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033 » they bowed to us like kings

[even the thirteen most powerful men in ishgard need to hone their skills from time to time.

ordinarily, the knights of the heavens' ward are given their partners. zephirin and vellguine plan assignments in advance, pairing the members of their ward according to their strengths and what weaknesses need to be addressed. last week, vellguine correctly surmised that francel found it difficult to evade spells; he spent bells dodging haumeric's conjured icicles and boulders, and still has bruises where the conjurer's volley found its mark.

today, however, practice is lax. the knights have been given free reign to choose their partners as they please; unsurprisingly, they all fall back upon old friendships. ser ignasse gravitates towards ser vellguine like a dog to its master; sers grinnaux and paulecrain pair off against one another, and fill the air with their deep-throated shouts. sers adelphel and janlenoux, as always, clash swords and dart around the room as elegantly as lovers engaged in dance (francel has long suspected that janlenoux would place higher than the eleventh seat if only he could bring himself to unleash his full fury upon adelphel). surprisingly, ser hermenost seeks out ser guerrique, perhaps hoping to imbue some calm and wisdom upon the younger axe-bearer. their mages congregate in a corner, heatedly debating the finer points of magickal theory.

that leaves ser francel with ser zephirin — the thirteenth and the first.

upon reflection, they make for an excellent match. both are shieldless swordsmen, unlike adelphel and janlenoux, but where zephirin wields a two-handed greatsword, francel prefers a one-handed rapier. francel holds it before him, drawing his fingers slowly along the dull edge of the blade.]

It would seem we are both unencumbered.

[it is a delicate jab towards their shieldlessness.]

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[ Francel's fingers almost stroke Zephirin's hair. Still Zephirin answers not with words, but he permits Francel to rock against his palm, keeping his hand in place between Francel's thighs. Still his kisses are loving, feather-light, measured, and Francel's skin looks left untouched.

They cease when Zephirin lifts his head from the crook of Francel's neck, nearing his ear once more. He is not deaf to the young knight's desperate, enticing pleas. ]

I would hear what you desire, Ser Francel.

My... my desire...

[francel has to wrestle, visibly, with the rocking of his hips; he answers only when he has managed to still himself, when he manages to tear himself away from the promising warmth and pressure of zephirin's palm.]

My desire is... is to pleasure you again. To see you... to see you undone.

[the young knight swallows audibly. his teeth find his plush and pleasantly small bottom lip. he looks at zephirin with wild, worshipful eyes, like those of a near-drowned man gazing upon his savior.]

And, if you are not too tired afterwards... I want to sit in your lap, and feel your tongue against my ear...

[ Devotion enhances Francel's beauty; he wears it well. Zephirin's body remembers the meaning of the young knight's desire, and it craves its sweet promise, but he slides his hand from the swell of Francel's arousal to Francel's inner thigh, raises his other hand to brush his thumb across Francel's lower lip. ]

Have you not done so?

[ Not as before, perhaps. ]

Am I not undone?

[ Unlaced, at the least, and not for bed. Zephirin takes Francel's earlobe between his lips a second time, granting this desire ahead of all others, though the contact is brief. ]

You asked for more, I believe.

[zephirin's low voice reverberates against francel's eardrum, tickling his neck and melting in his skull. for a moment, francel seems incapable of response, so lost he is in the rich ecstasy of hearing zephirin's voice right up against his ear.

it takes pure ishgardian self-restraint — but the young knight pulls back. he brings his hands up and cups zephirin's face. francel stares into his commander's green eyes, eyelids half-lowered, like a seer attempting to scry the future. then, at last, he plants kisses upon zephirin's mouth, slow and loving. innocent. pleading.]

...Will you give me more if I ask for it?

[francel's question is shyly asked — almost petulant. the warmth from zephirin's lips lingers upon his sensitive ears, making him squirm and wiggle in the older knight's lap. his commander's hand feels cool against his hot thigh; he lowers one hand and rests it upon zephirin's fingers.]

[ Zephirin's lips part for Francel's, meeting his kisses halfway. Zephirin's fingers furl inward beneath Francel's palm, pressing into the younger knight's thigh as his body equates Francel's squirming and wiggling to persistent teasing, and the prospect of more fills it with a hungry anticipation for the results of Zephirin's handiwork.

Zephirin's voice carries a hint of it, his gaze another when he leans back in his chair to regard Francel. It is another sliver of composure relinquished. ]

What will you ask?

[ More alone is too imprecise. ]

...I want you to please me as I have pleased you.

[they are beyond judgment, and thus beyond embarrassment, but all the same, francel blushes as he whispers his heart's desires, as if zephirin might still push him away. biting his lip, he rubs his fingers insistently against the older knight's knuckles, as if in apology for the filth he asks of his archimandrite.]

