[That single word on his lips is beyond sweet, and Gale turns his head to chase them for another kiss, eager to taste him after so many nights of wondering what it might be like— far more than he felt it was gentlemanly to admit to, even if manners be damned at the moment. They have no place here, not when Godfrey's calloused touch is on his ass and he's already achingly hard, not when he can feel the larger man struggling not to rut against him before they've even undressed themselves.]
Don't stop touching me.
[It's a request bordering on breathless already. Gale seals his lips over Godfrey's own and drinks deep, slipping his searching tongue past parted lips while his heart races, thundering in his ears, and he uses both hands to start tugging at the lacings of the other man's shirt, no longer having to guide his touch. When there's no immediate give, he starts impatiently tugging Godfrey's shirt free from his waist, pulling it up with one hand as the other glides over his abdomen, eager fingers passing over the scar he had been shown and feeling out the sculpt of his muscles.
He feels his own cock twitch as the heated touch of skin against skin sparks something in him, something that he'd worried was long dead, and he lets out a needful moan against Godfrey's mouth as he tugs the paladin's shirt upwards, intent on getting it off and away, to keep it from barring them from one another any longer.]
There is no thought in Godfrey greater than the warmth of his skin, the curve of his hip as he feels his trousers pull taut and then slacken as they shift down the back of his thighs, the slip of his hair between his fingers. The way the curve of his ass feels beneath his thick and calloused hand. He would live in the way his tongue slides against his if he could, in that glassy thrill contained in the very moment before Godfrey gives himself to the sensation, in the ambitious handful he grasps of his exposed rear.
Godfrey, naturally, takes longer to become aware of his own hunger. Gale's weight against him, hot and eager, seems nearly too much as it is; he's content to run his hand across him for the moment, up the curve of his backbone, running beneath his clothing. Urgency tenses in his other hand now; strands of dark hair wound in his fingers as he groans against his lips, takes a harsh breath through his nose to taste his tongue. Desperate to feed the moment all that he has.
Until it is that Gale's mouth is no longer against his, he has been content to fit his body to Gale's and feel his warmth through the rough homespun of his shirt. Godfrey's stomach flutters to feel Gale's hand against it, muscle tensing below his fingers. This is when he realizes his impatience - and also, as his lashes flutter, that he's right.
A slow, dozy smile comes to his lips, breathless with gentle laughter. He sighs his name to break his impatience, and kisses him - slow, deliberate - to suffocate the impatience.
Then, he leans back against the cushions, and lifts the bottom hem of his shirt over his head. Beneath it is hard muscle twitching below his skin with the small effort of pulling his wrists from his sleeves. A handful of thin and superficial training scars mar his flushing chest like pale thread.
Godfrey leaves the empty shirt in a wrinkled heap above his head, lips parted, staring up at Gale as he rests on his elbows.
[There is no elegance in the way Gale hurriedly kicks his way out of his trousers and briefs, helped along by Godfrey's previous efforts— he already longs for the other man to grab hold of him again, for the heated press of lips and tongues. He kneels between Godfrey's legs and crosses his arms to take hold of the front of his tunic, pulling it up and over his head as his beloved does the same with his own, tossing it aside to land unceremoniously among the books and cushions within his tent, revealing a smattering of dark hair over his surprisingly toned chest. The mark left behind by the netherese orb has begun to glow with as that eager anticipation grows, soft rather than blinding as his heart races beneath it.
Just as Godfrey emerges from his own shirt and looks down to find Gale already hard and wanting, the wizard feels his breath knocked out of him all at once as he looks upon him in turn. It's hardly the first time he's seen Godfrey without his shirt; considering their circumstances, it was impossible not to catch the occasional glimpse when it came to tending to wounds or bathing in the river, but it had never been like this.
He exhales steadily, a smile pulling at his lips as he rakes his gaze over that expanse of well-defined muscle, the evidence of years upon years of training and dedication, enhanced rather than marred by the littering of scars.]
Aren't you a sight.
[He leans forward to cup Godfrey's face in his hand before drawing his touch down along the curve of his neck, over the broad plane of his pectoral, letting out a soft groan of approval as he pulls close again and leans in for a slow and deliberate kiss of his own, seeking out the slide of Godfrey's tongue against his own.]
[ Godfrey had indeed seen Gale unclothed before. He has seen his limbs and chest bare. He has felt his skin warm below his hands.
But these moments had always come with other things. The heavy scent of blood in his nose, for instance. The knowledge of pain. The screaming clamour of a battle. The remaining sizzle of magic electrifying the air. Dryness in his mouth and desperation in his heart as he tries to ignore the pain and death all around him.
He hadn't had the luxury of admiring how the thin light of nighttime catches in the musculature of his firm chest. Godfrey hadn't been able to see that pale violet glow flashing in his hungry eyes. He'd not been able to think on running his fingers through that downy brown chest hair - not while he could see it, and not while entertaining the thought while knowing that he could.
And there was certainly one thing in this situation he had not seen.
Godfrey exhales softly as his eyes rest on his manhood, hot-blooded and just as turgid as his own. He wonders how long it's been so and feels a small, disbelieving thrill down his spine, his trousers pulling tight around his pelvis.
Gale's palm against his face - hardly warm anymore, for the flush in his cheek. Godfrey glances up to him, lips gently parted, and feels his touch brush against his strong neck, his fingers following his gaze along his strong chest. Godfrey's lashes flutter, and awestruck, he moves his own hangs up Gale's hard chest, running fingers through that smattering of dark hair. Feeling it between his fingers.
He loses track of where his hands are once Gale leans down fully for a kiss, pressing his body against his. Godfrey knows all he needs to; Gale is in his arms, and he feels warmth beneath his hands, and he tastes his tongue. He sighs harshly against his lips and feels his fingers dig firm into his skin. ]
[He had long lost count of how many months he had spent alone, without the touch of another, and for so much of that time, it had been the furthest thing from his mind— when merely getting out of bed felt like a day's crowning achievement, it changed one's perspective, but he is well past that now, and in this moment, he feels exactly how starved he's been for touch, for affection.
Godfrey's arms are warm and inviting, his hold easy to melt into as Gale pulls against him, his touch sending electricity racing along the surface of Gale's own skin as he explores, and it is perfect. It is something he only now realizes just how badly he had longed for it, and he fully intends to relish the opportunity.
His breath comes a bit shorter between kisses, his hands gliding down the length of Godfrey's well-muscled arms, feeling his breath catch in his throat as they taste one another and the other man's fingers dig into him, a firm reminder of how very real this is. They become further entwined as they kiss, and Gale slides a hand between the pair of them to skate downwards along the surface of Godfrey's abdomen, his deft fingers catching against the waist of his trousers.
He tips his head to press their foreheads together, his voice just barely above a whisper as he refuses to pull back, lips still hovering close, kiss-swollen.]
[ A guilty, ecstatic little ripple follows Gale's hands as they run down the seam between them, gasping against his lips as he feels that fleeting and desperate touch.
