[A simple statement, perhaps, but the sentiment behind it resonates in the soft rumbling of his voice, the warm determination in his gaze, and it is all too easy for Gale to lose himself in the moment as Godfrey presses a series of kisses against his throat and makes something in his stomach pull tight, the heated press of their bodies tight and promising even as they remain fully dressed— though clearly not for long, given the direction Godfrey's fingers are skirting in.
The wizard clears his throat as he regains himself, though a soft noise of approval does escape him just before he manages it, carding his fingers through Godfrey's hair and drawing in a deep, steadying breathe.]
I'm beginning to find myself in a merry mood, as well.
[To say the least. His face has become flushed even in the dim light of the fire, and resistant as he is to remove himself from Godfrey's inviting lap, he slides back enough to let his feet touch the ground, grabbing hold of his partner's wrist with one hand and his waist with the other. Godfrey is significantly larger them him, despite the fact that Gale himself is not a small man by any means, but he manages to guide the paladin to his feet and gently steer him towards his own tent, suddenly finding himself quite eager to escape the wandering gazes of their companions and guests, due in no small part to the significantly tight pull of his trousers.
The distance is short, and they make it without incident, Gale letting out a sigh of relief when the flap closes behind them, and he turns to face Godfrey with a knowing smile full of intention once he's certain they have privacy. The larger man must be drunk indeed to be so forward, but Gale can't say he minds in the least.]
Now, where were we... [He steps forward, reaching up to put a hand behind Godfrey's neck, curling his fingers against the nape as he draws him downwards for a kiss, which he is able to offer far more freely now, lips parted and tasting of the wine he had been indulging in not long before.] You were telling me just how happy you are.
[ It can't be said that Godfrey is a man of no appetites.
Not that one would know. If there's one impression Godfrey has cultivated over his years of life, it is that there's nothing more to be seen below his smooth codpiece - that, though his heart remained in that golden shell, that was all to him that was warm and beating. Something golden and all-encompassing shining brightly enough to iron away shadow. In the absence of unseemly desire, a whole and uncompromising love. He certainly acts like it, if nothing else.
Of course, this was not so. Try as he might, and though the priestly nature springs naturally from him, Godfrey is merely a man. Physically reticent and shy though he may be, warm and firm flesh still lived beneath his armor. He needed only to be shelled of it.
Gale becomes cold and weightless air in his lap, and before he realizes it, he's standing in cloth walls, the sounds of the campfire distant and unclear. He's in his arms. There's something daring in his eyes, and all Godfrey knows is that he wants never again to feel cold emptiness.
He doesn't know where his hands are on Gale when those seconds of delayed quiet pass and he falls into him, kissing him with a hard, greedy sigh. Only that he feels below his hand Gale's clothing twisting, the warm blush of his skin, muscle moving and twitching as it reacts to his hungry touch, fueled by nothing more than a hard and ravenous need for closeness. He knows the powerful throb in the press between them, something that threatens to bring him to his knees.
He knows that his hands, in their fervour to keep up with his lips, push something down the curve of him. He doesn't know that those are his trousers, shoved down as an afterthought against the sharp angle of his pronounced knuckles as his hands press downward, feeling the curve of his ass against his palms. ]
[It's all happening so much faster than Gale is accustomed to— he has no complaints, of course, now or any other time, but it is quite unusual for Godfrey to be so aggressive about what he wants. Gale has never felt slighted for it, never doubted that his love desired him once they had stumbled across the truth of what they felt for one another, but to have it thrust upon him so plainly, to be so openly wanted— it sets his blood hot and racing, just a bit lightheaded from both wine and giddy anticipation.
He moans wantonly into that hungry, devouring kiss; Godfrey's hands are on him and making short work of his clothing, breaking every record that they might have set together before now, and though a conjured mage hand is doing its part to tug at and loosen Godfrey's belt, the wizard himself is barely able to draw breath as he meets each needful kiss with one of his own, and he finds himself incredibly grateful that Godfrey had not chosen to remain in armor as they celebrated this evening.]
My love—
[He lets out a breathless laugh between kisses, untucking Godfrey's shirt and proceeding to pull it up and over his head as best he can without pulling away from him, because oh, that is the absolute last thing he wants.]
I believe I quite like this side of you—
[He's not felt anything in their lovemaking to be wanting, happy for the slow and steady pace they so often set, but this— this is something new and thrilling, a Godfrey he has not yet had the pleasure to meet.]
[ The moment rushes through him - and for once, Godfrey doesn't stand in its way.
