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“You know, I didn’t actually mean this as a dare,” says Claude, sprawled out on the bed. He gives his wrists an experimental tug; they’re encased in cuffs, the luxurious kind with soft fur lining the buttery leather, clipped neatly to hooks set in the headboard. “Also, Lorenz, I’m a little surprised at you, to be honest. Your father didn’t strike me as the type to be into bondage.”
“Please, Claude,” Lorenz says, sitting in the chair across from the bed. “Pray do not mention my father when we’re engaged in these sorts of activities.”
“Or, how about ever,” Hilda adds, from where she’s finishing with the spreader bar affixed between Claude’s ankles. The cuffs for that are less luxurious and more practical, still soft on his skin but without any fur. “No matter what we’re doing. No Count Gloucester allowed.”
“I wish we could extend that rule to the meetings,” Claude says, going tense immediately as he thinks about the round table earlier that day. So much posturing, talking behind tight smiles, petty concessions that would be ultimately useless in the face of a growing Imperial threat. “No offense, Lorenz.”
“None taken, I assure you. I know how he is.” Lorenz unfolds his elegant frame from the chair, then walks over and leans down, his soft violet hair brushing Claude’s skin. “You do need to relax, though. And you did agree to this.” He brushes his fingers over Claude’s brow and kisses him. “I used to think about you like this all the time, back at the Academy. Helpless, tied up for me. Aroused.”
Hilda gives a delighted little laugh from the foot of the bed. “Um, hello, not just aroused for you but same, actually. We’re lucky. Do you think I need the rope to tie his feet to the bed, Lorenz?”
“I suppose it depends on if the duke can stay still or not,” Lorenz drawls, standing up straight. He goes all imperious noble, a hand on his hip, nose in the air -- but his smile is wicked, slow, the sort he’d never bother gracing any of the rest of the Alliance nobles with. “Will you be able to manage that, Duke Riegan? You did promise.”
“Ugh,” says Claude. “For the record, though? I didn’t agree specifically to being tied up like an unruly wyvern, I agreed to letting you two help me relax.” He gives the chains a rattle, feeling a bit like a horny ghost. “Why I thought that wouldn’t involve complicated positioning and too many accessories, I don’t know.”
“I wouldn’t call this positioning that complicated,” says Lorenz. “I could make it a lot more difficult, if you like.”
Claude knows that’s the truth.
“I wouldn’t call it too many accessories, either,” says Hilda. “I could use more. I still might. We just got started!”
Claude sighs and stares up at the ceiling. They’re at Lorenz’s family’s townhouse in Derdriu, and the domed ceiling has a skylight with stained glass, a sea motif featuring dolphins and shells and half-naked merpeople. It’s honestly racier than Claude would have expected for Count Gloucester, but he didn’t plan on the hooks for cuffs set in the bed, either.
This entire thing was happening because Claude was feeling the pressure of playing each of the Alliance lords against each other, biding his time until he could decide what best tactic to take regarding Edelgard. It was fraying him like an old ship rope, the kind you tie into a knot so many times it left the impression of it kinked up in the fibres, frayed and close to breaking apart.
I need to relax before these meetings tomorrow, Claude said, as he and Hilda and Lorenz made their way back to the townhouse.
Lorenz and Hilda exchanged a look, then Hilda said, dare you to let us make that happen and Claude, because he always did like a little danger and gambling, agreed.
And now, here he is. Watching as Lorenz, who’s the only one of them still dressed, lazily pulls Hilda -- wearing nothing but her underwear, a thin chemise pulled tight over her generous breasts, and a pair of thigh-high stockings with garters -- into a kiss.
They’re lovely together. Claude smiles, settling back. “So, you’re going to put on a show for me, is that it?”
Hilda pulls away from Lorenz, starting to work at his clothes -- but it’s Hilda, so she gives up after a second, goes up on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear, and then strolls over to the bed to sit next to him while Lorenz finishes undressing. “Claude, stop trying to figure out what’s going to happen! The whole point of this is to let us take care of you. Just commit.”
