second only

Marrik let out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh, but something like it - a shadow of amusement, chased by the ever-present edge of vigilance. His fingers lingered at Argentus’ jaw, tracing the shape of it like a map he had long since memorized.

The night had softened them both, wrapped them in its deceptive stillness, but the witcher’s mind was still elsewhere - Vypren, the attempted frame job, the tangled web that someone had momentarily cast over him. Argentus knew what he was doing when it came to these... negotiations, as did Aurelius. Marrik wouldn't cheapen that but the viper stood at the ready.

"Tch," Marrik scoffed, looking from the shrubbery to Argentus again, a smirk laden across his lips. "I prefer swords."

Still, the ghost of Argentus’ touch did not go unnoticed. Marrik's breath caught in the back of his throat as his lashes fluttered. His hand found Argentus' wrist, his thumb brushed over the delicate line of bone, the pulse that beat beneath the skin - steady, strong, alive. Inviting. "And I'll be filling it."

#argentus.marrik.4 #event 002: the colosseum

giving of himself to marrik, felt as easy and natural as breathing. an inhale of those gazes, an exhale of pleading and want. effortless. as common as gravity. the simple nature of things. in the boardroom, argentus would listen, until it was time to strike. in the bedroom, he was the instrument that marrik played. the dam that marrik flooded.

"swords," argentus teased, "and the crossing of them."

getting that skip in marrik's steady beat was all he'd wanted. his blood rushed beneath marrik's touch, quickened by his presence. as if he could scent he air and taste him, all the same. "until then?" the prince offered. not pulling his hand away just yet, but giving a look, a signal, that it was time to carry on. until the next little moment.

which would come after the coliseum was offered, and then only barely explained. in the bright of morning, the prince would find the witcher at some place near one of those venues hosting breakfast. brows hard, gaze firm.

"first iskander. now this?" he leered at the viper. never was a trap so obvious. so easy to avoid, and yet. pride was a devil's mark, the chains easier to wear than to freely remove. "did you put in for it yourself? did father make you?"

Marrik's amusement was subtle, the kind that lived in the sharp flick of his gaze as he watched Argentus move, in the slow, measured exhale through his nose. He hadn’t expected any less - this was their game, after all. Argentus teased, and Marrik let him. Indulged him. Revelled in him. His hand, marred from so much death found the bristled curved of Argentus' bearded-jaw.

"If you were struggling to walk, prince," he let the space hold, "I’d have had to carry you myself." A wink, Argentus was prominent enough to be seen, and hopefully smart enough not to get roped into the shadows. Marrik could not be everywhere at once - but if anything happened to the silver heir he - his mind couldn't go there. It wouldn't need to.

"The houses here have sharp teeth, and Argonia’s courtiers are as venomous as they are vain." Marrik's voice was low, knowing. He had spent his days in the shadows, listening, watching. Seeing much and offering back little. It was better if Argentus didn't know the breadth of it, but the answers would come to fruition soon enough. "I noticed Vypren has an interesting insignia, maybe they're ancestors of mine." A joke, or at least as close to one that Marrik ever made. "Don't trust these people, Argentus."

#argentus.marrik.4 #event 002: the colosseum

at that graze, the prince's head tilted upwards. eyes closing, head tilting on his neck, giving marrik whatever access he would want. a hum, a pleased noise, should any particularly soft spot be found.

"trust?" aregentus asked, dark brows raised high. "you don't trust the man you're beginning trade with. it's all the same work as banditry, only with more goods than swords." even the work was like a dream, argentus feeling something of a piratesque trade prince, sailing on a bold wind to strike marks on some distant shore.

and at his back, his clandestine lover, blades in hand.

"vypren," he did repeat, the name committed to memory. "I'll see what I hear. the only men I trust, marrik, are named myre. and then you, who is all but myre in name." how much could he risk, here? how much time did they have? why did he dare, when they had all the time in the world once the sun would set and the candles would burn low

argentus grazed fingers low under the pouch of marrik's armor, just at the front of his fitted pants. "--I think I'll be on my stomach, tonight."

@siilverecl location: Asterie notes: A collection of stolen moments

Kovider wanted evidence and Marrik would find it, but there would always be time to slip between the prince's thighs - to catch the silver heir's gaze through the lenses of his mask. Hands in proximity as Marrik stood at the other's side - fingers just stretching enough - to brush the lines of Argentus' knuckle. Grazed for a fraction to promise, and invite, then absent in the next as the Viper continued about his way. Another duty, another of their Golden King's steps to shadow.

In the late evening, he'd wait, catch sight of Argentus alone and emerge from some dark corner to discard the mask in favour of cradling the prince's face against his own. Framed by the pale light of the moon, gone come the dawn, a story repeated.

