loligiary | FFXIV Misc. Posts

Estinien scowls and tries to say that he can take the man's cock just fine, he's no delicate maiden to be opened slowly, but the second he gets his mouth open he's already climaxing. His entire body arches off the bedroll, screaming into his clasped hands like a prayer.

Gaius knew that crook of his fingers was going to do it. What he didn't know was that he was in prime splatter zone. There's a brief hissed fuck, and he eases out of Estinien to rub at his face. Come in your eye is nasty and stings, but Gaius knew the risks.

He grabs one of his dirtier shirts and wipes himself clean on a discrete corner of it, and then shifts his weight a bit so he can sit up -- and take pressure off his throbbing erection. He's so hard, and it has been so long since he had a partner...

But he asks how Estinien is doing instead of help with his own arousal: "You alright there, dragoon?"

Estinien just lays there, hands over his face, trying to put himself back together. Oh, by the Fury. He'd just. And the man's fingers were. And it went right on his face and.

The man's near shivering on the bedroll as he tries to roll his eyes back into his head.

Gaius settles beside the naked dragoon, one eye a little watery but none the worse for wear. Gaius rests there, still in his now-tented smalls, while the elezen besides him collects himself.

"Wyrmblood?" he said, voice soft and nearly fond. "Ser Estinien, you must tell me if you're alright, or I'll have to fetch Valdeaulin for conjury to make sure I've not killed you. I far kinder way to die than most, but still, I'd prefer you alive.""

"Don't you dare" Estinien whimpers through his clasped hands. "Or I'll kill you myself." He sounds ragged and worn out, knees curling in towards him. He's sore in so many strange ways, but...sated. Oddly relaxed.

Gaius is not either of those things, and his body is energized; the power of having a man come apart like that, it's a heady thing. With little power left in his hands, Gaius will take all the thrill that comes with this for what he can. He broke the Azure Dragoon with a crook of his fingers -- a victory that is small, but nonetheless is still a victory.

"I won't," Gaius says, husky voice still warmer than it was an hour ago. "But I must either ask you your patience or your blindness -- at this point, I find myself in sore need for my own release. You need not assist, but if you do not wish to linger, I can wait."

His--oh. Estinien lets his hands drop and lets out a long, shuddering sigh.

"If I tell you to just take what you damn well need, will you do it?" he asks, embarassed and open, still feeling sticky in unusual places. "I know not what you need, but you will."

Just fuck him already, you coward.

The pause there is the damn near pregnant sort, heavy with weight and expectation -- promise too, but also a touch of dread. He can rationalize it; he has given and thus now he can receive and this too will be a lesson, or he can admit he would actually just prefer simple contact while he handles the matter himself, wanting both human warmth and an echo of something like affection or camraderie.

He chooses to remain a teacher, instead.

"If it so pleases you then, Ser Estinen, I will take my piece," he says; and there is some shuffling as small clothes are discarded.

Estinien stays on his back, legs sprawled, though gropingin the dark does find him an edge of some cloth to bite down on. No, the man cannot possibly break him - not when what came before could not.

He still feels silly with his legs out, like a bird about to be spitted, but at least it's dark.

"If you seek a bit, you can use the leather of my belt," Gaius says, picking it and dropping it near Estinien's head. "It'll take it better and will like be cleaner, too. You can also take to your belly, if that'd be more comfortable-- and make the bite down simpler. I can take you either way."

Gaius's hand ghosts over his side; the right hand, unwrapped, skin warm, faintly damp.

Estinien isn't so sure about showing the man his back, but reminds himself that if Gaius wanted him dead he could have done it while he was busy sucking his sanity out through his cock. Obediently he rolls (like a dog, but he forces that idea out of his mind) and braces, keeping the belt by his mouth for when it begins. "Sometime tonight, Black Wolf?"

"So petulant, Wyrmblood. Do you approach everything you do with such impatience?" Gaius asks; he's manuevering in the back, running his bare fingers over slick skin, down from muscle to skin to rolling Estinien's sac in his palm, before he goes back up.

He grips Estinien's hip in one hand, bandages apparent, and then uses the other to grip himself. "This is more than mere fingers, though, dragoon -- and an entirely different impalement."

There's a hot nudge of flesh, and then pushing past that loosened muscle; after all that greedy action with his fingers, Estinien's body is primed and ready to accept this larger penetration. Gaius' sock is as the rest of him: bigger than average, and hard a man can get.

Finally, he breaks control, a shuddery breath as he strokes once, twice, before he bottoms out -- hips flush to Estinien's ass. One hand goes to the hip to steady him, and the other to the back of Estinien's shoulder to keep him in place.

"S--Ser, by all that's good--" He takes his own ragged breath, no longer being able to pretend at disaffection and placid calm. "If you are unhappy, speak a word. I won't have you used roughly and take only pain from it."

The man beneath him sounds as if he can barely breathe. Regrets are definitely occurring, even as open and slick as he is.

"F-fine," he gasps, face pressed to the bedroll. God. He feels as if he's being impaled on his own lance. But Gaius's voice is wavering and that gives him some sort of courage, a smugness that his body is the one doing this to the cocky Garlean.

Gaius is taking a moment there, cock seated in warm flesh. Blood is thundering in his ears, and his teeth are seizing his lip to make sure he doesn't make too much noise himself. But he leans over Estinien's back, keeping his hand on his shoulder as steadying pressure.

