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inquisitornocturn · 6 months ago

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◇─ 𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖎 𝖊𝖙 𝖆𝖒𝖆 𝖒𝖊 ─◇

⚜ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Abelard Werserian x Rogue Trader!reader

⚜ 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: we fuck old men in this house lol, comfort, fluff, so much fluff (by my standard), guess what consent can be sexy, smut, body worship, cunnilingus, PiV, creampie, even more fluff at the end

⚜ 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: So much has changed since you have taken the title of a Rogue Trader and the worries just don't seem to stop. Day after day something keeps happening. More casualties, more damages, more things to do before your dynasty falls apart at the seams. And one person who you hope can comprehend the pressure you're under, do not seem to understand that you could use just one moment of reprieve. Until you make him understand.

⚜ 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 7,740 | on AO3

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: okay, full disclosure, i don't know how the first fic i'm posting for this fandom is Abelard and not Xavier or even Heinrix. he is in my top three for sure, but i fully expected myself posting something for the other two before Abelard and yet this is very much happening. i will reiterate my tags by saying - we fuck old men in this house and that's on that. on a side note - i have been also horribly enabled by @liocreates and @nananarc. Emperor sees that not only my flesh but also my mind is weak, so here we are, i am officially stepping into the fandom with probably the sweetest smut i have ever written. enjoy♡~

“Lord Captain.” Abelard’s voice punches through the cloud of your thoughts that seem almost physical in how much they fog your head.

No, not right now, you don’t want to hear whatever it is he wants to tell you.

Your trusted Seneschal, your most experienced advisor, your right hand man who became such within mere weeks of you taking the title of a Rogue Trader, however abruptly it have come to you. Too many things, too many loses, too many tasks need to be accomplished before your bloody inheritance of a voidship falls apart. Again.

Supplies, crew, the vessel needs repairs. If it can even last that long, until your spacecraft arrives at Footfall dock after you battled some xenos when defending one of the worlds that now belong to you, and even then – if she can survive the journey itself. And then there’s Kunrad and his betrayal that still are causing ripple-like effect over everything, and your aforementioned abrupt claim of a title, with mutinies simmering just at the surface line, tethering the edge of begrudging obedience and outright treason. All because Theodora was killed and you took up the mantle.

“Lord Captain.”

Abelard calls again and you clamp your palms to your ears, not wanting to hear it. You had your eyes closed since the moment first officer entered your study and found you behind your desk, piles of reports and several dataslates towering with their mountainous workloads. Two cups of recaf, neither of them warm or finished, balancing the edge of a desk and a servo skull that slowly but ceaselessly keeps printing a strip of parchment, the needle-like pen etching tiny black words in every possible centimeter of the white canvas.

Footsteps, and you lower your head, shaking your head slightly.

“Not now, Abelard. Please.” You say in a strained tone and footsteps stop, a second pass, then they resume. “Abelard, please.” Last word comes out nearly as a choked sob as you battle your exhaustion, your anxiety and your overwhelming desire to shut yourself in an airlock and have a servitor press the release button.

You can’t cope, not anymore. There hasn’t been a moment of peace ever since damned Voigtvir treason made your entire world turn upside down twice over.

“Lord Captain.” Third time’s the charm they say, but not tonight. Even though Abelard’s tone sounds softer, he’s no more successful in making you look at him than previous two times.

Having nothing else to say you just shake your head again in a silent plea for him to walk away and give you a moment, an evening, of reprieve from things constantly going wrong. This can’t be life of a Rogue Trader, can it? You heard of luxuries and parties, of admiration and battles, of claiming planets and bringing Emperor’s light upon the corners of the galaxy. This – is the farthest thing from stories that you have heard before Theodora got you brought to this ship.

More footsteps, this time to the side, and you hear glass clinking, liquid pouring, more glass sounds, then more footsteps and then – a hand on your shoulder than makes you flinch ever so slightly. Startled and with your heart beating much faster now, you rise your head and lower your hands, looking at Abelard who is standing by your side with a soft look in his eyes and a half-filled glass in his ring-adorned fingers.

“A drink might be in order, Lord Captain?” More of a question rather than him insisting you take the offering, but you do so gladly, your fingers brushing against Abelard’s when you take the glass, making you turn your eyes away.

What you wouldn’t do to have a warm embrace right now. It makes you ache in a way that you even miss your previous partner, who you dumped when he decided that joining Adeptus Mechanicus was his life calling. All of a sudden, just like that. And truth to be told, maybe it was he who dumped you and made up a lie so that you don’t feel as bad as you possibly could.

