Midday Heat

Lyon chuckled softly as Chastaine broke their kiss to put his lips elsewhere.

“Are my kisses laughable, Lyon?” he asked idly, teeth nipping Lyon’s ear, eliciting the shiver he had known he would.

“Nay,” Lyon replied, stroking fingers lightly, lazily, along Chastaine’s skin, lingering on the fine, wide chest. Many a time he had seen it bare, and probably noted and admired it absently, but never a second glance had he taken. Now he could not stop touching, tasting… “A stray thought, perhaps related to your kisses.”

Summer made the air thick and sticky, even the cool of the thick castle walls not enough to cut it completely. They lay stretched out on their bed, an elaborately carved piece given to them by Winifred with no small amount of cheek – and no small amount of ribaldry from the castle inhabitants.

“So my kisses both allow you to think, and lead to thoughts which make you laugh?” Chastaine shook his head and nipped at his shoulder.

Lyon rolled his eyes and tugged Chastaine’s head up for another proper kiss. Too hot, too lazy, for anything more intense yet, but they had a few hours to themselves while it was simply too hot to do much of anything, and he was quite content to spend it exchanging lazy kisses and touches with his lover. “I remember, while you were off rescuing Lady Winifred…something Brice said led me eventually to the realization that for all we know about each other…”

He shook his head and took another kiss, intoxicated as always by the way Chastaine just knew. Always they had known all that mattered, words were so seldom required.

“You cannot end the sentence there,” Chastaine said in amusement. He shifted, resting on his back and pulling Lyon to lie partly sprawled on top of him, hands smoothing down Lyon’s backside.

“It occurred to me that with all I did know, the one thing I did not was where and how you…” He broke off into a low, muffled groan as Chastaine’s fingers grew bold. “…slaked your lust.”

Chastaine laughed and kissed him hard, sliding a thigh between Lyon’s legs, pressing just so. “Such inappropriate thoughts, Sir Knight.”

“Mayhap, but it is not my fingers doing inappropriate things,” Lyon said, words spilling into another groan. He shifted slightly, granting better access, putting his mouth to that fine chest, tasting sweat and Chastaine.

“No,” Chastaine said with another laugh, but this time it was breathless and unsteady. “However, if my fingers do inappropriate things it is because your body begs to have them done.”

Groaning, Lyon did not even attempt to argue, merely biting down on one pale nipple, satisfaction pouring through him at the grunt that elicited, the way the fingers inside him faltered for a moment.

“So what did you picture?” Chastaine asked, resuming his torture, fingers pushing deep, twisting and jerking so that for a moment Lyon struggled to recall what they had been discussing.

It drew a deep moan from him. “I did not know. I wonder if you dallied with your hunters, or villagers, but dismissed them…I could not imagine you doing more than taking yourself in hand.”

“Mmm,” Chastaine murmured, voice husky in his ear, teeth nipping every so faintly as his fingers withdrew, leaving Lyon feeling empty. “Now that would make for a pretty sight, Lyon. I should like to see you take yourself in hand sometime.”

Lyon kissed him, then sat up, digging his nails lightly into Chastaine’s chest as he was lifted, shifted, guided onto Chastaine’s long cock.

He rode slowly at first, still too hot and sticky to feel like moving with feverish speed, and he did adore the way lust took over Chastaine’s face. Intense and hot, far more searing than even the most torturous summer day.

The tempo increased apace, however, for it was impossible not to get swept up in this thing which had always been there, simply waiting for them to see it.

He certainly saw it now, and the look in Chastaine’s eyes whenever their gazes met…

Lyon stared a moment longer into eyes which blazed a beautiful, perfect blue. The heat and need and want, the admiration and fierce possessiveness – all his, and reflected in his own eyes.

He finally broke eye contact, allowing his head to fall back as he finally fell fully into the furious rhythm of their lovemaking, riding Chastaine hard, as much as they both could take, heedless now of the heat and the sweat, oblivious to everything except the man beneath him, the hand that wrapped firmly around him to stroke in time with their thrusting.

Their passion at last broke, and Lyon cried Chastaine’s name, hearing his own shouted just as hoarsely.

Collapsing, he grunted as Chastaine slowly pulled completely out, then reached up to exchange a heated kiss that gradually slowed to more of the soft and lazy ones with which they had begun.

Eventually he settled into a light doze, Chastaine snoring softly beside him, his arm a pleasant weight draped over Lyon’s chest, their legs tangled together.

He stirred briefly, opening his eyes and poking Chastaine in the chest. Blue eyes met his, sleepy and curious and affectionate. “Yes?” Chastaine rumbled, voice already rough with sleep.

“You never told me with whom you slaked your lust.”

“A sheepherder,” Chastaine said with a yawn, arm tightening across Lyon’s chest. “We saw each other only briefly, every few months or so. What of you, Lyon?”

Lyon rolled his eyes. “A passing silk merchant,” he said.

“The one you always went to see in town,” Chastaine replied.

Nodding, Lyon shifted, and Chastaine met him, kissing as hard and deep and thorough as Lyon liked, as they both liked, merchants and herders things of the past.

Breaking the kiss, they settled down once more to their nap.