Ah, there it is. It would have been foolish of him to expect the questions wouldn't touch on it in some way, though he had held out a little hope.
Still, he doesn't feel as hesitant admitting to it as he might with someone else, he's quietly confident that Estinien has little care for social mores and opinions, and he isn't going to judge Aymeric for the circumstances of his birth.
What lingering hesitancy he does have doesn't show on his face, instead he just smiles wryly.
"Unfortunate rumours surrounding the legitimacy of my birth." He admits, as smoothly as he is able. "Hardly an original story."
His friend Haurchefaunt is plagued by similar gossip, but at least his father has willingly claimed him, and, well, it's the rumoured identity of Aymeric's father that keeps the gossip persisting - that part is more original, if only marginally.
Estinien levels his gaze at Aymeric, expression unreadable, brow heavy from thought. It is ludicrous, in his estimation, that the other temple knights should be so preoccupied with the birth of a peer who had already proven himself otherwise capable -- even superlative.
But, were sympathy wanted at all, and Estinien isn't even sure that it is, he wouldn't even know how to begin to express it. So, instead, he says, "How boring. There is much more about you worth finding fascinating."
A pause, he lets his attention trace the outline of Aymeric's perfect form, haloed as it is by the bright noon sun. "Does it bother you?"
Whatever his answer, Estinien decides that he will see to it that the whispers stop. On his own time. Without Aymeric noticing.
There is much more about you worth finding fascinating.
Oh. Oh.
Aymeric absolutely, compeletely, one hundred percent does not care if Estinien truly is the one or not. If he isn't his soulmate, well, whoever his soulmate actually is hasn't got a single hope in all seven hells.
(He's being dramatic, he knows, but he's allowed to be in the privacy of his own head. Perhaps there will be something about Estinien that's tiresome, or off-putting, or something about his soulmate that's sheer perfection. Neither seems likely in the moment)
He realises, belatedly, that he's been asked a question, and he really hopes that he just looked like he was thinking about it rather than staring helplessly at Estinien's beautiful face.
"At times," he concedes "but if they weren't gossipping about that they'd like find something else. I may have more to prove, but I'll not shy away from that."
He smiles slyly.
"Was that your third question?"
patented "oh no I'm about to feel a feeling" Estinien Exit
Were twenty-year-old Estinien Varlineau capable of feeling shame, he might've blushed, even looked away. Aymeric's gaze is as keen as it is lovely, and having it unsettles everything beneath his skin. Makes him want to move -- in and away both, at the same time.
Young Estinien doesn't have much in the way of shame, though. And so, he stares back, both pleased with being the center of Aymeric's attention and bothered with the fact that he likes it so much. He can tell that much must be going on behind those eyes, but can't fathom what it might be. And that bothers him, too.
Everything about Aymeric de Borel bothers Estinien immensely -- but he wants it. The attention, the puckish smiles, the unrelenting intensity of his gaze. Damn. He needs to go or he's going to do something stupid.
"That was my third question, yes," Estinien replies, straightening and tucking his towel under his arm, "Must save some questions for when I best you next."
He doesn't wait for a reply. Gathers up his composure and brushes past Aymeric with the sort of brusque nonchalance that he's known for. He doesn't look back as he leaves the field, though he does call, "Five days, Ser Aymeric. Best hone those blade skills."
"If you best me next." Aymeric corrects smoothly as Estinien starts to leave - he may have been defeated this time but that hasn't made a dent in his determination. He's getting that man in his bed come hells or high water.
He laughs lightly at Estinien's parting comment, turning to watch him go and hardly bothering to hide his appreciative gaze.
"Oh I will..." he murmurs, mostly to himself, knowing the other is already out of earshot.
He can't linger for too long, though, with the loss of that intimidating presence he can already sense the buzzards circling and waiting to come and ask what that was all about, so he grabs his things and makes a hasty retreat himself before anybody gets the chance. He does, after all, having training to get to if he's going to be ready for their next match.
"i have struggled in vain and i can bear it no longer..." but make it AGGRESSIVELY Worse
Five days come and go, and it's entirely too long a wait. Estinien is near chomping at the bit to meet Aymeric on the field again. It makes him messy.
Though not messy enough.
This one ends with Aymeric on the ground again, Estinien's boot on his chest, and he's damn near feral looking down at that beautiful Borel boy. Wanting, but not taking.
Three questions, three answers. And five days is far too long, so they mark the next bout in four.
He's more collected this time, but Aymeric's much improved. The gathering crowd's grown, too. Knights and cadets and a handful of tittering sisters, who might've lent a comical bent to their fight had Estinien not been wholly preoccupied with his opponent. Today, it ends with Aymeric's sword in Estinien's hand, and Estinien's lance pointed at that delectable adam's apple.
Three more questions, three more answers. It goes on like this twice more. Each time, it's a match harder fought, victory less cleanly taken. Each time, their crowd of onlookers grows along with the cloud of rumors that follow. Each time, Estinien expects he'll run out of questions, but always, a new one comes to mind. A new thing he wants to know, a new reason to eke out a few more moments of Aymeric's attention without seeming too obvious.
Too obvious. Gods damn it. It wasn't supposed to take this long. Aymeric was to be a craving satisfied, not a brand upon his mind. The memory of him sweat-soaked and breathless, is nigh all Estinien can think about as their sixth match draws near. And worse, he finds himself thinking over his questions, wondering not just at how Aymeric will respond, but what he might find most amusing to talk of.
It rains all that morning, a cold downpour that lightens to a miserable drizzle by the time they meet on the muddy field. The foul weather, far too foggy to see anything well, has kept all but the most rapt of their audience away. Again, Estinien doesn't notice. Because even in the relentlessly drab afternoon mist, Aymeric is beautiful -- almost incandescent, the way the rain glazes all of his most vibrant colors and deepens the dark ones. Looking at him, Estinien can't help but think to himself, what if I just...lost?
And, oh, that will not do.
"Hold."