Still, in this moment, the loneliness of your life weights heavy on you. Too powerful for a casual chitchat, too respected to share a drink with, too blessed by the God-Emperor for a simple hug. Unless you order someone, but you find little comfort in seeking human contact in such way. Very little indeed, so that even this small touch with the man who you trust with your life is making you yearn for something more, a moment of peace that you know won’t happen.

“Thank you, Abelard.” Is all you murmur in response and the senior officer nods, making a step aside, but observing you keenly, watching you take a first tentative sip, then another, and a third that you swallow with a brief closing of your eyes.

“You seem exhausted, Lord Captain.” This time it’s a fact that is spoken out loud and you manage a crooked smile when you gaze up at the man.

“You think so?” You can’t help the sarcasm in your voice and Abelard’s eyebrows furrow slightly, then he scoffs and clears his throat.

“That’s quite obvious, Your Ladyship. Maybe you should get some rest.”

“Maybe I should, but…” You trail off and your gaze sweeps over the piles of reports, the same dataslates, two of which are silently blinking with unread messages like vile daemons winking at you in an attempt of foul seduction. You even make an effort to give a pointed look to the servoskull, still printing the strip of paper that has already accumulated a nice pile underneath it on the carpet.

“You have your officers, let us help you.” Abelard sounds positively serious and steps back to your side, reaching for the nearest winking eye of the dataslate, rings on his fingers glimmering in a soft light of illumination in the room, but your own hand darts out almost on reflex and grabs his wrist.

“It’s fine, I just need a moment to catch my breath and I can continue.” As you speak you feel Seneschal’s pulse under your fingers, thrumming in a slow, relaxed rhythm.

Abelard pauses, giving you a look of poorly disguised concern and he heaves a sigh.

“Generally, I would appreciate stubbornness in Lord Captain’s attitude, but you are going to run yourself haggard if you don’t allocate your duties, at least partially, to those serving you.” He doesn’t pull his hand away and in this moment you are grateful for it. Not only for the warmth of Abelard’s skin in your grip, but for another small contact with a human being.

Whether he already caught on that you yearn for it or not, is impossible to tell and you prefer if he didn’t know. You don’t want him to pity you even more, even if you might deserve it with how you are currently feeling.

“I will, just… not tonight. I will finish what I have to do and tomorrow I shall see what can be done.” Offering a small smile you finally let go of the Seneschal’s wrist and he remains quiet for a second, then sighs again and leans over the desk, flipping the blinking slates so that their screens stop flashing.

“You need a good night’s sleep, Your Ladyship, not more duties to keep you up until the late hours.” Undercurrent of softness in Abelard’s voice does not elude you and corners of your mouth twitch ever so slightly.

“Maybe not, but I worry that the vessel…” You can’t finish the sentence and you don’t need to, Abelard knows the situation after the space battle as well as you do. “I will sleep better when we manage to arrive at Footfall.”

“And we will.” Firmness in Abelard’s tone catches you by surprise and you look at him again only for your eyes to meet his. “Lord Captain, while I would be the first to tell that a healthy dose of paranoia is needed and even necessary for a Rogue Trader, I have to remind that you also need to think about your wellbeing. Millions of people depend on you and none of your subjects wish you to fall ill with worry or stress.”

“You sound worried yourself.” You manage another crooked smile but Abelard’s stern eye remains affixed on you with an unwavering look.

“I am. For you.”

The ancient chrono by your personal cogitator is the only one making sounds as you both look at each other and you finally give in, buckling under the intense gaze of a Seneschal’s grey eye. Your shoulders slump a little and you look at your glass, then sigh in capitulation.

“Very well. If you so wish for me to take a step back, then share a drink with me. I could use some company.”

Before Abelard has a chance to object or try to find a way to remain his usual stoic self, you stand, your massive chair slipping easily over the floor and forcing the Seneschal to step backwards from you.

“Lord Captain-“

“No lord captains, Abelard.” After a brief pause you add with defeat and resignation. “This is an order.”

There’s no mistaking the solemn tone in your voice as you issue your command and Abelard hesitates, but you do see him give you a curt nod with a corner of your eye while you walk around the desk to the right where a big, wooden couch is pushed against a wall, only a column separating it and the chrono.

