Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Sixteen, Part Two
Rating: Rated R to NC-17
Pairing: Klaine endgame, bumps along the way.
Genre: Romance, AU, Historical Fiction
Warnings: This is essentially a romance novel set in a violent time. There will be, throughout the story, sexual liaisons, murder, torture, sexual blackmail, and political incorrectness.
Spoilers: While events and references from both seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Story: 94,000+ (JESUS CHRIST) This Chapter: 6700+
Summary: England, 1484: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. Allies of the House of York have come to the same conclusion and want to stop that from happening. Their secret weapon will be Kurt Hummel, stableman's son and reluctant spy.
Additional Notes: This is written in the vein of your typical historical romance novel with all the historical liberties taken that you'd expect. I do try to be as historically accurate as is feasible, though. There are some historical and some original characters that interact with the characters we know.
If you haven't read any of this before, you can start HERE to read it on LJ or HERE to read it on AO3.
Late the next night, Blaine let out a sigh. “This was your idea, Florian. Any time you're ready?”
“I'll be ready when this armor is,” Kurt repeated for the fifth time, hands full of a leather corselet, needle and thread. “I cannot believe you allowed people to use this, even for practice. It's riddled with rips and tears. I refuse to put it on until I am satisfied with its structural integrity.”
“But we are running out of time, and I wanted to take you to the lake after we do this.” Blaine's voice was petulant, making Kurt's resolve waver just a little. Time together was still so infrequent and hard-won that he felt guilty about being thought to squander any of it.
Then he remembered. “Do you really want me to risk another bruise so painful that you can't touch me for another fortnight or more? We're going full contact tonight, Blaine. It's bad enough you won't take yours off so I can make sure it's in good order.”
“You're free to try and wrestle it off of me,” Blaine offered hopefully. Kurt arched one eyebrow and smirked.
“That was an excellent effort.” He stopped just shy of full condescension, sticking his tongue out playfully. “But no, I've my hands full enough as it is. Now, shh. I'm nearly done.”
This was only their second or third lesson together – when Kurt had finally asked Blaine for weapons instruction, pointing out that he was the only person at Dalton who didn't really spend time in the salle, Blaine had quickly obliged by putting him under David's tutelage whenever the Marshal had a spare moment.
Blaine's teaching had come in after David tried and failed for nearly a fortnight to instill even the most basic points of swordwork in Kurt, who was surprised and annoyed to discover he had no aptitude for it whatsoever.
It had been decided that dagger work was a better alternative, and since it would require Kurt to learn more about grappling in close quarters, Blaine volunteered for these lessons with a delight he was hard pressed to conceal. Kurt, who had been standing behind David for the discussion, had been equally hard pressed to hide a droll grin.
“So what if it was really just an excuse to spend more time with you?” Blaine had asked him later while they were in bed. “Are you objecting to the thought of me with my hands all over your body?”
Well, when he put it that way...“Not in the slightest,” Kurt had assured him.
Grappling, Kurt did have an aptitude for, and not merely because it meant groping Blaine. He guessed his reflexes dealing with the breaking of horses probably helped, and his precision with the wooden practice daggers was likely due to his hand-eye coordination from leather repair. Or so he gathered. Whatever the case, this was something he could do. And it allowed he and Blaine to have extra time together that involved plenty of touching. Fear had been Kurt's true motivation in seeking out the defense lessons, of course, but had he known there'd be quite so much rolling around on the floor with Blaine, he'd have asked for them sooner.
They were moving on to full contact grappling and blunted metal practice daggers now, which could still do damage. That was why Blaine had pulled out the leather armor for the two of them and why Kurt had immediately gasped, snatching the one designated for him out of Blaine's hands to take it right over to one of the benches. He had been gratified to find a box with the tools he needed, but shook it at Blaine first, an accusing air in his tone. “You have everything you need right here! Why has this been allowed to get into this condition?”
