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“Aym…” Estinien begins, the rather ill-fitting knight armor with thrown-together priest robes hanging from his lithe body awkwardly. “This is ridiculous.” Aymeric regards him, blue gaze roving over the dragoon’s form. Rumpled as it might look at first glance, the effort is still endearing. Estinien never was one for dramatics for their own sake, but he’d acquiesced for Aymeric’s entertainment. The way his lover shifts from one foot to the other is a tell-tale sign of which part of the costume seems to be chaffing him, and Aymeric’s soft smile turns decidedly wicked as he sips on his wine, the spark of dragon’s blood stinging along the surface of his tongue. The silent appraisal is enough on its own to bring a dusting of pink to Estinien’s cheeks, tanned from the Thavnarian sun.
“I think you look wholly appropriate,” Aymeric hums as he stands, closing the distance between them to place a gentle and chaste kiss on his dragoon’s lips. “Off to the cathedral with you, now. I’ll find you when it’s time.” With one last look over his shoulder, Estinien tugs a fully enclosed helm on and strides out of Borel Manor and into the whirling snow. Were he any mere man, Aymeric might worry for his safety, but Estinien has faced far worse than blizzards in his time. And so Aymeric reclines by the fire once more, enjoying the crackling warmth seeping into his flesh and the throbbing heat growing within, stoked by the aether of dragons.
He watches the flames writhe and dance, licking across the logs as his body begins to change. Subtle at first. His vision sharpens, each glowing ember in the fireplace distinguishable from one another, an endless expanse of detail unenhanced eyes can never pick out. The quiet creaking of his home becomes loud enough to border on distracting, and his sense of smell hones in on the passive scents of his sitting room: the old wood of his floors, woolen rugs and velvet curtains, the wax of the candle occupying the center of his table, the yellowed parchment of the book he’d been reading earlier in the day, the rich wine in his glass and the tempestuous blood aged within. Emptying his glass and setting it aside, noting how his nails have curved and thickened into claws, Aymeric steps into his bedroom to watch the rest of the changes happen in the full-length mirror tucked in the corner of his bedroom.
It takes some extra focus to unbutton his shirt with talons, and he’s still fumbling with the first one when a searing pain shoots through his back, sending him to his hands and knees with a gasp. Looking up, he sees the back of his shirt billow up before newly formed wings rip through it. They twitch and flutter, his brain scrambling to connect his mind to muscle he’s never had before. He feels like a newly born creature, in a way, clumsily working his pants and smalls off as a tail sprouts, sinewy and long, tipped on the end in nearly the same way Nidhogg’s had been. Scales cover most of his body now, a deep blue sheen to them in the light of the fireplace.
It’s thrilling how strongly his altered body arouses him. The added weight to his skull of sweeping horns, the heaviness of his tail as it coils and whips behind him, his wings as he stretches them to their full span. Even his cock hasn’t remained unaltered, coated with fine, soft scales with a heavy, swollen base. Wrapping his hands around it, he gasps and moans at how good it feels to have pressure there, enough that a trail of precome drips from his now pointed tip. His mouth hangs open, fangs stained red from the wine, as he tries to convince himself to release himself from his overly greedy hands.
Only the thought of Estinien helps him not spend right then and there, instead turning to his wardrobe to redress in sheer robes of silk, dyed the deepest of blues, securing them with an underbust corset. There’s a matching thong to complete the costume, and he slips it slowly up his legs, chuckling at how absurd it looks as it struggles to hold even half of him in. “Well, I certainly look the part of an incubus now,” he says to himself, biting his bottom lip as his cock twitches against the silk, another glittering trial of need dripping from him. He could need an overcoat for the trip to the cathedral for modesty’s sake more than even the cold. Tugging on a thick coat with a wide hood, he conceals himself the best he can and disappears into the night.
— ~ —
The winds of Ishgard rip and pull at the white robes over his armor as he trudges through the snow toward the church with only a slight hitch in his step. The hour is well past midnight, and all sensible folk have long since gone to bed. Estinien had far more pressing things on his mind than the mere cold to quicken his steps toward the cathedral. It, too, was mostly vacant at this hour. As the city grew less dogmatic, the sinners felt less need to throw themselves at the Fury’s feet. It made little difference to Estinien; this was all for Aymeric, after all.
If the Warrior of Light has a vision of this, I’ll never live it down…
Pushing that thought firmly away, he shoulders his way through a small side entrance to the cathedral, kicking the snow from his boots out of habit before climbing the nearest set of steps up to the quarters that had once been used for the clergy. Empty now, the perfect place for Aymeric’s little fantasy. Estinien had already been up here a few nights prior to set the stage, simple as it was. The most secluded room now holds a shabby little bed, nightstand, and a small desk. Tugging off his gloves with his teeth, he lights the lantern on the bedside table, sits in the chair by the desk, and waits.
He doesn’t have to wait long.
His sharp hearing picks up the sound of steps somewhere above him, slow and casual, and the scraping of something along wood. While Estinien technically has a part to be playing, he finds he can’t stop a flicker of arousal at the sultry humming of a common hymn down the hall, growing louder and closer by the moment.