When you approach the near ancient furniture piece, noticing that the padding has been replaced recently (most likely to remove Mort’s blood that was splattered on it on the night Theodora died), you sit, realizing that until now you haven’t done it. Couple weeks passed with so much happening that a simple act of sitting on a couch in your own study didn’t even occur to you. Not that you had any reason to do so until now.

Sounds of the decanter reach you when Abelard pours himself a drink and he makes an effort to look in your direction. It’s not hard to decipher his inquisitory glance and you nod, watching the Seneschal carry the crystal pitcher towards you and refill your glass.

“Thank you.”

Gratefully you look down at the pale amber liquid and take a sip while Abelard walks back to reinstate the decanter back to its rightful spot and then return to you, hesitating for a long moment until he finally sits down, with respectable and polite distance between you two. It makes your heart sink, but you try not to show it and just lift your glass to the first officer and smile.

“Don’t look so sour, it’s just one drink. Cheers.”

“I’m not displeased, Lord Captain, just worried for your wellbeing.” Abelard responds and watches you keenly when you drink at the same time he does. “You need to rest instead of staying up, drinking.”

“For a man your age, I hoped that you can understand a need for some company.” You raise an eyebrow at him and Abelard looks like he’s about to argue with you, but then lets out an exhausted sigh and finally offers you a small smile of his own.

“That I do, Lord Captain. Although I’m sure you could find better company for a casual conversation other than me.”

“And who you would suggest then?” Your smile widens and you watch with delight as Abelard’s composure wavers in light of you pushing back against his self-deprecating sentiment.

“Well, you can ask anyone aboard to share a drink with you.” He says with a degree of hesitation and your smile becomes bitter on your lips.

“You mean I can order them and they won’t be able to refuse.”

“Those willing to refuse a Rogue Trader would be, pardon my language, idiots, Lord Captain.”

“But I don’t want to order people to have a drink or a chat with me, Abelard. Even if I had… to order you.” A smile on your face fades as it was never there to begin with and you sigh, your shoulders slumping once again and you look at the glass in your hand, swirling the liquid briefly.

The weight of reality is just too much for you right now. You used to have friends before this, comrades, people who joked with you and didn’t need to be commanded with a threat of execution looming above them if they even thought of refusing you. Where’s that camaraderie that you miss so much right now? You don’t know if you will experience the joy of having friends and allies like you had in the past. You knew that with power and duty - loneliness comes as well, you just couldn’t guess how all-encompassing that loneliness can get and how quickly it will get to you.

Now you know.

You don’t notice how long the silence lasts, but a quiet shuffle finally draws your attention and before you even see it, you feel a hand on your shoulder. Abelard slid across the couch a little closer so that he reaches you and offers you one compassionate gesture that he comfortably allows himself.

First you look at his hand, marred with scars from countless battles while serving the Imperial Navy and then Lady Theodora, before you look at his face again, noticing expressed worry in his features.

“Lord Captain…” He begins, hesitating and picking his words carefully, then gives your shoulder a comforting squeeze while warmth of his palm begins to seep through your clothes already. “Feeling a tad… isolated as a Rogue Trader is not an uncommon sentiment.” Abelard’s voice is even, steady, like bedrock. “But you will find allies worth sharing your private moments with. You found yourself in this new life quite recently. It is difficult right now, it’s just the beginning, I understand, but don’t let it get to you, Lord Captain. In due time you will have a network of worthy allies and trusted friends.”

“Are you not one of them?” You can’t help but ask, and wonder if your eyes betray just how hopefully you voiced your inquiry.

Abelard does see, clear as day and he sighs, smiling to you.

“Of course I am, but I’m your officer, your Seneschal. In the end – I am just your loyal servant, Lord Captain, and you deserve people who are your equals.”

You blink few times in surprise and swallow dryly, bringing the glass to your lips to wet your throat.

“You don’t think we’re equals?”

At this Abelard part laughs, part scoffs as if with humorous disbelief.

“I am but a soldier, Lord Captain, and you are a head of the von Valancius dynasty. There’s oceans of difference in rank between you and me.” Then after a pause, he gives your shoulder another comforting squeeze. “But that doesn’t mean that I do not enjoy serving Her Ladyship, even if that means sharing a drink during a late night.” Softness in Abelard’s voice makes you look at him again and you take another sip from your glass while your eyes search his for the truth. Does he say this because he means it or out of duty that you haven’t seen waver even once since you came aboard this spacecraft?