“We didn't have anyone who knew leatherwork! I send my tack out for repair and Emma only sews tea towels and bolsters, what was I supposed to do? Why do you know how to repair it?”
“For the same reason I know how to saddle and ride a horse, Blaine.” Kurt suppressed an irritated sigh. “Connect two logical thoughts together once in a while, will you? This is supposed to be part of the job of a stableman – remember, I wasn't always a music teacher. And you need to reevaluate your stable staff,” he added primly. Threading the needle, he had gotten right to work, ignoring Blaine's grumbling.
Thirty minutes later, he had as much of the thing repaired as he thought he was going to get away with. It would have to do. He slipped the corselet on, lacing up the front and making sure all of the double-stiffened panels were protecting what they should. “All right, Blaine. Come on.”
With a wicked grin, Blaine launched himself across the salle and tackled Kurt to the ground. Today's lesson would be in how to get a weapon away from someone when you didn't have one yourself. Kurt was playing the unfortunate enemy first.
“Sorry, lover,” Blaine breathed, not sounding very sorry at all. For all that he very much enjoyed the opportunity to have his hands on Kurt, he also approached the lessons with a great deal of seriousness. His head had been in the game as soon as Kurt had given the signal, his face grim as he disabled his lover by kneeling on his arms and reaching behind himself to snatch the dagger out of the belt around Kurt's waist. No matter how Kurt bucked and twisted, he was pinned firmly when Blaine brought the knife down to lay across his throat. “You're dead.”
“Damn it.” Kurt pulled his arms out from under Blaine's knees, already feeling the ache where his biceps had been pinned down. “That hurt. And you could have given me a warning.”
“No enemy will give you a warning on the field of battle, Florian,” Blaine informed him while slipping the blade back into Kurt's belt. “If I teach you nothing else, remember that.” And with that, they were at it again, Kurt managing to hold his own with a bit more success but still ending up dead in the end.
So it went on for two more hours, switching places, grunts of exertion forced out with every tackle, muscles growing fatigued and breath coming shorter and shorter with every bout. Still, Blaine refused to let up until Kurt, in the position of the attacker, finally was able to pin him down and get his hands on the dagger. “Got it! You're the dead one now, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt crowed in triumph.
The triumph was short lived as Blaine worked his arms free to wrap them around Kurt's waist and roll him over, taking his mouth in a raging kiss. Taken by surprise, Kurt could only grind his hips up in reflex, causing Blaine to spill a moan between his lips. They began tearing at the laces of each other's practice armor, tossing pieces helter-skelter in their efforts to get as close as they could.
“Okay, you win, lesson over. Did you get the bundle ready? Is it in the kitchen?” Blaine's questions came between kisses sucked into Kurt's neck, making it hard for him to remember what the hell Blaine meant. Oh, wait. Lake. Picnic.
“Yes, I got it sorted while the kitchen was empty after dinner, it's all by the fire,” he gasped, bucking his hips up again when Blaine caught him right behind his earlobe.
“I can't wait another second, not after all this wrestling about. I'm going to get it. You get the towels and the horses ready, meet you in the stable.” With a last hard kiss, Blaine managed to pull himself away, leaving Kurt to lie disheveled and breathless in the middle of the training circle.
“He's going to kill me one day,” Kurt muttered, struggling to sit up and catch his breath. When he felt he could stand, he pushed up and staggered around throwing leather armor into various bins before gathering an armful of clean towels from their usual basket and rushing to the stable. Blaine met him there as he was finishing the saddling, a linen bag slung over one shoulder.
“Just about.” Kurt pulled Melody's saddle girth tight and turned to do the same for Granite. “There. Let's go. What took you so long?”
“Had to get something that I didn't tell you to put in the bag.” Blaine grinned as they led the horses out into the moonlit stableyard, his expression both salacious and boyish in that way that was unique to Blaine and Blaine alone.
“What could – oh. Yes.” Kurt was glad the action of swinging up into his saddle gave him the excuse of exertion to explain his blush. After two months, he still retained some small vestige of virginal modesty, though he was sure that much more time with Blaine would manage to rid him of this completely.
