[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.]
[ Godfrey's chest flutters in exquisite anticipation the moment his breath blushes against his chest.
Warmth shivers in the hollows of his shoulders like rainfall as he feels his lips against his skin. Godfrey's fingers are strong in his hair, tangling in its soft coils, twitching tighter as he makes his way up the length of his chest. Hot breath catches in his throat. The gentle indulgence throbs in his cock, tight in the bottom of his hips.
It's a rare state Godfrey finds himself in. Were he not so addled by his drinking, he would feel compelled to reciprocate - to not allow himself to luxuriate in the sensations Gale subjects himself to. He would shake himself of the profound ache for touch, and the paralysis which accompanies it. There's some slow remnant of this instinct in the way Godfrey's head turns toward him as he reaches his strong neck, the hard sigh in his hair as he feels his cheek below his thumb. ]
Hnh--
[ Godfrey's fingers wind again through his hair as he feels the blunt edge of his teeth, his hot breath flush against his tender throat, and he's pulled back under the hot tide, surrounded by no thought but the physical sensation and how to avail himself further to it.
Godfrey shifts his hips to accommodate Gale's hands before he registers his own initiative. Cool, slick fingers press against his tender entrance and he shivers, angling his hips, as eager to press against the welcome intrusion as he is to slip his hard cock through spectral fingers. ]
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no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
Warmth shivers in the hollows of his shoulders like rainfall as he feels his lips against his skin. Godfrey's fingers are strong in his hair, tangling in its soft coils, twitching tighter as he makes his way up the length of his chest. Hot breath catches in his throat. The gentle indulgence throbs in his cock, tight in the bottom of his hips.
It's a rare state Godfrey finds himself in. Were he not so addled by his drinking, he would feel compelled to reciprocate - to not allow himself to luxuriate in the sensations Gale subjects himself to. He would shake himself of the profound ache for touch, and the paralysis which accompanies it. There's some slow remnant of this instinct in the way Godfrey's head turns toward him as he reaches his strong neck, the hard sigh in his hair as he feels his cheek below his thumb. ]
Hnh--
[ Godfrey's fingers wind again through his hair as he feels the blunt edge of his teeth, his hot breath flush against his tender throat, and he's pulled back under the hot tide, surrounded by no thought but the physical sensation and how to avail himself further to it.
Godfrey shifts his hips to accommodate Gale's hands before he registers his own initiative. Cool, slick fingers press against his tender entrance and he shivers, angling his hips, as eager to press against the welcome intrusion as he is to slip his hard cock through spectral fingers. ]