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simeon_josueSimeon was quiet when they made their way back to Josué’s tent at last. He looked tired, although he seemed to have enjoyed the chance to walk for a while. Josué pondered the best way to proceed with him. Simeon had noticeably softened; the denial of all comforts in the days prior to their little excursion had had the effect he’d intended. Simeon was aware now of the privileges Josué granted him—and of how easily they could be revoked.
Perhaps now was the time to chain him once more and let Simeon in turn ponder whether his resistance was the noble fight he thought he was waging, or perhaps mere stubbornness that would lead nowhere. Josué knew, after all, that Simeon had already started to think. All he needed was a little more time—and Josué’s strict guidance.
When they entered the tent, Simeon halted without being commanded to, waiting quietly for Josué to decide what he was to do next. The sight of it pleased Josué, although no doubt Simeon was still telling himself that he was merely playing along with Josué’s demands until he could find a way to escape.
“Strip,” Josué said quietly, then watched, warm satisfaction glowing in his chest, when Simeon obeyed—moving slowly but without hesitation.
When Simeon was naked, standing before him with his eyes averted, Josué circled around him. Simeon’s back was still lightly marked by the flogging he’d received, although the red stripes had mostly vanished. A few fading bruises were all that remained, as well as the scabs that had formed where the leather had cut the skin.
Josué reached out and ran his hand along one of the bruises, then followed the scar of a past flogging. Simeon’s skin was warm, but no longer burning hot. He’d probably do well enough on the floor—he might even be grateful if Josué were to throw him a blanket.
Finishing his circle, Josué ended up in front of Simeon. His gaze was drawn towards Simeon’s cock once more, the impressive length even more striking without the hair that had once grown at its root.
Josué moistened his lips as he looked at it, remembering the way Simeon had pressed himself against him in his sleep, eager and willing and beautifully hard as he slid against Josué.
Perhaps that would be a better avenue. Little by little, Simeon had started to give in. Perhaps granting him one more night in his bed would give him something to mull over once he was back in his chains.
“You look exhausted,” Josué said. “I’ve tired you with this walk. You need more rest.”
Simeon looked up at his words. He seemed surprised and a little uncertain when Josué gestured at his bed, but the relief in Simeon’s eyes was obvious enough when he sat down on the bed. For a moment, Josué caught a glimpse of Simeon unguarded—his eyes closing, his mouth relaxing, exhaling deeply as his weary muscles no longer had to hold him upright.
It was rare to see a man with the build of Simeon so vulnerable—but then, of course, all that hard muscle was no help against Josué’s chains either. Still, Simeon hadn’t been relaxed in his bonds, and he hadn’t been relaxed either when Josué had had him flogged.
There was something deeply seductive about the sight of the strong body naked and vulnerable, utterly in Josué’s power, unbound by chains. Would he hold still if Josué came closer and touched him? Would he let Josué stroke him to hardness—would he obey and remain waiting on the bed, aroused and willing, for Josué to glance at every now and then as he worked?
Not yet, Josué thought with regret as he approached. Not yet. But perhaps one day. The signs were all there. He didn’t think he was wrong. Simeon could be made to yield—and come to enjoy it—even if he wouldn’t believe it yet.
Simeon didn’t move when Josué fastened the chain to his collar once more, although Josué could see his throat move as he swallowed. But there was no protest—just weariness and resignation on his face as he settled back into bed.
“Sleep,” Josué said. “Tomorrow you’ll feel better.”
*
Even with the ponies safely corralled, there was a never-ending list of tasks for Josué to oversee. Fodder for the ponies was the most pressing concern for now, but they’d need bridles and pack saddles. Josué sat over his calculations for a while, going again and again over a list of what was necessary to bring over the mountains with them. Once more he wished that he’d been given the task of scouting instead—he’d envied Martel the assignment, but Archambeau had given his lieutenants their respective tasks as soon as they’d started on this mission, and Josué wasn’t fool enough to resent him for it.
Once Josué had spent enough time on his reports, and once he’d assured himself that Simeon was asleep once more, he left the tent. Another hour passed with the reports of his sergeants and an inspection of his men. Afterward, Josué checked on the ponies once more. He’d brought another apple, and after a moment, the grey mare approached as before, her ears pointing at him and her eyes curious. She was still wary but took the apple without hesitation this time.
Josué reached out and stroked her head while she chewed, and she allowed that, too.
“Smarter than him, hmm?” he murmured. “You know that survival matters more than freedom.”
When she’d finished her apple, she raised her head again, watching him. After a moment, when no further treats were forthcoming, she moved back, although she still made certain to keep between him and the herd, an ear cocked in his direction.
Josué found himself smiling. He liked her. And he was glad that she’d decided to submit. Although it was true that there was a certain thrill to the fantasy of forcefully breaking Simeon to his will, Josué would be just as pleased to see Simeon come to his senses and offer his submission willingly. And once he did...
Ah, once he did, Josué could truly start.
*
“Good work, Lieutenant.” Archambeau’s head was bent over the maps spread across his desk. He didn’t look up, but even so his words filled Josué with the warm glow of satisfaction.
Josué watched, quietly, as Archambeau frowned at something visible only to him. What it was Josué couldn’t say. The colonel wasn’t foolish enough to write down sensitive information where any spy could just abscond with it.
After a minute, Archambeau straightened, his mien thoughtful as his eyes finally came to rest on Josué.
“Good work,” he repeated again. “Quicker than I’d hoped for. Lieutenant Remy tells me that the mountain is quiet. The paths he has been scouting are steep, and there will be snow high up if we are unlucky. But the mountain is quiet. The rebels are keeping their word—so far.”
They shared a small smile, both aware of the fact that only a fool would completely trust a man who’d been raising weapons against him mere weeks ago.
“But they’ll do,” Archambeau said. “They know what the alternative is. Gabrada has nothing to offer them that would be worth the wrath of the emperor.”
“We’re still acquiring supplies for the crossing,” Josué said. “The ponies are hardy, but there’ll be little food in the mountains. What oats we have right now won’t be enough.”
