Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Leave the post on my nightstand, Beauremont- I will come down for breakfast shortly.” Jannequinard sighs and runs his hand over the… empty side of the bed, as he has done every morning now, since the last moon.

Right- Quimperain was still away. Would be for another two moons.

His manservant had volunteered his services to the reconstruction and reclamation of the Dusk Vigil, and while Jannequinard had been reluctant of his going, eventually he reasoned that Quimperain would be back soon. He could focus on the Athenaeum, on his own training, and before he knew it, they’d be reunited again, and all would be as it should.

However, he had not been away from Quimperain for longer than a fortnight in… years . Nearing a decade now. Quimperain was always there, to come when called, to tend to him, to see to his needs.

Now, without Quimperain, Jannequinard had been feeling listless. 

Yes, he was still waited on, tended as he would be by the knight, but it was not the same. There was a warmth missing from his life, it seemed. Like a misplaced coat, lacking one wouldn’t be disastrous- he could walk home without it, get another one. But it was his favorite coat, with all the right room in the shoulders, with the soft inner lining from age, and the scent of familiarity and faded perfume on its collar. 

A new coat would still be stiff around the shoulders, the lining too crisp, smelling of the storeroom it was kept in. Just not the same.

So he had gotten a new manservant in the meantime. A young fellow that Jannequinard had picked at random. Beauremont did his job just fine. Adequately. No faults that he could find, though he did make life difficult for the lad. Did the silverware have to be polished thrice? No, but Jannequinard wanted to see if he’d do it, or if he’d quit and he’d find another to take his place.

A cruel bit of sport, but Jannequinard would spend the time thinking of Quimperain. That if he had told Quimperain to do it, Quimperain would shake his head and walk up to him, and kiss him, saying that he was always so fanciful. He wouldn’t have to polish the silver thrice, of course, because he would always leave it perfectly gleaming on the first round.

In the empty time between tasks, he wouldn’t just linger about on the step, or go out back and smoke. He’d come up behind Jannequinard and place his head on his shoulder, gently prising his pen from his hand, and setting it upon its rest. Jannequinard can hear him now, his deep, gentle tone.

“Come and have a lie down, love.”

“You can’t have it yourself?” Jannequinard would tease.

“I could, but the bed would be cold without you.”

Jannequinard would relent, and they’d lay in his plush, four poster bed, his head laying on Quimperain’s arm and his body curled up tight against his side, as the knight would doze off.

He sighs. 

Sure, he had his affairs now and again. None would ever be quite as good as the intimacy he held with Quimperain. He had tried to stay longer with his paramours on occasion- he would never stay the night with his lovers. He would clean up and leave quick as he’d come. 

The first night he had tried to lay down again with his partner, he had shifted, shuffled around on the bed. The man had embraced him from behind, but he felt odd. It felt cold, rubbery, fake. Maybe it was the temperature of the room, maybe it was something else, but Jannequinard had felt like he didn’t belong there. He had stayed a bit longer the second time, the woman he had been with was tall, warm. It felt more familiar, perhaps. Her softness and her deep voice was comforting to be lulled to sleep with, but he had awoken only a couple hours later, and he slipped into the night as he always did.

He had stopped trying after that.

He strokes the empty bedsheets one last time, before he rolls over to his side and reaches for his monocle. Clipping it in place, he brushes his hair back from his face with his fingers, and grabs his stack of correspondence.

A couple of letters from the House of Commons, one from the House of Lords, one from his estranged Uncle (probably asking for money). All in fine, creamy stationery, written with elegant cursive. He tosses them off to the side, not caring where they land. He flips through a few more, disinterested, when his fingers notice a change in texture.

The paper is coarsely milled, more akin to newsprint than a proper writing block. The envelope it comes in too, stained and grubby with dirt. 

But the name and address of the sender, written on the back in blocky print, makes his heart soar.

He tears the envelope open eagerly, and begins to read. 

J

On the day I write this, It has been a moon since I have been stationed at the Convictory, and the weather has been harsh. The rainstorms have turned the snow to slush and have brought a halt to the work. I hope you have been staying warm and dry.

Yesterday I was asked if I had someone I was looking forward to seeing again, when I return. I could not answer truthfully, but I wish I could. I said that I did. Someone who made me feel like I was under the spring sun again, when Coerthas was green.

I have dreamt of it often, since I have arrived here. A green field and you waiting for me. The air is full of birdsong and you are full of light.

Maybe one day in our future, it will come to pass. Perhaps that is why I felt compelled to volunteer for the reclamation efforts. In my effort, that spring day will come, and we will receive it together.

Yours,

Q

Jannequinard smiles widely. 

He clutches the paper in his hand, not caring if there’s dust on his fingers now, if the envelope is dirtying the coverlet with its streaks of charcoal upon it. His heart is swelling with joy.

Still holding it in his hand, he opens the nightstand’s drawer, and feeling for the false bottom, he pulls it out.

