Chapter Text
Essock headed into the prison. The Ferstrewn Lions had accepted this fort's surrender only this morning, but the cells were already full of the enemy. He liked it that way. Many of the other Lions felt the same, of course, but the army was disproportionately composed of men who tended to visit female captives, so Essock felt confident that he would not be interrupted.
Not that a risk of being interrupted would be enough to deter him from fucking someone into oblivion today. God, he was pent up. It would be poor form for a commander to take part of the same camp followers that the rest of the army did. Now, if there were more women in the army, there would be more men charging for sex in the baggage train. And Essock kept meaning to recruit more women, anyway. They tended to be a stabilizing influence on units, and there was less posturing and bragging among them. Usually quicker, too. Yes, the Lions needed more women. Perhaps in Andua they could recruit some, maybe even offer a signing bonus to them, though the rest of the army would complain. Or maybe in Gjaeross? That might be better, actually. Gjaeross's smithing guilds were famous for their spears, among other things, and Essock had noticed that women often used spears and shortspears to help improve their reach against larger opponents.
He put the line of thought out of his mind. It had been a long few weeks, and he was entitled to a break. He pushed open the iron-bound door and left the afternoon winter sun of the courtyard for the cold, damp stairway to the prison. It was long, but quite shallow. Essock suspected that the rock of the peninsula had turned out to be rather harder than the fort's builders had initially thought. Or perhaps they had simply wanted to ensure a supply of cells with natural light. Essock found that to be stupid, personally, but he wasn't about to turn down a fort.
When he opened the iron gate to the prison proper, he was greeted by a sullen silence interspersed with a few coughs, sneezes, pained moans, and quiet, rhythmic grunts, all of which he had expected, and an occasional sound of metal on metal, which he had not. The man on watch got up from his three-legged stool hurriedly and bowed, his armor glinting in the light of a candle. “Commander!"
“Soldier,” Essock said. “What's that noise?”
“One of the knights, sir,” the guard said. “He's still trying to bend the bars.” He shook his head.
“Still?” Essock said in disbelief. “It's been hours.”
“I know, sir,” the guard said. “I'm hoping he'll pass out soon.”
“Which way is he?”
“Just down this way, sir,” the guard said, making for the hallway that lead into darkness.
“I'm sure I can find him myself, soldier,” Essock said. He lit a lantern from the guard's candle and headed deeper into the prison, where the air grew colder and the smell of damp and mold and old blood grew stronger. He passed a cell that held an armored man fucking a captive woman whose chain leggings and padded trousers had been yanked down. The man, having bound the woman securely, was clearly enjoying himself, and the woman was gnawing at the rope binding her wrists to a ring in the wall. Rape of prisoners was common now, much more common than it had been in the past, but prisoners were still entitled to resist all they liked. Essock passed by without comment. If the woman got free and killed her captor, he'd offer her a contract with the Lions.
Eventually he came to the source of the noise. It was a knight, still in full armor, straining at his cell door, gauntleted fingers jammed between the door and its frame, trying to spread it apart and break the latch. Whenever he let up to take a rest, the door creaked back into place. The prison was old and wet, but it was perfectly clear that it would be another few centuries before it would be possible for a human to break out that way.
Essock watched for another few efforts. The knight made no noise beyond his labored breathing, and gave no indication that he had noticed the presence of candlelight and the commander of the Ferstrewn Lions.
“What's your name?” Essock asked.
“Sir Aiken of Whitcrane,” the knight grunted, never ceasing.
“I'd like to speak with you.”
“At your service.”
“Privately.”
Aiken finally paused. He did not release his grip, and Essock saw that he was trembling. “As you like.”
Essock drew the prison key from his belt and unlocked the cell. He was perfectly confident in his ability to beat Aiken to death through his armor before the captive knight landed a single blow, but he readied himself mentally anyway before opening the door.
Aiken fell. Essock made no attempt to catch him, and waited a few seconds to make his point before clasping his plated arm and pulling him to his feet. The knight's legs shuddered violently, but he remained standing. Essock strode forward, listening carefully for the sound of booted feet following him. It came, slowly and unsteadily, and he lessened his pace.
He took the knight to an interrogation room. One of the benefits of being a commander was not having to do your fucking in a cell. You could upgrade to a private space, albeit one that was quite as cold and damp and dark as the rest of the prison.