Before Aymeric can draw his blade, Estinien's feet carry him to the object of his obsession quite without his permission. Lance at his side, he sets in right away on the first thoughts that comes to mind, "We needn't make a contest of this any longer. I'm half mad, thinking of you and my mind will not rest 'til I've had you."
Aymeric is, admittedly, torn. There is part of him that enjoys the fights, enjoys Estinien's questions, enjoys the excuse to keep his interest and attention that, he knows, may well wane the moment he gets what he wants.
There is a much larger part of him that is ever more determined to win because every clash of weapons, every ilm of ground given or taken, every question asked, only makes him want Estinien more.
He trains harder, longer, pushes himself further than ever before - the instructors are impressed with him, he knows, and he can't remember the last time any other knight beat him in a sparring match. Any other knight except Estinien.
When they meet on the field again, Aymeric pauses at Estinien's word, looking up at him with quiet curiosity. It masks the concern that has suddenly slipped, icy cold, down his neck. Has Estinien grown bored already? Has he given up on the thought of bedding Aymeric and - ah. No. No he certainly hasn't done that.
For a moment Aymeric finds himself robbed of breath. It was just so... direct. Not a euphemism they both understood, a teasing innuendo, a sly look or a wink or any of the dozen other ways to communicate what they wanted without outright saying it. Just a blunt, honest admission of genuine want that made Aymeric wanted to drag him to the nearest bed right then and there.
But something stops him. Something brings a small smile to his face and has him tilting his chin up in a smug challenge.
"Full glad am I to hear you say such things, for I confess mine own nights are filled with the thought of finally having you in my bed." He starts, letting the confession linger between them for a moment before continuing "But. A deal is a deal, Estinien, and I have not won you yet."
A hot little ember burns to life in Estinien's stomach when Aymeric answers his exasperation with one of his smooth, perfect little smiles is most assuredly not shame. And the blasted tilt of his chin only makes it worse.
He isn't sure what exactly he'd call the feeling, though. Only knows that it burns all the hotter when Aymeric confirms what he's long suspected -- that the adopted scion of House Borel is just as consumed by thoughts of the two of them together as he is. And when he answers, so perfectly collected, as though he's hardly bothered by the feeling at all?
Oh, those seconds of silence drive Estinien absolutely mad.
"The Fury take you, Borel," Estinien curses, annoyed with himself and his impatience, with the fog and the rain and the cold...but not with Aymeric.
No, because Aymeric is unrelentingly honorable. Never once has he complained about their matches, about the way Estinien fights, or the oft rudely worded questions that come after a match. He has only ever been indefatigably driven toward his goal.
Estinien tamps the mud from his boots with the blunt end of his lance and decides that, no, actually he is furious with the perfect Ser Aymeric de Borel. All his distracting little details. The smiles, the honor, those warm winter eyes, that blasted flawless composure.
If it is to be a match of wills, now, as well, so be it. They will drive each other mad, together.
"Come and try to earn what's yours, then," he grunts, trudging back to his starting spot and readying his lance, "But don't fool yourself into thinking I'll be giving myself away, now."
There is a moment when Estinien curses at him that he thinks he's pushed too far, that he should have taken the opportunity that was presented to him and now he's forever ruined his chances. Except the other man isn't turning away, hasn't stomped off to go and find his entertainment elsewhere, he's still standing right there - even in the mud and miserable, drizzling rain, he's still standing there.
When he does move, it's to go back to where he was before, ready to fight, and Aymeric's smile only widens. He draws his sword and inclines his head in understanding.
"I know you wouldn't do that and I wouldn't respect you if you did." He returns easily, trying to focus on that and not the thrill that ran through him at the words earn what's yours. What is yours. As though that part is already a done deal and he just needs to prove himself worthy of taking it.
Well, he's certainly going to try, and if not today then soon. He's not giving up.
It's a strange thing, feeling so seen. Estinien has never considered himself complicated in the least, but...even Alberic, who is the closest thing to a father he's had these last eight years, never seems to fully grasp his moods and motivations. But Aymeric just...does, and with such appalling, intoxicating glibness.
He grins, "Good."
For the first time since it'd happened, standing here in the midst of all this gray fog, before the beacon of perfect vibrance that is Ser Aymeric de Borel, Estinien wonders if Aymeric isn't exactly the reason he's been given the blue he's so taken with.
He tells himself, as he leaps, weapon raised, that it doesn't matter, either way. Soulmates are for the sorts of people who have futures, and Estinien's will end with the war that plagues their people.
Their weapons clash with a clear ring that echoes off the nearby stone.
This fight is a fierce one, slippery with mud and rain, but no shorter for the precarious terrain. Try as he might, Estinien can't neatly disarm Aymeric this time. On the contrary, Aymeric trips him. Puts him on his back in a move that flares the flame low in his gut as much as stings his spine.
This is where their fight ends: Aymeric over him, blade to his neck, his lance to Aymeric's chest. "A draw," Estinien says, and something like pride shows in his expression, "You're much improved."
Edited (just fixing my grammar 12 hours later don't mind me) 2024-04-20 03:16 (UTC)
Aymeric considers arguing the point, declaring himself the victor, but he knows enough about Estinien's speed and strength to know full well that, were this a real fight, any move on his part to strike a killing blow would end with that lance through his chest instead of just pressed against it.
Besides, it's hard to want to argue when there's that look of pride on Estinien's face - from anyone else it might be patronising, from Estinien it makes him feel warm despite the rain soaking into him.
"A draw." He agrees, stepping back and sheathing his sword before offering a hand to Estinien to help him up.
"Thank you. Soon enough I'll be improved enough to best you, I'd like to not keep either of us waiting much longer."
now i reveal that i wanted to do the tie so i could write a litely trashy tag
"No questions this time..." Estinien wonders before taking the offered hand, the thought not quite a question, itself. It follows, if Aymeric has not won, then neither has Estinien, and they'll both leave empty handed. Except, it doesn't feel empty. Seeing the full extent of Aymeric's fighting talent on display, watching his skill with the blade flourish -- Estinien cannot deny that it feels like a taste of finer things to come.