Godfrey hardly has time to dwell on the little guilt, the thin undertow trying to pull him to something dark and deep. A lucky thing - there is nothing he wants less than to be pulled away from the man sinking into his arms, breathing heavy against his lips, hot against his bare chest. And something in him knows where all of those riptide currents lie, where he may not dwell if he wishes to avoid them.
The skin of his chest has gone untouched, his lips unkissed, his body unbeheld, for - it feels - more years than he can count on both of his hands. Long enough for each and every touch to feel sensitive and new, for greedy hands and hungry eyes to feel like an exhilarating novelty. These avenues are safe.
It's when he begins to wander further, toward the thing that had blocked all of these things, that things turn treacherous.
He would live here forever, and that is a dangerous thing, for it would only beckon him down these internal causeways. Gale does not give him the chance, and just as he begins to process the absence of his lips, he speaks to him in a hissing torrent. His hands pull at his trousers. No other thought could hope to stand a chance.
Gently, Godfrey steals one more kiss, parts with the taste of his lips on his tongue, his fingers luxuriating in his dark hair. Then, he slips his hand free and props himself up, raising his hips. Tugging his hips first around the firm swell of his backside before working the one at his front free.
He glances down at his work just in time for his waistband to make its way far enough down his strong thighs to free his cock, pinned and aching against the inner leg. It springs forth, standing firm against his stomach, close to--
Godfrey sighs harshly as it's freed, feels himself flood with heat as he tries to shift his pants further down, pinning the ankles to pillows with his heel to pull each leg free. ]
[Gale feels his heart leap into his very throat as Godfrey works his way out of his trousers; he grabs hold of them just long enough to help him free and at last they are both free and unhindered. His appreciation for Godfrey's form is plain on his face, in his shuddering exhale, in the hunger of his gaze.
The moment in itself is surreal, but the heat between them is proof enough of how very real this is, keeps him present, and he cards fingers through Godfrey's champagne-colored hair as he leans in for another kiss, a low sound of approval hinting towards a growl at the back of his throat.]
You put the very stars to shame, dear heart.
[He eagerly claims Godfrey's lips once more as he blindly takes hold of him, fingers curling around his cock, firm enough not to tease when he knows just how badly they have both been deprived, and he lets out a soft moan that is swallowed up in the kiss between them as his fingertips become acquainted with the heated silk of Godfrey's skin, the weight of his eagerness hard and heavy against his palm.]
[ Godfrey supposes he should have expected nothing less; he looks at him, need in his eyes, whispers poetry warm across his lips, and then reclaims them before he has a chance at rebuttal.
Godfrey can only hope, while he has the presence of mind, that he can provide an equivalent response in the endless hunger of his hands across his warm skin, in the way his arms so eagerly settle him back in against his broad chest. His fingers winding anew in his hair, fingertips rubbing against the back of his neck. The drop as Godfrey settles them both back against the pillows, to free up the arm propping him up, that it may grab an immediate and hungry handful of his ass as he holds him close.
The brief break between their kiss as his voice escapes him, beneath a hard sigh, as Gale wraps his hand around his stiff cock and floods him.
It takes all that Godfrey has in him to keep himself from rutting against his hand. He stiffens against the impossible drive toward the pleasure welling in him, drowning his every thought. The hard pang that pushes through him as his dick throbs gratefully against Gale's fingers.
The world had been falling away in shreds from the moment their lips first touched. Gale had easily turned falling into peeling; every susurrous breath blushing against Godfrey's skin only served to strip the world beyond this tent down further, to make all but this pile of fine pillows and the man in his arms seem the only consequential parts of it. Godfrey's dark lashes flutter, and he finds Gale through them, his rosy lips parted before thin, quick breath.
He doesn't know that he'll ever get used to it; to a man like this, looking on him like that. To knowing that he can let his eyes roam, and his hands follow. Godfrey finds himself demurring even now, averting his eyes whenever they travel too low, feeling warm shame flower in him as he sinks his hands hungrily into his flesh. Godfrey draws his eyes along the line of him, up the firm seam where their skin meets and back to his face, takes in with soft helplessness the hunger and need in Gale's face.
Feels his coarse jaw against the palm of his hand as his eyes slip shut, and the pressure begins to mount, and soft as the breeze he tries to warn him; ]
[Gale had already been sure of it from the heat of Godfrey's own skin, the shallow nature of his breath, and truth be told, he knows himself to be almost embarrassingly close, the thrill of the moment paired with going so long without the touch of another making the press of Godfrey's lips and the hunger of his touch urge him onward. His own breath hitches as Godfrey's fingers sink eagerly into the soft curve of his ass, and he lets out noise of distinct appreciation as their brows remain pressed together, Godfrey's palm dragging along the line of his jaw and sending a pleasant jolt through them.]
Then don't.
[He all but exhales the words, granting the larger man permission to let himself go— Gale has barely touched him and yet he can feel just how tightly Godfrey is wound beneath them. He loosens his hold, but just long enough to alter the slant of his own hips so that he can take them both in hand, fingers curling around both shafts as he presses the heat of them together.
Even without friction, a shudder rolls through him, down the length of his spine and to its very base, and he swipes a thumb across the head of Godfrey's cock before he finally proceeds to stroke in earnest, encouraging him towards that quick release, his own breath starting to come short as he begins a calculated roll of his hips that rubs them against one another in a way that makes desire coil hotly in his belly.
Afterwards, they could take their time. Barring any unfortunate interruptions, they had all night.]
Edited (i left out like half a sentence) 2024-07-29 22:05 (UTC)
Ahh-- [ A twitching, tight moment, his voice pushed from him as his dick throbs desperately against Gale's fingers. That swipe of his thumb against that most sensitive part of him combusts against every nerve ending in his body - and still, Godfrey's instinct is to school it into submission. To contain it.
He exhales, slow and deep, tremulous as each relentless stroke erodes that instinct, the proof of his arousal flush against his own, rolling against it, making catching his breath an impossibility. His hand feels alive with the scrub of Gale's stubble as his hand moves, relishes in being able to hold his face against his own, his other hand stroking along the length of his thigh.
They are too close for Godfrey to look down and see, but he feels it. He feels Gale's hand around them, and he feels the stiff heat of his cock rubbing against him, and he feels the motion of his hips. There's a suffusion of places to put his hands and lips as his composure begins to unravel, the pressure becoming impossible, Godfrey's cerulean eyes fluttering open to try and glimpse how Gale's face had softened, his own flushed, pleading, entranced by the closeness he's been allowed. He is angling his jaw for a kiss when the moment overwhelms him.
His world bursts in that moment, every single touch magnified, groaning as his every muscle pulls tight. White-hot release floods him. Godfrey's eyes shut, and his hips twitch, pushing powerfully against Gale to shove it out in hot, pearlescent ropes over his own bare body.
His touch moves quick and insistent, skating from his thigh to his waist. As are his lips as they close around Gale's, flushed and hot and only made more eager by the moment's impossible relief. ]
[The vigor with which Godfrey bucks against him and into his hand is promising, to say the least, something Gale would likely be more cognizant of if he weren't so close to nearing his own end, spurred by flushed skin and desperate touch and even more desperate kisses. His grip remains firm as he feels Godfrey pulse against him, spilling hotly over his hand and onto his own stomach, and the wizard feels breathless even as he turns his head to meet him in a hungry, impossibly eager kiss, turning his jaw further into Godfrey's touch.
