cast_iron_bitch | (no subject)

(no subject)

Laurent preferred to know.

It was more than a matter of pride or of self-worth. In Vere he had faced death daily, spared from it only by his own calculations and plans. In such a court knowledge was both sword and shield, at times a cutting arrow, at others, a wall. He was small for his age, and slender, but Laurent had identified the traits that would cancel these physical shortcomings and nurtured them.

He could not fight with his hands; he learned to use a sword. He could not speak for his kingdom; he learned to negotiate with those who could, orchestrating the changes he needed from the outskirts. He could not defeat his Uncle; he aligned himself with the only man who dared try.

Whatever uncertainties Laurent faced never remained so for very long. His intolerance for ignorance within himself simply wouldn't allow it.

And so, when the dirty floors and cracked walls of their gym began to take form with new padding, new ceilings, and finally, a host of large and confusing equipment, Laurent took special affront to the latter. Some held a purpose he could divine simply by looking at them. The benches and the long bars with weights on either end were surely meant to strengthen one's chest and arms. The ill-named dumbbells were also for arms, and the seat in which one sat and pushed away weights with one's feet was for legs, but this was were Laurent's understanding stopped.

He walked towards a large machine comprised almost entirely of bars and cables. He tugged half heartedly on one of the handles and pulled it down with ease. It must need to be weighted; he resolved to watch Damen with the machine and determine how it was done. He drifted to another machine next, this one looking almost like a very short set of stairs. Why this would be required when there were stairs in every building in Darrow, Laurent didn't know.

With a sigh, he ventured to the rows of dumbbells next. He had worked out kilograms some time ago, preferring metric to the more foolish methods of measuring weight, but all these seemed to be labeled in pounds. Laurent paused before one marked '100.' His hand hovered over the top of it, then closed. Laurent pulled.

He pulled again, harder this time. And again, until a fine sheen popped forth on his forehead.

'You moved,' Laurent muttered. 'I saw it.'

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Laurent's gaze upon him was a weight in itself. Damen maintained eye contact, unwilling to falter, his brow arching as Laurent bent to adjust the pulls behind Damen's back.

Though the shift was noticeable on the next pull, the combined weight was still light enough as to hardly give Damen pause and his lips twitched into a near grin.

'Is this some Veretian foreplay you've not shared with me before?'

'Haven't I?' asked Laurent, chin lifted to study the system of cords and weights. 'I vetted all my suitors with an intricate system of pulleys and grain-filled clay pots.'

The thought was ludicrous, which made it all the more amusing to imagine a diplomat like Torveld attempting the feat to woo him. Hiding a smile, Laurent reached up, curling his hands over the topmost weight. He was a slight man, but athletic - he imagined his weight would add another one hundred and fifty pounds or so.

'And now?'

Damen only huffed a breath of laugh at that, the sound turning roughly into a grunt with the tension of Laurent's sudden added weight.

Determined not to be bested, Damen grit his teeth and engaged his abdomen as he pulled harder, muscles bulging now from the strain. The difference was significant and Damen's muscles were not yet warmed up so he did not push himself as hard as he might have otherwise, releasing after only a few moments with another laugh.

'There are far more entertaining ways for me to lift you if that is what you're after,' he stated, glancing back over his shoulder to meet Laurent's eyes.

Laurent's smile grew less hidden as his feet left the ground, and though it was only a small distance, he couldn't resist a short bark of laughter when Damen released him back to earth.

'I don't know,' he said, studying Damen's slightly flushed face. It was a lovely sight, and the expression close enough to Damen after a tumble that Laurent felt a tightening low in his gut. He said, 'You look worn out already. You ought to spend more time with these machines.'

His muscled buzzed pleasantly, not worked hard enough to burn so much as warming up.

Damen wiped one hand along his thigh as he turned to better face Laurent who was still stood behind him. 'This city is making me soft,' he agreed, though he doubted Laurent meant his words completely. It was a tease, nothing more.

Reaching, he hooked an arm around Laurent's middle and dragged him closer, drawing him toward his knee as he smiled up at him. 'There are other means of working my body. Perhaps I should commit myself to those.'