Under the false bottom, there is a neat stack of dozens of letters, all written in the same print, all from the same Q . Quimperain.

The ones on the top of the stack are written on similar paper to the one he has in his hand now. The rest are written on assorted pieces of parchment and paper, in different mediums. Ink, charcoal, pencil. Jannequinard smiles as he pulls the stack out, and he unties the twine keeping them together, before adding the new letter to the stack. 

He takes a moment to leaf through the letters. Soft rice paper from Kugane, crisp white stationery from the Bismarck in Limsa. A short note written on some sort of reed papyrus, Gridania.

Each one, signed with Quimperain’s initial. Each one telling Jannequinard that he hopes to see him soon.

And Jannequinard knows, too, that Quimperain has his own little stash.

Written in graceful cursive, with colorful inks and on smooth parchment. Each one sealed with Jannequinard’s signet ring. Each one signed kisses, kisses, kisses.

He ties the twine back together, and places the stack back into the nightstand. He replaces the false bottom, and closes the drawer.

As he gets ready to come downstairs for breakfast, he feels as though he’s floating. Quimperain wrote him, all is well. He will pen his response after he eats, and as he always does, he will entrust it to the postmaster himself. This was not a task he would give to anyone else. His and Quimperain’s relationship was of the utmost privacy, and he would not risk some jealous housemaid to look through words meant for Quimperain’s eyes only.

Getting ready by himself is never something that he was very accustomed to. He can do it, yes, but Beauremont must help straighten out his collar, fix his sleeves. It takes him a good bit of time, too. Jannequinard is idly brushing his hair as he thinks about Quimperain, how quickly he’s able to put him together and have him out the door, the whole while listening to Jannequinard as he spoke at length about something or other. Not just idly listening, either. He’d bring things up in conversation that Jannequinard had entirely forgotten he’d said.

But that was his Quimperain. Attentive and detailed to the last.

“Beauremont, I’ll have my tea now.” Jannequinard enters the dining room and calls for the man, who comes scuttling in from the kitchen with a tea tray.

Ishgardian tea with cream and birch syrup, fluffy muffins split in half and spread with butter and jam, and a dish of snow melon.

“Very good, Beauremont.”

“Milord, the Count has summoned you-”

“Not now, Beauremont,” Jannequinard cuts him off and takes a sip of his tea. Good.

“Milord, it sounded rather-”

“Beauremont, why don’t you go and stoke the parlor fire? I have some writing to do.” Jannequinard waves him away, and Beauremont frowns deeply, but as quickly as he scuttled in with his tray, he scuttles out.

Peace and quiet. Good.

Jannequinard continues with his breakfast, and he finds himself missing the meals Quimperain would prepare for him in the mornings. 

Beauremont did not have to know that he’s become more accustomed to the fare Quimperain would cook. Of course, he did like his muffins, but Quimperain was always concerned about Jannequinard having adequate nutrition. Rich, fluffy omelettes stuffed with mushrooms and cheese, salt porridge with bacon, a stack of buckwheat cakes fried in butter and drizzled with maple syrup. Jannequinard did find himself feeling somewhat hungrier since Beauremont had taken over the cooking.

Well, he can’t fault the fellow for doing as he was instructed by his mentors. He has the errand boys at the Athenaeum to fetch him something from the Crozier if he’s especially peckish.

He finishes his breakfast, and rises, dusting the front of his dressing gown. 

“Beauremont, I expect that fire to be roaring when I get in there!” He calls as he walks down the hall to the parlor. There’s a shouted response of yes, milord!

Jannequinard enters the parlor, and sure enough, it’s toasty and warm, and the window is letting in an excellent source of clear light to his writing desk. 

“Excellent work, Beauremont.”

“Yes, thank you milord, however, I really must urge you-”

“Urging me is a bit pretentious of you, isn’t it, Beauremont?”

Beauremont turns pink, and he stammers.

“I- milord, really, the Count is on his way to discuss something with you and I have been trying to-”

Jannequinard feels his stomach drop.

“The Count?”

“Yes, milord. He says it is urgent, and of concern to you.”

It could be a million things.

His heart begins to pound in his chest, but Jannequinard cannot let that fear show through. No, he cannot.

He steadies himself as best he can before he speaks, leaning against the desk for support, trying to make it look like as casual as he can.

“The Count! Ah, of course. Yes.” He takes a deep breath as he looks out the window.

“Well, when can I expect the old chap?”

“Anytime now, is what I was told. He is going to come to the manor after his work at the Infirmary, and he wants to speak with you personally.”

“And he did not tell you what he wanted to discuss, is that so?” Jannequinard can feel his heart rate begin to slow.

Surely it is not that urgent if Charlemend would take his sweet time to come and see him.

“Very well. I will receive him in the parlor when he does come to speak. Thank you, Beauremont. That is all.”

Beauremont bows, and leaves him with his thoughts, the door softly clicking behind him.

