Summer fic challenge 2015, part 4.
Sep. 11th, 2015 02:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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volieredeatoriOut of order again. Actually prompt 5.
Porn, porn, glorious porn. Gotta admit, I love the thought of Lucia dominating Aymeric. A lot. Mngh.
If there is one thing about Aymeric that Lucia finds less than perfect, it is his tendency to treat her like fragile glass when they are alone.
A daughter of Garlemald, raised for conflict, she thrives on war in her own way, and countless battles at his side have proven her worth to him time and time again; he is always quick to reassure her should her own confidence in her strength falter, and any who dare to suggest a woman knight is weak in his hearing soon find themselves soundly chastised. Yet it is as if everything changes when they find privacy, when heavy armour and thoughts of battle are simply discarded - when lantern-light makes sweat gleam on skin and his hands are on her, so carefully, so lightly.
Perhaps, though she hates to admit it even to herself, too lightly.
She finds it, however, rather difficult to voice any sort of complaint when even his softest touches drive her right out of her mind, when his mouth is hot at her breast and his damnably wonderful fingers between her legs are drawing the most embarrassing of noises from her - to shape the words alone would take more coherency than she knows herself to have at that moment, and to give them full voice would be utterly impossible. (Fury only knows the only words she can manage to speak like this are more and please and don't stop, and while they are perfectly serviceable words, they really don't help the situation--)
The thoughts are always soon gone to the pleasure he brings her, anyway, and by the time he has skillfully guided her to reality-shattering release, she can never remember what it was she wanted to say. So it simply goes unvoiced, left to be buried beneath the cloak of life and duty and priority, leaving her to think only next time - somehow she will find the mind for it, somehow she will manage to bring it up and then...
And then...what?
She can never quite bring her thoughts to that conclusion, somehow.
It bothers her excessively this day, but the more she tries to push the thoughts away, the more insistently they flood back and she finds herself angered by their mere presence, an anger she channels viciously into her every swordstroke as they methodically put down the aevis and wyverns that threaten the Gates of Judgment. It is messy work, leaving them spattered with dragon's blood and bits of feathers and viscera, but she finds the mess somehow encouraging, showing her that she has control over at least one thing in her life today - that there is one place she can triumph, and perhaps surprisingly, that realisation is what brings to her a sudden answer to the confusion that plagues her. How simple, she finds herself thinking, pushing down the sardonic laugh that rises in her; simple, but wherever shall she find the courage?
That one is easier to answer: do not think. Simply do. A technique she knows well.
So when night falls, when Ishgard slumbers beneath her snowy cloak and the lantern-light once more lends exertion-damp skin an ephemeral sheen, she does not think - she does. She captures Aymeric's hands as he reaches for her, pushes herself insistently against him and initiates a kiss hot and biting, drawing away only once the both of them have been rendered thoroughly breathless and having to smile at the look in his eyes - he is surprised, uncertain, but a smouldering heat burns beneath it all, exactly as she had hoped. "Please," she murmurs, and somehow surprises even herself with the throaty need-sound of her own voice; "let me do all the work tonight. 'Tis only fair--"
Aymeric watches her almost nervously for a moment, wets his lips with a tiny flicker of tongue and then slowly smiles, bowing his head in acquiescence, his face suddenly wearing a look she can almost classify as strangely shy. "If that is what you wish..."
"I do," she agrees perhaps a little too eagerly, kissing him again, and this time he opens his mouth to hers in silent invitation.
It is not long at all before her coherency, her voice is lost again, but she does not need it to tell him what she craves tonight. She speaks with her body instead, with the nimble fingers that trace his heated skin, with the blunt nails that graze their way down his sides and make him arch and shiver, with the teasing lips and teeth and tongue that rove down his body and feel the needy groans that resonate in his chest - this is what I want, her every touch insists, and she is certain he will understand - he is an intelligent man, one quite used to reading between the lines and knowing the unspoken. This is it. This is what I want you to do to me...
Aymeric's breath catches as she wraps her fingers about his cock, strokes him slowly once with a curious gaze fixed firmly on his face. "Lucia," he manages, a broken gasp, and the mere sound of him so desperate sends a shiver down her spine she will never forget the feeling of. "Please, do not - ah - tease...me so..."
