Chapter Text
“You are insufferable.”
Sanson glared at Guydelot over the pages of his book, quill going still in his hand.
The elezen man simply stared him in the eye with a smirk on his lips and ran his fingers across the strings of his harp, bringing forth a simple little chord.
“The Warrior of Light will be back before we know it,” Sanson began, closing his book with a snap and rapping his knuckles against the wooden table between them, “And I for one want to have some kind of lead by the time they return. I’ve presented a few solid ideas, while the only thing that you can think of is running off to try and woo whatever women happen to be about.”
“For the sake of the mission,” Guydelot said with a confirming nod - as though this purpose was clearly understood.
Sanson groaned and reached for his mug of mead - which was pitifully empty. When had he gone through it?
His hand went back to his book, opening it again - and eliciting a teasing little chuckle from across the table. He tipped his gaze up, looking at Guydelot with a measure of distaste - seeing the gleam in his eye.
“Yes?”
Guydelot shrugged, “You and that book. You can never keep yourself out of it. Even I put down the harp every now and again.”
“I have several books, actually - it’s not always the same one.”
“Oooh - several. Scandalous.”
With a huff, Sanson took his gaze away from the other man again - looking down to his own notes and mulling over where to take his questions next.
“Honestly though-”
Clearly, Guydelot wasn’t done with the topic.
“Doesn’t anything else ever get your affections?”
Sanson did his best to ignore his companion.
And yet, Guydelot continued, “When was the last time our dear Sanson took a lover, for instance? The last time he shared a chaste kiss with a woman?”
Sanson sighed heavily, finally looking up again, “Guydelot, this is hardly-”
“Or a man?” The elezen interrupted - lifting his brows.
Sanson felt something drop in the pit of his stomach. At the same time, he felt his temperature rise - as it easily did. He cursed his own response as he saw the way Guydelot’s eyes light up - his smirk turning into a grin.
“Ah!” The elezen said brightly and Sanson wanted to bury his face right into the pages of his book for the delighted sound of it.
“Is that how it is?” The bard continued, “Our Sanson likes to play with snakes over at the Twin Adders’ headquarters?” He punctuated the statement with a strum across his harp.
Sanson choked on his own attempt at words, fumbling over them - feeling his cheeks turn hot and knowing that Guydelot was getting just the reaction he had been hoping for.
“I - no - that is to say - that is not...not at all the situation. Just because I - I mean that I’ve - in the past - I-”
Guydelot laughed - the sound far too cheerful for Sanson’s tastes at the moment. The elezen raised one hand, making a gentle patting motion in the air, “No shame, Sanson, no shame!”
The bard leaned in over the table, still wearing that grin, “I mean, I’ve had my share of loves of all sorts. Man, woman - what does it matter, mm? One wants as they want, and some of us want a great variety.”
Sanson took a deep breath - holding it for a moment longer than he intended to. There was some relief in that he might not be mocked by the other man specifically for his...tastes...in partners, but somehow the encouragement was even worse. The lancer released his breath, encouraging himself inwardly to calm down. He was only making things worse with his blush and his stuttered response. He was just feeding into Guydelot’s fun.
“Guydelot,” he started - taking care to keep his voice steady this time, “This is hardly the time or place for such discussions. We need to focus-”
“How long has it been?”
Sanson was right back to choking on his words - though at least this time he simply stopped and said nothing.
“Since you had a lover, I mean.” Another little strum across the harp - followed by a smirk, “Or, have you ever?” He brightened at that, “Is our little Sanson a-”
“Yes, I have - of course I have. I mean, not of course, but - yes, I have...had a lover before.” Was it wiser to just answer and cut him off or should he have just let him go on?
“Ah! Alright then, how long?”
“Guydelot, really this is not-”
“Want to know how long it’s been for me?” That smirk was back and he was leaning in again. Gods the man just fed off of making him uncomfortable, didn’t he?
“A fortnight?” Sanson huffed - intending to aim for a short time, given the man’s behavior.
The smirk grew, “Two days.”
Sanson flustered, “How did - we were preparing for the journey! How did you find time to go about that? Or were you just letting me handle everything?”
Guydelot shrugged, “A man makes time for the important things, Sanson.”
“The-the important -you - really, honestly - just-”
Guydelot laughed again, “Oh, I bet you just come undone, don’t you?”
Sanson stiffened. He went to reach for his drink again - only to find it empty once more.
Guydelot noticed and raised his hand in the air to catch the attention of the serving girl walking by, “Dear, another two meads - if you’d be kind.”
