bite me

Taking it as permission to take what he needed precisely as he wanted it, Reeve begins to ride Gaetan, creating substantial waves of water around them as the slow burn of penetration starting giving way to undulated, warm pleasure within him, tapping his innermost spot with marksman accuracy.

Eyebrows furrowed and eyes shut, his face does all the talking for him, but intermittent, growl-like moans escaping from his throat supplemented his visual cues. He grabs the sides of the tub firmly to prevent slipping; the last they needed right now was a clumsy accident.

not at all minding the mess they made, gaetan luxuriated in the heat of the bath, the grip of the silent witcher stroking his length, the dimming of the light from the disturbed surface of the water. reeve fucked himself, and gaetan humped vaguely upwards, if only to keep the bear from lifting too high and flopping him out.

when reeve pulled on his core and closed tight, the shark gasped. it'd come as a series of bubbles, likely lost in the churning surface of the bath, and his wide-mouthed expression under that surface, all teeth.

When he finally feels Gaetan breach his hole, the wind is knocked out of Reeve as though he'd been punched in the gut — but this was not pain. At least, not unwanted pain. The slow, slow stretch, and the slight burn... divine. Eyes clamped down shut, lips pursed and defensive. That was Gaetan's effect on him.

[ !!! ] is what Reeve would have said if he spoke, pure exasperation in a labored, lingering moan. One that sounded closer to a growl. The water sloshing around them did its best to cover up the sinful sounds of sex, but Reeve's voice —or lack thereof— echoed louder.

Pulling Gaetan in closer, their mouths reach for a passionate kiss, their tongues dancing together like a ballet of airborne dragons.

reeve was always so reactive to him, his touch -- as if the lack of voice made him more expressive in other ways. his eyes, his face, his breath. the flutter of his chest, the flexing of his core, closing down around him. for untold moments, all gaetan knew was the softness of reeve's tongue, the sweetness of his kiss, the plushness of his insides as he used that firm anal ring to stroke himself. hot water to warm, pillowy sheathe, then back again.

But not enough to ever be caught unawares. He could never drift that down low.

Feeling his hips buck upwards into Gaetan's toned abdomen, he moans softly into the other's lips, mildly embarrassed to hear those sounds emanate from his throat. Reeve felt desperate. Desperate for one specific thing.

[ ɪɴꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴍᴇ ]

reeve was seeping something into the water, and though it wasn't blood, it pulled gaetan in all the same. his fingers didn't find much to concern himself over. not when reeve was grunting, sighing, moaning against him. begging for him without words.

[ I have ] [ you ]

like a big, burly thing rolled onto its back, soft from rest and hibernation, reeve felt almost cozy to lay himself on. sliding further between his legs. skin and sinew against muscle and fur. gaetan spread his thighs wider, to knock reeve's thighs wider, and press there, between them, aimed at their apex, the head of him pushing against reeve's core, the snug kiss of him making gaetan almost pant with want.

Their ease of connection allowed Reeve to relax; feel open to vulnerability. Vulnerability in all of its forms. The gentle hint of Gaetan's cock near his furry entrance filled him with a rush of arousal he rarely felt. When he did make it to the point of sexual gratification, he often played the active role. Not a preference, just nature taking its course.

But he could tell Gaetan specifically what he wanted.

reeve was rather sizeable compared to gaetan in most, if not all, things. even down to their chosen weapons, the shark's elbow blades didn't compare to what the bear tended to use. such a pattern continued to other blades, where gaetan hung forward like a missile, aimed over the hefty club of reeve's wanting.

but also, like most things, gaetan didn't let that stop him for half a second.

gaetan still trembled, still shook and shivered through the pleasured aftershocks of his extended climax. surprised at how much he didn't glaze godric's outfit with. he could've sworn he was halfway to drowning the man, but that throat seemed like some kind of floodgate. closing and opening at will, choosing what would pass -- but pass, it certainly would.

