dutyroulette | The Next Morning (Francel & Aymeric)

I...

[for a moment, francel lowers his eyes, and it looks as though he might waver in the face of his father's glower — but in the end, as it turns out, he was merely choosing the right words.]

...I became acquainted with Aymeric last night at Count Dzemael's party. [was that really only yesterday?] He came by earlier this day to return something I had left with him. We spoke once more, and he offered to have a meal with me, then to see a show at the theater.

Am I not allowed to have friends, now? Or do you expect every man I know to be dead?

[the cold allusions to chlodebaimt and haurchefant might be a little too much. but francel can't find it in himself to repeat aymeric's talk of courting him.]

[The count still looks completely unamused. "There is still aught left unexplained in the wake of this... "friendship". Your brothers reported noises from your library where we found evidence of struggle and a hasty retreat."

Lord Baurendouin looks uneasy as a new thought comes to mind. In a flash of anger he speaks. "I had wondered if you were blackmailing Lord Aymeric. I must now consider whether the gifts are to keep you hushed under the hand of this older man and his untoward ministrations?!" ]

Pardon me, but you have this all wrong! I have not taken advantage of Lord Francel! [He looks over, pleadingly with Francel to back him up here. What a mess!]

[francel doesn't meet aymeric's pleading gaze, if only because he is pinching the bridge of his nose in apparent frustration. how in halone's name does his father go from assuming he's coercing aymeric into a relationship to suspecting aymeric is the one coercing him?!]

I... Father. No. By the Fury... no.

[he sighs deeply.]

I had thought to spare you certain details, but... what transpired between Ser Aymeric and I at the manor was... mutually desired. I... he and I are...

— wait, you went into my library?! [oh gods he's turning rolanberry red.] Y-You know none of you are to be in my library! I — h-how did you get the key?!

[The three Haillenarte men look to Emmanellain who laughs as he begins to back away.

"It isn't as if I stole the key!" Emmanellain begins. "There was a copy in dear brother Haurchefant's things! We merely utilized it to make sure you were alright..."]

[Aymeric is clearly struggling. While he was always popular with women, he was never put in the middle of this sort of thing. He was usually so careful- Rather. He never kept on one target long enough for these things to catch up.....]

[He figures that he will say his piece once this has calmed some. The meat of the matter has already been unearted now.]

Edited 2017-01-03 02:14 (UTC)

Emmanellain...

[francel groans.]

I will have your guts for garters!

[emmanellain grins. "are you going to wear the garters for ser aymeric?"]

Emmanellain!

[heedless of the proceedings, and of lord emmanellain's impending murder, count baurendouin strokes his moustache thoughtfully. stephanivien — wholly unaware of his own similarities to his father — strokes his chin in much the same fashion. finally, it is aurvael that clears his throat, silencing both francel's protests and emmanellain's coarse jeers.

"...so from what i understand," aurvael says, in his usual dry, unimpressed voice, "you and ser aymeric are... sharing a bed. yes?"]

It is not simply so coarse as that. [Now that the mood has shifted, thankfully, he speaks up properly.] I have asked, to Lord Francel's acceptance, to allow me to court him.

[He places a hand on Francel's shoulder. He sort of wonders if he should .... ask... for Francel's father's permission? That's probably a bit too far as they are both men, but he's not sure what... happens next like this. He looks over and gives his shoulder a squeeze before dropping his hand. He takes a knee and bows his head at Count Baurendouin's feet.]

That is, Lord Haillenarte, with your blessing.

A-Aymeric...

["you wish to court him? francel?" stephanivien asks, genuinely puzzled. "...why?"

"i object," aurvael interjects, rather quickly. "no — it has naught to do with francel. rather, i thought you a more shrewd man than this, ser aymeric. think of what your detractors in the church might say if word gets out — and it will get out — that you are courting — not even a man, but a boy, barely grown!"]

I am not — [francel falters.] I am not...

[emmanellain takes francel's side, at least in a casual and irreverent way. "oh, do not say such things, lord aurvael! ser aymeric has ridden a dragon — i doubt those old priests will have anything new to say once they find out he's riding a man..."

count baurendouin remains deadly quiet.]

To hell with my detractors! I can handle meaningless controversy. [And before he can even remotely stop himself through the wave of adrenaline]

With Halone as my witness, I love him!

[He's glad, at least, that he's facing the cobblestones. His face is flush with embarrassment and anger. He remains kneeled. He has a point to be made.]

I require not your jests nor flippant disbelief. I ask for well wishes as if I were asking your permission to court your daughter and sister. [he looks up, making eye contact with each of the men.]

[aymeric's outburst silences the group of nobles entirely.

it must be a very strange thing, to have the lord commander of the temple knights suddenly declare to all and sundry that he loves your youngest brother. they exchange puzzled looks. (emmanellain, who seems to be lingering just to watch the show, raises his eyebrows smugly.)

"you've known him but one day," aurvael protests, weakly.

"shut up, aurvael," is stephanivien's very dignified reply.

finally — after what seems like an eternity — count baurendouin unfolds his arms and sighs. "you may rise, ser aymeric," he says, after a long pause. "i cannot claim to understand this love you bear for my son, but i see that your passion is genuine. marriages have been arranged on less. you have my blessing."]

