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His Brother's Keeper

Chapter 41

Dick set the glass down and waved for the nearby slave to pour the decanter. He'd been drinking all night. He knew Bastian had gone to the tower that evening and that he stayed there with Charles and Evelyn for well over an hour. What they were doing was painfully obvious - even to the queen, who made jokes about it over supper as if it didn't bother her in the slightest. Dick knew she was pretending, that inside she was blazing with rage. But what was she going to do? Evelyn had been named princess consort, which - according to the law - meant she was now the royal courtesan of the king. Her duty was to bear him the children the queen could not. It was something the court had expected to happen for the longest time now, and it seemed only natural that the king would choose from amongst the nobility.

The court was actually happy about the arrangement and viewed the king's claiming of the duchess as a romantic fairy tale: the mighty King of Varimore rescued his maiden from the clutches of evil foxes, brought her home, and made her his princess! To the court, it was exactly what they had hoped for all along, and Dick couldn't go anywhere without hearing the whispers, "The king finally fucked some sense into the duchess. Now perhaps she'll stop all the fox madness and be his princess as she was always meant to be!" "Perhaps she's not a pussy muncher after all. Perhaps it was a rebellious phase." "You know she always rebelled against Duke Verneus. Daddy's spoilt little girl."

Sitting on the balcony of his bedchamber, Dick stared with glazed eyes at the stars. The Beauceron assigned to him was a dour middle-aged male named Tertius, but he had also recruited Decius to his service -- in the hope that whenever he returned from the tower, Charles would have to come to him to retrieve Decius.

At the moment, both Decius and Tertius stood near Dick, waiting for his next command. Tertius stood just behind Dick's shoulder, holding the decanter of amber liquor on a tray. He was six feet tall and five inches, muscular, and as well hung as all the Beaucerons. His slick black fur smelled of rosewater and oils - again like all the Beaucerons. For they bathed in it regularly to get a nice pelt shine. His long black mane was pulled back in a single braid, which fell behind his thick neck almost to his tail. He had been working in the castle for such a long time that he was rather seasoned when it came to all things pleasure. On command, he sucked Dick off for hours with an expertise that left him so tired, he almost slept in the next morning.

Decius, meanwhile, was the opposite of Tertius. He was a boy still and had the virginal air of one. He was fumbling and uncertain when Dick sat him in his lap and stroked his mane, telling him he was a pretty boy with pretty eyes. Each evening, he would have Tertius suck him off and make the boy watch. Decius would get hard to the point of dripping . . . then Dick would command Tertius to suck him off as well. It was always a delightful thing, to see Decius' pretty eyes go wide, to see Tertius bury his face in his lap and jerk his head up and down until the boy stammered a cry of sweetest release. Dick always watched them with a drink in his paw and wondered bitterly what his mother would say if she could see him now: both Evelyn and Charles . . . lost to the king.

With Charles at his side, holding him, helping him, he'd thought he could work through the pain. He'd thought he could deal with it, heal, grow stronger. Because Charles always made him stronger. But now Charles wasn't there. He had to face the pain alone. And the only way he knew how to deal with pain was to drink. And to fuck everything that moved.

Dick sighed and gazed off across the still castle grounds. Charlie. Come back.

He knew it was selfish. Evelyn needed Charles now more than ever. But he needed Charles too. Sometimes he thought of moving into the tower with them. Anything was better than this being alone with his grief, and perhaps he could keep Bastian off them with his presence. His mother would slap him. His mother would slap him . . . He squeezed his eyes shut, then glanced over at Decius, who was watching him anxiously. Dick knew what the boy was thinking: Don't take another drink, your grace. Please!

_ _

"Come here, Decius," Dick whispered.

Decius bowed his head and obeyed. Dick stood. He grabbed Decius by the waist - and shocked both males when he lifted the boy easily and sat him on the table. Decius sputtered, and Tertius' chest heaved as he watched what happened next: Dick kissed Decius passionately, bending him back on the table, twisting his head to thrust his tongue inside. The boy leaned back on his paws beneath the weight of the kiss, then watched breathlessly as Dick started trailing kisses down his chest and rippling belly. He swallowed hard: Dick's lips were headed for his soft penis.

