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Quick and Quiet

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It’s these little moments, those stolen away in quiet corners of the Keep, that quite unusually manage to keep them both on track.

They shouldn’t have this going at all, or at the very least reserve it to their private quarters. Instead, the two are tucked away in shack on the third floor, all but intertwined with one another.

Kruber is a little lost in the feeling, the rush. There isn’t even a door on this and yet here they are, proudly rutting against each other.

The action might’ve caught him off guard, but it’s not as though he hadn’t welcomed it. At one point, Victor had been sat down at the little writing desk scribbling away at what he could only assume was a particularly furious and spiteful message to his superiors. When he’d turned fully to face him, or stood up, is as much a mystery to him as how he finds himself pinned to the wall by his lapels.

Victor leans into him heavily, chests flush, his mouth hot and hungry against his own. He hurries to cross an arm behind the man’s waist, fingers laced through the hairs at the nape of his neck, pressing himself into his touch. He leans into him as he pulls away, lips parting for both to suck in a breath, only to join again a moment later.

The longer they remain, awkwardly leant against the inner wall of the shack, the closer and closer the two move. He slips a knee between Saltzpyre legs, and finds him straddling his thigh what might be seconds or minuets later, cautiously grinding into his offered leg.

One of Victor’s hands slide from the lapels of his gambeson, drifting down to his bicep to squeeze, the other led down his body by creeping fingers to cup him gently through his breeches.

His hips lurch as gloved fingers find their way down the front of his breeches, curling tightly around his throbbing manhood while Victor fervently straddles his thigh. He bucks into his touch, squeezing his hip and pulling at him, encouraging him to grind into his leg, aching to pull him closer without forcing him to remove his hand from between them.

Their kiss has long since devolved into something purely instinctive, the hot, messy, passion driven press of lips and tongues. Noises quieted by the others mouth and disturbed only by the need to part for breath and the occasional, uncoordinated meeting of teeth as they shift against each other.

Victor’s free arm curled over his shoulders to hold himself straight and tall against him where as Krubers hands have begun to drift away from his shoulder and hip, fingers curled in back of his coat in an attempt to hold him still, the other cupping his rear as he grinds into him.

Kruber arches against him as he finds his peak, breaking from their kiss with a choked whine before Saltzpyre pulls him back in. His entire body stiffens, hips canting as moisture blooms in the front of his breeches. Under his palm, Victor feels him pulse once, twice, thrice in his release before his hips finally stutter to a halt.

He tucks a knee behind Krubers own, thighs squeezing tight around his upper leg as he grinds against him, the ache in his stomach pleading desperation with him so close upon the edge. Kruber raises his leg, pressing up into his throbbing distraction, cupping his rear with both hands and pulling his groin flush with his thigh.

Victor groans into his mouth, hips falling out of rhythm as he tumbles over his peak, humping his leg at a frenetic pace as he comes apart before him.

Try as he might’ve to retain some semblance of control and refinement through that, Victor is mess by the time is ends, peppering his cheek and neck with kisses as he comes down from his pleasure high.