Lessons In Hunting

by zombiedoctor

Summary:

Alfred is approached by an amateur hunter with a strange accent looking for mentorship. He provides that and much more.

Notes:

I intended for this to be a shorter fic that I use to boost my motivation for the OTHER fic I'm currently writing for this series but we all know how that usually ends up.

Happy new year and enjoy!

Alfred sits in the small, dim living room of his current accommodations. He flips through the book resting on his knee with his right hand, an admittedly uninteresting murder mystery novel, and runs his finger around the rim of the half-full whisky glass in his left hand. He leans back in the old, wooden chair in which he’s sat, the limbs creaking with the stress of age. Most of the furniture in here is wooden—some cheap replica of mahogany, he notes—old, discoloured, and warped by time. He wonders how many people have come in and out of this room, how long they stayed here before they moved on with their journey.

This definitely wouldn’t be his first choice if he were to pick his accommodations. The buzz of the tavern below coming through the floor, infecting the entire flat with a yeasty odour. It’s not exactly pleasant. But with the night of the Hunt coming up in a week, he would take anything that the Church has to offer for free. All the nicer places are taken up by other hunters preparing themselves for the arduous battle ahead. As the only executioner left, he often gets cast to the bottom of the roster, so to speak.

Despite this, he’s still approached by other hunters looking for advice. In his youth, he was a beast hunter, like many of them, and has experience in slaying all sorts of fiends. That sort of thing passes around in the hunting world; it's not uncommon for amateurs to come to the more seasoned for mentorship.

Of all the requests he received, he decided to accept only one this hunting season. He remembers the circumstances.

He was approached after a Church ceremony, which he had decided to attend—the first time he had willingly attended such an event in a long time—by a lean-looking young man. Dressed in some kind of foreign garb adorned in all sorts of fancy flourishes and embroidery, he spoke with an accent that Alfred didn't recognise.

“Excuse me, sir,” he had said as he approached with a deep, respectful bow. It definitely caught the blond's attention. “I heard of you from a friend. It would be an honour to…”

He can't remember exactly what the foreign hunter said. He was far too distracted by his appearance to pay attention to what was coming out of his mouth. A slim figure, exaggerated in his thinner areas by his eccentric choice of garment. He could swear that he was wearing a corset—his waist pinched and feminine—underneath that wine-coloured pinstripe waistcoat that did nothing but emphasise it. Alfred only realised that he was leering at him like a hungry dog once the drone of the man's voice drained out and he stood pert, awaiting his answer.

They locked eyes. The moment was intense and electrifying. The blond had never met this man and, yet, he evoked such a powerful feeling in him. A tightening in his chest that made his heart feel like it was being crushed by a waggon wheel that didn't relent until he broke eye contact.

“Sir?” The foreign hunter said with a meek tone, clearly afraid of Alfred's answer. He looked young, not far into his 20s by his estimate, and seemed eager. How could Alfred refuse?

“Yes,” he had replied, sounding rather curt in his answer. It seemed to take the younger man off-guard, as if he didn't expect a positive outcome. “You can come to where I've been stationed when you need to, uhm…” he paused to find a piece of parchment and a writing tool in his array of pockets and satchels and scrawled down the address. “When you need to train.” He gave the other man a warm smile and extended the note out to him.

The foreign hunter stood still for a moment, from what seemed like shock, before he quickly scrambled to take the slip from Alfred's hand, bowing to him and uttering thanks in that barely distinguishable accent. He was gone as quickly as he came, taking off after finishing his show of thanks and disappearing down a shadowed alley.

Alfred sips his whisky, flopping the book on his knee closed with his other hand, and sighs deeply. He tries to figure out where that hunter’s accent is from. Definitely nowhere near Yharnam, he knows that, and it sort of sounds like he’s got a sponge stuck in the back of his throat. It’s not as obnoxious as some of the others he’s heard over the years, but he does have to put in effort to understand what’s being said. He’s never been a geographer.

The blond is ripped from his thoughts by the sound of sharp knocking at the door. He places the now empty glass on the small table beside the chair and pushes himself to his feet with a groan.

