no angels could beckon me back

[baemeric]

[ Aymeric is aware he's been sent on this particular posting to harden him up. He is no longer the round-cheeked boy he was when he joined the Knights, and he'll complete a march without complaint, but the others still see him as soft. He knows it. Too much of a whiff of nobility to fit with the recruits from common families, and of stock too poor to fit in with those from high houses. His face works against him, as does his voice, and the questions he uses it to ask are unwelcome from one meant to follow every order. He is probably the only person in this particular group who hasn't committed any actual infractions. Estinien surely has, although this time Aymeric isn't quite sure what it is he's done - insubordination is usual, or fighting. It hardly matters; Aymeric is glad to have his company. Especially for work as dull (if needed) as this. The assignment involves a long, freezing march out to deliver supplies to a settlement, culling the beasts encroaching on it, and then another long, cold march back immediately after - the orders not to linger (and perhaps find people in the settlement who might be willing to share a fire or a hot cup of tea) were terrifyingly strict. But it's nothing Aymeric can't handle, under usual circumstances, and he is determined to prove his capability.

Even if these are very much not normal circumstances.

He'd supposed he was getting ill, at first. Feeling too warm, tired and fidgety all at once. By the time they were halfway out his skin had become so sensitive that it almost hurt to have his clothing against it, let alone his armor and the heavy pack he was laden with. He pressed on, determined not to complain, to squash the discomfort -

but once the wyverns attacked, he'd had to feed all of his efforts into fighting them instead of what malady gripped him. A swarm of them, far greater than the usual number found out here unless accompanied by dragons, and the fight had been long and arduous. By the end he'd been so consumed by the heat burning under his skin he would surely have been taken in the icefall had Estinien not hauled him bodily aside. There's rumbling, deep and threatening, and though Aymeric knows dimly what that heralds and hears Estinien's warning shout, he cannot think what to do.

All he can think of is the heat under his skin, the ache in him, and the scent of Estinien, the strength in his arms as he all but carries Aymeric into the cave. It makes sense now, though he'd rather it didn't. He would prefer to deny the undeniable. He tries, pacing the borders of the cave and the great white tumble of snow that has fallen over the entrance. He's so hot, and the need in him is great and only growing. He balls his fists, bites at the inside of his cheek, and when he sees Estinien is preoccupied with starting a fire (gods, please, not more heat) he steals the opportunity to scoop a handful of snow and press it to the back of his neck. ]

Not now. [ Whispered, low. ] Fury, not now.

Comments

[vindictae]

[ in nearly any other circumstance, there is no one but aymeric that estinien would rather have at his side.

there are plenty within the knights who call the other elezen weak, soft-skinned, spoiled by an upbringing wreathed in privilege. but estinien needs no other proof than that mischaracterization to mark them as fools; it would take a blind man to miss the fire in aymeric's eyes, the steel in his spine, the passion that runs like a fever in the undercurrent of every word he speaks. so there's a certain comfort in being sent out on even a mission like this one when he knows he'll have aymeric at his heels, and it takes some of the venomous sting out of the knowledge that he's being sent out like a cur they intend to exhaust into obedience.

unfortunate, then, that this missive is determined to be even more of a punishment than was intended.

the march out is much the same as a hundred others that they've done before -- leaning into a wind so punishing that it sears frostburn across his cheeks even under his helmet, focusing on the sound of his breath against metal and his boots crunching the snow to mark his progress. the storm is punishing, and perhaps that's what makes it so that the wyverns are nearly on top of them before their company is aware of the attack. suddenly, the howl of the wind is replaced by fire and fury, and the driving snow makes it so that their company ends up scattered and scrabbling. but somehow, despite it all, there is aymeric at his back even as they lose the rest of their company to the blizzard and the battle; an arrow finding the eye of a wyvern moments before it has the chance to sink its teeth into estinien, his spear cutting down the wyrm before it can round to tear its revenge from aymeric's skin. they fight together like they were meant to do it, and there's a savage satisfaction in it that heats his blood against the cold.

