November

- NOVEMBER -

Graphic by rac

Posted 27th May, 1999.

I mentioned to my Requited friends that I loved the idea of a
MP calendar, in which we could dress the big guy up in various
outfits of our choosing (sort of like a giant Ken doll - poor
guy!). I claimed November, because it's my birth month, and said
I wanted to see him bare-chested, on horseback, with a hawk on
his wrist.  It was then suggested that we turn our calendar
images into stories, which left me with the puzzling conundrum
of quite why the man would be out on horseback without his shirt
during such a cold month. Here's my solution...

If you'd like to see the other calendar stories, pay a visit to
the Requited site. It's well worth the trip!

NOVEMBER

BY XANTHE

The mist rising from the lake partially obscured the rider as
he urged his stallion on. The dry, autumnal leaves crunched
under the animal's hooves, and a light dew of perspiration
bathed both horse and rider as they galloped. The horse was a
bay stallion, his muscles rippling beneath a shining coat as his
long, sturdy legs ate up the ground, his powerful flanks heaving
with the exertion. The rider resembled his horse - long legs,
taut muscles under tanned flesh, a wide brow and dark, intense
eyes. There was a fusion of flesh, animal and human, as the
rider and horse became one, moving with perfect synchronized
precision across the valley floor, unaware that they were being
watched.

The watcher gazed, transfixed by the sight of the horse and
man, so perfectly attuned to each other, the man barely needing
the reins to guide the animal, the two so completely bonded that
it was hard to know where the man stopped and the horse began.
There was an intensity to their movement that made it seem
almost like a dance. Finally, the gallop slowed, and the mood
was broken. The man sat back in his saddle and glanced skyward,
then gave a shrill whistle. A few seconds later a hawk
descended, swooping low, and took her place on the man's
outstretched wrist. He paused for a moment, talking softly to
the bird, crooning to her.

From his vantage point on the hill, the watcher hugged his arms
around his knees to keep warm as he drank in the sight on the
valley floor beneath him. The rider was dressed all in black -
soft hide trousers, a thick shirt, shiny leather boots that
reached to his knees - even black leather wrist bindings to
protect his arms from the hawk's sharp claws. Suddenly, the
rider looked up, and the watcher's breath caught in his throat;
the man's eyes were as black as his clothing - and full of
sorrow.

The hawk flew up into the air again, and the man pressed the
horse into a slow canter across the valley. He built up speed,
then circled around, and, as if on a whim, directed the horse
towards the rolling hills that bounded the valley, urging the
animal in the ascent. The watcher scrambled back in alarm, not
wishing to be seen, but it was too late - suddenly both horse
and man were upon him, and he ran from the undergrowth, cursing
his luck. The rider pulled up, fast and hard, to avoid crashing
into the watcher, and they both stared at each other for a
moment. The watcher could smell the horse's sweat, and could
hear the man panting as he reined the animal in, and calmed him,
patting his heaving flanks and whispering soothing words.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause offense." The watcher raised
his hands high in a gesture of apology.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" The rider demanded in a
low growl.

"My name is Fox. I was just traveling through. I slept rough in
the undergrowth last night. Please - I mean no harm." Fox spoke
quickly, hoping desperately to avoid a repeat of yesterday's
debacle, which had ended so painfully.

"You slept rough? Without a shirt? In November?" The man in
black asked, incredulously.

"My shirt and I were parted from each other in unfortunate
circumstances yesterday." Fox grinned, working his charm, which
was all that he had left in the world, apart from his name.

"Hmmm." The rider looked him up and down, and Fox flushed under
the scrutiny. "What brings you to my lands?" The man in black
asked finally.

"Your lands?" Fox cursed silently, under his breath. "I'm
sorry, Sir Walter. I had no idea." He gave a low bow, and then
gasped in pain as he felt a finger trace a line down his bare
back.

"And who flogged you so recently, and why?" The lord asked, his
voice cool, and hard. Fox straightened.

"I was flogged by your seneschal yesterday, my lord," he
answered in quick, flat tones. "I believe I made the mistake of
asking if I could sleep in one of your barns or outhouses. He
took me for a beggar, stripped me of my shirt, and gave me
twenty lashes. Then he sent me on my way. I walked as fast as I
could, but I was tired, cold, and hungry, and my lordship's
lands are vast. I'm sorry that I didn't reach their boundary by
this morning, and that my presence here thus offends you." He
bowed his head, hoping that a suitable show of contrition would
ward off any further punishment.

