|Christine (spaghettitoes) wrote in spaghettific,|
@ 2013-09-01 10:21:00
|Entry tags:||au, bbtp, rating: nc-17, sterek, teen wolf|
Title: Ye Olde Sterek
Word Count: ~5.1k
Fandom/Pairing: Teen Wolf - Sterek
Warnings: British Spelling. Perilously precipitous to purple prose (say that three times fast). Kate and Peter are screwed up but in different ways. Pantaloons. Convenient, vague lube. Historical accuracy to a point. AU.
Summary: Stiles is a very virginal novice monk but he didn’t chose to be and Derek is a gloomy knight forced to return to a home he’d rather avoid. However, there is light in every darkness and lessons in every situation.
A/N: I don’t care about reality, monks just don’t wear underwear. Also ha – I found a way to justify using British spelling - I’m not sorry, Americans IDK what you have against the letter U. It felt more genre appropriate to have Derek be a bit more chatty than normal, OOC I know but I’ve tried to minimise that where I can. Thanks to amo_amas_amat for the Beta, although I regret I am yet to find anyone with whom I agree on the punctuation of speech. All mistakes are hers of course, even the ones I added later on - that’s why you have a beta.
Should be read in an appropriately dramatic style with an olde English accent and much aplomb.
Declaration: I have nothing to do with this show or MTV and don’t expect I ever will now that I’ve failed my potions exam.
Ye Olde Sterek
The house of Hale was a sprawling manor with fertile woodlands and soil that yielded as well as it was worked. Lord Hale was fair and just but did not suffer fools or braggarts. As blessed as they were with children he had only one son and once a match was made for their eldest daughter Laura the family’s attention turned to finding a suitable wife for Derek.
Lord Argent’s maiden daughter was known for her feisty nature and while many years Derek’s senior, Katherine was presented by her father as a match. Derek and his family considered the courting of their neighbour respectfully but Katherine’s patience was thin and she perceived the boy’s reluctance as an insult. When faced with the prospect of being left an old maid by a boy, Katherine and her father turned spiteful and sent mercenaries to attack Hale Manor, slaughtering most of the family and burning what possessions they could not carry.
Derek Hale, shamed and reluctant to answer Argent’s public accusations of dishonour amidst the knowledge of their underhanded attack, fled to the crusades while his sister and uncle, the only other survivors, did their best to manage their lands, Laura’s betrothed pulled into family affairs before his time. As the family struggled they turned to the church and Abbot Deaton for support - the church helped to administer the lands and people; their workload growing as Peter Hale succumbed to brain fever and eventual madness. It was in this lunacy that he killed Laura and her husband while they slept before setting forth to kill Lord Argent and Lady Katherine. Peter too died as a result of the wounds he sustained in his efforts, tormented by fleeting moments of clarity throughout his madness.
When news of his family’s final demise reached Derek he left his battle grounds and returned home, entrusting all of his land and subjects to the church. In exchange he took up residence within the monastery and commissioned the building of a small residence within sights of Beacon Abbey. The monks were reassured to have a champion should anyone challenge their holdings: for while the new Lord Argent and his young family had no desire to challenge them, the turbulence had brought the attention of many with no qualms of challenging the church for land they thought it unable to maintain.
Novices assisted Lord Hale in maintaining his knightly training and in educating the local men in combat, however such was not the natural inclination for men of god and many kept their efforts to a minimum. Only one man, a local who had joined the brothers for education and had - at his father’s behest - forgone other pursuits to remain in study there, had the stomach to tolerate what others considered barbarism. He had, by persistence and strength of character, aroused the young Lord’s curiosity.
“Tell me…” Derek lined up his arrow with the target, the daily practice starting to wear at his shoulders, “Why do the brothers call you Stiles?”
The young man took two steps from the target, trusting Derek’s accuracy, his nerve holding where others had faltered in the previous weeks, “It is not so interesting a story but keep your eye on the target while you hear it.”
