#cove.calls

[he-covets]

talk of all these polycules where's the sign up sheet or master spreadsheet, a blacksmith is very curious about membership eligibility

[he-covets]

You won't burn

I whisper in his ear as my fingers probe the inside of his mouth. Wetting my pads on his tongue, catching the grooves of his molars. It's really in his best interest to stay quiet and yet he's the one that can't shut the fuck up. Can't say I don't find it charming though. A priest sucking my fingers as I push him back against the altar. His altar. The house of worship he preaches in. The place I return to every time I pass through this village. But I'm not here for sermons. The prayers that leave my lips are not meant for the ears of the lord. And yet they always echo louder when I enter his church

You won't bleed

I flip him around, bend him over. I press his cheek to the cool of the altar and watch the way his breath fogs the wood carvings. I don't think I could ever get sick of this. He tells me to hurry up and I sneer. He missed me. Definitely. It's been too long. I tease him as my hands snake under his robes. Grope the priest panting heavy for me and call him father against the goosebumps on his neck. He hisses as my fingers press his inner thighs. Snaps that it's a perversion on his priesthood to call him that right now. I ask if he'd prefer I call him daddy instead. But he can't answer because my fingers are filling his cunt and he's groaning into his forearms

Confess to me

It all spills out of him when I say that. Every soul that's known his touch since the last time I saw him. The sinners that come through his halls seeking guidance and end up confessing in the same booth as the one meant to listen. The sinners that must fall to their knees as an act of devotion for the one who is meant to cleanse them. The sinners that break beneath the priest who offers them forgiveness, offers them retribution, offers them salvation so long as they take all that he decides to give them. And he says I'm the one who perverts his priesthood

Spiritus Sanctus in nomine

He's murmuring under his breath as I fuck into him. But he can't continue his plea to the trinity because I'm curling my fingers and pressing his face harder against the altar and telling him God can't help him here. That if he wants softness he should start begging to someone who may actually be listening. Words escape him now though. His legs have buckled and his need is pooling in my palm and he's cumming harder than I know he has in months. He collapses forward on the altar and I kiss the sweat from his temple before curling my fingers again. Oh my sick priest, you thought one was enough to be considered penance? Absolutely not. There's so much more for you to confess before I decide I'm done with you

[he-covets]

Tent set up, I stand up and stretch out the muscles in my back. I can't help but feel alert when surrounded by knights around a campfire. All of my memories associated with these images were of the battlefield. The jovial evenings out on a new front that would inevitably descend into despair as numbers begun to dwindle. I'm not there. I'm here. I exhale to myself as I watch my companions laugh, someone's brought along a lute. Maybe I still remember some old tunes of my home town. Surely the little jester will craft a tune about the prince for us all to sing along to. That would be nice

I ease up as I sit around the fire. I'm not much of a cook, it's nice to see some of the others hold a talent for it. I feel more comfortable as the evening stretches on. More alike to the camps I found myself in during my wanders. Lips getting a little looser as some secrets are spilled from the pretty prince. The jester moving around everyone's laps, I don't think they've sat on the grass since we got here. Of course the knights are teasing each other and oh, well, one of them's decided to remove his shirt and show off his muscles. I love a bit of arrogance. Maybe I should remove my own and challenge him to a bit of a wrestle

Yeah. Let's have a little fun

@jester-of-hearts @knightclubbing @knights-hand @but-a-licentious-prince @borrowed-blade

[he-covets]

Last Unicorn

[he-covets]

Finishing a day of work with too much tension in my shoulders and too much yearning to be considered reasonable. Would love nothing more than for a strong set of hands to be working out the knots around my back and a pretty pair of palms running down my front. Lips working either side of my neck as two very talented lovers allow me to indulge all my greed and gluttony on their beautiful bodies

Starving for some shameless hedonism tonight

[he-covets]

My hands ache something awful tonight. Back in the capital and they're working me for all I'm worth. Which is a pretty penny, so I suppose I shouldn't complain much. But heavens if I don't get bored with crafting arrowheads in a mould and simple swords for the squires. My talents always were wasted on wartime pursuits of pushing out as much steel as possible in order to arm the troops against... what exactly? Gods, I'm really starting to miss the mercenaries and how they'd stroke their egos by commissioning a one of a kind weapon. Mm, they always were good at stroking something else too. Brutish things. Not a moral bone in their bodies but lord if that didn't make them fun to fuck. I suppose that's one upside of being back in the heart of the capital; a bit more variety in the type of touch that might make its way onto my body. The upper class always did like a bit of chase. The knights always enjoyed a bit of softness. The jester always liked to play a new game on every visit. Maybe I'm in the mood for some games.

For tonight at least I'll rest. Wake up early to see that baker I'm fond of and make a show of eating his pastries. Lets at least have fun at the capital while I'm here

[he-covets]

He comes to me on evenings like this one. The nights when the itch under my skin becomes unbearable and I know its grown too long since I've properly relieved myself. I can't get myself off here. I need to get out of the loud hostels and into some private accommodation. Better yet, I need to get into the bed of someone else for a night. God I need a good fuck

I roll onto my side, pull up the scratchy blanket and slip my hand into my breeches. Just need to tide myself over. Just need to get through tonight and I'll see what I can chase tomorrow to properly scratch this itch. But for now, I'll think of him. The knight from my youth

No matter how many years that have passed or how many lovers that I've had the pleasure of bedding, I always return to that winter together. When the roof of barracks collapsed in a snowstorm and the hounds were dispersed to reside elsewhere for the season. I can't say I was pleased to share my quarters with him at first. I'd worked hard to get that little hovel of privacy for myself. But the second I saw who had been assigned to reside in the blacksmiths den, I knew he'd never use the makeshift bed of straw on the floor

Kissed me so sweet. Touched me so shy. For someone that spent so much time in the company of men, he sure didn't behave in the same ways the rest of the cavalry did. But as we undressed, I found him more alike to me than I realised. It made me so soft to touch his bound chest. To watch him trace the scars under my pecs with wonder. Funny that I find the memories of us grinding clothed against one anothers thighs more erotic than the filthy sex we were having by the end of our winter together. Something so charming in our inexperience. Our exploration. He was so lovely to explore

I know we could never return to that time. But maybe if I find myself in the kingdom of my birth, I pay him a visit. I wonder if he looks different now. Changed in more ways than what age does to someone. I hope his touch hasn't changed. I hope he still touches his lover's like they're delicate. I hope he'd touch me like that again if we were to ever reconnect. If he'd have me. I hope he'd have me

God in heaven I need a good fuck

[he-covets]

The early mornings in the capital always hold a different kind of cold. Not quite the same sting of the countryside, certainly not as harsh as the coast with the sea air that cuts through like a knife. Funny to see the characters that wander the streets at dawn. This time of day was always so alive with work out at the dockyards. Strong bodies hauling around heavy goods. The sweat of workers that are all too impatient to get back out to the ocean where they belong.

What it is to know with such inherent confidence where one should reside in the world. To know with deep clarity where their existence should be situated.

Do I know? Where do I belong?

The warmth of the forge is comforting, but it's the only life I've known. Being old enough to walk meant being old enough to work. Is a home a profession? A place? Or is it a person? People?

My introspections ceased when I hit the markets and my nose was filled with the smells of delicacies I haven't known for many years. These questions won't be answered anytime soon. Certainly not on an empty stomach. And heavens, this merchant is quite nice to look at. Maybe I'll come back here next week and flirt a little further

I'll spoil myself with the wonders of the city for now. There are so many more things to indulge before my feet get itchy for travel