“I do not need-”
“Oh yes, yes you do.” Guydelot gave a nod to the woman and a smile before turning his attention back to Sanson - who could only feel like prey under the man’s gaze. How had he managed to get to this point?
“You are being-” But again, Guydelot cut Sanson off.
“So, how long?”
Sanson sighed heavily. This wasn’t going away, was it?
“A...while.” The answer came in a mutter, but clearly Guydelot had heard him.
“Ah,” Guydelot made an almost mournful sound, “Too long then! No wonder our Sanson is so uptight, so wound up, so...” He plucked at a single string, “serious.”
“I am serious,” Sanson said, bringing a hand to the table in his frustration, “because this is a very serious situation! We are on a mission and - oh, thank you, ma’am,” he interrupted his own scolding in order to thank the woman who brought them their drinks as she set them down on the table.
“Oh,” Guydelot touched a hand to his chest, “so sweet, our Sanson. Polite.” Then, he looked to the woman, “Thank you, love.”
Sanson cleared his throat, and continued with his volume and passion a little more measured, “I am serious because this is all very serious, Guydelot. The matter at hand is important and the Warrior of Light is helping us. We need to stay focused.”
“Ah, and,” Guydelot said with a tip of his head, “Sir soldier - what happens if a man trains, and trains, and trains his lance arm with no rest?”
Sanson did not answer because he knew what Guydelot was looking for.
“He tires,” Guydelot continued when Sanson didn’t answer him, “He becomes injured, weak, susceptible to mistakes.” He held up a finger, “But! Should he temper his training with rest and recovery, he is all the better for it.”
“I do not have time for such things,” Sanson muttered under his breath, “Or opportunity.”
“Bullshit.”
Sanson’s eyes widened a little and he looked up at the other man.
“I mean,” Guydelot continued, “You are a pain, for certain, but you have that pretty round face of yours and a lancer’s body besides-”
“Guydelot.”
“I am certain you could pull along any man you set your eyes on who was so inclined! With just a touch of effort, a show of willingness-”
“Guydelot.”
“It’d be no trouble at all! That’s just it! We will find our sweet, serious Sanson-”
Sanson was taking a deep gulp from his mead.
“A fellow to warm his bed for the time being - to serve as a bit of relaxation. Coerthas, especially Foundation, must be full of repressed fellows just looking for a-”
“Guydelot, please.”
“Warm bit of comfort and enjoyment. Why, I bet we could find a fair number that would take that plump buttocks in hand-”
“My gods, please.”
“And offer this stern, tightly wound-”
“I am begging you, please.”
“Hyur boy away from home a touch of loving beneath the sheets-”
“Guydelot!” This time, Sanson was more forceful - but Guydelot stayed grinning all the while.
“Yes, Sanson?”
“This is not - I am not going to...I don’t even know anyone here, Guydelot. So, no-”
“Who says you have to know them? I haven’t known at least half my loves - or, at least, not before the tryst in question.”
“I do - I’m not...about to just...with some stranger, Guydelot. Besides, I need to-”
“Well then, how about me?”
He choked again. The drink he had been lifting up was nearly dropped to the table and he thought that his heart had simply stopped. His eyes flared wide and he stared at Guydelot - who just smiled. The silence hung until the elezen’s fingers danced across the harp again - almost playfully.
“You are - don’t be ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous? You know me, I’m bored...”
“Everything is ridiculous,” Sanson said in a harsh whisper this time, as tough command might hear him discussing something like this with the bard assigned to his unit.
“We are on a mission, we are comrades in arms, and - and - you don’t even like me.”
Guydelot shrugged, “I do not need to like you to assist in such matters - or enjoy such company. You are pretty enough, Sanson. I did mention your plump buttocks, did I not?”
This could not be happening. This could not be a serious proposal! Not that he hadn’t - it was - Guydelot was handsome enough, certainly. And he had thought as much upon meeting him. But the man was ridiculous and this would be extremely unprofessional.
Sanson looked up. The elezen was grinning a wicked grin and suddenly Sanson understood.
The hyur glared at his companion, “You are making fun.”
“Hm?”
“You intend for me to accept, only to then turn it about on me as though I am the ridiculous one pining after you and shirking my duties.”
“Oh, Sanson-”
“No - no, you will not catch me in this. I will not be...be humiliated by you, Guydelot.”
“Sanson.”
“This is a cruel joke, even for you.”
“Sanson, there is no joke.” Guydelot said - and this time he wasn’t smirking. His brow was gently knit, a little smile on his lips. He seemed a touch amused, maybe, but not wearing the cruel enjoyment Sanson expected.