“You can’t even commit to taking Lorenz’s clothes off, Hilda,” Claude points out.
“He’s too fussy about them,” says Hilda, tossing her hair.
“She means there’s more than two buttons and my sleeves are actually attached to my shirt,” says Lorenz, though fondly.
Claude smiles despite himself, momentarily distracted from the restless energy that is at war with the bone-deep exhaustion of playing so many hands of cards all at once. The Alliance is a thorn in his side, but a necessary one, and these last two years since his grandfather died and left him in charge have been trying.
These two haven’t made it any easier, necessarily, but they’ve definitely made it more exciting. It all started with a night spent opening the best bottles in Duke Riegan’s wine cellar, sharing memories of the Academy and laughing for the first time in what felt like ages before Claude had Hilda riding his face and Lorenz fucking him into oblivion.
The former Duke Riegan would have been horrified. Maybe. Or maybe not. Claude never did get a very good handle on the old man. But he definitely appreciated his taste in wine.
“Hey,” Hilda says, chiding gently, tugging at his hair. “If you’re getting weird about it, we’ll let you out.”
“This is Claude,” Lorenz reminds her. “However will we tell?”
Claude laughs outright. “He’s got a point.”
“You’re both so infuriating. I knew I should have married Ferdinand. I could have kept him making tea and doing my chores, not running off with Edelgard.” She leans down and kisses Claude, as gently as Lorenz did, earlier. “Come on, Mr. Leader Man. Let us take care of you. You know we can make you feel good.”
“I do,” Claude says, against her mouth. “You don’t need to tie me up for that, though, and plus...I like touching you. Both of you.”
“He’s talking too much,” says Lorenz, strolling back over -- naked, except for his perfectly-shined black leather boots. Which must have been some kind of magic trick, or else he’s had pants and underwear specifically made to be removed without having to remove the boots, too.
Now that he knows about Lorenz’s custom bedroom furniture, Claude isn’t going to put that past him.
“Should we gag him?” Hilda asks, though she’s gently playing with Claude’s hair, tugging the roots and making him more sleepy than anything.
At least, until he sees what Lorenz is holding. “Is that a riding crop?”
“Hmm?” Loren tilts his head, lovely hair spilling over his shoulders. “Why, yes it is. Don’t worry, Claude, I’ve a deft hand and I’m hardly a brute. A true noble knows how to tame an unruly mount, you know.”
“Uh-huh.” Claude watches with wide eyes as Lorenz and his crop saunter over. He sucks in a breath as the tip of the crop gently slides over his mouth.
“Do not even dare ask me if this has been used on a horse, as you should know me better than that,” Lorenz says. “And no, Hilda, I think we should leave that mouth of his alone. Far more enjoyable to shut him up because he’s too busy moaning to speak, don’t you think?”
“I think Claude’s never been too busy doing anything to keep him from talking, but sure,” says Hilda. “Sounds great.”
Claude feels the edge of the crop press into his mouth, tastes the leather of it and shudders as Lorenz pulls it out, tracing the tip down Claude’s chest, over his nipples, and lower down to his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath, tensing, but Lorenz just draws the tip over his hardening erection, light and teasing.
“This isn’t about pain, darling,” Lorenz says.
“We get enough of that in the meetings,” Hilda says. “Wanna see me play with my tits, Claude?”
“Yes, of course,” Claude says, blinking, and he’s a bit overwhelmed, here; he’s always liked sex with both of them, together or separate, but being tied like this and at their mercy is new, and the lack of control is...different. He’s still not sure if he likes it yet, but it helps when Lorenz teases his balls with the crop and Hilda pulls off her chemise, cupping her own breasts, rubbing her nipples with her thumbs.
“That’s lovely,” says Lorenz. “Isn’t it, Claude?”
“Yeah,” Claude says, fingers curling into his palm. He’s trapped here, with Lorenz teasing him so gently with the crop, drawing his arousal out into something slow, languid. It’s a tease, just like Hilda playing with her tits.
Claude wants some control back, so he says, “I can suck on your fingers, Hilda. Get them nice and wet for you.”