"My seneschal flogged you for seeking shelter? Are you
certain?" The nobleman asked, his wide forehead creased by a
concerned frown.

"Yes, my Lord. It's not an event I think I'll forget in a
hurry. The details are remarkably clear to me - reminded of them
as I am, every time I move my shoulders." Fox's hazel eyes held
a glimmer of rueful humor. The nobleman grunted, and moved his
horse away a step or two, looking down on the man who stood
before him, half-naked in the cool November air. Fox wore a pair
of old, tan, soft hide pants, and scuffed, weathered boots. He
knew that with his welted back, and shabby clothing, there was
no reason why the nobleman should show him any kindness.

"You were not offered shelter? Food, or drink?" The nobleman
asked. Fox wondered why he was so confused by the behavior of
his own seneschal - who was surely acting on his master's orders.

"No, my lord. I didn't ask for food or drink. I do not like to
be taken for a beggar." The younger man straightened, wincing
slightly as the movement hurt his back. "Although if it had been
offered, I'm sure I would have taken it gratefully enough." He
added with a smile.

"Your voice and manner make it clear you're no common beggar,
certainly, if beggar you are." The nobleman ran his hand down
the stallion's neck, and Fox noticed how wide and flat the man's
fingers were. "If you have spoken true, then I'm sorry that you
were treated in this manner on my land, and I cannot allow you
to continue your journey in this way. You'll freeze to death."
On an impulse, the big man tugged his own shirt over his head,
and handed it to the astonished Fox.

Take it." The big man said insistently, thrusting it into Fox's
hand.

"My lord will be cold, riding back without his shirt."

"No colder than you were, walking without yours." Sir Walter
snorted. "Godspeed, Fox. I wish you well."

Fox pulled the shirt on. It was still warm from the nobleman's
body, and damp with his sweat in places. The scent of horse and
man permeated it, earthy, masculine smells that intoxicated Fox,
light-headed from hunger as he was. The shirt was too long in
the arm, and too wide in the neck and shoulder, and it covered
him like a tent, wrapping him within its folds, and making him
feel curiously comforted.

Fox watched as the nobleman directed his horse up to top of the
hill. He reached it just as the sun broke through the misty
morning air, and he sat there in his saddle for a moment,
scanning the sky for his hawk. Fox felt his heart beat too fast
inside his new black shirt. The nobleman's face was lit by the
sun, and for the first time Fox saw how powerful and beautiful
the other man was as he sat straight and true in his saddle, his
bare chest exposed to the elements. His upper body was covered
by curls of fine dark hair, and the sunlight illuminated his
hard, flat stomach, and the curving mass of his muscular arms
and shoulders. One side of his face was set in shadow, hard and
mysterious, those dark, serious eyes hinting at some tragedy
that intrigued Fox. The other side of his face was lit up,
revealing sensuous lips set in a straight line, and wide,
angular cheekbones. The rough dark stubble on the man's jaw
provided a stark contrast to the smooth, tanned flesh of his
bare head. His long legs, encased in soft, black hide, gripped
his stallion's flanks, seeming almost to merge with the animal's
bay flesh in the shadows cast by the sun's rays. Fox felt as if
he'd been blinded, momentarily, by the sight he was witnessing,
and it was as if time stood still, and there was just him,
standing on the side of the hill, watching the man at the summit
as he sat there, proudly, astride his horse, holding out a burly
forearm for his hawk. Then the mood was broken, and the hawk
descended to her master's wrist and settled there, knowing where
she belonged. For a moment, Fox envied her.

As if sensing that he was being watched, the nobleman turned
his head and gazed back at Fox, and then some emotion passed
across his face, clouding his expression. He nudged his horse
back down the hill and stopped by the other man.

"You must be tired, and hungry. Please…let me make further
amends for your treatment on my land." He threw the hawk high
into the air, ignoring her startled squawk of protest, and held
out his hand to Fox. "My horse is strong - he can carry both of
us back to my house. There I'll see you fed, and given new
clothing."

Fox hesitated. The nobleman's eyes were sincere, but still he
feared his reception back at the house. The seneschal had been
most insistent that he get off his master's property before
daybreak.

