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Estinien doesn’t bother knocking. He lets himself into Aymeric’s office and, as the other man looks up from his work, leans over the desk to pull him into a kiss.
“Are you busy now?” he pulls himself away from Aymeric’s lips to ask.
“There’s nothing that I would not gladly put aside for your company, my dear,” Aymeric replies, seeming remarkably unflustered for one who has just had a tongue in his mouth with very little warning.
“Good,” Estinien’s hands fly to the myriad straps and buckles of his armour and it clatters to the floor piece by piece, “I can’t wait any longer. I need you, now.”
His blatant need is all it takes to set a fire burning low in Aymeric’s belly, and he stands to pull his lover into a deeper kiss, opening his mouth at the first press of Estinien’s tongue against his lips, letting it in, sucking on it. Their bodies come together like two halves of a whole as they peel each other out of their outer layers with a practised ease.
“I have a -” he’s pulled back in for another kiss, “meeting at, hm -” and another kiss, “third bell, but we should still, ah -” and another, “have plenty of time.”
Hands find bare skin, Estinien’s tangling in dark, silky hair and pulling, Aymeric’s sliding up the firm planes of his stomach to the softer swell of his chest. He pinches at a sensitive nipple, rolls it between his fingers, and Estinien breaks their kiss to moan and pant against his mouth.
“Use my mouth, please. I want to taste you,” Aymeric begs, his usual eloquence already unraveled by desire.
“Fury, yes,” Estinien hisses. He shoves his trousers and underwear down in one go and falls back into the chair, legs spread wantonly.
Aymeric drops to his knees as though he were an altar demanding devotion, like a pious man offering prayer to the heavens. Deep blue eyes drink in every last drop of the man before them; rumpled and half-dressed, his eyes already dark with need, his chest rising and falling in deep, panting breaths, his long, muscular legs and the thatch of pale hair between them.
Beautiful.
Every single ilm of him is the most beautiful thing Aymeric has ever seen, and he can no longer stand to look upon him without touching.
He falls upon him like a starving man at a banquet, gasping the very second his lips make contact with skin. Estinien’s cunt is already glistening with slick, drenched in his arousal and dripping even more just from the hunger in Aymeric’s gaze. His hands tangle into hair and pull once more as a tongue teases gently around his hole, dipping inside ever so slightly then pulling back to tease once more.
The taste of him is heady, addictive, and Aymeric needs more. The stinging in his scalp pulls him upward until his lips meet swollen clit and he sucks it into his mouth hungrily. Estinien’s hips jerk at the sensation and start to grind against Aymeric’s face, smearing the wetness between his legs even further.
“Aym - ah fuck. Don’t stop, Aymeric please,” Estinien moans, then chokes out a “You’re doing so good for me.”
The praise drags a moan out of Aymeric, and the feel of it vibrating around his clit is all it takes to wring an orgasm out of Estinien.
Aymeric stills for a moment, as if he were marvelling at just how quickly that had happened.
“I started without you,” Estinien plucks the question from his mind before he can even think to ask it. He imagines Estinien touching himself, savours the thought of him growing needy and frustrated until he’s desperate enough to come to him.
“Tell me about it, what you did, how you touched yourself,” Aymeric’s tone is commanding and Estinien doesn’t hesitate to obey.
“I’d been thinking about you, all day. I -” he stops and gasps as Aymeric starts to lick oh so softly and slowly between his folds, then forces himself to keep talking. “I found a quiet corner in the barracks and tried to bring myself off, but I just couldn’t. I had thr- Halone’s tits - three fingers in myself and I still couldn’t come because it wasn’t you and -”
A moan cuts him off. It starts deep in Aymeric’s throat, gets pressed into Estinien’s cunt, then finds its way out of his mouth. He continues:
“So I came to find you. I knew you’d use that clever mouth of yours and give me what I needed.”
“And I gave it to you,” Aymeric agrees, fingers coming to replace his mouth on Estinien’s clit, “But is it just my mouth you want? Or three of my fingers inside of you?”
“Oh. Fuck. Fingers please,” Estinien begs, his hips beginning to twitch once more. They’re held down by a strong hand and he lets out a shameful, needy whine at being denied.
“Don’t worry, I’ll give you everything you need,” Aymeric murmurs against his skin, moving to press wet, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs.
At the same time, two long, calloused fingers find his cunt and slide effortlessly inside. They curl inside him, twisting about and spreading him open until they’ve made space for a third. With no more patience left to tease, Aymeric pumps his hand harder and faster, each thrust inwards making an audibly wet noise.
It’s filthy. It’s obscene. It’s perfect.
