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“Gods, I have never been happier to see a bed in my life.”
Inigo’s voice pierces through the exhaustion fogging Gerome’s brain, and he watches with faint amusement as Inigo throws himself down on the rough, straw-filled mattress with glee. The evening light filtering in through the dusty glass window casts a pleasantly warm light into the room, and Gerome can feel the ever-present tenseness in his shoulders start to dissipate in just the slightest. Watching his lover roll around in idiotic glee isn’t bad either.
Said idiot sprawls across the bed, stretching his slender limbs like a cat in the sun, before rolling over to peer at Gerome with half-lidded eyes. “Of course, we need the bed for,” here he gives Gerome his best attempt at bedroom eyes, “other things.”
Other things. Gerome’s face heats up at the thought of those other things they have planned, fingers curling anxiously against his palms. Honestly neither of them know what they’re doing, a couple of fumbling virgins taking advantage of alone time to do the do, and Gerome’s mortified more than anything that he’s going to hurt Inigo or finish too quick or fuck everything else up.
The touch of Inigo’s hand on his arm startles him, and he looks down to see Inigo smiling kindly up at him. “Don’t get cold feet on me now,” he says with a cheeky grin. “Not when we’ve got this nice cozy inn room all to ourselves.”
Gerome swallows down his nerves and nods. “Of course I’m not going to get cold feet!” he says brusquely, eyes narrowing beneath his mask.
As always Inigo sees right through him, and stands up from the bed to press a chaste kiss to Gerome’s lips. “I love you, you know,” he murmurs, smiling against Gerome’s skin.
“I do know,” Gerome mumbles, feeling heat creep up his cheeks. He’s never figured out how the words come so easily to Inigo, how they fall from his lips with such sincerity and affection. Then again, he’s still never figured out why Inigo loves him so much in the first place. “…and I love you as well.”
“Then you don’t need to be so nervous,” Inigo says in a hushed voice. He reaches behind Gerome’s head and begins working at the tie of his mask, nimble fingers unknotting the thong with ease. When he slides the warm metal from Gerome’s face he’s greeted by sharp brown eyes and a perpetual frown line between dark brows. He drops the mask on the nightstand and loops his arms around Gerome’s necks, pressing kisses all over his face. “It’s just me.”
Gerome musters up a little smile. “That’s what worries me.” He sighs. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Inigo’s smile widens, and he drops his head against Gerome’s shoulder with a laugh. “You’re so cute,” he says, fingers playing with flyaway brown strands. “Don’t worry about hurting me. That’s what first times are for, right? Get all the hurt and awkwardness out of the way so the next time we can screw like rabbits.”
Oh Naga. Gerome’s convinced that every ounce of blood in his body has pooled in his face, and he slips his arms around Inigo’s waist and holds him tight against him. Inigo sighs happily against him, breath ticklish on Gerome’s skin, and they stand quietly for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms like there’s not a war raging outside and a future that has to be saved.
Finally Inigo lifts his head and wriggles out of Gerome’s grip. “Hey, take your armor off.” He plops down on the bed and sets to work on his greaves and boots. Wordlessly Gerome unbuckles his own armors, placing each piece neatly in a pile beside the bed.
He’s acutely aware of Inigo’s eyes on him as he takes off each piece of armor. The dancer sits cross-legged on the bed in just his clothes, hands sitting patiently in his lap, the faint beginnings of a blush on his cheeks. Gerome’s self-consciousness grows, and he has to quickly look away before he loses the will to keep undressing. When he’s finally out of all of his armor he turns back to Inigo, who’s once again wearing his little smile that Gerome likes so much but would never admit.
Pushing himself to his feet, Inigo wraps himself up in Gerome’s arms again before pressing his lips fiercely to his partner’s. It’s a distinct counterpoint to his gentle kisses earlier, and Gerome can already feel some of the blood clustered in his face beginning to travel south. He paws clumsily at Inigo’s shirt, fumbling with the laces as Inigo continues his relentless assault on his lips. Inigo’s having much better luck, deftly unbuttoning Gerome’s shirt and sliding it off his shoulders with ease.