“I can do that too, you know,” she says, and does. She winks at him when she pulls them free, spit-slick and glistening, and when she pinches her nipple she moans and her head goes back, and Claude realizes he’s staring and also trying to get more friction on his cock by pushing his hips up.
“Your Grace, really,” Lorenz says, voice warm and amused. “We’ve barely even started.”
Claude groans and bangs his head back against the bed. “Maybe I should have specified some ground rules before I let you do this.”
“Probably,” says Lorenz. “I’m frankly a little concerned that you didn’t. And here you’re supposed to be so very good at negotiating.”
“It was pretty dumb to just agree,” says Hilda, and kisses Claude on the mouth. “Fun for us, though! Just lay back and let us, y’know, do our thing.”
Claude’s never been able to do that in his life. But he smiles, charming as he is in Alliance meetings, and says breezily, “Do your worst.”
Hilda and Lorenz exchange a frankly worrying smile. “Oh,” Hilda says, as Lorenz teases the sensitive skin between Claude’s spread-open thighs with the tip of the crop, “You can bet on it.”
***
Yeah, this was a bad idea.
It’s not that it doesn’t feel good, because it does. Of course it does. Lorenz is doing things with a riding crop that is going to give Claude a hard-on the next time he even sees a stablehand, and Hilda is perched straddling his chest, rubbing herself all over him like a cat. The lace on her stockings tickle against his skin, and she’s still wearing her underwear, leaving him hyper-aware of the fabric and how wet it’s growing as she rubs against him.
Behind her, Lorenz is using brisk tapping motions to lightly tease his cock and spread thighs, smiling as every flick of the crop makes Claude gasp.
“I feel relaxed already,” Claude lies. He is not relaxed. His brow is damp with sweat, and he’s breathing fast, and it’s not just because Hilda has her hand down her underwear and is rubbing herself, the fabric pulling and stretching against her hand as it moves.
That sure doesn’t help, though. Fuck, she’s so hot like this. Claude loves watching her make herself come -- in pure Hilda fashion, when she decides to put effort into something, it’s a show to remember.
“You’re not,” Hilda says, in that breathy little voice that means she’s already close. “Claude, we know when you’re lying.”
Only when I let you. Claude smiles. “Sure, right. Well, you look pretty hot like that and I -- ah, ah, fuck.”
Lorenz’s husky laugh fills the room as he uses the crop with a little more pressure, hitting it against the head of Claude’s erection. “He’s just trying to distract you, darling. Classic Claude tactics, don’t let him get away with it.”
“Sure,” Hilda says, pushing herself against her fingers.
“Yeah,” Claude breathes, watching her from heavy-lidded eyes. “That’s it, you look so gorgeous when you come, I bet you’re close, aren’t you?”
“Hilda, really,” says Lorenz. “Can’t you see what he’s doing? Honestly. Hold on a moment, allow me to do that for you.”
“I mean, I can do it twice,” says Hilda, because she’s greedy and also comes like a house on fire.
“Darling,” Lorenz tsks. “You promised.”
“We’re sexually torturing Claude, not me,” she huffs, but slides her hand free, then smiles brightly down at Claude and slides her fingers into his mouth.
“Sexually torture?” The words are muffled as Claude licks Hilda’s fingers. “Mmm.” He flashes his best potent grin up at her, the one he uses on the bored Alliance nobles’ wives and sometimes their husbands, tilting his head just so, letting his dark hair fall in his face. “Told you I’d get those fingers nice and wet, go on, let me see you come.”
“Aww.” Hilda pats him on the side of the face with her wet fingers. “That was cute that you tried.”
Hilda might be greedy, but she’s way too much of a contrarian and Claude never has been able to fool her as easily as the others. She shifts up his chest a bit more and the bed shifts as Lorenz climbs up to join her. He straddles Claude’s waist on his knees, peering over Hilda’s shoulder at him.
“Did he really try that,” Lorenz asks.
“Yeah,” says Hilda. “He really did. Mm. But someone definitely likes this.” She wiggles back, presumably rubbing her very nice ass against Lorenz’s equally nice cock.