He strokes Godfrey through his climax, sparing only the barest glance downward; they're too close for him to see anything, but he can hardly tear his gaze from Godfrey's face to begin with. He can feel the heated mess between them as they continue to make themselves a needful, desperate tangle, and it only takes a few more strokes before he is following suit.]
I'm—
[Whatever warning he might have given is cut off as he feels himself quickly overcome; Godfrey's own release and the press of flush, kiss-swollen lips have made it all too easy to tip over that edge. To find that relief in the arms of another is worlds beyond whatever small, private moments he might have allowed himself tucked away in his tent here and there; he lets out a sharp, wordless cry against the crush of Godfrey's lips, his fingers curling tightly into pale hair as he turns his face against the paladin's temple as that first twitch is immediately followed by a sharper, more insistent thrust into his own hand, against Godfrey's newly-spent cock and abdomen.
He spends himself over his own fingers and both their stomachs; that sharp cry gives way to a low, wanton groan of relief as he, too, angles for another kiss, his fingers slipping from Godfrey's hair so that he can lay his hand against the side of his neck. He exhales even as he finds his lips once more and kisses him deeply while he slowly ruts against him, grateful for the relief that will surely allow them to take the time to become properly acquainted with one another.]
[ What questions Godfrey might have had, if the Morninglord had revealed this particular embarking to him during his sunrise prayers.
How might he have felt? What might he have thought, to know that his hands would be allowed to roam so over his bare skin? How would knowing the warm outcome of their evening, spilled upon his fluttering abdomen, changed its course?
He can't say. He can't even think about it. Not after hearing the sound of his desperation, tasting its heat against his tongue. Godfrey has no thought for anything but the warmth of him in his arms, the flutter of firm musculature beneath his gentle touch, the flash of his own tongue beneath his lips. He seizes a handful of dark hair as Gale surges against him. Hardly anything else matters; he's warm and insistent in his arms. The very earth could crack below the tent and swallow him whole, and he'd hardly know any better.
Impatience rises in him, and he breaks the kiss with a hard sigh. Godfrey presses against the side of his warm throat, smearing kisses against his sensitive neck before nosing against his ear, smiling. ]
[Gale lets out a breathless laugh, the press of Godfrey's lips burning pleasantly against his throat, the nuzzling against his ear sending another sudden thrill through him. He had thought about what it might be like to be entangled with Godfrey like this on more than one occasion; even when it was the sight of their leader covered in blood on the battlefield that made Gale yearn for him, he was always certain that the other man's touch would be gentle, warm, all-encompassing. How good it was to find out firsthand just how right he had been.]
I would do about anything you asked, in this moment.
[There's a playful, affectionate note in his voice as he turns nose against Godfrey's jawline in turn, pressing a warm and lingering kiss against it as he blindly raises a hand to, with a flick of his wrist, do away with their shared mess by way of a simple cantrip. They'll only make more, he's certain.
Though his tent is only barely big enough for two, there's room enough for them to do as Godfrey suggests; Gale reaches past him just long enough to tug a pillow into place before they recline together, and he inhales the scent of Godfrey's skin and sweat as he buries his face in the man's pale hair for several moments, resting his weight against his chest as he feels his own heartbeat begin to slow, steadily moving towards normal.]
I hope you don't think that was all there is to it.
[His smile tugs to one side, mischievous.]
have a fat titty godfrey to celebrate, on the house
[ Godfrey settles in, and in turn, feels Gale settle into him.
He has missed passing nights like this. He had not been one whom Vladimir could rest his weight against, but often had he held Iltha through her growing years against himself. He had passed afternoons with her swaddled against his chest as he cleaned, comforted her through restless nights, read stories to her snuggled against his shoulder. To have her physical weight against his, comfortable and at ease, was one of his utmost comforts.
He'd not been of a stature to do the same for Vladimir. Indeed, it would have been Godfrey weighing on Vladimir's chest, in these moments of quiet intimacy. Settling a lover against him is a new experience - warm skin and sweat, which he's free to indulge himself in after that delicate flash of his wrist, palm broad and hot against his firm stomach. The heat of his body radiates as he presses himself into it, feels softness beneath them and hot breath carding through his hair. Godfrey sighs into his chest and closes his eyes.
Fatigue tugs at him like a child at his mother's skirts as his eyes slip shut, as he soaks in that glowing warmth. His routines are predictable; he has been early to bed and early to rise for the entirety of his 35 years. Not once has Sir Godfrey missed a sunrise, a treasured chance to greet the new day and commune with his Lord.
Never has it been easier to jeopardize a sunrise.
He doesn't answer Gale with words. He noses against the very center of his chest, his hand runs up his side to hold his chest as he presses a kiss into his skin, heavy with promise. ]
[Gale's eyelids slide closed as he lets out a soft hum of approval, that kiss burning pleasantly against his skin. He had not dared to imagine he might be able to enjoy moments like these once more; indeed, until very recently, the act itself would have been reckless and potentially deadly, a very real fear that had no doubt played a part in his hesitance to show his hand earlier. These quiet moments as they regain themselves are as precious as they are comforting, and he smiles to himself as he shifts to entangle his fingers in Godfrey's hair once more, carding through it and stroking it back from his brow where the sheen of sweat remains.
He rather likes Godfrey's wordless answer.]
Does that mean you'll be making an exception to your usual routine?
[Don't think he hasn't noticed. With as much a creature of habit as Godfrey has shown himself to be, Gale knows full well he's tempting him into an unusually late night— but it would seem his companion is quite amenable to the idea.
He shifts so that they are nearly a tangle of limbs, each point of contact distinct, the warm press of flushed skin something he has not felt in an age. He'd nearly forgotten how pleasant it was to simply be mortal— for all that the Weave had offered him, for as many ways as he had found to express love and as many more he intended to seek, it was good to be reminded that some earthly matters were still well-worth his attention.]
[ It isn't as though his routine has been a secret; Godfrey has never minced words where his devotion is concerned, nor has he concealed his worship of every sunrise he is privileged enough to attend.
Godfrey's never felt the encroaching daylight to be an intrusion. The promise of a sunrise has always been something to be treasured; a beginning, rather than an inevitable end. The distant sunrise Gale conjures now is an end, something which threatens to pull his nose from his warm chest.
He fights it for a moment, as though it put a hand on his shoulder; his strong arms pull just a little tighter around him, a hot sigh blushes against his chest. Godfrey's tongue tracks the length of his sternum from the center of his chest to his collarbone, lying more warm kisses against his skin, relishing in warmth below his hands, the flutter of his chest beneath him.
He breathes against Gale's neck as he urges him to his back, his arms sinking into the piled pillows below the two of them. The barest movement, and his lips are against his. Closeness Godfrey would never have imagined for himself again. He exhales, tremblingly, against his lips, and he feels the softness of his hair between his fingers, and he sighs out; ]
[Every press of Godfrey's lips against his skin is searing hot; a soft groan lodges itself at the back of Gale's throat as his fingers slip through the paladin's fair hair and curl against the nape of his neck. There is so much of him to touch, to explore; they've hardly even begun, fumbling their way ahead as they have been, but the warm press of flesh against flesh and the pleasant scent of sweat and lust that now clings to them is enough to make his heart race all its own.
