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Strohl blinks his eyes open.
He takes a second to look at his surroundings — he’s in someone’s private chambers, a bed, bookcases, expensive artwork, and a desk, right in the center of the room. Sitting at that desk, legs spread pridefully, is Louis, raising his head to smirk at him.
Strohl can’t remember exactly how he got here, but —
“Nice of you to come see me,” Louis says. Strohl widens his eyes, refuses to let his gaze drop. “A little birdie was telling me about you.”
Well, fuck. It doesn’t matter why he’s here, if Louis suspects him.
Crossing his arms against his chest, Strohl takes a deep breath and steels himself. “Nothing too bad, one should hope.”
Louis smirks, the side of his mouth quirking up. The walls seem to close in ever so slightly, shrinking in on them. “You have… quite unsightly reasons for joining the race against me, I hear. Care to explain?”
Strohl’s heart drops out of his chest. They’ve been so careful — all the hard work that they’ve done, eliminated just like that?
He swallows.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Strohl says. His pulse pounds, sounding loud in his ears.
Louis reaches out a long, lithe finger, beckoning Strohl forward. Unwillingly, his body moves, pulled step by step until he’s standing right in front of Louis, less than a meter away.
“You don’t?” Louis says. “Perhaps this will jog your memory.”
He lifts his hand up, causing Strohl to flinch, hard. No magic — royal or otherwise — will save him here. He braces himself, but Louis doesn’t kill him, or maim him, or any of the other possibilities running through Strohl’s head.
Instead, his hand wraps around Strohl’s body until it’s groping at his backside, tugging him in a step closer so that Strohl is standing between his thighs. He flexes his hand.
Strohl gasps. The impropriety of this man! “Wha — why would you even dare to think—“
“It’s written all over your face,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes. He squeezes, and Strohl. Doesn’t. Move. Away. “Surely you were aware?”
He pulls Strohl closer, until he’s forced to grab onto Louis’ shoulders in order to not tip over, their faces inches apart. He inhales a sharp breath, digging his fingers into the expensive fabric of Louis’ clothes. It’s not — he doesn’t know why he doesn’t pull away.
Louis continues, tilting his chin up until his mouth is pressed up against Strohl’s ear. He whispers into it, warm breath igniting the nerves under the surface, a flash of heat stirring in Strohl’s loins. “I’ll dare to indulge… A lord beneath me, begging. A sight I’ve seen before, surely, but not one that’s so… eager.”
Rage floods through Strohl’s veins, white-hot. He brings his hands up to Louis’ shoulders, roughly shoving himself away.
“I won’t beg —” Strohl sneers at the other’s face, watches as the side of Louis’ mouth tilts up in a shadow of a smirk. His heart skips a beat in his chest.
Louis brings his sword up — God, why had Strohl not assumed he was armed — before the point is laying at Strohl’s throat, his pulse pounding against the sharp tip. Strohl swallows nervously.
“You will,” Louis says simply, before he draws the edge of his sword down Strohl’s chest, sharp blade slicing his clothes down the center. It digs into his skin just enough to scratch, tiny beads of blood coming to the surface.
Strohl winces, squeezing his eyes shut. The fabric of his shirt falls to his arms, breeze brushing against his front. How embarrassing — a lord, a noble, letting Louis do as he pleases, not even fighting back. He hears Louis resheathe the blade, loud in the silence of the room.
He moves his hands up, intending to strike at Louis, but in one quick movement, Louis grabs both of his wrists in one big hand, lifting them so that Strohl’s shoulders strain with effort. As he watches, Louis dips his head close to Strohl’s chest, before he’s tonguing along the red line of blood.
Strohl gasps. He tries to move, but Louis tightens his grip to the point of pain, moving his head to follow Strohl’s movements. His mouth is red-hot, burning as he sucks at the sensitive, irritated skin.
Embarrassingly, he feels himself start to stir. He’s never… done this with anyone before, and he hasn’t the time to touch himself, sharing a room and all. Sure as he is that he could spend some time with himself, he hasn’t since that night before he went to the recruitment center. Even that too was rushed.
“Good?” Louis asks. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to Strohl’s collarbone, humming against the skin. Strohl shivers under him, body betraying him and arching up into the heat of Louis’ mouth.
“I don’t —”
“Say it,” Louis says. He licks blood — Strohl’s blood — from the corner of his mouth. Strohl’s cock pulses in his pants. “Ask me for more.”
It’s a shame that someone this awful could be so, so attractive. A shame too that Strohl is already aching, his entire body sensitive from months of not touching himself, and there’s almost no chance that Louis will miss it, close as he is.