Derek smirked to himself, “Not all of us have attention as fickle as a butterfly.”
“I merely suggest I am a compelling subject, sir.” Derek loosed his arrow and Stiles looked at the target where it struck, the arrow’s considerable slant in his direction causing Stiles’ eyebrows to raise, “Your aim would agree.”
“Your babble irks me and a demon breathes on the arrow as it whispers to me of silencing you.”
Stiles extracted the arrow and grinned as he stepped away again, “School your tongue sir, the brothers would be concerned should they learn demons are advising you in your actions towards me. Should you like to join me in prayer?”
Derek lined up another arrow, keeping his face affectionless at Stiles’ warm jocularity, “You evade my question, are you ashamed of your moniker? Were you raised by pigs and found in a sty?”
Stiles held his stomach with mocking laugher, “Such humour sir, I could mistake you for a jester only they take more pride in their toilet.*” Another arrow landed and in collecting it Stiles returned the meagre practicing equipment to Derek, “I was so eager in my studies that I was too frequently found, stylus in hand, when a volunteer was sought and the brothers thought it amusing.”
“Better Stiles than Biblios I suppose.” Derek nodded, “You are more of a scholar than a servant of god?” He resigned his bow and walked towards the barn, Stiles collecting the target and carrying it after him.
“My extensive knowledge is of benefit is it not?” Entering the barn on unsteady feet Stiles stumbled and Derek caught the target with a smile, helping him to manoeuvre it towards the temporary store of arms.
Pushing at the protruding straw Derek frowned, “I must ask one of the novices to mend this, who is the best with a needle and thread?”
“Greenburg,” Stiles looked at him curiously, “Am I not one of the novices?”
“A better squire than a novice.” Derek was sullen and his voice aimed at the ground, though his mother’s lesson’s soon pulled his shoulders back and his chin up.
“Better squire, more of a scholar – you would have me be anything but a monk.”
Derek turned curtly to take up his sword but Stiles’ hand on his shoulder turned him around quickly, “You disapprove of my father’s choice for me?”
Grimacing at his words Derek shook his head apologetically, “I am mulish today. I would not speak against your father, he is a fine Sheriff. I mourn only that your path holds such disapproval for mine.” Stalking towards the door Derek held up his sword demonstratively, “I will improve my swordsmanship since I am not civil company. You have other obligations I am sure.”
* * * * *
Derek was exorcising his anger with the clash of his sword against a pillar when another sword blocked his way. He followed the arm to find Stiles smiling impishly at his confusion. “Your uncle, God rest his soul, enquired of my aspirations after he saw a friend and I sparring in the field. I was already promised to the clergy and too old for a page but found the idea intriguing.”
Derek swung his arm tentatively but his blow was met easily and Stiles looked proud, “Take only into account that I am poorly dressed for vigorous exercise.” He fanned his robes lightly and Derek was almost too distracted by the action to block the thrust of Stiles’ sword.
Their sparing drew them towards the woodlands and while Derek could not deny he was holding back his full strength he found himself enjoying the endeavour nonetheless. What Stiles lacked in strength and experience he compensated for with a quick mouth.
“You confuse me,” Derek confessed, “or perhaps it is your father; for all that academia befits your abilities was there no more suited way for you to pursue it? You do not appear to be one for whom the cloistered life brings much appeal.”
“Exactly so. While I wished to follow in my father’s footsteps he questioned if I was not too…mischievous.” Stiles grinned broadly and Derek found his footing falter, “He did not trust that I would not be lead astray and decided a more sedate life suited my…spiritual wellbeing.”
“Has his prudence been vindicated?” The conversation was such a distraction that Derek put too much force in his swing and while Stiles met it his weight could not stop it and their swords crossed, Stiles twisted around and stumbling as he tried to find his footing. Derek immediately dropped his sword and offered his hand in apology to the man on the ground.
Stiles took the proffered hand and pulled himself to his feet, laughter sighing from him as he found his grounding too close to Derek. “Regrettably so.”