Retold tonight as Marrik stepped forward once again, his mask already off - the trappings he'd furnished himself with discarded for something more comfortable. Casual. He wasn't sure when it had happened, at one point exactly Marrik no longer needed his armor around Argentus... Slowly, perhaps. Then all at once. "You handled yourself well today."

#argentus.marrik.4 #event 002: the colosseum

despite whatever cloud might be looming overhead, whatever impending doom argentus failed (or simply chose not to) see, the prince was all but on cloud nine while touring argonia. moments with marrik came and went; little tastes of sweetness that spiced the journey. soft touches, lingering. soft presses, sighing. despite spending a good number of nights underneath his witcher, there was still want and wanting in those daylight hours.

glances stolen, almost playfully; to argentus, a game -- to marrik, likely, with greater cause.

another gossamer and glazed evening, argentus almost imagined he could be dreaming, with the romance carrying him through his day. "did I?" he asked, coyly. raking his gaze up and down that firm figure. "surprised I could walk, with how many times you'd taken me?" likely not what marrik was praising -- but argentus enjoyed the misdirect. "father gave me a position, and I intend to earn its keep. if we are to trade with argonian houses, then argentus myre will be at least a familiar name on some of those lips." his head tilted, as he grazed marrik while passing by. regarding him, still. "and what of your endeavors?"

Marrik had spent years carving himself into a weapon, something sharp and certain, meant to strike true and fade into the shadows. He had never allowed himself to be anything else. But here - buried deep, with Argentus pressing close, with the prince looking at him like that - Marrik felt less a construct and more a man. A man who was known. A man who was wanted. A man whose presence was not merely expected but felt.

His jaw tensed, fingers flexing where they gripped the prince’s waist. A stroke, a roll of his hips - a breath against Argentus' lips - dark eyes holding the silver prince.

The truth was, Marrik had fought against this for years. Had buried it beneath cold pragmatism, beneath duty, beneath the knowledge that whatever he felt could not matter. But Argentus looked at him like he did matter, like there was something worth holding on to, and Marrik - Marrik did not know how to survive that.

“…Then tell me,” he said at last, voice quieter now, rawer, as if he were speaking something fragile into the space between them. “If I am part of you, as you say - ” Another roll, slow, intentional, a groan to punctuate it - Argentus who was good, kind, and fair - what did he make with a viper? “What do you do with something like me?”

"what do I do with you?" marrik was a witcher, a viper, a blade; a weapon, aimed and loosed. a shield, guarding the kingdom against monsters.

but he was never a thing. especially not now, so warm inside him, pressing back into the passage he'd flooded and ruined.

"love you, probably." said with a cocked grin, with eyes soft, with lips plump from kissing and biting. with solid truth, with matter-of-fact, with a hard absolute. argentus might have been late in his realization, but he was anything if not decisive.

Marrik had, perhaps, spent too many years burying his feelings beneath duty, beneath silence, beneath the sharp edge of knowing better than to reach for something he could not have. Through the falsehoods that sustained him, the lack of wants and the violent focus - Marrik knew that he was beneath the other in all ways that mattered.

His prince - because that was what he was, what he had always been, even if Marrik would never dare claim him aloud - held his hand to his cheek, kissed his fingers like something precious, and spoke as if Marrik’s heart had ever been a secret to begin with. Had it?

In Marrik's heart of hearts it had always been laid bare in the way his gaze lingered with Argentus', how it followed the prince's step. In the way Marrik's hands had ached to follow the lines of Argentus’ form, not just in battle, but in worship. Had it been obvious in his envy - of Argentus' armor, because it got to press against him; of his sword, because it was held so close; of the faceless, nameless man that Argentus would one day marry, because he would get what Marrik never could.

His fingers dug into the prince’s waist, holding, grounding, aching. “You don’t already know?" A whisper, rough and frayed at the edges, bitter with the weight of a longing that had nowhere to go. “I don’t know how,” he admitted, voice low, almost pained. His forehead brushed against Argentus’, lingering there for a moment too long. “I don’t know how to say it. I just -” His hands tightened, pulling the prince closer, like he could carve this moment into his bones and keep it there forever. “I wanted you for longer than I ever should have.” A rasp of honesty, gently guiding himself between Argentus' thighs once more, feeling, wanting, pressing. “I have been your father's blade for so long... But I would kill for you if you asked.”

