dutyroulette | The Next Morning (Francel & Aymeric)

Truly? I must offer mine apologizes for being so contrarian in your home, but I cannot believe you. For years in my temple knights training I had neither the time nor the energy to go dancing, though I ended back there through mine own effort and determination. It is important to me for my happiness, as strange as it must sound. I desire the sociability, the expenditure of energy, and the art of it. There is that need within every man's soul, Lord Francel.

[He releases Francel's hand to wave his own in the air]

Never you mind if you are good at it! What matters most is if you derive some pleasure from it. Skill follows action. I believe true talent to be mostly folly. Do you have any interests that you hold more dearly than others?

I...

[francel wavers. his self-loathing is no small thing, but the warmth and kindness in aymeric's words are so tempting that it makes francel's heart ache. suddenly, francel finds his entire worldview doubted.

is he allowed, really, to want it? is it really possible for him to believe in a world where it's okay for him to fail so long as he enjoyed himself?]

...Can you promise that you will not laugh?

[francel finally lifts his gaze toward aymeric's, fixing him with a vulnerable, pleading look.]

I... I have always enjoyed... music. The performance of music, the writing of music... It has long been my heart's desire to compose something so powerful that all can hear the love in every note, and then to hear it performed by a grand orchestra...

[his voice quavers. he looks as if he might cry. it's a strange feeling, to talk about his innermost feelings with a man he met only a few times before.

and. bedded.]

...You must think this a... a foolish dream. A stupid dream. Even Haurchefant never took me seriously when I... when I spoke of it...

Now, why would I laugh? [His eyes flash true sympathy, a twinge of pain crossing his face as he hears Hauechefant's name]

What good is dance without music? We would all look like such jesters using old pieces. I've great respect for my contemporaries.

[He gave Francel a cheerful smile before his eyes darted towards the door. He saw no threat, but he still spoke quietly.]

Your sense of rhythm is wonderful, after all. I would love to hear something you've written or would care to perform for me.

[He offers a brief respectful silence before speaking.]

Ser Haurchefant for all his goodness and valor lived in a world still obscured by the lies of our forefathers. I am sure you do not think ill of him, but a knight's duty is singular and consuming. It would be hard for him to understand without seeing it.

[ah. that does it.

it's hard to tell whether francel's tears come from the compliment aymeric paid him or the comment about haurchefant. but they spill over before he can help himself and he reflexively brings his gloved hands to his eyes but it's too late — his long blond lashes are wet with tears.

he's not sobbing or anything; he's just crying, a little bit, and when he tries to reach for his voice it comes out strangled and soft.]

...I do not wish to speak any further of Haurchefant.

[Aymeric stands quickly to move to his side, a hand on his shoulder and a hand in his hair. He speaks softly, his expression pained.]

I am so terribly, terribly sorry, Francel. How thoughtless. How absurd- I should have known better. Should we retire somewhere more private? Or is this alright...? Should I go or would you prefer my company, as terribly as I have misstepped?

[This.... He really should have known better. Had he really become so numb to death? Surely not, but his depth did not match others with their personal ties.]

I'm fine — I'm fine, truly...

[francel wipes his tears; his eyes come out dry. but then, after another moment, more tears well up to replace what he took away — and he has to wipe his eyes again.

he feels a horrible sense of shame. of guilt. he's too old to be crying like this. he needs to stop. but the more he tells himself to stop the more he thinks about all the other times that people have told him to stop, and then he can't stop, he can't —

his hand catches in the soft blue folds of aymeric's clothing before he can help himself.]

Please — please don't go. I-I don't wish to be alone right now, I...

[their tea is going cold. this is all so ridiculous.]

I'll be fine. Please — just — give me a moment, pray. That is — I beg you.

I will stay right here.

[He does, afterall, feel an overwhelming sense of guillt regarding Haurchefant's death.

Had the Bishop not been his father.

Had he been more featherfooted, more careful, less blind. It surely would not have happened. A thousand times in his mind Haurchefant had died in his arms, after all. Who would he be to begrudge Haurchefant's dear companion his tears?]

