(no subject)

[suitsahero]

Look, Haurchefant would just like it to be known that it doesn't count as either reckless bravery or bravado if you genuinely don't realize how badly you're injured until the fighting is over. He'd finished up fighting one of the several recent waves of dragons on the Steps of Faith, and it wasn't until the end, flush with victory, that he'd found the stones rushing up to meet him. Really, though, he'll live and it's more than he can say for a number of other brave companions out there and the victory is worth the pain. He could have done without being carried into Camp Dragonhead on a stretcher, thank you, but the chirurgeons had absolutely forbade him to walk right now, even a short distance and, perhaps knowing him a bit too well, one of them had accompanied him to see to it he obeyed.

He's not quite sure he deserves a hero's welcome, being carried in, but he rallies his spirits anyway and greets a good many people stationed in Dragonhead before his doctors finally manage to wave everyone off enough to get him situated in bed. The wounds will heal, they assure him, but only if he rests.

He discovers, that first night at least, that it isn't actually all that difficult to follow their orders. By the time they get him to his room and he's settled, everything is a blur of exhaustion and he drops off to sleep before he's even fully aware that he's in bed.

Comments

[haillenarte]

[on chirurgeon's orders, haurchefant has been refused all visitors. all visitors. yes, even the vaunted warrior of light, and young master alphinaud, and sers corentiaux and yaelle have been turned away from lord haurchefant's bedchamber by the ever-watchful chirurgeon, hourlinet. the man may have many friends, but he is injured and needs his rest!

nevertheless, exceptions were allowed for direct family — count edmont visited briefly, but left after his duties to his house called him away — and, well, when a friend is a friend one has known since one's boyhood days, even a friend may be considered family from time to time. it helps that francel is known to be quiet and sweet-tempered — not likely to aggravate haurchefant's wounds or wake him too ungently.

as such, francel enters haurchefant's room with hushed footsteps, carefully closing the door behind him without a sound. he pauses briefly to light a candle, one which he leaves by the entryway so as to not brighten the room too much, and then wanders over to the bed where haurchefant is resting.]

...You fool.

[francel's voice is soft. haurchefant's eyelashes are long, so long as they lie fanned out against his cheeks, and his hair has fallen into his eyes. and, ordinarily, francel wouldn't disturb him — but seeing him lie here like this, so obviously exhausted and injured where he is usually full of vim and vigor, francel cannot help himself. he brushes some of haurchefant's hair away from his forehead and plants a gentle kiss upon his brow.]

You absolute fool.

[suitsahero]

He shifts slightly toward the touch, a smile curling his lips,

"For defending Ishgard from the horde? Are you certain you're not a heretic?" the words are clear enough, though there's a warm, sleepy tone to them that says he may not be fully awake. The affectionate humor in the second part is even more apparent, but he wouldn't be so incautious (or perhaps cruel) to joke about such a thing if he were alert.

[haillenarte]

If I am a heretic, it is because I care for you more than I care for the Fury and Her favor.

[that is quite the pronouncement, considering that francel has long been known to be a pious man, always rising for morning matins and being perfectly willing to die for his faith. but he does, in fact, love haurchefant more than he loves the fury. he loves haurchefant enough that this proximity is intoxicating, that he wants to go on touching haurchefant and kissing him and holding him close, but — that isn't the sort of thing friends do with one another, and so he pulls his hand away.

he didn't mean to wake haurchefant from his slumber, but if the man is awake enough to tell jokes, he might be awake enough to be thirsty. gently, so gently, francel asks:]

Would you like anything to drink? Water, perhaps, or a mug of hot chocolate?

[suitsahero]

If he were more awake, that statement might be a cause for more... concern, perhaps? It certainly would hit different in the bold light of day than in the cozy, candlelit confines of his room. As it is, it makes his lips curl slightly,

"A heretic and a blasphemer," he teases, sleepily, warm, "Whatever shall we do with you?" a huge yawn follows, a long, slow stretch that causes him to groan softly in pain and something in his shoulder settle with an audible pop. He rubs at his eyes for a moment, more clearly waking up a moment later. He doesn't lose any of the exhausted look, but he wears it soft here in his quarters,

"Water, if you don't mind. I might be asleep again before anyone could heat chocolate."

[haillenarte]

Water, then. Just a moment. I'll be right back.

[francel leaves haurchefant to his coeurl-like stretching and yawning, slipping quietly out of the room for a quick trip to the camp dragonhead kitchens.

when he returns, he has a full glass of the clear waters from the weeping saint, and he holds it out to haurchefant, though he has a sudden impulse to bring it to the man's lips.]

Here you are, my friend. Drink well.

[suitsahero]

It's fairly clear that, true to his worry about the chocolate, he's dozed back off in the intervening minutes, though he rouses himself when Francel opens the door, so he must not have been too deeply asleep. He takes the water gratefully and, though he's not messy about it, he does drain almost half of the glass before he brings it away from his mouth. There's a bit more of his normal good humor coming back to him now and he looks a little less ashen, though clearly still exhausted,

"Perhaps instead you're some kind of gift from the Fury, to assist the poor wounded champions of her cause," he can't help but tease a little bit, though the genuine gratitude shines through. "Will you also show up tomorrow to keep me company, then?" he is still teasing, but it's a real question. "They've told me I might need to be abed for as long as a week. I can already feel the boredom settling in."

A week seems like... a very long time, unless his wounds were much more severe than his good cheer seems to suggest. But perhaps they're just being cautious...