#( look at his dangly lil earring )#argentus.marrik.3 #thedoveconcord

argentus hadn't yet decided if he was surprised by marrik's admission.

as long as he cared to consider, marrik was there; his shadow, the blade under his blade, the snake behind his shield. should he fail to strike true, it would be known that whoever made him his foe would fall in the next night after. it was... simple fact. not to be considered or weighed, simply known.

that marrik was his, was simply known

what argentus had failed to realize, was just how much he was marrik's, too.

when marrik sighed, argentus rode the wave of his breath to find him, to inquire, just a tilt of his head. what made his witcher react so? when marrik grunted, argentus traced the lines of his limbs like a warrior searching for weakness where to strike, if only to know where to bring the salve. when marrik moaned-- well. that one was new, but argentus caught and carried the sound all the same.

"I think I know, now," the prince admitted. "I just didn't know it was...this. I only knew what it was, and that was trust. or, belief. knowing you would be there as a simple fact. relying on you without thinking. like another part of me." was he a selfish prince leaning on his retainer without a thought? or was his heart beating into and through marrik as it does his own limbs? as he held marrik's sides, pulled him close just the same, and looked into those golden eyes-- he left it for marrik to decide.

Argentus' words pressed into his chest like a blade just shy of piercing skin. Marrik hadn't even realized he'd gone tense, muscles wound tight, until the prince reached for him - warm hands tracing against his own, bringing them to his lips as if that alone could undo the storm brewing inside Marrik's head. The touch should have soothed him. It didn't. Not completely - not at first.

Argentus spoke of feeling things he hadn't before, but Marrik - Marrik had spent his life learning when to run, when to cut his losses, when to bow his head before the axe came down. And this? This was an axe. A slow, inevitable descent that the viper wouldn't run from. If what Argentus was saying was true, then maybe Marrik was blowing this out of proportion. Comfort, proximity, preparation - it made sense. "I will speak to him," he murmured at last, lifting his gaze to meet Argentus'.

Marrik had fought before. But he was not sure this was a battlefield he could win. Not when Argentus was looking at him like that.

Still, he reached, brushing his fingers over the prince’s cheek, down the line of his jaw, lingering as if memorizing the shape of him. He had never been a man who feared death, but he was beginning to understand the horror of losing something worth dying for.

"and I'll tell him everything. What you mean to me. How I've... pined for you." Why it was embarrassing he couldn't say, but it had always been there waiting and wanting below the surface. "If he doesn't understand, then-" a beat, "maybe you're right, maybe he'll hear it better from both of us."

#argentus.marrik.3 #thedoveconcord #( hehe )

would that he could, for once, be the one to guard marrik from his fears? argentus would dive for his blade -- his war sword, not his dueling blade -- and don his armor in as few breaths as he could manage. he'd stand firm, shield raised, in defense of the witcher who'd just bred him for more than he could've believed one man could could. he'd bear the brunt of whatever was to come.

because, to him, marrik was good.

"you'd tell him, how you feel about me..." argentus regarded marrik, kissing over those fingers, then bringing that hand to his own cheek. "before telling me?"

a diabolical trap, but one delicately placed. "I...can't say I'm not aware, now. even if your body did most of the talking." unarmored, unguarded. he'd hold marrik against him, within him, like this, for as many days as he was allowed. "how long do we have? we'll face my father together, and he's never been less than fair, but. I wouldn't mind having a little more of this morning." his own hands, running up marrik's lean, but still soft, stomach and sides.

supfag-archives

MICHAEL EVANS BEHLING

#argentus.image

You know he favours you above the others, went unsaid and unanswered. Argentus' lips met his before he got the chance and Marrik - Marrik was too weak to argue, put up a fight, or even attempt to pretend like the other's reassurance wasn't exactly what he was looking for. Marrik was biased, naturally - who wouldn't favour the second born? Argentus met his gaze, breathed against his lips, then spoke a few words that drained whatever colour Marrik still had to his face.

Of all the people - Aurelius himself - It wasn’t unheard of. The king was a man who took what he wanted, shaped what he pleased, and discarded what no longer served him. Argentus' revelation was unexpected, but not impossible. Not even improbable. It only made the ground beneath Marrik feel more treacherous. His fingers traced absent patterns along Argentus' ribs, his mind already a step ahead, reaching into the depths of possibility, of consequence. “Then he will definitely know.”

That wasn’t the exact problem, but it was the root of it, because the real problem came immediately after.

Marrik’s jaw worked at the hard line of set tension, perpetually caught in a chew the muscle there flared and then retracted. Retreating the process a few times over. “Does he...still?” The words were quiet, edged with something that wasn't fear but was close to it. “Is there still enough of a claim left that this will mean more to him?” Preparation or perhaps a conquest of sorts was one thing, but the real question was how deep did this go?

