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The meeting with the Lords is dragging on interminably, and Estinien shifts his weight, having tuned out most of the proceedings some time ago.
The only positive aspect of being here is the chance to stare at Aymeric. Estinien is ever grateful, in times like these, for the unique design of the dragoon helm. With his face almost completely covered, no one will know that his gaze is firmly fixed upon the Lord Commander, drinking in every small detail of his features and considering what they may do later on when they are alone.
A clamour breaks out over some tiny point of order and Aymeric shifts in his chair, raising his voice over top. ‘Tis not often that he is forced to do so, and Estinien closes his eyes briefly as a shudder ripples through his body at the sound of that commanding tone.
The moment passes, everyone calms down, and Aymeric settles again, leaning back in the chair and relaxing. Estinien’s gaze zeroes in on his thighs, spread so far apart in the chair that it is almost obscene.
There is just enough space there for Estinien to kneel before him, between those thighs, and lean in to nuzzle his cock.
He snaps himself back to attention. He really ought not to have thoughts like that during meetings; although his face is covered and none will be able to see just how flushed his ears are, the drachen mail breeches are exceptionally snug, particularly in the crotch.
Estinien shifts a little, willing the swelling of his cock to cease, but his gaze is drawn back to Aymeric again, like a moth to a flame. Fury, but he is beautiful when he is in his element. His eyes are bright, almost sparkling with animation as he elaborates on a point. Black curls fall in his eyes and he impatiently pushes them back, making Estinien recall just how soft and silky those curls are when tangled between his fingers. As he speaks he gestures to make his point, and Estinien follows his hands with a nigh-obsessive intensity, thinking about those long, slender fingers touching him, stroking him, wrapping around his cock and sliding into him.
He closes his eyes and wonders how much longer he must wait. All he wants is to straddle Aymeric’s lap and kiss him, to feel those strong thighs underneath him, to press himself against his body and grind down, to feel Aymeric’s cock swell up beneath him until he is panting and gasping against Estinien’s mouth.
Because Estinien knows why Aymeric sits like that, and ‘tis not due to arrogance, or lack of consideration, or even a desire to appear more commanding by taking up more space. Nay, Aymeric sits with his legs spread wide to relieve pressure on his cock, which takes up an unfair amount of room betwixt his thighs.
Estinien tears his gaze away from Aymeric, staring resolutely at the ceiling. But it is too late; in his mind, he is already sitting atop Aymeric’s thighs, enjoying the feel of his heavy cock thickening beneath his weight. He glances once again at his lover, who looks in his direction and smirks. ‘Tis but a minute curve of lip, a slight creasing of eyes, such that none who might see it would realise, yet it burns Estinien from the inside out. Gods help him if anyone looks at him, looks down at his crotch, for his own cock is now pressing almost painfully against the tight leather of his breeches. Were he a lesser man, he may excuse himself and take himself somewhere private to relieve the pressure, and it is with a sense of immeasurable relief that he hears Aymeric thank the Lords for their attendance and wish them well.
He forces himself to stand upright and salute as they pass him by, and eventually he is alone in the room with Aymeric.
They are silent, staring at one another. Aymeric raises an eyebrow and his mouth quirks in a half smile as he deliberately drags his gaze from Estinien’s face all the way down his body to his crotch.
His smile widens, his eyes sparkle, he makes a sound of approval, and Estinien shifts his weight from one foot to another as his cock twitches.
He knows, Fury take him, he knows exactly what Estinien wants. But Estinien will be damned if they do this here, in Aymeric’s office, with Lucia and Handeloup mere yalms away on the other side of the door.
“I shall return home now,” Aymeric murmurs, rising to his feet. His eyes do not leave Estinien. “Join me?” The words carry a measure of command. He stretches a hand out and Estinien, as if drawn by a magnet, takes it.
~
It is a relief, to strip himself of his tight drachen mail and dress instead in a loose shirt and trousers pilfered from Aymeric’s wardrobe. He carefully hangs the mail upon the armour rack in the antechamber of Aymeric’s bedchamber and runs a hand through his hair to loosen it after hours spent beneath his helm.
Anticipation coils in his belly, as does anxiety. ‘Tis no small thing, to admit his desires to Aymeric, and although his lover has been ever encouraging and delighted by any small revelations, Estinien still cringes at the thought. Steeling himself, his face flushed with both arousal and fear, he steps into the bedchamber.
Aymeric glances up at him and smiles, that gentle loving smile which warms Estinien all the way down to his bones. He does not move from his position on the couch, and Estinien’s heart rate picks up at the sight. Aymeric is slouched indolently, almost indecently, his legs far apart, one knee cocked, and an arm slung across the back of the couch. He, too, has shed his robes of office, dressing down in a finely woven blue ramie shirt and black cotton trousers which Estinien knows are silky smooth and soft to touch.