“One moment,” he calls out as he gets to the door and takes off the chain. Unfortunately, this door is one of the few in Yharnam without a peephole of any kind, so his only option is to open up. The hinges creak as it swings open, a plume of smoke from a nearby incense burner hitting Alfred in the face and stinging his eyes.

Stood before him is that same hunter he was just thinking about, looking as eager as the day they met. How convenient. Same wine-red waistcoat, cinched in all the right places, now over the top of a high-collared, freshly pressed black dress shirt. Seems like he got all nice and fancied up before he arrived. He can sense the nerves exuding from him; the foreign hunter may as well be quivering in his boots.

“Ah, it’s you!” Alfred beams, eyes lighting up at the sight of the man. He gets to refresh his memory. “I was wondering when you’d show up.” He huffs a chuckle through his nose. The foreign hunter’s face reddens slightly, and he manages an awkward-sounding chuckle.

“I’m sorry, Herr Alfred…” he apologises, fidgeting with his fingers, which are clasped tightly at his navel. It’s only now that Alfred notices the length of his hair—inconveniently long and tied into a ponytail that lays over his shoulder, complimenting the colour of his waistcoat with a streak of deep hazel. He’ll have to do something about that if he doesn’t want it all ripped straight from the scalp the moment he sets foot in front of a beast. The man looks like he wants to say more but can’t find the words, so resorts to just standing and almost shrinking into himself under Alfred’s gaze.

The blond huffs and steps aside, allowing room for the other man to enter.

“No need to apologise,” the burly man responds, eyes following the foreign hunter as he steps over the threshold. “We still have plenty of time to catch you up.” Alfred is charismatic enough to conceal his true intentions behind a few nice words and a smile, but he’s never mastered the art of the look. All his motives are locked behind those glassy, green eyes. But this man doesn’t look Alfred in the eyes, no. He’s far too anxious—or maybe it’s a show of respect. The blond doesn’t know his customs, after all.

The door swings closed as Alfred lets go of it and walks over to his chair, slamming shut with a rattle as the knocker claps back against the wood outside. It makes the foreign hunter jump. He’s so jittery for someone that wants to take part in the Hunt.

“You need to work on your anxiety,” Alfred hums as he approaches the cabinet behind where he was sitting. Inside is another glass and the mostly full bottle of whisky that he has been pouring from. He retrieves them both, turning to look at the other man with them in his hand. He’s still standing by the front door. It makes Alfred chuckle. “A nervous hunter is no good when fighting beasts. It requires a certain level of precision and focus.”

A metallic, nutty smell trails through the flat as Alfred pours the drinks, amber liquid filling the glasses. It’s nicer than the odour of beer coming up through the floorboards but is still distinctly alcoholic. The man picks up both glasses once they’re decently full and extends one out to the foreign hunter. Just a little drink to loosen him up.

“Come, sit,” he smiles, nodding at the other man as a sign of his permission to approach. “I’m sure that we can find something to chat about. Ask me anything you like.” He takes notice of the foreign hunter’s height, too, now that he’s a bit closer. Smaller than himself by about a head, if his estimates are accurate. He’s not built too badly, aside from his slimness of course. Wide shoulders, masculine frame, and particularly muscular legs. They catch Alfred’s eye. He never thought to look down, completely distracted by his upper half the last time they met, but is now met with the sight of two perfectly thick thighs. They do nothing to help the feminine look that this man has going on and they do even less for Alfred’s desire to remain decent for the time being.

“Thank you.” The smaller man mutters with a subtle nod. He takes a sip of the drink and immediately recoils, pulling a face as if he just sucked on a particularly sour lemon. Alfred can't help but laugh. He also takes a sip but has no reaction. He's long since used to the intense burn and the subtle hints of copper in the alcohol produced in Yharnam—he's been drinking it his entire life, after all—but he can understand why it might be a little strong for a first-timer.

“You'll get used to it.” Alfred says with an encouraging pat on the shoulder. The other man rubs his throat uncomfortably but nods in agreement with him. He flashes an awkward side-grin that sends a pang through the blond’s chest. A buzzing feeling emerges from his spine, flowing throughout his entire head and collecting in his brow. Maybe he’s already had a bit to drink.