He offers no resistance when Godfrey seeks to guide him, instead tipping his head to one side to offer up his neck as his companion exhales against it; the soft nest of pillows he's made of his tent envelops them and he makes a soft noise of satisfaction against his lips once they meet again. Gale's hand traces the curve of the larger man's spine and comes to grab hold of his ass as he parts his lips once more to taste him, the gentle tug of his hair and Godfrey's soft touch and warm breath stirring something in him all over again.
He smiles, radiating his own warmth as their lips remain but a breath apart, cupping the side of Godfrey's face and tracing the lines of his cheek, his jaw with his thumb.]
I have wanted this for longer than I dare to say. Please— stay with me tonight.
[ It's a strange hunger - the sort he couldn't feel until it was sated.
Sir Godfrey had felt those warm and lonely pangs, certainly, in the solitary nights since his widowing. Something hollow at the pit of his chest which ached for companionship. Nights passed in lonely silence, when the cool of his sheets was felt just a little harder.
Of course he'd felt a certain longing in that dark quiet. He was only a man - only if he were any less would he feel nothing at all. He has remembered this as he allows it to pass through him, as he prays to the sunrise for His guidance. And pass it did - the fires would die if he only waited, perhaps with sparse help from his hand. That he struggles is human. That he feels the cold and empty space beside him is proof against that very loneliness - proof of his beating heart. It is a pain to be treasured.
But it is not one that follows him to the streets. This loneliness has always been a passing and brittle thing, one that dies before it wounds too deeply. So long as there's something else to be thought about, Sir Godfrey can stave it off a little while longer. He's tricked himself into believing that this is the same thing as resilience.
Now that he feels bare skin against his, needful hands and hot whispering words urging him forward, he knows what a lie he had fed himself. The hunger for this skinship had always been there. Godfrey had just kept it out of sight.
Now, gloriously satiated, Godfrey can look back and see only how starved he had been. He exhales as though he's been holding his breath for a year, a great and warm heaving of his broad chest. Godfrey's hand finds Gale's, and he pushes against his palm, soaking desperately in the contact as he shifts his body against his. Godfrey presses his lips into the heel of his palm, the inside of his wrist. Then, his lips, soft and warm, his tongue darting between them as he lets his hand wander down his chest. Down his stomach.
Thrills for the way he flutters beneath his hand. ]
[He had gone so long without mortal touch that Gale had almost convinced himself that it was something not to be missed, that he had somehow transcended such things because of his own worldly experience, but he cannot remember ever being so glad to be proven wrong, and a shuddering exhale passes his lips Godfrey's touch glides down his chest and over his abdomen, his pulse quickening once more, muscles just beneath the skin reacting and pulling pleasantly tight as his hand continues to wander downwards.
With urgency having been sated, there is nothing to do but to take their time and enjoy one another— and Gale has always prided himself on being thorough in all things, as dedicated a lover as he was a scholar.
He passes his thumb lightly over Godfrey's lips, his gaze dark and heated as he nods to encourage him further. Even so soon after release, he can feel himself beginning to stir again, a slower rouse now that the frantic edge has been blunted. The soft glow of the orb lights what little space remains between them as he lets his own fingers trace their way up the length of Godfrey's arm, the curves of muscle and flushed skin, a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth as he guides his touch over the other man's chest and abdomen.]
Where shall we begin, hm? The possibilities are so many, I hardly know.
[ Godfrey knows that his can't be the first hands on Gale; surely more pairs have run over his skin than have Godfrey's. It strikes him as foolishness to think otherwise of a man who had lain with a God, that he would not have had his share of mortal trysts before.
And still, there is a newness to this, the way Gale's body receives his touch. The breath in his chest shivers and his muscles pull in response to the skating touch of his hands. A thawing, as though his hand were the spring over a long winter. It's at once relief and intoxicant. His hand finds his hip and his soft breath finds his lips, as Godfrey lowers himself to taste of their warmth. It splashes through him as his hand roves, his other driving into the pillows holding his weight, and he presses further into the warmth of skinship - for once, without a care for anything but the pursuit of it, for the pooling warmth in his hips.
His lips find the underside of his jaw next, and breathlessly, he responds-- ]
Slowly.
[ --before they press again into his fluttering and tender throat, his hand playing at his chest.
Then, lowering again, until his hand finds something firm. ]
[Gale echoes him fondly, an affectionate note in his voice as his breath hitches softly, Godfrey's lips against his jaw making his own pulse rise so that he can nearly taste it on his own tongue. The freedom to touch is almost overwhelming after so many weeks spent watching from afar, nights where he had discouraged himself from even considering such things, and Godfrey's hair is like silk between his fingers as he entangles them within it once more.
The press of lips against his throat spurs an approving sound at the very back of it, but it's cut off by another sharp hitch of breath as Godfrey's hand finds him hard and wanting, already eager to be touched even so soon after their shared release, and he lets out a shuddering exhale of breath as Godfrey's fingers curl against him, lowering his brow to rest atop the paladin's head.]
Please...
[However slowly, he only wants Godfrey to touch him, however he so pleases— just let it continue.]
[ He shivers against his throat, feeling him twitch against his hand as it finds him.
Godfrey sighs harshly and presses his lips against the stubbly underside of Gale's jaw. His fingers close take loose hold of the throbbing length beneath his fingers, drawing his warm handprint up to the firming head, and slowly back down.
A hot chill down the back of his neck, to feel warm breath and hard fingers in his hair again. Godfrey continues guiding the throbbing dick in his hand, ignoring the impatient twitch pulling between his own legs, and shifts to take the tender lobe of his ear between his teeth, sighing against its shell.
The warm swell in his chest might be replaced by a sinking stone of ice if he were to dwell for a moment on the impropriety, the boldness. And from there, likely, he would be dragged to further unfair depths, distorting what was currently underway. A betrayal of the love he once shared with his husband. The infinitesimal smallness that must be the shadow of him against the lost favour of a goddess. None of those things are more important than the warmth, the skinship, the shiver in Gale against his bare skin as he feels his cock respond to the slow and gentle attention of his hand. There was no room for such second-guessing, no time for reticence.
Beyond words, how close he is - that it takes only the barest shift, a slight turn, to meet Gale's lips with his own. Warmth thrills through him.
Then, breathless, he moves down. Lips to chest. Tongue to the tender glow.
[His breath catches, every touch and whisper of breath amplified; Godfrey's warmth fills the tent and Gale finds himself content to drown in it, to leave reason behind and give himself over entirely to relearning the joys of mortal flesh. A groan escapes him; he bows his head forward to rest his brow against Godfrey's shoulder as the larger man takes him in firm, steady strokes. That something so simple could be so absolutely dizzying is somehow wondrous to him, and it keeps him from even considering the potential complexities of all of this, his hips rolling forward every time Godfrey allows him even the slightest bit of give, chasing that slow build.