He hefts himself up to his feet easily with Aymeric's help, and leans forward just as soon as he's standing, right into Aymeric's space.
"Two days," he says, low and matter-of-fact, and his stormy gaze flashes with an almost predatory hunger, "Best win this next one, Ser Aymeric. Otherwise, I plan to make each question I get excruciating for you to answer."
"No questions this time." Aymeric echoes in confirmation, his thinking much the same as Estinien's. It's almost a disappointment, to him; the fights were a delight in themselves, there was no doubting that, but he'd come to quite enjoy Estinien's questions, it was always interesting to see what he wanted to know and he liked being able to share more of himself.
Any disappointment is brushed away as Estinien steps close, however. Any thought is brushed away. Aymeric has long known that the rumours surrounding his birth required him to have nothing less than perfect composure lest he lose his cool at the wrong moment, but he had never prepared himself for how rattled he would be by this. It's not just that Estinien is devastatingly attractive, or that the tension between them could scarce be cut with a knife, or that the hungry look in Estinien's eyes made his stomach flip. It's the attractiveness and the tension and the look and it takes every ilm of Aymeric's willpower not to crack.
"Well then," he says, smooth but heated "I will have to give you everything I've got."
"Aye, give me your all," says Estinien, locking his eyes with Aymeric for just a second, then shoring up every inch of his willpower to turn and leave, because the alternative would almost certainly jeopardize their little bet.
Even two days is almost too much, now. Estinien spends them in training, because it's the only thing he can do to keep that blue-eyed knight from haunting his mind. A part of him does still thinks himself bewitched, thinks this infatuation a madness that he will be cured just as soon as Estinien's had him. But... the thought settles uneven in his chest. Melancholy would be a word for it, were Estinien the sort to put names to his feelings. This must end, but does he want it to?
Want doesn't really figure into it, though. Whether it carries on or not is, he supposes, in Ayemric's hands, now. House Borel's ward is more than adept enough to best him at this point.
And, naturally, he does.
It is their longest and fiercest battle yet. Estinien may be relentless, peerless with lance in hand, but Aymeric is by far the greater tactician, the cleverer fighter. And when Aymeric finally knocks the lance from Estinien's hands and points his blade at his chest, the would-be dragoon can't help but grin. Panting, breathless, he moves to the side just enough to let the blade slip between his arm and torso, very nearly up to the hilt and certainly into Aymeric's space, a little like play fighting.
"You've won me, Ser Aymeric," he observes, the fire in his eyes not even slightly dimished for his exhaustion.
Aymeric would not accuse Estinien of letting him win, he doesn't think the other man would do that no matter how much he wanted it, but even if he were of a mind to makes those accusations he'd have no cause to here. He's exhausted, he truly has given this battle his all - his entire focus, every minute of every hour of training over the last few weeks poured into this moment, this long awaited victory.
He's breathless, too, almost completely spent, and yet somehow still feels the spark of enthusiasm ignite low in his stomach as Estinien steps in, tries not to watch the way his blade disappears between arm and body because frankly he's embarrassed by the associations it immediately conjures to his mind. He's not some hormonal teenager, driven to lust by the most innocuous things, he has more control now. And yet...
His gaze lands on Estinien's face instead, on the heat in the other's eyes, and a pleased smirk curls his lips.
"That I have." He agrees. There's a pause, then, before his gaze turns teasing, lightly challenging "Need you some time to recover before I collect? I would hate for my prize to lack the proper energy..."
Moments ago he might have said he needed time to recover, and in truth it would probably be best if he did, but the aching want and the singing triumph of finally winning is threatening to overtake his good sense.
Estinien furrows his brows, but there is a smile upon his lips when he replies, "Have we not waited long enough, already?"
He is neither the sort to be daunted by his own exhaustion nor deterred by a bit of sweat and mud. On the contrary, he can too easily imagine what the pretty, perfect Ser Aymeric de Borel must taste like when seasoned by salt and earth, what he must look like, peeled out of his armor, soft skin glowing with sweat, composure fissured. Gods, he is so close to finally having him. The realization hits Estinien again, and he can hardly believe how insistent a want it is. What had been, weeks ago, a mere craving, feels now almost possessive. Almost as urgent as his revenge.
Estinien shifts his weight from one leg to the other, hip pointing toward Aymeric. The middle of a training field, watched by the same gaggle of knights and clergy that have come to nearly every one of their duels, is entirely the wrong place to be letting his thoughts get away from him like this.
"I would have you now," he says carefully, trying his best to keep his voice even, unconcerned, to hide how hotly he burns. "But, if you feel you must freshen up first..." Estinien wets his lips with his tongue, "I could wait a bit longer, provided you allow me to watch."
They have waited long enough already, Aymeric can scarce deny that, and in truth his words were more for the sake of further teasing than any actual reluctance to collect his winnings immediately. Only his dim awareness of the watching crowd keeps him from pushing Estinien back to the ground right then and there. Well, them and the fact he would much rather take to the comfort of a bed.
The air between them feels charged and Aymeric revels in it - he's wildly entertained by their mutual attempts to keep a civil tone as though they're discussing naught more interesting than the weather, and yet the actual words betray the heat they're both barely keeping contained.
"As though I would let you out of my sight before I have taken my due." He replies. He's undecided if he'll actually take the time to bathe or not, though he's quite certain he won't finish bathing before one or both of them cracks "Might I suggest we away to the Borel estate? Before our audience is witness to more than they expected..."
He'll take any alternative Estinien cares to offer, but his home seems - to him - the most logical place for them to have both comfort and privacy.
Honestly, he'd been ready to do this at the barracks. Or in a rented room at the Forgotten Knight, if Aymeric had wanted more luxury. (Let it never be said that Estinien had had a single romantic thought in the first decades of his life.) It hadn't even occurred to him that Aymeric might invite him into his home. Estinien isn't sure why this of all things is what surprises him. It just... does. And he blinks at the warmth of it. Ridiculous as it may sound, it feels more intimate than he'd expected.
