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“Mister Flins,” Illuga started, only to trail off as said man’s hand placed on his back guided him deeper into the Flagship. “What…what are we doing here?”
His fellow Lightkeeper, a very dear friend if Illuga dared to say so, smiled at him. “Celebrating, of course.”
“Celebrating…what exactly?” The music was quite distracting, but even more so was the man dancing in the middle of the room.
“Let’s say, your eighteenth birthday. A coming of age!”
“But…I’m not eighteen.”
Flins kept on smiling while patting Illuga on the shoulder. “But you were eighteen once!”
“That still doesn’t explain why we are here!”
“Why,” Flins said, his gaze sliding to the middle of the room. “To enjoy the show?”
Alright, sure. The gleaming silver pole in the middle of the room, the man using it for a rather indecent display of movements, a show indeed. Only that the man grinding against that pole had quite the familiar white hair, and his figure was rather distinct — let’s not talk about the sheer size of his body including the chest — and if any of that wasn’t a dead giveaway, then the black bandages hugging his flesh too tightly were enough for you to guess who the man was. Which begged the question of why!?
“I’m afraid I don’t understand…”
Flins patted him once again on the shoulder, yet his gaze was glued to the man twirling around that pole.
“Do excuse me, I thought you found men attractive.”
“That’s not the point!”
“Sir Flins, I think I get it now."
What surprising words. It was difficult, but not impossible, for Flins to will himself to look away, only for his gaze to fall on Illuga's face, on those mesmerising eyes of his being utterly engrossed with the show on the stage. Huh? That was a first; usually, Illuga looked respectfully for a moment or two at most before he averted his gaze, counting the stitches in his coat’s lining or staring at the ceiling.
To fully admire Rerir on the stage? That did not happen.
"What do you mean, Young Master?”
"Him. Why you keep coming here. I'm starting to understand."
Oh.
“Young Master, isn't it past your bedtime already?"
“What bedtime?"
He was still staring at Rerir, his eyes half lidded, his lips parted as his tongue peeked out to lick them as Rerir dropped down on his knees.
“Your bedtime, the bedtime minors usually have."
“What mino—”
"Young Master, this is really troublesome. I suggest you leave as soon as possible, before anyone notices your age."
“Flins!"
“Don't make a scene, Master Illuga. I promise I won't tell the old man about your, ah, acts of rebellion. Oh, to be young again, I remember being your age, doing all sorts of rebellious things. Really, I’m on your side, Master Illuga, but some things should be treated with more caution."
"Sir Flins,” his friend argued back, a little bit exasperated before his eyes flickered back to the stage for a second, then returned to Flins. “You know what, you're right. Call me a minor if you will, this is unacceptable behaviour on my part! I’m going home to sleep, and will never dare set foot into this establishment ever again, lest I bring dishonour to my family."
Oh, that wasn’t the actual outcome Flins wanted from him. Did he just lose one of his chaperones again?
No matter, Flins would deal with the repercussions later. He had a show to watch.
It had been marketed as a Special Occasion type of show, and Flins could see why.
The outfit Rerir had on was rather, well, special was nowhere near enough to describe it.
Black sheer stockings adorned with clusters of embroidered dark flowers, the elastic at the top of his thighs where the stockings ended in a frilly border of lace digging into the flesh, denting it. Thin black straps connected the stockings to a lacy garter belt that hugged Rerir’s waist so well it made it look smaller than it actually was. His broad, generous chest was shoved more or less into a black bra with a pattern of lacy flowers, the gaps between them enough for you to peek at the skin underneath — if you tried hard enough you could also spot the darkness of his nipples in between the flowers.
Worse of it all?
The black panties, the trim uneven in a pattern that heightened the plushness of Rerir’s behind, the lace so thick it covered the skin completely, yet it couldn’t hide what was laying underneath. The noticeable bulge betrayed Rerir’s size and Flins couldn’t help himself; his mouth flooded with saliva, his throat tight as he watched the Sinner roll his hips to the rhythm of the music coming from the jukebox on the side of the room.
What a special occasion indeed.
If only Flins’ eyes were the only ones to lay on such splendor, if only he wasn’t sharing it with the packed room at the Flagship, if only…
At least, whenever Rerir happened to gaze into the crowd, his eye would always fall on Flins. At least, when he stepped off the stage, his feet would always carry him to Flins. The crowd parted to let him through and Flins did not care to notice the gazes, the implications in them, the shades of envy and disgust and everything in between.
“Where did the little bird go?"
“It should be past his bedtime," Flins answered, his legs falling open as they've done countless times before to accommodate the bulk of the man in between them.
“Didn't know he had one," Rerir said as the tips of his fingers glided over the top of Flins' thighs. "He's pretty old for it.”
"He’s a rather young one, all things considered.”
Rerir's chuckle got lost in the noise of the music as the man's hands finally settled on Flins' legs, the fingers curling into his flesh as he leaned over, so close that Flins could smell him; a scent of something dark yet fresh, a new fragrance, blending well with the stench of smoke and sweat. It made his gums ache and saliva pool on his tongue.
"No birthday boy, no lap dance.”
With those words being followed by an amused chuckle, Rerir started pulling sway.
No, no!
"Quite the disrespect,” he said, his hands moving, breaking Rerir's policy of no touching. “What if today was my birthday?"
Rerir looked at him, unimpressed and judging, but Flins couldn't care less about that; what mattered was that Rerir didn't address the touching. No, Flins' hands remained on his hips, the tips of his fingers under the straps of the lingerie, the lace soft to the touch and so very pretty he wanted to tear it to pieces with his teeth.
