Chapter 3: Having Heat

Once the kiss was initiated Wats hands did not keep idle in response, his mind screaming to himself that Geoff was asking for flames and passion, such an easy request for him to oblige. His hands move under Chaucer's shirt, nails trailing almost desperately at the smooth skin. Chaucer presses harder into the heated kiss, their lips bruising against each other and oh, how Wat had never realized how sensual the feel of leather and fur on a coat so lightly dragging across his bare skin could be.

The kiss breaks, but Chaucer's lips just barely stray from his, and the feel of hot moist breath grazing his wet lips causes him to resist from whimpering in need. He tugs up at the hem of Chaucer's shirt, desperate for more while it is being given. The shirt easily slides above Chaucer's head, but sticks at the sleeves.

"Impatient much, my muse, you should learn when to have control-" Here Chaucer pauses long enough to shrug out of his coat and finish pulling the shirt away from his body; Wat wants to hit him, and kiss him, and just touch him again already because a part of him feels that this moment will disappear and the other part just wants to know why such a beautiful man with beautiful words would want him in the same ways Wat craves. Before he can consider this too much, Chaucer has slipped a leg between his own, pushing with his thigh just enough to take away Wats breath and make his eyes roll from the teasing pressure. With Chaucer's lips against the freckled shell of his ear, Wat takes the opportunity to savor the feel of the others stubble grazing his cheek, a completely new sensation to him.

"As I was saying,-" Chaucer's voice is low and he's whispering, sending warm puffs of breath into his ear; it tickles and Wat can't help but squirm, resulting the leg between his thighs rubbing against him and he instinctively nips at Chaucer's jaw to suppress his moan. "you must learn when to be in control, and when to lose all your reserve." As if his words needed to be accentuated, Chaucer trailed the lightest touch of his fingertips up Wats side, creating shivers and chills to spread and send surges through him. Unconsciously his hands grip upwards, grasping at Chaucer's lithe form, his fingers slide deftly over the chill skin and lean muscle, until he takes hold of his shoulders.

In a movement that Wat himself wasn't even sure he saw coming, he flipped them over, realigning their bodies to where they were fully on the bed the proper way. It was Chaucer's turn to squirm under him as Wat rubbed his hands over the blonde's chest, marveling at how the firm and flat surface could be so erotic writhing beneath him. Tracing a pattern up Chaucer's chest, his neck, his cheek, Wat cups his face, pulling it closer to his own resulting in Chaucer lifting himself up on his elbows to comply with the proximity. "Can I forgo the control yet?"

"Master Fawlhurst, please, forgo control, forgo whatever you desire, just do not forgo your passion, just- uhm."

Wat really didn't care what Chaucer was going to say in his long winded response, all he was concerned about was forgoing all restraint; the fact that with only a small brush of his hand over the trousers had Chaucer speechless was just a plus in his venture. Chaucer's eyelids flutter and Wat figures he wants to make them do that often, it's quite attractive; so he continues undoing the strings on the trousers, making sure to enjoy the occasional brush of his fingers over the hard flesh beneath the fabric. When the trousers were undone and only a pull away from being yanked off, Wat paused to glance at the man. His powder blue eyes, half lidded watched him, one arm still slightly raised behind him for support, the other moved to rest on Wats waist, tugging him gently closer.

Wat felt as if even now Chaucer's gaze was full of words that he was, quite literally, biting his lip to suppress; for a strange reason, instead of being annoyed or irritated, he wanted to laugh. So he bent and hid his face as the smile broke through and pressed his grin into the spot below Geoff's belly button, his shoulders shaking in mirth as he let small chuckles escape him. Smooth, long arms wrapped around his neck and he could feel Chaucer shifting to sit up better to do so. "What is it?" Chaucer was innocently asking, which only served to prove more to Wat the wonderful quirks that made him unique. "Only you, Geoff, only you."

"Only I what?"