"I don't need charity." Fox murmured, glancing down at his worn
boots. His stomach growled painfully, reminding him how long it
had been since he had last eaten. The nobleman's hand remained
outstretched.

"Not charity - reparation." Those dark eyes glowed like the
coals of a dying fire. "You were offered insult here, and I must
see that we make amends."

Fox looked at the proffered hand for a long moment. "No more
floggings?" He asked, with a grin.

"I promise!" The nobleman almost smiled back, but his solemn
features betrayed him. Fox thought that it looked as if it had
been a long time since this strange, stern-faced man had last
smiled.

"I accept your kind offer then, my lord." Fox placed his hand
into the other man's hand, his fingers closing over the leather
that bound the nobleman's wrists. He felt a sudden jolt of
energy that made him gasp out loud, but the sound was lost as
the big man pulled him up onto his saddle, settling the traveler
in front of him. Big arms surrounded his body, as the nobleman
picked up his reins again and set the horse off on a light trot.
Fox closed his eyes, feeling the weak autumn sunlight on his
hair, and the touch of Sir Walter's naked chest on his back, the
warmth of the other man's breath on his cheek, and the rub of
his stubble on the side of his face. He had been tired and cold,
weary and hungry, but now he felt warm, and safe.

They arrived back at the house all too soon, and the nobleman
dismounted, then held out a hand to aid the other man to the
ground.

"I can do it." Fox smiled, dismounting easily and then holding
onto the horse as his head spun from lack of food, and his back
wailed a protest at the movement. Sir Walter stepped forward and
slung Fox's arm around his shoulder, helping him to the house.
He took him into a large room with a big oak table in the
center. A huge fire roared in the grate, warming the cold stone
walls and flagstones. Sir Walter deposited his foundling on a
wooden bench, and clapped his hands, suffusing the room with his
energy, calling for food, for drink, for his servants, and
lastly, for his seneschal. People came running to do his
bidding, and a plate of bread and cold meat arrived in front of
Fox as if by magic, closely followed by a tankard of ale and a
bowl of fruit. He began to eat, tearing at his food in his haste
to ease the nagging ache in his belly, watching with one eye as
Sir Walter paced around the room, pulled on a shirt that had
been brought for him, untied the bindings around his wrists, and
then flung them onto the table. Fox flinched. The nobleman was
clearly in a foul temper, and he was concerned about what would
happen next. He had received no succor at this house yesterday,
and his apprehension remained, despite Sir Walter's earlier
promise that he would not be harmed.

The seneschal was a solid, bluff-faced man. He took one look at
Fox and his anger bristled - visibly. Fox held on tight to his
tankard and drank deeply.

"This man says that you flogged him and threw him off my land,
yesterday." Sir Walter stated. "Is this true?"

"Yes, sir." The seneschal shrugged. "He's a beggar, sir, and
probably carries all sorts of filthy diseases. He's got a sly
mouth on him too, sir. I whipped some respect into him and sent
him on his way."

"He says he simply wanted shelter for the night." Sir Walter
said tonelessly.

"He's a thief, sir. All his kind are. If he'd stayed here, we'd
have been poorer by the morning."

"I'm no thief." Fox got to his feet indignantly. "Simply a
traveler."

"With no money - how do you get fed?" the seneschal sneered.

"I can do a day's work, like any other man." Fox replied hotly.

"You don't look like a laborer. Half a day in the fields would
kill you." The seneschal snorted.

"I'm stronger than I look. With a good plate of food inside me
I could match you." Fox retorted. "I can also read and write.
I'm happy to teach the children of the house, or to help with
the accounts."

"There are no children in this house." The seneschal snarled,
and Fox noticed the wince that passed across Sir Walter's face.

"Enough!" He growled. "I've heard you out, but you don't seem
to have anything against this man other than that he asked if he
could spend the night in one of our barns. Isn't that so?"

"You don't want his kind on your property, master…" The
seneschal began.

"Have I ever said so? Has it ever been my custom to flog people
for wanting shelter?"

"Well…you…" the seneschal looked confused. "Master, it hasn't
been your custom to lay down any rules here for a long time now.
I thought you wanted me to…" He broke off.

"I see." Sir Walter's jaw hardened, and his eyes blazed. "You
took advantage of my recent…pre-occupation, in order to impose
your own rule around here, isn't that so?"

