Golden Peacock TDM Overflow

[bardische]

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[philancer]

[ Sylvain cocks his head to the side at that question, still considering him before he pushes up and then draws the man in closer by the leash once more so he can kiss him. And likely taste himself on his lips, but he doesn't want Basch questioning his answer, either. ]

You're perfect. 'Satisfactory' is a very grave understatement. So yes, I'll be keeping you. For at least as long as you want to be kept.

[ He's thinking about that mostly tonight, but he wouldn't be opposed to more past that, should Basch end up wanting to do this again. Sylvain doesn't normally allow that, but even he's been known to make exceptions every once in a while.

Basch already feels like one of those notable few. Or maybe that's a protective, indulgent side of him rising up in response to what he's picking up from this man's reactions. There's a story here, one he's not going to prod at, but he wants to help where he can. ]

[bardische]

[ His eyes widen, the sound he makes at being kissed almost pained before he succumbs to it, kissing back with the full force of whatever this mess of feeling is.

Perfect. He doesn't think so, knows it could not be father from the truth, but he fully believes Sylvain means it. He meets the other's gaze steadily, but with surprise and confusion and relief clear on his face. ]

I ... would like that.

[ A strange admission. What did it matter what he liked? Except it did to Sylvain, and so he could be honest.

And for just a moment, he considers what it would be to willingly be kept past a single night, particularly when they had been seen together. It's not something he's allowed in years, not something he's sure he's capable of anymore, and yet --

There's something about Sylvain, and something about the way they fit together. He is not Balthier; he does not understand the complexities of how people work and what they want from each other, but he thinks...he thinks this fits in a way that he is giving Sylvain something the other craves, too, something rare, and it makes his breath catch that that may be mutual.

Gods help him, he is as reckless as a boy tonight. ]

[philancer]

[ The emotions are writ plain on the man's face but Sylvain just holds his gaze, steady and sure, letting him see whatever he needs to. He lets his free hand lift to cup at the nape of the man's neck as he rests his forehead against his, resting there for a moment. ]

Then that's what we'll do. You can stay by my side tonight at the masquerade, for as long as you wish. Or you can wander and mingle and find your way back after, if you prefer. We can find somewhere more... comfortable, afterwards. And hopefully more private.

[ Although this had worked well enough, in a pinch. ]

[bardische]

[ He stares at Sylvain for maybe too long, eyes searching, but nothing changes, and then the man holds his neck, presses their foreheads together.

Basch breathes out, nodding. ]

I -- I'll wear the collar but not the lead. [ A little more privacy, a little more freedom. ] Come what may, we can leave together. [ His stomach flips, some part of him whispering that a curse like him does not deserve to be taking what he wants. He finds that gaze again, though. It helps keep him stable. ] If you wish to claim me in front of others, it is welcome, but not required.

[ As both their breathing evens, they disentangle. The lead comes off, abandoned in the dressing room. It's difficult for him not to deflate entirely as they step out. One of the saleswomen winks at him, the other making a lewd gesture and a thumbs up, and a few customers either look away or nod at them.

But it stirs something in him too. Shame, yes, but something else he can't put his finger on. He does his best to square his shoulders, walk beside Sylvain rather than behind. The collar still rubs at his neck, but it is a pleasant weight. A reminder of the agreement they've made, but also one he's free to leave if he wishes.

They make their way to the masquerade, donning simple masks as they enter. It is overwhelming in its opulence, but the mask and the collar help Basch to wander, talking politely as he practices being more comfortable. He rediscovers Sylvain from time to time, enjoying the odd thrill of watching others flirt with the beautiful man, but his gaze return to Basch. He has no idea the situation is likely reciprocal, as he declines interested party all night. When their paths do cross, he is oddly eager for any sign Sylvain gives of having claimed him, heart pounding at the knowledge that people see them interacting that way.