“Well, of course. I’m a man who appreciates beauty, let it never be said otherwise.” Lorenz is using that insufferable noble voice, the one that’s akin to Claude’s breezy charm and Hilda’s plaintive whine.
No wonder the three of them get along. They spend a lot of time being versions of themselves that aren’t exactly fake, but aren’t real, either. It’s as hard for Claude to drop his act as it is for Hilda to drop hers, and Lorenz his own.
Claude shakes himself, realizing that he’s navelgazing while he’s tied to a bed during a threesome. Not the time. He glances up, sees Lorenz playing with Hilda’s breast with one hand, the other sliding down her firm stomach to slip between her legs.
“There,” Lorenz says, watching Claude with a small smile. “Now, isn’t that better?”
“It’s great, sure,” says Hilda, adding, “But I could have already --”
Lorenz tugs her head back by one of her pigtails and kisses her. Claude shifts, experimentally pushing his hips to see if he, too, can get his cock rubbing up against something -- Lorenz’s ass, for example -- but being tied and bound and sat upon by two people is making it impossible to do anything but watch.
Not that it’s difficult; he likes the way Hilda makes those little sounds of hers into Lorenz’s mouth, the way she shakes and how he can feel her thighs trembling as she nears her peak. He also likes the bossy way she reaches down and grabs Lorenz’s wrist, then folds her hand over his so he’ll rub her through the fabric of her underwear just the way she likes it.
She comes with a little cry, falling forward as she does. Lorenz catches her with his arm around her waist, pulling her back and giving her support for her to shake through her orgasm. She immediately shoves her hand down beneath her underwear and gets herself off again, loudly, and Lorenz meets Claude’s gaze over Hilda’s shoulder and playfully rolls his eyes.
Claude smiles, and for the first time all day, it feels genuine.
Lorenz kisses the side of Hilda’s neck, both hands on her breasts, and they look gorgeous together kneeling over him like this. Claude says, “I definitely don’t feel sexually tortured, so if that’s your scheme, it’s not working,” because he can’t quite help it; he and Lorenz might be friends and even something more now, but that habit of tossing little verbal darts at each other hasn’t changed.
“Just wait,” Hilda says in an ominous voice, rubbing her hands together and laughing like an opera villain.
In that moment, the war seems like something very far away.
Claude maybe relaxes. Just a bit. He watches Lorenz and Hilda make out on top of him, feels the little touches they give him as they do it -- Hilda’s hand rubbing over Claude’s chest, Lorenz stroking Claude’s upper thigh, though he still won’t sink back and give Claude some friction on his now-aching cock.
“I kinda want to ride his face,” says Hilda.
“Well, who here doesn’t?” Lorenz says, which makes Claude laugh and rattle his cuffs again. “But do try and remember the point of this.”
“I mean,” Hilda says, climbing off him. “I get that we’re making him feel good, but why should we deny ourselves, huh?”
“I am right here, you know,” Claude huffs. “And getting you off, both of you, that always makes me feel good, which, isn’t that the whole point of this?”
“The point is you need to relax, and you don’t do that when you’re in control all the time,” Lorenz says, like he’s not literally the same way. “So, no.”
“I think you relax by telling me no,” Claude mutters.
Lorenz, still kneeling over him, shrugs. “I am neither confirming nor denying that, Your Grace. Hilda, be a dear and find me a cock ring, would you?”
“Sure, you know I love a good acessory,” Hilda says, and Claude turns his head just to stare at her ass as she walks over to the dresser which is, apparently, stocked with House Gloucster’s sex toys.
Lorenz is also staring at her ass. They are simple men, sometimes, aren’t they?
“Ugh, why aren’t any of these cuter? Plain silver? Boring.” Hilda says, rifling through the drawer. “I should make you a purple one, Lorenz.”
“I’m surprised they’re not monogrammed,” says Claude.
“My family’s heraldic crest is very ornate,” Lorenz informs him, rubbing his hands over Claude’s chest. “An engraving would hardly fit on the size of a standard cock ring.”