Maybe because Estinien does not even make ordinary house calls to visit friends under normal and respectable circumstances. Because he doesn't really have friends.
...Except for Aymeric, now, he supposes.
That doesn't feel odd to think at all. "Your home. Aye." He cuts his gaze to the crowd, just a moment, before fixing his attention back on Aymeric, grin going almost mischievous, "Though, if you'd enjoy giving them more to gossip about..."
The obvious surprise has Aymeric second guessing himself for a moment - he doesn't exactly make a habit of such assignations, is there perhaps some etiquette he's missing? But Estinien seems to recover quickly enough and agrees to his proposal, so he brushes aside any concern in favour of drinking in that sly smile on the other man's face.
"As entertaining as that would be, I'd rather have you all to myself." He says smoothly. He doesn't need their attention, their opinions, he doesn't want them to ruin this.
"Not to mention I think it more entertaining to leave them wondering."
They're probably not wondering that much, he feels like his desire - both their desires - are writ plain across every look, every word, every clash of swords, so obvious even a blind man could see it. Still, everything they've done in public so far has been just this side of indisputable.
Smirk still fixed on his features, Estinien responds with a soft hmph, near to a laugh.
Aymeric is right. They will wonder. And he ponders, briefly, whether he should suggest they take a less direct route to his home. Not for his own embarrassment--not at all; let them talk, in his estimation. But, rather, to protect Aymeric from the stories upon stories that will surely be writ in whispers the second they are spotted together outside the Borel estate.
But, Aymeric his far cleverer than he is, and if he wished it, he'd suggest it. Clearly, the man doesn't need Estinien's protection. How ridiculous. How soft.
Estinien turns away at this thought, gathers up his lost lance and the few things he's brought, and returns to Aymeric's side.
"You want me, then have me. Lead the way, Ser Aymeric."
Another time, Aymeric might well consider an alternate route, or at least behaving more subtly in general. Right now, however, his entire focus is on getting Estinien into his bed as quickly as possible. They've waited long enough.
Let people talk, seeing them together at the Borel estate still doesn't confirm anything for certain, and maybe it'll be refreshing to have the gossip about him be centred around something other than his parentage for a change.
So lead the way he does, and he takes the shortest route he can. They're greeted by the house steward, and Aymeric responds politely - but briefly - as he assures the older man they have no need of anything, they'll be in his rooms and they may call for refreshments later, then he's leading the way through the house to his own chambers.
As soon as the door is closed behind them he turns to Estinien, but in that moment he hesitates, suddenly frozen in the face of everything he's been waiting for.
no it is perfect here have some trash also sorry i took so long to reply ;A;
Estinien Varlineau suffers no such hesitation. If uncertainty frosts Aymeric's resolve, he will readily burn it out of him.
One step in eliminates the space between them, and Estinien slips his still gloved hand 'round the back of Aymeric's neck to pull him in and kiss him. And -- Fury -- once he's done it, all that want gives way to need.
He hadn't ever meant to need Aymeric de Borel, but gods he's like a balm to scalding skin. With a sudden urgency, Estinien opens his mouth against Aymeric's. Even with the smell of sweat and training field grass upon him, he tastes as sweet as the color of his lips implied. Estinien would taste more of him. Now. But-- blasted armor.
A low, impatient grumble escapes him. The desire to press Aymeric against the nearest wall and carry on until their clothes truly become unbearable is strong, but Estinien scrapes up enough composure to mumble, "Still need to clean up?"
Least that'd get Aymeric out of his chainmail and leathers faster.
Edited (i know how to spell my own character's name i swear) 2024-04-29 16:02 (UTC)
He's grateful, truly, that Estinien doesn't seem beset by the same uncertainty that suddenly plagues him. He's so certain, in fact, that it chases away Aymeric's hesitation the moment that gloved hand lands on the back of his neck. There's no need for hesitation when he's helpess to resist that pull, when the press of lips against his feels as though anything that could have possibly been wrong with his world is made right in that moment.
A faint note of wanting escapes him, swallowed up between their mouths, and his arms lift automatically to wind around Estinien, pressing them flush against one another - but he, too, feels as though somehow it isn't close enough. There's too many layers blocking the way.
He's near panting when Estinien breaks away and slightly embarrassed by it, by the way Estinien seems to strip away all his composure and return him to a lust-driven teenager.
"Seems inefficient, like as not we'll only get dirty again." He says with a faint smirk. Now that he's had a taste of Estinien's lips the very idea of anything delaying another taste is abhorrent to him. He's already pulling back slightly in favour of stripping off his own gloves as he speaks.
i already told you i love that tag but i have to say it again djaklf
Estinien has never been a pious man, never thought much of paying glory to silent gods, but the sight of Aymeric, lips flushed and parted, breath coming heavily, body almost weak with want? He can certainly find something to worship in that. Something almost holy.
"Fair enough," he grins back as he yanks off each of his own gloves and lets them fall to the floor. Rather than set next to his own armor, he steps closer again, and busies his hands with the belts on Aymeric's armor, undoing buckles and loosening the straps that hold him in tight. "Next time you challenge me to anything, it really must be done in plainclothes, Ser Aymeric."
Dreadful gray silver is no frame for the lovely Ser Aymeric, and Estinien is so close to drinking in all of his color, all of him. He tries his best to stay focused on eminently important task of getting Aymeric naked, but the second he's loosened the man's collar enough to see more of his neck, he leans in to taste the skin there, as well.
"Next time I challenge you?" Aymeric asks with a raised eyebrow - teasing tone aside, he clearly isn't that offended because he doesn't waste any time reaching for Estinien's armour in turn - it's not easy to divest somebody of armour when they're trying to do the same thing to you, but he's making it work. At least, he's making progress.