Estinien longs to be astride those thighs, yet he hangs back at the doorway. Foolishness. Go take your place on his lap, you both want it.
Even from the other side of the room, he can see the shape of Aymeric’s cock in his trousers, thick and long and lying soft against his thigh. ‘Tis clear that Aymeric has, like Estinien, eschewed smallclothes, and heat spirals through his body, weakening his knees. He knows how that cock feels beneath his weight, what it is like to hold, to lick, to slowly slide down upon until Aymeric is buried deep within his body, and he wants him.
“Estinien,” Aymeric murmurs, his voice low and silky smooth. “Won’t you come over here?” His gaze heated, he lifts a hand and beckons to him. ‘Tis as though he is tugging on a string, with Estinien helplessly tied to the end, and Estinien’s breath quickens as he crosses the room towards his lover. He pauses barely a fulm away from Aymeric, suddenly overcome with anxiety.
Aymeric reaches out and takes his hand, lifting it to his mouth and kissing the back of it. His eyes never leave Estinien’s face, ice blue and penetrating. “Please. You needn’t be shy.”
Estinien huffs. “I am not shy.” He glares down at Aymeric, who gazes lovingly at him before leaning back and patting his thigh. Yet he finds himself unable to move, frozen by nerves. ‘Tis ridiculous; they have been here before, and he knows that once he gives in, he will enjoy himself immensely. He simply needs to take that step.
“Please,” Aymeric says again, his voice so quiet Estinien barely hears him. The room is silent aside from the crackling and popping of the fireplace and the soft sounds of Aymeric’s cat stirring in her sleep on the other side of the room, and Estinien nods, taking a step forward and sliding himself across Aymeric’s thighs.
For a moment they stare at one another, Estinien perched awkwardly on Aymeric’s lap, his hands on his shoulders to brace himself.
“Come here.” Aymeric places a hand on Estinien’s lower back and applies a gentle pressure, coaxing him to shift forward until their chests are pressed together. He tilts his head for a kiss, and Estinien obliges eagerly.
As their mouths touch, it is like a dam has burst within him, and Estinien makes an embarrassingly needy sound, muffled by Aymeric’s lips against his. He shuffles forward as much as he can, pressing his crotch down against Aymeric’s, feeling the shape of his cock beneath him. Even soft, Aymeric’s cock is wonderfully thick, and a thrill runs through Estinien’s body as he feels him start to swell up.
“Please let me know,” Aymeric breathes in his ear, his voice low and ragged, “if you are uncomfortable.”
Estinien shakes his head minutely. On the contrary; he daydreams about this, about being astride Aymeric’s muscular thighs, his lover gazing adoringly up at him as they grind together. He imagines Aymeric’s silken voice commanding him, not in the way that he would direct soldiers on the battlefield, but in that firm, uncompromising tone which brooks no argument.
It has been a struggle, lately, to maintain a calm facade in meetings when he hears Aymeric use that tone on Ishgard’s Lords, unable to think of aught but having it used upon himself.
“This is what you desire, is it not?” Aymeric asks, his hand firm on Estinien’s lower back. He sighs out a breath of longing, a hint of a moan barely audible, and shifts his hips. His cock twitches beneath Estinien’s inner thighs, barely separated from him by thin layers of fabric, and the heat that rushes through Estinien’s body is nigh overwhelming. “You want to feel my cock harden against you, want to grind against me until you make me come.”
To have Aymeric speak his fantasies aloud has Estinien’s ears burning hot and red, and a muffled whimper escapes his lips. He buries his face in Aymeric’s neck, unwilling—or unable—to meet his eyes, and he is rewarded with a low hum of approval.
“Might I make a confession?” Aymeric continues, sliding a hand into Estinien’s loose hair and combing through the tangled strands. His other hand kneads gently at Estinien’s lower back, coaxing him into a rocking motion. Estinien nods, unable to speak, barely able to focus on aught aside from the length of Aymeric’s cock, now firm against him. The thin cotton trousers they are both wearing do naught to disguise the shape of him, and Estinien grits his teeth as his own cock jerks against that scalding heat.
Aymeric chuckles. “This was all I could think of, during that meeting. You, straddling my lap, your body pressed up against me, the heat of your thighs and your cock warming me.” He moans softly as Estinien rocks against him a little harder, a little faster, and the hand in his hair tightens its grip. “I heard not a single word Count Durendaire said to me, towards the end, as my mind was fully occupied with imagining this very scenario.” He tugs Estinien’s hair, forcing his head up so he may look him in the eye. Estinien feels raw, exposed; his face is no doubt flushed red, his eyes dark with need, his mouth partially open as he pants for air.