Wat pulled away a bit, sliding his arms around Chaucer's waist as he straightened out to face the herald himself. "Doesn't matter." Wats grin was still bright as he kissed Chaucer soundly before falling back into the bed with him. "Then what does matter, pray tell, my love?" It was as if the soft sound of Geoff's voice calling him as such had triggered something inside him.

Wat froze for only second, giving Chaucer a scare that something was wrong before his neck was being savagely attacked leaving him nothing but breathless, the bristle of hair on Wats chin tickled and set the nerves there on a pleasant hum. His eyes which had fallen shut, opened wide when he felt a hand cup him through his trousers, fondling him in a heated manner that had his body flushed in seconds from desire. But the hand didn't keep with the ministrations, instead it moved to his hip, rubbing soft circle with its thumb over the lightly jutting bone. "May I?"

The voice was hoarse and throaty and right against his ear and by Jove did Chaucer wish that at the moment his voice did not fail him because at that time he's sure he could right the best sonnets and poems and best anything he had ever written before. Instead his head nods mutely, eyes closed in anticipation as the hand moves to tug at the fabric until it slips to his knees. Lifting his legs to help kick away the offending material, Chaucer blindly runs his own hand down Wats side, finding the start of the trousers, (already undone too!), and returning the favor.

It was like an ache of electricity, it was hot and it nearly blinded him as their hips came together, bare and raw, and when Chaucer lifts his legs to wrap around Wats waist, thoughts came to Wat of what the extent of Chaucer's flexibility was and how much he loved it; and then Chaucer was rubbing at his chest, tweaking a nipple, biting at his neck with soft suckles. He felt Chaucer's length push against his as the man bucked his hips up just a fraction, the resulting sound that was somewhere between yelp and moan must have been something he liked, for soon after Wat felt Chaucer mimic the motion over to elicit the same sound once more. Wats eyes felt as if they wanted to roll to the back of his head, he was becoming sensitive and every touch, especially by Chaucer's talented hands and mouth, was making him needy and driving him mad.

Then he saw the look Chaucer had pulled away to give him, though before he was given the chance to ponder it, he felt Chaucer's hand cup at him, pulling his weeping member into a loose grip, but his hand was wet and he didn't have time to wonder how he missed when that had happened, because the oh so slick and feel so good sensations were hitting him all at once and he was bucking his hips without thinking.

Staring at the agape mouth above him, whom lips are swollen from use, Chaucer stops in his ministrations to let Wat calm for a second. "Do you want me? My body?" Wats response is limited to a grunt of agreement as he bites at his lips, desperately trying to focus on The blonde and not on the blonde's hand. "What of my soul?" This time Wat nods his head and gives Chaucer a familiar look of frustration and longing, (though this time not for the usual fonging) and Chaucer knows that to most this look wouldn't seem half as appealing as it does to him.

He has fingers prodding his mouth and at first he's confused, but as Wat tastes what is probably ink and even dirt, he realizes what is happening. Sliding his tongue over the digits he decides he likes the taste for the most part; Chaucer likes the feel of the warm mouth and soft tongue coating his fingers in a thick layer of saliva and he can't help but squirm a little in anticipation of what is to come. When Chaucer seems to feel that his fingers are saturated enough he pulls them away and Wat watches transfixed as Chaucer leads the digits to his entrance and Wat never knew that watching such an act could turn him on as much as it did. And then Chaucer is guiding him, but as soon as he's pressing against Chaucer, heated and tight, he doesn't need assistance.

Chaucer does an amazing thing with his legs, stretching them high enough up Wats waist the movement itself pushes Chaucer up over the moist tip and then before he knows it he's inside and it's a heat that is ridiculously good, better than any woman Wat had before had; flexibility never quite left Wat so breathless before. The groan that he heard, needy and raw, was directly from Chaucer's mouth and Wat was sure that the sound itself was almost better than the surrounding heat that seemed to strangle the pleasure out of him with every pulsating move Chaucer made.