but then there's the icefall, and aymeric standing blankly in its path as if his feet have been rooted to the ground, and estinien only barely manages to lunge for him in time. it's been enough to cut them off from the others entirely, and there's something about the way aymeric sags against him instead of finding his feet again that screams wrongness. it's enough to dampen the bloodthirst still howling in him; instead, he wraps an arm around aymeric and all but drags him to the closest shelter he can find them, his mind leaping to the worst conclusions. an injury? an illness? some foul poison?

it's training that kicks in, gets them both into a cave and has him building up a fire before he even allows himself to turn fully towards the problem. but then, because the anger is a cancer that bubbles on every emotion, he turns towards aymeric with a growl. ] Are you addled?

Should I beg your forgiveness for pulling you from the path of that icefall? You stood there as if you were praying for it to take you. [ stalking towards him, closing the distance between them in a few long strides. already reaching to unbuckle the chestplate of the other man's armor and start to tug it roughly off, expecting to reveal some grievous injury that might explain aymeric's state. ] If you've been wounded --

[ but, no. pulling off that first piece of armor is enough to reveal what the tearing wind and the insulation of steel had hidden, and the scent that comes pouring off aymeric's skin hits estinien like a physical blow. he drags in a sharp breath before he even remembers why that might be unwise, the chestplate slipping out of his suddenly uncooperative fingers and clattering to the cave's floor. ]

[baemeric]

[ Oh, Fury help him, but he is gone. Not entirely - he knows enough to see the fire in Estinien's eyes, hear the rough anger in his voice, knows enough, even, to recognize that it's an anger borne of their friendship, of Estinien's concern for him. But it's faint, the recognition of it like someone speaking in a low voice in the next room, all drowned out by the rough way Estinien grabs at him and starts to strip away his armor. Aymeric manages, just barely, to stay on his feet when his knees want to buckle beneath him and sent him tipping into Estinien's arms, manages to keep the moan that wants to spill from his lips to a mere whimper -

but it's too late. Already too late, he sees it in the way his dear friend's oft-narrowed eyes blow wide in shock, the fact that his hands - always so capable, lethal when he means them to be - drop Aymeric's chestplate, his grip going slack as a marionette with its strings cut.

Aymeric has long battled to keep his attraction under control. Told himself it was hero-worship, or gratitude for the way Estinien treated him as an equal rather than a spoiled little lordling. And when he had to face the truth of it and could pretend no more, he accepted it for what it was - a flight of impossible fancy - and resolved to be his friend and companion always, and never let it come between them. But even like this, his face caught between rage and shock, Estinien is beautiful to him, and the removal of his armor such a blessed relief -

he shakes his head as if to clear it, and finds no such comfort. ]

Forgive me. I didn't know. I would never have taken such a - such a risk -

[ Halone take him, he is so hot. His fingers fumble at his armor, let what remains clatter the to cave floor piece by piece, and the sigh of relief he gives only draws the scent of Estinien into his lungs. Not changed - not spiced with rut, as it has been in idle fantasies, but warm and masculine and good nonetheless, and he feels the want in him clench tight as a fist. ]

Estinien -

[vindictae]

[ estinien has faced down wyrms more than thrice his size with little thought for safety or survival, and he's done so without even the barest flicker of fear. he was a shepherd boy who returned home to the burned-out shell of his family home, faced the task of digging through its remnants to find some trace of his family to bury, and he did it without flinching.

but now? the most beautiful man in all of ishgard undoes his armor, piece by piece, and lets the sweet smell of his need flood this cave, and it's here that estinien falters utterly. he takes a half-step back in a concession to some animal part of his hindbrain that cries out for escape, and he'd be mortified by the low, desperate sound that wrenches out of his throat if there were any space left in his mind to be aware of it.

it would be impossible to grow up without some idea of secondary genders and their respective roles, even for someone like estinien with their attention set so resolutely elsewhere. he's never had any real interest in any omegas, but he knows what they fucking are. pretty, pampered things, kept cloistered safely away until their parents could bargain them into some beneficial marriage. meant to be as useless as they are lovely, soft hands lacking any hint of callous and perfumed skin free from scars or sun. they are not aymeric, who marches for miles at his back without even a murmur of complaint, whose curls estinien has seen matted with gore and skin crusted with soot, who neglects to care for his own blisters until estinien has to snarl an admonishment and do it for him. (and all the while, aymeric will sit patiently through lecture and treatment alike, staring at estinien with a mix of wonder and affection that deserves an act far grander than smearing salve over one's hands and telling them their skull is thicker than dragonhide.)

aymeric is not an omega. he cannot be.