“Standard, huh,” says Claude.
“You’re not Baltie, Claude,” Hilda answers. “Ugh, is this fake gold? Seriously?”
“Fake? Certainly not! Who bothers with a fake gold finish on anything?” Lorenz turns his pretty eyes back to Claude. He smiles. “I bet you’d like someone to touch your cock.”
“I don’t know, I might come from this conversation alone,” Claude says, dryly. “Pretty racy stuff, cock ring finishes and family crests. Hot.”
“As I have always said, I enjoy the aesthetic.” Lorenz leans down, all nimble and long-limbed grace, and kisses him. “I know what you’re doing. You do it in council and you did it back at the Academy.” His mouth moves to Claude’s neck, which makes Claude shiver. “For a leader, you sure dislike having all the attention focused on you.”
“I don’t -- it’s not like that,” Claude says, tilting his head up. “I, ah. I’m not. Mm, fuck, your mouth is distracting. I like it a lot better like this than arguing with me.”
“It’s so cute that you think I believe that,” Lorenz says, and Claude can feel him smile against his neck. “I’m going to put that cock ring on you, then suck you and play with you until you’re sobbing, darling. How’s that sound?”
“Impossible,” Claude manages, through the sudden hot rush of want. “You’d never -- ah -- pay attention to me for that long.”
“Oh, Claude. Not everything has to be a competition.” Lorenz pulls back, tips Claude’s face up with one slender finger under Claude’s chin. Lorenz has gorgeous hands, more fitting, Claude thinks, for elegant things like playing the piano than war. But it’s not as if any of them have a choice, anymore.
“I’m teasing,” Claude says, softly, the moment having tipped over from playful into something genuine and more honest than he’s comfortable with. “You know I’ll never complain about your blowjobs.”
“Wise man.” Lorenz’s expression is serious. “You don’t have to be Duke Riegan right now, but you don’t have to be wise-cracking, quippy Claude, either.”
And I can’t be Khalid, so I guess you’re just stuck with Claude, quips or no.
Maybe one day he can be Khalid for them, though.
“You said something about keeping me from talking by making me moan, Lorenz? Let’s see if you can do it. Rally your battalions and let’s get this on the road.”
“Do spare the military talk in bed, would you? And Hilda, please, it’s a cock ring, not a marriage proposal.”
“Just giving you two your moment,” says Hilda, and returns to the bed. She holds the ring out for Lorenz, along with some oil. “Better put that on before he gets harder.”
“I know how to use it, thank you.” Lorenz kisses Claude one more time, bites at Claude’s lower lip and sucks on it for good measure.
“She’s not wrong, it’s going to be a lot more difficult if you keep this up,” Claude murmurs, against Lorenz’s mouth. The kissing and the thought of Lorenz sucking him off is making Claude’s cock get hard again in a hurry.
“Quick, talk to him about trade policy,” says Lorenz, climbing off him.
“Claude’s kinda into that,” says Hilda. “We could talk about the meeting agenda but that might be a little too boring. How about you just hurry up?”
Lorenz slicks the cock ring up with oil, then gently sides it over Claude’s semi-erect cock. “There we go. Hilda, find something else you want to play with, and perhaps don’t take until the Millennium Festival to select it, this time.”
“Suck his cock and stop talking already, Lorenz.”
Claude laughs -- or tries, because it turns into a moan almost immediately as Lorenz puts his mouth on Claude’s cock.
Lorenz uses his mouth in bed as ruthlessly as he uses it in council meetings; quick-tongued and agile, a tease that never quite gets to the point no matter how much you want him to.
Claude lays there on his back, gasping up at the elaborately-themed ceiling as he tries -- and fails -- to thrust into Lorenz’s mouth. Being on display like this, trapped and laid bare, really is unusual and makes Claude feel both thrilled and terrified in ways he doesn’t much want to think about at the moment. Maybe ever.
But it does feel good, Lorenz mouthing at his cock and balls, Claude unable to close his legs or cover himself or do anything, really, but lay there and take it.
He moans. Fuck, this is getting to him.