“Is it?" Rerie asked, his hip jutting to the side as he continued to study Flins the way one would a bug. “If I remember right, your latest birthday was two months ago, and the one before that five months ago, and the one before that —”
"Must you torment me so?”
The black lace was hugging his body so tightly Flins could see where the flesh dipped under the pressure and the noise of the room scattered into nothingness as he imagined the red lines that would adorn Rerir's body were he to take off every piece of clothing.
"Yes.”
Plain, simple, and quite deserved.
"Let go.”
Flins would rather not.
"What do you wish for? What is that you want, for this?”
Rerir's smile was anything but nice; it held infinite contempt and disgust and a touch of apprehension. And, deep below them all, lay that tiredness that he seemed unable to shake no matter what he did.
"Asking for what can buy me now, are we?” The Sinner drawled, his hips starting to sway from side to side, slowly, tantalisingly, the beginning of what Flins craved. “Rather direct, coming from you.”
Side to side, pushing them in circles as his hands dropped on Flins' shoulders.
"Fae,” he spat, the word full of implications.
Oh, he had missed hearing that simple word used in such a derogatory tone. It made his body tingle.
"Honestly is at times one’s greatest weapon."
“Mhm, going to use it on me then?”
Perhaps Flins should. There was no denying his intentions anymore and Rerir himself was well aware of just what Flins wanted from him; they’ve been dancing around the subject for long enough, Flins nonchalantly, Rerir grumbling and accepting his shameless advances. Over and over again.
“Turn around,” he instructed, his hands on Rerir’s hips urging the man to turn his back to Flins.
The change in position seemed to remind Rerir of what exactly he was supposed to do so he bent forward, slowly, temptation incarnate, and Flins hands slid down the curve of his ass; more muscle than fat but still plush enough for his fingers to dent the skin, the black panties soft to the touch. They even had little bows at the sides, and a brush of his fingers told him that the bows were not decorative. They were ties, meant to hold together the garment.
One pull on them, and the panties would open at the sides — easy access. The thought itself, the idea of doing just that, his hand on Rerir’s lower back pushing him a little bit forward, maybe enough for the Sinner to brace himself against the floor so Flins could shove his face in between his cheeks, made the room spin.
“I will take these off of you tonight,” he whispered, loud enough for it to carry if Rerir’s trembling body was a sign enough. “Because I want to.”
There, he was being honest, and Rerir was coming back up, his hips swaying from side to side and Flins’ hands dropped down to his thighs, his fingernails catching on the frilly lace border of the stockings. Really now, how was he supposed to admire Rerir’s attire when the man was moving like that?
And then he was pulling away, far enough for Flins to be forced to drop his hands, yet close enough for him to still be within reach, if Flins leaned forward a little bit.
Did Rerir want him to?
“So you can be honest,” Rerir mused out loud, running a hand through his hair to push it off his face. His eyelid was dusted black and there was a faint glimmer of red glitter at the corner of his good eye. “Close your legs.”
Flins obeyed before he could even wonder why Rerir was asking that of him, and well he did for the man moved forward, one leg swinging over Flins’ before he dropped his weight on his lap.
He was heavy, delightfully so, and Flins’ hands found his waist and the delicate work of the garter belt adorning it.
“Go on, tell me more,” Rerir urged him, his voice low and sweet as he started grinding his hips, one hand reaching out behind Flins to grab the back of the chair while the other fell back, his strong fingers closing around Flins’ right knee.
What a perfect position for him to take Flins’ cock, if only they were alone, and those bows were undone, and by the way Rerir moved with such unexpected fluidity, Flins was starting to fear for the integrity of his reputation, just a little. He was growing hard, and Rerir was purposefully keeping away from brushing against the visible bulge in his pants.
What a little nuisance.
“If you can’t,” the Sinner went on, showing signs of wishing to pull away again.
No, Flins wouldn’t have that.
His grip on Rerir’s waist tightened enough to get his intentions across and the man did not fight, not much, when Flins brought him close enough for their erections to touch. Really, those panties were truly dangerous with how Rerir himself was filling up inside of them; any more and the tip of his cock would peek from under the waistband and that would really be a shame, for anyone other than Flins to witness such a sight.
“I can, and I will,” Flins whispered, nuzzling against the side of Rerir’s neck. “I booked a room, I always get one when I come to watch you.”
The admission didn’t cost him much, no, and by the way Rerir’s pace faltered, Flins was on the way to win him over.
“Presuptous,” the Sinner whispered, his breath warm and moist against Flins’ cheek.
With a hum, Flins hands slid all the way to Rerir’s behind to knead the flesh of his ass, urging him to keep up the pace. “Is it so wrong of me to hope that you’ll be generous and benevolent enough to grant me a wish on my actual birthday?”
Rerir’s chuckle was dark and just a tad breathless as Flins’ index finger traced the seam of the panties resting right between his cheeks, dipping a little in between them, silently bemoaning the way the pair was tailored in such way to hug Rerir’s cheeks instead of having a mere string to fit in between. Still, it gave one the impression that what lay beyond would be worth the effort.
“Is it your birthday today?”
Ah, what a hassle indeed.
“Will you come with me?”
With a click of his tongue, Rerir pulled away and Flins followed him, leaning in until the tips of their noses touched. Up close, he could spot the glitter better, the faint traces of pinkish dust on Rerir’s cheeks, the glossy sheen on his lips.
“Do you get hard just for anyone?”
