“I still don’t see why I have to damn well come.” Lyon tugged at the black tie, loosening it again from the careful knot Menenius had tied not ten minutes earlier.
“You are part of the Fourth,” Menenius repeated, swatting Lyon’s hand away from the tie. “Your presence is required as Pilus Prior, as you are very well aware.” He loosened the tie once more, giving it some more slack before tightening it again. And if he pulled it tighter than was necessary, well, so be it.
“‘M not even a bloody Tribunus,” Lyon muttered, scuffing at the floor with one foot.
“Yes, I know. You’ve said.” Menenius, finally satisfied with the tie once more, settled a steadying hand on Lyon’s shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, there will be drink. And lots of it.”
Lyon’s eyes perked up. “Hm.”
“And you’re not the only person in the Fourth being subjected to the, oh what was it? ‘An absolute piss-poor excuse for yet more pointless Garlean pageantry,’ I believe were Albeleo’s words.
“He’s coming too?” Lyon looked smug, puffing his chest out which caused the buttons of his pristine white shirt to come precariously close to bursting. Menenius could almost see his mass of chest hair through the gaps between the buttons as it was - it would be a damn near miracle if the thing lasted through the evening.
“Yes, he is Pilus Prior as well, you know. And besides, he’s hoping to secure some funding for a specific project, just as you are.”
“Hmph. More dodgy mage shit, I bet.”
“Something like that. Now.” Menenius dusted both his hands together, the buffed leather of his dress gloves gleaming in the waning late afternoon light. “I won’t make you give me your word that you’ll behave, because I know you’ll break it just as soon as someone looks at you askance. So. If you can get through the evening without knocking someone’s head off, starting a fight or insulting a member of high Garlean society, I will grant you one boon.”
Lyon tilted his head, eyeing Menenius curiously. “You really do want this to go well, don’t you.”
Menenius sighed. “Frankly, we need the money before we leave for the Bozjan front. So yes, I do want this to go well. And if I have to resort to base bribery, then so be it.”
“One boon, you say?”
“One.”
“Anything I want?”
Menenius narrowed his eyes. “Within reason.”
Lyon snorted, waved an airy hand. “Lad, when do I ask you for unreasonable shite?”
“Do you want specific examples?” Menenius held up his hand, raising one finger and tapping it with his other. “Last sevenday, you requisitioned not one but three full bushels of feed, despite your beasts only needing the one.” Another finger. “The sevenday before that? Reinforced steel plating for one of the stables.” And another finger. “Last night, ah yes, ‘just another clutch of griffin eggs,’ wasn’t it? And just this morning-”
“Ah fuck, I get the point, no need to keep yammering on.” Lyon rubbed at his beard, eyes pensive. “I’ll think about what I want. Wouldn’t wanna give you another headache, eh?” He twinkled at Menenius, who swatted him on the shoulder and then turned away to the full length mirror, cataloguing his suit from black tie to shining boots.
Though he was more comfortable in armour, Menenius supposed suits and formal wear were their own kind of armour - the kind that set you in good stead against those of a higher standing than you were, who would look down their prodigious pureblooded Garlean noses at the thread count of your suiting, the way you paired your shirt and tie. It was a subtle kind of warfare, but one that Menenius was long used to navigating. And what was it Lyon always said? Snakes do best in the grass, not out in the field where the beasts make their war. Well, this was one battlefield he would best in the grasses, and hopefully garner further support for their deployment.
“You done preening, boy?” Lyon leaned in behind him, peering around his arm to eye himself in the mirror. “Can’t say as I like this hairdo much.” He ran a cautious hand across his freshly smoothed hair, pulled back with the judicious application of much pomade then secured in a tail at the base of his neck. “Doesn’t suit me.”
“Don’t be a fool, you look fine.” Menenius met his eye in the mirror, flashed him a swift smile. “When we’re free of this, you can pull it out and shake out your mane like the oversized beast you are. Until then, leave it alone.” The words were sharp but a current of underlying fondness prevailed. Lyon did look startlingly different, but it was by no means a bad thing. The hairstyle highlighted the sharp angles of his cheekbones and his strong jawline, even mostly hidden by beard as it was.
“Alright, alright, have it your way. Can we leave already? If I spend any longer in this thing than I have to, I’ll start biting people. And who knows what posh little snot I’ll insult while I’m at it.”
Menenius sighed, deeply. “Very well, let’s go.”
- - -
He should have known. He absolutely should have known. Even striking a bargain meant nothing in the face of Lyon’s whims and whimsies, and Menenius imagined not even the promise of an entire herd of baby griffins to set up a new breeding line from would do it.