Because if there was - if Aurelius saw this as a different sort of betrayal rather than what Marrik originally assumed - the witcher could feel his head spinning as he imagined what the King would do. What he'd make of the witcher laying hands on his silver prize. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. FUCK.

"-Argentus-" Marrik sighed, forehead resting against the prince's, gently gliding himself out of the prince. "I have to tell him."

#argentus.marrik.3 #thedoveconcord #( marrik used confusion )#( if marrik = good and sex = good how is sex + marrik = bad ??? )

the bliss of it all, argentus almost felt as if he'd fallen into a fairy tale. soothing a lover about a secret they might not have to keep. but marrik... he didn't appear soothed. or calmed. beyond concerned, beyond apprehensive, his witcher's terror only seemed to grow even further.

the second prince had never seen marrik scared, before; at least not before last night, and now this very morning. such a thing had his own worries beginning to form.

"occasionally?" he offered, slowly pushing upright. "father has more than enough true lovers-- we were just, he was just..." marrik unseated himself, and argentus pushed to be sitting more fully. "at first, he was just...helping me get used to it. how to take a cock, how to please a man, as I might find myself on a king one day. he didn't. I mean. did he?" brows drawn. did his father claim him? was he merely another prize in the man's collection? a trophy his father could stuff his cock into until he leaves him stuffed and dripping with him?

argentus blinked his way to waking fully, caught between the allure of marrik's bare form, and the concern spreading across both their faces. "yes-- yes. I'll tell him, too, when I can. I can't--" reaching, he tried to take marrik's hands. "I won't have you banished, or rescinded, or reprimanded for this. for me. this was..." if marrik would let him, he'd have those hands up to his lips. words brushing over them, like cleansing waters.

"this was more than I could've ever imagined. you made me feel... ways I wasn't familiar with, or prepared for. but I want to feel them. I want to let you make me feel them. and I don't know how this could be wrong. so, if you must face my father, I will face him as well."

lordblacktyde

"it's indeed noble that you worry for hypothetical heartbroken lords, but let me assure you i make myself and my limitations as well as my wants clear, once i set my eyes on someone," he leaned towards the prince, speaking plainly but gently, with more than a little teasing in his tone, "i think frustrating people in such a way would give me a far harsher reputation than any of us would want."

"i hope..." he ponders on his words, hand on a strong arm, "that such a fate has not befallen you, though you are yet young and full of good options."

he laughed in response, easy and large as he held the prince's arm, pulling it into his own and making himself smaller to better lead him, or be led, as it were. "there is no hunt, sweet prince. people who want you find you, and you dance or you don't with them, but i've found there is hardly the need or even desire for a hunt," he winks at him, leaning down to whisper on his ear as they walk towards the ball "at least not unless the 'prey' is especially... sweet." it would be rather unwise, to let himself linger on thoughts of the prince. yet the talking and the dancing, and the teasing. ulysses would not mind more of such honesty, of the fresh pleasure of seeing a new side to someone.

"no need to worry however unless you have someone else in sight, my time is yours for now. i know it can be refreshing to have an honest conversation in a place like this, your company will do me good."

#( apologies for rounding off but I have GOT to get things current :bowing: )#argentus.ulysses.1 #thedoveconcord

"I have been lucky to be so guarded," the prince offered back, easily. "that the only love I've ever known is not likely to leave me any time soon." a nod, as if to close off the thought.

the pair made their way back to the hall proper, and argentus regarded the lord blacktyde with a most curious brow. "you call me 'sweet', despite never having the taste." and with their position, and his posture, clearly presenting -- one wasn't exactly on offer, either. "we'll see if this 'sweetness' will bring some fluttering things to your lantern. to fly close, to be enchanted." one last look over. "perhaps, to burn."

that being said, argentus did mean to aid in making ulysses seem a more tempting offer, through their turn around the floor. and he'd part in good cheer, and with a better awareness of the state of the court.

Aftershocks of pleasure still hummed in Marrik veins and muddled with the quiet dread curling at the edges of his mind. His grip on Argentus remained firm, like if he let go, the world would shift beneath them, tilt into something irreversible.

The prince’s laugh - soft, warm, unburdened - sent something sharp twisting in Marrik’s chest. Argentus looked wrecked beneath him, flushed and spent, eyes blown and satisfied. His confidence, his ease, made Marrik want to believe, to bury the clawing uncertainty and stay in this moment where nothing else existed but their bodies and the heat between them. But reality was a patient thing, and it waited.

Marrik’s jaw tensed as Argentus’ thumb traced over his cheek, soothing, offering comfort where there should be none. He closed his eyes for a beat, leaning into the touch despite himself. The king’s shadow loomed large in his mind, a cold, creeping weight against the lingering warmth of afterglow. “Regret it?” Marrik’s voice was still raw from the things he had done - from the way he had taken, claimed, filled. His fingers twitched against Argentus’ ribs, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away. “No, never that.”