"I would have had you in my bed that night, but you insisted on being won." He returns, though he pauses for a moment in his movements, hand curling around Estinien's hip, pressing just enough that he could feel the contact even with the armour still keeping skin from skin. He lets his gaze stray up and down the other man "Not that you are not eminently worth it, Ser Estinien."
He's glad of the challenge, honestly, it's made this entire experience last so much longer than he'd ever dreamed it would, and he feels he's grown closer to Estinien than any post-tavern fumble would have achieved. It is right that it turned out this way. He only hopes, prays, that this won't be the end, that Estinien won't drift away as soon as his satisfaction is had.
He moves again when Estinien leans in, though it is rather more difficult to work the straps undone when he's so very distracted by that attention to his neck.
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Re: No it's perfect <3
Ah, there it is. It would have been foolish of him to expect the questions wouldn't touch on it in some way, though he had held out a little hope.
Still, he doesn't feel as hesitant admitting to it as he might with someone else, he's quietly confident that Estinien has little care for social mores and opinions, and he isn't going to judge Aymeric for the circumstances of his birth.
What lingering hesitancy he does have doesn't show on his face, instead he just smiles wryly.
"Unfortunate rumours surrounding the legitimacy of my birth." He admits, as smoothly as he is able. "Hardly an original story."
His friend Haurchefaunt is plagued by similar gossip, but at least his father has willingly claimed him, and, well, it's the rumoured identity of Aymeric's father that keeps the gossip persisting - that part is more original, if only marginally.
Re: No it's perfect <3
But, were sympathy wanted at all, and Estinien isn't even sure that it is, he wouldn't even know how to begin to express it. So, instead, he says, "How boring. There is much more about you worth finding fascinating."
A pause, he lets his attention trace the outline of Aymeric's perfect form, haloed as it is by the bright noon sun. "Does it bother you?"
Whatever his answer, Estinien decides that he will see to it that the whispers stop. On his own time. Without Aymeric noticing.
Re: No it's perfect <3
There is much more about you worth finding fascinating.
Oh. Oh.
Aymeric absolutely, compeletely, one hundred percent does not care if Estinien truly is the one or not. If he isn't his soulmate, well, whoever his soulmate actually is hasn't got a single hope in all seven hells.
(He's being dramatic, he knows, but he's allowed to be in the privacy of his own head. Perhaps there will be something about Estinien that's tiresome, or off-putting, or something about his soulmate that's sheer perfection. Neither seems likely in the moment)
He realises, belatedly, that he's been asked a question, and he really hopes that he just looked like he was thinking about it rather than staring helplessly at Estinien's beautiful face.
"At times," he concedes "but if they weren't gossipping about that they'd like find something else. I may have more to prove, but I'll not shy away from that."
He smiles slyly.
"Was that your third question?"
patented "oh no I'm about to feel a feeling" Estinien Exit
Young Estinien doesn't have much in the way of shame, though. And so, he stares back, both pleased with being the center of Aymeric's attention and bothered with the fact that he likes it so much. He can tell that much must be going on behind those eyes, but can't fathom what it might be. And that bothers him, too.
Everything about Aymeric de Borel bothers Estinien immensely -- but he wants it. The attention, the puckish smiles, the unrelenting intensity of his gaze. Damn. He needs to go or he's going to do something stupid.
"That was my third question, yes," Estinien replies, straightening and tucking his towel under his arm, "Must save some questions for when I best you next."
He doesn't wait for a reply. Gathers up his composure and brushes past Aymeric with the sort of brusque nonchalance that he's known for. He doesn't look back as he leaves the field, though he does call, "Five days, Ser Aymeric. Best hone those blade skills."
classic
"If you best me next." Aymeric corrects smoothly as Estinien starts to leave - he may have been defeated this time but that hasn't made a dent in his determination. He's getting that man in his bed come hells or high water.
He laughs lightly at Estinien's parting comment, turning to watch him go and hardly bothering to hide his appreciative gaze.
"Oh I will..." he murmurs, mostly to himself, knowing the other is already out of earshot.
He can't linger for too long, though, with the loss of that intimidating presence he can already sense the buzzards circling and waiting to come and ask what that was all about, so he grabs his things and makes a hasty retreat himself before anybody gets the chance. He does, after all, having training to get to if he's going to be ready for their next match.
"i have struggled in vain and i can bear it no longer..." but make it AGGRESSIVELY Worse
Though not messy enough.
This one ends with Aymeric on the ground again, Estinien's boot on his chest, and he's damn near feral looking down at that beautiful Borel boy. Wanting, but not taking.
Three questions, three answers. And five days is far too long, so they mark the next bout in four.
He's more collected this time, but Aymeric's much improved. The gathering crowd's grown, too. Knights and cadets and a handful of tittering sisters, who might've lent a comical bent to their fight had Estinien not been wholly preoccupied with his opponent. Today, it ends with Aymeric's sword in Estinien's hand, and Estinien's lance pointed at that delectable adam's apple.
Three more questions, three more answers. It goes on like this twice more. Each time, it's a match harder fought, victory less cleanly taken. Each time, their crowd of onlookers grows along with the cloud of rumors that follow. Each time, Estinien expects he'll run out of questions, but always, a new one comes to mind. A new thing he wants to know, a new reason to eke out a few more moments of Aymeric's attention without seeming too obvious.
Too obvious. Gods damn it. It wasn't supposed to take this long. Aymeric was to be a craving satisfied, not a brand upon his mind. The memory of him sweat-soaked and breathless, is nigh all Estinien can think about as their sixth match draws near. And worse, he finds himself thinking over his questions, wondering not just at how Aymeric will respond, but what he might find most amusing to talk of.
It rains all that morning, a cold downpour that lightens to a miserable drizzle by the time they meet on the muddy field. The foul weather, far too foggy to see anything well, has kept all but the most rapt of their audience away. Again, Estinien doesn't notice. Because even in the relentlessly drab afternoon mist, Aymeric is beautiful -- almost incandescent, the way the rain glazes all of his most vibrant colors and deepens the dark ones. Looking at him, Estinien can't help but think to himself, what if I just...lost?