Inigo finally pulls out of the kiss and swats Gerome’s hands away, then yanks the shirt off over his head unceremoniously. Gerome sheds his shirt and undershirt, but his fingers still with anxiety when he moves to take off his trousers.
“Would it be better if I were naked first?” Inigo questions gently, letting his fingers splay over the muscles of Gerome’s abdomen.
Swallowing heavily, Gerome nods slowly. You’re dying out here, Gerome, he scolds himself, but Inigo just smiles again and kisses his cheek. “You’re cute when you’re nervous. I never get to see that side of you.”
Grasping Gerome’s shoulders he walks him back against the bed, pushing him down playfully and giving him a last lingering smooch before straightening up. “Just lay back and enjoy the show,” he chides, stepping back from the bed and pulling off his undershirt. It’s thrown on the growing pile of discarded clothes, and in moments is joined by Inigo’s pants and smallclothes.
The first thought that crosses Gerome’s mind at the sight of a naked Inigo is incredible. He has the beauty of an ancient statue, muscles perfectly sculpted as if by the hands of a god and skin hardly blemished at all with scars or bruises. His eyes are drawn downward, of course, but what he finds isn’t any different from what he expected.
Now an expression of bashfulness paints itself on Inigo’s face, and he almost looks like he wants to cover himself up again. He walks forward despite himself and clambers onto the bed to straddle Gerome’s lap. Once again his arms find their place on Gerome’s shoulders and his lips find theirs on Gerome’s. The rider’s hands lift up and tentatively rest on Inigo’s smooth, bare back, stroking slowly across the soft skin.
“Can… can I touch you?” Gerome murmurs against his lips. Inigo laughs breathlessly.
“Of course. You’re going to do more than just touch me, I hope.”
Carefully Gerome’s hands slide down his back and settle on the globes of his ass, squeezing gently. Inigo takes a more direct approach, reaching down and slipping his hand beneath Gerome’s waistband and letting his fingers trail across Gerome’s half-hard prick. Gerome’s breath catches at Inigo’s touch, and he lets one of his own hands gently grasp Inigo’s length.
“Your hands are cold,” Inigo whispers, and Gerome can hear his smile. But he rolls his hips into Gerome’s hand nonetheless and lets his own hand speed up its work in Gerome’s pants. “Hey, can I blow you?”
Gerome can’t help his snort of laughter. “What do you know about giving a blowjob?”
Inigo pouts, squeezing Gerome’s prick cruelly. “Hey! Rude.” He shifts back off Gerome’s lap and back to his feet on the rough wooden floor. Gerome scoots forward with him, sitting on the edge of the bed and spreading his legs as Inigo settles between them. Inigo pulls Gerome’s dick out of his pants and strokes it slowly. “You shouldn’t be so mean to the guy that’s about to have your cock in his mouth.”
“No, I suppose I shouldn’t,” Gerome banters as he reaches out to run his hand through Inigo’s hair.
Inigo sizes him up, staring at his dick like it’s a choice cut of meat. “You’re huge.”
“Sorry.”
“Whatever.” Inigo presses his lips to the head softly, letting his tongue flick out and trail a path down his shaft. Gerome hisses at the sensation, fingers tightening slightly in Inigo’s hair. Inigo’s hand pumps slowly, and he rests Gerome’s cock against his cheek. “Hey, do you think it’s--” and there’s the bedroom eyes again, “—gonna fit?”
Gerome can’t even muster up a single word, mouth hanging agape as he stares down at Inigo incredulously. Inigo bursts out laughing.
“Your face,” he supplies helpfully between peals of laughter. “Oh, your face.” And then his lips are wrapping around Gerome’s cock and Gerome groans and squeezes his eyes shut. Inigo moves slowly, exploratory, tongue and lips working in tandem to squeeze out an uneven rhythm. When Gerome opens his eyes again, Inigo’s peering up at him as his head bobs up and down, a little bit of stray saliva rolling down his chin. His eyes narrow in what looks like a smile as he sucks, and he makes wet, vulgar noises as he moves. It’s sloppy and unpracticed, and probably not very good, but to Gerome it feels like heaven.