F-Father...

[He rises, but falls into a deep, respectful curtsy-bow.] Thank you. Truly, Count Baurendouin. I shall not give you reason to regret nor rescind your blessing.

[He finally fully straightens, placing a hand on Francel's shoulder and nodding to him with a relieved smile. He glances at Emannellain.]

Lord Emmanellain, I cannot prevent you from spreading gossip, but pray do be tasteful. I have no doubt that it will find its way to my office by morning, and I would prefer not to offer too many corrections to my knights.

[His smile is deadly.]

Lords of Haillenarte, I will arrange invitations to dinner at my home later this week. I would be well pleased if you would all attend in goodwill.

Edited 2017-01-03 04:26 (UTC)

[emmanellain manages to return the smile, albeit weakly. "you wound me, old boy! i would not have said a word!" he says, unconvincingly.

the invitation to dinner elicits pursed lips from aurvael. "the airships —"

"— will be just fine without your supervision, aurvael," stephanivien interrupts, ever mindful of his younger brother, "as the manufactory will be without mine, for an evening. we shall be in attendance; we would be delighted to meet our sis — er, our brother's suitor."

count baurendouin looks over at his bickering sons, and then at his quiet youngest son, standing a few fulms away. "joacin," the man calls softly. "there is something i would hear from your lips, if you would."]

What is it?

["...you return ser aymeric's feelings, do you not?"]

I — [for a moment, francel is taken aback.] Of course I do! I love him, Father — I love him deeply. He is — he is perfect in every way.

[the count's former reputation as a fearsome tournament champion is not for nothing — he has a steely gaze that would make most waver, but francel does not as he looks earnestly into his father's eyes.

in the end, baurendouin relents. "very well, then," he says. "let us away to the manor. i... i pray you enjoy your time with ser aymeric, joacin."

[He pulls Francel into his side and grins down at him as the Haillenarte family (with Emmanellain in tow) make their ways back home. He waves and bids them farewell.]

I had almost expected a duel. [Though with who exactly, he wasn't sure. He lets that idea rest before he moves onto the next.]

It is the most pleasing song to hear that you love me. I would hear it again, if you would oblige me.

[it's so reassuring to be pulled into aymeric's arms again that francel almost cries from the happiness of it. this whole time he's been worried that aymeric would judge him for not speaking up to his family properly — for not declaring his love for aymeric from the start — for not saying anything against aurvael's disapproval...

francel buries his face in aymeric's chest and breathes his scent with a hunger that surprises even him.]

Of course. Of course, Aymeric! Anything you want. I love you — gods, how I love you...

[it takes several moons for ishgard to stop buzzing with talk of how young lord francel of house haillenarte moved from frigid skyfire locks to borel manor.

they call him ser aymeric's lover, but francel's learned to ignore the whispers when he's out on the street — he doesn't go out much, anyway. today, he stepped out only to pick up some costumes from hairraint the tailor; there's not much reason for him to go out unless aymeric is with him. borel manor has all the things he needs — a well-stocked kitchen, his library (of both naughty and presentable books), a collection of fine instruments, and aymeric — in the evenings, anyway.

mercifully, the cat stays out of his new lord's closet, which is about all that francel can really ask for.

in times long past, borel manor was largely silent in aymeric's absence; now it rings out with francel's songs. he's playing a rousing tune on the manor's harpsichord when the borel family manservant comes in. "forgive me for interrupting your practice, lord francel," the old man intones, "but ser aymeric has returned."

francel stops playing; he thanks the old man for his service. leaving the harpsichord open, he rushes from his music room to the foyer. he's made sure to make himself look like something aymeric will be glad to come home to; he is a vision in a pretty silk shirt with a green velvet ribbon at his throat, and dark leather boots in a matching shade of emerald.]

Aymeric! Welcome home!

[Aymeric couldn't have been happier with the preceding months. They were filled with laughter and lively conversation. He made a much better effort to come home, never simply giving in to the utility of sleep on a cot just outside his office as he used to. Aymeric was dressed as he was expected to be as a Lord Commander, though he wondered if it was too militaristic for days he met with the houses. He would have to ask his sweet live-in boyfriend.

He comes through the doors of borel manor, tapping his greaves free of snow. His manservant greets him immediately before he rushes off towards the muffled, yet bright sound of the harpsichord. He unlatches and hangs his armor and greaves. He rolls his shoulders and stretches, left in simply the black tabard, the chainmail pants, and a simpler pair of boots.]

Francel! Look at you... So elegantly handsome. [He closes the distance immediately, wrapping an arm around his small waist. He plucks at the adorable ribbon, then hooks a finger underneath it, pulling him into a brief kiss. ] I trust your day went well?

[francel's cheeks are warm and flushed when they press against aymeric's; he smiles brightly up at his lordly love, leaning his weight heavily into the lord commander's chest.]

Oh, of course! I picked some things up from Hairrant's, and I finished the book you gave me, and I was just in the midst of writing a new piece for you to listen to.