In hindsight, Flins should have expected the punishing grip on his hair but the sting of strands being ripped away from his scalp felt insignificant when Rerir bared his teeth at him, a trace of that mania that used to govern him flashing in his eye. It made Flins’ blood sing and he couldn’t help but buckle up into Rerir’s hips.
“Could have gotten hard for the pretty bird,” the Sinner drawled, each word enunciated with care as he licked his lips and Flins couldn’t help it.
He smiled, straining against the grip to lean forward enough for his lips to ghost over Rerir’s, so close yet still so far. “Then, shall I bring him back here? Show him to the room? Would you wait there for him, Rerir?”
The bite came quick and decisive, the feeling of teeth sinking into his bottom lip making him tense, the pain blooming as an afterimage only seconds later when Rerir was already pulling away. There were droplets of red on his lips and he licked them with his tongue without breaking eye contact.
“I’ll be waiting, fae.”
With that, he let go of Flins’ hair, pushed off his lap and stood with a surprising type of grace for a man his size, especially considering the bulge in his panties. He even walked away as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t broken all the possible rules he imposed on Flins before, as if he wasn’t making his way towards the hallway leading to the rooms the establishment had to provide.
So confidently, as if he already knew which room Flins had booked.
What a glorious night! Might as well consider it his birthday with how lucky he felt.
If Rerir was surprised when Flins opened the door to the room some time later, he didn’t act like it.
No. Instead of showing any traces of surprise, he merely rolled his eyes and opened his legs wide enough for Flins’ mouth to water at the sight.
“You want to fuck me,” the man said, easy as that while Flins started undressing himself.
“Must you be so crude?”
Upper coat, jacket, all the buckles and chains and his lantern, untying his boots, unbuttoning his shirt as he made his way deeper into the room, towards the armchair where Rerir was waiting for him.
“Must you always be such a snob?” With a grimace on his face, Rerir leaned deeper into the chair. “Your lordship wishes to partake in the sin of the flesh with me, for which I should have to present myself to Your Grace.”
“Goddess gracious,” Flins chuckled, stopping in front of Rerir, close enough for their knees to touch. “Did not expect you to be able to speak so.”
The look Rerir threw him was withering, but the man’s lips curled up in a smile as he jutted his chin forward, a clear indication for what Flins should do.
The floor was cold and harsh under his knees but he did not mind it one bit, not when he looked up at Rerir through his lashes and the man’s grimace softened into something laced with warm lust. If he wanted Flins on his knees for him, that could be arranged.
He was, after all, willing to take anything Rerir was inclined to give him; not that Flins wished to act that desperate for he’d rather keep some of his cards close to his heart.
“So, my lord, if you wish to have my body, you must work for it first.”
Unexpected, but not unwanted, especially with how Rerir moved, his socked foot pressing down on Flins’ erection, the drag of it along his throbbing length making the smile on his lips twitch just so. Actually, things were going way better than Flins had imagined.
“Whatever does my beloved wish for, then?”
The way Rerir’s eye widened at the form of address wasn’t lost on him, but Flins decided to play nice, at least for the moment. With his hands placed on top of his own thighs, he simply sat there, at Rerir’s mercy as the pressure against his cock increased.
“Beg for it.”
Oh, that he could do.
“If you open your mouth, it is to take my cock inside of it, not to spew your endless nonsense,” Rerir spoke before Flins could even begin to say something. “My lord,” he added, his tone clearly indicating that the form of address held no meaning to him.
So be it.
Still, Flins needed more to work with.
Slowly, making sure that he wouldn’t actually touch, he moved his hand up along the shape of Rerir’s leg, stopping to hover it over his knee. With how Rerir smiled at him, Flins knew that his wish to touch was already denied. What a shame; he really wished to run his hands up those legs, feel the texture of the stockings under his palms, rip them to shreds.
“Hands behind your back,” the Sinner instructed and Flins did as ordered. With a soft sigh and a last press of his foot down on Flins’ aching cock, Rerir pulled his leg to the side, making it so that Flins was sitting in between his thick thighs. “Use that clever mouth of yours, or nothing at all.”
A tall order, all things considered, but Flins was a man of action and those tiny bows at the side of Rerir’s panties were of great offense to him already. If he had to untie them with his teeth and tongue alone, then so be it.
“Look at you,” Rerir whispered, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction as Flins started nuzzling against the inside of his thigh, feeling the softness of the stockings against his cheek. “No better than a dog, are you?” A moment of silence. “My lord.”
Oh, how Flins wished to tell him a thing or two about forms of address and how exactly Rerir should use them. Alas, between the pride of a former noble and the muscle jumping under the touch of his lips as he mouthed at the inside of Rerir’s thigh through the stockings, Flins would pick the latter.
At least Flins could retaliate in his own ways. A bite here, the drag of his tongue there — the fact that Rerir’s thigh was thick enough for him to almost shove his entire face into the flesh made his head spin — slow kisses down towards Rerir’s knee. Then all over again for the other leg.
“You think I can’t stay like this for the whole night?” Rerir muttered, a shadow etched into his voice as Flins dragged his nose along the inside of his thigh. “I wonder, if I did, would you just stay there at my feet? A pitiful cur.”
Pot, kettle.
But Flins did not speak. He scooted closer, moved his arms so he could wrap his hands around his elbows and tilted his head enough to rest his cheek on top of Rerir’s thigh. Not the most comfortable position, but the way Rerir’s gaze pinned him in place with an intensity that sent shivers down Flins’ spine was worth it.