“That’s not exactly what I meant.” You admit and feel Abelard withdraw his hand. Again you capture his wrist and nearly let go immediately, but refuse your instinct of propriety take over, holding onto it like it’s a fragile lifeline keeping you from sinking into the waters of solace.

“I know what you meant, Lord Captain.” Abelard sighs, somehow not surprised that you are holding onto him again, but you should’ve suspected that a man of his long life and even greater experience would notice what’s amiss faster than you were willing to show. “But I don’t want you to look for camaraderie in your subjects, you will find men and women more worthy of your time than your servants.”

No, he doesn’t understand and a feeling akin to desperation grips you. You have to make him understand so you squeeze his wrist firmer and lean in his direction, making a point of holding eye contact even before you start speaking.

“You are my equal, Abelard. To me – you’re not just my servant. You’re my most trusted ally, you’re my Seneschal, you are… the only friend I have aboard this ship, or maybe in the entire galaxy.” Something begins to choke you as you finish and turning your eyes away you let go of his wrist, feeling that you just overstepped an invisible line. “Apologies.” You whisper and empty your glass, unable to look at Abelard in this moment.

You hear the man let out a heavy sigh and he too drinks some more, unsure of what to say. Seconds pass, then maybe a minute, with increasingly uncomfortable silence mounting while neither of you speak.

“I think I better return to those reports. And I promise to look into what tasks I can delegate to others tomorrow.” A smile, forced one, makes its way onto your face and you stand, but don’t get to fully finish your movement because Abelard’s grip prevents you from doing so, his fingers wrapping firmly around your own wrist this time.

You plop down onto the couch and look at him with mild worry and curiosity, even some reluctance because you don’t want to hear he might possibly want to say. Something about that you shouldn’t think of him as a friend, maybe that you shouldn’t be so trusting, but no, the Seneschal just looks slightly sad, like indeed he is pitying you.

“You may feel lonely, but you are not alone.” Abelard says quietly and that mysterious, but very overwhelming sensation of choking returns. You swallow once or twice, trying to push the ball of emotion beginning to strangle you. “I am honored to keep you company in your moments of need or those of celebration, but one day you will find your people, not those who have sworn to serve you or to protect you because of your elevated station, you will-“

You don’t want to listen to this anymore, sugary words and promises of things to come when you’re aching now. So you do something brave.

Brave and very very stupid.

Letting your empty glass drop onto the metal grate at your feet, but ignoring the sound of shattering crystal, you move forward and throw yourself against Abelard, wrapping your arms around him in a hug that leaves no room for you to disguise how much your entire body is shaking. You press your face to the cold steel plate of Seneschal’s armor and close your eyes so tightly, like you want to prevent them from ever opening again.

“Lord Captain!” Senior officer exclaims and stiffens in your embrace but when you don’t move you hear him sigh and place his glass somewhere to the side. “Lord Captain… This is very inappropriate.” He murmurs and yet after a moment of vacillation, when his duty versus his desire to comfort you battle, he at last slowly puts his arms around you as well.

You don’t respond, don’t want to and don’t need to. You just sit still, with your body against his and smell everything that is Abelard: a musk of his masculine perfume, faint scent of oil from his trusty chainsword, even fainter smell of his bathing products. He smells clean, strong and strangely reassuring. A scent of a hard working, loyal man in your retinue. It makes you feel safe and protected, even more compared to when the Seneschal stands by your side with his sword raised and a pistol aimed at anyone who wishes you harm.

“Do you feel any better, Lord Captain?” He asks after a long, wonderful moment passes and you breathe easier, smiling even if he cannot see it at the angle your head is pressed against his chest. It’s a genuine smile, relaxed one, the kind of smile you have near forgot how to smile with.

“Yes, thank you.” You whisper and Abelard lets out a relieved sigh, then strokes your back with one palm so caringly that you begin to crave for this hug to last forever.

But there’s more. You want more than this, you want to forget yourself or your new life even just for a moment longer, something that haven’t happened even once since that day when Kunrad’s betrayal shook the entire dynasty to its core. And you forget yourself.

You forget and you yearn.

When you lift your face to Abelard you see a comforting smile on his features, making his scarred face look even more handsome than usual. Before you can think better, before you can stop yourself, before you can even realize that what you’re doing is now truly stepping over any and all appropriate boundaries between a Rogue Trader and her Seneschal, you straighten your back and press your chest to Abelard’s, pushing him against the backrest of the couch. When his eyes widen in attempt to comprehend what are you doing, your face levels with his and your gaze betrays your intentions so clearly that the man has a hard time processing the sudden change.

