Walter's mouth didn't respond with words. Head tilted up, a soft touch just above the knee. He settled both legs surer against the shoulders, in a quiet direction. Ran tongue against his own hand, wrapped himself with a harsh grip for a few strokes. Leaned over, directing his tip against the whetted opening. Dark eyes stared into the face, fogged, unfocused, almost distant as he tensed, whimpered against that first push. He almost folded Laric doubled, knees to shoulders, an open-mouthed pant escaping him like a sob as Walter's forehead pressed against Laric's clavicle for a moment. A sharp intake of breath.
A whisper.
"It's alright."
He probably should have said something else. Something exciting, passionate, instead of trying to reassure. The words slipped out all on their own, and that was all he had.

He pushed deeper, hips rocking slowly, patiently, despite the treacherously shivering breath. Lips found Laric's mouth, and he stifled a moan. The other hand adjusted one of the lean legs on the shoulder, wrapped the grip around the knee. Just enough time to adjust, take him in, and another push, deeper, openly whimpering into the soft mouth, tense with a heady mix of need and last shreds of his self-restraint.

Hips met hips, and Walter broke the space between their faces to look at Laric, study his face a moment with a quiet query. Pulled back, allowing to feel that space, a temporary release, and pushed back in, to the hilt, setting a deep, steady beat. Eyes sunk half closed, brows furrowed, lips stayed open and wanting for breath.

"Laric..." A switch to shallower, faster thrusts, not out of impatience, but trying to find a good angle to pleasure and press down into the soft covers both. Barely a pause to hear the reply, his mouth would lavish attention on Laric's skin from beneath the earlobe to the crook of the strong shoulder, muffling voice against skin as he picked the pace up. A prick of fangs, but never a bite - not with those.

A slowing came, to catch his breath, to realign himself. Walter let one leg down to rest against his thigh and bend as Laric would seek fit to bend it, and used the pause to slide a calloused palm around the other's cock, stroking it to the beat of his pushes.
"Let go. Let go for me, sweet..."
Another burst of rhythm, mounting the blond, spreading him open and claiming him, his pleasure, his moans against the gasping mouth.
 
He wasn't going to stop, and wasn't going to take mercy on his lover, either. They were up against time and friction, here in the middle of nowhere. Fascinating enough that Laric could hold back... but the brief concern over possibly being too rough faded when the bite came alongside a loud cry.

Barely a moment later, though not violently, Walter's hand migrated from a rough handling of Laric's manhood and wrapped around Laric's throat, pushing him down into the spread bedding. A thrust came, collapsing into the blond's body, filling him out, and then Walter's hips stilled, leaving the other pressed open, staked and having to pay attention.
"Didn't I tell you? You don't get to bite. Not unless you take part in calling the shots."

A jet eyebrow quirked up. Walter's voice was hoarse, ragged from the effort, lust and the deafening torment of needing to stop when he was edging so close to finish. Fingers still pinning the other down, he pulled back, freeing Laric of himself.
"Turn around, sweet. Face down. Present yourself to me."
 
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"Good."
Fingertips traced down Laric's spine, from a loose wrap around the nape all the way down to the thumb stroking along the tailbone. A palm flattened against skin, wrapped around the hip. More spit to ease the friction some, and a slow reclaiming.
Blood dripped down his chin from the fangs dug too harshly into the lower lip, hot dark drops tickling Laric's back as he rocked forward, picking up, craving for the stimulation to dull out everything else.

Being put on the spot to satisfy them both without direction - for surely 'whatever You want' would have dubbed him selfish if heeded - meant he was under the familiar weight of reign sooner than he planned, even if right now he was given warden over only one person, moaning under him.
It wouldn't have worked in any other way, he didn't even need to think to know it. Even trying to escape responsibility, if for one night, and try something new in his approach to battling misery - taking control was better when he wasn't certain that nobody would get hurt otherwise. And he wasn't - certain.
Luckily, certainty was an optional ingredient in what was brewing.
He'd have to exert harder to be truly out of breath, and tire himself out, like a beast that ran until it dropped.