Setting his glass of overly fizzed wine down perhaps a touch harder than he should, Menenius tugged at the wrists of his gloves and gave a grim nod at Albeleo, who was managing to entertain a small group of mage-looking types. Albeleo rolled his eyes, visible for once since he deigned to go somewhere without the beaked visor he favoured, and raised his glass in a tiny salute before turning his attentions back to the mages.
Menenius’ mouth set in a line, and he squared his shoulders, preparing himself for the sight that awaited him. Of course, he could hear the dull roar of Lyon’s angry voice threatening some thing or another, but rounding the corner into the scene took him by such surprise that he very nearly showed it on his face.
As it was, he cleared his throat and folded his arms, looking down his nose at Lyon who was squaring up with three young men wearing the colours of Asina’s laboratory. A table lay on its side, glasses and wine carafes all scattered about it and most like staining the rich carpet along with the trays of canapés which were getting rapidly trampled upon.
Upon hearing his rather pointed entry, all three youths turned to him and as one man, their eyes widened and they came to attention.
“Tribunus, Ser!” The tallest one saluted briskly, and shot a filthy sidelong look at Lyon, who had not even the wherewithal to look shamed.
“Do I want to know what happened here?” Menenius tapped one finger against his inner arm, pointedly not looking at Lyon.
“Disagreement about scientific methods, Ser.”
“Oh, is that it?”
Lyon stepped forward, scrubbing a hand through his hair, which was beginning to come loose from the semi-neat tail Menenius had tied it in earlier.
Menenius held up one hand as Lyon opened his mouth. “I don’t want to hear it.” He levelled his gaze evenly at the three lads, who were as scarlet in the face as Dawon’s feathers. “Get this room cleaned up, the three of you. Helsos, with me.”
He turned on his heel and exited the room at a calm pace, satisfied that Lyon was indeed following him, though he was grumbling some complaints under his breath.
Now, he distinctly remembered seeing a few empty rooms as they’d been ushered into the mansion, and lo and behold, one of the doors he tried opened to one. Lyon followed him inside and closed the door behind them, then turned to Menenius with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
Menenius paced the short distance between them, leaned in and wrapped Lyon’s tie around his fist and pulled. Lyon let out a huff of surprise, but moved with it, that grin still plastered on his infuriating face.
“You were only telling me off for that earlier,” he said, both hands coming up to rest against Menenius’ lapels. “And now here you are, making the thing even tighter. Ruining my suit you are, lad.”
“You can fix it yourself,” Menenius snarled. He gave the tie a tug, smiling thinly as it closed even tighter about Lyon’s thick neck. “Disagreement about scientific methods, was it? You couldn’t even go one evening.”
“You already knew it was gonna happen, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m just surprised you didn’t prepare for it already.”
Menenius raised one eyebrow. “Who’s to say I didn’t?” He gave the tie one last tug, enjoying the slick feel of its silk around his knuckles. “Turn round. Don’t make me ask again.”
“Oh, what do you have pla-” Lyon’s words were roughly cut off as Menenius spun him, one hand still knotted into his tie and the other grabbing his wrist, yanking it sharply up and behind then slamming him into the door.
The tie was pulled up at an awkward angle, forcing Lyon’s head to tilt backwards and the collar of his too-tight shirt to ruche up and gather at his neck like a hangman’s noose. Lyon struggled against him, burly shoulders jabbing him in the chest, but it was nothing but a token resistance: Menenius knew perfectly well that Lyon could beat him on pure strength alone. If he was taking this, it was because he wanted it.
He leaned in to breathe in Lyon’s ear. “Here’s how this is going to go. I’m going to let you turn round, you’re going to get on your knees and open your troublemaking mouth and I’m going to fill it for you. If you’re good, maybe I’ll loosen this tie and let you breathe a little.” He smirked, eyes flickering to meet Lyon’s sidelong gaze. “Or maybe I’ll keep it tight and fuck your throat until you pass out, hm?” He loosened the tie just a little and felt Lyon’s chest heave as he took a breath.
Lyon quit his struggling, and Menenius could imagine the interest lighting in his eyes. “Show me what you got, boy.”
“Good.” Menenius took a step back, feeling the pressure of his erection in his dress trousers. He let go of Lyon’s wrist, allowed his grip to lessen around the tie.
