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I have decided that it's fic time!
In keeping with posting every day (omg, this makes like, what, four posts in a row? Astounding!) I shall post a story. So.
Fandom: Kyo Kara Maoh
Title: I have suffered shipwreck against your dark brown eyes
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Sometimes, Gwendal thinks of Conrad's scars as a map of his mistakes.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. The companies that make a lot of money off of them own them, obviously.
Author's notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
scheherezhad as a Valentine's Day gift. She asked, and I actually managed to deliver. Yay me! The prompt was Conrad/Gwendal, and scars. Of course it took me to porn. Plot is obviously beyond my comprehension these days.
Thanks toscheherezhad for the beta. Of course, all remaining mistakes are mine.
Warnings: Um. Incest, of course. Established relationship? Should that be a warning?
Feedback: I am a junkie, feed my addiction. I especially like constructive criticism. Just let me know anything you think.
E-mail: Moriavis@hotmail.com
~*~
Gwendal knows the moment Conrad comes back into the castle grounds. There's less bustling in the corridors, a little more commotion in the courtyard, and Gwendal is sure that if he bothers to look out his window he will see His Majesty hurrying out to welcome him. Wolfram will be a step behind, beginning a vehement diatribe about His Majesty's faithfulness in order to disguise his own relief.
Gwendal feels a smile twitch as he thinks about his youngest brother's childish behavior, and continues to focus on his paperwork. He, after all, isn't nearly so impatient. Conrad will come to him eventually. He can wait.
He scans a treaty and sets it aside for His Majesty to look at later, signs permission to investigate the fields along the southern border for taxation in the fall, reads over the reports of his spies, wonders about the validity of the rumor going around that Anissina's foolish brother is going to try and betroth her again, despite the spectacular failure of the first attempt. He shudders at the memory and feels the pulse in his temple speed up in fear. He's about a minute from pulling out his knitting just to calm himself when Conrad lets himself into Gwendal's office.
And really, Conrad works just as well as knitting sometimes.
Gwendal signs another order (reformation of squads in order to make more efficient use of the space they have in Blood Pledge Castle) and sets his quill down. He notes the film of dust over Conrad's boots, the creases of riding in his uniform pants, the parted collar of his beige uniform jacket, the white undershirt opened to a glimpse of an even whiter bandage underneath; Conrad's chin, the firm line of his mouth, the dark eyes that, thank the Original King, aren't wary and urgent, just warm and calm and a little tired.
"You're late," Gwendal finally says, when the silence has stretched for too long.
A nod of agreement from Conrad. "Yes. I'm sorry."
Gwendal drops his eyes to Conrad's collar. "You're injured."
Conrad's mouth twitches into the beginning of a smile. "Bandits came to the village while I was there. I was careless."
Gwendal stares at him. Careless? Conrad could fight off ten bandits without breaking a sweat. Careless. Gwendal inhales an exasperated breath, shakes his head. "At least you had the sense to have a healer attend to you."
"I'm fine, Gwendal," Conrad says, and the smile that has been threatening blooms over his face. "There's no need to worry."
"Then I won't," Gwendal says, feeling his expression meld into something both cool and a little annoyed. "You may go."
Conrad gives him a small bow, the smile hiding once more, and leaves Gwendal's office.
Gwendal reaches for his needles and yarn and knits thoughtlessly, just to give his hands something to do other than reach out.
~*~
Gwendal knows better than to think he can sleep, so instead he patrols the near empty hallways of the castle. It's almost obscenely quiet; the soldiers are attentive at their posts, and even the maids have finished their work and gone to their quarters for rest. There's nothing for him to do, no villains trying to sneak in or people popping out of the fountain in the courtyard, and even Gwendal tires of busywork in time.
He finds himself standing in front of Conrad's room, feels the fine shake of his hands as he reaches up to knock. He can't help but be irritated at his weakness, almost turns to leave, except his fist is already pressed against the wood of the door, and he isn't the type of man to stop something once he's committed himself.