Wat leans down, wanting to kiss and touch, and never before has he had such an urge to be so intimate. His lips smack against Chaucer's as he picks up his rhythm, Chaucer's hips directing him in the desired speed. He feels Chaucer's teeth bite on his bottom lip as an undignified noise comes from him and it feels Wat with a power that he thoroughly enjoys. The slight throb of pain, instead of bothering him, drives a new set of urges through him and clings to Chaucer's elevated hips, his lips rubbing down his lover's cheek and neck before suckling at a fine spot of pale flesh, taking it into his mouth and biting it enough to make Chaucer yowl, but not quite in pain. His nails are piercing his hips but he doesn't bother to let go, the feel of the sharp bones and curved behind rubbing in his palms adds to the sensations that reap at his control.

It's not very romantic but it is full of passion and as Chaucer glances through lust drugged eyes up into Wats euphoric face he knows this is how he wants it, how he wants Wat, lively and needy, raw and real and with him. The feel of Wat driving him into the blankets, hitting the sweet spot inside him that he can't help but admire, he bites his lips raw between kisses and his tongue is dry and his head is hot but his nipples perk from the chill on his naked body as he clings to Wats own sweaty limbs. This moment is worth more words than even Chaucer believes he could describe with but he knows he'll try, though whose innocent eyes may spot the many pages he is certain to fill will have problems to pay when they realize the basis of such a sultry tale.

It isn't until he feels the muscles clenching spastically around him that he realizes how close to coming he is himself. His head is net to Chaucer, his breath running over the man's cheek and his hair tickling his forehead when Chaucer lets out a mostly silent but breathy moan; his body tensing and seizing its grip on his body, his legs squeezing Wats body as the orgasm wracks him. If he hadn't of already been close then the breathy pants and kisses so softly and sloppily given against his neck would of drove him there in an instant. He lets a muffled scream, his own orgasm coming in a sudden burst. Burrowing his lips in Chaucer's hair he inhales the musty sent as he feels the electricity of an almost numbing buzz cross through his body as he rides the wave.

They lie there for a moment that expands for longer than either cared to pay attention to. Their ragged breath slowly easing into a recognizable pattern. The first coherent thought Chaucer has as Wat curls beside him, body sweaty and heated, is that he's cold and more realized than he's been in such a long time. When he starts to sit up, ignoring the twitch of pain, he feels arms, strong and stubborn pull at his waist; letting out a chuckle he uses gentle hands to coax them away. Glancing down he notices one of Wats eyes open and watching, the other pressed into the pillow in exhaustion. Patting the red ruffle of hair reassuringly he bends to the side to retrieve his fallen coat. Wrapping the coat over his and Wats naked forms, Chaucer reaches toward the cotton sheets, twisting them around in a safety cocoon.

The fur tickled and made Wat smile a lopsided grin in his exhaustion, wrapping Chaucer in a possessive hold. "Would you leave now that you've claimed what you requested?" The words startle Chaucer, they're deep and guttural and Chaucer is amazed at the emotion that clogs them.

"Do you fear such a thing? I've promised my year with this crew, but only for the hopes that when and if we disband I could disband with and find more stories and more life with you. Is it too much of a dream for me to ponder, that you would have come to feel the same. I myself had feared that after a night as now, you might decide to flee the stress and unholy actions and damnation I bring with my longing. With your question I feel my fear is redundant, as yours should feel too."

He wasn't sure what reply to expect, though he could feel as the minute ticked, Wats mouth against his neck opening and closing, trying to catch at words. It was little surprising when the warm body shifted closer, the fur lining of the coat tickling against his legs from the movement and Wat, wordlessly reassured him with his hold and his lips that pressed kisses that could only be described as caring, loving and possessive. Chaucer was letting his own eyes shut; having expected Wat was more than on his way to sleep when he heard it in his ear. The lightest whisper accompanied by a sweet nibble to his ears lobe. "This doesn't mean the fongings will stop." He couldn't help but laugh clearly, even in his sleep deprived state of mind. "I wouldn't dare have suggested otherwise, what would be the fun in that?"

~END~

A/N: Ok, I didn't really feel like This chapter did justice to what I wanted for the scene, I ended up rushing it and trying not to stay strictly on one POV or anything for this chapter. But overall it turned out well enough.