Stunned and in a daze Derek looked back in confusion, “What do you regret?”
“That my father was correct,” Stiles leant forward conspiratorially, eyes narrowing as he smiled deviously, “I did hope for some institutionalised corruption or hypocrisy but our Abbot is diligent and thus far I have encountered none.”
Derek still held Stiles’ hand clutched in his and close to his side – he had no compunction to release his grip and introduce distance between them, “Do you think your father’s concerns are known and you are ostracised?”
Stiles shook his head, “If they sought to remove me from temptation they would have denied me your presence.”
Derek smiled and let his eyes wander briefly over Stiles as he released his grip to move his hands to Stiles’ waist, “I should be more concerned my shame is so well known but I cannot be.” Before Derek could tug him closer Stiles had closed the remaining distance between them and their lips met with inexpert enthusiasm. Once Stiles had covered Derek’s mouth with small, exploratory kisses and moved on to test him further Derek abandoned patience and tugged Stiles’ hands from his face - mimicking the position, holding him carefully to explore his soft and willing mouth.
Stiles moaned agreeably and wrapped his arms around Derek’s chest to pull him impossibly closer. He moved his hands fleetingly at first but soon took to traversing them around the planes of Derek’s body happily.
Pulling away Stiles glanced around them and then tugged Derek towards a nearby oak. Grinning at the invitation, Derek pressed Stiles against the tree, keeping one hand sunken into his hair while the other drew down and around Stiles’ waist. Their kisses varied between passionately firm and luxuriously slow, their bodies moving together with matching energy.
When Derek felt the press of Stiles’ length through his robes he pulled back enough to unlace his pantaloons but Stiles stilled and looked at him. “You do recall that, despite the best of my intention, I remain unfortunately lacking in experience?” Stiles blinked, his expression that of hesitation and of curiosity.
Derek paused and looked earnestly at Stiles, “You wish to stop?”
Stiles shook his head mutely before reaching cautiously forward to tug looser the laces at Derek’s waist, “I do have some reservations: I have read widely and have some idea of your inclinations.”
Derek smiled and leant forward to press his palm firmly along Stiles’ member, watching as surprised pleasure danced across his features. Derek gathered up Stiles’ robe in his free hand, allowing only an instant to pass in the time where he removed his hand from its ministrations and slipped it under the heavy fabric to resume with the added delight of running his hand along Stiles’ heated skin.
“You…That is persuasive.” agreed Stiles, fighting to keep his head from falling back and his eyes closed. “May I presume your knowledge is more practical than mine?”
Derek leaned in close, drawing his mouth up Stiles’ neck and teasing his earlobe between his teeth, “I don’t doubt there is much I could show you that is not condemned in your books.” Derek slowly opened his pantaloons and breeches and let them fall to his knees as he moved closer and encouraged Stiles’ exact placement. With a subtle nudge he encouraged Stiles to look as he aligned them so each pressed into the other’s stomach, friction between them building slowly.
Stiles soon urged his hips into the correct motion, his head falling back with a pleased sigh, “Ingenious.”
Derek kissed the length of Stiles’ exposed throat until he could pull him back into another long kiss, punctuated by the movement of their hips and stuttered breathing. Stiles was first to release, pressing convulsively into Derek who in turn firmed his grip on Stiles’ hip and pressed against him urgently until he too was spent, breathing laboured as his head fell to Stiles’ shoulder.
With a sudden burst of jovial energy Stiles hit Derek’s back approvingly, grasping at his disarrayed shirt with heavy breaths and upraised fist, “What a thing to disapprove of!” As he lowered his fist Stiles looked to where they met, “Regrettably though, we should separate and address our…dress.” He laughed lightly, “No doubt the brothers would take issue with my…issue.”
Derek sighed fondly and moved as freely as his wardrobe would allow. Slipping from his pantaloons he removed his breeches and wiped them across himself, pulling the remainder of his clothes back into place before snaking the fabric up and under Stiles’ robes to clean him. Stiles watched the actions with an affectionate smile then nodded his thanks as Derek withdrew.
