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Focused silence was rather abruptly interrupted when a wooden door swung open with a hearty, reverberating creak. Rogier swallowed a flinch, irritation licking at him from the sheer lack of courtesy to knock. Heavy footsteps approached from behind, and the pungent stench of Death started to seep into his lungs. A silver plated gauntlet reached into view to drop before the Sorcerer a bundle of blackened root, and an arrowhead. Rogier turned and looked up, half his vision obscured by the obnoxiously large brim of his hat. Intertwined silver and gold, and a tremendous lack of manners.
"Hello to you too, D. Glad to see you alive." Rogier greeted in that silvery voice, trying hard to ignore the foul smell that clung to the Hunter.
D didn't reply, and instead propped his dirtied blade against the edge of Rogier's desk. He inhaled deeply, pulling off his helm, mail coif, and arming cap all in one sweep, placing it heavily on an open space in the desk. In lieu of a resisted eye roll, Rogier used a delicate, satin gloved hand to pick up the arrowhead placed before him, between his index and thumb. "What's this, then?" He inquired, giving D no choice but to talk.
"It was stuck in my armor. Thought you would take interest." D reported gruffly.
Of all artifacts donned by Those Who Live in Death, an arrowhead is scores rather low on the list of importance. Rogier pursed his lips into a thin line as he examined the artifact.
"I suppose it is worth keeping; arrowheads can say a bit about a culture of combat. Thank you." Rogier gave D a nod, before opening a drawer and haphazardly tossing the arrowhead inside.
D pushed up a chair beside Rogier, the legs screeching against the worn wooden floors. As he sat down, Rogier finally got a view of that stark white complexion, visibly worn. The Hunter's hair was disheveled, dark bags hung below his eyelids, and his cheeks were dusted lightly in a rose tint. It was candid and perhaps unflattering, but Rogier felt a slight fondness about it.
"You look like you've been through hell. Too tired to even remove your armor?" Rogier remarked, gazing up and down at the Hunter, lingering.
D shrugged in response. “Long day.”
The Hunter had a tendency to grow quiet towards the close of day, but never was he the talkative type to begin with. Rogier should have expected this much. A charmed smile curled onto his lips.
“Oh Darian , ever insistent on being mollycoddled.” The Sorcerer stood, took some steps toward Darian, who knew Rogier was partial to these acts of service, who knew if he declined the invitation Rogier would be mildly dispirited.
If it hadn't been Rogier, Darian would adamantly decline, but lately there has been a closeness between them. Months have they spent collaborating, traveling alongside one another; united in cause. What comes with this is knowing someone personally, their behavioral cycles, their sleeping habits, their dietary preferences. Darian knew Rogier was always witty and playful by default, which bled into passive aggressiveness when he was upset, he knew Rogier tossed and turned in his sleep, and he knew Rogier had a dislike of bitter tasting chocolate; all small insignificant details that Darian would have never bothered asking about had they not practically lived together.
And Rogier was aware of Darian's affliction of twinship, how D is a shared title representative of something more of an entity than individual. Darian's affliction was something he held close to his person, something he kept practically a secret; but secrets can only be kept for so long in the presence of another, and Darian was only happy that presence was Rogier's. Without thinking, Darian lifted an armored gauntlet, which Rogier took in hand as invitation, pulling at the leather strap to loosen it, watching as the plate of steel split in half, freeing the limb it previously enclosed. Beneath was the sleeve of a brassy hauberk.
The rest soon followed; such an extravagant and complex suit of armor typically warranted a second person to assist. In less ideal scenarios, Darian could have, and has, managed on his own, but he was less inclined to turn down Rogier's hands. Each piece of armor was carefully shed; off went the gardbraces, the rerebraces, the couters, the gorget, and lastly, the decorative cuirass, embellished with a sculpted head and limbs. Rogier was nearly out of breath, huffing out a brief laugh, which caused Darian to glance up at him in silent question.
“Sorry,” A grin makes its way onto Rogier's face. “It's just hard for me to fathom how you haul this all on your back everyday. It's almost absurd, really.”
Darian, now clad in a significantly more breathable hauberk, hummed quietly. “It is a precaution I consider necessary. I'd rather the steel be dented and pierced, rather than my living flesh.” He explained, “I am not nearly as good at spellcasting as you are.” This made Rogier flattered to hear, as it is rare that Darian compliments or speaks well of another. Though, part of him wonders if that was sarcasm, he could not tell when it came to Darian. Darian lifted and pulled the mail hauberk over his head, resting it over the arm of the chair he sat in. Beneath was a dark linen tunic. He could hardly bother with the plated leggings, he was just thankful to use his spine again.