“I’m quite serious, Sanson. You could clearly use the assistance unwinding and putting down your books - and I could use a bit of fun myself.”
Sanson hesitated. His hand was gripping his mug of mead tightly.
Was he seriously considering this?
“...You are drunk then.” Sanson insisted.
Guydelot laughed fully then, “If you think for a moment that what I’ve had tonight would have upended me then I truly need to take you out for a proper drink sometime.”
The bard smirked once more, “Is it really so hard to believe that you are being propositioned? Poor thing - what lovers have you had to feel it so impossible?”
Sanson swallowed hard. “My lovers have been just - they’ve...”
Guydelot strummed his harp.
Sanson took another gulp of mead.
“You are insufferable.” Sanson repeated his earlier observation.
“And would you like to suffer me, Sanson?” Guydelot asked, voice just a little low.
Sanson could feel the heat in his cheeks still, but now he could feel it elsewhere. It pooled in his stomach - in his groin. Was the thought of Guydelot having him really bringing this on? Was he truly, actually, considering this?
It had...it had been a while.
And maybe, he tried to justify to himself, if Guydelot got this out of his system he would be more focused on the task at hand instead of chasing skirts.
Sanson drew in air as though he had been drowning.
“It would...It would change nothing?”
Guydelot smiled, almost comfortingly, “Absolutely nothing. Save, I would hope, that you might relax a little.”
The mead was gone again when Sanson went for it. He was glad that Guydelot did not call for another.
“You are not - this is not...” Sanson began - still nervous. Was he playing a hapless sheep to Guydelot’s wolf?
Guydelot leaned in once more, smiling in a way Sanson was quite sure any number of maids and lads had seen before, “I would have you, Sanson.” He said, voice low, “If you would have me.”
That did it. Sanson swore he felt something in him snap. He was still stiff, but something must have changed in his posture or his expression because Guydelot read him well.
“Your room or mine? Would you like another drink first?”
“Um - I...Mine. And...no, no I don’t think I should.”
Guydelot’s brows raised a little, “Do you think you’ve had too much?”
“No-” it was almost a squeak from his throat, “No, I don’t think I’ve - no.”
“Good.”
And with that, Guydelot was standing - his full elezen height seeming all the more significant as Sanson looked up at him. The harp was put away and he stood with a hand outstretched towards the stairs that would lead them to the inn’s rooms - inviting Sanson to stand and go with him.
He could not believe he was about to do this.
And yet, he stood. He started to walk away when he stopped short.
“The uh - the bill for the drinks.” He said, going for his coin purse and fumbling with it.
The clink of gil on the table had him look up. Guydelot had left enough to cover the cost and a little more, it seemed, for the woman who had served them. There was then a slender Elezen hand on the small of his back and another outstretched towards the stairs again.
He had no excuse to hover now.
But was he glad for that or not?
His legs carried him towards the stairs even as his head swam. His mind seemed uncertain and embarrassed still, but his body had clearly made up its mind. The heat in him felt almost unbearable. He had not felt this way in a long time, but memories of when he had came bubbling to the surface. Thoughts of a lover held in his arms, of shared bodies and breath and release.
And he was going to have that with Guydelot.
It seemed like a flash and they were in his room. He swore he could hardly remember walking down the hall or unlocking the door. Certainly, he could not remember sitting on the bed, nor having Guydelot sit beside him. The elezen’s hand was on his cheek - and then the brush of lips were against his. He stiffened at the sensation - at the soft touch of lips on his.
“Shhh...”
The gentle sound came from Guydelot.
“Relax. It’s alright.”
And he did when he next felt the press of lips to his. He relaxed and let his eyes drift closed. Guydelot’s lips parted and a gentle press of the elezen’s tongue had his part as well. And then, his mouth was claimed. It was not violent or harsh - but it was claiming and confident nonetheless. Guydelot’s tongue was in his mouth and his lips were demanding and certain and a sound had left Sanson’s throat and mingled in the kiss before he had even realized he had made it. It was a keening, wanting sound - the sort he had not made in some time and Guydelot seemed to have had such an easy time drawing it from him.
He almost expected to be mocked, but he wasn’t. No, Guydelot’s kiss only continued. One slender, long hand settled at the back of Sanson’s head. Those fingers found the tie in his hair even as the kiss deepend, pulling to free the dark brown strands. As soon as his hair falls, he can feel Guydelot’s fingers threading through it - petting, almost, then gripping gently. He wondered if Guydelot had thought about that - about his hair, about stroking it as he did now. He seemed to have been so eager to see it loose.