He puts his drink back down on the side table and pulls up a chair for the foreign hunter to sit. He positions it so that it’s not directly facing his own seat but so that it’s at an angle to see the rest of the room too. It would be a little intimidating to have this poor man sit facing him eye-to-eye with nothing else to look at.

“So…” Alfred grunts as he flops back into his seat, looking up at the other man with rosy cheeks. “Before we start, actually, it would be nice to know your name.” He raises his eyebrows expectantly.

The foreign hunter seems surprised at this, but then chuckles as if coming to some sort of realisation in his head that it would be strange for Alfred not to know his name. It makes the blond wonder how he’s been treated whilst staying in this ‘fine’ town. The people are less than friendly to strangers, and many refer to them as just ‘foreigner’ or ‘outsider’ without caring to learn names. Most come for the Church’s blood healing and don’t leave, ending up far too sick. Many simply can’t withstand the intensive treatments administered in the Church’s healing plans.

This thought leads him to another set of pertinent questions. Why is this man here in Yharnam? To hunt? How did he hear of such a thing in… wherever he’s from?

“Ludwig.” The brunette responds with a slightly more confident smile. There’s a strange, sharp emphasis on the ‘w’, making it sound more like a ‘v’ as it comes out of Ludwig's mouth, but Alfred can recognise the pronunciation. It fascinates him. The slim man finally sits, taking another, much more hesitant sip of his beverage. He almost coughs but resists. Alfred is surprised, a local name! Or, rather, he’s always assumed that the name is local to Yharnam, considering it belongs to one of their most important historical figures.

“After the Holy Blade?” Alfred chimes in, tilting his head curiously. He can’t help himself. It would be amazing if the Church’s influence had begun to spread into foreign cultures so much that people were named after one of its first leaders. Ludwig laughs—genuinely this time—but quickly covers his mouth to collect himself.

“I have been asked the same question by others,” he replies, clearing his throat and keeping his tone respectful. It nags at Alfred, but it also stirs something inside. The way that this man reveres him without even knowing who he is definitely turns him on. “But, no. It is a common name where I am from.”

“Fascinating…” Alfred purrs with genuine interest. He runs his fingers around the rim of his glass, occasionally picking it up to sip from it as Ludwig thinks of a decent question.

They have an engaging conversation. Well, engaging for Ludwig, mostly. For Alfred, it’s the same line of questioning that most amateurs ask. ‘What weapons do you recommend?’ and ‘Do you have any techniques you can suggest?’. He answers honestly, not wanting to rob this man of the actual learning experience that he came here for. The only question that doesn’t pop up is ‘What does a beast look like?’. That one is painfully common and annoying, but it is basically impossible to answer. The word ‘beast’ is far too broad. Alfred usually responds with something like ‘big, furry, and dangerous.’

The questions begin to take a more personal turn after a while. Alfred notices that Ludwig’s glass is almost empty. He’s rosy in the face, hair a little more dishevelled, sitting with a slant leaning towards Alfred. The blond himself has turned his buzz into more of a tipsy hum, so he’s more than happy to answer every inquiry that the other has.

“Do you get hot under those robes?” Ludwig asks with a giggle and a distinct slur between his words. It makes him even harder to understand, but Alfred can still just about manage.

“Very,” he replies, not even looking the other man in the eye anymore. His gaze is more focused on his waist and his thighs. He wants to grab and poke—physically resisting the urge to move in and grope at him. “It’s difficult not to sweat when you have to dodge out of the way of giants with huge axes that would crunch you up in an instant.” He laughs, but this seems to catch Ludwig off guard. He goes a little pale, but also manages a weak laugh. You can see the cogs whirring in his head as he tries to figure out if Alfred is serious or not.

Alfred isn’t wearing the full executioner garb right now—why would he when he’s alone at home—but he was when he and Ludwig first met. At the moment, he’s in a simple dress shirt and trousers. Something airy. The robes do tend to get heavy after a while of wearing them, so he appreciates the moments when he can wear something lighter.