“No, not just that,” Blaine laughed. “Though...also that.”
Kurt blushed even harder and hoped that Blaine couldn't really tell.
The ride to the lake was slow, silent and charged with sexual tension. An unspoken pact kept them from speaking as they ground tethered the horses in a lush patch of grass, maintained the silence while they faced each other and disrobed separately, each movement deliberate, skin revealed in steady increments.
They'd discovered they liked this sort of slow tease, heightening the anticipation until each of them was rock hard and straining not to run to the other. They had to be even more careful tonight, sore and bruised as they were from their session in the salle. Though some bruises would be pressed down and sucked on in the course of their activities this night – they'd discovered that this, too, was something they liked, the little flashes of pain caused by grips and kisses that were only just on the light side of too hard.
Blaine moved first when they were both naked, pacing over to take Kurt's hand and lead him into the lake. The water was still somewhat warm from its all day exposure to the sun, causing the tension and aches to begin leaching out of their muscles almost immediately. Before delicious relaxation coaxed Kurt into floating on his back, though, Blaine had slipped in behind him, wrapping his arms around him so that they floated together lazily, his erection brushing against Kurt's buttocks underwater.
Still had no words passed between them.
With care, Blaine pulled him back even tighter against his chest, floating his other hand through the water and spider-walking his fingers up one hip, finally wrapping a cool hand around Kurt's straining cock. He began to stroke, still slow, still deliberate, opening his mouth to suck at Kurt's droplet-dusted shoulder.
Kurt let his head drop back, allowed a groan of pleasure to slip out while he wrapped his own long arms back behind himself and Blaine, digging fingers into spots on Blaine's muscular rear end that he knew were sore from hitting the hard dirt flooring of the salle. Blaine's response was a gutteral moan of his own, whispered into Kurt's skin just before he squeezed his fingers down and pumped harder. His manhood was sliding up and down along the cleft of Kurt's cheeks, propelled by the instinctual shifting of his hips in his arousal.
So tense were they in the silence, in these stolen moments of pleasure and aching, that it wasn't long before both of them spilled hot in the water, Kurt arching upward with Blaine pressed tight against his back. Blaine's grip loosened on Kurt's cock, but his arm across Kurt's chest was still strong, as Kurt's hands were on Blaine's buttocks, the steel grips keeping them locked together as they came down from the high of climax with soft sighs and nibbled kisses.
Kurt melted back against Blaine, letting his head drop back onto his lover's shoulder. “Magic fingers,” he mumbled, words blurred after the release. “You have magic fingers.”
“Does that make you simply magic, then?” Blaine's voice, too, was blunted around the edges but still held a thread of laughter. “For your own fingers came nowhere near my cock, lover, yet still did I spill as if they had been.”
“I will not turn down such flattery, no,” Kurt responded with a smile. They lapsed again into silence for a moment, floating in moonlight and afterglow. Kurt moved one hand up from Blaine's rear to scratch firmly at the base of his neck, just where the curls began. A blissful purr slipped from Blaine's lips at the gentle scalp massage.
“Never mind, you also have magic fingers,” he murmured drowsily. Kurt lifted his head to see Blaine's eyes drooping closed, a smile of contentment lighting his face.
“Come, Blaine.” Kurt shifted to face Blaine, guiding him to the shore. Exhaustion seemed to have claimed his lover all at once, making him pliant, happy, easy to steer up to the bank where Kurt sat him down and laid out towels for them to recline on. “Here, come here.” He tugged Blaine over to sit down on the towels, drawing him in close and laughing as his lover snuggled right up against his chest. “Hey, now. You can't go to sleep. Not out here.”
“Want to, though.” Blaine wrapped his arms tight around Kurt's waist. “Like it here.”
“We have to eat.” Kurt hated to do it, but he pushed the other man away and forced him to sit up. “Wake up.”