And, oh, that will not do.
"Hold."
Before Aymeric can draw his blade, Estinien's feet carry him to the object of his obsession quite without his permission. Lance at his side, he sets in right away on the first thoughts that comes to mind, "We needn't make a contest of this any longer. I'm half mad, thinking of you and my mind will not rest 'til I've had you."
better*
Aymeric is, admittedly, torn. There is part of him that enjoys the fights, enjoys Estinien's questions, enjoys the excuse to keep his interest and attention that, he knows, may well wane the moment he gets what he wants.
There is a much larger part of him that is ever more determined to win because every clash of weapons, every ilm of ground given or taken, every question asked, only makes him want Estinien more.
He trains harder, longer, pushes himself further than ever before - the instructors are impressed with him, he knows, and he can't remember the last time any other knight beat him in a sparring match. Any other knight except Estinien.
When they meet on the field again, Aymeric pauses at Estinien's word, looking up at him with quiet curiosity. It masks the concern that has suddenly slipped, icy cold, down his neck. Has Estinien grown bored already? Has he given up on the thought of bedding Aymeric and - ah. No. No he certainly hasn't done that.
For a moment Aymeric finds himself robbed of breath. It was just so... direct. Not a euphemism they both understood, a teasing innuendo, a sly look or a wink or any of the dozen other ways to communicate what they wanted without outright saying it. Just a blunt, honest admission of genuine want that made Aymeric wanted to drag him to the nearest bed right then and there.
But something stops him. Something brings a small smile to his face and has him tilting his chin up in a smug challenge.
"Full glad am I to hear you say such things, for I confess mine own nights are filled with the thought of finally having you in my bed." He starts, letting the confession linger between them for a moment before continuing "But. A deal is a deal, Estinien, and I have not won you yet."
Re: better*
He isn't sure what exactly he'd call the feeling, though. Only knows that it burns all the hotter when Aymeric confirms what he's long suspected -- that the adopted scion of House Borel is just as consumed by thoughts of the two of them together as he is. And when he answers, so perfectly collected, as though he's hardly bothered by the feeling at all?
Oh, those seconds of silence drive Estinien absolutely mad.
"The Fury take you, Borel," Estinien curses, annoyed with himself and his impatience, with the fog and the rain and the cold...but not with Aymeric.
No, because Aymeric is unrelentingly honorable. Never once has he complained about their matches, about the way Estinien fights, or the oft rudely worded questions that come after a match. He has only ever been indefatigably driven toward his goal.
Estinien tamps the mud from his boots with the blunt end of his lance and decides that, no, actually he is furious with the perfect Ser Aymeric de Borel. All his distracting little details. The smiles, the honor, those warm winter eyes, that blasted flawless composure.
If it is to be a match of wills, now, as well, so be it. They will drive each other mad, together.
"Come and try to earn what's yours, then," he grunts, trudging back to his starting spot and readying his lance, "But don't fool yourself into thinking I'll be giving myself away, now."
Re: better*
There is a moment when Estinien curses at him that he thinks he's pushed too far, that he should have taken the opportunity that was presented to him and now he's forever ruined his chances. Except the other man isn't turning away, hasn't stomped off to go and find his entertainment elsewhere, he's still standing right there - even in the mud and miserable, drizzling rain, he's still standing there.
When he does move, it's to go back to where he was before, ready to fight, and Aymeric's smile only widens. He draws his sword and inclines his head in understanding.
"I know you wouldn't do that and I wouldn't respect you if you did." He returns easily, trying to focus on that and not the thrill that ran through him at the words earn what's yours. What is yours. As though that part is already a done deal and he just needs to prove himself worthy of taking it.
Well, he's certainly going to try, and if not today then soon. He's not giving up.
Re: better*
It's a strange thing, feeling so seen. Estinien has never considered himself complicated in the least, but...even Alberic, who is the closest thing to a father he's had these last eight years, never seems to fully grasp his moods and motivations. But Aymeric just...does, and with such appalling, intoxicating glibness.
He grins, "Good."
For the first time since it'd happened, standing here in the midst of all this gray fog, before the beacon of perfect vibrance that is Ser Aymeric de Borel, Estinien wonders if Aymeric isn't exactly the reason he's been given the blue he's so taken with.
He tells himself, as he leaps, weapon raised, that it doesn't matter, either way. Soulmates are for the sorts of people who have futures, and Estinien's will end with the war that plagues their people.
Their weapons clash with a clear ring that echoes off the nearby stone.
This fight is a fierce one, slippery with mud and rain, but no shorter for the precarious terrain. Try as he might, Estinien can't neatly disarm Aymeric this time. On the contrary, Aymeric trips him. Puts him on his back in a move that flares the flame low in his gut as much as stings his spine.
This is where their fight ends: Aymeric over him, blade to his neck, his lance to Aymeric's chest. "A draw," Estinien says, and something like pride shows in his expression, "You're much improved."
Re: better*
Aymeric considers arguing the point, declaring himself the victor, but he knows enough about Estinien's speed and strength to know full well that, were this a real fight, any move on his part to strike a killing blow would end with that lance through his chest instead of just pressed against it.
Besides, it's hard to want to argue when there's that look of pride on Estinien's face - from anyone else it might be patronising, from Estinien it makes him feel warm despite the rain soaking into him.
"A draw." He agrees, stepping back and sheathing his sword before offering a hand to Estinien to help him up.
"Thank you. Soon enough I'll be improved enough to best you, I'd like to not keep either of us waiting much longer."
now i reveal that i wanted to do the tie so i could write a litely trashy tag
He hefts himself up to his feet easily with Aymeric's help, and leans forward just as soon as he's standing, right into Aymeric's space.