Dick kissed the young slave's penis tenderly, kissed the balls and licked them. Then his tongue slid out and slapped the soft phallus in heavy strokes, sending it flopping back and forth. He curled his tongue around and pulled . . . and Decius whimpered and swelled up hard. Dick licked his lips and devoured the boy in long sucks. "Mmm . . . mmm . . ." Sitting on the table with his legs spread, Decius watched with his mouth hanging open and his chest heaving. His eyes hooded and his head fell back when Dick's tongue gave a particularly pleasing caress. He choked a cry to the starlight sky and his thick erection flinched in Dick's mouth: he was almost there.

Where was Charlie now? Dick wondered. Lying spent in the tower? Spent from the king's hungry paws on his body? Suddenly furious, he snatched Decius up in his arms. The boy looked at Tertius with wide eyes, silently appealing for help. Tertius looked as if he wanted to stop Dick, but he only swallowed hard and remained where he was, holding the tray with the decanter.

"Come, Tertius," Dick said and marched into the bedroom, a breathless and panting Decius in his arms.

Tertius set the tray on the table and obediently followed.

Decius was still hard, and his glossy penis stood stiff, wobbling against the cold air as Dick carried him toward the bed. He threw Decius on the coverlet, and the boy stared at him in amazement. What was he? Eighteen? There was some rule among the Beauceron breeders that the slaves weren't to have sex until a certain age. Hang the rules, Dick thought, and grabbing Decius, he flipped him onto his stomach and pinned him to the bed by the neck.

"The lubricant, Tertius," Dick said over his shoulder.

Decius was trembling.

Tertius obeyed, approaching with a small jar of cream. Dick held the boy's cheek open, and Tertius carefully applied the cold cream to his anus. He stepped back and replaced the jar on the vanity, his eyes fixed on Decius' tight little anus with sharp hunger. Dick couldn't stop looking at that tight anus either. He swallowed hard as he unbuttoned his trousers. His erection sprang free and his fingers tightened on the boy's neck as he carefully slid himself in. Decius moaned into the coverlet as the sheer width of Dick held him taunt. Eyes blazing with liquor, Dick slowly began to hump the boy, thinking bitterly that this was Charles beneath him . . . And Tertius . . . Tertius could be Evelyn.

Without warning, Dick jerked Decius upright, forcing him to kneel with his erection flopping against the air. He kept riding the boy from behind as he called to Tertius, commanding that he suck the boy off. Decius' eyes widened as Tertius obediently crawled across the bed, big body moving slow and predatory across the sheets. He closed his mouth on Decius and sucked him slowly and carefully, his lips slipping over the head of his thick phallus only to devour again, his brows pressed together with pleasure, his moans hungry in the silence. Dick cupped the boy's sack and massaged it as he rode him, and trapped between the bigger males, Decius sighed, sputtered, and moaned as they made love to him.

Two hours later found Decius and Tertius lying spent in Dick's bed, their manes in their faces, their chests heaving. Dick had ravished them both in a drunken rage, leaving them weak and deliciously dazed. When he got up and began to dress, Decius clung to his arm in silent appeal. He didn't want him to go. He wanted to cuddle. His hugged Dick's waist and nuzzled against him. Dick smiled. The sweet boy.

"No," Dick said and stroked the boy's mane. But he went back to pulling on his pants and stood to button them. "Stay here with . . ." Dick staggered and caught himself. He was still drunk. "Stay here with Tert, Decius. I'll be . . . I'll be back."

Decius still looked anxious but obediently remained seated on the bed, his legs folded thigh against thigh, his soft penis lying quietly against his black fur. He watched sadly as Dick went out the door and closed it quietly behind him.

The castle was quiet, its halls lined with only the occasional patrolling guard. The guards eyed Dick curiously but none tried to stop him, even when they realized he was heading for the king's floor - a floor that was off limits to anyone who did not have an invitation. Dick had been Bastian's friend for many years. And as such, he had a permanent invitation to the king's floor of the castle - something that only fueled the rumors that they were lovers.

