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.]
[ Wet, internal contours quiver against the firm head of his cock as Godfrey's voice buzzes around him. His head draws back up its length, lips over wet skin, pale gold hair falling before his eyes as Gale's fingers aimlessly shift through. He watches in thick silence each movement, every shift, his mouth draws from him. The raw wanting in him - the effort it takes to restrain it, to keep from pressing his hips to Godfrey's nose and the back of his throat to his cock, to push himself as far down his throat as he could reach.
Godfrey takes a hard breath through his nose and, wrapping his hands gently around its girth, lowers himself once again. He passes the tender underside of his hard dick over his tongue, leading him slowly back down his neck, his fingers following closely the trajectory of his mouth. His other hand braces softly against his hip as Godfrey finds something approaching a rhythm; his head bobs up and down in his lap, already heading down once the head of his cock nearly breaches his lips.
The thump of his heartbeat between his legs grows more and more incessant with each spit-slick pass of his hand over his shaft, with each gagging pull of the back of his throat around his hard dick as he swallows him back. ]
[It is positively sinful, the way Godfrey pulls him deeper into wet heat, the slide of his tongue soft as velvet; the squeeze of his throat wrings another obscene noise from Gale's own, tugging against his hair as he fights to keep himself still. The muscles of his abdomen are pulled taut at this angle, fluttering beneath Godfrey's efforts, the paladin's hand against his hip only just managing to keep him grounded as his tongue laves against the most sensitive part of him, muting the involuntary buck of his hips that particular attention causes.
It's almost too much; the steady rhythm Godfrey has struck, the way his hands never leave him untended for even a moment, following in the wake of debaucherous lips and tongue, the way Godfrey so eagerly swallows him back, the effort betrayed by the soft gagging that Gale feels vibrating against his cock, and oh, even that is so much better than he had expected. His thighs tremble, his breath coming short— gods, if they wanted this night to last, it was going to be a challenge, but there is nothing that could get him to tell Godfrey to slow his efforts now.
He only vaguely recognizes the sounds that are pulled from him now, distant enough that they sound to him like someone else entirely, his fingers curling tighter into Godfrey's hair as he takes the side of his lover's face and bites at his own lower lip, a vain effort to stifle himself that's met with middling success.]
I don't— I don't know that I can last—
[The warning is gasped rather than spoken, the last words swallowed down as another swallow pulls at the head of his cock and threatens to wring him out entirely.]
Edited (I posted it by accident oops) 2025-03-03 05:39 (UTC)
[ Godfrey has no such fear of the fate of the evening; the incessant thud of his pulse between his thighs tells him exactly what to do.
It had been no secret, how long the pair of them had gone without a lover's touch - that both had thought their prior partners would be their last forays into romance. Each fleeting pass of his fingers is an agony, and even those more innocent touches flare through him. Were they to make this a night to remember, a night which lingered to allow sufficient expression instead of burning white-hot for a few sparing moments, there would need to be some relieving.
This is the only way Godfrey knows how - Vladimir's preferred order of operations. And Godfrey hadn't realized how he had missed it until hard cock had been slid down his throat.
He hears Gale, of course; he is all he will hear. Godfrey hears the plaintive, gasping note of his voice, the desperation. The thought that, perhaps, the night might not withstand this first climax. He glances up with a fluttering, holding his gaze in his own. Thoroughly undaunted by the prospect as he, slowly, descends again, his throat shuddering around the rock-firm head of his warm dick. Godfrey shifts his hips to show himself plainly; his own thick and engorged cock, standing with all firmness against his abdomen. Twitching with each sound his mouth earns from him as he continues; forming his tongue to the sensitive head of his dick, focusing his efforts where he's most tender, his gaze sliding back down to his work as he bobs, shorter and quicker. ]
[He could swear his heart stops beating in the moment that Godfrey locks eyes with him. That alone is near enough to make him come entirely undone, the pulsing arcane light where the orb had marked him glowing brighter still. Godfrey's gaze drops as he redoubles his efforts, focused, dedicated, and Gale's head drops back as a vocal sigh leaves him, a brief moment of calm before Godfrey's tongue rapidly pushes him towards the edge, each stroke and bob sharp and short and absolutely exquisite.]
