#thread: tavi x lance 01

[writermuses]

@thekingswench continued from here

"Lancelot du Loc." The tone of Octavius' voice was gravelly with equal measure of exhaustion and annoyance. The man had all but made a show of taking his clothes off and was now choosing to refuse to get in the bed? Octavius was having none of it. Tavi raised an eyebrow. "If I'm so old then it's probably best you leave me here in this hospice bed and take that vacation without me." His dark hazel gaze moved across the empty expanse of his bed and back to Lance, dragging his tongue across his lips. The situation unnerved Octavius just a little. Sure, it had been a while since he'd been with anyone, longer still since he'd been with a man, but this was someone he actually cared about. It was messy and Tavi didn't do complicated. Still, there he was, one raspy command in his native tongue, "Ven aquí y bésame!"

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Octavius bit at Lance's fingers holding his chin, a lazy smirk on his lips as his teeth held the man's finger for just a moment before he let go. "Sorry, I was just trying to see if I needed to pop that ego bubble you were forming over a compliment." He gave him a wink and pulled away, rolling off the bed and grabbing Lancelot behind the knees to pull him to the edge of the bed. Hovering over him for a moment, Tavi nodded, "Well come on then."

He led the way through the door to his master bathroom. As this was just one of his many safe houses it was by no way anything fancy, but it was clean and more than enough space for the two of them. Tavi turned it on while grabbing Lancelot a towel and hanging it next to his. When he turned around, Lance was walking in behind him and Octavius didn't remotely attempt to hide his pleasure in seeing the man roam around the place naked. The fleeting thought that he could get used to that still made his stomach flip. Instead of talking about it, he bit his lip and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade down his tan form, curling his dark locks. "You getting in, Feo?" Tavi chuckled, on eye peeking open.

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The other man's growl, impatient and a bit impetuous, makes Lance chuckle, slightly breathless, before he's being nipped at again, kissed again. He should have been offended that he was being called a punk, honestly. He was a grown man, certainly knew more than most what to do and when to do it, but he doesn't.

"Oh? Ye fink 'm pretty, Octavius," he says, voice still a little bit thick, lilting on teasing, but there's still that catch-his-breath quality there, too, and really he couldn't be helped for that one. His hips cock upward into Tavi's fist, though, as he's talking, even when the man pulls free of him, when it should sting and does, when the words he's hearing should be a bit more uncomfortable but they aren't.

Becuase it's Tavi. Because he, damn him all to hell, trusts him.

He leans forward, then, and slides a hand up Octavius's chest to grip the edge of his chin, gaze steady even as he bites back a curse. "Well. Ye learn somethin' new every day, hm. Aye, I want ye, but a shower'd be nice, too. Figure everythin' else out once we get there."

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When Lance didn't outright tell Tavi what he wanted, the merc growled, bending down and biting Lance's lip before he kissed him. He never stopped stroking the man, even when he moved his hips to slip out of Lance's ass. "Well it's not like I've ever asked you what you're into, punk. You're going to need to speak up. Didn't think I'd ever see you quiet. I'm pretty fucking versatile so If you want my ass you better ask nice for it because I'm not about to let you pin me down just because you have a pretty face."

Octavius pumped him faster, wrapping his fist more tightly around Lance and swiping his thumb across his swollen head every time his fist came to the peak. "Do you want my mouth? To fuck me against a wall? For us to go in the shower where you give my old as a few minutes to clean up and recover before I'm bending you over in the tub? I'm finding it really hard to believe that you never touched yourself to the thought of this happening, not even once." Tavi was a flirt, no questions about it. The longer he thought about the times he'd jerked off to porn or after a dream, there were definitely qualities of either someone in the group or someone in the dream (or both) that were distinctly Lancelot. The eyes, the build, that accent.

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Contrary to the cool way Lance approaches most things in life, he dis not make a habit of sleeping with friends. Not like this. Certainly not someone like Octavius, who was as dangerous, possibly more so, as Lancelot himself was.

When Tavi spoke again, voice breaking off to nip at his jaw, Lance didn't need to know the language to understand what he was saying. Tilting his head back, Lance gives the other as much access as he'd like, legs twining around Octavius's hips and pulling him tigtly against him.

Tavi came inside of him, and Lance groans, low, in the back of his throat, moving with him for a few moments more before he sagged back into the mattress. His legs are still wrapped tight around the other man's hips, and they aren't going anywhere any time soon. Lance is actually quite comfortable, though he throbs in Octavius's hand.

A small smile curls the edges of his eyes and Lance shifts closer, if that were possible. He leans forward, slightly hesitant, and brushes a kiss along the bottom of Octavius's jaw, across and to his mouth.

"Whatever ye think's applicable. Make me come, dunnae. 'S fine."