“‘Where desire is conceived, so sin is born, sating its lust till it blooms into damnation,’” the voice purrs and Estinien can only watch as clawed fingers slip through the crack in the door, a curved horn prodding it open as glowing blue eyes land on him. He’d known the wine would change Aymeric temporarily, perhaps giving him a smattering of scales or sharpened teeth, but the being that sauntered into the room —his room, he reminds himself — looked more dragon than man. A demon with glittering black wings unfurling from his back, unhindered by the thin robes and waspie he wore. Peeking out from the part at the front is his cock, barely covered by a ridiculously small thong. His pale skin is coated in fine scales, just the same as the ones Estinien felt creeping down his own arm. Features he’d always hated about himself after Nidhogg looked so alluring on Aymeric. Was that one of the reasons Aymeric had insisted on seeing out this fantasy? For Estinien to see himself the way Aymeric did? Such loving shrewdness certainly made sense for a man so entrenched in politics.
Settling into his role, Estinien reaches to his back for a lance that isn’t there, and an instant later, he’s on his back, hands pinned to the bed above his head by Aymeric’s wings. He’d hardly even seen him move. They create a curtain of tissue-thin flesh, blocking out the light and trapping in the heat. Ever since Aymeric had first entered Estinien’s sphere of acknowledgment, he’d thought him beautiful, but now, the soft glow of his eyes casting shadows down his face, he was ethereal.
Determined not to lose this little game immediately, Estinien puts all his strength in his arms and pulls to dislodge Aymeric. He doesn’t budge an ilm. The blood has made him impossibly strong, and the realization that he was well and truly pinned sends heat dripping syrup-hot down his spine. Aymeric scrapes a claw over Estinien’s old and dented breastplate, tugging away the tattered priest robe draped over it. It occurs to him he ought to say something instead of gawking with arousal-tinged awe.
“Let me go,” he growls unconvincingly, feeling his cheeks go warm at Aymeric’s low chuckle.
“What a pretty morsel you are,” he purrs, sliding his hand down to his waist, cupping his hand against the chastity belt locking his cock away beneath his leather pants. “All locked up, unable to pleasure yourself… how cruel.” There’s a taunting lilt in his voice when he says it, his smile all fang when he adds, “I could free you from this if you let me.”
“You’ll not tempt me so easily, fiend,” Estinien hisses, pulling a leg back with the intent of kicking Aymeric away, but he simply ducks past it to slink into the space between his thighs instead. The hand at his groin moves up to his neck, shredding the white cloth from his armor as easily as wet tissue. His breastplate is quick to follow, the dry-rotted leather of the buckles ripping easily, and the metal clangs loudly against the floor as it’s tossed aside.
“Then you’d best say your prayers, holy knight. Beg Halone’s mercy, for you’ll find none with me.
—
The way Estinien’s eyes widen the slightest ilm, just enough to show the tiniest flicker of shock at Aymeric’s newfound strength (temporary as it is) as he struggles in his grip, has him hardening in full. His lover always enjoys himself the most when he knows he’s powerless, when he has no choice but to let himself be taken care of. Scales of his own, colored a red so deep they seemed nearly black, spread out from his scarred shoulder and out across his chest.
“Already you begin to fall. Why resist the pleasure I might offer you?” Aymeric asks, curling his tail around to tease at one of Estinien’s nipples, watching with a pleased hum as his back arches into it even as he clamps his jaw shut to lock in a moan. Aymeric moves his hands to the laces of Estinien’s pants, plucking them apart with intentional slowness and grinning ear to ear when he lifts his head to look. He tries to clamp his legs shut reflexively only to instead press into Aymeric’s sides, unintentionally pulling him closer. “Eager, are we?” he teases, chuckling darkly at Estinien’s scowl and warming cheeks. Horns were beginning to spread from his temples, dipping forward and curving up as Nidhogg’s had, the deep reds and greens beautiful against Estinien’s tanned skin and stark white hair.
“I’m protected against the likes of you,” Estinien bites out weakly, flinching as Aymeric yanks his pants and smalls down together to gape down at his prize with a watering mouth. Part of him had wondered if Estinien would truly wear it, but seeing the chastity belt around his waist, the metal curved snugly between his legs, has his cock throbbing almost painfully with lust.
“You think this flimsy thing will save you?” Aymeric teased, leaning down to lave his tongue over the rounded front of the belt, his mouth watering for what it trapped. “Wouldn’t you rather be free to indulge yourself all you’ve been denied?” The breathy gasps and pants echoing through his ears are answer enough, knowing how hotly Estinien’s need runs once roused. Hooking his clawed fingers beneath the tight waistband of the belt, Aymeric snaps it apart with ease, a hungry grin splitting his face as Estinien practically whines in relief.
Pent up and flushed, his lover made a delicious image… cock hard and wet with neglect, scales spreading further across his body, the beginnings of a tail poking out from beneath his ass. And nestled just below it was the glittering steel of a plug. The belt had always been part of the plan, but this was a pleasant surprise. “Is this how you stay chaste, little knight? By stuffing your hole so nothing else can claim it?”
