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]

“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Laertes had withdrawn his fingers to let Lucien answer; now he curls his hand around Lucien's, urging him to stroke and caress Laertes to hardness.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."

[untamedantinous]

He huffs out a mildly teasing sigh and nods. He'll behave for now, if only to bide his time and find a way to continue to test these limits.

[timebethine]

"Good. Blunt thy claws, little cat." Then Laertes feeds himself back into Lucien's mouth, slow but smooth and inexorable, until the tip of his cock taps the back of Lucien's throat.

[untamedantinous]

"Mmhm." He smooths his hand down where he had scratched earlier, a silent apology. He will try to be well-behaved.

[timebethine]

Laertes smiles. "Good. Thou art good, my love." Again, he trails his fingernails in light, meandering paths over Lucien's shoulders, the back of his neck, down the valley of his spine--and when he's reached down as far as he can, to the cut of Lucien's waist beneath his ribs, he digs his nails in deep and rakes them hard up Lucien's back.

[untamedantinous]

That gets him to make a low, choked-off noise of pleasure that culminates in a pleased hum, and Lucien's hips twitch a little as well. He gives Laertes a pleading look, eyes wide and wanting, waiting for his next directive.

[timebethine]

That hum wrenches a gasp from Laertes's lips; he drives his own hips in a little harder, accidentally knocking deeper against the clutching ring of Lucien's throat. Remembering himself, he pulls back at once to rest upon his tongue. "Too much?"

[untamedantinous]

He shakes his head in answer, though it was sudden, he doesn't mind it for now. He is more than willing to bear a little pain for a greater purpose -- in this case, pleasing Laertes.

[timebethine]

"Thou takest me so well," says Laertes, and there's wonder in it--awe at the indomitable engine of Lucien's body, the flesh that can yield and not be harmed in yielding. He slowly begins to rock his hips up to meet the warmth and openness of Lucien's mouth. "If thou canst, suck hard when I pull out of thee," he whispers. "Use thy tongue along the ridge around the head--I like that so much." He digs his nails in again, deep and slow, leaving red furrows that swiftly swell into welts.

[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.