The rumors were just that, though - rumors. Dick thought Bastian quite a beautiful specimen, but even still, could never see him as more than a mere friend. Bastian felt the same. Growing up together, they had never experimented or touched each other. They were friends in every sense of the word, always there for each other in times of trouble. They first met soon after Dick's father passed away, and Bastian had been such a comfort to him then, holding him when he wept and never telling a soul. Their friendship was beautiful, golden and pure, and nothing had threatened it many for years.

Until now.

Dick staggered to a halt when he came to the great sliding doors of the king's bedchamber. The roaring lion on the doors seemed to be roaring at him. Two of the king's elite stood guard either side, and he snarled for them to open the doors. They looked at him in amazement.

"Your grace," said the one on the right uncertainly. "This is most inappropriate --"

"Do I look like I give half a fuck!" Dick shouted. "He fucked Charlie! My Charlie!"

They were all surprised when the doors slid open, and there stood King Bastian, wrapped in a red housecoat, face creased with concern to see Dick standing mussed, drunk, and beside himself with fury. Behind him in the immense four poster bed, Queen Donica was sitting up, clutching the sheets to her naked breasts, her red mane down around her shoulders. She was smirking. Dick wanted to punch her: he had just revealed the true nature of his relationship with Charles. Instead of coming to the king in a rage over Evelyn - his wife - he had come screaming about Charles - his cousin. Once Donica spread the rumor, the court would be lapping it up for months.

Dick didn't give a damn. So the king had fucked his Charlie, his Evelyn, and then come back to the castle and fucked Donica too? He wasn't just having his cake and eating it. He was having ice cream along with it!

The guards tensed when Dick lunged forward. He grabbed the king by the collar and shook him, their faces close. "Did you fuck him? Did he like it?" he shouted, wild eyed and spitting. He heard the ching of blades drawing, but the king waved his guards down.

"At ease, fellows," Bastian said heavily. He took Dick firmly by the arm and led him away up the hall. As they went, Dick heard the guards closing the doors of the king's bedroom, but just before they closed, he felt Donica's haughty eyes raking his back. He set his teeth.

Bastian led Dick into a study, the door of which was promptly guarded by a nearby soldier upon their approach. He closed the door quietly behind them and lit the oil lamp standing on a small table. Dick paced restlessly, glaring at the king. Without warning, he lunged at him and struck. Bastian blocked the punch with his arm and staggered backward into the desk, his gray eyes wide in amazement.

"What is the _matter_with you? One drink too many and you attack me in the middle of the night?"

"You fucked him!" Dick roared, tears welling up in his eyes. "You fucked Charlie!" He lunged, tackling the king onto the desk. The king resisted, and they tumbled to the floor, taking books, parchment, and ink down with them. The inkwell rolled across the wooden floorboards and spilled. A book hit Dick on the ear, but he ignored it as he straddled the king and raised his fist to punch.

Bastian was flabbergasted. He grabbed Dick's fist before it hit him, and they strained against each other.

"You never told me you and he --"

"You f-fucked him," Dick sobbed. He slammed Bastian's wrist to the floor. They stared at each other, chests heaving.

Bastian stared at Dick in disbelief. "Richie," he said softly, "I never dreamed . . ."

Suddenly very tired, Dick sagged forward and dropped his cheek on Bastian's chest. He gulped to catch his breath and closed his eyes when Bastian's soothing paw stroked his red mane.

"Richie," Bastian whispered, "I . . . didn't know. If you and he . . . then why did he come to me?"

"For Evelyn," Dick whispered dismally. "It was always for Evelyn."

"Say the word. I'll never touch him again."

"The word," Dick said dryly.

Bastian laughed, and even as angry as he was, Dick had to admit he had missed the sound. He listened contently to the king's deep chuckle as it rumbled up through his chest and against his ear. He hated himself when another tear escaped over his cheek.

"How are you feeling?" Bastian whispered.

"My mother is dead," Dick said in a voice that cracked.