“Where are you from?” Alfred asks finally, unable to resist the question at the tip of his tongue any longer. “Your accent is intriguing. I’ve never heard anything like it before.”

Ludwig’s face flushes even more, cheeks turning a noticeably brighter shade of red. He looks down into his lap, away from Alfred’s face. He looks at his face, mostly staring at the bridge of his nose to feign eye contact, but still refuses to look the other man directly in the eye.

“A small village near Rheipen.” The brunette responds with a shrug. Alfred has heard of Rheipen, the capital of one of the more eastern countries over the water. He’s not sure which one, but he recalls the last Rheipennian he had an encounter with many years ago—he also turned his ‘w’s into ‘v’s, and his ‘th’ sounds came out more like a sharp ‘zz.’ It was much more subtle than Ludwig’s accent, so Alfred doesn’t blame himself for not recognising it at first. The smaller man doesn’t seem keen on sharing information about his origin, his hands collecting in his lap to fidget again, but Alfred can’t help himself.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he queries, downing the last of the whisky in his glass in one hearty gulp. “I understand that you want to be a hunter or, rather, that you are a hunter. The thing I don’t understand is why.” One simply needs to say that they’re a hunter to be one. Just because you are one doesn’t mean you’re any good at it, though.

Ludwig sighs. As their conversation has progressed, his sips have evolved into bigger and bigger swigs. The burning sensation in his chest actually becomes quite pleasant after a bit, and now he finds himself sitting here and craving more.

“I didn’t come to Yharnam with the idea of becoming a hunter already in my mind.” he explains, staring into his own empty glass longingly. Alfred catches this and leans forward, bottle in hand, to refill it. This brings him quite close to Ludwig. A soft, floral scent invades his nose with an undertone of sweat, making his head tingle and sending pulses down his spine and into his crotch. He inhales, subtly but deeply, and basks in the scent for just a second before being forced to return to his own seat. “I actually came here seeking refuge, but I didn’t have a choice in becoming a hunter. Everybody assumed my intentions without ever asking.” 

Ludwig picks up his glass and brings it to his lips. Alfred watches as a thick bead of the amber liquid collects at the corner of his mouth and slowly rolls down his chin, leaving a sparkling trail in its wake. The blond lets out a subdued, uneven breath as his eyes follow the bead travelling down Ludwig’s neck—over his Adam's apple as it bobs with each gulp—and rest where it finally stops and soaks into his collar, creating a little stain. 

“You’re the only person who seems to care.” the brunette sighs, putting the half-empty glass down. He looks up at Alfred, not caring about where the blond’s eyes are, and leans towards him again, planting an elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin in his hand. The change in position drags Alfred’s eyes up again. “The ‘friend’ who recommended you to me was actually another Church hunter. I forget his name, but I’m thankful for his endorsement.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow, ego inflating his chest and making him sit a little taller. He didn’t know that the other hunters talked about him.

“And why’s that?” He asks, curious. He hadn’t given Ludwig any more information than what most other hunters would tell him. In fact, somewhere in his alcohol-hazed mind, he notes that the ‘lesson’ he had given him was quite mediocre.

“I just like you,” Ludwig responds with intoxication induced honesty. “The time I have spent with you here tonight has been the best time I’ve had for a very long time.” Their eyes meet again. That electrifying feeling is visibly mutual as the brunette shivers and his ears redden. “Especially in the company of another person.”

“I like you too,” Alfred remarks, his resting simper breaking into a smirk. The tension turns from a one-sided desire into a mutual buzz. It looms over them. Ludwig wonders if he’s drunk, looking down at his glass and breaking eye contact after an intense few moments. He comes to the conclusion that he can’t possibly be that intoxicated if his glass isn’t empty, in spite of the spinning feeling forming in his head. “You’re quite handsome, you know that?”

Ludwig’s fingers tap against his temple. He looks back to Alfred, who is now much closer. He seems to have scooted his chair forward in the few seconds that the brunette was looking away. He doesn’t mind all that much, but it does elicit a small, tingling nervousness in his stomach. Something in the back of his mind tells him to move away—to back out of the situation altogether and run away while he can—but he doesn’t. Alfred’s compliment makes his stomach flutter.