“Should collar you,” Rerir murmured, his hand reaching down to fall on top of Flins’ head. “My lord.”
The man was enjoying his little play tremendously, and Flins gave him some more time of peace and quiet. It was rather nice, after all; Rerir’s thigh was big and a little bit soft, the stockings had a very pleasant feeling to the touch and Rerir’s fingers were surprisingly gentle as they ran through his hair.
The man seemed lost in thought and Flins wished to ask him about it; not like Rerir would answer such a simple question as what are you thinking about. So, he should take his mind off whatever issue was occupying it and Flins had just the activity for that!
He moved slowly but with purpose, turning his face so that his mouth could find the edge of the stocking. A tiny little strap was securing the embroidered edge to the belt at Rerir’s waist and Flins simply sighed before he got to work. Trying to unclip it was a bothersome task, but if Flins wanted something, well, he got it.
“Aren’t you rather sloppy, my lord?” Rerir chided him, his hand pushing away the hair from Flins’ face.
Truth be told, Flins did not even care that he was more or less drenching Rerir’s thigh in his saliva, it served him right for ordering him to keep his hands to himself. Eventually, the clip opened and Flins caught the edge of the stocking in his mouth before he pulled it away from the leg, his eyes on Rerir’s face.
The stocking stretched until it couldn’t anymore, and Flins let go of it. The slap of the band around Rerir’s thigh was music to his ears and Flins dove back for the stocking before Rerir could comment on the action. Instead of repeating what he did before, Flins dragged the stocking lower, stopping right above Rerir’s knee before he made his way back.
He kissed the skin, bit the flesh and sucked on it until it turned purple then some more, blood beading against the pale skin, dragged his tongue along the pink and sensitive looking abyssal scars all the while Rerir’s hand remained his in hair.
“Just like an animal.”
Flins did not deem that worthy even of a glance. No, he had other things to worry about.
With as much care as he could muster, he leaned forward just so, pushing his face along Rerir’s thigh until it reached the crease of his hip.
“Go on, slobber all over me some more, my lord.”
Don’t mind if I do.
Rerir did not get his wish because Flins managed to catch the end of the bow in between his teeth rather easily, and when he pulled, the delicate knot unraveled. Oh, the thought of Rerir’s panties being secured by such a precarious little thing made the blood in Flins’ veins sing as he pulled back enough for the two sides of the panties to fully detach.
Maybe he surprised Rerir, or maybe he didn’t, but Flins let go of the little black ribbon in favour of pushing his face against the crease of his hip again. The skin there was warm and thin, the smell etched into it carrying a faint trace of musk and herbal soap and Flins pushed his tongue against the flesh, mouthed at it like a starved man.
The lengths he was going to cherish and worship Rerir’s body seemed to have the opposite desired reaction from the Sinner for his grip on Flins’ hair tightened, his nails scratching at his scalp as he pulled on his hair, hard enough for a huff of air to escape Flins’ mouth. He wasn’t about to make any sounds of pain, but he could at least let it be known that he wasn’t entirely pleased with being interrupted.
“Even like this, all you know how to do is torment me, my dear lord.”
You asked for it.
Still, Flins pressed one last kiss along the top of Rerir’s thigh before he moved, rubbing his cheek against the barely clad erection under his face, his teeth catching on the delicate lace to push it to the side. There must have been precum rubbing into his hair despite Rerir’s gallant and nonchalant way of using his grip on Flins’ hair to also keep it out of the way, but he did not care.
Nor did he find it in himself to stall anymore, not when the scent of Rerir was stronger, when the heat of his cock was searing against Flins’ cheek.
It took some maneuvering and the tip of his nose dragging against the shaft, which made the cock twitch against his face, but Flins managed to reach the tip with his mouth. He had half the thought to accidentally let his teeth catch on the head, but his own teasing made himself rather impatient.
“Fuck.”
And it was worth it, for Rerir’s grunt sounded as lovely as a symphony of sounds, the way his voice trembled as Flins took him down to the hilt so very pleasing to the ear. So he felt generous enough to hum, his cheeks hollowing as he swallowed against the engorged tip lodged so deep down his throat.
Were they anywhere else, Flins would have remained just like that for the rest of the night but he had Rerir only for a limited period, and the things he wished to do to him were too numerous for such a short period of time. With that predicament in mind, Flins started moving.
“Oh, you damned—”
He was sloppy, uncharacteristically so, way more vocal than he often was and Rerir seemed to delight in it by the way his hips twitched up, how his breathing lost its rhythm as soft pants spilled past his lips as he fucked Flins’ mouth. What a lovely display of pure debauchery.
Spit dribbling down his chin, filthy moans muffled by the heavy cock shoved down his throat, the fluttering of his eyelashes as he looked up at Rerir through teary eyes. A timed gagging noise here and there, the pleasant, deep hum of satisfaction as Rerir breached his throat, the slight shaking of his body caught in between Rerir’s legs, unable to move save for being used.
Flins must have been a sight to behold.
“You, look at you,” Rerir gasped, his thrusts growing erratic, the head of his cock bullying the soft tissue at the back of Flins’ mouth. “Taking my cock so well, like you were made for it.”
Flins smiled around the stretch, gagging artfully when Rerir forced his head down until his nose brushed against coarse wisps of white hair. The smell was stronger there and Flins inhaled it as deeply as possible, keeping the air locked up in his lungs — the perks of not needing to breathe to begin with.
“Such a pretty performer you are,” Rerir drawled, both of his hands coming up to hold Flins by the back of his head. “Should be up on the stage in my place.”