He set the lantern down on the ancient wooden table, next to a variety of nefarious-looking implements, and closed the door behind them. Then he turned to face Aiken, and spent some time simply taking him in. He was a big man, and powerful, though not as tall as Essock himself. His armor was neither particularly fine nor noticeably shabby, though it had clearly taken quite a few hits in its time. His legs were still shaking, and he seemed to be trying not to move too much. His arms hardly moved at all, and he was a little hunched, favoring his shoulders and back. His day of pointless effort had taken a toll.
Essock stripped him of his cuirass and pauldrons efficiently. He did it to himself every day, and he'd done it more times than he could count to injured men on the field. And, yes, enough times to captives that he was familiar with how they usually reacted.
Aiken's reactions were dampened by exhaustion. That much was immediately obvious. Yet he still tensed as Essock unbuckled his gambeson and removed his shirt, leaving him bare to the waist, exposing a well-muscled torso with a few scars and a number of bruises blooming dark on the skin. Essock left the helmet on. He had no interest in knowing what the knight looked like beneath it.
Then it was time for the cuisses, and the greaves, and then pulling down the chain leggings, and then the chausses. Essock took some time to admire the sight. He didn't consider himself a man of aesthetic sensibilities, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he had always had a thorough appreciation for the male form. If God was real, He had done a spectacular job on men. Women were decent enough—Essock could appreciate the curves of a woman's hips, the gentle swell of her breasts, the fall of her hair, the heat and slick wetness of her parts, and he fucked his wife, as was his duty—but they weren't men.
And, Essock had to admit, most men were not Aiken. He felt himself stir in his breeches as he took in the knight's body. He looked for things he didn't like, and was surprised to find absolutely none. Every curl of hair, every freckle, every curve of muscle and fat, even the scars and bruises... they all worked to improve the man's appearance rather than detract from it. As far as Essock could tell, Aiken was flawless.
It surprised him. He had seen thousands of men in his life, and he had found himself growing less excited about them, especially in recent years. Men were beautiful, but their flesh was cheap. They died by the dozens and hundreds and thousands in battle, and there were always more to replace them. Strip the armor from the dead and give it to the living, and armies were replenished. Essock found less and less savor in them as the wars dragged on. What point was there in enjoying them when they would die and have their place taken by another like them?
But Aiken was different. Essock felt a little thrill run through him as he contemplated removing the knight's breeches. What did he look like underneath them?
“Don't know what you hope to get out of torture,” Aiken said, interrupting his thoughts. “Surely you have what information you need.”
“I'm not going to torture you,” Essock said. “Not with steel and fire, anyway.”
Aiken looked at him for a moment, his helm blank steel. Then he sagged a little. “Oh.”
“You can enjoy it, if you like.” Essock unlaced his own breeches. “I don't particularly mind either way.” He stepped up and put his hands around Aiken's waist. He had large hands, and he enjoyed the look of his rough gauntlets against fragile skin. They looked strong, overpowering. He squeezed a little, just to see the give of flesh beneath his armored fingers, the movement of the skin, the tensing of the muscles. It was beautiful.
He ran his hands over the knight's body. He worked his way up his sides, past his ribs, and then onto his chest, allowing his fingers to pass over his nipples as they squeezed and pressed and stroked. Then it was his shoulders, broad and powerful, with a pale, faded scar on the right-hand one, and then his arms, tanned and marked from the sun, and then his stomach, pleasantly firm. Then he ran his hands around to his back, and pulled him a little closer. He let his hands climb up and down Aiken's back, and allowed himself to close his eyes briefly and revel in the sensation. Then, finally, he slid down and squeezed the knight's ass through his breeches. It was a delight, and he looked forward to seeing it uncovered. Oh, God, he could just dig his fingers in. It was glorious.
Essock unlaced the knight's breeches and slid them down. Aiken did not step out of them. He seemed to be largely occupied with pretending that it wasn't happening. Essock didn't mind that. He found himself just happy that he got to look at the man's cock. It was not notably large, certainly not as large as his own, but it was pleasing of form, and he couldn't stop himself from cupping the man's balls, which had a delightful heft, and then taking it in hand. He gave a few slow strokes, and was surprised when Aiken shuddered and gave a low moan.
Actually, he was surprised enough that he stopped and looked up, half expecting to see a knife in the knight's hand, but there was nothing. He stroked again, watching the knight carefully, and again there was a soft moan and a movement that would have been more appropriate in a man spilling his seed.