By the time the evening comes to an end, he has settled considerably, but his anticipation has grown, and with it, nerves creep back. Whatever the lead had been doing to egg him on is gone, and so the doubt creeps in as well. But Sylvain still looks keen to have him, and gods help him, for once he does not want to give up what he's had. Nor does he want to disappoint. And so Sylvain murmurs the roof, and Basch follows him to the elevators. It will be a long ride; the building is enormously tall, like those in Archades.

The doors shut and he hesitates, then silently loops his arm through the other man's, his hand lighting on his forearm. A silent acknowledgement he's still eager for this. ]

[philancer]

[ Sylvain accepts that arrangement without protest, relieved that Basch feels comfortable enough now to voice what he wants. He leans in to reward him, brushing a kiss against his lips as he clips the lead free, leaving the collar still in place for now.

The Masquerade is a whirl of sights and sounds and new experiences to be had at every turn. He's content to let Basch wander - ends up discovering a few familiar faces of his own in the meantime, but each time their paths cross over the span of the evening, he pauses to leave a touch, whether it's a light brush of fingertips, or a possessive hand on his back or shoulder, or the occasional tease of his lips murmuring words against the man's ear. He knows how to build anticipation, knows how to entice with a tease and a promise, even if it's no more than a knowing look. So no matter where the evening takes him, he returns again and again to this.

Until the hour grows late and the party shows no sign of stopping, but Sylvain is growing tired of strangers and socializing and his own impatience gets the better of him. He'd heard rumors and whispers of other places in this resort to be enjoyed - since he had no place of his own yet - and one of these is murmured in Basch's ear on his way past.

The elevators are far different from the arcane teleporters he's used to, but he doesn't mind that much. Takes in the mirrored walls with a faint smirk, already thinking of how best to use that as Basch steps in behind him. As the door slides shut and Basch steps close, he winds an arm around the man's waist, tugging him closer still as he leans in to kiss him in greeting. ]

Have fun tonight?

[bardische]

[ Basch's eyes widen slightly, raking in the reflected golden image of Sylvain pulling him close and kissing him. It is one thing to experience this possessive warmth, and another entirely to see it.

That, and to see the nonsense he's still dressed in, the collar still snug on his neck. He's surprised yet again at the hunger in the way he returns that kiss. ]

More than I expected. [ Heat to his cheeks, though not quite flushed. An honest answer. Some part of him had expected Sylvain to play with him, or go back on his word, or wind him up only to chastise him. No, instead it had been a series of well-timed affirmations, each one stoking a growing desire to be reclaimed. ]

[philancer]

Good.

[ His smile is warm and pleased as he draws back back from the kiss to study the man’s face. HIs fingers trail along that collar still snug about his throat, enjoying the sight of it there, as well as the faint flush he can see trying to creep up.

He had no intention of going back on his word. Not when the evening had only whetted his appetite further.

He brushes his thumb over Basch’s lower lip as he gives him a faint smirk. ]

Not enough to lure you away, however. I wondered, for a moment, if you would follow. Or if you’d changed your mind. I’m pleased you didn’t. I’ve been imagining what I wanted to do to you for most of the evening.

[bardische]

[ It had been a long time since anyone he admired looked at him with anything but disgust or grief. This wasn't the same; he hadn't known Sylvain when they were young, hadn't fought alongside him or harbored love and affection and something else for months or years before it blossomed. But it's still overwhelming to see that approval and want.

More than once, with the effects of the lead worn off, he'd wondered what he was doing here, felt like a plains hare ready to bolt back to safety, and then Sylvain had caught his shoulder or his face and so, unbelievably, here he was.

The way the other man so quickly brushes the collar, cups his face and strokes his lip like he's some favored object, has that fear bubbling in his chest again. Danger. Impropriety.

But -- ]

As have I.

[ He couldn't help it, not after how magical it had been, and not after seeing Sylvain so pleased and wanting. Gods, he wanted to be kept. He had always wanted to be kept, by country or by lover. ]

I wondered if I would change my mind, but I wish to be here.

