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Dance with the Devil

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Every night, no matter how late, Jowan watches.

He always watches, hidden beneath his blankets, barely peeking out from beneath them at the bunk beside his own. He holds his breath every time he sees his friend jerk, hard, beneath or above another straining body. Jowan never pays any attention to the other person involved, anymore, except to note their gender and what, exactly, they do to his friend.

Tannusen Surana is obsessed with Greagoir, and the whole tower knows it. The whole tower also knows that the Knight-Commander will have nothing to do with Tannusen Surana, or his obsession. The elder templar is pure in his devotion to his vows and his duty. None of these facts are the least bit in question.

Another thing the entire tower knows is that Tannusen Surana puts out easier than just about anyone else in the history of ever, as a result of his sad desperation. And, if you're willing to have sex in front of an audience, you don't even have to speak to him before having a go at him.

Sometimes you don't even have to be seen by him, although you'll be seen by the rest of the older apprentice barracks for sure. Some nights, Surana blindfolds himself as soon as the lights go out, and just... waits. On top of his blankets. Nude. If he waits long enough by himself, he'll even start to touch himself, but he never brings himself off without someone else involved.

The entire tower knows it's a challenge aimed straight at Greagoir and his sensibilities. If the Knight-Commander won't take Surana, Surana will be taken by everyone else instead. He doesn't break any actual rules, either with his nightly ritual or otherwise, and the templars positioned at the barracks entrance at night don't seem to be complaining about the show.

Everyone knows that Tannusen Surana is easy.

And Jowan knows that he can't stop watching.

Usually, it's someone from their own barracks who moves silently to Surana's bunk. Sometimes it's a silhouette in the entryway first. A few have been masked, but most know it's futile when they give in to the temptation to pay the pretty elf with the pretty smile a visit late at night. The only rule seems to be silence.

Absolute silence.

Can't keep everyone awake, after all: that would be breaking the letter of a rule. Never mind that most of the barracks watches most of the time anyway, eyes gleaming in the dark from the dim light coming in through the door. Surana has taken over a bed very near that door, and can almost always be seen by anyone who cares to watch.

Jowan always had the bed beside his friend's, even before this, and just... never traded with anyone else after, though he's had plenty of offers. Front row seat, and no one seems to realize that he takes full advantage of it.

Not even Surana, or so he hopes. Fervently. Every single night.

His breath catches, watching his friend ease himself slowly down onto the thick human man beneath him. He has no idea how Surana fits that cock inside with such ease while staying so tight, but the delicious shudder that courses beneath pale, dimly-lit skin is evidence enough that he loves every moment of it. The flared head pushes up and in slowly, foreskin rubbing back with the friction, and Tannusen just keeps lowering himself until it pushes past the ring and into him. And still, down, because there's a lot more to his prize than just the head.

Jowan squeezes himself tight, wondering what it feels like. He's thicker than his friend's current bed-mate, if only just barely.

He has to turn his head down against the pillow and nearly suffocate himself for a moment at that realization. Close view as he has, the stretch of that little ring -- always so tight and snug around its impalement -- is a matter of much interest to him, and the thicker the man doing it, the harder Jowan has to squeeze himself. Surana isn't always the one being taken, but Jowan admits to himself that those nights make him burn the hottest with both guilt and lust.

A soft gasp makes him look, again, and Surana is crouched over the man beneath him, his hips slowly flexing, no room in the bottom bunk to straighten up and ride up and down, instead he has to move his hips as though he is doing the fucking, forward and backward, taking himself. Surana is blindfolded, tonight, so that he can't even see the man he fucks himself on, and his hands knead fitfully on his unseen partner's broad chest.

It's absolutely beautiful. Jowan's gaze goes to the thick shaft once more, the way Surana's hole clenches so hard that it seems like it might take the oil right off that hot flesh. He bites his spare hand, the other squeezing himself so hard that it almost hurts. If he strokes now, if he moves a muscle, people will know. He'll be heard so easily, even over the two fucking in the dim light from the hall.

And not just by those two, but by all the other silent, staring eyes in the barracks. A few move in their beds, hands pumping flesh, stirring their blankets. That's how Jowan knows it would be too loud; he can hear others doing it, even though they all hide it.

It's torture, and it's bliss.

Surana's hips flex almost lazily, the blindfolded elf throwing his head back, his long hair clinging to his sweat-dampened skin. He's biting his bottom lip, matching his pace to the muffled sounds of stroking flesh.

The templar in the doorway fidgets a little, and even Jowan can feel those staring eyes from within the helmet, even if they're directed at the display he's also watching and not him. Surana arches his back, running his hands over himself, his own cock jutting up and bouncing with each roll of his hips. The tip is damp. Jowan, as close as he is, can actually see a drop of precum in the elf's slit. He can smell the musk of sex, and he watches with rapt attention as Surana takes the droplet on his finger and then licks it off in a swirling, devouring play of his hot tongue.

Jowan can't help but squeak, very very quietly into his hand.

Surana smiles beautifully, as though he'd heard it, and continues riding the big thick cock in his ass until the human beneath him grips his hips in big, meaty hands and spasms up into him with a muffled grunt. The elf is still smiling when he's pushed off of his unseen companion, who draws his trousers back up and shuffles away on quiet feet. Back to the templar barracks, presumably.

This is the outcome that always makes Jowan hard for hours after watching. When his partner doesn't bother to get him off, Surana just lays on top of the covers, still blindfolded, stretches languorously, and then just... stays there with his cock throbbing, untouched, until he somehow manages to fall asleep. He's apparently mastered it, after all those times Jowan watched him jerk off without climaxing, back before he'd gotten so fixated on Greagoir. Something is very wrong with his friend, but it's so hot that no one thinks to do anything about it.

Jowan only pumps his fist when he's sure his friend is asleep, and when he's sure everyone else who's still awake is busy with their own after-show entertainment. He's thicker than that muscular human, and all he can think of is how tight his friend would be around him, if only he dared to take him up on that silent invitation offered to all, every night.

He really needs to find a girlfriend.