Oh, what an entertaining thought that was.
Unable to hold onto anything nor share his thoughts, Flins could only take whatever Rerir was giving him.
“What a benevolent patron you are,” the Sinner hissed through his teeth as he used his grip on Flins’ head to move him, to hold him in place, to do as he pleased. “Such a kind lord, should offer your mouth for sucking cock more often.”
Flins couldn’t help it; he chuckled as he looked up at Rerir.
“You’ll be kind enough to swallow, won’t you, my dear lord?”
He didn’t even give Flins a chance to refuse before his pace faltered, the engorged head of his cock already lodged deep down Flins’ throat. At least, like that, Flins wasn’t able to taste much of Rerir’s spent spilled straight into his gullet, but he could feel it.
Hot and sticky, filling a part of his body that was always empty, a memento from Rerir himself; a part of him that he gave willingly to Flins, something he couldn’t request back.
It felt lovely. Worth it, even, when Rerir pulled him off his softened cock by the hair, his eye half lidded as he looked at Flins with something akin to unashamed hunger on his face.
Flins liked that look on him, so much so that he felt generous enough to open his mouth, tongue lolling out, to show Rerir that he had swallowed everything.
A tremor went through Rerir’s entire body at the sight, his hands shaking as he reached out to brush his finger at the corner of Flins’ mouth where spit was still gathered.
“Good boy, now get on the bed, on your back.”
When Flins cocked an eyebrow at him, Rerir only grimaced.
“Not yet.”
His pout at being denied his freedom of speech made Rerir roll his eyes as he placed his foot on Flins’ shoulder before he pushed him — gently — away.
“Now, before I change my mind and leave you here hard and aching.”
Well, that would be plain cruelty! He could keep his words to himself for a little longer, he decided as he rose to his feet. Dutiful as he was, he sat down on the bed, then rolled on his back to wait for Rerir’s next move.
The Sinner took his time in standing up, each move slow and calculated and Flins was left to simply observe. The way his cock hung limp and still wet with his own saliva as Rerir walked, the panties hanging on to dear life on the side of his hip where Flins didn’t care to untie them. The stocking was still pushed down to his knee and there was a flush on his face, barely visible in the dim light.
He really looked delectable, and Flins knew the nature of humans well enough to be aware that for some, Rerir’s sins wouldn’t mean that much anymore as long as the man was willing to pay for them with his body. Really, one might argue about Flins’ own intentions at the moment.
Wasn’t he sitting there, allowing the man who tormented him for months on end, who threatened not only his life but the safety of the entire nation, to climb on top of him? The man who offered the sight of his body for a price, whom Flins himself had eyed up for months already, just like the rest? Yet, the difference between Flins and all those people eying up Rerir like he was a slab of meat to do with as they pleased was that Flins wanted him.
Loath as he was to accept the source of his curiosity and calculated recklessness, Flins couldn’t hide it, at least from himself.
He grew to love the bite and the danger lurking under Rerir’s skin even as the man decided to renounce them — for anyone who wasn’t Flins at least. His skin tingled as his hands grabbed Rerir’s thighs as the man settled on his lap, his chest rose and fell with an unnecessary deep breath as Rerir wriggled his hips to fit the arch of Flins’ cock in between his cheeks. He trapped a moan behind his teeth as the man started moving, oh so carefully, making sure to only brush Flins’ aching cock instead of grinding down on it, the barrier of his pants almost driving him insane.
If anything, Flins couldn’t get enough of the complicated creature that Rerir was just because Rerir himself seemed to love and hate him in equal measures too.
You get along as well as a house on fire, but, I doubt you two would have it any other way, Illuga had commented on it once, and Flins found himself smiling at the memory.
Of course they did.
How could they be anything but that when Rerir grimaced at him, his stare turning razor sharp as Flins opened his mouth, wishing to speak but clearly being denied from doing so.
“Do not test my patience,” Rerir grumbled, his left hand slamming against Flins’ chest to keep him pinned down to the bed as the other one made quick work of Flins’ pants, unbuttoning them to pull his aching cock out. “You will speak only when allowed to, or I shall leave.”
His displeasure must have shown crystal clear on his face for Rerir leered at him, his grip on Flins’ cock verging on the edge of simply painful as he stroked him.
“My lord, you cannot lack so much self control now, can you?” Rerir asked, his voice dripping faux honey and Flins dug his fingers into his thighs, the feeling of the soft sheer stockings catching under his nails sending a shiver down his spine. “Be patient, my lord, and you shall be rewarded.”
Flins knew patience, yet he also knew that Rerir was playing with him, finding pleasure in tormenting him so. He was also confident enough that no matter how much Rerir threatened to leave him, Flins would be able to keep him there, inside the room, until Flins found his own release too.
Yet, when he opened his mouth, Rerir’s grin grew wider than before, as if he was expecting it. The man didn’t give Flins a moment to act, the grip on his cock unforgivable as he kept it still then rose his hips up, using his hand on Flins’ chest for support.
He wasn’t a fool, nor did he want Rerir to do such a thing lest he hurt himself, yet Flins’ protests died on his tongue as damp warmth, mellow and welcoming, enveloped his throbbing erection.
If his face didn’t show it, then his body must have betrayed his surprise; his hips twitched, driving his cock deeper into Rerir as the man dropped himself down on it, his free hand closing around Flins’ neck in a punishing grip.
“Shush now, my lord,” the man’s voice was low, velvety soft as he fully settled down on Flins’ lap once more. “Allow me to pleasure you.”