It's alright, don't fret. The tears come whether we bid them or not. I think no less of you, milord. I would be lying if I told you I haven't been overcome by the tragedies amongst our sparse fortunes.

[He's already forgotten his tea, now.]

[francel sniffles, turning his head so that the hand in his hair suddenly becomes the hand in his cheek. he's not even crying for any particular reason anymore — he just can't bring himself to stop, and it frustrates him to think that he has such poor control over himself. he sighs and rests his head in aymeric's touch. he tries not to think about haurchefant. he doesn't want to think about haurchefant anymore.]

...Could I — could I do something rather — rather shameful?

[very slowlly, francel reaches out and presses himself closer to aymeric until his arms are wrapped around the older man's broad shoulders and they are locked in a tight embrace. he breathes deeply of the man's scent.

good. this feels... good. this feels relaxing.

he could never bring himself to do this with anyone else — not stephanivien, not their father, not laniaitte.]

...I'm sorry.

I cannot accept an apology from you, Lord Francel, you've noting to apologize for.

[Aymeric moves and wraps his arms around Francel too in a mirroring motion. When was the last time he'd truly hugged someone? Besides the lustful holds and cloying embraces he'd had with Estinien and nameless nobles...

He was coming up blank. Perhaps he'd been a child the last time.

He leaned in and savored this. He buries his face in Francel's hair, shielding him from the world for the moment. He speaks so that only francel can hear.]

Forgive me my gluttony, I would repent later with you if you would like, but I think we should take a bottle of wine away into a room with a door.

Mm...

[with that soft hum of assent, francel pulls back, looking a little less teary-eyed, though his lashes are still wet and his nose is still a little red. he sniffs.]

I... Truth be told, I already had some wine in my room ere you came. Please, it's just this way...

[leaving the remnants of their tea to the undoubtedly puzzled manservant on hand, francel leads aymeric to his room on the second floor. at some point, at least, francel must have been beloved by his parents: he has, easily, the best room in the house, with plenty of space and a balcony overlooking ishgard. the room is nothing like the shack he lives in at skyfire locks. but it's almost as if there's too much space — the only furniture in the room is his bed, a table, some chairs, and shelves of books that line the walls.

it's easy to imagine francel as a child in this room, with piles and piles of books laid out on his spacious bed. at the same time, it feels almost unbearably lonely.

francel pulls the chairs to the table, where, indeed, a bottle of wine rests on its surface. it's not exactly a luxury wine befitting a lord of the high houses — one would struggle to imagine lord (count) artoirel serving aymeric this wine — but it's a good year from a good brand, and francel seems to do a lot of drinking in his room.]

Is this to your liking...?

[Aymeric cracks a broad smile.]

It is head and shoulders above what I would drink in active service. You should have seen the swill we drank on rough nights in the Forgotten Knight. It almost creates its own sort of poetry. Nothing a bard would bother to repeat, but it was our lot.

[He turns to look around soaking it in.]

Your room is beautiful. If we moved the table, we could dance unimpeded! Have you glasses, or shall we drink from the bottle like a couple of miscreants?

[His tone suggests that either would be just fine.]

Edited 2016-11-15 03:57 (UTC)

[francel laughs, shyly and sweetly, with a slight hiccup that hasn't quite left his chest since he started crying.]

Oh, a bard can sing of anything so long as he has the tune for it. For that, perhaps, one might write...

[francel hesitates, then plows on, to the tune of a well-known drinking song, though his rhyme is original; his voice shakes a little as he begins, but he works hismelf to a rousing finish.]

♪ And in the tavern walked a knight
Intent on claiming some respite! ♫
♫ On day-old bread and week-old ale
He dined — thus ends our hero's tale. ♪

...That was a silly ending, was it not? Forgive me, I could not think of aught more fitting.

[while singing, he was looking around the room for spare glasses, but there's only the one that he set out for himself.]

Ah... It seems we've just the one glass. I could pour myself a drink, and bid you drink out of the bottle — or vice versa, but...

[a shy but impish grin claims francel's mouth before he can think otherwise.]

