Fractured Prisms

Word Count: 5,500
Context: Heavensward patches, on the way to persuade Hraesvelgar for aid against Nidstinien.
Contains: Minor brat taming, top!Aymeric, mentions of public/exhibitionism.

There had to be something in the air at Anyx Trine.

It's what Aymeric told himself as he loosened the twentieth strap holding together his armor and pulled a piece off. He was down to his boots, shirt, pants, and long gloves. He should feel cooler now, but the air still felt hot, humid, churned by the drafts from Sohm Al and dragon wings. He tidied his armor into a neat pile against the wall of his room, which was more of a small alcove and big enough for only one person. Mischa and Alphinaud had been given similar alcoves to spend the night in before their ascent through Sohm Al. Aymeric had seen young dragonlings flit to and from other alcoves, and Aymeric wondered with some amusement if Vidofnir had also drawn a comparison to the short lives of mankind to that of dragon children. Still, it was kind of her to grant them use of private quarters, small as they were. He wondered if there could eventually be a roost created for visiting dragons back in Ishgard and smiled.

But the distraction didn't last long. Try as he might, Aymeric's thoughts wandered back to linger on Mischa, unable to focus on diplomacy and other pure subjects. Instead, he remembered again how Mischa looked on the journey here, how his demeanor changed when they left the shadow of Ishgard behind. He had relaxed, not in a way that indicated laziness, but in the way that Aymeric did after a meeting with nobles. Mischa's shoulders had loosened, his brows smoothed, and there was a self-confidence that could only come from being well-traveled. Alphinaud probably didn't notice the change, but Aymeric, who found himself stealing more and more glances at Mischa these days, did.

Aymeric put his hands on his hips and sighed. 'There's no time for such daydreams,' he scolded himself. 'Nidhogg can strike at any moment. We must reach Hraesvelger with as much haste as possible. I must stay focused, for Ishgard.'

But Ishgard was far away, along with the constant watching of her people. And the air was so hot.

Aymeric tugged at his shirt, distracted enough to get his fingers tangled in its laces. His mind continued to remind him of Mischa's smirk, the rare quirk of his lips in amusement, and the power in his arms when he drew an arrow across his massive bow. He remembered meeting Mischa for the first time at Camp Dragonhead, sitting across from Aymeric, clearly out of his element and emotionally guarded. Aymeric had been skeptical at first. Haucherfant had always been prone to being overly enthusiastic and optimistic, and Mischa was younger than Aymeric assumed. He chuckled. Haucherfant had been right, though, like he often was. Mischa was young, but as time passed between every meeting, Aymeric saw him becoming older the same way that Aymeric and Estinien had aged during their time as knights—too fast, too soon. But there were also glimpses of who Mischa was at his core, the part that drove him to get involved in Ishgard's war and to parley with deadly dragons. This was what Haucherfant had seen in Mischa, and before long, Aymeric was just as smitten as Haucherfant had been.

'And is it so surprising? I may be Lord Commander, but I'm not dead,' he scoffed and finally wrestled his shirt off. 'I'm still a man. I feel attraction, lust, affection.'

It was just that the timing was wrong. But Aymeric knew there would be never be "good" timing. Even if they were to finally resolve the Dragonsong War, there was a lifetime of work ahead of Ishgard to heal and undo damages done.

'I want to allow myself the leisure of being with someone, I do,' Aymeric thought, sighing. 'But I knew what it would mean when I dedicated my life to the protection of Ishgard. I will see it through, to the end.'

"That sigh was as heavy as one of Titan's rock gaols." A cheeky voice came from behind Aymeric. "Is there something bothering you, my lord?"

Aymeric looked over his shoulder at Mischa, who smirked at him while leaning against the opening of the alcove, its webbed moss curtain over his shoulder. He was backlit by a glowing sconce stone in the hallway, darkening his features and deepening the shadows in his eyes. Normally Aymeric would feel a sympathetic pang, knowing what contributed to those shadows, but tonight, Mischa's eyes didn't speak of angst, but of something else. They smoldered as he looked Aymeric up and down.

"This is my first time seeing you out of armor, I think. Now I know how you're able to wear it all day," Mischa said, taking a step inside the alcove. The curtain dropped behind him, not really doing much to block out light, but providing the bare hint of privacy. He poked at Aymeric's side, making him flinch not in pain, but at the lightning spark that flew up Aymeric's skin. "Oi, this isn't fully healed yet. I thought you said it was?"

Aymeric smiled, guilty at being caught in his lie. "My apologies. I meant that the chirurgeon had cleared me for travel, not that it was completely healed. The stitches were removed, though. It'll be fine as long as I don't get hit there."