He didn't reach for himself, though he might have if this were someone else, would push them away and get it on with. As it is, he just settles back, the long lines of his body on display, letting Tavi do what he'd like because it's Octavius. Because he trusts him.

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Usually, Octavius never let himself lose control like this. If he was sleeping with someone it was rough and quick. He wouldn't have lazed about our watched them undress. The foreplay, especially the little touches and kissing, would have all been moot. Sure, the banter was there, but Tavi thought that Lance had to know how different this was for him from the start. As he ran his tongue up Lancelot's body, sucking on the man's neck just below that familiar sharp jaw, Tavi could feel himself reaching his peak.

With his muscles tense, he squeezed Lance harder, pumping him faster. "Voy a..." His voice broke and Octavius nipped his jaw. With every thrust he became more frantic, focused on tipping over the edge. It was the sound of Lancelot, the scent of him, the warmth of their bodies connected, the pressure, and Tavi tipped over the edge. Throbbing as he released himself deep inside of his friend- if they would even still be that. Chuckling and breathless, he continued to stroke Lance, "Me corrí." Licking his lips, stealing a kiss, he looked into those piercing blue eyes. "That was rude of me. How will I make it up to my guest?" He ran his thumb across the man's tip, wondering what Lance would ask for or if he was sated even though he hadn't finished. Lance wasn't exactly an easy read.

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Lance knew, somewhere at the back of his head, that Octavius could probably understand him. But the fore-brain and hindsight wouldn't always match up, and certainly not in a situation like this. One which, for all intents and purposes, Lancelot would have never dreamed to happen, no matter how often he'd teased the other man.

When Tavi whispers to him, just before kissing him again, Lance nods his head. "Parce que c’est vrai. C’est toi," he mumbles when he can speak again, interspersed with little moans, groans, and other noises he would have never allowed another person to hear. But this was Tavi, and he couldn't help himself, not when he was twisting his hand just right, thrusting into his body at just the right angle, and his mouth --

That mouth was a sin of its own, and Lance about said as much, back arching when Tavi licked the tip of his dick, still inside of him. (If he'd been in any other mind, Lance would have made a comment about not knowing he was that flexible, but it was lost to the utter, incomprehensible babble that spewed from his mouth, instead, as he grasped for Tavi's face and yanked him into another hard kiss).

"Tout ce que vous aviez à faire était de demander."

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Octavius was well travelled and quick to pick up languages. He considered himself proficient in many, though Spanish was his native tongue and English was his second and only other fluent language. All words failed him as he focused on the snap of his hips into Lance and the weight of the man's cock in his palm. He'd been with too many women to count, men just a dozen in his three decades of sex-capades and it was a quick and easy, albeit terrifying, revelation that nothing could hold a flame to being with Lance. The moment was only made sweeter by Lance's words. "Calling me pretty?" Tavi groaned, just a breathless whisper, hovered over Lance's mouth before he kissed him again.

The merc's dominant hand continued its tight, twisting and pumping ministrations as his right settled on the bed next to his lover's hip. Octavius slowed their pace, pulling himself almost completely out and pushing back in with a slow, torturous gentleness he'd never given anyone. His lips moved from tasting Lances mouth to his jaw and neck, lower and lower until he couldn't move lower. The man only straightened after flicking his tongue against Lance's tip. As if the taste of him had driven him wild, his dark eyes met Lance's and his pace quickened once more. "Nunca pensé que cogaría este culo apretado."

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Tavi's hand joins his on his cock and what can only be described as a whimper escapes into the other man's mouth. Tongue, teeth, hand, and cock all worked to undo the entirety of his being and they were doing a pretty damn fine job at it. Not that Lance was going to say anything, no. He didn't know if he would be able to, not with how his air was being swallowed, how he felt like he was being swallowed whole.

When Octavius stops, pulls away, bottoms out, Lancelot knows he swears, but in what language or to what coherency he doesn't know. Instead, he tries to move, to get closer once more. There's a fire under his skin, and he's edging closer and closer to Octavius to get rid of it -- or, perhaps, to stoke it higher.

Maybe if he was more coherent, Lance would be concerned about the hole they were making in the wall. He wasn't, so he didn't, just hitched his leg up higher on Tavi's lower back and rakes a hand through his hair once more. Lance liked Tavi's hair; it was soft and he liked the feeling of it gripped between his fingers.

"Un tel flatteur. Tu es beau comme ça, tu sais. Plus beau."