The seneschal opened his mouth, and then paled, visibly, as Sir
Walter moved close to him, his large body consumed by a silent
anger.

"I'm sorry if I've done wrong, master." The man stammered.

"Yes, you have. This house has always offered hospitality to
visitors. It's my duty and my honor to do so. You never know
when it might be you out there, alone and cold, wanting shelter
for the night. In this case, the punishment will fit the crime.
Take him outside and give him…" Sir Walter paused and glanced at
Fox. "Twenty was it?" Fox nodded, dumbly, unsure what was going
on. "Give him twenty lashes and then send him on his way -
without his shirt. Your employment here is terminated."

The seneschal screamed and threw himself at his master's feet,
begging for mercy, but Sir Walter's face was set like granite.

"Please, sir." Fox got up, and placed a hand on the big man's
arm. The nobleman glared at him. "I'd rather not have anyone
suffer on my account. I didn't want to bring trouble to your
house. Can't you let the matter pass?"

"No." Sir Walter shook his head, then sighed, deeply. "No, I
can't, but I accept that I am partly to blame. I've
been…preoccupied of late. I should have known what was being
done in my name on my own land. You…" he poked his foot at the
seneschal as if the man were a piece of offal. "Get off my land.
GO! Now! Before I change my mind about the flogging." The man
scrambled to his feet and ran out of the door. Fox breathed a
sigh of relief, noticing how tense Sir Walter's arm was under
his hand, and the stiffness in the other man's shoulders. He
sensed a dark cloud around this house, and wondered at it.

"Fox - follow me. I'll show you to a room, and have the
servants bring you water to bathe in." Sir Walter instructed.
Fox followed the nobleman's long strides up a wide stone
staircase, and along several corridors, then he was ushered into
a room containing a huge, four poster bed. Lush red tapestries
decorated the walls.

"Will this do?" Sir Walter asked.

"Do?" Fox gaped. "It's more luxury than I've known in a long
time, sir." He wandered around the room, then threw himself down
on the bed, laughing in delight. When he looked back at the
nobleman, he saw that the other man had a wistful smile on his
face.

"Stay as long as you like, Fox." Sir Walter told him. "The
water for your bath will be here soon. My own chamber is down
the corridor if you wish to speak to me. I trust you will join
me for dinner? It's been a long time since I had company and I'd
love to hear news of your journey."

"I would be honored." Fox gave a little bow, and watched as the
tall, grim faced man nodded at him, then turned on his heel and
walked away. "Sir Walter." He sat down on the side of the bed
and pulled off his weathered boots. "Sir Walter." He murmured
the name again, loving the sound of it. Then "Walter," he
whispered it, caressing the name with his tongue.

Fox washed several weeks of grime off his body in the warm
bath, then dried himself with the large sheeting laid out for
him. It seemed a shame to pull on his old, dirty clothing once
more, but he didn't have much choice. A part of him longed to
feel the soft warmth of Walter's shirt settle around his body,
comforting and protecting him. He had just pulled on his
trousers when there was a knock at the door and the nobleman
entered.

"I'm sorry. I realized you had no clean clothing. You're taller
than most of the men here, but my own clothing will be long
enough for you. I thought I'd bring you..." Sir Walter held up
an armful of shirts and trousers and Fox smiled.

"You're very kind."

"My pleasure. I'm ashamed of the hospitality we offered to you.
It's my own fault. I haven't paid much attention to my duties
recently. That will change from now on." The nobleman laid the
clothing on the bed.

"There is a sadness here. I notice you're dressed in the color
of mourning." Fox murmured.

"Yes. My wife died a couple of years ago." Sir Walter said
softly.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Fox felt an urge to put his arms
around the other man, to offer some comfort, but he knew that
the nobleman would scorn his pity.

"In childbirth." Sir Walter whispered, going to the window, and
glancing out. "The child survived her by a few hours. I buried
them both together, wrapping him up in her arms."

Fox walked to the window and stood behind the other man.
Outside, a wind had sprung up, and rain was driving across the
land, painting it in streaks of dark gray. Fox could just about
make out a garden, and a statue. He didn't speak, he simply laid
his hand on the other man's arm, and they stood that way for a
long time. Finally Sir Walter moved.