Mischa snorted. "Well, as long as you have better manners than Estinien, I doubt you will. Did Alphinaud tell you what he said to Vidofnir?"

Aymeric chuckled. He didn't, but he could imagine several possible lines of dialogue and felt confident that any of them were correct. He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling oddly exposed despite spending many years undressing in front of other knights.

"What brings you to my humble abode?" he asked. "I'm afraid I don't have access to my wine cellar, otherwise I'd offer you a drink."

"They are quite small," Mischa laughed. Aymeric relished the sound. "It gets me away from Alphinaud for a while, though, so I'll take it. He's taken to using me as a practice dummy for speeches and it gets so boring."

Mischa took another step closer to Aymeric, who was glad his gloves were still on lest they betray the goosebumps that crawled up them under the tight material.

"I thought perhaps the Lord Commander might like to take advantage of being away from the city, without any escorts and clingy nobles around," Mischa said, meeting Aymeric's eyes. "I wanted to see if there's been a reason for all the staring he's been doing, or if I've just been seeing things."

Aymeric's breath halted in his throat. He was caught again. And there was a hint of wariness on Mischa's face, a trace of fear.

'Fear that I might reject him,' Aymeric thought distantly. As if he could. Not when the air was warm and thick, Ishgard so far away, and their futures uncertain. He lowered his arms and moved closer to Mischa, their chests touching and Aymeric's head tilting down to maintain eye contact.

"It's hard not to stare," he said, reaching a hand to Mischa's face. He cupped it gently, thumb moving over the scar kept hidden under Mischa's black hair. "You're…well, radiant, if you'd pardon the pun."

"A warrior of 'light' joke? Really?" Mischa smirked again, but the traces of fear left his face. "Maybe I'll go back to my room after all."

Aymeric didn't—wouldn't—let him. He bent his head and kissed Mischa, nearly surprising himself with his hunger for him. It was reciprocated; Mischa kissed back with equal intensity, his hands coming around Aymeric's neck to pull him down further. Sparks and fire traveled up and down Aymeric's spine. It'd been far too long since he'd done anything, and even then that'd been a quick lay with Estinien so that both of them could let off steam before dealing with yet another Dravanian attack. He pulled Mischa close, hands curving around the narrow waist and cupping the small of his back before moving lower and squeezing his rear.

"Fuck…" Mischa hissed. "You better take me here if you're gonna be doing shit like that again. I'm not about to go to sleep with blue balls tonight."

"Do you want me to fuck you against the wall? The floor?" Aymeric chuckled in his ear, so that Mischa wouldn't see his cheeks blush at how forward he was being. "I'm afraid the bedroll isn't that comfortable, but we probably shouldn't scar the little dragonlings passing by—or young master Alphinaud."

"You could take me against the aetheryte as long as you shove your cock in me," Mischa growled. He pushed his hips against Aymeric, the bulge in his pants evident. "You and your fuckin' staring, do you know what you look like? You look like you want to eat me. So do it, while your nannies aren't here."

Aymeric laughed. 'I see. So this is how it will be.'

Then he pushed Mischa against the wall, careful not to do it hard enough to knock the man's head against the rock, but with enough force that Mischa's eyes widened in surprise.

"Against the aetheryte? How intriguing." He trapped Mischa under his gaze and Mischa's cheeks darkened. "Does that mean you'd be fine if I took you in public? How about in Ishgard? In the plaza, where everyone could see? What about in the Pillars? I'm sure the priests would be absolutely scandalized at the sight of me, commander of the Temple Knights, fucking the Warrior of Light in the open square."

"You would never," Mischa goaded him, grinning. The grin wavered in Aymeric's silence. "No way…you'd do it? Fuck me where everyone could see?"

Aymeric was considering the idea. He'd never do it, not really. But the thought of it was extremely arousing nonetheless.

"I'd do whatever your heart desired," Aymeric finally said, and pushed a hand up Mischa's shirt, taking advantage of the dressed-down adventurer. "But only if you asked for it, politely."

"Then do it. Take me here, now."

"That wasn't very polite." Aymeric tutted and removed his hand. "Who's manners were you critiquing earlier? I dare say you've been around Estinien too long with a mouth like that."

Mischa grabbed his hand. "Take me now…please."

Aymeric smiled. There was just the slightest hint of a pout on Mischa's face, and it was very endearing. "That's a start. Let's see how well you continue to behave."

