So glad I'm not the only knight-fucker on here??
I love it when my warrior boy gets home after the battle, drenched with sweat and covered in bruises and reeking of rust. He's so weak from the adrenaline crash that I have to unbuckle his heavy steel gorget for him, exposing his soft throat before I kiss it gently. He gasps.
We end up in the baths, where he stands obediently with heavy eyelids as I scrub the filth from him. His shoulder is wrenched and it's too much to lift his arm, so he leans into my touch as I steady him. The rivets of his maille are stamped in red and purple across his collarbone, and I kiss the marks as I go.
His voice carries the hint of a sob as he thanks me, over and over. I remind him that it pleases me, and that he's done so well. Stripped of armor, his body is like a siege weapon unstrung, a machine that has loosed its arrow and stands waiting, silent, for the next volley.
He may maintain his polearm, but I maintain him.














