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Banneaux called for Zephirin in the morning, quietly opening the door to let him know that he’d awoken, and that he was ready to get dressed for the day.
It was a familiar routine at this point. Years of experience as a knight had trained Zephirin’s body to instinctively wake at the sixth bell, and though Banneaux tossed and turned violently in his sleep, he often didn’t rise until the sun was well in the sky. Zephirin had taken to dressing in his armour and standing watch outside of Banneaux’s door until it cracked open minutely hours later, clutching the twisted remains of Shattered Heart in front of him like he’d done so many times while on duty for the Archbishop.
He stepped inside Banneaux’s room to see him sitting by the small table near the dresser, dressed in an elaborately embroidered silk robe with a mug of tea clutched in his hands. He’d left it untied, leaving Zephirin with a clear view of the rune tattoos that curled under his chest and on the flat plane of his stomach, that he knew to dip down either side of his crotch to his thighs but hidden by his smallclothes. Zephirin shut and locked the door behind him, leaning his sword against the dresser and removing his gauntlets, like he always did. He felt Banneaux’s eyes following him lazily as he moved closer to the bed, to the clothes laid across the sheets.
The dressing had started innocently, Zephirin coming to Banneaux’s assistance the morning after a pleasurable night in Kugane when he noticed that he was having trouble with the buttons at the back of his robe. He didn’t know when it evolved into such a thing, but Zephirin found he didn’t mind it, even if it wasn’t strictly necessary. Banneaux was an adult, he could dress himself, even if the clothes he was drawn to had so many buttons and laces it took him nearly an hour to be fully ready sometimes. Besides, Zephirin liked feeling needed by the Warrior, felt as though he had to work for his place in Banneaux’s bed. They’d evolved past the disgusted glares Banneaux had pinned him with when Zephirin was in his vicinity, instead replaced by simple tolerance, but Zephirin knew his role as bedwarmer could end as soon as it began.
The set Banneaux had chosen for the day was simple, by his standards. A nearly floor length black leather coat, trimmed with gold ornamentation; a deep red blouse, and an elegantly patterned black corset; his usual breeches and thighboots; and finally, black leather gloves, worn from years of use. Zephirin took the blouse into hand first, fingers rubbing along the fine silk, as he waited for Banneaux to finish with his tea. His choice of beverage largely depended on what was most available at the time—matcha that he’d grown so fond of in Kugane, spiced ginger and persimmon tea in Doma, fermented tea sweetened with dzo milk in the Steppe—and today was no different, Gyr Abanian rooibos steeped in warm spring water.
Banneaux set the empty mug down on the saucer, yawning lightly. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” Zephirin replied. He came to stand behind Banneaux’s chair, swallowing as he slipped the robe off and let it pool to the floor. He’d seen Banneaux naked only hours before, but he still appreciated the sight of Banneaux’s bare body all the same—the corruption that flickered beneath the surface, the lithe planes of his body. Banneaux normally wore so many layers that even the smallest hint of skin was a treat, so to see him in nothing but his smallclothes was delectable.
Zephirin couldn’t help himself. He leaned over to press a kiss to the nape of Banneaux’s neck, mouthed over last night’s love bites, but was stopped from sinking his teeth in and deepening them by Banneaux’s amused huff. “If you would hurry, Zephirin.”
“Right.” Chastised, he pulled back, shrugging the blouse over Banneaux’s shoulders and doing up the buttons. His trousers came next, tight leather that clung beautifully to Banneaux’s pert ass and kept in place with buckles fastened around his thighs and calves. Banneaux preferred to put these on himself, the act of shuffling them up his legs too awkward with assistance, so Zephirin retrieved his corset instead. He’d initially questioned Banneaux’s choice to wear one during battle, thinking it would be unnecessarily restricting (and his waist was already small enough without the assistance, Zephirin thought, he could nearly encircle it completely with his hands), but Banneaux did not lace it tightly, instead using it to keep his shirt in place under his robe.