“Should I dispose of that for you?” Stiles nodded to the wadded fabric as he and Derek walked slowly towards through the woods to the monastery.
Derek shook his head, “The laundry mistress has exhausted her alarm at my activities.” Seeing how Stiles’ features fell slightly Derek urged himself on, “I do not think she will notice the excess of a second person.” With a cough to clear his throat Derek feigned not to see how Stiles brightened, “After all, this is a monastery - one which you yourself noted to be unconscionably moral – where but on clothes or bed sheets can this go?”
The blush and laughter that evoked in Stiles were equally matched in beauty and he affected mock judiciousness, “I am advised that too is against God’s will for his servants and should be resisted where ere possible.”
Derek shook his head as he secreted his breeches carefully within the billows of his shirt. “God expects miracles of holy men.”
* * * * *
That night Derek fought with his concerns, turning over what had been said and what was left unsaid. He had watched Stiles as he could through the day, concerned that his lack of experience would lead to some indiscretion but no troubles arose, instead Stiles’ warm and easy countenance haunted his thoughts. The next morning, as all expected, Stiles volunteered to assist Derek with his training, others grateful to be released from the obligation.
Derek approached the barn cautiously, knowing Stiles would be waiting there with a warm smile. That day was no different although more mischief was evident in the smile than Derek was accustomed to. Stiles jumped eagerly from the bale of hay, leaving it rocking as he met the approaching Derek.
“If you have the nerve about you for a race I know the horses need exercise, Brother Turnbull has been unwell and a farmhand delivered our last provisions.” The smile did not fade but Stiles’ eye caught the book in Derek’s hand.
Derek followed his attention and handed the book over brusquely, “My father took pride in his collection and once my home is completed I had hoped to start my own.” Stiles carefully turned the pages as he listened, “While that alone would not be sufficient work for a man I will need a squire also…”
Stiles smiled with understanding and amusement, “A very generous offer, sir – but as thoughtful as it is, a permanent position in your household is not one I could assume.”
Derek nodded glumly, “I apologise for my presumptuousness.”
Stiles frowned at him reproachfully, “Do not put your meanings in my words. I understand and appreciate your intentions, which are as close to honourable as our circumstances allow. However, I fear you have neglected two matters in your considerations. First…” Stiles shook his robes, “These do not make me a woman; you cannot keep me like a mistress of low birth you could not expect to wed and I will not become hysterical as to your intentions should I not spend every night in your bed.”
Derek gave an assenting nod but he remained petulantly grim so Stiles surveyed their surroundings before moving closer, being sure the book did not form a barrier between them, “Furthermore, you forget why I am here my good Lord. My father and the Abbot, knowing something of my aberration, would not allow me to break my vows to the church so publicly and take up this role. Not only would my intentions be clear but you would cast aspersions on your character which are not yet suspected.”
Derek sighed, outwardly resisting a smile as he nodded in agreement, “You have a good head about you.”
“Now this…” Stiles lifted the book with a smile, “this is a good idea. I should be happy to assist a fellow bibliophile and if we orchestrate it carefully no one should suspect that when I come to your future home it is to bed you before I consult you on your purchases.”
“You have a shrewd mind, I wonder that your father suspected you could be mislead by anyone.” Derek smiled, accepting the return of his book with questioning eyes.
“Gift this to me publically as a patron would and not in secret like a lover.”
Nodding Derek walked back towards the door, pointing to his armoury and talking clearly for any to hear, “Bring the swords, my mace and the bow, I shall have the horses saddled.”
* * * * *
Stiles drove the horses along a path Derek little knew before stopping in a glade to let them drink from the pond. He demanded instruction in swordsmanship which Derek happily provided until Stiles grew visibly tired and Derek commanded he rest. In removing the bow from his horse Derek found the quiver abnormally heavy and before Stiles could stop him had cautiously up-ended it onto the grass. Derek had only a moment to recognise a small pot on the ground before Stiles had snapped it up in trembling hands.