Eventually Inigo pulls his head back and lets Gerome’s cock out of his mouth with a lewd pop. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grins at Gerome, whose breathing comes heavy and erratic. “Now do you want to say anything about my dick-sucking skills?”
“N-no,” Gerome stammers quietly, “that was fine.”
“Good,” Inigo says proudly. He moves onto the bed beside Gerome and kisses him, letting Gerome’s hand slide into his lap and wrap around his dick. His movements are slow and tender, and Inigo sighs against his lips in pleasure.
“Do you still want to do this?” Gerome asks, more for his own comfort than Inigo’s.
Inigo nods. “Yeah. I want you.” He lays back on the bed, head on the pillows, and hoists his legs into the air. “Get in me!”
Oh Naga. Gerome can’t help but laugh, throwing his head back and barking out his seldom-heard laughter. Inigo grins at him, flopping his legs back down on the bed and giggling along with him. When Gerome finally calms down, wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes, he stands up from the bed and goes over to their discarded pile of clothing. Inigo watches curiously as he rummages about. “Wait, what are you looking for?”
“It’s a lubricant, so I don’t hurt you too much.” Gerome remembers with a little bit of mortification going to buy the stuff, explaining in a stammering hush to the apothecary what he needed. The apothecary had assured him that this would ease the pain and prevent any tearing, because the last thing Gerome wants is Inigo bleeding all over his dick in the middle of the act. It’s a blessing, this little bottle. He fishes it out of his trouser pocket and returns to the bed.
Inigo spreads his legs invitingly and Gerome settles between them. He uncorks the little bottle, letting some of the thick oil spill out onto his fingers. Inigo watches, transfixed, until Gerome’s fingers move to his entrance.
“Tell me if it hurts.” Gerome spreads some of the oil around, then pushes in slowly with one finger. Inigo exhales slowly, brow furrowing at the rather uncomfortable sensation. It’s not particularly bad, per se, but he wouldn’t call it particularly pleasant either. Gerome’s free hand wraps around Inigo’s prick and tugs lazily in an effort to distract him from the feeling. A second finger pushes in and Inigo hisses in discomfort.
“More oil, please,” he murmurs, reaching out with one hand to still Gerome’s fingers in his ass. “Hurts a bit.”
“Of course.” The fingers slip out and more oil is drizzled on. In they go again, and now it’s smoother. “Is that better?”
“Much,” Inigo breathes out, shifting a little around Gerome’s fingers. Within him they twist and curl, stretching and prodding. Suddenly they brush against something that sends a shock of pleasure up Inigo’s spine, and he cries out and arches his back. “Oh, that was—“
“Are you alright?” Gerome sounds and looks half panicked, and Inigo thinks he’s about to pull out before he reaches out and stops him.
“I’m fine,” he snaps, harsher than he wanted to sound. “Do that again. That was good.”
Wordlessly Gerome complies, twisting his fingers back against his prostate and causing Inigo to throw his head back and moan. Gerome slips in a third finger and jams them in as Inigo bites down on his fist to keep himself from crying out in pleasure. He rolls his hips down and bucks forward into Gerome’s fist around his cock, feeling his loins start to tighten. “H-hey,” he groans. “You gotta stop, or I’m going to come.”
Gerome’s looking at him with wide eyes, and he nods hesitantly and withdraws. He scoots up between Inigo’s legs and spreads the lubricant generously over his cock. Inigo bites his lip and watches with bated breath as Gerome positions himself. He wraps his legs around his partner’s waist and pulls him closer. “Let’s do this.”
