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"Don't overindulge, Sunshine."
Ferdinand jumps in his chair at the sudden voice behind him. Hubert was so damned sneaky. It has only gotten worse since… Well, since.
"Hubert! I thought you'd be another day at least!"
"Is that why you're sitting in the dark and drinking all our wine?"
"It's hardly dark," Ferdinand protests. Dim, maybe. The curtains are closed, but it is midday.
Hmm. He looks at the bottle next to him. Nearly empty, and he hasn't eaten since breakfast. Maybe Hubert has a point. Not that Ferdinand will admit it.
Hubert simply raises an eyebrow.
"You haven't been taking care of yourself. You know how I feel about that."
"I'm quite fine! You worry over nothing."
Hubert is suddenly leering over him, hands against his ribs through his simple linen undershirt.
"You promised these wouldn't show anymore by the time I got back."
"And you're back early." Ferdinand expects himself to sound reasonable but it comes out petulant.
"Don't be a brat. No one harms what belongs to me. Not even you." Hubert fists a handful of Ferdinand's hair and tugs. The redhead has no choice but to rise. "Come now. We're feeding you."
Ferdinand holds back his protests, even as his eyes prick with tears. He's learned to pick his battles.
Hubert rings for his valet, who then promises two meals posthaste. He'd hired the servant, Renaud, especially for Ferdinand, so there would be someone to see to his needs in case of Hubert's absence. Ferdinand hardly ever speaks to the man. He is unquestionably loyal to Hubert, which means he won't tell Ferdinand anything or help him escape.
When Renaud comes back, it is with Ferdinand's favorite foods and tea. Hubert watches him intently throughout the meal, as is his custom.
Ferdinand eats spitefully. He knows it's unbecoming, but he can't seem to shake his moodiness.
"You may as well tell me what's on your mind," Hubert drawls after Ferdinand's third or fourth glare.
"Nothing."
Hubert leans forward. His hair-curls still cover one eye, as they did in the past, although the cut suits him far more. His visible eye is as piercing as it ever was. Ferdinand loathes how it still makes him feel hot.
"I cannot help if you lie to me," Hubert finally says.
Ferdinand sighs. "It's been months now. I understand why my sudden reappearance in Enbarr would be problematic, but I can't stay here forever! I feel I'm going mad, caged up here. Surely there's something–"
"No," Hubert interrupts plainly.
Ferdinand bursts up from the table. "You are being unreasonable!"
"And you're still drunk."
"I am not. As usual, you simply can't admit you're wrong."
" I can't–no. You are not baiting me into this. I can hear you are upset. I will leave until you are ready to speak rationally."
"Don't speak to me like I'm being childish. You cannot lock a man in a cage and expect his gratitude!"
A flash of what might be hurt crosses Hubert's face, but it's gone before Ferdinand can really take stock of it.
"I'll be back for dinner. Do try to be dressed by then," Hubert sneers, and then warps away, leaving only the tang of dark magic in the air.
Ferdinand wants to scream, to throw something, but that would also be unbecoming of a noble. And even if in this strange future he holds no title, land, or office, he can still cling to his pride.
Instead of throwing a fit, he stalks down the hallway and throws himself in his bed.
Ferdinand has access to many lovely things inside his cage: a library, art salon, and courtyard with plenty of space and absolutely no escape routes. He and Hubert have separate bedrooms, even though they often sleep over. Ferdinand curls up with a pillow to his chest and tries not to cry.
Any windows in his wing (Hubert's wing?) are small, frosted, and charmed to be unbreakable. The sheer walls of his garden are topped with a warding spell stronger than iron bars. Ferdinand knows, because he once stacked enough furniture to find out the hard way. The stone walls are impervious to fire. The chimneys are too skinny.
He is most assuredly a prisoner.
–
Either years or months ago, Ferdinand had woken in the night in his room at Garreg Mach. He couldn't say what noise alerted him, but he startled awake all at once.
He'd been tired from a day of training with the professor, then arguing with Hubert about their upcoming mission. He'd gone to bed rather early, but it was full dark now. He blindly reached to spark the oil lamp beside his bed.
"Hubert? What the blazes are you doing?"
The tall spectre loomed as he ever did. "Be silent."
Hubert sounded serious enough, and commanding enough, that Ferdinand's mouth clicked closed. And with the moment's pause, Ferdinand started to notice little inconsistencies.
