dutyroulette | The Next Morning (Francel & Aymeric)

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]

[it's like pulling on a cat's tail, albeit one much better-behaved than aymeric's real cat. francel jolts a little in his nest of blankets when his skirt is pulled, and then sheepishly crawls out with his silk "tail," well, between his legs.]

Ah, of course... your manservant must have his own family to attend to. Then I suppose we shall have to make breakfast ourselves?

...Estinien looks rather like Lord Byron, I think. Er... based on the few times I saw him out and about. Er, the dragoon, I mean! Not the cat! But perhaps that is why they don't get along.

[maybe he's still a little sleepy... he reaches out to take a cup of tea.]

[Cute. He leans over and presses a kiss into his hair.]

Don't worry! I like to think of myself as a decently skilled cook.

[he sips his tea and chuckles] I've thought that, too. Bad-tempered and poorly mannered. The only difference is that Estinien is still a stray.

[he pulls the blanket over francel's lap for warmth and modesty.]

I was not worried! Why, I would struggle to imagine you burning anything in a pan. You just seem the sort to be skilled in the culinary arts.

[francel blinks, surprised at the blanket in his lap, and then figures that maybe his skirt is acting as a distraction. putting his tea on the nightstand, he takes it off entirely; after searching the bed for the matching bustier, he puts the two costume pieces together and throws them onto a dresser on the other side of the bed.

he does this whole process naked, which is a little funny considering how he's normally so preoccupied with modesty.]

What are you in the mood for, my love?

Have you learned to cook? I can't imagine a need to learn in such a household... Haillenarte's staff must be superb.

[he watches this process, smiling serenely the entire time.]

Something hearty... Though I haven't looked properly in the ice box in ages...[He stands, walking over to francel on the way to his dresser. He gives his ass a squeeze and a soft slap. his expression betrays nothing. he puts on a soft cotton tunic with a pair of white hose. he pulls a bath robe over for a bit of warmth.]

We may need to go to the market beforehand... It is rather tempting to go straight to Master Urrix's.

[that booty slap elicits an appropriately embarrassed and surprised squeak from francel, who looks around in confusion as if somehow not understanding that aymeric is the only one in the room who could have possibly slapped his ass. he pouts when he finally makes the connection.]

I lived on my own in Skyfire Locks for some time, remember? Of course I can cook... though, not to any respectable degree. I can... bake. Certainly nothing so fine as Master Urrix's fare. But now that you've got me thinking on it, I want to eat something you've made.

[francel digs up a change of folded clothes from out of the dresser, but doesn't put it on. he huffs, in a cutesy, playful way.]

...Before that, though, I'd like a bath! You did not give me a chance to properly wash myself last night!

[Way too cute, he thinks.]

Ah, yes. I would have thought they might send you with a servant...

[He looks over, a little embarrassed now that he was dressed and going on about breakfast when they were still absolutely filthy.] Very well, then!

[he takes his tea cup into the wash room and begins to draw francel a bath. he takes a seat on the ledge, crossing his ankle onto his knee. He sips his tea sleepily, just happily staring at his young lover's nude form.]

After we eat I should take you to the jeweler.

Edited 2017-01-07 00:53 (UTC)

[francel fusses with some things by his vanity while the water runs — though he's no lady, obviously, and so he only has some basic lip balms and skin tonics. he's not putting anything on — just taking mental inventory. once he has things set up as he likes them, he looks back at the tub and dips his feet in the water — then hisses in pain. right, he'd forgotten about lord byron's... parting gift.]

The jeweler? What for?

[he's forgotten about something else too, apparently.]

The ring, unless you had forgotten. I suppose I sprang that on you awfully late at night.. Under some distracting conditions. [he finishes his cup and sets it on the vanity. he disrobes, loosely folding them over a chair.]

Hold still a moment- [he nabs a little container of viscous gel from his counter. he delicately applies it to francel's foot]

That should do. [he places a small kiss on francel's thigh]

[francel blushes visibly — he enjoys the attention to his thighs — and presses his index finger to aymeric's lips in return. so soft and plush...]

I-I remember! It merely... slipped my mind.

[smiling despite his own embarrassment, francel lowers himself into the water, more conscious of the cut on his ankle this time, and begins shyly washing his nape and neck.]

And I... I wasn't sure you were quite serious. I thought perhaps 'twas merely something you said in... the heat of the moment... though of course my answer is the same!

[he presses a kiss against that finger in return]

Mayhap I only had the courage to come forth with it then, but I mean it as much now in my sobriety. I understand the confusion. It's a cliché, isn't it? [he dips his foot into the bath as well, considering.]

Mm, Francel. Has anyone told you that you bathe like maiden? [He grins warmly, just admiring his handsome ~~bride~~ husband to-be. He pushes the soap around the base of his thin, pale neck with a few fingers.]

L-Like a maiden?

[francel blinks, surprised, but it's hard to argue that point as he is indeed sitting at the edge of the tub with his legs demurely pressed together and his arms washing the nape of his neck. he lets aymeric take over, all too keenly aware that aymeric's fingers are much bigger and stronger than his, and, oh, it feels so nice to let them handle his body...]

No one has ever told me that, for no one... watches me bathe. Save you, that is.

Precisely so. You move with grace and leisure, starting with perhaps the most sensible part— rather than where would need the most attention soonest after a day of vigorous activity.

[he gives him a coy grin as his hands move to his shoulders to give a firm, soapy squeeze. His hands glide down his back to his hips, then around to his stomach. He leaves his hands there for a moment, just thinking about the feminine softness to him. really you hardly ever saw men like francel, and never in the nude. it hadn't stopped being novel at all to him yet. he lets go to rewet his hands in the rising water and steps down into the bath, taking one of francel's legs into his lap. there he washed and massaged it as if he were in servitude.]

It is my private pleasure, then.

Edited 2017-01-13 08:32 (UTC)

Ah, Aymeric —

[francel squirms but lets himself be squeezed, all plush vulnerability on a male frame, but when aymeric starts washing and massaging his legs like a servant at a bathhouse, the blond can't help but let out a soft murmur of appreciation. he rather greedily presses his thighs together, drawing aymeric's attention to his other leg.]

I would love nothing more than to be your private pleasure — your every private pleasure. But that feels... almost too good, Aymeric. You shall spoil me rotten like this, and then how will I ever cope without you?

I would hope that you wouldn't need to— considering my proposal.

[he happily shifts his focus to the other leg, laying his head against francel's thigh]

I should send a letter to House Haillenarte lest I forget and place the pressure of time upon them. Lord Stephanivien may need the full four moons to rub the grease from his chin.

[francel can't help but gnaw on a catlike smile, one that he just can't seem to swallow no matter how hard he tries to keep a straight face. who would have thought that he'd ever be in this position, with the shamelessly attractive lord commander in his lap? he's still marveling at it. he reaches out and gently holds aymeric's head in his hands.]

He'll need a four full moons merely to find a well-fitting suit, much less clean his face.

[and then — because the temptation is sort of great, and he's thought about being on the receiving end of this sort of attention at least a hundred times — francel reaches out with his free leg, still dripping with water, and gently places his heel on aymeric's cock. he slides it up and down; he curls his toes, a little experimentally.]

Darling...

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