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"What do you think they’ll look like?" Aymeric murmurs from the bed.
Estinien doesn’t understand the words at first- caught staring at the fat flakes of snow whirling around the endless grey of the Ishgardian skyline. He remembers playing in flurries like this in the heart of winter, knowing that spring was around the corner. When snow was simply snow and not the suffocating blanket that had covered them for eleven moons without Nophica’s sigh in sight.
“The child, I mean.” He clarifies, the words plucking Estinien from his thoughts and back to reality with startling force.
Right. Yes. The child. Hard to forget that.
Even if The Holy See hardly cared if he did. The decree was for soldiers after the calamity, not sons. Not daughters. They couldn’t waste the opportunity to replenish their future ranks during this brief respite from the Dravanian Horde.
(Respite, they’d called it. As if the world hadn’t upended itself. As if Ishgard’s underbelly hadn’t swollen with starving refugees, left to rot when deemed unfit or unable to be of use in this damnable war.)
Then came the orders for those that could bear children, to produce properly bred stock among their ranks. And it wasn’t Estinien’s problem at first- surely there were enough volunteers to be a divinely ordained stud. He had never thought himself a father of any sort, absent or not.
But then he had seen Aymeric’s face. That grim resolve when it became apparent that he’d be matched with the same nobles and soldiers who had scorned him- undoubtedly licking their chops at a chance to bed the bastard, an act that they equated with humiliation. And Estinien had jumped. Had offered himself before he knew what he was doing. And now- Now they are here.
A cold room in the barracks, no different from their communal dorms, save for the privacy of a single bed and a locked door. Aymeric wearing naught but a nightshirt as he shifts closer to him.
Estinien shouldn’t be this nervous. How many times have they done this now? Three? Four? The number didn’t matter- It wasn’t the first time. That had been awkward, nearly clinical. Despite the sparse years of friendship between them, both of them had been strangers in this context, newly met. For all the unsavory rumors surrounding Aymeric, he had admitted in uncharacteristic self-consciousness that this was his first time.
Not that Estinien could claim any experience himself. Even now, thinking about it made heat crawl up his spine. He hadn’t stood a chance. Had thrust into Aymeric for an embarrassingly short time- sweaty limbs locked together as he came inside him with a muffled groan. Fury, they could barely look at eachother after.
Their later sessions (that’s what they called them, always with a twinge of mortification) hadn’t fared much better. Quick, perfunctory. Touching naught but the barest necessities during their coupling and ending with Aymeric’s strained smile when Estinien slinked off in shame after.
And now they are here.
"I'm sorry" he blurts suddenly when Aymeric slips onto his lap. It’s enough to still those elegant fingers picking apart the buttons of his shirt.
“For what?” Aymeric’s brows knit, uncomprehending.
“For all…this.” He elaborates lamely. Aymeric shakes his head, his laugh wry but magnanimous as he pats Estinien’s arm. “I’ve put up with far worse, my friend.”
Estinien hates that response. Surprises himself with the spark of irritation that goes through him.
Before they had begun this, Aymeric had asked him why he had volunteered. Estinien hadn’t given him an answer, hadn’t really known how to articulate that the thought of Aymeric being taken by someone so undeserving as their fellow temple knights had ignited a fury in him, hot and terrible. And Aymeric in his eternal grace, never pushed. Never made things awkward after. Always that apologetic smile, as if this was a burden. And perhaps the expectation behind their coupling was, but not Aymeric. Never Aymeric.
“Put up with it?” Estinien repeats, the words like ash in his mouth. Aymeric opens his mouth to clarify, clearly afraid he’d offended him somehow.
“I don’t want you to put up with it.” Estinien cuts him off before he can start- insistent, now. Frustrated at his inability to untangle the words that make themselves a stubborn knot in his throat. “I want you to-”
I want you to want this. He thinks, desperately.
“I want you to feel good.” he says, instead.
Aymeric is too surprised at his outburst to respond but Estinien doesn’t give him a chance to. His fingers curl around Aymeric’s jaw as he seals their lips together- an approximation of a kiss, he hopes, when he has never given one before.
For a moment Estinien thinks he’s made a terrible mistake. It's only until he registers a low sound of want that it loosens, Aymeric’s fingers curling into his hair as he kisses him back. It doesn’t take long before it isn’t enough. A curious tongue brushes against his, licking into his mouth and swallowing the gasp as Aymeric begins to rock into his lap, steadily building the heat between them.
There is something mournful about it when they finally break apart, noses touching and foreheads bowed together. He’s no romantic, but he thinks about a universe where they could take their time. Where they could just kiss without expectation, slow and sweet. Where this thing between them could have grown steadily instead of relentlessly- dutifully. And later, much later- perhaps a child not of necessity, but of a culmination of a life together.
Instead, he lays Aymeric back against the threadbare sheets and spreads his thighs.
Estinien can see the slick gleam of wetness between them, even in the dim light of the room. He’s no stranger to fantasizing the wet press of a mouth around his cock when he services himself. It takes no stretch of imagination to think it might be the same for Aymeric.
Pushing aside his shirt, he kisses his way down that quivering belly to his navel – biting at the sensitive skin below it. He steels his nerves before using his thumbs to hold that flush cunt open and touch his tongue to the hood of his clit.
He revels in the gasp it earns.
Aymeric jerks away from the bed and his mouth, as if ashamed of his own pleasure. He bites his bottom lip between his teeth, trying so hard to close his legs around Estinien’s head as his tongue laps an unbearably hot rhythm against him.
“Estinien-” Aymeric’s head falls back as he opens him further, Estinien mouthing at the pink flesh until he’s grinding up against his tongue. It’s only when his jaw starts to ache that he detaches himself to sit up and keel between Aymeric’s thighs. When he catches sight of his face, slack-jawed and looking up at him through teary blue eyes, he swears low.
“Can I-” He tries again, taking his cock in hand, sliding it up and down against Aymeric’s slit, pressing the tip to his clit. “Do you want..?”
“Please- ”Aymeric’s nod is frantic, throat fluttering as he swallows around nothing. So unlike those tight, polite smiles he’d given him before. Desperate, needy. “Please, I want it.”
Estinien eases the tip inside him as Aymeric’s arms twine around his neck, pulling him closer, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses against his jaw. He wastes no time pushing into that tight heat – gripping Aymeric’s hips hard and thrusting deep, listening to that answering moan as he sets a brutal pace.
“Feel good?” He pants, voice labored with his heavy breathing. He feels his balls tighten, but he isn't finished yet- can’t finish. Not until Aymeric does. Determined, he slips a hand between their sweat slick bodies and rubs at his clit with the flat of his thumb.
Aymeric makes a sound like he’s being unraveled, hips rolling between Estinien’s cock and the press of his hand, crashing into his orgasm with a sound close to a scream. His entire body tightens up, shivering violently. It doesn’t take long for Estinien to follow after, coming inside him with a broken moan.
He eases out slowly – hissing at the sight of Aymeric’s gaping hole, the obscene way his spend drips out to pool against his thighs. Neither of them speak when Estinien rolls him over, curls against Aymeric’s back. He slides a hand around him, palm flat and warm where it rests against his abdomen, over his womb.
“Do you think it’ll take?” Aymeric murmurs after their breathing has evened out, breaking the silence.
Estinien doesn’t know the answer. Only holds him tighter and hopes it will.