Need — Lance & Rafael (Mature) (Patreon)

He has that look in his eyes.

When you arrive, Lance looks out the window, but you can see from his profile and the absent way that his fingers move across the strings of his lyre that his mind is far away. One knee bent under the other, your bard perches on the windowsill like a great, rare bird with beautiful blue plumage and a vest made of gold.

His quiet song fills the four walls of his bedroom, mingling with the fading shadows of dawn. You stop on the threshold, your lips parted in the shape of his name, but you swallow the word and step in quietly.

Lance hears you, and when his eyes find you, the absent look disappears in less time than it takes a hummingbird to beat its winds. "Mercenary," he greets, lips spreading in a wide smile. He strings a sharp, merry note. "Did you come for a show?"

But as well as he may hide it, he cannot fool you. Not any longer. There's that light in the grey of his eyes that you've come to call melancholy. "No," you answer, walking closer. The windowsill is long, with a bench integrated into it. Lance sits on top with his foot on the cushion, so you find a spot near his leg. "I came to see you."

Lance reaches a hand to softly brush the crown of your head. His nimble fingers follow a tress of hair to your ear, where he tickles you. "How do you manage it?"

You smile at his tone. "What?"

"To brighten my morning with only five simple words."

Lance tickles you again, and you laugh as you bat his hand away. "It's a special talent," you say. "Don't stop on my account, though. Were you writing a new song?"

Lance sighs. "I was making a poor attempt at it. My mind keeps wandering," Lance confesses. You hide your surprise at the admission. "I can't quite find the right notes."

You rest a hand on his knee. Lance looks down and flashes you a brief smile, but you don't reciprocate. You keep staring until the smile vanishes and his brows lower, and Lance doesn't need to say anything because you know he understood.

You don't want to play more games. "Do you need space?" you ask, lightly squeezing his knee. You'll go if he needs you to. You don't want to, but you will.

His answer is immediate. "No."

And you hide your relief. "What do you need, Lance?"

Lance is quiet for a long moment. He watches you, sitting by his feet, with his blue hair falling down his forehead and his mouth pressed into a straight line. You can't read his eyes any longer; they're like two walls of stone.

But then, Lance grabs your hand and tugs you upward. You follow, rising on your knees, but when you're at face level with him, Lance is not satisfied. He puts his lyre aside to grab both sides of your waist, and then the bard draws you into his lap.

"Oh!" You fall with a surprised gasp, your hands reflexively sprawling on his chest for support. Lance adjusts you, guiding you until your thighs spread around his hip and your bottom rests firm over his crotch. "Lance?"

He doesn't answers. His thumbs press on your hipbones, following the line to the front of your pants. You inhale when his fingers part the strings at the front, but when his hands slip under, they don't move down but upwards instead. "Lance?" you whisper, the name sounding ragged. Your heart starts to pick up rhythm, beating against your ribcage, but you stay perfectly still because you've never seen him like this.

You don't know what he's doing, but you know that, whatever it is, you don't want him to stop.

Once again, Lance doesn't answer. He's not even looking at you; he's staring at his hands as they make a burning trail up your stomach. Your shirt lifts with them, and little by little, he exposes your skin to the morning air. When he reaches the bottom of your ribs, Lance turns his hands to the side and grabs two fistfuls of your shirt. He lifts it up your head and tosses it to the side.

But then, he stops. His hands go back to your hips, closing on either side and tugging you even closer.

(If Romanus is female)

Your breasts press against his chest, the soft flesh squashing, and you bite your lip at the small jolt that shoots from your nipples to your core.

(if Romanus is male)

Your chest bumps with his, and his crotch presses yours, and you bite your lip at the heat building at the tail of your spine.

Lance looks down still, his face unreadable. He's taking deep, controlled breaths, each of them rumbling from his chest and reverberating into yours. Your eyelids flutter when one of his hands sprawls on your back, and slowly rises up your spine until it comes to circle the back of your neck. His fingers dig in possessively, the sensation adding to the fire in your core.

Lance leans forward then, making you bend back. Your hands clench his shoulders so that you don't topple over, and you watch as slowly, Lance lifts his chin until his eyes find yours.

The pupils are blown, but what little grey there is, looks so sharp. It looks so handsome. "It's odd, my mercenary," he speaks at last. His tone is low like he’s speaking secrets he’d never say to anyone else but you. Lance leans even more so that you're practically hanging from him. His face comes near, his nose grazing yours, and you see the flash of gold on his tooth when Lance smiles.

"What is?" you ask, breathless.