[francel takes up a lock of aymeric's hair and curls it around his slender finger.] What of you, my love? I suppose the business of writing new laws is never easy.

What a diligent, studious, busy man my lover is. [He places a soft kiss on his forehead.] You must allow me to change, but I would love to hear the song you've been working on... And wha is it you've asked Lord Hairrant to make?

[He heads towards his bed chamber at a slow stride. Lord Byron greets him by rubbing against his leg on the stair, nearly felling him. If not for his quick reflexes, he surely would have fallen. He tries to smooth that incident over immediately.]

Ah! The writing itself I find to be simple. The endless arguments we have about them is quite another.

Oh, you will see what Lord Hairrant has made for me tonight! I promise it was not too expensive — you know how I try to live rather frugally.

[francel follows aymeric to the bedchamber, though he does tut disapprovingly at the cat when it almost trips up aymeric on the staircase — suppose the lord commander met his untimely end tripping over his cat, what would he do then! — and he tries to gently nudge it away with his foot.]

Come now, Lord Byron, your master cannot ascend the stairs if you insist on rubbing yourself all over him like that.

[...though the same might be said of francel himself. they're having a bit of a territory battle, he and lord byron.]

[He has to laugh. It's true, between Francel and his cat he's almost carrying more weight than need be. Nevertheless he makes his way upstairs and into his room. There he removes the rest of his clothes down to his underwear.]

I know you to be curiously modest, Francel. Though, what shall you show me first? Your song or the garments?

[He sheds this as well and places in a hamper. He redresses in a low cut tunic and a pair of comfortable hose, topped off with a handsome dressing gown. He's had enough mobility impairing, heavy garments for one day. He sits on his bed, the proud, held stance melting from his form as he rolled his shoulders and pinches his scapula together.]

[francel joins aymeric on the bed, leaning over to rub aymeric's shoulders for him; lord byron prowls around their feet.]

Well, what are you in the mood for, my love?

[he rolls his thumbs particularly hard against aymeric's back as he leans in and gives the man a little nip at the earlobe.]

I'll have you know that we shall have to dismiss Lord Byron from the room if you would like to see the garments...

[He laughs] You've captured my attention. I would like to see the garments.

I can put Lord Byron in the kitchen with a treat. Though, I must confess that there is hardly anything Lord Byron hasn't seen me do... So it's hardly necessary to fuss over.

[He moans with a small bit of shock and a lot of pleasure as Francel digs his thumbs into his knots. He gasps softly at the nip. He pulls his own dressing gown down around his shoulders to lessen the cloth barrier]

But I shall respect your wishes...!

I simply don't fancy being watched. He should be glad that I afford him the same respect I might give a man.

[perhaps a little sadistically, francel won't stop massaging aymeric's shoulders until the man practically melts into the mattress. once he does, though, francel will stand up and press a kiss to aymeric's forehead before he turns to leave the room.]

Now, I shall go and change my clothes. I'll be waiting here when you are finished, dearest.

Alright, alright. [he picks himself off the mattress, shooting Lord Byron a glance.]

Mine apologies, friend, but my lover is a modest man. [He scoops up the old cat and takes him downstairs into the kitchen. He finds a piece of liver in the ice box and sets it in his cat's bowl. He gives him a couple pets and washes the white fur from his hands before heading back upstairs. His imagination is already plied and ready, but he has no idea what to expect of Francel as he comes back through the door.]

[when aymeric walks in, francel is lying on the bed — and he is wearing a skimpy dancer girl's dress cut in a thavnairian style, scarlet silks all splayed out against the blue satin of the bedspread.

the bustier — more like a halter top, as francel does not have the bust for a bustier — leaves little to the imagination as francel's nipples are already stiff from the cold and plainly visible beneath the sheer fabric. the skirt is slit high up his leg, revealing pale calves and shapely thighs. a silk mask obscures his nose and mouth, but aymeric can likely still see the shape of francel's lips as he smiles. his limbs are askew against the mattress at all the right angles; he seems to have arranged himself for maximum dramatic impact, but he still shyly rubs his legs together in a motion that only makes his skirt hitch up higher.

he's tempting aymeric.]

...You see, it was not very expensive, as it required very little fabric to make.

Edited 2017-01-04 00:44 (UTC)

[he makes a quick prayer in thanks as he saunters over. His cock is already paying attention as he sits beside Francel to inspect him. ] I can see that... [he runs a hand up francel's chest, feeling the hardened nub under his palm atop the fabric. He traces the intricate metalwork with a finger- and seems as if he is about to touch francel's face as his hand goes to his thigh. ]

Are you wearing anything underneath? [he makes himself blush a bit with such a lewd question ]

Would you like to find out?

[the answer is no, but francel will tease by coyly lifting up the skirt just enough to show the side of his leg where he's definitely not wearing underwear of male or female design — but he won't show the bulge between his legs, not unless aymeric asks for it or reaches for it himself.]

I will be whatever you require tonight, my lord. A dancing-girl... a handmaiden who will satisfy your every whim... a supple slave boy from some Ul'dahn black market... what best strikes your fancy?

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