No need for respectability governs him. No internal monologue in the world can keep him contained within himself. The quiet privacy of the tent rampages through him - whatever greedy remnants that might have clung to those self-imposed borders between nobility and indecency after the wine-wash are seared away by what this moment ignites in him.
He tastes his tongue and the buzz of his voice and that hot wanting roars through him, undeniable. There is hot flesh in his hands, but it's suddenly not enough; Godfrey wants to hold all of him.
He wants to kiss him slowly and passionately, and he's unable to slow the roar of his pulse, the kisses that come again and again. He wants to keep squeezing his ass and feeling the muscle twinge and shift in his hands, and he wants to cup his face as they join lips. He wants to taste his breath and the salt of his skin. He wants him breathless and moaning, deep inside of him, beneath him--
There will be cracks in the inebriation for him to peer down, come morning. None of them will give him any insight as to how he was finally separated from his shirt and the need to keep himself upright on two legs. None of it matters. Godfrey pants through gently parted lips and watches his hands move over his bare skin. ]
[It always seems near impossible, to touch as much as he yearns to; he is but one man and can hardly touch every inch of his knight at once, but the squeeze of his ass is met by a valiant effort on Gale's part, reaching and curling his fingers into flesh wherever he can grab as they kiss one another breathless. Godfrey's shirt has been cast aside into a careless heap on the floor, joined by his belt a moment later; that simple cantrip has left Gale's own hands free to roam further as Godfrey's trousers are loosened and he's able to palm at his ass, grabbing hold with one hand as the other takes the side of his face.
The taste of wine lingers on both their lips and tongues, and Gale has lost track of how much clothing actually remains between them; he is too lost in this newfound enthusiasm of Godfrey's, too easily drawn into that same hunger, but he blindly fumbles onward in discarding the rest of it, wanting far more of what has taken hold of his companion. He has no desire to take the lead, to wrest it away from Godfrey when he takes it so rarely, but he does take a step backwards, followed by another as he draws his partner along with him, easing their way down towards the pillows that have been left strewn across the floor of the tent since the night before.]
[ Another memory spared; he won't remember how likely it is that he ended up on his back because of how severely he tripped stepping out of his trousers.
This, though - the sight before him - stays. Hazy in his morning recollection, but there all the same; his love silhouetted in soft evening firelight, hair tousled, on his knees, hovering just above his hard dick, Gale's own bouncing as he settles into his position on his lap. Godfrey's broad and warm hand on his waist. The hot hint of colour he can see in what little light seeps through the fabric walls of the tent, sprayed across his cheeks, his collar.
Here is where, in his right mind, Godfrey might pause to think of logistical needs. The strain one might go through in this position, for instance, or the need for oil. The close proximity of murmuring voices and footsteps. The likelihood that they may be overheard.
None of these thoughts cross his mind. He's asked to come closer, and Godfrey, propping himself up on his elbow, pushes himself a little further. He pushes his palm into the ground beneath the pillows and runs his hand across the curve of his spine, pulls his face against his chest. A sigh is pushed roughly from him.
So are words, if one can make out the muttering he smears against the middle of his chest; I love you. ]
[Gale's heart is thundering in his chest; there's some distant awareness of the logistics of what's to come, the usual necessities, but they seem wildly unimportant in this particular moment, Godfrey beneath him and beautifully tousled, arousal brushing against his own as Gale carefully settles his ass against Godfrey's thighs, hips straddled. Godfrey moves closer and buries his face against his chest, Gale threading his fingers into his hair as he looks down fondly, a laugh that is all warmth bubbling forth— that bit of tenderness among raw need only serving to further stoke desire.
It goes right to his cock, as does the sword-calloused palm moving along the curve of his spine, and Gale cups the side of his lover's face in hand even as aches for more.]
I love you.
[His thumb traces the curve of Godfrey's lower lip the moment it falls away from his chest, and he tips the paladin's face upwards so that he can meet his gaze, his own now dark with hunger, with need.]
Care to show me what you had in mind, my heart? I confess, I'm already finding it very difficult to be patient.
[ All that Godfrey had in mind is on his face as he looks up, throat against the center of his chest, lips flushed and parted for hard, hot breaths.
The question doesn't fall bottomless through him. It enters some part of his head. It can be seen passing behind his eyes as he stares, breathless, taking in the man filling his lap and his arms and his life. He feels his palm warm his face and leans his cheek into it, slips his eyes closed. Warmth trills down his spine.