His brow furrowed, breath slowing as the reality of their trespass settled between them. “Your father…” Marrik hesitated, jaw working, his fingers slipping through sweat-slick hair, tangling before sliding down, tracing over Argentus’ swollen lips, the flushed skin of his throat. He was so beautiful like this. Vulnerable in a way that made Marrik’s pulse tighten, in a way that made him want to protect, to keep... But Argentus belonged to a King.

“I have just fucked his only son so thoroughly he’ll know it the second he looks at you.” His breath came sharp at the admission, a quiet, humorless huff. He tilted his head, searching the prince’s gaze for something - anything - that could anchor him. “What do you think he’ll do when he finds out?”

despite being already so relaxed -- apparently having a man rooting around inside one's anus tended to lay one out -- argentus only seemed to relax further as marrik reaffirmed his...intentions. his lack of regret. only to espouse on his fear, his concern. less about undoing what's already done, or technically still being done, and more about what was ahead. the course was charted. the ship was bound for the storm. the only way out seemed to be through; whether to dash into the waves, to break on the stormwall, or to somehow sail through on a miracle.

argentus slight grin was, hopefully, akin to a sliver of moon breaking through the clouds. beams, upon a deck rife with tension.

"only son?" he laughed, despite himself. feeling the joy of it, the way his body jostled and opened and closed around marrik, squeezing more of that witcher's load from himself, only made it all the better. "I've enough brothers, and this might be one thing were I know something you don't."

reaching up again, he tried to take hold of both those sculpted cheeks. to take marrik's face in his hand, to bring him down, as if to kiss. and kiss he would. once, twice, three times, before speaking against his mouth--

"--the only other man to know me as you have...is the very man you're afraid of."

his truth spoken, argentus pulled back only enough to look deeply into marrik's eyes, and read his reaction.

Marrik's grip locked on the prince’s hips, pulling him back into every brutal thrust. The heat between them was unbearable now, the way Argentus clenched and pulsed around him sending bright, electric pleasure lancing up Marrik’s spine. His breath broke into ragged gasps, lips parting against sweat-slicked skin as he chased the inevitable, the crushing pressure curling deep in his gut, ready to snap. And then in the moment of release, when Argentus spilled warm over the viper's fist, splattered his abdomen and painted the space between them, it did.

A sharp, guttural sound tore from his throat as he buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep, releasing in long, overwhelming bursts. His body trembled with the force of it, pulse pounding in his ears, pleasure crashing over him in relentless, rolling waves. He could feel it - could feel himself spilling into Argentus in thick, hot pulses, more than any man should be able to give, filling him to excess until it spilled back, slicking their thighs, dripping between them. And it did not stop.

His orgasm surged through him in thick, like a tide breaking across the shore, each warm ribbon excessive in its impossibility, coating Argentus' insides with a flood of heat. It poured from him like an overfilled goblet tipped too far, spilling over, spilling past where they were joined. Marrik could feel it, the way it gathered deep, splattering every inch of the prince’s walls, and still his body demanded more - offered more. The sheer volume came as a mark of his kind’s unnatural virility, spilling and spilling until it pushed back against him, slicking down his length, seeping out in slow, warm dribbles that traced along the inside of Argentus' trembling thighs. And still, Marrik kept coming.

Marrik's groan, was raw and breathless, his body wracked with aftershocks as his cock pulsed, emptying another heavy, throbbing burst inside the prince. It felt endless, like he was pouring himself into Argentus in every possible way and leaving nothing behind. By the time his body finally gave, finally eased, Marrik could feel the mess spilling between them, the warmth that lingered, the evidence of his utter ruin spilling out in thick, pearlescent trails.

Marrik's shaking hands laid across the prince as he road out every shaking remnant of his orgasm, rolling his hips as he felt the spasm twitch in his gut for yet another time. Grinning lazily, smiling, lips dragging over Argentus' jaw, his cheek - tongue meshing and languishing - against Argentus' as he slipped through his lips in a sloppy embrace. Marrik's breathing remained erratic as his heart hammered - beating frantically in an attempt to bust free of the modified prison.

For a long moment, Marrik simply breathed against the prince’s skin, hands running idly along his sides, smoothing over the sweat-damp expanses of the Medesian skin, grounding himself in the warmth of him. A shaky, breathless chuckle finally escaped him, his lips curling against the prince’s flushed skin.

