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“What a pleasant surprise,” Qifrey spits out. He already slept terribly, the guilt over wiping Olruggio’s memory boiling anew in his gut and making it impossible to find rest, and now the most irritating possible person has shown up at his door.
“A missive was sent to your atelier a week in advance. Though I expected you to ignore it, as is your custom with any sort of order or regulation,” Easthies fires back. He presses his arm onto the barely opened door, shoves his way into the threshold of Qifrey’s atelier. “We have been expecting a full report on the outsider currently under your care, as well as your other students. A report that you have failed to send.”
”And it required sending you to hound me for it?” His tone darkens from simple exasperation to true anger, and Qifrey feels his brow furrowing into an unpleasant expression. The sight of Easthies standing in his space, the home he’s built together with Olruggio, the space where he raises and teaches the girls that Easthies seems to so despise, sends an ugly wave of revulsion up through him. It’s a violation, an intrusion, the almost garish red of Easthies’ uniform contrasting unpleasantly against the warm, pleasant tones of Qifrey’s home.
“Seeing as you have continuously failed to heed our missives, I took it upon myself to conduct the investigation. This could have easily been avoided with a simple written report.” He sets his spear down, perhaps deeming it inappropriate to brandish a weapon so brazenly in someone’s home.
“Which I believe my Eye already filled out and submitted to you. I see no reason why you require mine as well.” The reminder of Olruggio colors the bright red of Qifrey’s anger with a tinge of blue-gray guilt, and now, not only is he choking back his irritation, he’s also holding down the fresh wave of self-hatred for what he’s done. He’d asked if Olruggio might take the girls on a shopping trip down in the Assembly, disguising it as an attempt to get Olruggio out of the atelier for a bit instead of stuck at his desk working on some commission, when in reality, Qifrey could not bear to look him in the eye knowing he had ripped away parts of his memories.
Which left the atelier empty, save for him and his current irritant. Who has, frustratingly, begun walking around his atelier, performing whatever “inspection” he claimed was necessary, further intruding upon the space of Qifrey’s home.
“Your report was necessary because we requested it.”
Ah. Yeah. Sure. If the Knights request something, everyone must bow their heads and obey their whim at once. Authority obsessed, the whole lot of them. Qifrey’s really not sure how they can stand it, taking precious memories day in day out, when he’s tearing himself to pieces over just one person’s. The degree of separation from their victims probably helps. In Easthies’ case though, Qifrey suspects he cares more for the principles than he does for people. Makes it easier to violate their minds if it’s in service to something greater, or something like that.
When Easthies moves towards the staircase leading towards the girls’ rooms, Qifrey sternly calls out to him, “You’re certainly not going up there.”
”A complete investigation warrants inspection of all aspects of their lives. Their rooms are not exempt from this.”
”Absolutely not. What inspection requires a privacy violation of four young children?” Qifrey hisses at him, trying to appeal to some sense of basic decorum he hopes Easthies has. Well. Given that Easthies had made it his mission to torment his students, Qifrey isn’t hopeful. Instead, he searches for some other way to stop Easthies, eye landing on the spear he’d set aside earlier.
Qifrey gets his hands on the spear, takes a quick second to study the seal on its medallion. Once he’s gotten the gist of how to control it, he sends the banner arcing through the room, tries to get it to neatly yank Easthies away from the stairs. Qifrey’s control over it is not quite fine enough though, and instead of simply wrapping around Easthies and pulling him away, it tightens like a vise, binding around his chest, his arms, his thighs. Or perhaps his control is quite good, because some part of him wants very much to pull Easthies down from his high horse. Caught off balance and trussed like a fish in a net, Easthies falls with an undignified thump, though he turns himself so his shoulder takes the brunt of the fall, before the banner contracts and drags him to Qifrey’s feet.
He levels a red-eyed glare at Qifrey from the ground, though the fury behind it is tempered by his vulnerable position.
“You-“
”Shut it,” Qifrey bites out, his grip on Easthies’ spear tightening. It seems the banner responds to everything, because a portion of it snakes upwards and binds over Easthies’ mouth, effectively muffling whatever else he meant to say.
