Private Trouble at the gate [M]
- Thread starter Laric
- Start date
'I'm sorry.'
"Oh, sweet," Walter's smile, though rueful, was warm. He shook his head, still not looking Laric in the eye. "Nothing to be done. And I have to accept this as I am, this - has its benefits, too. I have saved more lives since. My regrets should be few."
A shorter exhale, a nod. "I have been tutoring an old friend, where there was no understanding prior. If understanding weaving would interest you, if you would like to learn, I could try and teach you. At least the theory, limited as practice is on my end. The simplest exercise would be these," an idle gesture to the dark glass lanterns.
The lightning must have crashed into the rood, making Walter startle and huff in irritance, with a chuckle over the fright. He stood, walked to open a window.
"What would you like if your guess was right?" he echoed back. "What would you give if it was wrong?"
"Oh, sweet," Walter's smile, though rueful, was warm. He shook his head, still not looking Laric in the eye. "Nothing to be done. And I have to accept this as I am, this - has its benefits, too. I have saved more lives since. My regrets should be few."
A shorter exhale, a nod. "I have been tutoring an old friend, where there was no understanding prior. If understanding weaving would interest you, if you would like to learn, I could try and teach you. At least the theory, limited as practice is on my end. The simplest exercise would be these," an idle gesture to the dark glass lanterns.
The lightning must have crashed into the rood, making Walter startle and huff in irritance, with a chuckle over the fright. He stood, walked to open a window.
"What would you like if your guess was right?" he echoed back. "What would you give if it was wrong?"
Walter opened the windowpane, and released the latches. A gale tore into the room, howling, and he closed his eyes for just a long moment, holding the shutter so it would not swing outward fully. A bit more light, at the cost of a draft and sparkling drizzle landing in the baron's hair and on his face despite being out of the deluge.
"These are the midnight lanterns," he said quietly. "They were installed here by my father, as part of training. Once I could walk, I experimented on myself here, trying to get more knowledge of my state without attracting attention." He glanced over the shoulder, smiled. "You might light these lanterns. If you choose to learn. Now..."
His eyes tracked down Laric's form, from the golden mane of locks, to the black garments. The shutter slid in place, and the baron put the latches back. It was dark again, save for a stray lightning and the dreary grey through the cracks to outside.
A few steps back, returning him to the man's side.
"I don't want to take it off of you, yet. Just concern myself with it."
Fingers traced the beast-shaped clasps blindly.
"What game shall we play?"
The swan clasp came undone first.
"I don't imagine you would be too fond of hide and seek, lest we are hiding together."
He was speaking half in jest, half with a humorous probing. Another clasp split, fingers traced the shirt beneath.
"I won't allow for my guest to be found naked in a dark, uninhabited tower. The hour is too early, even though small mercies could be allowed. What do you think?"
The last clasp gave in, the wandering hand slid to the abdomen, gathering folds against the fabric of the shirt.
"These are the midnight lanterns," he said quietly. "They were installed here by my father, as part of training. Once I could walk, I experimented on myself here, trying to get more knowledge of my state without attracting attention." He glanced over the shoulder, smiled. "You might light these lanterns. If you choose to learn. Now..."
His eyes tracked down Laric's form, from the golden mane of locks, to the black garments. The shutter slid in place, and the baron put the latches back. It was dark again, save for a stray lightning and the dreary grey through the cracks to outside.
A few steps back, returning him to the man's side.
"I don't want to take it off of you, yet. Just concern myself with it."
Fingers traced the beast-shaped clasps blindly.
"What game shall we play?"
The swan clasp came undone first.
"I don't imagine you would be too fond of hide and seek, lest we are hiding together."
He was speaking half in jest, half with a humorous probing. Another clasp split, fingers traced the shirt beneath.
"I won't allow for my guest to be found naked in a dark, uninhabited tower. The hour is too early, even though small mercies could be allowed. What do you think?"
The last clasp gave in, the wandering hand slid to the abdomen, gathering folds against the fabric of the shirt.