He kissed Mischa again. It was less hungry, less ferocious, but still intense. Mischa was rarely gentle and he continued to prove it as he roughly begged entry into Aymeric's mouth. He conceded, this time, at least, and slid his hand under Mischa's shirt again. Mischa's skin felt hot, almost feverish, as Aymeric touched and wandered from a pearled nipple to the dip between his shoulder blades. His other hand dropped to Mischa's ass again and squeezed, making Mischa's breath hitch against his mouth and arch his hips forward.

"Why are you so fuckin' good at everything?" Mischa complained, pulling away. He panted for air and his cheeks were dark. "It's extremely unfair. Are you sure you're not a succubus or something? Some kinda voidsent?"

"I'm sure, but thank you for the praise. Your manners are improving."

Aymeric tugged Mischa's shirt off, revealing the flat planes of someone proficient in archery and, as of recently, a sword. Aymeric thought he looked a little too lean; there was plenty of muscle, sure, but not enough fat. It was a wonder the man hadn't succumbed to the cold climate of Coerthas by now.

"My manners? You're the one staring at me, again." Mischa pushed on Aymeric's chest. "C'mon, Commander, I know you aren't a coward."

He was pushed against the wall again. This time, Aymeric reached down and cupped Mischa's cock through his pants.

"I see that this is begging for some attention. If only your words were as honest as your body," Aymeric scoffed. He stroked the rounded surface and Mischa's hips attempted to press harder against his hand. "Guess I'll just have to convince you to speak the truth."

He gripped Mischa's hair in a firm yet careful grasp and tugged his head back. Before Mischa could protest, he dove in and kissed him again, but this time, he didn't hold back. It didn't take long for Mischa to start rutting against his hand, desperate for friction as he gasped against Aymeric's lips. Satisified that Mischa was at least quieter, he moved down his neck and nipped the skin there, drawing a hiss from Mischa. Aymeric sucked it into a small, dark bruise, a little token that would haunt Aymeric for days whenever he looked at Mischa and remembered what would be hidden under his tunic's collar. He squeezed Mischa's ass again, relishing the soft, pliant muscle there, before spinning him around against the wall.

"Hm, I see you've come prepared," Aymeric said, nearly laughing as his hands caught on a small shape in Mischa's pocket. He slid his fingers inside and tugged a small, corked vial of oil out. "How brazen."

"You keep talking but my pants are still on," Mischa retorted, but the tips of his ears were dark.

"They won't be for much longer, I assure you," Aymeric said. His eyes caught thin trails of recently healed scratches down Mischa's back. His cock, which had only been growing more and more impatient, took great interest in them. 'I see our warrior occasionally likes it a little rough. Duly noted.'

Now wasn't the time, as cheeky as Mischa was being. They were still in a cramped alcove surrounded by dragons—and a precocious but nosy teenager, somewhere. Ishgard's plight and the burden of their mission was still in the back of Aymeric's mind, no matter how much his cock wanted to take over. His fingers got to work tugging Mischa's pants down his hips.

"You deserve much better than this," Aymeric murmured against Mischa's ear. "I promise you, when this is over, no matter how many nobles or stacks of paperwork I have to fight through, I would have you in my bed, instead of a hard rock wall."

"And with your wine cellar nearby," Mischa added, shucking his pants and smallclothes off his legs. Aymeric hadn't even noticed he had arrived without boots on, so distracted he had been. "I warn you, though, I don't know shit about wines."

"I'll be happy to let you taste all of them."

Aymeric coated his fingers with the oil and plied them to Mischa's entrance. He wondered how long it'd been since Mischa last slept with someone, for while it was tight, it wasn't as tight as he expected.

'Or maybe he tried preparing himself…'

The idea of Mischa quickly fingering himself before coming to Aymeric's alcove stirred his blood and he quickly added another finger.

"Fuck, finally, we're getting somewhere," Mischa moaned. He braced himself against the wall and spread his legs for easier access. "For a moment I thought you were gonna try to talk me to completion…"

"No, but that might be fun to try," Aymeric said with a chuckle. He added a third finger and thrust them inside before dragging them out with a curve. The result was a shuddering groan of pleasure. "I could make you touch yourself while I watch. Tell you what to do you, and if you disobey…I'd simply leave the room, until you changed your mind."

Mischa shivered. "…that might be fun…"

Aymeric withdrew his hand and wiped it on the back of his pants. He'd forgotten about his gloves, but he was sure they'd be thoroughly covered in dirt and grime by the time they returned to Ishgard. His housestaff had cleaned worse, anyway, and he was too enthralled by Mischa to take the time to remove them. He unbelted his pants and opened their front, pulling out his cock and drizzling oil on it.

