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[Hey, what if-- and this is wild, but-- what if he just kept grabbing at Fenris' ass and legs and that's all they did for the next half-hour? Never mind talks about paint, never mind literally anything else, he will just enjoy Lorenz feeling him up.]

I, ah--

[Is he expected to think? He doesn't reply for a long few moments, both distracted by Lorenz's hand and because he's too busy biting. Like that, just beneath his jaw, a mark so high up there's little to cover it. It's Sanguis time, and that means it's time for Lorenz to deal with both fangs and possessiveness.]

S-something, mm, something light-- airy--

[Nope, back to biting-- or marking, anyway, his tongue pressing harshly against the bruise he'd just left behind.]

[Oh, and what an excellent idea to top off such an excellent reaction-- but Lorenz loves the way Fenris' voice catches and stumbles just as much as he loves hearing himself talk, so it cannot possibly be helped. Fenris' mouth against his throat makes him shiver, tilting his head to encourage more and more, but mmph— he does still manage a chuckle.]

A powder blue, perhaps?

[A very sweet baby blue, how charming. Lorenz thinks about various blues and their various merits and reaches his other hand down now too, to squeeze both thighs just below his ass and press their hips together in a slow motion. The absolute worst thing right now would be somebody's stitches coming loose...]

Mm— what else? Besides the paint.

[How many times has sex started like this, with them talking and talking until they simply can't anymore? Oh, countless times, surely. Who crumbles first is clearly a point of contention, and Fenris has lost just as often as he's won, but he tries every single time.

Like now. He moans pointedly, half in genuine reaction and half in pointed provocation-- Lorenz could be carrying him around right now, but this is a fantastic alternative, but not any less strenuous-- and drags his mouth over to the other side of Lorenz's neck. Not at the top, but rather the bottom: the crook of his neck, biting just a little too hard there. One hand reaches back, grabbing Lorenz's wrist, pinning it firmly to the mattress as he bites. Like that, and he trusts Lorenz implicitly, but it also never hurts to, hm, leave him covered in his scent, his marks, to let the world know that this darling boy, this perfect man is claimed . . .

And who, hm, had asked a question. What was it? Oh, right.]

What else--?

[Uhh--]

Lorenz.

[It's a little bit of a whine.]

Kitchens-- cooking, I like seeing you cook, even if it's fish, I enjoy watching you in the kitchen . . . you try so hard.

Edited 2020-07-26 06:22 (UTC)

[Lorenz laughs outright this time, delighted surprise at the harder bite mixed with put-upon indignant disbelief, turning his wrist in Fenris' grip— please, he has so much more to feel, this is rude. He all but lets go of Fenris' other thigh in return, trailing a feather light touch over every curve and angle he can reach from here, up his back and down again, nearly to the back of his knee. Hello, dearest, and he bites his lip in a paltry effort to not whine as well.

It is a grand effort, see, and the game is afoot. This isn't strenuous at all.]

I— [lord,] I've improved. You almost liked one of those fish dishes.

[He has a whole handful of meals he can cook without meal kits, now! Please be impressed. He shudders again, eyes shut to appreciate hot mouth against already delectably sore skin--]

At this rate, you won't need to menace me with blue paint at all.

[Zing!! Go on, feel free...]

I believe— I am fairly certain the other apartment has, ah, a larger bath.

[He will never like a fish dish, know this. He will try them because he loves his boyfriend, but he will not like them.

Anyway. Anyway, he does not release Lorenz's wrist, mostly because he likes how he feels and looks when he's pinned a little. Pinned a lot, too, his arms above his head, all gasping and writhing . . . but this, too, a little helpless and a little not. He rocks his hips down, humming at the way Lorenz's free hand drags over him, delighted and amused all at once at how he reaches.

He will not respond to the paint comment, however:]

And do you want to bathe with me, Lorenz?

[Please, by all means, say it. He tips his head back, licking his lips, staring down at him with no small amount of lust and possessiveness both. Sharing a shower is always fantastic, but a bath is particularly enjoyable.]

Mm. You're overdressed right now, do you know that?

[Lorenz looks up at him, eyebrows raised and color rising quickly in his cheeks betraying any illusion of being cool and disaffected he might have tried for. He hums and drops his gaze down to Fenris' shoulder, the glimpse of collarbone and beyond where his shirt hangs off in just the right way, appreciating the view before he answers these very important questions.]

Why wouldn't I want to bathe with you? Naturally, I do.

[Does anything hit all the right intimacy buttons like having a bath together? It's sublime! He presses his fingers harder into Fenris' lower back, tracing an idle pattern before slipping his hand lower to simply rest on his ass. Hmm, overdressed, tell him more.]

