(end on hiatus)

Iorweth was sitting near the campfire, bending his back to sharpen his blade. Silently, precisely getting the polishing rock on each side, slowly. The scenery looked like a dream with the firelight dancing on his hands by each movement. Roche was supposed to spy the Scoia’Tael commander to get information of the next plan they were working on. But he ended luring the elf for hours now, silently hiding in the dark of night, the other camp members went to sleep, but not him. Why?

Iorweth was still working on each blade he owned, softly smiling at the dancing flames before him. Silence was his company as he put the last one next to him, widening his smile even more, due to the hard work he had sharpening his blades.

“When you smile, I fall apart.”

The words of the Temerian brunette made Iorweth freeze right here.

“Squass’me?”

The elf could not believe what he just heard. Roche on his own, froze as he realized what he just said out loud, blowing up his cover and hiding to the commander.

The two looked at each other in silence, open mouthed, not knowing if one or another was dreaming or not. Roche was the first to break the moment:

“Well, it’s kind of true…” he said scratching his head “I think I never saw you smile before, makes you look, kind of normal… Suits you.”

Iorweth could not believe he was awake. What did this bloede dh’oine just said? Halfway on anger and awkwardness, he still couldn’t get his eyes away from the Temerian boy, still trying to hide from the Scoia’Tael commander.

Iorweth shook his head, smiling again:

“Well, looks like someone is willing to die tonight… Tell me, is this a new way for Blue Stripes to provoke your enemies?” He stood up, coming slowly to Roche:

“Why didn’t you run after saying this? I can’t believe you’re still here. Waiting for death?”

One step more.

“Waiting for me to kill you?”

Two steps.

“Willing me to thank you for these words?”

Three steps, damn he was close.

Roche began to feel an unusual feeling up his guts “Tell me dh’oine…” the elf said cupping Roche’s cheek with one hand “Why would my smile be so important to you that you lure me all day long?”

Shit. He knew. He always knew Roche was there. And yet, he never said a work against the luring man.

Why?

The elf was close. Pretty damn close. Roche couldn’t even move anymore, heart beating like a crazy drummer on a battlefield.

Has he been always that tall?

“What do you want?” Roche asked. “If you’re not willing to kill me, why are you so close to me?”

The elf smirked.

“Well, it is not usual for me to be lured as you did by such an… Specially interesting dh’oine…”

Roche bite his lips as Iorweth put an awkward break between those words. But the Temerian brunette had no time to think more as a hand moved on his neck. A thumb was tracing his jawline softly, stopping on his bottom lip.

Oh, why did his knees decided to fall on such time?

“Strange, I always though you would be rough on touch, not… As soft as…”

The elf didn’t though of the end of his words, his lips were already connected to the human’s ones in a soft, long and shy embrace. Slowly turning into a more passionate kiss. None of them dared open his eyes, they knew already who they were.

As their bodies came closer, almost melting into one, they kiss also came more needed. Craving for each other with every breath, every touch, every armor part they laid down on the floor.

“Wait. We shouldn’t-” Roche was the first to break the kiss, panting, searching for air, as elves could retain their breathing for much longer than humans. “What if someone comes, I deeply don’t want to end this impaled like a milky pig by Eldain!”

Iorweth couldn’t help himself as he chuckled, even if he knew the reputation this dh’oine had with raw language. “Damn Vernon, can’t you be a little more romantic to predict your fate?” He looked at the man, smiling as he were doing so long ago.

“Still, you got the persecutor wrong.” He leaned on the human, whispering in his ear: “I am the one to make you bend tonight.”

Sharp. These words were sharp.

Normally, humans ended face on the floor in one fist for calling him Vernon.

But his smile. His genuine, gentle, charming smile.

Roche couldn’t help, he was down for the elf, for Temeria’s sake.

“Don’t you worry, it’ll be fine.” Said Iorweth in a breath. “Everyone is asleep for now.” He took his look up the man “For as long as your noises stay for my ears only. I don’t need you to be silent.” He looked up and down on the brunette before smirking and whispering: “This pretty coarse voice of yours can be nice on some…” He licked the dh’oine’s chin “Occasions…”

A sharp hiss came from Roche as the elf made place for his teeth in his neck. And maybe one damned low, strangled, half silent moan.