Walter's hand connected to Laric's buttock with a loud, sharp sound, to tense him around the thrusts. He leaned over, on top of the burning pink mark. Quieter, less moans and more harsh gasps, low short rumbles.
"Go on," Walter's voice rasped over Laric's ear. One hand landed against the cloak at the side, the other - sunk into the golden threads at the scalp, gathering the strands into a fist, pulling back. A nip at the back of the shoulder. "You're doing so good. Come for me, sweet."
A harsh rhythm, hitting the bump of flesh inside with every thrust, wanting, needing to drive Laric over the edge first. Like more than pleasure depended on it.
 
He changed the angle, shifted the rhythm, feeling tensing, drawing closer. Teeth almost nicked the bitten lip, cut flesh again, made him shiver before the choked gasp, having to gather enough self-restraint to be careful while the other would finally unravel. Bloodied mouth pressed kisses against Laric's nape, shoulder, wordless praise, palm releasing the hold on hair and diving under the arm to brush a caress across the chest, down the stomach and up, up until his fingers brushed along the clavicle and up the throat. Good, good. Gently, now.

He wasn't exactly gentle, continuing to move through Laric's peak, lingering behind and almost pushing himself over the peak with a few rough, deep thrusts, a low grunt. A split second of bliss. Nothingness, because pleasure drowned out all else. Walter lowered himself down on a quivering elbow, heart pounding and air in short supply, shivered and gasped as his hips rolled backward, freeing Laric's body.

All the blood was nowhere near his topmost part, felt like. Staggering and creasing the blanket with the clumsy movement of his legs, Walter sat at Laric's feet, hunched over. Fingers touched to mouth, found the cut lip. A glimpse of apprehension, hand covered the lower part of his face - but not the veins, visible all over where the skin was thinner, thighs and forearms and neck, once a darkened hue rolled over in a pulse. The cut was not gone, but seemed to reconnect the broken tissues. That would suffice.

There. You got what you wanted. And I got what I wanted. It felt good.
He sat for a few moments more, getting his head straight.
 
He didn't pull away, just tensed for a brief moment, mind briefly in a place between. Then, made a noise that wasn't very much words. As if stirred by Laric's movement, he also got up. Swayed dizzily, blinked his way through the dots and the protest of his back. Added some sticks to the fire, collected clothes on the way back, and pulled a length of linen out of the saddlebag. He kept a couple - pieces ripped off for different uses in travel, from a spare bandage to an improvised towel. Wetted the cloth, wiped himself down, shivering slightly. Folded it. Realized he hadn't answered.

"Oh. Yes. Yes, I just..." A faint smile, a breathy chuckle. He was probably thirsty, and tired, and it took a moment to connect the dots aside from getting his hands busy. "Settling down." He tore off the part of linen used without thinking about it too much. Waste of good fabric, but he'd get more. Offered the clean remaining part, set waterskin besides the lounging Laric. Paused a little. "I don't usually... Are you alright?"
Brief concern, giving Laric a once-over for any marks.

Walter slowly rested his head against the open shoulder, cautious, as if studying himself as he did.
"The lip? Oh, not the best one for pillow talk, to be honest." A hand slipped along Laric's waistline. His body was still tense, and yet, a chuckle rung hoarsely in the throat, and the man seemed to go for a tease, "Let's just say it took a bit of adjusting before I'd take someone else in my mouth again." He fell quiet for a bit, again, thumb idly stroking against the golden skin. "Don't get this sort of a night off often, too much to do... You?"
 
"Hm. Both very joyous activities, I assure you." A small sigh, head lolling to the side to press against Laric's shoulder. "But I am wary of causing harm, and I can't offer healing in return. Not anymore."
He listened, quietly, taking a bit of a pause to roll onto his back, raise his upper torso and take a drink out of the waterskin before settling back down.

"I have people to delegate to, as well. The fault lies with me, too used to keeping myself busy. It helped get through a lot of darkness."
Tension was leaving him, and the world came back into focus. The tree branches rustling softly in the cool night breeze, the birds and critters skulking in the velvet darkness. A peace and absence of anything to spur him into yet another urgent duty. Walter let his eyes drift closed, told himself to relax, adjust. This - was rest. He needed it. The comfort of a wandering touch, hearing another's heartbeat and feeling the warmth.