"We could be," the baron smiled, "and I do. We have to make it from here... all the way to that place." His voice dropped to a whisper, and the numbness in his fingers was retreating, fading little by little. Excellent. Fingers curled, atop the beltline. "Tell me the truth, Laric," both of his hands stroked along the waistline, above the belt, encircling Laric in his hands, bringing him in, the murmur teasing at the jawline with puffs of breath, "will you fight hard to win?"
His answer was half-given to him, then, lips scalding hot against his weak spot. Breath shivered slightly. But his hands weren't restrained this time around, and so surrender would not be given easily. He caught a handful of those beautiful golden locks, gripped them close to the scalp, and pulled that wandering mouth of mischief towards his own, to claim it, a harder kiss, then a distance, teasing into it, "Wouldn't you like to claim? Watch me twist with pleasure, beg for you?"
He grinned at the full lips with a playful nip, brushed the parted lips against the cheek, a whisper tickling at the ear, "Tell me, sweet, what kind of things come to your mind when you think that win might be yours once the night comes?"
His fingers toyed with the clasp of Laric's belt, slid lower, stroked down and pressed on upward motion, seeking the shape of his lover. The grasp loosened in the golden strands. A kiss against the temple, teasingly tender.
His answer was half-given to him, then, lips scalding hot against his weak spot. Breath shivered slightly. But his hands weren't restrained this time around, and so surrender would not be given easily. He caught a handful of those beautiful golden locks, gripped them close to the scalp, and pulled that wandering mouth of mischief towards his own, to claim it, a harder kiss, then a distance, teasing into it, "Wouldn't you like to claim? Watch me twist with pleasure, beg for you?"
He grinned at the full lips with a playful nip, brushed the parted lips against the cheek, a whisper tickling at the ear, "Tell me, sweet, what kind of things come to your mind when you think that win might be yours once the night comes?"
His fingers toyed with the clasp of Laric's belt, slid lower, stroked down and pressed on upward motion, seeking the shape of his lover. The grasp loosened in the golden strands. A kiss against the temple, teasingly tender.
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Was the mask slipping, or was Laric finally letting some caution rest? Walter hummed low, as if in thought, mocking the question that brushed against his ear exquisitely. He could feel the restraint, them fit together, Laric clearly enjoying the maneuver for it allowing him to hide his face, take the lead without repercussions.
His breath caught with excitement. An exchange. A challenge met unfolded. His heart raced. The other could feel it, no doubt, with the arm pressed across his chest, the wandering mouth caressing above the collar line.
A shiver passed through at grazing teeth, hips bucked, ground against the other, the unrestrained hand reached to claw lightly at Laric's hip, let that image, that want, sink in. He would be in the thoughts, if not prayers, until evening, with the blond's gaze affixed to him - this much was clear. Not that his own mind was not preoccupied...
He moaned, softly, hungry with anticipation, stretching against Laric's form as fingers wandered to his throat.
"If I were to be defeated by you, sweet, I'd only burn more at the challenge," he whispered. He wanted a taste, the pressure between layers of fabric would not even begin to satisfy the need. "You are so full. Am I forbidden from touching you here?" His fingers tried to reach behind, between them. "You must be suffering in such tight confines. Is the suffering to your liking?" A squeeze, a mischievous glance over the shoulder. "Or is nibbling on my neck and feeling me shiver and arch against you - your new favorite past time?"
His breath caught with excitement. An exchange. A challenge met unfolded. His heart raced. The other could feel it, no doubt, with the arm pressed across his chest, the wandering mouth caressing above the collar line.
A shiver passed through at grazing teeth, hips bucked, ground against the other, the unrestrained hand reached to claw lightly at Laric's hip, let that image, that want, sink in. He would be in the thoughts, if not prayers, until evening, with the blond's gaze affixed to him - this much was clear. Not that his own mind was not preoccupied...
He moaned, softly, hungry with anticipation, stretching against Laric's form as fingers wandered to his throat.