Bastian kissed his head. "I know. I'm sorry. I remember when my father died. They say it was an accident, but I know it wasn't. The nobility didn't like how chummy he was getting with the foxes. If I ever showed too much leniency . . ." He sighed.

"But dear Charlie keeps pushing you to," Dick said, amused.

"Yes," the king answered hoarsely. "And I don't know how to say no to him."

Dick smiled. "He has that affect on males."

They fell silent, and Bastian stroked Dick's mane slowly, lovingly. Dick closed his eyes, listening to his dearest friend's heartbeat. When they were younger, they would cuddle. In private. Dick sometimes thought they were the loneliest boys in the world, and in their loneliness, had gravitated to each other, forming a bond that few could ever understand. It was friendship in its purest form. But the masses always attributed the slightest affection to romantic love. Nothing could have been more absurd. Bastian was Dick's brother. Especially after he lost Edward . . . he had never felt so alone until he befriended Bastian.

"Here you are broken and grieving," Bastian said after a while, "and I've ignored you completely to go drooling after your wife. And your lover. Some friend I've been."

"You didn't know," Dick said soothingly. "But you did cock things up, didn't you? You just had to get her pregnant."

Bastian closed his eyes. "I know. But I love her. I always have."

Dick stared miserably at a nearby pile of fallen books. Bastian had no idea that Dick had always loved Evelyn as well. The king believed they hated each other. And knowing how Bastian felt about Evelyn, Dick had always been content not to disillusion him.

"You can't believe it's safe for Evelyn here," Dick said. "Donica's jealousy doesn't stop at petty insults over tea."

"I know. Why do you think I have her locked in a tower under constant guard? Donica is also not allowed to see Evelyn. The guards will turn her away and anyone she sends to her."

"You know the danger but you keep Evie here," Dick scolded.

"She is carrying my child, Richie," Bastian said emphatically. "It may have escaped your notice, but I am in desperate need of an heir."

"And Princess Corene?"

"Is Donica's pet. The girl was the child of some baron. She could make heir presumptive at most. She will always be trumped by royal blood. Donica knows it and will recognize it. When the child is born, I will send Evelyn away. Perhaps to my summer home in Midborough."

"Good. She could raise the child there, away from Donica's clutches."

"No," the king said wearily.

"Why!"

"Donica would want to raise the child herself. Denying her would just . . . cause more trouble."

Dick glowered: he hated that bitch. It was a shame Bastian couldn't have married Evelyn before Donica was ever presented to him at court. Donica's family hailed from a very prominent kingdom - in fact, her brother was the king of the neighboring Kingdom Curith, which was why she had sanction to send soldiers into Homyn Willow Wood and slaughter foxes without preamble. And what king would have frowned on it anyway? No one cared about protecting foxes. At the most, Kingdom Curith might have protested that they were robbed of pretty pelts and fined Donica for the trespass. But Donica was once their princess - and indeed, the dogs of Curith still looked to her as their princess. Purely bred for generations upon generations, deviously witty as her mother before her, Donica was a warrior princess as prim and proper as if she had never picked up a sword. She was born to marry Bastian and had been well versed in her destiny since she could talk. No one was going to stand in her way. Especially not Evelyn. It was entirely predictable that she would want to raise Evelyn's child as her own, to mold him into her mindset of fox hatred, manipulation, and maliciousness. Dick seethed to think of it.

"And what of the vixen?" Dick said after a pause. "Do you protect her as readily?"

Dick had promised to see Evelyn's vixen but had been so depressed that he'd failed to do so. Why the queen hadn't killed the creature yet was beyond him.

"I understand that Evelyn has become quite infatuated with her," the king said darkly, and Dick knew Bastian was not keen on protecting the vixen at all. He had to get her away. And soon. The only problem was, no one would tell him where she was.

"At any rate," Bastian said with a sigh, "we should both return to bed. We don't want to stir up rumors --"

"Hang the bloody rumors," Dick said darkly and didn't move. With his cheek still on Bastian's chest, he closed his eyes. He needed this. He needed not to be alone. "We're friends. We love each other. And friends comfort each other when they're feeling like shit."

Bastian chuckled and smoothed down Dick's mane. "Alright."