“Lord Captain, what is…” Abelard trails off when you lean closely to him, so close that you sense his breath fawn over your skin and man’s arms around you flex for a moment as if unable to decide if to pull you off or draw you closer.

“Please, just this… one… thing…” You hear yourself speak in a whisper so quiet it’s barely voiced at all and you can’t stop yourself, your overwhelming need for more just takes complete control. With your hands steadying you with a grip on his sides, you lean to Abelard, closing whatever is left of the distance between you and him, and press your lips against his.

Even the chrono seems to stop counting seconds and you feel Abelard freeze in spot, his fingers twitching briefly while they are still on your back, then you pull away slightly and look at him from under your eyelashes. Has he always been so alluring? The cornerstone of your new life from the moment you stepped into your shiny, novel role. Why you haven’t seen Abelard for what a man he is until now?

But now that you have, you are unsure if you can stop yourself with just stealing a kiss, and how your Seneschal blushes, ever so slightly, how his eye is wide with disbelief at what you just did, how his lips, slightly glistening from being pressed to yours, quiver just before he speaks… yes, you want even more than just this and your body responds to your mind’s desire, lighting a flame within you that can only be quenched one way and one way only.

“Lord Captain, this is way out of the line of appropriate conduct! You absolutely cannot do this!” Abelard speaks and his voice does sound offended, yet his eyes glance to your lips and he doesn’t move to push you off.

“Do you not want me to do this?” You ask with a small smile, confident that he won’t refuse you, that you can break this man’s impeccable bearing and experience, just to see what kind of fire roars behind the closed gates of his perfect conduct.

“It’s now about one’s wishes, Lord Captain, and you very well know this. This is an utterly improper behavior for a Lady of your status and as my direct superior!” And yet he still doesn’t dare pushing you off, only glances down when you rise one hand, caressing downwards his breastplate, then find the buckle of the straps holding it together. Soft sound of metal as you undo the clasp fills the temporary silence and you bite your bottom lip briefly.

“Maybe I’d like to know your wishes, Abelard. Do they include more than just pure duty? I hope they do.” You whisper and lean closer, watching Seneschal’s face become a shade redder when your palm slides under the steel plate now that it has been loosened and stroke his chest through his coat.

“My… wishes?” For a second he’s caught up in your gaze which is clearly showing your desire and the man considers you for a moment longer while you feel his heart beating harder against his ribcage. His eyes sweep down your face, noticing your own soft blush and your parted lips, enchanting him like an invitation.

It’s been so long he felt this… wanted. This desired. This much needed, and Abelard tries to grapple with his self-control, reminding himself of duty, of honor, how utterly infelicitous it would be if he responded to your advances. And yet the stirrings in his loins and the beat of his heart makes him yearn in return. Maybe if he allowed himself just another little kiss. Maybe, he can stop before it gets completely out of hand. Clearly his Lord Captain is in need for consolation and the Seneschal is not sure if he has the heart to deny you.

“My wishes remain the same.” He finally speaks again, the fingers on your back twitch again ever so slightly and move as Abelard’s fingertips begin to trace your spine so slowly you wouldn’t even notice if you weren’t completely still. “I wish for your wellbeing, Lord Captain.” And yet, despite his words, there’s that undercurrent you have been hoping for – the one of poorly controlled desire.

A widower who might as well have forgotten how a woman’s touch feels like. Are you the first since his wife’s passing to show interest in a man like him? The answer doesn’t matter, because when you inhale, preparing to respond, to push his limits of self-control a little further, your command over the entire situation gets usurped in a way you have no wish to protest – Abelard kisses you after quickly craning his neck while his hand at the same time press against your back, pushing you against him.

Just a kiss, you both tell to yourselves, just a moment of weakness and desire for closeness. It doesn’t have to go further than that, lead to anything more than this, to break protocols of conduct or rank, and yet it grows… the passion.

You are lost in this reciprocated kiss, your lips parting and letting Abelard in to taste liquor on your tongue just as you can taste it on his and you press yourself against the officer even firmer, control slipping like sand through your fingers. Abelard is not immune either, because one hand moves from your spine to cradle the back of your head as he deepens the kiss even more, expertly making your own heart thunder in your chest with how much passion he’s pouring into this seemingly simple exchange. Your breath hitches and you gently push against the Seneschal’s chest, parting your lips in exchange for deep breaths that mingle with his own labored panting.

