#Menphina lovers over here taking you out to kiss under the stars

[this-is-ris]

What experience does Ris try to give those she loves? A summer dawn? Laying in cool grass on a warm evening? Stargazing under a blanket? What's the thing she loves best that she tries earnestly to share with her loved ones?

Warmth and Comfort.

The warmth of her hand holding onto yours, a smile that glows with promise- she wishes to share a special place with you. A place to lay back in each other's embrace and watch as the sun drifts off and makes way for the Lover's light. Even with the chill of night, there is warmth from one another and a soft quilted blanket.

The night is still, gentle breezes make the surrounding trees dance and sway. Silence is broken into gentle laughter and there you two are...gazing into the night sky, picking out stars and constellations.

You might just be the most beautiful creation she has ever seen, but nothing compares to the glow you bare basked in her Lady's moonlight.

-This is what Ris wants to share more than anything.

[aroseyetbloomedwrites]

Theme: Somnus [A Francel/Haurchefant Fanfiction]

Will be cross posted later to: PhoenixUnknown. I am Tired

Rating: [M] Lemon on the citrus scale.

Category: M/M

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Pairing: Francel de Haillenarte/Haurchefant Greystone

Summary: Exploration of the kink borne of Somnophilia between two secret but not so secret lovers. They never fooled anyone, but everyone will play along for the sake of propriety. Or something. 

A one word prompt given me by my FC. Which I have honestly never, ever done before because it so rarely compels me which is why I never post one word prompts. But, well--here we are.

Sneak peek: 

          It was something they had spoken of only briefly, merely in passing as their passion grew and simmered beneath their skin. A festering love grown from childhood, to Knight and Lord of their respective camps, their near-and-yet-far dwellings. Where only furtive kisses beneath lamplight and a moon missing in the sky was safest. When, with but a touch of hands brought them to a heavily closed oaken door room, locked, barred, and a bed could finally be proffered. For, Francel deserved not the cold wall, nor stone ground, deserved not even the idea someone might turn a corner, find them in some filthy closet amongst Francel’s carefully inventoried provisions. Hidden between table legs, buried to the hilt and suffocating this beauty with a too large hand so not a heavenly sound may escape. Never this, but only a soft fur rug beneath exquisite toes to be swept off feet, cushioned upon a bed, warm and downy soft. To be kissed with reverence, and for silken fingers to dance up the muscles of his arms, into star-kissed tresses, held close and beloved. 

          When the fancy strikes, when the chance arrives, their once in a blue moon to play. Safe. Not too extreme. To fit the delicate sensibilities of his more shy and inexperienced, dearest friend, most precious of lovers. His Rose.

          Somnophilia.

          Francel had taken their discussion to heart, to head. Though knowing it had been intended for himself, felt his courage compounded the longer he thought, daydreamed, fantasized.

          Corentiaux does not hardly bat an eyelash when Francel carries himself into Camp Dragonhead, hat off when through the doors. Highlighted by the fire still burning, and Haurchefant’s right hand man standing at attention for him. He’d been bowed over the map table, pouring over something or another. Francel gives him an easy smile which sets the man at ease, but certainly does nothing for the fluttering in his breast. Cavalier pressed to his sternum, as if that would hide the way his heart strove to choke him.

          “My lord has taken his rest at last.” Corentiaux tells him, it is terribly late in the night and Francel can only nod solemnly. 

          “I suppose he has, and without sup as well I suspect.” And holds up a parcel neatly tied in one large knot with all four corners at its top. Corentiaux chuckles knowingly, and is none the wiser of its contents. “I think he can suffer an awakening tonight if it spares him a sugar crash in the morn.” Francel continues. 

          “Of course, my lord! Shall I show you the way?” 

          “Nay, I know it well. Thank you, kindly.” 

          A sweet smile betrayed his intentions most wicked. 

