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It's only when she works three fingers inside him that Aymeric stops apologising.
His very sincere contrition — for losing track of time, for working past the midnight bell, for being too exhausted for sex in the traditional configuration — turns to needy little gasps, cheek pressed against the wood of his desk while he spreads his legs as wide as the trappings of his leggings will allow. The coat is long gone, thankfully, leaving her to appreciate the narrow taper of his waist when he rolls his hips back into her touch. "Fury, please..."
With a grin, she plants a kiss against the back of one trembling thigh, and draws a sharp yelp from him when she ends it with a scrape of teeth. The thought is a pleasant one, Ishgard's Lord Commander feeling the marks of her teeth every time he shifts in his seat, and she indulges herself with another gentle bite to the curve of his arse.
He yelps again, glancing back at her as much as the position allows. "I'll admit, that form of chastisement is new to me."
The unpleasant evidence of other forms of chastisement are plain to see, welts still etched into his skin even months later, and she settles for a kiss to his tailbone as she pushes her fingers deeper. "Who's to say this isn't a reward?"
Another kiss, lower and firmer, to distract from the burn as she works her fingers in up to the knuckle. Aymeric groans above her, hands curling into fists as he fights to breathe through the intrusion. She can feel everything like this, the shuddering tension thrumming through him, the tremor in his thighs, the clench of his arse around her fingers, the little whine that escapes with every tug on his rim, and as she twists her wrist to pry a fresh whimper from him, she's almost reluctant to switch to the toy.
It's sympathy rather than desire which makes the decision for her. As eager and responsive (and obedient) as Aymeric is, there's no hiding his exhaustion, even like this.
She can work her entire fist inside the Lord Commander another day; tonight she will settle for fucking him nigh-unconscious over his own desk.
He exhales when she withdraws, and as she stands to pull the harness up over her legs, she watches his face with quiet fondness. His eyelids are heavy, his lips pink and parted enough to leave a little patch of condensation against the wood, and she reaches up with her clean hand to coax his curls out of his eyes. "You know we can simply rest if you prefer?"
It's intended with all sincerity — her blood may be up after a day of satisfying skirmishes, but she's well aware that reviewing Ishgard planning regulations is likely to have the opposite effect. However she can't hide her grin when Aymeric's hazy stare crystallises into something sharper.
"'Tis nothing I can't handle," he says, the edge of a challenge in his voice.
There's a core of steel behind his poise, as she has learned to her great benefit during their entanglement, and she can't help but wonder how often a political or military obstacle has been met with the same determination.
He lapses into a smile, propping himself up on one elbow to look back at her. "Of course, my mouth is ever at your service."
(That response, however, seems less suited to more professional situations.)
Rolling her eyes, she moves to stand between his thighs. The fake cock is one of her bigger toys, solid and thick but not overly long, and she splays her hand across the small of Aymeric's back as she slides it against his freshly-stretched hole.
"I used to think you utterly incapable of relaxing," she tells him, and hears his breath catch as she nudges past the still-tight clench of muscle. "But now I know that's untrue; you're capable, you just rarely choose to."
"What can I say, the paperwork is—“ He lets out a surprised little groan when she pushes in deeper, and she gives him a moment to catch his breath. “—v-very compelling. Gods..."
He buries his head against the desk as she sheathes herself the whole way inside him. His undershirt clings to him, enough that she can see every shuddering intake of breath, and she tightens a stray strap of her harness before curling her hands around his hips. Every point of contact feels like touching sun-warmed stone, from the pads of her fingers against his skin to the brush of her bare thighs against his, and amid the chill of the city, she's more than happy to bask in his heat.
"You know you can ask for this," she tells him and gets a helpless little whine in response.
"Please," Aymeric groans, pinned in place between her body and the desk, "please fuck me. Fury help me, please..."
Regrettably, the begging goes straight to her clit and she widens her stance to set a slow, cautious pace. From the pleasant shiver that goes through Aymeric's whole body, even that much is welcome, and she tightens her hold on his hips in reassurance.
"I didn't mean this precisely," she says, "but you're nothing if not mannerly."
Aymeric lets out a choked little laugh, the tips of his ears turning red in embarrassment. It's very endearing, and she shifts her hands backward to spread his cheeks open, just to watch the blush spread across his face at the scrutiny.
"Fury's grace," he mumbles, "must you—“
"Yes," she says firmly, "I must."
She doesn't think it's ever a view she'll tire of, the thick leather cock splitting him open, his hole red and swollen and stretched as he takes everything she gives him and pushes back in search of more. "If you could see how good you look like this..."