Derogatory, it was all derogatory yet Flins couldn’t care too much about it, not when Rerir started rolling his hips, broad moves that made the muscles of his stomach ripple as he pushed his weight on the hand around Flins’ neck. The pressure grew so much that, were he human, his windpipe would have been crushed right there and then.
Instead, Flins merely smiled, his eyelids heavy as he watched Rerir push his hair back and away from his forehead with his then free hand, his own eye fixed on Flins’ face as his hips worked.
What a sight!
His broach chest clad in intricate lace patterns, the bra hugging his tits perfectly. The powerful legs straddling him, the muscles bulging under delicate, embroidered flowery stockings. The garter belt, the straps hugging his waist and chest and legs and the way he was rolling his hips! Slow, deep movements, enough to keep Flins on the edge, so sensual and careful that they could only make him crave more, yet he knew he could come just from that; to witness Rerir like that, working his cock like it was both a performance and an indulgence, was more than Flins could truly handle for long.
There was no shame in his moan, in the way he simply lay there, accepting and enjoying what was given to him. His fingers dragged down those exquisite stockings and the faint sound of fabric tearing made Rerir’s breath stutter. Flins’ own moans came out breathless and distorted, yet the sound of them was still filthy enough to make Rerir’s fingers flex harder against his throat. His cock throbbed, filled to the brim, and he knew Rerir could feel just how close to coming he was from the way the man smiled.
“Oh, my lord.” With one last roll of his hips, Rerir stopped, seated fully on his cock before he leaned forward, his mangled lips placing the softest of kisses on Flins’ mouth. “You must be so close, so desperate.”
That he was! Just a little bit more, just the barest of movement, and Flins knew that he could come.
Yet, Rerir denied him the release.
“Patience is a virtue, my lord,” the man whispered against his mouth, his hips moving once more, somehow even slower than before. “It will make the release so much sweeter, don’t you know?”
Oh how the Sinner loved tormenting him. Warm and wet, loose even before Flins entered the room, perhaps before he even walked into the Flagship, it was simply too much to bear! And the possibility that Rerir had stretched himself before he began his performance, a habit just as Flins’ was to book a room for the night just in case, made Flins lose his composure, just so.
He knew that despite what he was doing, of the countless hungry gazes lurking in the shadows, Rerir did not do this, ever. With anyone, except for Flins. It had to mean something.
The buzzing of his own mind was driving him crazy. His fingernails elongated as his features warped, the humanity of his form awashed in azure fire as the warm, sticky sensation of blood ran along his palms. Rerir didn’t seem to mind the pain nor the blood for he leaned back, sitting fully on Flins’ cock once more before he licked his lips, his half lidded gaze full of contentment and pleasure.
Slowly, as to make sure that Flins’ eyes followed the movement, he pushed himself up. And Flins watched; he watched the way Rerir’s rim clung to the shape of his cock, how his shaft surfaced from that delicious warmth, how the tip caught in the sensitive flesh of Rerir’s rim as the man hovered there for a moment, before he dropped himself down.
Rapture was too kind of a word for the intensity of the feelings coursing through Flins’ very being at that moment, and he broke Rerir’s command without even being aware of it by screaming his name as his claws sank so deep into the Sinner’s flesh that the man let out a hiss of pain. Flins needed him, needed him so bad it almost hurt.
“Rerir, Rerir, oh Rerir,” he babbled, his hips twitching under the weight of the Sinner, his voice a strangled whisper because Rerir was still crushing his neck in his grip.
“Oh my lord,” the man all but spat at him, his fingers squeezing tighter for a moment before they let go. “I’m afraid I’ll have to go now.”
And the mad man really moved to pull away, the muscles in his thighs flexing and Flins moved before he could even think about it.
Rerir hit the bed with a huff of air, the curve of his lips a sign that Flins had acted just as the Sinner had expected.
“Now,” the Sinner drawled, his hole twitching around Flins’ cock. “My lord is most unfair.”
“Your lord,” Flins responded as he made himself at home on top of Rerir. “Is most displeased with how you’ve treated him.”
With a dark chuckle, Rerir wrapped his arms around Flins’ neck, his body mellow as Flins gripped his thigh to bring it up against his waist — Rerir knew to place his heel against the middle of Flins’ back. He even tilted his head to the side, acting all bashful and docile as Flins started kissing up his neck.
“I simply thought it would be to my lord’s pleasure.”
A lie, yet the truth laced it.
“Vixen,” he whispered against Rerir’s ear, his lips catching the ruined lobe in between them for him to suckle on it. “You know exactly what you’re doing to me.”
They might as well be two actors in a play, yet Flins knew that his words were just as honest as Rerir’s. After all, it was impossible to deny what your body clearly betrayed.
They kissed, long and deep, as Rerir grabbed the hair at the back of his head once more. With Rerir so willing to remain under him, Flins started moving, slow and deep thrusts that punched tiny, breathless sounds out of Rerir’s mouth straight into his. He was careful to increase the pace so deliberately that Rerir could do nothing else but take it, the expectation of the next thrust — harder, deeper, faster — only bringing a deeper flush to his face.
“I’m afraid my lord has to explain himself,” the Sinner whispered against the side of Flins’ face, his mouth finding the edge of his jaw to nibble — more like gnaw — on it. “What exactly is that someone so insignificant as me can do to someone like you.”
Flins’ response to that was to use his grip on Rerir’s thigh to move it again, maneuvering the thick limb all the way to his shoulder.