(not most but also not least of all because they are brothers in blood and battle alike, and how could estinien have not known?)

he takes another stuttering half-step back, the armored heel of his boot scuffing against the cave floor. his brain is awash with many a thing, and most of them at odds with one another -- trying frantically to remember whatever lessons alberic might have imparted on the subject, trying futilely to calculate the distance between their cave and the nearest village (and whether such a trek might be survivable despite the blizzard and aymeric's current state), trying trying trying not to let himself learn that aymeric smells all at once like the field of bluebells outside estinien's childhood home but also of the sort of heat that a man could fall into and lose himself forever. ]

Aymeric --

[ it is almost a plea. ]

[baemeric]

I didn't know.

[ Perhaps that will be some comfort to Estinien. Aymeric is not particularly religious, but the Borels are devout. They have always been open with him about the fact that he was adopted and though questions about where he came from have always been gently rebuffed, they never treated him with anything less than all the love a son could hope for. The one and only thing that sticks in Aymeric's mind as unusual, as something a natural-born child would not have experienced, is a childhood which featured a lot of his mother bringing him to prayer. Kneeling, hands clasped, asking that he be spared. He'd never known what he was supposed to be spared from but it seemed a kind thing to ask for and so he prayed too, head bowed, curls falling in his eyes, feeling a little wicked for not quite believing.

It had made sense later. When he'd pieced together his birth mother's circumstances from gossip and whispers, and when the praying ceased after Aymeric well passed the age at which an omega would normally present. When he overheard his father after perhaps one too many mugs of mulled wine jovially telling his mother it seems he's nothing more than a very pretty lad, thank the Fury. And Aymeric had been thankful whether it was the prayer or just nature, because there is so much that he wants to do, and life as a pampered pet to some Alpha would have permitted none of it.

The what-ifs that had bubbled forth about being an omega and Estinien an Alpha, and how this might bring them together had seemed so harmless at the time. Now he sees the truth of it. It's awful. He is changed in Estinien's eyes, he can already tell. The look on his face, the note of pleading in his voice like he's begging Aymeric to tell him it isn't true.

He would love to. He can't. He repeats himself, small and apologetic. Desperate to fight the need building in him. ]

I didn't know.

[vindictae]

[ he opens his mouth. closes it.

what is he meant to say? a good friend, a kinder one, might offer reassurances -- but estinien has never quite been either, and he doesn't think the words would sound believable coming from him now.

it's okay? it isn't. this doesn't make a difference? it does.

all those dreams that aymeric spoke of, conviction in his voice and fire in his eyes, would be hard enough to grasp for an alpha. and maybe not even entirely out of reach for an omega in other, more foreign parts of eorzea, but ishgard? the church clings to its roles and the parts that must be played within them, and --

the worst thing? the greatest sin of all? is that none of that means anything in the face of how good aymeric smells, how prettily the heat paints a flush across his cheeks. if he could have his way, there is some greedy and terrible part of estinien that would choose this for him all over again, just so that he could pin aymeric down and chase that scent from the hollows of his throat, to fit himself within the perfect, needy arch of aymeric's body and --

estinien squeezes his eyes shut. bites down on the inside of his cheek until he tastes iron, an old trick oft used to ground himself in the wake of exhaustion and pain. ]

I can guard the cave. [ voice low, tight. needing aymeric to know that he'd never press this, that the world may never see aymeric the same way, but that estinien can. that estinien will. ] We have supplies enough for two days. More, if the storm clears enough for me to hunt.