A hand slipped on his belt, gripping it like a leach.

“Take that off”

Roche cuffed “What, the belt?”

“Everything. Hurry.”

“Heard some elf-ass coming along?” Roche smirked as he began to open his trousers, slowly pulling the elf in pain of wait.

“No. Did you saw me eat anything today, when luring at me like a perv?”

Roche swallowed at the word. “No, why, you’re hungry? Need me to go hunt some berries for you princess?” Roche didn’t keep his smirk for long as the elf was quickly pushing him to the ground. Kissing him one last time, long enough to left him breathless, he slowly began to trail a road of kisses and lickings on the Temerian’s chest. Both were softly moaning with each lip smack.

He was pecking on his ears.

Jawline.

Neck.

Shoulders.

Collarbone.

Pecs.

Stomach.

Abs.

Hipbone.

He stopped at the inner tights of the man, locking his eyes into the ones. Roche was now a messy panting amount of red-faced flesh, deeply sweating. Iorweth smiled innocently at him:

“I am starving for the lilies.” The words were still resonating between the trees as surprised moan came from the lying brunette.

“Dammit you’re-… Way…” He tossed out the elf’s cap and tangled his fingers in his sweaty hair, guiding his head along his shaft in a better angle, making his legs shake. Curling his toes to the ground: “T-too good at-… Th-is!”

The filled mouth of the elf curled as he heard Roche’s voice crumble under his tongue moves. Swirling along the men’s length as his hands explored his chest. A deep humming was the only answer Iorweth gave to him.

Close. He was too close. Too soon. But damn the elf didn’t make it easier to maintain!

“Iorweth… P-please… Don’t… I – I’m not….”

His hands gripped at the elf’s hair as his back bend over.

“Iorweth dammit are you-… Listening to me!?”

A loud pop could be heard in the forest.

Iorweth used his thumb to get rid of saliva bits dropping from his lips.

“You said?”

“You damn elf!” Roche tried to get up but the sidh leaned on him, kissing his neck before pulling over.

“Turn over. And yes, it is an order.”

Roche’s lips began to part, but words fall down his throat. Living the panting mess voiceless as the elf places his lips on his:

“Please, don’t make me wait to treat you good…” Said Iorweth between two kisses, lovingly rubbing the man’s inner tights.

Roche couldn’t get his brain straight, half of his mind wanted him to run away. The other half was, strangely, curious about the elf’s skills… How come he felt so low? How did he managed to put himself above the highest cliff to jump off? For Temeria’s sake, what the bloody hell was he doing!

Still, he listened to Iorweth’s claiming.

Getting rid of every part of clothes he wore. Slowly, hesitant, but the elf didn’t think of it that way.

“What are you doing? I thought you more experienced than that! Ugh, let me help, you’ll be naked for Saovine if you continue to do things that slow…”

Even if the arrogance in his voice was persistent, a small hint of softness could be heard in Iorveth’s concern. He began to tuck under Roche’s clothes, getting rid of every part of armor ceremonially, but still quick, and somehow, with a hunger only him could feel.

“Get it up.”

Roche was shocked: “I beg your bloody pardon?”

“Get. It. Up! Now!”

Roches turned his face away: “You think it can be turned on in by simple ask?”

Iorweth gathered the dh’oine’s glance seriously, a faint smirk on his lips, shaking the man’s leg.

“Well, I don’t know what you have in mind, dh’oine, but your boots will be better off if you lift your leg a bit!” He said in a chuckle. Roche felt himself dying by the following words Iorweth said, lifting himself up to the man’s ear:

“But don’t worry, you won’t need any assistance for this, aren’t I good enough for you to be” He packed the man’s pack in one hand, slowly pressuring it as Roche seemed already prepared “tall enough?”.

Hard.

It was hard for the poor commander to swallow this time...

How could it be? What did the bloody bastard do to get him like that? Too fast, too confident, the elf was too much for him, in every way.

And yet he was standing there. Naked. The floor never looked as beautiful as he didn’t even dare look away from it. But sounds made him break his quick evasion: Iorveth took few steps further, getting rid of his gloves, letting them slowly fall near his ankle, bare legs pointing out of his gambeson.

