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Entry tags:
FIC: Agreement (SotL)
TITLE: Agreement
FANDOM: Song of the Lioness
PAIRING: Roger/Alex
RATING: PG-13 (darker then the books, but hardly anything more then PG-13)
WORDS: 638
SUMMERY: The night before Jonathon's coranation, Duke Roger of Conte and Alex of Tirragen play a slightly odd version of chess.
AGREEMENT
The room is dark, lit only by a fire. It silhouettes two armchairs, two men. One, a knight, slender and graceful as a black cat in the shadows. The other, tall and handsome, a Duke…or perhaps more accurately a former Duke, stripped of his rights and respect once he came back to life. Sometimes he forgets who he is- this Roger or that Roger. The dead or the newly living.
Alex is the same. Older, more assured…even slightly crazier. But still the same.
They are playing chess, the ruddy, ever-flickering light of the fire casting bloody shadows over the pieces. Is this the type of game where I play to lose, the young knight had asked. The duke had smiled, wait, my former squire, wait and you shall see my plan.
And so Alex had waited. And watched. And smiled.
As it always is, it’s black against white, but the white army has its back to the fire, the faces of the king and queen and bishops in shadow.
Both men are playing on the black side- moving the white pieces as they see fit.
It is Alex’s turn again, and he moves a knight. Pauses before taking the remaining white knight. His imagination, but the horse’s eyes glint amethyst for a moment. Tilts his head, puts his knight down and picks up the other, turning it this way and that.
Gives a low, expectant laugh, eyes dreamy.
“I will best her.”
The former Duke smiles at this, moving the black king so that it stares across the space vacated by the white knight at the black.
“We shall see.”
“We have an agreement.”
“You plan on winning.”
“I plan on knowing.”
“It is the same to you.”
“No. Either way, I know the truth.”
“As will I.”
Dark eyes glitter behind dark lashes at the last remark, and their owner puts the white knight down between the black king and knight.
“Your move, Your Grace.”
“I have no more moves to play.”
“Then I shall.”
“By all means.”
Calmly, Alex picks up the dark knight and hits the white knight into the fire. Calmly, gracefully, he puts the dark knight back in its post. Glances up with veiled eyes at his former master.
Roger observes the chessboard for a moment, then kicks the table down. Old pieces, antique and beautiful, hit the back of the hearth to land in the fire and burn.
After tomorrow, it will not matter that they are lost.
Silence. Then,
“You always did think big.”
“It runs in the family.”
“Evidently.”
Pause.
“Kiss me.”
Amusement.
“Why?”
“I want you to.”
“I outrank you.”
“After tomorrow, will it matter?”
“I will get a bigger tomb then you.”
A low laugh.
“A bigger pyre at Traitors’ Hill, that is all.”
“Will you beg?”
“No. Just ask nicely.”
“Do so.”
“Please, Your Grace. Kiss me.”
“You don’t sound nice.”
“Do you want me to?”
“No.”
“Then you are complaining?”
“About you, my faithful former squire? Never.”
Rustling as Roger stands and moves over to the other armchair. Soft, wet sounds as they kiss with sliding tongues and teasing lips.
And when they stop, the shaky sound of Alex’s quick breaths.
He reaches up and traces Roger’s full red lips, framed by a neat brown-black beard.
His voice is a husky whisper.
“They think you still mean to be king.”
A smile.
“Fools.”
It is perhaps another hour before they go to Alex’s bed, and when they have sex it is hard and rough and will leave them both stiff come morning.
But Roger, stroking the now sleeping young man’s hair, doesn’t mind.
It is worth a little pain to make sure that Alex will allow Alanna to win.
Even if he doesn’t know it yet.
Fin.
FANDOM: Song of the Lioness
PAIRING: Roger/Alex
RATING: PG-13 (darker then the books, but hardly anything more then PG-13)
WORDS: 638
SUMMERY: The night before Jonathon's coranation, Duke Roger of Conte and Alex of Tirragen play a slightly odd version of chess.
The room is dark, lit only by a fire. It silhouettes two armchairs, two men. One, a knight, slender and graceful as a black cat in the shadows. The other, tall and handsome, a Duke…or perhaps more accurately a former Duke, stripped of his rights and respect once he came back to life. Sometimes he forgets who he is- this Roger or that Roger. The dead or the newly living.
Alex is the same. Older, more assured…even slightly crazier. But still the same.
They are playing chess, the ruddy, ever-flickering light of the fire casting bloody shadows over the pieces. Is this the type of game where I play to lose, the young knight had asked. The duke had smiled, wait, my former squire, wait and you shall see my plan.
And so Alex had waited. And watched. And smiled.
As it always is, it’s black against white, but the white army has its back to the fire, the faces of the king and queen and bishops in shadow.
Both men are playing on the black side- moving the white pieces as they see fit.
It is Alex’s turn again, and he moves a knight. Pauses before taking the remaining white knight. His imagination, but the horse’s eyes glint amethyst for a moment. Tilts his head, puts his knight down and picks up the other, turning it this way and that.
Gives a low, expectant laugh, eyes dreamy.
“I will best her.”
The former Duke smiles at this, moving the black king so that it stares across the space vacated by the white knight at the black.
“We shall see.”
“We have an agreement.”
“You plan on winning.”
“I plan on knowing.”
“It is the same to you.”
“No. Either way, I know the truth.”
“As will I.”
Dark eyes glitter behind dark lashes at the last remark, and their owner puts the white knight down between the black king and knight.
“Your move, Your Grace.”
“I have no more moves to play.”
“Then I shall.”
“By all means.”
Calmly, Alex picks up the dark knight and hits the white knight into the fire. Calmly, gracefully, he puts the dark knight back in its post. Glances up with veiled eyes at his former master.
Roger observes the chessboard for a moment, then kicks the table down. Old pieces, antique and beautiful, hit the back of the hearth to land in the fire and burn.
After tomorrow, it will not matter that they are lost.
Silence. Then,
“You always did think big.”
“It runs in the family.”
“Evidently.”
Pause.
“Kiss me.”
Amusement.
“Why?”
“I want you to.”
“I outrank you.”
“After tomorrow, will it matter?”
“I will get a bigger tomb then you.”
A low laugh.
“A bigger pyre at Traitors’ Hill, that is all.”
“Will you beg?”
“No. Just ask nicely.”
“Do so.”
“Please, Your Grace. Kiss me.”
“You don’t sound nice.”
“Do you want me to?”
“No.”
“Then you are complaining?”
“About you, my faithful former squire? Never.”
Rustling as Roger stands and moves over to the other armchair. Soft, wet sounds as they kiss with sliding tongues and teasing lips.
And when they stop, the shaky sound of Alex’s quick breaths.
He reaches up and traces Roger’s full red lips, framed by a neat brown-black beard.
His voice is a husky whisper.
“They think you still mean to be king.”
A smile.
“Fools.”
It is perhaps another hour before they go to Alex’s bed, and when they have sex it is hard and rough and will leave them both stiff come morning.
But Roger, stroking the now sleeping young man’s hair, doesn’t mind.
It is worth a little pain to make sure that Alex will allow Alanna to win.
Even if he doesn’t know it yet.
Fin.