When he was done with his trousers, Banneaux stood, turning so Zephirin had free access to his back. He let Zephirin hook the corset closed around his waist from the front, before beginning with the task that was doing up the laces. Though his lacing had been messy at first, Zephirin had gotten better at it with practice, knowing just how Banneaux liked it—not loose enough that it would shift around throughout the day, but not so tight that it was uncomfortable. When he was done, Zephirin tied the excess ribbon into a bow, tucking it into the lacing so it didn’t risk coming loose while shifting against the inside of Banneaux’s jacket.
Unbidden, his hands drifted to Banneaux’s waist, stroking along where the corset rested above his hipbones. Zephirin thought of how soft the skin was underneath, how often he left bruises against Banneaux’s sides simply by gripping too hard while he thrust into him, and pulled his hands away like he’d been burned. He tried to play it off by slipping his fingers underneath the corset lacing, checking the tightness, but when he looked up he met Banneaux’s eyes over his shoulder, the knowing expression on his face saying it all.
Noticing the way Zephirin had frozen, hand against the small of his back, Banneaux gently reminded him of his task. “My coat, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Zephirin swallowed, ears burning, and nodded. This article of clothing, at least, was simple enough, Zephirin only needing to hold the coat up so Banneaux could slide his arms into the sleeves. Banneaux turned around, resuming his seat, so that Zephirin could buckle the harness that kept the jacket from shifting about on his person as he went about his day. He cut a slender figure, like he did with most of his robes, the long tails of the coat billowing upwards when he casted a particularly powerful spell, or dashed forward with tendrils of sanguine aether surrounding his rapier.
Now for the thighboots—soft, flexible black leather with a small heel, shaped perfectly to Banneaux’s legs. They allowed him to run long distances, to dart about the battlefield like he loved to do, accentuating his thighs all the while. Banneaux had put socks on when he was dealing with his trousers, so he simply pointed one foot, letting Zephirin kneel down to guide it into his boot. From this position, Banneaux above him, Zephirin felt particularly subservient, and he felt his mouth go dry as he remembered all the other times he’d kneeled for him, letting Banneaux desperately fuck his mouth as he chased his orgasm. He made sure the first boot was secure before starting on the second, pausing as Banneaux crossed the leg he was working on over the other casually, giving him the air of someone who held the reins, who possessed immense amounts of power yet couldn’t care less what he did with it.
Because the truth was, Banneaux did keep Zephirin tight on a leash. He would lick the soles of Banneaux’s boots clean, if asked, would kiss the very ground he walked on. Banneaux must have known that, because the tip of his boot came under Zephirin’s chin, tilting it upwards so he could look Banneaux in the eyes. He was smiling something dangerous, like he could see into the depths of Zephirin’s soul, his desire, and if he wasn’t before Zephirin now found himself terribly aroused. Without thinking, he leaned forward to kiss the top of the boot, over the buckle he’d already fastened, before finishing with his task.
Banneaux’s voice interrupted him as he reached for the gloves on the table. “You’re awfully distracted today.” He held out his left hand for Zephirin, letting him slip the soft leather over his fingers. Gyr Abania was, realistically, far too warm for one to wear gloves if they didn’t need them, but he’d seen the way Banneaux had wrung his hands nervously when they were missing, the proof of his corruption on display for all to see, and so elected to dress him in them anyway.
Zephirin looked away, unsuccessfully ignoring the twitch of his cock in his breeches. “…You have that effect on me.”
“Do I, now?” Banneaux said, like he didn’t already know that. He cupped Zephirin’s cheek with his ungloved hand, scarred palm rough against his skin. “What about me, then, leads you to worship me like that goddess of yours?”
Something inside of Zephirin cracked, grabbing Banneaux’s wrist to take two of his fingers in his mouth, staring up at Banneaux through his lashes as his mouth fell open in surprise. Banneaux’s eyes darkened, letting Zephirin take his fingers deeper, choking when his nails brushed against the back of his throat. He could get off like this, with nothing but the taste of Banneaux on his tongue, because it was Banneaux.
