closed: and i soar through a world that is new, that is free (post-dance)

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras has been puttering about the mansion in the past few days since the wedding dance. Today, he has spent some time outside with Temeraire -- it's getting colder, and the warmth of Temeraire's pavilion has become quite a snug little place to read to him, when Galahad is not. He had moved onto some canne de combat practice after their customary few chapters a day, which had occupied him until just recently.

The winter is coming in faster, now, and Enjolras has never been one for the cold. Certainly the south of France is not as far south as many other places in the world, but he grew up accustomed to it being somewhat warmer there than it was in Paris. So now, he is curled up in front of a fire that is crackling merrily, sipping at some vin chaud as he leafs through a book of recipes. There is, indeed, a pile of books nearby -- both cookbooks and others, but right now he is looking for something easy to set his sights on for his next baking adventure.

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[untamedantinous]

Enjolras takes a deep breath in and nods again, trying his best to comply with Laertes' requests. He makes another low noise in his throat at those scratches, and his shoulders tremble a little with the sensation of it. He flicks his tongue along Laertes' crown, cautious but willing to please all the same.

[timebethine]

Laertes groans and shudders under those careful ministrations; he feels as though he's unspooling, everything soft about him unfurling to reveal the naked spike of the spindle at his core. "Canst use thy nails now, little cat," he says, and already his voice is breathless.

[untamedantinous]

Lucien would be smirking now if his mouth weren't otherwise occupied, but it is evident in his eyes and the teasing little licks and strokes he is giving Laertes. "Mmm," he agrees, though it is partially an effort to get Laertes to gasp again, before he rakes his nails across the same spot he scratched earlier.

[timebethine]

And he'll get everything he wishes; Laertes hisses and drives into him harder, claws at him harder, hunches around Lucien's face with convulsive urgency. "Let's play a game," says Laertes, and Lucien will be able to hear how breathless he is. "The harder thou scratchest me, the harder I'll fuck thy mouth--"

[untamedantinous]

"Mmhmm," Lucien says, and it is fierce and triumphant, moving his other hand to scratch against Laertes' opposite hip; the scratches are hard and deep. His own hips arch abortively, but he is engrossed in their new game. His eyes are watering some, but once again, he does not mind.

[timebethine]

Then Laertes grips him by the hair and forces him all the way down, pushing his lips to the root over and over again, using his mouth roughly enough to prick tears from Lucien's eyes. (For all that he's careful, careful, watching for the faintest sign that Lucien's stopped enjoying himself.)

[untamedantinous]

Lucien knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he must look positively debauched at this moment, curls in his face and taking Laerters as deep as he can, but he cannot bring himself to care. His eyes are still bright and fierce, encouraging even as he lets out a pleased, muffled groan and moves his hands to brace at Laertes' lower back and scratch there.

[timebethine]

Laertes looks down at all that fierce eagerness, and pride blazes in him. I made him thus, he thinks. All the flushed cheeks and streaming eyes, the tumbled curls and flexing hips are for him. He's done well. He's given Lucien something that he craves, and Lucien has repaid him a hundredfold. He braces a hand on Lucien's cheek (tenderly, tenderly, a warm touch from palm to fingertip) and shifts to slide his leg between Lucien's spread thighs, giving him an ankle to rut against.

[untamedantinous]

He nuzzles against the hand on his cheek briefly, and there is a softening in his eyes, a silent thanks, as he arches toward that ankle. Meanwhile, he is continuing his ministrations to Laertes' cock, licks and little teasing grazes of his teeth as he tries to keep himself from becoming too breathless.

[timebethine]

"I'm close," says Laertes softly. "Wilt thou swallow me down, sweet?"

[untamedantinous]

"Mmhm," with a nod, and he takes a moment to suck at Laertes, hard, before he gives him one more lighter scratch to his lower back. His purpose at this moment is Laertes and Laertes alone, and he will devote himself with a will to that until he is finished.

[timebethine]

And in answer to the lightness of that scratch, Laertes eases his thrusts with a supreme effort of will, so that by the time he comes, he's only cradling Lucien's beloved face in his hands as Lucien holds Laertes in his mouth.

[untamedantinous]

Lucien, then, looks faintly triumphant as he swallows, and slides his mouth off of Laertes with a filthy noise as he tries to finally, properly catch his breath. He tilts his head to rest it against Laertes' hand, smiling though his cheeks are certainly sore. He has forgotten all about himself in the moment, just looking up to watch Laertes, heavy-lidded.

[timebethine]

Laertes smiles down at him for a moment while he gathers his wits, and then he's falling to his knees to gather Lucien in his arms and kiss him soundly. "My love," he says between slow, hungry kisses. "My heart, my treasure--"

[untamedantinous]

He wraps his arms around Laertes as well, returning those kisses with a will. "Yes, yours," he says, hoarse and smiling. He does not look as if he regrets any of it.

[timebethine]

"Come here," says Laertes, as though they aren't already crushing each other close; he feels as though he can't get close enough. He smooths his palms up from Lucien's hips to his ribs to his shoulders, then scratches back down as though he means to carve wings on Lucien's back.

[untamedantinous]

He probably looks like a debauched archangel in truth, hair askew and cheeks still flushed, grinning like he's fit to burst. "I love you," he says, hoarse and quiet, with a little content noise at those scratches.

[timebethine]

"As I love thee," Laertes answers, low but fervent. "Wouldst have me make thy quietus?"

[untamedantinous]

"Please," he says, laughing a little and nuzzling against Laertes' neck. "I'd nearly forgotten."

[timebethine]

"That's a fine compliment," Laertes laughs as he works Lucien's trousers open. "I have a lover who likes to spend on my command--wouldst thou play that game?"

[untamedantinous]

"I can try," he says, thoughtful. "I have already tried much today."

[timebethine]

"Thou hast, and done so well. I'm so pleased with thee." As his hand finds heated flesh, Laertes leans in to sink his teeth into Lucien's throat--a hard bite, but tender, with all the drunken sweetness of a kiss.

[untamedantinous]

That is very nearly a whine that comes out of his throat, and his hips jerk into Laertes' touch, head falling to the side to give him better access. "'m glad," he manages to gasp out, and he would thank Laertes but forming words is somewhat difficult just now.

[timebethine]

Laertes shifts the grip of his teeth, working his way up the side of Lucien's neck. He strokes Lucien slow and firm, his grip inexorable. He wants it to hurt. He wants to make Lucien scream. He wants Lucien to have bruises to touch, and remember.

[untamedantinous]

Lucien is already stretched taut between the firm hand at his cock and Laertes’ teeth, and he gasps and moans, the two opposing sensations sending fire coursing through his veins. “More,” Lucien says, breathy, and bites at his own lip, thrusting into the other’s touch. “Please, a little more.” It’s driving him wild, but that is not their game, just now. He cannot get his release just yet.