FFXIV Misc. Posts

[eightlazylegs]

For Eithyrs related threading.

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[eightlazylegs]

"You have an officer for this?" Lord. And here he'd been told the Garlean army was uptight, but they had an entire assignment just around male sex documentation. "I cannot imagine it is particularly complicated...but no matter. It is hardly important."

He took up his spear and ducked his head to leave the tent again.

[snapandflounce]

"W--well not as s--" But there he went, and Maxima realized he'd given him the worst fucking advise ever.

What the fuck was going on, anyway?

[eightlazylegs]

Estinien, as he often was, went AWOL for the next few hours. The group would be used to having him just drop off the map and abruptly show up again at mealtimes like a stray dog, sometimes with fresh caught game or new intel but not always. This time Estinien was gone until long after sunset, until most of the camp was already asleep.

And then he was sliding his way into Gaius's tent, most of his armor off to allow quieter movement.

[snapandflounce]

A wanted man sleeps light, so the golden flash of Heirsbane in his hand is the first signal that he is awake, the click of it's hammer that it's primed to fire. But he stays his hand as he realizes that this is not his enemy. Instead it's... well, they're not exactly friends.

"Do you have a deathwish, Wyrmblood?" he asks, tense and quiet. The hammer clicks back into place, and Gaius's finger eases off the trigger. Heirsbane finds its place among his things once more, next to his bed roll. "What're you doing here?"

[eightlazylegs]

The first question gets a small chuckle, a knowing smile, because Estinien has exactly zero interest in actually answering that question. The flash of the blade doesn't even seem to surprise him.

"Your man Maxima wasn't particularly useful," he says quietly, sitting at the tent opening. The butt of the lance is in his hand, its length trailing out of the tent, as if he can't bear to be without keeping it to hand. Gaius will understand. "Apparently we lack the officer in charge of such matters, having such a small party."

[snapandflounce]

Gaius' brows lift and rise, barely due to the light glinting off the pearlescent third eye in his brow. But he sits up -- still wearing bandages across his ravished slowly healing left arm of his, strapping across his chest, and likely his smalls beneath the blankets. With so little on, he smells like medicinal herbs, gun oil and sweat.

Maxima failed to teach the man anything. Likely was bewildered. Eorzean didn't know how to approach anything, did he.

"So you come back to me for... what, practical instruction?" he asks, still bemused. By the Emperor (may he know peace, far from Zenos) he does not understand this particularly feral Eorzean.

[eightlazylegs]

The shadowed figure of Estinien tilts his head. He is silent for a time, mulling his words over. "If you have no interest, I will leave and not speak of this again. But If I am to learn any craft, I would learn it from someone more experienced rather than try to guess in the dark."

[snapandflounce]

Gaius is equally silent in his contemplation, before he considers; he will lay abed with a savage, feel him surge and move, work to give him pleasure and teach him to take it, to make it, to enjoy it -- if such things can truly be taught. A savage. An aether-huffing Eorzean with the blood of dragons in his veins.

It's monstrous. Or it should be, to Gaius van Baelsar. But he is just Gaius Baelsar, lost and adrift, an so he answers: "If you lay with me, Gae Bolg lays with Heirsbane. Agree that we need no weapons here, and I will teach you."

Better him than someone who could use the naievete of the Azure Dragoon against him. Better him than Valdeaulin.

[eightlazylegs]

There is a part of Estinien that fears whether he is still a man. Whether Nidhogg's poison, even after its draining, has warped him body and mind beyond what any man of his race should be like. This is a thing that men do together, and that Estinien might have done had not vengeance and constant rage consumed his every daily thought.

It's so quiet in his mind these days, and he is never sure how to handle the new thoughts that come in to fill the void left when Nidhogg's rage departed.

Estinien pulls his lance in further and lays it beside Heirsbane as instructed, as if the weapons too are addressing their relationship. Then he sits back silently on his knees like a pupil, waiting for his next task. In the dim tent his eyes almost seem to flicker when they catch the light of the lamps outside.

[snapandflounce]

"In an effort to be transparent," Gaius said, as he brings himself upright, "I will tell you that the senses we have are... different than your own. Our third eye functions to add layers to our sight, and that I will see more than you perhaps intend to give away."