Godfrey—
[That warning tone remains, but gives way to an impassioned, wordless cry, the sound of sweet release as Godfrey's efforts push Gale past his peak. He feels himself unravel, complete and overwhelming, and he is unable to resist the roll of his hips as he spends himself in Godfrey's mouth, spilling over his talented tongue as lets out a sound he scarcely even recognizes as his own voice.]
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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. ]
no subject
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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[ Wet, internal contours quiver against the firm head of his cock as Godfrey's voice buzzes around him. His head draws back up its length, lips over wet skin, pale gold hair falling before his eyes as Gale's fingers aimlessly shift through. He watches in thick silence each movement, every shift, his mouth draws from him. The raw wanting in him - the effort it takes to restrain it, to keep from pressing his hips to Godfrey's nose and the back of his throat to his cock, to push himself as far down his throat as he could reach.
Godfrey takes a hard breath through his nose and, wrapping his hands gently around its girth, lowers himself once again. He passes the tender underside of his hard dick over his tongue, leading him slowly back down his neck, his fingers following closely the trajectory of his mouth. His other hand braces softly against his hip as Godfrey finds something approaching a rhythm; his head bobs up and down in his lap, already heading down once the head of his cock nearly breaches his lips.
The thump of his heartbeat between his legs grows more and more incessant with each spit-slick pass of his hand over his shaft, with each gagging pull of the back of his throat around his hard dick as he swallows him back. ]
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It's almost too much; the steady rhythm Godfrey has struck, the way his hands never leave him untended for even a moment, following in the wake of debaucherous lips and tongue, the way Godfrey so eagerly swallows him back, the effort betrayed by the soft gagging that Gale feels vibrating against his cock, and oh, even that is so much better than he had expected. His thighs tremble, his breath coming short— gods, if they wanted this night to last, it was going to be a challenge, but there is nothing that could get him to tell Godfrey to slow his efforts now.
He only vaguely recognizes the sounds that are pulled from him now, distant enough that they sound to him like someone else entirely, his fingers curling tighter into Godfrey's hair as he takes the side of his lover's face and bites at his own lower lip, a vain effort to stifle himself that's met with middling success.]
I don't— I don't know that I can last—
[The warning is gasped rather than spoken, the last words swallowed down as another swallow pulls at the head of his cock and threatens to wring him out entirely.]
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It had been no secret, how long the pair of them had gone without a lover's touch - that both had thought their prior partners would be their last forays into romance. Each fleeting pass of his fingers is an agony, and even those more innocent touches flare through him. Were they to make this a night to remember, a night which lingered to allow sufficient expression instead of burning white-hot for a few sparing moments, there would need to be some relieving.
This is the only way Godfrey knows how - Vladimir's preferred order of operations. And Godfrey hadn't realized how he had missed it until hard cock had been slid down his throat.
He hears Gale, of course; he is all he will hear. Godfrey hears the plaintive, gasping note of his voice, the desperation. The thought that, perhaps, the night might not withstand this first climax. He glances up with a fluttering, holding his gaze in his own. Thoroughly undaunted by the prospect as he, slowly, descends again, his throat shuddering around the rock-firm head of his warm dick. Godfrey shifts his hips to show himself plainly; his own thick and engorged cock, standing with all firmness against his abdomen. Twitching with each sound his mouth earns from him as he continues; forming his tongue to the sensitive head of his dick, focusing his efforts where he's most tender, his gaze sliding back down to his work as he bobs, shorter and quicker. ]
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Godfrey—
[That warning tone remains, but gives way to an impassioned, wordless cry, the sound of sweet release as Godfrey's efforts push Gale past his peak. He feels himself unravel, complete and overwhelming, and he is unable to resist the roll of his hips as he spends himself in Godfrey's mouth, spilling over his talented tongue as lets out a sound he scarcely even recognizes as his own voice.]
Gods above—