I really don't even know what this is. The idea popped in my head and it intrigued me, so I decided to slap it out. Might explore more at a later date, might not. Yikes. Please don't shoot me!


The Edge of Glory

A gasp.

"I don't suppose you'd care to keep your opinions to yourself, would you?"

The younger knight grinned cheerfully, despite the lightening-sharp awareness that crackled through him. "Of course not, milord. My opinions are so enlightening that I feel pressed at every moment to share them with the world. Oh gods, don't stop!"

A snort. "Does it look like I intend to?"

A serviceable brown tunic pooled on the ground at their feet, followed quickly by a white shirt.

"You're certainly quite attractive in spite of your advanced age," he panted, fingers fumbling with his own clothing. Older, scarred hands assisted him out of his own tunic and pushed him down against the mattress.

"Have a thing for older men, do you, Queenscove?" the other man drawled. "For shame."

Neal pulled Wyldon's head down for a punishing kiss. "You're one to talk, you old lecher… ahhh…"

"One more word about how old I am, and I'll show you just how old I'm not."

"Is that an invitation?" His voice sounded unusually breathy in his own ears, and Neal's slanted green eyes slid closed as experienced hands made short work of the buttons on his trousers.

"It's a threat, actually. Now will you give your wagging tongue a rest and put it to better use?"

Making use of his limber flexibility, Neal rolled so that he straddled the older man's waist; bending down, he drew said tongue along the hard muscles of Wyldon's stomach. "With pleasure."


I'm going to go bury my head in the ground now. Either that or attempt to burn this idea out of my skull. Cheers!