His hand on your neck tightens, the other on your hip travels down until it cups your bottom, and you swallow a whine when he palms you. You feel as if he plays you like his lyre, plucking what he wants from you. "I can't find any other thing I need..." Lance's forehead rests on yours. "Other than you."

The bard waits, then, eyes boring into yours. And what else can you say? "Well, how lucky you are." Your hands go from his shoulders to his neck, and then you scratch your nails up his jaw to finally cup his face. "Because you may have me, Lance."

You kiss the side of his mouth. "Anytime."

Lance doesn't waste time. He turns his chin and kisses you, and you welcome him in. Your hands plunge into his hair, pulling him in, and you're not sure how it happens, but soon enough, you both topple to the ground. You laugh, but he swallows that too, making quick work of your clothes.

Lance isn't gentle this time, but you don't need gentleness. He clings to you, desperate, as if he's running away and can only find solace in your skin. Whatever memories he's running from, you know he'll share with you one day. But for now, you don't mind being the distraction he needs. You don't mind it as he sinks in, kissing you until your lips are swollen and your lungs are empty. You don't mind as he grunts sweet melodies, breath washing over your ears as expert fingers work every nook of your body.

You don't mind it, hugging him close with your arms wrapped tight around his neck and your legs crossed over his waist, heels digging with every thrust of his hips. The sun rises higher in the sky, chasing away the last lingering shadows of night, and you don't mind it.

You never will.

- - -

"God fuckin' damn. It's like bloody cotton."

His hands squeeze and knead at your bottom, greedy fingers digging into your flesh. His voice grazes your eardrums, but you don't make sense of the words as heat creeps up your spine. "Like a goddamn velvet little mattress. Do ya know how long I wanted to do this?"

The fingers pinch so hard that you jerk right into his hips. Rafael takes advantage of it to lock you tight against him, hands making a hostage of your ass. "Raf," you moan, feeling him hard. He moves then, grinding into you, and you throw your head back and clutch his shoulders to keep balance.

The wall behind is rough; you can feel the stones shafting against your exposed lower back and hips. Rafael practically tore your pants when he plunged his hands inside your underwear. One of your boots lies discarded a few feet away, and the other hangs perilously from your right foot. You're not sure how you ended up here, but it started with an argument and then with his lips on yours, and you can't believe you've gone so long without knowing how skilled Rafael is with his tongue.

"Since I saw you in those tight pants. Feels better than I thought. Lord in scorned Heaven. Ya feel better," Rafael mumbles fervently. You dig your nails into his shoulder, but you don't like the texture of his shirt. You want to feel him. So, you drag your hands up, nails scratching his neck and jaw, and you'd feel bad for the red marks you leave behind if the bastard wasn't moaning into your skin.

"God's nails," Rafael says as you get to his hair. It hangs by his shoulders, and it's long enough for you to close a tight fist around it.

And pull.

"Fuck," he moans again, his hips pressing harder into you. One of his hands moves from your ass to the back of your knee, and he hoists you higher on the wall. "So much better. Sound better too, ya pretty little voice. Call my name again."

His goatee tickles your cheek. "Raf," you say, and turn your head to expose your neck to him. There are far better things he can do with that mouth.

But the thief doesn't seem to get the message. "No, the whole name," he says. When your knee is secured over his hip, his hand leaves it to palm at the skin of your stomach. Rafael looks down, his brown eyes so incredibly dark, and stares in amazement. "Ya soft here too," he says as if he's uncovering a deep secret. His fingers press against your belly button and then go up, slipping past your shirt.

"Rafael," you say exasperatedly and tug on his hair. You want to lift his head so that he can keep doing what he was doing, but the bastard seems to have stopped in time. He's gaping down at you, his forgotten hand on your ass not moving either.

"I can't fuckin' believe it," he whispers in amazement. His fingers reach your nipple, and a jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine when he softly twists it. Rafael slowly looks up until his eyes hold yours. "Feel good?"

You nod, teeth digging into your lip. You feel your face hot, your chest tight, and your stomach curled. Your nails dig into his neck, and your fist tightens on his hair. Doesn't he see you need him?

Rafael smiles. "Yeah?"

You nod again. C'mon. "Yes, Raf, it does. Keep going."

His smile turns smug. "How good?"

You'll kill him. "Rafael, listen to me," you growl, and you're not subtle now when you snap his head up. "Shut the hell up." You lean forward until your lips are a hair's breadth apart. "And fuck me."

