[transmasc/nb] [fantasy-flavored] [noble and knight] [cunnilingus] [strap-on]

Galan reread the same paragraph over and over, not digesting a single word of it. He was distracted. It was sundown and Ulrian was expecting him over in the main house. Some sort of high society gathering that he wasn’t invited to and yet the noble insisted. Galan entertained the idea of attending, even dressing in the handsome finery Ulrian selected and had tailored for him. He couldn’t see himself, but the fabric felt lavish and the green color of it was decadent—an expensive ensemble sorely wasted on him. Whatever fire that had kindle within him to outfit himself soon guttered out, and he picked up a book and reclined onto his bed, intent on reading but instead falling into a strange stupor of merely staring at the text and thinking many thoughts.

The door to his room opened and Ulrian revealed themself—clearly furious at having been stood up.

“That book must be so incredibly captivating my dear Galan,” they said, a bite in every word as they closed the door behind them. “You’re dressed and yet…”

Galan forfeited the book and sat up, offering a drowsy smile. “I appreciate you wanting me to go, but I don’t belong there. I think you on my arm would draw unwanted attention.”

Ulrian folded their hands. “It is your duty to ward me.”

“From…?” He was going to list the various makeshift dangers that would be present but thought better of it. He instead regarded his beloved with interest. They were dressed in what was plainly menswear—a high collar, ornate trousers, and coat—similar to Galan’s outfit but a rich burgundy and gentle cream. The color and cut looked somber on Ulrian but did not detract from their androgynous beauty, if anything it accentuated the daintiness of their bearing, their frame.

“Those who would have me,” Ulrian said, walking over, their anger receding into something tamer.

“Ah.” Galan stood and took them into his arms. “Yes, I suppose that does warrant protection.”

“My champion.”

“Yours, always.” He tucked his face into the crook of their neck and felt them lift their chin, expecting.

“We should head over soon,” he said, lips brushing against them, feeling their pulse.

“Do I—look foolish?” Their words were quiet, guarded.

“Not at all.” Galan kissed their neck and then their throat, chasing a swallow. It was obvious they weren’t allowed their stay and gown—the usual fair accoutrements—a shame, Galan rather liked them done up in such a way. But… Galan wrapped his arms around Ulrian, holding them close, lips ghosting. “You’ve an unbound beauty.”

They kissed him, sighing into his mouth, which made him smile and embrace them tighter. He felt them tug at his coat, and allowed himself to be rid of it, his own hands doing the same for them. Risky, what they were intending to do. Late in the evening was one matter, but during an event teeming with guests was another.

“Perhaps later,” Galan offered, lips meeting Ulrian’s between words.

“Later?” Ulrian asked as their hand slipped past his waistband, fingers pressing into his slick folds. “But I wish to taste you now.”

It was impossible to say no to the suggestion, and Galan allowed himself to be playfully shoved onto his bed, ass balancing the edge. He moved to lie down correctly, but Ulrian stopped him, kneeling between his thighs.

“I’ll take you like this,” they said, already unlacing his trousers.

Galan flushed and raised his hips enough for them to undress him. He waited, wetting his lips expectantly.

They kissed along his thigh and giggled. “You look positively wicked right now.”

“I do?” he said, disbelieving. “You’re the one wh—*ah*—”

Ulrian had dipped their head and delivered him a heavy flat lick over his clit. Galan clutched the bedding, elbows propping him, so he could watch. Ulrian’s eyes were heavy-lidded, nose pressed into his coarse hair, the sound of them eating made Galan’s heart pound painfully in his chest. “Gods…” He glanced at the door, half expecting an attendant to catch them, or worse, Ulrian’s father. But no such misfortune came upon him, instead his mind emptied, and a heat steadily rose in his lower belly—desperation blossoming as Ulrian’s wet mouth pleasured him. His fingers wove themselves in Ulrian’s silken hair, coaxing, while Galan moaned his encouragements, feeling shamefully wet but adoring that it was all for them to enjoy alone.