[haillenarte]

[a whole week is a long time to rest when magic is at play and he will be receiving aetheric treatment in addition to herbal poultices and alchemical potions, but francel hopes the chirurgeons are erring on the side of caution rather than that haurchefant is truly so badly wounded that they don't expect him to recover for so many long days. still, he's not certain that he's ever seen haurchefant so exhausted...

he keeps his voice soft and low and soothing, as if afraid to startle him.]

Of course, Haurchefant. I will be here as long as you need me. And the chirurgeons only do not want you to overextend yourself. I am sure they will allow you other visitors soon, as long as you are patient, and give your body the time it needs to rest.

[there is something of an unspoken assumption here — francel seems to speak as if he is only a stand-in until haurchefant's other visitors arrive — but he settles into the chair by the knight's bedside with a tireless smile, folding his hands in his lap.]

Should I tell you stories to entertain you? Bring a deck of cards that we might play Triple Triad together?

[the young lord laughs a little shyly.]

I confess I am a little excited to have you all to myself for at least a few days.

[suitsahero]

"It has been a long time, hasn't it?" since they were just able to spend time together, since Francel has had him all to himself, but if he thinks he's talking about Triple Triad, well, Haurchefant won't realize it to correct it, "Best I recall, I am hardly good sport for you in Triple Triad even with all of my wits about me, but if crushing an invalid is your idea of fun, I do actually know where my cards are." He pauses a moment, because even though he doesn't quite catch on to the tone, the previous moment seems to linger all the same,

"You aren't that far away, you know. And you are always welcome here. I cannot leave my post except in dire circumstances, but there's no reason you could not visit whenever you wished." As though it's that simple, or as though what might be keeping Francel away would be his schedule, only. But he doesn't wish it to sound chiding, certainly.

"What stories have you?" he says with a soft smile, "You've always had a bit of a flare for the dramatic. I should be thankful to hear them."

[haillenarte]

[he does think that haurchefant is only talking about triple triad. francel's soft smile doesn't waver, but he lowers his eyes to his lap while haurchefant speaks of visiting. it is, francel thinks, perhaps very gentle admonishment. true, they are grown men now, and they no longer have the time to play and run around and invent adventures for one another as they did when they were boys, but francel could, at the very least, visit more often. but i never do. because i love him too dearly, and it hurts to look at him — but if i say something i shall lose his friendship — if i do nothing i shall lose his friendship — i am only a hopeless coward...]

...I am sorry. I never know when I should call on you. I do not wish to be a bother to you, you see, and so I rarely visit, but it is not for lack of caring, I promise you.

[the problem is more that he cares too much.]

I have few stories of mine own to tell, I'm afraid. I... had a mind to write something of a tragic romance, but... I wonder if now is the time to tell such a story. Ishgard seems to be headed for great change. Perhaps our people have had enough of tragedies.

[suitsahero]

Every part of him feels leaden on the bed, but he reaches out at that, though only to sort of weakly manage whatever contact is closest. It's not until then that he fully realizes how serious his wounds might be, that he feels this way even with magic to assist his body with the healing. Or perhaps because of the amount of it-- he has always been tired after any kind of healing, after all, though this level is new. He waits until Francel looks up,

"It was not intended as critique, my friend," his tone is gentle, "Merely to remind you that wherever I am, you are welcome. Always." The moment passes as it always does and it is not that Haurchefant ever particularly seems less serious, more that he seems incapable of remaining in a single mood for long enough to fully adjust to it. This time, he laughs, though there's a bit of a pained gasp at the end that says perhaps it was a bit deeper of one than he intended,

"Oh come now! Sordid tales of doomed romance are always good entertainment, regardless of the times. Come, tell your story. Though I'll not promise it will do anything but put me to sleep at the moment, I hope you will not take it as a disappointment in the telling."

[haillenarte]

[francel frowns and half-starts out of his chair at that pained gasp, seized with a sudden urge to do something to ease his best friend's discomfort. he cannot give any better treatment than ishgard's best chirurgeons have already given, however, so he settles for rather uselessly pulling haurchefant's covers up a few more ilms and ineffectually fussing over his hair again.]

If you fall asleep in the telling, that would be for the best, Haurchefant. You mustn't overexert yourself. Smile too hard or laugh too loudly, and you might reopen those wounds.

[sighing, the young lord settles back into his chair, dutifully holding haurchefant's hand in his.]

I have yet to decide on names for these characters, but... I thought I would begin with a beautiful noble lady, jailed in the highest tower of the Tribunal. She has been convicted for the crime of poisoning her husband, and she is awaiting her execution in solitary confinement. The only guest she is allowed to have — indeed the only person she speaks with at all — is her gaoler, a young Temple Knight who is tasked with watching her in her cell and bringing her three daily meals.

[suitsahero]

"Handsome, I would presume, and also not possessed of a wife," he adds, but it's mumbled-- true to his word, he seems to already be drifting off to sleep, listening to Francel's voice. He'll let him tell a bit more of it, maybe even make another comment, but soon, it's clear that he's asleep again.

He does seem to suddenly rouse ever so slightly, however, whenever Francel finally trails off into silence, and tugs just slightly on his hand,

"No need for you to sleep in the chair," his voice is slurred, sleep heavy, "S'a whole bed here I can't move enough to use. Stay."

[haillenarte]

Of course he is. You know me so well.

[francel laughs sweetly, quietly, for how easily haurchefant teases him — sometimes it's enough to make him wonder if haurchefant knows. about what he is, what he's like — that every knight he's ever written about is loosely modeled on haurchefant himself. but he's never asked. he never will. he is too afraid to hear what the answer might be.

the tug to his hand surprises him a little bit — he blinks, surprised, and then his expression softens. dutifully, he kicks off his shoes and climbs into bed beside his boyhood friend, pausing briefly upon second thought to remove his heavy bliaud as well (its metal pauldrons don't allow him to relax on his sides). once that is done and his figure is made softer for it, francel slides into the covers beside haurchefant, checking carefully to make sure that his wounds won't be bothered by the way he slips one arm around haurchefant's waist. the young lord is cool to the touch, but will warm up quickly.]