He wasn't in his school uniform, which was odd. His shoulders seemed wider. Was it a new tailor? And his face–
"Did you cut your hair?"
"Good as ever at following directions, I see."
"Have you truly broken into my room to insult me?!"
Hubert was on him in an instant, swift and silent as a shadow. He pushed Ferdinand back down on his bed and straddled him.
"Hush now." Hubert covered Ferdinand's mouth with a hand. "We've little time."
But Hubert's eyes trailed over Ferdinand slowly, indulgently. Ferdinand couldn't name the expression on his face. There were little things–a fullness of the jaw, the sense of a man grown into himself–that, the longer he looked, made Ferdinand sure this wasn't the person he'd gotten into a shouting match with mere hours earlier.
"You're not Hubert," Ferdinand muttered from behind the man's fingers.
"Not the one that you know. I've no time to explain the intricacies, but I'm from the future. About six years from now."
Ferdinand scraped his mind trying to find another explanation. But the voice was the same–a touch deeper, but the same mellifluous rasp. The eyes were the same, down to the flecks of gold Ferdinand had been close enough to notice earlier.
"Flames, you're as beautiful as I remember," Hubert breathed.
Ferdinand struggled but was only pressed down harder into his mattress. What was going on? The day Ferdinand von Aegir didn't have the muscle mass to overpower Hubert von Vestra–!
He bucked harder, to unexpected results. Their hips met and Hubert let out a quiet moan. Suddenly Ferdinand's head spun as he reevaluated everything he had ever known to be true.
Then those thoughts collapsed under the lips softly pressed to his own.
Ferdinand had been kissed twice before, once as an unwilling participant and once on a bet. Neither felt like this. The strangeness of a mouth on his own was overcome with the way it made his heart race and his breath short. He couldn't be embarrassed because he utterly forgot himself. Hubert released his tight grip on Ferdinand's wrists, and Ferdinand immediately wound his arms around the other man. He tilted his chin and the kiss changed. Charged. Hubert's hands and lips moved with more urgency, until he broke away panting.
"You're in grave danger. I'm here to save you," he said.
"Hubert…" Ferdinand couldn't comprehend the other's words. He couldn't think of anything but continuing their activities of a moment prior.
This Hubert's body was wiry ropes of muscle. Hard where his younger self was, well, young. And also hard against Ferdinand's hip, which seemed far more important than anything else could ever possibly be.
"The me from now doesn't have the knowledge or power to do what must be done," Hubert said, lips still practically against Ferdinand's. "I'm going to save you, no matter what."
Every breath seemed to heighten their contact. Chest to groin to knees. Had Hubert's jawline always looked like cut glass? His lips, reddened by kisses, had never been so lovely.
Ferdinand had thought him lovely, before, when he could forget how insufferable Hubert was. A shame his personality overrode his looks most days. But this version of him?
Ferdinand's head spun.
Despite his fearsome words, Hubert looked enraptured. He touched Ferdinand's hair, then his face. Chasing that feeling from moments ago, Ferdinand kissed Hubert's palm.
"You always were horribly distracting," Hubert said, and although he tried to glare, his voice was still fond.
"Is everyone else alright?" Ferdinand asked, trying to get his brain together.
"Yes, they will be."
"Must it be done immediately?"
"Soon."
"Then kiss me again, Hubert," Ferdinand begged. He'd never felt something so sublime.
Hubert shifted his weight so their erections slotted against each other. Ferdinand groaned, trying to chase the sensation.
"Shh," Hubert urged, "not all at once. Trust me, and I'll make it good for you."
Some part of Ferdinand had recognized this as a bad idea, but he had never felt so incredible before. He couldn't make himself stop. He'd grinned and grinded up, delighting in hearing Hubert choke.
Then, Ferdinand got exactly what he wanted. Hubert tugged off Ferdinand's night shirt and laid kisses down his entire body. Every new inch of skin felt hotter, more sensitive. Hubert's tongue flickered out to taste and Ferdinand hadn't even realized people could do that, that licking one's chest could feel like that.
Ferdinand could hardly do more than brace his hands on Hubert's shoulders and endure the waves of sensation. And then, Hubert finally made his way between his legs–!
