“So. You will do as I ask, and fetch the Shard?” Ondore turned from the tall windows, the sea breeze wafting his grey hair gently, and Reddas sighed, taking a deep drink from his bottle.
“You leave me no choice, as ever.” He set the bottle down hard on the desk as Ondore approached, the heavy thunk of his cane loud in the quiet of Reddas’ office.
“Good. I had hoped you would agree.” Ondore leaned in closer, then reached past Reddas and took up the bottle - a somewhat underwhelming red, all told - and downed the rest of it like a champion with nary a complaint. “Now, what say you to some more entertaining business? You must weary of-” he set the bottle down, used that same hand to grip Reddas’ leather bandolier and pull him in closer, “politics.”
Reddas swallowed, eyes flicking down to Ondore’s lips. “You should know better than most why that tires me, at times.”
“Mm, indeed.” Ondore’s voice was warm and deep, and it sent a jolt directly to Reddas’ cock that couldn’t be denied. “Some people drink for the taste of it, and some drink to forget. I know which side of the fence you sit, Reddas. And with good reason, too.”
Oh, that bastard. Hearing his name in that voice, that softly rolling accent, well, Reddas never could resist it, and he knew that Ondore knew all too well. Of course he did, the canny old fox - nothing got past him, least of all when it was a rapidly hardening cock and a soft intake of breath at something so simple as a name said with intention.
“So it’s to be forgetting, is it? Tonight?” Reddas leaned in closer, nuzzled up against Ondore’s prodigious nose, breath coming shallow, now. The cologne Ondore wore was redolent with salt and heavy with spice and heat, and it filled Reddas’ senses in the most heady way, underscored by whatever honeyed pomade he used on that grey hair that made him smell so edible.
“I suspect you could use a good dose of it, as ever.” Ondore smiled, his eyes knowing. He leaned back a little, away from Reddas’ attentions, and did a rapid move with his cane hand, sliding it up enough that he could grab it in the middle, then used the blunt silver head of it to tilt Reddas’ chin back. “On your knees, now.”
Reddas inhaled sharply, unable to do anything but obey. He sank to the ground, hands already working to push aside Ondore’s long coat and unfasten his belts and trousers, pulling them down just enough to free his cock, right up until a steadying hand cupped his face.
“Oh, aren’t you eager.” Ondore chuckled, lifting Reddas’ face and passing his thumb over his bottom lip. “All in good time. Let me get settled first, hm?”
Reddas sat back on his haunches and watched as Ondore stepped over him, turned then leaned against the desk, one hand gripping his cane tight as he regained his balance. He looked up at him, painfully aware of his own cock straining against his shorts, but didn’t move a muscle.
“Very good,” Ondore purred, then beckoned Reddas forward with a languid hand. He slid that hand down to Reddas’ jaw, pushing long fingers through his beard then gripping the hair tight. His cock hung heavy and hard between them, and Reddas licked his lips, mouth watering at the sight of it. He remembered the last time they trysted like this, the thick slide of it down his throat until Ondore’s balls pressed against his chin; the way it filled him as he rode it, Ondore sat in his high-backed chair in his Bhujerban office, caressing his thighs before digging in with hard fingers.
He couldn’t help but groan at that memory, and then his head was being guided by the firm hand in his sideburn. Reddas let his mouth fall open obligingly, relaxing his jaw as Ondore pushed his cock inside to the hilt, caring not one whit for the way Reddas’ throat seized for a second, forcing tears to his eyes as he adjusted to the size of it.
Ondore held himself still for a moment, as though allowing Reddas to adjust further, then he began to move his hips, fluid and slow, using his mouth without care even as his fingers cupped Reddas’ jaw, stroking and gentling through the hair there.
Reddas could barely breathe from it, nose flush against the thatch of grey pubic hair and Ondore’s cock rubbing up against the back of his throat. Unable to help himself, he brought his hands up, one to caress and play with Ondore’s balls, the other to steady his thigh from the back, holding him in place lest he decided to show mercy. The twinned sensations of salty heat filling his mouth and the way the lack of air was making him light-headed was the perfect combination to drive all thoughts from his head, and t’was exactly as Ondore said - he did need it.
Of course, Ondore being Ondore, he had other ideas. He tilted Reddas’ chin and his own hips, nudging his cock to the limit of comfort, right into the back of Reddas’ throat, then just as suddenly pulled out, leaving the wet, glistening head resting against Reddas’ bottom lip.
“I’ve a mind to let you have me,” he said, contemplative, holding Reddas’ gaze with a smile hovering on his lips. “Over your very own desk. What say you, Reddas?”