[ Magic or no, Sylvain was different than the others. Here, in Ivalice. Something had caught him, and at least today, he wasn't able to turn away. It was like being a boy enamored again. ]

[philancer]

[ He tips his head to the side slightly, considering those words. The meaning lurking behind them, because there was so much he could see flickering in the man's gaze. Trying to unravel him was a puzzle, but Sylvain had always been fond of those. ]

Not having second thoughts, then?

[ He murmurs the words as a low question a moment before he leans in. That hand slides to the nape of Basch's neck, drawing him in closer, even as he captures his lips in a slow, teasing kiss. Taking his time, because he can sense that urge to flee back to where it's safe. The last thing he wants is to give that fear cause, so he moves with deliberation, lets Basch see what he's doing and what's coming. ]

Or maybe that's third, fourth, and fifth thoughts by now? It has been a very busy night, after all. But you still followed. I don't intent to let you regret that choice.

[bardische]

[ Something about the other man's disposition sets him at ease, his heartbeat calming. Slow, deliberate motion. Eye contact. ]

No. That's what surprises me.

[ A puzzle to him, too, though he's less concerned with solving it. Right now, he's letting himself slip to that place of not thinking. It's easier with the memory of it so fresh. And with the increased privacy of the elevator.

He chuckles lowly at the tease, surprising himself further. Maybe Balthier had been rubbing off on him, all that constant prodding to go to bars, to sit and talk, to enjoy a meal, to laugh. He'd thought it derranged, until he saw that the princess needed it. ]

Yes, two dozen by now, and somehow I still arrived at following. I -- am not usually like this.

[ And it makes him feel warm, dangerously weak even, at someone valuing his choice. Balthier would suss out why in a quarter hour's time. Basch didn't know why these feelings were so strong. ]

Not in years, anyway.

[philancer]

Well, it’s a good thing you don’t have to worry about ‘usually’ here then, doesn’t it? That doesn’t apply to anything here. Surprise doesn’t have to be a bad thing, after all.

[ He cards his fingers through the man’s hair and smiles when he feels him relax slightly. Feels him lean into that kiss, and kisses him again to just encourage it. ]

You don’t have to be what you’re usually ‘like’, because somehow, I don’t think that makes you very happy either. And that seems a shame. Besides. There’s no one here except you and me now. I won’t judge. And I won’t spill any of your secrets, either. I’d much prefer to find out what does make you happy instead.

[ He lets his fingers trace over that collar again before he lets his hand drift down the man’s torso, tracing over his ribs. He doesn’t slow as it goes lower still, until he’s sliding a hand over the man’s clothed arousal, teasing him through the fabric. ]

[bardische]

[ That was certainly one way to look at things. No rules applied in this place, no stigma and no consequence to follow him home.

And yet. He can’t quite believe it. It seems strange he is the one here from his home, unless it is a punishment. Or perhaps it is entirely random.

Regardless, he does not think one night’s actions will doom him any worse than he is. It’s a calculation he’s made many times before, as much comfort as he has ever dared to take.

And gods he wants it right now. He moans against Sylvain’s touch and the easy way the other man commands the situation. It’s so easy to lean into the way he chases a kiss with a kiss. But it’s the forceful protectiveness in those words that makes him stagger. Was he so easy to read? Was this some sort of trick he was too foolish and eager to see through? ]

Why are you so invested in my happiness?

[ He only just clamps off the follow up. I don’t deserve it. ]

[philancer]

I think the better question is, why aren't you?

[ 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. ]

[bardische]

[ 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.

[philancer]

[ 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. ]

[bardische]

[ 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. ]

[philancer]

[ 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.

[bardische]

[ 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. ]

[philancer]

Good man.

[ 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.

[bardische]

[ 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? ]

[philancer]

[ 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. ]

[bardische]

[ 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. ]

[philancer]

[ 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?

[bardische]

[ 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. ]

[philancer]

Oh, I aim to make sure of it.

[ 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?