Hubert had to launch back up to kiss his mouth, swallowing Ferdinand's shout at the barest sensation of lips to his cock. The noises kept coming and Hubert kept kissing them away and Ferdinand could do nothing but feel as Hubert took them both in one hand. Their precum slicked the way as he jerked them off together.
Noise of their frantic breaths and lewd slaps filled the room. Before long it was too much, and he orgasmed as never before.
Then, afterwards, Hubert said: "Fuck, I'm out of time."
Hubert faded from existence while Ferdinand was still marveling at hearing Hubert swear for the first time. Arms that had been full of warm, solid weight moments ago were cold and empty.
Not knowing what else to do, Ferdinand had chalked it up as a dream. He still argued with his own Hubert, still tried to be the best possible version of himself to someday outshine Edelgard. He acted with the dignity and grace befitting a noble and not a harlot who fell to pieces at the first touch of a man.
Then, things fell to pieces anyways, and that other Hubert reappeared.
Ferdinand had fallen on the battlefield. Edelgard had changed everything overnight, and it was all such a mess, and he was still trying to figure out what side he really wanted to be on when he was stabbed hard enough to be unseated. He flew from his horse, and then saw him again.
Perhaps this strange Hubert was a dying vision?
But Hubert poured one vulnerary directly on Ferdinand's wound and another down his throat, and then they disappeared.
–
Ferdinand is dressed by dinner, but not because Hubert told him to. Hubert had only caught him in his shirtsleeves because he hadn't expected to see anyone that day. He does wear a coat and cravat for company; even if that company is only Hubert, he's not barbaric.
Most of his angry energy is burnt off, because Ferdinand's spent the afternoon practicing lance forms. Hubert won't give him a weapon, but he's hidden a long stick in one of the garden beds that at least keeps him in shape.
After a nap, bath, and exercise, Ferdinand really does feel like a new man.
Hubert and Renaud warp in with dinner after sundown. Renaud leaves after setting the table, and then Ferdinand and Hubert are stuck staring at each other.
Defaulting to manners, Ferdinand sits and fusses with his napkin. Rather than sitting across from him, though, Hubert moves to briefly stand behind him.
He leans over Ferdinand's shoulder to grace his cheek with a kiss, and murmurs, "Good boy."
Ferdinand wants to protest. Ferdinand wants to melt. Ferdinand eats his aperitif.
Hubert moves back to his typical seat and begins eating as well. Per usual, he watches Ferdinand chew with heavy, wanting eyes. It is awkward, until it isn't. Hubert can't look at him that way without Ferdinand's blood rushing south.
Ferdinand manages to finish over half his plate before he can't look at food anymore. Luckily, he knows exactly how to avoid a scolding. He drops to his knees, crawling around the table to lean his head on Hubert's thigh.
Hubert sighs, but pets his hair. "Both our lives would be easier if you accepted your position here."
"Let me apologize?" Ferdinand nuzzles into Hubert's groin.
"Yes, sweet boy."
Ferdinand unbuttons Hubert's pants and wastes no time getting the other man hard in his mouth. After months together, he knows exactly how to swirl his tongue to drive the other man insane. Hubert's reactions are far more restrained than Ferdinand's, so Ferdinand works harder for them.
His hands clutch at Hubert's legs while his mouth begins to bob. Hubert's fingers tangle in his hair– not to pull, this time, but simply to feel.
Ferdinand doesn't mind this act. It's not his favorite, and his jaw aches rather quickly, but he knows how good it feels to receive and enjoys giving that. The taste and feel don't excite him but the knowledge that he's making Hubert forget words does.
Hubert jerks above him, and his come slides down Ferdinand's throat.
The redhead gently brings him down from the explosion, cradled in the wet heat of his mouth. It isn't until he's fully soft that Ferdinand unlatches. He leans over in Hubert's lap to be able to look up at him.
Hubert's dazed expression is a rare treat. He trails fingers down Ferdinand's cheek. Ferdie smiles, but tries to smother it in Hubert's thigh.
Hubert is reminded why he puts up with all the trouble. His pet really is easy to adore.
"Come to bed," Hubert says, "and I'll remind you how good it is to be mine."
It is very, very good.
–
"What do you mean you brought me to the future?"
"I can't state it more plainly. You were meant to die on that field. I watched it happen, six years ago."
"And you couldn't have saved me and, and, left me there?"