“Still, your back must be in knots having to carry all of… what, four stones worth of armor?” Rogier pressed slightly, testing the waters.
“I wouldn't know.” Darian responded rather obliviously.
Rogier almost scoffed, almost taken aback by Darian's abundant inability to read between lines. “Here, I'll feel.” Without much warning, his gloved hands gingerly caressed at the back of Darian's neck, thumbs running along trapezius, down to the crook of his neck. “Sakes alive, you're stiff as bricks.”
Darian sat rather tensely, hesitant and clearly not used to being touched.
“Are you hurting?” Rogier asked.
“I assumed that was normal…” Darian replied with a subtle hint of bashfulness.
“I'm afraid not, my friend. Relax and let me help you, free of charge.” For further accentuation, Rogier squeezed at Darian's neck, running his thumbs down the muscle. With a faint hum, Darian rested his elbows on the desk, leaving some space between his back and the chair he sat in. He eased up gradually as Rogier went to work at his neck, alternating between squeezing and pressing at the muscle, gradually moving down to cup at Darian's broad shoulders. Darian clenched his jaw tightly, enduring the gentle ache that came along with the prodding. It was clear enough that Rogier's hands were skilled at this. The Hunter couldn't help but wince when the Sorcerer had to occasionally be more forceful with his ministrations.
“Yes, very stiff indeed.” Rogier remarked quietly. This was hardly labor to him, never had he admitted it, but he always had this lingering curiosity of what Darian would feel like beneath those layers of steel plating.
Moving down once more, Rogier pressed his thumbs into a particularly tight muscle between the scapulae to draw it upward. It felt like electricity down Darian's spine, and he couldn't help but to grunt, hands balled into fists. Rogier's touches stuttered, and his lips parted so he could take a deep breath. Selfishly enough, he found it amusing, and wanted Darian to make that noise again. “Surely Marika wouldn't want her faithful so neglected.” The Sorcerer teased lightly, smiling coyly behind Darian.
Briefly, Rogier removed his hands, and Darian was disappointed, his subconscious took a morbid liking to it. No, it was nothing of that sort, Rogier merely wished to help ease his tension.
Rogier pinched and tugged lightly at the frayed edges of Darian's tunic, “You know, doing this properly will prove to be difficult with this barrier in the way.” He prodded, and Darian glanced at Rogier from the corner of his eye. The Hunter couldn't argue with that logic, he cannot say he has seen massages be conducted with clothing; besides, it wasn't like Rogier hadn't seen his bare chest before.
Wordlessly, Darian huffed, reached under the hem of his tunic, and pulled it over his head. Much like his face, Darian's back was stark white, translucent, and riddled ever faintly with speckles. Alongside his chest down to his abdomen was a jagged surgical scar, woven partly with gold, bearing slight resemblance to the golden centipedes Darian collected. Rogier's leered, admiring each shape of muscle along Darian's back, defined from years of combat and exertion.
“Is this the price, wizard?” Darian poked dryly, which shocked Rogier, who ignored the implications.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Darian didn't reply, and instead folded his bare arms on the desk, resting his head between them. Rogier eyed fervently at the definition of the deltoids, the gentle bulge of the biceps, down to the rhomboids. His soft, satin gloved hands ran up Darian's bare skin, before he then pressed the heels of his palms against Darian's shoulder blades.
The Hunter tensed, mouth parting to draw in a sharp inhale, shocked by the sensitivity of his muscles being forcefully unraveled. Rogier, entertained by the noise, smirked rather sadistically, and continued to press and squeeze. Darian had been straining himself thin to keep himself composed, but Rogier successfully managed to draw a low groan from Darian, who immediately flushed with embarrassment. “Forgive me.” He murmured, voice strained.
“Not to worry, that's a fairly normal response. You're enjoying it, let go; let me take care of you.” Rogier's voice was hushed as he leaned forward, just a little closer to Darian's ear, and continued a pattern of circular kneading, drinking up the quiet noises ripped from Darian like a man parched.
The closer Rogier got to him, the more uneasy and feverish Darian started to feel. It was undignified, the burning desire for more. For as long as he can remember, within himself were embers that smoldered everlastingly that Darian refused to feed. Rogier comes along, and unintentionally blows it into a flame that starves for everything it's fed. Desire was dangerous, and Darian could hardly keep it under control anymore. Shame welled up within him as his head swam in nothingness, all the blood and heat rushed to his groin. Darian winced, tried his hardest to will it away, but the persistence of Rogier's helpful touches did nothing but make Darian ache for more. It was disgraceful, Rogier only wished to help ease his pain, and there Darian was, trousers unbelievably tight and cheeks flushed beet red.
