A Different Kind of Zeal — Hadrian (Mature) (Patreon)

All his world resides in his hands.

There is nothing else that Hadrian can pay attention to. No sound, no sight, no smell or taste. It all comes down to his hands, to what his fingertips touch and his palms press, and his skin brushes. He doesn't know if it's dark or if the sun brightens the sky. He doesn't know if he listens or if silence has finally become absolute. He doesn't know, even, if time continues forward, or goes backward, or has simply stopped, and reality is nothing more than limbo.

Hadrian doesn't care whether he teeters between life or death. Whether the apocalypse is erupting onto the earth. It could be, and it would not matter.

Because, as his world becomes nothing but touch, as it narrows down to you, Hadrian concludes that he has reached heaven.

His hands, his hands, are sprawled on either side of you. And he is undeserving, but he touches your bare skin, feels the warmth of your flesh as it yields so sweetly to him. Hadrian sits on the edge of an unnamed bed, and you stand like an angel between his knees. Your thighs touch his, both clothed, but his fingers roam the bare ridges of your ribs, the curve of your waist, the soft, delicious plains of your stomach.

Lord in Heaven.

He is undeserving, but he cannot stop staring up at you. And light illuminates the world after all because there's a halo around your head that matches the brightness of your smile. You're smiling down at him, standing still before him like a divine offer, and Hadrian wants to say so much. But all he can do is continue to touch you, to feel the texture of your skin against his callouses, to seek the heat that emanates from you. His eyes are locked in yours, and silent prayers fall from his lips and his hands...

His hands move up your sides again, all the way to your armpits before they go behind your back to follow the curve of your spine. He presses each of your vertebrae, and Hadrian's heart leaps when you take a step closer to him. His nose is almost touching your belly button, but Hadrian still has his eyes fixed on yours. On your smile. As long as you smile, he can keep going. As long as you smile.

His fingers find the little divots at the base of your spine, and he circles them before he rounds your hips once more. He wants to touch every inch of your skin, wants to delight in your soft shivers, the little noises he can hear falling from your beautiful lips.

He wants you all. His fingers brush the steam of your pants, but he follows the upper path instead. Not yet. He's not done yet. His palms, so big, so rough against your skin, go up, past your belly and Hadrian swears there's no better sight than your eyes, but he can't help but break eye contact. He can't help it as his hands finally, finally, find your breasts, and his fingers brush your nipples, and Merciful God, but you gasp then, and Hadrian has never heard a more lovely sound.

Hadrian swallows in dry, his heart slamming against his ribcage, and gently, oh so carefully, starts to massage the soft flesh. You tilt your head back, letting out a moan so faint he can barely hear it over the ringing of his ears. Your hands grab his wrists, but you don't move them, you simply touch him as he keeps caressing you. Up and down your chest, nails lightly grazing your nipples. You hold onto him, almost bucking into his lap, but let him move at his own pace.

So slow. Hadrian touches heaven, he knows, and he won't rush. He won't rush even as he feels his blood boil and his own selfish needs screaming at him to go faster. He won't. You deserve so much more. You deserve—

"Hadrian," you say his name, your voice husky, low, and private. He had been wrong before. This is the loveliest sound he's ever heard. Your hands on his wrists suddenly harden, and now your nails press in with urgency.

"Hadrian," you say again, moan again, and when he looks back up at your eyes, at your lovely eyes, he sees them staring half-lidded down at him. Full of urgency too. "Hadrian, please."

Lord in Heaven, he'd give you everything.

Hadrian leans forward and kisses your belly then. He kisses it and feels your muscles spam right beneath your skin. He continues to trail upwards, leaving little kisses along your stomach, on either side of your ribs, on the bone right between your chest. His fingers keep massaging your nipples as Hadrian mouths the slightly wet skin, tasting your sweat, his ears drowning in the song of your moans. "Hadrian, I—"

One of your hands leaves his wrist to grab his hair. Your nails sink into his scalp, and now it's his turn to groan. Hadrian follows your command and opens his lips to place them around your left nipple. He suckles, gently, and your knees do buckle then, as your other hand grabs the side of his head to squeeze him to you.

You collapse onto his lap, his knees more than sturdy enough to ground you, but Hadrian grabs your waist all the same as his tongue makes a wet path past your breast to mouth at the delicate line of your collarbone. He presses his teeth into your skin, and he can't think. He can barely recognize thought as you gasp again and grind on his thighs and your hands rack down his neck to tear at his bare shoulders.

"Hadrian, I need—" You pull his arms, nails racking his skin, sending heat down his spine to his very core. "I need..."

"What do you need?" he speaks, and Hadrian can barely recognize his own voice. It's deep and rough, and he feels it rumbling in his chest. You're so close, and your lips are so lovely, and Hadrian has never loved anything as he loves you now. "I'll give you everything."

You're heaving, but you pause, and for a moment, you just look at each other. But then, you lean forward, and your hand is cradling his cheek as your plush, soft lips meet his.

Hadrian kisses you slowly, reverently. But then you open your lips and he can't then, deny the call of your taste. His hands tighten on your waist, crushing you to him, as he dives his tongue inside your mouth. He swallows your moan, drinking you in, his arms coming to loop around your middle. Your hands sprawl on his chest and Hadrian falls back onto the bed, your weight on top of him like a blanket.

His head is turning, his thoughts spinning, and if he could, if his undeserving lips weren't filled with yours, he would be praying in thanks. But all he can do is keep worshiping you, keep drinking you in as he turns you both, and now it's you beneath him, and your hands wander down his chest to grab onto the belt of his pants and-

Crash

Hadrian shoots up in bed, hair in disarray, cheeks completely flushed, heart battering against his ribs.

"Careful, you dumb loaf!" A voice burst through the window, coming from the Leaping Lion's courtyard. It bounces around his room, reverberating against the walls until it comes to slam against him.

Hadrian flinches as slowly, reality settles, and the tendrils of dream fall away. The dream.

"By the Devil, you idiot," he mumbles, his voice rough and unused, and Hadrian tries not to think of how close it sounds to the one he used in his dream. The dream where you...

His lips twist as he throws the blankets away from him with a violent push. Underserving. He leaps out of bed, taking long strides to the vanity table where a water basin rests. Hadrian splashes his face, getting rid of the sweat from a warm night, getting rid of thoughts that have no place being in his head. He looks into the mirror, watching the bags under his eyes, and the cross dangling from his chest.

"Forgive me, Lord," he pleads, grabbing his cross. And immediately, he feels calmer. The sun is barely up, morning just started, and Hadrian has much to do. Rafael is out there. He needs to go to the cathedral, needs to prove to you and Alessa that he's not some useless idiot. He needs to—

An echo of your sweet moans rings in his ears.

The basin falls to the ground, water splashing everywhere, as he winces. His cheeks are heating again, and he closes his eyes tight to try and banish the images that plague them. Lord, but he's a sinner. He shouldn't think of you this way. He has no right to.

But then Hadrian remembers last night, remembers how you stood beside your room's door in the inn's quiet corridor. He remembers how close your lips had been, and how tempted he was to just lean forward and steal what he doesn't deserve. But what he wants so badly.

And maybe he really is an idiot, but it seemed like you wanted it too.

Shaking his head from the hopeless thought, Hadrian turns away from the mirror to get dressed. He needs to move. The day is fresh, but it’ll be a long one.

Hadrian closes the door behind him, sword in his scabbard, back straight as he walks to the Leaping Lion's common room. And he shouldn't, but Hadrian wishes, with all the might in his wicked soul, that he’ll see you there in the common room, eating your breakfast. That you’ll have one last moment of peace before duty pulls you apart.