[ It's a deceptively mild question, but Sylvain's gaze is knowing as he nips playfully at Basch's lower lip. It feels a little hypocritical of him, actually, because he knows how little value can be placed on personal happiness. Especially when living a life that leaves so little choice in your own hands. Maybe it's why he still bucks against it whenever he can. Does the same now, when he sees Basch not striving for it himself.
There's a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and it draws his gaze away from the man for the briefest of moments. Only to blink at the reflection in the mirrored walls around them.
Which... wasn't quite a reflection anymore. Or maybe it was, but not of the physical. He wondered if it was reflecting something else, though?
Lips curving, his hands shift in an abrupt movement, turning Basch around in the other direction so he faced the elevator and at least three reflective walls. All of which showed a different image on them now. Tugging him back, he presses in snug against Basch's back, his own arousal nudging in against the curve of his ass while he keeps his own hand over the man's tucked-away cock. Stroking him through his clothes as lips press against the back of his neck. Warm breath teasing there as he scrapes teeth lightly against the skin just above his collar. ]
I think this room is magicked to tell on one of us. Or both of us. What do you see?
[ Because the reflections in front of them are certainly playing out things he's imagined doing to the man all night, but he wonders if Basch sees the same. ]
[ His expression darkens. Yes that he doesn’t deserve it. That’s easy to reach for. He set out to protect two countries and failed both.
But before that, he’d made a promise to protect those places, to restart his life when safety was reached. That had turned into weeks, months, decades. Even if — in the gold gleam of this private box and the arms of a man who bore him no threat — he admitted to wanting happiness, considered for a moment he was allowed to, how would he even go about finding it? He had not lived without a purpose and a team since he was a child.
He’s spared an answer by Sylvain flipping him around, his breath catching at the forceful steering of his body and the cock pressed against his ass. His eyes reel, taking in the question a moment later.
Sylvain having him shoved against the wall, one arm pinned behind his back and taking him from behind is certainly something that’s crossed his mind. So is the one where they’re both nude, Basch’s wrists tied above his head and Sylvain buried inside him, hand on his cock simultaneously.
The third is not his fantasy, but it makes him blush, because he wants all of them.
Are they welcome to Sylvain? Will he disappoint? But much as it makes him feel small, this part of the game also makes his cock throb in what. ]
I see you having restrained me before having me ride you while you stroke my cock. I still wear your collar.
[ Sylvain gives a throaty purr of approval from behind him, the palm of his hand pressing against the outline of Basch's cock now. His gaze drifts between the images, before fixating on the one Basch had described. ]
I did say I like how you looked in the collar, so I'm unsurprised by that one. But I like how you look in each of those. [ His other hand slips around to slide up Basch's toned torso, flicking a button or two open as he goes. Teasing against warm flesh as he can, but working his way back up towards where that collar rests snugly. Splaying fingers there against the line of his throat, just letting the man feel the touch of his hand there, holding him in place. ]
Do you like what you see? Is that what you're craving, Basch? To feel like that? [ The reflections play the scenes out in front of them, each of them caught in long moments of intense pleasure. His eyes pick up on the little details hinted in the postures, making note of it. ] Look at you, so caught up in pleasure. It's written in every line of your body, how much you want. How much you ache.
Can you imagine how good you'd feel wrapped around my cock like that, your body stretched taut for me, held in place to use at my leisure. How long could I drag it out for you, do you think? Filling you over and over again, keeping you right on that blissful edge without tipping you over? How prettily would you beg me for more, Basch? [ His teeth scrape against the pulse point under his lips, at the curve of the man's throat. ]
[ In less of a haze than the first time, he does not fail to notice the way Sylvain avoids volunteering information about his own motivations or private thoughts. Some part of that makes the sense of danger flare again, even as it simultaneously soothes; the man does not press him outside the bounds of this game, and clearly does not wish to be himself. Basch understands how that works, even if he wonders if this man craves closeness the way the sky pirate did. People were never his skill; it’s not worth guessing.
Especially not with more pressing matters filling his mind. He cannot worry his answer was unsatisfactory with a sound like that in his ear. His body goes rigid at the pressure on his cock, his weight shifting back against the other man as his other hand begins to explore and undress.
He likes it, yes. That much is obvious. But what is it he’s craving? He considers it, even as Sylvain guides his gaze to the image of himself, taught, surrendered. The sense of danger and shame is there again, but something sits under it. Something he has little experience teasing out or naming.
But Sylvain keeps spinning the fantasy, and he moans, his body remaining rigid out of years of restraining his own want. When the man bites his neck, he cries out so sharply it stings his own ears, his knees buckling and a hand going back to grip the other’s neck. ]
I — I want to be at your mercy. To resist you as long as I can and then beg you when I have broken. I want to be exhausted and spent, and to see you the same.
[ It’s closer to the truth and as much as he knows how to say. There’s something else here, something about Sylvain and how skilled he is, how in control, how the game feels like a mutually beneficial game and not a power struggle brought to the bedroom.
And as he admits that, the him in the reflection shifts, his lips moving in pleading words, his gaze trained on Sylvain as he pulls on the restraints, trying to reach the other man. A thing he often wants and so rarely musters. ]
[ He’s braced for when the man’s knees buckle, arms steady and secure around him to support him. One still at his throat, the other abandoning his cock for a moment to twine about his waist. He pins him against his own body, holding him there until he finds his feet again, even if that visceral reaction has him smiling against the reddening skin he’d just marked.
The breathless words get another sort of smile from him, something warmer as he presses a kiss to that spot now, still holding Basch against him. His eyes dart over the man’s shoulder to watch how the image changes, and then the third reflection alters too. Matching it, in a way, or perhaps following it.