It takes a minute for Conrad to answer, and when he opens the door it's obvious that he has been sleeping; there's a crease on his cheek from his pillow, and his eyes are foggy with sleep, but clearing quickly, and all he's wearing is the bandage on his collar bone and the commoner underclothes that sometimes makes Gwendal envious
"Gwendal?" Conrad says, his voice rough and low, and he clears his throat. "It's late. Is there something wrong?"
Gwendal ignores Conrad's question, striding into Conrad's room. Conrad retreats easily before him, and closes the door before turning back to look at Gwendal curiously. "Gwendal?" he says again.
Instead of answering, he cradles Conrad's jaw in one broad palm, tilts Conrad's face up, and outlines the bandage gently with his fingertips. "Careless, Conrart?"
Conrad laughs softly, rests his hand on Gwendal's wrist. "Yes, Gwendal. Just careless."
Gwendal's heart feels like it's aching in his chest, and he raises his hand from the bandage to the scar on Conrad's eyebrow, rubbing the smooth line thoughtfully. "This was careless as well."
Conrad shakes his head just enough for Gwendal to feel it. "That was bravery."
Gwendal lowers his head and presses his lips to the scar, lets his tongue dart out to feel its texture. Conrad sighs and leans into the caress, stroking the edge of Gwendal's sleeve with his thumb.
Gwendal allows his hands to slide down from Conrad's face, feeling the pull of tendons in his throat, the solid strength of Conrad's shoulders, the way his brother's muscles bunch and relax under his touch. He moves his fingers over Conrad's chest to the scar on the right, covers it with his palm.
"Courage, not stupidity," Conrad says before Gwendal even opens his mouth, and covers Gwendal's hand with his. Gwendal scowls, shakes Conrad's hand from his, and traces over the scar on the left, feeling Conrad's heart pound, strong and steady.
"Laziness," Gwendal says gruffly, leaning down to rub his cheek against the offending line.
Conrad pets the long tail of Gwendal's hair, his voice a low rumble. The thump of his heart against Gwendal's ear quickens. "Protection."
Gwendal touches the long path of flesh from sternum to navel that Conrad, by some sort of grace, has yet to mark; draws whorls against the muscles of his stomach, counts his ribs like piano keys until he's at the boundary of clothing. Gwendal drops to his knees, brushes his thumb over the faint mark protruding from the line of Conrad's underclothes, rubbing over and over again until his thumb is sensitive to the change in skin, cool smoothness of the scar and warm jut of muscle above it. "Indolence."
"Isn't that the same as—" Gwendal looks up to give Conrad a withering glare. Conrad just smiles and strokes Gwendal's cheek. "Strength," he answers instead.
Gwendal reaches for Conrad's hip, touching the scar along the line of bone. He marks the length of it, the curve of it pressing into Conrad's back, laves the jagged scar with fingers and tongue and teeth. Conrad jerks forward, the heat of his arousal pressing against Gwendal's throat, but Gwendal just takes Conrad's hips in hand to pull him back into place. Conrad's hands clench on Gwendal's head, and Gwendal moves against him, just to feel the pull and snag of Conrad's fingers through his hair.
"Loss," Gwendal breathes against Conrad's stomach.
"Honor," Conrad grits through his teeth, and tries to yank Gwendal up. Gwendal allows it, just enough to draw him up so that he can circle his arms around Conrad's back, enough so that he can touch the scars he has yet to see tonight, when his eyes catch on Conrad's left arm, the dark scar circling the bicep, and he can't resist the urge to rub his face against it.
"Foolishness," Gwendal spits, but Conrad just shakes his head.
"Loyalty," Conrad gasps out, and then, "Gwen, Gwen, please."
Gwendal ignores him one last time to focus on the bandage, to carefully remove the white square until the raw, red wound is exposed to his sight. Gisela has done her job carefully—he can't fault what he sees.