“Pack saddles?” Archambeau inquired.
“The leather we brought suffices,” Josué said. “The men skilled with leather have been relieved of guard duties to help.”
“How long?”
“Three days. Possibly four.”
“Even if they’d somehow caught note of our approach, they’d never guess we’d cross so quickly,” Archambeau muttered. “Although of course, it depends...”
He fell silent again, turning back towards his map. In a corner, Josué could now see, a carefully folded letter rested that showed the seal of the emperor. Noticing his look, Archambeau took hold of it and smiled slightly before he tossed it into the fire.
Chagrined, Josué straightened.
“How’s your project coming along?” Archambeau asked mildly. “Your deserter.”
“Proving to be as valuable as I thought he’d be. He’s as knowledgeable about these mountains as he claimed. Everything he said about the herd of wild ponies was correct.”
“It sets a bad example for the men,” Archambeau pointed out, “to let a deserter off easy.”
Josué nodded in agreement. It was bad enough to watch sedition spread through the ranks on a battle field, eye to eye with the enemy. On a mission like this, when what they relied on was secrecy and surprise instead of numbers, a single man might turn the tide and destroy years of careful plans, not to speak of the lives of the men they’d brought here.
“They saw him flogged,” Josué said. “Not as harshly as they’d have liked, but I needed him able to move. And the success with the ponies proved me right. The men see that as well. In any case, he hasn’t finished paying for his desertion. They’ll see that, too.”
This time, Archambeau’s smile was only fleeting, although he chose not to argue with Josué’s assessment of the situation. “See that it doesn’t distract you. Once we move, I need everyone at their best.”
Josué nodded, and Archambeau, watching him with sharp, knowing eyes, finally let go of the topic.
“Before you go, Lieutenant,” he said instead, “I thought you might be in need of further reading material.” He turned towards a small trunk of worn, engraved wood and opened it. From it he took a slender volume he handed to Josué.
General Desmarais. Tactics Vol. I. Josué rubbed his thumb along the worn spine and smiled in surprised pleasure.
“Don’t look so happy, Lieutenant,” Archambeau said dryly. “Before this campaign is over, I’ll have you well acquainted with the contents of that trunk. I will not have a captain who doesn’t know the Histories.”
Josué’s smile widened. If the colonel wanted him to catch up on the years of study he lacked as someone who’d never attended the academy, he’d do it gratefully—and within the span of one particularly sensitive mission, too.
Captain...
He could hear the promise in Archambeau’s words, and he liked the sound of it. It was quite a climb for a man who’d known since his first days as a green recruit that he’d never make more than sergeant.
But all of that had changed. He wore the Litesian white-and-gold now—and soon enough, perhaps, the insignia of a captain, and a medal or two as well.
If this mad venture turned out successful. And if he made it through what was to come alive.
*
Simeon was still asleep when Josué returned, and after some deliberation, Josué left him to his rest. There was much to do, in any case, and as the colonel had reminded him, Josué could not afford becoming distraction—even when it was a distraction as tempting as the firm muscles of Simeon’s body.
Josué directed Bibeau to leave some bread and cheese by the side of the bed before he set out once more, making certain that the soldier who stood guard outside the tent was well aware of the extent of Josué’s displeasure should he return to find the deserter gone.
The rest of the day, Josué spent seeing to his duties. The daily inspection ended without a single man in need of discipline, two of his sergeants returned with sacks of oats and the promise of more from a miller who knew which of the small farms of the mountainous region had brought in a good harvest, and the soldiers who’d been set to work alongside the craftsmen were making good progress.
There had even been enough time before the end of the day for his dueling practice with Remy. Ten years younger than Josué, Lieutenant Remy was the sort of officer who’d been sent to attend the military academy as soon as he’d learned to his letters, his family not wealthy, but of the old Nabonnese stock that made up most of the officers of the army.
Whether Remy was displeased to serve next to someone like Josué, who didn’t even know his parents’ names, Josué couldn’t say—Remy was unfailingly polite in the way of men who’d had courtly manners drilled into them from infancy, despite the fact—or perhaps moreso—that his family had little left but a name with a glorious past.
Still, Remy was dependable and the colonel had chosen him for this mission just as he’d chosen Josué. Furthermore Josué had to admit that Remy had never once remarked upon the many ways in which Josué revealed his own lack of breeding, no matter how hard he worked. There were, after all, some things that even Archambeau’s books couldn’t teach. A gentleman’s duel was quite different from the havoc of a real battlefield.
On those fields, Josué was at home. Face to face with Remy, sabers raised, he was at a severe disadvantage, and both of them knew it.
“A good parry,” Remy said, only slightly breathless, his eyes gleaming merrily.
His youthful charm and cheerful nature coupled with pale, flawless skin and brown curls made him a quick favorite with the women of every town ad village they’d passed. Even Josué wasn’t entirely unaffected by Remy’s cheerful charm, or he would have resented it a great deal more to time and again find himself with the tip of Remy’s saber only a finger’s breadth from his throat or his breast.
“Not good enough,” Josué said, panting through gritted teeth.
Remy laughed, then released him and took a step back. “But you were close! Such skills come from relentless repetition, or so my sword master was fond of saying. It is not enough for the mind to know what to do; the body needs to know it even before the mind does.”
Wearily, Josué exhaled. It had been the fifth such loss today, and he could feel it in his arms. “Again,” he said, despite the protest of his muscles.
Remy shook his head, unapologetic. “We’ve done enough. You learn fast, but you’re only human. And not all of us get to spend the night with pretty diversions. I’m off at midnight with a few of my men; if I’m not back tomorrow evening, work on your parries.”
Chagrined, Josué inclined his head, lowering his saber at last. He should have inquired about Remy’s orders first before exhausting him before a long night.
“My apologies,” he said a little stiffly.
This was what came hardest to him.
They were of the same rank, and in military matters, Josué felt himself to be on an equal footing. So what if Remy had the advantage of academy training since he was eight or nine years old? Josué had fought battles beneath the flags of first Nabonne and then Litesia for more than fifteen years. Knowing battle and knowing how to handle himself in it was an advantage no officer could learn in a school, experience had taught him that.
