#let's be real...

Behind the doors of Cornelius' office, there was more than simply the secret of their attraction to each other; a play on dynamics that seemed to amuse the both of them, a switching of roles that depended on their mood, the meaninglessness of the separation of social classes. Their vastly different backgrounds was no longer an obstacle; it became an element of seduction, a trigger of arousal.

It was in this spirit that Ashen often sought to break Cornelius' focus, to make him struggle not to look at his guard instead of working. These hours spent removing his armour pieces in ways that the wizard's eye would find appealing, however, would soon be turned against him when the cleric found out that this meant that Cornelius had memorised exactly where each piece went, and, most importantly, how to reach the soft, thin layer of clothing beneath the skirt of his armour without removing a single plate.

This surprise dawned upon him after a long day of pining after each other while they were out on official duties, conversations of the day evaporating from their memory as soon as the doors closed and their lips met. Kissing turned into making out, embrace turned into pinning, and soon enough Ashen found himself muffling a moan against Cornelius' lips as he felt a warm touch take a hold of him through his braies.

He could barely keep himself together as the lord worked him to his peak, cheeks flushed as ever and speech hesitating between 'Cornelius,' 'Francis,' or 'master Bevard,' all of those mixing in his mind as more overwhelming sensations took over his focus. It was only once he rode down his high and loosened his grip on the other that he muttered something between a grunt and a moan.