Strohl presses his lips together, resisting. Above his head, his arms are shaking. Louis seems just as determined to not surrender, staring him down.
“No matter,” Louis says. Quick as a flash, he lets go of Strohl’s arms before he moves his own down. One of them shoves the useless fabric of Strohl’s shirt out of the way, pinching at a stiffened nipple. The other drifts lower, until Louis grabs at the fabric of Strohl’s crotch, massaging at his cock.
Strohl gasps, hip twitching into Louis’ touch. It feels unbearably good, being held like this. He leans further into him, landing on top of Louis in his chair. He can’t bring himself to care, muffling a moan in Louis’ shoulder. God, is this what he’s been missing? Even Louis’ unforgiving touch — the touch of a murderer — is sending sparks through his veins, heat pooling in his stomach. He thrusts his hips and his chest against Louis’ deft hands, chasing the feeling.
Just when he’s about to tip over the edge — embarrassingly fast, he must admit — Louis’ hand tightens around him until it’s near painful. Strohl tries to chase his orgasm, but Louis stops him readily, grinning at the flush on Strohl’s cheeks.
“Lordling,” Louis coos, roughly groping at his cock. “You still won’t ask for more? You’re satisfied with just this?”
Strohl turns his head to the side and tries to steady his breathing. It’s not — Louis is asking him to beg the man who — who —
He bites his lips, squeezing his eyes shut on tears that threaten to fall. “No,” he says. “I won’t sacrifice my pride.”
“Noble,” Louis says, letting go of Strohl’s cock. He studies him, eyes flitting across his face. Strohl casts his eyes low, looking somewhere between the pale skin of Louis’ neck and his strong legs.
After a moment, Louis speaks again.
“Fine,” Louis leans back in his seat, spreading his legs. “You refuse to beg, so I refuse to help you with your… situation. If you must, you can rub off against my leg. Do be careful not to soil my clothes. I hesitate to think that a disgraced noble has enough money to pay for my clothing.”
Strohl’s face flushes with heat, clouding his thoughts. He narrows his eyes, glaring at Louis.
“I will not — I’m not a dog,” Strohl says. He stands up unsteadily, shedding his shirt as he does. It’s pointless to keep on the scraps of fabric, he reasons.
“Fine,” Louis says. He gathers up his robes, pulling his outerwear on and standing up, taking long strides until he’s at the door, hand on the doorknob. Strohl thinks he can make out the sound of voices outside. He takes a short inhale, heart beating wildly against his chest. The threat of being seen like this, defiled in Louis’ own chambers, makes his chest flutter with anxiety.
“Wait!” He says, draping his clothes over himself in an imitation of modesty. He’s sure it wouldn’t do much — his hair is messy, lips swollen, pupils dilated. Only an idiot wouldn’t be able to tell what was going on here, and Strohl knows that Louis wouldn’t associate himself with people he thinks of as such. Strohl can’t — it can’t get out that he was doing this with Louis. If his people knew… Strohl shudders at the mere thought,
Luckily, Louis pauses, hand gripping the doorknob. “Repeat yourself.”
Strohl grits his teeth. Louis pushes the door open another inch, the voices get louder, and a hot rush of shame flows through Strohl’s exposed body. “Don’t leave,” he says, whispering. “I’ll do it.”
“You’ll beg,” Louis corrects. “You’ll beg me to touch your pathetic cock.”
“Okay,” Strohl says. He clenches his jaw, fighting the flush on his cheeks.
“You’ll call me Your Highness,” Louis continues. “We all know it’ll be true soon, hmm?”
Strohl fights against the urge to argue, holding his fists by his side. “Yes,” he says. Louis glares at him. “... Your Highness.”
Something in his stomach turns, thick and nauseating, before it spreads into heat, pulsating down to his cock. Strohl tries to will his cock down, but it’s no use, Louis grabbing at it and stroking him back to full hardness. Strohl throws his head back, shivering.
“Come closer,” Louis says, shifting his legs apart and urging Strohl in a step closer. As he does so, he moves his other hand to Strohl bottoms, undoing them and tugging them down his thighs. Unfond of the constricting feeling, Strohl pulls them down the rest of the way, left standing just in his undergarments.
Louis whistles, voice smug. “My, my, what a sight,” he says. “Little lordling, you’re so wet.”
Strohl’s head snaps down. Sure enough, there’s a wet patch on his undergarments, right where the tip of his cock is drooling. Embarrassed, he moves his hands to cover himself. Louis catches them, intertwining their fingers.
