Chapter Text
The entire camp was up before dawn, Erik included. He helped Hank with the tent, moving it closer to the river while Charles and his army formed up on the other side. It was a good position, poor if he needed to retreat, but good to keep his flanks protected if the Romans chose to advance against him. Some of the men wore armor that was not unlike the Roman's, but it was dark leather with bits of metal rather than the pure iron or steel of a Roman suit.
His and Hank's tent on the hill apparently became the place to stand and watch, with Emma and Raven joining them a little later when the sun broke over the horizon. He got Hank's breakfast, and his own, and a few apples that apparently were for both of them. Everywhere he traveled through the camp he got... looks.
He'd seen those looks several times before, in the home of his family, looks that wives gave his mother when they knew that his father was going into be in a battle soon. Erik wondered if they would be so sympathetic if they knew how jumbled his thoughts were.
Erik ended up eating a hard cooked egg, some game fowl, and a huge crust of bread while Hank did the same. His tent was set up, well aired, ready for the worst of the battle wounded. Emma stood back, her and Raven setting over a fire and burning branches that stunk. Some sort of ritual.
"Who are they praying to?"
"Andraste," Hank answered. "She is the one who Emma and Charles thank for their victory four years ago, so it is only fitting that she be called on again."
"Are we sure the Ninth will be here?"
Hank nodded. "Positive, I'm certain scouts will bring us more news when they have it."
Erik paced, back and forth, wondering how large a blasphemy it would be to pray to Minerva for Charles' victory against the Romans. He put the thought aside. Erik had never been religious, praying and looking towards the heavens had never swayed a battle before.
He joined Emma and Raven next to their fire.
"I do not think Andraste would care for your prayers, Roman." Raven frowned at him across the fire.
"Minerva would not care for them either, Princess."
Raven looked at him, curious, eyes wary, and then she handed him a fistful of whatever leaves they were burning and Erik took them and held them against his knee. Raven threw a few more on and closed her eyes, mumbling to herself. Erik looked over and saw how tense her face was. He threw a few leaves on the fire.
Please bring Charles back, safe and alive. That he could ask for without reservations. He looked at Emma across from him, her mouth was tight and he could tell that she was also asking for something similar. Looking along towards the battlefield he saw the Legion come into view. It was the full Legion, Erik took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut.
Andraste... please see Charles through this. Please... bring Charles victory. He threw another fistful of leaves on the fire and hoped the difficult lump in his own throat wouldn't offend the goddess too much. He stood up, feeling awkward and nervous now that he'd given actual words to everything he had been feeling for the last few days.
"I wish I was down there," Erik mumbled, standing next to Hank as he looked out over the field.
Hank eyed him, face unreadable.
"With Charles."
Hank's face relaxed and he nodded. "He will be fine."
Raven finally stood and came up to stand on Hank's other side and threaded her fingers through his, her hand rubbing up and down his arm. Hank pulled her a little closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.
"He's done well, so far," Erik observed.
"All he did is wake up!" Raven protested.
"Yes, but he woke up here, just across the river. I don't know where the Ninth made their camp, but it was several miles from here. Charles' troops are fresher, and he's selected the terrain he wanted, so they will have to accept his terms or not confront him."
Raven nodded, toed her shoes against the ground. "Charles is the one who understands all that."
"The General of the Ninth has decided to form up in lines to start. They will probably move to a wedge first, it's designed to provide coverage so that each man may guard his fellows more and the only way to counter it is to flank appropriately." Erik pointed to the wings of Charles' army. "That is why Charles has several horsemen along the sides, so they can... pinch the army, for lack of a better word."
"Will they throw their spears?" Raven frowned, looking out over at the armies, and Erik could see that several of the legionaries had their pila out.
"Maybe. It seems they are not planning it at the moment." Which was odd, really Erik thought it might be best to at least loose one. "They likely will keep several in reserve to handle Charles' horses."
The Celts began their own attack, hurling stones from slings which were not as effective as a pila, a lucky sling shot might down a man, but a javelin could down a man easily, and take his shield if it didn't hit him first. Most of the Centurions had ordered their men to form up into a more protective formation - testudo - and that seemed to be what Charles was waiting for.
