Work Text:
Douglas isn’t normally an arsehole.
That’s a lie.
Douglas is often an arsehole, but it seems to come so much more naturally when it involves one specific highborn bastard who knows just the right buttons to push to bring it out of him.
Take today, for instance. The tournament is in full swing outside the stables, onlookers shouting in favor of their chosen knights, lances clanging and skidding loudly against one another, yet Douglas couldn’t have less interest in the proceedings when his cock is buried inside Willow’s criminally tight arse.
He has one hand wrapped around the golden boy’s pretty neck and he’s squeezing with every thrust, riled up by the choking sounds Willow is making. Douglas wants to hurt him, to run one of his sharp knuckle edges along that pretty neck as a threat, but today they haven’t much time so he will gladly settle for this—Willow bent in half over a hay bale and keening like the whoreish little thing he is.
If the King could see his favorite knight now he would be disgusted. Douglas revels in it. Willow does too, despite how much he protests it. The proof, however, is in the needy way he pushes his hips back for more and how his back bows beautifully. Willow is even trying to curse Douglas and his entire family tree but he can’t get enough air around his muffled moans, head buried in his arms and hot breath fogging the surface of his vambraces.
“Surely you can give it to me harder than that,” Willow forces out. Douglas rolls his eyes and slows his hips just to be contrary, grinning when it earns him several curses and a low growl. “You capricious old fuck.”
“Now, now. That is no way to speak to your lover, is it?” Douglas croons into Willow’s ear before biting it sharply just to feel the way Willow tightens around his cock.
“We aren’t lovers. I don’t even like you.”
Douglas fucks into Willow roughly, nailing his prostate and reveling in the loud moan he tries, and fails, to contain. “I don’t particularly like you either. You’re a good fuck but I can’t stand you otherwise.”
Willow reaches back and buries a hand in Douglas’s hair, dragging him closer and shoving his hips back for more. “Finally, something we can agree upon.”
The insults die out as Douglas puts his focus into destroying Willow for anyone else. He wants to mark him forever as his property and send him back into the world on legs too shaky to support him. He wants Willow full of his seed when he hauls himself back into the saddle under the watchful eyes of his king. That thought alone is nearly enough to make Douglas spill inside the other man and he groans low and loud.
“If you finish before I do I’ll stab you, I swear by the gods.” Willow is bristling like a cat. It’s almost endearing.
“Quiet, I was imagining you were one of the stablehands. A handsome one with manners.” His jab has the desired effect. Willow rears up onto his knees and tries to headbutt him. Douglas merely laughs and gets an arm around Willow, pulling him back roughly against his cuirass. “Jealous?”
“Hardly.”
Douglas fishes Willow’s cock from his breeches and strokes it slow and careful with his bare hand just to tease him. He enjoys the way Willow tries not to obviously rut into the pressure around his cock, as though chasing his own pleasure is something of which to be ashamed, something beneath him. Despite writhing needily on Douglas’s cock, he refuses to service himself during these violent trysts of theirs. Even like this he has an air of superiority about him, as though he expects Douglas to see to his needs like a servant preparing his bath. It should be condescending and insulting, but Douglas likes the thrill of the challenge.
They’ve been at it for what feels like the better part of an hour, though in reality it’s only been a handful of minutes since Douglas cornered Willow in the stables while saddling his mare for jousting and got his breeches pushed down the curve of his perky little arse without much protest. For all the fuss and bravado Willow feigns, he bends over quite nicely given the right motivation. It took a few moments of licking into his hole and several more of fingering him open to do the trick.
There’s a rustle of hay as someone wanders into the stables. Douglas bites Willow’s neck and growls a warning. He keeps fucking the other knight as he listens for footsteps approaching their stall, Willow’s horse giving them a judgmental look. “Keep quiet or you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do,” He rumbles into Willow’s ear.
The younger man huffs and intentionally moans the tiniest bit louder. Douglas claps a hand over his mouth and snarls, whispering to him harshly. “Hush, you insolent little shit.” Willow smirks at him from behind his hand before licking his palm. Douglas might punch him. Instead, he strokes Willow’s cock roughly in retaliation even as the interloper’s footsteps grow closer.
Whether it’s that stimulation or the idea of getting caught that drives Willow over the edge, Douglas will never know. He’s almost sure the sadistic bastard has an exhibitionist streak in him when it comes to both competing in tournaments and having sex. He might be partly to blame for the latter. Regardless, Willow spills over his knuckles and down his wrist with a muffled whine and Douglas shoves him down over the hay bale, arse up and facedown, and puts his back into fucking the smaller man.
Whoever had wandered into the stables has left, and Douglas is grateful because he can’t contain the low growl working its way out of his throat. He wants to bury himself so deeply inside Willow that they can never part from each other with coarse words and pointed threats. He wants to stay tethered to the other man as much as he wants to shove him away forever. It’s complicated, this thing between them.
“You’re thinking too hard, old man,” Willow drawls, still trying to catch his breath.
“Trying to decide if I should come inside you and send you back to your squire or spill over your back to mark you as mine.”
Willow groans at that and clenches down hard around Douglas’s cock. “Just get on with it. I have places to be.”
“You,” Douglas slaps one perfectly rounded arsecheek, “Are an ungrateful prick.” Willow chokes down a moan but ceases his half hearted protests. Douglas makes an executive decision and buries himself deep as he spills inside the other man, painting his insides viciously. “There,” He pants and practically collapses onto the smaller man. “You’ll think of me every time you sit down for the rest of the day.”
Willow tries to shake him off but can’t manage to move his bulk. “You’re crushing me, you big oaf.”
“Quiet. You’re ruining my afterglow.”
Outside, there's raucous cheering and whistling in the stands of the tournament grounds. Douglas and Willow breathe in tandem, more in sync now than ever before. Douglas mourns for a closeness they’ve never truly shared as he sits up and pulls reluctantly from Willow’s abused hole. Several pearls of his seed drip onto the dirt floor of the stable between Willow’s slender thighs. “You look like a threepenny whore. It suits you.”
Willow turns and launches himself at Douglas, fist poised to strike him square in the nose. Instead, Douglas catches the punch easily and smiles. “You’re beautiful when you try to maim me.” He leans in and kisses Willow soundly. It lasts all of a few seconds before the younger man is shoving him away and standing to hastily fix his clothing and armor. Douglas sits on the straw strewn ground and watches him.
“I pray you’ve gotten whatever this is out of your system,” Willow hisses at him. His eyes are gorgeous and Douglas wants to drown in them. Instead, he tucks himself away and sets about righting his own clothing. “It won’t happen again.”
“That’s what you said last time,” Douglas points out helpfully. One of his gauntlets is missing.
Willow huffs. “You jumped me while I was distracted.”
Douglas snorts. “You told me to fuck you or you’d run me through with your sword.”
“That can still happen.”
There’s something feral in Willow’s eyes that has Douglas considering his odds. Best to let him be for today, though. There will be other opportunities. He finds his gauntlet wedged under a nearby hay bale and empties the straw out of it. “Suppose this is it, then.”
Willow watches him with cool, dispassionate eyes. “I suppose it is. Good riddance.”
“Likewise.” Douglas starts to brush past him but pauses to kiss his cheek quickly, a stolen affection. “Until next time.” He leaves Willow touching his own cheek in the stables and heads out to watch the rest of the tournament. There is always a next time.