Trapped in Lace (lgbt)

Ch 11

They stop at an inn as night falls.  The ride has been long thus far and bumpy.  Mikhail's lower back throbs from sitting on the saddle all day.  Antony notices.  He sees the way the younger presses his hands into his back, the way it arches as he widens his stance to relieve the pressure.

Antony hands off both their beasts to a stable boy before approaching Mikhail in concern.

"Are you alright?" He asks.

Mikhail shakes his head, "my back hurts and here I thought I was young."

Despite his worry, Antony cannot help but crack a smile at that.

"You are simply not used to riding for long periods of time."

"I should be!" Mikhail protests, "I was on the run."

"You have not been on the run for over a month now, your body is not used to strenuous activity, especially after all its been through."

Mikhail blushes, he knows Antony is right.  He says nothing, has nothing to retort with.  Antony knows this.

They head inside where it's warm.  The lights set a nice dim glow as rustic metal pans over the room.  They are shown to their beds and Mikhail's pleasant smile falls when he realizes they'll be in separate rooms, different beds.

Antony doesn't say anything.

He doesn't explain.

There's no reason behind his decision and Mikhail tries hard not to let it wound him.

He lets the door to his room fall closed as soon as his overnight bag is deposited within his reach.

Once alone he plops onto what will be his bed, his alone.

His back already feels better now that he's off his feet.

He sighs and stares at the ceiling.

It's silent.

Too quiet.

But try as he might he feels hurt and refuses to seek out Antony.

He tries to convince himself that this is OK, that this is for the best.

Slowly he begins undressing from his day clothes with the intention of changing to simple sleep pants and perhaps a loose shirt.

As he shimmies out of his pants he can't help but stop.

He bites his lip, lower half exposed.

His let's his fingers trail over his sensitive skin.

Moles scattered like fallen stars on his belly, hips, thighs...

Flecks of beauty marring his body.

Raised lightening bolts caressing his slight curves.

He bites his lip as his fingers trail lower, closer.

His back arches as his index finger slips between the folds.

He closes his eyes and pretends it's someone else's touch.

Pretends it's Antony.

He moans.

A knock startles him, fingers pressing and rubbing just a little too much and drawing a whine of need.

"Mikhail?"

The voice is full of concern but Mikhail can't answer fast enough.

The door is forced open and Antony stands at the entrance.

He's enraptured by the sight before he gathers his senses and slams the door closed behind him.  He'll be damned if he lets the sight before him bless anyone other than himself.