"I'm sorry. I'm disturbing you. You'll need to dress. Oh…" He
smiled, a gentle, soft smile, that banished for a moment the
demons that warred within those dark, intense eyes. "I brought
you these too." He gestured to a pair of boots, sleek and dark.

"For me?" Fox asked in disbelief. "They're too good. I'll be
fine with what I have."

"Nonsense." Sir Walter shook his head. "I hope they fit. Sit
down - let me help you with them."

Fox sat on the side of the bed, and watched in wonder as the
nobleman knelt in front of him, took hold of his foot, and
guided it into the boot.

"I shouldn’t…you shouldn't wait on me, sir," he whispered,
flushing. Sir Walter looked up in surprise.

"Nonsense. I want to see if they fit." He pulled the boots up
so that they rested flush against Fox's calves, and smoothed
them against the younger man's pants. "They do. I'm glad. Keep
them." He gave another of those shy half-smiles, and then made
his excuses and left.

Fox laid back on the bed, wincing as his wounded shoulders
complained. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, dreaming of a
proud, sad-eyed man, sitting bare-chested on a powerful bay
stallion, a hawk on his wrist.

When he awoke, his back hurt him. He got up, wishing that he
could ease the throbbing pain. An idea occurred to him, and he
pulled Sir Walter's black shirt around his shoulders and
wandered down the corridor to find the nobleman's chamber. Sir
Walter was seated by his fire, going through a pile of papers.
He looked up, and smiled as Fox entered the room.

"You're feeling rested?" He asked. Fox nodded. "I'm going
through these papers. Damn, but I didn't realize so much had
built up. I don't know what that idiot seneschal was doing, but
he certainly wasn't keeping the household accounts up to date."

"I have a quick mind and an eye for detail. I could help you,
Sir Walter." Fox offered.

"Thank you." The nobleman nodded, gravely. "Not today though.
Today you must rest and please - call me Walter. I save the
"sir" for more formal occasions, and days at court. Now - did
you want me for anything?"

"Yes." Fox flushed. "Do you have any salve? My shoulders…" He
bit his lip.

"Of course. I'm sorry. I should have thought." It was Walter's
turn to flush now. He went into an adjoining room and returned a
few moments later with a stone jar which he handed to the other
man. "Here. I use this when I hurt myself while hunting."

"Thanks." Fox stood there, uncertainly, the jar in his hand.
The nobleman raised an eyebrow at him. "I…maybe you have a
servant who could help me? I can't reach." Fox said
apologetically.

"Of course. I'm sorry. Here, take your shirt off and lie on my
bed. I'll help you." Walter ushered him over to the bed and Fox
did as he was told. Walter's fingers were gentle and soothing as
he smoothed the salve onto the dark welts that striped Fox's
back. He took several long, painstaking minutes about his work,
touching the other man very lightly, so as not to cause him any
further pain. Then his fingers strayed to Fox's neck, and
lingered there for a moment, gently caressing his guest. Fox
sighed, and turned over, caught the nobleman's hand in his own,
and kissed it.

"My thanks," he whispered. They gazed at each other, and then,
on an impulse, Fox reached up, and touched his lips briefly to
those of his host. A shock went through his body, as he felt the
warmth and hunger in the other man's lips, and then the moment
was over. Fox drew back, and smiled - then he got up, leaving
the room's occupant seated on the bed, his face immobile in
stunned surprise.

"Tell me about your wife." Fox asked, as they ate together
later that evening, the huge fire flickering in the grate, and
casting long shadows on the stone walls.

"Sharon…was beautiful." Walter smiled in the memory. "She was
the daughter of my greatest enemy, and we fell in love despite
the opposition of both our families. I stole her away to become
my bride and for two years we wandered the world, not daring to
go home. That is why I never refuse a traveler shelter - I met
too many who refused me when I was a poor outcast." Walter
paused, and took a sip of his wine. "Eventually though, we came
home to face the music. My father had become used to the idea,
and he welcomed us. Her father, however, never got over his
loss. He has hated me ever since. When Sharon died, he promised
that he would not rest until he saw me in my grave. He'll have
his rest soon enough, I expect," Walter murmured. Fox placed his
head on one side, and looked askance at the other man, but
Walter refused to say any more. "What about you?" The nobleman
asked. "You're clearly of high birth. What's your story, Fox?"