An embarrassed chuckle, half-defensive, half-flustered. "In that... hm. I'd welcome a confident... incentive... to delegate what I can?" Sounded much like he'd welcome being torn away from duty and into debauchery, on occasion. Could not in his right mind expect the man to join him in fighting eldritch horrors, but the mundane? It would probably make Dolores very happy, having more to do without having to fight him on it - she was competent, more than. He just could not help making himself as busy as he could between Harvests, perhaps in hope that once everything was fixed - he would be able to retire into the bored leisurely afternoons spacing out the reaping of maddening horrors.

But for now, he pressed his lips to the sun-kissed shoulder, and glanced up, at Laric's face. "You would want to - keep me company?" He fell quiet, giving space for a response, part of that space left to his own thoughts.
 
A quiet, Walter's face hard to glean without shifting posture, but even the man's breath seemed to still for a moment. He tried to inhale slowly, quietly, so that the iron grip on his throat was not so evident, and words not so much a croak when he murmured,
"Thank you." He didn't let himself feel elated. Promises in the sheets rarely meant anything of note. And yet, he would not lie - when Laric spoke, something like excitement sparked in the heavy, empty pit in his chest. Curiosity. Some warmth seeped in. Not at the promises of any forevers, nevers and togethers, but in a simple acknowledgement - someone wanted him beside, at least for now. Ill-informed, but all the same, it made him happy enough just to hear the sentiment confirmed.

He listened to a stalking fox, Geist perking up with a short alert rattle, and settling back down in a huff. The wind was colder, and Walter thought briefly about finding something for cover, at least until he'd stop shivering. He didn't want to move too much, however. And so, pressed closer against Laric's side, blurry vision tracing some movement in the trees, perhaps a bird keeping its distance, or being hunted by another.
He just wanted Laric's hand to keep toying with his hair, sending delighted shivers down the nape and spine. More.

"Can't say that I have... but should I survive the autumn's pale Shroud peak, I'd probably be able to travel there, come winter months. Would you like to meet me there? Pantheros is a port city in your domain, isn't it." He only touched with the hand that could trace skin directly. Outlined the clavicle, stroked the knuckles down the side of the neck, secretly enticed by the steady movement of the other's chest in a breath. "Hm... waylaid, you said. What happened?"
 
"I'm sorry," Walter whispered. He could not understand what exactly had transpired, of course. Not even close. And yet, he'd travelled enough to know what that meant. "I never knew you traveled, too... could not have been easy."

He remembered that dwindling city. The other one like him. The long road home on foot that came after the fight, his bones screaming, his body only held from giving in by unfraying every moment of the time. The bedridden month. The stubborn crawl out, to see the sky behind the window, hear the winter birds. Weeping, one day, when he woke up to a terrible thought that he would stay decrepit like that forever. His grief went unnoticed. It was easier for everyone not to notice.

The warmth brought about an awake kind of languor that enveloped him. Laric's scent was on the man's skin, on the cloak. Walter didn't need to open his eyes to track movements by sound alone.
He chose, this time. Not someone else trying to get close - he chose to get close. That had to matter, at least a little.

"The Shroud gets brittle, once winter comes close," he whispered. "At the turn of the seasons, as I am now... I have to tend to what tries to make its way though."
An answer incomplete. That boy, desperate to get away from everything that reminded him of his first sweetheart, of the crushing burden of legacy he didn't wish to carry... that boy, was he even in there, anymore?

"I just want to be Walter, right now." He pleaded, softly. He had to have faith that there was still something left beneath the masks and misery, or else what was all this for? "Tell me something, Laric. What music you like, these days, what seasonal dishes. Something ordinary. Everything else is just..." He shook his head, rubbing his cheek in quiet denial, shifted, practically draping half of himself over the other man. He wanted to feel the heartbeat and hear the fading echoes of breath. He wanted to hide his face.
 
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