"Two days," he says, low and matter-of-fact, and his stormy gaze flashes with an almost predatory hunger, "Best win this next one, Ser Aymeric. Otherwise, I plan to make each question I get excruciating for you to answer."
a perfectly reasonable reason XD
"No questions this time." Aymeric echoes in confirmation, his thinking much the same as Estinien's. It's almost a disappointment, to him; the fights were a delight in themselves, there was no doubting that, but he'd come to quite enjoy Estinien's questions, it was always interesting to see what he wanted to know and he liked being able to share more of himself.
Any disappointment is brushed away as Estinien steps close, however. Any thought is brushed away. Aymeric has long known that the rumours surrounding his birth required him to have nothing less than perfect composure lest he lose his cool at the wrong moment, but he had never prepared himself for how rattled he would be by this. It's not just that Estinien is devastatingly attractive, or that the tension between them could scarce be cut with a knife, or that the hungry look in Estinien's eyes made his stomach flip. It's the attractiveness and the tension and the look and it takes every ilm of Aymeric's willpower not to crack.
"Well then," he says, smooth but heated "I will have to give you everything I've got."
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Even two days is almost too much, now. Estinien spends them in training, because it's the only thing he can do to keep that blue-eyed knight from haunting his mind. A part of him does still thinks himself bewitched, thinks this infatuation a madness that he will be cured just as soon as Estinien's had him. But... the thought settles uneven in his chest. Melancholy would be a word for it, were Estinien the sort to put names to his feelings. This must end, but does he want it to?
Want doesn't really figure into it, though. Whether it carries on or not is, he supposes, in Ayemric's hands, now. House Borel's ward is more than adept enough to best him at this point.
And, naturally, he does.
It is their longest and fiercest battle yet. Estinien may be relentless, peerless with lance in hand, but Aymeric is by far the greater tactician, the cleverer fighter. And when Aymeric finally knocks the lance from Estinien's hands and points his blade at his chest, the would-be dragoon can't help but grin. Panting, breathless, he moves to the side just enough to let the blade slip between his arm and torso, very nearly up to the hilt and certainly into Aymeric's space, a little like play fighting.
"You've won me, Ser Aymeric," he observes, the fire in his eyes not even slightly dimished for his exhaustion.
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Aymeric would not accuse Estinien of letting him win, he doesn't think the other man would do that no matter how much he wanted it, but even if he were of a mind to makes those accusations he'd have no cause to here. He's exhausted, he truly has given this battle his all - his entire focus, every minute of every hour of training over the last few weeks poured into this moment, this long awaited victory.
He's breathless, too, almost completely spent, and yet somehow still feels the spark of enthusiasm ignite low in his stomach as Estinien steps in, tries not to watch the way his blade disappears between arm and body because frankly he's embarrassed by the associations it immediately conjures to his mind. He's not some hormonal teenager, driven to lust by the most innocuous things, he has more control now. And yet...
His gaze lands on Estinien's face instead, on the heat in the other's eyes, and a pleased smirk curls his lips.
"That I have." He agrees. There's a pause, then, before his gaze turns teasing, lightly challenging "Need you some time to recover before I collect? I would hate for my prize to lack the proper energy..."
Moments ago he might have said he needed time to recover, and in truth it would probably be best if he did, but the aching want and the singing triumph of finally winning is threatening to overtake his good sense.
need to start writing less bad characters sigh
He is neither the sort to be daunted by his own exhaustion nor deterred by a bit of sweat and mud. On the contrary, he can too easily imagine what the pretty, perfect Ser Aymeric de Borel must taste like when seasoned by salt and earth, what he must look like, peeled out of his armor, soft skin glowing with sweat, composure fissured. Gods, he is so close to finally having him. The realization hits Estinien again, and he can hardly believe how insistent a want it is. What had been, weeks ago, a mere craving, feels now almost possessive. Almost as urgent as his revenge.
Estinien shifts his weight from one leg to the other, hip pointing toward Aymeric. The middle of a training field, watched by the same gaggle of knights and clergy that have come to nearly every one of their duels, is entirely the wrong place to be letting his thoughts get away from him like this.
"I would have you now," he says carefully, trying his best to keep his voice even, unconcerned, to hide how hotly he burns. "But, if you feel you must freshen up first..." Estinien wets his lips with his tongue, "I could wait a bit longer, provided you allow me to watch."
'bad' is a weird way to spell perfect
They have waited long enough already, Aymeric can scarce deny that, and in truth his words were more for the sake of further teasing than any actual reluctance to collect his winnings immediately. Only his dim awareness of the watching crowd keeps him from pushing Estinien back to the ground right then and there. Well, them and the fact he would much rather take to the comfort of a bed.
The air between them feels charged and Aymeric revels in it - he's wildly entertained by their mutual attempts to keep a civil tone as though they're discussing naught more interesting than the weather, and yet the actual words betray the heat they're both barely keeping contained.
"As though I would let you out of my sight before I have taken my due." He replies. He's undecided if he'll actually take the time to bathe or not, though he's quite certain he won't finish bathing before one or both of them cracks "Might I suggest we away to the Borel estate? Before our audience is witness to more than they expected..."
He'll take any alternative Estinien cares to offer, but his home seems - to him - the most logical place for them to have both comfort and privacy.
i appreciate that you love this lad
Honestly, he'd been ready to do this at the barracks. Or in a rented room at the Forgotten Knight, if Aymeric had wanted more luxury. (Let it never be said that Estinien had had a single romantic thought in the first decades of his life.) It hadn't even occurred to him that Aymeric might invite him into his home. Estinien isn't sure why this of all things is what surprises him. It just... does. And he blinks at the warmth of it. Ridiculous as it may sound, it feels more intimate than he'd expected.
Maybe because Estinien does not even make ordinary house calls to visit friends under normal and respectable circumstances. Because he doesn't really have friends.
...Except for Aymeric, now, he supposes.
That doesn't feel odd to think at all. "Your home. Aye." He cuts his gaze to the crowd, just a moment, before fixing his attention back on Aymeric, grin going almost mischievous, "Though, if you'd enjoy giving them more to gossip about..."
