Work Text:
It was paradise and torture having Bolaire in the Fang family home each night. Sleeping in Hal’s bed. The move had been made for practical reasons as much as romantic ones, but late at night, as the pair lay side by side, each with their nose buried in a book, Hal’s focus intensified on matters less pragmatic.
The book in his hand was a romance, and yes, it was filthy, but that wasn’t the reason Hal felt hot under the collar. It was the weight of Bolaire in bed next to him and his perpetual stillness in front of a book that turned its own pages. There was no question in Hal’s mind as to whether his lover was as distracted from his reading as Hal was. Bolaire experienced no carnal desires of any kind, and what his body felt was numbed by the time it seeped into his earthenware pores.
They had accepted long ago that physical desire would never flow equally between them. Hal took nothing personally...intellectually, but what his head knew to be true and what the hot, squirmy thing that lived low in his belly believed were at odds. The fear that Bolaire was secretly disturbed or annoyed by Hal’s incessant neediness made the bard cringe with embarrassment, and it also made him very hard.
Hal turned the page for something to do and then realized that he had no idea what he was reading. He actually wanted to enjoy this story. The stalwart Arcane Marshal was just starting to lower his walls and let the humble mandolin player see his true heart. Hal was hooked into the narrative just moments ago, but then he had started thinking about Bolaire and whether the mask still kept secrets. He started yearning, and the desire turned physical somewhere between the last page and this one. Hal let out a breath he found himself holding and tried not to let the urge consume him.
He read the page again, turned it. His success made him arrogant, relaxing his mental grip on the printed letters. The paladin held his beloved’s face close and began telling him about the day he took his oath. There was regret. Hal thought he had seen too much war for one life, and he’d barely engaged with the last one. Then he met Bolaire—the real Bolaire. There was no way he knew all of the masks secrets, and he respected that. Bolaire was entitled to privacy, but he shouldn’t have to shoulder his burdens alone. He had been so alone for so long.
Hal could not even imagine such a life. He hated loneliness more than anything in the world; everyone in his extended families knew this to some degree, whether Hal had told them or not. Entreating Bolaire to move in had been in part to offer him a warm, inviting home with all the richness this place had to offer, and another significant part had been Hal’s never-ending effort to enrich the space for his own benefit. He loathed empty rooms, unless they were theatres, and even then he wanted others at his side to play with.
Hal’s hand slid over his hip, absent-mindedly tugging his boxers tight over his erection, and the jolt of sensation startled him back into himself. He was so keyed up that even that tiny tease felt exquisite. If he indulged it, Bolaire would notice. Which was fine. Hal wasn’t ashamed. Except that this intense shyness felt a hell of a lot like shame. All he could think about was those piercing blue eyes locking on him and catching Hal in the act of something that was beneath the curator of The Archanaud. Just the thought made him ache so badly that Hal struggled to keep his hands off himself.
He read another page, forcing his upper lip into his tusk with his tongue to keep his mind sharp. The paladin was saying something about his oath that was less than dedicated, a deeply vulnerable confession. Also an arousing political statement wrapped up in a salacious romance package that Hal’s academic side wanted to analyze. Every soldier had regrets and wound up taking orders from men they despised or didn’t even know. It was hard to know which was worse sometimes. Hal hadn’t spoken about this truth with anyone since Thjazi. The person in bed with him had seen more war that both Hal and his brother combined, and Hal hoped Bolaire knew he would gladly trade war stories over a bottle any time.
His hand went to turn the page, and Hal realized he didn’t know when the bard had started replying. Another section in need of reread...how far back did he lose his place?
“How is your book, my dear?” Bolaire asked with mischief in his voice.
Hal glanced down at himself and spied his bulge beneath his book. There was no denying what he wanted.
“I’m not sure I could tell you,” Hal admitted, bringing the pages to his face and burying his flushed cheeks.
Bolaire chuckled. “A little distracted, are we? You know I don’t mind if you use your porn in the way it was intended.”
The heat in Hal’s cheeks flared up to his ears. “I’m not– I mean, that’s sweet. Thank you, darling. I do know,” he said, reaching to take Bolaire’s hand and press a kiss to his knuckles.
The mask smiled fondly at him, and Hal lingered in his gaze. Bolaire was dressed down for bed, but still quite covered. He wore a long-sleeved tunic, leggings, and his well-worn soft leather gloves. His wig sat on the stand beside the wardrobe, carefully treated for the shape of its curls. Bare skin peeked out from Bolaire’s collar. His neck, ears, and a shaggy mess of shorn hair was on display, but the novelty of Bolaire’s bodies had worn off for Hal some weeks back. These details didn’t interest him. The heat that burned in the orc’s gut was entirely due to those arcane eyes raking over him.