"Not without potentially ruining all we've accomplished. Your presence would have changed the fate of the war, one way or another. Mucking about with time is poorly-enough understood as it is; if I'd created a timeline where saving you stopped me from learning how to save you, what then?"
Ferdinand's head hurt trying to imagine the possibilities. None of this made sense. Was he trapped in an illusion?
"Say something only Hubert would know," he demanded.
Hubert actually smiled, like he was proud. "When we were children, Edelgard broke some famous something-or-other in the embassy wing. I made sure you took the blame."
"You know very well that was a priceless Dagdan burial jar! It predated Seiros herself!" Ferdinand declared, finger pointing towards Hubert's face.
Rather than taunting him, as the Hubert he was familiar with would have, this older Hubert caught his hand with a smile.
"I didn't think I'd miss all your bluster," he said. He sounded unreasonably fond.
Ferdinand paced the room, trying to sort out what his life had become.
"What do I do now? Clearly I missed graduating from Garreg Mach. Is my father still acting Prime Minister? I have so much to catch up on!"
"We have reorganized the government, actually. The Prime Minister is determined by merit, not blood or Crest. The Emperor appoints one every eight years, with approval from her council."
Ferdinand stared uncomprehendingly. "What… what happened to my family?"
"My understanding is that your mother still lives quietly as steward of the Aegir lands. Your father was executed for attempting to betray us to the Church."
Ferdinand sat down hard.
"As the presumed-dead son of a traitor, there aren't prospects for you out there. For the time being you will remain under my care."
–
When Hubert is in Enbarr, he spends time with Ferdinand as often as possible. His schedule is quite full, however. Hubert is still a Minister.
Ferdinand scribbles notes in books. He outlines proposals he'll never make to any council. He writes letters that will never be delivered.
Hubert will tell him bits of news, but gently (or not so gently) remind him that that life is behind him now.
Ferdinand watches the seasons start shifting in his courtyard. He runs laps and does drills. He attempts to teach himself the harp. And he tries not to go mad.
–
Hubert's passion never seemed to wane. As much as Ferdinand wanted to protest, he was always overwhelmed with being wanted so badly. He'd never been wanted before, and Hubert gave him pleasures both illegal and possibly immoral.
Ferdinand had no desire to halt their behavior, even if he should.
Until now, their trysts had been limited to hands and mouths. Hubert seemed able to sense exactly how far he could push, and always noticed if Ferdinand shied away.
Thus far, Ferdinand had shied away from taking Hubert's cock all the way inside himself. Hubert had once jerked off onto Ferdinand's hole, using his thumb to push his seed inside. Ferdinand orgasmed from the filthy knowledge alone. And then he got royally spanked for coming before Hubert said he could.
Tonight, something was different. Tonight, he wanted to feel Hubert's pulsing release inside himself.
Building up to voicing such wanton thoughts out loud took all afternoon. Ferdinand thought he was being subtle, but eventually Hubert backed him into a wall. Five fingers pressed on Ferdinand's sternum as he asked, "Now, are you going to tell me what's got you looking so needy? You know I'll provide for your… every… need."
His fingers drifted down Ferdinand's body, ghosting across the tent forming in his trousers.
"I want… I want–!"
"Yes?" Hubert asked casually, although his hand was now firmly rubbing Ferdinand's cock.
"I can't say it," he finally whispered, blushing and nearly in tears.
"Would you like my tongue back in your pretty hole? My hands in your mouth and twisting your cock? My fingers fucking you open whilst I swallow you down, hmm? You need only say the word, darling Ferdinand."
"I want you to make love to me," he whispered.
He couldn't make himself use the filthy language Hubert employed to make him squirm. The message got through, though. He knew, because Hubert froze.
Ferdinand had figured he was in for a long, glorious night; he'd thought the concept would excite Hubert. As the moment dragged on without reply, Ferdinand's tentative hope gave way to self-conscious dread.
He tried to inch away, but Hubert shoved him hard against the wall again to keep him in place.
His mouth followed, pinning Ferdinand just as surely. They had kissed dozens, maybe even hundreds of times in the weeks since he'd come to the future. Nothing compared to this, though. Hubert was trembling. He was soft, but firm–demanding, but worshipful. Undeniable.
"I am going to take you apart," he hissed, "and put you back together so you can never be satisfied without me."