A hand pressed against his chest. It urged him, softly, into the pillows behind him. Then, only then, did the kiss break. Sanson found himself almost gasping for air - still feeling the press of Guydelot’s lips against his. He let the elezen man coax him back against the pillows, let Guydelot’s hand grip his leg and bring it further across the bed.
Did he like this? Letting Guydelot guide him so?
Yes, he thought - full of shame. He did.
He could just imagine how Guydelot would tut at him should he voice such shame, such embarrassment. Again though, his face must have betrayed him because Guydelot made another soothing sound - bringing his face close once more, touching their foreheads together.
“It’s alright,” the bard’s voice soothed - almost sing-song in its tone. But not mocking, no. Perhaps he really had been honest. This was no joke, no game.
Sanson gasped softly as he felt the press of Guydelot’s hips against his as the elezen came to rest between his thighs. The other man’s weight was not fully on him - Guydelot propping himself up, but rolling his hips again to bring the two of them together. He could feel the other man’s arousal as he moved against him and that brought some feeling of...relief? Guydelot was hardening - for him. He did want him. It was no joke at his expense.
“How do you want us?” Guydelot breathed - voice heady and deep.
Sanson found himself confused by the question - not sure what was being asked of him. Again, Guydelot perhaps read him well.
There was another roll of the man’s hips against his - against his buttocks. Guydelot gripped his thigh.
“Like this?”
Despite himself, Sanson brought his thighs in closer - feeling them press against Guydelot’s hips where they cradled them. Guydelot between his legs, rolling against him - pressing into him.
“Yes. Like this.”
Sanson’s answer was breathless and Guydelot rewarded it with the press of a kiss to the corner of his lips.
“Beautiful.” Came Guydelot’s answer in return.
Guydelot sat back onto his thighs, away from him. Sanson felt intoxicated - but he knew he hadn’t had too much drink. No, he felt like he had had too much of Guydelot - as though surrendering to the man’s offer and desires and kisses had left him more drunk than mead ever could. He tried to think through it, to decide if this was the right thing to do - but his body answered quickly.
Yes, it told him. Yes.
Guydelot was undoing fastenings - not on himself, but on Sanson. His nimble fingers were undressing with both care and haste. Sanson was not the only one feeling the intensity of the moment grow.
“You know,” Guydelot spoke and Sanson’s eyes found the other man’s gaze, then his smirk, “You look very good in this. Better than in the standard serpent uniform.”
Sanson parted his lips to say something, but couldn’t think of a response.
“The other is too straight for you until it hits the belt. It doesn’t show that taper of your waist so well.”
Sanson swallowed.
“Nor the shape of your shoulders. Your neck...where they join...Not suitable at all, really...”
“You can - you can stop insulting my uniform.”
Guydelot smiled, “I am only praising you outside of it.” He insisted before suddenly pulling away at Sanson’s tunic. The cold air hit his hot skin in a way that made him gasp.
“There’s our Sanson,” Guydelot purred.
Hands left his clothing for a moment to instead stroke down his sides. He was not so muscled as some of his fellow soldiers, but his work and training had left muscle and shape on him. Clearly, Guydelot appreciated it to some extent because his hands explored at leisure - stroking down his sides and then up the front of him. He gasped softly as they passed over his nipples. They did not pay particular mind, only grazed, and yet it sent a spark through him.
Guydelot smiled.
Again, Sanson waited for teasing that didn’t come.
Instead, Guydelot’s hands went to encourage him out of the sleeves of the tunic. He moved to assist, twisting and drawing his arms out until he was sitting forward to allow Guydelot to take his clothing and toss it to the side. No sooner was his top on the floor than Guydelot’s fingers were on the buckle of his belt - and his lips against his chest.
Sanson felt like he should be doing something - like he should be touching in return, undressing in return. And yet, he just lay there - letting the kisses fall over his chest, his stomach - then, his hip as Guydelot pulled down his pants to bare them.
Despite his apprehension, he reached out with one hand - touching Guydelot’s hair. The elezen’s gaze flicked up at him and he knew he saw a smile before the sharp little sensation of a nip where his hip met his thigh.
Guydelot had his boots, his socks, his pants off in what seemed like a moment to Sanson. He seemed to remain out of reach throughout all of it until the bard was again between his thighs and against his chest, leaning into him - face to face with him, smiling.
He became very aware of just how bare he was while Guydelot still wore every bit of clothing he had come into the room with. The elezen was propped up above him - eyes raking over him with an unquestioning want. Guydelot was looking at him - naked - and enjoying the sight. Appreciating him.