“Fine,” Blaine grumbled, dragging the bag of provisions over. “Here. You eat. 'M too tired.”
Kurt fished out two hand size loaves of bread and an apple each. “No. You, too.”
Blaine muttered darkly, and Blaine protested, but eventually Kurt did coax him into eating and into some semblance of alertness. “It's been a long day,” he apologized, the words coming around a bite of apple.
“It's been a long several weeks,” Kurt corrected. “You're exhausted. I should have known better than to agree to this.”
“No!” Blaine forced his eyes wide open, striving to look awake. “I'm fine. See?”
“We're going back to the manor after we eat.” Kurt chewed at his bread, not looking at Blaine. He was too susceptible to his lover's mournful, puppy-like facial expressions to not take the precaution. Amazing how a man so fierce in the training circle and so sensually aggressive in bed could melt right into a smitten boy when he wanted to do so. If Kurt made eye contact, it was all over. He'd do whatever Blaine asked. So he didn't.
Blaine had apparently realized the puppy-eyes weren't going to work this time, though, and had a backup plan. “No, we're not. I had something I wanted to show you while we were out here.” Tossing his bread aside on the towel, he got to his feet and strode over to where the horses were still quietly munching on grass. Kurt took the chance to look up and make visual contact with Blaine's amazing, amazing backside.
I wonder if they give prizes for such a thing, he mused. They should. He'd win.
When Blaine turned back, Kurt noted with surprise that he had his lute in hand. “Where did that come from?”
“I brought it. That's what took me so long. Well, partly.” He sat back down, crosslegged, and began to fiddle with the tuning pegs. The moonlight illuminated him as he worked, gleaming off of his bare skin and water-glossed curls. “I've wanted to play for you. To sing for you.” He looked up, catching Kurt's eyes before he could look away. “This is the music that I had you bring back for me.”
The hope and uncertainty in Blaine's gaze was somehow more effective than the sweet puppy-dog look that usually got him his way. It went right to Kurt's heart, curled warm in his stomach and sent trickles of light through his veins. He felt as though he were being illuminated from the inside out. It made him take one trembling breath after another in an effort to steady himself. “I'd love to hear it.”
Blaine smiled. “Good. You were going to whether you wanted to or not.” He ducked his head back down and strummed once, the notes dancing on the air. “There. Amelia and I speak French, did you know?”
The non sequtur puzzled Kurt. “Both of you? I knew she did.”
“Mmmhmm.” Blaine's fingers danced across the strings, plucking a light melody. “We sing it, as well. This is a tune I've known and loved for a long time...”
With a last strum, he launched into it, rich tenor voice as smooth as silk.
Le souvenir de vous me tue,
Mon seul bien, quant je ne vous voy.
Car ie vous jure, sur ma foy,
Sans vous ma liesse est perdue...
Kurt sat, transfixed, understanding nothing of the words themselves but not failing for a moment to grasp the intent behind them. Blaine gazed steadily at him, all uncertainty gone as his fingers moved up and down the strings, picking the intricate melody without needing to look down.
Quant vous estes hors de ma veue,
Je me plains et diz a par moy...
Kurt's heart was twisting again in somersaults, a feeling that should have been excruciatingly painful but somehow wasn't. For the second time in his life, he felt he was on the precipice of something irrevocable.
Once again, he knew he would jump. It was only a question of when.
Seulle demeure, despourveue
D’ame, nul confort ne recay;
Et si suffre sans faire effray
Jusques a vostre revenue...
The last notes wafted off into the night, and Blaine bowed his head over his lute once more, breaking the link of their shared gaze.
Kurt couldn't speak, even though he kept swallowing to get past the lump in his throat. His arms extended out towards Blaine, reaching, grasping, wanting -
It seemed forever before Blaine looked up and realized that Kurt was paralyzed and speechless, read all of the need that Kurt was trying to convey in his eyes. Setting his lute aside carefully, he gathered Kurt close, capturing his lips in a kiss that burned the sweetest fire through Kurt's skin and into where he thought his soul must be. The ability to move and speak came back all at once. “What does it mean, Blaine,” he whispered, “What did you sing to me?”
