reznikolai | I N B O X

[ He files the knowledge away like a little jewel: she would not be displeased. Perhaps it says something about him, the way the thought curls in warm little tendrils through him, leaving shivery excitement in its wake. Just like Nikolai's hot lips on his neck, just like the lies that fall from his pretty mouth.

Cardan likes Nikolai's voice. It's so much like the rest of him: clever and warm and smooth; he can feel it rumbling in Nikolai's chest when he speaks, close as they are.

Cardan bites him -- sharp teeth nipping at that lush lower lip. Nikolai's reward for being so obedient, along with the heavy, deliberate grind of Cardan's thigh between his legs. Even that doesn't last, though, because Cardan has plans, and he's not done maneuvering Nikolai yet. All he was waiting for was his initial reaction-- to being at the window, to being exposed. ]

Ambition, [ Cardan breathes, something gleefully menacing dancing in his eyes, ] looks good on you.

Too good to hide away.

[ And then the pressure of his body is gone. And then his hands are on Nikolai's waist, turning him, firmly, to face the window, even as Cardan's taller frame covers his again.

His hand slithers down the front of Nikolai's firm stomach to direct clever fingers to his belt. The fingers of Cardan's free hand sneak into the openings between Nikolai's shirt buttons to find a nipple. Cardan's voice is at his ear: ]

Tell me about it. What you plan on doing with your throne.

[The pinch of Cardan's teeth at his lip draws a gasp from him, the grind of thigh between his legs, a throaty sigh. Desire arches his back and twitches his hips forward. It pools deep in his belly, floods his cock. That menacing look that makes Cardan's dark eyes dazzle bright as a flame should perhaps make him nervous, but nervous is an emotion that Nikolai cares little for. What incites apprehension in other men so often sparks curiosity in him.

So his anticipation only sharpens as Cardan spins him around, and his palms brace against the sides of the window frame to grant him the leverage to press back against the other man. Tension, but it pulls them together rather than apart. Friction, but without resistance. Nikolai discovers that he enjoys the shadow of a taller body behind him, he thrills in the possibility of being so thoroughly surrounded by another, swallowed as if by fire.

And Cardan, with his fingers dancing across Nikolai's belt, will discover his cock straining at his trousers, stiff and thick and impatient. If he stretched his hips forward instead of back into the bowl of Cardan's, he would be humping the glass of the window. Very dignified. He turns his soft moan — for the proximity of that hand to his dick, for the teasing touch at his nipple — into a chuckle.]

Do you want more lies or the truth?

[ Cardan laughs, pressing himself against the solid line of Nikolai’s body, searing hot even through the layers of clothing between them. He’s hard, too, and the trapped ridge of his dick is pushing up against the pert curve of Nikolai’s ass with insistence. His mouth finds the shell of one round ear; he traces it with his lips even as his fingers slide inside Nikilai’s trousers to wrap around his cock.

He remembers the feel of it, from all those months ago, heavy and silken against his fingertips. His other hand is working on the shirt, undoing the buttons to free the fine muscle and inky scars on Nikolai’s chest. Cardan remembers them, too, remembers the way Nikolai looked and sounded when he’d put his mouth on them.

Now, like this, baring them in front of the window-- He feels a shiver run through him, like a fuse being lit, a giddy sort of hunger. ]

A man’s lies are as telling as his truths.

Shall I tell you what I want from mine?

[Nikolai feels electrified, like the neon signs shopkeepers place in their windows. His breath hitches as Cardan's hand sneaks into his underwear and curls around his shaft. His hips push his back against the firm line of Cardan's erection, grinding against him in a slow, sinuous roll. All of him lifts up like the hairs on the back of his neck, all of him buzzes with the knowledge that he would let this man do whatever he wants with him. That kind of control he has released only to Alina, and he knows Cardan only half as well.

But he's always found thrill in the unknown, the unexpected.]

It would be rude of me to dominate the conversation...

[Besides, he's finding it a little difficult to think about all his ambitions for Ravka while Cardan nibbles at his ear and flicks open his shirt buttons one by one, fingers whispering over his stomach. Nikolai assists by pulling his necktie looser, until it becomes just a length of silk hanging about his collar. As more of him becomes unwrapped, he can't help but wonder, What will the neighbors see when they glance out the window?]

[ That roll of Nikolai's hips tears a sharp inhale from Cardan's throat. He can't help but notice that between the first time and now, Nikolai seems to have learned a whole lot more about provocation, purpose, and maybe also patience.

He is surprised by just how much he finds himself wanting to ruin it. Him. Having dealt with the shirt buttons, Cardan's hand draws up to his throat, his touch but a whisper on the column of it, directing Nikolai to bare it, to tip his head back against Cardan's shoulder. ]

I plan to abdicate.