“He’s so pretty when he sucks cock, huh,” says Hilda, next to him. She’s brought over a mystifying array of things from the dresser, including a feather, Lorenz’s riding crop, a glass dildo, and a glove that has small pointed tips on the fingers that look as if they’re trying to small-scale mimic a set of gauntlets.
Hilda is using the feather, teasing over Claude’s nipples, the corner of his mouth and just under his nose, which makes him twitch and her laugh in delight.
“You’re so cute,” Hilda says, leaning in and grinning, blocking his view of Lorenz down between his legs. She bops him on the head with the feather. “And you look great like this. Feel more relaxed, now?”
“I -- ah, sure,” Claude moans, as Lorenz’s hot mouth slides over the head of his cock and lower, until the head bumps up against the back of Lorenz’s throat. Lorenz sucks and Claude bucks his hips, or tries to, but Lorenz is also holding him down with his hands on Claude’s hips.
Claude bites back a curse, as he always does in bed. He’s never sure what language he’ll use if he doesn’t watch himself.
Hilda sits back, tosses the feather aside and picks up the glove. “Lorenz, what is this? Is it for actual torture?”
“Hmm?” Lorenz also sits back, making Claude groan as his cock slides free from the warm wet heat of Lorenz’s mouth. “Oh, no. That’s supposed to go in the basement dungeon, how silly of the servants to mix it up.”
“Whatever.” Hilda tugs the glove on, wiggling her fingers. “Huh.”
“You - can’t have. A dungeon in a townhouse. Or -- ah-- anything underground in Derdriu,” Claude says, breathing slow and even through his nose. “Too much -- water, from the sea --”
“Ugh, Lorenz, make him stop talking about architecture.”
“It’s interesting,” Claude protests, voice strangled.
“And I beg your pardon, but House Gloucester doesn’t torture people, this isn’t Faerghus. Hilda, hand me that feather.”
“Fuck,” Claude groans, pulling at his cuffs. He watches in breathless anticipation as Hilda hands the feather to Lorenz, who stops sucking his cock and starts dragging the feather over his inner thighs, making the muscles there twitch.
“Oh, I get it!” Hilda beams and reaches her hand out, scratching the pointed tips of the glove down his chest. The tips are sharp, more pointed than natural nails, and a little cool as they drag down his chest.
Claude shivers, all his nerves set alight at the contrast between the light tickle of the feather and the sharper pull of the claws.
“We’re pretty good at this, huh,” Hilda says, to Lorenz. “Look at him. Panting, writhing around, and I’ve never seen him so quiet.”
“Mm,” Lorenz says, dizzyingly attractive with his mouth all wet and swollen from sucking cock. “We make quite a fearsome team, that’s true.” He runs the feather over Claude’s erection, down over his balls. “Hand me the glass toy, now, please.”
“Aye, aye!” Hilda hands over the glass dildo, then goes back to lightly scratching at Claude’s chest and stomach. “Do you like this?” she asks.
“Yeah.” He does like it, as strange as the sensation is. He wonders where Lorenz even found this thing. “You’re both a couple of teases, though.”
“Damn right we are.” Hilda grins, using the glove on his nipples, grinning as Claude shifts and tries to arch up for the pressure he’s not getting on his cock.
“Really, Claude, is there something you want? You can ask, you know.” Lorenz has the glass toy slicked up with oil, and is teasing Claude’s hole with it, pressing and rubbing against it, drawing it out.
“Ah,” Claude says, arching up, already anticipating the stretch of it, how it will feel inside, filling him. He’s panting, twisting against the cuffs while Hilda gives him a few more scratches with the glove.
“Deep breath,” Lorenz says, helpfully, as he slides the dildo in.
Claude tries to take a deep breath, he does, but it gets caught somewhere on a gasp and a moan as the curved head of the dildo slides over him just right.
“Can you do that harder,” Claude asks. It sounds polite enough, to him.
“Hmm,” Lorenz says, tapping his chin with the feather he’s still holding. “No.”
Affronted, Claude lifts his head and sends a narrow-eyed glare down at Lorenz. “You said I should ask if I wanted something!”
