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smackenzieHe doesn't know how to answer, but then she kisses him, open-mouthed and distracted, and starts to shift back and forth and back and forth, so that he's thrusting inside her almost involuntarily. She pants against his lips, her hands clenched in his sweaty curls as she moves on top of him, riding him, bringing him closer and closer to climax.
He thinks about Rainaut and feels guilty.
“Are you close,” she asks, breathless with her own desire. She licks at his lips. “I want you to - “
The rest of her sentence is lost as he clutches at her arms and gasps out his pleasure. He empties himself inside her, pushing up against her, swallowing his moans.
“You can make some noise,” she tells him, after he catches his breath. “No one can hear you.”
“Was, was that – did we do it?” he asks, ignoring her.
She laughs. “I don't think so.” She kisses his nose and climbs off him. She stretches out next to him, her head on his shoulder, and says “After you've rested for a little bit, I think we should try again. I'll be on the bottom this time.” She lifts her head. “How do you feel? What did you think?”
“It was different,” he says. “You're, you're different.”
“I've been told that.” She puts her head back down. He's confused and tired but lying like this, with Jacotte's head on his shoulder, is very cozy. “Tell me something about yourself. I don't know anything about you. What are you copying?”
“A history. Lives of kings. Wars, policies, arguments with the Mother Church.”
“Is it interesting? Do you actually have a chance to read what you copy?”
“Of course, I have to be able to read it, otherwise I can’t copy it accurately.”
She slaps him playfully on the chest. “I know you can read it, silly. I meant do you get a chance to really pay attention to what it says, as if you were reading it to study it.”
“Oh. Yes, if I’m not in a hurry I can absorb more of what it says, rather than just copying the words. And some of it is interesting. There’s a lot I didn’t know.”
“Tell me something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Something new you learned. Something about a king. Or a queen.”
So Brother Peire thinks for a minute and tells her about an argument between a long-dead northern king and the Mother Church that ended with the king excommunicated and the local bishop becoming a farmer. The king repented, he adds, but the bishop never came back to the church.
Jacotte is amused by the idea of a bishop plowing fields,so she asks to know more, and Brother Peire tells her some more about the king and his queen and his court, and Jacotte in turn tells him about the gardens and the orchards and her ideas for the broccoli and the cauliflower for next year.
“I think I can merge them together,” she says. “Combine them somehow. Would you eat green cauliflower? What about a white broccoli?”
“I might. But that sounds… it’s against the natural order.”
She laughs into his neck. “You’re still such a friar, Peire. You’re lying here with me, after trying to get me with child, worried about the natural state of my vegetables.”
“I don’t think it’s right to play around with the things God has made,” he explains. But he’s not offended and he doesn’t feel defensive. He knows Jacotte means him no insult.
“Well,” she says, still giggling, “God made you and me, and I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to play around some more.” She lifts her head, grins at him, and drops a kiss on his lips. “Once more tonight and then I’ll send you back to Rainaut.”
Brother Peire doesn’t particularly want to think about what Rainaut might be thinking, but Jacotte kisses him again and starts stroking him with a determined hand, and thinking about Rainaut becomes much too strange and a little guilt-inducing, so he stops.
Jacotte eventually pulls him on top of her and guides him inside her, wrapping her legs around his waist and encouraging him with words and hands and short, heavy breaths. Brother Peire’s thrusts grow deeper and he pants with exertion and arousal despite himself. Her face is flushed and smiling under him, her body soft and warm and yielding, her hands strong as they dig into his arms and his ass. She rakes her nails up his back and he moans, and she lifts her head to bite at his lips and suck his tongue into her mouth in a wet, sloppy kiss.
He can’t breathe and he can’t think and he can’t help remembering the times he lay with Rainaut and how the two compare. Jacotte’s legs are tight around his waist and her hands squeeze his ass and she’s panting and whimpering in what he assumes is the nearness of her climax, and he can’t hold back any longer and releases himself into her.
His hips keep pumping, although more feebly now, and she catches her breath to tell him to give her his hand. She guides it down between them, to where he’s still buried inside her, and manages to make him understand that she wants him to slide a finger or two inside her, along his shaft.
“Now crook your finger,” she pants, “right - oh - oh, Peire, yes, just there. And stroke - “ He does so and watches with amazement as her eyes fall closed and her mouth falls open and her entire face softens and she moans long and low. She arches under him as he rubs inside her, and then he can feel her entire body clench around him as she chokes on her breath and her moans and he rides out what must be her own climax.
“That was perfect,” she breathes, when she finally finishes. “A woman needs to feel pleasure just as a man does.”
He wonders if she saw her God, like he did the very first time he lay with Rainaut. He wants to ask, but it seems like a very personal question, even for someone with whom he’s just shared a great intimacy.