Fox sighed, and pushed back his plate. "I'm the only son of a
wealthy family, but we have a dark secret - a stain on our
birthright," he said. "The firstborn daughter of each generation
is given away to the Priests of an evil sect. I begged with my
father not to send my sister, but he was afraid of their
vengeance if he refused them. They swore that they would bring a
curse down upon our house that would last a thousand years, if
he did not honor the terms of this wicked pact. As soon as I
came of age, I dedicated my life to finding my sister. I haven't
stopped on that quest yet, although…" his long fingers closed
around the stem of his goblet, and he shuddered, "what I have
found out about this sect, leads me to believe that she was
sacrificed to their god a long time ago, her virgin blood
offered up to appease a vengeful deity. In my more lucid
moments, I know that I'm chasing after a ghost, and fighting
shadows, and yet…and yet…" Fox closed his eyes to fight back the
tears, and was surprised when a large, warm hand covered his
own. "And yet, sometimes, in the dark, I can still hear her
crying out my name, and so I continue with my hopeless quest."
He sighed, opening his eyes again and finding himself looking
into Sir Walter's sympathetic eyes.

"We've both had our shares of trials then." Walter commented,
withdrawing his hand. Fox found that he missed its warmth.

"And joys too. I've seen so much, laughed, loved…" Fox smiled
and Walter nodded.

"You're right. We should celebrate the good times." He raised
his glass and Fox did the same.

They talked long into the night, swapping stories about their
lives, and travels. Finally, Walter took a candle, and they
walked up the stairs together, still laughing, a little the
worse for the wine they had consumed. When they reached Fox's
chamber, Walter paused, and handed the other man the candle.

"Thank you, Fox," he whispered.

"For what?" Fox asked, surprised.

"Making me laugh again." Walter turned to go, but Fox's hand
found his arm, and he pulled the other man close, claiming his
lips again, in a long, deep kiss. The nobleman went quite still
under his embrace, and finally the kiss ended and they looked at
each other for a long time. "Come with me." Fox whispered,
pulling the other man into his room. "The night doesn't have to
end here, my love."

Walter allowed himself to be drawn into the dark room, lit only
by candlelight and the glowing remains of the fire in the grate.
Fox's lips brushed the side of the big man's face, and fastened
onto his lips again and Walter surrendered to the caress,
drinking eagerly, his large hands running up and down Fox's
back. They parted, and Fox smiled, then raised his hands to the
big man's shirt and began to unbutton it, slowly. Walter's dark
eyes remained fixed on his young lover's hazel ones, as they
danced and twinkled at him mischievously in the half-light.

Fox smoothed back the big man's shirt and allowed it to fall to
the floor, and then he dipped his head and flicked a lazy tongue
over the other man's nipples. Walter gasped, and brought his
hands up to Fox's head, holding him close, and, duly encouraged,
Fox took each nipple into his mouth, and sucked until they stood
up in hard points. Then he tugged Walter over to the bed, and
sat down on the side of it, opening his legs wide, and pulling
the other man close, then closing his legs around the big man,
trapping him there. Fox's fingers worked insistently on Walter's
belt, unfastening it, and unbuttoning the big man's pants. He
reached inside, and Walter's hard cock lurched forwards to meet
his hand. He fondled it for a moment, then put his hands on
Walter's taut, bare buttocks, and drew the big man close,
wrapping his tongue around the other man's cock. Walter placed
his hands on Fox's shoulders and let out a deep groan, putting
back his head, sweat trickling down his exposed throat as Fox
worked his warm, wet caress along his shaft. Fox's hands kneaded
Walter's buttocks, his fingers slipping inside the crevice
between them, until Walter could hold on no longer, and he came
with a cry, spurting deep inside the other man's throat. Fox
drew back, licking his lips, and gave a tender smile.

"You needed that, my love. Come here," he beckoned, and Walter
kicked off the last of his clothing and lay down on the bed
beside his new lover. "You've been so lonely." Fox ran his long,
sensitive fingers over Walter's bare scalp, caressing the soft,
warm flesh, and bestowing little kisses upon it.

Walter took hold of Fox's face, and kissed him deeply. "Thank
you," he whispered. "Will you let me?" His big hands moved with
surprising gentleness as he began undressing the other man.