Aymeric tells Estinien this, and shivers as that pulls the loudest moan from him yet. His mouth finds its way back to Estinien’s sex, licking at where his fingers meet its lips as though he means to try and fit his tongue inside him too. This coaxes a fresh wave of slick out of him and Aymeric laps it up eagerly, a string of it connecting the two of them even as he pulls back for a quick, gasping breath before he dives back in.
“Please, I’m so close,” Estinien groans, though he needn’t have bothered; Aymeric can tell just how close he is from the trembling of his legs and the clenching of the walls around his fingers. He waits a moment more, until Estinien whines and begs again, then finally loosens his grip on the other man’s hips.
Estinien grasps for control as soon as it’s offered. He pulls Aymeric’s hair so hard his eyes water, he thrusts his clit against his plush lips, he fucks himself on his fingers - he chases his pleasure with mindless desperation until he shudders and clamps down on Aymeric like a vice.
Aymeric starts to work him through the aftershocks when a powerful thigh is thrown over his shoulder and used as leverage to reel him in even closer.
“I’m not done yet,” he declares, in a low, dangerous voice.
Aymeric can do nothing more than hold on and let himself be used as Estinien seeks a third climax. His eyes flutter closed as he listens to the debauched noises falling from his lover’s lips, then snap open when he reminds himself that their source is the beautiful man writhing above him. The sight sends a wave of arousal through him, so sharp it hurts, and with a gasp around Estinien’s clit, he remembers his neglected cock.
He fumbles at the waist of his trousers with his unoccupied hand and finally, finally, takes hold of himself with a low moan muffled by his full mouth. He feels Estinien twitch in his mouth, his thighs coming together as if to try and trap him between them, the wild bucking of his hips.
“Again,” he bites out, more snarl than word.
All Aymeric can do is obey. He loses himself in the taste filling his mouth, the tight, wet heat around his fingers. He brings his hand up and smears it through the dripping mess he’s made of Estinien, then puts it back on his cock, thrusting into his own grip with renewed fervour.
Estinien’s lust is like a storm, unrelenting, overwhelming, exhilarating; Aymeric clings to him, riding it out as both of them hurtle towards the inevitable together.
Aymeric comes first, spilling into his hand with a long shuddering breath. Estinien reaches down to take his arm, bringing that hand to his mouth. He licks it clean, sucking on his fingers, and the taste of Aymeric’s spend is what tips him over the peak yet again. Aymeric, dazed and drunk on pleasure, tilts until his sweaty head lands on an equally damp thigh. He curls his fingers lazily in Estinien’s quivering cunt, turning his aftershocks into one last orgasm, and he is finally sated.
“Good boy,” Estinien murmurs, and Aymeric’s cock twitches in a valiant but futile attempt to rise and bask in the praise.
He half stands, half is lifted into Estinien’s lap and settles in to offer him slow, tired kisses. His lips, nose, and chin are all still wet, and Estinien deepens the kiss to lick every last taste of himself out of his mouth.
The chair creaks under the weight of both of them, but they ignore it, lingering in each other’s arms for a moment that could have been a second or a year; then, duty calls, as it inevitably does.
“I really do need to attend this meeting, I’m afraid,” Aymeric unfolds himself and stands on shaking legs.
“I’ll see you tonight, when you get home,” it isn’t a question, but an expectation.
“Of course, my love,”
One last moment of tenderness before he draws away and becomes the Lord Commander once more.
“I’ll wait up for you. You will not be late back if you know what’s good for you,” it’s an empty threat and they both know it.
Estinien’s undershirt is sacrificed to dry the pair of them off and soak up the puddle left on the chair, and they both redress themselves in their armour with far less enthusiasm than they removed it. Aymeric peels a sweaty curl off his forehead in a vain attempt to not appear thoroughly well fucked, when he notices a sheaf of paper jammed halfway under his office door. He picks it up, examines it. On the top sheet is a note penned in Lucia’s precise script:
Lord Commander
I was unaware that I was to attend today’s meeting with the Captains of the Southwest region’s outposts in your stead. I took thorough notes of the meeting's contents, provided below, and represented your opinions on the area’s matters to the best of my ability.
Pray seek me out that we may discuss in further detail, once you have returned from the urgent business that called you away from your office.
Ser Lucia
It’s pointedly formal.
She heard them. She absolutely heard them.
“Oh dear,” Aymeric says mildly, willing himself not to blush as he hands the note to Estinien, “it seems that we have inconvenienced Lucia. Given that this little afternoon delight was your idea, I shall leave it to you to provide her with a suitably believable excuse.”
Estinien’s ears flush as red as a Dzemael tomato, and he jams his helmet back on, leaving the room via the window and followed out by the sound of Aymeric’s laughter.