          Just as Corentiaux had said, Haurchefant lay in bed, the blankets around him pulled to his chest and his head was turned into the downy of a pillow. Truly he must have been exhausted, for under most circumstances Francel knew the man would have started awake. Not a word of complaint from he as he crept forward, and suspects, perhaps because it was himself Haurchefant kept his ease. Somehow, someway--is able to sense the love of his aether, abundantly warm and wanting of him. The cloth of his parcel falls away at his worrying fingers, nothing but a securely wrapped bottle of oil left in his trembling fingers, and a trail of large kerchiefs on the floor from the locked door to the foot of Haurchefant’s bed. 

          The fireplace dwindled low, and glowed a warm orange, warmth still radiated; and yet Francel knows better than to pull down the weighted blankets, and instead crawls beneath from the foot. Trails the tip of his tongue against an exposed ankle before settling atop Haurchefant’s knees with care. Tongue in cheek, breath barely kept in check as his mouth finds the heady bulge in Haurchefant’s front. The weight of it against his questing mouth makes his heart leap and his own prick twinge with want. 

          So, sneaking fingers find the hem of sleeping trousers and pull, pull, slide… until Haurchefant is free, swelling slowly beneath his nose. The fabric lost in the sea of their blankets. Francel bites his lip, peeks up from the covers cradling his head, to the hard stomach and gently moving, chiseled chest before him-sleep still deep, and quietus snores muted through the feather blanket. With Haurchefant so unfettered, slides eagerly his tongue over the hefty length lain heavy against Haurchefant’s hip. Drinks deep that heady taste as his tongue remaps contours he’s tasted before. Draws gently his firming glans into his wanting mouth, peach and wet, suckling at him with care, a gentle roll of his tongue over the tip, around, and around. Every draw upon the cock head soft, and sweet, quiet and loving. As are the hands which slide up Haurchefant’s legs, pressing them apart to slide more easily betwixt rather than rest upon. Fingers first find themself past the rubber stopper of the bottle and now newly shining with oil, transferred slick between Haurchefant’s legs. A wet finger finds the subtle part between his Knight and presses carefully within. Slow and gently working circles to ease him open, and to accept more of him in without tension. Testing forward in askance, and forcefully taking nothing. 

          Above him, Haurchefant groans but does not awaken. For wet dreams are nothing new to he, and rarely do they waken him but for the end when discomfort takes him. While blissfully more intense than normal, his aching body is too weary to let him up. So this man lays in brow furrowed ecstasy, the heat rising so that he has to push the covers from his chest in his sleep as sweat begins to bead and shine. 

          Francel can feel the length as it hardens and swells against his tongue. Sucking more of him in before he becomes too great to contain, relishing the weight of him on his jaw, the growing strain which aches and makes him harder yet to contain. Saliva wet on peach lips bruising, gleaming on a shaft which slides in and out from such noble tiers. His throat a distant ache for the exaltion of feeling his love down his throat until he is too, too engorged to do so. It comes too soon for Francel, when Haurchefant’s cock forms too rigid, and his throat reflexively closes around the glans of it where it tries to slide, he croons wistfully around the mouthful which stretches thin his weary lips. One day, one day he wishes to deep throat Haurchefant at his fullest, feel him bulge in his throat--for now, contents himself with the mouthful he manages, a comforting half length his tongue can twist around, just as his finger does to the knuckle. Haurchefant has begun to tremble. 

          With Haurchefant stuffed within his mouth thus, tongue a clever race up and down the shaft, another finger parts Haurchefant. The oil slick and helps him slide home, and, with the spread of those two digits within, Haurchefant’s back arches off the bed in a fine curve. Cock pressed against Francel’s throat a near thing to choking, but Menphina--since it’s his, he’ll do anything for him that he might feel so good. As he nears the end, the subtle upwards thrust into his throat becomes steady repetition, the breath ragged from his nose on every upwards drag before the next effort to swallow him whole - there are hands in his hair, curled tightly, pushing him away, but not letting him go far. And, when Francel looks up, the blankets thrown away, Haurchefant is peering down, bleary eyed and breathless. Two fingers are still buried in a suddenly much tighter ass, clever thumb stroking a heavy sack. Haurchefant moans then, sweat sticking sleep mused hair to his temples and cheeks. The flush of heat in his ears, and creeps steadily down his neck. One hand releases Francel to put knuckles to his teeth, cut upon. Eyes on him, and him alone.

