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The door opened with a slow, quiet creak. Sylvain stood beside it, gesturing for Ashe to enter before him, a smile on his face and excitement fluttering in his chest. He’d prepared a special surprise for Ashe tonight, after all, and was itching to see his reaction.
“Are you sure I can…?” Ashe asked, glancing at Sylvain even as he stepped over the threshold into the study. “This is the margrave's private room, isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” Sylvain said. He grinned and followed Ashe inside, closing the door behind them and lighting the candles with a quick, concentrated fire spell. Ashe squinted, trying to adjust to the change in lighting, and turned to look at Sylvain.
“Then we shouldn’t be here,” he said. “What if we…?”
“My father won’t find us,” Sylvain assured him. “He left two days ago on a trip to Fhirdiad. Knowing how he is with His Majesty, he’ll end up staying a whole week longer than initially planned. He’s fussy that way.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Ashe said, though Sylvain was pretty sure it was. He shrugged.
“Look, just calm down, okay? I said I had a treat for you, since you came all this way to visit me. Which I appreciate, by the way.”
“Sylvain…”
“Just look,” Sylvain said. He took Ashe by the shoulders and turned him around, pushing him forward one step at a time until they came to the center of the room, where he could direct Ashe’s attention to…
“Oh, goddess,” Ashe said breathlessly. He brought a hand up to his mouth, covering it and muffling his next words. “Is that…?”
“It sure is,” Sylvain said, letting go of Ashe and puffing out his chest. “The suit of armor worn by King Loog himself during the War of the Eagle and Lion.”
Ashe shook his head. His hand fell from his mouth and he stepped forward, reaching out hesitantly for the suit of armor. He approached it slowly, like he wasn’t sure it was real, and then finally pressed his fingers first to one of the pauldrons, and then the intricately-embossed breastplate.
“It’s real,” he breathed, hand shaking. “I… I can’t believe I’m looking at the actual suit of Armor Loog wore. I can’t believe you managed to get your hands on it!” Ashe’s eyes were as wide as saucers as he inspected the breastplate hanging on the mannequin. He trailed his gloved fingers over the embossed metal, a tiny, near-silent ‘wow’ escaping him as he traced the outline of the lion’s mane depicted on it.
“Cool, huh?” Sylvain grinned as he came up behind Ashe and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s amazing what treasures from the royal repository you get access to when you’re friends with the king.”
“This should be in a museum,” Ashe said by way of acknowledgement. “His Majesty really let you borrow it?”
“For a while, yeah.” Sylvain’s grin grew; Ashe straightened up and stepped back, examining the breastplate and the coat and gambeson beneath it, and Sylvain leaned forward to whisper in his ear: “Want to try it on?”
Ashe jumped. “What – no! No, I couldn’t…”
“Why not?” Sylvain pulled back to get a good look at Ashe’s face. His cheeks were flushed an adorable shade of pink, deep enough that it almost hid his freckles.
“Because I – I’m a commoner, Sylvain, and if I damage it…”
It was a reasonable apprehension to have. Sylvain couldn’t argue against it, but he was nothing if not a master of bending arguments to suit him. And so, bringing a hand up to stroke his chin in a show of contemplation – but just a show – he said, “Fair enough. It might be a little big on you, anyway.”
Ashe looked at him, his brows twitching downward and his face twisting in a suspicious frown. “Sylvain…”
“But looking closely…” Sylvain stepped forward, approaching the mannequin and bending at the waist so he could properly ‘inspect’ it. He kept stroking his chin, and just to be cheeky, closed one eye and stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, scrutinizing the suit of armor with cartoonish intensity. “Yeah, I’d definitely say it’s more my size.”
Ashe looked aghast. “Sylvain, you can’t!” he said, but Sylvain just grinned.
“And why not?” he asked.
“Because if we get caught, you could get in serious trouble!”
“I’m always in serious trouble, Ashe,” Sylvain said. “And besides, we’re not gonna get caught. I locked the door before we came down here.”
“But…”
“But nothing.” Sylvain smiled. He reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Ashe’s shoulder. “Even if we do get caught – which we won’t! – I’ll be the only one who gets scolded. Clearly you’ve been trying to stop me this whole time.”
He winked. Ashe bit his lip. He looked from side to side, eyes darting around as if looking for an escape route – or rather, perhaps, alternate points of entry. There was an intensity to his gaze despite his earlier uncertainty.