Sanson could not ignore the thrill that sent through him.
“Guydelot,” he breathed - then swallowed. He didn’t know what he wanted to say.
“Sanson?”
“I...you’re-”
There was a kiss pressed to his lips - a hand at his side again, then at his thigh. Guydelot’s thumb brushed over his skin soothingly as his other fingers gripped gently.
“I am...what?” Guydelot asked.
Sanson swallowed, “Still dressed.”
Guydelot wore a grin, “So I am. Just taking my time to appreciate my company without his uniform.”
The other man rolled against him again and this time he felt not only the press of Guydelot’s hips, but also the brush of cloth against his bare skin. His heart leapt in his chest and heat coiled deep in his loins again - renewed by the friction.
“I’d like-” Sanson began, but hesitated.
Guydelot smiled - patient now, it seemed. “You’d like, what, Sanson? Just let me know.”
“I’d like to see you - too.”
“Your wish, as they say.”
Guydelot sat back again and while Sanson found himself feeling very cold without the press of the other man against him, he could not deny that he watched with all eagerness as Guydelot began to remove his own clothing. Clasps came loose and garments were cast aside. First his chest was bare and then he removed his trousers as well - seeming to give little care for the process, more eager to bare himself as he had been asked.
Sanson’s eyes could not help but drop to Guydelot’s hips where his arousal was made clear - his length standing hard and eager. He had done that to Guydelot - something in the back of his mind said with all pride - that was his effect on the man. Him and whatever ideas Guydelot had in his head about how the night would progress.
Guydelot was wearing a smile that said he had noticed just where Sanson’s gaze had gone. His hand wrapped around his own length, stroking down it once as his eyes stayed locked on the hyur beneath him - sprawled out on the bed. Soon, Guydelot was on him again, back between his thighs, pressed against him - chest to chest. Soon, there were kisses again - a few light ones to Sanson’s jaw and the corner of his lips. And then, they were kissing again - full and passionate.
Sanson’s hips hiked upwards as if in surprise when he felt Guydelot’s hand on his backside - traveling there from appreciating the shape of his hip. Slender, strong fingers gripped the sensitive flesh and Sanson breathed in sharply - and released the breath in another soft sound, trapped by Guydelot’s kiss. The bard kissed him so eagerly and deftly that Sanson could only wonder how many lovers had been under him like this - had been so taken in by those elegant and certain hands and the press of his body.
He shouldn’t think about that though - he should only think about this, about this moment of heat and eagerness and Guydelot kissing and touching him as though he were the only lover there were.
His hips leapt again and he let out a quick yip of a sound as he felt one of those deftly skilled hands palming over his cock, sending a spark all through him. Guydelot smiled against his lips and let his hand slide back down, teasing out another little sound and a tensing of Sanson’s thighs. Again, Sanson could hardly believe this was really happening. It seemed more like a dream than reality.
Not that he would ever admit to Guydelot that he had dreamed of him, were that the case.
And then, Guydelot’s warmth was gone again. The elezen had not only sat up, but was away entirely - untangled from him and off the bed.
Fear gripped Sanson. Had it all been a game? A tease? Where was he going?
“Guydelot?” He breathed the man’s name - starting to sit up.
A soft chuckle greeted him. Guydelot stood by his bag he had brought in with him and held up a little bottle that he had fished from its depths.
“Just fetching what we need.”
Sanson understood then where he had gone and soon he was back, leaning over him.
“Such a need for my constant presence, Sanson?” Guydelot said playfully as he leaned against him and found himself back between the hyur’s thighs.
Ah, there was the teasing he had been expecting. Not with a particularly cruel tone, but there all the same - and Sanson huffed in response.
“It’s alright,” Guydelot said - a gentleness in his tone by way of apology, perhaps. “I’m plenty eager for your company as well.”
The little bottle was uncapped and Sanson found his eyes darting away from it, as if embarrassed by the sight. He looked up at the ceiling - letting out a slow breath. He was really doing this - wasn’t he? He was here, with Guydelot, when he should be working - he should be focused on something else. This was ridiculous - this was embarrassing. He had lost himself so much. He should put an end to this right now, he should-
“Ah-”
He felt the gentle press of slicked fingers between the cheeks of his buttocks. One finger gently slid against his entrance and he thought that he felt himself tremble all over at the feeling.
“Are you alright?” Guydelot asked, even as his finger stroked again.
Sanson nodded, even though he was certain he should tell Guydelot to stop.
And then there was a press - pressure - before he felt Guydelot’s finger slide inside of him.
“Ah-” he made the sound again, but more keening this time, his thighs tensing. His whole body tensing.