This, though—this was different. Remy was doing him a favor. The sort of favor one might do a friend. And if there was something Josué had never learned in a childhood of miserable poverty and fifteen years of a soldier’s life, it was how gentlemen talked among themselves.
For all that both Josué and Archambeau’s skin marked them as outsiders in Nabonne, it was Josué who was the true outsider here; it was Remy and Archambeau who were one of a kind. What did Remy truly think when he saw Josué raise his saber in a duelist’s salute...?
Remy laughed and slapped Josué’s shoulder with studied friendliness—or perhaps even true camaraderie. With Remy, who could tell?
Then Josué shook off the maudlin thoughts, surprised at himself. Did it truly matter what Remy thought, when tomorrow they might all be dead?
“No apologies,” Remy said cheerfully. “I’ll have a couple hours of sleep yet. My bed is cold and empty. Whereas I hear yours is keeping you busy these days—not that I have any complaints about your stamina.”
Damn the man. Josué felt a brief moment of gratefulness for the fact that he didn’t flush. Were the other officers gossiping about him...?
It didn’t matter, he told himself once more. Archambeau was pleased by his results.
“The little wager turned out well for all of us,” Josué said, still somewhat wary of Remy, despite the man’s joviality. “We’re nearly ready for the mountains.”
“And it turned out well for you, I daresay.” Remy grinned. “Not that I blame you. It’s damned cold and lonely up here. Would that I’d had the foresight of you!”
That forced a surprise laugh from Josué. “I doubt you could have convinced the colonel to let you keep a mountain woman in camp,” he said dryly. “Though if what they say of you is true, you don’t need chains to keep them in line. Bibeau has a little ditty for every conquest of yours.”
Remy slid his saber back into its scabbard, grinning widely at Josué’s words—pleased, not insulted, by the fact that the men sang about his conquests.
“I wouldn’t worry.” Remy’s eyes gleamed merrily. “Before this is over, I wager he’ll have one for yours as well.”
*
Simeon was awake when Josué at last returned to his tent. It was already dark; Bibeau had a fire going in the stove and heated water so that Josué could wash before Bibeau returned to serve his dinner. Josué allowed Simeon to eat with him at his small table again, curious what an effect this kinder treatment would have.
He knew he’d shaken something in Simeon. There were cracks in his facade—deep cracks. Josué wouldn’t be surprised at all if Simeon had spent some of the restful hours in his bed replaying the events of the past nights, remembering every touch and his response to it, whether he wanted to or not.
How much time had Simeon spent thinking about how he’d kissed Josué?
Josué kept the conversation light, talking of the ponies and their behavior, and of how the little grey mare had quickly learned just who it was who brought her treats whenever he visited.
“Tomorrow I will bring a bridle,” Josué said. “She’s smart. I don’t think there will be any trouble.”
“And if there is?” Simeon asked softly, putting down the bread with which he’d mopped up the last of the soup Bibeau had served them. “If she fights—will you put her down?”
Josué considered his words for a moment. They were speaking of more than just the mare; they both knew it.
“If she poses a danger to others, I will not hesitate to put her down,” he said at last. “My responsibility is for the lives of our men here. Sentimentality has no place in a soldiers’ camp. But I will tell you that I would regret it greatly. She’s strong and resourceful and experienced, and already I’m rather fond of her. I’m thinking of claiming her as my own; she’ll carry my provisions, and I’ll care for her and keep her safe as best I can. And I think she knows that. That’s the way of life—she’s kept her herd safe, and they followed her. Now she will follow me, and I will keep them safe if I can.”
“They’d be perfectly safe here in the mountains, living how they’d always lived—in freedom,” Simeon said with only a hint of bitterness.
“Ah, but even here, they had to show their usefulness. The farmers would catch them when they had need of their strength and release them when they no longer needed them. That, too, is the way of life. They live on our land, and so they must bow to our needs. They can only have their freedom when they make themselves useful to us.”
“And who decides that this is how it has to be? That one must always bow; that one cannot live freely in a corner of land that is of no value to anyone?”
“All land belongs to the emperor.” Josué spoke firmly, although he allowed some compassion to show in his voice.
Simeon was where the little mare had been. He knew himself surrounded, and he knew that there was no other choice but surrender. It was harder for him than it had been for her, and Josué would try to make it easy for him—but Simeon’s surrender would come, and the sooner he accepted that, the better.
When it was time to retire to bed, Simeon hesitated. Josué could see that he was no longer certain where his place was, and Josué allowed that uncertainty to work on him for a while, ignoring Simeon where he stood while he went and undressed, unashamed of his nudity. Still naked, Josué sat down on the corner of his bed, gazing at Simeon as if he’d only just remembered him.
“If you want to sleep in my bed tonight, you can,” he said, offering the gentleness of his voice as he’d offered the apple to the little mare.
Simeon gazed at him, the iron manacles glinting in the light of the lamp.
Josué could see the struggle he fought—his pride wanted him to answer Josué’s offer with an insult, to accept the chains rather than Josué’s bed. At the same time, Simeon’s weary body remembered how good it had been to sleep on a soft mattress, as well as the discomfort of having to sleep chained, never resting for more than half an hour at a time before the ache of his limbs woke him.
Did Simeon remember the pleasure too? The way he’d instinctively sought out Josué’s touch in his fever dreams—and the kiss, that first willing surrender?
Josué liked to imagine that it was the memory of that first sensual kiss that finally made Simeon avert his eyes and step closer, although Simeon was no doubt telling himself that he was merely playing along.
Still, Josué didn’t comment on it. Instead, he chained Simeon by his collar once more and then slipped into bed beside him. Now, without the exhaustion of the fever, Simeon was wide awake as he rested next to him. Josué could feel his tenseness when he pressed closer, Simeon’s broad back warm against his chest.