“Come on,” Sylvain said, trailing his hand up Ashe’s neck, the backs of his fingers caressing his jaw lightly. Ashe shivered, and his eyes slipped shut for just a moment before opening again and resuming their sweep of the room.
“...Okay,” he said at last, his eyes falling finally on Loog’s suit of armor. His pupils were wide as he drank in the details of it once again, and Sylvain knew in that very moment that Ashe’s excitement ran deeper than simple interest in a historical artifact.
“Good man,” Sylvain said, clapping Ashe on the shoulder again before withdrawing his hand completely. “Now help me get it on, will you?”
The final buckle on Loog’s breastplate closed, and the last strap cinched snugly against Sylvain’s back. Ashe’s hands were warm on him between the gaps in the armor as he checked it for any faults, any points at which it might fall off and break. It was a little silly of him, Sylvain thought, since he was used to wearing suits of armor and this one felt just as secure as every other he’d worn, but he supposed this was sort of a special case. It wouldn’t kill him to be careful.
For now, anyway.
Ashe came around his front, holding the cape that Loog had worn about his shoulders during the War of the Eagle and Lion. Sylvain pressed it against his chest at one end while Ashe fastened it around him, and then the look was complete. He grinned, bringing his eyes up to Ashe’s even as his head was still tilted down, and Ashe smiled back, taking a step back to admire their combined handiwork.
“So? How do I look?” Sylvain asked, spreading out his arms in display. “Just like the real thing, right?”
He spun around, slowly, trying to adjust to the unfamiliar weight on him. This armor was slightly lighter than his usual set, but it felt good all the same. Mobile. Loog must have been quick on his feet.
He heard Ashe snicker, and then Sylvain stopped moving. The look on Ashe’s face was priceless: bright pink cheeks hidden behind his hand, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes and hiding some of the freckles around them. He was adorable.
And there was something else there, too. Something in his blush that was more than just mirth. Something… enticing.
He liked this more than he was letting on. And Sylvain wasn’t about to let him get away with it.
“Aw, are you laughing at me, Ashe? Come on, don’t say I don’t look good,” Sylvain said. “I might as well be Loog’s second coming. Indistinguishable from the original.”
“Loog didn’t have red hair,” Ashe said, still trying not to laugh.
“How do you know?” Sylvain shot back, raising a brow and letting his grin sharpen into a smirk.
“I’ve read the stories.”
“Stories lie all the time. Embellishments. You know red hair used to be thought of as undesirable in Faerghus?”
“Sylvain, that’s not true.”
Sylvain laughed. “Got me. Yeah, I just made that up. But forget about that – what matters more is…” He lowered his voice and let his eyelids droop, gaze dragging lasciviously over Ashe. “Why aren’t you in uniform, sir knight?”
Ashe swallowed. “Er… I’m sorry…?”
Sylvain stood up straight. He cleared his throat and schooled his expression, putting every ounce of authority he would soon inherit into his voice. In private, he called it his Margrave Voice – but now, he quite liked the idea of calling it his Loog Voice.
“I said,” he started again, gazing regally down his nose, “where’s your armor? We’ll be marching soon; I can’t have my knights run onto the battlefield unprotected. You’re an archer, are you not? I would expect bracers, at least.”
Confusion flashed in Ashe’s eyes momentarily before understanding dawned in them. He flushed an even deeper shade of pink and looked away, suddenly flustered—
“Look at me when I speak to you,” Sylvain said, infusing his voice with the same authority he had moments ago. Ashe’s eyes snapped back to him. He swallowed thickly.
“Y-yes, sir,” he said. “Er – my liege.”
Sylvain nearly grinned, but he carefully held himself back. He had to keep his composure, lest the illusion break. Nevermind that he didn’t think Ashe was fooled at all; at the very least, he seemed to be coming around to the idea of… whatever it was Sylvain was doing.
(It occurred to him that maybe this was wrong, actually, and that he should probably treat a historical artifact like this with reverence rather than try to get laid in it, but when Sylvain had a bad idea in his head, it was hard to shake it out of him.)
“Good man,” Sylvain said. Now he did smile, cocky and with purpose. “Now, we’ll forget the armor for the time being. I’ll ask you again: how do I look?”
Ashe swallowed. “You look… good,” he says. “R-really good. But Sylvain, I still don’t think Loog had red—”
“Then close your eyes,” Sylvain said, dropping his role for just a moment. Then, clearing his throat and lowering his voice again, he continued: “Are you contradicting me, sir knight?”
That got Ashe to shape up. He swallowed, face flushed, and shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Good. Well?”