How could a male have such slim and soft legs as he had? Wrists made no difference, and years, millennials, of sword fighting and archery did not expel the elf to get such beautiful hands.

Long and slim fingers running around each belt, each button, each part of his clothes slowly pulled off. Only to create a soft circle of fabric and chainmail around his body. A firepit in which Iorweth would be a dancing flame, heating Roche, keeping him awake in a cold night. A temptation none should touch, a burning desire.

The gambeson fell, leaving the man in a simple tunic, barely covering his body enough to be decent, but revealing much as Roche’s hope wished. The man stared, explored every inch of skin, scars, letting his imagination flow, drawing history for every detail he saw.

A quick snap of fingers took him back to reality, as Iorweth came closer to him:

“Never saw someone naked before? Who guessed the Blue Stripes Commander was a little new lamb?”

The elf said in a chuckle, barely covering his smile with his hand.

That. Damn. Smile.

“Is this where your bravery stops? I understand you’ll keep the mask on, but is it necessary to…” he lifted Iorweth’s tunic upon one of his hips, gently stroking at his skin. Incredibly soft, drawing every perfect shape of the elf’s muscles, bones. “…Let this on?” Roche said as a faint smirk of victory took his lips, as he saw the elf’s face come from a smile to a visible confusion.

He added:

“Or did you wish me to uncover your delicate body?” Roche took the only chance he had to inverse the roles for once. He was in the middle of a Scoia’Tael camp, totally naked, he had nothing left to lose.

He took a step further, making the elf rewind his trail.

“Tell me Iorweth, how do you want me to do it?” He was still slowly pushing the elf back, stopped by the nearest tree behind him.

“Want me to lift it up like a whore’s corset? Order you to take it off as a slave? Or even better-” He took the low part of the tunic in his strong hands, caroused by years of sword fighting, and special trainings. He murmured to the elf’s ear with the lowest voice he could: “Do you want me to rip it off as Nilfgaard did for your dreams?”

No more.

It took no more than a quick look on the shocked face of the elf to tire his hands apart, perfectly cutting open the light brown tunic. HE caught Iorweth in a gasp this time. HE let him wordless. He made his heart break his ribs from surprise.

HE made the elf HIS.

Roche closed his eyes and frowned a bit, as he saw Iorweth’s hands coming at his face in a fast movement, anticipating the slap he would receive.

Oh, he wasn’t ready.

His brain shut down as he felt these soft, delicate, cold hands on his cheeks. Soon coming along with hot lips roughly pressed against his. It took him only few seconds before letting himself go in, keeping the elf in a close embrace, arms around his waist, hands sliding on his back, a trail along these perfect curves.

Iorweth let his hands fall on Roche’s nape, softly gripping that ugly chaperon of his.

“Don’t you dare.” Said the man with his lips still pressed on the elf’s ones.

“I’m not going further if you keep that towel on you, dh’oine.” Responded Iorweth, still kissing, trying to get rid of the black curse Roche kept wearing anytime of the year.

“Then give up on yours too, elf.”

Darts.

Roche’s eyes were heated lances to Iorweth’s heart. He took a step backward, not even daring to look at the man.

Roche came back at him, taking back the elf’s attention with a cupped hand on his cheek:

“It’s alright, you can trust me, I’m not here to hurt you” He took off his chaperon, tossing it somewhere nearby. “Let me see you as you see me.”

Calm. Soft. Low and warm. These words, this voice, meant the world to him.

He peeked at the man’s face, a soft smile upon it, as his hand trailed to Iorweth’s head cap knot:

“How long has it been? How long have you walked, starved, and prayed for no one to find you? The Scoia’Tael are close, the forest deeper, darker, more dangerous with every step made further. But yet, you continue…”

Those were the words turning over and over in Roche’s head, sharper by each repetition, they made of him, by the time, a blabbering corpse, traveling the forest like a ghost, the burning flame of the Temerian lilies on his back. How long could he continue? How long could he still walk before he will pass out at the nearest tree? Known for his strength, the spy would not let his fate be played out that easily, and certainly not end here, in Iorweth’s territory.