There. Is this all right for you?

[he ought to restrain himself. he ought to hide his appetencies. but haurchefant is so close and — francel can't help himself. he breathes deep, soaking in the familiar sweet and soapy smells of haurchefant's bed, his sheets, his mattress, his pillows. he feels like a loyal cat, basking in its owner's scents. when was the last time he allowed himself to get this close?]

You're so warm. [contentedly, he hums and closes his eyes.] And you smell wonderful. What did the chirurgeons wash you with?

[suitsahero]

"Mmhmm..." he manages, to the first question, shifting a bit so he can get an arm back around Francel, draped around his shoulders. It's impossible to tell if there's any kind of a desire to have him closer, there, or just a desire to not have his arm laid on, but whatever the reason, it does pull him close, and Francel can tell himself whatever story he wants about the contented, sleepy sigh that him settling there draws out of the other man. He's always been entirely too comfortable with touch, always moreso that is entirely appropriate, maybe, but it never seems like there's an intent behind it. It just is.

He's very clearly back to that mostly asleep stage, so there's no real answer to Francel's question but there's maybe the impression of a slight huff of laughter, like he might have some teasing thing to say to that, but the thought drifts away before it can be voiced. HIs thumb rubs a little absent patch on Francel's shoulder for just a moment, before even that goes still and his breathing evens out.

[haillenarte]

[this easy intimacy, this comfort with closeness that haurchefant has always been possessed by — this has always made francel's heart ache. so soft. so gentle. so warm and big and strong. no one will ever hold him the way that haurchefant does, and it makes his heart race with excitement. an excitement that must be tempered, because francel knows, he is all too aware, that it means nothing. haurchefant would hold anyone just this easily. if he is comfortable with francel, it is because he think sof francel as that gentle little boy who offered him pudding at a banquet and let him hide in his room at haillenarte manor when the arguing at fortemps manor grew too loud.

smiling a little sadly, though he knows his silver knight cannot see it past his closed eyes, francel tousles the fluffy ends of hair at the back of his head, then stops teasing him, and lets him rest.]

...She is unwilling to speak with him, at first. In her cell, awaiting execution, she is already dead. But he persists, he says that he would know her story, and she gives in... slowly, as if her heart is made of melting ice...

[his voice is no more than a whisper, the gentle burble of a yet-unfrozen creek beneath the falling snow. but soon francel falls silent. haurchefant is clearly deep asleep, and his story will have to wait for another time.

he has his own duties at skyfire locks to think of, but he made it known that he was going to sit at haurchefant's sickbed before he left. it will be no great surprise if he does not return.

the young lord closes his eyes and sighs.

what does haurchefant think of him, holding him this close? this defenseless. so deeply without flaw. it is painful to think on for too long. on the one hand, perhaps francel is more precious to him than any other man. on the other, perhaps it only means that he thinks of francel as a comfort, a childhood toy. a stuffed bear full of cotton, to rub and squeeze and hold close. nothing more.

nothing more, francel thinks, with weary resignment. then he lets the rest of the tension in his body seep away from him as he breathes deep of haurchefant's scent.]

[suitsahero]

Whatever it is that Haurchefant thinks of him, whatever else may be said, he does seem to sleep more deeply and soundly with him there, as though he can tell if nothing else that he is safe with Francel there.

Unfortunately, such a sound sleep has it's own problems, as Francel discovers while dawn is just barely in the process of breaking and thin, morning light is finding it's way into Camp Dragonhead in the time before the sun itself can actually be seen over the mountains. Given his own schedule to keep, Haurchefant has never been up with the dawn, precisely, but there is usually too much to do to lay around much after it, so the shift in light wakes him even as the exhaustion of healing and the comfort of a warm body, curled close, keeps him weighed down into sleep.

The result is also a stark reminder that, whatever it is that he thinks of Francel, whatever else might be said, Haurchfant has not been chaste and pining and celibate in any way as a result of it. He's never been the sort to tell boastful tales, has never once spoken of taking someone to bed (or at least, not in Francel's presence) but the low, sleepy noise he makes when he realizes there's someone in his arms is not a sound someone makes if they're unused to sharing space with a lover.

It's the only warning shot Francel gets, if he's even awake for it, before there's a shift, a slow nuzzle against his skin than melts into a series of open-mouthed kisses that trail up his neck, accompanied by another noise, this one much more clearly a warmly satisfied moan than even the first. There's an arm around his middle, drawing him in closer, and unless Francel manages to gather enough wits to try to stop him, the path of his mouth leads him straight up to the base of his ear, where there's the slightest scrape of teeth to go with the kiss.

[haillenarte]

[much like haurchefant, francel slept a deep and dreamless and peaceful sleep, still through the night — warm and soft and pliant as a plush rabbit.

unlike haurchefant, however, he isn't used to sharing space with a lover, and he's never been quite this close to anyone else before. francel has indeed kept himself chaste and pining and celibate — so he he jerks awake once his sleepy mind realizes that that low, heated rumble of satisfaction against his ear wasn't a figment of his imagination. he has never been touched awake before. the young lord opens his eyes, heart racing, into a beautiful dream, something he's imagined and jerked himself to hundreds if not thousands of times — haurchefant moaning into his neck and kissing him up to his ear. he is too dazed to think that this is reality; falling into his instincts, he, too, groans pleasurably into the touch, lashes fluttering closed again as he presses his hardening length into the nearest available surface...

then that little scrape of teeth and lips against his earlobe makes his mind go blissfully blank for just a moment. francel has sensitive ears, so sensitive that he does not even wear ear cuffs for how they tease and tingle at him throughout the day, and just the barest touch of haurchefant's warmth against them is enough to make him ache. a needy noise wells up from the back of his throat, he wants more, he wraps his arms more tightly around haurchefant's wide back —

— then he catches himself and realizes that he has to put a stop to this before it's too late.]