          That Look…

          Dodging forward, Francel put powerful thighs over his slim hips, whets his mouth at the brush of his prick where once slender fingers had been. Thirst nigh unquenchable. And Haurchefant is so, so ready--eager even in how he writhes on the bed, the roll of powerful muscles beneath taut pale skin. Francel quivers to see it, that mouth open and left wanting. He bows over Haurchefant, beating breast a whisper caress against Haurchefant chest as he takes those lips. Hips hitch higher, and the press of a wet glans an easy slide within, then. Haurchefant sighs in bliss to take him, puts weakened arms around trembling shoulders to cradle the smaller ever closer. Francel is left breathless, needing only press forward to fill himself within and is met with no difficulty. Haurchefant smiles against Francel’s mouth, sleepy and droll, a slow and lazy kiss with the barest roll of tongues set to tease and test. Francel was easy, and comforting to take, there was no test of it, no challenge leaving him striving and heaving, wincing and waning. Just as he fit easily all within his mouth, soft, snug, the perfect mouthful, so too did he within here as well. And Haurchefant loved him so completely, unadulterated, for all of him. From the soft press of unchapped lips against his own, near flaxen hair a brush against his forehead, to the clutch of soft thighs against his arse where Francel rocked with care against him. A soft grind which made him hum and awe with approval, and with his mounting gratification. He kept Francel close with legs locking around his middle, head set to swimming when Francel managed to sit up again and grind into him. Slender fingers drift along the plains of his chest, run across every scar with unhidden adoration, press into every divot of roving muscle, slide against the musculature along the sides of his ribs, which bring a smile and draw forth a breathless laugh from Haurchefant, the ticklishness erotic in itself. Those hands pressing upon his hips, thumbs stroking over prominent hip bones. 

          And oh, how he thrusts, inexperienced, but eager, listening to every sound Haurchefant murmurs, moans, keens so that he may know how Haurchefant wants it, how he likes it. Tries his damndest to give him everything he asks for. How the sensation drowns Francel, has eager fingers plucking hungrily at Haurchefant’s hefty cock. Fingers usually strung upon the piano run just as deftly the length of his shaft. The firmness of his grip, its surety there near as natural as it were along the neck of cello; and Haurchefant felt so satisfactorily played. Notes just as clear were wrung from his throat as they were from Francel’s instruments. And, he knows how naturally Francel cannot last under such duress. Pinned thus between his love and his legs, long fingers twined ‘round his shaft to thumb his cock head, and stroke his length to the sharp jut of his hips. Like a snow halo fanned out upon his downy pillow, his head is thrown back, lips a moving prayer as Francel brings him closer. How furiously hot fingers work at him, and the slide of Francel’s prick in, out, and in, brings their joining to white hot focus. But, Francel cannot last him, and eagerly sighs his ecstatic bliss when sweet release finds him. His hips a static stutter as climax takes him and his seed spreads warmth within his wanting knight. Francel though heavy with lethargy nearly taking his weary limbs, still moves. The slip of his small, softened prick without, that he can untangle from Haurchefant therein, lean t’ween his legs instead, bowed over the swollen length and ease him once more into his wet mouth. Vulgarly assaulted by the clench of a too eager throat, and the hot press of a soaking wet tongue… Finds that there is a clenching knot in Haurchefant’s stomach, it ravels tighter, slides with sticky warmth within his belly until with a sigh escalating into a blissful outcry; he too is met with his release at every insistent bob of Francel’s flaxen head. How admirably, with loud gulps that his Lordling swallows him up, the clumsy lave of a tongue around those sensitive ridges of his glans until every over-sensitive drop is wrung free and slides down Francel’s gullet.

          Together they eagerly clasp together, Haurchefant bringing sleep, and now sex weary limbs around Francel to cage him in, rolls so that they are chest to chest on their sides. His broad shoulders block the Lord from the doorway, though securely locked, felt his protectiveness swell. Their legs a tangle in twisting sheets that Haurchefant and he struggle to bring up to their necks. Sharing in the glowing warmth of their room, their nearness of body mirrored the nearness of their hearts.