A long while passed, and with his gaze unfocused, he relaxed back, ribs fully stretched, and allowed Ulrian to guide him to the brink. He brought his arms up and gripped the edge of the bed above his head. Holding on as a warm delicious wave washed over him, shuddering as Ulrian lapped the last vestiges of his desire, jaw hungrily moving, tongue catching all.

Galan blinked up at the ceiling—body buzzing, lungs heavy—and exhaled. He heard Ulrian shift and undress, then felt them grab him by the back of his thighs and press his knees to his chest. The tip of their cock teasing his swollen folds.

He looked up at them. “Needy.”

“You’ve no idea.” Their mouth was covered in his slick and he turned his cheek, shy.

“Lie down,” he said and Ulrian released his legs.

“You’re to ride me then?” they asked, excitement in their words as they nestled themself onto his warm bed.

“No.” He moved to grab them, and rolled them onto their belly, earning a delighted string of knowing laughter. He pulled off the rest of his clothes and reached for his nightstand’s drawer, pulling the essentials out.

Ulrian was ecstatic, muttering librettos of happiness into the pillow, ass lifting in anticipation. Galan huffed out a laugh and equipped himself, stepping into the harness and securing the straps. He stroked himself as he regarded his lover’s backside.

“Will you be quiet?” he asked, knowing full well that Ulrian would fail.

They hugged the pillow then lifted their head. “Mhm.”

It didn’t matter, the festivities were in the main house far from Galan’s humble room by the stables. A decent distance to drown a sound, no matter how lascivious. He knelt on the bed, bridging Ulrian’s pale thighs, earning a keen giggle from them. If only they knew how much light they brought into his world.

Galan slickened his fingers and pressed one into his lover, earning a grunt and then a moan of, “More.”

“Patience.” He kissed along their back as he stretched them, one finger then two. He pleasured them like that for a while, until they were grinding into the mattress, hands strangling his poor pillow. He coated his fingers once more and returned them for good measure, watching as Ulrian writhed under him, a sheen of sweat collecting along their spine. He figured he tortured them long enough and positioned himself, straddling the back of their thighs, keeping them closed as he pressed his well-slickened cock into their hole. There was some resistance and then a yielding followed by the telltale moan of acquiescence from Ulrian.

Galan gripped their waist and then fucked them, methodically, watching as his cock tunneled in and out of them, turning the oil white and viscous with the body heat and friction. Palms on their shoulders, he pressed down on Ulrian as his hips moved, pumping, thrusting, his own pussy wet again from the act and the sight of Ulrian taking him.

It wasn’t long before Ulrian’s moans escaped the pillow, loud and drawn out, an indecipherable assembly of tender affections and animalistic groans. Anyone who heard would know exactly what was transpiring. A crude thought, indeed. Galan kept his pace steady, his chest damp and heaving, a gaze of fire, hands now gripping Ulrian’s slim wrists, clutching them as he made love to them.

The bedframe creaked, the dust unsettled, and the air of the cramped room became heavy with the scent of them. Galan pulled out only for Ulrian to roll onto their back, their cheeks and chest red, hair a wild tangle. He pushed into them again as their legs wrapped around him, pulling him down into their embrace, kissing hungrily, breathing heavy with moans more akin to snarls. He felt Ulrian’s hands travel down his back and cup his cheeks, urging for something harder and deeper. He obliged, driven wild by the taste of himself on his lover’s lips, the ache of his clit, and the sound of skin against skin.

Ulrian stroked in tandem, eyes locked on Galan’s, wordlessly begging—don’t stop, never stop—until Ulrian spilled, sullying their chest. Galan, still thrusting though gentler, dipped his head and cleaned them, tongue lazily lapping—more for show than purpose.

The two collapsed into a tousled state of sweat and cum. Ulrian reached over, hand blindly groping the floor for their handkerchief. Having found it, they dabbed at their chest, sighing all the while. “We’re such a mess.”

“Yes,” Galan said with a satisfied breath, a wide smile tugging his lips. “We are.”

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/u626ds/transmascnb_fantasyflavored_noble_and_knight