“Did it, did it… take?” he asks instead.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “We’ll have to keep trying for a little while until I know for sure.” She touches his cheek. “Do you mind?”
Does it matter? he wants to ask, but of course it does. She wouldn’t want him to lie with her if he wasn’t going to enjoy it, because that wouldn’t help her.
“No. No, I, I don’t.”
“Good.” She stretches up to kiss him. “I enjoyed it. Both times. It sounded like you did too.”
“I did, I think. I, uh, I - “
“You climaxed.” She grins.
“Yes.” He can feel himself blushing, and any minute now she’s going to laugh at him.
But instead she just suggests he get off her and they get dressed, so they can maybe wash up a little before the midnight service. “I don’t want to appear before God all sweaty and smelling of sex,” she says.
So they both climb out of bed and get dressed, and Jacotte kisses Brother Peire on the cheek before he leaves.
“Will you meet me in another couple of days?” she asks, and when he nods, she grins at him, pats his cheek, and trots off.
He goes back to the cell because he thinks he wants to talk to Rainaut, but Rainaut isn’t there. Brother Peire assumes he’s talking an evening stroll, or chatting with someone, or even possibly doing some work in the woodshop.
Brother Peire doesn't know how to feel or what to think. He doesn't even know if he wants to talk to Rainaut after all. But he's not sure how much time is left until the midnight service, and he doesn't want to vanish into the small chapel and miss the evening worship. He still can't accept all of the heretics' beliefs, and there will no doubt always be something in their services that he has to gloss over or ignore, but he's grown to like them. They're comforting despite their occasional wrongness, and he can still worship his own God even in a heretics' church.
He takes off his shirt and breeches and puts his old robe back on. He feels more like a friar in it, and more like himself. He feels less like a man who's been convinced to do something he doesn't agree with, even if it has turned out to be something he enjoys.
Maybe Rainaut isn't the person to talk to.
But then Rainaut opens the door and walks in, as if thinking about him has conjured him.
“Why are you wearing that?” he asks, but before Brother Peire can answer, he goes on to the more important question - “How was it?”
“Very strange,” Brother Peire says.
“I assume you're going to do it again.”
“In a few days, yes.”
“And are you ok with that?”
“I don't know. I can't tell her no. I said I'd help her... conceive and I have to keep trying until she does.”
“So why are you wearing your old robe?”
“I feel more like myself and less like, like I was talked into something I don't believe in.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“About Jacotte?” Brother Peire considers this. “No. I don't.”
“Then I won't ask you any more questions. Come walk with me. We still a little time until the service.”
So Brother Peire follows Rainaut out of the cell and around the cloister and Rainaut talks about inconsequential things until the bell rings for the midnight service.
Jacotte continues to enlist Brother Peire in her attempts to conceive for the next month or so. They try different positions at different times of day, and sometimes she brings drinks and potions to encourage her fertility. Brother Peire's body responds to her touch and her heat, but the part of him that yearns for Rainaut is unmoved. But one night, during a celebration for a minor saint, he drinks slightly more than is advisable and when Jacotte pulls him away and into one of the guest quarters, he pushes her down onto her hands and knees on the bed and takes her from behind, thrusting awkwardly and off-balance, spurred on by her moans and cries of pleasure. He can't help but think of Rainaut, even though he is fully aware of Jacotte's body tight and hot around him, her skin soft under his fingers, her dark blonde hair spread across her shoulders, shaking as she responds to his pounding.
She cries out with her climax, for once a scant minute before his, and afterwards, after she kisses him on the cheek and sends him on his way, he makes his unsteady way back to his and Rainaut's cell, where he pulls Rainaut down onto the bed and inside him.
They rock together, panting with desire and flushed with mead and arousal. Brother Peire closes his eyes and forgets Jacotte, forgets his promise to her and her request of him, forgets everything except Rainaut's weight on him and Rainaut's length inside him.
“Is this what you do with her, my brother?” Rainaut asks, his voice breathless and dark. “Does she writhe underneath you, as you're writhing underneath me? Does she beg you to go harder, deeper? Do you - “
“Stop, stop,” Brother Peire gasps. “Please. Don't – don't – unh - “
“I won't stop.” Rainaut's mouth is an inch from his. “Not until you cry my name, as Jacotte no doubt cries yours.”
“She doesn't. I don't – I don't either.”
“No?”
“No.”
“I'm not jealous, friar. I just want to – to show you – the pleasure that, that - “ He groans low in his throat, burying himself deep inside Brother Peire's body. “Ohh – friar - “ His hips stutter and Brother Peire can feel his release and relief.
“Your turn,” Rainaut murmurs, taking Brother Peire in hand and pumping his swollen cock until he lets himself go as well.
They lie together, kissing lazily, breathing in the scent of their spent desire. Brother Peire is lightheaded from the mead and their coupling. He has lain with two people in the space of perhaps an hour. If he were sober he might worry that God would turn His face away from such sin. But he isn't sober, and he doesn't care.