"Am I teasing you?" She arches an eyebrow, tries to look innocently puzzled, but she cannot keep it up for long, dissolving into brief laughter and pressing a soft, apologetic kiss to the side of his jaw, pleased when he manages a chuckle of his own. "I cannot help myself - you are so exquisite like this. Have you never wanted to see me thoroughly lost beneath you, as you are to me right now?"
His eyes widen; she imagines she can see the figurative gears beginning to turn behind them. "Perhaps," he says finally, breathless, breaking off into a hitching gasp when she releases him only to straddle his hips instead. "Every...so often...but..."
"But?" She prompts him gently, pushes her hips down against his, rubbing her wet folds along the length of him - it will only make it more difficult for him to answer, she knows, but she simply cannot help herself.
"But I--" He lets his breath out in a hiss, tries to seize her hips, but she captures his hands once more and pushes them back down to the bed. "I - I should be afraid...of breaking you--"
It strikes her as utterly inane, and she nearly laughs, but the realisation that he is being purely genuine right now forces the mirth away. "Breaking me? Truly, Ser Aymeric - do you think it possible that anything you could do would break me?"
His head tosses to the side as she shifts her hips - she is unsure if it is an answer or simply a pleasured reaction, and she doesn't quite think he knows either. "I..."
"Let me show you otherwise," she interrupts him with a finger to his lips, raising herself off of him and reaching down, taking him into a firm grasp to guide him smoothly into her. "Just how fragile I absolutely am not."
He would perhaps answer, but that becomes an impossibility when she pushes onto him, takes him into her to the very hilt.
Conversation is completely lost then, gone to gasps of breath and desperate sounds as she digs her fingers into the bedsheets and rides him as harshly as she can bear, her head tossing back and primal sounds of pure pleasure falling from her lips with every move she makes. She has no doubt that she will ache tomorrow, perhaps even nurse some small twinge of regret for her actions tonight, but it is just too satisfying to feel badly about at the moment - and it only becomes even more so when Aymeric, finally taken completely by the frenzy of need, seizes her hips and begins to match her every jarring movement with sharp thrusts of his own. At last, drifts through her mind, and she is hardly aware her lips are moving, producing sharp bursts of breath that manage to turn themselves into the vaguest of sound. "Yes - just...like that--"
Aymeric growls beneath her in response, a sound that carries hints of her name in its guttural tone, and lunges up from the bed suddenly, moving so fast she is hardly aware of it until his arm is tight about her shoulders and his mouth is on hers - kissing, biting, claiming.
She does break then. She shatters with release, and she could not be more complete for it.
He swallows her wild cry, matches it with one of his own and presses his nails into her back as he shudders against her, drawn over that figurative edge just as inexorably as she; time nearly seems frozen then, a quiet stillness that envelops them, but the moment is all too soon past and she follows him down as he sinks back to the sheets, pressing her head to his chest and panting harshly to catch her breath as she listens to his pounding heartbeat. Fury above, how utterly idiotic she feels now - not for what she's done, but for not simply doing it sooner, for not taking things into her own hands before now--
"That was," she breathes out, swallows hard to wet a throat dry from delirious cries and absently finds his hand with hers, lacing their fingers together. "The best...thing I have ever felt...in my life."
Aymeric squeezes her hand gently, takes a moment to answer, still dizzy with bliss - but finally a breathy laugh resonates in his chest and he murmurs, a soothing sound that echoes in her ear. "Dare I ask...what has gotten...into you tonight?"
"Nothing of import," she responds flippantly, lifts her head enough to look him in the eye, though she is just exhausted enough now to make that noticeably difficult. "We will do this again sometime...no arguments, I hope."
"None whatsoever..." He sounds just the slightest bit embarrassed, and he may be blushing, but the flush of exertion on his cheeks makes it hard to tell. "Yet - by the same token, I rather hope...you have no arguments if we take it slow at times as well?"
She lets out a soft laugh before she can help herself; she had nearly forgotten that was her entire reason for doing this in the first place. "Explain to me one thing first, Ser Aymeric. Why is it that you find it necessary to be so gentle with me - besides the fear of breaking me?"
He tenses slightly beneath her, silent for long enough that she begins to wonder if she should regret asking, but finally - just as she is drawing breath to apologise - he answers, a whisper so soft she has to strain to hear it.
"How else can I love you...if all around us will not allow me to do it with words?"
