It was the end of a long, busy day – both King and Queen were leaving the castle the next day and leaving their Jack in charge of domestic affairs, the King for the Clubs border and the no man's land there, the Queen to the nearby harbor to welcome the Queen of Hearts and guide his tour around the kingdom – a tentative relationship, the Hearts were newly allied. The sun was barely set, but it was high summer, so the clock in the Queen's study showed just past eleven when he and the King shed the last servant and stumbled in, falling in a multi-limbed heap on the couch in front of the smoldering fire (servant-lit, King-upheld). They toed off their shoes without disentangling and let them fall to the floor, forgotten as they closed their eyes and took in the memorized feel of each other's body, breath, smell.

"I'll miss you." The King said, nuzzling into the Queen's wiry hair. "I don't get to hold you enough like this." The Queen just hummed and twisted the King's watch chain around his fingers.

Eventually, their exhaustion from the day dulled, and they slowly realized the stiffness of their clothes, the uncomfortable position, the dying fire. Wordlessly they stood, the Queen stripping out of his light summer coat and cravat while the King took the poker from the hearth and stirred the fire back to life. The Queen laid his discarded clothing over the back of the couch and leaned against the King's side when he put the poker back in its holder and stood from his crouch. The Queen slid his arms around his waist, tugging his thin shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers to touch warm skin with his palms. The king shivered, laughed, and turned in his arms to face the Queen.

"You're a terrible influence, I hope you know." He brushed some hair away from the Queen's eyes.

"I never strive to be anything else, love." He smiled up at the King, who bent down to kiss him, hands cupping his face. Soft rustles of cloth, a few blind steps back, and they pushed into the Queen's bedroom, rolling in a fall to the mattress. They were pulled away by gravity, laughing, but went back to kissing without a thought, the King pressed over the Queen and running his fingers through his hair. The Queen was busy pulling the King's shirt up, fingers tracing over the dips and divots of his back, remember. This was their last chance, they didn't know when. Their teeth crushed their lips together painfully, but they ignored it.

When the Queen's hands reached his shoulder blades, the King sat back, straddling his waist, and shed his lightweight shirt, the Queen arching and squirming beneath him to get his own off. They tossed them off the side of the bed, and the King slid down so he could lie between the Queen's bent legs, kissing his throat with new aggression. The Queen crossed an ankle over his back and held his head there, tilting his head back for more exposure, head sinking into his pillows. Down his muscles, in the dip of his collarbone, sucking on his shoulder. The Queen's sigh rattled in his ear.

It was a last night, a late night, and they were tired despite their best efforts, so it didn't take long to unbutton their trousers and slip out of their underwear, bare flesh and pink tinged. They slid under the sheets, happy in each other, and the Queen rolled on top of the King, pressing their bare hips together hard, circling, coaxing a rhythm out of him. The strange heat of sex curled down his thigh bones and out, lingering pressure staying. He needed more, and moaned into the King's mouth to tell him so.

There was some awkward shuffling as they both reached for the lotion kept in the box beside the Queen's bed. They both laughed, and the King conceded it to the Queen as he squirmed up a little to sit up against the headboard. The Queen crawled back over his lap, legs bent to the side as he held his face and kissed him, lotion set aside. The King wove his fingers together at the small of his back, happily lost in his love.

When the King tugged him forward, bodies closer, the Queen pulled away from the kiss, running his hands down his neck, shoulders, chest, following them with quick touches from his mouth. The king moaned and leaned his head back against the wall behind the headboard, touching whatever part of the Queen he could reach. When he got to the King's abdomen and was tracing his fingers and lips over the muscles there, the King reached down and wove their fingers together, pulling them up to latch behind his own neck so he could kiss the Queen again, starving and neverending. The Queen wormed his hand between the back of the King's head and the wall, kissing him hard and circling his tongue around in the King's mouth. The King's hands wandered down from waist to rear, opening his mouth as wide as it went to give the Queen deeper access to the roof of his mouth. His kneading hands made the Queen squirm, moving up on his knees and straddling the King, tilting the kissing angle and haphazardly pressing his body against the one beneath him. His knees spread wide, and the King blindly reached for the lotion, unscrewing the top and coating his hand without ever taking his mouth away. He screwed the lid back on just as blindly, tossing it aside so he could circle wet fingers down, around, push in. The Queen sucked in air around his open mouth, rattling.

