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Laurent stood on the side of the battlements that overlooked the courtyard. The courtyard was not that large, and could probably fit at most three hundred men, and if there were a commotion half of them would end up trampled. The courtyard was surrounded by high walls, with a gate on the eastern side large enough for three horses to ride abreast. The ground was paved with uneven cobblestones.
For Pallas’s birthday celebration, there were maybe fifty congregated in the northern corner. Lazar was settling himself on one of the low wooden stools the Akielons sometimes used, and the men formed a circle generally around him as he powdered his hands.
Laurent could see Damen emerge from the western door to the palace, walking beside Nikandros and talking. They joined the circle of men that were forming. Laurent was high enough up that he could feel a breeze in his hair that didn’t ruffle the linen clothes of the men in the courtyard. The wind brought the occasional shout or laugh from below up to him on the battlements.
Lazar started.
Laurent couldn’t hear the slap of Lazar’s hand when he struck Pallas. The sound was eaten by the wind and drowned out by the counting of the Akielons. But he was not ignorant of the sound of a slap. Pets spanking each other had been a common enough entertainment in his youth at his uncle’s court. He could imagine the way the sound would echo in the courtyard if it were empty, bouncing off of the rock of the walls and the floor, and the echo joining with the sound of the following strike as Lazar kept an even rhythm.
The wind carried up one of Pallas’s cries, an encouraging “Yes!” as Lazar continued and the men laughed.
Laurent sensed a presence beside himself, and turned reluctantly away from the courtyard for a moment.
It was Makedon. Laurent felt caught out, somehow, watching the courtyard, as though it weren’t filled with dozens of Akielon men doing the same thing. Makedon joined him at the ledge and took in what was happening, stroking his beard.
“Ha!” said Makedon. “It’s the boy’s birthday.” He gave the courtyard a considering look. Lazar was continuing. “He takes it well.”
“I was told it's an Akielon tradition,” said Laurent.
Makedon grunted. “Yes. I remember my twenty-fifth. Ha! Ha!” He watched Lazar administer another stroke. Makedon turned toward Laurent and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s good for morale, you know. I look forward to your birthday next week.” With a final jarring shoulder clap, Makedon retreated across the top of the wall toward the stairs.
Laurent turned back to the courtyard. Pallas’s buttocks were exposed to the entire keep, and Lazar powdering his hands meant that it was clearly visible where he had been struck.
Laurent’s eyes fell on Damen, who was shouting something at Lazar. Lazar grinned back at him. Laurent wondered how these sorts of traditions started, anyway. Which of Damen’s illustrious ancestors from the Kingsmeet had thought--yes, let’s celebrate the prime of our youth by hitting each other in the courtyard. Did Damen really think that this was a good idea? Laurent tried to imagine what it might have been like in the courtyard in Ios five years earlier, when the entire keep packed into the space to see Nikandros hit their prince.
Lazar finished. The men were toasting and drinking. Pallas stood up and was laughing and embracing Lazar and embracing his friends, accepting their congratulations. Pallas celebrated with his friends for a few moments before Laurent watched him seek out Lazar, and surreptitiously tug Lazar off toward the barracks. Lazar was watching Pallas’s skirt as he walked behind him.
Laurent sensed a presence beside himself again, and turned from the courtyard again. It was Damen.
Damen was grinning at him with the same sort of warmth that Pallas had bestowed upon Lazar. “You were watching,” said Damen.
Damen looked around the battlements to see if they were alone, and then moved in close to Laurent, one hand resting on Laurent’s behind. Because it was fine for a man to be spanked in the middle of the courtyard, but he got shy being sweet in public.
“Did you like it?” said Damen.
“Did you?” said Laurent.
Damen shrugged easily.
“I--” said Laurent. He blew out a breath of air.
Damen curled against his back and rested his chin on Laurent’s shoulder. “I know,” said Damen. Laurent relaxed back against him.
“No one really expects you to do it,” said Damen.
Laurent stiffened slightly. “Is that so.” When Laurent had been a boy, Auguste had teased him that there was no more certain way to convince Laurent to do something than to taunt him that no one really thought he could.
Damen embraced him lightly, and kissed his neck. “Come back to the bedroom,” he said.
“You like it that much?” said Laurent.
They returned to the bedroom.
On the bed, Damen touched Laurent softly. Laurent found his thoughts elsewhere, off in the barracks with Pallas. Were Pallas and Lazar fucking right now? Pallas would be sore. How would it feel, when Lazar’s hips were hitting against him, a slap of their own against the already sore skin.
Damen took Laurent in his mouth, laving Laurent with his tongue, moving his lips up and down. Laurent’s thoughts stayed on Pallas. Would Lazar do it hard? Or would he be gentle, because of what had happened in the courtyard? Lazar didn’t seem like the gentle type.
Damen raised his head, licking his lips. “You came quickly today.”
Laurent tugged on Damen’s hair, carding his fingers through the curls. “You’re so good at that,” he told Damen, half feeding Damen’s ego and half sincere.
Damen preened obviously.
Laurent’s compliment of Damen’s oral sex abilities had the effect of causing Damen to exercise them frequently over the upcoming week.
On Laurent’s birthday, he woke to Damen exercising them again. Damen already had Laurent’s cock in his mouth and had one hand soothingly massaging Laurent’s stomach. Laurent came awake suddenly, tensed, and then consciously relaxed again against the bed. Damen sucked lazily. Laurent tangled one of his hands in Damen’s hair, and Damen tilted his head into the gentle petting.
When Laurent finished, Damen climbed up over him on the bed to kiss.
Damen nodded his head at the bed table, and the jar of salve that Laurent had placed there the night before. “Are you sore?” he said.
“No,” said Laurent, offering no further explanation. “Did you wish for me to reciprocate?” he said.