Reddas licked his lips, tongue lapping against the heavy cock still pressing down on them. “You already know my answer, Marquis.” His own cock still strained against his shorts, and Reddas dropped both hands to it, working the fastenings to free it. He hissed as the chill air hit it, then it turned to a groan as he got his hand involved, palming the head and down the shaft.
He could feel Ondore’s eyes on him, and Reddas looked up, meeting his eye as he jerked himself languidly. “Like what you see?”
“Always. Now, don’t make me ask again.” Ondore leaned his cane against the desk for a moment, then reached into a pocket on the inside of his great coat. A sparkling green glass bottle with a jewelled cap emerged, and he settled it on the desk without ceremony. “Help me with my coat, then use this. I did not come prepared, so you will do the work.”
“‘Tis hardly work, as you well know.” Reddas got to his feet and ran his hands up the length of Ondore’s coat to the laces, making quick work of them. He pushed it aside with both hands, and back off Ondore’s shoulders - deceptively thin that they were, with the padding in his coat - and it crumpled to the floor in a stiff heap.
Ondore moved it out of the way with his cane, then turned in one fluid movement. The desk wasn’t a particularly tall one, but it came about to Reddas’ hips, and just so happened to be the perfect height for the Marquis Halim Ondore the Fourth to bend over, elegant even in this, and Reddas took a moment to admire the sight before him.
The old man wore that damnable corseted waistcoat, even now, and the way it cinched in his waist would have been scandalous on a man with half his presence and half his age - but as with everything, Ondore pulled it off with aplomb, and looked bloody gorgeous while he was at it. His striped trousers gathered just under his arse, and Reddas stepped forward to smooth his gloved hand over the curve of it.
“A rare treat,” he murmured, “my favourite kind of peach.” He took the jewelled bottle and opened it, the scent of apricot and incense rising from the lip. “This is safe for the body, I assume?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” He palmed Ondore’s arse with his free hand, pulling on it to bare his hole, then tricked a steady stream of oil down the cleft. Using his thumb, he helped the oil along, pushing it in ‘til it was buried to the seam of his glove and then back out again, another trickle and repeat, rubbing and tugging and pressing until he felt Ondore relax beneath him, saw his hips begin to twitch a little as he finally pushed in past that seam. He knew intimately how much extra thickness the leather of a glove added to a finger, the way it dragged and added extra friction, and if that sharp intake of breath was anything to go by, he knew how it pleased Ondore, too.
“Enough.” Ondore turned his head to look back at Reddas, one hand clenching against the desk as his other gripped his cane, which lay beside him. “I would have you now, Reddas. Come.”
Reddas chuckled deep in his chest, but he could not deny the effect those words had on him. He stepped forward as if pulled by a puppet-string, oiling his cock on autopilot, setting the bottle aside carefully, even as he guided himself close, just about breaching the cleft of that round arse with the blunt head of his cock.
Ondore’s hips moved to meet him, and then he was engulfed by heat and pressure, the sound of a soft groan into the desk music to his ears as he sheathed himself fully.
He framed Ondore’s hips with both hands, mapping the shape of them reverently as his own began to move, rolling like the waves of a gentle sea.
“How do you want me?” Reddas breathed, sliding one hand to Ondore’s waist - by the hells, that waist should be illegal.
“Slow,” Ondore breathed. He gripped his cane and slid it diagonally across the desk, connecting hard with the back of Reddas’ thigh and holding him in place with a surprisingly iron grip. “Slow and hard, ah-” he rocked forward as Reddas obliged, sliding near full out then back in again, slow but with force, “very good.”
Reddas’ balls tingled at that last, and he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He rocked into Ondore with all his strength, holding back the speed that threatened to engulf him, focusing only on the tight slide of it, the way the head of his cock gave a little pop as he pulled out, how Ondore’s breaths stuttered when he pushed back in again to the hilt. The only sounds were the waves outside, a gentle susurrus underscoring their breathing as it grew heavier, the slap of skin against skin, metal-topped cane against the flesh of Reddas’ thigh, papers crumpling under Ondore’s long-fingered grip.
“You’re not to…” Ondore turned his head, catching Reddas’ eye, his lips wet and eyes glassy with pleasure, “to come until I say so, do you hear?”
Reddas groaned, but nodded, somehow winding the grip of his control tighter, impossible as it felt with Ondore beneath him like this, spread out across his desk like a masterpiece, so receptive to Reddas’ every move, and- no. No, he had to stop thinking about it, otherwise he’d lose this game. He dug his fingers into Ondore’s hip and waist, thought about nothing but the thud of silver against his thigh, the cadence of Ondore’s voice, so at home with command that he could hold Reddas teetering on a knife-edge of pleasure, unable to chase it until told he could do so.
