Ringil was stirred from sleep by an insistent nudging to the underside of his chin. His sleep slogged mind recalled a curious stray dog investigating his slack face as he lay drunk in a harbor-end gutter. Not a scene his mind had to conjure from thin-air. But this was different, softer, and certainly smelled better. His eyes slit open, dim rays of bandlight filtering through the shutters allowed him enough sight to remember what shared his bed. Noyal Rakan.
Ringil was laying on his side, the young captain pressed close, nuzzling into his neck. Even as Gil grunted a response to the invitation, he felt betrayed by his age and battle-worn body, "It's still dark out." His eyelids pulled themselves back down.
"Yes, My Lord. I will be required at the Palace within a few hours," a pause and an audible swallow, "if My Lord requires anything else of me." Fingertips rested lightly, questioningly, on his bare hip. The small shift brought them closer and Ringil could feel the Throne Eternal's already alert prick against his thigh. Owing to the early hour, he wasn't yet in his normal morning condition, Okay, hero, let's see if you can rise to the occasion. He felt the first twitch as heat pooled low in his groin. "If My Lord is too tired, perhaps I should take the lead?"
Gil, call me Gil, he had panted last night when Rakan struggled to give up the honorific even as Ringil thrust deep into him from behind. But now, something about the formality gave him a second and third twitch and urged him to fighting fit. "Yes, Captain, perhaps you should take the reins on this particular leg of the expedition."
The hand on his hip pushed him flat on his back. Rakan swung his leg over Gil's hips, straddling him, but hovering inches above, so that he could feel the radiating heat, if not yet the delicious friction of skin on skin. Closed-mouth kisses peppered his chest, each one inching lower than the last.
The new vantage allowed him to look down the length of the Throne Enternal's naked body. And you wanted to go back to sleep. The Ringil of his youth would have laughed at the old man he has become, laid low by one night of drinking and fucking. Apparently Rakan caught the frown of self-chastisement. "Is My Lord not pleased?" His voice was suffused with boyish eagerness and his face flushed gorgeously red.
Ringil fixed him with his most wolfishly debauched grin, the one the Ringil of his youth had perfected on all manner of hesitant new lovers. The one that belonged more to Ringil Angeleyes than to the scarred outlaw he'd become. "Your Lord is very pleased, now back to it, Captain." His hand in those lush locks lead the captain's mouth down to his taut belly.
Rakan needed no more encouragement, he closed the distance to Ringil's now fully swollen prick with 2 soft pecks of his lips. A third landed on the engorged head, sending a spike of pleasure through Ringil's entire body. The Throne Eternal's fingers wrapped around the shaft and pulled it back from Gils stomach so that his tongue could flatten across the entire tip. Ringil's hips bucked upwards in a command the captain understood and obeyed. He took the entire length in one quick bob.
After a few moments Rakan pulled back the toe curling wet heat and Ringil reckoned the loss worse than any inflicted by the Gray Places. Okay, Gil, don't get carried away, not like this is your first blow-job. But damn, young Noyal has a talented mouth. Saliva trickled thickly down his throbbing cock held lightly between the captain's fingertips. He could hear Rakan working his jaw before he swallowed him again.
Again, the all too brief pleasure was rudely jerked away. Ringil opened his mouth to inform Rakan that No one likes a fucking tease, but closed it without word when he saw that the captain was up on his knees, shuffling forward to once again straddle his hips. Ambitious, this one. The wolf-smirk re-affixed as he snaked his hand under Rakan to steady his own cock, freeing the other man from the awkward maneuvering. Rakan lowered himself slowly, stopping when the head of Gil's prick prodded against puckered flesh. Thier eyes met, the Throne Eternal's still somehow shining innocence even as he knelt ready to impale himself on hard cock. He seemed to be waiting for something, and after a moment Ringil nodded his head forward in a curt soldier's affirmation.
Rakan lowered himself further. Despite his own spit easing the descension, the effort was written on his grimaced face. Ringil himself well knew the pain that must come before pleasure when you undertook the deepest of fucks. Faggot degenerate scum, not even a real man, Hoiran knew he's heard it enough from so-called real men who had no idea what exertion and sacrifice his predilections required. He couldn't think of any act that required more manly fortitude and determination than what Rakan was doing right now. The corner of Ringil's mouth twitched upward in a smile at the memory of an ill-advised attempt to educate the Dragonbane on the very same subject. Egar had spit in disgust, I don't want to hear about that faggot shit.
But now Rakan was fully seated and Ringil turned his full attention back to him. His brow glistened and his prick slagged. Ringil grabbed it in a series of gentle tugs and Rakan's youth and Ringil's expertise had it back full mast in seconds. Ringil's own prick throbbed and twitched in its vice. Finally, after what felt an eternity, Rakan leaned forward, hands on the other man's shoulders and raised himself off a few inches. He waited for Ringil's hips to meet him before they lowered themselves in unison. Maximum pleasure with minimum effort, the perfect lazy morning fuck.
Rakan stared down into Ringil's face, bottom lip crushed between his teeth, clearly looking for praise and approval. Ringil obliged, grunting and moaning and letting loose with a string of curses that required at least three languages. Though he considered himself skilled in counterfiet passion, truth was he didn't need it here, the heat was roiling and bubbling and he knew he didn't have long. His hand went back to the Throne Eternal, pulling down to meet the now more vigorous upward thrust of his hips. It was only seconds after he felt the hot splash of Rakan's relase on his stomach that his own forced its way through him.
The young captain collapsed forward onto his chest, and Ringil enfolded him into his arms, rolling them back onto their sides, the cooling mess between them ignored. Apologies to Shanta's servants. The room was still lit only with bandlight, but he knew he could not be long before the first rays of sun intruded into their sanctuary. His eyelids suddenly felt made of lead.
"Alright, Noy, go back to sleep."