I haven't a hand left to do anything about my attire, Fenris.

[Hey, true, but also rude, somehow? He huffs irritably, not at all truly bothered, and squeezes his wrist just once.]

Nevertheless . . .

[The fact remains: he's overdressed, and right now that seems a grave crime. With an enormous sigh, he releases his hand-- and then, further, sits up. Not quite dislodging Lorenz's other hand, but also now he can work on shirt buttons himself. And does, slender fingers swift in tugging at Lorenz's belt buckle, his shirt, eager to at least make him a disheveled, half-dressed mess.]

I enjoy hearing you speak of it. What you like, and why you like it. Baths or lingering in my bed or whatever else you imagine.

And given you enjoy speaking, I suspect it works out for the both of us.

[He smirks at that, just a little.]

[Wow, please respect his compulsion to talk all the time, thanks. He hums, free hand sliding to Fenris' knee and inching higher as Fenris makes hasty work of his clothes. His shirt was already a touch disheveled from Fenris being on top of him, but please, make a mess of him. He'll huff about it later, as is tradition.]

Now, now— don't be smug.

[But do, actually. And mind his buttons, etc.]

You are positively radiant in the water. And elsewhere, of course, but— topically. To say nothing of the sheer indulgence of it! A sweet scent for the water, and skin against skin— I would be a fool to turn my nose up at it.

[He's penciling it in mentally for what to do after they argue about paints for an afternoon, yes, excellent.]

And I rather enjoy washing your hair.

[He'll be as smug as he wishes, clearly-- and it's hard not to be smug when he sees Lorenz beneath him, disheveled and a little flushed. There's still the remnants of old bruises here and there, bitemarks on the curve of his chest, just beneath his ribs . . . his fingers slide gently against them as he contemplates whether to bite new ones or simply renew the old ones.

Both, perhaps.]

You seem to enjoy your fingers in my hair regardless of setting.

[Ever since he got the Haircut, anyway. He's grown quite accustomed to Lorenz's fingers casually dragging against the back of his head, idly stroking the fuzzy bits of his head. He hums softly and shifts, arching his back to push against Lorenz's hand, moving down just far enough to kiss and nip at the hollow of his throat.]

As do I. Tip your head up, hmm?

[Lorenz's neck is going to be covered at this point, and that's just how it is! There are aspects of Sanguis' possessiveness that he despises, but so long as he knows Lorenz will protest if he finds something he dislikes . . . then yes, Fenris is going to claim him again and again.]

[This right here is the reason Lorenz wears a shirt to the beach-- Well, he's hardly simply tolerating this particular Sanguis quirk, tilting his head obligingly with an approving grin.]

I daresay that whoever cuts your hair deserves a reward.

[Ha ha, they must be so talented? Perhaps even deserving of praise? Hmm? His hands would be in Fenris' hair right now indeed, if not for being otherwise occupied feeling him up. He squeezes again and pushes his hips against Fenris' just so, sweet pressure and just a taste of friction. The sharp scrape of teeth across oversensitive skin makes him gasp and arch up and for a moment everything is teeth and heat and Fenris, mm, what was he talking about—]

Fenris—

[Mmph, nope, back to home decor-]

When we've finished painting and- ah- so on, then I would gladly have you in every room of our new home. [It counts as new because of the our, see.] Not only the bath.

Now that . . .

[He pauses in that sentence, delighting in the utterly fantastic moment that is Lorenz arching up and gasping, oh, god, but what a perfect moment that is. He memorizes that moment, his eyes wide and his hips rocking down sharply, yes, god, please. He lingers at his throat, licking at the bruise he'd just left, grinning sharply as Lorenz settles back down.]

That is something I would hear you elaborate upon.

[He tips his head back lazily, looking down at Lorenz. His eyes have gone dark with desire, his gaze both utterly fond and distantly lustful.]

Go on. Tell me how you would take me in each room, in every room, while I claim you so thoroughly there won't be a person alive who doesn't know who you belong to.

[Ah, well, there's the possessiveness.]

[Ah, and if Fenris looked at him like that all the time, they would never get anything done— Lorenz leans up to kiss him first, hard and heedless of Sanguis teeth, tongue running over the corner of his mouth as he drops back down to the mattress. He ought to just write a dirty limerick at this point, huh, but that wouldn't pack the same punch—]

You are quite the glutton, my dear. Go on— you're welcome to indulge.

[He tilts his head pointedly in invitation; come here, babe, do your thing. It will take him a moment to put the house-christening fantasy to words anyway, slipping fingertips up one inner thigh in the meantime. Mm, so—]

In the sitting room on the sofa, over the back or on the cushions— either will do. In the kitchen I will cook you anything you like [important!] and have you on the counter, where you are already so fond of climbing. And in here, then in the shower, we will rigorously test how long I can lift you up, indeed.