A strange mix of emotion fills her, sharp and indescribable, and she startles herself with a breath that turns into a sob, reaching quickly up with embarrassed hands to wipe away the tears that are now beginning to trail down her cheeks. Of all the things she had expected to hear - but she cannot deny that even as surprised as she is, she feels a note of warmth glowing deep in her at the confession. She had never made a secret of her love for him, though admittedly she had never tried, but to imagine it reciprocated... "Ser Aymeric," she manages, sobs again and wipes her cheeks more harshly, though it is fruitless. "I--"
He shakes his head, puts a finger up to her lips to silence her and smiles, a warm, reassuring expression that soothes her far more than any words could. "I know..."
"That - is beside the point..." She tries to look indignant; at least the effort helps her slow her tears, and the little flicker of pleased soreness that runs through her as she finally lifts herself off him helps quite a bit too. "Can I not tell you, even though you already know?"
"Is it necessary?" He draws the blankets up and wraps his arms about her as she settles next to him, her head nestling comfortably against his shoulder, the last few stray tears dampening his skin. "You already show it to me in everything you do for me, Lucia. There is no need for words...your actions say it better than any voice ever could."
She has to admit he has a point, and enough of one that she can't bring herself to look up at him and pout like she quite wants to. "...Still--"
"How like you to be so persistent." But his tone is one of amusement, and the words hold no sting. "Very well, then. Just once - and then we sleep. You have exhausted me so thoroughly it is a wonder my eyes are even open."
"That was the idea." She nuzzles gently at his shoulder, enjoying his shiver, then raises her head at last, looking him in the eye with a faint smile. "You are correct - I have not the words to say it properly. But I love you, more than anything."
He offers her a shy smile in response, the smallest hint of redness creeping into his cheeks, and brings a hand up to briefly stroke her cheek, brushing his lips across hers in a featherlight touch. "And come the dawn, you will show me what your words cannot."
"I will certainly try," she puts on her most lofty tone, and she is pleased when he snorts out an undignified laugh and reddens still more at his own reaction. "Now I suppose I must satisfy you in an entirely different way - and let you sleep."
"How magnanimous of you," he murmurs dryly, his eyes closing even as he says the words; perhaps unsurprisingly, he is asleep nearly as soon as he finishes speaking.
She laughs, closes her own eyes, and lets the pleasant darkness of slumber claim her as well.
Porn, porn, glorious porn. Gotta admit, I love the thought of Lucia dominating Aymeric. A lot. Mngh.
If there is one thing about Aymeric that Lucia finds less than perfect, it is his tendency to treat her like fragile glass when they are alone.
A daughter of Garlemald, raised for conflict, she thrives on war in her own way, and countless battles at his side have proven her worth to him time and time again; he is always quick to reassure her should her own confidence in her strength falter, and any who dare to suggest a woman knight is weak in his hearing soon find themselves soundly chastised. Yet it is as if everything changes when they find privacy, when heavy armour and thoughts of battle are simply discarded - when lantern-light makes sweat gleam on skin and his hands are on her, so carefully, so lightly.
Perhaps, though she hates to admit it even to herself, too lightly.
She finds it, however, rather difficult to voice any sort of complaint when even his softest touches drive her right out of her mind, when his mouth is hot at her breast and his damnably wonderful fingers between her legs are drawing the most embarrassing of noises from her - to shape the words alone would take more coherency than she knows herself to have at that moment, and to give them full voice would be utterly impossible. (Fury only knows the only words she can manage to speak like this are more and please and don't stop, and while they are perfectly serviceable words, they really don't help the situation--)
The thoughts are always soon gone to the pleasure he brings her, anyway, and by the time he has skillfully guided her to reality-shattering release, she can never remember what it was she wanted to say. So it simply goes unvoiced, left to be buried beneath the cloak of life and duty and priority, leaving her to think only next time - somehow she will find the mind for it, somehow she will manage to bring it up and then...
And then...what?
She can never quite bring her thoughts to that conclusion, somehow.
It bothers her excessively this day, but the more she tries to push the thoughts away, the more insistently they flood back and she finds herself angered by their mere presence, an anger she channels viciously into her every swordstroke as they methodically put down the aevis and wyverns that threaten the Gates of Judgment. It is messy work, leaving them spattered with dragon's blood and bits of feathers and viscera, but she finds the mess somehow encouraging, showing her that she has control over at least one thing in her life today - that there is one place she can triumph, and perhaps surprisingly, that realisation is what brings to her a sudden answer to the confusion that plagues her. How simple, she finds herself thinking, pushing down the sardonic laugh that rises in her; simple, but wherever shall she find the courage?
