Your day has begun somewhat out of the ordinary. You feel just a bit out of sorts, like something in the world is off (though not wrong, just... off) you decide to go ahead with your day on your own terms thinking that a bit of thoughtful time alone will shake this puzzling mood.
So, you head down to your castle's kitchen, and while an oddity, you are the Prince after all. You are free to move wherever you wish in the castle and that includes the kitchen. You are no chef, and that's what you have cooks for anyway, but you can make a splendid cup of tea and you feel that's just what you need this day. You shuffle about the kitchen as you prepare your favorite blend of tea—a custom one of your invention—only stopping when the water starts to boil. You carefully pour the boiling water over the tea leaves resting in the small porcelain teapot and grab your favorite teacup from the shelf of dishes used throughout the castle.
It's while you're waiting for the tea to steep that you hear it: solitary footsteps in the room you presumed entirely empty when you entered. After all it is barely past dawn so who on earth would be in the kitchen this long before breakfast? You turn with a start, pressing your back against the counters edge, only to relax a fraction when you see the familiar mop of blond hair with its errant strands bobbing along with their owner's attempted stealthy movements.
Alfred, that silly, yet well-meaning boy…
You let loose a small laugh as you relax completely. This soft sound catches your "guest's" attention and he has quite the similar reaction as you did upon hearing him only moments earlier. Just as you did, he relaxes when he sees it's only you; he is safe and among friendly company. You can only smile as he approaches. That man is far too brilliant for the lot in life he's been handed but you know he would not have been the same beautiful man without it.
"I see you've been taking advantage of my generosity, Alfred. I do hope you haven't taken to abusing it too often though, the staff might start getting suspicious," you give him a teasing smile but underneath there is a genuine worry for the man. You only wish to help him—you left a key to the kitchen's staff door behind a loose brick, in the outer wall, so that he could enter the kitchen easily to relieve the stores of their older food stuffs—but if he were to be caught... you perish the thought.
It was Alfred's turn to laugh, and oh, how you love that sound; you muse to yourself just how much you've missed it in the last few weeks you haven't crossed paths with Alfred.
"You worry too much, Arthur! I make sure never to come any later than dawn and I usually come earlier but I overslept today. The only way I'm getting caught is if you tell them where to find me." Alfred is such an optimist and you see him smiling that unwaveringly hopeful smile. Of course the notion never occurs to him that betrayal is a very real thing. What is to keep you from turning back and telling? Then again such a notion is ludicrous as you could never do it. You would be able to live without that man in your life and his optimism was one of the very things that you loved most about him.
"You're certainly trusting, Alfred, but you know me far too well it seems. I would never turn you in, especially knowing where that food is going. You've my trust, Alfred." Your voice trails off at the end and you can feel some warmth rising to your cheeks as you consider just how much trust you have, indeed, placed in this man. Your thoughts are disrupted when you realize your personal space is no longer just yours and that it is now shared by Alfred. He is... very close, too close. He is so close that you are certain that the happy warmth in your face has burned darker and into something more.
Before you can speak, Alfred cuts in first, "You are too gracious to a vagrant like me-I owe you my life and the lives of so many others." His voice is tight with emotion, with gratitude that can't quite be expressed. "Let me thank you for all that you've done for me, Arthur." And before you know what's happening, your lips have been seized in a fierce kiss, one that tries to convey that inexpressible gratitude.
You easily relent to Alfred and let him do as he pleases. You let his tongue plunge into your mouth and steal your breath. You never could resist this man, this man who has the tightest of holds on your heart, which is why you part briefly to reach behind your body. You sweep your hands behind you, pushing the no longer desired tea away down the counter, lean your back against the counter edge, and urge Alfred to resume. You feel your body shudder and melt against him as one of his hands moves to firmly settle on the counter to your right and the other threads up into the hair on the back of your head. You will definitely not let him stop this time, "fear of interruption" be damned.
You feel Alfred couldn't have had better timing than he did that morning. Being in nothing more than your nightgown, robe, and a pair of stockings there is little worry of cumbersome clothing or messes getting in the way. It isn't long after Alfred pulls your head back by the hair, deepening the kiss to a dizzying degree, when his hand slips from the counter to your waist and his fingers pry the knot holding your robe closed with ease. With your robe fallen open, his hand is free to slip down to lift the hem of your night gown and slip his hand up the length of your thigh.
The skin beneath Alfred's hand rises and the sensation sends shivers through your body. You lift into the touches as they slide farther up your leg and you let out your first gasp as his fingers press and paw at the sensitive skin near your groin. As always, there is a sense of urgency to his actions—you can only hope there will come a day you can enjoy each other at length, but until then you let the heated rush sweep over you—and he gently works at your already half-hard cock while never giving you more than a few seconds to gasp between feverish kisses.
By the time you're finally coaxed to full hardness, you can feel Alfred pressing his own still clothed erection against your hip; you simply wonder how no one has heard you, what with the utterly erotic noises he's eliciting from you. He moves sporadically with increasing frequency and ruts against your hip. When his desperation becomes far too apparent you finally snake your hands down, trembling from pleasure, and fumble with tight sash wound around his waist. With what little coherency you have left you manage to wrench the fabric away and force his pants down just enough to free him.