Spatial awareness is one thing, but the ability to track movement, to see better in the dark with shapes registering even in the dim light.

"In view of forthrightness, I have rules: You will do as instructed in trust. However, if something is painful, or unenjoyable, or actively repulses you -- you will tell me, and we will stop and re-orient. While some seek pleasure in the lash or a boot on their neck, I have no desire to give you that at this time."

Later? Well, Gaius isn't sure there will be a second time, but if he seeks advanced teaching or repeat lessons.

"If all of these are acceptable to you, strip and we'll begin."

[eightlazylegs]

What a strange man, thinks Estinien. Painful? He can and has withstood more pain than this Gaius could possibly give with just his bare hands, and his constitution can easily override any disgust. (Estinien has never had a training where someone has told him 'it's all right to stop'. Such kindnesses were for not for a Dragoon.)

He cocks his head again as he listens, feigning an understanding even though he has little of one. Pleasure in the lash or the boot...what, like a flagellant? He had not even an average religious fervor, let alone that, but Gaius likely thought them all an equal batch of zealots. No matter.

He nods at the end, and begins silently removing his shirt, his eyes staying on Gaius.

[snapandflounce]

Gaius -- in his smalls as suspected -- moves from his bedroll, and retrieves a few things. In the dark, he asks: "Do you know how you like to be touched? Or have you simply been held apart, all this time?"

It's sad; even Gaius has known the loving comfort of being in someone's arms, of kissing a lover good morning and good night, of carrying a lover's token with him on early deployments, before he rose through the ranks. Sure, they were secret and quiet, but it was still love, it still sparked passion. The Dragoon is a living weapon and that...

...That's something Gaius has always tried to avoid making his people into. Yes, soldiers serve and die, but they still have lives and families, if they are lucky.

[eightlazylegs]

"Does it matter?" Estinien snaps back. All right, so he's a little hostile about it. The embarrassment of his inexperience combined with his confusion at anyone asking him what he likes leaves him wrong-footed and a bit flustered. He'd expected a man like Gaius, a man used to efficiency and conquest, to just...throw him down and show him by example. Being asked, rather than shown, makes him uncomfortable.

Azure Dragoons know they will never have families, and their lives will not be long. If you are the type to become Dragoon, you are the type who finds that fact a comfort.

[snapandflounce]

"Yes," Gaius says, as he scoots himself closer. "So your first lesson will be to learn to take pleasure, not give it."

It's going to be a hard lesson to learn, to take and accept instead of surrender to overwhelming force. Gaius has no desire to do that to someone who has already known so much pain and conflict.

"We will start slow-- I will touch you. But slowly. No immediate sexual touch. Just finding your tolerance for skin on skin. The rules apply."

And that's when he finally touches Estinien-- with an ungloved hand, calloused fingertips sliding over the wrist in a slow motion.

[eightlazylegs]

"I'm not some delicate maiden, Black Wolf," Estinien grumbles. He lets his hand be touched, the rest of his body keeping idle and waiting for direction. "I have tolerated much, in my time, and I cannot fathom this being some agony beyond my ability."

His fingers extend as his wrist is touched, but he otherwise makes no movement.

[snapandflounce]

"It is not about agony, unless you want it to be," Gaius points out as he moves to touch further up that arm, running his thumb over the sensitive skin found in the crook of the elbow. His other hand, still bandaged, takes his hand, running his thumb over his knuckles. "Again, I won't be teaching you that. Here the idea is to learn to listen to your body, train it to accept different touch safely."

While his fingers stroke over a wiry bicep, made for hefting the heavy lance Estinien wields, he takes the hand to his mouth, hot breath fanning over Estinien's knuckles before a kiss is placed to them. Then, the wrist, then the palm.

"This is about finding out what makes your blood run hot at a base level, at simple things," Gaius says; pitched low in the tent, it's the Black Wolf's growl gone husky; he is not immune to what he is doing, either. "We can complicate that later, if it is to your liking."