That one is easier to answer: do not think. Simply do. A technique she knows well.
So when night falls, when Ishgard slumbers beneath her snowy cloak and the lantern-light once more lends exertion-damp skin an ephemeral sheen, she does not think - she does. She captures Aymeric's hands as he reaches for her, pushes herself insistently against him and initiates a kiss hot and biting, drawing away only once the both of them have been rendered thoroughly breathless and having to smile at the look in his eyes - he is surprised, uncertain, but a smouldering heat burns beneath it all, exactly as she had hoped. "Please," she murmurs, and somehow surprises even herself with the throaty need-sound of her own voice; "let me do all the work tonight. 'Tis only fair--"
Aymeric watches her almost nervously for a moment, wets his lips with a tiny flicker of tongue and then slowly smiles, bowing his head in acquiescence, his face suddenly wearing a look she can almost classify as strangely shy. "If that is what you wish..."
"I do," she agrees perhaps a little too eagerly, kissing him again, and this time he opens his mouth to hers in silent invitation.
It is not long at all before her coherency, her voice is lost again, but she does not need it to tell him what she craves tonight. She speaks with her body instead, with the nimble fingers that trace his heated skin, with the blunt nails that graze their way down his sides and make him arch and shiver, with the teasing lips and teeth and tongue that rove down his body and feel the needy groans that resonate in his chest - this is what I want, her every touch insists, and she is certain he will understand - he is an intelligent man, one quite used to reading between the lines and knowing the unspoken. This is it. This is what I want you to do to me...
Aymeric's breath catches as she wraps her fingers about his cock, strokes him slowly once with a curious gaze fixed firmly on his face. "Lucia," he manages, a broken gasp, and the mere sound of him so desperate sends a shiver down her spine she will never forget the feeling of. "Please, do not - ah - tease...me so..."
"Am I teasing you?" She arches an eyebrow, tries to look innocently puzzled, but she cannot keep it up for long, dissolving into brief laughter and pressing a soft, apologetic kiss to the side of his jaw, pleased when he manages a chuckle of his own. "I cannot help myself - you are so exquisite like this. Have you never wanted to see me thoroughly lost beneath you, as you are to me right now?"
His eyes widen; she imagines she can see the figurative gears beginning to turn behind them. "Perhaps," he says finally, breathless, breaking off into a hitching gasp when she releases him only to straddle his hips instead. "Every...so often...but..."
"But?" She prompts him gently, pushes her hips down against his, rubbing her wet folds along the length of him - it will only make it more difficult for him to answer, she knows, but she simply cannot help herself.
"But I--" He lets his breath out in a hiss, tries to seize her hips, but she captures his hands once more and pushes them back down to the bed. "I - I should be afraid...of breaking you--"
It strikes her as utterly inane, and she nearly laughs, but the realisation that he is being purely genuine right now forces the mirth away. "Breaking me? Truly, Ser Aymeric - do you think it possible that anything you could do would break me?"
His head tosses to the side as she shifts her hips - she is unsure if it is an answer or simply a pleasured reaction, and she doesn't quite think he knows either. "I..."
"Let me show you otherwise," she interrupts him with a finger to his lips, raising herself off of him and reaching down, taking him into a firm grasp to guide him smoothly into her. "Just how fragile I absolutely am not."
He would perhaps answer, but that becomes an impossibility when she pushes onto him, takes him into her to the very hilt.
Conversation is completely lost then, gone to gasps of breath and desperate sounds as she digs her fingers into the bedsheets and rides him as harshly as she can bear, her head tossing back and primal sounds of pure pleasure falling from her lips with every move she makes. She has no doubt that she will ache tomorrow, perhaps even nurse some small twinge of regret for her actions tonight, but it is just too satisfying to feel badly about at the moment - and it only becomes even more so when Aymeric, finally taken completely by the frenzy of need, seizes her hips and begins to match her every jarring movement with sharp thrusts of his own. At last, drifts through her mind, and she is hardly aware her lips are moving, producing sharp bursts of breath that manage to turn themselves into the vaguest of sound. "Yes - just...like that--"
Aymeric growls beneath her in response, a sound that carries hints of her name in its guttural tone, and lunges up from the bed suddenly, moving so fast she is hardly aware of it until his arm is tight about her shoulders and his mouth is on hers - kissing, biting, claiming.