He shakes his head. "Careless," he says, and drags his tongue against Conrad's collarbone, eliciting a hiss of breath. It's easy enough to follow the line of Conrad's throat, to leave moist kisses on scratchy stubble and mouth at Conrad's jaw, to feel Conrad's groan of frustration, and then Conrad's hands are in his hair again, working at the tie holding it back, pulling Gwendal to his full height so that Conrad can wind his arms around his neck and press against him.
Conrad's mouth is warm and damp against Gwendal's, and he licks his way inside, feeling out the shape of Conrad's teeth and the roughness of the roof of his mouth, his long nimble tongue; maps him by touch, hands sweeping over his back and ass and thighs and up again over the familiar territory of Conrad's body. Conrad's hands scrabble at the chain of Gwendal's uniform, and Gwendal sheds his jacket and shirt onto the floor of Conrad's bedroom like layers of skin. Conrad leads him on with more kisses and the grasp of his hands, the way his fingers dig into the stiff fabric of Gwendal's uniform pants, until they hit the edge of the bed, and Gwendal pushes Conrad down into a sprawl while he tries to take care of his boots.
Conrad, though, doesn't seem to want to stay still, instead plastering himself against Gwendal's back and stroking his chest, sucking on his throat and the curve of his ear, burying his face into the fall of Gwendal's hair, sliding his hand down against the crease of Gwendal's thigh to rub against the bulge of his erection. Gwendal tries to shrug Conrad off, but Conrad laughs and bites at the back of his neck, gets Gwendal's pants unbuttoned so that he can slip his hand inside and stroke. Gwendal moans despite himself, legs falling open to give Conrad more room, leaning back against Conrad's solid weight behind him.
"I want it," Conrad breathes into Gwendal's ear, squeezing Gwendal and rubbing against Gwendal's back. "Please, Gwen." Gwendal squeezes his eyes shut, lets the litany of soft pleas wash over him, thrusts into Conrad's grip. It's been a long time since he's heard Conrad ask for anything, and it's heady, the amount of desire in those words. That he can make Conrad, of all people, sound so childish and needy sends a rush of arousal directly to his groin. Gwendal turns his head for a kiss, and Conrad obliges him, lips teasing, tongue jabbing into Gwendal's mouth, their soft moans devoured in the small space between them.
Gwendal finally decides to just ignore his boots, twists around to look at Conrad directly, smirks at Conrad's disappointed noise as Gwendal's movement forces him to let go of Gwendal's erection, and pushes back. Conrad sprawls on his back in the bed once again, and Gwendal crawls on top of him, leaning down to bite Conrad's mouth swollen, to enjoy the friction of their chests rubbing together, their skin growing slicker with each movement. Conrad arches against Gwendal, a leg looping over Gwendal's calf to keep him in place, pets Gwendal's back and shoulders like it's the only time he'll ever be able to touch him, like he's burning Gwendal's feel into sensory memory by touch.
Gwendal moans against Conrad's chest, bites at a nipple, drags his teeth down Conrad's chest hard enough to leave a flushed path in his wake and slips a hand under the waistband of Conrad's underclothes, yanks the material down just far enough so that he can take Conrad into hand and hold him, hot and silky and damp and so, so hard.
"Ngggh," Conrad says, biting his lip and thrusting upward. Gwendal has to take another kiss, so he puts a hand to the right of Conrad's head, leans his weight on that arm and sucks Conrad's tongue into his mouth, touches Conrad's erection with rough strokes, scrapes his palm over the sensitive head. Conrad sighs and squirms, and then his hands are in Gwendal's pants again, cupping his ass and sliding the material down to his thighs. Gwendal's cock gets trapped by his skimpy aristocratic underclothes and he growls, letting go of Conrad in order to jerk at the offending fabric.
Conrad laughs and pulls him down, throwing him off-balance, and then it's Conrad's sweat-slick skin against his, Conrad's dick pressing insistently against his stomach, and it's perfect. Gwendal snakes a hand between them and finds Conrad's hand already there, so it's only logical to interlace their fingers and thrust together, to rock into their joint grasp, to pant his pleasure against Conrad's mouth.