"Do tell me if I need to pause or take it slower, alright?" he said, guiding himself to Mischa's entrance. "I mean it. No heroics."

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry," Mischa grumbled. He hissed again anyway as Aymeric slowly slid in. "Fuck, that feels amazing. You're bigger than I thought you'd be."

"I'm not sure if I should be insulted or praised."

"Praised to Halone's halls or whatever, now start moving!"

Aymeric obliged. It was difficult to pace himself; Mischa's inner walls had him in a snug and fiery grip, and he knew his prolonged abstinence promised a quick end. He only prayed that it'd be the same for Mischa. He very badly wanted to see Mischa come undone with his name on his lips.

"You can move faster, I'm not gonna break," Mischa said, twisting his head to peek at Aymeric over his shoulder. "I've slain gods, I can take a cock up my ass."

Aymeric snapped his hips. It quieted Mischa immediately and earned Aymeric a gasp of surprised pleasure.

"And I know how to handle myself, as well as my baser instincts," Aymeric said. He pulled out and Mischa whined at the withdraw. "I could send you away now and still get a good night's rest. But you…you'll be thinking about this, what you could've had, all night long."

Mischa groaned, his head dropped between his shoulders and his hips pushed back. "You wouldn't dare."

"I would. It took a lot of patience to become a commander."

Aymeric was also lying, again. He had never told so many lies before meeting Mischa.

'I wouldn't sleep a wink and my hand would never leave my cock after a sight like this.' He almost missed Mischa's next words, so taken was he by the sight of him with spread legs and an oil-slick hole.

"I said I'm sorry, please don't send me away," Mischa said, almost meekly with his ears drooping. "Please fuck me, Aymeric, I need you—"

He didn't have to beg further. Aymeric hilted himself inside of Mischa again and it didn't take long for muffled gasps and the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the small alcove.

"Oh, fuck, Aymeric, fuck, yes—"

Mischa's hands scraped at the wall, trying to seek purchase. Aymeric wrapped his arms around him to hold him steady while adjusting the angle of Mischa's hips. He had to fight to keep his senses in check and his pants were beginning to fall and bunch dangerously around his thighs, but there was no stopping himself this time. He reached around instead and took Mischa's cock in his hand. It was leaking and slick, allowing him to slide up and down without his glove catching or causing painful abrasion. Mischa nearly cried out, barely halting the sound as his legs shook and his hips bucked against Aymeric's hand.

"Come for me, Mischa," Aymeric encouraged in his ear. "Come undone for me."

Mischa obeyed with a shuddering gasp, his seed coating Aymeric's hand as his shoulders and arms quivered. The clench of his climax nearly made Aymeric finish then and there, but he managed to pull out just in time to paint Mischa's backside with his own release.

"You could've finished inside. I don't mind it at all," Mischa panted, standing upright. His face, ears, and collarbone were flushed dark, and there was a drying trail of drool on his lips. His hair was a mess and he looked utterly debauched.

Aymeric's cock twitched. Mischa saw and smirked.

"Well, looks like the great commander also has stamina. Normally I'd be up for a round two, but we should probably clean up before Alphinaud comes barreling in for feedback on some line he wants to deliver to Hraesvelger."

"I'll unfortunately have to agree," Aymeric said. He fished around his belongings for a clean hankerchief. "Come here. I'll help."

Mischa obliged and started to turn around, but Aymeric first pressed a kiss to his lips. When he leaned back, he met Mischa's surprised eyes.

"This doesn't have to be the start of anything," Aymeric said, stroking Mischa's chin. "But I'd like it to be, if you desire, and it can be as open or closed as you wish."

Mischa's eyes flicked away but his cheeks darkened again. "Let's take care of Nidhogg for good and bring Estinien home, then we'll see," he muttered.

Aymeric's heart gave a flutter with hope. "It's a deal," he said. "Turn around. I'll clean your back."

He wiped Mischa clean with gentle, tender touches of the cloth. For the first time since he came in, Mischa was quiet. Aymeric hoped that it was a good quiet, that he hadn't accidentally spooked the jaded adventurer who's shoulders bore a burden too heavy for his years. But after Mischa had pulled his clothes back on and lifted the moss curtain, he suddenly twisted back around and pulled Aymeric close enough for him to kiss his cheek.

"Sleep well, Aymeric," Mischa murmured, and then he was gone, the curtain falling.

"Good night, Mischa."

Aymeric pulled his gloves and boots off, then laid his admittedly weary body on his bedroll. It was a far cry from the bed he slept in back home, or even the cot in the commander's office, but he'd gladly sleep there for a moon if it meant another moment with Mischa like this.

Haucherfant was right indeed.