As breathless as Blaine was rapidly getting, he was still able to answer. “That I must be near you, always,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against Kurt's and closing his eyes. “That without you, I have no joy, no comfort, I am bereft.”
Kurt pressed forward, pushing Blaine back into the toweling and grass, his hands anchoring himself so that he could look down into the melting gold of his lover's eyes. “Tell me which words mean the most,” he whispered, hushed and low.
“Sans vous...” Blaine's voice was pitched low, his eyes never leaving Kurt's face. “Sans vous ma liesse est perdue.”
“Sans vous ma liesse est perdue,” Kurt whispered back, the foreign words less certain in his mouth. “Tell me, Blaine. Tell me what they mean.”
But Blaine was silent, groping into the bag that still lay near them, extracting the familiar pottery bottle and slicking its contents over his erect cock and hands, pressing fingers to Kurt's entrance, sliding inside, stretching and moving. He kept his eyes on Kurt, once again no speech passing between them. There was nothing but the sound of crickets and the soft music of Kurt's whimpers at the intrusion.
“Blaine...” The music broke into a groan. “Blaine, tell me.”
Oil slick hands gripped his hips, nudged him to kneeling over Blaine's erection. Together, they worked to sink Kurt slowly, slowly, carefully down, accepting all of Blaine into himself until he was completely seated atop Blaine's lap.
Neither of them moved.
“Tell me,” Kurt whispered, one slight shift of his hips eliciting a gasp from Blaine. He grew bolder, beginning to rise, ever so slightly, and fall, ever so gently. “Tell me, tell me.”
Blaine grasped more tightly at his hips and began to guide the movement, thrusting his own hips upward in matching rhythm. “Not yet,” he breathed, neck arching as he tilted his head back into the grass. “Not yet, not until...”
Kurt was lost in the desire that stretched along his limbs, a mire of emotion and lust assailing him from all sides. He rode Blaine slowly, relishing the stretch he felt when he would kneel all the way up until only the head of Blaine's warm cock remained inside of him, then push himself down to feel every inch as it pressed its way back in.
Their panting and cries of pleasure were all the communication they needed as their enjoyment spiraled. Kurt's hands wrapped around either side of Blaine's waist to brace himself as he moved. When he let out a sharp gasp and closed his eyes tight, Blaine released his hips and reached one hand between them to envelop Kurt's aching member, beginning the series of strokes that would bring Kurt up to and over the edge.
Sparks began to light behind Kurt's closed eyelids. “Blaine, oh, Blaine - ” But that was all he got out before he was done, exploding in fire and pleasure and light and one long, keening cry that sent sleeping birds racketing from their nests into the heavily wooded pine grove that surrounded them.
As he came down, he became aware that Blaine hadn't gone over, was still moving inside of him. He'd returned both hands to Kurt's hips and was once more gazing steadily up at him as he thrust upwards. When Kurt felt that he could make sense, he leaned carefully down and sucked Blaine's lower lip in between his teeth. “Tell me,” he said again. “Tell me what they mean, Blaine.”
Blaine shook his head when Kurt released him. “Almost...almost...” He pushed Kurt down hard on his cock, thrusting up at the same time and sending a blinding thrill through him. “Ah - ”
“Please,” Kurt begged.
Blaine pushed again. “Without you...” he panted, catching his breath for a second before continuing to whisper into Kurt's ear. “Without you...I...”
Kurt pushed down, squeezed around Blaine. “You what?”
“Without you, my joy is lost,” Blaine said, rushed and clear before rocking his head back and his hips up one last time as he burst hot and violent inside of Kurt.
The words exploded similarly within Kurt's consciousness, blasting like a wildfire through his brain. They left no coherent thought behind, forcing him to function on reflexes still reeling from his own climax.
“Blaine,” he gasped wildly, “Blaine, I love you.”