Captive Prince - Ancel/Berenger
The late summer afternoon light was still and warm with the scent of honeysuckle and the sweet trill of bird song. Nearer than that, Berenger’s deep voice washed over Ancel as he read a legend of the golden age, about some hero wrestling a chimera (whatever that was).
It was fantastically, impressively, comprehensively dull.
He sighed dramatically and ran a hand idly up the inseam of Berenger’s breeches. “Does this dullard ever get to fuck?”
Berenger paused. “It’s not that type of story – Ancel. What are you doing?”
Ancel would have explained, but there were better uses for a mouth.