[baemeric]

[ Oh, Estinien. He makes such a show of being gruff. Seems hellbent on taking his rough edges and making them rougher, keeping everyone at a distance, but Aymeric knows. Estinien is good, kind, the sort of friend who insists on tending to wounds when Aymeric tries to ignore them. And now he tries to pretend this doesn’t change everything, offers to keep Aymeric safe while everything he thought he knew about himself falls down around him, and that only makes it worse. There’s part of him that howls with it, seizes on that offer to protect and brandishes as proof that Estinien would be a good mate, demands that Aymeric give himself to the other man immediately, beg to be claimed. He licks his lips, his eyes hungry over Estinien’s face, tracking the lean frame of his body, and swallows.

He nods. ]

Thank you, my friend. Even if we were to make it back -

[ They’d know. Everyone would know. The others probably wouldn’t even have the chance to mock him, he’d be kicked out so fast. If there are no explicit rules about omegas not being knights, it’s only because Ishagard’s imagination does not extend to the thought that one might want to be.

It's a kind offer. The kindest thing Estinien could do for him, in the circumstances. But it’s not what Aymeric wants. That is beyond his ability to ask for, at present. ]

[vindictae]

[ as things stand, just the act of aymeric licking his lips is nearly enough to undo all the careful resolve estinien is trying to stack up within himself. he's forced to squeeze his eyes shut for a long moment and drag in a breath -- though it's immediate disaster when all that sweetly seductive smell comes with it, and estinien's dick throbs in protest beneath the tight confines of his armor.

it occurs to him that there might be some risk of permanent injury, should he keep the armor on for much longer. but perhaps that would be a blessing, enough to grant him respite from the looping reel of aymeric in every compromising and sinful position his rather limited imagination can call to mind. ]

Is there -- Can I --

[ he should have paid more attention when alberic lectured. is there something he, a good friend who is in no way thinking about pinning aymeric to his bedroll and finding out how pretty his voice will sound when it's breaking around estinien's name, should be doing? but his mind has long since failed him, which is why he only ends up standing there for a few long moments like a fool before he finally snatches up a small cooking pot from the shared mess of their provisions and gear. snarling, by way of explanation and with far more vehemence than the word deserves: ] Water.

[ before turning sharply on his heel and stumbling towards the mouth of the cave, ostensibly to collect snow to melt over the fire and have for drinking water, but in reality to find a few short moments of refuge from this new form of bewitchment aymeric has over him. ]

[baemeric]

Water. Yes.

[ They'll need water. It is a sensible thing Estinien is doing. The main problem, from Aymeric's perspective, is that he doesn't want Estinien doing the sensible thing. For preference he would have Estinien throw him to the ground and fuck him so well that when they do eventually make to the barracks it's clear that Aymeric belongs to him.

Failing that, he'd like Estinien to be away from the snow, so that Aymeric can shove his flushed face into it without Estinien asking him if he's addled again.

There's a part of him that knows, despite the lateness of this turn of events, that the heat burning inside him isn't actual heat. He reminds himself of this the way he reminds himself that he is perfectly capable of going another few miles without perishing when he finds his water skin empty, or that his legs won't fall off in protest when the march has already been a day long and then they come to a steep hill. Unfortunately it's not nearly as effective. He can feel his hair starting to stick to his temples and nape with sweat, and it's close to unbearable. He strips his tunic off in the hope it will help, but the brush of fabric against his oversensitized skin only worsens things. To his horror and shame, a low whimper escapes him at the feel of it.

It could be so easy, whispers a treacherous little part of his fogged brain. He can give you what you need. He wants to. You just have to make him see it. ]

Estinien...