“Thank you,” he says, working up the courage for what he wants to say next. His hand moves to play with his hair, twirling the dark strands between his fingers. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Alfred chuckles, the sound rumbling from his chest and into his throat. His hand is suddenly resting on Ludwig’s knee. He doesn’t move away, nonverbally allowing it to be there by moving his legs a bit closer to the other man. 

“I didn’t think you were…” Ludwig starts, but he trails off. He doesn’t know how to say what he wants to in a non-awkward way. He doesn’t have to, as Alfred picks up on what he means. It coaxes another chuckle out of him.

“I’m not impartial to male companionship,” the blond hums, squeezing Ludwig’s knee gently. “Especially when said companion is so appealing.” He’s abandoned all sense of concealing his desires at even the slightest hint of reciprocation from the smaller man.

Ludwig looks like he’s about to melt. His face and ears are bright red, and he refuses to meet Alfred’s gaze again, but he clearly doesn’t mind the attention. He leans into the blond’s touch, and there’s a small smile on his face. Of course, being homosexual in any way is taboo, so Alfred doesn’t go around wearing it on his sleeve, but that doesn’t mean he won’t seek relations with other men when he can. 

His hand slowly moves up Ludwig’s thigh as they speak, squeezing and holding occasionally. His groping becomes more overtly sexually motivated when he gets to the fattier parts of the other man’s leg. Neither of them notice how close they’ve gotten to each other until Ludwig feels Alfred’s hot, uneven breath running down his neck and Alfred gets a satisfying whiff of Ludwig’s hair.

The brunette shivers, touching Alfred’s hand with his own. He doesn't remove it, just resting his own hand atop the other man’s. He whimpers as Alfred squeezes him again, this time in a much more sensitive area. Cold fingers pry at his inner thighs, causing the skin to prickle and the hair on the back of his neck to stand. 

“Alfred…” Ludwig whispers, touching the other man’s chest with his free hand. The contact alone steps past a boundary that Ludwig has never dared to break before. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

Alfred is surprised at the question, but he doesn’t stop. He gives the smaller man a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t worry,” he purrs, voice low and sultry. “No one will bother us here. We’re safe.”

The blond leans in, as does Ludwig. There’s a moment of pause before their lips meet, and, despite being barely a second, it feels like an eternity that they’re sat like this, feeling each other’s breath on their faces, which does nothing but rile them both up. When they finally connect, the passion is intense and immediate.

Alfred’s hand roams from Ludwig’s thigh, snaking its way up his shirt and yearning to feel the flesh beneath. He is wearing a corset. The garment blocks Alfred from the other man’s skin, but the realisation that it’s really there turns him on. How can Ludwig walk around looking like this and not expect to get snatched up off of the streets by someone like him?

His tongue brushes over Ludwig’s bottom lip, entering his mouth. He finds the hand that’s not currently groping at his partner’s waist entangling with his hair—soft and smooth and clearly well cared for. It would be a shame to lose it. They lean into each other, grasping for any sort of friction that they can get at this angle. Alfred’s hand retreats from beneath Ludwig’s shirt and grabs at his crotch instead. He palms at the bulge present, unable to control the moan that he releases upon feeling his chosen protégé’s erection.

Ludwig whimpers, pulling away from the kiss and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He looks away from Alfred, face beet red, but humps into his hand, closing his eyes and biting his lip in a feeble attempt to stifle his noises. The blond chuckles, getting up from his seat to stand over the other man. He supports himself on the armrest of his chair with one arm, leaning in close to feel the brunette's body heat and hear his sounds, and continues groping at his hard-on with a much better angle.

“No need to be so quiet,” Alfred purrs, taking a deep breath with his nose buried in Ludwig's hair. The sensation it sends through him is exhilarating. His cock aches uncomfortably in his pants. He's not sure how long he'll be able to control himself. “Nobody down there will hear us. They're too drunk to care if they do.” He laughs, and, for the first time, he's happy that he's currently holed up in a tavern. He can do what he pleases with an unlimited supply of Yharnam's ‘almost better than average’ spirits and disinterested neighbours. A lot of Yharnamites tend to be nosy—all wanting a slice of the hunter's life, wanting to see what makes them so ‘special’—but not here.