“Dare I ask?” Derek slung the quiver over his back and pulled an arrow free, looking for a suitable target to use.
Stiles fell tiredly against a tree stump that creaked at his weight. He kept the pot in his hands but played with it in the folds of his robes. “It is an ointment given to me by a physician when I once injured my self.”
“The injury irks you?” Derek aimed at a distant pine and released the arrow.
“No...” Stiles’ eyes darted uncertainly from Derek to his hands, “But I have found it has…other applications.” His sentence ended with the crackling thud of Derek’s arrow striking a tree.
Derek looked to Stiles with a smile, “How…prudent of you.” He slipped the final arrow from the quiver and quickly loosed it into the woods, “And I so thoughtless as to make you spend so long unsuccessfully tracking wild boar.” Derek returned his bow and gathered the blanket from his pack.
The blanket was spread neatly across the ground and before Derek could invite him Stiles hurried on to it, sitting with his legs crossed and hidden by his robes. Derek laughed as he mirrored his pose, “What did you have in mind?”
A tinge of rose touched Stiles’ cheeks and he lifted his shoulders in a brief shrug, “I had not dared to presume.”
Derek smiled, taking the pot from Stiles and putting it on the ground at his side, “First I should like to kiss you.”
Stiles raised his hands and laughed, “If we are alone you can assume my consent, I will not be coy in saying otherwise.”
Derek reached forward sliding his hand up Stiles’ neck and pulling him forward into a kiss. Stiles eagerly followed, rising onto his knees and leaning over Derek. With an amused huff Derek opened his legs and held to Stiles as he fell back onto the blanket, Stiles lowering himself gradually along Derek’s body.
Before he became lost in the kiss Derek pulled away and looked around them, “Can I assume our privacy?”
“And the discretion of the horses,” nodded Stiles with a smile. Stiles leant on his hands, watching with interest as Derek unlaced his shirt to remove it. “May I assist?”
“Indeed, I plan to disrobe you entirely in a moment.” Stiles laughed happily as he slid his hands up Derek’s side, pushing the shirt over his arms and head then repositioned himself to untie Derek’s pantaloons while their kiss resumed.
Stiles stopped, breathlessly running his hands over Derek’s chest as he sat up-right to take him in, in his entirety. “Words escape me,” Stiles confessed, sitting back on his knees and looking at his robes uncertainly, “you will recall I was not built for combat as you were.”
Derek sat up and moved forward, slipping one leg under Stiles’ robe as their legs intertwined and he encouraged Stiles into his lap. “I promise I could not be disappointed.” Derek mouthed at Stiles’ jaw while he cautiously untied Stiles’ belt. Undone he put it aside, caressing Stiles through the course wool. With a shift of Derek’s thigh Stiles was seated upon it, his groin pressing close to the warm skin and dark hair so he was quite carefree when Derek bunched and removed the robes fully.
“There…” Derek ran his hands, spread broad, up Stiles’ side and over his chest to his shoulders. “You are true to my word. If we had but the time I would explore your every aspect by hand and mouth.”
Stiles bent to kiss Derek’s shoulder and caress his back, his hips moving mindlessly, “Wild boar are extremely elusive, I am sure we will spend much time pursuing it unsuccessfully.”
Derek laughed as he raised Stiles and spirited him quickly to the ground, crouching over him with eager roaming hands, “I am bull-headed in my pursuits.” He stooped to draw his tongue to and around Stiles’ breast, encircling each nipple in turn as his hands caressed Stiles’ thighs. Trailing kisses down Stiles’ chest to his stomach Derek spoke softly, “May I instruct you in a most rewarding application of your salve?”
“I am…always eager to learn.” nodded Stiles, “Do you mean to have me?”
Derek shook his head, “I thought to demonstrate the preparation which you could then put into practice on me.” Burying his face in the soft skin above Stiles’ hip Derek reached for where he knew the salve to be.