Sylvain, on his back with his hands braced on Basch’s hips. Both of them naked, bodies on display, littered with lovebites and flushed with arousal. Basch is unbound again, wearing only that collar now, as he rises and falls above Sylvain, riding his cock, taking him deep with each rocking motion of his hips. His head fallen back as he moves, fucking himself on Sylvain’s cock, his expression one of exquisite pleasure and desperate need. He can almost hear the moans as reddened lips part, watches as his hand slides in to stroke Basch’s cock in time to the roll of his hips. How it makes the man’s body arch - so close, but not yet tipping over that edge. As if the reflection itself were aiding with the teasing of what was to come.
He bends forward to murmur in Basch’s ear again, teeth scraping lightly along the curve beneath his lips. ]
I think we can arrange all of that. Shall we start now?
[ Once again, he gives no warning. One moment he holds Basch there against his front, watching the scenes play out in front of both of them. The next he’s moving, pressing Basch roughly against one of the mirrored walls of the elevator, pinning his arm behind his back as he holds him in place. It’s no accident that Basch is now pressed against the very same wall he’d been watching this scene a moment before. His legs are kicked apart as his other hand slides in around Basch’s front once more, finding his cock beneath his clothing. ]
Although we do need to get rid of this, if I am to fuck you like we both want.
[ How does this man seem to anticipate his every move, even when he does not? That roaring chasm of danger opens again, threatening to swallow him, but so does that other, wilder feeling. Basch doesn't feel scared, not below the anxiety. Not with the way Sylvain catches him, holds him firm even, giving him time to recover, pressing his limits but not his boundaries.
There's something softer in the way Sylvain kisses him this time. Or maybe it's wishful thinking. But it unnerves him as much as the bite had.
His gaze, too, drifts to that shifting third vision. It's harder now to ignore it. They're both marked and flushed, utterly lost in each other, and he's seeking his own pleasure. It's enough to make his chest seize, his lips parting as his eyes dilating, like this place has dredged up a hidden thought even he dared not acknowledge.
And Sylvain wants all of it.
He doesn't even have time to roll around how that makes him feel. The next thing he knows, he's being forced against the wall, choking out a moan as Sylvain kicks his legs apart and pins his arm. It doesn't escape him this was the wall they watched together, or that the reality of feeling it is a thousand times more intense than whatever had crossed his mind.
Like we both want.
He moans again, breath jagged, but nods, fighting against himself to give Sylvain the affirmation he can. ]
I want you to. Here. Now.
[ It isn't the first time he's wished he had more skill with words, but it's something. So is the way he rocks himself against Sylvain's hand, whimpering as he does. He doesn't expect to be allowed to come for a good long while, and that makes teasing himself all the more enticing. ]
[ He murmurs the words against Basch's lips, his grip tightening against the man's arousal for a moment, firm and solid as he feels those hips try to rock into his touch. Those moans and whimpers are like music to his ears and he smiles as he lets his teeth rake against the back of the man's throat as he holds him pinned in place, using his own upper body strength to hold him right where he wants him.
But then fingers are shifting, loosening the fastenings of Basch's pants, dragging the fabric out of the way enough for his fingers to find warm, sensitive flesh. Curling his fingers just under the tip of the man as he strokes him once, twice, just enough to give him a taste of friction...
Before he releases him. Entirely, even. Steps back, so that sudden loss will leave the ache of its absence and lack of heat behind, even as he props his hands on broad hips and lets his lips curve in a knowing smile as he surveys the man before him, already flushed and breathless with want. Beautiful, he thinks again, though he doesn't voice the words. Not wanting to ruin the moment with whatever issues those words had caused Basch before. ]
Strip for me, Basch. All of it, off. I want you naked for me, so I can see every delicious inch of you. Except for the collar. That I expect you to keep on, but only that.
[ Gods, how does this man know exactly how much to give him to edge him further but leave him aching for more? He almost wants to protest, almost wants to be made to protest, but he's too good a dog, too amazed to be getting this attention twice in one day to even dream about asking for more.
That, and he's sure he'll be made to.
He's not expecting to be released to abruptly, though, and he lands against the wall with an audible thud, panting heavily as he does. come back threatens its way to his lips. did I do something to displease you?
No. An order. He rights himself, turning around so Sylvain can see, his pants already a mess and his face flushed. He holds the other man's gaze, steady, as his hands go first to his remaining shirt buttons. ]
You should know I am not beautiful. [ He was in those reflections, but it was just this place. He'd seen himself in a mirror. Too thin, a patchwork of scars. ] If you find the sight unappealing, I will redress.
[ His heart hammers, and he loses what conviction he had, but he undresses steadily, tossing the shirt to the ground. Sure enough, scars. But golden hair, freckles and moles, the shape of ribs and muscle, too -- the history of a soldier.
He crouches down, buying himself a moment while he removes his shoes, then he stands again to remove the too-tight breeches, all but peeling them off himself.
And so here he is. The only one naked, save that collar clearly marking him. Scarred and aroused and cold and completely at Sylvain's mercy. Aware he's going to be led through the garden like this.
And aching for when the other man undresses, and their skin touches, and they are both marked and wanting. It's so huge, so strong. How does anyone tolerate this much want filling them up? ]
[ That is something that's going to have to be dealt with at some point. Although he very much doubts that such a thing will be changed quickly. Mindsets like that... it's something Sylvain is all too familiar with. If for different reasons.
But for now, he does what he can without moving, without words. Instead, he lets Basch see the appreciation and hunger that fills his dark gaze as the man strips away his clothing, layer by layer. Reveals his body - scarred, yes, but toned and telling countless stories with the marks left behind. He smiles faintly at the sight of freckles, knowing he has more than a few on his own pale skin. he takes in every exposed inch of him and there's not a single moment where that hunger falters.
It's only when he stops, stripped and exposed and naked except for that last remaining claim about his throat, that Sylvain moves. Steps in close once more and slides his hand against the man's jaw, tilting his face towards him and holding him there as he lets his other hand trail down over the man's bared torso, tracing his ribs, or scars alike. There's no flinching there, and the lust never fades from his dark eyes. ]
You're wrong, you know. You are beautiful. Your body tells a story - it might be a dark one, but it is yours and one you are still here to tell. The scars do nothing to diminish you. If anything, they do the opposite - they speak to a strength and a willpower deeper than most can ever imagine. And that you choose to bend to me, possessing that strength? Is a beauty all its own. One I do not take for granted.