almost boneless from the effort, gaetan was left to squawk indignantly after such alluring, intimate touches. wordless, but frustrated, but well-drained and certainly looking the less tense for it, before the witcher put his killer's body to use and snatched things off the stand. one after another, pieces of buttery white leather and garb were slid into place, until the shark felt pinned up and pushed into place. immobilized, while walking. arms flapping frustratedly against the (albeit slight) restrictions of the sleeves.

but he didn't voice any complaints. as the clothing was bought for him, and the time was well-paid for, and he wasn't in harm's way. almost like a huffy, humbled lordling, he stood by the door, chest puffed, the brooch of house lanar on his raised palm. asking, with his eyes, for godric to pin it for him -- that he didn't mark himself as in the service of a house, even if temporarily.

Gaetan stood, brooch in hand, waiting to be pinned. Godric took another assessment, adjusting the other just so - a tightened notch here, a flared collar to accentuate the shark's gills there. "I made a good assessment." He'd keep these measurements in mind for the future. Eyes still dark, opaque, and placid, he took the brooch and let his fingers ghost between skin and fabric before he secured it in place.

Claimed. Temporary, but present - however the lord had needed to purchase it. His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary, fingers smoothing over the fastening, knuckles just brushing against the taut plane of the witcher’s breastbone before withdrawing. “There.” His voice was steady, smooth - like he hadn’t just swallowed Gaetan to the last drop, “Let’s go.”

The sun rose bold and golden over the waves as Leander stood at the edge of the black sands, his bare feet sinking into the cool wet earth as the tide kissed the shore. The scent of salt and morning mist filled the air, mingling with the faint trace of incense, musk, and iron still clinging to his skin from that morning’s rites. Above, the sky stretched wide and unbroken by storm, the Gods - his Gods - were pleased.

Leander let out a deep laugh, low and warm as he stretched his arms wide, the sea breeze catching the open folds of his tunic where it hung loosely at his waist, his body bared to the sky like an offering. "The Gods are generous today," he called, his voice rich with mirth. "See how the winds favour our shores? The sails are full, the waters are calm - Ythulo sleeps well, and Afa does not rage!" He turned his head slightly, casting a look at whoever opted to wander his shores.

Leander’s gaze remained on his companion, sharp, turning to face them as he did. He let his eyes drift downward - slow and deliberate, lingering on their stomach, the Lord of Bastard's early assessment before the dark orbs wandered back up. "What business brings you to Tarmont?" He stroked his beard, then grinned. "Even in gentle tides the men of Tarmont are known for big waves." He flexed slightly before laughing at his joke, the sound rolling like the sea itself.

"...you know that won't work, right?"

voice high and rough, but still miles smoother than it was in those landlocked mountains. here, in medes, gaetan could spend as much time under the sea as he did over it, throat and gills wet and whetted.

thumb jabbed back over his shoulder, "grindylows're dead." his elbow blades still dripped with stained seawater. "all twelve."

Famously not a man of many words, there were thankfully other means of communication that Reeve used to get his point across.

Not that he needed to say much around Gaetan. The two formed an easy friendship some time ago; the other's capability to also converse without actually speaking words helped them create this bond. He even helped Reeve learn how to better express himself. He would never be able to repay Gaetan for his companionship, Reeve felt.

But nights like these certainly helped.

Gaetan, naturally, gravitated towards the water, even if it were within the confines of a bathtub. [ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ? ] was how Gaetan had once put it. They were just doing their part to conserve Metia's natural resources. Of course.

Running a strong, large hand down to Gaetan's toned ass, he admires the smooth musculature of his friend's body, feeling the soft skin under his fingertips. Beautiful, Reeve thinks to himself. Gaetan's slick physique contrasted Reeve's rugged, hairier self; a man of the oceans versus a man of the woods. So different, yet so alike.

