dutyroulette | The Next Morning (Francel & Aymeric)

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?

[He takes a shuddering breath as he stops himself from going directly for the prize, so to speak. He stands, walking towards his closet. He finds his archer's cap easily enough.]

I am merely a poacher from Gridania passing through to sell my illicit wares when I find you- a beautiful boy- held captive in Ul'dah as a slave against your will. I steal you away and hide you. Though you are now free, I find it difficult to look you in the eye. For you have charmed me, and I am ashamed that I want you as badly as any of those black market wolves.

[He finishes his little outfit by pulling on his hunting coat. Francel may recognize it as a fairly standard garment- dyed green and brown to match the hunting grounds.]

And what a dashing poacher you are.

[francel hums appreciatively as he looks up and down at aymeric's (hastily made) rakish costume — but after a little while his smile fades and he pulls himself into character, submissively tucking his legs beneath his body as he pouts up at aymeric, looking convincingly frightened (though not too much so as to ruin the mood).

his voice shakes as he asks:]

Are... are you sure they won't find us here, ser?

Those bastards couldn't find the pelt on a paissa. [His voice takes a sharper quality as he speaks. He slowly circles the bed, his eyes falling over Francel's naked skin and trying to gaze through the sheer fabric. He shifts a bit uncomfortably, trying to offer his erection more space without touching his pant fronts.]

We will leave under the cover of darkness to the east. [He looks up to Francel's face. Even as he was mimicking this slave boy, he was entirely too cute.] Don't be frightened, boy. You are in no danger. [he places a reassuring hand in Francel's soft mop of hair.

[ooh, hearing aymeric's voice take on a more roguish quality thrills francel to his core. even so, he doesn't break character as he demurely lowers his eyes and fidgets on the bed.]

I... I see. They were not... merciful masters. And you have been so kind...

[he lifts his head with a pleading look.]

If... if there is anything I can do for you to repay this kindness, ser, you need but name it.

Edited 2017-01-04 02:21 (UTC)

[He breaks eye contact as a bit of electricity goes through him. This time, he's forced to pull at the waistband of his pants to allow himself some more room in them]

Nay, worry not about that sort of thing. You've no gil and no possessions- clearly. [he says this, his eyes following his form up back to his face.] And I've no right to ask for aught that I desire. [he turns and paces back around the other way, rubbing his neck.]

[Aymeric wasn't sure that he was a good actor, but there were worse actors, for sure.]

...Is there aught that you desire?

[francel tilts his head for a moment in innocent consideration before he draws his own conclusions.]

There... there is, is there not? If I cannot repay you in gold or silver, surely I can make you dream.

[The poacher sits on the bed and leans in to catch his companion's scent.]

Surely, you will be in my dreams whether or not you fulfill my desires.

[he places a hand on francel's upper arm, his eyes becoming half lidded with desire. He continues to shift uncomfortably, his cock beginning to wet at the tip as it rubs against the soft fabric.]

It is difficult to contain myself, boy. Tell me to leave you now ere I make a fool of myself.

Edited 2017-01-04 02:57 (UTC)

[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.]

Edited 2017-01-04 03:20 (UTC)

[He's about to feed Francel another line when he mercifully has his cock pulled from his pants. He croons, thinking about how much impressively better he's gotten at this task. He sinks against the pillows, propped up enough to watch the mask tickle his pubis. He places a hand on the back of francel's head as encouragement.

He gives in to his request finally closes his eyes. ]

You've been taught well, haven't you? [he struggles to speak as he leans in against the pillows, starting to crumple his hat. ]

Mmhmmmm...

[the metal nosepiece of the mask keeps getting jostled every time francel goes all the way down, so finally he decides it's not worth the trouble and he takes it off, setting it on the nightstand. it's almost like he can't quite convince himself to stop fellating aymeric; even when he's trying to answer his boyfriend's question, he keeps running his tongue up and down the man's shaft.

does aymeric want an experienced or an inexperienced slaveboy? francel hazards a guess at the former, though he could just as easily play the latter role if prompted.]

They said... that mine was the best mouth they'd ever had...

[on that note, francel dives right in again, delicately slipping his mouth around aymeric's ballsack and sucking with the utmost care before he pulls back and takes the shaft again, giving as much attention to the tip as he can manage.]

By the gods, it is!

[Aymeric gasps and moans with little inhibition. His eyes snap open as his hand tightens in Francel's hair to still him.]

Wait! Wait...! I don't want to come yet! I-I've barely gotten to look at you properly.

[he flushes as he sort of breaks character. But it was true, too. He pushes his hair back out of his eyes to stare at how the skirt fell over his partner's ass. He lowers his voice back into its dangerous tone.]

And it would be such a waste to just come in your mouth.

[aymeric's rapturous moans spur francel to suck more and more enthusiastically until finally aymeric's hand brings him to a stop. from the sulky expression on his face as he pulls up one last time, francel really did want aymeric to come in his mouth — but he can hardly hold a grudge over the sweet way his lover broke character. he covers his mouth demurely and makes a show of swallowing.]

No? Then...

[finally, finally, he lifts his skirt, enough to reveal the way his own cock is red and throbbing and partially holding the silks up.]

Is it this that you want?

[His voice comes out deliriously low and sweet.] Oh, Fury, yes. Shake your hips for me, won't you?

[Without taking his eyes off of Francel, he makes a grab for the oft used jar from the night stand. He untwists the metal screw top and tosses it aside. He scoops some of the lavender scented gel from the edge... They would have to buy more he silently notes. He reaches down and jerks himself slowly with the cold lubricant, sighing as it bought him a few more minutes.

He reaches up between Francel's beauitful thighs, noting how much larger and more masculine his hands looked next to Francel's- his thin hands holding the red silk. He presses his fingers behind francel's coinpurse of a sac, acting as if he's just massaging the oil into the area.]

[in all their months of play, francel's never heard aymeric sound that gruff, that sweet — and it makes him hunger for the man like never before.

he wants aymeric so badly at this point that he barely even needs to be told to shake his hips — he does it of his own volition, swaying them side to side with the skirt lifted so that aymeric can see every damn thing. it's a pity they didn't turn on the orchestrion for a little music. francel makes up his own rhythm, swinging his hips this way and that to let the golden chains on his skirt catch the ceiling light.

when aymeric's hands make their way between his legs, francel can't help but let out a desperate, keening moan. he shakes his hips more vigorously, forward and backward this time, pressing aymeric's fingers more insistently where he wants them to be.]

Oh, please, that's so good —

[he's the one breaking character this time; hastily he pulls himself together, trying to look seductive yet demure again.]

[They always fall out of character eventually, but Aymeric is always pleased when Francel at least tries to keep it up. His fingers find Francel's entrance, and he presses in, but allows his young lover to do the movement. He knows how fast he can go at this, but he lets it draw out. After all, he's trying to memorize the wonderful view.]

[he pushes his middle finger in as far as it'll go, starting to wiggle it inside him.]

Is that alright, boy?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject