Musk

Erotic short. Valorous comes home from the gym, and Cecil takes a taste.

Rated E, 600w. Musk and scent kink, lots of sweat. Valorous King/Cecil Hobbes.

The lad has been at some training fair today, encouraging kids to get into jousting or bouts at the arena, a fucking pipeline for the future knights of tomorrow. Obviously, as Sir Valorous King, he’d been putting in a Hell of a performance, dodging and fighting back against huge black steel automata swinging swords longer than he was tall, wrestling venomous drakes back into their cages, running agility courses in his full plate armour.

Cecil hadn’t gone in person — he’d seen Valorous at these things before, had probably done his first fair demo when he was sixteen or seventeen — but he’d seen a bit of today on the telly.

The lad looks exhausted when he comes in through the door, and not just because he’s been pushed to his physical limits today — his hair is lank and stuck about his head from sweat, his eyes dull, and Cecil can smell him as soon as he steps through the door, smell the sweat on him.

He’d left without showering so that no one would fucking keep talking to him under the spray — it’s the talk that really exhausts him, not the fighting.

He looks at Cecil almost miserably, and Cecil can see the work inside him, see the tick-tock in the lad’s juiced-out brains, can almost imagine he sees the cogs in his jaw clicking against one another as they try to force it open, to make him speak even though it’s an agony.

“No talking,” he growls just as his mouth opens, and Valorous stares at him somnolently, his lips ajar. “Upstairs.”

Valorous’ dull eyes light up a bit, the unnatural, too-even blue of his irises taking on a slight sheen as his pupils dilate, and there’s the ghost of a smile on his lips as he trudges up the stairs.

The dog, who had been sat in her basket thumping her tail against the floor, waiting for Valorous to come and collapse on top of her, goes from faintly smiling to furrowing her furry brows together, her tail going still.

“We’ll be back down in a minute, Rubes,” Cecil tells her, knuckling her big forehead, and he restrains his soft laugh as he follows the lad up the stairs.

A few minutes later finds Valorous keening from back in his throat as he sprawls back on the bed, back arching as Cecil’s tongue drags up the front of his chest, tasting the salt and musk of the sweat on him, and he huffs in a good lungful of the scent of the lad, noses against his armpit.

“Sweet enough for you?” Valorous asks, and Cecil raises his eyebrows, waits for him to make more of a dig, but he can see the cogs whirring behind his too-blue eyes, can see that he can’t quite work his brain enough to get some nasty little quip out.

“Yeah,” says Cecil deliberately, and makes a loud slurping sound as he tongues around the lad’s nipple, and Valorous quakes under him like he’s been shocked, gripping tight at the sheets underneath them. “Smells good.”

“Smells fucking terrible,” Valorous grumbles. “I could never be in the field like this. I could be completely invisible and people would smell me a mile away.”

“And they’d join in tasting and fucking you, just like this,” Cecil says, sinking three of his fingers into Valorous’ arse at the same time he sucks the lad’s cock into his mouth, and the taste is strongest here, the scent of him filling his whole fucking brain as he takes him into the root.

Valorous’ howl makes Ruby downstairs start barking in mild alarm, and Cecil stifles his laugh as Valorous shoves his face into the pillow and tries to muffle the next noise.