fourstrings | no angels could beckon me back

no angels could beckon me back

[ 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.

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[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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 --

[ 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.

[ 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. ]

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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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.

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.

[ 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. ]

[ 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.

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no angels could beckon me back

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