His fingers remain tangled in champagne hair as Godfrey begins to sink downwards, and suddenly Gale feels as though he has no breath at all, swallowing his voice completely for several moments as lips steadily trail their way down his throat, his chest, all the way to his abdomen, the anticipation of what's to come making him absolutely ache even as he remains in the paladin's grasp.
Gods above, it was hardly unusual to see Godfrey on his knees, and yet Gale had never allowed himself to even imagine this, even when he'd allowed himself to indulge in the occasional fantasy.]
[ There is something pure and intoxicating in his responsiveness, a newness. Each touch leaned into, a sigh for every kiss, hungry fingers pressing through his hair. Every moment urged further, pressed into. Anything to prolong the moment of warm contact a fraction longer.
What else would his body chase? What other touch would he prolong? The thought thrills through his spine and drives Godfrey forward; sighing hotly against his skin, feeling the tender and pebbly skin of his nipple beneath his lips and pressing in. Godfrey's broad hand flattens against his hardened dick and desperately pushes, moving with the whole of his body as his hips flex toward his warmth, the throb between his own legs for now unheeded.
By the time he reaches his hips, Godfrey's fingers are again finding his shaft, his body gently tangled in crushed pillows and his lovers' legs. He lifts his gaze to catch Gale's above him, studies his face in the hot half-second he has before the throb between his legs pushes him to move again; takes both thighs on his shoulders and, reverently, presses another kiss against the tender crook, the soft flesh between pelvis and inner thigh, sighing harshly. He had wanted this to last forever, naturally - to take his time exploring him.
This intention was set before the hot throb between his legs had begun to grow urgent.
He centers himself; both legs to a shoulder, his eyes lifting, seeking to touch Gale's own gaze as he rises slowly along his hard length, tongue first. His gaze lowers as he comes to its firm head, wraps his lips around it, and swallows it as far back as he can.
Until hot and shivering throat-muscles contract against its tip. ]
[The sight alone is breathtaking; Godfrey cradled between his knees, pillows crushed beneath them as he catches Gale's gaze once more, the wizard's own now dark and heavy with lust, with near-desperate wanting, cock twitching against Godfrey's thick fingers in a bid for more. He lets out a soft, plaintive sound that sticks at the back of his throat as a kiss is pressed against his innermost thigh, and already he feels his arms threatening to give way beneath him even as he aims to remain propped up to enjoy the view, feeling his pulse beat in his mouth.
What follows is so much more than he could have anticipated, having been so long without mortal touch. Anyone else would look positively sinful in such a position; Godfrey remains earnest, beatific, pulling a sigh from Gale as his tongue drags along his turgid length. Gale meets his gaze, his own all heat, and the very picture goes straight to his cock, another surge of wanting, the featherlight brush of lips against him almost too much to bear— and then he is lost, sheathed in wet heat, the close of Godfrey's lips drawing for a strangled sound that borders on a half-choked sob.
His head drops back and he fights the urge to buck into Godfrey's mouth, remaining as still as he can manage as he finds himself swallowed deep, white-knuckled grip clutching at the pillow jutting out from beneath him. The sound that escapes him is guttural and wordless, one he had never known himself able to make before now, and his fingers blindly tangle into Godfrey's hair as he struggles to ground himself.]
Gods, h-how—
[Any question, rhetorical or otherwise, is abandoned, lost to another moan that feels as though it has been coaxed forth from the very furthest depths.]
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Don't stop touching me.
[It's a request bordering on breathless already. Gale seals his lips over Godfrey's own and drinks deep, slipping his searching tongue past parted lips while his heart races, thundering in his ears, and he uses both hands to start tugging at the lacings of the other man's shirt, no longer having to guide his touch. When there's no immediate give, he starts impatiently tugging Godfrey's shirt free from his waist, pulling it up with one hand as the other glides over his abdomen, eager fingers passing over the scar he had been shown and feeling out the sculpt of his muscles.
He feels his own cock twitch as the heated touch of skin against skin sparks something in him, something that he'd worried was long dead, and he lets out a needful moan against Godfrey's mouth as he tugs the paladin's shirt upwards, intent on getting it off and away, to keep it from barring them from one another any longer.]
This needs to go.
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There is no thought in Godfrey greater than the warmth of his skin, the curve of his hip as he feels his trousers pull taut and then slacken as they shift down the back of his thighs, the slip of his hair between his fingers. The way the curve of his ass feels beneath his thick and calloused hand. He would live in the way his tongue slides against his if he could, in that glassy thrill contained in the very moment before Godfrey gives himself to the sensation, in the ambitious handful he grasps of his exposed rear.
Godfrey, naturally, takes longer to become aware of his own hunger. Gale's weight against him, hot and eager, seems nearly too much as it is; he's content to run his hand across him for the moment, up the curve of his backbone, running beneath his clothing. Urgency tenses in his other hand now; strands of dark hair wound in his fingers as he groans against his lips, takes a harsh breath through his nose to taste his tongue. Desperate to feed the moment all that he has.
Until it is that Gale's mouth is no longer against his, he has been content to fit his body to Gale's and feel his warmth through the rough homespun of his shirt. Godfrey's stomach flutters to feel Gale's hand against it, muscle tensing below his fingers. This is when he realizes his impatience - and also, as his lashes flutter, that he's right.
A slow, dozy smile comes to his lips, breathless with gentle laughter. He sighs his name to break his impatience, and kisses him - slow, deliberate - to suffocate the impatience.
Then, he leans back against the cushions, and lifts the bottom hem of his shirt over his head. Beneath it is hard muscle twitching below his skin with the small effort of pulling his wrists from his sleeves. A handful of thin and superficial training scars mar his flushing chest like pale thread.
Godfrey leaves the empty shirt in a wrinkled heap above his head, lips parted, staring up at Gale as he rests on his elbows.
Then, his eyes drift downward. ]
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Just as Godfrey emerges from his own shirt and looks down to find Gale already hard and wanting, the wizard feels his breath knocked out of him all at once as he looks upon him in turn. It's hardly the first time he's seen Godfrey without his shirt; considering their circumstances, it was impossible not to catch the occasional glimpse when it came to tending to wounds or bathing in the river, but it had never been like this.
He exhales steadily, a smile pulling at his lips as he rakes his gaze over that expanse of well-defined muscle, the evidence of years upon years of training and dedication, enhanced rather than marred by the littering of scars.]
Aren't you a sight.
[He leans forward to cup Godfrey's face in his hand before drawing his touch down along the curve of his neck, over the broad plane of his pectoral, letting out a soft groan of approval as he pulls close again and leans in for a slow and deliberate kiss of his own, seeking out the slide of Godfrey's tongue against his own.]
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But these moments had always come with other things. The heavy scent of blood in his nose, for instance. The knowledge of pain. The screaming clamour of a battle. The remaining sizzle of magic electrifying the air. Dryness in his mouth and desperation in his heart as he tries to ignore the pain and death all around him.
He hadn't had the luxury of admiring how the thin light of nighttime catches in the musculature of his firm chest. Godfrey hadn't been able to see that pale violet glow flashing in his hungry eyes. He'd not been able to think on running his fingers through that downy brown chest hair - not while he could see it, and not while entertaining the thought while knowing that he could.