“You look splendid, my liege. As fearsome and regal as always. The sight of you in that armor alone will no doubt strike fear and awe into the hearts of our foes.”
Sylvain smiled. He stretched an arm out toward Ashe, hand palm-up in invitation. “And yours?” he asked. With that smile still firmly in place, he stepped forward and lifted his outstretched palm to gently cup Ashe’s face. He ran a thumb over his bottom lip, wishing he could feel his breath through the thick material of Loog’s gauntlet. “What does the sight of me strike in your heart, sir knight?”
Ashe’s breath caught in his throat. His entire body stilled, like a rabbit catching on to the fox that was stalking it, and he stared up into Sylvain’s eyes. His lips parted in wonder and in curiosity, and for a moment Sylvain was tempted to press his thumb between them, to let Ashe taste the King of Lions’ gauntlets. At the last second, he thought better of it. He wanted to hear Ashe’s response.
As it turned out, there was nothing to hear. Ashe laid his palm over the back of Sylvain’s hand and slowly, carefully curled his fingers around it. He pulled Sylvain’s hand from his face, then brought it around to his lips, kissing the backs of his armored knuckles as he slowly lowered himself to one knee.
Now it was Sylvain’s turn to be speechless.
Ashe’s eyes fluttered open. His eyes – such a bright, vibrant green most of the time – were dark and cloudy as they turned up to gaze at Sylvain through steel gray lashes. “Does that answer your question, my liege?”
Liege. Right. Loog. He was supposed to be Loog. Sylvain swallowed thickly, trying to bury Sylvain somewhere in his throat, and took a deep breath in to steady himself. When he breathed back out, he was himself back in character, though he remained no less affected by Ashe’s sultry display of loyalty.
“Rise,” he said. Ashe did, letting go of Sylvain’s hand so Sylvain could bring it to the back of his head and pull him in for a kiss.
The moment their lips met, Sylvain’s hands came up to grip Ashe by the arms. He wanted to embrace him, to gather him up and sweep him off his feet, but that was something that Sylvain would do – not Loog. Here, now, he was supposed to be Loog, and Loog was supposed to be a king. He may have been indulging his knight in a way that went above and beyond the norm, but nonetheless, he still had to retain some sort of formality. Some kind of decorum.
And so rather than pull Ashe to him and lift him up, spinning him around like they were the subject of some sappy romance novel, he began to move Ashe backward. Sylvain guided him to the wall one step at a time and pushed him up against it, lifting his arms so he could pin them up above his head.
“Sylva – I mean, my liege—”
“I want you,” Sylvain said, turning his head to nip at Ashe’s jaw. “Surely you won’t deny me that, my knight?”
He felt Ashe shudder and go limp against him. “N-no, my liege,” Ashe said. “I will happily give myself to you. But… do you mean to take me here?”
“I do.” Sylvain grinned. He let Ashe go, and Ashe almost slipped to the floor, but he righted himself at the very last moment. Sylvain cleared his throat. “Search in the pocket of my jacket.”
With one raised brow, Ashe complied. He was a little shaky on his feet as he made his way to the margrave’s desk, where Sylvain had laid his jacket earlier, but he didn’t complain. He simply did as Sylvain – or rather, Loog – asked of him, and found the small bottle of oil that had been stored away in secret.
“Sylvain!” Ashe gasped, momentarily breaking character. “Were you planning on doing this the whole time?”
To which Sylvain said, “Uh, yeah, duh. What’s more romantic than looking at old armor together?”
Ashe shook his head, incredulous, but despite himself, he smiled. “And the roleplaying?”
“That was more spontaneous. Speaking of which…” He brought a hand to his own throat and pinched it, taking a deep breath and coughing lightly to clear his throat. When he was done, he resumed speaking in that low, authoritative voice he was slowly getting used to: “Now, my faithful knight: I ask you to rid yourself of your clothing and prepare yourself for me.”
Ashe’s eyes widened. He looked at the oil in his hands and back at Sylvain. “You want me to… you want to watch me…?” He averted his gaze and stifled a nervous laugh, apparently still not used to Sylvain’s particular brand of brazen.
“I do,” Sylvain said in his Loog voice – but then, softer, he added, “Look, we don’t want to get oil and gunk all over the armor, do we? And I was really hoping I could fuck you with the gloves on.”