Feeling Gaetan's lips on his neck, Reeve turns his face to return a kiss in kind to the other's lips, lingering slowly. When he pulls away, he looks into Gaetan's kind eyes with a lazy smile.

hands and the depths of the throat, without words, was how gaetan got ideas across to reeve, and then got them back again. easily done with familiarity, and comfort, a rather hands-on approach that the slick, slippery shark didn't mind for one bit. especially not when the bear was so damn warm.

despite those wide hands roaming his rear, gaetan was the one between reeve's legs, dangling there -- head brushing underneath those furred balls, like a threat. seeing the other witcher so lax and relax, as if melted to softness in the water, earned a fond, sharp-toothed grin. the kisses were a bonus. reeve's beard was always extra soft when soaked and steamed.

[ make better ], two gestures pressed against that stomach, as gaetan rolled his hips forward. nudging with more intent.

It spilled from the corners of his mouth, slicking down his chin, but he did not pull away. No, he held, hands steady where they gripped the trembling witcher, grounding him through the wracked, bone-deep shudder that overtook him.

Only when the worst of it passed did Godric finally withdraw, slow and deliberate, dragging his tongue along the length of him with indulgent finality. He exhaled through his nose, licking at the stray mess that slicked his lips, the corner of his mouth, tasting salt, sweat, satisfaction. The crown once more between plush lips, running down the length of the witcher - polishing, cleaning, swallowing. His eyes - dark, sharp, triumphant - flicked up to meet Gaetan’s. A slow smirk curved his slick mouth, punctuated with ragged breaths and the faint tremor and the throbbing ache of Godric's own abstained satisfaction. Thick, leaking, Godric had need to squeeze that much tighter to keep himself from finishing.

When he was certain that he was in the clear, Godric tucked himself away again - delaying temporary satisfaction for greater pleasure. Gaetan could have it, later, under different circumstances - perhaps.

gaetan still trembled, still shook and shivered through the pleasured aftershocks of his extended climax. surprised at how much he didn't glaze godric's outfit with. he could've sworn he was halfway to drowning the man, but that throat seemed like some kind of floodgate. closing and opening at will, choosing what would pass -- but pass, it certainly would.

almost boneless from the effort, gaetan was left to squawk indignantly after such alluring, intimate touches. wordless, but frustrated, but well-drained and certainly looking the less tense for it, before the witcher put his killer's body to use and snatched things off the stand. one after another, pieces of buttery white leather and garb were slid into place, until the shark felt pinned up and pushed into place. immobilized, while walking. arms flapping frustratedly against the (albeit slight) restrictions of the sleeves.

but he didn't voice any complaints. as the clothing was bought for him, and the time was well-paid for, and he wasn't in harm's way. almost like a huffy, humbled lordling, he stood by the door, chest puffed, the brooch of house lanar on his raised palm. asking, with his eyes, for godric to pin it for him -- that he didn't mark himself as in the service of a house, even if temporarily.

The witcher’s approval was a rare commodity, and Godric savored it like the finest wine, rolling it over in his mind as his tongue worked in tandem with his thoughts. Slurping back and swallowing eagerly as he buried himself into his base and moved his hands to remove the swelling between his thighs - stroking himself over as he breathed into and against the sensation. It was a moment of power, a moment of surrender, and both belonged to him. He could give this, could take just as much in return. Again.

A flicker of amusement darkened his gaze as he looked up through the thick sweep of his lashes, a slow, languid drag of his mouth leaving Gaetan wet and gleaming in the cool air before he swallowed him down once more. This time, he worked in deeper, lips stretched, throat flexing, one hand fisted around himself, the other digging into the witcher's bare ass. Godric took all the signs for what they were - marks of satisfaction, requests to be met.