With the chance in position, his cock went even deeper than before and Rerir’s back arched off the bed, his hands falling from around Flins’ neck to fist the sheets underneath himself. What a delightful sight that was; Rerir looked like a most prized possession, someone to be kept on your bed all dolled up, waiting, forever ready.
Flins could give him that, could dress him up so prettily, pull him away from the menial task of having to work. The lighthouse was big enough, yet cold, but Flins could keep Rerir warm, oh, he could.
“You cursed fae, stop thinking whatever you’re thinking.”
His chest pushing up, the skin dented from the tight confinement of the garment, his waist cinched by the also too tight belt, the flesh spilling past the elastic of the stockings. The rips in the fabric from Flins’ nails, the still half undone panties, the gleaming silver tiny accessories keeping the entire outfit together.
It was just too easy for Flins to lose himself in the moment, to thrust into Rerir like nothing else really mattered.
Still, he had been silent for far too long.
“Oh? You sound displeased, my dear Rerir. Whatever did you think I was pondering?” His smile had a teasing edge, of that he was sure, as he turned his head to place a kiss to Rerir’s leg resting on his shoulder.
“All sorts of depraved things,” the man spat as he moved his other leg to wrap it around Flins’ waist. “My lord.”
They were close enough, their bodies so aligned, that Flins could feel the sweet drag of the lace and soft embroidery as he fucked Rerir.
“Just how good you look right now.”
Rerir’s lips trembled.
“Sprawled on the bed under me, taking my cock.”
His eyelid fluttered and a gasp left his lips.
“Aren’t you pretty, doll?”
The man’s back arched off the bed, his eye closed as he turned his face to the side.
“So sweet for me, even prepared yourself for my cock.”
Rerir’s hand reached out to get a hold of Flins’ shoulder, the grip tight but trembling.
“Oh, baby.”
If looks could kill, Flins would have been back in his grave already.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice soft and tender as he drove his cock so hard and deep inside of Rerir that the man wailed, his body trashing under Flins as he pushed harder on his leg, bending him just a little bit more. “So dear to your lord, the light of my—”
Rerir bit down on a moan as his nails scratched at the side of Flins’ neck, as if he was trying to shut him up.
Yet his hole was so tight Flins could barely keep himself together, the bright flush on Rerir’s face spilling down his neck and chest so lovely he wanted to devour him. He could already feel that he was unraveling at the seams, fire slipping over his skin.
“No, perhaps light is not the right word for you.”
Rerir’s choked whines were music to his ears and Flins felt himself faltering already.
“Darkness of my life maybe?”
Rerir’s growl made Flins shudder.
It all spiralled from that moment.
With a force barely contained, Rerir managed to grab Flins by the back of his head to pull him down into a biting kiss. Not one to be outmatched, Flins grabbed the other leg of the Sinner to push it up too, the angle so much deeper as Rerir howled inside his mouth.
“The most beautiful misfortune to befall my life?”
The bite on his tongue was deserved, all things considered.
“You cursed creature,” Rerir grunted, his eye rolling in the back of his head as he held onto Flins. “I–I despise, ah, you.”
Yet, his hole was clinging to Flins’ cock as it hated the mere idea of parting from it. Yet, Rerir kept him close and kissed him despite being on the verge of losing his consciousness. Yet, Rerir tried to move, to meet his thrusts, mouthed his name over and over again even if the sound of it did not pass his lips.
Yet, he was hard once more, the impressive shape of his cock pressing against Flins’ stomach.
“You forgot to add my lord.”
The words that spilled past Rerir’s lips were anything but nice by the sound of it, clearly the Khaenri'ah language used to deliver a message that was crystal clear anyway on Rerir’s features.
Still, Flins found himself smiling, a soft moan of his own escaping his mouth and that stopped Rerir in his ranting. That, and the way Flins’ flames were curling away from his body, swaying gently as they spilled in between them, all over Rerir’s throbbing cock.
Cold and hot, he urged them to caress following the rhythm of his thrusts and the broken keen that Rerir let out made Flins seek his mouth again, drinking the sound straight from it like nectar bestowed to him by the gods themselves.
“Come for me, sweetheart.”
For a moment, Rerir seemed to fight it, his gaze veiled in steel before he broke.
“K–Kyryll,” his rough voice made his name sound like a curse and a blessing both as Flins saw the moment the man’s teeth came down on his tongue, the motion barely hid by the gaps in his lips. Still, it was too late, for Flins already heard what he wanted to say.
My lord.
Rerir spilled in between them as Flins pried his teeth open with his fingers, his tongue following soon, sliding in between them to lap at the blood pooling inside of Rerir’s month as the man twitched under him. Were Flins any weaker, Rerir’s trashing would have knocked him off.
“Take it,” he whispered, placing a kiss at the edge of Rerir’s mouth as the man jerked his head to the side. Overwhelmed, or to hide the tears running down his cheek, or both. “Take me,” he whispered into Rerir’s hair, his own composure finally unravelling.
He did not mean it, for himself to spill all over and inside of Rerir like that, for flames to mingle with the fluid he had learned to replicate.
“S–Stop,” broken, barely audible, a contradictory plea as Rerir’s hole clung to him like a vice, milking his cock of everything it had to give.
“Shush, almost there,” with a tender kiss to Rerir’s temple, Flins thrust one, two more times before he finally stilled, yet his flames still raged on. “You’re doing so well, doll, so very good for me, beloved.”