These days, Damen might crook a finger and Laurent would come to him, and his feet slide easily over the mats when Damen pulls him near. 'Yes, I see what you mean,' Laurent observed, parting Damen's knees so that he could sit atop one of his thighs, like a slab of marble beneath him.

'Quite soft.' He squeezed Damen's bicep next, then extended a prim finger to poke at Damen's chest. Had he done it any harder, he might have sprained the joint. 'You do need a good working.'

Laurent put up no fight at all, easily resting on Damen's thigh and pressing one cool finger against his chest. The skin beneath paled under the pressure for barely even half a second and Damen's grin widened.

'Are you offering your services to train me?' he asked, sliding his hand downward over the swell of Laurent's arse, thumb catching on the waistband of his trousers and tugging playfully.

He entertained the brief thought of working Damen through one of these machines, but Laurent knew so little about them - he had no desire to cause harm to Damen or to his own pride. Instead, 'Perhaps I can supplement your training,' said Laurent, pulling up one leg so that he could sit astride Damen's hips. He answered the tug of Damen's fingers to his waistband by hooking his own beneath the hem of Damen's shirt, pulling it up to lift over his head.

'Get this thick, Akielon blood moving, yes? How much so will depend on whether you've locked the door behind you.'

'It's locked,' Damen replied immediately, seeing no benefit to playing coy as Laurent stripped him of his shirt.

He dropped his own hands beneath Laurent's, pressed his palms to the smooth stretch of warm skin and slid upward, letting the fabric bunch at his elbows as his gaze flicked from Laurent's eyes to the curve of his lips and back again.

'This seems a good start,' he said, sliding his hands around Laurent's middle to drag his fingers up the line of Laurent's spine as he kept him in place. The bar dangled above their heads and the seat was far from comfortable, but with Laurent sat atop him, Damen could withstand all of that and much, much more. 'I dare say it's more than my Akielon blood that's thickening, even.'

Laurent didn't bother to suppress his wince for the wordplay. "Now I know the blood has left your head," he said, holding Damen's shirt in his hands. There had been an intriguing moment when it caught against Damen's wrists, and though the shirt would not have been enough to hold him, something in Laurent was heated by the thought of tying Damen to something and having his way with him. It was, perhaps, too close to their first arrangements in Arles where Laurent had been his master, but it was an idea with enough merit to broach at a later time.

'You asked for a show,' he said, taking note of the mirrored wall at his back. 'Take my clothes off and I will give you one.'

A flicker of a wince across Laurent's brow had Damen grinning wider, pleased with himself despite Laurent's words. This was a tease, a game Damen was all too happy to play, though it seemed to be turning quickly into something else. Something with a far more delicious purpose.

He followed Laurent's glance to the mirrored wall, noted the picture they made already with Laurent straddling Damen's legs, the breath of his thin frame nearly dwarfed by Damen's hands, the stretch of pale white skin where his shirt was held by Damen's wrists. Even this much was breathtaking and Damen felt a familiar stir between his thighs, his earlier teasing swiftly becoming an unavoidable truth.

Wasting no time, Damen urged Laurent's arms above his head, tugging the shirt free and letting it fall to the ground before curling his hands around Laurent's waist and guiding him to stand. While Damen occasionally and surprisingly somehow found himself missing the infuriating laces of Laurent's Veretian clothing, he was glad for their absence now, his fingers making quick work of the button and zip of Laurent's trousers and he tipped his head up to catch Laurent's eyes as he dragged the fabric down Laurent's thighs. 'It is nearly show enough just to look at you,' he said, leaving Laurent's pants bunched at his knees as he slid his hands up those strong, pale thighs.

Damen's palms were as hot as brands, and Laurent shivered, for the heat in Damen's eyes was no less so. It was strange to think there was a time when Laurent had wanted him so much that he couldn't bear to do anything about it, and so he'd put a boot in the center of Damen's chest and demanded to be divested of it. Now, 'I think you could look at me like that long enough, and I would spend,' he said, catching Damen by the chin to pull him upright.