[vindictae]

[ it's a shame that the mouth of the cave is so visible from the rest, because it means that estinien can't throw himself face first in the snow without aymeric witnessing the whole thing. still, the biting cold of the ice on his bare hands is bracing, and he relishes the brief reprieve that this simple act gives him. it doesn't clear his head entirely, but it helps, and it's almost enough to convince him that he can make it through the next few days of this with aymeric's honor and their friendship both still firmly intact.

unfortunately, by the time he's dragged the snow-filled pot back to the scatter of their gear and knelt to brace it above the fire, he's been forced to breathe again. and just that, the act of taking air into his lungs and letting the sweet scent of aymeric coil close around him, is enough to scatter every bit of resolve he'd fooled himself into thinking was a defense. and if not that? then surely the sound of aymeric saying his name, low and more desperate than estinien has ever heard it, is enough to finish off the rest.

he will stand guard outside the cave. up to his shoulders in snow, if he must. ]

Are you -- [ warm enough? but the words die on his tongue. the urge to tend to aymeric is nearly overwhelming, but it's still alien enough for him to choke on it. in all their friendship, his caring has been rough and sharp-edged; he doesn't know what to do with this ache, this need, to be tender with him. ] ... there is a spare blanket in my pack. ... if... you need.

[baemeric]

[ A spare blanket. That's good. Later, after they're bonded, Aymeric will take it and his own blanket and make little nest of them, a warm place to cocoon themselves in the heat of one another's bodies, to trap Estinien's scent and mingle it with his own and -

he bites the inside of his cheek, hard. A trick he'd learned from Estinien. Not that he ever spoke of it, but Aymeric has grown so used to studying the other man's face that he couldn't help but notice the movement of his jaw, the sharpening of his already magnificent cheekbones when he was determined to endure.

It doesn't help. ]

I need -

[ He needs. Even as he moves to Estinien's side, he knows it's unfair of him. But he can't help it. He doesn't want to. He knows what he wants. What he needs, and it isn't a sodding blanket. ]

I'm quite warm enough. See?

[ And he grabs Estinien by the wrist, using the advantage of surprise to lay the other man's hand against on flushed cheek. Just that, just the feel of palm and fingers against his face, is enough to make his eyes flutter closed. Estinien has punched men for less but it's worth it, and Aymeric sighs. ]

[vindictae]

[ estinien's reflexes are battle-honed, sharp enough to keep him alive through brush after brush with death. so there's no excuse for the way aymeric is able to slip closer to him, to catch estinien's wrist and press it to his cheek. (no excuse except for how badly estinien wants it, and that's a truth too terrifying to let himself dwell on for long.)

his hand is still cold from the snow, but that's nothing against the heat of aymeric's skin. and just that touch, something so small and otherwise innocent, is enough to make estinien's breath catch. for a moment, he forgets about every reason why he shouldn't -- aymeric has cast a spell over him, so powerful that estinien doesn't even realize how well and truly he's already lost. ]

You're burning up. [ softly, distantly. stroking the pad of his thumb along the soft skin of aymeric's cheek, and even that touch feels electric. ]

[baemeric]

[ That brush of Estinien's thumb over his cheek may as well have been in a far more intimate place, for the surge it sends through Aymeric. The need is roaring now, a dragon fit to devour him whole. Like this the soft skin of Estinien's wrist is close to Aymeric's face and he leans in to the touch, breathing in the scent of him, failing entirely not to hum his approval as he does.

He opens his eyes slowly, catches Estinien's gaze. ]

I am. For you. Please, Estinien.

[ And he turns his face just enough to lick the length of Estinien's thumb and close his mouth around the end of it, sucking. ]

[vindictae]

[ halone.

it isn't as if estinien didn't already know that there isn't much he wouldn't do if aymeric asked it of him. but now? like this? he'd set all of ishgard aflame at aymeric's whim, without even the barest thought for any consequence. the reality of it roars through him, making the earth quake beneath him and the sky rend itself above him, and --

estinien wrenches himself back to clarity only moments before he gives into the driving need to lean down and claim aymeric's mouth for his own. ]

I can't. [ he jerks his hand away roughly, every ilm of him screaming at him for doing it, and clenches his hands into fists so tight his nails dig into the meat of his palms. ] We can't.

[ not in ishgard. not when aymeric's adopted house conveys on him a status estinien could never hope to match. he'll need to be married off to the heir of a house strong enough to benefit him; if not for his family's sake, then for the power he'll need to make every change he's ever spoken of. and none of that, none of it, will happen if he ends up mated and bonded and spoiled here and now.

estinien won't be the ruin of aymeric's ambitions. he won't. not for anything, not even for this. ] Aymeric --

[baemeric]

[ Why not?