[ The tie is an interesting mortal invention. He's grown quite fond of them here -- and Nikolai's catches his attention now. He steals it on impulse, pulling the silk off Nikolai's body with quick fingers.

The King of Ravka will have to forgive Cardan for letting go of his cock for a moment. It's only so he can put the tie to good use: clasping Nikolai's wrists so he can wind the silk around them. The knot is not particularly complex, and his wrists are in front of him, and he's not actually being bound to anything -- easy enough to slip out of, if he so chose.

But whether he can or not is not the point. ]

My wish is to spend the rest of my days writing poetry and fucking my wife.

[ There's just the hint of a growl in it, of that primal longing that he feels any time he thinks of this-- but it's directed Nikolai's way, now, and it's Nikolai who might feel it in the hot pulse of Cardan's erection against his body or the hard grasp of Cardan's hands on his hips, removing the layers of clothing to finally bare him. ]

[Half of his mind follows the conversation, while the other half follows Cardan's hands. With diplomatic deference he tilts his head to bare his throat to the Faerie King's whims, holds still as he binds his wrists with the silk strip of his tie. Every decision sharpens his anticipation for the next. A gasp flies from his lips, unobstructed by shame, for the hot throb of Cardan's cock wedged against his ass. A pleased sigh follows for those demanding hands tugging away his trousers, his underwear, letting both slide into a pool of fabric around Nikolai's ankles. Obliging him, he steps out of the discarded garments.]

Then I wish you all the best in your retirement plans.

[His voice quivers with sexual electricity, but he's entirely sincere. The throne is a demanding office. Those who lack the desire to see the hard work through ought not clutch their crowns. How funny that for all the similarities that draw them together, they've chosen such divergent roads.

Even mid-tumble — arching into the obelisk of Cardan's body, seeking his lips, his touch — Nikolai can't help but ask:]

Who will succeed you?

[ Nikolai's razor-sharp focus is oddly endearing. Cardan is wary of ambition -- it has brought rather a lot of death into his life -- but even he can see how the bright flame of Nikolai's charisma might shape it into something dangerously alluring, something that draws people to him like a magnetic pull. He's not immune to its bright radiance, himself -- even now, when Nikolai is titillatingly disheveled and pliant under his hands, Cardan feels it. ]

My nephew.

[ If Oak can be so convinced. But that's a problem for another time; currently he's preoccupied with the royal whose delightfully firm ass is pressed against the aching column of his cock. He ought to take it out, but not yet-- oh, not yet. ]

My kind doesn't breed as easily as yours.

[ An affectionate sort of sneer. It would be an outright insult, perhaps, if his hands weren't busy drawing over the solid muscle of Nikolai's thighs, posing him, spreading him just so for Cardan's delectation, and for the benefit of anyone who happens to be walking this quiet neighbourhood on this weekday afternoon. Cardan may not be ambitious, but this kind of power -- the control of a man as image-conscious as Nikolai -- is a heady, welcome thrill, one that makes his heart hammer in his chest and a flush creep over his own cool expression.

Only now does he touch Nikolai again, long fingers wrapping around his erection. The heat of it drives a hungry little shiver through Cardan. His mouth moves against Nikolai's ear. ]

What would your courtiers think of you now, I wonder?

[Nikolai might take the barb more sharply, considering the state of his parents — he himself is the result of his mother's indiscretion, and Saints know how many bastards his father has left strewn about Ravka. But with those sure hands persuading his thighs to part, whose thoughts could snag long on one's parents and their ill-kept secrets?

His fraying patience shows itself in the low groan that sizzles in his throat as Cardan curls his hand around his shaft, in the forward push of his hips, fucking into those elegant fingers. He flickers between playing a role — the clay in Cardan's hands, pliant to any suggestion — and being only himself. A man ever desperate for touch, for attention. Any trinket that proves he is not condemned to be alone.

He huffs a breathy laugh, his head canting into the warmth of Cardan's taunting tongue. His fingers curl, pressing crescents into his palms, his bound hands helpless.]

They'd marvel at my diplomatic panache, I'm sure.

[Then he can't tell if the twisting in his stomach is shame for the scandal this scene would cause at court, or excitement for how far he's strayed from the strict confines of his public image.]

Edited 2022-03-28 19:07 (UTC)

[ Cardan laughs in response, surprised despite himself. It's dangerous -- just how charming Nikolai is, just how smooth the rumble of his voice and those silvery words that slip off his tongue. Cardan isn't used to being outplayed at his own game. It would be distressing, if Nikolai's cock wasn't so hot and heavy in his hand, if his hips didn't cant just so--

And Cardan understands that, too, the need that underlies it. What are they, if not untouchable? A royal keeps their distance from the rabble; being revered is as lonely as being feared.

Luckily, he owes Nikolai no such obligation -- Nikolai, whose carefully put-together self has come disheveled under Cardan's touch, who is thrusting deliciously into his hand, who's still so sly even in circumstances that render most men breathless. ]

What a shame they aren't here.

