Work Text:
“Got it!”
Monty snatches his prize and brings it close to his face. It was a shimmering pendant, tied with a gold string and a green jewel. Perhaps Boc would appreciate it?
He feels Morgott’s presence behind him, rather than hearing it. As deep in this hole as he was, Morgott’s voice is a little muffled. “Hast thy curiosity been sated?”
“It has,” he calls back, but as he moves to shove himself out, there is a sudden and jarring realization.
“Morgott, dear,” he says, trying to keep his voice at a reasonable volume that wouldn’t betray any concern or alarm. “I’m stuck.”
There is a beat of silence from the other end.
“Canst thou push harder?” Morgott urges.
“I…” Monty tries. He’s stuck by his thighs, the armor of his greaves chafing against the curved brickwork. In this position, it’s impossible to use his legs to try and kick himself out. “I can’t!”
Morgott gives a deep, explosive sigh. Monty can just imagine him facepalming.
“Quick, get my legs,” he pleads, kicking them weakly in the air for emphasis. There’s a telltale thunk as Morgott sets his staff on the ground. Both of his ankles are grabbed by large, heavy hands. “If that doesn’t work, try one of my greases?”
With a great pull, his legs come out rather easily. His hips, however, don’t agree with the current arrangements, scraping painfully against the stone.
“Okay, okay, stop!” Monty squawks, and Morgott quickly sets his legs down. They hang loosely over the edge and against the wall.
“That’s not going to work,” he says. “Go to my pack. In the first pocket, try thinking of something oily and greasy, and looks like a bottle with a cloth over it!”
There’s the distinct sound of shuffling as Morgott leaves him, all while chastising him. “Have I not warned thee of the dangers of thy curiosity? Look where it has brought thee, my love.”
“I’m sorry,” he calls out, as the embarrassment of the situation catches up to him. No one else would ever let him live this one down. “Just help me, please?”
“I have thee.” The sudden touch of calloused fingers against his rear makes him jolt in surprise. But Morgott handles him gently, reaching in to touch his scraped hips. “Does it hurt?”
“I’ll be okay,” he says. “Do you have it? It’s a small bottle with a cloth tied around it. The stuff inside is clear?”
“Indeed.”
“Okay…” Monty mutters, as his mind starts drawing a blank. The fluid Morgott should be holding right now is a substance made from the viscous mushrooms he found by the banks of the Siofra rivers. Once it was filtered, it made the most excellent lubricant and base for his greases. In the state it had been sitting in up until this point, it should be a fine, scentless oil.
“I suppose you could just… pour it over my rear? And hope for the best?” He says, thumping his thighs against the wall.
“Thine armor and clothing would absorb it,” Morgott points out rather unhelpfully.
“It would…” He sighs, his face starting to burn. There’s a gentle tug at the belt of his greaves.
“Allow me, Monty. This shall ease thy movements.”
“Okay, okay,” he says, trying not to sound too whiny. Being stuck in a hole like this was embarrassing, yes. But being stuck in a hole with your rear exposed? His face flushes with shame. Thank goodness Melina decided to stay back at camp with Torrent and Boc; just thinking about the look on her face makes him want to run away and hide.
Morgott gets to work, divesting Monty of his greaves with no heat in his movements. Still, being an old hand at undressing Monty, he works quickly and efficiently. As each piece of armor falls away and leaves him lighter, Monty’s face only grows redder as he’s left in his smallclothes, his bare ass exposed to the cool air.
“I shall apply it now,” Morgott announces, and Monty takes a deep, startled breath when a cold fluid drips down one cheek. It trickles slowly along his side, its trail broken by the dense hair on his legs. The same is done to his other cheek, and after a pause, Monty yelps in surprise when warm, wet hands encircle his hips.
“Calm thyself,” Morgott tuts, manhandling him by reaching above and below his waist to apply the oil liberally. It doesn’t hurt, nor does it feel too good; perhaps he does it in such a way to hammer in the fact that this isn’t meant to be intimate whatsoever.
But Monty finds himself weak, regardless. "Ugh..." He mutters, squeezing his eyes shut as Morgott's large, slick hands run along his bare sides. His hands are just so warm, soothing over his skin in rhythmic motions that are starting to make him feel strange.