Ferdinand didn't know what to say to such a declaration, so he pulled Hubert's mouth back onto his.
Their kiss lasted long minutes. When they pulled apart, Ferdinand realized that Hubert had managed to get them both half undressed. Ferdinand slid off his outer layers, leading an entranced Hubert to his bedroom. Laid out beneath his gaze, Ferdinand felt powerful. It was he who caused that look on Hubert's face: wide-eyed want, a starved expression, a faint blush.
Hubert opened the oil they kept at both bedsides, and kissed Ferdinand again.
"Divine," he muttered when he broke away to nip and suck down Ferdinand's neck. He left love-bites everywhere. Ferdinand would have been embarrassed if he ever had company.
Hubert didn't let a single secret slip by. He had examined Ferdinand's responses to all kinds of touch in all kinds of places. He learned (and taught Ferdinand himself, in some cases) that biting was fine on the meat of a shoulder or bicep or glute, but much more pain than that didn't interest him. Tickling, for some reason, made Ferdie's cock twitch. Being held down. Being praised. Hubert didn't let Ferdinand hide anything.
Tonight, they got to learn whole new secrets from Ferdinand's body.
Hubert's mouth never left him but to utter praises. He licked from his abs, down the line of his hips, while his hands explored everywhere else. Ferdinand was incoherent well before Hubert's tongue made it to his dick. His slurping at the foreskin nearly made Ferdinand embarrass himself.
"Wait–Hubert–don't want to come yet."
"I want you to," Hubert paused to say, and then he resumed his blowjob. As in all things, Hubert was meticulous and precise. He stayed remarkably neat. Ferdinand came too soon, part of him reveling in the knowledge that he didn't have a choice.
"There. Now you're relaxed, see?" Hubert said. How could he still be so smug, licking spend from his lips?
Hubert didn't afford him time to recover. The oil was spread and his work began anew.
Hubert's fingers sliding inside him weren't unfamiliar. Neither was the hot length of Hubert's cock digging into him. But they had a combined purpose tonight that made Ferdinand dizzy.
"Mine. My Ferdinand. Perfect. Your ass is going to feel so perfect. I'll make you feel good too, my only," he babbled as one finger became two and then three. Ferdinand could feel himself growing hard again.
"Roll over. Knees up," Hubert ordered. Despite feeling like melted sugar, Ferdinand obeyed. He heard the oil jar again and felt Hubert position himself. Ferdinand peeked over his shoulder, watching Hubert sink into him for the first time.
He was beautiful. Maybe not many people knew that about Hubert, but Ferdie dared them to look at his lover's rapture and call it anything else.
The stretch was strange and new, but not bad. Hubert found that spot he'd teased before, the nub tucked inside that made Ferdinand see stars. It was easier to hit at this angle, and sweet merciful Goddess those were the last words Ferdinand remembered how to say.
The motion and pressure and heat and constant rubbing on that pleasure-spot was all so much.
"Come, my own, my only, come because of how well I take you, come for me, you're mine…" Hubert chanted until Ferdinand was helpless to do anything but obey.
–
Hubert, as stated, always eats with him if given the chance. Sometimes there is surly silence between them; sometimes affection; often spirited discussion of the books or news Hubert would bring him.
Today is a tense day.
Ferdinand has been quiet recently. Reading and rereading stories from far-off lands. Picking at food. Yesterday morning they fought because he tried to tie up his ever-lengthening hair in a Brigid style, and complained he'd never get it right. Hubert implied he was an ingrate, and a self-absorbed one at that. It had devolved from there.
Hubert hadn't come home until the sun went down, and skipped breakfast this morning. Ferdinand isn't sure why he bothers to come home for their noon meal, except to resume his creepy staring while Ferdinand chokes down mouthfuls of food.
So tense is an understatement, really.
It isn't until they're nearly done that Hubert bothers trying to talk to him.
"Yesterday I think both our words got away with us," he says.
Ferdinand waits for a follow up apology, in vain. He's apparently expected to reply, though, so he hums in agreement.
It's enough. Hubert continues: "I have a gift for you. I think it will help soothe your heart when I am gone."
"Oh?"
Hubert has a small hopeful smile on his face, the one that makes Ferdinand's heart soften despite itself. That smile reminds him of Hubert's genuine affection, of the man who risked everything to bring him to safety, even if that safety is a gilded cage.