He only barely manages to bite it back, knowing it would come out a whine, make him sound like the spoiled little lordling so many see him as - but not Estinien. Estinien is the only person who has really bothered to see Aymeric rather than a title or a sordid tale about his origins. The way the need gnaws at him now, Aymeric knows that eventually he'll give in to it. To someone. The thought of it stings even as he feels himself losing reason. ]

I have never felt such need, such - I am not in control of myself. It claws at me. Worse than hunger, worse than thirst. You have always looked after me, my Estinien. Teaching me what the others wouldn't so I won't shame myself, hurt myself. I want it to be you. While I am still able to choose, I would choose you.

[vindictae]

[ the words are poured straight from his every sordid fantasy. of aymeric arching up beneath him, blue eyes gone dark with fever and curls sticking to his skin, murmuring i choose you with a sinful mouth. it takes everything in estinien not to be undone by them; his next breath shudders, and the hunger in him roars --

but still, no. he can't. can't give himself what he needs more than breathing, can't --

estinien bites at the corner of his lips, unsure whether the thought that comes to him would still seem sane were he not in the grip of this fever. he cannot mate aymeric properly, no. but surely he can help him, can't he? do something to take off the most wicked edge of this heat, to soothe and satisfy at least some of the need. and for aymeric, he can keep his own needs controlled, can suffer through until the fever has broken and aymeric is in his right mind again.

is the idea born of kindness, or only of his own greedy selfishness?

it doesn't matter; his restraint is worn thin enough to snap. it's why he can't help himself from reaching out to tangle a hand in aymeric's curls, surging forward to drag his mouth along the sharp line of aymeric's jaw. ]

[baemeric]

Yes.

[ The moment Estinien's hand is in his hair, even before he presses his mouth to Aymeric's skin. He knows he's going to get what he wants; he can smell it on Estinien, rich and smoky and intoxicating. He moans at the contact, but it's not enough. It won't be enough until Aymeric is full with him, the stamp of Estinien's bite dark in the pale flesh of Aymeric's throat.

Aymeric clutches at him, moving with fervor, hands unable to decide what they want. He grips the other man tight, pulls him close, releases him almost as swiftly in order to scrabble at his clothing, wanting to find bare skin. There's a frantic air to it that slows only when he manages to catch Estinien's mouth with his own, and then -

oh, and then. Aymeric slips his tongue into Estinien's mouth and finds himself dizzy with it. The taste of him, the warmth there. He groans, presses himself close, graping and needy.

He had not imagined his first kiss would go quite like this, but he had always nutured a small and secret desire that it would be Estinien. Now that the moment is here, he's too lost to the feel of it to enjoy the fact that his wish has been made real. ]

[vindictae]

[ and oh, the feeling of aymeric's mouth against his own is better than estinien could have ever imagined. hot and greedy, the desire in him so evident that it's as if he means to devour estinien utterly. already it's enough to make him dizzy, losing himself for a few long moments before the feeling of aymeric's fingers scrabbling uselessly at what remains of his armor remind him of his objective.

it's... a risk, to have the armor off. but it's also not much of a choice at all, not when the heat coming off aymeric and catching fire underneath estinien's own skin makes the layer of steel nigh unbearable. so he breaks the kiss with a lit ytle nip to aymeric's lower lip, turning his attention briefly to the task of undoing the buckles and clasps to peel the armor away. there's only a thin tunic and breeches underneath, just enough fabric to protect his skin from pinching in the armor's seams, and when he presses himself back against aymeric, the heat is so much more evident that it makes him growl out a low sound. ]

Aymeric -- [ pressing the other man back into his bedroll, caging him under the weight of his body. kissing a line down his throat, letting himself linger over that spot where a mating bite is meant to go even though he knows it's a risk to even toy with the fantasy of it. ]

[baemeric]

[ The sound of protest Aymeric makes as Estinien breaks the kiss dies soon enough, when he sees what the other man is doing. No armor means on less layer between them, and Aymeric watches hungrily as Estinen sheds that layer. And then Estinien moves as if he knows exactly what Aymeric needs - not that the secret of it is particularly well-kept any longer. He tips his head back, drawing the line of his throat out under Estinien's mouth, shifting until he can hook his legs around Estinien's hips. It won't give him what he needs, not with the both of them still in their breeches, but it lets him rock up against him and whimper at the feel of it. ]

I have wanted you for so long. To know the taste of your mouth, the press of your skin against mine. To know you in every way.