“Fuck, Argentus…” His voice was wrecked, hoarse from exertion, from everything he’d poured into this. Into him. Marrik forced himself to lift his head, to look at the man beneath him - calloused fingers smoothing back the other's hair. Still warm inside the spilling hole, Marrik felt the world orienting itself again. He saw the longevity and the expiration - Aurelius' displeasure - the consequences - and where the Viper was steadfast, fear ebbed at the corner of his voice. "What have we done?"

#argentus.marrik.3 #[ get a towel ]#[ or twenty ]#thedoveconcord

the topic of a witcher's sexual capacity was never something argentus considered, until that moment. bouncing, made to bounce; fucked thoroughly enough to feel empty on each pull, and full on each push. two states, dichotomous, with all the blissful motion sliding through him in-between. their enhanced strength, their capacity, their senses, weren't those all things that would aid a man on the mattress?

and yet, here the prince was, made witness to such prowess as he was given undeniable proof. first, in marrik's touch, in the spread of him, the force and strength of him. and then, in marrik's load. ample. beyond ample. the prince had been bred before, but it wasn't just like this. he'd squirmed and moaned while pinned to the bed and fucked until filled. this was... a torrent. as much went into him as seemed to spray back out, the cavern of his insides overwhelmed to the point of saturation. splattering, scattering. smearing. the sensation was...incredible. argentus felt beyond used, beyond debauched, he felt ruined. like a tunic worn through a rainstorm, in need of a hanger and time to dry. he felt soaked-through, as those hands soothed his too-warm skin, grinning up at the shorter male who seemed to contain quite a lot more than one would guess.

as another glob seemed to...leave him, argentus felt himself laugh before he knew it was happening. warm, sated, beyond pleased. spread open and far too slippery. marrik's concern fell first on deaf ears, argentus' smile moonshine-bright as he reached up to hold his witcher close.

"--we've done what men often do," he offered, boldly. confidently, too-easily. "why do you sound like you regret it?" thumb sliding over marrik's cheek, as if he could somehow soothe him.

orionxs

"That's-" and then he pauses, for a long moment, trying to untangle what is that supposed to mean. When he thinks about it, it's quite obvious yes — there's no reason the prince would be talking about anyone else other than his own family — so he tries to save face, smiling, trying to force out some confidence he doesn't currently has. "...a wise way to put it." He decides on a middle ground; not disagreeing, not closing off that door either.

He almost felt embarassed by being called out like that, even if the prince was agreeing with him. Unfortunately, he was very proud of his home, maybe to a fault. "Of course..." he nods, playing into the game, "And yet, if I may say, we don't need much effort at all..." and while it may see he was being facetious trying to seduce the prince, he was just honest: "There's beauty in our lands that can speak for itself." And then he smirks, unsure if this is crossing the line or not: "And there's beauty in our men as well."

#argentus.orion.1 #thedoveconcord

"if only our vistas and dancers could be enough to stave off the appetites of these other kingdoms." argentus cast a wide gaze throughout the crowd, on either side of orion. "eating and drinking, hand over fist. not that we don't do the same, but. there's at least some level of moderation, before more physical activity." lean fish and the bounty of what islands had enough land to farm on left most bellies calm enough for vigorous dance, among other things.

to the compliment -- not to himself, but to the men of their homeland -- he felt it wiser to nod along. "may we both continue to be prime examples." not completely modest, yet not selfish, either, as he gave a slight and tilted nod. "what is it you're seeking, coming here with the rest of the congregation? something I might help you find? even if it's not of myself, I'd like to think I know enough others to narrow a search."

Marrik felt it now - felt the unraveling, the slow collapse of restraint as Argentus yielded beneath him, around him. The prince's body told him everything. So, Marrik started slow. Deliberate. A cruel, careful slide into heat, letting Argentus feel every inch of him as he filled him to the hilt. His breath rose, then fell ragged against the prince’s skin, control hanging by a thread as he rolled his hips in steady, measured thrusts. Deep, unhurried, making sure Argentus felt the stretch, the way Marrik claimed him with the level of patience a witcher ought to possess.

"Please, what - Argentus?"His grip on Argentus tightened - not waiting for a response - fingers digging in, pulling him closer - like he could fuse them together, like it still wasn’t enough. His pace quickened, hips snapping against the prince with ruthless precision, chasing the pleasure that burned between them, feeding off every gasp, every tremor, every helpless clench around him.

Marrik groaned, low and wrecked, pressing his forehead against Argentus’ temple, their breath mingling, heat trapped between their bodies. “That’s it,” he murmured, rough and reverent, his voice shaking as he thrust harder, dragging the prince into his rhythm, into the fever of it. “Take it. Take all of it.”