“I did say that, yes,” says Lorenz. “But I didn’t say I’d give it to you, did I?”
Claude scowls and rattles the cuffs again. Practice for the chains he’ll use to haunt them, when Lorenz and Hilda manage to kill him from sexual frustration. Which is, really, very on point for both of them. “I’m not relaxed, I’m frustrated.”
“That’s because you’re fighting it, sweetie,” Hilda says, patting him on the chest with her now-gloveless hand. “Relax and just let someone else do the work for once, you’ll like it.”
“You would be the expert on that,” Lorenz chuckles, fucking Claude gently with the dildo.
Hilda shrugs. “I would be, yeah. Come on, Claude, just...let go. What’s the worst that can happen?”
A lot, actually. Claude’s brain is fine-tuned to think about things like worst-case scenarios and disasters, always six steps ahead in multiple directions. It isn’t easy for him to relax, even his dreams are complicated and involved, like he’s looking for hidden meanings he’s missed when awake.
“I shall suck him, now,” Lorenz announces, like they’re at a formal ball. He places the feather on the bed, gives the dildo one last little push so that it’s in nice and snug, the head against Claude’s prostate, and then leans over in a spill of violet hair.
The hair tickles Claude’s thighs almost as much as the feather, but then Lorenz’s mouth is on him and Claude can’t think of much beyond that. It feels so good, with the pressure inside him and the warm heat and suction of Lorenz’s mouth, and he’s making little gasping sounds as he lifts his hips up, seeking more.
“That’s so good, you look so hot, Claude,” Hilda says, arranging herself next to him so she can rub herself between her legs and watch. “Mmm. I bet that feels good. Lorenz is so good with that tongue, isn’t he?”
Hilda’s voice is husky and amused in his ear, and it all has Claude writhing and pulling on his cuffs, making sounds he might not otherwise. He’s on edge already, and eager to come -- not just because it will feel good, but then he can get out of these cuffs and maybe get the upper hand back, here, because he definitely doesn’t have it, now.
“Oh, he’s making those sounds already,” Hilda says, the little tattle-tale. “And his toes are pointing. You know what that means.”
Lorenz pulls back and smirks up at him. “Like I would ever make it that easy, Claude. Come now.”
Claude hits his head back on the pillow with a groan.
Lorenz pats him on the stomach. “Stop trying to take control and do as we’ve said. My goodness. If you can trust us with politics, surely you can trust us with this.”
“You’re enjoying this too much,” Claude says, but the end of it turns into a moan as Lorenz dips his head and breathes out hot over his cock.
“Hilda, you should come and assist me. Oh, don’t give me that look, you know I’ll see to you, of course, once we’ve turned dear Claude into a quivering mess.” Lorenz clicks his tongue. “I am a gentleman, you know. A noble.”
“Ugh, you’re also impossible, suck his cock some more and yeah, fine, I’ll help.” Hilda leans in, kisses Claude on the mouth and then slides down with Lorenz. “How should we do this?”
“Need I remind you that you have done this before?” Lorenz asks.
“Duh, but...we’re doing it at the same time, are you gonna take the left, I take the right, what?” Hilda sounds like she does in battle, when her lackadaisical attitude shifts into one more appropriate for a certified badass-with-an-axe.
“It’s a cock, not a horde of bandits, Hilda.”
Claude stares at the dolphins on the domed ceiling and laughs a little helplessly. It makes the toy inside him shift as his muscles tense, turning the end of his laugh into a gasp. “You two are something else.”
“Let’s just work it out as we go along,” Hilda says, and Lorenz makes a sound and then -- there’s both of them, warm wet mouths moving over his cock, tongues licking over the head and down the shaft, then lower over his balls.
Claude gives up when one of them starts licking around the edge of the toy buried in his ass. He pulls hard on the cuffs and against the spreader bar, gasping, words of praise falling unchecked from his mouth as he shakes apart under them.
All the stress of his position and his lies and his lofty goals falls away for the next few minutes, the hazy pleasure overwhelming him utterly as they drive him to the edge with their mouths, teasing tongues, husky amused voices saying that’s it, Claude, come on, we might let you this time, if you ask us.