Josué ignored his apprehension. Instead, Josué sighed, tired and content after the day’s work, and wrapped his arm around Simeon’s chest, stroking his skin until he felt his heartbeat speed up. Simeon hadn’t said a word, but when Josué’s fingers sought out a nipple, he found it already drawn into a tight little nub. Josué teased it gently with a fingertip, again and again, doing nothing else for long minutes until Simeon’s body was tense with arousal rather than distress.
Josué was hard, and now he allowed Simeon feel it. Without apology he pressed himself against him, letting his cock slide against the valley between Simeon’s buttocks, noting the way Simeon’s breathing changed at that intimate touch.
Again Josué did nothing else for long minutes but play with Simeon’s taut nipple and slowly, languidly rub himself against him. It would be so easy to take Simeon now—he might have to chain him further for it, but that was all it would take. And then Josué could finally bury himself in the tight little hole that had been taunting him for days now.
Instead, Josué leaned closer, allowing his lips to brush against Simeon’s hot skin, his tongue coming out for a little swipe that brought with it the taste of warm salt.
“Spread your legs a little,” he whispered. He said nothing else—just that order, in the darkness of their tent, with only the dim glow of the stove for company.
For a long moment, Simeon did nothing. Then, his breath shuddering, his thighs slid apart, his knee bending. He was vulnerable and open now, and for a moment, the need to take him was nearly irresistible.
Instead, Josué slowly slid his cock through his crease, noting the way Simeon shivered when the head of Josué’s cock grazed against his hole, the little muscle tightening—as wary as the little mare had been.
The thought made Josué smile, and the memory of her eventual surrender made it a little easier to draw back and change his angle, his cock now sliding between Simeon’s thighs instead until he felt himself bump gently into the warm weight of Simeon’s balls.
“Now close your eyes,” Josué murmured. “Think of your Philippe. This is how he’d have found his pleasure with you in camp at night.”
Josué moved slowly, more for Simeon’s own benefit than his own, but he wanted to give him time to get used to the sensation.
With one arm slung around Simeon’s chest, he held him close, his face buried in the ragged strands of his hair, letting Simeon hear the way his breath sped up as he slid rhythmically back and forth between his thighs.
The days of enforced rest—first in chains, then in his bed—hadn’t done any damage to his remarkable physique. Simeon’s thighs were as impressive as the rest of him, firm with hard muscles that tensed and flexed against Josué’s cock. Already Simeon’s skin was slick with sweat, and thrusting between the tightly clenched thighs felt almost as good as it would have to finally bury himself in the strong body that had tantalized him for so long.
Josué bent his head a little, nuzzling against Simeon’s throat. At the touch of his lips, there was an unmistakable little gasp. He pushed more firmly between Simeon’s thighs, sliding back and forth, occasionally nudging Simeon’s balls. Eventually he felt Simeon tremble in his arms, as tense as a strung wire. He didn’t even need to reach around him to know that Simeon was hard.
Pleased, Josué exhaled and brushed his lips against Simeon’s ear.
“Touch that pretty cock for me.”
For a moment, all he heard was Simeon’s own panting breath. Then he felt him move, and a moment later, Simeon shivered.
“There. In time to my thrusts. You know Philippe would have made it good for you.”
“Don’t,” Simeon said, his voice tight.
“Shh. Do it slowly. Slow and sweet. Just like this.”
Simeon’s thighs were trembling around him, squeezing him tightly. He could hear Simeon’s ragged breath, and the sound of it was nearly as arousing as the hot, tight clutch of his body. He thought of how hot Simeon’s cock would be, how sensitive—the sounds he’d make if Josué played with it, how good the massive shape of it would feel in his hand.
But Simeon would learn in time that all of him belonged to Josué, and how much better it was to surrender it freely. For now, Simeon deserved a reward for that first surrender—and memories of pleasure to torment him for weeks to come.
Josué didn’t bother to hold back his moans. He wanted Simeon to become accustomed to the sounds of his pleasure, and, soon enough, to learn that Josué’s pleasure was inextricably interwoven with his own.
Simeon didn’t make any sounds except for his ragged breathing, but Josué could now feel the slight motion that revealed that he was doing exactly what Josué had told him to do. Simeon was stroking himself, breathing heavily, and Josué was thrusting between his thighs, moaning his own pleasure into Simeon’s damp hair. With every thrust, he could feel Simeon shiver, muscular thighs still clenching around him, the slide in between sweet and tight, wet with sweat and the first drops of his own pleasure.
This time, when the tip of his cock bumped gently into Simeon’s balls, Simeon gasped, shaking—and then he came, arching helplessly against Josué. All that escaped Simeon was a breathless, soft moan—but it was enough to make Josué’s hips come forward with new urgency, burying himself between Simeon’s trembling thighs a few more timed before he spilled himself in a hot rush at last.
He allowed himself several long minutes to regain his breath. Simeon hadn’t moved. Perhaps he was still shocked by what he’d done, or perhaps his own thoughts were still hazy with pleasure as well. It bode well. This was exactly what Josué wanted: Simeon’s strong body relaxed in surrender, yielding to his every desire without protest. For now, there was still a chain on Simeon—but there’d be a day soon enough when even the chain on his collar would no longer be needed, and Simeon would offer himself up shamelessly—and eagerly.
Without moving from their position, Josué slid his hand up Simeon’s thigh. The impressive length of his cock had softened, but it was still sensitive; Simeon trembled again when Josué’s fingers bumped against the head.
Simeon was a mess. Josué’s release had splattered all over his thighs and balls, and Simeon’s own release had streaked his chest. Amused, Josué followed the trails of their seed, mingling it with his fingers, contentedly rubbing it into Simeon’s skin with gentle circles.
Then, at last, he rose a little, but only to push Simeon onto his back. Gently, he grasped Simeon’s chin. Simeon’s eyes were still wide and shocked—dazed with pleasure and with shame. When Josué gently pressed a sticky finger into his mouth, Simeon closed his eyes in humiliation but allowed that as well.
The sight of it was intoxicating. Simeon’s flushed lips glistening with their mingled seed stirred new desires in Josué, although for now he was too sated to want more. Instead, he contented himself with the sight of his release on Simeon’s lips and in his mouth and Simeon’s reluctant surrender before he leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was gentle as well, but Josué felt the glow of utter triumph as his tongue slid deep into the warm mouth that parted for him, and in which he could already taste the bitter salt of surrenders to come.