The next roll of his hips is tentative, but each stroke gets stronger, easier, smoother, as Gaius remembers what fucking was like. It's been a while, and if he's starting to make soft little sounds of pleasure of his own, little gasps and breaths. Gaius Baelsar is not made of stone; hard though he may be, he's still hot flesh and human needs, holding tight to Estinien as he finally finds his rhythm and things get easier.

It's starting to prick his interest again, somehow. Usually Estinien rids himself an erection wtih a quarter-bell of hard jerking and thoughts about Aymeric in the bath, arousal risking a second time is nearly unheard of. He bites down on the belt to muffle his noises - of discomfort, of need, of desire. This man's rutting into him like a beast and Estinien can't help finding himself loving it.

Few can match Estinien in physicality -- the powerful thighs and the thick legs are mirrored in strong swordsman's arms and brawny chest with wide shoulders. Few could think to be the match for either of them, but here they finally find a good place.

Hearing Estinien make that noise again coaxes up a dry, throaty chuckle, and that smoke-roughened voice is soft but still audible.

"Ah, so you do like that, don't you, Wyrmblood?" The hand on his shoulder moves to tangle in his hair, just to keep a grip, a pressure but not a yank. The other moves beneath, to jerk that reviving erection as he thrusts. "Being a sheath for a blade-- or meat for the lance, if you prefer! A good-- fitting-- sheath!"

The words betray a ratcheting of tone, but he clamps down, teeth in his own lip until it he tastes the tang of his own blood in his mouth. A count of heart beats later, he thrusts through his climax, muffling a groan as best he can as he finally spills, emptying himself into Estinien and finishing with a soft sigh of contentment.

It's been a while, and that was good.

Estinien sheds curses at him through the belt but never forces him to stop, never denies his place as Gaius's sheath. It should be demeaning, and perhaps it is, perhaps that is why it feels so good despite being so unnatural. When the hand comes down to clutch him he thrusts into it, though it never reaches its proper fullness.

Only when Gaius is spent, and the movement stopped, does Estinien carefully let the leather drop from his jaws.

"You've made a mess in me," he mutters.

"I lost my forethought," Gaius admits as he goes back on his haunches, cock going soft against his thighs, still damp. His hand untangles from Estinien's hair, stroking down his back. "My apologies -- all things considered, I would have chosen otherwise."

It's messy and strange, but-- also, Estinien just felt so good.

"I do not suggest trying to rise immediately," he says, grabbing his undershirt and then also handing Estinien his own. God knows where his smalls are at the moment, they're crumpled somewhere together. "Your legs will likely betray you. Then again, with thighs like yours you may be steadier than most after their first time taking a man."

He fishes his canteen from his things, and takes a drink to wash the taste of blood and Estinien from his mouth, and then offers it to the prone dragoon. Peace offering, perhaps.

There is a brief moment where Estinien arches into that caressing hand like a cat. Where he admits that he needs it.

Then he grabs his shirt and rolls away, huddled and sulking again. The canteen is taken without a word of gratitude as Estinien tries to clean himself up as best he can. This will be a very...sticky walk back to his tent.

A cat is an apt description; the stray that wanders in and wants pets, but when he decides he's been satiated, he must resume a cold shoulder. But he tosses a roll of cloth Estinien.

"Use those for the mess," he says -- a wad of the bandaging he uses for the finger-tip to shoulder and chest wrap he wears over the cereuleum burns that have scarred his left side. "They've been washed since I last wore them."

Estinien takes it, eyes it, and then reluctantly sets it aside. "You will need it more, and you will need it clean," he notes, instead using his undershirt to mop things up. He can live without it for a bit, and wash it later when no one is looking.

Gaius does not speak on what he needs regarding his injury, but does not argue it either.

"Rest if you need," he finally says, "or leave when you trust your legs."

A tacit invitation to stay, but no complaint if he leaves, either. Gaius remains carefully neutral, in control again -- the shuddery voice and the vibrant thrum of pleasure he had earlier are gone, and all the things he said with a dirtier mouth remain unvoiced.

Estinien, after some time spent in silence, dresesses himself quietly and slips back out of the tent. He is not one to stay even in the best of times and this all feels too awkward in the wake of their...their acts. Unusual though they had been, they were enjoyable. He has a lot to think about it.

But he'd rather be alone to do it, as the darkness will hide where the delicate tears of his orgasm had left marks down the corners of his face.

Satiated in a way he hasn't been in... years, honestly, Gaius has his first deep, restful sleep in the lat year, at least. He sinks back into sleep relaxed, content, and warm. So content, he's late to wake -- usually up at the crack of sunup, he actually sleeps until the skies are warm with a painted sunrise.

He's dressed about as well as he can these days, despite last night's activity, gets the fire a little brighter for making shitty camp coffee out of old grounds and a tin. It is what it is out here.)

Estinien sleeps deeply as well, a pattern that is not missed by Valdeaulin. He keeps a steady eye on Gaius, to the point of waking when he does, and waking so early before Gaius is...noteworthy. Also noteworthy that the dragoon follows suite.

By the Twelve, if they really are fucking he's going to eat his own staff for breakfast. He prowls restlessly at the edges of the camp as Estinien emerges, walking a bit stiffly -- well, shit. They actually did do something. Ugh.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject