles, and Miles did his best to kiss back. It was sloppy and uncoordinated, but Phoenix didn’t seem to mind, and Miles soon felt the heat of Phoenix’s release inside him. Miles moaned against Phoenix’s lips, and Phoenix’s hand went to his hair, stroking it softly.
“All right?” Phoenix whispered, smiling, as their lips parted.
“Yes,” Miles sighed. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Phoenix kissed his neck, still smiling.
“Was I…was I good for you, my knight?” Miles asked hesitantly.
“Of course,” Phoenix replied. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you, and yet to actually have you surpassed my wildest dreams.”
“You’ve dreamed of this?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t.”
“Of course I have.”
Miles kissed him, because he could do that here, could close the tiny gap between them and take Phoenix’s lips in his.
This, indeed, was better than any dream, and all the more delicious for its promised repetition.
“I think you’re properly warm now,” Phoenix murmured against his lips. “Shall we go to bed and rest?”
“I must insist you sleep beside me,” Miles replied. “I don’t think I could stand to be so cold again.”