Conrad makes a pained noise, gasps Gwendal's name, and Gwendal can feel Conrad's climax in the new heat and slickness between them. Gwendal continues to thrust, so close to the edge his teeth ache with it, and then Conrad arches again, his hands going to cradle Gwendal's head, to thread through his hair, and he drags Gwendal down into another kiss. He worries at Gwendal's mouth with his teeth, licks at Gwendal's chin, presses his lips against Gwendal's ear to purr happily. Gwendal jerks himself hard, rubs against the wet mess on Conrad's stomach one last time, and shudders his orgasm out.
Conrad doesn't seem in a hurry to let him go, so Gwendal lays on him, breathes, and lets Conrad stroke his fingers through his hair languidly. "We're going to get stuck together," Conrad says, his voice warm and amused, but when Gwendal tries to move, he just tightens his arms to keep him in place.
Gwendal sighs, stares at Conrad, and wishes that his scowl would work, but knows better. There's no way to be taken seriously if you've just had sex. Especially if you're still plastered together. Conrad laughs and rubs his nose against Gwendal's, as if he knows exactly what he's thinking.
"You're never this contrary when others are around," Gwendal says instead of scowling.
"You're special," Conrad says, giving Gwendal a light and lingering kiss. Gwendal grunts in response and pulls away; this time, Conrad doesn't try to stop him. Gwendal tugs his underclothes and pants back into place, and goes to the basin. He pours water from the pitcher off to the side, and takes the stack of small towels. He dips one in the water and washes himself off, scrubbing his skin pink, dips the second one and then goes over to Conrad. Conrad makes a token effort to take the damp cloth and clean himself, but Gwendal just shakes his head, carefully and thoroughly making sure that Conrad doesn't have a single sticky spot to bother him.
Conrad sighs and looks at Gwendal lazily before raising a hand to Gwendal's hair. He smirks at whatever he finds there, and rubs a milky substance between his fingers before he wipes them on Gwendal's shoulder.
"What?" Gwendal asks instantly, suspiciously, and he glares as Conrad shakes his head, his grin widening. Gwendal raises his hand carefully, glare narrowing even further as he encounters a sticky, wet spot in his hair. "Conrart?"
Conrad has the decency to look sheepish. "I'm sorry?"
"You're sorry," Gwendal takes a breath, closes his eyes.
Conrad arches up, loops an arm around Gwendal's neck and nuzzles his cheek. "We can go to the bath later," he murmurs against the shell of Gwendal's ear. "I'll even wash your hair."
"You're lucky you're cute," Gwendal mutters in response, and can't resist curling his fingers against the back of Conrad's head.
Conrad smiles softly, strokes Gwendal's arm. "I'm sorry I worried you."
"I'm not worried," Gwendal says calmly. He detaches Conrad, goes to the basin and dips a third towel in the water. He can feel Conrad's eyes on him and scowls. "Why do you think I was worried?"
"You're taking care of me," Conrad says, "and making up excuses to rationalize your actions." He wriggles enough to pull his underclothes back up his thighs and grins.
Gwendal doesn't respond to that, can't figure out a way to say anything that won't incriminate him, and Conrad shakes his head. Then Conrad reaches into the drawer of his bedside table and pulls out a roll of bandages and a small tub of unguent. Gwendal comes back to Conrad with the third towel and cautiously dabs at the wound on Conrad's collarbone. He eyes the unguent warily.
"It's from Gisela," Conrad says in answer to Gwendal's silent mistrust, and Gwendal nods. He reaches for it, dipping his fingers in the ointment and rubbing it onto Conrad's skin. Conrad winces, just enough to be noticeable, and Gwendal blows on the wound, trying to ease the sting.
After a moment of this, Gwendal brushes his fingers over Conrad's collarbone, taping the bandage back into place, gentle and tender. "This is going to scar," he says.