Perhaps now was the time to chain him once more and let Simeon in turn ponder whether his resistance was the noble fight he thought he was waging, or perhaps mere stubbornness that would lead nowhere. Josué knew, after all, that Simeon had already started to think. All he needed was a little more time—and Josué’s strict guidance.
When they entered the tent, Simeon halted without being commanded to, waiting quietly for Josué to decide what he was to do next. The sight of it pleased Josué, although no doubt Simeon was still telling himself that he was merely playing along with Josué’s demands until he could find a way to escape.
“Strip,” Josué said quietly, then watched, warm satisfaction glowing in his chest, when Simeon obeyed—moving slowly but without hesitation.
When Simeon was naked, standing before him with his eyes averted, Josué circled around him. Simeon’s back was still lightly marked by the flogging he’d received, although the red stripes had mostly vanished. A few fading bruises were all that remained, as well as the scabs that had formed where the leather had cut the skin.
Josué reached out and ran his hand along one of the bruises, then followed the scar of a past flogging. Simeon’s skin was warm, but no longer burning hot. He’d probably do well enough on the floor—he might even be grateful if Josué were to throw him a blanket.
Finishing his circle, Josué ended up in front of Simeon. His gaze was drawn towards Simeon’s cock once more, the impressive length even more striking without the hair that had once grown at its root.
Josué moistened his lips as he looked at it, remembering the way Simeon had pressed himself against him in his sleep, eager and willing and beautifully hard as he slid against Josué.
Perhaps that would be a better avenue. Little by little, Simeon had started to give in. Perhaps granting him one more night in his bed would give him something to mull over once he was back in his chains.
“You look exhausted,” Josué said. “I’ve tired you with this walk. You need more rest.”
Simeon looked up at his words. He seemed surprised and a little uncertain when Josué gestured at his bed, but the relief in Simeon’s eyes was obvious enough when he sat down on the bed. For a moment, Josué caught a glimpse of Simeon unguarded—his eyes closing, his mouth relaxing, exhaling deeply as his weary muscles no longer had to hold him upright.
It was rare to see a man with the build of Simeon so vulnerable—but then, of course, all that hard muscle was no help against Josué’s chains either. Still, Simeon hadn’t been relaxed in his bonds, and he hadn’t been relaxed either when Josué had had him flogged.
There was something deeply seductive about the sight of the strong body naked and vulnerable, utterly in Josué’s power, unbound by chains. Would he hold still if Josué came closer and touched him? Would he let Josué stroke him to hardness—would he obey and remain waiting on the bed, aroused and willing, for Josué to glance at every now and then as he worked?
Not yet, Josué thought with regret as he approached. Not yet. But perhaps one day. The signs were all there. He didn’t think he was wrong. Simeon could be made to yield—and come to enjoy it—even if he wouldn’t believe it yet.
Simeon didn’t move when Josué fastened the chain to his collar once more, although Josué could see his throat move as he swallowed. But there was no protest—just weariness and resignation on his face as he settled back into bed.
“Sleep,” Josué said. “Tomorrow you’ll feel better.”
*
Even with the ponies safely corralled, there was a never-ending list of tasks for Josué to oversee. Fodder for the ponies was the most pressing concern for now, but they’d need bridles and pack saddles. Josué sat over his calculations for a while, going again and again over a list of what was necessary to bring over the mountains with them. Once more he wished that he’d been given the task of scouting instead—he’d envied Martel the assignment, but Archambeau had given his lieutenants their respective tasks as soon as they’d started on this mission, and Josué wasn’t fool enough to resent him for it.
Once Josué had spent enough time on his reports, and once he’d assured himself that Simeon was asleep once more, he left the tent. Another hour passed with the reports of his sergeants and an inspection of his men. Afterward, Josué checked on the ponies once more. He’d brought another apple, and after a moment, the grey mare approached as before, her ears pointing at him and her eyes curious. She was still wary but took the apple without hesitation this time.
Josué reached out and stroked her head while she chewed, and she allowed that, too.
“Smarter than him, hmm?” he murmured. “You know that survival matters more than freedom.”
When she’d finished her apple, she raised her head again, watching him. After a moment, when no further treats were forthcoming, she moved back, although she still made certain to keep between him and the herd, an ear cocked in his direction.
Josué found himself smiling. He liked her. And he was glad that she’d decided to submit. Although it was true that there was a certain thrill to the fantasy of forcefully breaking Simeon to his will, Josué would be just as pleased to see Simeon come to his senses and offer his submission willingly. And once he did...
Ah, once he did, Josué could truly start.
*
“Good work, Lieutenant.” Archambeau’s head was bent over the maps spread across his desk. He didn’t look up, but even so his words filled Josué with the warm glow of satisfaction.
Josué watched, quietly, as Archambeau frowned at something visible only to him. What it was Josué couldn’t say. The colonel wasn’t foolish enough to write down sensitive information where any spy could just abscond with it.
After a minute, Archambeau straightened, his mien thoughtful as his eyes finally came to rest on Josué.
“Good work,” he repeated again. “Quicker than I’d hoped for. Lieutenant Remy tells me that the mountain is quiet. The paths he has been scouting are steep, and there will be snow high up if we are unlucky. But the mountain is quiet. The rebels are keeping their word—so far.”
They shared a small smile, both aware of the fact that only a fool would completely trust a man who’d been raising weapons against him mere weeks ago.
“But they’ll do,” Archambeau said. “They know what the alternative is. Gabrada has nothing to offer them that would be worth the wrath of the emperor.”
“We’re still acquiring supplies for the crossing,” Josué said. “The ponies are hardy, but there’ll be little food in the mountains. What oats we have right now won’t be enough.”
“Pack saddles?” Archambeau inquired.
“The leather we brought suffices,” Josué said. “The men skilled with leather have been relieved of guard duties to help.”
“How long?”
“Three days. Possibly four.”