She does break then. She shatters with release, and she could not be more complete for it.
He swallows her wild cry, matches it with one of his own and presses his nails into her back as he shudders against her, drawn over that figurative edge just as inexorably as she; time nearly seems frozen then, a quiet stillness that envelops them, but the moment is all too soon past and she follows him down as he sinks back to the sheets, pressing her head to his chest and panting harshly to catch her breath as she listens to his pounding heartbeat. Fury above, how utterly idiotic she feels now - not for what she's done, but for not simply doing it sooner, for not taking things into her own hands before now--
"That was," she breathes out, swallows hard to wet a throat dry from delirious cries and absently finds his hand with hers, lacing their fingers together. "The best...thing I have ever felt...in my life."
Aymeric squeezes her hand gently, takes a moment to answer, still dizzy with bliss - but finally a breathy laugh resonates in his chest and he murmurs, a soothing sound that echoes in her ear. "Dare I ask...what has gotten...into you tonight?"
"Nothing of import," she responds flippantly, lifts her head enough to look him in the eye, though she is just exhausted enough now to make that noticeably difficult. "We will do this again sometime...no arguments, I hope."
"None whatsoever..." He sounds just the slightest bit embarrassed, and he may be blushing, but the flush of exertion on his cheeks makes it hard to tell. "Yet - by the same token, I rather hope...you have no arguments if we take it slow at times as well?"
She lets out a soft laugh before she can help herself; she had nearly forgotten that was her entire reason for doing this in the first place. "Explain to me one thing first, Ser Aymeric. Why is it that you find it necessary to be so gentle with me - besides the fear of breaking me?"
He tenses slightly beneath her, silent for long enough that she begins to wonder if she should regret asking, but finally - just as she is drawing breath to apologise - he answers, a whisper so soft she has to strain to hear it.
"How else can I love you...if all around us will not allow me to do it with words?"
A strange mix of emotion fills her, sharp and indescribable, and she startles herself with a breath that turns into a sob, reaching quickly up with embarrassed hands to wipe away the tears that are now beginning to trail down her cheeks. Of all the things she had expected to hear - but she cannot deny that even as surprised as she is, she feels a note of warmth glowing deep in her at the confession. She had never made a secret of her love for him, though admittedly she had never tried, but to imagine it reciprocated... "Ser Aymeric," she manages, sobs again and wipes her cheeks more harshly, though it is fruitless. "I--"
He shakes his head, puts a finger up to her lips to silence her and smiles, a warm, reassuring expression that soothes her far more than any words could. "I know..."
"That - is beside the point..." She tries to look indignant; at least the effort helps her slow her tears, and the little flicker of pleased soreness that runs through her as she finally lifts herself off him helps quite a bit too. "Can I not tell you, even though you already know?"
"Is it necessary?" He draws the blankets up and wraps his arms about her as she settles next to him, her head nestling comfortably against his shoulder, the last few stray tears dampening his skin. "You already show it to me in everything you do for me, Lucia. There is no need for words...your actions say it better than any voice ever could."
She has to admit he has a point, and enough of one that she can't bring herself to look up at him and pout like she quite wants to. "...Still--"
"How like you to be so persistent." But his tone is one of amusement, and the words hold no sting. "Very well, then. Just once - and then we sleep. You have exhausted me so thoroughly it is a wonder my eyes are even open."
"That was the idea." She nuzzles gently at his shoulder, enjoying his shiver, then raises her head at last, looking him in the eye with a faint smile. "You are correct - I have not the words to say it properly. But I love you, more than anything."
He offers her a shy smile in response, the smallest hint of redness creeping into his cheeks, and brings a hand up to briefly stroke her cheek, brushing his lips across hers in a featherlight touch. "And come the dawn, you will show me what your words cannot."
"I will certainly try," she puts on her most lofty tone, and she is pleased when he snorts out an undignified laugh and reddens still more at his own reaction. "Now I suppose I must satisfy you in an entirely different way - and let you sleep."
"How magnanimous of you," he murmurs dryly, his eyes closing even as he says the words; perhaps unsurprisingly, he is asleep nearly as soon as he finishes speaking.
She laughs, closes her own eyes, and lets the pleasant darkness of slumber claim her as well.