[ He holds the man's gaze for a moment, earnest and solemn, wanting him to understand Sylvain means every word, before his lips quirk faintly and he steps back again, hands going to his own shirt as he starts to unbutton it and cast it aside.
It reveals a toned, muscular torso - one scattered with its own collection of scars. The long slash from a blade down his ribs, the jagged remnants of where he'd taken a spear in the side. The nasty slash of wyvern's claws on the back of one shoulder, and countless other smaller ones scattered over his skin. He doesn't flinch from the sight of them, either, the vulnerability of exposing himself. If he wants Basch to believe him, he doesn't want to falter here, either. He drops his shirt to the ground with little care before going to unfasten his pants as well. Stripping away each layer the same way Basch had. ]
[ He waits for the flick of an eye, the betrayal of a scowl, a flinch. But there's none of that. Just intense, approving, wanting observation. But Sylvain has good control. This could be habit, could be calculating for something else, could be --
The space between them is gone, and Sylvain directs his gaze, hand roving just as wanting as it had before. His eyes widen as the man speaks, every word hitting that same tender, raw space that has been buried under scar tissue for so long. Does he mean that? That the appeal is someone of strength offering to bend, not wielding power over a man who ought to be powerful?
But he's wary. Balthier showed him how words could be twisted to lure in wanting onlookers, and he'd been victim to it before himself. This was a game. This was a game.
So why was his heart beating so fast? Why is Balthier's same voice echoing that he's a right idiot who can't see what's in front of him?
Sylvain steps back abruptly, and this time Basch is glad for the moment of space. His gaze holds just as steady, just as hungry as Sylvain's had, but a strange wave of hot and cold rolls through him, his blood roaring in his ears as he takes in the figure before him.
Scarred. Muscled. A solider.
He understands. He--
Basch's fists clench, and he waits obediently, but the moment Sylvain stills he closes the space between them, kissing the man hard, teeth scraping his lip as his hands rove unabashedly over that skin, one on the torso and one splayed across his back. He's not sure for a moment if he's going to cry, which is odd, because he also feels like he hasn't felt so light in years. This is going to come crashing down, somehow, soon, but right now he doesn't care. ]
[ He doesn't have to wait long, although even he's a little surprised at the force of it. Hands come up to catch the man against him as Basch's teeth click against his own but he doesn't mind. A hand lifts, fisting in the man's hair as he holds him there, devours is mouth in a hungry kiss that holds very little restraint now. Basch's body is a hot line pressed against his own and he works a thigh between his legs again as he feels those hands roam over his skin.
He hears that hitched breath, the shudder of things the man's not voicing, but he understands that, too. Holds him there against him as he kisses him, lets him touch, lets him vent whatever's risen up in him so violently. Or maybe it's more he seeks to channel it into something they can both use, as his other hand slides over skin that's not hot to the touch. Open and exposed for him to explore, to touch, to taste, at will. And he wants to.
But he has a fantasy to fulfill first. ]
I've got you. [ He murmurs the words into the kiss as he tugs Basch's head back finally - reluctant, even, on his own part. A promise, not a threat. His lips move down to kiss and nip their way along the line of the man's throat as his grip remains tight in his hair, tipping his head back for him. Exposing his throat. ] And I very much still want you. All of you. Will you bend for me, Basch?
[ Whatever fear there was that this was too much, that he'd overstepped the invisible bounds of their arrangement, dies readily when Sylvain grips his hair and holds him there. Yes. You are welcome. All of this is welcome.
He cries out as Sylvain's naked thigh slides between his legs, strong and covered in soft, thick hair, but even that doesn't dislodge him from his hungry kissing, torso working to close any space between them even as he's rocked from between his legs. The heat of want and touch and closeness tangle together, and for a moment, he really does lose himself entirely, safe in this hold, safe in this moment. When Sylvain says I've got you, he whimpers, his grip tightening. He knows. He knows.
He's almost relieved when Sylvain tugs his head back. That touch grounds him, puts him back in his body, and more importantly, stalls the rush. He doesn't want this to be quick. He nods, his breath jagged, his voice a gurgling moan as Sylvain returns to the slow caressing tease of his neck. ]
With pleasure [ he whispers, knowing Sylvain will heed the word choice. ]
[ Sylvain's voice is a low purr as he smiles against Basch's throat a moment before teeth press down, just above the stretch of that collar. Worrying redness into the skin there, heated and visible. He keeps his thigh pressed against the man's arousal for one more long moment before he pulls Basch off him, only long enough to turn him around and pin him to the wall once more, as he'd been holding him before.
One arm is tugged back behind him to pin him in place as he holds him there, leaning in against the lithe line of his back to murmur in his ears. ]
It was like this, I believe, was it not? You, pinned in place for me, while I sank deep into you?
[ This time the moan at Sylvain's bite is longer, slower. He dares to cup a hand around the other man's neck, giving in to a single rock against his leg before Sylvain flips him around again. It's...so much sweeter, almost too intense with all this skin against him, the distinct feel of body hair rubbing against his back. That and Sylvain's cock hot and bare against his ass.
And going to be inside shortly. ]
Just like this [ he rasps. ] I was -- hngh -- thinking about this one all night -- after I saw others trying to catch your eye.
[ More that he hasn't voiced in a long time, but it's part of the game, and it's true. The fantasy of being wanted and kept when he wasn't the only or easiest choice. ]
[ He gives a soft hum as he nudges Basch’s legs apart for him again, sliding hands down over his ribs, his hips. He rocks his hips inward, the hard length of his cock pressed against the curve of Basch’s ass in a tease. ]
Were you worried? I’d say you have no reason to be, but I suspect you wouldn’t believe me.
[ He’s already debating on how best to start this. There’s a vial of oil down in the pocket of his discarded pants - something he’d lifted from one of the back rooms in his brief time there, since he knew that would likely be necessary before the night was out.