"I know," Conrad answers, and smiles.
~*~
Fandom: Kyo Kara Maoh
Title: I have suffered shipwreck against your dark brown eyes
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Sometimes, Gwendal thinks of Conrad's scars as a map of his mistakes.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. The companies that make a lot of money off of them own them, obviously.
Author's notes: Written for
scheherezhad as a Valentine's Day gift. She asked, and I actually managed to deliver. Yay me! The prompt was Conrad/Gwendal, and scars. Of course it took me to porn. Plot is obviously beyond my comprehension these days.Thanks to
scheherezhad for the beta. Of course, all remaining mistakes are mine.Warnings: Um. Incest, of course. Established relationship? Should that be a warning?
Feedback: I am a junkie, feed my addiction. I especially like constructive criticism. Just let me know anything you think.
E-mail: Moriavis@hotmail.com
~*~
Gwendal knows the moment Conrad comes back into the castle grounds. There's less bustling in the corridors, a little more commotion in the courtyard, and Gwendal is sure that if he bothers to look out his window he will see His Majesty hurrying out to welcome him. Wolfram will be a step behind, beginning a vehement diatribe about His Majesty's faithfulness in order to disguise his own relief.
Gwendal feels a smile twitch as he thinks about his youngest brother's childish behavior, and continues to focus on his paperwork. He, after all, isn't nearly so impatient. Conrad will come to him eventually. He can wait.
He scans a treaty and sets it aside for His Majesty to look at later, signs permission to investigate the fields along the southern border for taxation in the fall, reads over the reports of his spies, wonders about the validity of the rumor going around that Anissina's foolish brother is going to try and betroth her again, despite the spectacular failure of the first attempt. He shudders at the memory and feels the pulse in his temple speed up in fear. He's about a minute from pulling out his knitting just to calm himself when Conrad lets himself into Gwendal's office.
And really, Conrad works just as well as knitting sometimes.
Gwendal signs another order (reformation of squads in order to make more efficient use of the space they have in Blood Pledge Castle) and sets his quill down. He notes the film of dust over Conrad's boots, the creases of riding in his uniform pants, the parted collar of his beige uniform jacket, the white undershirt opened to a glimpse of an even whiter bandage underneath; Conrad's chin, the firm line of his mouth, the dark eyes that, thank the Original King, aren't wary and urgent, just warm and calm and a little tired.
"You're late," Gwendal finally says, when the silence has stretched for too long.
A nod of agreement from Conrad. "Yes. I'm sorry."
Gwendal drops his eyes to Conrad's collar. "You're injured."
Conrad's mouth twitches into the beginning of a smile. "Bandits came to the village while I was there. I was careless."
Gwendal stares at him. Careless? Conrad could fight off ten bandits without breaking a sweat. Careless. Gwendal inhales an exasperated breath, shakes his head. "At least you had the sense to have a healer attend to you."
"I'm fine, Gwendal," Conrad says, and the smile that has been threatening blooms over his face. "There's no need to worry."
"Then I won't," Gwendal says, feeling his expression meld into something both cool and a little annoyed. "You may go."
Conrad gives him a small bow, the smile hiding once more, and leaves Gwendal's office.
Gwendal reaches for his needles and yarn and knits thoughtlessly, just to give his hands something to do other than reach out.
~*~
Gwendal knows better than to think he can sleep, so instead he patrols the near empty hallways of the castle. It's almost obscenely quiet; the soldiers are attentive at their posts, and even the maids have finished their work and gone to their quarters for rest. There's nothing for him to do, no villains trying to sneak in or people popping out of the fountain in the courtyard, and even Gwendal tires of busywork in time.
He finds himself standing in front of Conrad's room, feels the fine shake of his hands as he reaches up to knock. He can't help but be irritated at his weakness, almost turns to leave, except his fist is already pressed against the wood of the door, and he isn't the type of man to stop something once he's committed himself.