“Don’t look,” Strohl says, trying to twist away from view. Shame runs through him in hot pulses.
Louis smiles, squeezing at Strohl’s hands before letting go. “You don’t want me to see?”
Strohl shakes his head — he’s humiliated himself enough.
Louis gently pushes Strohl down, pushes him until Strohl’s knees are bracketing Louis’ calf, and looks at him. “Use my leg.”
Strohl tries not to, sticks his nose up and thinks about the most disgusting things he can — humans, Hulkenberg’s eating habits — but Louis shifts beneath him, rubbing against Strohl’s cock.
“Don’t tire your pretty little head out,” Louis says. He puts a gentle hand in Strohl’s hair, playing with the soft strands. “Do what feels good, lordling. I can’t see your cock from up here, if that’s what concerns you so.”
Against his better judgement, Strohl starts to rock his hips back and forth, gently rubbing against Louis. Heat floods his spine, rushing to his cock as he moves. It’s better than anything he’s felt thus far, smooth and unyielding under his movements.
“Does it feel good?” Louis says. “So, so desperate for it, aren’t you? Isn’t your poor cock just begging for me to touch it?”
Strohl moans loudly. He ruts against Louis’s legs, grabbing at him as best he can. His mind feels strangely blank, all rational thought replaced by desire.
“Your highness,” Louis says. “Say it.”
With every pass of his cock on Louis, Strohl moans out a “Your Highness”, until he’s incomprehensible, whining and panting as he chases his own pleasure. He can’t help but say it, shame coursing through his veins. It’s more humiliating, Strohl’s jumbled mind thinks, that Louis is still fully clothed, just muttering obscenities at him.
“Shh,” Louis says. His hand comes down to cup Strohl’s jaw, thumb running along his cheek. He pushes at Strohl’s face until it turns to face the rest of the room. “Look, lordling, at your friends. Your allies, watching this… haven’t you any shame?”
Surprised, Strohl blinks away messy tears, until his vision clears and he can see some of his friends, watching him. They look shocked — Will’s mouth forms a round “O”, and Hulkenberg looks downright furious. When he turns his head ever so slightly more, he can see Lady Junah and one of the brothers that’s always following Louis around — Basilio, he thinks — staring at him, wide-eyed.
“I—” Strohl says, before Louis pushes his fingers into Strohl’s mouth, stroking his teeth and the roof of his mouth and shoving to the back of his throat. Strohl gags, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.
His cock grows harder. Strohl thinks he lost his shame a long while ago. He makes eye contact with them, one by one, each of them looking at him with something close to pity and revulsion.
Hulkenberg squeezes her eyes shut, face scrunched in rage. “Deplorable.”
“Strohl — “ Will says. Strohl watches as he tries to jump forward, stopped only by Junah’s arm across his chest.
“Look at him,” she says. Her voice curls in anger, soft words made sharp. “That’s just…”
“The lad’s into it,” Basilio says. “Fuckin’ ‘ell.”
Louis pushes his fingers in farther, testing Strohl’s gag reflex. When Strohl swallows around him, the corners of his lips twitch up. “They can tell how much you like it, lordling. Your little friends would help, but they’re disgusted by you right now. They can’t even make eye contact. Pathetic.”
Sure enough, when Strohl looks, they’ve turned away. Strohl feels queasy, but even that turns to pleasure soon enough, Louis threading his other hand through Strohl’s hand and pulling hard. He lets out a high-pitched sound he didn’t know he could make, whining around the fingers in his mouth. “Your — your highness.”
Will gags from the other side of the room.
Strohl gets embarrassingly harder.
“They don’t matter,” Louis says. “None of this matters, lordling, except for your pleasure.”
He pushes his leg against Strohl’s cock, urging him to move faster. His one hand strokes languidly across Strohl’s tongue; the other tugs loosely at his hair. Strohl watches as his friends flinch with every noise. He’s embarrassed, really, but it turns into a deep warmth, spreading down his entire body. It feels good.
“Please,” Strohl says, jumbled. “Let — let me —”
“Come for me,” Louis says. Strohl rocks his hips faster, drooling into the knee of Louis’ pant leg. He’s so close, he just needs a little more to tip over the edge. “Let me see you, Strohl—”
***
Strohl wakes up, still in the same dirty inn room, with Will’s passive, sleeping face across from him. There’s a mess in his pants he doesn’t care to acknowledge, and a sinking feeling of shame in his gut. He stares up at the ceiling, embarrassment running through him in hot flashes.
He strips, changes, and goes for a long run. He doesn't think about it.