Harry huffs out a fond, amused laugh and takes the oil bottle out of Iain’s hand. He slicks his fingers up more. And then he holds them there. Close enough so Iain can feel the warmth, the proximity of them against his hole. But not quite touching. Not yet.
When Iain’s breath becomes a desperate little whine, when his leg muscles start to quiver, Harry finally touches him. Iain arches back, his body going taut. It’s as if a dam has been broken. A tide of whispered profanity and adoration tumbles out of his mouth as his body thrusts down on Harry’s fingers, still teasingly circling his hole.
‘You’re only prolonging the wait for yourself, too,’ Iain hisses, as Harry presses the tip of a finger in, then withdraws it again.
Then something in Iain changes, that savage dark thing uncoiling in a subtle shift of body posture and a smirk that Harry can’t see but would bet his life is there. It’s matched by something primal that sparks low in Harry’s stomach whenever he’s around Iain.
With everyone else, he exists behind the heavy armour of the good knight, the good protector. But Iain can shatter his defences with a glance. Iain has seen his worst, and loves him anyway. And that … that makes Harry want to possess him, keep him from the world’s harm with a ferocity that he never suspected lay within him.
He hears Iain suck two of his own fingers, and he shivers, his curiosity building about what the boy has planned.
His shiver turns to a gasp of surprise as Iain traces the pads of his fingers ever so lightly down Harry’s cock. ‘Turnabout is, after all, fair play,’ Iain breathes, leaning down to kiss Harry, honey-sweet.
Then those fingers move again, up the sides, swiping under Harry’s foreskin.
Harry thrusts up, both hips and fingers, grunting out his need. The animal is coming out in him. He starts moving his fingers in and out of Iain, fast and deep, and when he hits the right spot Iain throws his head backwards and bites his own fist to keep from crying out in pleasure.
And Harry looks up at him from where he lies on his back, at the arch of Iain’s muscled chest outlined in the lamplight, at his cock already hard and dripping, and he loves him so much in that moment he thinks he could just fall apart, just let go of his carefully held composure, and everything would be well. Iain would hold him together.
‘Are you ready?’ Harry whispers.
‘God, yes,’ Iain breathes, leaning down to kiss Harry again as he pulls his fingers out.
Harry rubs a hand up and down the hard lines of Iain’s thigh, feeling subtle shifts in the muscle under his fingers as Iain melts into the kiss. Then Iain reaches behind him and takes Harry’s cock in hand, lining himself up. He breaks the kiss then, and sits back slowly, exhaling as he goes.
Harry shuts his eyes. It’s heaven.
And if this is the act that will send him to Hell, then he is willing to burn.
Iain’s heavy weight finally settles on him as the boy takes all of him in. His hand reaches down, fingers tangling in Harry’s, and they spend a moment there, just breathing, in the night.
Then Iain begins to move. Despite the fire burning hot in both of them, it’s not the frantic, desperate pace of their previous encounters, because the fear is gone. Every kiss is no longer a prelude to goodbye. This won’t be their last time.
It is, if anything, a first time.
As lovers. As partners. As themselves.
Iain rolls his hips, riding Harry slowly and sweetly, as their hands remain tangled together. Harry rubs his thumb over Iain’s palm, feeling the swordsman’s callouses there. Then he presses them to his lips. Iain hums, above him, and traces Harry’s smile with his fingers.
Then he moves Harry’s hand to his cock.
‘Yes, Your Highness,’ Harry murmurs, earning a growl from Iain as the boy contracts his body hard around Harry.
‘That’s— that’s not the way to get me to stop saying that,’ Harry moans, beginning to move his fist over Iain’s dick.
Then Iain picks up the pace until Harry isn’t able to say anything at all. Harry bends his knees, flattening his feet against the tent floor and thrusting up to meet Iain. They don’t last long, like that. It’s too good. Harry can feel Iain coming first, his cock jerking and spurting under Harry’s hand and his body tensing around Harry like a hot, velvet vice. Harry isn’t far behind, as he grabs Iain’s hips and fucks up into him, hard, sloppy and unco-ordinated, until his own orgasm begins to crash through him. He sits up, ignoring the spark of pain from his ribs, and pulls Iain forwards onto him as he comes, needing to feel as much of the boy’s body against his as possible, wrapping his arms around him, tucking his face into Iain’s neck and gasping his name as he shudders through his release. Iain holds him just as tightly, arms like steel bars around him, as they come together, in a field far from either of their lands, finding their only true home in each other.
They hold each other until Harry softens and slips out, and then for a bit longer still. Then Iain pulls Harry down to the pallet, shivering slightly, and drags their pile of cloaks on top of them. Iain fits, just so, against Harry’s side, like a matching puzzle piece long thought lost. And Harry can’t help breathing out his adoration and his wonder as he strokes Iain’s hair. ‘I love you, my prince,’ he whispers, pressing a kiss against Iain’s neck.
‘Don’t say that, Harry. Don’t get used to saying it,’ Iain mumbles, fidgeting uncomfortably against him. ‘It’s not safe to say aloud, even between us. I am nothing more than your Scottish squire.’ He smirks. ‘Whom you may love.’
Harry twists one of those dark locks around his index finger
