I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows;
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
He considers his reflection carefully. If he merely had to be pleasing to the prince’s eye, well, that would be easy enough - fair skin lightly oiled and dusted with gold powder to make him glow, blue eyes outlined in kohl, his lips and his nipples have been painted with carmine to make them red, and his auburn hair needs no additional artifice save the sweet bergamot oil he uses to keep the strands in place.
But to dance, his art requires special considerations. The dance belt, for example, it might seem less enticing than allowing everything to hang free, but it is required if he wishes to dance without pain. The whisper thin silken trousers have been carefully designed not to accidentally trip him up as he spins and leaps across the floor. Even his jewelry has been chosen with his performance in mind, the last thing he needs is a necklace that will choke him or a bangle that with catch on the gauzy fabric.
“Are you ready?” May asks him. Like him, her outfit has been designed to allow her to display her body to its best advantage while still permitting her to play her violin with no impediment.
“I am,” He grins at her. There are rumors about the tastes of the prince’s sister and, if true, Princess Anna will be unable to resist May.
There is a stir as they enter the banqueting hall. By the time they reach the open space before the high table, all eyes are upon them.
Prince Jonathan de la Courcel, Dauphin and acting regent to the throne of Terre d'Ange watches with hooded eyes as they make their obeisance. He is handsome, Lawrence notes. Well, it is his sacred duty to please his patrons, but the man’s good looks will make this much more pleasant.
May moves over to one side, where she can still be seen but not get in his way. Laurent sets his feet, finds his balance and slowly, gracefully bends backwards until he is a perfect arch, his hands and feet touching the ground.
May waits just long enough for the crowd’s reaction to Lathe display to die down before she strikes the first note. The tune begins slow and sensual and Laurent matches it with his movements. It is half dance and half gymnastic movements, showing off his flexibility and his vigor. As the tempo increases, his movements become more energetic – leaping and spinning faster and faster. Until the song reaches its climax and Lar falls to his knees and slumps forward, pressing his forehead to the floor and kowtowing before the Prince-Regent.
The cheers and applause are good; however, Larry wishes he could see the prince’s reaction. Suddenly the clapping quiets.
“You both may rise.”
Lar sits up, noting May rising from her curtsy, before he stands. The prince is not smiling but his expression delights the young dancer. He looks hungry. Good.
The dark-haired woman in a bejeweled purple gown sitting at the prince’s right-hand beckons them forward.
“That was wonderfully done,” She tells them, as she pulls a gold bangle from her wrist and drops it into Lar’s palm. An appropriate tribute to his dancing, but a clear signal she requires nothing more from him. No, it is Maelys’ body that holds the princess’ attention.
“I am happy to be of service, your highness,” Laurent thanks the young woman with the appropriate courtesy. The bracelet is too large for her arm, but it slips easily onto his.
“It was indeed, wonderous,” The prince’s voice is thick with lust.
“All I desire is to please you, your majesty,” Lar bows.
“Come and sit beside me, both of you,” The King invites them. There are velvet cushions on the floor on either side of his chair.
May settles on the one between the ruler and his sister, smiling up at their ruler before turning her attention to Princess Anna.
Lar settles on the regent’s left, careful to display himself to his best advantage. No one save the Prince and Princess should be able to see him or May, the cloth covered table screening them from view.
The prince sips from his goblet before offering it to Lar. The wine is sweet and rich on his tongue and the prince cannot tear his eyes away from Lar’s throat as he swallows. Laurent considers everything he has been told about the dauphin’s preferences.
“Thank you, your majesty,” He bows his head as he hands the goblet back to him. Running a sensual hand up the young man’s thigh, Lar watches the prince’s face. If this sort of play is unwanted, but it seems it is wanted. Prince Jonathan’s hand in his hair is all the encouragement he needs.
Training and practice have taught Laurent how to unfasten a man’s trousers with sensual ease. The prince is half hard already and Lar slides under the table to get the best angle.
He notes, to his amusement, that May has done the same. Princess Anna’s skirt is up about her thighs as May ministers to her with her lips and fingers.
Prince Jonathan is long and thick, but Lar has been trained how to please men even larger than the regent. Carefully breathing through his nose, Laurent takes the prince deeper and deeper into his mouth until his lips touch the base of the man’s cock. The dauphin gives the tiniest of whimpers, but his face betrays nothing. Well, they can’t have that. Using every bit of talent, every bit of training and every bit of experience, Laurent does his best to drive the prince to a shattering climax.
The dauphin’s hand in his curls tightens painfully for a moment before the prince lets out a quiet groan. His essence floods Lar’s mouth and he drinks it down eagerly.
The prince sits there panting as Lar licks him clean, tucks him in, refastens his pants and crawls back to his pillow.
The dauphin glances over at him, looking amused, before he stands and offers his arm to his sister.
“Follow me,” He orders Laurent as they sweep out of the room. Lar rises and falls in behind them along with May. He notices his friend’s smug expression.
“I take it the princess was pleased with Naamah’s blessings?” He whispers to her.
“I’m sure the prince will be equally blessed,” She whispers back, with a wink and a grin.