The eyes blinked, flickering out for a split second. “Well? Don’t keep me waiting,” Bolaire tutted.
Hal didn’t gasp, but his breath did something funny that sounded a little like one. Close enough that a wide smirk crept up Bolaire’s cheeks, perfectly eerie. Hal turned away and tucked his bookmark between the pages of his forgotten novel. He palmed the bulge resting in the center of his hips and hummed, settling into a more relaxed position.
Hal worked his hand beneath the waistband and gripped himself firmly before glancing back towards his lover. Bolaire was no longer looking at him, and Hal’s stomach sank. Need prickled down the back of his neck and coiled at the base of his spine. Bolaire’s attention was refocused on his book; he was unbothered by Hal’s carnal undertakings. Perhaps even uninterested.
The ego-driven bard dragged his lips over his tusks and shoved his boxers down his thighs. He started to squeeze and massage himself. It took the edge off and eased him into the right headspace. Hal darted his eyes towards Bolaire again as he fetched the flask of oil stashed in the drawer of his bedside table. Bolaire was watching him and pretending not to be. A page of his book turned, but the bright dots of blue were angled in Hal’s direction.
Hal made a show of popping out the cork and dripping a portion of oil over his dick. The cool sensation made him shiver. He hurried to recork the flask and set it aside so he could warm the oil up with a little friction. The sound was wet and loud in the quiet room, giving Hal goosebumps as he thought about Bolaire “reading” beside him.
He stole a glance at the mask and was painfully disappointed to see that Bolaire was, apparently, reading again. One hand was poised with knuckles leaning into his chin, as if considering something on the page. The book turned its page, and Bolaire tilted his head to read on from the left side again. He seemed to catch sight of Hal’s hand moving in his periphery, but that piercing gaze didn’t bother turning far enough to meet Hal halfway. Hal realized he’d held his breath when Bolaire returned his attention to the page in front of him, not the least bit seduced.
Releasing that held breath made a whimpering sound Hal hadn’t intended. Embarrassment burned across his skin, and he spotted the corner of Bolaire’s mouth twitch up. Hal bit his upper lip and found a steady rhythm for his fist. He forced the stage fright back the only way he knew how: twisting it around and using it as fuel for the performance.
Hal angled his body into positions that would be flattering from where Bolaire sat and tried to imagine what he looked like from the mask’s point of view. He figured he looked desperate already, so keyed up that he couldn’t wait to take care of business under the cover of full darkness, when Bolaire was done with his book for the night. Hal wondered if he looked as vulnerable as he felt. Letting go in the presence of somebody else was very different when they were not also clouded by the fog of lust. Bolaire had nothing to distract him from Hal except for a dusty old tome.
Pleasure mounted quickly. Hal snuck another glance across the bed, yearning for Bolaire to reach across the gap and touch him, and caught his lover looking this time. Even without the ability to blush, the mask was easy to read. Bolaire’s eyes tracked Hal’s free hand as it kneaded his sack and pressed against his taint. Hal paid attention to what he was doing, trying to add a little flair, but it backfired. The grip around his sack was a touch too tight, and he cried out, arching in response.
“What a messy thing you are,” Bolaire commented observationally. “You’re leaking all over yourself.”
Hal bit his lip and groaned, trying and failing to regain control. The pain had been a white hot shock, and in its wake all he felt now was an exquisite fire.
“So lovely, Halandil,” Bolaire praised, settling back in his seat to watch. The book was shut on his lap.
Hal took a deep breath, but it was shaky, his lungs refusing to fully expand. His offhand cupped his aching sack loosely while his slick one built up speed again on his shaft. He was getting close, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for this to be over. Having Bolaire’s hot gaze on him was a unique high that Hal was always chasing. He wanted to linger in it for as long as possible.
“Something wrong, darling?” Bolaire asked, blinking and cocking his head with exaggerated concern. “Are you struggling to get what you want?”
Hal’s face burned. He couldn’t tell if his lover was being earnest or mocking him, and he had no idea which was hotter. Hal shook his head, willing Bolaire to understand that he had the opposite problem. Forming words with his lips felt impossible. They worked helplessly but not silently. It was unclear how long Hal had been letting out little whimpers in the midst of his panting. It was embarrassing how quickly he’d reached this level of dishevelment. Sweat beaded at Hal’s temples.
Blue arcane flames chased him down, and more of the room was blocked out of Hal’s vision by light gray painted clay. He tilted his chin up in Bolaire’s direction, and he felt the press of unnaturally soft earthenware against his lips. Hal could barely return the kiss. It was so gentle and brief.
He pressed hard against his taint as the rhythm of his other hand stuttered. Bolaire wasn’t going to offer him any more than that fleeting kiss. He leaned away again to get a better view of the full picture. Hal drove his tusks into his lips and groaned, working himself harder. His forearms were starting to get tired from being twisted into impossible angles with muscles taut to the point of straining. Yet the show must go on.