Godfrey responds before he realizes he had an answer to give; he brushes his lips against the inside of Gale's wrist, feels briefly the flutter of his blood beneath his skin through his sensitive lips. His roughened hands move quickly, greedily; along the curve of his spine, up his thigh, pressing his hips against his own hardness with a quiet groan.
This, is what he says. This is what he had in mind; every moment he could have his hands on him, share in his heartbeat, the warmth between them. He'd thought of nothing else. Until Gale asked him to word what had moved his hands, he still hadn't thought of anything else.
He turns his face. His nose presses against his chest as he kisses him, again. ]
We need oil, [ Godfrey slurs out that much, but proves no willingness to let Gale out of his arms to retrieve it. ]
[In truth, had Godfrey been unable to give his desires voice, it would have mattered little— even beyond the obvious, they have had the time and opportunity to learn one another, understood one another well enough that they could have wordlessly found their way through this with little trouble. It is the opportunity to see his love take the lead that Gale cannot let slip past, and though Godfrey appears unwilling to release him, it is of little consequence. A soft rumble of approval moves through him as Godfrey presses lips to his chest, Gale's fingers curling possessively into flaxen hair, each pass of his heart's hands offering wordless promises.]
Easily remedied.
[The assurance is soft, the edge of his voice raw with want. It matters not that he remains held fast in Godfrey's arms; the somatic component of a simple cantrip is but a moment's work, and a spectral hand dutifully retrieves what they need. A small part of him takes some pleasure in knowing that even for the simplest of spells, Mystra must hear his bid for power, but it is greatly overshadowed by the knowledge that what he shares with Godfrey, her cold and distant heart could never truly grasp.
Gingerly, Gale takes the bottle in hand before he dismisses his spectral assistant— for the time being— and gently taps it against Godfrey's shoulder, letting out a shuddering breath as he makes an effort to remain restrained despite his own arousal.]
[ A sparse glance is all that Godfrey spares the bottle once it's produced against the thick bulk of his bare shoulder.
There's a moment before he realizes what the bottle is, or that he had only just asked for it, in which it exists as a mere obstacle to his current priority; suffocating himself between Gale's pectorals. His hand holding him by his back, pushing his body against his face, his other palm running the length of his naked thigh and tasting the warmth of his skin. He would live out the rest of the night in happiness here, if he would have been allowed to.
But he wouldn't be, of course - the delayed recognition of that bottle and its contents comes with an uncomfortable and profound pang in his hips, his cock pulling tight at the thought of more. He pulls back from his skin with a rough sigh, and looks up, touches Gale's gaze with his own. The words occur to him slowly, the shape of them before their meaning.
Once he has them, he reluctantly pulls himself free, slipping his hands from his body and leaning back to expose his hard cock pinned between the two of them. ]
[The wizard can only let a low rumble of approval escape him as Godfrey leans back; it was tempting enough to be able to feel that arousal pressed against him, another thing entirely to see it jutting proudly and just waiting to be touched. The throb between his legs echoes Godfrey's own arousal, and he shifts back against Godfrey's thighs just enough to be able to lean forward and gain some leverage, bowing his head to press a kiss between the paladin's own pectorals, letting his nose gently drag against warm, flushed skin as he steadily kisses his way upwards, nuzzling at his neck before lightly catching skin between his teeth.
Though he was still inclined to let Godfrey lead so long as he wished to, it had become very clear that the man was well beyond the actual logistics of what was to come. It mattered little— they always found their way through well enough, and Godfrey has made his desires clear, desires Gale is more than happy to assist him in fulfilling.
He blindly uncaps the vial with the aid of his Mage Hand assistant to avoid spilling, propping one arm just beside Godfrey's head as he continues to kiss and nip at his broad jawline. Two slick fingertips press lightly against his entrance, gently circling it and painting him with oil as a cool and featherlight touch takes hold of his shaft, Gale's spectral aid taking Godfrey in hand as the wizard keeps him otherwise occupied.]
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The wizard clears his throat as he regains himself, though a soft noise of approval does escape him just before he manages it, carding his fingers through Godfrey's hair and drawing in a deep, steadying breathe.]
I'm beginning to find myself in a merry mood, as well.
[To say the least. His face has become flushed even in the dim light of the fire, and resistant as he is to remove himself from Godfrey's inviting lap, he slides back enough to let his feet touch the ground, grabbing hold of his partner's wrist with one hand and his waist with the other. Godfrey is significantly larger them him, despite the fact that Gale himself is not a small man by any means, but he manages to guide the paladin to his feet and gently steer him towards his own tent, suddenly finding himself quite eager to escape the wandering gazes of their companions and guests, due in no small part to the significantly tight pull of his trousers.
