A/N:
YC: Yes, we're back! But there's finally going to be some background info, curtsey of Miss Greene.
SG: Yeah…and since I haven't been…dabbling in reading other people's lemons/limes lately, I am a little rusty. Just roll with me on the following chapter, people. (not that you care any, you're practically getting free porn from what we're churning out here, if not from me, then definitely from Yaoi's Consort, I mean her shit is fabulous)
YC: True enough. Wait—how'd you escape the corner?!
SG: Agent P let me out. It seemed only fair to let me out after a chapter. Besides I need to commentate on my—sorry, our story.
YC: Wha?! But I had Doofensmirtz guarding that door with his—oh.
SG: Smooth. Everyone knows Agent P could escape and/or defeat Doof with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back.
YC: Platypi don't have hands!
SG: Paws, then. You know what I mean, damn it!
YC: Yeah, but I just like to piss you off.
SG: Now YOU get to go in the corner. *Shoves her off in the general direction and steals her seat, since the chair she had before disappeared when she went off to the corner in the first place*
YC: But I don't WANNA in da cownah.
SG: I said go, so GO! *shakes her fist rather threateningly in her direction*
YC: No! Cownah BAD!
SG: I'll give you a cookie if you go…
YC: …Wat kinda cookie?
SG: Those special peanut butter cookies with Hershey's kisses in the middle… *Her voice drops to a coo as if she's talking to a young child*
YC: Okay! *Skips off to the corner*
SG: On that note, feel free to enjoy the following chapter. Until next time! And remember: REVIEW. Otherwise, we won't update at all, and you'll never get to enjoy the lemony fabulousness that we have planned for you! You've been warned.
Chapter 3:
Buford struggled to think clearly as the blood pounded heavily in his head, proving that he was still alive, knowing that it had drained from his face to go…other places.
He wasn't sure what was worse: the fact that he'd nearly broken the knight's first code of honor, or the fact that he let his disorientation get the best of him.
They'd grown up together, before the rivalries and wars began.
No one could tell how it started, but the two kingdoms had drawn their lines, and they had ended up on opposite sides of the boundary.
Baljeet, of course, had always been royal, just as he had always been slated for knighthood, but the two kingdoms up until then had always been allies.
He never thought it would come to this. He'd expected to die in battle and then Baljeet would marry and rule, or better yet, the wars would end before anything could go wrong and life would go back to the way it used to be, the two of them as just simply friends.
Now, he wasn't quite sure what he was. He wasn't sure if the prince's tactics were to torture him in this manner until he talked, or if he was merely being used as a plaything—not even useful to get information from.
"Drink." His thoughts were interrupted by the guard thrusting a bag of water through the bars to his lips. "Prince Baljeet's orders." When he refused to comply, the guard continued. "Just drink the damn thing, alright? Nobody else gets extra."
Buford inwardly sighed, but acquiesced nonetheless.
The guard left quickly, and Buford became incredibly woozy.
There must have been something 'Jeet requested to be put in my water, Buford thought angrily.
It was the last thought he had before the intoxicating dreams completely and overwhelmingly enveloped him.
White-leather gloves ghosted across his back. Even though he couldn't see them, he knew whose they were. His hands tightened on the restraints, the well-defined muscles in his arms contracting powerfully, and the fine line between desire and duty became both vague and twisted, time itself fraying at the edges.
He struggled against the touch as they teased the skin at every curve and dip of the sensitive muscles on his back, and soon it wasn't just leather-swathed fingers on his skin, but also wet-hot open-mouthed kisses and a slick, well-controlled tongue.
Buford bit his lip as he tried to suppress a moan.
Then those fingers came around his torso to tweak each of the nipples once, trace his well-toned chest, and enclose his cock in soft, white leather.
The man behind him pressed his body up against Buford's, his bare chest brushing enticingly against his back, the man's small pink nipples hardening at the friction.
The cloth of the man's trousers did nothing to hide his erect cock, but served as an important barrier between them.
As the man teased Buford's cock with his still-leather-swathed hands, he began to awaken other sensations in him by rubbing his cock—still covered by his trousers—in the crack of his ass.
Buford squirmed, trying to resist temptation, until he felt that heavy breathing on his throat and in his ear.
"Give in just this once, Buford. No one has to know."
With that, he released everything he'd been holding back, and came in the man's gorgeous white-leather gloves.
Buford awoke with his head sagging and his breath coming in gasps.
He nearly paled at the memory of the dream. It seemed so wrong.
He was interrupted by a chuckle from outside his cell.
Lifting his head as best he could, he blinked to clear away all lingering sleep.
"Hhmm," Baljeet smirked at him through the bars, his face pressed close, "It appears I was not the only one having interesting dreams."
Buford nearly choked when he realized that the cum on the prince's formerly pristine white gloves was likely his own.
Chapter 4 Promo: Baljeet's recollection, with some serious LIME, and a plot to make Buford his own.