“Like I said,” Banneaux continued, voice slightly strained. “Distracted.”
Zephirin moaned in response, scraping his teeth against Banneaux’s fingers. Banneaux hissed, pressing further into Zephirin’s throat, and if Zephirin didn’t already know what it felt like to be tempered, the numb absence where memory and willpower should be, he’d swear that this was what it was, being fixated on Banneaux’s every mannerism while he gagged on his fingers. Drool leaked from his mouth as Banneaux pressed down on his tongue, making him feel like a mad dog with the way the action caused his cock to throb painfully within his breeches. Zephirin held back the urge to grind against Banneaux’s foot without permission, keeping as much of his remaining composure as possible, but he still whined mournfully when Banneaux withdrew his fingers, scraping the nails painfully against his tongue and drawing blood.
“Needy, too, aren’t we?” Banneaux laughed, smearing his saliva against his lips with his fingers when Zephirin nodded hurriedly. “Had I known you’d be this insatiable in the morning, I wouldn’t have stopped you after one round last night.” Zephirin shuddered at the thought, of Banneaux coaxing orgasm after orgasm from him until his cock refused to harden, utterly spent.
As if reading his mind, Banneaux dragged his gloved hand through Zephirin’s hair, nails scratching pleasurably against his scalp through the leather. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.” Zephirin gasped when Banneaux nudged his legs apart, finally, finally applying friction where he needed it the most as he rubbed his boot against Zephirin’s clothed cock. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Banneaux’s knee as he began to rut, gripping Banneaux’s thighs with such force he was sure he would leave bruises for days afterwards. He was almost dizzy with arousal, pent up the entire time he was dressing Banneaux, and he was so close to coming he felt as though he might snap.
“Mm, thought so,” Banneaux sighed, leaning back in his seat while continuing to pet Zephirin’s hair. “Just as you like this? Humping my leg like a bitch in heat?”
His tongue felt thick in his mouth as he swallowed, ignoring the taste of blood when he answered again with a ragged voice. “Yes.”
“Good,” came the reply, and he cried out at a particularly insistent press of Banneaux’s heel against his crotch. Then, the hand not in his hair came to his lips again, bare thumb scraping against his teeth. “Suck.”
Zephirin didn’t need to be told twice, obediently taking Banneaux’s thumb into his mouth and laving at it like it was his cock. Banneaux’s breathy laugh was drowned out by the sound of his heart beating in his ears as he sucked harder, more insistently, desperately rut his aching cock against Banneaux like he’d die if he didn’t come.
“Good boy,” Banneaux cooed, and with a choked moan Zephirin came in his breeches, grinding down on Banneaux’s foot. The pleasure was blindingly intense, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe, gasping for air as Banneaux’s thumb slipped from his mouth to tuck his hair behind his ear, entire body quivering.
Banneaux let Zephirin ride out the aftershocks against his boot, before leaning over to kiss the top of his head and murmur against his messy hair. “Do clean yourself up before meeting me outside.” With that, he slipped his other glove on, nudging Zephirin out of the way so he could walk to the door. He retrieved his rapier and focus from next to the door, fastening them on his belt, before looking back at Zephirin, still kneeling on the floor. “And don’t take too long.”
The sound of the door closing struck Zephirin from his reverie, suddenly painfully aware of the stickiness in his breeches, the way his hair stuck up in the back where Banneaux had his hand tangled in it. He combed his fingers through the strands, trying desperately to flatten it, before deciding to just take a comb to it after he’d changed out of his soiled smallclothes.
Zephirin’s knees protested as he stood, sore after being on the ground in his sabatons for so long. He dragged a still trembling hand down his face, thinking about what had just happened, about the devilish glint in Banneaux’s eyes, and felt his spent cock twitch futilely in his breeches.
Fury take him, it was going to be an excruciatingly long day.