"If I were to be defeated by you, sweet, I'd only burn more at the challenge," he whispered. He wanted a taste, the pressure between layers of fabric would not even begin to satisfy the need. "You are so full. Am I forbidden from touching you here?" His fingers tried to reach behind, between them. "You must be suffering in such tight confines. Is the suffering to your liking?" A squeeze, a mischievous glance over the shoulder. "Or is nibbling on my neck and feeling me shiver and arch against you - your new favorite past time?"
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He could almost sense the bit of pause given, but very few things mattered. Even the thought that he would have to stop, to maintain the tease, seemed rather heretical. Nostrils flaring in a voiceless chuckle, Walter didn't speak any more. For now.
He turned. Fingers rose to Laric's face, outlined the cheekbone, tucked the blonde mane behind the ear, where it escaped moments later. He kissed the corner of the lover's mouth while the hand wrapped around the pulsing shaft tightened the grip. Lips traced the outline of the chin, teased a caress at the lower lip.
Guided Laric one, two steps behind, until the back of the man's hips met the tabletop. There have been many specimen on it once on these sturdy, slightly dusty tables, though more often notes and array models. Walter had run out of experiments that needed not include an aid, and he had no one in Thornhall to trust with those. The less they knew, the better.
Now, he was putting a subject of affection against that surface. A distraction, certainly. From so many worries.
He wouldn't know if the Huntsmen lived, and did not want to put pressure on the healer to hurry up or be worried over her future. A dreadful situation best not thought about, especially because now, thanks to his push, it had all chances to improve.
The drake pens would report back in the afternoon, as well - Seetang was about to give birth to the third generation of her patina-green lineage. Walter figured Garrick could handle that one. He'd visit with the wounded by evenfall. If Laric wanted a bit of time to himself, he could work the accounts and accounting reports from the elder of the sourwisp-growing village.
Those thoughts glimmered at the bottom of his mind, but did not overtake. Hands dove under Laric's soft black shirt, gathered folds of it at the waistline so Walter could continue the touch at the level that Laric's had stopped earlier - cold air touched to the sun-kissed skin by the navel, then Walter's mouth graced it with heated kisses, moving down. His knees would get a bit dusty, more than a bit achey, too - but Laric might have cared about him more in the moment than Walter himself.
As his knees came to meet the hardwood floor with a thud, he realized, he needed to recover from that weakness. He needed, viscerally, to prove to himself that he was not some bed-ridden weakling. That he had his life under control, that he could seek and gift pleasure as he saw fit.
Because nobody was coming to save him.
He needed to feel Laric's lust, warmth, need, because he could not bear that heavy thought, no more than those episodes of agony, short but disruptive in the worse way, slowly driving him to despair. He was not a cripple. Because if he was...
His fingers moved around the shaft, pulled back the skin, and tongue rolled around the tip, flicking and probing, before his mouth wrapped it, taking Laric in. He could feel the pulse, the slight involuntary twitch while he worked down the length, the sliding tongue, the care of his own fangs. Hands moved the fabric down from Laric's buttocks and thighs some more, to free him up, only to return and dig fingertips into the firm flesh. His head moving back for some reprieve, dark eyes glimmered as they turned upward, to glance at Laric. The grip renewed around the cock, guiding its parting with the mouth, the rose tip against the lapping tongue and parted lips.
No weight of power on that man, in the moment, no invisible mantle.
Laric's eyes above could easily track his every move, his back's curve in the restraint of his own clothes, the parted knees. No stars in the eyes. Just musk and salt on the tongue, panting breath.
Walter didn't speak, lavishing affection on the other down the length, teasing the hard twin shapes with a dexterous tongue. Wanted that grabbing hand in his hair, to lose himself just a little in the simple, spontaneous carnality. Wanted to hear Laric's breath shiver, feel him relax against the added support, and just let himself be pleasured.
Walter moaned softly when he took the length in again, it just nearly at his throat, and pushed deeper against it, the confines tight even as they relaxed, eyes glistening with involuntary moisture, the tip of his nose meeting the coarse darker blond hairs at the base of the shaft. Released himself, moved slightly back, sharp puffs of breath through the nose breaking against the lover's skin. More. Quieter.