Flicking his gaze back up, he sees Estinien search his face, still playing his part but lacking the words. Even now, with Nidhogg’s blood racing hotly through his body, he longed to please Aymeric before himself. The realization nearly smothered his arousal beneath a warm sheet of endearment. “Beg,” he orders, giving Estinien a line to work with while his fingers slip around the neck of the plug, giving it a gentle tug before he can think up an answer. The little gasp that leaves his lover makes him dizzy with desire, with the painful need to claim this achingly beautiful knight for himself. “Beg for relief, and I may grant it yet.” Estinien tries to shoot him a venomous look, puts every bit of anger he can into his steely eyes, but it does little to undercut the flushed red of his dripping, scaled cock and the sudden tension of his hole tugging the metal buried in him deeper.
“Never, fiend,” his knight growls halfheartedly.
“Try and stop me then.”
An invitation and challenge both. Estinien had the true control of the evening; they both knew it, and he was rarely content with taking the easy route. For a moment, he wonders if Estinien will try and break his hold, and he tenses for it, but all he does is spread his legs an ilm wider as his chest heaves. The pressure of their cocks pressed together with only the thin fabric of his robes between them was too delightful to resist, and Aymeric bears down his weight with a slow roll of his hips.
There’s only so much teasing Estinien can take, Aymeric knows, before his need turns from a pleasurable ache to a painful throbbing, and Aymeric nuzzles his face against the column of his neck to purr, “Let me show you what you’ve been denied.” His lover displays his submission not through words but in the lolling of his head, the limpness of his limbs. Releasing his trapped hands, Aymeric leans back and takes Estinien’s neglected cock in hand, stroking it delicately and letting his palm graze against the crown of his head. Estinien’s hands claw into the sheets at his sides, back arching prettily as he fucks into Aymeric’s loose fist with abandon. “That’s it, let the pleasure take you…” he coos, watching as a pair of wings sprout from his back, draping limply over the sides of the small bed.
His lovely knight comes with a shout he only barely manages to muffle behind his lips, eyes rolling back as he hisses and writhes. It’s always a wonder to behold Estinien like this, free of his worries and burdens, open and vulnerable in his trust and love. Again, Aymeric has to remind his heart that it must wait its turn to empty itself. Leaning down, he can’t help but draw his lover’s twitching length into his mouth, reveling in the choked moan it earns him, but he doesn’t linger there. His own arousal feels urgent now, a pressing need at the forefront of his mind he can hardly think past any longer. Digging his heels into the bed, Estinien pushes himself up and draws his legs in, reaching around to spread himself open. A fresh wave of lust sparks fizzles down Aymeric’s spine as Estinien visibly clenches around the plug.
“Please…” he begs hoarsely, white hair plastered to his face and neck with sweat, and Aymeric knows then that he’s well and truly at his limit. The taste of his sweat lingers across his tongue as he nips and licks his way up Estinien’s body while his fingers hook around the plug again — a firm grip, this time. He leans in for a kiss and begins to tug at it, lips giving way to tongue and teeth as he eases the flared metal out, letting it still at the widest point just to hear his lover whimper another breathy plea. Estinien sighs when it finally pops free, moans when he feels the head of Aymeric’s cock take its place.
“All mine now,” Aymeric moans as he slides forward, burying himself one slow ilm at a time until his knot is flush against his heated skin, and his encroaching possessiveness and adoration urge him to take and claim and keep, losing himself to the push and pull of where they’re connected. It’s an accident when the swollen bulb of Aymeric’s knot slips past his rim and settles there, making both men hiss in bliss. Estinien’s limbs coil around him with painful strength as he comes, his hold clamping down like a vice and dragging Aymeric over the edge with him. He could die happy like this, Aymeric thinks, encased in Estinien’s body, fucking his spend as deeply as he can go. The smell of sex hangs thick in the air, and the scent goes straight to his head. Both of them are just as hard as when they began.
“More,” demands Estinien breathlessly, clenching around Aymeric’s cock to coax him into action. Aymeric is all too happy to oblige.
— ~ —
Borel Manor is clean and tidy and without a thing out of place. Sturdy, proper, exactly the things Estinien is not, just now. Even after waiting for their more obvious draconic features to fade, his legs still felt boneless the entire walk home, even more so now that he’s been treated to a scalding hot bath and fine soaps Aymeric keeps on hand. “You owe me for tonight,” he says as Aymeric’s fingers work a lather across his scalp, drawing in a feigned gasp of shock.
“Do I? However shall I pay you back?” he asked, voice laced with curiosity.
“You’ll know when I decide to collect,” Estinien answers on the end of a yawn, twisting around to draw Aymeric into a sudden kiss, tongue prodding at his teeth simply to rile him up before bed.
“Wicked man,” Aymeric chastizes with a sultry smile. Neither has the energy for another tussle, but that doesn’t stop them from stealing kisses and gropes at every opportunity. They tumble gracelessly into bed in a pile of limbs, skin sliding against butter-soft fleece sheets, and Estinien falls effortlessly into a gentle, deep sleep as he plots his payback.