[francel's put on some kind of fragrance — something a tad sexier than what he usually wears, a little fruity, a little floral — and he uses it to perfect effect as he throws himself into aymeric's arms with a convincing desperation.]

Oh — no, please, ser, you mustn't leave! I — I don't want to go back to those men, I —

[the speed at which he undoes the laces of aymeric's hose shows just how used to doing this he is — even if he is only used to it because he's practiced it on aymeric, in their bedroom.]

I can please you, my lord, I can, if you'll give me the chance. I wish to repay you. Close your eyes, I beg you...

[aymeric's cock, freed of its encasements, is hard and dark with arousal and already dripping with precome; the eagerness in francel's eyes is real as he lowers his mouth and sucks with all the skill of an expert courtesan. he bobs high and low and runs his tongue every which way that best pleases aymeric — and as the slave boy services his new master, he reaches underneath his skirt and discreetly jerks himself to the motion.]