”Much better.” He moves to stand over Easthies’ bound form, points the spear down, presses the tip of it to Easthies’ neck. Qifrey’s about to say something more, before he notices Easthies’ response has been… odd. With him muted by the banner, Qifrey expected a physical struggle, for him to strain against his bonds, but he lays there limp, almost docile. Even the glare from before has all but disappeared, and Easthies’ gaze seems unfocused, distracted, and… a flush has crept high on his cheeks. Oh.
“You- are you seriously turned on by this?” Qifrey asks incredulously, not quite believing what the hell is unfolding beneath him. He tilts the spear back upright, wills it to release just the gag over Easthies’ mouth. To his relief, this time the banner obeys properly, lifting ever so slightly. Easthies inhales sharply. Before he can form some long-winded tirade about arresting Qifrey for illegally using a pennant, or attacking a Knight, or impeding a sanctioned investigation, Qifrey curiously, gently, presses the base of the spear into Easthies’ crotch, and the resulting sharp gasp of pleasure and surprise effectively cuts off his words.
Qifrey’s not sure what comes over him then, perhaps it’s the novelty of seeing the man currently writhing beneath him in such a vulnerable, open state, but he continues grinding the spear onto Easthies’ cock. Watches, rapt, as a tent forms under his skirt. Before long, Qifrey shifts the spear to one hand, kneels down so he straddles Easthies’ bound thighs, and uses his other hand to palm at Easthies over his clothes, drawing out quiet gasps and shaky exhales. Qifrey loathes to admit it, but the man looks undeniably beautiful like this, the deep flush of his cheeks complimenting hazy red eyes, dark hair haloing his pale face. Seconds later, Easthies lets out a quiet whine, biting down hard on his lip, and Qifrey feels his legs twitching hard, rhythmically underneath him.
”Did you just finish from that?”
Easthies pants hard underneath him, tries to form some coherent speech between heaving breaths.
”You- how dare you use a pennant for- unhand me- ah!-“ Qifrey digs the heel of his hand hard onto Easthies’ oversensitive cock, and the stream of bitten off moans and soft gasps he lets out sends heat rushing directly to Qifrey’s cock. He’s hit by a sudden wave of shame, of disgust for feeling aroused in this situation, when literally hours ago he-
No, he does not wish to think of his betrayal. Not right now. Guilt, shame, lust, anger all swirl and pool into a heady mix within his gut, and Qifrey only wishes to forget in this moment. The body beneath him seems as good a place as any to bury his turmoil. Only if Easthies wants it too.
Qifrey carefully, slowly, commands the pennant to release Easthies, just enough that if he so wished, he could wriggle out of the bindings. Stand up and collect himself, then probably arrest Qifrey, or wipe his memories, or any number of terrible endings for Qifrey. Even in this sensitive, weakened state, Easthies is certainly stronger than Qifrey, could easily overpower him now without the banner’s restrictions. But instead, Easthies makes no move to escape, lays inert within the now loose pennant. A silent capitulation.
Trusting, now, Qifrey leaves him behind, gently setting the spear on the floor, and grabs a bottle of oil from the kitchen. Upon his return, he sees that Easthies has remained exactly as he was left, hasn’t even tried to grab at his spear or remove the bindings. Seeing him, such a far cry from the imposing, authoritarian figure Easthies usually displays, reduced to a trembling, flushed mess from just a bit of teasing, sends a bright bolt of arousal shooting through Qifrey’s half-hard cock. He palms himself a bit through his robes as he kneels behind Easthies, handles him onto all fours. He doesn’t particularly wish to take Easthies on his back, unnerved by the idea of his eyes trained on Qifrey as he tries to bury his guilt away.
Qifrey flips up Easthies’ uniform skirt, yanks his undergarments down to his mid-thighs. A mess of come from his previous climax sticks to his clothes, shiny and wet along his still partially erect cock. Qifrey slicks his index finger up with oil and inserts it into Easthies without much fanfare. He curls his finger inside Easthies gently, searching out for his prostate, feels how tightly his hole clenches down on just one digit. As unyielding as Easthies is about everything else, Qifrey is unsurprised his body is the same way, irritatingly stubborn and resistant to change.