Jannequinard continues to lean against the desk, before collapsing heavily into his chair.

That was a fright. He can’t be sure of what it could be. It could be a million things. It could also be nothing.

He can’t let himself worry. He won’t let himself be worried.

Jannequinard pulls himself up in his chair, and begins to write.

Dear Q,

I received your letter, and find myself sharing your dream as well. You have such lovely dreams, when you do have them. You’ve told me before that you don’t dream often, that you find yourself often floating in the endless sea of sleep. It seems merciful that this sea has parted to bring you kind visions, ones to bring you comfort while you are hard at work.

I wish I were there, too. I cannot carry heavy burdens, but I would be able to help with any injuries workers may sustain, or perhaps fend off a small dragonfly or two. How has your sword arm fared while you’ve been away? I can see you now, gallant as you fight off a huge archaeornis twice your size. Always so brave. 

I miss seeing you train in the courtyard. How you’d be short of breath and red in the face when you finish, your eyes flashing with fire… it enthralled me since the day I first saw you. You are art in motion with your blade. 

Jannequinard stops writing. He looks out the window, and sighs. His breath clouds the glass, and he wipes it away with his sleeve.

As he does, he can see a familiar blue hat coming down the street.

His heart, once calmed, speeds up once more.

Charlemend.

He panics momentarily, and in the rush to hide his letter, he knocks over his inkwell.

Ink pools over the desk, drips onto the floor, and barely misses his clothes as he jumps back in his chair.

He can hear Charlemend being received at the doorstep, and he stuffs the letter, unfinished and now stained with a great big blotch of ink covering the bottom half of the page, into the drawer. He can have Beauremont tend to the mess, but for now, he has to collect himself.

Calm, Janne. All is well. It is probably some terribly mundane news that doesn’t even concern you, and you can just- go on your way, and write your letter, and-

“Milord, the Count.”

Charlemend enters his parlor, and Jannequinard suddenly feels like he’s a child again, hands covered in ink and hair out of place, ruffled, as Charlemend looks upon him with an odd mixture of contempt and familiarity.

“Uncle!” Jannequinard manages to force a smile unto his face as he regards the Count. “What brings you to my little corner of the world today?”

Charlemend doesn’t return his smile, but instead takes off his cap, and holds it to his chest.

“I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad news, Jannequinard.”

Jannequinard raises an eyebrow.

“Your retainer- Ser Evertrue- has been injured. He is at Vaindreau’s as we speak.”

“He-” Jannequinard blinks. His vision feels spotty, all of a sudden. “He’s injured?”

“Aye. Enough that he cannot perform the labors expected of him at the reclamation of the Dusk Vigil.”

Jannequinard wants to scream, wants to fall to his knees, wants to run to Quimperain, through the Brume and to the Firmament, uncaring of his finery, if his slippers fall off his feet or if his stockings tear. 

“H-How,” Jannequinard begins, voice shaking. “How badly? How- What happened? How did it happen-”

“Hush, child,” Charlemend’s gaze softens, and so does his voice, as he steps closer to Jannequinard. “Don’t get too excited now. He’s doing well, but his left arm is broken. A beam fell and he intervened to save his men. He was able to get out, but his arm could not take the strain of such weight.” 

Jannequinard blinks.

“Of course.”

“Excuse me?”

“N-nothing. Just- give me a moment, I apologize.”

Charlemend looks at him puzzled. He shouldn’t be having such a strong reaction to learning that his manservant suffered a broken arm, and Jannequinard knows he’s being scrutinized.

“Sorry, I just- I haven’t eaten well as of late, is all. I find myself becoming dizzy easily,” Jannequinard forces a laugh to hide his sob of relief.

“Ah, of course. You must have more to eat. Is Beauremont not-”

“Beauremont is fine, he does all I need him to. I just awoke recently.” Jannequinard sits down in the chair, ignoring the fact that he’s stepping into the inky puddle just next to it. “I… I should go see him. The poor fellow has no family, and he’d do the same for me, I think.”

“He’d be glad to see you, I’m sure. Last I saw, he was being served tea, and he seemed in good spirits. The chirurgeons were able to mend most of the bone, but he’s in no shape to be lifting stone and hefting a pickaxe. He can reconvene at the infirmary, for the time being.”

“Oh, certainly not.” Jannequinard hides his face as he realizes his eyes are too wet for comfort now, as tears gather on his lashes and drip down his cheeks. “I mean- I’d rather have him here. He gets restless easily. Yes, I’ll go see him and try to cheer him up. He was really- he was very excited to help with the effort. A change of pace. Probably happy to get me off his back.”

Charlemend chuckles. “You do put him through his paces, from what I’ve seen. I am sure he’d feel more comfortable at the manor compared to the infirmary, as much as we try to make the patients feel welcome. Forgive me for the unexpected appearance, by the by. I’ll be taking my lunch at home, but I left word with the nurses that you are to be expected.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” Jannequinard manages to blink away his tears and raise his head for a smile.

“It is good to see that you view Quimperain as a friend. A retainer is more than just a servant- he is someone you must put your trust into, fully. I am sure he feels the same way for you.”

“Y-yes. Thank you. Good afternoon, Uncle.”

Charlemend bows his head, and leaves the parlor, and Jannequinard to his thoughts.

Jannequinard waits for his footsteps to recede, and he gets up from his chair, feet still unsteady. Ink has now stained his sleeve, from where he had rested it on the desk, and the leather sole of his slipper is probably dyed black from the ink now, but he can’t find himself caring. He can only breathe out a sigh of relief.

Quimperain is alright. He’s in Ishgard, being tended to by the good people of Vaindreau’s, and he will see him today, or die trying.

“Beauremont!” He calls. His voice is thick with unshed tears, but he sniffles hard and tries to suck it back in.

“Yes, milord?”

“Fetch me my coat, Beauremont, and my boots. Call a carriage, I will be making a trip down to the Firmament, to the Infirmary.”

“Are you feeling well, milord? I can fetch the chirurgeon-”

“No, no. I am going to see someone who is recovering there, a friend of mine. Now, hop to it, I’ve no time to waste.”

“Y-yes, milord.”

Jannequinard feels like a weight is being lifted off his shoulders, just at the thought of seeing Quimperain. He puts on the coat over his house gown and tugs his boots on after kicking his ink stained slippers off, Beauremont letting out a little cry of anguish at seeing inky shoe prints left all over the fine rug of the parlor and the foyer. 

“Now, Beauremont, I will be bringing a guest home, so I expect utmost professionality and courtesy, do you hear? I want you to make sure the guest room on my floor is clear and ready-”

“But milord-”

“I know that is your room for now, Beauremont, but do be a dear and clear it out for my guest. He requires close attention for these coming days, and you can have the big room on the first floor. How does that sound?”

“Ah, well, when you put it that way-”

“Exactly.” Jannequinard brushes past him as Beauremont rushes to hold the carriage door open for him, and he hops up into the plush seat.

“I’ll do as you say, milord, quick as I can!”

“Good man, Beauremont. You’ve learnt well!” 

Jannequinard thumps the top of the carriage ceiling, and he can hear the chocobos squawk as they’re urged on, and the carriage begins its journey over cobblestones to its destination.

+++

“Viscount Jannequinard, we’ve been expecting you!” The head nurse is a cheerful young Elezen woman, and she welcomes him with a smile. “You’re here for Ser Evertrue, is that correct?”

“Yes, I am. I can take him home, is that correct?”

“If you so wish. We’ve managed the worst of the swelling, and have put a plaster cast on his arm. He is in good health and spirits aside from that. I assume you’d like to see him?”

“Indeed I do, I had quite the scare when I heard the news. I assumed the worst.” Jannequinard tugs his coat around himself tightly.

“Follow me then, he’s just this way.”

Down a row of empty beds, there is one with a curtain partially drawn.

The nurse clears her throat.

“Ser Evertrue, you have a visitor.”

“Oh?”

Jannequinard’s heart leaps into his throat.

The first time he’s heard Quimperain’s voice in a moon.

“Well, they can come in.”

The nurse pulls back the curtain, and Jannequinard could leap upon him if it weren’t terribly inappropriate for the setting.

“Milord.” Quimperain sits up straight in his bed, and Jannequinard smiles widely.

“Quimperain.”

The nurse pipes up.

“Just let me know when you are ready to take him with you, and I will provide his personal items that he came with and some supplies to take home.” She bows and leaves the two alone, and Jannequinard steps closer to the bed.

Quimperain is quiet.

Another step.

And Jannequinard jumps onto the bed, and hugs him tightly around the middle, letting out a cry of relief.

“Gods, Quimperain-”

“Janne,” Quimperain laughs, voice scratchy. “Careful there- you might prolong my stay.”

“I was so- I thought the worst had come to pass. I thought you had- I shan’t even say it, that’s how much the thought frightens me. Quimperain, I will not be letting you out of my sight again-”

“Shh,” Quimperain hushes him, but unlike Charlemend, Jannequinard feels no condescension there. He sighs and buries his face in Quimperain’s chest. “I’m here now. I’ll be staying for a good while, I think.”

“You better, or I’ll have no choice but to keep you under lock and key.” Jannequinard looks up at him with big, wet eyes, shining with his tears. “You are- you foolhardy, daft, ugh-”

“I presume Charlemend told you how I broke my arm, then?” 

“Yes, he did,  and I am upset because it is exactly so you, Quimperain Evertrue, that of course if it had to happen to someone, it’d be you. And the worst part is, I can’t even be upset. You’re too damn noble.”

“I was only doing the right thing. It was either that or more casualties than just my arm.”

“But- but weren’t you scared? Did you even think, or did you just- did you just do it? ”

“I thought, as I did it. Thankfully they had the sense to run out of there before I gave out, and well, the rest as you can see, is history.” Quimperain lifts up his arm, where from above his elbow down to his wrist, a plaster cast is formed around his arm. “They say that it was a pretty clean break, so it shouldn’t be the worst to heal- anyone else’s arm would have shattered.”

Jannequinard touches the cast gently, and he looks up at Quimperain. Their breaths mingle in the space between them, and Quimperain’s eyes- were they always so warm and welcoming, like the crystal ocean? Did he always have that little wrinkle there, a little spot there-

Quimperain kisses him first, and Jannequinard moans softly.

He had no idea he’d missed this so much. That he missed Quimperain so much. He knew it- he knew he missed him, but this- this was something else entirely. 

The half to his whole, reunited.

Quimperain’s lips are chapped and dry, and there’s a bit of stubble on his cheek. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, Jannequinard thinks to himself, as he strokes the prickly hairs. It’s funny, how it rasps on his hand. Quimperain could never grow facial hair out as well as other men, always choosing to stay clean shaven. The scent of his shaving soap would linger on his skin, and Jannequinard would drink it in with each kiss upon his cheek.

“Janne,” Quimperain murmurs, as his good arm wraps around his waist, and pulls him close. “Gods, I’ve missed you so. Every night- I’d think of you. Every morning, I’d wake up, thinking you’d be there-”

“I too,” Jannequinard sniffles. “This morning, I received your letter. You were talking about your dream.”

Quimperain smiles. “It’s the only one I’ve been able to have recently. I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to dream of anything else. I don’t want to dream of flying over Ishgard or being able to do impossible things- I only want to dream of you.”

“Really,” Jannequinard whispers.

“Really.” Quimperain squeezes his hip. 

Jannequinard dives in for another kiss, cupping Quimperain’s face in his hands. 

He could kiss him for ages, he thinks to himself. Quimperain’s mouth on his, his stubbly cheek on his palm, chests pressed together as he straddles his lap. 

Jannequinard is too intoxicated by the kisses, by having Quimperain back, by having him safe in his arms, that he doesn’t quite notice the effect he’s having on him, until he hears a low groan from him.

“Ah- I’m sorry, did I move your arm-” Jannequinard breaks away from the kiss, spit still clinging to his lip, and he flushes as he recognizes the slightly dazed look on Quimperain’s face, and as he shifts his thigh, he feels a familiar hardness against his leg.

“N- no, but- I think we should continue this elsewhere.” Quimperain looks away briefly, and Jannequinard opens his mouth, then closes it.

“I…”

He looks around, sees the curtain drawn closed by the nurse as she let them be.

“I think we’ll be safe.”

“Janne-”

“Shh.” His turn to hush Quimperain now- he puts a finger to his lips and kisses him quickly. He reaches down to gather up the hem of his robes, and he pulls down the linen bloomers just enough for his flesh to be bared to the air. “I’ll be quiet. I promise.”

Quimperain bites his lip.

“Come on, love,” Jannequinard whispers, as he takes Quimperain’s good hand in his own, and leads it down under the gathered robes. He can feel the shudder that runs through Quimperain’s body at the barest contact of his fingers on his belly.

Jannequinard giggles quietly. He’s ticklish, and the calloused fingertips of Quimperain’s hand are hard on his sensitive skin. They trail down his stomach, through the thick path of hair leading down between his legs, and Quimperain finds-

“Ahh….”

Quimperain strokes Jannequinard gently. He’s hard, wet. Though he hadn’t done this in a moon, he knows just how Jannequinard likes it, remembers it like he does putting on his armor. Stroking just so, with his pointer and middle finger, with his thumb resting atop his shaft-

Jannequinard whimpers quietly, and puts a hand over his mouth to muffle himself. 

“How far-” Quimperain starts, mouth suddenly dry. “How far do you want me to go?”

Jannequinard’s thighs are trembling as Quimperain strokes him, as he pulses on his fingers.

“All- all the way.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mmh-!” Jannequinard whines as Quimperain strokes further back, and presses his finger into his slick entrance.

Quimperain too, can’t contain his noise. He breathes out a harsh moan, as he feels Jannequinard’s heat tight around his knuckle. 

“Fuck, Janne-”

“Quimperain,” Jannequinard’s face is reddened despite his dark skin, and his eyes are half closed as he feels the tension in his stomach grow. He wants more, more of Quimperain. Wants to show him how much he missed him, how much he wanted him while he was gone, how happy he is to have him back. “More, give me- give me more.”

“Do you want me to- to ready you?”

“Please.”

Quimperain nods, wordless as he pushes in another finger alongside the first. Jannequinard is twitching around him, shaking as he tries to stay on his knees above Quimperain’s lap. Part of Quimperain wants him to fully seat himself, to be able to get some pressure on his cock, tight in the thin drawstring trousers given to him at the infirmary-

The other part is relishing the way that Jannequinard’s thighs are shaking with the effort of keeping him upright in this kneeling position, in the way he’s quivering and letting out little labored breaths as Quimperain’s fingers hook towards himself and he can feel him tighten around them.

Jannequinard is so gorgeous like this, he thinks to himself. Gorgeous and wet and wanting just for him. 

He slides in another finger, and Jannequinard squeaks at the stretch of his core. 

“Alright?”

“Mmph- it’s just- it’s been a while.” Jannequinard smiles reassuringly, but Quimperain frowns. He pulls back his fingers, and Jannequinard gasps.

“What-”

“I’m not going to hurt you, by going too fast. We should wait-”

“N-No!” Jannequinard’s voice is barely more than a whisper, but there’s an edge of desperation to it that makes Quimperain jolt. “Please, Quimperain, I can take you, I can take it.”

Quimperain hesitates, his fingers wet as they trail along the inside of Jannequinard’s thigh. His skin is so soft and warm, he thinks to himself.

The way Jannequinard speaks reminds him of the first time they spent together. Jannequinard, doe eyed and lithe and begging for him, Quimperain telling him he’d be hurt but Jannequinard, persistent fool he was (is), finally got his way in the end.

“Please.”

Quimperain huffs.

“Very well. But if I think you’re in pain, I will summon the chirurgeon.”

Jannequinard feels a most inappropriate tingle run down his spine at the thought of that. He remembers, vaguely, where they are. Who they are. Getting caught would be….

“I accept those terms. Now, where were we?”

Quimperain shakes his head, and his fingers go back to stroking Jannequinard gently, before slipping inside, and rocking back and forth until his clit is nestled up against the heel of his palm. Four of his fingers are inside of him, curling in against his front wall and feeling Jannequinard’s body respond with little twitches and gasps and cries of his name.

His own body is on fire . The clothes he’s wearing may be a thin shirt and trousers, but gods, Jannequinard above him is like he’s walking on the sun. He’s a vision highlighted in the dim light of the infirmary, from the little lamp on the bedside table. It makes him forget about the ache of his bad arm, of the itchiness of the plaster cast. All he can think about is Jannequinard, begging for him, melting around his fingers, his red hair gleaming bronze and his dark skin beginning to glisten with sweat and tears upon his cheekbone. His monocle catches the light, and the little beads on the end of its chain glisten like molten starlight as he rolls his body down against Quimperain’s hand.

Now that he can feel Jannequinard riding his hand in earnest, he clicks his tongue as if he was bringing a hound to heel.

“Huh?”

“Do you feel ready?”

“Oh,” Jannequinard smiles, dazed. “I’m more than.”

Quimperain nods, and pulls his hand away from the heat between his legs.

“Help me with my trousers, then.”

Jannequinard does, nimble hands undoing the drawstring and the buttons that kept the trousers closed. Quimperain’s cock is stiff and ready, and Jannequinard suddenly finds himself thinking about whether or not the other men at the Convictory had… seen him. He was large, larger than most men he’s been with, and Jannequinard suddenly feels a little twist of pride in his heart at the knowledge that such a man was his, all his. 

Quimperain, strong and handsome and quick, his body soft in all the right places but hard when it had to be. His aquiline nose and his straight, strong brow, his ocean blue eyes and his warm lips, and this-

Jannequinard wonders if perhaps the Spinner was at its brightest in the sky when he was born. There would be no other explanation for how he got so lucky with Quimperain. 

Quimperain and his endless patience, born out of a love for Jannequinard and protecting him from himself.

He finds himself overcome with emotion, and Quimperain’s good hand has settled on his hip, and pets him gently.

“Janne?”

“Ah. Sorry, I was just… I was thinking. Of how lucky I am. How lucky we are.”

Quimperain smiles. 

“Always with his head in the clouds, my lord is.”

“Hm?”

“What I’d tell the others. They took it to mean something I disliked about you. But I think it’s your most charming feature. Your idealism. Your thoughts. Far-fetched as they may seem at first. You’ve changed a stubborn old fool like me. You’ve changed Ishgard.”

“Not without some help. But I don’t want to think about that right now. I want to think about you. Only you.” Jannequinard kisses him quickly, and wraps his hand around Quimperain’s length.

And how he missed that, the feeling of Quimperain bucking his hips up into his hand, of Quimperain’s mouth parting under his lips as Jannequinard stroked him.

“Janne,” Quimperain gasps.

“I’ll have you now.” Jannequinard lets go for a moment, watching the flushed length quiver and drip with precum, Quimperain’s stomach rising and falling with his heavy breaths. He takes off his bloomers, balling them up and tossing him to the side. He scoots up on his knees, until he’s kneeling just above Quimperain’s length.

“Fuck,” Quimperain’s fingers are digging into his hip tightly. “Janne-”

Jannequinard grins, suddenly drunk off the feeling of having Quimperain back- Quimperain back, and under him, and desperate-

“Say it,” Jannequinard laughs, quiet.