And there was certainly one thing in this situation he had not seen.
Godfrey exhales softly as his eyes rest on his manhood, hot-blooded and just as turgid as his own. He wonders how long it's been so and feels a small, disbelieving thrill down his spine, his trousers pulling tight around his pelvis.
Gale's palm against his face - hardly warm anymore, for the flush in his cheek. Godfrey glances up to him, lips gently parted, and feels his touch brush against his strong neck, his fingers following his gaze along his strong chest. Godfrey's lashes flutter, and awestruck, he moves his own hangs up Gale's hard chest, running fingers through that smattering of dark hair. Feeling it between his fingers.
He loses track of where his hands are once Gale leans down fully for a kiss, pressing his body against his. Godfrey knows all he needs to; Gale is in his arms, and he feels warmth beneath his hands, and he tastes his tongue. He sighs harshly against his lips and feels his fingers dig firm into his skin. ]
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Godfrey's arms are warm and inviting, his hold easy to melt into as Gale pulls against him, his touch sending electricity racing along the surface of Gale's own skin as he explores, and it is perfect. It is something he only now realizes just how badly he had longed for it, and he fully intends to relish the opportunity.
His breath comes a bit shorter between kisses, his hands gliding down the length of Godfrey's well-muscled arms, feeling his breath catch in his throat as they taste one another and the other man's fingers dig into him, a firm reminder of how very real this is. They become further entwined as they kiss, and Gale slides a hand between the pair of them to skate downwards along the surface of Godfrey's abdomen, his deft fingers catching against the waist of his trousers.
He tips his head to press their foreheads together, his voice just barely above a whisper as he refuses to pull back, lips still hovering close, kiss-swollen.]
Please— I want to see all of you.
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Godfrey hardly has time to dwell on the little guilt, the thin undertow trying to pull him to something dark and deep. A lucky thing - there is nothing he wants less than to be pulled away from the man sinking into his arms, breathing heavy against his lips, hot against his bare chest. And something in him knows where all of those riptide currents lie, where he may not dwell if he wishes to avoid them.
The skin of his chest has gone untouched, his lips unkissed, his body unbeheld, for - it feels - more years than he can count on both of his hands. Long enough for each and every touch to feel sensitive and new, for greedy hands and hungry eyes to feel like an exhilarating novelty. These avenues are safe.
It's when he begins to wander further, toward the thing that had blocked all of these things, that things turn treacherous.
He would live here forever, and that is a dangerous thing, for it would only beckon him down these internal causeways. Gale does not give him the chance, and just as he begins to process the absence of his lips, he speaks to him in a hissing torrent. His hands pull at his trousers. No other thought could hope to stand a chance.
Gently, Godfrey steals one more kiss, parts with the taste of his lips on his tongue, his fingers luxuriating in his dark hair. Then, he slips his hand free and props himself up, raising his hips. Tugging his hips first around the firm swell of his backside before working the one at his front free.
He glances down at his work just in time for his waistband to make its way far enough down his strong thighs to free his cock, pinned and aching against the inner leg. It springs forth, standing firm against his stomach, close to--
Godfrey sighs harshly as it's freed, feels himself flood with heat as he tries to shift his pants further down, pinning the ankles to pillows with his heel to pull each leg free. ]
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The moment in itself is surreal, but the heat between them is proof enough of how very real this is, keeps him present, and he cards fingers through Godfrey's champagne-colored hair as he leans in for another kiss, a low sound of approval hinting towards a growl at the back of his throat.]
You put the very stars to shame, dear heart.
[He eagerly claims Godfrey's lips once more as he blindly takes hold of him, fingers curling around his cock, firm enough not to tease when he knows just how badly they have both been deprived, and he lets out a soft moan that is swallowed up in the kiss between them as his fingertips become acquainted with the heated silk of Godfrey's skin, the weight of his eagerness hard and heavy against his palm.]
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Godfrey can only hope, while he has the presence of mind, that he can provide an equivalent response in the endless hunger of his hands across his warm skin, in the way his arms so eagerly settle him back in against his broad chest. His fingers winding anew in his hair, fingertips rubbing against the back of his neck. The drop as Godfrey settles them both back against the pillows, to free up the arm propping him up, that it may grab an immediate and hungry handful of his ass as he holds him close.
The brief break between their kiss as his voice escapes him, beneath a hard sigh, as Gale wraps his hand around his stiff cock and floods him.
It takes all that Godfrey has in him to keep himself from rutting against his hand. He stiffens against the impossible drive toward the pleasure welling in him, drowning his every thought. The hard pang that pushes through him as his dick throbs gratefully against Gale's fingers.
The world had been falling away in shreds from the moment their lips first touched. Gale had easily turned falling into peeling; every susurrous breath blushing against Godfrey's skin only served to strip the world beyond this tent down further, to make all but this pile of fine pillows and the man in his arms seem the only consequential parts of it. Godfrey's dark lashes flutter, and he finds Gale through them, his rosy lips parted before thin, quick breath.
He doesn't know that he'll ever get used to it; to a man like this, looking on him like that. To knowing that he can let his eyes roam, and his hands follow. Godfrey finds himself demurring even now, averting his eyes whenever they travel too low, feeling warm shame flower in him as he sinks his hands hungrily into his flesh. Godfrey draws his eyes along the line of him, up the firm seam where their skin meets and back to his face, takes in with soft helplessness the hunger and need in Gale's face.
Feels his coarse jaw against the palm of his hand as his eyes slip shut, and the pressure begins to mount, and soft as the breeze he tries to warn him; ]
I can't--
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Then don't.
[He all but exhales the words, granting the larger man permission to let himself go— Gale has barely touched him and yet he can feel just how tightly Godfrey is wound beneath them. He loosens his hold, but just long enough to alter the slant of his own hips so that he can take them both in hand, fingers curling around both shafts as he presses the heat of them together.
Even without friction, a shudder rolls through him, down the length of his spine and to its very base, and he swipes a thumb across the head of Godfrey's cock before he finally proceeds to stroke in earnest, encouraging him towards that quick release, his own breath starting to come short as he begins a calculated roll of his hips that rubs them against one another in a way that makes desire coil hotly in his belly.
Afterwards, they could take their time. Barring any unfortunate interruptions, they had all night.]
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He exhales, slow and deep, tremulous as each relentless stroke erodes that instinct, the proof of his arousal flush against his own, rolling against it, making catching his breath an impossibility. His hand feels alive with the scrub of Gale's stubble as his hand moves, relishes in being able to hold his face against his own, his other hand stroking along the length of his thigh.
They are too close for Godfrey to look down and see, but he feels it. He feels Gale's hand around them, and he feels the stiff heat of his cock rubbing against him, and he feels the motion of his hips. There's a suffusion of places to put his hands and lips as his composure begins to unravel, the pressure becoming impossible, Godfrey's cerulean eyes fluttering open to try and glimpse how Gale's face had softened, his own flushed, pleading, entranced by the closeness he's been allowed. He is angling his jaw for a kiss when the moment overwhelms him.