He could feel Rerir straining against his fire and welcoming it both, the flames warm as they carrested his insides yet cool as they washed over his body, spilling past the lace, lingering on the white strains on Rerir’s stomach. His release had a rather pleasant taste, when ingested in Flins’ preferred way.
“You degenerate,” Rerir muttered and Flins nuzzled the side of his face.
“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”
With a huff, Rerir pushed his legs against Flins’ shoulders, a clear signal for him to pull away, which he did with much regret but also with care. He brushed his hand against Rerir’s cheek, then dragged it down along the swell of his chest.
“Next time I want to fuck your breasts,” he murmured, giving the flesh a squeeze. “With the bra on.”
Rerir’s grumble and the pressure on his shoulders made Flins laugh as he dragged his hand lower, down the curve of Rerir’s waist to his hip, to his thigh that he lowered slowly onto the bed.
He should have let go.
Yet…
Flins leaned back in, his mouth finding said breasts to kiss the curve of them, every inch covered in lace and the skin at the top, pushed up by the bra just so. The way Rerir’s breasts would make some women burn with envy was a very amusing thought for Flins.
“I refuse another round,” Rerir informed him, his hand pushing against the top of Flin’s head when he squeezed the Sinner’s chest with his hands before shoving his face in between his tits.
“I don’t want another,” he admitted, still being honest. “I just want a little more of this.”
Muffled as it was, his voice seemed to fill every nook and cranny of the room, and of Rerir’s soul.
The Sinner seemed to lose all the fight he had left in him, his body lax as it sprawled on top of the bed, all for Flins to cherish. He did not use words at first as he dragged his mouth along cloth, skin, and abyss taint alike for he knew, deep down, that Rerir wouldn’t be able to accept anything of what Flins truly wanted to tell him.
“You please me so well,” he whispered when he couldn't restrain himself anymore, deciding to lie to himself that Rerir wouldn’t understand the language of the fae. “You push so hard and good, and take so well, so beautifully. My dear Sinner, what poison did you use to lace your kisses with?”
Rerir did not move, did not react, his body mellow, all for Flins to worship. It almost felt too good, too unusual, to be true. Then, when Flins cupped Rerir’s face to turn it towards him, that hazy magenta eye a tell-tale of lust and satiation, the brush of their lips was chaste.
Simple even, a touch you’d offer to anyone of importance in your life.
The sounds that came out of Rerir’s mouth must have been words, yet once again they belonged to a language that Flins himself did not know. Oh, his own schemes coming back to bite him, that was a first from Rerir.
Flins let the man speak, his voice quiet and reserved, lacking the bite that always lurked in its shadow. He even pressed his forehead against Rerir’s chest and lay there, content to have the Sinner hold him in a loose embrace as he spoke of things Flins did not understand. Somehow, he didn’t really feel the need to know either way, for the fingers running through his hair to detangle it were gentle, Rerir’s faint heartbeat steady and his body warm.
His for the night, and if Flins had it his way, for more than that soon enough — eventually. The Sinner could run, but there was nowhere he could hide from Flins.
“Will you ever tell me what you just said?”
The fingers did not stop, and Rerir continued to hold him.
“Go learn the language if you want to know.”
Truly, Flins was one unfortunate lord to be bullied so!
He did not say anything else for a couple of moments, content to hold and be held, listening to the velvety whisper of Rerir’s voice as he repeated those words over and over again, as if to taunt him, until his voice died down into a whisper. It was then that Flins knew that his time was up.
All good things must come to an end, and he knew that Rerir was bound to fully submit to him sooner or later, as long as Flins knew how to pace himself, how to manage their push and pull.
“Get off,” Rerir grumbled, pushing once more at Flins’ head and he wriggled his way off Rerir’s body and the bed without putting on a fight.
“The room’s paid for until tomorrow in the afternoon. Enjoy.”
Rerir did not speak nor did he move and Flins started dressing himself until the last wrinkle of his coat was smoothed over. With a bow and a quick glance at Rerir’s unimpressed stare, he decided that it was time to go.
“Sleep well,” he wished the Sinner before he made his way to the door.
“Flins."
He turned back towards the man sprawled on the bed, the sight of him stealing his breath away as if it were the very first time Flins witnessed it. Ruffled hair and a wet cheek, his mouth bruised and red, his limbs heavy and adorned with the shape of Flins' teeth. His bra was askew and one stocking was torn to pieces from where Flins' nails had dragged along it. And the cherry on top? The mess in between his legs, the tender flesh where Flins' teeth broke the skin, blood crusting around the bites, and his own release dribbling out of Rerir. Quite the waste, in his humble opinion.
“Where do you think you're going with that?" Rerir asked, his voice all sharp steel veiled in smooth velvet.
“I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
The Sinner's snarl sent a sweet shiver down his back.
“In your pocket, you cursed—”
"Good night to you, Rerir.”
"FAE!”
But Flins was gone already, a wisp of smoke in the darkness of the night, carried away by the moonlight tinted breeze until he was far enough from the Flagship to slow down his pace. There was no one nearby to see him reach into the pocket of his coat, to notice the black tangle of lace around his fingers. Nobody witnessed the way he brought it to his face, how he pushed his nose into it, how deep he inhaled, how his lips parted and his tongue curled around the fabric, bringing it into his mouth, wetting it before he pulled it out, pursing his lips as he did so to draw out the moisture and the taste of Rerir's musk, his precum, his desperation and lust and passion, all for Flins to swallow deep into his belly, where Rerir’s cum still clung to his insides.
Oh, if only the man were there to see the way Flins treated his panties.
Perhaps the next time.