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total words: 53,701
He thinks about Rainaut and feels guilty.
“Are you close,” she asks, breathless with her own desire. She licks at his lips. “I want you to - “
The rest of her sentence is lost as he clutches at her arms and gasps out his pleasure. He empties himself inside her, pushing up against her, swallowing his moans.
“You can make some noise,” she tells him, after he catches his breath. “No one can hear you.”
“Was, was that – did we do it?” he asks, ignoring her.
She laughs. “I don't think so.” She kisses his nose and climbs off him. She stretches out next to him, her head on his shoulder, and says “After you've rested for a little bit, I think we should try again. I'll be on the bottom this time.” She lifts her head. “How do you feel? What did you think?”
“It was different,” he says. “You're, you're different.”
“I've been told that.” She puts her head back down. He's confused and tired but lying like this, with Jacotte's head on his shoulder, is very cozy. “Tell me something about yourself. I don't know anything about you. What are you copying?”
“A history. Lives of kings. Wars, policies, arguments with the Mother Church.”
“Is it interesting? Do you actually have a chance to read what you copy?”
“Of course, I have to be able to read it, otherwise I can’t copy it accurately.”
She slaps him playfully on the chest. “I know you can read it, silly. I meant do you get a chance to really pay attention to what it says, as if you were reading it to study it.”
“Oh. Yes, if I’m not in a hurry I can absorb more of what it says, rather than just copying the words. And some of it is interesting. There’s a lot I didn’t know.”
“Tell me something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Something new you learned. Something about a king. Or a queen.”
So Brother Peire thinks for a minute and tells her about an argument between a long-dead northern king and the Mother Church that ended with the king excommunicated and the local bishop becoming a farmer. The king repented, he adds, but the bishop never came back to the church.
Jacotte is amused by the idea of a bishop plowing fields,so she asks to know more, and Brother Peire tells her some more about the king and his queen and his court, and Jacotte in turn tells him about the gardens and the orchards and her ideas for the broccoli and the cauliflower for next year.
“I think I can merge them together,” she says. “Combine them somehow. Would you eat green cauliflower? What about a white broccoli?”
“I might. But that sounds… it’s against the natural order.”
She laughs into his neck. “You’re still such a friar, Peire. You’re lying here with me, after trying to get me with child, worried about the natural state of my vegetables.”
“I don’t think it’s right to play around with the things God has made,” he explains. But he’s not offended and he doesn’t feel defensive. He knows Jacotte means him no insult.
“Well,” she says, still giggling, “God made you and me, and I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to play around some more.” She lifts her head, grins at him, and drops a kiss on his lips. “Once more tonight and then I’ll send you back to Rainaut.”
Brother Peire doesn’t particularly want to think about what Rainaut might be thinking, but Jacotte kisses him again and starts stroking him with a determined hand, and thinking about Rainaut becomes much too strange and a little guilt-inducing, so he stops.
Jacotte eventually pulls him on top of her and guides him inside her, wrapping her legs around his waist and encouraging him with words and hands and short, heavy breaths. Brother Peire’s thrusts grow deeper and he pants with exertion and arousal despite himself. Her face is flushed and smiling under him, her body soft and warm and yielding, her hands strong as they dig into his arms and his ass. She rakes her nails up his back and he moans, and she lifts her head to bite at his lips and suck his tongue into her mouth in a wet, sloppy kiss.
He can’t breathe and he can’t think and he can’t help remembering the times he lay with Rainaut and how the two compare. Jacotte’s legs are tight around his waist and her hands squeeze his ass and she’s panting and whimpering in what he assumes is the nearness of her climax, and he can’t hold back any longer and releases himself into her.
His hips keep pumping, although more feebly now, and she catches her breath to tell him to give her his hand. She guides it down between them, to where he’s still buried inside her, and manages to make him understand that she wants him to slide a finger or two inside her, along his shaft.
“Now crook your finger,” she pants, “right - oh - oh, Peire, yes, just there. And stroke - “ He does so and watches with amazement as her eyes fall closed and her mouth falls open and her entire face softens and she moans long and low. She arches under him as he rubs inside her, and then he can feel her entire body clench around him as she chokes on her breath and her moans and he rides out what must be her own climax.
“That was perfect,” she breathes, when she finally finishes. “A woman needs to feel pleasure just as a man does.”
He wonders if she saw her God, like he did the very first time he lay with Rainaut. He wants to ask, but it seems like a very personal question, even for someone with whom he’s just shared a great intimacy.
“Did it, did it… take?” he asks instead.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “We’ll have to keep trying for a little while until I know for sure.” She touches his cheek. “Do you mind?”