His entire front line pressed forward, and Erik watched in shock as they loosed their own javelins - Roman style - that jammed in hard to most of the Roman front line's shields. The men scrambled to reconfigure themselves. "Dear gods..."
"What? What!" Raven looked out at the lines, trying to see what had made Erik so shocked.
"The javelins, the ones Charles used, they punch into a shield, make it too heavy to maneuver properly, you have to stop and break your line, or give up the shield for lost." The legionaries in the font lines retreated, and Erik tapped his foot, impatient, waiting for Charles to...
The front lines of the Celts charged forward, some formed perfect wedges, others just close approximations. The Romans formed back up into lines and another round of pila flew from the back of the Celtic lines, a few aimed too low and hit the charging Celts in the back but no one even paused as they charged forward, smashing into the lines. The Romans broke, just enough, even across the field Erik could see hundreds of legionaries who were not backed up against another legionary, some were cut down almost as soon as Erik noticed them.
The Celts were taking heavy losses as well - their armor, their shields and their swords were not as high quality as the Romans and more than once a dented sword meant the second blow from a Roman legionary meant a shattered helmet and a shattered head. He lost sight of Charles for seconds at a time as the man led punishing assaults on the Roman right flank, infantry working in front of it when the Romans tried to bring out their javelins to strike the Celtic horses.
It felt like hours, hundreds and hundreds of men were struck down every time he looked and as the battle raged Raven started to whimper next to him. Hank wrapped his arms around her but soon afterwards the wounded from the back lines started to pour in and as much as Raven hated him, he was a suitable person to bunch her fists in the fabric of his tunic and shiver against.
"He'll be fine," Erik assured her, not wanting to touch her for fear of making her more scared. "I can see him even now. I think he must be trying to force them to break to the left. He's doing well, truly."
His own encouragement died on his lips as he saw Charles struck down. Erik wasn't certain what had done it, but he could see Charles falling from his horse, collapsed into the melee, swallowed by the sea of soldiers that pressed back and forth.
"Charles..." His voice was barely a whisper. He took a deep breath, shooting a murderous glance at the burning fire, as though it was a goddess's fault that Charles had fallen. The flank wavered, the infantry fell back, the cavalry's movements were less certain. The men formed up, square, protective in all directions.
Erik breathed barely easier, he could see the centurions near Charles scent blood. Either they knew it was the Rex Britannia or they just sensed the flagging discipline on the side and they pushed forward, wedging into the men as they tried to protect Charles. They couldn't risk pulling back to outflank and had to hold their ground.
"Come on..." A few Roman centuries hooked around, pressing the square of infantry from the other side. Slowly a few of the men closest to where Charles had fallen realized what had happened and swarmed around, crushing into the backs of the Romans.
The battlefield medics picked away at the fallen in the back, unconcerned.
Without even thinking, Erik pulled away from Raven and charged down from their hill. He charged across the river and Erik picked up sword, helm and shield from the nearest body, grabbing one of the medic teams around the shoulder and pointing franticly. He checked behind him only once to see them following.
His sword found the backs of three Romans before he pushed through the back of the square, Charles was laying on the ground, moaning, two more Romans had broken through and the Celts tried to harry them while holding the shield wall. Erik downed them both without thinking.
"Charles, hang on." He had a javelin in his thigh, deep, which he was still clutching at desperately. They couldn't carry him like that. Pulling it out might mean death, there were vessels in there that could bleed a man dry in a minute if they were cut. One of the medics grabbed the javelin. "No!"
He grabbed the man's hands, placed them at the base. "Hold it tight." Charles mumbled something in gaelic and the medic nodded, nodded at them both. He pointed to the other medic, showed him grabbing the javelin as well. It took three swings to shatter the iron, Charles wincing with every hit.
The three of them fumbled Charles onto a stretcher and charged out from the square, the lines of the Celts formed back up pressing the attack again and Erik could finally breathe easier, but only for a moment.
Blood was pooling steadily under Charles' thigh.
"Go faster, damn it!" He yelled at the medics and they crashed into the water of the river, picking across and Erik spun back to check the battle just in time to take a javelin to his shield, a lucky shot, but almost a luckier one in his back.
