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Just You

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“…So.”

“So.”

“….Have you ever, well….?” Aesop gestures vaguely.

Joseph chuckles, trying to ignore the excited beat of his heart. “Some of the noblewomen I’ve met were quite gorgeous. How could I resist inviting them to my bed?”

“But no men?” Aesop clarifies.

“No, not men….what about you?”

Aesop doesn’t answer. Joseph looks at him curiously.

Mon cheri?”

“There’s no one,” Aesop says lowly. “It’ll just be you.”

Joseph would be unsurprised—for someone with Aesop’s personality, it would’ve been a bit difficult to find a date—if it weren’t for the way Aesop’s looking at him. His eyes are clouded with smoke-like grey, smoldering with desire, and he’s tugged his mask down a bit with one ungloved finger. The mask isn’t fully off, but it’s slipped down, just enough to let a parted breath escape his lips.

Joseph never knew that Aesop could pull off ‘suggestive’ in such a subtle yet magnetic way. Yet here he is, captivated.

‘It’ll just be you’ echoes in his mind. A lick of possessiveness travels through Joseph’s veins like a thin stream of fire.

“You’re certain, my dear?” Joseph hesitantly raises a hand to the delicate line of Aesop’s jaw. Joseph’s careful because his claws are sharp and can cut through skin like nothing, but Aesop’s not afraid of them, instead seeming enthralled. Joseph slowly untangles the mask from Aesop’s face with maneuvering fingers.

Aesop, freed from the mask, leans in to press his forehead against Joseph’s. He takes Joseph’s hand in his and entwines their fingers together. “I trust you,” he whispers.

The mask falls to the ground, forgotten, and it’s soon joined by—well, everything else that’s irrelevant to what’s about to happen.

And it seems that even though Joseph may have experience with women, this whole thing is still new to him—or rather, both of them. Heat emanates from Aesop’s bare skin. This is a different kind of body from what Joseph’s used to, and it intrigues him, gives him something to explore and to ravish. He maps out the pliant body with his lips. Somehow the fact that Joseph doesn’t really know what to do makes everything seem rawer, more special, when Joseph won’t stop biting bruises into places that he knows Aesop’s collar won’t cover. His thoughts are hazy and he’s awash in the smell of roses and coffins.

Aesop’s skin is smooth against his, ivory pale and so easy to mark, and Joseph wants to go overboard, bite him until he bleeds so the marks stay longer. The avid effort to hold back—Aesop won’t like the pain and since this is his first time, Joseph must treat him gently—makes tension coil in his groin instead, especially whenever Aesop’s knee rubs against him with want. So Joseph just kisses and sucks on the sensitive flesh of his throat, pressing a wet tongue here and nipping with teeth there. Aesop makes these delicious sounds that encourage Joseph, lets him know where Aesop likes Joseph’s mouth best—at the fragile stretch of his neck, the quivering stomach, the inside of the thigh, and then….

This is intoxicating, new, and Joseph’s used to going on a practiced rhythm with women. Kiss a few times, caress the skin, soothe her through any sort of pain, then once he’s done, cover her in a blanket and let her drift off. Joseph doesn’t understand why it’s so hard to keep to that rhythm with Aesop. He wants to actively possess this special moment, sear himself into Aesop’s memory with every deep kiss to his lips, every stroke of his hand against a leaking cock. So he drives himself crazy with how utterly patient and steady he is. That’s apparently enough to drive Aesop crazy, too, and then he gasps out a long, stuttered cry as Joseph finally enters him.

Aesop’s body is stiff, wound up tight, his fingers raked across Joseph’s back and eyes shut. If this were any of Joseph’s previous flings, he would’ve just pressed butterfly kisses across his partner’s skin, waited a little while, then started moving anyway, convinced that his partner would just end up enjoying it along the way. But this was Aesop, and even though Joseph was left groaning because of how tight and hot he was, he couldn’t think that just a few light pecks and a bit of waiting would help.

So Joseph strokes his hair, murmuring to him in French. Affectionate names whispered through earnest kisses across Aesop’s cheek, his ear, his throat. His other hand reaches down to wrap around Aesop, pumping him.