“Relax...” Guydelot’s voice came softly as a reminder. The hand that was not at his entrance was gripping one of his thighs and the fingers gently pressed to massage there.
Sanson huffed again, closed his eyes. He tried to focus on relaxing - on letting go of the tension in his legs, his back, his everything.
Guydelot pressed deeper. His finger began to stroke in and out - and soon, a second pressed at that tight ring. Sanson tensed again as he felt it press. Gods, should he be doing this? Should he be allowing this? He should stop it - he had things to do, the mission to complete, his duties to accomplish.
“Try to relax, love-” the gentle reminder came once again as Guydelot continued the press - ever, it seemed, patient. At least, in this. “Everything’s alright,” the new finger pressed further, “Just you and me - nothing else.”
Sanson released a breath. One of his hands had found itself on Guydelot’s shoulder - gripping as the press continued, seeking some stability.
“I - I’m trying.” He answered.
“I know you are.” Guydelot leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to Sanson’s forehead before sitting back again.
Both fingers were inside then and Sanson was relaxing around them, allowing them to move without tensing so hard. Little sounds left him - soft ‘ah’s and breaths that sounded almost like Guydelot’s name. He was always waiting for the joke, for the teasing to come, but there was only the gentle, determined scissoring and twisting of the elezen’s fingers to open him.
Then, they curled up cleverly and found that place inside of him that made sparks leap in front of his eyes.
Sanson’s hips left the bed and he gasped. Those fingers pressed again - and again and his head swam. He was keenly aware, having opened his eyes again, of the smile that Guydelot wore - that seemed to grow with every little press and stroke and each sound that left Sanson’s throat.
“You’re doing so well.” The praise came from Guydelot’s lips alongside the press of a third finger against Sanson’s entrance.
“Nnh-!” Sanson’s toes curled and his heels pressed into the bed as he was stretched that much further. He fought to relax again though around those fingers - to breathe.
“There you are...” The encouraging words came as the three fingers twisted and pumped and stroked all together.
And then, they were gone.
Sanson felt a whine of a sound leave his throat as he was left suddenly empty - that sweet spot inside of him suddenly untouched. Guydelot was still there though - still close, though his back bent and pulled him away a little as the elezen reached down to his own length, slicking it with oil.
“Sanson.”
The sound of his name snapped Sanson’s attention to Guydelot’s face - to that smile.
“I want you,” he breathed. He leaned in, pressed close to him - “To have you...” There was a kiss to his cheek - breath on his ear, “To be inside of you.”
Sanson answered by releasing a breath he didn’t realize he had started holding as soon as Guydelot said his name. He thought he heard a little squeak of a sound carried on it.
“Can I?”
“Wh-what?” Sanson focused on Guydelot’s face.
A soft chuckle.
“Can I have you? I want to be sure you have not changed your mind.”
Changed his mind? At this point? After Guydelot had already had his fingers inside of him, spreading him and touching that sweet place inside of him. But, Guydelot was giving him a chance to back out - to stop - he realized. He was offering him the opportunity to say ‘no’ and end it there. Should he? Should he just stop them now?
“I...Yes.” Sanson answered after a short moment, “Yes, you may. I haven’t...haven’t changed my mind.”
Guydelot grinned.
“Good,” the elezen bard said, gripping one of his thighs and pushing it up and out, “Because that would have been a hard walk back to my room, Sanson.”
Sanson smiled - even found a little chuckle rising from his own chest. Guydelot answered in kind, his smile growing a little and another little laugh leaving his throat.
And then, Guydelot came close again, pressing Sanson’s thigh out first with his hand and then with his own body. Their lips were together again, in a shallow, but lingering and long kiss. When their lips parted once more, Sanson looked into Guydelot’s eyes. He glanced from them, to the man’s lips, to his chest, and back again.
“I want you.” Sanson breathed - hardly believing the words that left him.
Guydelot smiled and his hand slipped down between them, towards their hips.
“Then you will have me.” The elezen answered as he guided himself to Sanson’s prepared entrance and began to press against him.
“Nngh-” Sanson found himself tensing once again at the pressure of entry - though this time he had been prepared for it and he felt ready, he still could not help it. He didn’t even have to hear the gentle ‘relax’ from Guydelot this time - feeling the breath of it on his ear. He swallowed and shifted under Guydelot - tried to spread his legs a little further, to relax himself. And he felt Guydelot sink deeper, spreading him - filling him. He felt the sounds leave his throat more than he heard them - whimpers and groans that he was sure, from what he had seen thus far, Guydelot thoroughly enjoyed.