A soft moan emanates from the smaller man's mouth. He bucks up into Alfred's hand—the squeezing becoming unbearable. The blond giggles, fidgeting with the buttons on Ludwig's pants, being intentionally clumsy to draw out the process. His cock practically jumps out at him, giving Alfred quite the surprise. He didn't expect the lack of underwear, but he doesn't mind one bit; it's all the easier for him.

Ludwig almost cries out as Alfred wraps his fingers around his cock. His chest jumps, causing his breath to hitch in his throat, and a shiver runs up his spine. Pre-cum starts collecting at his tip the more that Alfred massages his shaft. The brunette writhes beneath him, whimpering and babbling at every movement that he makes.

“So sensitive,” Alfred thinks out loud, his own dick throbbing needily. It presses against his pants, making itself very visible, and he finds himself clenching his thighs to gain some sort of friction. He's only just started, but his patience is already wearing thin. “Come.”

He removes his hand from Ludwig's shaft, earning a passionate moan from the man, and pulls him up to his feet. They both wobble, unstable from the alcohol, but manage to find their footing. They transfer over to the bed, moving out of instinct. Ludwig's mind is hazy—he barely realises that he's moved until he feels himself sinking into the mattress, cold linen against his back.

Alfred lays Ludwig down, spreading his legs and kneeling up on the bed between them. He traces his fingers over the length before him, twitching and leaking little droplets of clear fluid onto its owner's stomach. His mouth waters at the sight: a beautiful young man who quivers at every touch and wants nothing more in the current moment than to service him. He quickly undoes his own trousers, Ludwig’s half-lidded eyes following his hands, and releases his cock. It twitches as it's exposed to the air, veins throbbing. Alfred makes quick work of Ludwig’s pants, throwing them to the side and leaving the brunette completely bare from the hips down.

Alfred shuffles forward, towering over Ludwig. He feels so small beneath him and is so easily manhandled that Alfred could mistake him for a doll—a frail, porcelain one that needs to be treated with the utmost care and kept on the highest shelf on the display unit. And, in spite of this, all that the blond wants to do is destroy him. A body like this needs to be ravaged, lest it go to waste.

“Alfred…” Ludwig mewls, reaching out for the blond and placing a hand on his shoulder when he leans down to listen. His eyes are filled with lust and hunger, the type of lust that one might see in the eyes of a touch-starved woman, but there's apprehension. “I… I've never…” He whimpers with embarrassment. Alfred raises his eyebrows.

“You've never…” he repeats the other man's sentence and finishes it mentally when he refuses to. “It's alright. I can be gentle.” He neglects to add the ‘at first’ to the end of that sentence. But it comforts Ludwig—his muscles visibly relaxing as he allows himself to settle into the bed more. Alfred nestles his face into the crook of Ludwig's neck, taking some of the flesh into his mouth and sucking gently. He leaves soft, pink marks in his wake and earns satisfactory moans from his partner, which only make his cock throb painfully.

He can't take much more. Alfred sits up, looking down at Ludwig to take in the sight one more time. He just likes to admire—to take in the beauty and try to spot little details he's never noticed before. It's a little difficult when he's drunk, but he feels sappy. His usual romanticism is clouded by seemingly insatiable lust.

The blond leans over to the bedside table, reaching out and opening the drawer. He produces a small, brown glass vial, uncorking it and tapping the lip. A spicy, bitter scent stings their noses as Alfred pours a few droplets of the oil onto Ludwig's hole. The sudden cold, slick feeling makes him yelp in surprise, jolting away from the other man's touch.

“Clove oil,” Alfred smiles, replacing the cork in the bottle once Ludwig is sufficiently lubed. “Good for these sorts of things.” He chuckles, seeing a small smile on Ludwig's face. It's completely natural for him to be nervous, but he'll warm up to it soon enough.

