Chapter Text
Chapter One
When had lust morphed into something he couldn’t find the words to describe?
The question startled him; if he had been anyone other than the King’s man, his knees would have given out. But he was the King’s man; years of training and work automatically kicked in, and he continued to stare at the wall opposite him, his figure remaining unremarkable.
He had no conscious thought of his eyes moving, but suddenly he was glancing at the figure next to him from the corner of his eyes. The other figure maintained a similar posture to his own, gaze fixed upon the wall. He dared not glance too long, lest he be caught; but before he glanced away quickly he thought he might have caught a small smile on the other’s face.
What was happening to him? He was not a man who dealt in whatever this was. A servant was not meant to be seen or heard. The King’s man was meant to be as important as a favorite piece of furniture; reliable and sturdy, but tossed aside if it showed any wear or tear. That meant that he could never show any strain or tension. Face stoic, hair combed into a perfect quiff, hands held straight next to his body. Emotions were not needed in this job; in fact, they could be dangerous. A weapon employed by those who plotted your downfall; or a frivolous endeavor that distracted one from their job. He had seen it too many times before; servants who were working themselves up the ranks slowly, when it all became derailed by some extraneous feeling they called “love”. In his twenty odd years of living, he had never believed in love. The closest he felt to that notion was for His Majesty; a notion that had grown over their time together from childhood to manhood. It was not his job to love; it was his job to protect, plan and guide; and he did an excellent job. He licked his bottom lip, tongue barely darting out, wetting the lip slightly. Just because he rejected emotions did not mean that he rejected… needs.
A sudden urge to shift in place was almost overpowering; but only almost. He had always known that his appetites were ‘different’ than others. While his contemporaries eyes would linger on the exposed décolletage of a fellow servant, his eyes were drawn to the strong calves of his companions. When they had raunchy conversations in the servant quarters discussing the ways they would have with the women, he watched the men, and wondered about the ways he could have with them. He didn’t know what that meant exactly, but he could imagine nonetheless.
It wasn’t until he was sixteen that he met another who had the same ‘unnatural’ feelings. The footman had been an older man; experienced. He was a good teacher, imparting wisdom in their brief time together; like a flame who shown bright and then died, leaving char marks in its wake. This brief fling informed his approach to these matters. Emotions were not a part of the equation; and that he understood. He could do physical intimacy with no emotions, in fact, he craved it. The moment feelings started to seep into encounters, always from the other party, he withdrew, ending the physical relationship. There would always be another man to take to bed, even if it took him a while to find. He chanced another glance at his companion from the corner of his eye. That’s how they began, fulfilling a need on both their parts. When had that changed? With concerted effort he pulled his eyes back to the wall before them. He longed to twist his hands together. He didn’t know how much longer he could deal with the swirling thoughts and their accompanying feelings. He didn’t deal with feelings, couldn’t identify them. As though hearing his thoughts, the doors behind them opened suddenly, with the King sticking his head out, looking almost comical. “Ah, Reynolds, apologies; forgot you were out here.” His lips quirked. “You and Brimsley are relieved for the night.” The King was gone almost as fast as he had arrived, shooting a smirk at Reynolds before disappearing behind the doors once more. That could only mean one thing, the Queen was staying the night in the King’s quarters, and they were not to be disturbed before mid-morning. Brimsley turned to him, looking bemused.
“I shall inform the staff.” He said briefly, before nodding at Reynolds, and turning away. Reynolds did his best not to gawk after Brimsley. Reynolds sank into the wall for a brief moment before pulling himself together. He had his own duties to attend to before he headed to his own quarters for the night.
XX
With a heavy sigh, Reynolds laid back in his bed, pulling the duvet up over his body. As he laid his hands down on either side of his body, he grabbed the fabric in small fists, the material crinkling. The monotony of the palace’s routines had swept him up in their patterns, leaving no room for thoughts or feelings that he would rather avoid. In the silence of his chambers, they were impossible to ignore; banging at the walls of the barriers he made inside his mind, an unwelcome visitor he could not turn away. For if he turned them away, they would wander aimlessly into the vast coldness of his mind, left to perish a painful death. While their deaths would be easier than letting them in, the thought of them dying a horrific and drawn out death was too unbearable to even fully comprehend.
Cursing internally, Reynolds turned onto his side, a hand pressed under his cheek. When had he become someone who thought in such flowery terms? Sighing, he turned over again, the bed creaking obnoxiously with the movement. It was torturous, being a man who thought in flowery terms, and could not clamp down on feelings as he normally would. When had this all changed? He bit his lower lip in deep thought; a habit he seemed to have picked up from the Queen’s man. Internally sighing, he turned again, this time on his back, facing the ceiling, hands crossed over each other on his stomach. That’s what it always came down to, wasn’t it? The Queen’s Man. The most stubborn, persistent, and annoying man he had ever known. A man whose eyes he could meet across the room and know exactly what he was thinking. A man who somehow saw through the pompousness that was Reynolds, and saw the man beneath. A man who Reynolds looked forward to seeing every day; and not just for physical reasons. That realization hit him suddenly as he thought about the Queen’s man. Reynolds actually looked forward to bickering with the shorter man; who made up for his stature in every other way. Reynolds had never met a man who could handle him the way Brimsley could; could handle the duality of his personality, the man who had to be in control; and the man who needed to be cared for. Reynolds felt a wave of… affection? He pressed a hand into his chest. Was that what he was feeling? Affection?
Did affection make one’s heart beat fast; cause blood rush to the face? Did affection make him memorize each piece of Brimsley’s hair; every twinkle in his expressive deep brown eyes? Was it affection that tugged at him to find the Queen’s man at every opportunity, and to talk with him about everything and nothing? If that was the case, he knew what to do. He would break off the physical relationship, go back to being merely acquaintances who neither liked nor disliked each other. Back to someone who Reynolds could regard as he did any other member of the staff; less important than him.
Why then, did that idea sound repugnant to him? He could not tolerate the thought of seeing the Queen’s man and not exchanging well-placed barbs; and then exchanging small smirks meant for no one but the other. He could not imagine his mornings being simply an exchange over the plans of their royals, and not veiled heated looks. Most intolerably, he could not stand next to Brimsley, their arms only inches apart and act as if the other man’s presence didn’t make him tingle head to foot.
Oh.
Reynolds felt immobilized, frozen and yet his entire body was on fire. Was he… falling in love? He almost laughed out loud at the notion. He was not a man who ‘fell in love’. Men like him did not fall in love. Men who laid with men lived their lives in the shadows always set apart.They did not live their lives in the open, displaying affection for all to see. Men like him took what they needed and then moved on. Men like him did not fall in love.
And yet…
Reynolds gulped, feeling his Adam’s apple move up and then down. This feeling, growing and encompassing his entire chest…
Damn.