H-Haurchefant...

[it's sleepily mumbled. he doesn't really want to end this, but he knows haurchefant deserves better than to be taken advantage of by his selfish lusts.]

Haurchefant, you mustn't... H-Haurchefant, wake up!

[suitsahero]

Haurchefant is, absolutely unsurprisingly, every bit as physical and responsive in this as he is anywhere else. Francel presses close and makes that little needy noise to Haurchefant's teeth in his ear and now there's also irrefutable proof that he not only hasn't been sleeping in a half cold bed, but women have not been the only ones in it. There's no pause at finding a man's hardness pressed against his thigh, only a low, almost-growl of delight about it, hand sliding down Francel's waist to very nearly grip him by the ass to pull him in closer, encouraging more lazy friction.

"You smell delicious," it's a strange call and response from the previous night, his mouth still teasing at Francel's ear, then nuzzling deeper into the the thin skin behind it. The first recitation of his name doesn't seem to get through and it's clear enough, the way he's moving, that the next step of this is going to be him rolling Francel down to the bed. Maybe something about that lends a bit of desperation to Francel's voice, or maybe even half asleep he recognizes the word mustn't. Either way, there's a pause, though he doesn't quite stop, either, and he pulls back sleepily with a sort of questioning noise until he can meet Francel's eyes.

It is cause for a least some kind of hope, whether Francel can see it in the moment or whether he will need to endlessly debate with himself over whether he truly saw it later (or both) that even after Haurchefant can see who it is, he just blinks like a lazy cat for the first few moments, less like he's trying to figure out who or why, and more just like he's trying to figure out what the problem is.

[haillenarte]

[haurchefant, francel realizes dimly, has yet to react with disgust, or guilt. his touches and kisses have left francel slightly mussed beneath him, pink-cheeked and trembling and aching to pull him down into a proper kiss, but the knight has yet to react with revulsion. he also has yet to slide into full consciousness, however, and so that might not mean very much.

part of francel is insisting that he must pull away, that he ought to leave, that he cannot let this continue. that haurchefant is going to do something he will regret. the other part of him wants to guide haurchefant's hand between his legs, and buck into his palm, and plead for more.

resolved to at least say the right thing even if he isn't sure that he'll be able to do it, francel finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from haurchefant's. his eyes are full of longing, and his mind is racing with excitement over the hand on his ass, but still, all the same, he reaches out to caress haurchefant's cheek lovingly before he whispers:]

Wake up, Haurchefant. I... I would give you anything if you wished it, but I know you could have and have had others more enticing.

[that's — no, that's not right. this isn't about what others haurchefant has or hasn't had. he shakes his head and tries again.]

...You ought to do this with someone you truly desire. Not I.

[suitsahero]

Haurchefant still seems like he's a little on the still-asleep side, something still lazy and relaxed about at least a part of his expression. But while he's been utterly oblivious to Francel's desire for years, he is still a commander, and part of being a commander is reading the situation in both a room or a battlefield with swiftness and accuracy. Even when half asleep.

There's a slight tension in him, a sign that he does fully understand who is in bed with him and that this situation hangs on a knife's edge and nothing in the room moves but their breath and heartbeats while he takes stock of a series of things he suddenly knows to be truth. First, that he has apparently mistaken Francel, his dearest friend, for a lover in his sleep, which makes him want to shove himself away and hide in shame. Second, that Francel has woken him up to prevent him from continuing, which also makes him want to sink through the floor. Third, Francel is definitely hard against his thigh, still, but many men find themselves so upon waking, so it means less than nothing except that, fourth, every single other physical sign Francel is giving off suggests that he not only wants to be right where he is, he's nearly transported by it.

Kindness and recklessness war in him and recklessness takes the upper hand for a moment, mostly because he knows Francel and if he lets this moment break, they will never speak of it again and he will always wonder whether he should carry shame or disappointment. Something assessing enters his eyes and he shifts his thigh in a bid for just a little more friction, the motion clearly deliberate and knowing.

"I confess, I had not thought previously to so desire you," his voice is quiet, sleep still sitting heavy on it, "but I find you are currently making a rather persuasive arguement for it," he leans in, not quite into a kiss, but until they are nearly so, his forehead against Francel's, "You are my dearest friend. I'd not have you do something simply to save me some small embarrassment. I do not wish you to give me anything only because I wish it."

[haillenarte]

I — oh...

[that little bit of extra friction is all that francel needs to throw every last one of his inhibitions to the wind.

a strangled gasp escapes his throat as he finds his body demanding more of that additional pleasure — his hips buck and grind against haurchefant's thigh with greedy naked need as he tips his head upward, catching haurchefant's lips in a hungry yet deliciously chaste kiss. that deep, sleepy rumble to the knight's voice is driving him mad. he needs to get his clothes off with how badly his cock is straining through his trousers. he needs — he needs — he doesn't even know what he needs, save that he needs haurchefant, his injuries and the early hour be damned. (he does stop to think, briefly, that this is not going to be the most responsible sickbed visit if he isn't very careful about how he asks haurchefant to move.)

he still can't believe that any of this is happening at all.

where is that sweet young man who prays dutifully on his rosary and seems pure as the falling snow now? the expression he wears reflects nothing but his open, unbridled lust.]