Aymeric is good at receiving compliments in practised virtues, she's realised. If it's a talent he's honed, like swordplay or diplomacy or simply being unruffled in the face of screaming chaos, then he takes the compliment well, with a polite nod or a pleased smile. However, if it’s a compliment in forbidden territory, such as how handsome he is, how wet his voice makes her, or how good he looks taking cock, he turns a delightful shade of pink and struggles to make eye contact with her.
Naturally, she's sure to give him plenty of both types of compliment, often at the same time.
As expected, she watches the crimson flush creep down his neck even as he braces against the desk to rock back into her thrusts, and she picks up the pace, bottoming out inside him with each movement in silent reward for enduring her teasing.
He cries out when she reaches around to stroke his cock, finding it hard and leaking as he grinds helplessly against the edge of his desk, and he shakes his head as much. “I— I fear I won't last..."
"You don't need to last," she says, softly chiding, but takes pity and removes her hand from his length anyway. "You have no-one to impress here, Ser Aymeric. Is it so hard to simply take your pleasure when it comes?"
Aymeric's silence is enough of an answer and she sighs. She shifts her stance, coaxing his hips slightly down as she tests her angles, but when she feels him tighten around her with a moan, she knows she's found the right spot.
"You can ask for this," she says again. Admittedly, she didn't plan on having this conversation while fucking him open in the middle of his office but they're both busy people; she has to take the chances she gets. "Not this specifically but all of it. If you want to be tied up, fucked, hurt, teased, kept on edge, any of it, you can ask. You don't have to wait until you're worn down to threads for me to help you relax."
The silence that follows sits heavy on her shoulders, broken only by her own ragged breathing and the slick sound of the leather cock sliding into Aymeric's body. For a horrible moment, she thinks she's misjudged it, that she's been reading his needs wrong for months now, but her terror ebbs in an instant when Aymeric glances back with a small smile.
"'Tis a little cruel of you," he murmurs, "to demand a coherent response in current circumstances." His voice breaks on the last word, and he bites his lip to stifle his cry as he grinds back against her. "But I- I shall bear that in mind." His voice softens, gratitude pouring through. "Thank you."
She manages a nod in response, squeezing his hip in an offer of comfort, but his smile dissolves into laughter when she then snaps her hips forward pointedly. "You're incredibly welcome."
He rests his forehead against the desk, breathing hard, and she doesn't need to touch his cock to know he's close when he says, barely above a whisper, "Hold me down?" Then, because his courtesy is inescapable, "That is, if you wouldn't mind, I—“
She doesn't need to be asked twice.
There's no tying him down, alas, not without significant maneuvering, but when she reaches up to grab his wrist, his smile is evidence that this is a suitable alternative. She twists hard, wrenching his arm behind his back with enough strength to force him to keep still or risk a strain, and she grips his hip hard enough to bruise as she fucks into him. "Yes, Ser."
Aymeric groans, rising up on tiptoes in an attempt to squirm away from her grasp while also pushing back on her cock like it's the only thing he's ever needed. He hits his rhythm, fucking himself onto her as best he can and chasing the friction of the desk against his dick at the same time, and he chokes out a moan when she digs her nails sharply into his thigh.
"Fuck, fuck, Fury, please..."
He hardly needs permission but she doesn't even have time to grant it before he comes with a ragged moan. He rolls his hips back onto her, as if milking every drop as he clenches helplessly around the thick cock, and when she glances around, she can see the fresh spend splattering the edge of the desk and dripping from the underside to the floor beneath.
"By the Twelve," Aymeric murmurs.
He sounds like himself once again, albeit the dazed, blissed-out version of himself that only she is permitted to see, and she’s careful not to jar him out of the pleasant haze when she releases his arm.
He groans, wincing as he pulls his arm to his chest, but then groans louder when she eases free with a wet pop.
His legs buckle when he tries to stand and she shucks off the harness and toy before planting a hand on his back to hold him still. "Easy. I'd be disappointed if you could walk immediately after that."
He laughs, exhausted but relaxed, and soft heat blossoms in her chest when he turns around. It's a rare sight, seeing him fucked out and happy, and as they both settle on the floor in a boneless heap, she's immensely grateful to be trusted with this privilege
He crinkles his nose as she flicks his hair out of his eyes but is soon pacified with a kiss on his flushed cheek and then a slower, deeper kiss on the lips. His arm comes up around her shoulders, providing support as they lean back against the legs of the chair, and she rests her head against his shoulder with a yawn as she eyes the come still trickling down the desk.
From his sigh, Aymeric is looking at the same thing.
"Not that I don't enjoy the scenery," she says, settling into his warmth, "but perhaps we should limit our activities to the bedroom next time."
"Perhaps," Aymeric agrees. He sounds far less flustered by the mess than she would expect and she looks up to see the gleam in his eyes when he says, polite as ever, "However, should the cleanliness of my desk trouble you, I must reiterate that my mouth is ever at your service..."