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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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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. ]

[zephirin is the sort of man who sees any task given him through to its end, and this is no exception. there is a steady relentlessness to the way he pleasures francel, and it leaves the young knight keening, whimpering, gasping and arching — he opens his eyes and sees zephirin with his head bowed, lashes brushing his pale, hollowed cheeks, looking beautiful, radiant, incomparable. more, francel is desperate, his thighs press against zephirin's temples, he needs more of this, he needs this needs this needs this needs him —]

Zephirin — Zephirin, Zephirin, please, Zephi — mmn, ah, ah, please —

[his hands seize tight in zephirin's hair, his toes curl, his knees lock, and francel takes no time at all to find ecstasy in the way zephirin carves new sensations into his body...]

[ New sensations are carved into Zephirin's body, too, as Francel's fingers tighten desperately in his hair, as the taste and scent of Francel's release attained fill his mouth and nose, as thick warmth coats his tongue and slides down his throat. Zephirin's posture stiffens for but an instant; his senses adjust, and he focuses on finishing this cleanly so that nary a drop dribbles onto the sheets. Swallowing then, he opens his eyes and lifts his gaze, silent while he catches his breath, his heart's hunger sated by the echo of Francel's pleas and the sight he now drinks in. ]

[the ward's thirteenth lays debauched upon his commander's sheets, coming off a high richer and sweeter than any he has ever had before — he gasps for breath, chest heaving, his pale skin flushed and charmingly erotic. at length his lashes flutter open; his grip in zephirin's hair relaxes. he turns his head upon the pillow, and strokes zephirin's ears as lovingly as he can manage.]

...K-Kiss me, please...?

[the prospect of tasting himself in zephirin's mouth does not deter francel, it seems — in fact, perhaps it only spurs his desires higher.]

[ As he watches Francel recover, Zephirin slides his hands from the young knight's hips to his sides; his touch turns soothing. A part of him would first prefer to rinse his mouth, reflexively rebelling against its new experiences, but its voice is drowned out beneath the memory of his name made a beseeching litany, and Francel's breathless request is louder.

Released from the hold on his hair, he fulfills that request, leaning up and bending over Francel to kiss his sweetly pleading mouth. Zephirin's hands begin to busy themselves with returning Francel's smallclothes and breeches to their former state. ]

[francel's kiss is fervent and eager, though brief — francel has yet to catch his breath. but he cradles zephirin's head in his hands as they kiss, and he wraps his legs around zephirin's waist, clinging hard enough to make up for his breathlessness.]

Mmm... I love you. I really love you, Zephirin...

[as he pulls back, uttering his declarations of love, his hands slip downward, catching zephirin's by the wrists.]

...But what about you?

Edited 2017-09-24 19:53 (UTC)

[ No doubt Francel tastes the remnants of his climax, yet he does not recoil — perhaps it simply engraves more into his memory. His full-body embrace has its charms, unabashedly needy like his kiss, unashamedly prolonging their intimacy, as if this closeness eclipses any need for air or rest. It stays Zephirin's hands even before Francel intercepts them. Zephirin draws back a few ilms himself, gazing down at the Ward's thirteenth reclining against the pillows, golden hair mussed.

Freeing one hand, he combs his fingers through the soft strands near Francel's temples. His endeavours prove a double-edged sword, and his body's desires awoken are a persistent ache. ]

...Promises made are to be kept.

[ And he has made several this day.

Taking Francel's hands in his own, Zephirin positions them upon his hips, allowing the young knight to resume undressing him if he so chooses. ]

Edited 2017-09-24 23:54 (UTC)

[francel purrs his assent. his fingers stroke zephirin's hipbones for only a moment before he begins undoing the laces of zephirin's brais. laid back upon the pillow, the lovely lordling watches his own hands work their magic as if from a great distance; slowly, he slides zephirin's trousers down to his thighs, his expression faintly intoxicated, as if hypnotized by zephirin's arousal.

but for all his seeming frailty and innocence, francel is still a knight — a knight with an unexpectedly vicious streak, at that. suddenly, his legs wrap once more around zephirin's slender waist; it is a simple matter from there to flip his commander rather roughly into the mattress, switching their positions. though exhaustion casts its shadow over francel's soft features, he smiles triumphantly as he straddles his archimandrite, spurred by the invigorating pleasure of zephirin's consent.]