There was no room left for thought, no space for anything but the way they fit together, the sharp slap of skin on skin, the slick heat between them, the way Marrik could feel Argentus coiling and gripping around him - the satisfaction of being the one trapped within velvet walls feeding some of the more debased parts of the witcher. That he had broken something open in the prince, something raw and wanting, something that pulsed in time with the hammering of Marrik’s own heart.

“Look at me,” he demanded again, righting himself enough to look Argentus full on, his hand a tight fist around the duelist's sword, pumping in tandem with the rocking of his hips. Marrik's voice was strained as he rolled into him, harder, deeper, chasing the edge with him. He needed to see it, to watch the way pleasure overtook the prince, to see his name written across Argentus' face in every trembling breath. Another sharp intake of breath, another shudder - he was close - "I-" he swallowed, he should pull out but he'd already given in this much to desire.

as marrik took the prince, the prince was left to revel. to unravel. to unspool, uncurl, as so much thread wound too tightly around the spindle. words lost on breath, only a few could gain enough air to make the cut of sound, the rest spend on wispy laughs and blessedly quieter moans. now that argentus wasn't coiled so painfully tight, no longer fighting the intrusion with tension dead-set down to his core, he could more enjoy the presence inside him. the weight of marrik within him, the motion of him, the grip and shift and slide. the details of his shape, learned by most sensitive skin.

"this," he breathed, then another laugh. joyous, in bed. "please, more of...this." chest rising, falling, not quite heaving but nearly. he'd flex around marrik on reflex, grunting as he'd close until he could push to relax again. to the demands made of him, he would nod, and do his best to comply; not demands, or orders, but requests. suggestions, from someone more experienced. needs, communicated from someone he deeply cared about. someone who cared for him, so deep inside. so, argentus took. and as he was gripped, argentus looked.

breathing, harder. pulse, harder. pace, harder. cock, harder, harder, harder. flexing in marrik's grip. pace quickened, in and out, in and out; air, marrik, that hand. argentus' jaw clenched, teeth bared but not closed, as he hissed and sighed through being fucked into his climax. a hard pulse, not delayed as much as embraced. argentus didn't clench against his finish, but let himself be pushed into it, pushed through it, until each pulse of him would run down blade-scarred, bane-stained fingers, and the prince left panting as the witcher pushed on.

to the question unanswered, still fighting to breathe, argentus gave marrik a nod. he had clearance, to come within the gates. to come home.

lordblacktyde

ulysses chuckles, not only at the words but the smirk cracking through the prince's face. "only if you now regret your invitation. i expect to see the faces of jealousy as i take you around the ballroom."

"no, i can see that you are clearly not a young innocent thing anymore, my prince, and if you wish then we can speak frankly. even of such matters." his glance is mirthful, and knowing as it bores into the prince. not as someone looks at a young man rising into his station, but one of respect for the man the prince has and is becoming. he finds it rather important to not treat like overgrown children people who might... should anything happen in this case, rule the land.

"i shall have to disappoint you, however, for i am not in fact looking for a match, unless the connections you speak of are of other nature?" he raises his brow, their proximity a little more pointed now, "i do not wish to presume, or offend, but as you have said you are no cabin boy and you must know the things men like us get up to, in events like this." he looks around, a hint of a smile, not in outright invitation, rather enjoying the honesty of the conversation and the thrill of memories and gossip that has reached his ears, "places, like this."

#[ ulysses really said <shygirl vc> I came to FUCK ]#lordblacktyde #argentus.ulysses.1 #thedoveconcord

ulysses' honesty was rather bracing. a surprise, but a somewhat pleasant one. an invitation to a table he'd previously been denied a seat, witnessing conversations deemed above his age or capacity.

"if that is what you seek, lord blacktyde," with only the gentlest and amusing tone of admonishment, "then I pray for the noble you find to be reading the same charts. to think you're riding one tide, only to be left in the wake?" argentus shook his head, grinning. "there are crueler fates, but those often involve steel." he gestured towards the ball. "shall we get to the dance? I'd hate to keep you from your hunt."

Marrik exhaled sharply, something sharp trapped in a groan, his grip tightening on Argentus’ thigh. “I like it.” Warning, worried, but... Not stopping. His voice was husky, not entirely sure if it was praise or warning, only that the sounds the prince made curled in his gut and caused every drop of blood rushing to his cock.

Marrik’s other hand left himself, trailing instead up Argentus’ stomach, across the curve of his ribs, before it settled lightly at the warm juncture between broad Argentus' broad shoulder and the gentle curve of his neck. Not to squeeze, not yet, just a presence, a reminder of control - his and theirs. His thumb traced along the softness of the Medesian prince's skin. “I'll be gentle,” Uncharacteristic for the Viper, nurture wasn't first nature to Marrik, a smirk, "at first."