[ Cardan's fingers are long, clever; they flirt with the head of Nikolai's cock. In contrast to the heat of his mouth, his strokes are only teasing, too light to provide any real satisfaction.

Not yet. ]

Do you want me to fuck you?

[ For once, the question is without guile.

Though whether Cardan wants to is hardly in question, with how heavy a pang of heat thrums through him at the thought. ]

[And for once, Nikolai answers the question directly:]

Yes...

[A word so shapeless that its meaning is carried more by the breathless rush of it rather than the specific syllable. Yes, he's sure of it the second Cardan asks, breath dripping like hot wax against his neck, fingertips kissing the velvet head of his cock, manna thrumming within them both at a feverish pitch. He can feel Cardan's desire tugging at the other end of that tether forged by synchrony.

His ever volatile curiosity ignites. He wants to know how that friction feels striking deep inside, how it feels to be filled with another man's cock. Suddenly, his body aches for that fullness. His hips roll back, goading the Faerie king. The amethyst embedded at the base of his spine winks playfully in the sunlight that streams through the window.]

Fuck me, Cardan.

[Somehow, even in this moment of breathless anticipation, he manages to make it sound like both a command and a supplication.]

[ The gem catches his eye -- like jewelry, an adornment at the end of Nikolai's elegant back. How delightfully wanton to have it sitting in that particular spot. His own is all too exposed on his wrist; Nikolai's feels like another secret.

The heavy grind of Nikolai's ass against his cock makes his grin stutter. His patience for teasing wanes by the minute, though Cardan is -- admittedly -- both stubborn and committed.

From whence he produces the little bottle is anyone's guess. It just appears between his fingers like a magician's trick -- a gleaming, ornate thing, made of glass rather than plastic. The oil inside smells faintly herbal and warms easily to skin. Cardan's hands depart and then reappear, slickened now, warm as one slips back over Nikolai's dick and the other finds its way between their bodies. It whispers over the inside of his thigh, trails a caress over his balls before Cardan's slim fingers find his hole. Slick fingertips rub here, marveling at the heat and softness of him, there--

In the neighbourhood below them, a dog walker turns onto Nikolai's street. Even distracted as he is, Cardan spots the movement, and feels another thrill of excitement run through is body. ]

Careful, [ he whispers, as if the person below could hear them,] what you wish for.

[ As if it had been a wish, and not a demand. As if Cardan was going to refuse--

The tip of one finger presses inside, and he exhales, shuddering softly at the heat inside Nikolai's body. ]

[His breath catches as those slick fingers slide over his cock and delve between his thighs to whisper against his balls and converge on his hole. The heady herbal scent rising around him pulls him back to that long gone afternoon on the settee, when Cardan had cracked open for him a world of possibilities he'd never considered. Again, he brings him somewhere new. This sharp edge of anticipation is familiar, but the coaxing of Cardan's fingertip against his hole, the muscle giving way to his probing — this is a thrill unknown until now. With a soft groan, Nikolai braces himself against the window by the clasp of his bound hands.

At Cardan's warning, his eyes land on the approaching figure. His heart and stomach are a fluttering clash of so many invisible wings. A turn of the head and this stranger would see him, all of him, on display. But all Nikolai says, twisting to look at Cardan over his shoulder, is:]

Let him wish he were in here with us.

[Because for him, it's not a wish at this point — it's a need.]

[ Cardan laughs. Clever, so clever, this man, even while he's bent over and bound, even while being fucked open by another man's fingers. His senses sing in anticipation of it, of him; the deeper he pushes into Nikolai's pliant, eager body, the more he can feel the blood in his own erection pulse with want.

No. Need. ]

He does.

[ Is he Nikolai's first? He wonders. The time on the settee seems so far away now. He had not thought much of it at the time, drunk and drugged with red powder that spun his head and made nothing but Nikolai's closeness matter. But now, against the backdrop of their current tryst, he wonders how much experience the King of Ravka truly had back then.

There is a kind of self-indulgent thrill in that, too. Being first--

The dog walker moves slowly past. ]

Too bad he won't know what he's missing.

[Much as he has peeled away the clothes puddled on the floor around him, Cardan also peels his patience away. His panting fogs up a small circle of the window as he concentrates on the willowy body shadowing him, the beat of the breath warming his ear, the skilled fingers coaxing him open. His groan strains into a whimper, against the last measure of his restraint. If his hands weren't bound — if he needn't brace himself against the window — he would start stroking himself in time to Cardan's fingers pushing inside him.]

Show me.

[Hadn't the Faerie king said the same once, on that distant afternoon? Show me, raw with electricity in his ear, underneath his skin. As the stranger outside walks by, Nikolai follows him with his eyes as if daring him to turn and notice.]

Fuck...

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