"You should stay there," Conrart tells me and I can't help but smile on the bed. After all these years and he can't say what he really means, what he really wants from me.
"Oh, is that so?" I ask him, quirking my eyebrow. I challenge him. He's so skitterish when it comes to this. He has a hard time saying it, and a harder time actually facing it. I can only imagine since his mother is so free with sex that he's so closed about it, like it doesn't interest him anymore...But then come times like these.
"Yeah," he replies, but pauses, "If you don't..."
"Mind?" I add for him, sarcastically, "I don't know. You might need to persuade me. I'm a busy man, being a spy for your kingdom and all."
He shifts his weight uncomfortably. He doesn't like it when I put him in this position, but I don't quite feel comfortable at times with my position in his life. So, he'll have to play along.
"In fact, I had better get back to work," I wistfully say, smirking.
He looks like he might let me go, defeated and embarrassed.
"Unless you stop me," I hint, but he doesn't get it so I embellish, "You're the only one armed here. You can easily take command of this situation."
He gets it and looks away, sheepishly, and mutters, "It's not a toy, Josak. We shouldn't-"
"Sure, you're right," I quickly dismiss it and he easily plays into the manipulation. He's a good guy, but too easy to take advantage of.
"Get on the bed," he weakly commands.
"No," I flatly tell him because I won't play if he's not into it, if he doesn't meet my passion. I want him to work for it.
"Get on the bed, Josak," he commands with more strength, but still doesn't convince me.
"Why should I?" I ask, nonchalantly.
He draws his sword with a flash of anger, real anger in his eyes. If he can't love me, then at least I want him to mean it, to be passionate about it. I want him to really feel it.
"Get on the bed. Now," he demands and means it. I love every second of it, feel that heat and his eyes burn through me.
"Is that an order?" I play with him one more time to know he's serious.
He calmly walls forward and raises the point of the sword under my throat, so I can feel the metal, but not the edge. So close to a cut. So close to a kiss. I shiver in my want.
"I will not tell you again," he quietly and slowly speaks, his tongue rolling each word into a clear, tight sentence.
I slowly sit down on the bed.
"Lie on it," he instructs.
I do, smiling at him, defiant and unpredictable. Because this is the way he likes me. He likes to be pushed. He wants me to be defiant because it makes everything easier...
With one hand, he unbuttons his shirt, looking at my body and I'm relieved that he still finds me physically pleasing. I was getting worried that I was boring him; he hadn't come to me like this in a while.
"Take your clothes off."
"No," I retort.
He stumbles a little, thinking it over.
"They're only clothes," I hint again and watch as the realization touches his confused face.
He takes a slow breath and nods.
"I guess there's only one way to get you nude then. I have to do it myself."
With carefulness, I feel the flat of the blade slide up my chest, cold and unyielding. I shiver. I know he could kill me. He won't, he wouldn't ever, but I tuck that dark little thought in my chest and feel my heart stumble around it. I know he's good with his sword, the best, and it makes me proud and turned on that I'm feeling his skills in such a private way.
Lifting the sword slowly under the fabric, he twists and tugs, cutting my shirt open. His eyes glance over my chest in lust and it makes me almost break, almost give in and say, 'Forget it, just get in here.' But I want this, just like this.
He moves onto the bed, his sword near my neck. I watch it as I feel him move closer.
"Kiss me," he softly whispers.
"Make me," I snap back, grinning again.
That flash returns to his eyes before grabbing me face and pressing his lips roughly against mine. I reciprocate just as tightly. Our lips slide together and it's so wet, his kisses are always so wet and hot. I never kissed any one like him since. Wet and open, and I've missed them.
I feel his steady blade travel down my shoulder, tingling over my skin, then traveling up my neck. It makes me hungrier for the sex; I grab his shirt roughly. He moans in my mouth and there's nothing like it. Outside of the bedroom, he never makes these noises, these soft expressions, or demonstrates his desires so openly. When we have sex, it's like he opens up, opens his whole everything and lets you explore it. I wish he came to me more often...
He slips, though, and nicks my neck. I jolt a little, but the pain is quickly covered by the increasing want.
I kiss him again, deep and wet and void of apologies. My hands rip at his shirt, blindly try to figure it out, searching for his skin. He sets his sword aside cautiously and helps. We undress each other hastily.
Breathlessly, we look at each other's body. He's so beautiful. He always has been beautiful, all over, in all angles. I remember when we first traveled together, I would shyly look at his body when bathing, just for admiration and nothing else. It was when we were older and more curious that he undressed for me, gave to me what he gave to no one else before. When we were young and so shy and restless...
"This one," he points to my skin with a slight frown hanging on his lips, "This scar is new."
"Yeah. Sometimes mission are dangerous...aren't they, Commander?" I don't mean to sound sarcastic, it just slips and I see it wears itself into his expression. He takes a swallow and probably thinks something about losing me.
I raise the sword to him, presenting it, his sword.
"I think you still have a job," I remind him, meaning 'drop it, another time'.
He nods, running his sword-hand down my chest briskly before taking the sword. He aims the tip at my throat again, then pushes the flat of the blade against the middle of my chest. I lie down and smirk. The cold metal so slowly and lazily brushes against my skin, falling down my chest. When it raises slightly to adeptly rub the broadside against a nipple, I let myself moan out, really start to let myself go. The metal blade keeps moving, becoming warmer and more teasing, pressing shallowly against my muscles, moving lower. Gingerly, it stops at my pubic hair, and I can feel him bend and breathe, just breathe, against my erection.
"I want it now," he announces, but I know he's asking for permission.
"Yeah," I agree.
After the sword's put away and all preparations are made and after the first hesitant, meager thrust, we can both feel it. Our sex becomes what it used to be, all wet kisses, scratches, shallow bites, hard pounding, and sometimes laughter. Sometimes...such sweet and shy laughter. And something like being in love, but not quite there...But so close.
He likes to stay afterwards and just breathe, not even talk, barely touching, but just be there and let everything roll over him, I guess. He likes to hold that pleasure in for as long as possible. Maybe because he doesn't know when it'll come again...
But I really do have places to be, unfortunately.
"Gotta go," I tell him, slipping out of the bed, pulling my pants back up.
He nods, but looks a little disappointed. Never voices that, though. Never.
"Like old times, huh?" I joke, "Feeling nostalgic?"
"Yeah, maybe," he replies, and smiles, but not to me. No, not about me at all...
Oh, the kid.
My stomach sinks, even though I know that he wasn't thinking of him when we were in bed. Not specifically, at least...But still...I guess that I got hooked on old times, too. I push it away; no sense in getting jealous all over again. No sense at all.
"I'll see you around," I say after I get all my clothes on.
"Don't thank me," I cut him off before he can manage it.
He smiles, this time for me, but it's not like the other one. It's less.
And he thinks I mean, 'Don't mention it.'
But, honestly, it would just cheapen what little we have left.