Makellos swallowed and glanced around at the seven little miners. “As long as I do not put anyone out of their beds,” he said.
Dagobert gave a little whoop of delight, which set off laughter all around.
So, the seven little bedframes were pushed together so that all eight of them could stretch out upon them, with the nest of blankets from Makellos’ previous bed being added for additional support and comfort. Makellos wasn’t sure whether he would be able to easily fall asleep. He had never shared a bed with anyone before, let alone with seven others. And, he realized now, each of the little men had their own level of comfort for night attire,from Der in a full nightgown and cap, to Bernhardt, who was dressed in nothing at all until he realized that Makellos was watching him with embarrassment, and he drew on a loose pair of breeches that were decidedly not his from the way they hung on his tiny body.
Makellos kept his white shirtsleeves and breeches on tonight as he slid under the covers in the center of the makeshift bed. Once he had settled and had a blanket over him, the seven little men all slid into the bed as well. There was much squirming and a few curses as they all tried to find a comfortable spot, but finally they all seemed settled in, gathered around Makellos from his head to his feet. The warmth and heaviness from the bodies around him was oddly comforting as Makellos closed his eyes. He was a little worried that fear of the geist coming back would keep him awake, but within only a few minutes, he had drifted off into a comfortable and relaxed sleep.
Ten
Makellos woke up feeling warmer than he ever had in his life. It took him a moment to realize where he was and why things seemed different. His blue eyes peeked open to find the thatched eves and ceiling of the cottage above him. There was weight on him in several places. His eyes traveled downward then, and his brain finally understood why he was so warm. He had a thick hide blanket over him, and he was surrounded on all sides by the seven little miners. Each of them was asleep, curled up on either side of him, like a cozy pile of sleeping puppies. He could feel an arm draped over his side to splay on his chest, the palm and fingers small but very warm.
And then he realized, with a shameful realization, that he was hard. He hadn’t woken up like that since the day he left the palace. His mind had been so afraid and focused on the immediate changes. But now, here, in a comfortable bed, with a good night’s sleep, and seven admittedly very attractive men cuddled against him, evidently his mind had decided that his cock’s hiatus was over. He flushed. Perhaps he could get it to go away before everyone woke, or perhaps he could extricatehimself from the pile and take himself to the washroom until he had calmed. He started to squirm, but the arm holding him only gripped tighter, and he felt someone else by his knees stir, and he went still again. So much for that second plan. Hopefully he could lie here motionless enough without waking anyone that his morning wood would go down on its own.
And then he realized that someone was watching him. It took him a moment to realize who. It was Sigmund, who was lying on his side at about the level of his ribcage. The man’s hazel eyes were on his face, and Makellos felt a blush color his cheeks. Sigmund shifted, and Makellos was mortified to feel the man’s body press against his in such a way that there would be no doubt of his current predicament, rubbing up against the man’s torso through the fabric of his breeches. Sigmund kept eye contact with Makellos as his hand slid, slowly and carefully, under the blanket, watching for any sign that Makellos wanted him to stop. Makellos’ breath caught in his chest, his heart fluttering faster. The hand rested questioningly on the prince’s stomach, and, ever so slowly, Makellos gave him a little nod.
Sigmund gave him a playful, knowing smile before Makellos felt the man’s hand slide down his lower stomach to give him a squeeze between his legs. Makellos clamped his lips together over the sudden noise that tried to escape his throat, managing to turn it into an exhalation through his nose, but his eyes went wide. Sigmund grinned broader, his hand suddenly sliding against skin as it dipped under the waist of the breeches and began moving down the soft expanse of skin between naval and desire. His fingers, rough and calloused but also incredibly warm, brushed through the dark hair at the base of Makellos’ cock, and then over said cock itself. Makellos inhaled again. Sigmund’s eyes flickered with a question, unspoken but for a slight tip of his head.
Makellos found himself struck by rather a conundrum. Sigmund had been flirting with him for days, and Makellos was delighted to find that he felt similar feelings. But, he realized, they were also in a bed with six other individuals. He knew that these men had shared this little cottage for years, so inevitably someone must have had some sort of awkward encounter at some time. But the impropriety of it, especially with them still being relative strangers to one another, and his own lack of experience made this whole moment seem rather unfortunate timing. His eyes flicked around to the sleepers around them, then back to Sigmund. Sigmund shrugged and gave Makellos a smile back that could only be interpreted as wicked. He watched as the man’s chestnut head suddenly dipped under the heavy blanket, and then he could feel the man’s fingers working deftly at the fastenings of his breeches. His breath quickened with each movement, until Sigmund’s fingers undid them fully, then reached in and slid his cock out of the fabric that had been restraining it. He instantly felt the coolness and the relief of not being trapped in the tight fabric anymore, then clapped his own hand to his mouth to smother the sound that came out of him as he felt hot, wet lips wrap around the head of his cock and a warm tongue brush up the underside. It felt like every hair on his body suddenly stood at attention as Sigmund’s mouth wrapped around the tip and sucked lightly, swirling his tongue around. Makellos squeaked softly through his nose, then quickly pinched that closed too with his thumb and forefinger. Sigmund’s lips wrapped around him again as he sucked, his head bobbing a little as he slid further down Makellos’ shaft.
