Relax
His Majesty Henry the VIII leaned forward against the heavy oak desk of his Secretary. The day had been long and strenuous, and he needed to release the tension somehow. He could fetch one of his many mistress… the name of Ursula Misseldon came to his mind… but he needed something different. Something more exciting.
He looked down to his Secretary. Cromwell was once again buried in endless parchments. Although he never admitted it, Henry was very proud and grateful of him. The man was a tireless worker who had climbed all his way up to the top… without actually bedding his King, like the women at Court did. Well, one could change that…
- Thomas – Henry said in a seductive voice, yet cautious. Let's see how further he could push the rope without actually breaking it.
The man lifted his head immediately.
- Your Majesty? – he seemed quite surprised to be called by his Christian name.
- Do you ever sleep? You seem so absorbed in your work!
- I try, Your Majesty – he said with a polite smile.
- You should rest more – said the King, going around the table to place his hands on his Secretary's shoulders, rubbing them gently. She felt Cromwell's tense up immediately. He surely wasn't expected being back rubbed by his King!
- Relax, Tom. Otherwise my hands will be of no use – Henry commanded.
And so Cromwell did. A mumbled moan formed in the back of his throat. We're getting there, thought Henry, feeling that familiar warmth in the bottom of his back. He kept rubbing the Secretary's back with one hand, while the other caressed the back of his head and neck, entangling his fingers on the black curls. Cromwell's moan was more audible this time. Without thinking, Henry sat on the arm of his Secretary's chair and slowly leaned forward until his lips met Cromwell's. Soon what had started as a sweet kiss became into a savage and passionate kiss, only broken when they both needed to breathe, their lips and tongues collapsing, Henry's hand on Thomas' hose, feeling the same warmth his Secretary was feeling in his own fabric.
Suddenly, someone knocked at the door. Henry cursed. He could have yelled at whoever was behind the door to leave, he could have taken Cromwell right there on the top of the desk. But instead he didn't. Good things come to those who wait, was it not? So he started to walk towards the door, leaving a flushed Cromwell behind. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
- My chambers. Tonight – he whispered in Italian, a language Thomas mastered perfectly. He looked deeply into his master's eyes and just nodded. Henry smiled seductively and opened the door. Oh, it would be a long night…