“You all right?” he asked. The noise had definitely sounded like pleasure, but he supposed that it could be pain.
“No,” the knight whispered. His voice was weak and breathless, and Essock felt a jump in his groin. The man had strained at an iron door for hours without complaint, and now Essock had brought forth this reaction with almost no effort. It was oddly thrilling. “No. I took a vow.”
“Oh,” Essock said in surprise. Vows of chastity were no longer common, had not been for quite some time. The people who did still take them were largely monks and nuns. Well, that explained the sensitivity. “You've touched yourself before, though?”
“No,” Aiken breathed. His hips moved just a little against Essock's hand, a ghost of a thrust. “Oh, God.”
Essock's cock twitched. Not only was he in possession of a magnificent man, but that magnificent man was deeply affected by him. Already Aiken's cock was hard in his hand, his breathing unsteady. He let himself stroke the knight's cock a few more times, and felt another pulse of lust in his lower belly when the man moaned again.
He pushed Aiken back against the table, overcome by a sudden drive to force himself into that exquisite ass immediately. He pressed his groin against the knight's. The feel of glorious heat against him was overpowering, as was the tensing and nervous shifting of the knight, and the way his shoulders came forward a little in preparation, but not nearly as much so as the way Aiken's breathing increased, his chest rising and falling, sweat from his earlier exertions catching the candlelight. It could have been fear or lust, and Essock found that, whichever it was, it made his belly twinge and heart beat faster.
He ground against Aiken. He squeezed the man's waist again, reveling in the give of flesh beneath his hands and in the shaky moan that issued from under the helmet. The friction against his cock was delicious. He shifted his hands down to Aiken's remarkably pleasant ass and pulled him closer. He pushed his visor into the man's neck and breathed deeply into the thick layers of fabric and steel that protected the body there. As he did so, he pulled the man hard against him, pressing him into his armor. He heard a sharp intake of breath as naked skin touched cold steel. The sound seemed to resonate through every nerve bundle in his body. God.
Essock pushed the knight's legs apart on instinct. His cock urged him to flip Aiken over and fuck him until he screamed, but he tamped down the urge. He probably wouldn't have the opportunity for a break like this again for some weeks, and he wasn't going to let himself finish inside of five minutes like that. No, he was going to enjoy every second of this to the fullest.
Aiken was clearly trying hard to temper his reactions, but it wasn't working very well. He had collected himself a little since his initial outbursts, but as Essock's attentions intensified, he was beginning to lose control again. He was taking deep, shaky breaths. Fresh sweat was beading on his skin. The skin of his chest and stomach, rarely exposed to the light, was noticeably flushed. Whenever his ass was squeezed firmly enough, he would make a delightful little involuntary sound that went straight to Essock's cock. When his hips finally thrust up with a desperate groan, seeking more stimulation despite himself, Essock gave up.
He pushed Aiken backward, slamming his back down against the table, and lifted his hips to position him better. He pressed himself up against the knight's ass and began to work himself in.
“Oh, God,” Aiken panted. “Oh, God. Oh, God. No. No, I can't, I made a vow.” His hands clasped and unclasped, and his body writhed against the thick, dark wood of the table, but he made no attempt to escape, which delighted Essock entirely more than he was prepared for. “Oh, God!”
Essock drove further in. The knight was ferociously tight, clearly as virgin as Mary, and he was shuddering and moaning as he was stretched. Essock had never taken an inordinate amount of pride in his cock—after all, it was his skill at arms and at war which had seen him rise to commander—but it was bliss to see and hear a dubbed holy knight falling apart around it.
“God. God. Oh, God, that's enough, that's enough, you're not going to fit any more.”
Essock couldn't help himself. He loosed a deep, throaty chuckle and leaned down closer to the knight to run a thumb over a nipple and make the knight tremble. Then he gave a quick snap of his hips. The head of his cock finally popped in, and Aiken convulsed. “There's a good bit more to go yet.” He could hear the grin in his own voice. He didn't typically speak to the prisoners he fucked, but this one was too delightful to pass up the opportunity. He leaned in close, letting his armor press into the knight's bare torso. “That's just the head, stripling.”
Aiken's answering moan, full of horror and a touch of what could only be anticipation, was thrilling, but not as thrilling as the near-howl that came afterward, when Essock thrust hard and managed to get himself a couple inches deeper. "God! God! Please, stop!"