“Janne-”

“Say it, Quimperain.”

“Fuck- Janne, please , I need you-”

Jannequinard grips the base of Quimperain’s cock tight, aligning himself, and allowing a few strokes to his own length, he sinks down onto the fat tip.

There’s a bit of resistance, but the sensation of it once Jannequinard can feel the blunt head pop into him is enough to bring tears of joy to his eyes.

He missed this, too.

Quimperain is breathing heavy and hard, and Jannequinard can feel his abdomen tense up as he braces himself on his torso.

“Fuck, yes , Quimperain- Fury that feels so good -” Jannequinard is babbling nonsense as he takes in more, as he bears down, the ache from the stretch turning into a searing heat that makes his belly flare with desire.

Quimperain is faring no better, head pressed back into his pillows and his fingers are surely leaving bruises on Jannequinard’s hip as he holds onto him there. His toes curl, and even his bad arm’s hand is balling into a fist.

After weeks of only using his hand, of rutting against his mattress like an animal- this was otherworldly .

Jannequinard, tight and velvety slick around him, squeezing and kneading him for all he had, it was enough to make him feel like his brain was oozing out of his ears, like the room was going dimmer than it was.

Then, the light flares again, and Quimperain can see Jannequinard, in his full glory, all rich furs and velvets, smelling softly of incense and of sex now, that his wet cunt is seated right against his balls, as his thighs touch his, and his hands run up his belly to squeeze at his pecs under his thin blouse.

“Ahh…” Jannequinard gasps, his nails biting into Quimperain’s skin. 

“Janne-” 

“I-” the lord lets out a quiet cry as he rocks forwards on Quimperain’s lap, barely raising his hips more than an inch, but the friction is enough to make a spark begin. There’s a burning need for more, now. “Quimperain, I- I missed this, I missed you- I missed you so much-”

Quimperain pants like a dog as Jannequinard raises his hips up, lowers himself back down. His clit twitches visibly with each stroke, and Quimperain takes the hand that sits on Jannequinard’s hip to clap over his mouth instead. He swallows his noises as best he can- Jannequinard is making enough noise for both of them.

Despite that, he’s not loud enough to be making enough of a commotion in this secluded corner of the infirmary to draw a nurse’s attention. Still, Quimperain isn’t so sure of himself.

Typically he’s able to have more composure than Jannequinard in bed- but right now? After so long away, and now Jannequinard is above him, around him, begging for him?

He isn’t so sure of himself at this very moment.

Quimperain instead huffs into his hand, and the scent of Jannequinard still slicked on it is enough to make his head spin. Musky and rich, the scent he could breathe in all day. How many hours has he spent, kneeling at Jannequinard’s lap, head just inches away from his cunt, and he can smell the arousal spilling from him? 

Jannequinard is like a shimmering kaleidoscope of sensation right now- his touch, his scent, his sound, his taste. Quimperain is getting lost in him, in his shifting landscape, and he could stay here forever.

His cock twitches as Jannequinard speeds up, as he rides him fast and deep, taking him to the root and then rising up until just the tip remains inside, then sinking back down. His mouth is open in a quiet scream, letting out breathy, soft noises, barely louder than a whisper. 

Their coupling is noise enough. Jannequinard is so wet that the slap of their skin meeting sounds throughout the curtained room and surely, if someone were to come this way, they’d hear it. Quimperain groans into his palm, tasting the salt of Jannequinard’s arousal as he does. His eyes roll back in his head.

Jannequinard’s nails dig into his pecs, squeezing and kneading like he was little more than a blanket for him to hold onto. As his thumbs stroke over his nipples, Quimperain can feel his belly tighten- he’s close.

“Janne- Janne-”

“You’re going to- going to cum in me- and I’m going to get every last drop- I’m going to drain you -”

“Filthy boy,” Quimperain grunts, as he drops his hand from his mouth and instead reaches out for Jannequinard’s clit, where he pinches it hard between thumb and forefinger. “Where did you- learn such things-”

“Learnt them for you -” Jannequinard gasps, eyes shutting tight as the added stimulation makes the tension in his stomach build tenfold. He feels like a pot about to boil over, his muscles tight, his cunt squeezing hard, milking Quimperain’s length. “You like dirty-”

“I like you -”

With that, Quimperain grits his teeth, as his balls draw tight to his body, his cock twitching hard as he spills into Jannequinard. Days of not having had a release makes this orgasm feel like he’s being torn apart by ecstasy. He gasps for air, moaning pathetically, he can hear himself- he’s not sure he’s ever sounded like that before.

Jannequinard fares no better. He’s letting out tiny whimpers as he rides out his orgasm on Quimperain for a few more strokes, before sinking down fully, and slowly letting himself fall forwards until he lay atop his knight.