“Beautiful,” Bolaire praised in a whisper.
Hal shivered, and his body seized up, tensing with unexpectedly sharp pleasure.
“I feel the finale drawing near,” the mask teased, corners of his mouth quirked up. “This moment here, just before, this is my favorite part.”
Hal gasped and squeezed his cockhead in the cushion of his palm. A few swirls of his wrist, and his vision went spotty. Warm cum seeped between his fingers. Hal pushed hard into his taint as he spilled, milking himself for as long as he could manage.
Bolaire loomed mere inches away, lounging on his side as he watched Hal fall apart. Hal tried to gaze up at him as he came down from a dizzying peak, but it was hard to keep his eyes open. His eyelids blinked and fluttered as he panted for breath. Sweat cooled on his brow and the back of his neck, making Hal feel especially out of sorts in comparison to his lover’s tidy dress. Bolaire smiled down at him with utter fondness that felt absurd to Hal, whose cheeks burned.
“How are you feeling, my sweet?” the mask asked.
Hal tried to speak, and his voice caught in the back of his throat, dry from all the panting and whining. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and tried to keep his mouth shut long enough for it to moisten. Beyond that, it was hard to know how to answer. Physically Hal felt incredible, despite the awful sticky sensation settling on most of his skin. Then along with the tenderness he had for Bolaire, there was a thick curl of shame and embarrassment that made Hal stay crumpled in a heap on the mattress, not reaching for him. How was he feeling? Good? Not bad. But maybe if he said bad Bolaire would cradle him against his chest. Or kiss him. Hal could never get enough kisses from Bolaire.
“If you’re thinking this hard perhaps you haven’t had enough yet,” Bolaire teased gently.
Hal grunted and shook his head.
“What can I do for you, darling?”
Now Hal reached for him, unable to verbalize the many things he might ask Bolaire to help him with. He needed a rinse and a cup of water, but he couldn’t ask for those things. Bolaire took Hal’s hand and drew it up to kiss his knuckles. Hal hummed contentedly at the sensation of those warm lips and the smooth feeling of the dark glaze.
“Hold on,” Bolaire murmured fondly. “Let me clean you up.”
He slipped away in a flash but didn’t go far. Hal watched him fetch the basin, water pitcher, and a clean rag. Bolaire set them on the bedside and filled the basin from the pitcher. Hal licked his lips as he watched, feeling parched. Then before dipping the rag, Bolaire floated across the room again and retrieved a cup from the mini bar cabinet. Warmth filled Hal’s chest as he watched Bolaire return and pour him a drink.
Hal shoved himself a little more upright and took the cup from his lover with a grateful nod. As he drank it down, Bolaire wet the rag and used prestidigitation to warm it before touching it to Hal’s skin. It was so nice to let his lover care for him, turning a little this way and that as Bolaire cleaned away the sweat and cum.
He started at Hal’s thighs and hips and worked his way upward, rinsing the mess from the rag as he went. He saved Hal’s head and neck for last and put additional care into tending to him there. Hal let his eyes drift shut and smiled, humming happily. All the shame from before was removed with the unpleasant feelings on his skin. He was left feeling floaty and buzzing with lingering pleasure.
Bolaire cleared away the basin and all its accouterments, taking the nearly empty cup from Hal’s limp grip at the last. Hal raised his chin to meet Bolaire in another luscious kiss as he climbed back into bed. He rolled onto his side and cradled the mask in his palm, willing his lips to linger.
Eventually Hal was too heavy with fatigue to make his lips keep up the effort. Bolaire’s forehead knocked into his, their noses nuzzling affectionately. Bolaire snapped his fingers and extinguished the lamps. Two little blue flames were all Hal could see for a few blissful seconds before his eyes adjusted.
“I love you, so much,” Hal whispered, his voice still a little rough.
“And I you, Halandil,” Bolaire returned sweetly. “Get some rest.”
“You too,” he urged, squeezed Bolaire’s cheek slightly. “A body must be taken care of, like pri–”
“Like a prized possession,” the mask interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Yes, yes. I know.”
Hal was too tired to push him any harder. “Sleep well, dear.”
Bolaire made an amused sort of sound and pressed a quick kiss to Hal’s right tusk. The soft clink of fired clay on enamel made Hal sigh like a maiden. Bolaire chuckled as he settled back against his own pillow.
“Dream a good story to tell me when you wake,” he said, a common refrain since he had moved in.
Hal nodded, sure that his lover’s enchanted gaze could see the contented smile on his face. Then he pulled the covers over his legs and made himself comfortable, ready to follow Bolaire’s direction.