Maximillian asked so, for his member was quivering, seemingly to release his seed. However, Jean was stopping him, blocking the hole at the tip. Jean quite liked the way Maximillian eagerly fell into his arms, twisting his body. The prince bit his lip as he endured the overwhelming urge to cum. Jean’s finger, stopping Maximillian’s tip, was wet.
“Who am I, Your Grace? Maximin, what of yours am I?”
Jean knew where Maximillian was the most sensitive. Once he had pushed his member all the way in, there was a spot that touched it. That spot behind the shaft. He could also feel the same spot with his fingers. It was soft and inflated, where his fingers would sink in the tenderness. Jean languidly gyrated his hips. Maximillian bit him, but it did not bother him in the least. Jean was waiting for an answer. Maximillian breathed out Jean’s name, but that was not the right answer. Instead of remarking on the fault, Jean pushed forcefully inside. Maximillian’s member had swelled so much that veins seemed to have appeared on it. It was about to explode.
“Jean, my catamite... My—ah—Jean, please...”
Maximillian’s legs flinched, and he shook his buttocks. His thighs were trembling. Jean was at his limit too. Jean felt like fluid would spurt out of his member at any moment now. He tensed his groin. His head spun. However, he had to hear the answer.
“My... My Montespan, please?”
Finally, Maximillian presented the right answer. Jean embraced the man tight. Maximillian’s usual coldness of the body was finally fended off, and finally, it was hot. The world before Jean’s eyes trembled and quaked, and bliss engulfed him, along with the sensation of release.
“Yes, I am your Montespan. Do not forget.”
As Jean let go of the prince’s member, the prince held him tight in his arms, and so did Jean. His seed spurted on Jean’s stomach, but Jean did not care, for he himself was experiencing a sensation as though his very consciousness plummeted down a steep cliff before returning to him.
“I am the person who shall be by your side in your final hour.”
Catching his breath, Jean finished speaking. He moved the lower half of his body unconsciously, digging deeper inside Maximillian. He seemed determined to pour his seed inside the prince, until the very last drop.
“...You are no man but a beast. Fornicating with only the trousers removed.”
Only after a long while did Maximillian murmur, seemingly having gained his presence of mind back. The tone was thorned, but Jean was not bothered. He kissed the prince on the forehead.
“’Tis not something you should say, you who cried in pleasure as you were indulged by that beast you speak of.”
Maximillian’s thighs trembled, having strained them with too much pressure. Jean sat the prince up. He proceeded to dress Maximillian, fixed his garments, then he kissed the prince on the crown of the head, the earlobe, the forehead, the bridge of the nose, and so forth. The kisses were so persistent that in the end, Maximillian had to cover his face and let out a groan of exasperation. And finally, he breathed a heavy sigh in surrender.
“Whatever you wish, Lord Jean Erhardt. Since you have taken me as much as you wish, I assume that you would at least have the decency to accompany me back to the Royal Palace?”
Jean had gotten dressed in a brief moment. He stole a glance at the window, and he saw that more and more people were gathering outside of the groom’s quarter. They were heading outside the mansion, and Jean knew that it meant they got the message. Jean glanced at the prince. His dear Crown Prince had his eyes closed, his face pale and fair per usual. He appeared fatigued.
“...You seem unwell, Your Grace.”
Soon, every church in the capital would ring its bells, announcing the death of the emperor. Jean knelt for the man who was consumed with fatigue, oblivious to his own father’s death. He then looked up at the prince and saw that he was looking down, his eyes narrowed. The prince seemed to be wanting to avoid his gaze.
“Aye, for you have taxed me.”
Maximillian whined a little, and Jean continued speaking as though he had not heard anything.
“You seem on the brink of collapse, Your Grace. Might I suggest a journey to improve your health? There lies a modest hot spring beyond the eastern border.”
“...What nonsense are you suddenly speaking of?”
“Should you depart right away, you shall arrive within a week. Though not ostentatious, I possess a robust carriage and a skilled horseman. I will provide a few guards for your escort. On the morrow, I shall commence my journey and follow after you.”
“Jean. I need no such thing. I am well. I merely wish to be back at the palace.”
“We shall meet at the inn right before the border. Feast on good food, don cozy garments, and wait for me while soothing in the warmth of the hot spring. I shall come to you.”
“...Why do you keep swerving the conversation?”
Jean could not speak of the truth. He knew very well whom he cherished in his heart—the Crown Prince destined to be the last heir of this crumbling empire. The man who would try to protect the empire as a member of its royalty. And to speak of their great cause to him would mean the execution of Jean’s brethren. And that of Ariel Baden. In other words, that of the Little Pearl.
Though he harbored a love that would damn him to the depths of hell, Jean could not bear to repay a decade’s worth of gratitude in such a manner. That he would evacuate Maximillian was already a grievous blow to the cause of the revolutionists. If truth be told, and circumstances permit, he also aspired to safeguard the belief he held dear to his heart. Merely—
“Jean?”
“...Maximin.”
Merely—
“I shall venture forth tomorrow. To meet you. No matter what,” said Jean.
I merely want to keep you alive.
“I shall explain everything then, so just... tell me you shall go. Promise me.”
Jean wished to live just one more day with him. He cared not whether he should fall into the fires of hell upon his demise. He cared not whether he would be treated like a heathen, deemed no man. A servile sycophant, an obsequious courtier. These pejoratives bothered Jean no longer—he would gladly hear them anytime. Had he not just run after the prince, forsaking his solemn duty as a man? On the day he was finally betrothed to the one he had ardently awaited for a decade, alas, it was this man whom Jean had hastened after.
“Your Montespan pleads with you, Your Grace.”
The misunderstanding was a mere excuse. Jean simply desired this man.
Jean stared long at the Crown Prince’s lips, which would not part. Maximillian’s lips had been a little ajar from the sheer confoundment. Indeed, the prince’s perplexity was justified. At one instant, Jean spewed words intended to wound him. In the next, he descended into aimless rambling and nonsense. The prince was a clever man. Jean was sure he would be deciphering the meaning even at this moment.
Jean held the prince’s hands tight and kissed the back of them. He bestowed kisses upon the hands until not a single patch of skin on their backs remained untouched by his lips.
“...Very well. I shall do as you have told me to.”
It was a long while after that Maximillian procured the answer that Jean had so desired to hear.
“I give you my word,” the prince promised.
And as he did, the church bells were tolling, seemingly sanctioning the vow.