It's not the first time he has found himself hidden away in a linen closet with a secret love. It is, however, the nicest one he's had the fortune to be in. Silk sheets, woolen blankets, and cotton pillow cases caress his back as Bertie presses against the front of him, lips locked in a fierce kiss. When Bertie pulls away to undo Lionel's trousers and underthings, Lionel throws his head back in ecstasy. His toes curl, his hands clench as Bertie slowly drops to his knee in front of him. Bertie allows a warm breath out, gently heating the exposed organ in front of his face. Lionel balls his fists in the shoulders of the king's suit jacket. His eyes slam shut in the sweet bliss of it all.
Bertie tentatively licks the tip, unsure of himself for never having done something like this before. He looks up at Lionel in his uncertainty and, sensing, the intense gaze on him, Lionel opens his eyes again ad swallows at the site before him. He waits for Bertie to speak.
"I-I've n-never done this be-before," he whispers.
Through a lump in his throat, Lionel replies with a gentle, "You don't have to do this."
Of course he desperately wants Bertie to finish what he's started. What began as a few stolen kisses in therapy had suddenly turned into—this. A frantic Bertie demanding that he come home with him at that instant, their hands clasped tightly on the entire car ride back to the palace, the king silent each time Lionel tried to ask him what was going on.
"I w-want to—I f-feel a-as though I m-must. You've d-one so m-much for me."
He rests his head on Lionel's exposed thigh dejectedly. He doesn't really want to do this. He only thinks he does, Lionel realizes.
"You mustn't say such things, he admonishes.
He presses him back on his heels so he can refasten his trousers and speak to him properly. The poor royal keeps his head down in embarrassment, cheeks turning rosy first for stopping something he had begun and then for realizing he had quite nearly committed adultery and treason with a man.
"Come Bertie. Why don't we get some tea?" he suggests, assisting him to his feet, his voice slightly shaky from having had so much stimulation.
Bertie's knees pop when he is again standing erect, unused to remaining in such a position even for such a short amount of time. At least at church there were some standing and sitting interludes.
Lionel leads the way to the king's private parlor as if he'd been there a thousand times. And soon such a number would no longer seem ridiculously high, Bertie assumed. He breathed a sigh of relief when they were met only by the one guard who was allowed near his chambers in the day time. Lionel immediately walked over to the secret panel and stepped inside the cozy sitting room. A gleaming silver pot and tea cups rested on the tray, waiting to be used by the king and any of the guests he may need or want to entertain. They dip their tea quietly before Lionel breaks the silence.
"Please do not feel as though you owe me anything, Bertie."
"I o-only w-wanted to know what it f-felt like to—I th-thought I w-wanted…"
Lionel responds only when Bertie seems as if he has no more to say or cannot put his feelings into words properly.
"It's my fault. I should have stopped you when you kissed me. I misled you and put us in this mess—our wives need never know if you were to prefer that."
Bertie lets out a noise like an injured animal. He slams his cup down on his saucer with a rather loud click.
"Elizabeth knows. I told her about my feelings and she said she would turn a blind eye if that was what I needed. She's a sweet, kind thing, and I don't deserve her! Why didn't she try to stop me or scream at me or call me a homosexual?"
He's upset; he doesn't stammer. He paces the room as he exposes himself, tears back his armor and spill his emotions out like blood from a hunted creature.
"I told her how you made me feel, the way you touch my throat when we practice hums and how I couldn't stand it not going any farther than that. And now, now that I could have had you, nearly took you in a closet like a whore, I couldn't do it!"
When he's finished, he sits down on the couch and waits to be rejected by yet another doctor, another "friend."
Lionel's words surprise him.
"Because she loves you. And you couldn't, or didn't, want to have relations with me because you love her. Perhaps you have your emotions confused; mixing our friendship, our closeness, for love is not uncommon among people with difficulties in their lives. You see me in a misguided light, and I did not try to stop you when I should have. I do hope you can forgive me."
He waits anxiously for the king to respond. He hopes he will not be dismissed again. Lionel doesn't think he could bear it.
Bertie stands once more and walks over to sit beside his friend.
"You are my dearest friend."
Bertie presses a chaste kiss to his cheek.
Lionel supposes he can safely assume that he has been forgiven.