His world bursts in that moment, every single touch magnified, groaning as his every muscle pulls tight. White-hot release floods him. Godfrey's eyes shut, and his hips twitch, pushing powerfully against Gale to shove it out in hot, pearlescent ropes over his own bare body.
His touch moves quick and insistent, skating from his thigh to his waist. As are his lips as they close around Gale's, flushed and hot and only made more eager by the moment's impossible relief. ]
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He strokes Godfrey through his climax, sparing only the barest glance downward; they're too close for him to see anything, but he can hardly tear his gaze from Godfrey's face to begin with. He can feel the heated mess between them as they continue to make themselves a needful, desperate tangle, and it only takes a few more strokes before he is following suit.]
I'm—
[Whatever warning he might have given is cut off as he feels himself quickly overcome; Godfrey's own release and the press of flush, kiss-swollen lips have made it all too easy to tip over that edge. To find that relief in the arms of another is worlds beyond whatever small, private moments he might have allowed himself tucked away in his tent here and there; he lets out a sharp, wordless cry against the crush of Godfrey's lips, his fingers curling tightly into pale hair as he turns his face against the paladin's temple as that first twitch is immediately followed by a sharper, more insistent thrust into his own hand, against Godfrey's newly-spent cock and abdomen.
He spends himself over his own fingers and both their stomachs; that sharp cry gives way to a low, wanton groan of relief as he, too, angles for another kiss, his fingers slipping from Godfrey's hair so that he can lay his hand against the side of his neck. He exhales even as he finds his lips once more and kisses him deeply while he slowly ruts against him, grateful for the relief that will surely allow them to take the time to become properly acquainted with one another.]
will i win and finally get a tag out
How might he have felt? What might he have thought, to know that his hands would be allowed to roam so over his bare skin? How would knowing the warm outcome of their evening, spilled upon his fluttering abdomen, changed its course?
He can't say. He can't even think about it. Not after hearing the sound of his desperation, tasting its heat against his tongue. Godfrey has no thought for anything but the warmth of him in his arms, the flutter of firm musculature beneath his gentle touch, the flash of his own tongue beneath his lips. He seizes a handful of dark hair as Gale surges against him. Hardly anything else matters; he's warm and insistent in his arms. The very earth could crack below the tent and swallow him whole, and he'd hardly know any better.
Impatience rises in him, and he breaks the kiss with a hard sigh. Godfrey presses against the side of his warm throat, smearing kisses against his sensitive neck before nosing against his ear, smiling. ]
Lie back with me.
you did it!
I would do about anything you asked, in this moment.
[There's a playful, affectionate note in his voice as he turns nose against Godfrey's jawline in turn, pressing a warm and lingering kiss against it as he blindly raises a hand to, with a flick of his wrist, do away with their shared mess by way of a simple cantrip. They'll only make more, he's certain.
Though his tent is only barely big enough for two, there's room enough for them to do as Godfrey suggests; Gale reaches past him just long enough to tug a pillow into place before they recline together, and he inhales the scent of Godfrey's skin and sweat as he buries his face in the man's pale hair for several moments, resting his weight against his chest as he feels his own heartbeat begin to slow, steadily moving towards normal.]
I hope you don't think that was all there is to it.
[His smile tugs to one side, mischievous.]
have a fat titty godfrey to celebrate, on the house
He has missed passing nights like this. He had not been one whom Vladimir could rest his weight against, but often had he held Iltha through her growing years against himself. He had passed afternoons with her swaddled against his chest as he cleaned, comforted her through restless nights, read stories to her snuggled against his shoulder. To have her physical weight against his, comfortable and at ease, was one of his utmost comforts.
He'd not been of a stature to do the same for Vladimir. Indeed, it would have been Godfrey weighing on Vladimir's chest, in these moments of quiet intimacy. Settling a lover against him is a new experience - warm skin and sweat, which he's free to indulge himself in after that delicate flash of his wrist, palm broad and hot against his firm stomach. The heat of his body radiates as he presses himself into it, feels softness beneath them and hot breath carding through his hair. Godfrey sighs into his chest and closes his eyes.
Fatigue tugs at him like a child at his mother's skirts as his eyes slip shut, as he soaks in that glowing warmth. His routines are predictable; he has been early to bed and early to rise for the entirety of his 35 years. Not once has Sir Godfrey missed a sunrise, a treasured chance to greet the new day and commune with his Lord.
Never has it been easier to jeopardize a sunrise.
He doesn't answer Gale with words. He noses against the very center of his chest, his hand runs up his side to hold his chest as he presses a kiss into his skin, heavy with promise. ]
thank you I love him
He rather likes Godfrey's wordless answer.]
Does that mean you'll be making an exception to your usual routine?
[Don't think he hasn't noticed. With as much a creature of habit as Godfrey has shown himself to be, Gale knows full well he's tempting him into an unusually late night— but it would seem his companion is quite amenable to the idea.
He shifts so that they are nearly a tangle of limbs, each point of contact distinct, the warm press of flushed skin something he has not felt in an age. He'd nearly forgotten how pleasant it was to simply be mortal— for all that the Weave had offered him, for as many ways as he had found to express love and as many more he intended to seek, it was good to be reminded that some earthly matters were still well-worth his attention.]
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Godfrey's never felt the encroaching daylight to be an intrusion. The promise of a sunrise has always been something to be treasured; a beginning, rather than an inevitable end. The distant sunrise Gale conjures now is an end, something which threatens to pull his nose from his warm chest.
He fights it for a moment, as though it put a hand on his shoulder; his strong arms pull just a little tighter around him, a hot sigh blushes against his chest. Godfrey's tongue tracks the length of his sternum from the center of his chest to his collarbone, lying more warm kisses against his skin, relishing in warmth below his hands, the flutter of his chest beneath him.
He breathes against Gale's neck as he urges him to his back, his arms sinking into the piled pillows below the two of them. The barest movement, and his lips are against his. Closeness Godfrey would never have imagined for himself again. He exhales, tremblingly, against his lips, and he feels the softness of his hair between his fingers, and he sighs out; ]
If you'll have me.
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He offers no resistance when Godfrey seeks to guide him, instead tipping his head to one side to offer up his neck as his companion exhales against it; the soft nest of pillows he's made of his tent envelops them and he makes a soft noise of satisfaction against his lips once they meet again. Gale's hand traces the curve of the larger man's spine and comes to grab hold of his ass as he parts his lips once more to taste him, the gentle tug of his hair and Godfrey's soft touch and warm breath stirring something in him all over again.
He smiles, radiating his own warmth as their lips remain but a breath apart, cupping the side of Godfrey's face and tracing the lines of his cheek, his jaw with his thumb.]
I have wanted this for longer than I dare to say. Please— stay with me tonight.
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Sir Godfrey had felt those warm and lonely pangs, certainly, in the solitary nights since his widowing. Something hollow at the pit of his chest which ached for companionship. Nights passed in lonely silence, when the cool of his sheets was felt just a little harder.
Of course he'd felt a certain longing in that dark quiet. He was only a man - only if he were any less would he feel nothing at all. He has remembered this as he allows it to pass through him, as he prays to the sunrise for His guidance. And pass it did - the fires would die if he only waited, perhaps with sparse help from his hand. That he struggles is human. That he feels the cold and empty space beside him is proof against that very loneliness - proof of his beating heart. It is a pain to be treasured.