The trip up the small hill took hours in Erik's mind, and he pressed into Hank's sick tent to find him working on a man with a cut to his chest. "Charles is hurt badly."
Hank scrambled to clear off some space, and Charles finally was put back on the ground, Hank and Erik looming over him immediately. "Get off his armor."
Erik pulled off the leather while Hank cut Charles out of his pants. That was when he noticed that Charles also had a deep cut across his rib, it hadn't pierced anything, but it was also bleeding freely. He grabbed one of the ointments he knew was for cuts, wiped it down. Charles hissed. He tried to ignore it, but it made him wince in sympathy and then pressed a padded strip of fabric to the cut itself. He grabbed Charles' hand, pressed his palm down on the wound, and then forced his own hand on top, pinning as much pressure on the wound as he could.
"Erik...?"
"Shh, no talking." He found himself clinging to Charles' bloody hand holding onto his fingers and squeezing tight.
"Ahhh!" He shouted out, and Erik looked down to see Hank... carefully stabbing a knife into Charles' thigh.
"Hold him down, Erik, his leg, if he moves I may cut something vital."
Erik took a deep breath and looked down at Charles' brilliant blue eyes, full of every sort of pain Erik could imagine, and then he kissed him, hard. Then he moved to straddle Charles, his own knee pressed down on Charles' lower thigh, his hands pinning his hip. Charles struggled - he struggled not to fight, twitching away from the pain of Hank's surgery, until he suddenly stopped moving.
"Charles? Charles!"
Hank stopped, leaned over and pressed bloody hands to Charles' throat and Erik thought he might stop breathing. "Just passed out from the pain. It's kinder than the alternative."
Erik couldn't see the rest of the operation through thick tears of relief.
* * *
When Charles was finally resting, Erik headed out of the tent and watched what ended up being the last throes of the battle. A force of Celts - Brigantes, apparently - had arrived soon after the fighting had been engaged and the two forces crashed together, ripping apart the Roman legion. Erik should have felt more conflicted, but he couldn't quite manage it.
"How is he?" Raven asked, her own hands curled into fists as she watched the end of the battle.
"Hank says he will live. It will take a few days to be certain he will walk again." The damage to the leg had been extensive, and Erik didn't know enough about wounds to make a real judgement.
Raven nodded, and then walked up to him. Erik braced himself, expecting a slap, but instead the girl wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged tightly. "Alex said... that they couldn't have kept protecting him for much longer."
Erik nodded, awkwardly pressing a hand to her shoulder. "No, the formation they were using wasn't going to stand up for long. There is a reason many Generals lead from the back, and it is not just a desire to not be struck with a sword."
"So.... thanks." The half-hearted tone of Raven's voice was undercut by how furiously she was clinging to him.
"Am I acceptable, now?"
"No." The quick answer stung for a few moments, but then Raven grinned at him. "Just slightly better than acceptable, I guess."
"You have acquired something of a... following, Erik," Emma said, standing towards the crest of the hill, looking down over the battle. "Scott has decided you are a fair fighter."
Erik looked over to where Emma was gazing, the troops picking through the dead and wounded, bringing more injured soldiers across the river and to Hank's tent. The injured Romans received either a quick death for the ones who were too injured for treatment, or they were carefully bound in ropes. "Are they heading to Londinium?"
Emma nodded. "We may relieve them of some of their support staff."
"You get good help that way..." He sighed, turning back to the tent where Charles was still sleeping. "Do you mind if I put myself to work? Most of your army does not speak latin."
Emma's face, usually cold and icy, softened just a touch. "Of course. I will send a runner for you if there is any change."
He strapped on a sword and dagger, and then slung a shield over his back - no reason to walk out unprepared, there were still pockets of fighting. The ford was still shallow and he slogged his way across, the Celts pressed against the river were all obviously dead, fewer than he would have thought, but still a great number. A few children from the camp ran through the battlefield, picking up fallen pila - obviously the source of the pila Charles used.
He waded through the bodies, listening for sounds of life, when Alex came up and clasped him on the shoulder. "The prince?"
Erik nodded, smiled, hopefully in a way that conveyed the right mix of emotions. Alex relaxed immediately, clasped Erik into an awkward hug. "The Romans?" He asked, curious. He didn't know how many of them had gotten a speech or explanation when they were marched south after his failed attack, but he thought it would be wise to mention it to the captured Romans here.