“Even if they’d somehow caught note of our approach, they’d never guess we’d cross so quickly,” Archambeau muttered. “Although of course, it depends...”
He fell silent again, turning back towards his map. In a corner, Josué could now see, a carefully folded letter rested that showed the seal of the emperor. Noticing his look, Archambeau took hold of it and smiled slightly before he tossed it into the fire.
Chagrined, Josué straightened.
“How’s your project coming along?” Archambeau asked mildly. “Your deserter.”
“Proving to be as valuable as I thought he’d be. He’s as knowledgeable about these mountains as he claimed. Everything he said about the herd of wild ponies was correct.”
“It sets a bad example for the men,” Archambeau pointed out, “to let a deserter off easy.”
Josué nodded in agreement. It was bad enough to watch sedition spread through the ranks on a battle field, eye to eye with the enemy. On a mission like this, when what they relied on was secrecy and surprise instead of numbers, a single man might turn the tide and destroy years of careful plans, not to speak of the lives of the men they’d brought here.
“They saw him flogged,” Josué said. “Not as harshly as they’d have liked, but I needed him able to move. And the success with the ponies proved me right. The men see that as well. In any case, he hasn’t finished paying for his desertion. They’ll see that, too.”
This time, Archambeau’s smile was only fleeting, although he chose not to argue with Josué’s assessment of the situation. “See that it doesn’t distract you. Once we move, I need everyone at their best.”
Josué nodded, and Archambeau, watching him with sharp, knowing eyes, finally let go of the topic.
“Before you go, Lieutenant,” he said instead, “I thought you might be in need of further reading material.” He turned towards a small trunk of worn, engraved wood and opened it. From it he took a slender volume he handed to Josué.
General Desmarais. Tactics Vol. I. Josué rubbed his thumb along the worn spine and smiled in surprised pleasure.
“Don’t look so happy, Lieutenant,” Archambeau said dryly. “Before this campaign is over, I’ll have you well acquainted with the contents of that trunk. I will not have a captain who doesn’t know the Histories.”
Josué’s smile widened. If the colonel wanted him to catch up on the years of study he lacked as someone who’d never attended the academy, he’d do it gratefully—and within the span of one particularly sensitive mission, too.
Captain...
He could hear the promise in Archambeau’s words, and he liked the sound of it. It was quite a climb for a man who’d known since his first days as a green recruit that he’d never make more than sergeant.
But all of that had changed. He wore the Litesian white-and-gold now—and soon enough, perhaps, the insignia of a captain, and a medal or two as well.
If this mad venture turned out successful. And if he made it through what was to come alive.
*
Simeon was still asleep when Josué returned, and after some deliberation, Josué left him to his rest. There was much to do, in any case, and as the colonel had reminded him, Josué could not afford becoming distraction—even when it was a distraction as tempting as the firm muscles of Simeon’s body.
Josué directed Bibeau to leave some bread and cheese by the side of the bed before he set out once more, making certain that the soldier who stood guard outside the tent was well aware of the extent of Josué’s displeasure should he return to find the deserter gone.
The rest of the day, Josué spent seeing to his duties. The daily inspection ended without a single man in need of discipline, two of his sergeants returned with sacks of oats and the promise of more from a miller who knew which of the small farms of the mountainous region had brought in a good harvest, and the soldiers who’d been set to work alongside the craftsmen were making good progress.
There had even been enough time before the end of the day for his dueling practice with Remy. Ten years younger than Josué, Lieutenant Remy was the sort of officer who’d been sent to attend the military academy as soon as he’d learned to his letters, his family not wealthy, but of the old Nabonnese stock that made up most of the officers of the army.
Whether Remy was displeased to serve next to someone like Josué, who didn’t even know his parents’ names, Josué couldn’t say—Remy was unfailingly polite in the way of men who’d had courtly manners drilled into them from infancy, despite the fact—or perhaps moreso—that his family had little left but a name with a glorious past.
Still, Remy was dependable and the colonel had chosen him for this mission just as he’d chosen Josué. Furthermore Josué had to admit that Remy had never once remarked upon the many ways in which Josué revealed his own lack of breeding, no matter how hard he worked. There were, after all, some things that even Archambeau’s books couldn’t teach. A gentleman’s duel was quite different from the havoc of a real battlefield.
On those fields, Josué was at home. Face to face with Remy, sabers raised, he was at a severe disadvantage, and both of them knew it.
“A good parry,” Remy said, only slightly breathless, his eyes gleaming merrily.
His youthful charm and cheerful nature coupled with pale, flawless skin and brown curls made him a quick favorite with the women of every town ad village they’d passed. Even Josué wasn’t entirely unaffected by Remy’s cheerful charm, or he would have resented it a great deal more to time and again find himself with the tip of Remy’s saber only a finger’s breadth from his throat or his breast.
“Not good enough,” Josué said, panting through gritted teeth.
Remy laughed, then released him and took a step back. “But you were close! Such skills come from relentless repetition, or so my sword master was fond of saying. It is not enough for the mind to know what to do; the body needs to know it even before the mind does.”
Wearily, Josué exhaled. It had been the fifth such loss today, and he could feel it in his arms. “Again,” he said, despite the protest of his muscles.
Remy shook his head, unapologetic. “We’ve done enough. You learn fast, but you’re only human. And not all of us get to spend the night with pretty diversions. I’m off at midnight with a few of my men; if I’m not back tomorrow evening, work on your parries.”
Chagrined, Josué inclined his head, lowering his saber at last. He should have inquired about Remy’s orders first before exhausting him before a long night.
“My apologies,” he said a little stiffly.
This was what came hardest to him.
They were of the same rank, and in military matters, Josué felt himself to be on an equal footing. So what if Remy had the advantage of academy training since he was eight or nine years old? Josué had fought battles beneath the flags of first Nabonne and then Litesia for more than fifteen years. Knowing battle and knowing how to handle himself in it was an advantage no officer could learn in a school, experience had taught him that.