But with how delicious responsive Basch was, he’s tempted to try something else first. ]
[ He's not shy giving a low, slow sound of approval. This one isn't coaxed from him; he chooses to act on the impulse, and that sends its own strange tingle through him. ]
I was. [ Truth, and he thinks it will please. ] You could have had near anyone in that room, I think. Why settle for me? [ Bracing himself on the wall, still deliciously pinned, he rocks back against Sylvain's cock and sturdy torso. ] But now, I believe you. [ It's more of a whisper than he means, but he believes it, at least for tonight. He still doesn't know why, but he knows when men lie, when their convictions are fabricated, more often than not. Sylvain's hunger and approval are, for now, real.
Why this confidence usually reserved for battle is visiting him now, he does not know or question. ]
[ It does please, even more so that the answer is volunteered beyond what Sylvain expected in response. Even that last part, low as it was.
He bends down, not releasing Basch from the wall, never fully removing contact so he doesn’t think he’s letting him go again. He’s not, he’s just retrieving the oil for now, spilling some out into his palm and slicking his fingers with it. Setting it beside them on the rail that runs around the inside of the elevator in case he needs it again, he lets his slicked fingers trace their way down from the base of the man’s spine. With his legs kicked apart as they are, it leaves him open and exposed and Sylvain just smiles as those fingers trail low enough to playfully circle around that tight ring of muscle. Sliding his thumb over it as he coats Basch’s skin with the oil. Teasing with the anticipation of being penetrated without yet following through. ]
Because I definitely do not see this as ‘settling’. The idea of having you here, like this, had me distracted the entire evening. Trust me when I say that entire casino could have been stark naked all night and my eyes still would have been on you.
[ He shudders out a breathy moan as fingers trail down his spine. The gentle touch on a usually private part of his body feels entirely aflame. He could have basked in that a good long while (if he didn't inevitably become uncomfortable with the soft attention), but it's no surprise Sylvain delves lower. The oil is warm and slick on Sylvain's knowing hands, and Basch exhales sharply, ass clenching. Anticipation indeed. He'll be a little sore tomorrow, and he'll treasure the reminder that this happened.
Gods, though. He doesn't know what to do with having his ass teased like he's the night's entertainment while being told he's-- he's--
He can't even get the thought out. He just breaths shallowly, leaning his forehead against the cool wall. He doesn't believe Sylvain, but he doesn't think him a liar either. It's two truths he can't reconcile, and so his mind wants to be somewhere else. All he can conclude is that he's strange, a diversion, already retreating from the very real approval he's seen again and again in Sylvain. But that's alright. He's hungry to be used like this, and Sylvain is pleased by it. That is enough. ]
You were patient, then [ he says. ] Those who decided to partake from me in the past never suffered waiting. [ Or risking sharing. Even as he says it, though, his body shudders again at the slow but constant pace of teasing his backside, and the memory of Sylvain's cock in his mouth is bright in his mind. ]
Oh, I've been told I'm maddeningly patient, sorry to say.
[ There's a chuckle in his voice as he leans in to press against Basch's back once more. While one hand keeps him pinned, he uses his weight to help, even as the other finally presses a finger into him, testing how tight he is, testing the pace he needs to go here to prepare the man's body for what is to come.
If the man takes it easily, he'll add a second finger almost right away, but if it feels like he needs a slower approach in stretching these muscles, Sylvain doesn't mind taking his time either. Working his fingers deep, letting the oil ease his way as he works those muscles loose and relaxed for him. Sylvain is not a small man and he wants to make sure there's no pain when he does finally slide into Basch's eager body.
And if his fingers seek out and purposefully brush over a sensitive bundle of nerves in the process, all the better. ]
I don't think this counts as maddening or patient.
[ His voice is low, breathy, but that he's talking this much at all is a testament to that constant something that has him off kilter with Sylvain.
It's true as ever; he's poor enough at lying when he can focus, and gods help him if he needed to now. His whimpering groan is languid, relaxed even. It's been a long time since he's done this, but there's an undeniable trust here that makes it easy just listen to his body and bask in the intensity of sensation. Fortunate, because he remembers quite well that Sylvain was damn near too much for his throat. Not that that's going to stop him.
Some of those sounds become sharper, muscles clenching and releasing as Sylvain finds more sensitive purchase. He gasps out the other's name, pinned hand reaching for the other as his other fist clenches. It feels oddly intimate to call for him, no title and no plea. ]
[ It's not, and he knows that. Can tell how in how Basch's body responds to him, relaxes and then clenches whenever he brushes over his prostate. The sound of his name gasped, the feeling of the hand pinned behind the man's back scrabbling for purchase. ]
Or should we try for more?
[ Really, that had been a rhetorical question because, having decided the two digits were now moving easily enough, he adds a third to stretching wider still. Scissoring them within him, crooking them slightly as he drags them back out again. While he's not exactly taking his time, he is certainly being thorough. ]
[ His moan is louder, body contorting against that onslaught of feeling. He has to widen his stance, shift his weight on his arm so he doesn't crumple. It's so much, and some visceral, animal part of his brain wants to pull away to safety, even as the rest of him craves more of it. He's glad he's pinned. It's easier to relax into it like this. And -- it's bliss. With his head clear, with every step of this his choosing, he's...enjoying himself.
Still. Something in him balks. He knows Sylvain could hurt him, knows this person is a stranger, knows there's danger. ]
What if -- I had said it was too much?
[ It's not. It's slow and measured and knowing and that's why he's having such an easy time of this. But asking brushes up against that muddle of fear and desire to be overpowered, and -- that other thing. Whatever it is he keeps brushing up against but cannot name. ]
[ Sylvain's lips press hot but somehow reassuring against the back of his neck as he works those fingers deeper again. ]
I would have known you were lying. Your body was already telling me the answer I needed to hear. If it was too much, you wouldn't be chasing my fingers, reluctant to release me. Those pretty moans of yours would hold a different note - but no, all they hold is pleasure. Hunger.