Why don't we share the bottle? Like schoolboys in the seminary... or, well, a pair of schoolboys that will be duly punished in the name of the Fury, I suppose...

[Aymeric looks absolutely delighted at the little song. He offers rhythmic claps during and then the quicker expression of enjoyment immediately after.]

Wonderful, wonderful! You should repeat it to a soldier at the alehouse; I am sure he'd have a band of men singing it within the bell. Pray not apologize for a messy end. That is but the nature of finishing something, It is only in ballads and novels that all is so cleanly wrapped up.

[Aymeric takes up the bottle and shares Francel's grin. He pulls out knife as long as his pinky and uncorks the bottle in a swift, practiced motion.]

If the Fury had punishment for us, She'd have doled it out over night. I am confident She has more urgent prayers to answer and men to smite to simply punish a couple of men in their cups betwixt the sheets.

[francel seats himself on the edge of his spacious bed and pats the space beside him, as an invitation for aymeric to bring the bottle over.]

Mmm... well, since you have so clearly proven that you can keep a secret — I must admit, I often catch myself thinking that so long as I was going to drop out of the scholasticate, I really should have fooled around like this a bit more while I was there.

[there were so many hot seminarians, aymeric. so many. and francel was so full of thirst. what a goddamn waste.]

[Aymeric plops himself on the bed next to Francel. He takes a swig before handing it off. He laughs aloud and leans in close]

In this situation, we've both our spears at one another's breast. So easily could we take one another down from here. Not that I would dream of placing such a wonderful bedfellow in peril.

Now, why did you drop out?

[He leans in, brushing his lips- still wet with wine- against Francel's]

[the kiss soothes francel more than he even realizes. the tightly wound muscles in his neck and shoulders relax when aymeric's lips find his, and he finds himself greedy for more as aymeric pulls away. devilishly, francel leans in and claims a more aggressive kiss, dutifully lapping up whatever remnants of wine he can find with his tongue. he doesn't really care about the wine, in truth, but gods, it tastes so much sweeter on aymeric's lips...

(he tells himself not to think about anything. he tells himself that this way he doesn't have to think about haurchefant.)

he pulls away, his expression half-lidded, yet eager for more.]

...It is a rather long story...

I suppose, in the end, it was simply that I could not keep up with the work. My peers would rise early each morn to study before matins, and... I could not even bring myself to get out of bed. [he laughs, but it sounds soft and bitter.] I cannot even begin to explain it. It felt as if everyone around me had so much ambition, so much energy, and I... where was I? I confided in a prefect, but he told me 'twas all mere laziness, that I needed to find my love for the Fury.

[francel looks out at the balcony, into the distance.]

Perhaps I really did not love Her as purely as they did. And — you know, around that time, Chlodebaimt died — my brother, that is — Ser Chlodebaimt was dead, and I was set to fail damn near everything except for music and astrology — and I just could not bear the thought of disgracing House Haillenarte, to be the son that could not even become a priest...

[his voice falters.]

...I said that I would take up Skyfire Locks so that I could pursue vengeance for Chlodebaimt's death, and I did want that, that was honest... but part of it... part of it was simply that I needed to run away from my own mistakes.

...It is a shameful thing.

It's alright, Francel.

[He leans in and kisses him sweetly. He took deep enjoyment from the saucier kiss, but he found this to be good too.]

I find that mens motivations and paths are assigned random luck. I pursued my father into the Holy See and was tortured as a result. And for what, truly? I cannot say I learned aught else new besides the depth of an inquisitor's cruelty.

The Fury guides us all, though our destination may not seem clear.

[He shrugs off his coat onto the bed, a bit too distracted to hang it properly. He had become rather suddenly warm, after all. He places a hand on Francel's on the wine bottle, bidding him to take a sip.]

[it isn't as though francel's never gotten himself wasted before, but somehow, being coaxed into drinking like this makes him feel somehow small and innocent. he takes up the bottle and drinks from it, relishing his indirect kiss almost as much as the chaste, direct ones. he wants another kiss very badly, and it shows on his face, but he doesn't move as he balances the bottle in aymeric's lap again.]