His fingers slipped free, and for a breath, there was only absence where he had been, the lingering stretch, the pulse of Argentus’ own body adjusting in his wake. Then came the weight of him, settling between the prince’s spread thighs, solid as the crown of Marrik's cock pressed against the prince's wanting hole. The hand he'd left on Argentus' thigh, curled around the prince's shaft, thumb moving over the tip as he pulled in a languid beat.

Marrik let his fingers trace idle patterns along Argentus' skin as the witcher's obsidian eyes remained fixed on the prince spread beneath him. Smooth and steady, he drew his way forward until the full length of himself was settled inside. That bearing grip, the velvet pulse - Marrik felt a quiver escape his lips as his cock leaked, swallowing back the dry bite on the back of his tongue as he bottomed out in the Medesian's guts. He bent forward, brushed their lips together, and muttered against him, “Breathe- ” another stroke, another brush, another pump - Marrik moaned into him.

ever under marrik's watch, his wary gaze, argentus could almost feel that caution raking over him now. from under two pillows, the prince listened -- and uselessly nodded, and then laughed a bit -- in regards to those affirmations. surprisingly soft. surprisingly sweet. but, in these moments he's stolen with marrik, it was beginning to feel as if almost anything would be possible. that he'd feel his witcher's strength, but in the best of possible ways. that he'd learn marrik's touch in a way that few -- or, possibly, many -- have felt before.

the self-imposed blindness towards the situation only further lent to the sensation. he'd only meant to muffle his cries, but not being able to see marrik, only hear him? feel him? catch each breath, each grunt and sigh, each pop and trickle of his hand gripping himself, smearing spit over his haft? argentus felt aware of marrik in more ways than he could've been if he'd just been staring up at him, in admiration.

but then, the press. from prior instruction, the prince knew how to brace, to push, to bore down and bear down and receive, but marrik threw those lessons out the window with all his affection and attention. his hand slid up over marrik's on his own shoulder, squeezing those fingers as he squeezed around marrik slowly pushing inside him. his chest, cresting and sinking with hard, quick breaths, until that reminder eventually came. argentus was taut around marrik, that rim tested and tried, but the prince did, eventually, breathe.

and when he did? he felt like the world opened up around him, that the tiny room and everything in it expanded, that he could not just feel marrik inside him but welcome him there. still tight, still gripping, but not as much fighting the witcher's presence in him. and his wailing, whining cries? could finally start to slow enough, that he could lower a pillow enough to see him. to see marrik, dazed and pleased and glossy with pleasure, watching himself fuck the prince open.

with need, argentus reached for marrik. his side, his hip, some part of him, to have and hold tight. "please," he groaned. not sure what he's asking for, but knowing that he wanted more of everything. breathing steered, and controlled, that he might only just squeeze around marrik, and not push him out. argentus' mouth fell open, but only to get more air. staring up at marrik, nodding weakly. throbbing in marrik's hand, slicking that grip over him. thrilled by the feeling of marrik spilling in him, just a taste of what was to...come.

Marrik took his time. He wanted Argentus to feel this - to know, with every brush of his lips and every deliberate press of his fingers, that Marrik was doing everything in his power to reduce Argentus to ruin. Those sounds, mewling, pleading, moaning, and then muffled - it made him grin against the tight muscular ring of the prince's hole.

His mouth lingered, tongue tracing slow, teasing circles before he pressed in deeper, savoring the way the prince tensed, then softened beneath him. His breath was hot, damp against delicate skin, and his stubble left the barest hint of friction in its wake, enough to make the contrast between heat and roughness a pleasure of its own.

Argentus' body was new to this - tight, but not untouched, resistant before Marrik coaxed him open with the slow, careful push of his fingers. One, then two, stretching him with steady precision. He curled them just so, feeling for the place that would make the prince shudder apart beneath him.

His free hand splayed across the prince’s thigh, reassuring, firm but not restraining. He wanted Argentus to move, to push back, to let himself feel without hesitation. He added a third finger, easing past the initial resistance, his touch patient but unrelenting. His mouth never left him, tongue pressing, teasing, soothing the stretch with wet, languid strokes that slid from hole to taint to balls. His own cock strained still, leaking even as Marrik rolled his body, slowly withdrawing his fingers to push his trousers down past his thighs. A lazy fist curled around the based, pumping himself, once, twice, and then a third time as he kept his fingers inside of the prince, moving, massaging. "You're still so tight," Half praise, some concern, but he'd trust Argentus to raise the flag if things were moving too quickly.