The bigger man rubs his hands over Ludwig's thighs before lifting his legs to get better access to his ass. His dick twitches as the other man aligns himself, the feeling of someone pressed against him in such an intimate area is completely foreign. It makes his head spin, every nerve in his body suddenly on fire and ice cold simultaneously, and the moment feels surreal. He looks at Alfred, whose shirt has become unbuttoned somewhere in all the movement, and admires the hair coating him in the moment he should be taking to brace himself.

Regret instantly sets in once Alfred presses himself inside. His tip barely penetrates him, and it makes Ludwig jump up, quickly reaching up to grip the blond's shoulder intensely. Tears brim at his waterline, and he lets out a dismayed sound of mixed pain and pleasure.

“Shh, shh… It'll only hurt for a minute.” Alfred hums, rubbing Ludwig's thigh comfortingly. The brunette digs his nails into the other man's shoulder as he pushes deeper. The tears begin to fall, leaving glimmering trails in their wake. The clove oil begins to do its job, and a pleasant tingling blossoms, subduing the pain just enough to allow Ludwig to relax.

He sits back, the change in angle sending a jolt up his spine, and allows himself to adjust. Alfred groans as he looks down and sees his cock half buried inside Ludwig’s ass. He sits still, allowing a moment for the smaller man to get used to the feeling before moving. 

Ludwig's muscles tense as Alfred pulls out, just to the tip, and he releases a carnal moan when he pushes back inside. The blond squeezes the fatty parts of his partner's thighs as he pulls out again, biting down on his bottom lip in an attempt to focus himself. He didn't anticipate how tight Ludwig would be, even knowing that the man is—or was—a virgin, and struggles to resist the urge to fuck into his hole relentlessly as he clenches around his shaft.

“Alfred…” Ludwig whimpers, making it even harder for the man to control himself. He pushes deeper inside, about an inch, but it makes the brunette writhe beneath him. His sniffling and whining are all the more encouraging when they're broken up by loud, intimate sounds.

It becomes too much to bear quite quickly, and Alfred can no longer keep a hold on his desires. He thrusts all the way into Ludwig, stretching the man's ass to fit all the way inside. His walls throb and twitch around his shaft, pushing him further into his lustful daze.

“Alfred!” Ludwig calls out again, breathless and voice full of pain. He wraps his legs around the blond's waist, gripping him and unintentionally pushing him just that little bit further inside. He feels completely full, and the pain is suddenly gone. Or, rather, what was pain a moment ago now translates in his drunken mind to overwhelming bliss. “You’re so big…” 

Alfred looks down at Ludwig, their eyes meeting for a second before the larger man leans in and connects their lips. Their tongues instantly entwine, the taste of alcohol prevalent in both of their mouths. It gets hard to focus on kissing as Alfred pulls out and thrusts all the way back inside. He doesn't relent this time, not allowing for any time to adjust, as he continually pounds Ludwig's hole and relishes in the pressure around his dick.

Ludwig is reduced to a babbling mess of tears within the first few strokes, pulling away from the kiss and leaving their lips connected by a thin string of saliva. The heat of orgasm begins to build in his stomach already, threatening to boil over. He tenses, unable to contain the sounds and pleas that escape his lips, as the feeling starts to take a hold on his body.

Alfred takes notice of this and chuckles, only increasing his pace. He moves his hands, taking a hold of Ludwig's hips to get a better grip. He feels the boning of the man's corset beneath his shirt and subconsciously wonders if he's bothered with it being on in this particular situation. He's quickly distracted by the man's begging.

“Herr Alfred, please…” He moans, his grip around the man's waist faltering for a second as he reaches his peak. He throws his head back, quickly biting down on his hand to stifle the scream that comes with his orgasm. He makes a mess of his shirt, a puddle of cum quickly forming at his navel, as he rides out his climax.

Alfred doesn't stop, nor does he slow down in any way. Ludwig clenches around his cock as he comes, provoking the blond to increase his pace. The blinding bliss of orgasm quickly transforms into overstimulation as Alfred refuses to stop. Ludwig remains hard thanks to the other man's unforgiving momentum.