He gives a lazy, one shoulder shrug.
Re: i appreciate that you love this lad
The obvious surprise has Aymeric second guessing himself for a moment - he doesn't exactly make a habit of such assignations, is there perhaps some etiquette he's missing? But Estinien seems to recover quickly enough and agrees to his proposal, so he brushes aside any concern in favour of drinking in that sly smile on the other man's face.
"As entertaining as that would be, I'd rather have you all to myself." He says smoothly. He doesn't need their attention, their opinions, he doesn't want them to ruin this.
"Not to mention I think it more entertaining to leave them wondering."
They're probably not wondering that much, he feels like his desire - both their desires - are writ plain across every look, every word, every clash of swords, so obvious even a blind man could see it. Still, everything they've done in public so far has been just this side of indisputable.
Re: i appreciate that you love this lad
Aymeric is right. They will wonder. And he ponders, briefly, whether he should suggest they take a less direct route to his home. Not for his own embarrassment--not at all; let them talk, in his estimation. But, rather, to protect Aymeric from the stories upon stories that will surely be writ in whispers the second they are spotted together outside the Borel estate.
But, Aymeric his far cleverer than he is, and if he wished it, he'd suggest it. Clearly, the man doesn't need Estinien's protection. How ridiculous. How soft.
Estinien turns away at this thought, gathers up his lost lance and the few things he's brought, and returns to Aymeric's side.
"You want me, then have me. Lead the way, Ser Aymeric."
lmk if this skips too much
Another time, Aymeric might well consider an alternate route, or at least behaving more subtly in general. Right now, however, his entire focus is on getting Estinien into his bed as quickly as possible. They've waited long enough.
Let people talk, seeing them together at the Borel estate still doesn't confirm anything for certain, and maybe it'll be refreshing to have the gossip about him be centred around something other than his parentage for a change.
So lead the way he does, and he takes the shortest route he can. They're greeted by the house steward, and Aymeric responds politely - but briefly - as he assures the older man they have no need of anything, they'll be in his rooms and they may call for refreshments later, then he's leading the way through the house to his own chambers.
As soon as the door is closed behind them he turns to Estinien, but in that moment he hesitates, suddenly frozen in the face of everything he's been waiting for.
no it is perfect here have some trash also sorry i took so long to reply ;A;
One step in eliminates the space between them, and Estinien slips his still gloved hand 'round the back of Aymeric's neck to pull him in and kiss him. And -- Fury -- once he's done it, all that want gives way to need.
He hadn't ever meant to need Aymeric de Borel, but gods he's like a balm to scalding skin. With a sudden urgency, Estinien opens his mouth against Aymeric's. Even with the smell of sweat and training field grass upon him, he tastes as sweet as the color of his lips implied. Estinien would taste more of him. Now. But-- blasted armor.
A low, impatient grumble escapes him. The desire to press Aymeric against the nearest wall and carry on until their clothes truly become unbearable is strong, but Estinien scrapes up enough composure to mumble, "Still need to clean up?"
Least that'd get Aymeric out of his chainmail and leathers faster.
worth the wait!
He's grateful, truly, that Estinien doesn't seem beset by the same uncertainty that suddenly plagues him. He's so certain, in fact, that it chases away Aymeric's hesitation the moment that gloved hand lands on the back of his neck. There's no need for hesitation when he's helpess to resist that pull, when the press of lips against his feels as though anything that could have possibly been wrong with his world is made right in that moment.
A faint note of wanting escapes him, swallowed up between their mouths, and his arms lift automatically to wind around Estinien, pressing them flush against one another - but he, too, feels as though somehow it isn't close enough. There's too many layers blocking the way.
He's near panting when Estinien breaks away and slightly embarrassed by it, by the way Estinien seems to strip away all his composure and return him to a lust-driven teenager.
"Seems inefficient, like as not we'll only get dirty again." He says with a faint smirk. Now that he's had a taste of Estinien's lips the very idea of anything delaying another taste is abhorrent to him. He's already pulling back slightly in favour of stripping off his own gloves as he speaks.
i already told you i love that tag but i have to say it again djaklf
"Fair enough," he grins back as he yanks off each of his own gloves and lets them fall to the floor. Rather than set next to his own armor, he steps closer again, and busies his hands with the belts on Aymeric's armor, undoing buckles and loosening the straps that hold him in tight. "Next time you challenge me to anything, it really must be done in plainclothes, Ser Aymeric."
Dreadful gray silver is no frame for the lovely Ser Aymeric, and Estinien is so close to drinking in all of his color, all of him. He tries his best to stay focused on eminently important task of getting Aymeric naked, but the second he's loosened the man's collar enough to see more of his neck, he leans in to taste the skin there, as well.
<3
"Next time I challenge you?" Aymeric asks with a raised eyebrow - teasing tone aside, he clearly isn't that offended because he doesn't waste any time reaching for Estinien's armour in turn - it's not easy to divest somebody of armour when they're trying to do the same thing to you, but he's making it work. At least, he's making progress.
"I would have had you in my bed that night, but you insisted on being won." He returns, though he pauses for a moment in his movements, hand curling around Estinien's hip, pressing just enough that he could feel the contact even with the armour still keeping skin from skin. He lets his gaze stray up and down the other man "Not that you are not eminently worth it, Ser Estinien."
He's glad of the challenge, honestly, it's made this entire experience last so much longer than he'd ever dreamed it would, and he feels he's grown closer to Estinien than any post-tavern fumble would have achieved. It is right that it turned out this way. He only hopes, prays, that this won't be the end, that Estinien won't drift away as soon as his satisfaction is had.
He moves again when Estinien leans in, though it is rather more difficult to work the straps undone when he's so very distracted by that attention to his neck.
Re: <3
Re: <3
just letting them have some fun
Re: just letting them have some fun
probably ftb after this lmaooo sob sorry!!!
<3
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