Darian's breaths started to get shaky, and he pressed his lips shut to quiet himself, but this only resulted in a muffled whine that escaped from deep within his throat.
Rogier found the noises utterly irresistible, such a strong-willed and stoic man reduced to a mess with just a few coaxing caresses. He didn't need to feel himself to know he was undoubtedly and helplessly aroused. "You're doing well." Rogier praised, using one of his delicate hands to cup at Darian's upper neck, squeezing. His other hand moved up, feathering the digits through Darian's platinum hair, scratching lightly along the scalp.
The Hunter shuddered, squirming in his seat.
"Something amiss, Darian ?" Rogier asked quietly with a voice smooth and sweet, laced with arousal.
Darian swallowed thickly. "No... Just sensitive."
Rogier leaned closer to massage at the other's scalp, carding his fingers, and pressing his clothed chest to Darian's bare skin. Darian twitched in his pants, relishing the warmth of Rogier's body heat, the sweetness of his scent; it was utterly tantalizing. The Sorcerer is close enough now that Darian can hear his soft, labored breaths, feel it tickling the shell of his ear. Darian was so hard he felt dizzy, and any embarrassment he had before had ebbed away, overtaken by a need for release.
Rogier hummed, subtly took in Darian's scent, strong with a human musk after a long day of labor. There was no point in hiding his need, Darian seemed wise to the game by now, and perhaps even eager to take part. Never had Rogier seen such a side of him, and it was exhilarating. Experimentally, and a product of his own self indulgence, Rogier started to grind his hips against Darian, gasping at the sensation.
Slowly, Rogier ran his hand down to Darian's sides, kneading teasingly at his abdomen. There was no longer any subtlety to the petting. He gently took Darian's earlobe between his teeth, released it, and whispered, "Do you like this? Will this have you consider coming to me for help more often?"
Darian furrowed his brows, closed his eyes tightly. "Yes.. feels good." He answered in what was hardly a whisper.
Rogier, now feeling bold, used one of his hands to grip at Darian's tied back hair, pulling at it, drawing a loud gasp from the Hunter. Rogier hissed, a wicked grin on his face, "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I didn't catch that."
Darian breathed shakily. " Fuck . Yes... It feels good."
"I'm starting to believe all this resistance is merely an act to conceal how much you wanted me. Look at you, docile and malleable, all it took was a few coaxing touches, and you just can't help yourself." Rogier teased.
"I can't take it any longer. I need you." Darian panted.
One of Rogier's hands snaked down Darian's naval, down to his clothed crotch, huffing out an endeared little laugh. "So eager, if only you'd told me sooner. I would have been happy to help." Rogier began to palm at Darian's needful length bulging in his trousers, not even bothering to remove them, being too much of a hassle with the plated cuisses in the way.
Darian felt humiliated, but it only further fueled the raging arousal that coursed through him hotly. He shuddered at the gentle touches, already starting to feel himself be pushed to the edge. It was very rare the Hunter ever indulged in himself, prioritizing his obligations, his oath, considering times like these acts of selfishness. As pent up as he was, he was terribly easy to please. He shuddered, whining as Rogier mouthed against the side of his neck, feeling the Sorcerer rut against him. Those pretty satin gloves grasped at Darian's clothed cock, squeezing out droplets of pre which stained the front of his trousers. The Hunter let out a moan, his hips twitching. His cock throbbed painfully, mind faint and clouded with lust, he couldn't hold back any longer.
Rogier bit down on his lip, hips stuttering against Darian's back. "So close to spilling already and I've yet to take you out of your trousers... Though.. that hardly seems like an issue to you." He panted, wrapped a gloved hand the best he could around Darian's clothed length, giving it a few tight strokes.
“ Fuck , Rogier...” Darian's chest heaved, his armored thighs quivered, unable to stop his length from stiffening. Prematurely he was pushed over the edge, groaning lowly as his cock pulsed over and over, releasing what was most likely months worth of pent up spend, all in his trousers. Rogier was relentless in his stroking, milking Darian of everything he had before he squirmed, letting out an overstimulated whine.
Rogier released him, glancing down at his hand, and the sticky white stands of spend that coated the glove's material.
"You made such a mess..."
Darian said nothing in response, panting heavily.
Endeared, Rogier impulsively gave the Hunter a chaste peck on the cheek, before standing back onto his feet. With a slight wrinkle to his nose, he peeled off his gloves.
"Hopefully, that should relieve some of your tension."
Darian hid his face, clarity settling within him like stones.
"Thank you..."