Then — then if ever you have loved me — even if you have only pitied me, Haurchefant, please...

[that hand on haurchefant's cheek drapes round his shoulder again as francel presses him close, murmuring warmly into the folds of one long, flat ear.]

I want you to take me. I want you to ravish me. I've wanted naught else for years and years and years...

[suitsahero]

He, truthfully, had never really considered sex with Francel, but if he had, he would have thought it would be something gentle, shy, a game of lover's hide-and-seek, to tease less gentle expressions of love or lust out of him. Playful, maybe, teasing certainly. This is none of that and he's utterly unprepared for the absolute abandon he gets in return for the slow grinding pressure of his thigh.

"Fury," he gets out in a sharp but very clearly heated curse, before Francel's mouth is on his and there's a startled noise muffled into it, followed immediately by a low, purring one, before he slides his hand the rest of the way down onto Francel's ass properly and hikes him in harder to his thigh. The kiss mostly only stays chaste because he cannot quite split his attention to deepen it before Francel pulls away to all but pant those fevered words against his ear and Haurchefant has never had any defenses against someone who openly desired him. To resist a plea like that would have taken a far stronger man.

"Fury..," he murmurs again, and now it's his turn to sound enraptured, like he can't quite fully believe he's not dreaming, "Look at you,,," And then, "Shh... shh, I've got you," because Francel almost sounds distressed in how badly he wants this. There are words there that settle in the back of Haurchefant's mind, some things that will need addressing, both in things said and left unsaid. But Francel squirming desperate in his arms isn't the time to pry at them.

He shifts slightly to bring the hand not on Francel's ass up to cup the side of his face as he speaks, thumb tracing against his lips a moment before he replaces it with his own. The kiss starts chaste enough, but now that he has had a moment to get over the shock of it all, it doesn't stay that way. He presses softly just under Francel's lower lip until his lips part and he can taste him, though he keeps the kiss brief unless the answering press is immediate.

[haillenarte]

[as always, haurchefant knows exactly how to placate francel. the young lord is so pleased by this new kiss, by these reassuring words and the flick of haurchefant's tongue against his own and the heavy warmth against his bottom lip, that he ceases his writhing and stills, turning deliciously docile in haurchefant's arms. a moan catches in his throat before the desperate bucking of his hips finally comes to a halt, though it's not because his cock is being any less demanding — it's just that he can't focus on anything else but the fact that haurchefant is kissing him, and this isn't a dream. he is in haurchefant's bed, and not his own bed at skyfire locks, praying for this to be reality.

he's so hungry that when they part from their kiss, the first word out of his reddened lips is:]

Another.

[so hungry, so greedy. heart racing, francel brings his trembling hands up haurchefant's body just to feel it — carefully avoiding the bandages wrapped around his abdomen, but lingering shamelessly over his curves of muscle, the warmth of his chest. the wide-eyed lust in the young lord's eyes is palpable; he literally swallows on a pang of saliva in his mouth. he looks as though he's never laid eyes on haurchefant's bare form before — except he has. many times over, in fact. he just never showed haurchefant this.]

Another kiss, Haurchefant, I... I need it. Please?

[what a fine lover francel is. nervous, needy, greedy, virginal. too much, some would find him. the glint in his eyes makes it clear that haurchefant could do anything to him, and he would willingly consent.]

[suitsahero]

As soon as Francel asks the first time for another kiss, he has it, more heated than the first and longer, an almost growling sound of desire accompanying it. Haurchefant slides the hand on his face further back until he can curl it in Francel's hair, and he pulls just slightly to tilt him into a slightly better position to deepen the kiss, less demanding about it and more just helpful, giving him what he's asking for.

Perhaps someone else might find this too much, too quickly, but Haurchefant has a weakness for enthusiastic lovers and the more enthusiastic the better. There are things about this that concern him, but the conversations that will need to happen in the wake of this pale in comparison to what is happening now. He pulls back again and Francel pleads again and he leans in for a shorter, smaller one this time, pulling back after only a moment,

"As many as you wish," he vows, "but you must give me time to give them to you," it's a delicate tease, given before another longer, deeper kiss.

"You're like a man starved," he murmurs against Francel's lips a moment after and from someone else, perhaps that would be either a tease or something derogatory, but he hits a note there of wonder, "How long have you been denying yourself?" He asks the question, but he gives no time to answer before another kiss, this one a good deal hungrier than the first two.

[haillenarte]

[a man starved is a man dazed, and francel looks at haurchefant the way a parched man drinks from a desert oasis: desperate, thirst-driven, ready to get on his hands and knees to drink. haurchefant's lips, haurchefant's tongue, haurchefant's teeth — they leave the young lord tingling, and so full of dreamy sensation that his deep blue eyes look a little glazed.]

How long...? I... I let myself think of you every week, but I want you every day.

[only once a week? charming. well, francel always was the sort to take the church's exhortations on purity and piety a little too close to heart, but apparently not so much so that he won't allow himself to indulge his desires on occasion. like now, when he nuzzles closer to haurchefant's neck and nibbles curiously at the knight's earlobe, right beneath where his ear cuffs usually sit.]

I have longed for nothing, nothing, the way I have longed for you.

[these kisses sate him, but they won't satisfy him, not by a long shot. in slow exploratory motions, his fingers slide from haurchefant's chest down to his hips and groin, rubbing curiously at the shape of him through his briefs.]

What is it that you enjoy, Haurchefant? Tell me what you want me to do. I want to please you. I want...