One last chance to stop before this gets completely out of control and you destroy it with your hand as if you’re wiping off a fog from a mirror by placing a palm on his crotch and feeling a needy hardness there, just as you wished for.

“Abelard…” You whisper, pouring all the unsaid words into the syllables of his name and the man responds by conquering your mouth with another deep kiss.

“My Lady…” He utters against your lips in turn and you hope with all hope that he doesn’t stop because you don’t know if you can return from this until you reach the very end.

There’s no risk of Abelard stopping now though, because when the kiss breaks again he stands, for a brief moments startling you that he indeed will walk off, maybe even without a word, just to preserve whatever dignity he imagines he needs to save on your behalf, but no, with a huff he kneels in front of you and places his palms on your thighs. With upturned face your Seneschal pauses as you try to catch your breath.

“Lord Captain… Forgive me.” He says in a quiet, almost reverent voice, but then slides his hands higher and begins to undo your coat. You watch him unfasten two buttons before you caress the side of his face, careful of the augmetic connections to his bionic eye.

“Don’t apologize. Unless you want to walk away.”

“No, I… I don’t. I just hope neither of us will regret it.” He mutters and you see a shadow of worry slip across his otherwise determined expression and you make him pause, lifting his face to you by the chin.

“I know I won’t.” You assure Abelard and he shows a small, but confident smirk to you.

“Then neither will I, Lord Captain.”

You lean lower and place a nearly innocuous kiss to his lips, wanting him to return to your side on the couch, but he has other ideas and Abelard lets the kiss break so that he can continue undoing your coat. Once that is done, your jacket follows and then, your shirt. You notice a slight tremble in the officer’s fingers as he works one button after another, but his face betrays eager anticipation rather than reluctance, so you don’t mention it, just watch Abelard’s expression as he finally parts the edges of fabric that hid you from him until this very moment.

A breath hitches in his throat and Abelard pauses, tracing fingertips over your stomach, higher, around your bra-clad breasts until he cups them fully with both palms.

“Holy Terra…” He whispers, making you smile with a satisfied and warm smile that he doesn’t see because Abelard is too focused on your body. Again, with just fingertips, he grazes the mounds of your breasts and hesitates, but only to make up his mind between diving in and peppering your skin with kisses or undoing your bra entirely.

He chooses the latter.

A brief glance to your face as if to assure himself that you still very much need him just as he needs you and Abelard moves his hands to the alleyway of your breasts where the clasp resides, hiding what little decorum you still have left. No words are spoken when he undoes the mechanism and carefully, like a worshiper handling a holy relic, he peels the thin layer of your bra. You hear him audibly inhale when your breasts, released from their lacy prison, rise with each of your breaths.

“By the Emperor’s grace…” Abelard whispers again, not able to help himself and without hesitation or a second of pause he leans in and presses his lips against your chest, to your collarbone, forcing you to lean backwards against the backrest of the couch and tip your head upwards.

You mutter his name like a quiet prayer and run your fingers through his short, grey hair, letting your eyelids close and his hands grip your waist like he’s afraid that you might disappear if he doesn’t hold onto you. Slowly, gently, his kisses a trail lower, back to the mounds of your breasts, giving attention to each equally all the while his trimmed beard leaves your skin tingling where it rubs against you. He whispers your name, so quietly it almost escapes your notice and you forget it completely when suddenly your right nipple is engulfed in the heat of Abelard’s mouth, accompanied by gentle sucking that increases when you respond with a soft mewl.

With fingers still clutching the Seneschal’s hair, you lower your chin to watch him lavish attention onto your breasts, not taking too long to move onto the second and elicit more soft moans out of you, especially after he tests your limits and pulls at the left one with his teeth before releasing it and making you squirm where you sit. A confident smile, one that you haven’t seen on your trusted advisor, appears on his face, in tandem with a look in his eye that tells you that all the titles and ranks are now forgotten until later notice.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers against your skin, leaving your saliva lathered nipples to cool in the room’s air while he leans down again, kissing between your breasts, and again traveling lower while with a firm grip he supports you just under your ribcage, pulling at your waist and making your back arch.

You don’t know what to say or even if you need to say anything at all, but you chew on your bottom lip in anticipation while Abelard takes his time to unbuckle your belt and unzip your pants. A glance up and your eyes meet, a shared desire reflected in them, then you finally let go of his hair to prop yourself and lift your hips for him to peel your pants down your legs. Just for a moment he halts, then drags your panties together with your trousers. Buckles of boots get less time spent on them and then you’re naked in front of him, with a heat pulsing between your pressed legs.