Does it matter? he wants to ask, but of course it does. She wouldn’t want him to lie with her if he wasn’t going to enjoy it, because that wouldn’t help her.
“No. No, I, I don’t.”
“Good.” She stretches up to kiss him. “I enjoyed it. Both times. It sounded like you did too.”
“I did, I think. I, uh, I - “
“You climaxed.” She grins.
“Yes.” He can feel himself blushing, and any minute now she’s going to laugh at him.
But instead she just suggests he get off her and they get dressed, so they can maybe wash up a little before the midnight service. “I don’t want to appear before God all sweaty and smelling of sex,” she says.
So they both climb out of bed and get dressed, and Jacotte kisses Brother Peire on the cheek before he leaves.
“Will you meet me in another couple of days?” she asks, and when he nods, she grins at him, pats his cheek, and trots off.
He goes back to the cell because he thinks he wants to talk to Rainaut, but Rainaut isn’t there. Brother Peire assumes he’s talking an evening stroll, or chatting with someone, or even possibly doing some work in the woodshop.
Brother Peire doesn't know how to feel or what to think. He doesn't even know if he wants to talk to Rainaut after all. But he's not sure how much time is left until the midnight service, and he doesn't want to vanish into the small chapel and miss the evening worship. He still can't accept all of the heretics' beliefs, and there will no doubt always be something in their services that he has to gloss over or ignore, but he's grown to like them. They're comforting despite their occasional wrongness, and he can still worship his own God even in a heretics' church.
He takes off his shirt and breeches and puts his old robe back on. He feels more like a friar in it, and more like himself. He feels less like a man who's been convinced to do something he doesn't agree with, even if it has turned out to be something he enjoys.
Maybe Rainaut isn't the person to talk to.
But then Rainaut opens the door and walks in, as if thinking about him has conjured him.
“Why are you wearing that?” he asks, but before Brother Peire can answer, he goes on to the more important question - “How was it?”
“Very strange,” Brother Peire says.
“I assume you're going to do it again.”
“In a few days, yes.”
“And are you ok with that?”
“I don't know. I can't tell her no. I said I'd help her... conceive and I have to keep trying until she does.”
“So why are you wearing your old robe?”
“I feel more like myself and less like, like I was talked into something I don't believe in.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“About Jacotte?” Brother Peire considers this. “No. I don't.”
“Then I won't ask you any more questions. Come walk with me. We still a little time until the service.”
So Brother Peire follows Rainaut out of the cell and around the cloister and Rainaut talks about inconsequential things until the bell rings for the midnight service.
Jacotte continues to enlist Brother Peire in her attempts to conceive for the next month or so. They try different positions at different times of day, and sometimes she brings drinks and potions to encourage her fertility. Brother Peire's body responds to her touch and her heat, but the part of him that yearns for Rainaut is unmoved. But one night, during a celebration for a minor saint, he drinks slightly more than is advisable and when Jacotte pulls him away and into one of the guest quarters, he pushes her down onto her hands and knees on the bed and takes her from behind, thrusting awkwardly and off-balance, spurred on by her moans and cries of pleasure. He can't help but think of Rainaut, even though he is fully aware of Jacotte's body tight and hot around him, her skin soft under his fingers, her dark blonde hair spread across her shoulders, shaking as she responds to his pounding.
She cries out with her climax, for once a scant minute before his, and afterwards, after she kisses him on the cheek and sends him on his way, he makes his unsteady way back to his and Rainaut's cell, where he pulls Rainaut down onto the bed and inside him.
They rock together, panting with desire and flushed with mead and arousal. Brother Peire closes his eyes and forgets Jacotte, forgets his promise to her and her request of him, forgets everything except Rainaut's weight on him and Rainaut's length inside him.
“Is this what you do with her, my brother?” Rainaut asks, his voice breathless and dark. “Does she writhe underneath you, as you're writhing underneath me? Does she beg you to go harder, deeper? Do you - “
“Stop, stop,” Brother Peire gasps. “Please. Don't – don't – unh - “
“I won't stop.” Rainaut's mouth is an inch from his. “Not until you cry my name, as Jacotte no doubt cries yours.”
“She doesn't. I don't – I don't either.”
“No?”
“No.”
“I'm not jealous, friar. I just want to – to show you – the pleasure that, that - “ He groans low in his throat, burying himself deep inside Brother Peire's body. “Ohh – friar - “ His hips stutter and Brother Peire can feel his release and relief.
“Your turn,” Rainaut murmurs, taking Brother Peire in hand and pumping his swollen cock until he lets himself go as well.
They lie together, kissing lazily, breathing in the scent of their spent desire. Brother Peire is lightheaded from the mead and their coupling. He has lain with two people in the space of perhaps an hour. If he were sober he might worry that God would turn His face away from such sin. But he isn't sober, and he doesn't care.
words: 2141
total words: 53,701