Alex pointed, and he found himself led to a string of Romans, all of them stripped of armor and weapons looking murderous.
"Celtic bitch!" One of the men towards the beginning of the line shouted at Erik as soon as he approached. Alex, even with no idea what had been said came forward and cuffed the man violently in response. "At least we bagged your fucking king."
Erik felt his temper flare and the urge to strike the man was surprisingly high. "I am afraid Nero will have to continue to be disappointed on that count," Erik answered him, watching with grim satisfaction as the smug look on the soldier's face evaporated. "You will be traveling to Londinium and I recommend you not give your captors a hard time. It will make your life a great deal less painful."
He felt a bit like a traitor, telling these men - Romans - to accept Charles, or at least their position here as captives. And yet... he'd made his choice. He didn't even realize it until right then, but he had. No going back.
The slaves - the ones who had nearly gotten trampled by the Brigantes - were also bound towards the back of the lines and Erik made his way over, carefully interviewing them, getting to know them, doing his best to put them at ease. He remembered from Hank that this was where some of the best men might come from, men and women who served Rome because it was required and... well, changing allegiances sounded less bad when it was not at the point of a sword.
His musings were cut short by a runner coming down from the camp and saying only 'he's awake', but he wasn't able to answer any questions, obviously he'd just been sent with the message. Erik was back up to the tents in a matter of minutes. Charles had been moved to his own tent, white as a ghost but awake. Emma was there at his bedside, Raven as well, and Erik slipped in next to Charles, sitting, curled up close against his head.
"Erik..." He looked confused, but grateful, and Erik reached down to run his fingers through Charles' sweat-damp hair. "How went the battle?"
"The Brigantes forces came in time to squeeze the Romans. Alex and Scott are coordinating the prisoners and dividing them up into groups to head for Londinium and the ones to leave with us." Charles closed his eyes, nodded. "We took heavy losses, but Hank is still working."
"We?"
Trust Charles to notice that even while he was half asleep and weak with pain. Erik didn't answer, just ran his fingers over Charles' cheek and then his nose, touching just to reassure himself that Charles was there.
"Charles," Emma interrupted the moment. "Moira will be here tomorrow."
"Right..." Charles took a deep breath. "Would you... mind terribly assuring the men that I have not died?" Erik heard the unspoken 'and get out of here'. Emma did as well, and although Erik expected something cruel from Emma she gave them both a warm smile.
"I haven't been properly assured you have not died," Erik said, fingers running over Charles' throat now, teasing there.
"And what would it take for you to be certain?"
Erik leaned down, kissed Charles very softly on the lips. Charles tried to press up into the kiss only to fall back down onto his furs, groaning in frustration.
"You would pick now to be willing."
"I'm just a very difficult slave is all, my prince."
"Not a slave..." Charles sighed. "I have no intention of keeping you if I cannot have you honestly, Erik."
Erik pulled off the weapons he had been carrying, stripped out of his tunic and then crawled under the furs that currently blanketed Charles. He was careful, very careful, not to run his fingers over where he knew Charles had been cut, and he didn't dare reach lower either. "Then you will have to settle for keeping me."
Charles hitched up his arm, left it to fall over his eyes, leaving them half hidden from Erik. "I... I am afraid I have done nothing to deserve you, Erik."
"Maybe..." Erik pressed himself against Charles as firmly as he could considering how bruised he knew the prince was, but he left his hand on Charles' chest, touching him slowly. "Still, it seems my mind was more than capable of choosing a side when I saw you had fallen."
It was just that simple, he had - unthinking - killed a handful of Romans just to try to save Charles.
"I... I killed your father."
His heart twisted in that moment, and the idea that Charles thought that somehow made him... unworthy, perhaps, or at least unworthy of Erik, hurt him. Erik closed his eyes, pressed his forehead to Charles' shoulder. "I know."
"You know?" Charles tried to get up again, winced, and Erik very firmly pressed his hand against Charles' shoulders.
"I am going to have to insist you stay laying down, my prince. You are going to tear something and Hank will be very mad at me." He smiled, felt his cheeks warm and flush at that. "Hank told me, days ago. He must have thought I already knew... why else would I have come after you, I suppose?"