“Fuck, please,” Claude moans, and he’s so close his calf muscles are tensing up, almost cramping from how hard he’s pointing his toes -- and how strange they knew he did that, when Claude himself had never realized what a tell it was.
He half-expects them to ease off and edge him again, but apparently getting him to say please was enough. There are two hands on him, calloused and strong, moving on spit-slick his cock. Another hand rubs over his balls, and pushes at the dildo, gently, while Claude’s hips lift up and he thrashes on the bed.
“That’s it, darling,” says Lorenz, sounding both very fond and very far away. “That’s it.”
“So hot, Claude, c’mon, wanna watch you come all over those abs of yours, damn.”
Normally Claude would make a crack about wyvern riding or something but now all he does is arch up with a shout, twisting his wrists in the furred cuffs, heels digging into the bed as he makes a mess all over his stomach. As he comes he clenches down around the toy and it makes it even more intense, so much so he can feel his eyes wet with tears.
There’s nowhere to go, nothing to do but take the pleasure they’ve given him and drown under it, safe in the knowledge they’ll be there when he comes up for air.
He can barely breathe when it’s over, his eyes closed, limbs shaking as he comes back to himself. When he blinks his eyes open, it’s to find Hilda patting his stomach idly while Lorenz removes the toy from his ass with care.
Claude twitches, weakly, groaning a bit at the loss. “Should. Fuck me,” he manages. “Right now.”
“Oh, I will,” Lorenz says, patting him on the flank. “All in good time.”
“And I’ll sit on your face,” Hilda says, cheerfully. “After you can, you know. Breathe again.”
“Thanks for that,” Claude chokes out, weakly, and tries to remember how to breathe.
Lorenz takes the cuffs off his ankles and Claude bends his knees immediately, shakes his legs out as much as he can while in the grip of such bone-deep relaxation.
Hilda shifts on her knees and undoes the cuffs on Claude’s wrists, grinning down at him. “You looked so good in these. I wonder if I’d like them?”
“You don’t really need to be tied up to keep your hands from doing anything, do you?” Lorenz asks.
“Claude, did you hear something? I thought I heard a noise.”
Claude gives another weak little laugh and flips an arm over his eyes. He’s not quite ready to come back, yet; it turns out he has been pretty stressed out lately. Running the Alliance, being the secret crown prince of a country, plotting and constantly worrying about who’s really on his side and who isn’t...turns out it’s a lot.
Turns out he’s not very good at trusting anyone else to take care of things, even nice things like sex with two people he trusts as much as he trusts anyone.
Hilda cuddles up next to him while he drifts, and later, he feels a warm wet cloth on his stomach as Lorenz cleans him up. He takes his arm from his eyes and puts them both under his head, stretching on the fine silk sheets of Lorenz’s bed.
“So,” Hilda asks, peeking up at him with her pretty pink eyes. “Did we bring it, or what?”
“You sure did,” Claude says, leaning slightly to kiss her forehead. He turns his head, meeting Lorenz’s eyes and smiling. “Both of you. Thanks. I needed that.”
“We could tell.” Lorenz tosses the cloth aside and sits on the chair again, reaching down to take off his boots.
“You should leave those on when you fuck me,” Claude says. “You look hot.”
“I suppose I could, if you like,” Lorenz says, as if he’s doing Claude a favor and isn’t pleased by the compliment.
“Want me to put the stockings back on before I sit on your face?” Hilda asks.
“Is that a real question?” Claude asks, and Hilda laughs and kisses his shoulder.
For the moment he can forget about the war, the Alliance and the throne that awaits him back in Almyra. He can think about the future -- not the immediate one but the one far-off in the distance, when maybe they find peace and he can bring Hilda and Lorenz to the royal palace in Almyra. Lorenz can bring his impressive collection of sex toys. Hilda can bring those stockings. Claude can really let go, then, cry out in the language no one here knows he speaks, hear them use the name they don’t even know he has.
Someday.