Then I shall have you undone. Yes?

[ While Francel divests him of his clothing from the waist down, Zephirin slips his arms free of his shirt entirely, letting it fall onto the bed beside them. His hands return to Francel's ears, stroking them idly — until the young knight strikes and his commander abruptly lands on his back, Francel astride him, a conqueror once more.

Arousal does not prevent Zephirin's instinctive reaction. Green eyes widen, then narrow. Zephirin's muscles are accustomed to years on his guard, to memories of the battlefield, not the bedroom, and they tense as he seizes Francel's arms in a warning grip.

This is no attack, however, not even a match in the training hall, and Zephirin relaxes after a moment, moving his hands to Francel's chest, sliding them lower to Francel's waist. ]

...Then I will hold you to your pledge. You will be mine.

Edited 2017-09-25 06:52 (UTC)

[francel seems to laugh at the deadly tight grip that encircles his wrists. he leans down, pressing a kiss to the side of zephirin's delectably long neck. the young knight enjoys this; he wants more. he wants zephirin to hurt him, bruise him, leave marks that will ache for weeks. he echoes zephirin's words in a coy singsong.]

I will be yours.

[keenly aware of the very welcome weight of zephirin's palms upon his waist, francel breaks into a devilish smile. with a clever little rolling of his hips, he envelops zephirin's arousal between his soft thighs, and massages his cock with long luscious strokes of his warm skin.]

Tell me what you want, Zephirin... More than this?

[ The Ser Francel who strategically teased his commander in the baths makes another appearance, and with but a few movements, he stokes another visceral hunger and draws a gasp from Zephirin, who drops back against the pillows, neck bared, eyelids lowered. Zephirin's grip on Francel's waist tightens; the pads of his fingers press into Francel's skin as his hands encourage the contact between their bodies and his hips lift to meet Francel's warmth.

These touches are almost bruising, traces of an urgency in them that finds the cracks in Zephirin's self-control and slips through. They bespeak Zephirin's wants in this moment.

He cannot answer without giving away their strain on his composure in the altered quality to his voice and breathing. Here, it seems, are the beginnings of the outcome Francel sought, his commander undone. ]

— Your heart, Ser Francel. Naught less.

Then that too shall be yours.

[with his hands free to do as they please, francel is more than happy to use his palms to caress the tip of zephirin's aching erection as its shaft sits between his thighs. his own arousal has returned with a second wind; though he trembles with excitement, he nevertheless remains assertive with his touches, and francel's slender fingers soon have their cocks aligned.

when he rolls his hips again, he too derives satisfaction from the act. he cannot help but smile; he leans forward again, to whisper his innermost desires with some semblance of bashfulness.]

'Tis a pity we are in your room, and not mine. I have a pretty little bottle full of prayer-oil, you see... and we could use it for fun...

[ Unwilling to succumb to the point of surrendering his presence of mind in its entirety, to lie here as though pinned beneath Francel and incapacitated, Zephirin searches for something with which he might occupy his concentration. A tremor travels through him from head to toe as Francel continues his tactics, but he takes one hand lower, leaving Francel's waist and seeking the returning heat between Francel's thighs. His palm brushes against the young knight's length only lightly, curiously, and stops there to acknowledge its discovery.

Zephirin's eyes fix upon Francel's. ]

I keep mine in the uppermost drawer yonder.

[ If not to use it creatively. Turning his head, Zephirin indicates the piece of furniture in question. ]

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