cast_iron_bitch | (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 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.