“Indeed?” Stiles smiled curiously, “It is reassuring to know you hold no compunctions in that regard. I shall endeavour to be a diligent student.”
Stiles found himself unable to express his admiration for Derek’s coordination as he untied the pot while he caressed Stiles’ erection with tender kisses. However, the exclamation Stiles gave when Derek enclosed his member with his mouth was so unbecoming of a novice monk that Derek was compelled by laughter to yield his position. Instead he caressed Stiles with his left hand while the right placed the open pot at a safe distance. Scooping some of the salve onto his fingers Derek replaced his left hand with his right, reaching to Stiles’ hole and circling it gently as he braced himself over Stiles.
Derek kissed Stiles softly, nudging his nose in gentle warning before breaching him, fingers slick and patient. Stiles tensed fleetingly then with a gasp, reached up to fold both his arms around Derek’s neck, pulling him closer. Derek laughed fondly into Stiles’ neck as he whispered commentary on Derek’s continued ministrations, proving himself verbose and opinionated. When Stiles started to move with him Derek paused, “Do you wish to progress our lesson or shall I finish you like this?”
Stiles groaned with affected despair, “What a choice to give me! …Stop, you must stop or I shall be undone and of no use to anyone.” Derek withdrew his hand with teasing reluctance and Stiles slapped his arm fondly, “Move you brute or I will exercise no mercy or patience in my mastery of this skill and shall be your ruin.”
With bright laughter Derek withdrew and turned, lying alongside Stiles on his stomach, “Try not to be too liberal in your quantity of salve nor too sparing.”
“I am a student of judiciousness.” assured Stiles, taking what appeared to be a reasonable quantity of salve. Sitting beside Derek, Stiles cautiously reached his free hand over to caress then grasp Derek’s cheek, “I wonder if I am not familiar enough with your...person to undertake this directly.”
“A formal introduction perhaps, to ease your concerns?” Asked Derek over his shoulder.
Stiles valiantly ignored the taunting smirk on Derek’s face and continued to run his hand along Derek’s back and rear before mustering the courage to add his other hand, carefully applying the salve without penetrating further. Derek lifted the hand between he and Stiles, reassuringly stroking Stiles’ thigh. Encouraged, Stiles pushed inward, waiting until Derek’s grip relented before allowing curiosity to overcome him. With increasing confidence Stiles tried to replicate Derek’s previous actions, gauging his proficiency by the positive sounds emanating from Derek’s prone form.
With a small sound of frustration Derek reached back and slid his hand over Stiles’, “Do not be coy or modest.” He encouraged Stiles to add another finger, “It is not your finger which I must accommodate.”
Stiles groaned, “The blame falls on yourself for being so engrossing in your responses.” Derek added one finger of his own and Stiles batted his hand away fondly before following his example, “You are a glutton, sir.” Moving carefully Stiles parted Derek’s legs and knelt between them, stroking Derek’s thigh with his free hand.
“When...” Derek stuttered out a breath and his hips moved subtly, “When ready add some salve to...”
Stiles grinned as Derek’s head fell forward with shuddered breaths, “I believe I can infer the next step.”
Aligned, Stiles braced himself before pushing into Derek. Once fully seated Stiles let his knees and arms take most of his weight as he relaxed into the press of Derek’s back against his chest and stomach, resting his head on the broad shoulders beneath him. Stiles pressed a kiss to the nape of Derek’s neck, “I fear I should be unable to ever leave this position. We must remain like this forever.” He sighed happily.
“I would not wish you leave but if you could find the strength to move I believe you would find the effort rewarding.”
“Glutton,” muttered Stiles with gentle reproach as he levered himself into movement, progressing slowly lest his senses be overwhelmed. Derek’s legs spread a little to better accommodate Stiles and Derek lifted his hips, meeting each of Stiles’ with enthusiasm. Stiles clawed his hands down Derek’s sides and gripped his waist firmly, his own body arching as he tried to keep his face in contact with Derek’s back. Stiles muttered gratuitous praise into the skin beneath his lips which compromised Derek’s composure as much as his actions.
