“You need not be so gentle,” Laurence says lowly, trapped on the ground between Temeraire’s talons. He is still in his uniform, but that does nothing to abate the intense feeling of exposure under Temeraire’s keen gaze.
“Don't be silly,” Temeraire says. “If I were not careful, I would break you.”
Laurence looks away at the honesty of his claim. Disregarding Temeraire’s power is a privilege, one he does not himself have. “Still.”
Temeraire bares his teeth. “Do not tempt me to ruin you, dear Laurence,” he says; his hoarse, deep tone makes the earth shiver under Laurence, and he shivers with it, unable to help himself. “One day I will stop holding myself back.”
Laurence tries to reach up, but he is still pinned beneath Temeraire’s claws, held ever so carefully but with no purchase. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he says instead; “I should not tease.”
“No, you should not,” Temeraire agrees, his voice still a rumble that lights fires along Laurence’s nerves. “You do not know what it takes…” He exhales, breath washing hot over Laurence.
“I know some of it,” Laurence says, suppressing a shiver. He has not a tenth of Temeraire’s strength, but he knows desire, heady and powerful; even know, it pulls his skin taut over his bones with more force than any storm he’s ever sailed through. “Temeraire…”
“Laurence,” Temeraire rumbles in turn, claws flexing around him, so painfully gentle still -
“Are you planning on making me sweat?” Laurence asks, feigning a mild tone, when Temeraire gives no indication of moving. Temeraire bares his teeth again, but his ruff is relaxed.
“I want to take my time. You don’t have much in the way of stamina, after all, so I have to take full advantage of the sessions I get,” Temeraire says innocently, and the ridiculous tease as well as the unexpectedness of it makes Laurence laugh out loud, his back shaking against the ground.
“That is an insult, dearest, and a highly inappropriate one at that!”
“You have such a beautiful laugh,” Temeraire says, still sounding ever so innocent, “I will do everything in my power to hear it.”
“Even make me painfully aware of my own ineptitude?”
Temeraire lifts his foreleg and presses the fine point of his talon against Laurence’s mouth. His other foreleg is still holding Laurence down, the muscles of his talons immoveable across Laurence’s chest. The tension, which had abated with Temeraire’s jest, abruptly returns in full; Laurence finds it difficult to breathe, need pulsing thickly through his body. Temeraire’s claw is cold against his lips. He kisses it instinctively, though he knows Temeraire has no feeling in the bony tips.
“Do not call yourself such things,” Temeraire says lowly, and when he finally lifts his claw away, Laurence’s breath is coming in hitched gulps, cock straining against the front of his breeches.
For a moment, he thinks his degenerate state has escaped notice, but Temeraire moves his talon lower, and the edge of it presses against Laurence’s trousers, somehow firm enough to make Laurence gasp, yet light enough to withhold any relief.
“You are still not afraid?” Temeraire asks, cocking his head.
Laurence shakes his head, swallowing. “My dear,” he says, barely present enough to note the hoarse quality of his voice with an innate sense of shame; “you know the bounds of my impropriety, yet you ask me this?”
Temeraire hums, and then his claw is replaced with his muzzle, warm and solid against Laurence, and he can’t react in time; an involuntary sound of pleasure rings out in the forest. Temeraire exhales, and the sensation makes another wave roll through him, but Laurence muffles himself with a fist, unable to hear himself brought to such indecency.
“You smell good,” Temeraire murmurs, his voice nothing more than a rumbling breath. “Let me have you.”
“Anything, dearest,” Laurence chokes, “anything, Temeraire, you know this -”
In one swift movement, Temeraire moves one foreleg off him, instead spreading his talons to grip the earth beside him; Laurence turns into the warm scales immediately, wrapping his arms around Temeraire and keeping his legs spread as the claws on Temeraire’s other forelimb cuts through his breeches as swiftly and as easily as butter. He has only a moment to appreciate the cold evening air before Temeraire’s forked tongue is upon him, giving him no space to breathe as it offers intense relief, licking across his hips and between his legs.
“Temeraire,” he gasps, face pressed into the black scales; he is helpless to do anything else, clinging to his foreleg like a life raft as Temeraire explores him, puffs of air mingled with Temeraire's own moans as he pauses between licks.
Every moment Temeraire’s tongue is on him, Laurence is overwhelmed, light-headed with pleasure, precariously balancing on the edge of too much; yet when Temeraire moves away, he only aches to have him back, to feel him against himself in this godless manner.
“Let me hear you,” Temeraire grunts, talons flexing into the earth beside Laurence - “William, let me hear you or I’ll stop.”
“Temeraire,” Laurence says breathlessly, distressed, “you know I cannot -”
“I have to hold myself back,” Temeraire snarls, and only now does Laurence notice that Temeraire is working himself against the ground, earth shaking with the force of his rutting, “you do not, so let me hear you, or I will stop.”
Laurence pants, trying to catch his breath. He cannot - the indecency - to debase himself in such a manner - the humiliation makes his blood rush, but he wets his lips and speaks with difficulty, “I willl - ah, I will do my best.”
Temeraire hums, pleased, but he does not continue.
Laurence takes a deep breath. The urge to hide his face in Temeraire’s scales again is nigh unbearable, to muffle his words beyond recognition - but when he exhales, the word comes as easily as anything, soft and wanton as he releases it into the forest air. “Please, Temeraire.”
Temeraire roars with delight, nuzzling Laurence, and Laurence lets out a helpless laugh - which he immediately chokes on as Temeraire turns his head down, soft tongue licking against his cock once more, and then it’s all Laurence can do to cover the obscene noise of this intimacy with his own sounds. Temeraire is a storm, a force of nature beyond any man, and Laurence cannot withstand it; he is unanchored and adrift in the midst of him, and every part of him is Temeraire’s, truly and fully.
He says it again, he knows, because he feels his lips move - but he can hear nothing over the thundering blood in his ears, the shake of the earth when Temeraire rocks against it. Temeraire is everywhere, above him, around him, inside him, and the cacophony builds until his head is ringing like a bell, and his throat is dry and he's so warm, so warm -
“Laurence,” Temeraire sighs, and the ground quakes one final time, Temeraire spreading out with his muzzle still pressed against Laurence. Laurence is panting, dizzy, and he doesn't realise he's come until he can hear Temeraire's happy purr, the dragon mumbling about how good he tastes.
“Hah… My dear…” Laurence turns onto his side to curl up against Temeraire's nose, hugging him in an awkward, sentimental manner as he catches his breath. “My dearest, my sweet…”
Temeraire nuzzles him, his purr strengthening under Laurence's hand. “My lovely Laurence.”
“You ruined my trousers,” Laurence says slowly, the events of the evening finally processing now that he's not so addled by arousal and debauchery. “I can't return to the house like this.”
“How awful,” Temeraire says happily, and he shifts so he can lift a wing over them both, sheltering them from the cold and the voyeuristic stars above. “I love you.”
“I love you too, my dear.”