Fox smiled. "With pleasure," he replied, moving his hips so
that Walter could strip him. At last they were both naked, and
Fox's hard erection pressed into his lover's solid thigh,
grinding into him as he sought relief. Walter smiled, and ran
his fingers over Fox's eager cock, and the younger man arched
his back and moaned, thrusting into the embrace and coming
almost immediately.

"That was quick." Walter murmured, and Fox chuckled.

"Your touch is exquisite," he replied. "I couldn't hold on." He
wrapped his long legs around his lover's muscled body, and
Walter, in turn, wrapped his big arms around Fox's slighter
frame, and entwined his fingers in the other man's thick hair.
They lay there, in the dark, each listening to the other's
beating heart, smelling the scent of sex and sweat, savoring the
comfort of a few hours of love and happiness stolen amid pain
and sorrow.

Fox woke at dawn. He glanced at the window, and saw that it was
still raining outside, and then he realized that he was alone.
He got up, stretching stiffly, and pulled on his trousers, and
then went to stand beside the window, gazing out. His heart beat
faster, as he saw a familiar figure in the distance, his body
hunched against the driving rain as he ran towards the statue in
the center of the garden. Fox turned, and, without a second
thought, raced from the room.

The grass was cold and wet beneath his bare feet, and the
November air was cold and wet on the exposed flesh of his chest,
but Fox didn't care. He ran across the garden, slipping slightly
as he went in his haste. He found the statue, and paused, gazing
at the sculpture of a beautiful woman, clutching a baby in her
arms. "In memory of my wife and child," the inscription read.
Fox found the small tomb, located behind the statue, and pushed
the door open. He could hear a soft moaning sound and he
hurried, entering the vault and passing the coffins of Walter's
dead ancestors. His lover was seated at the far end, his back
against the wall, his body convulsed in pain.

"Walter." Fox edged forward, then stopped, gasping. "Walter?"
he asked, tentatively. The big man shuddered, and hid his face.

"Leave me, Fox. I'll be all right. Leave me."

"No. You're in pain." Fox knelt down beside the other man, and
gently pulled his head around so that he could look at him.
Walter's face was covered in strange dark bruises, and he was
struggling for breath. "I don't understand." Fox took the big
man's face between his hands and gently fingered the bruises.
"What are these?"

"They only last an hour. Every day, at daybreak. It's a disease
of the blood." Walter's dark eyes met Fox's, and they were full
of despair.

"Your enemy…?" Fox guessed.

"Yes. Sharon's father. He can kill me any time he wants to. He
keeps me like this, in this living hell, to remind me of his
power over me. One day…one day he'll end it, but for now, he
likes toying with me."

"How?" Fox asked, gathering the big man up and holding him
against his chest.

"A kind of poison. If there's an antidote, I don't know what it
is. I'm not sure I've really looked that hard." Walter shrugged.
"After losing Sharon, I'd have been glad to die. As it is, he
just keeps me like this, always on the verge of death, waking up
with death every morning, as if to taunt me with it. Giving it,
and then withdrawing it. Sometimes I long for him to finally end
it all, but I won't take my own life. It's against what I
believe in." Walter let out a gasping, pain-filled scream as a
spasm consumed his body, and the bruises on his flesh turned a
livid red. "Leave me, Fox. Go back to the house now before you
see how ugly I am…" Walter begged. "I crept out here so you
wouldn’t see me like this. Please. Go back."

Fox shook his head, and gave a rueful smile. "It's too late for
that, Walter," he said softly, sitting down beside the other man
and holding him tightly in his arms, rocking him.

The spasms, pain, and bruises, lasted only an hour, as Walter
had said they would. As the morning light spread across the
world, Walter was returned to health and they ventured back out
into the cool November morning.

"Fox - you've seen me at my worst. Will you…stay?" Walter asked
hesitantly as they walked back to the house. "I'm missing a
seneschal after all - and that's all your fault." He grinned.

"Walter - it's not that I don't want to." Fox sighed, lacing
his fingers through the other man's and kissing him lightly on
the lips. "But…"

"But you have a quest. Your sister…" Walter nodded. "I do
understand."

"I'll stay for a while." Fox kissed him again.

"Through the winter?" Walter asked hopefully. "You won't make
much progress when the snows come after all."

"All right." Fox smiled. "I'll stay here until spring."