Lyon turned, and Menenius allowed himself a good look, gaze raking up and down that frankly ridiculous body. One of the top buttons of his shirt had popped off, and the others threatened to follow, exposing more of his unruly chest hair. He could see the perk of hardened nipples beneath, and most definitely the outline of Lyon’s erection - not even the loosest of trousers would be enough to contain the thing.
He swallowed, a slow smile spreading across his face. “On your knees then. I can already see how much you’re enjoying yourself.”
A thump, and Lyon was on his knees. No backtalk, no snide comments, just pure obedience. Only ever in the bedroom of course - or the cloakroom, as it were - but it was enough for now, even if Menenius suspected he might pay for it later.
He pushed a hand into Lyon’s hair, ignoring the pomade and all the fussing he’d done himself earlier that day. “You are a good dog, when you want to be. Unfasten these.” His other hand cupped the shape of his dick through his trousers, tie still wrapped around his fingers, the motion pulling Lyon in closer like a leashed beast.
Lyon’s hands, those big, rough, axe-calloused hands, made short work of Menenius’ trousers; buttons unfastened leaving them free to be pushed down a little, then his smallclothes, freeing his dick to the hot, damp breath from Lyon’s mouth.
“Back on your heels, now.” Menenius’ hand trailed down Lyon’s face, thumb across his bottom lip. He wrapped the tie another turn about his fist, twice, and pulled until Lyon’s face was tilted upwards, gradually reddening from the pressure.
Taking hold of his dick, he rubbed the head against Lyon’s lips, feeling the ghost of breath from his nose puffing against the head. The second Lyon opened his mouth to try drag in more air, he thrust inside viciously, hitting the roof of his mouth with a low grunt. A movement of his hips and a slight bend of his knees and he angled just right to go balls deep. His dick wasn’t as large as Lyon’s by a long shot, but it reached to the back of his throat at this angle and he could feel it clenching as Lyon tried to breathe.
To his credit though, he didn’t struggle, and for that, Menenius pulled out a little, letting his grip on the tie slacken.
Hard breaths followed, and Lyon grabbed at Menenius’ arse, squeezing both cheeks tight as he sucked in air through his nose. His blunt, slightly ragged nails dug into Menenius’ bared flesh, and then one hand slipped down to tug at his balls sharply, a signal to continue.
Menenius’ arse jumped at Lyon’s grip and he rode the sensation, canting his hips forward to fuck back into Lyon’s mouth. He tugged back at the tie, angling Lyon’s head enough that the head of his cock pushed down against his gasping throat.
There was something about that helplessness - the way Lyon just dug his fingernails into Menenius’ arse, how his throat swallowed against his cock, the sharp intakes of breath through his nose that Menenius knew from intimate experience would do nothing to give anywhere near enough air for him to breathe properly - that drove Menenius harder, giving the tie a sharper pull as he fucked into Lyon’s mouth.
The sight of Lyon there, on his knees, beard and moustache wet with his own saliva, the tiny sounds of him struggling to breathe, moaning between gasps, the hot wetness of his mouth, tipped Menenius over the edge. He sunk his fingers into Lyon’s hair and held his head as he spilled into his throat, hips jerking until he was spent.
He loosened his hold on the tie and pulled almost all the way out, resting the head of his cock on Lyon’s bottom lip as he gentled his fingers through messed up hair. “Clean it up, good dog.”
Lyon’s eyes darted up to catch his sated gaze, and Menenius saw a flash of fire there before his tongue went to work - not that there was much to clean since he’d spilled directly into Lyon’s throat, but Menenius always enjoyed the feel of it, hot tongue on over-sensitive, softening cock, and Lyon was nothing if not thorough; suckling and lapping until he was clean and as dry as he could be without actively wiping down, then tucking Menenius back away into his unsoiled trousers.
Menenius sighed, a hint of fondness slipping into his throat. His gaze raked down the length of Lyon’s body and came to a halt on the tent in his trousers, a tiny smile settling on his lips. “Since you’ve been so good, I suppose I can reward you.”
“Oh aye?” Lyon wiped the hairy back of his hand across his lips. “Lucky me.”
“Indeed. I could have bent you over a table and fucked you raw then made you wadde around the rest of this party sore with my seed leaking from your arse, but I didn’t.” The words were languid, no bite to them, and Lyon laughed.
“You could, aye. Does this mean I don’t get my boon? If you reward me now?”
Menenius rolled his eyes. “Boon as well. Only if you stay by my side for the rest of the evening.” He raised one finger, giving the tie still wrapped around his fist a tug. “Now, back straight, hands behind you. No touching.”