But it is not one that follows him to the streets. This loneliness has always been a passing and brittle thing, one that dies before it wounds too deeply. So long as there's something else to be thought about, Sir Godfrey can stave it off a little while longer. He's tricked himself into believing that this is the same thing as resilience.
Now that he feels bare skin against his, needful hands and hot whispering words urging him forward, he knows what a lie he had fed himself. The hunger for this skinship had always been there. Godfrey had just kept it out of sight.
Now, gloriously satiated, Godfrey can look back and see only how starved he had been. He exhales as though he's been holding his breath for a year, a great and warm heaving of his broad chest. Godfrey's hand finds Gale's, and he pushes against his palm, soaking desperately in the contact as he shifts his body against his. Godfrey presses his lips into the heel of his palm, the inside of his wrist. Then, his lips, soft and warm, his tongue darting between them as he lets his hand wander down his chest. Down his stomach.
Thrills for the way he flutters beneath his hand. ]
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With urgency having been sated, there is nothing to do but to take their time and enjoy one another— and Gale has always prided himself on being thorough in all things, as dedicated a lover as he was a scholar.
He passes his thumb lightly over Godfrey's lips, his gaze dark and heated as he nods to encourage him further. Even so soon after release, he can feel himself beginning to stir again, a slower rouse now that the frantic edge has been blunted. The soft glow of the orb lights what little space remains between them as he lets his own fingers trace their way up the length of Godfrey's arm, the curves of muscle and flushed skin, a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth as he guides his touch over the other man's chest and abdomen.]
Where shall we begin, hm? The possibilities are so many, I hardly know.
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And still, there is a newness to this, the way Gale's body receives his touch. The breath in his chest shivers and his muscles pull in response to the skating touch of his hands. A thawing, as though his hand were the spring over a long winter. It's at once relief and intoxicant. His hand finds his hip and his soft breath finds his lips, as Godfrey lowers himself to taste of their warmth. It splashes through him as his hand roves, his other driving into the pillows holding his weight, and he presses further into the warmth of skinship - for once, without a care for anything but the pursuit of it, for the pooling warmth in his hips.
His lips find the underside of his jaw next, and breathlessly, he responds-- ]
Slowly.
[ --before they press again into his fluttering and tender throat, his hand playing at his chest.
Then, lowering again, until his hand finds something firm. ]
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[Gale echoes him fondly, an affectionate note in his voice as his breath hitches softly, Godfrey's lips against his jaw making his own pulse rise so that he can nearly taste it on his own tongue. The freedom to touch is almost overwhelming after so many weeks spent watching from afar, nights where he had discouraged himself from even considering such things, and Godfrey's hair is like silk between his fingers as he entangles them within it once more.
The press of lips against his throat spurs an approving sound at the very back of it, but it's cut off by another sharp hitch of breath as Godfrey's hand finds him hard and wanting, already eager to be touched even so soon after their shared release, and he lets out a shuddering exhale of breath as Godfrey's fingers curl against him, lowering his brow to rest atop the paladin's head.]
Please...
[However slowly, he only wants Godfrey to touch him, however he so pleases— just let it continue.]
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Godfrey sighs harshly and presses his lips against the stubbly underside of Gale's jaw. His fingers close take loose hold of the throbbing length beneath his fingers, drawing his warm handprint up to the firming head, and slowly back down.
A hot chill down the back of his neck, to feel warm breath and hard fingers in his hair again. Godfrey continues guiding the throbbing dick in his hand, ignoring the impatient twitch pulling between his own legs, and shifts to take the tender lobe of his ear between his teeth, sighing against its shell.
The warm swell in his chest might be replaced by a sinking stone of ice if he were to dwell for a moment on the impropriety, the boldness. And from there, likely, he would be dragged to further unfair depths, distorting what was currently underway. A betrayal of the love he once shared with his husband. The infinitesimal smallness that must be the shadow of him against the lost favour of a goddess. None of those things are more important than the warmth, the skinship, the shiver in Gale against his bare skin as he feels his cock respond to the slow and gentle attention of his hand. There was no room for such second-guessing, no time for reticence.
Beyond words, how close he is - that it takes only the barest shift, a slight turn, to meet Gale's lips with his own. Warmth thrills through him.
Then, breathless, he moves down. Lips to chest. Tongue to the tender glow.
Down his stomach. ]
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His fingers remain tangled in champagne hair as Godfrey begins to sink downwards, and suddenly Gale feels as though he has no breath at all, swallowing his voice completely for several moments as lips steadily trail their way down his throat, his chest, all the way to his abdomen, the anticipation of what's to come making him absolutely ache even as he remains in the paladin's grasp.
Gods above, it was hardly unusual to see Godfrey on his knees, and yet Gale had never allowed himself to even imagine this, even when he'd allowed himself to indulge in the occasional fantasy.]
Godfrey.
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What else would his body chase? What other touch would he prolong? The thought thrills through his spine and drives Godfrey forward; sighing hotly against his skin, feeling the tender and pebbly skin of his nipple beneath his lips and pressing in. Godfrey's broad hand flattens against his hardened dick and desperately pushes, moving with the whole of his body as his hips flex toward his warmth, the throb between his own legs for now unheeded.
By the time he reaches his hips, Godfrey's fingers are again finding his shaft, his body gently tangled in crushed pillows and his lovers' legs. He lifts his gaze to catch Gale's above him, studies his face in the hot half-second he has before the throb between his legs pushes him to move again; takes both thighs on his shoulders and, reverently, presses another kiss against the tender crook, the soft flesh between pelvis and inner thigh, sighing harshly. He had wanted this to last forever, naturally - to take his time exploring him.
This intention was set before the hot throb between his legs had begun to grow urgent.
He centers himself; both legs to a shoulder, his eyes lifting, seeking to touch Gale's own gaze as he rises slowly along his hard length, tongue first. His gaze lowers as he comes to its firm head, wraps his lips around it, and swallows it as far back as he can.
Until hot and shivering throat-muscles contract against its tip. ]
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What follows is so much more than he could have anticipated, having been so long without mortal touch. Anyone else would look positively sinful in such a position; Godfrey remains earnest, beatific, pulling a sigh from Gale as his tongue drags along his turgid length. Gale meets his gaze, his own all heat, and the very picture goes straight to his cock, another surge of wanting, the featherlight brush of lips against him almost too much to bear— and then he is lost, sheathed in wet heat, the close of Godfrey's lips drawing for a strangled sound that borders on a half-choked sob.
His head drops back and he fights the urge to buck into Godfrey's mouth, remaining as still as he can manage as he finds himself swallowed deep, white-knuckled grip clutching at the pillow jutting out from beneath him. The sound that escapes him is guttural and wordless, one he had never known himself able to make before now, and his fingers blindly tangle into Godfrey's hair as he struggles to ground himself.]
Gods, h-how—
[Any question, rhetorical or otherwise, is abandoned, lost to another moan that feels as though it has been coaxed forth from the very furthest depths.]
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