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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[timebethine]

"Wouldst like pain, too? Or only command?" As though to help Lucien choose, Laertes bites gently at the thin skin over his pulsepoint, testing and teasing with his tongue as he rolls that snatch of flesh between his teeth.

[untamedantinous]

“Ah—,” Lucien says softly, shifting his weight a little more into Laertes’ touch. “I—yes, a little, I know I liked it when you, ah, left marks…”. Keeping his train of thought going is a little difficult at the moment.

[timebethine]

Laertes releases the bite, satisfied (a little smug). "On thy knees then, sweet."

[untamedantinous]

There is, in truth, a small part of him that wants to refuse, just to see what would happen. But he is spurred on by Laertes’ hand still in his hair, the lingering sting of that bite, and so he straightens his shoulders, nods, and sinks to his knees.

[timebethine]

Laertes climbs to his feet, unhurried, secure in his power. He gazes down at Lucien as he paces a slow circle around him, inspecting the swell and fall of his bare chest and the curve of his upturned face. "There's defiance in thee yet," says Laertes mildly. "Canst thou quell it? Or wouldst thou be reprimanded?"

[untamedantinous]

“Of course there is,” Lucien says, as reasonably as he would while having a debate in the café. “It is not so easy to turn off.” He sits back on his heels some, tracking Laertes as he circles. “I was only wondering what would happen if I didn’t listen.”

[timebethine]

Laertes's grip eases in Lucien's hair. "Only what thou wouldst wish to happen. I could urge thee to obedience with sweet words and persuasions, or we could leave off the game of obedience and try another. Or I could give thee something to resist. Or something else. Where doth thine inclination lead thee?"

[untamedantinous]

“Mm.” He thinks a moment. “Persuade me,” he settles on, smiling a little. “Perhaps we will manage to not get distracted by debates, should your tongue be clever enough.” —They both know they probably will at some point or another.

[timebethine]

Laertes permits himself a long inhale. This is the form of domination he's least ready for, the kind he dreads giving the most. His father did not raise him to win debates on their merits; he raised Laertes to acquiesce under a torrent of words, no longer sure what any of the premises were or how to measure whether he had succeeded. Persuasion has only ever been a means by which he has been made to cede power.

Sagramore had said that Claudius wanted persuasion not to cavil with him, but because he wanted to know that Laertes would answer goading with kindness and control. That he would be worthy of the trust placed in him.

That, perhaps, Laertes can do.

"Open thy mouth, sweet," says Laertes, letting his hand fall to grip Lucien's jaw.

[untamedantinous]

Had Lucien known, then he surely would not have suggested it. He is simply curious to test his own limits, to find out what he is comfortable with as well as Laertes.

He looks up at the other young man, defiance mostly quelled for now by the earnestness in his gaze, and nods once, opening his mouth.

[timebethine]

At once, Laertes rewards him with a smile. (He can do this, he can do this; he can rule through love rather than fear.) "How good thou art," he says, rich and warm and low. "Such a pretty mouth on thee." He eases two fingers into Lucien's mouth, stroking his tongue as though it is made of finest velvet.

[untamedantinous]

He’s trying to make himself relax, to feel as he did earlier, boneless and pleasant and warm. Laertes’ smile does help with that, it warms him from top to toes, and if he were able, he would nuzzle at his hand again. Instead, he sucks experimentally at Laertes’ fingers, arching an eyebrow in a silent question.

[timebethine]

"Yes, my heart. That's good, that's well." Laertes just can't stop touching Lucien's hair; he threads the fingers of his other hand through all those warm golden curls, cradling the base of Lucien's skull, holding him still as Laertes starts to work his fingers slowly in and out of Lucien's mouth.

[untamedantinous]

Lucien makes a noise, low in his throat, at both of the sudden movements. The hand in his hair is good, all the little nerve endings in his scalp are tingling pleasantly. His eyes flutter closed for half a moment before he continues licking and sucking at Laertes’ other hand.

[timebethine]

"Sweet, beautiful man," Laertes murmurs. "I have thee. I'll repay thy sweetness with all thou desirest." He bends a little, curves his body around Lucien's as though sheltering and holding him. His hips are very close to Lucien's face--close enough that it's clear what those fingers on his tongue are meant to simulate.

[untamedantinous]

It is indeed clear, he stills his movements just for a moment to glance up at Laertes, letting his hands hover near Laertes’ jeans. If he is permitted, he will tug them down. (If he is not, he might do it anyway.)

[timebethine]

"Thou mayest," says Laertes, and his smile is all pride, all encouragement. "Dost thou hunger for it, sweet-heart?"

[untamedantinous]

“Yes,” his voice is a little thick as he sets to pulling down Laertes’ jeans. This, too, will be new to him; but he wants to see Laertes smile again, wants to be his with a fierce ache he can’t quite name, he wants much, and it is somewhat dizzying. He takes a deep, shaky breath, and looks up at him again, eyes wide and dark. “Tell me what to do?” One hand lingers near Laertes’ cock, and he lets his fingers trace along it gently.

[timebethine]

Laertes had withdrawn his fingers to let Lucien answer; now he curls his hand around Lucien's, urging him to stroke and caress Laertes to hardness. "Only taste it, first," he says softly. "Be slow. Take it not into thy mouth until thou hast tasted and kissed every inch of it."

[untamedantinous]

Lucien nods, letting his hand touch and stroke where it will, following each with a gentle kiss or a tentative stroke of his tongue. He feels as though he is drawn tight like a bowstring, only waiting for Laertes’ words to direct his next action. It is—strangely freeing, letting the other lead the way; an act of trust that he hasn’t yet let himself experience.

[timebethine]

"Hast been so good," Laertes whispers. "Hast pleased me so well, my heart." He feels hazy and warm, a little awed at the readiness of Lucien's submission. He had expected teasing and defiance, and braced himself to balance kindness with authority--but the power to offer praise is its own kind of authority, and one that he's all too happy to wield. Lucien ought to know how good he is, how well he's doing, how much Laertes cherishes him. He lets the hand in Lucien's hair tug him a little closer, urging him to take Laertes in his mouth. "Open for me. Show me thou art mine."

[untamedantinous]

"You already know that," he replies, a little tart and smirking. It is all too easy to let himself just listen, to do what Laertes wants him, to drift in a haze; but now that he's getting a little more comfortable he cannot help but let himself tease. He does take Laertes in his mouth, though not without bringing his hands up to press his nails into the other's hips and buttocks, leaving crescent-shaped indentations. He shifts his weight back to settle at his ankles again and cocks an eyebrow, insolently.

[timebethine]

Laertes follows, stepping closer to stand over Lucien's thighs--that insolence sends a little charge through him, but he elects to pretend he hasn't seen it. He slides deeper into Lucien's mouth, slow but sure, forcing his jaw open in little increments until the pressure and weight of him is overwhelming. "Thou sweet thing," he says. His hand falls from Lucien's hair to graze blunt fingernails over his shoulder. "Wouldst like a little sharpness to repay thee?--canst nod or shake thy head."

[untamedantinous]

He nods then, taking a moment to get used to the weight, the taste of Laertes, small hints of salt from his skin. Perhaps in a bid to prove he's not quite as sweet as Laertes says he is, he scratches down the side of the other young man's hip, none too gently.

[timebethine]

For that, Laertes just catches Lucien by the hair again and pulls him off. "My heart," he says, "an thou canst not be sweet for me, I'll not give thee what thou want'st."