Upon hearing Easthies gasp when he crooks his finger just so, Qifrey knows he’s found it, and unceremoniously tries to add a second finger. It’s too soon, Easthies’ body unwilling to accept more, even as his hips stutter onto Qifrey’s hand, searching for more pleasure. Eventually, Qifrey manages to shove in both fingers, now scissoring him open with ruthless efficiency, occasionally stroking his finger pads across Easthies’ prostate. As much as he might abhor the man he’s currently finger-fucking, Qifrey does not wish to be cruel, and tries to give him some amount of relief before he takes Easthies to use for his own pleasure.
Before long, Qifrey’s arousal wins out, and he pulls his robes apart enough to undo his shirt garters and pull down his own undergarments, just enough to expose his cock, pumps it to full hardness with a fistful of oil. He’s glad for the clothes that cover the most part of both his and Easthies’ bodies, a layer of separation between them even as they’re about to join. Qifrey does not wish to bare himself completely to this man, and he doubts Easthies wishes to give himself completely over either.
He presses his way in, slow at first, tries to give Easthies time to adjust to the larger intrusion. He soon abandons that sentiment, impatient to have pleasure completely erase the mess of thoughts tangled in his mind, and ruts his hips forward til they’re flush with Easthies’ ass. Easthies, to his credit, words no complaint, though Qifrey notices the hiss of pain he lets out and the tight clench of his hole around his cock.
He holds still, just for a moment, before slowly rolling his hips into Easthies, barely sliding out before slotting them back together completely. The hot, wet feeling of Easthies’ body around his cock has Qifrey precipitously close to the edge, and he realizes just how long it’s been since he and Olruggio had done this, or even the last time he’d felt Olruggio inside of him, and-
Shame, guilt, loathing swirl into a rancid mixture that dampens the arousal pooling in his body unpleasantly. Qifrey draws out almost completely, snaps his hips hard into Easthies, the bolt of pleasure that lances through his body nearly covering the shame that threatens to overtake him. He ignores the sharp moan Easthies whines out, instead presses a hand to his nape and forces Easthies’ head to the ground, curving his back into an uncomfortable arch.
Leaned over him like that, Qifrey bears down on Easthies’ body with nearly his whole weight, rutting forward only with the intent of chasing the orgasm building slow in his gut. Head bowed over the body underneath him until his forehead nearly touches Easthies’ back, Qifrey finds himself mouthing silent apologies, begging forgiveness from a body that cannot give it to him.
Each thrust into that tight, warm heat brings Qifrey closer to the brink, pleasure clouding his mind, closer, closer-
Right before his climax overtakes him, Qifrey releases his hold on Easthies’ neck, pulls himself out. Strokes himself once, twice, before bright pulses of pleasure blissfully white out his mind, and he spills hard onto Easthies’ ass and thighs, come streaking over pale, flushed skin and black stockings. Mind and body pleasantly warmed by his climax, Qifrey almost offers a hand to finish Easthies as well, before he notices the clear come streaking the floor underneath Easthies and staining the front of his skirts. Well. At the least he won’t have completely used the knight for his own pleasure.
He throws a washcloth to Easthies, who’s fallen to laying on his side, skirt pushed up to his waist, chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths. Qifrey turns away, allows the man some privacy as he wipes away the come drying on his thighs and front. When Qifrey turns to take back the washcloth, he’s surprised to find Easthies has already neatly rearranged himself, uniform unwrinkled and stainless as if nothing had happened. The enchantments on those uniforms are something else.
The warm afterglow slowly fades from his mind, and Qifrey is suddenly struck by the severity of what he’s just done. What both he and Easthies have done. Qifrey hurriedly tucks himself back into his clothes, rearranges his robes, hopes the evidence, at least the physical, is hidden away well enough.
“We will not speak of this,” Easthies says, some of the authoritative tone that usually colors his voice coming back. As if Qifrey would ever want to admit this occurred. Even now, the feeling of oil around his spent cock, the cooling sweat on his body, it all makes him feel filthy, wrong, and he wants nothing more than to scrub himself thoroughly. And from the way Easthies is rushing to shrug his cape back on and get out the door of Qifrey’s atelier, it seems he feels the same way. It would be ruinous for either of them to confess their union, and Qifrey files this lapse away, another secret amongst many. He’s quite good at keeping them, so what’s one more?