Essock didn't bother answering that. He began working himself back and forth, trying to go deeper. God, the knight was tight. He felt hands shove at his breastplate, but they were weak, and he ignored them as he might have ignored an insect. After a while, he gave up on actively trying to fit himself entirely inside and gave himself over to mindless thrusting, letting his head massage the knight's insides, his cock pleasure itself, his breath come deep and harsh. He closed his eyes and bent closer to the knight again. The sweet pressure around his cock and the knight's moaning and begging were driving him wild. Oh, it had really been too long, he wasn't going to last.
He gave a particularly hard thrust and finally felt himself sink all the way in. He straightened up and did his best to hold himself there, trying to cool down a little, but it left him panting and shuddering. He counted breaths soundlessly behind his helm, forcing himself to remain still until he felt confident that he would not spill himself immediately if he began moving again. Then he glanced down at the knight.
Aiken was lying back on the table, breathing deeply. As Essock watched, his hips canted up a little, and his back arched off the table. A low, wordless moan escaped him. His cock was standing firmly at attention. Clear liquid dripped from the tip. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Please. Please don't. My vows. I must not sow my seed.”
“Is that all?” Essock said, amused. He moved a little, and savored the shudder he produced. “It's all right for you to have a cock in you, then?”
“As long as I take no pleasure.”
He thumbed the knight's nipple again, and watched his cock twitch and a drop of fluid slide down it. “I'd say you're enjoying it pretty well.”
“No,” Aiken croaked. “No. I haven't…”
Essock had never considered himself a cruel man. He did what had to be done, and was kind when it carried no substantial risk. That attitude usually carried over to fucking. He would hammer into a captive until he spent himself, and then leave. The pleasure of the one he fucked made no matter to him. But there was something about this one that made things different.
He leaned in close again, trapping the knight's cock between his armored stomach and the knight's bare one. “You'll break your vows today. And you'll beg me to break them for you before you do.”
He reached past the knight's shoulders and picked up a loop of thick iron chain from the table. He hefted it in one hand. It felt solid enough, and heavy. He looped it through a ring on the wall and bound the knight's hands with it—loosely enough to avoid pinching the skin, despite himself.
Aiken moaned beneath him as he shifted inside of him. Then he tugged at the chains, and went tense. “You said you'd not use steel, nor fire.”
Essock grinned. “It's black iron, stripling.” He gripped the knight's thigh and lifted it. He grunted a little as the movement shifted the pressure on his cock, but the knight's noise was louder. "And it'll only hurt you if you fight it." He put a gauntleted hand on the knight's chest and let his fingers roam as they pleased as he situated himself comfortably, enjoying the little noises and changes in breathing he heard from the knight as he did so.
He withdrew, slowly, slowly. He let Aiken feel every bit of his cock as he let his hips take him back, all the way to the rim of the head. Then he pushed himself back in, just as slowly. Then out. Then in. He kept up the rhythm while the knight moved beneath him, trying not to react too strongly. He kept up his exploration of the man's torso while he was at it, as well.
He was becoming quite familiar with that landscape, from the firmness of the well-formed chest to the line of hair that led down his stomach to his cock, to the gentle bulge of muscle at his hips, to the exquisite peaks of sensitivity that were his nipples. He was sensitive on the bit of stomach below his navel, especially to a single finger drawn back and forth down the center of that space. He was also, Essock discovered, prone to soft gasps if his collarbones were stroked from the center outward, information that the commander made thorough use of.
Eventually, he picked up the pace. Not by much, but enough to change both his breathing and Aiken's, and enough to make his fingering of the knight's sensitive places a little more insistent. His cock was, of course, begging him to throw all else to the wind and pound away as fast as he could until he came, but he found it fairly easy to ignore with the goal of breaking down the knight before then in mind.
That goal was beginning to look like it would be more easily achieved than he had expected, judging by the way the knight was groaning and writhing under him, but that didn't dampen Essock's enthusiasm in the slightest. It still delighted him to hear this knight, strong enough of body to survive the taking of a fort, strong enough of will to be dubbed a holy knight, and strong enough of both to spend a day attempting to bend the bars of a prison, reduced to lewd moans with comparatively little effort.