Makellos realized he had cut off his own breathing, and he released his nose with a soft gasping sound as he saw stars in front of his eyes, both from the lack of oxygen, and from the warm, tight heat sliding further down his cock in a delicious sensation he had never experienced before. And then Sigmundburied his nose in Makellos’ thicket of dark curls, his breath warm, his tongue tracing up the underside in a way that made the prince’s head spin. He moaned, the sound muffled by his hand, and he quickly tried to stifle it further, but then Sigmund began to bob his head, and Makellos exhaled sharply again with a soft whimper.
Someone else stirred, and Makellos went rigid and still. But he was unsuccessful in stopping another moan that escaped him as Sigmund’s tongue teased up and down, and Hardwic’s green eyes opened and turned toward him. Makellos felt himself flush all over, trying to hold still like he was perfectly innocent, but he could see Sigmund moving up and down his cock under the blanket, leaving no question as to what he was doing.
Hardwic let out a bark of laughter that startled awake Der and Bernhardt, and the others around them stirred as well. Makellos felt his mortification grow as Sigmund continued his ministrations, heedless of the fact that there were suddenly six other people now awake in the bed, their eyes darting between Makellos’ face and the bobbing of the blanket at crotch level.
“Well, well,” said Sigurd, next to his brother. He reached down and suddenly flipped back the hide blanket, and Makellos thought he might actually die of embarrassment. Sigmund continued to fellate him eagerly, raising his eyes to meet Bernhardt’s, who was directly across from him, giving him a rather smug look.
They were all awake now, so Makellos removed his hand from his mouth, scrambling for the blanket again. “I’m sorry!” he said, pushing Sigmund up and off of his cock with a sudden obscene pop that had his cheeks flaming as red as apples. “Please forgive- I… shouldn’t have- didn’t… mean to…” He stumbled out of the bed, dragging the hide blanket with him, knocking Dagobert and Bernhardt onto the floor where they had been lying on it. He stumbled toward the water closet, tripping over his breechesand blanket but trying to keep some shred of modesty as he hobbled like a wounded fowl toward it. He still babbled mindless apologies until he stumbled into the water closet and shut the door firmly.
He sank to the floor, feeling hot and shameful all over. He had never given in to lust like that before, and in front of the little men who had all been so kind to him! He quickly wiggled his breeches back on, trying to tuck himself away as best he could while still painfully hard, his balls heavy and aching for release. But no, they had all watched him come in here, and the thought of giving himself relief while they all stared at the closed doorway was too much.
But now he had to go and face them. Or he could just hide in this water closet until all but one of them left for work, which didn’t seem very practical, since they would need to come in here themselves to prepare for the day. His heart was racing. Would they think him terrible? So depraved that he had to slag his lust like that? Would they send him away?
He could hear quiet mumbles and movement from the other side of the door, but he couldn’t make out any particular words. Someone tapped lightly on the door, nearly making him leap out of his skin. “Who is it?” he asked, feeling utterly foolish, curled on the floor in a blanket.
“It’s Bernhardt,” came the man’s thin, wizened voice. “Are you all right, your highness?”
“Yes.” The sound came out much too high and fast, and Makellos cringed at his own reaction. “Yes, I… I’m fine. How are you?”
There was a soft chuckle from the other side of the door. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, lad,” Bernhardt said, his voice kind and soothing. “Really, it’s all right.”
Makellos hesitantly got to his knees, the blanket wrapped over his head like a nun’s habit, clutched to his throat, as he openedthe door slowly. Sitting on his knees, he was nearly the same height at little Bernhardt. The older man’s eyes, the gray of a stormy afternoon, gazed back at him. “I’m so terribly sorry,” he said, glancing past Bernhardt to see that the little men were all out of bed now and were either pulling on clothing or had moved out to the main room. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?” Bernhardt asked.
“It… it was dreadfully wicked of me,” Makellos said, though he could hear the uncertainty in his own tone.
“Did you want him to do that?” Bernhardt asked, tipping his head slightly.
Makellos’ cheeks flushed scarlet again. “Yes,” he said softly. “Please do not be upset with Sigmund.”
Bernhardt let out another chuckle. “My boy. You have done absolutely nothing wrong, nothing to be forgiven for. If you wanted it, and he wanted to give it, where is the harm in it?”
“It was not an appropriate time or place,” Makellos said.
For just a moment, Bernhardt’s smile became a bit… Makellos thought almost sad. “We have lived here together longer than you’ve been alive, dear lad. There is very little that is private between all of us.”
“But surely…thatsort of thing is something you try to keep private?”
