This little deleted scene has been on my mind for weeks now. I was going to put it into the story, but I’m not exaggerating when I say I had to write it down NOW otherwise it’s never going to leave me alone!
This is a moment in the lives of Valois and Gunther after Mort has left home, and you can definitely take it as canon for the story.
–and it will be bright and sunny tomorrow until late afternoon, clouding over during the evening, but still staying warm. Time to fire up the barbecue, because summer is definitely–
Gunther looked up from drying the last of the dinner plates, as the radio was switched off. He hadn’t even heard Valois enter the kitchen, but the teacloth hesitated on the china as he noticed the look on his husband’s face.
Quietly, he set the mostly-dry plate down on the counter and lowered his gaze, folding the damp teacloth and draping it over the edge of the sink.
“Into the bedroom, mine,” Valois said, his tone calm and yet firm.
Without a murmur, Gunther nodded and left the kitchen, walking quickly into the bedroom. He knew that voice, or at least he knew what he needed to be when he heard it. He sank to his knees on the floor at the foot of the bed, his hands clasped loosely behind his back as he waited for his master to follow him into the room.
The door closed and a pair of immaculately-booted feet came to a halt in front of his knees. He bowed his head a little more, but didn’t dare risk anything else. Was he in trouble? Things had been going so well, and he’d been such a good boy. He was sure he hadn’t done anything wrong!
“This morning,” Valois began, “when we were in the garden, do you recall what we spoke of?”
“Several things, Maître,” Gunther said. “You told me a little of your early farming life, and I spoke about my mother’s love for her garden. And”—he racked his brains—”we talked about maybe planting some more flowers among the vegetables. Companion planting. Things like that.”
“And do you recall what I said to you about one specific flower?”
Gunther felt the heat of a blush crawl up the nape of his neck.
“You showed me a rose in the garden… and you told me that it was your favourite flower, because it reminded you of me.”
“And why did it remind me of you, mine?”
“It— You said it was beautiful. The most beautiful thing in the entire garden.”
“That is not what I said. What did I actually say?”
Gunther swallowed. “You said it was almost the most beautiful thing in the entire garden. And… when I asked you what was the most beautiful… you said I was.”
“That is correct. And do you recall what you did in response to that?”
Oh god, he did. He’d brushed off the compliment just as he’d brushed off so many compliments in his life. He’d never seen himself as beautiful or handsome or anything like that. He knew he wasn’t ugly, but the thought that Valois actually called him ‘beautiful’ made him feel…
Well, he didn’t know how it made him feel, to be honest. Uncomfortable?
The word was quick and slightly sharp, but not ill-tempered. He’d been caught wandering in his own mind instead of answering his master, and he deserved that sharp tone.
“I brushed off your words, Maître.”
“You did indeed. You refused to accept them. When I praise you or compliment you I am giving you a gift with my words, and you pushed that gift away, silently telling me that you did not want it.”
Gunther hitched in a soft breath, choking back a sob. Oh god, now that Valois put it that way… what he’d done was awful. He bent low, pressing a kiss to the toe of Valois’s boot, but—to his dismay—Valois took a step back, removing the boot from beneath his lips.
“No,” he said. “I do not require an apology from you, mine. Instead, I will take the time and the occasion to give you a lesson. Straighten up now, and look up at me.”
Something sinking deep inside him, Gunther obeyed, trying to fill his gaze with contrition as he met Valois’s eyes. As they always were when correcting him, those eyes were filled with tenderness. Not once had his master ever shown anger towards him. Only love.
“This lesson will, I suspect, be very difficult for you to accept,” Valois said. “I want you naked and on your back on the bed. Quickly now.”
Scrambling out of his clothes—for, when Master said ‘quickly’ he meant it—Gunther was exactly as Valois wanted him to be in less than a minute. And then, to his surprise, Valois undressed, too, much more slowly and carefully, folding his clothes and placing them on the chaise longue.
“This lesson,” Valois murmured, as he straddled Gunther’s thighs and leaned over him on hands and knees, looking intently down at him, “will be one of acceptance for you. Acceptance that you are beautiful.”
Mutely, Gunther stared back, wondering how on earth his master was going to teach him that lesson. What was he going to do?!
“I am going—” Valois whispered as he sank lower, his lips ghosting over Gunther’s mouth, “—to worship you. Every last inch of you, my darling boy. Every.” He kissed Gunther deeply. “Last.” Another kiss. “Inch.” And another.
Breathless, Gunther sank back into the pillows, having yearned up into that final kiss. Valois’s lips caressed his forehead with the softest of kisses, and he whispered one word.
Two more kisses, one each for his eyes, which fluttered briefly shut as Valois’s lips brushed over them.
The next kiss was a rain of little peppering ones down his nose, and Gunther couldn’t help but smile.
“Beautiful,” Valois whispered again, returning that smile.
The next kiss was for his mouth, as deep and as soul-shattering as the first.
His chin, his ears, his throat, the dip between his collarbones; each was blessed with a kiss and that tender, whispered word. Valois worked his way slowly down each arm, across Gunther’s hands and palms, onto each finger, and each time, that word: “Beautiful.”
By the time he’d worked his way down to Gunther’s belly, Gunther was breaking apart, holding back a sob. His solar plexus was actually quivering, or felt like it was. He’d never felt so loved and yet so vulnerable as Valois moved lower, down each leg. His thighs—inner and outer—his knees, his shins, the tops of his feet, his toes, the soles of his feet…
The refrain was endless; a softly whispered caress almost as tender as that loving mouth. He was flying apart under Valois’s lips, his body shivering and trembling.
Valois moved back up, slowly, loving—as he’d said—every inch. Taking Gunther’s cock gently in his hand, he kissed his way down the shaft—”Beautiful”—and the head—”Beautiful”—and then down to his balls—cradled gently and kissed just as softly—”Beautiful”.
At last, Valois raised his head and smiled. “Turn over.”
Oh god. Gunther actually whimpered, but had no choice but to obey. The kisses and whispers moved up from his feet, up his calves, the backs of his knees, the back of his thighs, across his buttocks…
And then strong hands pulled his cheeks apart, and—as he felt the warmth of Valois’s breath—he finally sobbed. A tender and lingering kiss, right there, and that word again.
Valois moved up, up to the base of his spine, across his back, over his shoulders, up the nape of his neck, and finally—finally—settled down over him; a warm and comforting presence and pressure as Gunther cried quietly into the pillow.
“My darling boy, now do you see?” Valois murmured, nuzzling his ear. “Now do you know? Every inch of you is beautiful to me, and if I must worship you in this way every day until you accept that you are beautiful, then I will gladly do so.”
Broken and blessed, Gunther nodded, and just as he’d taken him apart with his lips, Valois held him until he was whole again.