'Remove your pants and sit.'

'Maybe one day we should test that,' he replied because, even if an exaggeration, Damen would take full advantage of the opportunity to stare at Laurent without obstruction, to look his fill. The only difficulty would be in keeping himself from touching.

For now, however, he let himself be urged upward, led only with a hand curled around his chin. Though the tone was different, the ease of Laurent's order nevertheless reminded Damen of the months he'd spent in bonds. It shouldn't have sent such a surge of heat down his spine, but he couldn't deny the feeling as he instantly dropped his hands to the button of string of his shorts, tugging them loose with a single tug and dropping them to the floor.

In one motion, he was bare and, still following Laurent's instruction, he sat upon the seat of the machine, curled a hand around Laurent's hip to draw him close once more. 'Today, however, I'd rather touch you.'

Damen obeyed with a pleasing swiftness, divesting himself of the last of his clothes and sitting promptly. His remarkable body made such a lovely picture against the ugly, mechanical backdrop of the machine that Laurent was nearly sorry that he hadn't asked him to linger, but now he had him where he wanted him.

For his part, Laurent stood naked before him, lips pursing for a brief moment while he perused the gym's space with his eyes. After a moment's searching - there. Laurent walked a few paces and lifted a small bottle of joint oil meant to smooth the shifting of the creaking machines. He uncorked it and gave it a cursory sniff - the scent was hardly pleasant, but it would do.

Returning to Damen, Laurent climbed neatly back into his lap, sitting astride his thighs with some measure of heat in his eyes. He pressed the bottle into Damen's hands. 'Attend me.'

Enjoying the view as Laurent bent to retrieve the bottle of oil behind one of the machines, Damen relaxed back against the seat. It wasn't the most comfortable thing, nor was it intended to be, the padding sticking to his skin. Yet, the arousal that burned under his skin and settled heavy between his thighs was unmistakeable.

It flared hotter as Laurent settled himself astride Damen's lap, bare skin to bare skin, offering the bottle.

Damen didn't hesitate, taking it from him and carefully spilling a generous amount into the cup of his palm. Some dripped free, landing tiny drops on Laurent's thigh before Damen had his hand curled around his length, spreading the slick liquid from base to tip, smearing as he felt the heat of Laurent, the weight of him, in his palm.

'Harder?' he asked, eager to give Laurent just exactly what he desired.

Laurent tensed in surprised pleasure, whole body arching forward into Damen's fist before he mastered himself and forced his hands into a steady grip on Damen's shoulders. As ever, he had estimated his body's reaction to Damen, and as ever, Damen had thrown all his calculations to the wind.

'No,' he said, pleased to find his voice still steady, 'Not if you wish this to last.' Laurent looked down, for a moment almost undone by the obscene slide of himself through Damen's fist, but then his eyes found Damen's other hand. 'Prepare me,' he said, his voice just softened enough by pleasure that it was an entreaty and not an order. 'I want you to watch yourself enter me.'

Damen delighted in the tightening of Laurent's muscles beneath his palm, the hitch of his breath as he fought the natural impulse to thrust into Damen's grip. As always, of course, Laurent kept himself in check, his hands steady on Damen's shoulders and his voice clear.

The words he spoke were more request than order and Damen smirked fondly, tempted to delay for a moment, to indulge himself in another few slow strokes in effort to make Laurent beg. But begging could wait for another time; right now, he felt Laurent had a plan and Damen very much wanted to see it to fruition.

So he eased his grip as he slid his other hand up Laurent's flank, palming the curve of Laurent''s arse and spreading him where he straddled Damen's lap. After grazing his fingers up the length of Laurent's shaft, he reached around to tap two slick fingers against the dip of Laurent's spine just below his tailbone and then skimmed lower, finding the pucker of muscle he now knew so well and gently easing just the tip of one finger inside. He kept his head back all the while, his focus on Laurent's face, on the curve of his jaw so close and the flush of red that was sure to betray his skin soon enough.

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