Sanson felt the pinprick of tears at the corners of his eyes. It just felt like...so much to take. Perhaps it just had been too long. Then again, he had certainly been known for a few tears when taking a lover inside of him. Even if there was not particularly any hurt - like now, there was pressure and the soreness of stretching, but nothing he could not take - it would happen. And he had to admit, it was a little embarrassing. It felt so...weak, so sensitive of him to feel the little roll of a tear down his cheek.
After a long moment, Guydelot was inside him to the hilt. Their hips were together and Sanson felt perfectly filled and warm and...It had been too long.
Guydelot stayed still for a moment - just pressed fully inside of him, joined with him. Sanson swallowed softly and adjusted to the feeling. He shifted just a bit, brought his legs a little closer together to feel Guydelot cradled between his thighs. He took a moment to appreciate it - the feeling of Guydelot’s slender frame there - over him, held by him. Their chests were so close - Sanson’s a little broader by nature of his heritage and his training.
Then, with a press of a kiss to the corner of his mouth, Guydelot moved.
“Ah!” They made the sound in unison. Guydelot’s deeper and more in his chest, Sanson answering with a sound from his throat.
“You’re alright?” Guydelot panted - his own excitement and pleasure catching up to him. He wanted to move - to drive in, the twitch of his hips betraying that even as he did his best to hold still for the moment.
Sanson nodded, lips parted, the sting of tears at the edge of his eyes. “I’m-” he gasped, panted, “I’m alright. Don’t stop.”
“Okay.” A kiss at the corner of his eye, the top of his cheek, the line of his jaw.
Guydelot pulled back and then pushed forward again - a soft slap of a sound as their hips met again. Sanson gasped and his back arched - hips pressing up towards where they were joined. And again, he pulled back and thrust back in and pulled another keening sound from Sanson. He felt Guydelot shift above him, hips angling differently. And then he did it again - in and out and this time he hit that sweet spot inside of him perfectly and Sanson’s hips leapt - his thighs shook. Guydelot smiled.
Another thrust, and another - hitting that spot inside of him and he felt the tears at the edges of his eyes and knew his mouth was open and panting and releasing sounds for Guydelot into the air.
“Oh, look at our Sanson,” Guydelot lilted, “Look at that face.”
There it was - the teasing he had been waiting for the whole while. Guydelot teasing him - making fun, just as he had thought would happen.
“Don’t-” he gasped out.
Guydelot’s brow knit slightly, “Don’t what, Sanson?”
“Don’t -don’t...make fun...don’t mock me-”
“Oh, oh Sanson...” his tone was almost mournful. Gyudelot’s face buried in his neck - his lips left kisses - hot, sweet kisses on his neck. “No,” it was muffled softly.
Guydelot lifted his head again, “No - no I’m not making fun, ain’t mocking you. That’s not what I meant.” Their foreheads pressed together and Guydelot was still inside of him, “I wouldn’t do that, Sanson, not now.” He rocked against him, “Not when we’re like this.”
Sanson released a sound - almost like a sob.
“Promise...?” He breathed.
“Promise,” a kiss to the corner of his lips - then fully to them.
Sanson released a breath.
“Relax, love,” Guydelot cooed gently. “I’d never - not like this.”
Sanson nodded and brought his lips to Guydelot’s this time - kissing him. It was brief at first, then he went in again - kissing again, reaching up to feel his fingers in Guydelot’s hair. And then Guydelot thrust into him again and he gasped against the elezen’s lips.
Again and again - faster now, harder now. The room sang with the sound of flesh on flesh and moans - rumbles and cries and groans. Guydelot was pressing constantly on that spot inside of him and making his pleasure build white hot. One hand tangled in his own hair as he gasped and moaned. The other hand reached out for the man between his thighs - anywhere he could grasp - settling on one of his arms, clinging to it as each thrust shook him.
He could hardly believe the power in that lithe body as it slammed against him - inside of him. He would not have called that body powerful, but as Gueydelot moved between his thighs, he could think of nothing else to call it.
“Ah - Sanson-” Guydelot moaned above him, “Sanson you feel - so - perfect.”
Perfect, Guydelot called him, and that brought him almost as much pleasure as the next thrust against his prostate. And he moaned for it - that praise.
“You’re doing so well - so perfect - so beautiful...”
Sanson could feel it - his pleasure building, his climax close. It felt dizzying - the pleasure from deep in his core - pounding into him with every thrust. He could hardly breathe for it. It was a tight coiling in his core. It was an intense sensation at the edge - his favorite part. His favorite feeling was being right there - about to topple over and Guydelot was giving it to him so perfectly.