[The precise details can come later, and he'll get to the Blue Rooms in a minute, but first:]

I want to see you so happy and so satisfied that you can hardly stand it. And to see you tremble with it, to come undone just enough— just for me. [His voice drops steadily quieter as he speaks, private, for Fenris and no one else; when he squeezes his thigh now it's as much tenderness as desire. He'll make a whole weekend of it, the weekend of spoiling his boyfriend rotten, and it will be very poetic.] I'll show you just how much I truly love you, Fenris.

[You know— in case a very physical reminder would be nice. The emotions mixed in quite a bit with the raw lust there, but ah, yes:]

And— as the other rooms are to be your domain, I thought it would be nice to let you pick. You do enjoy bossing me around.

Lorenz.

[It's a desperate whine, a gasp emitted against Lorenz's throat as he pauses in his biting. Oh, Maker, and he knew the shape of what was to come, but he hadn't banked on the specifics. He hadn't banked on the way love in infused in each and every fantasy; how they're filthy, yes, and he desperately wants Lorenz to bend him over the kitchen counter, over the table, picking him up and fucking him against the wall, please, oh, Maker, please, but also--

But also: Lorenz so hungry to see him happy. But also: Lorenz eager to see him undone, to see him delighted, to see him happy. He all but chokes at I truly love you, so overwhelmed it's a wonder he doesn't spontaneously combust then and there.]

I love you, [he breathes, and it's a secret. It really is. Slaves aren't allowed to love, but here Lorenz is, so wonderful and perfect that it would be impossible not to love him. I love you, and he kisses the hollow of this throat sweetly, tenderly, before pulling back to stare down at him.]

I love you.

[Utterly, sincerely, always. I love you, and it will forever be an act of rebellion, no matter how long he is a free man. I love you, and he leans down, kissing him tenderly, an answer for Lorenz's own kiss.]

Darling . . .

[Oh, he loves him so much, so much. He's grateful for the subject change, if only because it's too hard to linger on the subject. His hips rock down, and now he moves down, both hands gripping Lorenz's ribs, his hips.]

I do enjoy bossing you. And while I love you [i love you!] bossy, I love you pliant as well. Bending over a table, the bed-- or simply on your back, legs spread, begging me for what I will always, always give you.

[Case in point: his mouth is steadily moving southward, sharpened teeth dragging pointedly against Lorenz's fair skin, sharp scratches lingering against his darling's fair skin.]

[Yes, Lorenz thinks, reveling in the sweet, sweet timbre of Fenris' voice even now, as he unravels just a bit already— Yes, like that. Like that and then some, so much that Fenris is bursting with it, and even that will not be precisely enough to encompass it all. If love is a drop of water then what he feels for Fenris is an ocean, and, ah— something, something, a boat?

Well, ocean metaphors are his worst, but Lorenz knows this: Fenris leans down to kiss him and he swears, he swears he can taste every I love you against his lips, warm and sweet. He lingers there a moment, one more quick kiss pressed to Fenris' lips before he moves again, and oh—]

What did I say about strenuous activity...?

[Absolutely nothing worthwhile, clearly— And now his fingers make their way into Fenris' hair, curling and uncurling with languid delight and no intention of truly stopping him. No, it's quite obvious that they're both feeling, ah, needy; Lorenz feels like he's on fire in the best way, a smolder that sparks with each pink scratch Fenris leaves against his skin.

It's a lot, to put it mildly. The comfort of knowing love heightened to the dizzying freedom of saying it, of hearing this beautiful man so precious and dear to him say it over and over, is quite a lot. Lorenz handles it with a fresh flush of heat, color inching down to his not quite bare shoulders, looking more pleasantly disheveled than ever.]

Fenris.

[Goddess, but if he isn't a sight to behold like this, all dark eyes and hungry mouth, Lorenz's shirt riding up as he moves down— Lorenz bites his lip and sucks in a breath from the sensation, one hand reaching for Fenris' to tangle their fingers together. He could start begging right now? That sounds doable, but—]

Tell me more of it— other things. What suits you, Fenris.

[Lorenz is adding Fenris talking about fantasies to his own list, effective immediately. It's subtle.]