[suitsahero]

Haurchefant is not a man given to any particular necessity of... specific passions, save that he enjoys wholly being with his lovers, but he has had lovers who did have more complicated desires: he is not unfamiliar with bedroom games involving either power or some amount of pain, and the look in Francel's eyes looks a lot like a look he's seen on more than one lover after a lot of specifically requested and negotiated work. That it's being given after a few kisses and a small bit of grinding is another thing that Haurchefant is aware, somewhere in the back of his head, that he ought to find concerning, but is too busy finding both wholly charming and extemely attractive to fully consider.

So too goes Francel's answer. Haurchefant was thinking to measure an infatuation in years, but Francel measures it in weeks, days, always, and that gives him his answer even more cleanly than it would have if he had answered how he expected.

Francel does, however, seem to have recovered enough to go on the "offensive" as it were, and Haurchefant gasps softly at the catch of teeth on his ear, and then arches his hips into the seeking touch of his hand with a moan. He's not just hard but almost painfully so and he's shameless about continuing to roll his hips into the touch, though he tries not to be so pushy as to not let Francel explore if he wishes.

"Much of what I would enjoy it will be difficult for me to participate in, right now," he points out, breathless, "But you're...mmm... doing a fine job on your own." And then, a sudden inspiration, low and wicked, "Maybe I should be the one asking you that. You've written stories about me, haven't you? At least in your head?" he's teasing, but how warm and almost purring his voice sounds hopefully takes out any idea that he finds this foolish, "What do I ask you for there? What do you do when you finally have me?"

"Just one," he adds, after a moment, "just your favorite. There'll be time enough for the others later."

[haillenarte]

Only one?

[there is a heady pleasure, francel is quickly realizing, in having haurchefant weak to him, shamelessly pressing into his touch like this. it makes his desperate arousal turn to something darker, something that sings low and sweet and hot in his blood. just as slow and deliberate as before, the young lord quickly unlaces haurchefant's undergarments and rolls them down to his thighs. outwardly, he is calm, but his mind is racing between different fantasies he's had over the years. oh, he has a favorite. of course he has a favorite. it shows in the spark of something ravenous that crosses his expression the moment he lays eyes on haurchefant's hard cock, the way his throat bobs when he swallows.]

But it's so embarrassing. You'll think me terribly selfish. I always imagine...

[he leans a little closer still, whispering into the knight's ear as if sharing an innocent secret.]

Late at night, in your office, with no one around — you push me down onto that grand map table, then lower your mouth, and you're exquisite. Hot and wet and hungry, sloppy with need like the wet maw of a beast. Insatiable, until I come helpless into your mouth, and then you make ready to take me...

[francel's fingers stroke haurchefant all the while, exploring his shape, rubbing insistently one moment and then tantalizingly unhurried the next. one might be tempted to think the young lord ignorant of what he is doing, but if he knows how to please himself, he surely knows how to please haurchefant properly — no, the way his fingers trace him, touch him, tease him, all of that is very much intentional. affectionately, he kisses haurchefant's neck, his collarbone.]

But you're injured. You could lie back, and I could show you what I mean.

[suitsahero]

"Only one at a time," he teases back, "I only have one set of hands." Still, while he can still poke a bit of fun at Francel, he's breathless, so clearly both aroused and delighted by this turn of events. Francel leans in and he tilts his head obligingly until his lips can brush against his ear, the light touch sending a shudder down through him.

His cock twitches at the picture Francel paints and there's another one of those almost-growls as his arms and hands tense for a moment, like he's about to just drag Francel bodily up himself until he can get his mouth on him just like he's requesting. There's a soft hiss instead when he tries to move like that and he settles for a sudden, passionate kiss instead.

"I think the only way I'm going to be taking you is if you ride me," his tone is heated, clear that he doesn't consider that a compromise in the slightest. He has to take a moment to calm himself enough for words, following a trail along Francel's neck with his mouth as he does, but without a real destination in mind. "But while I might be too weak to go to my knees, I don't think I'm too wounded to lay on my side," the way he says that it's clear it's intended more as bedroom talk than a true assessment of his health, though it's also not a lie. "There's plenty of room for you up there in the pillows," his grin is wicked, a moment before he leans in and captures Francel's lower lip in his teeth, sliding his tongue warm along it a moment later in a motion that would be suggestive even without what's just been offered,

"But far be it from me to deny you the opportunity to spoil me a little bit, if you're so inclined." A moment later, he laughs, cheeks pink, "Perhaps now I am the one trying to want too much at once. Finish undressing and come up here," he says more firmly, "Let me take care of you first. I think if I have to lie back right now, I'll go mad with the teasing of it."

[haillenarte]

Perhaps I want to drive you mad.

[francel licks his lips as if chasing haurchefant's taste, but he soon pulls very slightly away — only to remove his clothing as asked, however. were he with any other lover, he might be slightly ashamed by the state of his body — not because he is unfit, but merely because his chest and arms do not ripple and coil with muscle as an axe- or sword-hefting knight might — and he is well aware that haurchefant seems to prefer lovers of a more physically oriented bent. but neither does he have anything to hide before his longtime friend, and so —

his fingers make short work of the buttons on his shirt; that comes off first. francel's physique must not be a surprise, given that haurchefant has been close enough to hold him on many occasions prior to this; he is not excessively built, but he is gently toned from intermittent practice as an archer. a little more shyly, he removes his gaskins and briefs, revealing a plush, pert rear and creamy thighs. equally unsurprising. francel looks, in short, as one might fantasize him to look, with proper rationale, and enough imagination.

fully bared at last, the young lord slips back into haurchefant's bed, wearing an expression that suggests he is a little concerned that the knight has changed his mind; all the same, he sinks into the pillows as bid, a little jittery and excited despite himself. admittedly, the one exceptional thing about francel is that his cock is a little more impressive than one would expect of him, though not by much, and certainly not to any degree that the knight can't handle; he strokes himself just once, delicately, in much the same manner as he touched haurchefant before.]

