Work Header

idle hands

Work Text:

His mind was merciless today, Aymeric quickly realized as he failed to achieve anything meaningful for the second consecutive hour that morning. He was concerned for Alphinaud’s sister, certainly, but also ashamed to admit that the dire circumstance was not what was first and foremost in his mind. 

He would be a liar if he didn’t admit the simple fact that the previous evening’s meal shared with one Warrior of Light entirely refused to leave him alone. The way that once they were alone, the Warrior seemed to come alive with delight and vibrancy, the excited way they wove stories for him, eyes dancing with mirth and warmth in a way that was so at odds with their usually reserved, stoic manner. 

He was privileged to have seen such a side of them-- Privileged and utterly, completely undone by it. That Aymeric was attracted to them was no secret, but to watch their cheeks flush with happiness and a goodly measure of wine, that pretty flush spilling down their throat to warm their collar.. The way that their tongue had darted out to catch errant droplets of liquor, leaving plump flesh gleaming with moisture and stained red with drink--

Aymeric groaned softly, a hand coming up to rub his brow, the persistent throb between his thighs near unbearable. He’d been thus all morning, thinking of their interrupted evening together. He was a gentleman-- He *tried* to be, but he would have to have been a blind man and a fool to miss their matching interest, the way they’d leaned into his words, eyes following his gestures as much as he had followed their own. 

No, had it not been for an untimely intervention, one of them would certainly have made a move on the other, but it was only left to his imagination where the evening might have taken them. 

An imagination that steadfastly refused to behave, instead conjuring up images of the Warrior sat across his lap, their head tossed back in furious ecstasy as they chased their completion impaled on his cock. The same cock that pulsed angrily where it was trapped against his thigh, each rush of blood a hammer blow to the gut that made his head swim with how desperately he yearned to be relieved of it. 

Grinding the heel of his palm down against the hot ridge of his cock, Aymeric stifled another groan, hips hitching upwards into the contact as near painful as it was sublime. He was the Lord Commander, for pity’s sake! Not some untested youth powerless against the whims of his body’s urging! There was no decent reason for him to be so damn hard in the place of his Office, no decent reason that his thoughts refused to leave the images of those wet, red lips pursing around the aching head of his dick, that quick, peeking tongue working swiftly against his slit to coax out pearls of salty fluid--

With a bleak little exhale, he palmed himself roughly through the fine fabric of his breeches, squeezing his cock until it full hurt in the vain hope that it might convince his treacherous body to grant him some peace. Aymeric could feel the cotton of his smalls sticking to scorching flesh where he’d leaked into the fabric, the tiniest shift of his weight dragging the saturated weave over too-sensitive nerves. It would be a disgrace to succumb to base desire here, an affront to his position and wholly inappropriate, but by the Fury, he couldn’t remember the time he’d last wanted so badly without any impending hope of succor. 

Estinien would doubtless have had much to say on the matter, scathing tongue that the Dragoon had. It was some small mercy that Aymeric knew well enough that his closest friend felt much the same as he-- Estinien was better at concealing his desire, but Aymeric could tell by the way the man’s eyes followed where the Warrior moved, the barest shift in his weight, the frustration that he expressed after dealing with them that Estinien wanted perhaps as badly as he. 

His thoughts, damn them, turned with the aching of his loins to the pair of them. It would not have been the first time Aymeric and Estinien had known one another in such a manner, but it would have marked the first time they had entertained a third between them. What would the erstwhile Azure Dragoon have had to say, had Aymeric and the Warrior of Light not been interrupted the previous evening? Would he have come upon them, full of want and fire, demanding his place among them? 

Would he have pulled the Warrior up, kissed them, chased the taste of Aymeric’s spend growling from their mouth with his tongue? 

Aymeric had not intended to end up thus, hunched over his desk with his head on the mercifully cool wood, pawing at his cock like an adolescent. He was so hard he could weep with it, legs pressed together thigh through to knee as he rocked up against the rough press of his palm, scarcely able to breathe in the magnitude of his own relentless desire. 

Estinien would have been a welcome interruption, certainly, but not one that he could allow to go unnoticed. He hoped the Warrior would have been amenable to the idea-- Though Aymeric had a shrewd idea that he was beginning to be able to read his new friend’s tells just as well as he could his old. If the way they’d reacted to him showed their interest, the way they watched Estinien, though furtive, was no less heated. In the privacy of his own mind, Aymeric was perfectly at liberty to entertain the both of them, and Estinien for his interruption would have to make it up to Aymeric’s guest adequately. 

It was a sublime image, both of the objects of his desire tangled together, Estinien’s mercury head buried between the Warrior’s strong thighs, pulling a litany of prayers and curses from them as he put his smart tongue to good work while Aymeric held them, caressed their world-weary body with his hands, pulled sensitive nipples into stiff peaks beneath his fingers and drank down their cries as if being offered communion. 

 His fist was an absolute necessity by that point in stifling the soft sounds of his pleasure, knuckles dimpled by his teeth as he pressed them into the flesh. Aymeric’s hips worked frenetically, urgent little rolls that ground his hand ungently over his throbbing length, pulling that tell-tale tightening into the pit of his belly. 

They would, the both of them, take the Warrior like that, sandwiched securely between them, lovers sharing one another as certain as the breath between them. He could well imagine it-- Estinien’s long, certain fingers pressing up into the Warrior alongside his own, working them open until they begged for more, desperate to finally be filled. Were they as overcome as he was? Did they think now, somewhere beyond Ishgard’s walls, about where the evening could have gone with more merciful fates? In his mind they were incandescent, their rising voice a hymn as he and Estinien pressed finally, finally into them, trapped together in the hot clutch of their body. They would remain like that, moving like a cresting wave, a push-pull that rendered the three of them insensible with pleasure, words yielding to base animal need until they each reached their peak and shared it between them. 

Aymeric’s peak was sudden, a messy, bitten-off cry muffled into the meat of his palm as he shook, muscles pulling tight, and spilled wet and seemingly ceaseless within the confines of his breeches, every nerve overwrought and firing like the final conflagration of a dying star. He gasped, breath refusing to come for a minute as though his orgasm had consumed every function his body was capable of carrying out at once and rendered him boneless, paralyzed, and shivery in its aftermath. 

He exhaled a quavering breath of laughter in spite of himself, trembling fingers pushing damp hair away from his forehead, mind too fuzzy with warmth and slowly receding pleasure for embarrassment to creep in. At least, mercifully, Aymeric could safely say that his mind had been sated for now, thoughts turning reluctantly from the potential of the night before to the potential of the future. His desire was not especially diminished, but his body’s response to it was thankfully muted, allowing him a moment to think, if only on muse on how best to realize that potential. 

A drink, perhaps.