“Aymeric—”
“Tell me,” Aymeric interrupts, those piercing blue eyes penetrating Estinien’s very soul. “Do you wish to ride my cock? Or mayhap I shall pull our trousers down just a little, enough that you may wrap your hand around me.” He drags a kiss across Estinien’s jaw and to his lips, and for a moment they are both too preoccupied by the kiss to speak. Estinien is all too happy for the distraction; Aymeric has a habit of wanting to entice words out of him, to have him speak his desires. Yet there is a part of him that ever yearns towards it, wanting to spill his soul to his lover, to let words guide him as well as actions.
He must first get over the threshold, and ‘tis a nigh insurmountable wall. Estinien whines softly into Aymeric’s mouth as the heat betwitxt his thighs intensifies. His cock is almost painfully stiff, and he ruts against Aymeric, slick dampness spilling from the head and soaking through the cotton.
“No—I think I shall simply do this. Have you rub against me until we both spill,” Aymeric whispers, a soft sigh in his ear, an encouraging caress of his scalp. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want—”
“Yes?”
“I—I want this, please,” Estinien spills out in a rush of words. “I want to feel you come against me, in your trousers, just from this.” Now that he has spoken, the words come more easily, and he takes a deep breath before continuing. “I want to lie here, against you, and drive you out of your mind. Hear you moan. You make the sweetest sounds, I—” He cuts himself off with a gasp as Aymeric shifts beneath him, lining their cocks up to slide together.
“Go on.” Aymeric sounds a little broken as he lets go of Estinien’s hair in favour of having both hands on his arse, increasing the speeds of his thrusts.
“‘Tis all I could think of, earlier, seeing you in your chair with your legs spread so obscenely wide. Knowing that it was because your cock was getting hard, and you needed the space. Knowing that you were thinking of me, like this.” His voice is ragged, raw, and he cannot stifle his whimpers as his hips jerk against Aymeric’s. Gods, but his cock is big, long and thick and lava-hot against Estinien’s. He shoves a hand between them, desperate to trace the shape of him, and Aymeric moans as he touches him with trembling fingers. Aymeric’s trousers are damp over the head, slick with precome, and Estinien drags his fingertips over the wet cloth, mapping out the shape of him and relishing his sounds of pleasure.
A hand seizes his wrist, stopping all movement. “Have you changed your mind?” Aymeric asks. The hand on his lower back pauses, and those ice-blue eyes search his face. “Much as I enjoy your hand on me, or—” Aymeric breaks off, his lower lip caught between his teeth, and makes a quiet sound of desperation— “or your mouth, you told me you wanted to feel me spill in my trousers from you rubbing your cock against me.”
Estinien struggles to contain himself. He wants it all, wants Aymeric bare against him, the hot silk-smooth skin of his cock sliding against his hand. He wants to push their trousers aside and allow Aymeric to fill him with his cock, let him ride him until he is spent. Paralysed by sudden indecision, he makes a desperate whining noise, his hand frozen on Aymeric’s cock.
His heart thuds wildly and tendrils of panic start to seep in.
“Estinien,” Aymeric murmurs. He strokes Estinien’s wrist with a light touch and rubs gentle circles on his lower back. The touch grounds him, Aymeric’s voice breaking him out of his circling thoughts. “My love, look at me.”
His face flushed with shame at almost losing hold of himself over so simple a thing, Estinien forces himself to meet Aymeric’s gaze.
“Let go of me,” Aymeric says ever so quietly, his lips so close to Estinien’s mouth that he can feel the puff of his breath. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”
The instruction calms him immediately, a deep lassitude washing over him as he lifts his hands and places them on Aymeric’s broad shoulders. He is warm through the thin fabric of his shirt, and Estinien strokes him with his thumbs as he takes slow, deep breaths.
“Shift forward again,” Aymeric orders, placing firm pressure on his lower back and sliding his hands down to grasp his buttocks. “I want to feel your cock pressed against mine. Show me how hard you are.”
A thrill races through Estinien’s body, making his cock jerk against the cotton of his trousers. He dutifully shuffles forward, moulding himself against Aymeric’s chest and once again revelling in the sensation of Aymeric’s hard cock lined up next to his own. He rocks back and forth, just a little, enough to rub them both together, and Aymeric hums approvingly.
“Yes—like that. Gods, you feel good.”
“Keep talking,” Estinien gasps as he speeds up. His eyes fall closed, and Aymeric’s grip on his arse tightens.
“Open your eyes. I want you looking at me when you come.” Aymeric slides a hand up underneath Estinien’s shirt, caressing him as he rocks against him, his back arching sinuously. “I want to see how much you are enjoying this.”
“Right.” Words fail him as he finds just the right angle, hips jerking helplessly against Aymeric’s body as he chases release. Aymeric is clearly struggling to maintain his composure, his face and ears flushed, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his eyes dark. Soft sounds of pleasure escape his half-open mouth, panting and moaning as Estinien writhes on his lap.