This, though—this was different. Remy was doing him a favor. The sort of favor one might do a friend. And if there was something Josué had never learned in a childhood of miserable poverty and fifteen years of a soldier’s life, it was how gentlemen talked among themselves.
For all that both Josué and Archambeau’s skin marked them as outsiders in Nabonne, it was Josué who was the true outsider here; it was Remy and Archambeau who were one of a kind. What did Remy truly think when he saw Josué raise his saber in a duelist’s salute...?
Remy laughed and slapped Josué’s shoulder with studied friendliness—or perhaps even true camaraderie. With Remy, who could tell?
Then Josué shook off the maudlin thoughts, surprised at himself. Did it truly matter what Remy thought, when tomorrow they might all be dead?
“No apologies,” Remy said cheerfully. “I’ll have a couple hours of sleep yet. My bed is cold and empty. Whereas I hear yours is keeping you busy these days—not that I have any complaints about your stamina.”
Damn the man. Josué felt a brief moment of gratefulness for the fact that he didn’t flush. Were the other officers gossiping about him...?
It didn’t matter, he told himself once more. Archambeau was pleased by his results.
“The little wager turned out well for all of us,” Josué said, still somewhat wary of Remy, despite the man’s joviality. “We’re nearly ready for the mountains.”
“And it turned out well for you, I daresay.” Remy grinned. “Not that I blame you. It’s damned cold and lonely up here. Would that I’d had the foresight of you!”
That forced a surprise laugh from Josué. “I doubt you could have convinced the colonel to let you keep a mountain woman in camp,” he said dryly. “Though if what they say of you is true, you don’t need chains to keep them in line. Bibeau has a little ditty for every conquest of yours.”
Remy slid his saber back into its scabbard, grinning widely at Josué’s words—pleased, not insulted, by the fact that the men sang about his conquests.
“I wouldn’t worry.” Remy’s eyes gleamed merrily. “Before this is over, I wager he’ll have one for yours as well.”
*
Simeon was awake when Josué at last returned to his tent. It was already dark; Bibeau had a fire going in the stove and heated water so that Josué could wash before Bibeau returned to serve his dinner. Josué allowed Simeon to eat with him at his small table again, curious what an effect this kinder treatment would have.
He knew he’d shaken something in Simeon. There were cracks in his facade—deep cracks. Josué wouldn’t be surprised at all if Simeon had spent some of the restful hours in his bed replaying the events of the past nights, remembering every touch and his response to it, whether he wanted to or not.
How much time had Simeon spent thinking about how he’d kissed Josué?
Josué kept the conversation light, talking of the ponies and their behavior, and of how the little grey mare had quickly learned just who it was who brought her treats whenever he visited.
“Tomorrow I will bring a bridle,” Josué said. “She’s smart. I don’t think there will be any trouble.”
“And if there is?” Simeon asked softly, putting down the bread with which he’d mopped up the last of the soup Bibeau had served them. “If she fights—will you put her down?”
Josué considered his words for a moment. They were speaking of more than just the mare; they both knew it.
“If she poses a danger to others, I will not hesitate to put her down,” he said at last. “My responsibility is for the lives of our men here. Sentimentality has no place in a soldiers’ camp. But I will tell you that I would regret it greatly. She’s strong and resourceful and experienced, and already I’m rather fond of her. I’m thinking of claiming her as my own; she’ll carry my provisions, and I’ll care for her and keep her safe as best I can. And I think she knows that. That’s the way of life—she’s kept her herd safe, and they followed her. Now she will follow me, and I will keep them safe if I can.”
“They’d be perfectly safe here in the mountains, living how they’d always lived—in freedom,” Simeon said with only a hint of bitterness.
“Ah, but even here, they had to show their usefulness. The farmers would catch them when they had need of their strength and release them when they no longer needed them. That, too, is the way of life. They live on our land, and so they must bow to our needs. They can only have their freedom when they make themselves useful to us.”
“And who decides that this is how it has to be? That one must always bow; that one cannot live freely in a corner of land that is of no value to anyone?”
“All land belongs to the emperor.” Josué spoke firmly, although he allowed some compassion to show in his voice.
Simeon was where the little mare had been. He knew himself surrounded, and he knew that there was no other choice but surrender. It was harder for him than it had been for her, and Josué would try to make it easy for him—but Simeon’s surrender would come, and the sooner he accepted that, the better.
When it was time to retire to bed, Simeon hesitated. Josué could see that he was no longer certain where his place was, and Josué allowed that uncertainty to work on him for a while, ignoring Simeon where he stood while he went and undressed, unashamed of his nudity. Still naked, Josué sat down on the corner of his bed, gazing at Simeon as if he’d only just remembered him.
“If you want to sleep in my bed tonight, you can,” he said, offering the gentleness of his voice as he’d offered the apple to the little mare.
Simeon gazed at him, the iron manacles glinting in the light of the lamp.
Josué could see the struggle he fought—his pride wanted him to answer Josué’s offer with an insult, to accept the chains rather than Josué’s bed. At the same time, Simeon’s weary body remembered how good it had been to sleep on a soft mattress, as well as the discomfort of having to sleep chained, never resting for more than half an hour at a time before the ache of his limbs woke him.
Did Simeon remember the pleasure too? The way he’d instinctively sought out Josué’s touch in his fever dreams—and the kiss, that first willing surrender?
Josué liked to imagine that it was the memory of that first sensual kiss that finally made Simeon avert his eyes and step closer, although Simeon was no doubt telling himself that he was merely playing along.
Still, Josué didn’t comment on it. Instead, he chained Simeon by his collar once more and then slipped into bed beside him. Now, without the exhaustion of the fever, Simeon was wide awake as he rested next to him. Josué could feel his tenseness when he pressed closer, Simeon’s broad back warm against his chest.
Josué ignored his apprehension. Instead, Josué sighed, tired and content after the day’s work, and wrapped his arm around Simeon’s chest, stroking his skin until he felt his heartbeat speed up. Simeon hadn’t said a word, but when Josué’s fingers sought out a nipple, he found it already drawn into a tight little nub. Josué teased it gently with a fingertip, again and again, doing nothing else for long minutes until Simeon’s body was tense with arousal rather than distress.