And... if you so desire it, Zephirin... you can claim me. You can take me — I will be yours, I will belong to none other... I want you inside me...

[ More confessed plainly entrusts the whole of Francel's vulnerable heart to Zephirin, and the young knight seems to tense, expecting rejection, judgment — punishment dealt by his commander, not the Fury. Perhaps Zephirin's response takes too long to come. Foreign wants rear their head; he has seen enough of Francel's pleasure and Francel's loyalty to vividly imagine the meaning of these promises.

Desire undeniably pulses through his veins, and his heartbeat betrays him, but it is too soon.

Zephirin brings his free hand to Francel's flushed cheek, stroking it once with his knuckles. ]

Not here. If you come to love me...

[ His reminder, unfinished, fills the space between them. ]

How are you best pleased, Ser Francel?

[if francel is upset by the way he has offered himself wholly and yet been refused, it manifests only in the small huff of breath that escapes his lungs as he adjusts himself in zephirin's lap one more time. the young knight presses his soft cheek into his commander's knuckles, then reaches up to touch his commander's soft, thin lips.]

...I want... [he cannot say the words —] ...your mouth.

[that's as best as he can manage.]

[ Against Francel's fingers, Zephirin's lips form a thinner line, but they cannot seal in a sharper intake of breath deviating from a steadier rhythm, much like his heartbeat. Then they curve slightly ere Zephirin leans forward, past Francel's hand, his mouth near the young knight's ear once more, as if to strive towards Francel's pleasure only there despite knowing what it is that Francel asks of him. ]

...Come with me.

[ He sits back, waiting to rise with Francel and lead him out of his office, away from a restrictive workspace. ]

Ngh — y-yes, I understand...

[jolting ever so slightly at the sensation of warm breath against his ear, francel bites his lip and whines weakly in his throat. he takes zephirin's cue and rises from his seat, extending his hand with a slightly expectant air. he will allow himself to be led wherever zephirin wishes to move — even outside the office, if need be.]

[ They pass through a doorway and cross a connecting corridor, emerging on the other side of a final threshold to arrive deeper within Zephirin's quarters, where Francel was to take his rest. The room is spacious and appears unused; pristine, it reflects nothing of its current or previous occupants, merely another location built in keeping with the Vault's imposing grandeur.

Here, Zephirin guides Francel to arrange himself on the neatly made bed, that he might settle between Francel's legs and stay beyond the reach of the young knight's wriggling about while he leans over Francel instead, free to move as he chooses. ]

[undaunted by the sense of disuse that hangs over zephirin's chambers, francel sinks into his commander's pristine sheets with the eagerness of a hound promised a reward. propped up on the pillows, francel makes to remove his clothing, but he hesitates when the ward's commander leans over him. his fingers come to a halt; he stutters.]

Ah, er...

By your leave.

[ With that, hands poised to assist Francel, Zephirin peels him out of his tunic, dropping the garment at the foot of the bed. Sitting back on his heels for a moment, the Ward's archimandrite seems the worshipful acolyte in posture then, come to receive of the thirteenth's blessing. He bows his head to descend upon Francel anew, taking his time as he divides his focus between Francel's earlobe to lavish with his mouth's caresses, and the task of undoing the fastenings of Francel's breeches.

In the recesses of his mind, curiosity compels him to wonder how much more Francel's sensitive ears are able to withstand, afforded no reprieve. ]

Oh — mmn —

[it is impossible for francel to ever grow tired of having his ears stimulated. it is beyond the mere warmth and sound and ticklish sensation; it is a pleasure so potent that it stimulates addiction. the young knight just barely manages to stifle his moans. whimpers and mewls wriggle weakly from his throat. he doesn't quite know what to do with his hands; they tighten in the bedsheets, ruining the pristine surface of his commander's perfectly made bed. zephirin's lips are hot against his sensitive ear — it all makes his head go wonderfully, wonderfully blank, and francel swears he's close to coming, but he mustn't — he mustn't.

once zephirin has his breeches completely undone, francel gasps — the aching tension between his legs feels that much freer, though his body yet throbs with need.]

You, ah — d-drawing this out — on purpose...?

[ Though Francel sits in Zephirin's lap no longer, he is treated to the sensation of Zephirin's tongue against his ear, interspersed with kisses, with gentle nipping at the soft skin. In freeing Francel from the confines of his breeches, Zephirin's fingers brush against his smallclothes beneath, as if promising still more. He hums thoughtfully, a low, quiet sound, when the young knight gasps out his question.

Francel hangs suspended near the brink of release, it seems, almost there, but not quite. ]

Do you ask me to end it?