"Of course." Charles kept his eyes closed, then, and Erik shifted up so he could actually look down at him. He pulled down the furs, looking at the nasty gash that covered his rib. It was starting to bruise, hard and angry and red, Erik wouldn't be surprised if he was a mottled purple in a day or so. He peeled down the blanket further, ignoring Charles' nakedness and then seeing the wound in his thigh. It was... covered, at least, but he could see that it was still bleeding lightly with a welling of red against the top.
Erik didn't touch it directly, instead feeling up and down Charles' leg, fingers touching lightly. Charles could at least wiggle his toes, and he felt leg muscles tense under his fingers. Good.
"You need to stop getting injured... Charles."
"I will take it under advisement." He smiled up at Erik, almost laughing. "It has been a few years since I started training with Alex and the others, you would think I could trust them to handle a battle, but it is very difficult to let go."
"After..." He looked away, trying to collect his thoughts and deal with the twisted up emotion that spiked the moment he tried to think. "After your marriage, you will need to concentrate your energy on ruling, not conquering."
"That again..." Charles sighed and pulled Erik down to him, and the two of them curled up like that. "I do not want to deal with that at the moment... We have a few more months at least while we continue with the conquest of the Brigantes. Then we will need a diplomatic solution with Rome. I do not like killing, Erik, and I do not like fighting. It would be sweet relief to finally put down the sword."
"I think you will be very ... princely." He would, Charles was born for the position.
"And will you be there with me at my side?" Charles reached up, fingers playing against Erik's throat and Erik finally sighed, leaned down, and kissed Charles properly for the first time in days. It was perfect, hot and slow and even though he knew some of Charles' whimpers were from pain not entirely pleasure he enjoyed it immensely.
"Yes, even when you are an idiot and get yourself so badly injured I have to charge through swarms of Romans to help you."
Apparently that was more than good enough for Charles.
The addition of Moira - and Venutius - in the procession traveling north to bring war to the Brigantes made Erik's life more complicated than he would have liked. The fact that she was obviously not smitten with Charles only made it more difficult. They spent a full two days tending to their dead and sending the Roman soldiers south and Erik worked to select the slaves that were interested in staying on in support of the army. Charles... stayed in bed.
He knew it would take some time before Charles was back up and about but it was starting to concern him, spending all night with his arms wrapped desperately around Charles wasn't a particular comfort when he woke in the morning to Charles obviously in pain and barely able to sit, much less stand. By the end of the third day, however, towards the evening, he saw a familiar brown mop of hair weaving itself through the camp attracting shouts and attention everywhere he went, like always.
Charles couldn't get away from the throngs of well-wishers long enough to speak to Erik, but he could see the way Charles smiled for everyone even as he had to lean against a makeshift crutch. Hank caught him like that, just leaning against a tent pole and watching Charles.
"Full recovery, I think."
Erik let out the breath he had been holding - if only in his own mind - concerning that. Charles was brilliant, a fantastic leader, but he didn't think the Celts would stand for him long if he couldn't still ride and fight. "I'm just glad to see him smiling again, not just deathly pale..."
"You've been good for him." Erik looked at Hank, surprised to hear the man say it. They hadn't spoken much after the injury, just enough for Erik to know Charles was doing fine, but he hadn't expected that. "I could answer your question... the one where you asked what you could do if you loved him."
"I---" He closed his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face. "I don't suppose it matters really, with Moira..."
"Erik, if the marriage happens at all, both of them still know where they stand with each other."
"If?"
"I do not know what they must have thought in Rome, but the marriage is far from sealed, Venutius offered it to get Charles up north at all, it was smarter for him to consolidate the south first. As it stands..." Hank shrugged. The look that Hank gave Erik told him that he was a major factor that had changed in the last week, and he blushed.
Still, Hank held up his arm, showing him a thin leather bracelet that he'd often seen but never really thought about that the physician wore around his arm.
"Raven has a matching one," Hank explained. Suddenly Erik had something he needed to finish before that night.
Charles was dozing, lazy, when Erik finally arrived back in his tent - their tent - Charles propped up on a few pillows and drinking slowly at some wine, likely a mix of medicinal and to unwind from a day spent being poked and prodded. "Erik!"