That seemed to help him get over his embarrassment. Ashe’s eyes remained wide, but his pupils expanded with them now, darkening his gaze and making the flush on his cheeks lascivious rather than innocent. He inhaled shakily and licked his lips, gaze flickering to the gauntlets Sylvain wore before once again drinking in the sight of him in Loog’s ceremonial armor.
And then he unfastened his pants.
They fell to the floor, and his shirt quickly followed. Ashe stood naked before Sylvain, his skin pale and freckled and perfect. There were a few new scars marring it now, and more muscle than Sylvain remembered from the last time they had met – but that wasn’t where his focus went now. It moved right between Ashe’s legs, where his cock stood hard and proud, flushed and aroused. He was… big. If Sylvain hadn’t been in such cumbersome armor, he might have gotten on his knees and offered to suck it. As it was, though, there were more important things on his mind.
He grinned, unable to completely stay in character. “Turn around, my knight.”
Ashe did so, a smirk of his own tugging at his lips. He popped open the cork on the bottle of oil, and then, bending over the desk and resting one elbow on it, poured some into his hand.
“Is this what you wanted, my liege?” he asked, reaching behind himself and tracing a finger around his rim. He slipped it in, eyes fluttering shut and breath escaping him in a soft, trembling sigh.
“It is,” Sylvain said. He stepped forward, eyes fixed on where Ashe’s finger disappeared inside him. “You are doing well, my knight. Continue.”
He didn’t need to be told. Ashe nodded with a smile, then let his head droop as he began to slowly fuck himself. He stretched himself out carefully, indulgently, sliding that single finger in and out of himself at a steady, languid pace. A second one joined it soon enough, and they spread apart and curled obscenely as Ashe moaned and gasped in pleasure.
“That’s enough,” Sylvain said, watching as Ashe’s back arched and his shoulders tensed and relaxed. He could see that wonderful cock of his, full and heavy between his legs, leaking just enough to stain the polished wood at the front of the desk. It was a sinfully delicious sight, and one that Sylvain knew could not last, lest they both come prematurely. He reached out and traced his hand over the curve of Ashe’s ass, humming in approval as Ashe removed his fingers and sagged atop the desk.
“Yes, my liege,” Ashe said. He shuddered, but quickly gathered himself and turned to face Sylvain. His eyes were half-lidded and hazy, and he looked as though he was on the verge of pure, unfettered bliss. He smiled, though, and poured more lube on his hands, which he offered to Sylvain.
“Let me get you ready too,” he said, eyes falling to the gap in Sylvain’s armor between his cuisses. No doubt he could see how hard Sylvain was, even through his trousers.
“As you wish, my knight,” Sylvain said. He reached down and opened up his pants, tugging them down just enough to free his straining cock but not enough to dislodge any armor. He held himself at the base, tilting his hips forward to silently grant Ashe permission to touch; and Ashe did, wrapping his fingers around the shaft and slicking it up generously with oil.
He didn’t linger long. Ashe was careful and methodical with Sylvain, touching him only where the armor wouldn’t and making sure his fingers never grazed it. He took Sylvain’s warning not to make a mess to heart, and for that, Sylvain was grateful: he could always explain away the stains, but it was better that he wouldn’t have to. They would still have to be careful, though.
All thoughts of holding back, however, vanished once Ashe let him go and turned around. He smiled at Sylvain over his shoulder, propped his elbows back up on the desk, and presented himself to him, whispering in a voice too low and husky to be anything but dreamlike, said, “Take me, my liege.”
And so Sylvain did. He took Ashe by the hips, spread his cheeks, and slowly pushed inside him, gauntleted fingers digging into the soft, supple flesh beneath them.
Sylvain groaned. His head fell back as his hips canted forward, and his lips parted wider on a gasp as he finally sheathed himself inside of Ashe. He shivered, trying to adjust to the feeling – Ashe was just so tight, so hot – but wasn’t given much of a chance to wait. Ashe was the one who started moving first; he rocked his hips, slowly, circling them before leaning forward and pushing back insistently against Sylvain.
Sylvain bit his lip. “Okay, okay, I get it,” he said, momentarily forgetting to put on the voice. It was fine, though; he didn’t think he’d need it anymore. Not when they had both shifted to speaking with their bodies rather than their words.
He fucked Ashe nice and slow, at first. Sylvain indulged him, working his way up to a faster, more energetic pace. He rolled his hips gently, grinding inside Ashe more than thrusting into him, but when Ashe got impatient and began to speed up himself, Sylvain matched his rhythm with ease.