Rafael's eyes blow wide... and then they narrow. "Ya want me to shut up?" he asks and slams his lips over yours. Your groan is swallowed by his tongue, as it plunges deep into your mouth and drinks you in like a man who has never tasted water. You feel him everywhere, pawing and squeezing and kneading. Your chest and stomach, the back of your thighs, your ass, and your spine. He kisses you sloppily and wetly, and your head spins like a hurricane.

"I'll shut up," Rafael grunts, and yanks your shirt. It tears off, the buttons flying, but you can't even scold him because he's kissing you again. His teeth clam on your lower lip, harshly, and it drives you insane.

"Yes," you gasp, when he kisses down your neck. His hips are moving again, and your fingers struggle to undo the strings of his pants. You want him. You don't want anything more than you do him right now. “Yes, Raf, like that."

He bites your neck and shuts you up. You moan, long and drawn out, and throw your head back again. Rafael keeps going down, kissing the middle of your throat and then sucking on the dip between your collarbones. His hands are firm on your waist, and your fingers shake against his pants, but Rafael slips from your grasp when suddenly, he drops to his knees.

He stops then, looking up at you. You look down in a daze, your chest heaving, and your heart hammering. It's hard, but you focus your gaze on his and see him still smiling that smug, crooked smile. "I'll shut up for ya," Rafael says in a quiet whisper. He brings his hands down your hips until they curl on the waist of your pants. "But I need somethin' to do with my mouth."

With a yank, he pulls both your pants and underwear down. For the first time, you're fully bare before him. Rafael pauses, eyes roaming all over your body, and for a moment, you can only stay there, frozen and... nervous?

(if Romanus is female)

He looks up until his eyes hold yours. "Ya goddamn beautiful," he says before Rafael leans forward and sweeps his tongue across your slit. You wail and grab onto his hair as Rafael goes to work. His hands cup your ass, greedy as always, guiding your hips to sway against him. His nose presses on your bundle of nerves as his tongue works in and out of you. You close your eyes and soar higher and higher, nails desperate on his scalp, his shoulders, his neck, anywhere you can reach.

Rafael moans into you, the sound shooting up your stomach to mingle with your own breathless gasps. You don't know how long he stays there, crashing you over the brim again and again, but when Rafael rises and turns you around, you wouldn't be able to stand if it wasn't for his body holding you up.

"That good enough?" he rasps behind your ear, five fingers kneading your breast while the other five bring his member against your lower lips. "Was I quiet enough?"

Your cheek is pressed against the wall, and the other is assaulted by his open-mouthed kisses. "Am I supposed to praise you?" you retort, but the jab is made weak by how ragged your voice sounds. Your hands curl on the wall, anticipation building when you feel him press just the tiniest bit in.

Rafael's lips spread in a wide smirk. You feel it against your cheek and then feel it sweeping down toward your mouth. "No need," he says, teeth biting your bottom lip.

"God," you mumble.

His smirk widens. "I rather you moan," he says, and with a rough jerk of his hips, he plunges in, and you don’t want to. You really don’t.

But the moans spill from your lips like water rushing down a broken dam.

(if Romanus is male)

He looks up until his eyes hold yours. "You're a goddamn masterpiece," he says before Rafael leans forward and sweeps his tongue from your base to the tip. You grunt and grab onto the sides of his head as Rafael goes to work. His hands cup your ass, greedy as always, holding you still as he swallows you into his mouth. You lower your eyelids and soar higher and higher, taking everything in you to not move your hips. Your fingers cup his jaw, guiding him up and down.

Rafael moans into you, the sound shooting up your stomach to mingle with your own breathless gasps. Pressure builds on your spine, and too soon you find yourself close to the edge. "Up," you grunt, tugging on his head, but Rafael pinches your butt and keeps going. "Raf," you warn him, but the bastard looks right into your eyes.

And smirks.

You crash, then. White flashes behind your eyelids, and you think you would have fallen if it weren't for his hands holding you up. When you blink back to the present, Rafael has risen to his feet. He turns you around, his goatee scratching your cheek as he leans over. "That good enough?" he rasps behind your ear. You feel him hard against your buttocks. "Was I quiet enough?"

Rafael spits on his hand, and now his fingers work you. You swallow a curse. "You want me to praise you?" you retort, but the jab is cut short by your groan when he pushes in.

Rafael's lips spread in a wide smirk. You feel it against your cheek and then feel it sweeping down toward your mouth. "No need," he says, teeth biting your bottom lip.

"God," you mumble.

His smirk widens. "I rather you moan," he says, and with a rough jerk of his hips, he plunges in, and you want you don’t want to. You really don’t.

But the moans spill from your lips like water rushing down a broken dam.