It takes a minute for Conrad to answer, and when he opens the door it's obvious that he has been sleeping; there's a crease on his cheek from his pillow, and his eyes are foggy with sleep, but clearing quickly, and all he's wearing is the bandage on his collar bone and the commoner underclothes that sometimes makes Gwendal envious
"Gwendal?" Conrad says, his voice rough and low, and he clears his throat. "It's late. Is there something wrong?"
Gwendal ignores Conrad's question, striding into Conrad's room. Conrad retreats easily before him, and closes the door before turning back to look at Gwendal curiously. "Gwendal?" he says again.
Instead of answering, he cradles Conrad's jaw in one broad palm, tilts Conrad's face up, and outlines the bandage gently with his fingertips. "Careless, Conrart?"
Conrad laughs softly, rests his hand on Gwendal's wrist. "Yes, Gwendal. Just careless."
Gwendal's heart feels like it's aching in his chest, and he raises his hand from the bandage to the scar on Conrad's eyebrow, rubbing the smooth line thoughtfully. "This was careless as well."
Conrad shakes his head just enough for Gwendal to feel it. "That was bravery."
Gwendal lowers his head and presses his lips to the scar, lets his tongue dart out to feel its texture. Conrad sighs and leans into the caress, stroking the edge of Gwendal's sleeve with his thumb.
Gwendal allows his hands to slide down from Conrad's face, feeling the pull of tendons in his throat, the solid strength of Conrad's shoulders, the way his brother's muscles bunch and relax under his touch. He moves his fingers over Conrad's chest to the scar on the right, covers it with his palm.
"Courage, not stupidity," Conrad says before Gwendal even opens his mouth, and covers Gwendal's hand with his. Gwendal scowls, shakes Conrad's hand from his, and traces over the scar on the left, feeling Conrad's heart pound, strong and steady.
"Laziness," Gwendal says gruffly, leaning down to rub his cheek against the offending line.
Conrad pets the long tail of Gwendal's hair, his voice a low rumble. The thump of his heart against Gwendal's ear quickens. "Protection."
Gwendal touches the long path of flesh from sternum to navel that Conrad, by some sort of grace, has yet to mark; draws whorls against the muscles of his stomach, counts his ribs like piano keys until he's at the boundary of clothing. Gwendal drops to his knees, brushes his thumb over the faint mark protruding from the line of Conrad's underclothes, rubbing over and over again until his thumb is sensitive to the change in skin, cool smoothness of the scar and warm jut of muscle above it. "Indolence."
"Isn't that the same as—" Gwendal looks up to give Conrad a withering glare. Conrad just smiles and strokes Gwendal's cheek. "Strength," he answers instead.
Gwendal reaches for Conrad's hip, touching the scar along the line of bone. He marks the length of it, the curve of it pressing into Conrad's back, laves the jagged scar with fingers and tongue and teeth. Conrad jerks forward, the heat of his arousal pressing against Gwendal's throat, but Gwendal just takes Conrad's hips in hand to pull him back into place. Conrad's hands clench on Gwendal's head, and Gwendal moves against him, just to feel the pull and snag of Conrad's fingers through his hair.
"Loss," Gwendal breathes against Conrad's stomach.
"Honor," Conrad grits through his teeth, and tries to yank Gwendal up. Gwendal allows it, just enough to draw him up so that he can circle his arms around Conrad's back, enough so that he can touch the scars he has yet to see tonight, when his eyes catch on Conrad's left arm, the dark scar circling the bicep, and he can't resist the urge to rub his face against it.
"Foolishness," Gwendal spits, but Conrad just shakes his head.
"Loyalty," Conrad gasps out, and then, "Gwen, Gwen, please."
Gwendal ignores him one last time to focus on the bandage, to carefully remove the white square until the raw, red wound is exposed to his sight. Gisela has done her job carefully—he can't fault what he sees.