Mouths lie. [ A scrape of teeth now, the tease of a brief bite before he soothes over the spot with his tongue again. ] Bodies rarely do. They hold a language all their own.
[ neither of them can deny the effect Sylvain’s words and steady touch continue to have on him, that rigidness he carries melting into something much more pliable and accommodating.
He’s getting more accustomed to the heady mix of shame and breathlessness at being so accurately read and closely observed. It’s a strange thing, to be kept by someone else. Sexually, yes, but to be held in some level of accurate image in their eyes, their vantage point showing them pieces a man might not know of himself. Perhaps it’s that he keeps brushing up against.
He has no idea who he is these days.
But the thoughts are thick and fleeting. He moans again, bracing harder, and there’s a whine in his voice. He could finish like this, if Sylvain wanted him to, but the capable way he keeps adding more, winding everything together in a way Basch knows he could never pull off in return. He thinks he can read what Sylvain wants too. ]
You are…going to know every inch of me…better than I know myself—Sylvain.
[ His weight shifts forward, straining against the others hold as he scrabbles again to for the other, gasping. Precum wets his head, and his breathing is hitched. ]
[ He smiles against the back of Basch's shoulder before he lets his teeth nip lightly at the skin there. Letting him feel the edge of it. Still working his fingers deep, he stretches him until he's confident Basch will be able to take him. It will still be a stretch, but it's as much as his fingers can do for now. ]
I am fairly fluent, it's true. Don't worry, I have no intention of stopping until you paint that mirror with proof of your pleasure.
[ He withdraws his fingers from the man's body, sparing a moment to generously slick his own aching cock before shifting his pose. Hand wrapped around the base of his own cock to maneuver easier, he lets the thick head rub over that hole, still tight and clenching at the teasing. Or maybe the emptiness, now that his fingers aren't buried deep. He gives Basch a moment to realize that's not his fingers anymore for himself, before shifting forward and starting to press into his tight body with a strained sound muffled against the back of the man's shoulder. ]
I guess we'll see how well I can read you until then.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ It's a deceptively mild question, but Sylvain's gaze is knowing as he nips playfully at Basch's lower lip. It feels a little hypocritical of him, actually, because he knows how little value can be placed on personal happiness. Especially when living a life that leaves so little choice in your own hands. Maybe it's why he still bucks against it whenever he can. Does the same now, when he sees Basch not striving for it himself.
There's a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and it draws his gaze away from the man for the briefest of moments. Only to blink at the reflection in the mirrored walls around them.
Which... wasn't quite a reflection anymore. Or maybe it was, but not of the physical. He wondered if it was reflecting something else, though?
Lips curving, his hands shift in an abrupt movement, turning Basch around in the other direction so he faced the elevator and at least three reflective walls. All of which showed a different image on them now. Tugging him back, he presses in snug against Basch's back, his own arousal nudging in against the curve of his ass while he keeps his own hand over the man's tucked-away cock. Stroking him through his clothes as lips press against the back of his neck. Warm breath teasing there as he scrapes teeth lightly against the skin just above his collar. ]
I think this room is magicked to tell on one of us. Or both of us. What do you see?
[ Because the reflections in front of them are certainly playing out things he's imagined doing to the man all night, but he wonders if Basch sees the same. ]
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But before that, he’d made a promise to protect those places, to restart his life when safety was reached. That had turned into weeks, months, decades. Even if — in the gold gleam of this private box and the arms of a man who bore him no threat — he admitted to wanting happiness, considered for a moment he was allowed to, how would he even go about finding it? He had not lived without a purpose and a team since he was a child.
He’s spared an answer by Sylvain flipping him around, his breath catching at the forceful steering of his body and the cock pressed against his ass. His eyes reel, taking in the question a moment later.
Sylvain having him shoved against the wall, one arm pinned behind his back and taking him from behind is certainly something that’s crossed his mind. So is the one where they’re both nude, Basch’s wrists tied above his head and Sylvain buried inside him, hand on his cock simultaneously.
The third is not his fantasy, but it makes him blush, because he wants all of them.
Are they welcome to Sylvain? Will he disappoint? But much as it makes him feel small, this part of the game also makes his cock throb in what. ]
I see you having restrained me before having me ride you while you stroke my cock. I still wear your collar.
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I did say I like how you looked in the collar, so I'm unsurprised by that one. But I like how you look in each of those. [ His other hand slips around to slide up Basch's toned torso, flicking a button or two open as he goes. Teasing against warm flesh as he can, but working his way back up towards where that collar rests snugly. Splaying fingers there against the line of his throat, just letting the man feel the touch of his hand there, holding him in place. ]
Do you like what you see? Is that what you're craving, Basch? To feel like that? [ The reflections play the scenes out in front of them, each of them caught in long moments of intense pleasure. His eyes pick up on the little details hinted in the postures, making note of it. ] Look at you, so caught up in pleasure. It's written in every line of your body, how much you want. How much you ache.
Can you imagine how good you'd feel wrapped around my cock like that, your body stretched taut for me, held in place to use at my leisure. How long could I drag it out for you, do you think? Filling you over and over again, keeping you right on that blissful edge without tipping you over? How prettily would you beg me for more, Basch? [ His teeth scrape against the pulse point under his lips, at the curve of the man's throat. ]
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Especially not with more pressing matters filling his mind. He cannot worry his answer was unsatisfactory with a sound like that in his ear. His body goes rigid at the pressure on his cock, his weight shifting back against the other man as his other hand begins to explore and undress.
He likes it, yes. That much is obvious. But what is it he’s craving? He considers it, even as Sylvain guides his gaze to the image of himself, taught, surrendered. The sense of danger and shame is there again, but something sits under it. Something he has little experience teasing out or naming.
But Sylvain keeps spinning the fantasy, and he moans, his body remaining rigid out of years of restraining his own want. When the man bites his neck, he cries out so sharply it stings his own ears, his knees buckling and a hand going back to grip the other’s neck. ]
I — I want to be at your mercy. To resist you as long as I can and then beg you when I have broken. I want to be exhausted and spent, and to see you the same.
