A/N: Anyone and anythign you recognize is not my work, its TPs
Alex of Tirragen sits on his bed, legs crossed, twirling his fingers over the sword on his lap. His face is expressionless as he stares at the room connecting him with his knightmaster.
Any moment now.
Unconsciously he begins tracing lines on his arms, where he knows the scars are, though they are no longer visible. Magic is good for that.
He closes his eyes, willing the door to stay shut, wanting to run to the practice courts, to delay this moment.
He hears the bolt unlock and the door open. Hears the soft footsteps, hears their unevenness before he smells the liquor. Opening his eyes he looks up at Roger who stands, swaying over his bed.
"My lord," he whispers, trying to keep his eyes expressionless. It is no use; he can feel Roger in his mind, soothing his fears, his worries, reading his thoughts.
I love you, my cat.
I love you, Roger.
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The Ordeal is over. The chapel floods in light that hurts his eyes, that bores into him, that burns into his mind.
A hand on his elbow, pulling him back to the castle.
Come, my cat. You're tired.
Alex nods mutely, his eyes unreadable.
No! No! Not like this, Roger, not now. I'm not your squire anymore, not now.
The wall hanging is rough against Alex's back when he finds himself pressed up against it, Roger's eyes flickering into his own.
His mind is caving in, the anger and fear he felt towards the Duke melting away under his gaze.
When Roger touches his lips to Alex's, Alex kisses him back.
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He hates the leaving the worst.
Roger, angry. Not at Alex, not this time. But it is the power he takes, steals.
Kissing roughly, touches flying beneath clothes.
The cat tries to keep up, tries to make his hands do what he knows Roger wants, tries to make Roger need him before he needs Roger.
Too late, Alex can feel his body reacting before he wants it too. Roger smiles grimly, pulling the boy's breeches down, hands flicking across his body over and over, touching him in places that make Alex quiver and fight to keep control, make him almost lose the glossy shield in his eyes.
Suddenly Roger stands. Touches the dark, sweaty hair beneath him, looking into eyes that suddenly show hurt, these scars internal. Leaves, the door only shutting partway.
Alex pants against his bed, feeling more exposed than he ever has before, trying not to ask the questions he wants to yell, trying to forbid his body from walking through that half-open door.
Tries to keep himself from needing Roger.
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It's the times when he's gentle that makes Alex come back of his own will. The strong, smooth hands caressing his muscles, silent praise for his body. The Duke's lips easing over his own.
The "I love you" said aloud, not just in his head. The apologies. The promises.
Falling asleep curled in the Duke's arms, both bodies still sweaty, tired, sensitive enough to enjoy each other's light touches but not so sensitive to awaken the desire yet.
That's when he needs him most.
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My cat, we could be together.
Alex refuses to show reaction, but knows Roger can read the hope swelling in his stomach.
Jon stands in the way. The King, the Queen. Alan. We'd be shunned, a disgrace. If I were King, Alex, we could be together forever.
Alex looks up, not trusting his voice.
"Alex, I need you."
Alex has power. But he is not cruel. He will not toy with the Duke.
"I will not fail you."