The grin on Charles' face, sloppy as it was, warmed his heart. "Hank tells me you are feeling a good deal better."
"Yes, tomorrow I may even be allowed up on a horse and we can continue north. Venutius is getting quite antsy. I understand his anxiety." Charles waved his hand over and Erik slid into his arms, kissing his neck softly.
"You are not riding into battle any time soon," Erik insisted. "Even if I must pin you down or tie you up."
"That would be a very agreeable promise..." Charles smiled, putting down his wine glass and sliding his fingers along Erik's shoulder and farther down.
Erik just gaped, he knew Charles was young, and had a sexual stamina that Erik could only envy even though he was hardly old himself, but Charles was... "You have a great many ideas about what is appropriate, my prince."
"And I would do so many of them but... I am afraid I've more than exhausted myself today." Charles sighed, letting himself lay down on his bed, he did look exhausted.
"Maybe you should just lay back and enjoy yourself, then?" It was the first time since... since before the battle that Charles hadn't looked like he was courting death if Erik leaned on him wrong, and it was nice to see some heat in his eyes and it would be the first time his own revelation was tested.
"If you insist!" Charles answered, but it was obvious his mind was screaming 'yes'. "I may be a bit of a disappointment."
Erik didn't think that was possible, even falling asleep next to Charles was not disappointing. Hank might disapprove, but he knew the personal chest he left for Charles' use had some ointment in it that was slick and thick and Erik could think of nothing better than using it to give Charles what he wanted - what Erik had been too scared to give him before.
"Erik...?"
Before he could lose his nerve, he pulled the blankets down off of Charles and started to unlace his breeches. Getting them down and off was a slow, laborious affair so that he wouldn't rub against the not healed leg wound, and could move his leg despite the still-healing muscles of his leg. "I've never..." He knew the mechanics, knew it was going to hurt, but he wanted Charles to know, to know for certain, that Erik was his.
"Come up here." Charles patted his stomach, in between his cock, already mostly hard, and the cut in his rib. Erik came up, straddled Charles along his slim waist. "I do not want to hurt you, Erik... shouldn't even let you..." He shook his head, though, stretched enough to get the ointment that Erik had brought over and smeared two fingers with it. "Erik, love, you must tell me if you are in pain."
He was a soldier long before he was Charles' lover, he could take pain.
Charles must have read his thoughts somehow, from his eyes. "I know you may not believe this... but you should enjoy this as much as me." Charles free hand reached up, touched Erik's cock and he hissed, stiffening immediately.
The slow stroke of Charles' hand was a pleasant distraction, warm and welcome, but as soon as the slick feeling of Charles' finger touched his opening he tensed, not in pleasure. He gritted his teeth, wishing he could relax, wishing he could let Charles in, but Charles didn't seem surprised or upset, just swirled a finger against his hole, leaving a slick trail there, massaging.
As much as he was anticipating pain - despite what Charles assured him - it was impossible not to enjoy Charles' touch. One finger continued to swirl his opening, and the other slid behind his balls, pressing hard enough to make him shiver; the pleasure was enough for him to relax and Charles slipped one digit inside of him. "You like that, don't you?" Charles pressed against his balls again, and Erik whined from the sensation.
The intrusion was unexpected, just one of Charles' fingers, and it pressed inside of him farther, he could feel Charles probing inside of him and he fought down the urge to wiggle away. A few seconds later Charles did something and he saw white, staggering so much he had to brace himself on Charles' shoulders.
"'s good, isn't it?" He sounded so cocky.
After that, every slow thrust of Charles' fingers hit the same spot inside of him and he whimpered with every thrust. Erik - only minutes ago tense and coiled - found himself limp and boneless, every muscle in his body relaxed except his cock, hard and leaking against Charles' belly.
"Yes... I had no idea--"
Charles took his finger out, which was wrong, terribly wrong, and he needed something back inside of him and then thankfully, mercifully, Charles pressed two fingers inside of him, thicker, stretching him more, but he didn't tense against the intrusion just expecting the awkward-but-good sensations to return. His fingers started their relentless assault inside him again, making him shiver, arms trembling while he gripped Charles for support. When he finally looked down, he saw his prince's frightening blue eyes, bright and shining and his, filled with lust.