[ It’s closer to the truth and as much as he knows how to say. There’s something else here, something about Sylvain and how skilled he is, how in control, how the game feels like a mutually beneficial game and not a power struggle brought to the bedroom.
And as he admits that, the him in the reflection shifts, his lips moving in pleading words, his gaze trained on Sylvain as he pulls on the restraints, trying to reach the other man. A thing he often wants and so rarely musters. ]
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The breathless words get another sort of smile from him, something warmer as he presses a kiss to that spot now, still holding Basch against him. His eyes dart over the man’s shoulder to watch how the image changes, and then the third reflection alters too. Matching it, in a way, or perhaps following it.
Sylvain, on his back with his hands braced on Basch’s hips. Both of them naked, bodies on display, littered with lovebites and flushed with arousal. Basch is unbound again, wearing only that collar now, as he rises and falls above Sylvain, riding his cock, taking him deep with each rocking motion of his hips. His head fallen back as he moves, fucking himself on Sylvain’s cock, his expression one of exquisite pleasure and desperate need. He can almost hear the moans as reddened lips part, watches as his hand slides in to stroke Basch’s cock in time to the roll of his hips. How it makes the man’s body arch - so close, but not yet tipping over that edge. As if the reflection itself were aiding with the teasing of what was to come.
He bends forward to murmur in Basch’s ear again, teeth scraping lightly along the curve beneath his lips. ]
I think we can arrange all of that. Shall we start now?
[ Once again, he gives no warning. One moment he holds Basch there against his front, watching the scenes play out in front of both of them. The next he’s moving, pressing Basch roughly against one of the mirrored walls of the elevator, pinning his arm behind his back as he holds him in place. It’s no accident that Basch is now pressed against the very same wall he’d been watching this scene a moment before. His legs are kicked apart as his other hand slides in around Basch’s front once more, finding his cock beneath his clothing. ]
Although we do need to get rid of this, if I am to fuck you like we both want.
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There's something softer in the way Sylvain kisses him this time. Or maybe it's wishful thinking. But it unnerves him as much as the bite had.
His gaze, too, drifts to that shifting third vision. It's harder now to ignore it. They're both marked and flushed, utterly lost in each other, and he's seeking his own pleasure. It's enough to make his chest seize, his lips parting as his eyes dilating, like this place has dredged up a hidden thought even he dared not acknowledge.
And Sylvain wants all of it.
He doesn't even have time to roll around how that makes him feel. The next thing he knows, he's being forced against the wall, choking out a moan as Sylvain kicks his legs apart and pins his arm. It doesn't escape him this was the wall they watched together, or that the reality of feeling it is a thousand times more intense than whatever had crossed his mind.
Like we both want.
He moans again, breath jagged, but nods, fighting against himself to give Sylvain the affirmation he can. ]
I want you to. Here. Now.
[ It isn't the first time he's wished he had more skill with words, but it's something. So is the way he rocks himself against Sylvain's hand, whimpering as he does. He doesn't expect to be allowed to come for a good long while, and that makes teasing himself all the more enticing. ]
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[ He murmurs the words against Basch's lips, his grip tightening against the man's arousal for a moment, firm and solid as he feels those hips try to rock into his touch. Those moans and whimpers are like music to his ears and he smiles as he lets his teeth rake against the back of the man's throat as he holds him pinned in place, using his own upper body strength to hold him right where he wants him.
But then fingers are shifting, loosening the fastenings of Basch's pants, dragging the fabric out of the way enough for his fingers to find warm, sensitive flesh. Curling his fingers just under the tip of the man as he strokes him once, twice, just enough to give him a taste of friction...
Before he releases him. Entirely, even. Steps back, so that sudden loss will leave the ache of its absence and lack of heat behind, even as he props his hands on broad hips and lets his lips curve in a knowing smile as he surveys the man before him, already flushed and breathless with want. Beautiful, he thinks again, though he doesn't voice the words. Not wanting to ruin the moment with whatever issues those words had caused Basch before. ]
Strip for me, Basch. All of it, off. I want you naked for me, so I can see every delicious inch of you. Except for the collar. That I expect you to keep on, but only that.
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That, and he's sure he'll be made to.
He's not expecting to be released to abruptly, though, and he lands against the wall with an audible thud, panting heavily as he does. come back threatens its way to his lips. did I do something to displease you?
No. An order. He rights himself, turning around so Sylvain can see, his pants already a mess and his face flushed. He holds the other man's gaze, steady, as his hands go first to his remaining shirt buttons. ]
You should know I am not beautiful. [ He was in those reflections, but it was just this place. He'd seen himself in a mirror. Too thin, a patchwork of scars. ] If you find the sight unappealing, I will redress.
[ His heart hammers, and he loses what conviction he had, but he undresses steadily, tossing the shirt to the ground. Sure enough, scars. But golden hair, freckles and moles, the shape of ribs and muscle, too -- the history of a soldier.
He crouches down, buying himself a moment while he removes his shoes, then he stands again to remove the too-tight breeches, all but peeling them off himself.
And so here he is. The only one naked, save that collar clearly marking him. Scarred and aroused and cold and completely at Sylvain's mercy. Aware he's going to be led through the garden like this.
And aching for when the other man undresses, and their skin touches, and they are both marked and wanting. It's so huge, so strong. How does anyone tolerate this much want filling them up? ]
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But for now, he does what he can without moving, without words. Instead, he lets Basch see the appreciation and hunger that fills his dark gaze as the man strips away his clothing, layer by layer. Reveals his body - scarred, yes, but toned and telling countless stories with the marks left behind. He smiles faintly at the sight of freckles, knowing he has more than a few on his own pale skin. he takes in every exposed inch of him and there's not a single moment where that hunger falters.