You are my... my first, so... I might not be very...

[ah, here is the delicate, blushing young lord that haurchefant might have found more likely than the wanton sinner from earlier. shame and desire go hand-in-hand, it seems. francel covers his mouth, recomposes himself, and then tries again, more earnestly.]

I might not last very long. I don't know if that's... good...

[suitsahero]

"Plenty time enough for that," he says back, and it's so casual, the way he both offers more than just this one encounter as though it's never even crossed his mind they might stop this now that they've started and also just offers himself to Francel's pleasure like that, without any hesitation or worry about what that might mean.

"Though you're doing a fine job at the moment," he murmurs, more heated, a moment later. He does have a preference, perhaps if he's honest a very slight fetish, for the definition of muscles on his lovers. There's something incredibly appealing about the physical proof of having someone who's a match for him in bed, to not have to worry about hurting them or to get maybe manhandled a bit, himself, both and an aesthetic appreciation for the form as well. But in his self-recrimination, Francel seems to have forgotten that just because something might be a favorite, doesn't mean that it's the only thing someone enjoys.

Haurchefant watches him strip with hunger in his eyes, the look deepening when Francel strokes himself once. Francel settles back down on the bed, higher up in the pillows and he drags him closer without a moment's hesitation, mouth against his skin a moment later. He presses kisses into his hips, abdomen, slides right through the liminal space of getting back into bed naked with someone for the first time without missing a single beat. He pauses for just a moment, lets his mouth linger warm on Francel's skin, when he says it's his first time. It doesn't surprise or bother Haurchefant in the slightest, but there's something to be said for letting a statement like that have it's weight, before he shifts to pull one of Francel's thighs up so he can leave a slow, thorough mark on the inside with his mouth.

"All that means is that you're being considerate of my health," he jokes, when Francel moves to say that he's not going to last long, "You can tell the chirurgeons that you didn't let me exert myself overly."

After that, he doesn't give Francel time for any more self-doubt before he has first his tongue on his cock in a long, slow stripe, and then his mouth sinking down over him.

[haillenarte]

[oh. oh. francel has envisioned this in his mind, hundreds and hundreds and thousands of times, and yet — yet nothing, no amount of jerking and edging and fumbling with oil, could possibly have prepared him for how it would truly feel inside haurchefant's mouth.

at first, the young lord merely tenses with plaintive need, his eyes absolutely captivated by haurchefant's beautiful lips and clever, clever tongue. the way haurchefant kissed and slowly, deliberately marked francel's butter-soft thigh is something that the young lord will think about for another hundred nights to come. but then he licks francel, long and slow and lewd, tastes him like he's something worth savoring, and the young lord shivers with the pleasure of it, moans soft and low in his throat as his cock is overtaken by a wet heat he's never felt before...

he wants to express his infinite affection and joy somehow, but he doesn't quite know how. hesitant and uncertain, his hands settle in haurchefant's hair, caressing the fluffy ends encouragingly before his thumbs stroke the knight's long ears.]

Oh, you feel... incredible...

[his eyes swim with adoration — even a kind of worship.]

Like nothing else I've ever even imagined, Haurchefant...

[suitsahero]

Haurchefant moans low around him, a satisfied sort of noise as he sinks deeper. It's always incredibly gratifying to have appreciative lovers and Francel's reaction is so over the top it can't help but make him want to give him more reason to sing his praises. This is not the first time he has done this, and Francel can be jealous of how obvious that is if he wants, but it works to his immediate advantage as Haurchefant takes him all the way in without a hint of hesitation, swallowing around him.

The touch to his ears gets a different kind of moan, focus splintering for a moment and his hand tightening on Francel's thigh, dragging him even closer. For a long moment, his whole world narrows to that, Francel's cock in his mouth and his thumbs sliding over his ears and there's a bone deep pleasure here, for a man who likes to dote perhaps a bit too much on his lovers, something that shudders through him and manages to leave him feeling wanting and satisfied completely all at once.

He can't move much like this, but he can encourage Francel to, so he does, sliding his hand up to his ass and pushing him a little deeper like that, suggesting a rhythm. The only thing he doesn't like about using his mouth is that he can't talk while he's doing it, but he makes muffled noises that mirror the kinds of things he would say: encouraging and heated, that hint of hunger Francel had spoke of wanting.

[haillenarte]

[it is a good thing that francel has known haurchefant for so long and so well that he knows exactly what the knight means to say by these throaty vocalizations — he can imagine it well, the gentle encouragement of yes and come closer and splendid, and the pleasure, oh, the pleasure is overwhelming. the minute his perfect knight swallows around him, he thinks he's learned what paradise feels like, and his body is positively aching for more.

the moment he realizes what haurchefant is asking of him, the young lord shudders, suppressing a needy whine at the back of his throat. it's not that he can't do it, but rather that he can't help but entertain a sudden fantasy: haurchefant well enough again to sit on his knees and relax his throat and let francel seize his hair and fuck his mouth with wild abandon, and — and — illicit shame overtakes him as soon as the mental image leaves his mind. how can he even think of something so — so obscene, so sinful?

but he wants it, and in practice at least, he can be gentle and slow, just as haurchefant is encouraging him to be. slowly, to spare haurchefant the effort of moving, francel bucks his hips at an agonizingly indolent speed, his body undulating in a sensual wave as he slowly moves his cock in and out of the wet heat in his lover's mouth.]