He shakes his head. "Careless," he says, and drags his tongue against Conrad's collarbone, eliciting a hiss of breath. It's easy enough to follow the line of Conrad's throat, to leave moist kisses on scratchy stubble and mouth at Conrad's jaw, to feel Conrad's groan of frustration, and then Conrad's hands are in his hair again, working at the tie holding it back, pulling Gwendal to his full height so that Conrad can wind his arms around his neck and press against him.
Conrad's mouth is warm and damp against Gwendal's, and he licks his way inside, feeling out the shape of Conrad's teeth and the roughness of the roof of his mouth, his long nimble tongue; maps him by touch, hands sweeping over his back and ass and thighs and up again over the familiar territory of Conrad's body. Conrad's hands scrabble at the chain of Gwendal's uniform, and Gwendal sheds his jacket and shirt onto the floor of Conrad's bedroom like layers of skin. Conrad leads him on with more kisses and the grasp of his hands, the way his fingers dig into the stiff fabric of Gwendal's uniform pants, until they hit the edge of the bed, and Gwendal pushes Conrad down into a sprawl while he tries to take care of his boots.
Conrad, though, doesn't seem to want to stay still, instead plastering himself against Gwendal's back and stroking his chest, sucking on his throat and the curve of his ear, burying his face into the fall of Gwendal's hair, sliding his hand down against the crease of Gwendal's thigh to rub against the bulge of his erection. Gwendal tries to shrug Conrad off, but Conrad laughs and bites at the back of his neck, gets Gwendal's pants unbuttoned so that he can slip his hand inside and stroke. Gwendal moans despite himself, legs falling open to give Conrad more room, leaning back against Conrad's solid weight behind him.
"I want it," Conrad breathes into Gwendal's ear, squeezing Gwendal and rubbing against Gwendal's back. "Please, Gwen." Gwendal squeezes his eyes shut, lets the litany of soft pleas wash over him, thrusts into Conrad's grip. It's been a long time since he's heard Conrad ask for anything, and it's heady, the amount of desire in those words. That he can make Conrad, of all people, sound so childish and needy sends a rush of arousal directly to his groin. Gwendal turns his head for a kiss, and Conrad obliges him, lips teasing, tongue jabbing into Gwendal's mouth, their soft moans devoured in the small space between them.
Gwendal finally decides to just ignore his boots, twists around to look at Conrad directly, smirks at Conrad's disappointed noise as Gwendal's movement forces him to let go of Gwendal's erection, and pushes back. Conrad sprawls on his back in the bed once again, and Gwendal crawls on top of him, leaning down to bite Conrad's mouth swollen, to enjoy the friction of their chests rubbing together, their skin growing slicker with each movement. Conrad arches against Gwendal, a leg looping over Gwendal's calf to keep him in place, pets Gwendal's back and shoulders like it's the only time he'll ever be able to touch him, like he's burning Gwendal's feel into sensory memory by touch.
Gwendal moans against Conrad's chest, bites at a nipple, drags his teeth down Conrad's chest hard enough to leave a flushed path in his wake and slips a hand under the waistband of Conrad's underclothes, yanks the material down just far enough so that he can take Conrad into hand and hold him, hot and silky and damp and so, so hard.
"Ngggh," Conrad says, biting his lip and thrusting upward. Gwendal has to take another kiss, so he puts a hand to the right of Conrad's head, leans his weight on that arm and sucks Conrad's tongue into his mouth, touches Conrad's erection with rough strokes, scrapes his palm over the sensitive head. Conrad sighs and squirms, and then his hands are in Gwendal's pants again, cupping his ass and sliding the material down to his thighs. Gwendal's cock gets trapped by his skimpy aristocratic underclothes and he growls, letting go of Conrad in order to jerk at the offending fabric.
Conrad laughs and pulls him down, throwing him off-balance, and then it's Conrad's sweat-slick skin against his, Conrad's dick pressing insistently against his stomach, and it's perfect. Gwendal snakes a hand between them and finds Conrad's hand already there, so it's only logical to interlace their fingers and thrust together, to rock into their joint grasp, to pant his pleasure against Conrad's mouth.