“Very good,” Ondore purred, “ah! Yes, right there, good…” he sighed out this last, pressing his forehead into the desk and arching his back, holding Reddas in place with his cane and making the tiniest rolls of his hips, grinding himself back against Reddas’ cock and shuddering, shuddering until he clenched around him, hard.
Reddas saw Ondore’s knuckles whiten against the warm wood of the desk, felt the way his whole body trembled beneath him, heard the long, low groan as Ondore spilled his seed then sagged, near falling to the side as his leg gave way.
“I got you.” Reddas reached down and steadied Ondore automatically, hand spread out over his thigh. He wouldn’t last long holding his weight without the cane to help, no matter how well he was braced against the desk.
He ran his palm up Ondore’s bared thigh, then pulled out of his arse slowly, giving himself room to pull the striped trousers down all the way over his boots. With one movement, Reddas lifted Ondore and turned him so they were facing each other, breath coming hard and Ondore near boneless in his arms.
“Don’t think I’m done with you,” Ondore murmured. He blinked slowly down at Reddas. “Sit me on this desk, the coat can be my cushion, hm?”
“You entrust a lot to my strength, Marquis.” Reddas’ voice was hoarse, but he did as he was bidden, only letting go of Ondore for long enough to scoop up his coat and wad it into a makeshift cushion, settling it against the corner of the desk for him to perch on.
“I know exactly what you’re worth,” Ondore murmured, allowing Reddas to lift his legs and twine them about his waist, “even if you no longer believe it.”
Reddas’ stomach lurched, and he looked sharply into Ondore’s face, searching it for those politician’s lies but finding truth writ plain upon it. “You wish to unman me,” he muttered, hoarse, even as he pressed up and into Ondore’s arse once more with a low, needy groan.
“Nay, not that.” One arm wrapped around his shoulders, Ondore hooked one long finger into the collar about Reddas’ neck, tugging him in ever closer. “Only to help you. Now, no more talking. Fuck me.”
He took Reddas’ mouth in a hard kiss, swallowing the startled noise he’d drawn from his lips with the profanity so rarely uttered.
Lost in the kiss, Reddas could do nothing but oblige, driving up into Ondore’s body with new fervour. He was still slippery with oil, and so over-sensitive that his noises became less controlled, near wanton. Though Reddas knew he would not spill again, he also knew how much Ondore liked to be fucked past his orgasm ‘til he begged for it to stop, ‘til his body was tensing and clenching and whip-tight with residual pleasure.
Ondore’s seed smeared between them, his cock still half-hard and leaking a little, and he held onto Reddas like a drowning man as he rode his cock, peppering him with kisses and breathy words of praise that felt like electricity on his skin.
“You feel so good,” Ondore murmured into Reddas’ ear, “should I let you come? You’re doing so well, so so well, mmm yes, right there…”
Reddas dug both hands into Ondore’s arse, not trusting himself to speak lest he whimper. He just increased his pace, snapping his hips and driving his cock right where he knew it felt best, where it must feel like bottled lightning rippling through Ondore’s body, if the way he moved against him meant aught.
“Foris- come for me!”
The words were like a whipcrack of steel, and that primal part of his brain that was so well trained to follow orders responded, sending Reddas tumbling over the edge with a cry muffled by Ondore’s collar as he buried his face in it. Oh, to hear his real name in that voice, with that command, by all the gods and the hells below…
Reddas came back to his senses to the feeling of Ondore’s fingers caressing the back of his neck and up his head, pressing whisper-soft kisses to his jaw.
“You really did mean to unman me,” Reddas croaked. He turned his head and caught Ondore’s lips in a kiss. “Halim, Halim, the things you do to me.”
“If you would believe it, t’was was not by design,” Ondore replied with a lazy curl of a smile. He kissed Reddas again, slow and sweet.
“Mm, I suppose I will give you the benefit of the doubt. This time.” His thighs began to protest, and Reddas let Ondore down, carefully pulling out of him, and ensuring that he kept one arm around his waist, supporting his leg. “You will be staying the night, then?”
“Yes. My airship is not due to depart ‘til the morrow. Do I have the pleasure of your company for the rest of the night, Foris?”
Reddas snorted. “First name basis now, is it? Or are you just planning to resort to that whenever you want something?”
That calculating smile he loved so well spread across Ondore’s- no, Halim’s lips, and he blinked slowly, gaze raking down the tousled length of Foris’ body. “Do I need to resort to something? I have it on first hand authority that you enjoy being commanded, after all.”
Foris sighed, fond and exasperated. “Halim,” he began, but was cut off as those clever fingers tangled in his collar once more, pulling his head up enough that Halim could take his mouth in a kiss.
“I thought as much.”