“Guydelot - please,” the words left him before he even formed them in his mind. He felt his thighs shaking, his legs eager to kick and writhe with the feeling. “Please - please”
“Oh Sanson, oh those legs - those shaking,” a hand gripped his leg, “oooh. You can drive a man mad, Sanson- mmm - come...for me-” That hand that had held his leg moved between them - wrapped around his hard and leaking length and began to stroke him, sending jolts through him, compounding on the building pleasure and threatening to make it burst.
“Guydelot!”
“I have you - I have you, it’s alright. Go over. Go, Sanson. Let go, love.”
He cried out - so close. The hand on his hip gripped tight, the one on his length pumped quickly as hips thrust - in and out of him, pressing on that place inside of him.
“I’m here-” Guydelot encouraged, “I’m here, love - I have you - let go - let-”
And he did.
Sanson came hard - so hard he felt he lost himself for a moment to his swimming head and the shock of pleasure that coursed all through him. And there was the relief - the relief of falling from that edge and into nothing but a pool of pleasure and the feeling of Guydelot’s hold on him.
Guydelot continued to thrust into him- more erratic now - spilling words of praise from his lips. Would he come inside of him, Sanson wondered? Did he want him to? Yes - he realized - he wanted that. He wanted Guydelot’s possession to end in him filling him - claiming him that way as he had with his mouth. He wanted it - he wanted...
But Guydelot pulled from him and he felt the warm spend of the man’s seed on his thighs. The sound of Guydelot’s moan was still so pleasurable, but he found himself wanting for the man inside of him - resting in him, collapsing upon him still buried inside of him. Still, it was good - feeling his own waves of pleasure still washing over him and Guydelot atop him. Soon enough, the elezen was resting upon him - panting and uttering sweet nothings about how beautiful Sanson was - how perfect.
They lay there - panting, gasping for breath. Then, slowly, taking it in more evenly.
Eventually, Guydelot rolled off of him and lay beside him - arms up above his head and chest still heaving.
Sanson found himself turning in towards the elezen - resting his forehead against the side of the other man’s chest - still seeking to calm himself.
“So?” Guydelot said after a moment.
“Mm?” Sanson answered - already feeling himself drawn by sleep.
“How was it?”
Sanson felt embarrassment deep in his core again, but tried to shove it down as he felt Guydelot’s hand in his hair again - stroking, gently.
“It was...good. Very good.”
“Beautiful.”
They lay there a little bit longer - Guydelot’s arm eventually finding its way around Sanson, holding him where he had already decided to lay.
“Are you...” Sanson whispered finally into the darkness, “Are you going to stay?”
“Do you want me to?”
Sanson paused for a moment - as if he were thinking, but he had decided quickly.
He did not want to be alone.
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll stay through the night.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Are you so...so kind worded with all your lovers?”
Guydelot hesitated, then smiled, and answered, “I love to give my lovers what they need. And I am a very good read.”
Sanson felt uncertainty leap up into him then. Was he so easy to read? His desire for comfort, for praise, for...
“Shh, love,” Guydelot cooed softly, “It’s time to rest. We have had each other, we have loved each other, now is no time for worries.”
Sanson was so ready to be consoled in such a way - so ready to be told it was nothing, his worries could fade away, that he accepted it. Now was time to rest - here, with Guydelot.
They fell asleep in each other’s arms. At some point, Sanson thought Guydelot had whispered to him gently about cleaning him up, asking permission, but he could not remember what happened. He was tired and he was still alight from his pleasure and he could not care what happened as long as Guydelot was warm beside him.
And then the light came in through the windows and he was awake.
And Guydelot was not there.
Sanson sat up with a start - looking around for his lover from the night before. What he found was a little piece of parchment on the pillow next to him.
He reached out for it and opened it quickly - eager for some word of affection or promise of return.
Instead he found, “For the sake of the mission”.
Had he...Had he run off to woo whatever Ishgardian women he could find - as he had planned?
Or...or had what they done just been for...been for some sense of duty?
Either way, he felt a fury and a shame building up inside of him. Had it meant so little? What they had done?
His own words came back to him. It would mean nothing - he had insisted before they even began.
It would mean nothing.
Could it mean nothing to him?
Yes, of course it could. They had just been...letting off pressure together. That was all. That was all it was.
He looked again at the note and felt the pang in his chest that told him nothing like this could ever be nothing to him. Nothing like having Guydelot inside of him, atop him, coaxing him and kissing him could mean nothing.
But it would have to.
He had a mission.