“Harder,” Aymeric snaps, his hand clenched so tightly in Estinien’s buttock that he will have bruises on the morrow. “Faster, Fury, I’m close.” His other hand tugs at Estinien’s hair once again, the silver strands hopelessly tangled about his slender fingers, and he tightens his fist, the sharp pain making Estinien moan as he pushes himself down harder.
“Aymeric,” he gasps, his voice raw, and Aymeric whimpers in response as a shudder ripples through him. His hands tense up and his body arches back, his mouth agape and eyes wide as he spills himself. A rush of heat and wetness soaks through Aymeric’s trousers immediately, and Estinien’s head spins when he feels it against his cock.
“I can’t—I need—” He lets out a frustrated grunt; he is so close, but needs Aymeric to help him over the line. Aymeric hums and slides a hand between their bodies, nudging at Estinien’s waistband.
“Sit back a little. Open your trousers; I want to see your cock.”
Estinien’s hands tremble as he shoves at his trousers, yanking the ties loose and pushing the fabric down over his hips. His cock juts out in front of him, flushed and swollen, the head shining and slick with precome. Heat floods through his face and ears as Aymeric stares down at him with warmth and sheer undiluted want.
Aymeric fumbles with his own trousers, pushing them out of the way. “Look at what you made me do to myself,” he murmurs, and Estinien’s eyes widen at the sight of thick streaks of come covering Aymeric’s still-swollen cock. He presses himself closer, enjoying the slick wetness against his own heated length, and Aymeric takes him in hand, using his own spend to smooth the way as he strokes him from base to tip.
“Aymeric—” His voice is embarrassingly high, almost a whine, and Aymeric makes a soothing sound.
“I want you to mess me up even more,” he says softly, and takes Estinien’s hand, wrapping it around himself. “Touch yourself for me.” He cups Estinien’s waist and sits back, watching him closely and licking his fingers clean of his release.
Heat fills Estinien from head to toe and he whimpers, his lower lip caught between his teeth and his eyes fixed on the space between them. The sight of Aymeric’s cock drenched in his come, of his own cock sliding in and out of the circle of his fingers, clear precome slipping out with every pull, fills him with a blazing inferno. He pushes his hips forward again, rubbing the head of his cock against Aymeric, feeling the heat of his skin and imagining spilling himself all over him.
“You’re beautiful when you come,” Aymeric says, his voice rough. Estinien cannot reply, his words lost to desire. The low rumble of Aymeric’s firm voice instructing him on how to take his pleasure, the piercing blue of his eyes, the gentleness of his hands—Estinien gasps, moans, his eyes wide as he crests, his cock spilling jets of come all over Aymeric’s cock, his stomach, all the way up his chest, leaving thick white streaks on his shirt. He pants, his mouth hanging open and beads of sweat rolling down his temples, absolutely enraptured by the sight.
They stare at one another in silence as Estinien catches his breath. Gods, but Aymeric is a mess; streaks of come decorating him from his groin almost up to his neck, and he smiles at Estinien as he drags a finger through their combined release and lifts it to Estinien’s mouth to lick clean.
“Like I said. Beautiful.” Aymeric cups Estinien’s cheek, and he leans into the touch as warmth suffuses his body. ‘Tis always this way afterwards, after giving in to his desires, to Aymeric’s commands, and he sighs softly as he leans forward and presses their foreheads together.
They sit quietly for long moments, sharing in one another’s breath and gentle touches, before Aymeric shifts. “Can you stand?” he asks. “I would take you to my bathing chamber, if I may.”
Estinien nods and slowly shuffles backwards. He still does not feel quite present, his mind sunken into a honey-like warmth. Aymeric helps him stand, then wraps his arm about his waist as they shuffle to the adjoining bathing chamber. He settles Estinien on the side of the bath as he starts it filling, then slowly, carefully, divests him of his clothing. His own he tosses aside; they will need a thorough laundering.
Eventually they are up to their necks in steaming water, and Estinien willingly curls in next to Aymeric, his head resting on his shoulder, his hair in tangled locks hanging about his face. He always enjoys this aspect of their lovemaking, when Aymeric envelops him in love and allows him to return to himself on his own time. He lifts his head and places a gentle kiss on Aymeric’s cheek, nudging aside black hair curling from the steam.
“Thank you.”
“Mmm.” Aymeric turns and captures his lips and they kiss for a moment. “‘Tis most enjoyable for me as well, although I think you know this.”
Estinien snorts. “Aye, I noticed. But what I mean is—” He stops, frowns, once again facing that barrier to speaking his mind. Aymeric touches his hand reassuringly, and he takes a breath. “Thank you for giving me what I needed.”
Aymeric hums, pleased, and kisses him again. Steam rises around them, and no more words are spoken for quite some time.