It hadn't been long since their last time together, so the King didn't dawdle, starting with two fingers and scissoring and pressing. The Queen circled his hips into it, not kissing him anymore but kept his mouth touching, open and gasping. The King struggled to keep the shuddering Queen in his lap with one arm, stroking the back skin where his hand was splayed. He let the Queen's mouth go so he could arch back, holding him upright enough to kiss at the side of his neck, up to his jaw and down to his shoulder. He added a third finger, and the Queen hissed a little but was ready for it, needed it. They found a rhythm of circles and pressure, but soon the waves flowing through their stomachs, legs, died down, and the Queen reached back and caught the King's wrist.

He nodded against the Queen's shoulder wildly, sitting up again from where he was sliding down as the Queen dug around in the sheets for the discarded tub of lotion. He found it almost falling off the bed, caught in a twist of cloth, and took the time to readjust the sheets around them before uncapping the lotion and slicking up the King's cock. The King's breath stuttered loudly, and he buried his face in the Queen's shoulder as he worked his hand longer than strictly necessary, enjoying the rises he got out of his golden consort.

The King's fingers dug into his flesh, deep enough for his short fingernails to touch, so the Queen smiled and moved, hovering over his lap before keeping the King's cock steady with one hand as he sank down, letting out his breath along the way, eyes sliding shut. The King cursed and threw his head back hard enough to send a crack up the wood of the wall, hands shaking as they slid up and down the Queen's bare thighs, toes curling as he tried to hold from snapping up.

From there it went with instinct, infinity loops and sloppy swirls, the purple and dark blue and wood of the room forgotten in bright blue and green and peach tones. Stars came out through the cracked window to the side, bugs creaking, and the King and the Queen didn't have to speak to know.

Softly, the King kissed his Queen as the Queen's eyes clenched and his foot sought purchase against the headboard, the edge of the mattress, pulling out the emotions like strings from a tapestry, clutching at strands of yellow hair. The King kept them moving, rough and languid, but they could feel the climax coming.

They came together, gasping and grasping, and couldn't move for minutes, breathing against each other as the King held the Queen close and the Queen listened to his heart beating in time with the crickets. Sweat chilled, and the Queen sighed and lifted himself up and off, rolling to the side and taking the covers with him. The King blinked a few times, then grinned sloppily and scooted down so he was lying down properly and slid up behind the Queen, scooping him back against his chest.

"That was amazing," he whispered into the Queen's neck. The Queen turned a little to look over his shoulder at him, half smiling. The King nuzzled into his neck and sighed happily. "I'm gonna miss you."

The Queen swallowed. "Likewise, love."

In the morning, they couldn't wake up slow and warm like they wanted, but had to rise with the dawn for the King to be able to get a few needed extra miles towards the far border. The Queen saw him off, his own journey much shorter and later in the day. In the stables courtyard, he held his stirrup as he mounted, then let his hand drag down the King's calf once before backing away.

The King smiled at him, too broadly to hide the bitter. "I'll be back soon, Arthur."

"You better be." He shifted his weight from one foot to another as the King's escort finished their last packing and queued in two columns of twelve by the gate. "Be careful with yourself, Alfred."

"Do I ever do otherwise?" He tipped an invisible hat at him, then turned his horse with his knees and led his soldiers out of the gate and towards battle. The Queen raced up to the castle walls to watch him go until they were a ribbon of blue and brown, wiping at his eyes discreetly before scowling at the guards, who had learned long ago not to try and joke with him when the King had just left his side, and whipping back down to be the Queen again instead of Arthur, standing alone on a castle rampart and watching his love go into possible uncertainty.