dutyroulette | The Next Morning (Francel & Aymeric)

Not yet, but I am sure with news of our engagement someone will step up. If not for their sacred duty, for the excitement.

[he mumbles the last but. unsure if he was grateful or annoyed with the prospect.]

Oh, but you studied at the scholasticate. Would you know someone by any chance?

[he finally pulls out and rolls onto his side facing francel. he begins to undress, so overheated from their actions.]

No one trustworthy...

[francel reaches out to help aymeric remove his clothes, but, well... he looks at the semen on his hands and has to reconsider. he flops back uselessly against the pillows.

he thinks on his time at the scholasticate — upset, unsure of himself, uncertain of his path, angry with the world, longing for haurchefant, thinking that the fury would fill the void in his heart... and then he looks at aymeric, and of how much happiness being at borel manor has given him, and smiles a dreamy smile.]

Lord Francel of House Borel? [it's a question.] Or... Ser Aymeric of House Haillenarte? [he laughs. that's a funny thought.]

I am sure we will find someone.

[he hums as he manages to get his shirt and coat off, finally naked in bed. He gives Francel a soft kiss.]

Would you mind becoming a Borel? I know my parents' bloodline ended with them, but... I still carry it in spirit. And whilst we cannot create any children... I suppose we could adopt? [he laughs a small, slightly overwhelmed laugh.] I apologize. I'm moving much too quickly. It must be the rush from the sex...

[francel has managed to get a handkerchief out of the nightstand — not his mask, thankfully — and is hard at work wiping himself clean. he smiles up at aymeric, and then returns the kiss.]

Lord Francel of House Borel has a fine ring to it. Oh, and I suppose he will have a fine ring as well!

[he laughs again and tosses the handkerchief on the nightstand, then rolls onto his belly to admire aymeric's wonderfully attractive body.]

...We can think of children some other time. Lest you forget, Lord Byron has yet to accept me as mistress of the house. I doubt he is ready for little lordlings prowling about his kitchen.

You shall have the finest of rings. [he throws an arm over francel's shoulders, propped on his side to similarly admire his lover.]

Ah, you are right, sadly. He would scratch up any child that dared go near him. You are at least tall enough to frighten him when he's feeling dour.

[he runs his hand softly down francel's back, then experimentally pressing his hand into francel's muscles as he does for him often.]

He tried to give me a nasty scratch on the shin today, actually! Fortunately, I was wearing those boots...

[the fact that thighboots are a necessity in borel manor would ordinarily be some cause for concern, but... it's hard to lecture aymeric about his cat's poor manners when he's beginning to give francel a very satisfying backrub.

the blond stretches out underneath aymeric's hands and motions vaguely toward his back.]

Would you undo the clasp for me? Ah... unless you would prefer that I keep it on. [he smirks impishly.]

I must apologize on Lord Byron's behalf. If it helps, he has given me my fair share of scratches. I believe he shows his affection in that manner.

[he gazes down at francel's back- at the flesh pulled in slightly by the tight garment. he can't place precisely what holds its eroticism.]

I don't think I can physically withstand to be any more aroused- not that undressing you will remedy that! Quite the opposite, really... [he laughs heartily as he straddles francel's little ass. he unclasps the frippery, then presses his large, powerful hands into the young man's back. he is met with relatively little resistance as he pushes the muscle around- based purely on his own strength perhaps.]

[a catlike smile plays about francel's lips as he feels aymeric's pleasant weight on top of him — then the loosening of the bustier, and then the breathtaking sensation of aymeric's thumbs kneading his shoulders. the groan that emerges from his throat sounds almost like a purr. he answers in the slave boy's voice.]

Shall I service you one more time, my lord? I was taught never to leave my master unsatisfied.

[francel's lithe body yields to aymeric's strong hands the way it always does: with an almost welcoming helplessness. one cannot help but be reminded of how delicate he is — and, indeed, since moving to borel manor he's become more delicate than ever: he's lost a little muscle and gained a little weight, though in a rather attractive way.]

By the Fury, leave something of me for tomorrow! [he says this with a jovial little laugh. even still, he hardens against francel's bottom. it was true that he'd gained a bit of fat. all of it very pleasant, and if asked behind a closed door, very erotic.]

Have you someone in mind to be your best man?

[he continues to work francel's back, determined to turn him into pudding on the bedspread.]

Mmmm...

[francel sighs contentedly and wiggles his toes. he is most certainly melting against the mattress — just a little more and he'll quiver with every roll of aymeric's thumbs.

haurchefant comes first to mind — it has been long enough, now, that francel can think of haurchefant and no longer feel sorrow cloud his heart. but it isn't possible for haurchefant to be his best man. for one moment francel wonders what haurchefant would look like in a white suit — and then decides he really shouldn't think about it at all.]

Truth be told, Lord Emmanellain comes to mind. But he is terrible with any sort of responsibility! And as for Stephanivien, well... something tells me he would show up to our wedding in his usual engineer's vest with oil on his cheek...

Aye, I would want Estinien as my best man. I'm not sure I could even find him by the spring— much less wrestle him into any sort of proper clothing.

Besides, it's rather complicated with him.

[he redirects his feelings into the knots in francel's lower back. they would have to get a more padded piano bench.]

Perhaps Ser Handeloup...

[he releases a breath] We could just elope?

We do have a dearth of responsible friends, don't we?

[francel laughs and buries his face into his pillow completely. his back is rather stiff from all the practice he's done today; his toes curl with the pleasure of having his knots unraveled. this, he thinks, is almost as good as a second orgasm.]