Still on his knees, Abelard gently takes an ankle of your right leg and leans down pressing a chaste kiss on top of it, then begins trailing more of them upwards, to your knee, then over your thigh, all while his hands slide upwards the sides of your legs, following his rise. After a moment his hands slip to your knees and Seneschal rises his eyes to you, pure lust reflecting in them so much it makes you swallow, your own desire flaring up to match his.

“Don’t be shy, Lord Captain, let me see.” Gruffness in Abelard’s voice yields you even wetter than you were up until this point and you feel him pull your knees apart, to which you submit and grip the edge of the couch, seeing your arousal shamelessly smeared on your inner thighs.

Abelard inhales at the sight and you watch him involuntarily swallow, just like you did a second ago, and then he leans in, pressing his tongue to your drenched folds. You let out a moan as you inhale with sudden new sensation instantaneously clouding your mind and again grip his hair, then cup the back of his head when Abelard wantonly laps at your core, tip of his tongue slipping easily between each fold until it teases your entrance at which you mewl again.

“Abelard, Emperor…” You huff as he slides his tongue as deep into you as he can, as if wanting to taste your very essence, everything that makes up your desire for him, but he doesn’t linger, first brushing his upper lip over your swollen clit until his tongue follows, moving in circles and making you gasp with each breath you take.

Your fingers in his hair tremble as you watch your Seneschal lap at you like a man starved and you shudder each time he presses his tongue flat against the bundle of nerves that shoots a jolt through your spine with increasing euphoria. You mutter his name again, calling for him with a siren song he cannot resist. Abelard very much would like to see you come apart like this, to feel your thighs tremble against his ears and clamp over them as you shake with your climax, but he knows that he can make you feel so much more if he doesn’t rush. So he lifts his head, licking his lips clean after tasting the sweetest ambrosia you could have offered to him, and finally rises from his knees, gripping your hips with firm grasp and maneuvering you onto the couch and onto your back.

You reach up, wanting to remove at least some of his clothing that the officer is still wearing, but with one knee between your parted legs, to prevent you from closing them and hiding the most inviting view, Abelard begins to swiftly undress. Practiced movements of his fingers unfasten the clasps of his breastplate, placing it by the couch before he undoes his coat and shirt underneath. Your eyes roam his chest, still toned from battle and active lifestyle that he lives even under your command, and your fingers trace the top of it, slipping down over the grey chest hair that you so desire to be held against.

Abelard can see the passion and desire in your face, but he doesn’t need any more proof that you want him and only him, he got that confirmed when he felt your twitches and heard your moans just earlier while on his knees.

“Wider.” He softly says despite his tone having a layer of coarseness from his own need, and you spread your legs further apart for him while Abelard swiftly, in curt movements, undoes his belt, then his pants, finally showing you as much of himself as he is seeing of you.

You inhale sharply when you see Seneschal’s desire for you on full display and your eyes travel the length of his cock, from the root that is surrounded by neatly trimmed hair, then along the shaft, to the tip that is already weeping for you. You. You are having this effect on a man who you’ve come to know having steel-like resolve and composure.

While you swallow at the sight of Abelard’s hardness swinging gently but with heaviness, he slides a knee under your left thigh, keeping one foot down on the floor and his hands caress your breasts, ghosting over them at first, as if he’s too afraid to touch you again, but then his gaze washes over you like a scorching wave, seeing moistness seep out of you and downwards, last bits of restraint that he might has still been clinging to evaporate like a morning mist.

He grasps your breasts, massaging them while your fingers slide down to his abdomen and lower, then you take the slightly twitching length into your hands, giving it couple slow strokes that makes you moan softly. You want to feel him inside you and you can barely stop yourself from begging. Thankfully, Abelard does not have a mind to prolong this more than he already has. After playfully pinching your nipples and making you cry out, he grips the base of his cock, waiting just a moment longer for you to release it before aligning it with your entrance and beginning to slide in.

“Throne preserve me…” He says with a grunt and a sigh of utter satisfaction at the sensation of your wet heat surrounding his length, accommodating him with ease because of how aroused you are.

Abelard alternates between watching himself claim you and your face, to make sure that you’re comfortable, but you are much more than comfortable. You yourself are watching his cock push inside of you and you sigh with a moan when at last he buries himself fully inside. Your left hand clings to his thigh that is under your leg and you grab the armrest of the couch just above your head as well.