Did they leave scars, the inquisitors? I... I, too, had my faith tested ere I was taken to Witchdrop, but Inquisitor Brigie was very kind. She said she would leave me no lasting marks...

I have scars, aye. Ser Charibert's marks are indistinguishable now from the flame from a Dravanian's maw.

[That was untrue. The fire blast from dragons was very different from the carving scars left by his delicate, hot flame. Even in his death, however, Aymeric would not give him the satisfaction of distinction.]

I am pleased that you have been left without scars. It highlights the nature of your beauty. [His eyes flick between Francel's lips and eyes. He takes up the bottle of wine taking a slow drink from it. He cleans his bottom lip with his tongue before biting it. He didn't actually intend to try to fuck Francel again today, but it didn't seem like such a bad idea. He leans forward, capturing Francel's lips with his own, holding him close with his other hand.]

Edited 2016-11-15 20:44 (UTC)

[francel certainly seems more than willing to escalate their chaste kisses into lustful touches, but his hands move slower than during the frantic fucking of last night. if his question about scars is any indication, he didn't really get the chance to take a good long look at aymeric's body, and he seems to want to take his time exploring it now.]

You flatter me. I... I never thought of myself as beautiful until you said I was so.

[francel shivers with a sudden wave of intense desire.]

How are you so kind, Aymeric? So warm and gentle? I cannot help but marvel that the whole of Ishgard is not yet sprawled at your feet. I want so badly to please you, not for my sake but because I want only to give you some small measure of what you give to all of us...

It is you who flatter, Lord Francel. I merely stated a truth. You are a beautiful man with fair, unblemished skin and a healthy glow.

[He sets the bottle on the floor, having become a lot more interested in the other activities here. He unfastens Francel's bilaud, though leaving it closed for his modesty. He thinks that he doesn't want to rush this either. They've been blessed with clear sunlight through Francel's balcony windows. He watches the light play on his face. He traces the deep red wine stain on Francels's lower lip with his thumb.]

Look how easily your lips stain...

[francel allows aymeric a long moment to admire his lips before he starts nipping at aymeric's thumb -- mischievously at first, but then he takes it full into his mouth, sucking slowly and sensually on aymeric's fingers in an effort to evoke other things he could be sucking on. he hums softly as he pulls himself off aymeric's thumb, leaving it warm and wet from the heat of his mouth.

how did it come to this? they were having an innocent conversation only moments before. and yet, try as he might, francel doesn't feel guilty in the least.

(this way, this way, he doesn't have to think about haurchefant.)

his voice is husky and breathy when he whispers:]

I adore you. I would gladly worship you.

Some would consider that heresy.

[Aymeric is a little surprised when his cock throbs at francel's words. He gently pushes him onto his back, kissing him deeply. He pushes open his bilaud now, bare hands running over his skin. Footfalls echo in the hallway and sits up immediately, turning his attention to the door. He pulls francel's shirt closed. The footfalls stop, seeming hesitant before continuing on past francel's room]

It would be foolish of us to be heard like this, so early in the morning with everyone awake. Should we away to my home instead...?

Edited 2016-11-16 01:31 (UTC)

[color rose to francel's cheeks the minute he was pinned down onto the bed; it doesn't leave his face as he holds his bliaud shut. by those heavy footsteps the intruder was either stephanivien or count baurendouin (aurvael, for all his surface resemblance to their father, walks with a lighter gait).

neither of those men are people that francel wants in his bedroom right now, especially not with aymeric so... so damn frisky.]

I... I am... not sure.

[really, how did it get to this? drinking and wanting sex with a man this early in the morning? his mother would be ashamed to see him. his father, too.]

...I don't know if I can wait...

Does your door lock? Or is there a room here that would- A private bath, perhaps?

[Aymeric stands, pulls off his boots, and walks quietly to the door to inspect it. He has to laugh at himself... Sneaking around like when he was sixteen! Fury save him, but this was fun and thrilling, too. ]

My home isn't so far from here. [ He grinned. Only 12 bells ago lord Francel had been a virgin, hadn't he? ]

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