The distance is short, and they make it without incident, Gale letting out a sigh of relief when the flap closes behind them, and he turns to face Godfrey with a knowing smile full of intention once he's certain they have privacy. The larger man must be drunk indeed to be so forward, but Gale can't say he minds in the least.]
Now, where were we... [He steps forward, reaching up to put a hand behind Godfrey's neck, curling his fingers against the nape as he draws him downwards for a kiss, which he is able to offer far more freely now, lips parted and tasting of the wine he had been indulging in not long before.] You were telling me just how happy you are.
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Not that one would know. If there's one impression Godfrey has cultivated over his years of life, it is that there's nothing more to be seen below his smooth codpiece - that, though his heart remained in that golden shell, that was all to him that was warm and beating. Something golden and all-encompassing shining brightly enough to iron away shadow. In the absence of unseemly desire, a whole and uncompromising love. He certainly acts like it, if nothing else.
Of course, this was not so. Try as he might, and though the priestly nature springs naturally from him, Godfrey is merely a man. Physically reticent and shy though he may be, warm and firm flesh still lived beneath his armor. He needed only to be shelled of it.
Gale becomes cold and weightless air in his lap, and before he realizes it, he's standing in cloth walls, the sounds of the campfire distant and unclear. He's in his arms. There's something daring in his eyes, and all Godfrey knows is that he wants never again to feel cold emptiness.
He doesn't know where his hands are on Gale when those seconds of delayed quiet pass and he falls into him, kissing him with a hard, greedy sigh. Only that he feels below his hand Gale's clothing twisting, the warm blush of his skin, muscle moving and twitching as it reacts to his hungry touch, fueled by nothing more than a hard and ravenous need for closeness. He knows the powerful throb in the press between them, something that threatens to bring him to his knees.
He knows that his hands, in their fervour to keep up with his lips, push something down the curve of him. He doesn't know that those are his trousers, shoved down as an afterthought against the sharp angle of his pronounced knuckles as his hands press downward, feeling the curve of his ass against his palms. ]
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He moans wantonly into that hungry, devouring kiss; Godfrey's hands are on him and making short work of his clothing, breaking every record that they might have set together before now, and though a conjured mage hand is doing its part to tug at and loosen Godfrey's belt, the wizard himself is barely able to draw breath as he meets each needful kiss with one of his own, and he finds himself incredibly grateful that Godfrey had not chosen to remain in armor as they celebrated this evening.]
My love—
[He lets out a breathless laugh between kisses, untucking Godfrey's shirt and proceeding to pull it up and over his head as best he can without pulling away from him, because oh, that is the absolute last thing he wants.]
I believe I quite like this side of you—
[He's not felt anything in their lovemaking to be wanting, happy for the slow and steady pace they so often set, but this— this is something new and thrilling, a Godfrey he has not yet had the pleasure to meet.]
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No need for respectability governs him. No internal monologue in the world can keep him contained within himself. The quiet privacy of the tent rampages through him - whatever greedy remnants that might have clung to those self-imposed borders between nobility and indecency after the wine-wash are seared away by what this moment ignites in him.
He tastes his tongue and the buzz of his voice and that hot wanting roars through him, undeniable. There is hot flesh in his hands, but it's suddenly not enough; Godfrey wants to hold all of him.
He wants to kiss him slowly and passionately, and he's unable to slow the roar of his pulse, the kisses that come again and again. He wants to keep squeezing his ass and feeling the muscle twinge and shift in his hands, and he wants to cup his face as they join lips. He wants to taste his breath and the salt of his skin. He wants him breathless and moaning, deep inside of him, beneath him--
There will be cracks in the inebriation for him to peer down, come morning. None of them will give him any insight as to how he was finally separated from his shirt and the need to keep himself upright on two legs. None of it matters. Godfrey pants through gently parted lips and watches his hands move over his bare skin. ]
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The taste of wine lingers on both their lips and tongues, and Gale has lost track of how much clothing actually remains between them; he is too lost in this newfound enthusiasm of Godfrey's, too easily drawn into that same hunger, but he blindly fumbles onward in discarding the rest of it, wanting far more of what has taken hold of his companion. He has no desire to take the lead, to wrest it away from Godfrey when he takes it so rarely, but he does take a step backwards, followed by another as he draws his partner along with him, easing their way down towards the pillows that have been left strewn across the floor of the tent since the night before.]
Come here, my heart.