Conrad makes a pained noise, gasps Gwendal's name, and Gwendal can feel Conrad's climax in the new heat and slickness between them. Gwendal continues to thrust, so close to the edge his teeth ache with it, and then Conrad arches again, his hands going to cradle Gwendal's head, to thread through his hair, and he drags Gwendal down into another kiss. He worries at Gwendal's mouth with his teeth, licks at Gwendal's chin, presses his lips against Gwendal's ear to purr happily. Gwendal jerks himself hard, rubs against the wet mess on Conrad's stomach one last time, and shudders his orgasm out.
Conrad doesn't seem in a hurry to let him go, so Gwendal lays on him, breathes, and lets Conrad stroke his fingers through his hair languidly. "We're going to get stuck together," Conrad says, his voice warm and amused, but when Gwendal tries to move, he just tightens his arms to keep him in place.
Gwendal sighs, stares at Conrad, and wishes that his scowl would work, but knows better. There's no way to be taken seriously if you've just had sex. Especially if you're still plastered together. Conrad laughs and rubs his nose against Gwendal's, as if he knows exactly what he's thinking.
"You're never this contrary when others are around," Gwendal says instead of scowling.
"You're special," Conrad says, giving Gwendal a light and lingering kiss. Gwendal grunts in response and pulls away; this time, Conrad doesn't try to stop him. Gwendal tugs his underclothes and pants back into place, and goes to the basin. He pours water from the pitcher off to the side, and takes the stack of small towels. He dips one in the water and washes himself off, scrubbing his skin pink, dips the second one and then goes over to Conrad. Conrad makes a token effort to take the damp cloth and clean himself, but Gwendal just shakes his head, carefully and thoroughly making sure that Conrad doesn't have a single sticky spot to bother him.
Conrad sighs and looks at Gwendal lazily before raising a hand to Gwendal's hair. He smirks at whatever he finds there, and rubs a milky substance between his fingers before he wipes them on Gwendal's shoulder.
"What?" Gwendal asks instantly, suspiciously, and he glares as Conrad shakes his head, his grin widening. Gwendal raises his hand carefully, glare narrowing even further as he encounters a sticky, wet spot in his hair. "Conrart?"
Conrad has the decency to look sheepish. "I'm sorry?"
"You're sorry," Gwendal takes a breath, closes his eyes.
Conrad arches up, loops an arm around Gwendal's neck and nuzzles his cheek. "We can go to the bath later," he murmurs against the shell of Gwendal's ear. "I'll even wash your hair."
"You're lucky you're cute," Gwendal mutters in response, and can't resist curling his fingers against the back of Conrad's head.
Conrad smiles softly, strokes Gwendal's arm. "I'm sorry I worried you."
"I'm not worried," Gwendal says calmly. He detaches Conrad, goes to the basin and dips a third towel in the water. He can feel Conrad's eyes on him and scowls. "Why do you think I was worried?"
"You're taking care of me," Conrad says, "and making up excuses to rationalize your actions." He wriggles enough to pull his underclothes back up his thighs and grins.
Gwendal doesn't respond to that, can't figure out a way to say anything that won't incriminate him, and Conrad shakes his head. Then Conrad reaches into the drawer of his bedside table and pulls out a roll of bandages and a small tub of unguent. Gwendal comes back to Conrad with the third towel and cautiously dabs at the wound on Conrad's collarbone. He eyes the unguent warily.
"It's from Gisela," Conrad says in answer to Gwendal's silent mistrust, and Gwendal nods. He reaches for it, dipping his fingers in the ointment and rubbing it onto Conrad's skin. Conrad winces, just enough to be noticeable, and Gwendal blows on the wound, trying to ease the sting.
After a moment of this, Gwendal brushes his fingers over Conrad's collarbone, taping the bandage back into place, gentle and tender. "This is going to scar," he says.
"I know," Conrad answers, and smiles.
~*~
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