[eightlazylegs]

Estinien makes a grumbling noise, but he lifts his arm as it is instructed. The other arm stays at his side. No spontaneous movement, even as the touch and the chill air merge to raise goosebumps on his skin. His breathing is forcibly steady as he watches Gaius move across him.

[snapandflounce]

"You need not be silent," Gaius says when he realize the man is as silent as stones. "Noise is helpful to gauge reaction, response."

Then, out of the blue, his mouth still ghosting over Estinien's fingertips, warm and wet: "You've never gone abed with another, but have you ever been kissed, Wyrmblood?"

[eightlazylegs]

Estinien has the abrupt and nearly unrestrainable desire to bite Gaius's fingers when they stroke up his arm. It's almost instinct. (I am a man, not a beast, not a dragon, I am a man.) His other hand briefly curls into a fist and relaxes again.

"I believe we've established I was a bit busy for that," he mumbles, eyes flicking up to glare at him.

[snapandflounce]

Gaius does not offer him pity for it. He doesn't laugh, either. Instead he shifts closer, closing one hand over Estinien's shoulder and the other leaving his hand, bandaged fingers settling on Estinien's hip. He leans in, breath hot over his neck, before he tries for less gentleness and more firmness: teeth and tongue on the juncture of shoulder and neck.

(Some part of the wolf barks angrily; just take him, he's here, he's agreed, he's lovely to look at. It's been so damned long. But Gaius says no, chaining that part of him in silence and restraint, fingers flexing and tightening briefly over Estinien's skin.)

[eightlazylegs]

Estinien can feel his skin warming at the touch. He won't speak to how rarely this happens, Gaius knows and at least has the good sense not to mock him for it.

"Just get on with it," he mumbles, and his voice sounds more strained for the effort of being skill. Still, he does not embrace Gaius, or try to offer his own in kind. "I do not need to be courted, I have said you may do as you see fit."

He doesn't understand that this isn't the seduction phase, but the foreplay. Mostly because he doesn't know what that is.

[snapandflounce]

"Courted?" Gaius's voice is warm again, humor lurking at it's edges -- not laughing at Estinien, per se, but definitely seeing something funny in this. "Courtship is a much different thing; I have no idea how Ishgardian go about it, but it's much more complex then sliding into someone's tent in the dead of night and being asked for an educating swive. A formal dinner invitation would start courtship, Wyrmblood. Not this."

Bolder now, he moves his hand on his hip, letting the thumb press into nerves there, before he strokes a hand over Estinien's thigh.

"This is not about loving anyone. Just about--" how to put it? "letting you love what you can feel, if it so pleases you."

[eightlazylegs]

Estinien flinches, just a little, at the creeping fingerd. He can feel his blood pooling lower, a warmth and stiffening that he usually greeted with annoyance and a rushed wank. To start having it in front of another, when he's down to his smallclothes...he supposes this is part of the point but it's still embarassing when a tiny noise emerges from his clenched jaws.

[snapandflounce]

So he needs bolder, stronger, insistent. The sight that Estinien does not possess tells him of how the space around him is changing, making him more sensitive to movement, to the way that space is filled. The glittering gem set in the middle of his brow tells him what the other two can't: Estinien is filling space in new ways.

He again puts his mouth to Estinien's neck, letting his unwrapped hand stroke along Estinien's thigh knowing that cock is starting to twitch.

"You're not immune to touch," he says, as his hand skirts higher on his thigh. "Focus if you can there, Dragoon, and stop overthinking, because I'm going to touch you more directly."

He commands with casual ease, the weight of authority padded in a soft voice that no longer echoes through a cavernous helm, as his hand moves over smallclothes, finding that hardening cock beneath the linen and palming it. His mouth return to business, sucking at Estinien's long neck. Hopefully the lizard brain will do what it should: cross pleasure wires and help him along, with wet sucking at his neck as his hand strokes Estinien's cock turning into a mix of sensation that remind his dick of what he could be doing.

[eightlazylegs]

Estinien clamps down on another noise, but can't help one jerk of his hips against that hand before he forces himself to settle back down again. Control over his body is growing harder and harder - as are other things. "I--shouldn't I be doing something too?" he asks, one hand clutching at the bedroom. He wants to jump this man and--and--and he's not even sure, he just wants it.