Morgott pulls away, and Monty is quickly brought back to the present as his ankles are grabbed once more. “Let us try again.”
It doesn’t hurt much anymore as his wet hips pop out of the hole with less resistance than before, and he lets out a sigh of relief, momentarily forgetting his arousal. “Thank goodness!”
But once again, they reach another stopping point when Monty realizes his upper half is having issues as well. The widest part of his stomach, dry and untouched, won’t come free easily.
“A moment,” Morgott says, his voice clearer now that Monty is few inches closer to freedom, and Monty tries not to make a sound when the cool oil drips onto his lower back. Unlike his legs that were dressed in plated greaves, Monty’s upper half is clothed in robes that are easy to remove and push aside.
The skin of his abdomen is deceptively soft, hiding the hard muscle just underneath the surface. But as those hands come to rub down his partially exposed stomach, slipping past the threshold to wet the delicate, sensitive skin, Monty feels his body erupt in an instinctual shiver, his thighs squeezing together as a soft noise escapes his lips. He doesn’t even realize he’s done it until the hands stop.
Morgott's muffled voice floats in from the other side. "Art thou fain?"
Monty curses himself but replies quickly. "Yes, I'm alright! You can keep going, dear. Don't worry too much about me in here, it's rather comfortable, actually..."
And then he practically squeaks when he resumes, Morgott’s hands pressing dangerously close to the sensitive join of his hips and thighs, protected only by the meagre cloth of his smallclothes. Blast it. And Morgott most certainly heard it, judging by the way he stops again.
"Forgive me," Monty calls back, squeezing his thighs together as inconspicuously as he can. "Minor slip-up, is all! Not as though there's much slipping to be had."
Morgott says nothing in reply. Those hands leave him for a moment, and Monty breathes a sigh of relief. As helpful as Morgott could be, there were certain aspects to him that simply drove Monty up a wall, much like this.
Now covered in grease, he begins trying to push himself back, using his knees to press hard against the wall. He feels himself sliding against the smooth stones, and when the tip of his boot manages to touch solid ground- no doubt the box he had used to climb into this wretched hole- he begins to move with fervor, emboldened. Thanks to Morgott, the grease was doing its work, and if only he could get a mighty push in, or a great tug from Morgott, he could pop right out...
A large hand seizing his rear stops everything. Monty feels himself going beet-red.
"Morgott?" He says, and while he could see traces of light appearing from behind, he can't turn his body enough to look back and see it. He's left staring at the darkness instead. "Dear, wait, maybe you can pull me out..."
The wet hand begins fondling his cheeks. Monty gasps, jolting in place as the implications of the touch are made perfectly clear. At least the more tactical part of his brain can rest easy; together, they had taken out all known threats in the area, and the soldiers would stay well away with word of the Fell Omen walking around.
That doesn't make it any less embarrassing or thrilling. Monty whimpers as both hands grasp him, handling the mounds of flesh with care, but not without heft, as they squeeze and appreciate what's there. “M-Morgott, why are you…”
“Hush. I said I have thee.” A kiss presses against his left cheek, followed by another generous squeeze.
His erection, which had been flagging earlier, now stands hard and pressed against the wall as Morgott uses a thumb to pull the string of his smallclothes aside, leaving his nether regions exposed. His massive fingers swallow Monty's shaft, wrapping around him easily, still wet with grease. He presses his face into his arms, desperate to muffle the noises tumbling out of his mouth. The position he's in only doubles his embarrassment and arousal more; it’s certainly not befitting for a lord, he thinks, as his spread thighs press flat against the wall and his knees curl in tight. But there's nothing wrong with that, right?
It would be easy to finish like this. Monty is still tender from their last excursion together, evidenced by the way his hole opens easily when Morgott slips two fingers inside, prompting another ruined cry from him. They twist inside, curling and scissoring, and just when he wonders if it'll be too much, Morgott pulls away again.