November gave way to December, and then the January snows piled
up around the house. Fox spent many long hours with his new
lover, lying in the big man's arms, both of them naked in the
firelight. He came to know every inch of that superb body, and
loved the taut muscled flesh that he spent so many nights
kissing. Every morning, they rode out, each of them with a hawk
on his arm. Every afternoon, they worked on estate business and
they spent their evenings reading, or talking. At night they
made love, often, and with passion, for hours on end. Then, as
morning dawned, Fox would hold his lover through his hour of
torment, keeping him safe.

Winter turned to spring, and daffodils started to push their
way up in the meadows around the big house. One morning, as
birds sang outside the window and the sun lit up the room,
Walter awakened and his fingers numbly found the note on the
pillow next to his. There were only two words written on it:
"Forget me."

It was a long, beautiful Summer. Walter took his stallion out
each day, and remembered a time when, for a brief moment, he had
tasted love again. He was a solitary man, used to his own
company, and, even though he missed his lover, he was not as
lonely as he had been before. Fox had come into his life and
restored some of the joy, and he no longer grieved for the loss
of his wife and child, as he had for so long before. Walter lost
himself in physical exertion, building new houses on his land,
and settling in tenants, riding, hunting, and hawking. Time
passed, and before long Autumn had returned, the green leaves
turning brown, and the mist rising up from the lake every
morning. Walter smiled, remembering how he had ridden out, on
that fateful morning a year ago, and found a stranger who didn’t
even have a shirt on his back, a man who had brought love once
more into his life, and taught him to smile again.

"Thank you, Fox," he murmured, as he and his stallion pounded
along the valley, unaware that they were being watched.

The watcher took in the sight of man and horse, bodies entwined
as they covered the valley floor in great sweeping strides. The
man was no longer wearing black - instead he was in a cream
shirt, with thick, tan-colored pants. He looked, if not exactly
happy, content. The watcher stepped out in front of the horse a
smile curving his full lips as the stallion swerved to a halt in
front of him. The man dismounted, in a frenzy, and pulled him
into a firm embrace.

"Forget you!" He snorted. "As if I ever could! But why did you
come back, my love? Did you find your sister?"

"No. I wasn't looking for her." Fox sat down and patted the
ground beside him, inviting Walter to join him there. "I watched
as you turned your back on your great loss, as you turned back
from death, and embraced life again, and I was humbled. I knew
then that you were a braver man than I, Walter. You showed me
that a thousand times, last winter. I've chased after ghosts,
and embraced shadows all my life. You showed me that I could be
more than that, that I could choose life - and love."

"Where did you go then? Why did you go?" Walter asked, his
fingers finding Fox's face, and caressing his cheek lightly, in
wonder.

Fox smiled. Then he opened his bag and took out a bottle. "I
went in search of this. It's a cure for you, Walter. It took me
several long months, but I found it. All those years of
searching have made me quite good at it," he said modestly, his
eyes glinting wickedly.

"A cure?" Walter's fingers fumbled at the bottle.

"Yes. Drink it. It's an antidote to the poison in your blood. I
couldn't tell you I was looking for it, in case I didn't find
it, or I died in the finding."

Walter's expression was solemn, and grave, as he took Fox's
face between his hands and kissed his lips, his tongue pushing
between them, and claiming the other man's mouth in an embrace
that lasted for a lifetime.

"You did miss me then?" Fox asked cheekily, as the embrace
ended. Walter cuffed him lightly on the shoulder.

"I missed the services of a good seneschal," he replied in a
mocking tone.

Fox grinned. "Is that all I am to you?" He asked.

"No." Walter was suddenly serious as he opened the bottle and
downed the contents in one long gulp. "You're the man who gave
me back my life," he said, when he had finished.

"As you gave me back mine," Fox replied. "What I had before was
a half life. Always traveling, looking for someone I could never
hope to find."

They kissed, a light, gentle touch of lips, and then Walter got
up and pulled Fox to his feet.

"Time to go home," he murmured, and Fox nodded. Walter pulled
himself into his saddle and hauled Fox up front of him. He put
his arms around the other man, and held him close.

Fox closed his eyes, and felt the cool November air caress them
as the horse trotted back to the house. It had been a year since
they had made this journey before, only this time he knew that,
like Walter's hawk, he was exactly where he belonged.

The End.

Friendly feedback to Xanthe@innocent.com

The Fox and Walter from this story make another appearance in a
new slash story, Spellbound, coming soon...

Graphic by Danni.

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