Damen smiled, thrusting a bit against Laurent’s hip. “If you want to--” which meant yes.
Laurent left Damen while he was still stretching smug and sleepily on the bed. There was a lot of work to do.
He didn’t see Damen again until the middle of the afternoon. Damen was slow to put it together. He came up to Laurent near the courtyard, and he ran his eyes up and down Laurent, so he clearly knew that Laurent had chosen to wear a chiton today even though he usually dressed in Veretian attire. But it still took him a moment. “Is there a drill?” he said, asking why they were gathering.
Laurent nodded toward the low chair that had been set out in the courtyard at his order.
He saw the shock on Damen’s face. Damen’s eyes widened as he took in the chair, and he looked back to Laurent, and then back over at the chair. Laurent could see the pieces falling into place--the salve, the chiton, the chair.
“The Veretian king has decided to participate in an Akielon tradition?” said Damen.
“I was told it’s good luck,” said Laurent.
Damen laughed broadly, and slung an arm over Laurent’s shoulders. He nuzzled his face into Laurent’s neck, and then kissed Laurent on the mouth, oddly bold despite all of the men watching them interestedly in the yard.
“Are you sure?” said Damen in Laurent’s ear.
Laurent just stepped away from Damen into the circle of men that was starting to form. There were more men gathered than there had been for Pallas’s birthday. “If you’re worried about your arm,” said Laurent tauntingly.
Damen followed. He let Laurent gently push him down to sit on the low wooden stool, a dumbfounded look of surprise still evident on his face.
Laurent cast a cool look over the assembled men. All of his guard seemed to have turned out for the occasion. Lazar smirked at him. Laurent bent over Damen’s lap.
The position of the low stool allowed him to kneel on the ground and press his face against Damen’s leather skirt. He gripped Damen’s calf with one of his hands and braced the other hand against the cobblestone of the courtyard.
Laurent could hear the first slap almost before he felt the impact. It was light. Damen hit him far harder than that when they practice sparred in the ring. Damen had his hand on Laurent’s ass now, with an almost considering touch.
“That kind of love tap isn’t going to bring him any kind of luck!” Lazar shouted critically.
“Lazar,” Laurent said, interrupted slightly by Damen striking him a second time, not much harder. “Go clean the stables.”
The jab at Lazar had no heart behind it. Teasing was part of the show.
The men laughed. There was a murmur of dissatisfaction that their king seemed to be going easy on the foreigner. “He beat you in the okton!” someone shouted as a helpful motivation.
“It was a tie,” Laurent objected.
Damen was laughing; Laurent could feel it where he was draped over Damen’s body. Damen soothed Laurent’s bottom one last time and when the next few slaps hit, they were significantly harder. Laurent let out a small hiss. He looked over his shoulder and he could see Damen smiling down at him.
The crowd approved amidst their shouted counting of the numbers. Half of the men were counting in Akielon and half of them in Veretian.
Damen kept a good rhythm, stopping every couple of slaps to caress the now tender muscle. The men whistled and laughed.
Laurent felt oddly aware of his body. Not just where Damen was striking it, but the way the cobblestones of the ground felt against his knees, the warmth of Damen’s lap against his stomach, the fall of a displaced strand of hair against his face. A small sound came out of his mouth helplessly.
The courtyard around him became something of a blur. He felt that every moment was spent tense and waiting for Damen to strike him, the imagining and the anticipation leading up to the surprise of each of the blows from Damen’s palm. The moment when he could tell he had been struck a fraction of a breath before he could feel the pain spread over his skin.
He was starting to see the appeal.
The Veretian number for seventeen sounded remarkably like the Akielon number for twelve, which led to some degree of confusion amongst the counters as to how many strokes had actually been administered.
Laurent had been keeping his own count in his head, his face still pressed up against Damen’s thigh. He could feel Damen start to chuckle over the counting confusion, and Laurent bit him through the leather.
Damen must have been keeping his own count in his head as well, because he ignored the chaos of the men around them and flipped Laurent’s chiton back down after exactly twenty-five. He rubbed Laurent’s back gently and offered Laurent a hand up.
Laurent stood. He took in the crowd again, trying to keep his expression as cool as it had been before they started. Damen still looked slightly dumbfounded next to him; Laurent hoped it wasn’t permanent.
The men seemed slightly hesitant to burst into congratulations when it was their king in front of them. Makedon broke the silence. “Ha! Ha!” he said, and offered Laurent a cup of griva. It was the first time in his life that Laurent was grateful to have been poured a cup of griva. Makedon clapped him on the shoulder, and the griva sloshed in the cup. Laurent drank it.
Other men approached him or Damen. Lazar dared a congratulatory ass slap. “Are the stables clean yet?” Laurent said.
Jord offered a handshake; Pallas an excited hug.
Laurent looked around for Damen, and found him. Damen was also holding an empty griva cup.
Laurent nodded toward the gate to the palace, and then he left, not needing to look back to be sure that Damen would follow.
Damen did follow. Laurent was two steps into their bedroom when Damen embraced him from behind, laughing into his neck. “I can’t believe you,” said Damen. “I--you surprise me.”
Laurent turned in his embrace. He raised one of his arms and fiddled with the pin on Damen’s shoulder, teasing it out of the fabric. “You surprise me also,” he said. “I really thought you could hit harder than that.”
Damen tipped his head back and laughed broadly. Laurent dropped the pin from his clothes and the linen Damen had been wearing fell to the floor.
Laurent bit gently along Damen’s jawline. “I want to tell you something,” he said. He could feel Damen’s hands dispensing with his own clothing.
“Yes,” Damen said, voice low. “What is it.”
“I want to tell you about a tradition we have in Vere.”
Epilogue
Lazar observed that the day after his birthday, the king did not wish to go riding.