“You must have wanted this more badly than I thought,” Sylvain said. He tried to inflect and pitch his voice as he imagined Loog would, but he was too engulfed by pleasure right now to be able to fully pull the facade together. “Have you dreamed of me like this before, my knight?”
“Yes,” Ashe admitted freely, his voice breathy and broken. “Yes, so much, I…”
“Good.” Sylvain thrust in harder, cutting Ashe off by dragging a high, clipped moan from between his lips. “Then allow me to fulfill your desires, as you are fulfilling mine.”
It was a cheesy line, one a touch too formal for Sylvain, but it had the desired effect anyway: Ashe cried out, entire body tensing and clenching around Sylvain. His hands curled into fists atop the desk and he rocked back, arching his back to take him deeper, deeper.
“S-Sylvain,” he whined, tossing his head back and trying to glance at his lover over his shoulder. “Please, I need—”
“Ah-ah,” Sylvain said with a grin. “It’s Loog, remember?”
He reached forward, suddenly, and pressed his hand to Ashe’s mouth, the leather of his gauntlets firm on Ashe’s lips. Ashe let out a muffled noise of surprise, but his eyes rolled back before their lids slipped delicately shut.
To hell with making a mess. Sylvain curled his fingers, pressing them insistently between Ashe’s lips. He opened them obediently, sucking those gauntleted fingers into his mouth and licking at the bits of metal atop them.
“Oh, fuck,” Sylvain said. He could not feel Ashe’s tongue on his hand, nor his saliva saturating the glove he wore, but all the same, the gesture sent a heady rush all throughout him. To see Ashe acting so obscene, so debauched, moaning at the idea that he was being fucked by the King of Lions himself… it was almost too much, and it was all Sylvain could do to hold himself back.
It was nearly too much for Ashe, too. His entire body shook and trembled as he sucked on Sylvain’s fingers, his hands clenching and unclenching on the desk. He was getting tighter, too, clamping down around Sylvain’s cock with every thrust, sucking him down as if he didn’t want to let it go…
But he was only almost there. He needed one last push to make it over the edge. Fortunately, Sylvain was all too happy to give it to him.
“Say it,” he hissed, leaning over to whisper in Ashe’s ear. He dragged his hand downward and pinched Ashe’s chin between his thumb and pinky, the two fingers in Ashe’s mouth pressing against his tongue and forcing his jaw open. “Say it, my knight. Call me by my name.”
“I – yes, my liege! King Loog!” Ashe cried, the moment Sylvain yanked his fingers from his mouth. His entire body spasmed, back curving tighter than the bowstrings he would draw back in battle, and his head fell backward too, clenched-shut eyes turned up toward the ceiling. Sylvain kissed his cheek, his neck, his shoulders, tasting the sweat that had beaded against his skin, and within moments he was coming too, his own orgasm drawn out by the way Ashe squeezed so perfectly tight around him.
He slouched forward, letting pleasure overtake him. His cock pulsed inside Ashe, even as Ashe slowly relaxed around him. He twitched, groaning as he felt himself finally begin to finish, and sighed when the last vestiges of his orgasm ebbed away like the tide. Eventually, he began to relax, and at much the same time as Ashe; the two of them came down together, Ashe resting against the desk and Sylvain slumping down over him. He didn’t stay atop him for too long, though – he was heavy enough as it was, even without the armor – and gradually, he pulled back and slipped out of Ashe entirely.
Both of them groaned as they adjusted to being apart. Ashe stood up slowly, still leaning against the desk for support, his legs shaking beneath him. He’d left a stain on the front of the polished wood, but that could be dealt with later: right now, there was something more important on Sylvain’s mind.
“Sooo…” he started, moving around to Ashe’s side and stroking his sweaty bangs back from his face. “Should I be concerned about the fact that you came that hard to the idea of a dead man fucking you?”
“S-Sylvain!” Ashe cried, recoiling and pushing the man in question away from him with a half-hearted shove to his shoulder. Unfortunately for him, all that did was make Sylvain laugh.
“Relax, I’m joking!” he insisted, leaning forward and kissing Ashe’s forehead. “And besides, it’d be pretty hypocritical of me to tease you.”
“You mean…”
“Yup!” Sylvain grinned. “I’ve had just about the same fantasy myself.”
He pulled away from Ashe and removed the gauntlets from his hands. Sylvain placed them gingerly on the desk and tucked his spent cock back into his pants, and then, seeing Ashe watching him with intense, intrigued eyes, he smiled.
“Help me get this armor off,” Sylvain said, “and maybe we can try it out the other way around.”