Josué was hard, and now he allowed Simeon feel it. Without apology he pressed himself against him, letting his cock slide against the valley between Simeon’s buttocks, noting the way Simeon’s breathing changed at that intimate touch.
Again Josué did nothing else for long minutes but play with Simeon’s taut nipple and slowly, languidly rub himself against him. It would be so easy to take Simeon now—he might have to chain him further for it, but that was all it would take. And then Josué could finally bury himself in the tight little hole that had been taunting him for days now.
Instead, Josué leaned closer, allowing his lips to brush against Simeon’s hot skin, his tongue coming out for a little swipe that brought with it the taste of warm salt.
“Spread your legs a little,” he whispered. He said nothing else—just that order, in the darkness of their tent, with only the dim glow of the stove for company.
For a long moment, Simeon did nothing. Then, his breath shuddering, his thighs slid apart, his knee bending. He was vulnerable and open now, and for a moment, the need to take him was nearly irresistible.
Instead, Josué slowly slid his cock through his crease, noting the way Simeon shivered when the head of Josué’s cock grazed against his hole, the little muscle tightening—as wary as the little mare had been.
The thought made Josué smile, and the memory of her eventual surrender made it a little easier to draw back and change his angle, his cock now sliding between Simeon’s thighs instead until he felt himself bump gently into the warm weight of Simeon’s balls.
“Now close your eyes,” Josué murmured. “Think of your Philippe. This is how he’d have found his pleasure with you in camp at night.”
Josué moved slowly, more for Simeon’s own benefit than his own, but he wanted to give him time to get used to the sensation.
With one arm slung around Simeon’s chest, he held him close, his face buried in the ragged strands of his hair, letting Simeon hear the way his breath sped up as he slid rhythmically back and forth between his thighs.
The days of enforced rest—first in chains, then in his bed—hadn’t done any damage to his remarkable physique. Simeon’s thighs were as impressive as the rest of him, firm with hard muscles that tensed and flexed against Josué’s cock. Already Simeon’s skin was slick with sweat, and thrusting between the tightly clenched thighs felt almost as good as it would have to finally bury himself in the strong body that had tantalized him for so long.
Josué bent his head a little, nuzzling against Simeon’s throat. At the touch of his lips, there was an unmistakable little gasp. He pushed more firmly between Simeon’s thighs, sliding back and forth, occasionally nudging Simeon’s balls. Eventually he felt Simeon tremble in his arms, as tense as a strung wire. He didn’t even need to reach around him to know that Simeon was hard.
Pleased, Josué exhaled and brushed his lips against Simeon’s ear.
“Touch that pretty cock for me.”
For a moment, all he heard was Simeon’s own panting breath. Then he felt him move, and a moment later, Simeon shivered.
“There. In time to my thrusts. You know Philippe would have made it good for you.”
“Don’t,” Simeon said, his voice tight.
“Shh. Do it slowly. Slow and sweet. Just like this.”
Simeon’s thighs were trembling around him, squeezing him tightly. He could hear Simeon’s ragged breath, and the sound of it was nearly as arousing as the hot, tight clutch of his body. He thought of how hot Simeon’s cock would be, how sensitive—the sounds he’d make if Josué played with it, how good the massive shape of it would feel in his hand.
But Simeon would learn in time that all of him belonged to Josué, and how much better it was to surrender it freely. For now, Simeon deserved a reward for that first surrender—and memories of pleasure to torment him for weeks to come.
Josué didn’t bother to hold back his moans. He wanted Simeon to become accustomed to the sounds of his pleasure, and, soon enough, to learn that Josué’s pleasure was inextricably interwoven with his own.
Simeon didn’t make any sounds except for his ragged breathing, but Josué could now feel the slight motion that revealed that he was doing exactly what Josué had told him to do. Simeon was stroking himself, breathing heavily, and Josué was thrusting between his thighs, moaning his own pleasure into Simeon’s damp hair. With every thrust, he could feel Simeon shiver, muscular thighs still clenching around him, the slide in between sweet and tight, wet with sweat and the first drops of his own pleasure.
This time, when the tip of his cock bumped gently into Simeon’s balls, Simeon gasped, shaking—and then he came, arching helplessly against Josué. All that escaped Simeon was a breathless, soft moan—but it was enough to make Josué’s hips come forward with new urgency, burying himself between Simeon’s trembling thighs a few more timed before he spilled himself in a hot rush at last.
He allowed himself several long minutes to regain his breath. Simeon hadn’t moved. Perhaps he was still shocked by what he’d done, or perhaps his own thoughts were still hazy with pleasure as well. It bode well. This was exactly what Josué wanted: Simeon’s strong body relaxed in surrender, yielding to his every desire without protest. For now, there was still a chain on Simeon—but there’d be a day soon enough when even the chain on his collar would no longer be needed, and Simeon would offer himself up shamelessly—and eagerly.
Without moving from their position, Josué slid his hand up Simeon’s thigh. The impressive length of his cock had softened, but it was still sensitive; Simeon trembled again when Josué’s fingers bumped against the head.
Simeon was a mess. Josué’s release had splattered all over his thighs and balls, and Simeon’s own release had streaked his chest. Amused, Josué followed the trails of their seed, mingling it with his fingers, contentedly rubbing it into Simeon’s skin with gentle circles.
Then, at last, he rose a little, but only to push Simeon onto his back. Gently, he grasped Simeon’s chin. Simeon’s eyes were still wide and shocked—dazed with pleasure and with shame. When Josué gently pressed a sticky finger into his mouth, Simeon closed his eyes in humiliation but allowed that as well.
The sight of it was intoxicating. Simeon’s flushed lips glistening with their mingled seed stirred new desires in Josué, although for now he was too sated to want more. Instead, he contented himself with the sight of his release on Simeon’s lips and in his mouth and Simeon’s reluctant surrender before he leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was gentle as well, but Josué felt the glow of utter triumph as his tongue slid deep into the warm mouth that parted for him, and in which he could already taste the bitter salt of surrenders to come.