Aesop starts to relax with a liberating exhale. He’s still shaking, but his nails no longer dig into Joseph’s shoulders, instead smoothing through his nape and hair. His eyes open to stare up at Joseph, cheeks flushed and lips red.

Joseph’s free hand takes one of Aesop’s, folding his fingers into his and then pressing his mouth sweetly against Aesop’s knuckles.

Aesop’s pupils seem to drown into grey pools when he sees that. “Joseph, please….”

As you wish.

Joseph pins Aesop’s hand next to his head and then begins to slowly rock his hips.

Aesop whines from the back of his throat, but he relishes it, just like how Joseph relishes him with every thrust. The pace is quick to pick up, driving Aesop into the bed as he clutches Joseph’s hand like a lifeline. Joseph’s on the verge of an ecstatic breakdown—breathing fast, heart thumping, and when he angles his thrusts more so he hits Aesop right where he wants, Aesop starts to make these keening sounds that go straight to Joseph’s cock. To retaliate, Joseph forces Aesop deeper into the mattress so he can drink him up with an open-mouthed kiss, wanting more, more of it, more of what Aesop takes and gives so selfishly, so selflessly.

Claws tear into the bedsheets, caging Aesop’s trembling fingers. Something primal makes Joseph smother Aesop’s frail neck with more love bites. It’s easy to do that when Aesop’s thrown his head back with moans stringing out of his pretty mouth, exposing the curve of his neck. Joseph drapes himself over him completely, melting into him, so Aesop’s legs wrap around him. Aesop’s hips roll against his like he, too, wants more than he can get. Joseph pins Aesop’s other hand to the bed. That leaves Aesop disappointed with the absence of a touch on his cock, so he keeps grinding back against Joseph, forcing him to ram himself deeper against his prostrate to make up for it—it makes stars burst behind Joseph’s eyelids, leaving him delirious and desperate. The pace becomes unsteady like that.

French nothings spill out of Joseph’s mouth and he doesn’t notice, too close to the edge to do so. There’s hardly a warning when Aesop’s back arches and he gives a final, shuddering jerk, a strangle voice wringing itself out of him. The fluid paints Joseph’s stomach and Joseph—who’s been nearing the edge himself—feels the irresistible tightening of velvet walls around him. Practically drawing the climax right out of his body. Joseph stutters through it with a wordless moan, just a staggered, hot breath against Aesop’s ear, perhaps with the tiniest of whimpers.

The sweetness of release starts to seep out of their bones. Slowly, they begin to cool.

Joseph ends up curled up around Aesop, the blanket resting over them. Joseph’s tired as hell for some reason, even though Aesop seems wide awake. Soft grey eyes roam over Joseph almost analytically.

“What is it?” Joseph murmurs.

“I’ve thought about doing it with you before,” Aesop answers bluntly. “It didn’t turn out like I thought.”

Joseph nearly sputters. “Y-you’ve thought about it?”

“Yes. Plenty of times.”

“W-well.” Joseph tries to ignore how his face burns. “Things don’t always turn out how you expect them to, yes? Did you, ah, not like it?”

“On the contrary.” Aesop takes Joseph’s hand and kisses his claws. “I would love to do it again.”

“Again??”

“And again.” Aesop gives Joseph this smile that’s the tiniest bit evil, lips brushing against Joseph’s fingertips. “Won’t you ruin me, Joseph?”

There’s heat threatening to crawl down his abdomen again. Joseph blushes like crazy. “For a first-timer, I don’t know how on earth you can talk like that!”

“For someone ‘experienced,’ you’re easy to fluster.”

Joseph huffs and draws Aesop to his chest, pressing his face against fair hair. “Mon cheri, please, you’re going to end me.”

“I am?”

“Shush. I want to sleep.”

Joseph really doesn’t understand how Aesop’s not exhausted after all that. But as they settle down and Joseph’s eyes start to close, he’s able to make out a quiet “Thank you, Joseph” before he contentedly succumbs to sleep.