Timothy wakes on his bed on the servant's chambers the next day. The nobleman must have dressed him and brought him back, and Timothy is grateful.
He goes about his chores, body a little sore. He notices finger-shaped bruises on the sides of his hips, and hand-shaped ones on both his arse cheeks as he changes into his work-wear. Timothy bruises all too easily because of his pale complexion. They don't hurt too much so Timothy shrugs, and goes about his chores.
In mid-afternoon, the castle steward gathers the servants for some announcements.
"As you all know, the king returned from the war front last night," the steward drawls out, sounding absolutely bored. "And refused the gracious banquet we oh-so-lovingly prepared for him."
The servants grumble at the reminder of their wasted efforts. Oh, so that's what the banquet was for, Timothy thinks.
"But the king had seen the error of his ways, and asked a banquet to be prepared in two-days time," the steward adds sweetly.
Groans resound in the steward's room, and Timothy joins in.
"Quit whining and get to it," the steward chides. "Oh, and, the king ordered the hot springs to be empty a candlemark after midnight until two candlemarks before dawn every night. He'd like to take a bath at those times and will order the beheading of anyone who dares disturb him."
None of the servants complained, already having taken their baths and dead asleep at those times. None except Timothy. Timothy's heart drops to his boots.
My luxurious bath time , Timothy inwardly cries out. Timothy mourns the loss for the rest of the day, going about his tasks with a heavy heart. He suppose he can always take a bath at midnight but a handful of servants may still be awake at that point. He has to give up goofing around in the baths now.
But wait, what about the nobleman? He told Timothy that he will meet the servant in the springs every night at that time. Has he heard the announcement? Has he been informed? Surely he has.
Timothy bites his lower lip, worry cresting in his chest. The nobleman has been so kind to him the nobleman before, teaching him methods Timothy has never considered before. Timothy has to check tonight, and make sure the nobleman isn't there. He can sneak in, peek in surreptitiously without the king seeing him, and sneak out again.
Night comes, and Timothy awakes at his routine bathing time. He dashes to the springs without a soap or a towel or even boots. He quiets his steps as he reaches the entrance to the cavern, crouching down and peering into the men's springs.
There, the blond hair of the nobleman peeks out as he lounges on the same spot as the night before. Gods, not good. Panic grips Timothy.
"Sire, sire!" Timothy approaches him hurriedly, still in his nightwear.
The nobleman turns to him, and smirks. "Timothy."
"We have to get out of the springs, sire!" The servant whispers harshly, brown eyes darting around.
The nobleman arches a brow. "And why is that?"
"Ha — Haven't you heard the announcement, sire?" Timothy nibbles his lip. "Any time now, the king will go to the baths and will behead anyone he sees here! The steward informed us just this morning! Come on, sire!" Timothy grabs onto one of the nobleman's arms, and attempts to pull him up and out. The nobleman doesn't budge an inch. "We can't be seen here."
The nobleman stares at the servant for several precious moments. "Sometimes, Timothy, I wonder if you're pulling my leg."
"It's no jest!" Timothy cries out. "We will be beheaded if the king—"
The nobleman tugs his arm forward. Timothy, who's holding onto said arm with both hands, lurches forward with it. He yelps as he topples into the springs, fully clothed.
"I've got special permission from the king himself," the nobleman informs the servant as he resurfaces with a gasp. "I can bathe here whenever I want."
"Truly?" Timothy asks with surprise. The nobleman must be very close friends with the king then.
The nobleman nods. "And I can bring anyone to the baths with me. We're safe, Timothy."
When the words sink in, Timothy smiles. He can still take his nighttime baths as long as the nobleman is here! He hopes he never encounters the king while doing so though.
"Let me help you with your clothes," the nobleman offers, leaving his seat and approaching Timothy.
"I didn't bring any soap, sire," Timothy says. He lifts his arms and allows the nobleman to pull up his tunic. The nobleman's fingers brush over Timothy's nipples, and the servant flinches.
"Don't worry; I did." The nobleman throws the soaked tunic over to the stones, and begins unlacing Timothy's trousers.
Timothy looks over the nobleman's shoulder and finds three filled bottles lined up at the corner. Timothy shimmies out of his wet trousers, the nobleman's hand accidentally palming a bare arse cheek as the man pulls the clothing down. The nobleman throws the trousers out too.
Timothy sits on the nobleman's lap once more but this time, his back is to the man's chest. Their cocks bump together under the water, and Timothy attempts to move his away to prevent unnecessary swelling.
"Leave it," the nobleman says, grabbing both his wrists. The nobleman leads Timothy's hands in the space between their legs. The nobleman forces the servant's fingers to encircle both their cocks and squeeze them together. "In fact, I think they're swelling already. Why don't you remedy them both at the same time?"
The nobleman is right, of course. Both Timothy's and the nobleman's cocks are already engorging. It's more efficient to remedy them together.
Timothy moves the circle of his hands back and forth their lengths, already breathing hard. He feels the heat of the nobleman's much larger cock against his own, adding to the feeling rolling his stomach. It isn't nausea, Timothy knows now. But he still doesn't know what it is.
"Look at your small hands around my cock," the nobleman whispers, his own breathing ragged. "Speed it up, bitch."
Timothy complies, stroking furiously. "Ah, hn, hn, hah." He runs a thumb over their slits just like how the nobleman did the night before. "Uh! Hah! Hn, ah, ah."
"There you go again, sounding like a shameless whore." The nobleman pinches both Timothy's nipples.
"Uhm!" Timothy writhes, something pleasant shooting down his stomach. "Wha — What was—?"
"Oh, your nipples are hardening," the nobleman remarks. "Perhaps we should remedy them too." With that, the nobleman begins playing with the nubs on Timothy's chest, pinching them lightly, rolling them between his fingers, rubbing them with his palms, circling them with an index finger.
"Uhm! Ah, hn, hah, hah! Uhm! Uhm!" Timothy's pace on their cocks falters, distracted by the sensation emitting from his nipples. The ministrations feel painful yet so good at the same time, leaving the servant breathlessly confused.
After a few minutes, "They aren't softening, huh." The nobleman ceases his actions, and Timothy feels oddly bereft. The servants pants, trying to catch his breath. "Let's try another way."
The nobleman nudges Timothy off of his lap, and the servant gets off on shaky knees. The nobleman climbs out of the spring, rivulets of water dripping from his body and engorged cock bobbing in the air with each step. Timothy watches with interest as the nobleman fetches the deeply red cape folded atop a rock, and unfolds it onto the ground. The nobleman returns to the servant. He snakes an arm under Timothy's legs and wraps another across the servant's shoulders. The nobleman easily lifts the servant up and out of the waters, and lays Timothy down on top of the spread cloak.
The fabric feels soft upon Timothy's skin, and the servants rubs his cheek against it in contentment. It's definitely softer than the scratchy sheets provided in the servant's quarters.
"Look at you," the nobleman breathes out. Timothy's gaze snaps to him, and finds the nobleman staring at him with darkened eyes. The nobleman begins to smile. "Spread out for me in my colors like the slut you are."
