(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

[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.