"It's in the courtyard. Come."
Hubert holds out his hand. Ferdinand isn't quite ready to forgive him their row, but he takes Hubert's hand anyways. Hubert leads them outside.
Then, Ferdinand sees his gift, and he suddenly can't breathe.
He slowly approaches her, a gorgeous chestnut mare sniffing at one of the decorative plants. She lets him approach easily, and he is patting her nose before long.
"She is lame," Hubert says quietly, "She'll never run or take a rider again. But she can graze in here. We can build her a shelter. If you take care of her, she could live happily for years yet. Renaud can help with the logistics. Food delivery, waste disposal, and the like."
"Hubert…" Ferdinand whispers, turning towards him. His heart is too full. He throws his arms around the taller man.
Hubert returns the crushing embrace. "Are you happy?" he murmurs in Ferdinand's ear.
"So happy," he says, "she's a beautiful horse."
"If you starve yourself to death I won't take care of her," Hubert warns.
"That will not be a problem! Does she have a name?"
"Epona."
Ferdinand twists out of Hubert's grasp, and for once the mage lets him go.
Ferdinand coos at his new friend. "Pretty Epona. You're going to need a water trough, aren't you? And blankets and apples and grains. You're still a good lady, aren't you? Running is overrated."
Hubert snorts behind him. "I'll remind you of those words one day."
–
Sometimes, Hubert returned from a business trip and refused to speak.
Ferdinand startled awake on the couch one such night. He'd fallen asleep with a book on his chest. Hubert was stripping, right there in the sitting room, and throwing his clothes into the fire.
"Hubert! What's going on?"
Hubert merely shook his head. Something eerily mechanical haunted his jerky movements. He removed his boots, considering them closely before they got tossed in too.
"Are you alright?" Ferdinand whispered.
This time, Hubert's head-shaking was accompanied by a glare. His face was bloody; it shone in the firelight. Without thinking, Ferdinand lifted his hand to heal the shallow wound. He'd never gotten far with faith magic, but he could manage that much.
Hubert stared at the redhead's hand, his face still void of expression.
He was naked, still bloody and dirty, and he looked away. Then he turned his body, heading towards their private baths.
Hubert looked over his shoulder once. Ferdinand couldn't do anything but follow.
He washed Hubert clean, knowing better than to ask about whatever dark deeds he'd committed that night. The entire time, Hubert let himself be manipulated without making a sound.
Afterwards, he pulled Ferdinand into his bed. It was one of the rare nights they merely slept beside each other, but Hubert never let him go.
Ferdinand was beginning to suspect he never would.
–
It is easier to fuck than to talk.
They are at an impasse regarding Ferdinand's freedom. He has ideas relating to disguises or magics or distant travel where no one could recognize him, but Hubert isn't of a mind to hear it. Unfortunately there's little else to speak of. Any topic of conversation is stymied by Ferdinand's inability to see the world or learn new things. He feels like his sweet Epona more days than not: cut off from his destiny at the knees.
At least when Hubert makes love to him, he can't think. He'll feel wonderful and complete and loved, if only for moments. More nights than not, they give each other pleasures so reality can't touch them.
Tonight, for instance. Ferdinand doesn't want to know the cost his precious gift will enact; he doesn't want to ask for a haircut and be accused of vanity again. He doesn't want Hubert picking him apart mentally to stir a reaction. So after dinner, Ferdinand grabs Hubert's hand and tells him a less painful truth: "I miss you when you're gone."
Hubert doesn't react for a moment, but then gathers him in his arms like something precious. He tucks Ferdinand's (damnably long) hair behind his ear, before softly claiming his mouth. Ferdinand relaxes into the taller man's kiss. Hubert kisses like nothing else matters in the whole world. It's all-consuming.
Once Ferdinand's arms wind around Hubert's neck, trying to pull their bodies closer, Hubert's energy turns almost frantic.
He bends Ferdinand backward, forcing him to clutch at Hubert's shoulders or crash to the ground. Their languorous exchange becomes a heated battle. All at once he lifts Ferdinand and walks him the two steps to his nearby desk. And then their mouths and bodies join again. Hubert does not allow Ferdinand any respite. Somehow Ferdinand already feels overwhelmed, and they've barely started.