He turned. Fingers rose to Laric's face, outlined the cheekbone, tucked the blonde mane behind the ear, where it escaped moments later. He kissed the corner of the lover's mouth while the hand wrapped around the pulsing shaft tightened the grip. Lips traced the outline of the chin, teased a caress at the lower lip.
Guided Laric one, two steps behind, until the back of the man's hips met the tabletop. There have been many specimen on it once on these sturdy, slightly dusty tables, though more often notes and array models. Walter had run out of experiments that needed not include an aid, and he had no one in Thornhall to trust with those. The less they knew, the better.
Now, he was putting a subject of affection against that surface. A distraction, certainly. From so many worries.
He wouldn't know if the Huntsmen lived, and did not want to put pressure on the healer to hurry up or be worried over her future. A dreadful situation best not thought about, especially because now, thanks to his push, it had all chances to improve.
The drake pens would report back in the afternoon, as well - Seetang was about to give birth to the third generation of her patina-green lineage. Walter figured Garrick could handle that one. He'd visit with the wounded by evenfall. If Laric wanted a bit of time to himself, he could work the accounts and accounting reports from the elder of the sourwisp-growing village.
Those thoughts glimmered at the bottom of his mind, but did not overtake. Hands dove under Laric's soft black shirt, gathered folds of it at the waistline so Walter could continue the touch at the level that Laric's had stopped earlier - cold air touched to the sun-kissed skin by the navel, then Walter's mouth graced it with heated kisses, moving down. His knees would get a bit dusty, more than a bit achey, too - but Laric might have cared about him more in the moment than Walter himself.
As his knees came to meet the hardwood floor with a thud, he realized, he needed to recover from that weakness. He needed, viscerally, to prove to himself that he was not some bed-ridden weakling. That he had his life under control, that he could seek and gift pleasure as he saw fit.
Because nobody was coming to save him.
He needed to feel Laric's lust, warmth, need, because he could not bear that heavy thought, no more than those episodes of agony, short but disruptive in the worse way, slowly driving him to despair. He was not a cripple. Because if he was...
His fingers moved around the shaft, pulled back the skin, and tongue rolled around the tip, flicking and probing, before his mouth wrapped it, taking Laric in. He could feel the pulse, the slight involuntary twitch while he worked down the length, the sliding tongue, the care of his own fangs. Hands moved the fabric down from Laric's buttocks and thighs some more, to free him up, only to return and dig fingertips into the firm flesh. His head moving back for some reprieve, dark eyes glimmered as they turned upward, to glance at Laric. The grip renewed around the cock, guiding its parting with the mouth, the rose tip against the lapping tongue and parted lips.
No weight of power on that man, in the moment, no invisible mantle.
Laric's eyes above could easily track his every move, his back's curve in the restraint of his own clothes, the parted knees. No stars in the eyes. Just musk and salt on the tongue, panting breath.
Walter didn't speak, lavishing affection on the other down the length, teasing the hard twin shapes with a dexterous tongue. Wanted that grabbing hand in his hair, to lose himself just a little in the simple, spontaneous carnality. Wanted to hear Laric's breath shiver, feel him relax against the added support, and just let himself be pleasured.
Walter moaned softly when he took the length in again, it just nearly at his throat, and pushed deeper against it, the confines tight even as they relaxed, eyes glistening with involuntary moisture, the tip of his nose meeting the coarse darker blond hairs at the base of the shaft. Released himself, moved slightly back, sharp puffs of breath through the nose breaking against the lover's skin. More. Quieter.
A slight tilt of the head followed in response to the fingers tangling in his hair, an unsopoken yes, like this. Gentleness seemed a very carefully maintained facade, and Walter had already caught it slipping for a moment. Show me, he thought, feeling his own clothes growing tighter. Oh, the sweet torture.