Without warning, Alfred suddenly grips both of your thighs and hoists you up onto the counter top. You lose your balance and fall back only to catch and support yourself on your elbows. You and Alfred are acutely aware of your location and the terribly unfortunate lack of necessary items. "We have to be quick," you whisper as he begins to grind against you, sending a hot thrill down your spine.
"I will be," Alfred says in return, licking his lips as his fingers begin to trace across the pale expanse of your exposed chest and abdomen. You find those same long, calloused fingers circling around the base of your cock, squeezing gently and fondling at your balls before you're startled by the feeling of a hot tongue darting across your shaft. Your voice cracks and a heady cry sounds through the empty room as Alfred assaults the heated skin of your cock relentlessly, his tongue sliding up the entire length and over the head. The sensation only grows in intensity as his fingers slide up along your shaft and pull back the foreskin covering the head, exposing its entirety to the heat of Alfred's tongue and then his mouth.
You gasp, crying out soundless words as Alfred's tongue works along your cock, his mouth is hot and wet and you grasp at a nearby bag of flour as if it is the only thing stopping you from slipping into oblivion. Loud, yet muffled, groans emanating from deep in his throat vibrate around your cock and make your legs begin to tremble. A short glance down, you manage to look past the lewd act occurring right between your legs, reveals to you the reason for these desperate groans. At some point, Alfred had slipped his free hand to his own erection, his shaking fingers curled around his cock, and started to stroke at a fevered pace. And soon as it's there, your focus is gone, you are unable to concentrate on anything more than the pleasure coursing through your entire being and jerking your hands away from the counter to thread your fingers into and grasp Alfred's hair.
It won't be much longer. You can feel it as your body tenses and trembles under the strain to not jerk your hips up wildly. Alfred's doubles his efforts to wrench every possible lewd sound out of you as his own hand strokes his own cock to keep up with the frantic pace. Your body begins to curl forward and huddle forward over Alfred as the sensation that had been pooling heavily in your body begins to spill over and you lose your inhibitions and sense to that oblivion. You're coming and Alfred's throat tightens as he swallows around your cock. You can barely register your climax though, as your thoughts are drowned out by the feeling of it and your own voice as you let out a final cry of Alfred's name into the room.
As your senses return, you're aware that Alfred is standing fully upright again and leaning back over your prone, quivering form. He tastes of you as presses his lips against yours again, slipping his tongue in with no resistance, and you hear him groan lowly as he reaches his own completion. You feel some dribble onto your thigh but such a small mess is completely inconsequential and nothing your robe can't hide.
Alfred hastily wipes his hand off on his own clothes before bringing his hands up to hold your face. His kisses become less feverish and instead turn towards the tender as he lavishes your face soft kisses of adoration. The time spent in each other's company, simply kissing, touching and murmuring hushed affections, feels far too short to you as the urgency of the situation slowly begins to return. It is nearing Morning Bell for the castle staff and you and Alfred are still in an open location where anyone could walk in on you.
Neither of you want to admit or say it. You want to keep on reveling in one another's presence and pretending that your trysts are not an abhorred taboo that may very well end in the death of one or both of you. "I should go… the staff will be up soon," Alfred finally manages to mutter, breaking the silence, as his fingers run through your hair gently. Your only response is a small, understanding nod.
The silence between you and Alfred is tense and just a bit awkward as he helps you down from the counter. He fixes himself up, pulling his pants up and the sash back into place, before assisting you with your robe. There really is no need, you know how to retie your own robe, but you enjoy the closeness too much and let him do as he pleases.
With one last tender kiss, Alfred turns to leave, picking up a burlap sack that he left beside the door containing the food he was no doubt pinching from the storage. He stops just short of walking out the door though and turns back to you with a curiously sly expression on his face that invokes a fluttering feeling in your stomach. "That wall, with rose covered trellises that reach all the way up to the balcony on the west wing, that's your room isn't it? It overlooks the castle gardens, so it has to be your room, right Arthur?"
You're caught off guard by the question and left in an awed silence for a few seconds before you nod. "Yes, those are my private chambers. Why?" Your heart begins to race but you hold your tongue in rapt silence as you wait for Alfred's response.
A clanging of bells begins to sound in the distance, the servants were being woken to begin work for the day, and Alfred startles to attention. He only shakes his head at you as the sly smile becomes a devious smirk. "I'll have to be seeing you later, Arthur, I can't be caught anywhere. I do hope you're the type to keep your window opened during these hot summer nights."
You watch Alfred disappear and the heavy oak door swing shut behind him. Your heart is still racing from a mix of the implied promise and the soon to be approaching servants. You have no desire to explain your presence in the kitchen to anyone. You flee from the room, leaving behind the only evidence that the kitchen had been occupied at all—a mess of flour lay scattered across the counters and floor with numerous footprints left in it—you return to your own; you have a window to unlock.