[at last zephirin grants francel's poor ears some small measure of mercy — enough time to catch his breath and crack his eyes open, at least. he shakes his head no.]

I... I like to be teased.

[in an effort to be more encouraging than his ambiguous moans and gasps will allow, francel wraps his arms around zephirin's shoulders, lacing his fingers behind his neck with a sort of coquettish glee.]

...So you will tease me more, won't you?

[ Zephirin, in turn, enjoys Francel's every encouraging response, relishing the sense of control restored after the days since their first forbidden moments in the baths. It is heady to feel firmly on the right path, simply for the effect it has on Francel, and Zephirin's heart is yet capable of desiring more of the same. Perhaps it is undone. ]

How shall I continue?

[ But already he makes the decision to work his way down the length of Francel's torso, dotting the young knight's chest with leisurely kisses, then his abdomen — as Francel did for him. Deliberately, his fingertips graze Francel's cloth-covered hardness, and this time, they slide between warm skin and the waistband of Francel's smallclothes. ]

[francel hums in satisfaction, soft and appreciative. zephirin's kisses linger on his skin; his belly flexes beneath zephirin's lips. as the leader of the heavens' ward moves lower, francel must relinquish his embrace, so he allows his hands to find purchase in zephirin's hair instead. the young knight's hips buck hungrily into his commander's touch.]

J-Just like that...

[he reminds himself, once more, of the subtle hesitance that characterized zephirin's movements that first time, in the bath, with his fingers. for all his stoic exterior, zephirin is new to this, too. francel smiles and strokes his scalp.]

...You are so good to me, Zephirin.

[ So near continuing his trail of kisses where more of Francel's skin is bared, Zephirin lifts his head, letting his gaze travel upward along Francel's body and to his expression, and takes his mouth back to Francel's lips, kissing him as though he means to taste the young knight's smile. His fingers are not idle, and soon the obstruction of breeches and smallclothes is overcome, and they stroke the tops of Francel's newly exposed thighs. Zephirin's thumbs caress Francel's hipbones as he draws away enough to survey the picture before him.

Francel's offer is a lingering whisper in his ear. Zephirin could claim him, take him, make it a pledge of acceptance. The end would justify the means. ]

[as much as francel's body craves a different kind of touch, his heart craves this, these lovers' kisses. there is a drowsy, almost drunken stupor to his smile when zephirin pulls back and pets his thighs, his hips.

the young knight hesitates a moment, and then grasps zephirin's open shirt, pulling it off his frame, until it hangs loosely at his elbows, revealing his sculpted arms.]

Do as you wish to me...

[ With effort, Zephirin breaks free of Francel's spell. Teasingly tender, speaking of a reluctance to resist the young knight's invitation, his palms smooth their way along the lines of Francel's slim hips, his slender waist, settling flat below Francel's navel until, at last, Zephirin's fingers curl around Francel's length, promising the Ward's thirteenth unconditional acceptance. He lowers his head, bowed over Francel, looking oddly like a man at prayer. ]

...Tell me again what it is that you ask of me.

[for once, no shy hesitation, no maidenly coyness characterizes francel in his response. the young knight answers immediately, cradling zephirin's face between his hands, eyes half-lidded, smiling. he looks very much in love.]

I want you to take me. I want you to make me yours. I want to feel the warmth of your mouth, your lips... I want you to carve your touch into my memory.

[he strokes the pout of zephirin's mouth with his thumb.]

I want you to love me... do I ask too much?

[ Zephirin's lips twitch slightly against Francel's thumb, into another subtle smile. Then the warmth of his lips leaves the young knight's thumb as he reiterates his promise with a kiss placed upon the tip of Francel's flushed member, and the warmth of his mouth follows, sealing itself around as much as it can take at first. This is his touch; he tastes Francel's skin, feels along the weight resting against his tongue. Having relinquished the ability to watch Francel's reactions, he listens for them. ]

[francel bites his lip, trying to maintain some modicum of decency, but then the wet inside of zephirin's mouth graces his aching erection, and francel feels himself let go. his hips seem to melt into the bedsheets; he groans, trying to resist the urge to thrust.]

Oh, yes... Yes, Zephirin, that's — oh, that feels heavenly...

[ Francel is Zephirin's first, the only person to come to know him so intimately, and Zephirin relies on his memories of Francel's touch to guide him as he endeavours to match it, pleasure given for pleasure received. The pace he sets is steady; still he draws it out, moving his hands to hold Francel's hips in place when his tongue's exploration halts and his cheeks hollow. He treats this act as he does any task, and the touches to carve into Francel's memory are measured, purposeful.

Lashes upon his cheeks, Zephirin looks at peace with their closeness and satisfied to hear Francel's unfolding bliss, though he braces himself for its ending. ]

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