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This, though - the sight before him - stays. Hazy in his morning recollection, but there all the same; his love silhouetted in soft evening firelight, hair tousled, on his knees, hovering just above his hard dick, Gale's own bouncing as he settles into his position on his lap. Godfrey's broad and warm hand on his waist. The hot hint of colour he can see in what little light seeps through the fabric walls of the tent, sprayed across his cheeks, his collar.
Here is where, in his right mind, Godfrey might pause to think of logistical needs. The strain one might go through in this position, for instance, or the need for oil. The close proximity of murmuring voices and footsteps. The likelihood that they may be overheard.
None of these thoughts cross his mind. He's asked to come closer, and Godfrey, propping himself up on his elbow, pushes himself a little further. He pushes his palm into the ground beneath the pillows and runs his hand across the curve of his spine, pulls his face against his chest. A sigh is pushed roughly from him.
So are words, if one can make out the muttering he smears against the middle of his chest; I love you. ]
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It goes right to his cock, as does the sword-calloused palm moving along the curve of his spine, and Gale cups the side of his lover's face in hand even as aches for more.]
I love you.
[His thumb traces the curve of Godfrey's lower lip the moment it falls away from his chest, and he tips the paladin's face upwards so that he can meet his gaze, his own now dark with hunger, with need.]
Care to show me what you had in mind, my heart? I confess, I'm already finding it very difficult to be patient.
[How can he be, with such a feast before him?]
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The question doesn't fall bottomless through him. It enters some part of his head. It can be seen passing behind his eyes as he stares, breathless, taking in the man filling his lap and his arms and his life. He feels his palm warm his face and leans his cheek into it, slips his eyes closed. Warmth trills down his spine.
Godfrey responds before he realizes he had an answer to give; he brushes his lips against the inside of Gale's wrist, feels briefly the flutter of his blood beneath his skin through his sensitive lips. His roughened hands move quickly, greedily; along the curve of his spine, up his thigh, pressing his hips against his own hardness with a quiet groan.
This, is what he says. This is what he had in mind; every moment he could have his hands on him, share in his heartbeat, the warmth between them. He'd thought of nothing else. Until Gale asked him to word what had moved his hands, he still hadn't thought of anything else.
He turns his face. His nose presses against his chest as he kisses him, again. ]
We need oil, [ Godfrey slurs out that much, but proves no willingness to let Gale out of his arms to retrieve it. ]
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Easily remedied.
[The assurance is soft, the edge of his voice raw with want. It matters not that he remains held fast in Godfrey's arms; the somatic component of a simple cantrip is but a moment's work, and a spectral hand dutifully retrieves what they need. A small part of him takes some pleasure in knowing that even for the simplest of spells, Mystra must hear his bid for power, but it is greatly overshadowed by the knowledge that what he shares with Godfrey, her cold and distant heart could never truly grasp.
Gingerly, Gale takes the bottle in hand before he dismisses his spectral assistant— for the time being— and gently taps it against Godfrey's shoulder, letting out a shuddering breath as he makes an effort to remain restrained despite his own arousal.]
Shall I assist you?
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There's a moment before he realizes what the bottle is, or that he had only just asked for it, in which it exists as a mere obstacle to his current priority; suffocating himself between Gale's pectorals. His hand holding him by his back, pushing his body against his face, his other palm running the length of his naked thigh and tasting the warmth of his skin. He would live out the rest of the night in happiness here, if he would have been allowed to.
But he wouldn't be, of course - the delayed recognition of that bottle and its contents comes with an uncomfortable and profound pang in his hips, his cock pulling tight at the thought of more. He pulls back from his skin with a rough sigh, and looks up, touches Gale's gaze with his own. The words occur to him slowly, the shape of them before their meaning.
Once he has them, he reluctantly pulls himself free, slipping his hands from his body and leaning back to expose his hard cock pinned between the two of them. ]
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Though he was still inclined to let Godfrey lead so long as he wished to, it had become very clear that the man was well beyond the actual logistics of what was to come. It mattered little— they always found their way through well enough, and Godfrey has made his desires clear, desires Gale is more than happy to assist him in fulfilling.
He blindly uncaps the vial with the aid of his Mage Hand assistant to avoid spilling, propping one arm just beside Godfrey's head as he continues to kiss and nip at his broad jawline. Two slick fingertips press lightly against his entrance, gently circling it and painting him with oil as a cool and featherlight touch takes hold of his shaft, Gale's spectral aid taking Godfrey in hand as the wizard keeps him otherwise occupied.]