So good, Haurchefant, I never — never thought it could feel this good...

[his creamy thighs press a little against haurchefant's cheeks as he fails to suppress another greedy shudder, his voice quickly becoming more strained and even ecstatic:]

I-I might be... oh, g-gods above, I'm s-so close already —

[suitsahero]

He makes a low noise of approval when Francel takes his hair a bit more firmly and starts rolling his hips. It's slow and if Francel is battling shame to think of taking him more forcefully like this, Haurchefant battles a kind of impatience to not pull off and ask for precisely what Francel is imagining. But no, slow is better this morning, with the sunlight growing gradually brighter around them. It is a morning of lazy pleasures and warm pillows and bedsheets, not a night of darker desires, however much Haurchefant shamelessly enjoys indulging those as well. This is not lesser, just different, and he gets ahead of himself, wanting everything all at once.

Instead, he falls into Francel's pace after a moment, a lower, deeper moan voiced at the languid thrusts. There's always a psychological joy to this for him, getting a partner worked up with so comparatively little effort on his part, but Francel turns the delight sensual all on it's own: the drag of his cock against his tongue, the soft brush of his thighs, the way he can feel his muscles tremble every time he moves. He's very vocal in his satisfaction, near to something purring around him, and it's only when Francel says he's close already that Haurchefant realizes how much he's just sort of drifted along in a dreamy kind of pleasure.

He makes a more focused, encouraging noise to that, doesn't seem inclined to move or stop. He'd had no thought to get any kind of oil when they started this, too focused on the thought of just getting started, but he can still slide his hand down, tracing the curve of one smooth asscheek until he can ghost his fingers over his rim, a teasing throwback to the fantasy he had gotten Francel to admit to even if the reality isn't currently possible.

[haillenarte]

[ That low and encouraging note only stokes Francel's flames hotter and brighter — in another moment, the sweet and needy moans spilling out of Francel's throat turn into something a little darker, a little deeper. He's close, as he said, and he is slowly starting to unravel: that meek church-mouse exterior was never going to last for long, and soon Francel is thrusting a little faster, a little more desperately into Haurchefant's mouth. It's not quite as hard or as forceful as it could be; he isn't accustomed to this, and he isn't skilled enough to be pulling in and out at a fast clip. But the insistent rolling of his hips is hungrier, greedier, and his hands have fisted tight in Haurchefant's hair now. The young lord mumbles words he did not know he had the courage to say aloud. ]

Haurchefant, I — I want you. I've wanted this, I've wanted — I want to fuck you so badly —

[ Never in his life has he said anything quite so vulgar. Then again, the game of lover's hide-and-seek was over before it begun: Francel was never as unsullied as he appeared, and this is his true self, longing for his boyhood friend with a thirst that cannot be sated.

The hot clutch of Haurchefant's mouth, the luscious press of his tongue against Francel's heavy cock, the delicious plump wetness of the inside of his lips — all of it pushes the young lord straight to the edge, but the teasing touch of Haurchefant's fingers over the rim of his hole, promising more later, that's what tips Francel over into the plunging depths of his pleasure. A fresh jolt of surprise and excitement over the contact makes his hips jerk forward one more time, and then he's lost control.

And it's perfect. Oh, it's perfect. Closing his eyes to the beautiful dreamy morning, one final moan leaving his throat, Francel comes hard into Haurchefant's mouth, indolent and indulgent and beautiful in his broken innocence, giving the knight his virtue, his thick noble seed, his boundless lust, his first. ]

[suitsahero]

His own noises turn hungrier when Francel's do, pleased and darkly encouraging, both. Francel is quickly going to find that, defender of Ishgard though he may be, Haurchefant is going to do exactly nothing to protect Francel from himself, from any number of those darker bedroom desires he might have. There are things that are more to Haurchefant's preference than others but, above all else, he finds he cannot help but want to adore someone, give them precisely the things that they may not even full know they needed. That has taken different forms with different lovers, but there is certainly no reason to deny Francel any part of his hunger.

There's a hungry noise of his own, deeper and richer than the others he's been making, when Francel says he wants to fuck him and his hands grip harder into warm skin for a moment, making clear both how much he wants that, too, and how much it makes him burn to hear Francel (polite, sweet Francel) gasp out his need for him like that. If there was anything in this position for him to find friction against, there's a chance that might have been it for him, but as it is, he only has the rumble of his moans and the clutch of his hands to express the answering surge of desire that brings.

Perhaps it is for the better. If he were busy finding his own release, he would find it much harder to swallow around Francel's. As it is, it's a simple matter to do so and he teases at him with both his fingers and his mouth for a long moment afterwards. No matter the lover, that moment of overstimulation, having someone writhing against him utterly out of their own control, has always been something he's delighted in and there's nothing in all of Ishgard that would make him pass up the chance to indulge in it with Francel.

Even when he does finally relent and pull himself off, he makes a treat of it, dragging his tongue along Francel's cock as he goes, lapping the remaining wetness from the tip with an outright obscene sort of relish. Is this something Francel has dreamt about as well-- the way Haurchefant's lips are a little swollen and damp, the way he's gone all heavy lidded and satisfied as though he's the one who's been so indulged?

"I'd no idea when you stayed the night that you would think to bring me breakfast in bed," he quips and it's a ridiculous and wholly Haurchefant thing to say, but moreso than the words themselves, Francel can hear the impression he's made in Haurchefant's voice, the roughness there entirely his doing and for him. "Truly an attentive nursemaid," he's a laughing as he says it, not mocking in the least, and he lacks the strength currently to draw Francel back down to him, but he tugs on him to encourage him that way, all the same.