On the other side, the elf was quite relaxed on that day, the death of the Temerian king had put him in a state of joy, but also granted him with such boring days, not even a dh’oine’s death could kick his laziness off, he needed more, something new, unexpected, unique, forbidden. Ciaran was the first to sense something approaching near the tree they climbed to play cards, treetop Gwent was one of the favourite hobbies for the Scoia’Tael soldiers by peaceful days, the loser falls from the branch, and brings himself great shame above the others, which stains him for a whole week, if no more. As Ciaran seemed off the game, still looking at the road under them, the commander asked:

“Mire an an'givare, bleidd, saov?”

“Néen, het ess an… Dh’oine ?”

“Néen voe’rle het, Ess’néen creasa. Ire lokke, ire tedd, het cáen me a’báeth aep arse aep woedd!”

“Zvaere Iorweth…” cursed Ciaran in a sight, before adding his last card, winning the game, and Iorweth knew what it implied, trying to negotiate a redraw, claiming about treason and cheating to change his fate, but Ciaran had another plan in head. With a smirk, he pushed his friend over the edge by a quick foot play, and with a loss of balance, Iorweth began to fall, cursing faster and louder than he ever did on a living thing, which was laughing ‘till he couldn’t breathe anymore.

||STOMP||

Ciaran looked curiously beneath him as the sound were different than what he was willing to hear, and there was a good reason for it, Iorweth did not fall on the road as expected, but on something else, something dh’oine shaped, something alive and, blue stiped?

“What the bloody hell happened? Ugh, my head...” said the dh’oine, laying on the ground under the elf, “What is the meaning of this?” barked the man, but Iorweth didn’t made any sound, he could not believe it, even if, oh dear, he knew that voice, that hoarse, heavy, low voice of Roche. His, Vernon Roche.

Please don’t kill me, it’s my first fic and English is REALLY not my first language TT^TT

Please enjoy <3

 Iorveth was sitting near the campfire, bending his back to sharpen his blade. Silently, precisely getting the polishing rock on each side, slowly. The scenery looked like a dream with the firelight dancing on his hands by each movement. Roche was supposed to spy the Scoia’Tael commander to get information of the next plan they were working on. But he ended luring the elf for hours now, silently hiding in the dark of night, the other camp members went to sleep, but not him. Why?

Iorveth was still working on each blade he owned, softly smiling at the dancing flames before him. Silence was his company as he put the last one next to him, widening his smile even more, due to the hard work he had sharpening his blades.

“When you smile, I fall apart.”

The words of the Temerian brunette made Iorveth freeze right here.

“Squass’me?”

The elf could not believe what he just heard. Roche on his own, froze as he realized what he just said out loud, blowing up his cover and hiding to the commander.

The two looked at each other in silence, open mouthed, not knowing if one or another was dreaming or not. Roche was the first to break the moment:

“Well, it’s kind of true…” he said scratching his head “I think I never saw you smile before, makes you look, kinda normal… Suits you.”

Iorveth could not believe he was awake. What did this bloede dh’oine just said? Halfway on anger and awkwardness, he still couldn’t get his eyes away from the Temerian boy, still trying to hide from the Scoia’Tael commander.

Iorveth shook his head, smiling again:

“Well, looks like someone is willing to die tonight… Tell me, is this a new way for Blue Stripes to provoke your enemies?” He stood up, coming slowly to Roche:

“Why didn’t you run after saying this? I can’t believe you’re still here. Waiting for death?”

One step more.

“Waiting for me to kill you?”

Two steps.

“Willing me to thank you for these words?”

Three steps, damn he was close.

Roche began to feel an unusual feeling up his guts “Tell me dh’oine…” the elf said cupping Roche’s cheek with one hand “Why would my smile be so important to you that you lure me all day long?”

Shit. He knew. He always knew Roche was there. And yet, he never said a work against the luring man.

Why?

The elf was close. Pretty damn close. Roche couldn’t even move anymore, heart beating like a crazy drummer on a battlefield.

Has he been always that tall?

“What do you want?” Roche asked. “If you’re not willing to kill me, why are you so close to me?”

The elf smirked.

“Well, it is not usual for me to be lured as you did by such an… Specially interesting dh’oine…”

Roche bite his lips as Iorveth put an awkward break between those words. But the Temerian brunette had no time to think more as a hand moved on his neck. A thumb was tracing his jawline softly, stopping on his bottom lip.