“You’re so beautiful, Lord Captain.” Abelard grunts, trying not to immediately begin plowing into you, starting it slow. One stroke, then two, prolonging the sensation of each and making both of you mark them with moans. “So… beautiful…” He says again and presses a palm to your right thigh, pushing it even further apart, then he places a palm on your stomach and his thumb presses against your clit, making you arch your back ever so slightly.

You watch his face, watch his eyes roam over you as he begins slowly picking up the pace, all while moving the pad of his thumb in circles and making you moan louder and harder, making you quiver already. Your fingers clutch his thigh and the armrest stronger and the ancient wood creaks under the weight motion of you indulging in each other.

“Deeper…” You huff, knowing that he can give you more of himself and Abelard eagerly complies, moving his palm from your stomach to grip the underside of your knee that was draped over his thigh just a moment ago, lifting it near to your chest while he leans in, and with one swift stroke, enters so deep that you cry out with pleasure.

“I knew you were needy.” Abelard whispers with a smile and you smile too, your flushed face and misty eyes etching themselves into his very heart.

“And you’re willing to oblige.” You whisper back and he chuckles, leaning onto his elbow and entangling his fingers into your hair when he cradles the top of it.

“That’s because you make it impossible not to.” Abelard huffs and kisses you deeply, beginning to move again, slower until you adjust to the new angle and depth, and then harder, his desire making him chase for his bliss. He doesn’t know how long exactly it has been since he felt this way, but the sensation is so overwhelming he cannot stop himself. “God-Emperor…”

He moves faster and stronger, with the new angle he keeps your leg firmly in place and his grip becomes almost bruising as he groans and sighs with every thrust that he delivers, making you moan and grasp onto him in return. Sheen of sweat on your brow, his beard tickling your neck as he kisses it and hard, deep pumps that Abelard grants you every time he rolls his hips against yours make beautifully licentious sounds each time his skin slaps against yours, accompanied by your body squelching around his soaked length. It’s like a melody to you both. This feels good, too good.

“Abelard, I’m-“ You start but cry out when he once again sheathes himself into you to the hilt and you sense him smile into the crook of your neck before the Seneschal rises his head and gives you a short kiss onto your bottom lip.

“Let me see you come undone, Lord Captain. Grant me this privilege.” He huffs and you suddenly realize that he’s tethering the edge of a climax himself, holding back only for you.

“Will you grant me the same sight?” You somehow manage to whisper a complete sentence and another kiss presses against a corner of your mouth.

“Of course.” He smiles and this time kisses you deeply, but briefly. His desire to see you fall apart under him trumping over his desire to keep tasting you.

Few more erratic yet precise strokes, few more thrusts that have you crying out with increasing pleasure and then – utter bliss. Your back arches, your nails dig into Abelard’s side and into the wood of the couch and you shiver, your body spasms with a wave after wave of pleasure that eradicates every worry, every doubt, every shadow from your mind. All while you don’t even realize how you keep crying out Abelard’s name as if you’re calling for the Emperor himself.

It’s everything to the Seneschal and he can’t endure this any longer, his restraint falling away completely and with a moan, while keeping his eyes on you, as you cup the side of his face after releasing your grip from the armrest, he spills himself in stuttering spurts that make his body tense and his thrusts falter in their rhythm until he stops completely, pressing his sweaty forehead against similarly slick yours.

Seconds or minutes pass while you both try to catch your breaths and remain still, yet Abelard’s muscles begin to shake from strain and he presses one gentle kiss to your parted lips, before he sits up and carefully pulls out of you, making you whimper both from small burst of pleasure and the absence that you weren’t quite ready to feel. He strokes your high with a tired, but content smile and eyes you entirely.

“I see my Lord Captain has been thoroughly sated, or am I mistaken?” He asks and his voice is hoarse, but you find yourself wanting to hear it like this forever.

“Temporarily.” You smile to him as well and Abelard’s face gain near comical expression of surprise until he chuckles and shakes his head.

“I may be too old for this.” He laughs softly and you sit up, gently cupping the underside of his jaw and leaning closer.

“Not too old for me.” You let your words hang in the air as you both smile to each other and then you kiss him, rejoiced when Abelard pulls you into his lap and your chest presses against his, skin to skin.

Your protector, your Seneschal, your advisor and now your lover.

Perhaps the ally you truly needed has been by your side all along and you wouldn’t dare complain about it.

Not even a little bit.

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