By the time he'd worked himself up to a good speed, hard and fast, the knight's moans were long and drawn-out, and unable to be perceived as anything other than sexual. Many of his earlier vocalizations could have been either pleasure or pain, and had possibly been both, but now Aiken was most definitely finding pleasure in the experience. Essock was beginning to tire, and he felt that it was time to take things to the next level.
He released Aiken's thigh and used that hand to begin jacking his cock, still hard and dripping. The knight gasped and shuddered. His hips quickly began to follow Essock's hand. Then, suddenly, they stilled. “No!” Aiken gasped. “No! No, please, my vows. I must not. Oh, God.”
Essock let his thumb toy with the knight's piss slit. He was sure the leather made it uncomfortable, but the knight reacted beautifully anyway, stiffening and pressing his cock hard into Essock's hand before forcing his hips back to the table. Essock kept going. He worked the knight's foreskin up and down, and played with the sensitive head, and occasionally simply stroked away. He kept the knight as worked up as he could without letting him spill himself.
He had to slacken his pace considerably eventually. His muscles were quite sore from the sustained effort of hammering the knight's deliciously tight hole, and benefited greatly from slowing down. This also benefited the efforts of his hands, he found, allowing him greater control. He was able to discover, for instance, that rubbing in tiny circles on the tip of the knight's cock with his thumb while rubbing a nipple was an incredibly potent combination. It couldn't be kept up for long periods, or Aiken would tip far too close to coming, but it could be wielded suddenly as a surprise, or done slowly enough to make him whine.
And he did whine. At some point, the noises he made had changed again, becoming less lusty and more desperate. He begged somewhat, as well, but for the wrong things. “Please, no,” he would groan, and Essock would hope, but then he would say, “Please, my vows. My vows, I must not break my vows,” and it would continue.
It took far longer than Essock expected, but that made it all the sweeter when at last it happened.
Aiken had been nearly quiet for some time, only the occasional moan. Then he began to pant as Essock drew him near, very near to spilling, and then when he was drawn back from the edge, he let out a loud groan. “God!”
That sounded different, Essock noted. Was this it at last? He eased off more, simply left his hand at rest, squeezed around Aiken's cock, and the knight shook and let out a long, low keen. He strained at the chain, his entire body flexing to pull at his binds. That went on until he collapsed, trembling, back against the table. “Do it, then.”
“Do what?” Essock asked, leaning forward a little. He ran a hand over the knight's nipples.
“God's fucking blood!” Aiken spat. “Break my vows. Just finish it. Please.”
Essock considered. He toyed with the cock in his hand a little, drawing another loud moan from its owner. “Are you certain? Your vows seemed very important to you.”
“They are, you mercenary bastard,” the knight hissed. “But—” Essock thumbed his piss slit. “God! God, just do it, please, fuck, do it now!”
“Do what, exactly?” Essock asked again. He heard the laughter in his own voice, and he was mildly disappointed in himself, but it was worth it to hear the knight nearly scream in frustration.
“Finish me! Please!”
“How?” Essock cupped his balls. “How would you like to break your vow, stripling?”
Aiken writhed against the table. “I don't care! Just finish it!”
Essock looked down at him for a time, playing idly with his balls. “I suppose,” he said at length. “But I'll finish myself first.” At long fucking last. He slammed himself in deep, hard, and began fucking, fast. God, he was ready to blow, he'd been ready to blow for... however long it had been. He lost himself in Aiken's ass. He leaned over the restrained knight, a plate-covered arm on the wood of the table, and started in with quick, shallow thrusts, the kind that he knew would drag him quickly over the edge.
Then Aiken stiffened. His shoulders came off of the table, and he thrust upward, hard. The first noise he made was a broken cry, and the next was a long, low moan that shuddered and jarred until it ended.
The sound utterly undid Essock, and he spilled himself with a deep groan inside the knight. He stayed there, inside, exhausted, for a time, letting his breathing return to normal, before he pulled out unceremoniously. He looked down at the knight. Aiken had clearly come quite explosively, judging by the amount of fluid on his stomach. His cock was soft. Essock couldn't resist the urge to reach down and play with its more sensitive spots for a few seconds, just long enough to make Aiken give a rather undignified cry and try to yank himself away. Then he put a hand on the knight's chest and leaned in.
“You did very well, stripling,” he breathed, letting his voice be the rumbling growl that it had a tendency to turn into in the bedroom. “I'm impressed. We might have to try this again sometime.”