“I regret I may disappoint you,” breathed Stiles, “but I fear I may…lose my composure sooner than I had hoped. Should I…may I assist you?”
Derek breathed a warm puff of laughter into the air as he pushed up onto his hands, “Cease and withdraw.” Reluctantly Stiles obeyed only to have Derek turn and with predatory movements recline him against the tree stump before Derek resumed his position upon Stiles, a relieved groan as he lowered himself fully into Stiles’ lap. Derek moved a little and Stiles stretched his hands out to draw over the strong legs that surrounded him.
“This is…” Stiles watched as Derek raised and lowered himself with pointed vigour and looked questioningly at Stiles. Stiles rallied, “I little wonder that this is unknown to laymen. This is love as men, not animals.”
With a wicked smile Derek leant forward, never ceasing in his movement as he held Stiles’ head carefully and kissed him passionately. “There is more I will teach you, when my…training has improved your stamina.” A further brief kiss and Derek drew his hand from Stiles’ neck to his shoulder then arm, “Give me your hand.” Derek looked at Stiles’ hand as he held it, “That some would have this do little more than hold a stylus is deplorable.”
Stiles watched as his hand was wrapped around Derek’s straining erection, taking no time to begin stroking it. This encouraged Derek’s already heated thrusts and Stiles had to muster what coordination and strength he had into drawing Derek’s seed from him by hand as he trembled above and around Stiles. Derek’s release was Stiles’ undoing and he followed closely after, revived from the blinding pleasure to the gentle press of Derek’s lips against his own.
With one hand on Derek’s hip and the other on his back Stiles held him in place and kissed him with an immovable smile. “I should compose a treatise on sodomy. Something worthy of the poetic lines of which you are constructed.”
“As long as you do not anticipate me listening to such poetry like a love-sick maiden.”
Stiles shook his head, “I have proven my tongue ineloquent in its praise of you.”
“Ah but verbose and enthusiastic nonetheless, with creativity in cursing which I have not heard rivalled by soldiers at war.”
Derek looked to Stiles for his approval to withdraw which he did slowly when it was reluctantly granted. As he stretched out on his side beside Stiles a chill passed over Derek.
“You are cold?” Stiles looked anxiously to his discarded robes, pulling them closer.
Derek laughed, “Only hoping your provisions included a rag, lest I be forced to compromise my breeches again.”
Taking a minute to steady his legs Stiles quickly approached his horse and pulled a rag from the saddle bag and hurried back to Derek. Stiles wiped carefully at Derek’s stomach then, much to Stiles’ surprise, Derek swiped the rag and stretched it behind him. Stiles laughed and buried his face in his hands at the blush on his cheeks, “Of course.”
With an amused smile Derek discarded the rag and nodded to Stiles’ robe before stretching out on his back, “If you thought to warm me though, I would not object.”
Stiles happily wrapped himself around Derek and pulled his robes over them, taking the opportunity to let his hands roam over the firm body beneath him.
* * * * *
Lord Hale was seen, with the Abbot’s consent, to give the novice brother Stiles a book from his father’s collection and to spend more time perusing the monastery’s modest library during his time with the brothers. This time was shorter than anticipated when the building work on his home progressed faster than expected.
Hale family lands continued to be administered by the church and the young Lord made provision for it to pass to their permanent care upon his death. This dedication to the church was not unexpected from a man who had spent years fighting in the crusades. Such was his devotion to the church and the time he spent visiting the brothers that few people found his refusal to take a wife as a surprise. Lord Hale was known as a warrior scholar, renowned for his dedication to religion not only through the support he gave to the local brothers and the time he spent with them but through his large and impressive library, which he bequeathed to the brothers.
* Toilet in this case refers to how one washed, cleaned and dressed themselves. It’s probably too modern a phrasing for this fic and too old for us so everyone is confused! Win win.