Oh, why did his knees decided to fall on such time?

“Strange, I always though you would be rough on touch, not… As soft as…”

The elf didn’t though of the end of his words, his lips were already connected to the human’s ones in a soft, long and shy embrace. Slowly turning into a more passionate kiss. None of them dared open his eyes, they knew already who they were.

As their bodies came closer, almost melting into one, they kiss also came more needed. Craving for each other with every breath, every touch, every armor part they laid down on the floor.

“Wait. We shouldn’t-” Roche was the first to break the kiss, panting, searching for air, as elves could retain their breathing for much longer than humans. “What if someone comes, I deeply don’t want to end this impaled like a milky pig by Eldain!”

Iorveth couldn’t help himself as he chuckled, even if he knew the reputation this dh’oine had with raw language. “Damn Vernon, can’t you be a little more romantic to predict your fate?” He looked at the man, smiling as he were doing so long ago.

“Still, you got the persecutor wrong.” He leaned on the human, whispering in his ear: “I am the one to make you bend tonight.”

Sharp. These words were sharp.

Normally, humans ended face on the floor in one fist for calling him Vernon.

But his smile. His genuine, gentle, charming smile.

Roche couldn’t help, he was down for the elf, for Temeria’s sake.

“Don’t you worry, it’ll be fine.” Said Iorveth in a breath. “Everyone is asleep for now.” He took his look up the man “For as long as your noises stay for my ears only. I don’t need you to be silent.” He looked up and down on the brunette before smirking and whispering: “This pretty coarse voice of yours can be nice on some…” He licked the dh’oine’s chin “Occasions…”

A sharp hiss came from Roche as the elf made place for his teeth in his neck. And maybe one damned low, strangled, half silent moan.

A hand slipped on his belt, gripping it like a leach.

“Take that off”

Roche cuffed “What, the belt?”

“Everything. Hurry.”

“Heard some elf-ass coming along?” Roche smirked as he began to open his trousers, slowly pulling the elf in pain of wait.

“No. Did you saw me eat anything today, when luring at me like a perv?”

Roche swallowed at the word. “No, why, you’re hungry? Need me to go hunt some berries for you princess?” Roche didn’t keep his smirk for long as the elf was quickly pushing him to the ground. Kissing him one last time, long enough to left him breathless, he slowly began to trail a road of kisses and lickings on the Temerian’s chest. Both were softly moaning with each lip smack.

He was pecking on his ears.

Jawline.

Neck.

Shoulders.

Collarbone.

Pecs.

Stomach.

Abs.

Hipbone.

He stopped at the inner tights of the man, locking his eyes into the ones. Roche was now a messy panting amount of red-faced flesh, deeply sweating. Iorveth smiled innocently at him:

“I am starving for the lilies.” The words were still resonating between the trees as surprised moan came from the lying brunette.

“Dammit you’re-… Way…” He tossed out the elf’s cap and tangled his fingers in his sweaty hair, guiding his head along his shaft in a better angle, making his legs shake. Curling his toes to the ground: “T-too good at-… Th-is!”

The filled mouth of the elf curled as he heard Roche’s voice crumble under his tongue moves. Swirling along the men’s length as his hands explored his chest. A deep humming was the only answer Iorveth gave to him.

Close. He was too close. Too soon. But damn the elf didn’t make it easier to maintain!

“Iorveth… P-please… Don’t… I – I’m not….”

His hands gripped at the elf’s hair as his back bend over.

“Iorveth dammit are you-… Listening to me!?”

A loud pop could be heard in the forest.

Iorveth used his thumb to get rid of saliva bits dropping from his lips.

“You said?”

“You damn elf!” Roche tried to get up but the sidh leaned on him, kissing his neck before pulling over.

“Turn over. And yes, it is an order.”

Roches’s lips began to part, but words fall down his throat. Living the panting mess voiceless as the elf places his lips on his:

“Please, don’t make me wait to treat you good…” Said Iorveth between two kisses, lovingly rubbing the man’s inner tights.

Roche couldn’t get his brain straight, half of his mind wanted him to run away. The other half was, strangely, curious about the elf’s skills… How come he felt so low? How did he managed to put himself above the highest cliff to jump off? For Temeria’s sake, what the bloody hell was he doing!