Gerome pushes in slowly, as slowly as he can muster, stopping halfway in when he realizes Inigo’s face is screwed up with pain. His breath comes harsh and shallow, and his fingers curl tightly around Gerome’s bicep. Tears well at the corner of his eyes. Gerome bends down as best he can and kisses Inigo gently, reaching up to wipe away the tears with his dry hand. “Do you want to stop?”
Inigo sniffles and shakes his head. “N-no, it just, hurts a lot more than I thought it would.” He manages a smile, which, despite looking a little pathetic with all the sweat and tears, ties Gerome’s heart in welcome knots. “Just give me a minute to adjust.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” Inigo nods resolutely, reaching down and palming his erection slowly. They kiss again, slow and long and chaste, and Gerome rests his forehead against Inigo’s as Inigo struggles to relax and regulate his breathing and wild heartbeat.
It’s taking every ounce of Gerome’s willpower to not slam in or even inch forward with Inigo’s inviting heat and tightness sucking him in. But he stays still, holding him and peppering kisses across his face and neck, until Inigo gives him the go-ahead.
“You can move again,” Inigo whispers, lifting his arms to wrap around Gerome’s neck. “Just go slow.”
So he does, inching forward with agonizing slowness as Inigo breathes slowly and forces his muscles to relax. When after a few long moments Gerome’s hips finally settle against Inigo’s he lets out a slow breath, not even aware he’d been holding it. He kisses Inigo’s forehead tenderly. “Are you alright?”
Inigo nods, opening his eyes and meeting Gerome’s questioning gaze. “I think so. I think you can move if you want.” He rolls his hips experimentally, wincing but letting out a breathy moan. “I think I like this. I really like this.”
And as slowly as he can, Gerome starts to move. His thrusts are shallow, slow, not much more than a gentle shifting of hips. His hand joins Inigo’s on his cock and pulls in time with each thrust, and Gerome silently delights in the noises that fall from Inigo’s lips. Inigo smiles at him, open-mouthed and panting, and Gerome feels like if he were to die right here and now he would die happy.
As their pace picks up, as Gerome’s thrusts become longer and faster and Inigo’s noises become louder and louder as Gerome strikes his prostate, it becomes apparent to both of them that they’re not going to last very long. Gerome can feel his balls tightening as he charges towards orgasm, and Inigo’s higher and higher cries and moans seem to indicate the same.
Inigo pulls Gerome’s face down to him and crushes their lips together, kisses getting sloppy as their climax draws near. “I love you,” Inigo whines against him, “I love you I love you I love you I’m going to come—“
And he does, come spurting from between their joined hands on his cock and falling in ropey strands across his abs. In turn he clenches down hard on Gerome’s cock and with a harsh groan Gerome comes inside him, pulsing and twitching as he fills Inigo to the brim.
They lay joined together in silence for a long moment, the quiet only pierced by harsh breaths. When Gerome finally gets himself out of Inigo’s chokehold enough to pull out he sits back on his knees and takes in the picture before him. Inigo’s eyes are closed and the remnants of his tears dry on his cheeks with his sweat. Come oozes out of his clenching hole. He’s a mess. But he opens his eyes and smiles that million-dollar smile, reaching out a hand for Gerome.
They lay together in the quiet warmth, chest to chest, once Gerome’s gotten them both cleaned off with the closest piece of fabric he can find (it turns out to be his cape, but he really could care less at this point). Gerome strokes Inigo’s sweaty hair and Inigo breathes softly against Gerome’s neck. There’s no better place in the world than this, Gerome thinks. Not a single one.
“I love you so much,” Inigo murmurs against Gerome’s skin, and he tries his best to will away the tears of happiness that are trying to escape his eyes. But the dam breaks and they slide down his face.
Gerome kisses them away, his hand brushing away what his lips don’t catch. “I love you, too.” He buries his face in Inigo’s hair. “More than you can ever know.”
Inigo sighs happily. “When all of this is over, when Grima is gone and the future is saved, I want to be with you forever. You and me and Minerva.”
Gerome smiles, arms tightening around his lover as the last of the day’s sunlight drops beneath the horizon. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”