It's only when he stops, stripped and exposed and naked except for that last remaining claim about his throat, that Sylvain moves. Steps in close once more and slides his hand against the man's jaw, tilting his face towards him and holding him there as he lets his other hand trail down over the man's bared torso, tracing his ribs, or scars alike. There's no flinching there, and the lust never fades from his dark eyes. ]
You're wrong, you know. You are beautiful. Your body tells a story - it might be a dark one, but it is yours and one you are still here to tell. The scars do nothing to diminish you. If anything, they do the opposite - they speak to a strength and a willpower deeper than most can ever imagine. And that you choose to bend to me, possessing that strength? Is a beauty all its own. One I do not take for granted.
[ He holds the man's gaze for a moment, earnest and solemn, wanting him to understand Sylvain means every word, before his lips quirk faintly and he steps back again, hands going to his own shirt as he starts to unbutton it and cast it aside.
It reveals a toned, muscular torso - one scattered with its own collection of scars. The long slash from a blade down his ribs, the jagged remnants of where he'd taken a spear in the side. The nasty slash of wyvern's claws on the back of one shoulder, and countless other smaller ones scattered over his skin. He doesn't flinch from the sight of them, either, the vulnerability of exposing himself. If he wants Basch to believe him, he doesn't want to falter here, either. He drops his shirt to the ground with little care before going to unfasten his pants as well. Stripping away each layer the same way Basch had. ]
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The space between them is gone, and Sylvain directs his gaze, hand roving just as wanting as it had before. His eyes widen as the man speaks, every word hitting that same tender, raw space that has been buried under scar tissue for so long. Does he mean that? That the appeal is someone of strength offering to bend, not wielding power over a man who ought to be powerful?
But he's wary. Balthier showed him how words could be twisted to lure in wanting onlookers, and he'd been victim to it before himself. This was a game. This was a game.
So why was his heart beating so fast? Why is Balthier's same voice echoing that he's a right idiot who can't see what's in front of him?
Sylvain steps back abruptly, and this time Basch is glad for the moment of space. His gaze holds just as steady, just as hungry as Sylvain's had, but a strange wave of hot and cold rolls through him, his blood roaring in his ears as he takes in the figure before him.
Scarred. Muscled. A solider.
He understands. He--
Basch's fists clench, and he waits obediently, but the moment Sylvain stills he closes the space between them, kissing the man hard, teeth scraping his lip as his hands rove unabashedly over that skin, one on the torso and one splayed across his back. He's not sure for a moment if he's going to cry, which is odd, because he also feels like he hasn't felt so light in years. This is going to come crashing down, somehow, soon, but right now he doesn't care. ]
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He hears that hitched breath, the shudder of things the man's not voicing, but he understands that, too. Holds him there against him as he kisses him, lets him touch, lets him vent whatever's risen up in him so violently. Or maybe it's more he seeks to channel it into something they can both use, as his other hand slides over skin that's not hot to the touch. Open and exposed for him to explore, to touch, to taste, at will. And he wants to.
But he has a fantasy to fulfill first. ]
I've got you. [ He murmurs the words into the kiss as he tugs Basch's head back finally - reluctant, even, on his own part. A promise, not a threat. His lips move down to kiss and nip their way along the line of the man's throat as his grip remains tight in his hair, tipping his head back for him. Exposing his throat. ] And I very much still want you. All of you. Will you bend for me, Basch?
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He cries out as Sylvain's naked thigh slides between his legs, strong and covered in soft, thick hair, but even that doesn't dislodge him from his hungry kissing, torso working to close any space between them even as he's rocked from between his legs. The heat of want and touch and closeness tangle together, and for a moment, he really does lose himself entirely, safe in this hold, safe in this moment. When Sylvain says I've got you, he whimpers, his grip tightening. He knows. He knows.
He's almost relieved when Sylvain tugs his head back. That touch grounds him, puts him back in his body, and more importantly, stalls the rush. He doesn't want this to be quick. He nods, his breath jagged, his voice a gurgling moan as Sylvain returns to the slow caressing tease of his neck. ]
With pleasure [ he whispers, knowing Sylvain will heed the word choice. ]
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[ Sylvain's voice is a low purr as he smiles against Basch's throat a moment before teeth press down, just above the stretch of that collar. Worrying redness into the skin there, heated and visible. He keeps his thigh pressed against the man's arousal for one more long moment before he pulls Basch off him, only long enough to turn him around and pin him to the wall once more, as he'd been holding him before.
One arm is tugged back behind him to pin him in place as he holds him there, leaning in against the lithe line of his back to murmur in his ears. ]
It was like this, I believe, was it not? You, pinned in place for me, while I sank deep into you?
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And going to be inside shortly. ]
Just like this [ he rasps. ] I was -- hngh -- thinking about this one all night -- after I saw others trying to catch your eye.
[ More that he hasn't voiced in a long time, but it's part of the game, and it's true. The fantasy of being wanted and kept when he wasn't the only or easiest choice. ]
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Were you worried? I’d say you have no reason to be, but I suspect you wouldn’t believe me.
[ He’s already debating on how best to start this. There’s a vial of oil down in the pocket of his discarded pants - something he’d lifted from one of the back rooms in his brief time there, since he knew that would likely be necessary before the night was out.
But with how delicious responsive Basch was, he’s tempted to try something else first. ]
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I was. [ Truth, and he thinks it will please. ] You could have had near anyone in that room, I think. Why settle for me? [ Bracing himself on the wall, still deliciously pinned, he rocks back against Sylvain's cock and sturdy torso. ] But now, I believe you. [ It's more of a whisper than he means, but he believes it, at least for tonight. He still doesn't know why, but he knows when men lie, when their convictions are fabricated, more often than not. Sylvain's hunger and approval are, for now, real.
Why this confidence usually reserved for battle is visiting him now, he does not know or question. ]
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[ It does please, even more so that the answer is volunteered beyond what Sylvain expected in response. Even that last part, low as it was.