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Placing a hand on the back of Lance's neck, Octavius pulled his mouth closer in an all consuming kiss as he rutted into the man. His other hand stoked Lance in tandem. The long roll of Tavi's hips, the snap when they hit Lance hard and deep, unleashed a storm of unspoken feelings and he bit the man's bottom lip and straightened up just to catch his breath. A mistake, in truth, because Lance now laid out in perfection beneath him with kiss swollen lips and his pale shadowed dramatically in the dim moonlight that poured in through the bedroom windows. His hungry eyes moved to the place where they were connected and Tavi tightened his grip on Lancelot's cock, stroking faster as his hips stilled, bottomed out and reveling in the way Lance's body reacted to every slight touch. Then, with little prompting, Octavius met Lance's gaze a smirk on his lips because there'd be no 'getting to it' in his book, just the taking, over and over.

Tavi doubted Lance begged for anything in his life, but the way he fucked into him with new vigor made it seem like the mercenary was driven to see if he could make Lance change his ways. The bed scratched the floor, tapping the wall with each thrust and Octavius was glad that he'd intentionally chose an apartment where everyone was too old to hear the sounds coming out of the place. Between the grunting and groaning, Octavius moved a hand over every inch of Lance, memorizing the parts of him he hadn't seen before and in a rasp he moaned out his praises in Spanish, "Mi pompi perfecto," His tongue ran across his full lips. "Mírate tomando mi pito tan bien."

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Octavius growls down at him and something breaks a bit in Lance's brain at the sound. He doesn't stop the movement of his hand, doesn't stop the undulations of his body, rocking against the other man, even as he watches Tavi slick himself up.

If it were at all possible, Lance thinks he just grows harder at the sight, blue eyes blown black as he watches Tavi press against himself and slide inside. A long, low moan escapes from somewhere deep inside his chest, head tipping back as the rest of his body arcs upward, like it's been electrocuted.

Tavi's hands at his thigh and his hip are grounding, though, enough to catch his breath in the moment Octavius gives him to catch up. Gives him enough time to slide a hand up Tavi's side, eyes watching the other man's face as he draws his legs tight around the other's waist, pulling him closer with a moan.

"Oh, can ye," Lance asks, panting a bit. He wiggles his hips and arches a brow, a smirk on his face. They both knew why he hadn't said anything; it hadn't been stupid then, but it felt like it now. "Well, get to it."

Still, when Octavius snaps his hips, Lance's eyes shut and he's gripping tighter to the other man's skin, meeting each thrust with a roll of his hips, clutching onto his side and urging him on. When Octavius lowers more of his body weight, mouth catching his own in a tender kiss, Lance slides a hand into his hair and pulls Tavi closer, not wanting any air between them but the one they were sharing.

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When Lancelot moved Octavius’ hand away to stroke himself the mercenary growled in frustration. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he coated his fingers in spit, soaking his cock and lining himself up. Any hesitation would’ve brought Tavi to his senses and he didn’t want that, didn’t want to think about the friendship that this could be ruining or the professional one. He grunted as he pushed into Lance’s tight hole, his thick cock twitching with pleasure as Tavi’s hands kept a bruising grip to Lance’s thigh and hip. It wasn’t until Lance had taken all of him that he gave pause for the other man to catch his breath. Tavi’s chest rose and fell with the tension of a person that had just ran a marathon; making his deep, gravely voice come off a little softer when he said, “You’ve been dreaming about this and you didn’t say a damn thing? I’d say that’s pretty fucking stupid of you, cariño, but I think I can make it worth the wait.”

Octavius wasn’t one to believe that sex with one specific person could feel different than the rest. Pain and pleasure, in his experience, had always been just that. But looking down at Lance eagerly meeting his thrusts, cock in hand, left him with a dizzying need for more. Every snap of his hips, every moan that drew out of his partner, the echo of groans in the room between the sound of skin hitting skin, it was proving Tavi wrong. His mouth was dry as he lowered more of his weight onto Lancelot before licking his lips and kissing the Irishman with a tenderness that had never passed between him and another person before.

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Tavi's teeth skate down the side of Lance's throat and he groans, low, from the depth of his chest. He tilts his head, baring more skin, more of himself. This was easy. This was Octavius.

This was, also, Octavius flipping their positions. Lance lands with a huff, glaring with no heat, and uses the leg he'd hooked around Tavi's hips to pull him closer, a hand carding into the back of Tavi's hair, the other curling around his side. He smirks, leans up and hooks his teeth into Tavi's lip, licking the sting away a moment later. "Who said I havena?"

Lance removes the hand from Tavi's side, ghosting it down actoss the knuckles the other man had circled arounf himself. That hand continues down his own body, and Lance grabs himself firmly, stroking his length, arching his back and putting himself on display. There's a slight smirk on his face as he catches Tavi's eye, good-humored and a bit cheeky. "It wasna on me mind, no. But if yer offerin'..." Lance splays his legs wider, the one tossed around Tavi's hips pulling him in closer. "Show me what ye've got, Tav."

