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Philippe fought his way out from under a pile of naked, writhing bodies, only to slither onto the floor. He lay there, giggling, until Chevalier noticed, and swiftly joined him.

They lay giggling together for a while.

"I need a bigger bed," said Philippe.

"You are at home now," Chevalier replied. "Free from any restraint. If you want a bigger bed, you shall have one." He bestowed a messy, slurping kiss upon Philippe's nipple. Philippe's nipples were particularly sensitive that evening, and he found himself suddenly aroused. Again. 

"And I want a new fountain," he said. "A really big one."

Chevalier kissed his way down Philippe's body. "That can also be arranged." He took Philippe's rapidly-stiffening prick into his mouth.

"Oh God."

Back on the bed there was a lot of groaning and a resounding 'smack'. Philippe remembered spanking Jean-Paul earlier, right on his pretty little birthmark. The boy had really got a taste for it lately. 

"Doesn't seem fair." He tangled his fingers in Chevalier's hair. "They're on the bed and we're on the floor."

Chevalier said something, but his mouth was too full of Philippe's cock to make any sense. Philippe looked down and drowned in the sight of Chevalier's lips stretched around his member, head bobbing. Chevalier made such an art of it. He pulled all the way off, slathered his tongue over the head and then plunged down again. Philippe fucked his hips up. Chevalier's throat closed around his cock, swallowing him down. Philippe closed his eyes and sank into a haze of pleasure. It felt like heaven.


A summer breeze, the scent of blossom, the flowers—


He pulled out so fast it made Chevalier gag and graze Philippe's skin with his teeth, but Philippe couldn't care. He scrambled away and fled: out of his bedroom, out of his house and out into the gardens of Saint Cloud.

There, he fell to his knees on the grass, and sobbed. 


Something soft fell over his shoulders. A fur blanket, thick and warm.

Chevalier sat gingerly on the damp grass beside him, pulling his dressing gown around him. "Damn. I forgot the wine."

"You can go back."

"Too much effort." Chevalier flicked his hair back over his shoulder. "In fact, it's even possible that I've had enough for one night." He gave Philippe a sideways glance. "Enough wine, at any rate."

"I'm not very good company any more, I'm afraid."

"That's for me to decide. It's getting quite tedious in there. Unless you enjoy watching attractive young men entangled in an orgy of lust."

"That doesn't sound so tedious, you know. Sounds quite interesting, actually."

"And yet here we are. In the garden. Elsewhere."

"You don't have to be."

Chevalier picked up his hand and cradled it in his own. "Ah, Mignonette. As if I would willingly choose to be anywhere but by your side."

Philippe managed a weak little smile. "Do you miss Versailles much?"

"The swamp? The constant taste of tyranny in the air? The backstabbing gossips and your brother's icy glare following me everywhere I go? Of course I do. But I would rather be here with you, my darling."

"I could not stay there."

"Indeed, you could not."

Philippe frowned. "You really think that?"

"Of course. You believe your brother killed your wife. Why would you stay?"

Philippe's head felt thick with wine and there was an uneasiness in his belly that he couldn't shift. A wrongness. The tug of a cord pulling him always, incessantly, back to Louis.

"This won't be the end of it, you know," he said. "He'll be scheming already, trying to find a way to force me to go back."

"But he has so little hold on you, now your wife is dead."

Philippe closed his eyes against the grief. A sob escaped him before he could swallow it down.

"Look around you," Chevalier said. "Is this Versailles?"

Philippe looked across the moonlit grass and the glass-still waters of Saint-Cloud. "No."

"Correct. And who created this? These gardens, the exquisite house, this air of peace and beauty?"

Philippe sat up a little straighter. "I did."

"Precisely." Chevalier touched Philippe's chin, lifted it. "None of us knows the future, my darling. But tonight, in this moment, you are free to choose. What will it be, Mignonette? Will you listen to the jingle of the falconer's bells and return to your master? Or will you spread your wings and glide above the clouds?"

Philippe looked up at the clear night sky, and smiled. "I think I should like to fly."

Chevalier turned Philippe's face towards him, his eyes twinkling. "Then let us fly, my darling."

Their lips met to seal the bargain. Philippe's spirit soared at the flutter of Chevalier's tongue, the  tender nip of his teeth. As the kiss grew long and their breath grew short, he shivered at the chill of cool night air on his heated skin.

"A moment, my dear." Chevalier took the fur from Philippe's shoulders and spread it on the grass, before laying Philippe down upon it. "If you caught a cold I would never forgive myself."

Philippe was warm in no time at all; the fur beneath him and Chevalier on top, his robe covering both of them like a snug tent. They lost themselves in long, lingering kisses for a while, until desire got the better of them. They writhed, they gasped, they wriggled until finally Chevalier took matters in hand and wrapped both their cocks with his long, clever fingers. He set a quick, even rhythm and soon Philippe began the swift rise to climax. He closed his eyes and arched; Chevalier kissed his throat and Philippe let the rush of pleasure flow through him, spreading his arms out wide.

He was free.