Hmm, Ser Handeloup and Ser Lucia as best men...

[francel thinks about that for a moment and then turns his cheek onto the pillow.]

...Mayhap we really should just elope.

Your family and all of Ishgard would take offense if we did.

[he takes francel's arms, stretching them one at a time.]

We shouldn't need best men... Unless it would be a worst slight...

[aymeric slowly lays fully atop francel, placing his head delicately upon the younger man's.]

I wish I could ask my father for advice in this matter.

[he obviously meant the late lord borel, but still. the phrase hung in the air.]

What a pain that a day I look so forward to has such complications. Mayhap we can just... assign Stephanivien and Emmanellain handlers.

[given that he's very happily being squished by his boyfriend (fiancé), francel couldn't care less about the wedding at the moment — if possible, he'd flip over and being stroking aymeric's hair at once, but since doing so would upset their positions, he lays still.]

I think that would be for the best. Surely none could complain about the lords of House Haillenarte and of House Fortemps being our best men? And little Honoroit will do much to keep Emmanellain in check...

Aye, none could. [he laces their fingers together and speaks with such an airy tone. ]

Should I bribe Lord Stephanivien?

[he lazily presses kisses against francel's temple before letting out a yawn. his body begins to truly slacken as the wakefulness begins to leave him.]

With what, love?

[it's a little uncomfortable, but francel finally turns over onto his back so that aymeric is resting on his chest so that he can run his fingers through aymeric's gorgeous hair like he's been thinking about. he can feel aymeric getting heavier and heavier, and wants nothing more than to rock him to sleep.]

I should think his youngest brother's wedding motivation enough to coax him from the manufactory. Or do you mean we should bribe him to don a proper suit?

I've an idle fortune. If I can solve this with gil and avoid a headache...

[his sentence trails off as his breathing changes. He rather quickly starts to fall asleep on top of poor little francel. he fights to stay awake, but to absolutely no avail.]

[francel can tell by aymeric's mumbling and deeper breathing that his lover is about to fall asleep, and francel happily encourages it, continuing to stroke his hair. the pleasantly heavy weight of aymeric's body feels wonderful against his own. frankly, he can't even move with aymeric on top of him like this, and it highlights just how strong and powerful and well-built his darling lord commander is...

about five minutes later, he realizes he's made a terrible mistake:

1. aymeric came inside him again
2. he should really do something about it
3. the door is locked because he didn't want lord byron getting in
4. even if he calls for their elderly manservant he'll have to explain his clothes

well fuck????]

...Aymeric. Aymeric, dearest, please get up.

[Aymeric shifts somewhat, he rouses a little with his eyes still closed.]

Ser Handeloup... They'll be signed later just keep [mumble, mumble]

[he moves onto his side, but takes francel with him in a crushingly tight hug around his chest and abdomen]

Ayme — !

[oops!! down he goes, unceremoniously flopped onto his side by aymeric's ridiculous strength. francel does his best to extricate himself from the lord commander's grip, but in the end he can't, and he settles for simply finding a more comfortable position.]

...I suppose this is fine...

[francel snuggles up to aymeric, comforted by his lover's now-familiar scent and the scent of his own fruity perfume still lingering on his neck.

he's pretty tired, too. it'll be easy enough to fall asleep together...]

[Aymeric had let go of Francel at some point in the night, opting to just half-lay on him on his side.

The morning comes. And with it the morning rituals. The manservant had entered the room at some point, pulling the blankets properly over Francel and Aymeric. The manservant pushes the curtains aside to let the morning light in. He rolls in the cart with the teapot and takes his leave, allowing Lord Byron to wake the couple.

And he does. He jumps directly onto Aymeric and bats his ear cuff, Aymeric waving his hand weakly to shoo him away. He gives in, opening his eyes blearily and sitting up. He places a hand on Francel's shoulder and jostles him softly.

Lord Byron jumps on Francel and decides to bat his feet with his claws.]

[that jolts poor francel awake, alright. he wakes up to a flash of pain at his heel and jerks his foot back into the covers, his eyelids still heavy with sleep. francel groans. he'd like nothing more than to sink back into the pillows and go back to sleep, but the open cut at his ankle hurts too much for that. he's awake, he's awake...]

...I hate your cat.

Lord Byron! [the cat scrambles away in retreat. smugly.] Will you need a bandage, dear?

[Aymeric had never bandaged anything dealt out by the cat. but he knew francel was less used to minor injury.]

I'm afraid he doesn't much care for you either... Please don't take it personally. He has a distaste for everyone, really, but my late parents. [he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and pours two cups of tea]

I try to be good to him, but still...

[huffing quietly, the blond decides to vanish beneath the sheets, forming a francel-sized lump of blankets. after wriggling a bit, well... it's impossible to tell where his head or his feet are.]

...I'll be fine. If anything, I could just stay in bed all day today.

[he's sulking, but even so, francel perks up at the sounds of tea being poured. his head emerges from somewhere in the middle of the lump of blankets.]

[he looks over to francel with a soft smile.] He's better with you than he is with Estinien, you know. He only hisses and attacks him. It's really a troublesome affair.

[he pours a bit of birch syrup in each cup, stirring both with a dainty tea spoon.]

Are you sure you'd like to stay in bed? I've given Veduex leave for several weeks; we will have to fend for ourselves. [a bit of red catches his eye, and he tugs the silk skirt]

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