He hollowed his cheeks, a practiced rhythm that quickened, a deliberate push and pull that sent a fresh shiver of pleasure through the witcher’s tense frame. The scent of salt and sweat filled his senses, grounding him even as he relinquished control, even as he let the waves crash over him in slow, intoxicating succession. He felt the flex of Gaetan’s thighs beneath his roving palm, the subtle jerk of his hips, the smallest tells of satisfaction.

mouth left open, left hanging, even the gills on gaetan's next seemed to flex as he panted out each slow, raspy breath. like an exhausted beast. on the verge of...something. impending. the taste of him, saline and concentrating. he could almost tell when godric got a grip on himself, from the way his throat moved and flexed, as it closed over him and dragged back. gaetan was normally taut from being so lean, but he was pulled as a bowstring, limbs flexing, as godric went down.

and down.

and down.

they'd done this enough to where godric should know what was coming. gaetan's sack pulled up to press under godric's plush lips, only beginning to wrench, to squeeze--

A secret. Godric hummed, the vibration running through them both, acknowledgement and invitation that this was for them - for both of them - and that Godric, as ever, relished in it. His breath came sharp through his nose, then heavy against Gaetan's frame. Time was limited, but Godric's movements didn't indicate as much, at least not at first. He'd savour the feel and the throaty rumble from the back of his throat that'd likely define the hours that followed.

Gatean was thick on Godric's tongue, heavy, the taste of salt and skin grounding him. A push and pull, like the tides. Like a fisherman who knew precisely how much slack to allow before tightening the line. He withdrew, buried his face deeper into the heat of Gaetan's body and inhaled the scent of the tides as he felt the pulse of the witcher's cock against his lips. Godric's tongue traced the length of Gaetan's shaft, a languid exploration that left no inch unexplored. He savored the texture, the ridges and veins that mapped out a landscape of pleasure, a terrain he intended to conquer with each deliberate of his plush, velvety lips.

as godric chased his base, burying his nose against gaetan's smooth, flexing stomach, the witcher curled his arm as it to feel the sensation of keeping him there. releasing as he'd move -- it wasn't as if he could, or would, keep the lord down as he struggled. moreso the theatre of it, the imagining. giving the sensation of being 'taken', taking the sensation for himself. the brush and breath of air over his then-wet shaft, as godric pulled free to explore him, made gaetan shiver.

there were signs. hand signals, gestures, between shark witchers. a way to communicate underwater, or silently, whenever the need would arise above the surface. he'd shared the rudimentary language with very few others -- one being a witcher who didn't speak, and then he'd ended up giving godric a few signs out of habit or accident. doing them automatically in response, and then having to explain himself. right then, as he felt godric flap and struggle around him, fucking past the clutch of his throat, gaetan pressed flexed fingers into the side of his cheek. a sign used when the sea was too dark, and language had to be felt.

[ good ]

breaths as huffs through his nose. dripping, night to pouring his appreciation to smear and blend with the mucus slicking his way through godric's throat, the edge of his neck.

“Buying an outfit?” Godric’s voice was as smooth as silk, cutting through the thick tension in the room. He raised a brow, his gaze never leaving Gaetan’s as he leaned forward enough to breathe against the lure, breath warm, lips parted. The smooth hands of a man who'd never know a day of hard labour found purchase at the base of the witcher's shaft. “Watching you squirm and pull at the collar all night is going to be payment enough - this - this is just for me.” He inhaled slowly, eyes dark.

The witcher smelled of salt and steel, the remnants of battle and the ocean breeze that clung to his skin no matter how far inland they were. Godric knew that scent well. Primal, untamed, with no place within the polished halls of Valtolia’s judiciary - except for the fact that Godric would see him stand - not quite at his side - but behind, as a threat and a warning. A creature pulled from the deep.