When he asked for lessons, he expected only that. He expected Alfred to be just like the rest of the Yharnamites he had met—disinterested and impolite—but he was met with someone the exact opposite. This scenario is only something he would have come up with in an intoxicated stupor or a dream fuelled by a deeply-buried desire. How could he have ever expected to find a partner when he was forced to flee his hometown for his ‘deviant nature’?

He's pulled from his thoughts by a sudden, indescribable pleasure coursing through his entire body. Every thrust comes with a blinding white flash behind Ludwig's eyes and all he can do is let out guttural moans and screams, completely surrendering his body to Alfred's will.

Alfred himself, who recognises that he's found Ludwig's sweet spot, mercilessly fucks into it. His grip on the man's hips and waist harsh enough to leave marks, he loses himself to his urges. His words of comfort and praise devolve into primal growls and snarling in the brunette's ear as he leans down and wraps his arms fully around the other's waist, holding him close and feeling the uneven rise and fall of his chest against his own and the spread of warmth from the man's abdomen. He disregards the fact that he is now also smeared with Ludwig's fluids due to the change in position.

Ludwig lays almost completely limp, save for his legs, which are still clasped around Alfred's waist. He begs in his native tongue, his English-speaking skills diminished by the lewd fog infecting his mind—a slurred and almost unintelligible string of pleas. The bigger man can't understand the words being said, but he somehow understands what Ludwig wants instinctively, as if connected to the other man's mind.

He doesn't relent until the brunette cries out, thighs tensing and pulling Alfred in suddenly, forcing his cock all the way inside. Ludwig comes again, his cock throbbing against Alfred's navel and making a much more thorough mess. The blond doesn't care, in his own world. He holds Ludwig up when the man's legs give out, unable to keep their folded position, and continues thrusting into him.

His pace is hard and fast, but quickly becomes sloppier as the heat of climax begins to build in the pit of his stomach. Alfred groans into Ludwig's ear, taking a deep breath of his hair.

“What have you done to me…” he mutters, unaware of the fact that he's speaking out loud. Ludwig can only manage a breathy whimper as a response, his voice hoarse from the constant cries and screams and from the intoxication. He can't see Alfred's face from this position, but he can feel his breath creeping down his neck and the weight of his face buried in his hair. His ass twitches around the bigger man's cock, basically numb from the continual pounding, and every thrust forces a soft whine out of his throat regardless of how hard he tries to keep them in.

The heat builds until it infects every inch of Alfred's body. He feels as though his skin is on fire, and he almost collapses on top of Ludwig as he finally comes. He rides out his orgasm, continuing to fuck into the other man as he fills his ass. Ludwig gasps at the sudden rush of warmth inside him and shudders, reaching up weakly and barely managing to get a loose grip on Alfred's shirt. 

The blond pants, sweat dripping down his back and rolling off of his brow. He stays inside Ludwig for just a moment, savouring the feeling of being one with him, before he pulls out and collapses beside him.

The emptiness inside him makes Ludwig feel a rush of icy cold air crawl up his back, and he's suddenly aware of how freezing he is without Alfred on top of him. His knees and groin ache from being in such a tense and strained position for so long, and his back is—thankfully—completely numb. He manages to, albeit very slowly and shakily, push himself up to lay closer to Alfred, pining for a hint of that warmth again.

Alfred lays with his eyes closed, recuperating and trying his best to stay awake, but forces them open when he feels the shift in the weight beside him. He looks down at Ludwig through a blurry filter, basically seeing him double. Despite this, he manages to pull the man into a more comfortable position—holding him close and wrapping his own arm around him.

Ludwig sighs in appreciation and genuine comfort, rubbing his face against the other man's chest as he makes himself comfortable. He doesn't care about his state, or the fact that when he wakes up he will be confused and most likely horrified at the realisation of what he's done. He's happy to just be here for the moment with someone that at least loves his body.

Alfred is, of course, grateful for the good fuck. But there's something else. Something he doesn't feel with the men from the taverns or the other hunters he's had relations with. There's some deeper connection, something primal that makes him crave more. More of his scent, more of his voice and interesting turn of phrase, more of his body. He grips Ludwig's arm, stroking his thumb over the tender flesh.

He'll keep this one.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Romeo's Distress