"I want to see you do this to yourself, sliding your fingers inside of you, thinking about how you want my cock." Filthy... Charles' filthy, precise latin would always be his undoing.
He pulled out again, grabbed for more ointment and then slid more fingers inside him again, leaving him even more wet and slick as he spread his fingers wide, opening him. "Charles... please..."
Charles ignored his begging, and instead dragged him down and into a kiss. The two of them moaned and whimpered, and Erik wrapped his arms around Charles, fingers tangling in his prince's hair. Charles - his prince - his prince. They were connected and he fit in Charles' arms better than anywhere else he'd ever been in his life.
He never wanted to leave.
"Erik... love." Charles' teeth grazed Erik's neck, his tongue slid down his throat.
"I'm yours, Charles, my prince." He was gasping and his body loose, relaxed. He trusted Charles with his body - his heart. "Take me, take me harder."
It wasn't gaelic, but Charles' collapsed back onto his bed and his blue eyes were impossibly dark with lust. He drew out his fingers, and Erik glanced down to see him start to slick himself.
"Slowly, Erik. Very slowly."
Erik scooted down, brushing his ass against Charles' tip, remembering how that feeling had excited Charles days before. He tried to push down, it hurt and he winced.
"Shhh, relax."
He took a ragged breath, glanced down into those eyes. He saw the lust, and he saw the incredible fondness there. He slid down again, legs trembling, and felt Charles' thick head slide into him. He groaned, half pleasure, half pain, sliding down and feeling a full, stretched feeling. Erik sat himself up straight and lifted himself experimentally, searching for that spot Charles' fingers found so easily.
Charles' hands, one still slick with ointment, grabbed his hips and guided Erik, he could tell Charles was desperately fighting the urge to thrust, the muscles in his leg not ready for the exertion, every inch of Charles' chest, his shoulders, his face, showed how much he was holding himself back and he was taut and beautiful. Erik allowed himself to be directed, sliding up and down, his hips tilted just enough that each thrust made him see white. He never wanted anything else but to have Charles buried inside of him, cock hard, he didn't need anything else, ever.
He squeezed himself around Charles' and the prince came, whimpering. "Erik... love..." He took Erik's cock in his hand, pumping with his fist. It took several strokes, firm and sure, before Erik came over Charles' hand and stomach. He clung to Charles, hands tangled against his shoulders.
"Charles..."
They sat like that for several moments, Erik finally noticing the pleasant stretching sensation had been replaced with soreness, like muscles long disused or a dull ache, and he pulled himself up and off, collapsing in a spent heap next to Charles.
"I hope that wasn't nearly so terrifying as you might have expected."
He grunted, nose buried against Charles' chest. "When can we do it again?"
Charles laughed, wrapped has arms around Erik and pulled him close. "You will not thank me if we do that again tonight, probably not tomorrow either, and it will be quite the decision, walking or horseback when we move tomorrow."
He leaned into Charles' shoulder and whined, thinking of how unfair it would be to have each shift of the saddle remind him of the ache he was already starting to feel.
"And it is highly unfair for you to enjoy yourself that thoroughly. I insist on having you inside of me as soon as I can move my leg without pain."
Erik was shocked by the request - almost an order - but he really shouldn't have been. Charles was... unusual, always had been. Erik could see that wasn't going to change just because he was injured or anything else.
"Done," Erik slid back into bed beside Charles, enjoying the way he ached and the way Charles wrapped his arms around him.
Nothing was fixed, not really. Rome still loomed in the back of his thoughts with a decidedly mixed set of feelings. Erik didn't understand Celtic politics, but he was going to have to learn, and quickly. The web of impossibilities that stood in front of Charles was thick, and Erik found he was willing to fight them with Charles.
The man was ridiculous, naive, and gorgeous, but if he could somehow manage to overlook Erik's father, what he had done to Briton and Charles' family, Erik knew he couldn't help but follow. He was... exceptional, and Erik found that he could stand to try Charles' dream.
Erik kissed his prince's head, and even though he knew Charles couldn't read his thoughts he felt as though he might know exactly what he was thinking.