“So damned bossy.” Lyon settled both hands in the small of his back, shoulders squared and eyes shooting daggers up at him, right up until Menenius’ polished, standard-issue boot came down to press against his straining cock. He gasped, then bit down on his lip as Menenius’ applied more pressure.
“You may move your hips,” Menenius said with a thin smile, “and nothing else. And keep it quiet, I don’t want others to hear your noises and come to investigate.”
He slid his foot further up until the small heel was pushing down against the base of Lyon’s cock, then applied more pressure, holding the position to allow Lyon to rut against it. He knew the piercings studding the underside of Lyon’s cock would be giving him a whole wealth of sensations as they thudded against the tread of his boot, well-patterned for grip on muddy campaign fields.
Lyon moaned low in his throat, and quiet, looking up at Menenius with eyes half lidded. “You’re lucky I enjoy this shit, boy” he murmured, voice hoarse.
Menenius rolled his eyes. “Yes, about as lucky as you are that I’m going to let you come in your trousers and not on my boot and then have you clean it off. Keep. It. Down.” He pressed harder with each word for emphasis, dug his heel into the base of Lyon’s cock, then smirked at the way Lyon grunted, his hips jerking erratically.
“Already?” He pressed down again, grinding his heel as though stubbing out an ember, and Lyon’s eyes rolled back in his head as he came, his cock so big that a little spilled out over the waistband of his trousers onto his belly.
One last grind down with his boot and then Menenius let it up, going down in a squat before Lyon and reaching out to trail his free hand up the shape of his softening cock through his trousers, not quite damp enough to have his seed seeping through, apart from the waistband. Yet.
“There, very good.” He tugged on the tie a final time, yanking Lyon in close so he could take his mouth in a kiss. He tasted salty and bitter, like conquest, and Menenius smiled into the kiss even as Lyon deepened it.
The warmth of his orgasm still flushed his cheeks, and the pleasure made Menenius shiver, the buzz of it curling in his belly and drawing him towards mercy. A little mercy.
“Two boons,” he murmured against Lyon’s lips. “Since you’ve been a good beast.”
Lyon’s eyes snapped open and he smirked, obnoxious. “Well, if all I gotta do is give you a blowjob as penance, I guess I’ll make sure to act out more often.”
“Do not push your luck.” Menenius stood and unwound his fist from Lyon’s tie, letting it drop against his chest, the collar of his shirt very thoroughly ruined. “Get yourself cleaned up. We’ll stay for another two bells and then you can go run wild.”
“Well, thanks for the permission, lad.” Lyon’s big hands, normally so deft when it came to his precious beasts, fumbled gracelessly with his collar, then he clearly thought better of it and got to his feet, stance bow-legged to try keep his own mess contained. “You uh, got a hanky stashed away in that suit of yours?”
Another roll of his eyes. “Use a napkin. There is a small stack of them in the corner.” He tapped his boot against the floor three times and folded his arms, leaning back against the wall.
Lyon grabbed one from the pile and stuffed it down his trousers. “What’s a napkin anyway? Just a less posh hanky for plebs.”
Menenius stifled a smirk. “Perhaps you ought to submit a change of name request. I’m sure it would go down very well.”
“Ha ha, you think you’re hilarious.” Lyon scrubbed at himself with the napkin and then pulled it out and dropped it in a waste bin beside the table. “There. Some cleaner’s gonna get a surprise, hah.”
“You’re disgusting.” Menenius pushed off the wall and stalked over to Lyon. “And on top of that, you look like you’ve gone five rounds with an ochu. Come here.”
“Calling yourself an ochu now, are ya?” He stood still, surprisingly enough, a look of inexplicable fondness passing across those infuriatingly handsome features as Menenius unfastened the tie and set his collar to rights, before wrapping it back round again and deftly retying it, settling the new, neat knot in the hollow of his collarbone.
“It’s no worse than other names I’ve been called.” Menenius smiled down at Lyon and laid both palms flat on his shoulders. “There, presentable again. For all the good it will do.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Lyon’s mouth, then let out a startled gasp as Lyon surged upwards, wrapping a meaty arm around his waist as his other hand came up to cup his cheek. His tongue flickered into Menenius’ mouth and they both groaned into the kiss before breaking apart.
“No more of that, now,” Menenius said, slightly breathless. “You’ll be walking around with another hard on and everyone will know about it.”
Lyon sniggered. “Not my fault I’m hung like a chocobo.” He winked. “Besides, you like it.”
“Ugh.” Menenius took him firmly by the arm and turned him towards the door. “Out. And stick by me, you hear?”
“Yeah yeah, I’m going, I’m going.”