Hubert unbuckles Ferdinand's belt and produces a vial of oil from seemingly nowhere.
"Turn around," he demands. He steps back just enough for Ferdinand to slide to his feet and obey, before shoving Ferdinand down face first into the desk. He ruts his erection into Ferdinand's ass, but there's entirely too much fabric in the way for what either of them really want.
"If you move you will regret it," Hubert warns before drawing away to lower Ferdinand's trousers. Not much, just enough to reach his goal.
Ferdinand is in a near-constant state of readiness lately, and the first two fingers slip in without resistance. He can't see anything–Hubert holds him down by the nape–but he can feel it. His own cock is still chafing against the front of his trousers.
Ferdinand didn't even notice Hubert pausing to unbutton his own placket, but he must have because Ferdinand is suddenly full of his cock and they both moan.
Hubert is usually so careful to tease first. Not now. The sensational onslaught is breaking Ferdinand to pieces. Hubert hauls him upright, near-standing, and his strokes turn deep and slow but no less implacable. Like this, he has space to reach around and discard Ferdinand's clothing.
The cravat pin he tosses away. Gloves and scarf follow suit, all without Hubert losing his tortuous rhythm. When Ferdinand tries to touch in return, Hubert gently moves his hands back to the desk.
"I want you to just feel," Hubert says, and he already sounds wrecked. "Take what I give you." Then he bites the tendon of Ferdie's neck and starts unbuttoning his shirts. Soon they join the haphazard pile. His hands rake down Ferdinand's chest, down the trail of hair below his navel. Ferdinand's hands become fists as he struggles to do as he's told.
Hubert's hands move up to cup his pecs, and Ferdinand might cry. The mage has learned how plucking and rolling his nipples makes Ferdinand desperate. Oh, how he wants to rut up against something. The desk isn't the right height, but his need is ratcheting up every moment.
He whimpers as Hubert suddenly leaves his body to pull Ferdinand's trousers all the way down. Since the redhead hadn't been wearing shoes, he's now totally bare, and the cool air that touches him everywhere Hubert isn't is a cruel, delicious reminder of that vulnerability.
When Hubert shoves inside again, he passes straight to an earth-shattering animalistic claim. Ferdinand can't help his scream as his toes curl and Hubert pummels the sweet spot inside him again and again. His hand curls around Ferdinand's shoulder, pulling him back when his hips thrust forward. Ferdinand can do nothing but withstand and–as Hubert said– feel.
"I want you to scream my name," Hubert says in his ear. His breath fans across the sweat trailing down Ferdinand's neck. Ferdinand can barely comprehend language. His cock is dripping a little puddle on the floor and his breaths come in gasps. He still moans Hubert's name.
"Louder."
This one word, at least, Ferdinand can follow. He's all too happy to shout, "Hubert!"
"Good, good boy," he hisses, and reaches around to start jerking Ferdinand's cock.
Ferdinand's mind, meanwhile, gets stuck on the word Hubert and all he can do is babble it helplessly and fist his hands in his own hair.
Ferdinand is utterly pliant when Hubert pulls out again long enough to forcefully roll him over. Suddenly Ferdinand's legs are wrapped around Hubert's torso and the older man is fucking into him again and Ferdinand can only sob.
"Don't you dare come on my uniform," he says. Which is going to be impossible because he's still fully clothed. With every stroke, Ferdinand's cockhead rubs against Hubert's vest. And looking up at Hubert like this–the man's bangs bobbing with the force of his thrusts, his face tinged pink with exertion–is absolutely getting him there. It might even if he wasn't getting fucked so incredibly good.
At the last moment of Hubert jerking him off, he uses his grip to aim Ferdinand's spend up his own bare chest.
Ferdinand licks up the bit he can reach, knowing it will drive– yes –Hubert goes wild . A few thrusts later he pulls out to cover Ferdinand's mess with his own.
Hubert gradually lets Ferdinand's legs fall as they both catch their breath. After a few blissful moments of staring in each other's eyes, Hubert fumbles in his pockets for a clean handkerchief. He meticulously wipes him clean, then gathers him close to place an incongruously soft kiss to Ferdinand's forehead. Ferdinand redirects him for an equally sweet, chaste kiss on the mouth.
Hubert indulges him. In this, at least, he always will.
–