He pants, ragged as his thighs tremble and his hole flutters around nothing, his knees dropping to allow his feet to rest on the box below him. This was so wildly different from all their other couplings, and it feels strange not being able to see or reach out to touch Morgott. Almost everything besides some sound and touch leaves the rest to his imagination, and his mind races with the lack of information. What kind of face was Morgott making? Was he enjoying this? Why did he think to even start?
Three massive, slick fingers sink inside, and Monty's thoughts turn to mush as he cries.
It feels like he may very well go mad. His legs alternate between thumping against the wall and squeezing together, feebly trying to escape the onslaught of sensations that leave him ragged. The noises he's making are bouncing off the walls, and the obscene squelches from his lower half become something he feels rather than hears.
"Morgott," he sobs, pressing his face into his hands as he nears that perfect peak again, the cord in his gut drawing tight. As his palms touch his eyes, he's stunned to find tears, and he can't help the laugh of disbelief from bubbling out of him, which quickly turns back into a startled moan when those massive fingers spread themselves wide inside of him. "Dear, my love, please, please..."
And then he draws away, again. Monty's shoulders slump, his entire front half leaning forwards in a heap as he gasps for breath.
He feels so open, and he winces as he tries to clench himself tight, his thighs shaking as his cock rubs against the brickwork, leaving a damp spot on the wall connected to the head by a thin, pearlescent string. The grease on his body is cooling and drying, and he huffs out a laugh; if Morgott doesn't hurry this up, then he'll still be stuck, and it'll have to be reapplied all over again...
Something hot and hard draws between his thighs, pressing against his balls before a bulbous head comes to rest against his ass. Two thumbs slip inside, spreading him obscenely, and Monty takes a deep breath, releasing it in a slow exhale as the head is guided to his entrance and rubs insistently against him. Even after all that preparation, taking Morgott inside of him is no easy feat, so he tries to calm his rapid heartbeat and relaxes.
As if sensing his efforts, Morgott begins thrusting, pushing himself in tune, and it’s so wonderfully, perfectly decadent that Monty feels him down to his toes. His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head as he fills in every possible space he’s capable of giving, his face growing numb at the sheer stretch and weight that feels like it’s penetrating his very thoughts, stealing his breath away and leaving his mind blessedly blank. By some hidden blessing, the hole is level with Morgott’s waist, and Monty feels him pushing his poor stomach out against the stone below him. It’s almost easy to forget that he’s stuck in some grimy gap in the wall, and he lays against the curved brickwork as though it were as fine as bedding, open-mouthed and drooling as his lord sinks in to the hilt, his wide hips pressing flushed against his ass.
What follows is one of the most exhilarating couplings they’ve ever had thus far, as Morgott takes him savagely. Monty isn’t sure why, but this kind of sex, the kind where he isn’t able to see his partner and all is left to his imagination, has him tipping on the edge. He can't hear Morgott above his own cries besides the harsh sounds of skin slapping against skin. There’s a strange warbling noise coming from his throat, echoing in his ears as he tightens and comes violently, untouched, his entire body trying and failing to curl in on itself. His vision whites out as Morgott continues pounding, fucking him hard through his orgasm until his spend can only leak out of his cock lazily, dripping onto the box beneath them.
There’s a strange sort of bliss that follows as he’s used, a glorious simplicity in being just a hole to fuck. Degrading, yes, but something about it has him feeling warm all over, his eyes crossing as his body goes slack and powerless when Morgott pushes in deeper than before and releases inside of him. His seed is so hot, filling him so completely that Monty’s mouth falls open as though he were trying to taste it. Was the would-be Elden Lord allowed to act like this?
He’s still hard when Morgott pulls out, and he can only weakly squirm when three calloused fingers slip inside of him again. They massage his insides, rubbing incessantly against his sweet spot, and one more caress on his own weeping cock is enough for him to release one final spurt that has his thighs shaking like a newborn foal. With Morgott’s hands truly off him, Monty can only sag forward, becoming a boneless heap as his legs dangle out of the brickwork and Morgott’s spend gushes out of his ruined hole.
Distantly, he registers the oil being poured across the rest of his body, smoothing over his skin. As Morgott pulls him out further, his shirt is up and over his head as his shoulders finally come loose. He’s practically naked as Morgott gathers him in his arms, kissing his flushed face all over.