(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]

"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.