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There's a dynamic to being with a man like this that Octavius was always particular about. There were drinks and conversation, a hell of a lot of pickiness to make sure that he wouldn't be in a position where he climbed into bed with someone that wanted to dominate him. Lance hadn't been through all that scrutiny, instead he was there, tongues in each others mouths, hands pulling, hips rutting, and Tavi trying to muss out what in the hell he was doing with his best friend. Tugging on Lance's hair, exposing the man's neck, Octavius racked his teeth down the length of his neck, sucking on the base long enough to leave a mark, and then he rolled the man onto his back. "Lance, Lance, Lance." Tavi scolded him with a smirk, his weight pinning him to the bed. "Rutting into me like you've been fucking dreaming of it."

The exhaustion he had when he'd answered the door had melted away, his mind hyper focused on the task at hand... in his hand now specifically. The rough fingers of Octavius' dominant hand wrapped around Lance, stroking him slowly, his thumb brushing over his swollen tip with every go. "Did you come over here tonight so you could take my cock in your tight little Irish ass?" Tavi reached down, wrapping a fist around himself and pumping in tandem with Lance.

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It was an odd sensation, having another person's eyes so steadily fixed upon his body. Lancelot was used to curious glances and half-hearted conversation. In his line of work, a bodyguard was all but invisible, and that was how he liked it. It made his job easier. It made this encounter matter.

Being assessed was like being kissed, learning about someone's mouth the same way you learnt how they moved. That was what it felt like, kissing Octavius.

A hand comes up to clutch at his throat and Lance all but purrs into the other man's mouth, hips rolling into Octavius's beneath him, tilting his head to help deepen the kiss. When Tavi pulls away, Lance lets him, but not before catching his bottom lip between his teeth and tugging, a self-satisfaction evident in every movement.

He can feel the breath catch in his throat when Tavi licks his lips and Lance's eyes flick to the movement, minutely unprepared for the next kiss, the tongue licking into his mouth. It takes him only a moment to adjust, but when he does Lance ghosts a hand over Tavi's jaw and into his hair, tugging his head back and rutting into the other man's lap as he lets his other wander.

Fingertips skim softly across every divot in his torso, scars he'd seen but never felt, and commits them to memory; eventually, his hand comes to rest, curled around Tavi's side hard enough to leave a bruise if he let him.

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Tavi never let his eyes move from Lance's slow approaching form. Each step he took in the familiar details of him and the new ones, committing and recommitting them to memory. It was easy to let his gaze move back to the piercing blue eyes or full lips, but Octavius wanted it all burned into every part of his memory, every freckle and scar. It wasn't until the sole, tormenting kisses and purr of French against his skin that the mercenary let himself move. Though Spanish was his first language, he'd picked up enough in others to pass through every major city as a local. He couldn't tell if Lance knew that or was only teasing him because of his own use of Spanish. And none of that mattered once Lance had counted to three and those full lips were on his. "I want all of them." He strained, clutching the man's thigh in one broad hand and his throat in the other as he kissed him harder. Pulling away for the briefest moment, catching his breath, his tongue peeking out from his lips to taste Lancelot still on them and then chasing Lance's lips once more, tongue coaxing the other man's mouth open with a deep groan. If that wasn't an indication enough of what he wanted, Octavius' hand moved higher, taking a handful of Lance's ass and squeezing, tugging, and rutting as he kissed the Irishman greedily.

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"Octavius de Vries," he returns, smirking slightly at the mild annoyance. He hadn't meant to annoy, not necessarily, but it was a bit of an added bonus to Tavi's default demeanor. Lance was still leant against the side of the chair, but moves when Octavius glances to the side of the bed, arms dropping to his sides as he saunters closer. He walls slowly, carefully, on the balls of his feet so he doesn't make noise, eyes still taking in the sight of Octavius spread out in his bed, the empty side that Lance would be occupying shortly enough.

Knowing Tavi should have made this harder, more complicated, but it didn't. In a way, there was a sense of comfort in that - that he knew Octavius. There was no reason to feel awkward or odd, for unnecessary fumbling; of course, there would be, but it was not the type to force silences and teenaged fumbling beneath the sheets.

Lance set a knee to the side of the bed, smile widening as Tavi licks his lips, and stretches forward, sliding up the bed and resting on his elbows over the other man. He moves slowly, not because he wants this to last (though any other time it would be a fun teasing) but because it is a choice, for Tavi, mostly, but himself, as well. While he had always teased, had always poked and prodded, if this was not something the other man wanted he would back away without hesitation.

"Une suele," he asks, a brow arching. He tilts his head and presses his mouth, feather-soft, to Tavi's hip, just above the band of his boxers. "Pas deux?" The second is higher, a hand following to skim up his stomach, and is placed against his chest. "Ou trois?"

The third was set to his mouth, firm but not bruising. If one were to look, they would consider it soft - it was not, not entirely.