Take care of Donald's cock.

Long minutes pass as you lay there, screwing up the courage to do what's just crept into your mind. The tent isn't massive, but it's big enough that there's something of a buffer, a strip of empty space, between you and Donald.

You watch the Beathan sleeping, just the tiniest trace of your "royal issue" trickling down his chin as he snores.

Shuffling forwards, you close the gap between the two of you, and reach into his furs. Just being pressed up against the future king is an unusual experience. He feels so powerful and solid, like an oak in human form.

As your fingers close around his shaft and begin working it, you muse it isn't just his muscular frame that reminds you of that mighty tree.

While you haven't had the opportunity to get acquainted with as many cocks as Donald had, his was undoubtedly the biggest you'd encountered. You were a very well-endowed male specimen yourself, but you imagined if the two of you compared lengths directly, you'd seem like one of those perfumed and painted Once-Men they kept in cages in Mother's favourite brothel.

Speaking of Mother, you smirked, imagining what she would make of the sight of you, stroking away at another man's cock. Knowing your mother's mercurial nature, she'd probably be as likely to congratulate you for your craftiness as she would be to grin and tell you what a faggot you were being. Either one would probably only make her want to fuck you more.

"Wha..." Donald murmured slowly returning to wakefulness. If the Beathan's head was slow to respond, his cock wasn't. You'd already brought him to a state of full arousal.

"Shhhh..." You whisper, continuing as you do. "I just... wanted to take care of you."

"Edward, I never expected you to." Donald begins, through he makes no moves to withdraw from your ministrations. "Spirits sake, I know you don't even really like men!"

"That's true. Just, you deserve to cum too, is all." you tell him. "You were heroic before. I'd be dead if not for you."

"And I you, mate." Donald responds.

"Sorry I'm so slow." you say, playfully frowning. "I wish I could stroke you with both hands, like you did for me..."

"Ed, it's perfect." the prince assures you. It better be, you think to yourself.

You continue to stroke Donald's prick, noting the familiar but different sensation of another man's cockflesh under your fingers, until he cums.

The cries Donald utters as he spurts, spraying jizz onto the grass just off his bedroll, fill you with a certain pride. He may not have called out your name or anything, but at the same time, those moans were for you.

"Edward, thank you." Donald says sincerely, after his torrent of cum has abated.

"After you turned me down the other night, I sort of put aside my hopes anything like this would ever happen." the prince admits. "But let's call it a night. You've been through a lot, I wouldn't want you to do anything you'd regret later, while you're confused."

You nod to him, honestly a little relieved he knows when to draw the line, even when you insist on grinding yourself against said line.

"You're right. Perhaps I am confused." You say slowly, wiping your hand clean. "I really appreciate the friendship growing between us, but some part of me, probably a confused part, sort of wonders if we couldn't one day perhaps become more than friends?"

And with that, your words, and the handjob preceding them, have served their purpose. The two of you settle down to sleep once again, only now, the idea of the two of you you teased Donald with must surely be occupying his mind. The possibility of it.

What you'd said to the Beathan was the truth. He was a kind, sincere and interesting man. His own private debauchery made you feel you could be more yourself with him than anyone you knew, save your mother.

The other part of you, one that would do anything to amass power, knew just how ripe Donald and his predilections were for exploitation. If you could get him to fall in love with you, leverage it right, why, it'd be like a backdoor to the throne of Beatha...

You settle down to sleep once again, only this time, you nestle yourself in front of Donald, encourage him to lay an arm around you. The things you'd do for power...

As sleep takes you, you idly reflect on something your mother would often tell you when you were growing up. When men wanted to fuck you, they were orders of magnitude easier to manipulate.