There it was, fingers flexed and pressed him in, so that throat convulsed around the length a beat longer. There was surprisingly little jerking on reflex, the clicking in his throat but no attempt to move as he was held. Tears glistened on the black eyelashes, fingers clawed into the back of Laric's thighs, tracking lines down, but Walter did not move until released. Tongue slid up the slit at the tip, and a glance up as he took hold of Laric to stroke him was almost a challenge of its own, before the man's chest rose again, filled sharply through parted lips.
He could hold his breath for quite a while, too. That, too, was through some diligent practice.
His face was flushed, still, lips rubbed a darker shade. A lock wrapped around Laric's fingers, silver threads among the jet black intertwining like a protective ornament of a silver band.
Walter let the lover take control, shifted the posture on his knees, perhaps as they'd begun to bother him. Eyes closed, he met the half-thrusts with soft moans, the slithering caress of the tongue, fully focused on catching every noise of pleasure he would reap from Laric.
He could have drawn back and taken his revenge, cruelly, perhaps even painfully - Laric felt close to that desperate edge of pleasure, to find release just beyond.
But that would have been too cruel.
And so, he trembled, keeping the pace for Laric, the tight throat allowing for a rough spearing to push the blond over. This was the stretch he hadn't planned, but for the better perhaps. Not a single drop would stain Laric's clothes. They could emerge from here proper... more or less.
There it was, fingers flexed and pressed him in, so that throat convulsed around the length a beat longer. There was surprisingly little jerking on reflex, the clicking in his throat but no attempt to move as he was held. Tears glistened on the black eyelashes, fingers clawed into the back of Laric's thighs, tracking lines down, but Walter did not move until released. Tongue slid up the slit at the tip, and a glance up as he took hold of Laric to stroke him was almost a challenge of its own, before the man's chest rose again, filled sharply through parted lips.
He could hold his breath for quite a while, too. That, too, was through some diligent practice.
His face was flushed, still, lips rubbed a darker shade. A lock wrapped around Laric's fingers, silver threads among the jet black intertwining like a protective ornament of a silver band.
Walter let the lover take control, shifted the posture on his knees, perhaps as they'd begun to bother him. Eyes closed, he met the half-thrusts with soft moans, the slithering caress of the tongue, fully focused on catching every noise of pleasure he would reap from Laric.
He could have drawn back and taken his revenge, cruelly, perhaps even painfully - Laric felt close to that desperate edge of pleasure, to find release just beyond.
But that would have been too cruel.
And so, he trembled, keeping the pace for Laric, the tight throat allowing for a rough spearing to push the blond over. This was the stretch he hadn't planned, but for the better perhaps. Not a single drop would stain Laric's clothes. They could emerge from here proper... more or less.
He swallowed, throat feeling raw from the self-inflicted intensity, kissed away the glistening saliva. He was panting, too, feeling a little light headed. His own hand found the edge of the table, to steady himself. He kissed the bend of the thigh, and struggled to get on his feet again, knees flaring with ache. The hand that grabbed him by the front of the doublet helped some, though he took care to not lurch right into Laric.
He allowed for a short kiss, licked the burning lips and covered them with pale fingers as he leaned against the edge of the table beside the lover, giving his legs a rest straightened.
He didn't speak, catching his breath in silence. The hand drifted from his mouth to his throat. Walter didn't complain, a faint smile on his lips as he glanced at Laric. Would he see that same distance they both felt then, by the fire?
The dark gaze dropped away, his cheeks and ears still burning, and Walter slowly detached himself from the table, to offer, through rising hands and careful touch, to adjust clothing on his disheveled lover.
He allowed for a short kiss, licked the burning lips and covered them with pale fingers as he leaned against the edge of the table beside the lover, giving his legs a rest straightened.
He didn't speak, catching his breath in silence. The hand drifted from his mouth to his throat. Walter didn't complain, a faint smile on his lips as he glanced at Laric. Would he see that same distance they both felt then, by the fire?
The dark gaze dropped away, his cheeks and ears still burning, and Walter slowly detached himself from the table, to offer, through rising hands and careful touch, to adjust clothing on his disheveled lover.