Godric leaned into the weight of Gaetan's cock, parting his lips and letting it ground him in the moment. The taste of the tides on his tongue, rich with heat and something wholly Gaetan. A slow exhale, controlled, poised. His lips, full and somehow even softer than they appeared, pulled along the skin, tongue gliding with patient ease along the soft underbelly of the witcher.

auras clashed in the air between them; gaetan, of the salt-sea and salt-sweat, of leather and oil and long-spilled blood. and then godric, of perfume and laundry, of spice-smoked courts and soaped private chambers. the sign of money, the evidence of it, and then the way that money is made. his nose might twitch in those more incensed halls, winning a sharpened sneer or a mildly dazed glare, but he'd hold his position behind the man that paid him so well, but also so regularly. it wasn't just godric's coin that won gaetan's attention and kept it, but the consistency of it. payment in full, on a constant basis. comfort, almost, akin to a kingdom's witcher, but won with a freelancer's guile.

that, or a nobleman's...particular tastes.

watching godric take his first taste of the night, of that mouth so apt at charming and condemning instead caressing and covering something as base as his idle length, had gaetan puffing through his nose-- that length not so idle, for long. filling in over godric's tongue, prodding at those plush lips, ones that the shark knew rather intimately, by this point. gaetan's own tongue fell from his lips -- carefully -- the roughened muscle long knowing how to navigate his treacherous mouth, but not without the occasional catch and cut.

"always liked seeing you like this," he murmured, one hand steady on godric's still-clothed shoulder. "like a secret I get to keep." leverage, he didn't say, but blackmail was a rich man's game. since coin wasn't on the table yet, gaetan took a little more freedom -- points sinking into his lip as he curled a careful, clawed hand over the back of godric's hand, and pulled him forward. gently, but intently.

he'd finish filling along the bed of the nobleman's tongue, until he'd be prodding at the back of his mouth.

he didn't respond to the thanks or the compliment directly. he just let his grin grow wider and more toothy. a cheshire smile, if you will.

"--I'm gonna go find lord lamar," gaetan eventually ground out. swiping a glass off a nearby tray, he downed the thing in one go, more to whet his throat than actually savor the drink. then he swiped another one, and pushed it into kellen's chest, holding it there until the witcher would take it.

however long that might've ended up being.

"don't get dead," he'd add, before stalking off. "or I'll come kill whatever did you in."

At least, until Gaetan decided to play his own game. The act of peeling away his leathers was unhurried, calculated - an unmistakable play for power, meant to remind Godric that, for all his games, Gaetan had weapons of his own. His body was one of them... One that Godric was, unfortunately quite weak toward. Money afforded him much but the Master of Law was still a man at his core.

Godric did not look away. Dark eyes followed the movement, slow and deliberate, tracing the lines of taut muscle, the battle-worn strength beneath bronzed skin. A display, but not without purpose. Gaetan was giving nothing for free - he was buying himself time, stalling. And yet, the irony of it was that he did not realize how little Godric minded.

In fact, Godric indulged the show for precisely three beats longer than was polite, letting silence hang just long enough to be noted. Then, smoothly, he stepped forward, closing the space between them with the ease of a man who never lost at his own games. "By all means," blatantly amused with his voice cut smooth, he took to his knees for a better vantage. "take your time.”

with his jerkin tossed aside, the bracers went next, and godric was sliding into place. as did gaetan's hands, his claw-tipped fingers, sliding into artfully placed and treated strands. bloodstained knuckles through preciselly quaffed hair. tips teasing over his scalp, lighting up his skin, as gaetan continued the motions. undoing the laces of his leather breaches one tug at a time, right at the lord's eye-level.

"this how I'm buying the outfit?" the shark teased, almost chuckling, voice still rough and dry. "not the worst way I've paid someone off." his thumb made the last move, sliding down crossing laces and tugging them wide, so the petals of the leather would part. his root appeared first, the rest of him tucked against his thigh. when he fished himself out, he kept his other hand on godric's head -- that was one allowance he wasn't about to relinquish just yet.

licking his lips, gaetan wagged bait and tackle in godric's face, as he slid the pants off one leg at a time. until he was bare before him, undressed and only more powerful in the state, the strength of his build clear and apparent.