Page 28 of A Suitable Brat
He paused.
Westin opened his mouth, then reconsidered the challenge for what it was and put a hand over the curve of Sun’s backside.That backside had been offered to him for a reason, although Westin still did not feel inclined to spank, and if he did, it would not be in a booth for a whole inn to hear.
But the brat was testing him, so Westin spread Sun’s cheeks enough to push two fingers back into his slick body, and Sun gasped in a gratifying way and tried to shift his knees apart.
Westin held him still and pressed in again, seeking and finding where Sun was sensitive from their tupping and stroking with firm pressure.Sun wriggled, then squirmed.He panted and turned his head to glare up at Westin.
“And yet,” Westin said thoughtfully, hot and aroused and wound up in ways that would make Sun proud, “I think you’ll say yes anyway, if only to keep me away from Hely.I am yours, am I not?You can’t trust Hely with me.That’s what you said.”
Sun groaned and turned his head away again.
“I have no problem with Hely,” he puffed out, then jerked away from Westin’s fingers only to shove himself back down on them and shudder.“Wes,” he said weakly.“It’s terrible.It’s so much.Don’t stop.”
“You haven’t answered me,” Westin reminded him, and slipped in a third finger with beat-of-four impulses stirring in his chest again.Itwasterrible, he silently agreed, and yet shared Sun’s desire to keep going.
Sun allowed it, shaking but somehow pleased by it all.
“What I think you really need is someone to watch your back.”Sun paused every few words to let a whine escape.“To travel with you when you resolve disputes, or go to the palace, or—West.”Sun tried and failed to get his knees apart.He would be demanding cock again soon unless Westin got him to spill over himself and the cushions by continuing this correction.“You should have a sworn gua-ard.”Sun’s voice rose when Westin began to press with steady, regular pressure.“Are you…?Iwillbe your guard, Westin.Iwillprotect you, even if I am also your pet.”He dropped his head to the cushion to pant.“Are you going to fuck me again?”
“You’ll be sore.”But if Sun wanted it, then yes, he would.
“So I can feel it even when you’re gone,” Sun said.“Only you won’t be.You aren’t going to leave this time.”He pushed back into Westin’s touch, then put a hand over his mouth as if that could keep his wail from spilling out.“You aren’t going to leave and I won’t have to leave you.I’ll rile you up but I’ll keep you safe.You’re mine.My one-and-only.”He shivered violently.“Yes.Yes, West.Even though I’m trouble.You won’t stop?”
“Come back up here,” Westin ordered, distantly alarmed at how easy giving orders was becoming.But when he gently slid his fingers free, Sun came back up to be enfolded in his arms, and he was all warm skin and a sweet mouth at Westin’s throat.A risk and a worry.Trouble, but also what let Westin shut his eyes and breathe.He might wish for a scent that better matched what Sun wanted, but the citrus-and-herb wasn’t unpleasant.It was a scent for a steady, settled older man, because that was what Sun desired.“Youaretrouble,” Westin agreed with him, nuzzling his hair and petting the freckles at his nape.“A wolfling and a brat.”Another shiver went through Sun.Westin’s blood stayed hot, but his thoughts were clear at last.“Mybrat,” he ventured quietly, and slid his fingers back inside of Sun to elicit both a tortured cry and then a weak moan against his neck.
“Lark-in-my-hand,” Westin realized aloud, and gave Sun another kiss amid the sound of heavy rain and quiet, distant, Solace House conversation.
Epilogue
Thesunwasshiningand the air held the faint scent of flowers and wet earth.Spring was a lovely time to begin negotiations.Granted, Westin had started negotiations on much worse days, in much worse conditions, so he was inclined to favor the crisp air and even the slight chill that came with it.Nonetheless, he took it as a blessing from the fae that though he was in a large room filled with people he’d rather avoid, that room had many windows that overlooked one of the palace gardens, and the garden was in full bloom.
From his seat at the vast, round table, Westin could only see the tops of the garden walls, overgrown with small pink roses and a patch of moss on the shadowed side, and the branch of a tree heavy with white blossoms, but he’d rather that view than look at the wealthy, prideful nobles and their guards, all gathered about and looking for gossip instead of taking their seats at the table.
Perhaps they were waiting for the king to sit.If so, the king seemed content to make them wait.But Westin didn’t look in that direction yet either.Maybe Westin should have also waited, but this was not, officially, a formal gathering, and he still wasn’t certain he even wanted to be here, so he didn’t move.It was just possible that he’d been invited to this meeting, this start of negotiations, out of politeness, or that the new king was going to take charge and Westin was little more than a figurehead.
Or scapegoat, should things go wrong.But that was a risk with any negotiation, and Westin had headed so many now over the years that he hoped his reputation would speak for him.Anyway, the new king wasn’t really new, and if Westin considered the entirety of the past twenty-five years and beyond, then this king had been king the whole time, if uncrowned.
He wondered if the other beat-of-fours here realized that.Some of them were young; they might not know that the one they called the Traitor King had been the intended ruler all along.Of course, some of those here were young because the older generations had been killed or weakened by twenty years of in-fighting that the so-called traitor had finally put an end to.
That was the danger of time passing.People forgot what once was, even with the Great Library at their disposal.
Westin had requested information from the library when he had first received the invitation to be here.Yet he felt wildly unprepared now, sitting alone—almost alone—among finery and youthful faces.Some of these nobles could likely barely remember the time before the warring.Some might not have known it at all.Some didn’t know him.Their occasional glances toward him were likely curiosity about the gray-haired, somewhat simply dressed man among them.
Westin didn’t look back at them.He considered their sworn guards—each noble was permitted two unarmed sworn guards when within the palace, but for this meeting, because of the size of the room, or as a precaution, each noble was only allowed one.A few had no guard to accompany them, perhaps they considered themselves to be warrior enough, but most did have guards, silent and watchful.
But the sworn guards in the room were outnumbered by the palace guards at every corner and by the door and several of the windows.In addition, the king’s husband—first husband—was ever armed and armored.As was the king.Even here, at the start of negotiations over the fuss around a wedding.
Twenty years of fighting.Twenty-five years of suspicion and fear.Then the incident that winter.Westin could not blame anyone for their fears or their precautions.But it did indicate these meetings would be tense, to say the least.
He considered the garden again and the tree with all the white flowers.The scent from the blossoms must have been delicate, because the perfumes around him continued to wash it away.
A jarring mix of scents, in all honesty.Westin was again grateful for the windows and the size of the room.It meant tetchy beat-of-fours could keep space between them and that the many windows prevented all their expensive perfumes from becoming too overwhelming to someone sensitive to those things.The sunlight would help him avoid headaches if Westin had to examine tiny handwriting on any ancient documents.His eyes were not what they used to be, and even the investment in magnifying glass lenses, fitted to wire frames that looped over his ears for stability, did not quite make up for the lost clarity of youth.
With that in mind, he pulled his lenses from a pocket of his robe and slipped them into place so he wouldn’t end up squinting later.
From beside him, above his shoulder, came a mournful sigh.
Westin ignored it for the moment to pat his robe back into place.His finest, which of course was nowhere near as fine as the robes on the proud peacocks and preening robins gathered in this room, but was hardly shabby.He’d chosen it as a matter of pride but also to keep some of the creeping chill at bay—another hazard of age, even for those who didn’t have bad memories of cold nights.