He bends down, not releasing Basch from the wall, never fully removing contact so he doesn’t think he’s letting him go again. He’s not, he’s just retrieving the oil for now, spilling some out into his palm and slicking his fingers with it. Setting it beside them on the rail that runs around the inside of the elevator in case he needs it again, he lets his slicked fingers trace their way down from the base of the man’s spine. With his legs kicked apart as they are, it leaves him open and exposed and Sylvain just smiles as those fingers trail low enough to playfully circle around that tight ring of muscle. Sliding his thumb over it as he coats Basch’s skin with the oil. Teasing with the anticipation of being penetrated without yet following through. ]
Because I definitely do not see this as ‘settling’. The idea of having you here, like this, had me distracted the entire evening. Trust me when I say that entire casino could have been stark naked all night and my eyes still would have been on you.
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Gods, though. He doesn't know what to do with having his ass teased like he's the night's entertainment while being told he's-- he's--
He can't even get the thought out. He just breaths shallowly, leaning his forehead against the cool wall. He doesn't believe Sylvain, but he doesn't think him a liar either. It's two truths he can't reconcile, and so his mind wants to be somewhere else. All he can conclude is that he's strange, a diversion, already retreating from the very real approval he's seen again and again in Sylvain. But that's alright. He's hungry to be used like this, and Sylvain is pleased by it. That is enough. ]
You were patient, then [ he says. ] Those who decided to partake from me in the past never suffered waiting. [ Or risking sharing. Even as he says it, though, his body shudders again at the slow but constant pace of teasing his backside, and the memory of Sylvain's cock in his mouth is bright in his mind. ]
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[ There's a chuckle in his voice as he leans in to press against Basch's back once more. While one hand keeps him pinned, he uses his weight to help, even as the other finally presses a finger into him, testing how tight he is, testing the pace he needs to go here to prepare the man's body for what is to come.
If the man takes it easily, he'll add a second finger almost right away, but if it feels like he needs a slower approach in stretching these muscles, Sylvain doesn't mind taking his time either. Working his fingers deep, letting the oil ease his way as he works those muscles loose and relaxed for him. Sylvain is not a small man and he wants to make sure there's no pain when he does finally slide into Basch's eager body.
And if his fingers seek out and purposefully brush over a sensitive bundle of nerves in the process, all the better. ]
And you've never taken someone like me before.
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[ His voice is low, breathy, but that he's talking this much at all is a testament to that constant something that has him off kilter with Sylvain.
It's true as ever; he's poor enough at lying when he can focus, and gods help him if he needed to now. His whimpering groan is languid, relaxed even. It's been a long time since he's done this, but there's an undeniable trust here that makes it easy just listen to his body and bask in the intensity of sensation. Fortunate, because he remembers quite well that Sylvain was damn near too much for his throat. Not that that's going to stop him.
Some of those sounds become sharper, muscles clenching and releasing as Sylvain finds more sensitive purchase. He gasps out the other's name, pinned hand reaching for the other as his other fist clenches. It feels oddly intimate to call for him, no title and no plea. ]
No. I -- hngh -- certainly have not.
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[ It's not, and he knows that. Can tell how in how Basch's body responds to him, relaxes and then clenches whenever he brushes over his prostate. The sound of his name gasped, the feeling of the hand pinned behind the man's back scrabbling for purchase. ]
Or should we try for more?
[ Really, that had been a rhetorical question because, having decided the two digits were now moving easily enough, he adds a third to stretching wider still. Scissoring them within him, crooking them slightly as he drags them back out again. While he's not exactly taking his time, he is certainly being thorough. ]
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Still. Something in him balks. He knows Sylvain could hurt him, knows this person is a stranger, knows there's danger. ]
What if -- I had said it was too much?
[ It's not. It's slow and measured and knowing and that's why he's having such an easy time of this. But asking brushes up against that muddle of fear and desire to be overpowered, and -- that other thing. Whatever it is he keeps brushing up against but cannot name. ]
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I would have known you were lying. Your body was already telling me the answer I needed to hear. If it was too much, you wouldn't be chasing my fingers, reluctant to release me. Those pretty moans of yours would hold a different note - but no, all they hold is pleasure. Hunger.
Mouths lie. [ A scrape of teeth now, the tease of a brief bite before he soothes over the spot with his tongue again. ] Bodies rarely do. They hold a language all their own.
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[ neither of them can deny the effect Sylvain’s words and steady touch continue to have on him, that rigidness he carries melting into something much more pliable and accommodating.
He’s getting more accustomed to the heady mix of shame and breathlessness at being so accurately read and closely observed. It’s a strange thing, to be kept by someone else. Sexually, yes, but to be held in some level of accurate image in their eyes, their vantage point showing them pieces a man might not know of himself. Perhaps it’s that he keeps brushing up against.
He has no idea who he is these days.
But the thoughts are thick and fleeting. He moans again, bracing harder, and there’s a whine in his voice. He could finish like this, if Sylvain wanted him to, but the capable way he keeps adding more, winding everything together in a way Basch knows he could never pull off in return. He thinks he can read what Sylvain wants too. ]
You are…going to know every inch of me…better than I know myself—Sylvain.
[ His weight shifts forward, straining against the others hold as he scrabbles again to for the other, gasping. Precum wets his head, and his breathing is hitched. ]
Don’t stop.
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I am fairly fluent, it's true. Don't worry, I have no intention of stopping until you paint that mirror with proof of your pleasure.
[ He withdraws his fingers from the man's body, sparing a moment to generously slick his own aching cock before shifting his pose. Hand wrapped around the base of his own cock to maneuver easier, he lets the thick head rub over that hole, still tight and clenching at the teasing. Or maybe the emptiness, now that his fingers aren't buried deep. He gives Basch a moment to realize that's not his fingers anymore for himself, before shifting forward and starting to press into his tight body with a strained sound muffled against the back of the man's shoulder. ]
I guess we'll see how well I can read you until then.
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ty for the beautiful setting description
I hope it works! feel free to add whatever you want or what might useful/fun ;)
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some day he'll make a decision off the bat. not today.
It’s a work in progress ;)
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