[Despite it having been more than a few days since she'd returned to Lunatia, Constance hadn't immediately worked up the courage to contact those classmates she had properly befriended the last time. It had been jarring, to awaken on Iris with both sets of memories; those of home, and those of her brief stay here, before the war. Having agonizing deaths mixing with outings to gleaming shopping malls. House Gloucester had close ties to the Empire, yet Constance never knew what had become of Lorenz. Did he ally with Claude, in the end, and get cut down in Derdriu like Hilda? Or did he do the wise thing, and stay in his family's territory, away from Edelgard's bloody conquest?

She knew that the Lorenz here in Lunatia came from a different time, a different...version of events, so it was all the more important that she contacted him to hear his side of the story. For some reason, though, anything to do with the Golden Deer or Blue Lions houses makes her freeze up.

But it would be frightfully rude to hold out much longer, so...]

Are you there, Lorenz?

Constance! Of course, I yet remain, despite the odds.

["The odds" being Hilda and Marianne's inopportune dual disappearance not too long ago, for which he feels a pang of guilt about squirreling away to sulk over instead of taking the more noble action and actually talking to their other friends, but ah. Woops.]

How are you? It's been some time! I must admit that urgent circumstances have the unfortunate habit of cropping up at the most unforeseen times, or else I would have invited you for tea again.

[Which is a nice way of saying "my man got himself stabbed and it's been a lot" without being terribly improper. Skipping that. How's life.]

[He doesn't respond right away, too busy kissing his way down Lorenz's torso, licking pointedly at the curve of his ribs, his fingers tight against his hip.

Mm. You rendered a little helpless, I think. At my mercy, most certainly. I like denying you; I like the way you get, frustrated and needy-- and then, later, when you'll do or say almost anything so long as you get what you want. So with your hands bound, perhaps.

[Even like this, frankly: all he'd have to do would be to tug his shirt down further and tie the sleeves back. The goal isn't to truly trap Lorenz, after all, but simply keep him still. Fenris tips his head back, studying him carefully, before adding:]

Hmm. There are a few toys I'd use on you as well.

[Ah, rude, but rude in the way that makes Lorenz hum and arch after his mouth, gripping his hair a little tighter. It doesn't take him long at all to get frustrated and needy each time his hands are pinned or pulled back or whatever else, so... fair.

Toys, however--]

There was, ah... before you arrived in the city there was a ball, for charity, and they gave everyone in attendance a little rubber duck that vibrated. I gave mine away.

[It had judgmental cartoon eyes, never mind that now, he does not have to say this. On his own he's never sought out anything extra, besides, but with Fenris-- hmm!]

You wouldn't pick something so ridiculous, would you?

Perhaps that's all I had in mind.

[Please, he'd rather nothing at all than something so stupid. He stills for a moment, content to watch Lorenz from this angle, feel the pull of his fingers in his hair.]

No. Something small, I imagine. In purple, if that will please you.

[Do not curse his dick with a cartoon duck face. He frowns, just a little petulant, giving Fenris' hair a gentle tug.]

While you are not wrong to assume I would like it in purple... [don't roast him for things that aren't even in this apartment yet!!]

Well, I am willing to give whatever it is a try, most likely.

[He chuckles, amused and endeared all at once, and tips his head back, moving with Lorenz's tug. Go on.]

Mm. Will you go to the shop with me?

[He will go himself, he can more than handle Prisma's sex shops, but at the same time . . . not all their adventures can be going to the farmer's market.]

[In that case, come here; he tugs again, leaning up to meet him halfway in what is not a sustainable position for his spine at all, but is enough to kiss him.]

Certainly. A shop is a shop.

[And specifically not as, hmm, publicly explicit as a leather bar, so! Sure, why not.]

I will save my most intimate questions about whatever you buy for after the shopping is done.

[This is not comfortable at all, but it does enable him to nip at Lorenz's bottom lip, so there's that. Carefully, mindful not to draw blood, but sharp enough to earn a noise.]

And spare me of them now?

It will be a new adventure for both of us. At least you had your duck; I've never handled such things before.

[Very nice— and actually, as he gives him a light nudge:]

Sit up, my dear. [Hang out in his lap to talk about toys they have 1% of experience with, combined, that's nice.] The duck was the least appealing thing I've ever seen. I have no idea what you have in mind besides the color, in any case.

[Hm, yes, all right. He's determined to go down on Lorenz tonight, but there's something immensely pleasant about the slow way they get there. He perches in his lap, hands sweeping over Lorenz's chest, his shoulders, gently pushing his shirt off completely.]

Something small, I think. The size shouldn't matter much, so long as it does its job properly.

[He brushes the tips of his fingers lightly against one of the bruises on Lorenz's neck, his gaze thoughtful.]

And while there's merit in taking our time . . . [His eyes dart up, and he presses firmly,] nor would I mind watching you go from put together to wanton within five minutes.

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text; un: constance von nuvelle

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