[ He's wet. Wet enough that his breeches will be ruined should he keep them on much longer . It's an entirely foreign sensation, but like this it feels right. He's dimly aware that at other times he would find it embarrassing, shameful, but like this there's just the ache for what Estinien can give him, burning him up, and he's pleased at the way his body makes itself ready. With Estinien's mouth just there the need is only greater, near screaming in hom for what that press of lips suggests but doesn't deliver. ]

[vindictae]

[ aymeric's legs come up to wrap around estinien's waist, and just that much contact is enough to make his blood burn hotter than dragonfire. he buries his face in the other man's shoulder to muffle his groan, unable to resist the urge to rut his hips forward. almost instantly, he thinks to regret his arrogance in shedding his armor -- it is torture to be able to press himself this close to aymeric, to feel the heat of him and to know he can't let himself have it.

and as if that weren't enough? the words, what aymeric says to him, they are wicked fuel poured on the fire. can he even trust anything aymeric says to him, addled as he is by his heat? (oh, but he wants to, wants to imagine that aymeric has wanted him for just as long and just as ardently as estinien has always wanted him.) ]

Beautiful. [ he isn't one for sweet nothings, but how can he help but to worship? ] Lovelier than I could have ever imagined.

[ scraping his teeth over aymeric's earlobe, the words nearly a growl as he grinds their hips together. ] Perfect for me, Aymeric.

[baemeric]

For you.

[ He echoes it, pleased at hearing his innermost wishes from Estinien's mouth. Why else would it have happened this way were he not for Estinien and Estinien alone? All the circumstances of his life conspiring to put him here and now, the late onset of his presentation - no, it was meant to be thus. He hums warmly at the thought, and relaxes the hold his legs have around Estinien just enough to slip a searching hand between them. The way Estinien had rocked against him had been enough to tell him the other man was hard, but against Aymeric's touch he's hot even through his clothing. Aymeric squeezes at him, moans at the thought of that firm length inside him. ]

Only for you.

[vindictae]

[ if he's meant to keep any wits about him at all, estinien is going to need aymeric not to do that.

not that his body is complaining -- on the contrary, even the touch of aymeric's hand through clothing is blisteringly good, enough to make estinien's vision go hazy around the edges. he can't resist that initial impulse to rut his hips forward into the touch with a low groan, but then he wrenches back enough control to grab aymeric's wrists with both his hands and press them above the other man's head. it's more about the principle than anything else; if he wants to, estinien has no doubt aymeric could be free of him. ]

Patient. [ half-admonishment, half-plea, and punctuated by a sharp nip to the shell of aymeric's ear. ] Let me take care of you. I'm going to give you what you need.

[ a lie, but one he thinks aymeric will forgive him for once this is over. ]

[baemeric]

[ He fights, at first. It's good, he knows it's good, why would Estinien deny them this? - but once he realizes what Estinien is doing he lets his hands be moved, and when the other man pins them above his head it sets the need in him to purring, delighted at the way the other man takes control. And then Estinien nips at Aymeric's ear and he moans, shameless, the feel of it sparking through him. ]

Yes.

[ He doesn't detect the lie. He's too pleased at the thought that Estinien is going to take care of him, that finally they'll be together. And if it's just to see him through this heat, to help him when the need in him is starting to approach agony the same way Estinien has tended a wound for him or shown him how to strap his pack so it doesn't dig at his shoulders - well, at least he has this. At least Estinien is the first. And he will try his damndest to see that it's good enough to have him back for more, and there need never be another. ]

Estinien, I need you. Touch me. Please.