It’s quiet, save for their heavy breathing, the blood pounding in their ears and in their bodies.

Jannequinard finally speaks up, once he feels the breath return to his lungs, and his mind slowly clears itself of the fog of lust that it was mired in.

“Quimperain,” he sighs.

“Yes?” Quimperain’s mouth feels like he’s been eating handfuls of cotton fluff.

“It’s good to have you home.”

“I agree.” Quimperain hugs Jannequinard tight around the waist with his good arm. “Janne?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad to be back.”

Jannequinard laughs softly against his neck.

“I am happy to see we can both agree on that.”

A few more moments pass, before Jannequinard speaks up.

“I suppose I’ll get arranged and… tell the nurse I’ll be taking you home. I think the carriage is still waiting us.”

“Gods forbid they ask what took you so long.” Quimperain smiles.

“I’ll just tell them that I was tending to your hurts. Chirurgeons may do their best, but my love needs the power of the stars to heal him, does he not?”

“Once, I would’ve objected. Though, with time, I have come to accept it.” Quimperain pets Jannequinard’s thigh.

Jannequinard kisses him, lingering and sweet.

“Good.”

The astrologian carefully extricates himself from their little heap, wincing as he feels the mess that drips down his legs. He locates his bloomers, putting them back on over shaky legs and stands up. Looking around, he manages to find a small basket with a handful of clean rags, and after cleaning Quimperain up, he tucks him back into his trousers. He does the same for himself, fixes his robes and his coat, and gives Quimperain one last kiss on his forehead.

“I’ll be back in a tick, my love. And then, home.”

“Sounds excellent.”

Jannequinard smiles, his coat and robes flouncing behind him as he slips past the curtain, and Quimperain feels a smile of his own come over his lips.

He’s so very happy to be home.

Chapter Text

“How is your arm feeling, my dear?”

“It aches with the cold, but it’ll pass.” Quimperain shrugs. He resumes folding his shirts as Jannequinard leans against the doorframe.

“When you say it aches, that means anyone else would be ready to meet their maker.” Jannequinard sighs. He steps into the little room that Quimperain had taken over once more. Not that he slept in it, when it was originally his, but as long as Beauremont was still in the house to help with the tasks requiring two hands, appearances had to be kept up.

Quimperain looks up at him, as Jannequinard takes the shirt in his hands and tosses it back onto the bed where the laundry had been spread out. 

“Let Beauremont do this.”

“It is little effort for me, I assure you. I prefer to have something to do in my spare time.”

Jannequinard shakes his head. “You work much too hard. Remember, Quimperain, undue stress can interrupt the healing process.”

“It is not stressful, I assure you. I find small tasks like this relaxing, and it helps keep my fingers dextrous despite the cast.” Quimperain wiggles them, as if to make his point. “I can tell you’re not here to criticize my work, however.”

Jannequinard doesn’t respond immediately, instead choosing to lean against Quimperain’s good side, and hold on to the man’s sleeve.

“I was thinking about what we could do once you’ve recovered.”

“What is there to do? I’ll go back to my duties.”

Jannequinard rolls his eyes. “All work and no play, you are. I was thinking of taking a trip. Maybe Vylbrandt, or Gridania? Or more exotic sights… I’ve received a letter from the dear Warrior of Light, from Tural. I’ve never been to the New World.”

Quimperain hums.

“Well, don’t feel the need to go for my sake. I’m perfectly content staying here.”

“It’s obviously for your sake, silly. I think you may end up liking it more than you think. A break from work, enjoying the warm climate...” Jannequinard nuzzles his cheek against his arm. One of his hands is looped around Quimperain’s waist, and the other has begun to move up to the top button of his shirt collar. With practiced movements, Jannequinard pops open the first button- thankfully, Quimperain isn’t wearing any sort of necktie. He’s taken to dressing very casually since his injury. 

Quimperain’s breath hitches as Jannequinard opens the shirt just enough to have access to his chest, and his hand slips into the fabric, and begins to pet and stroke along his skin.

“Wouldn’t a change of pace be nice? Crystal clear waters, sandy beaches, exotic foods…” Jannequinard squeezes his pec, and Quimperain inhales sharply. “It’ll be good for your recovery.”

“It’ll spoil me, once I get back to Ishgard, I’ll be as much use as I am now.” Quimperain tries to keep his tone even as he feels Jannequinard’s long, painted nails scratch along his skin. 

“Oh, quiet. You’re plenty useful right now. Beauremont is having to beat you back with a broom to keep you from doing his work. I think you’ll appreciate it. And you’ll have me to keep you occupied when we return. Isn’t that right?”

Quimperain huffs.

“I suppose.”

“You’re such a homebody, Quimperain. Learn to live a little.” Jannequinard’s tone is lightly teasing, and Quimperain can’t help but feel his lips curl into a small smile.

“I’m a homebody because of you. Someone has to keep the place in order for you to return to.”

“Very few retainers will be able to say they’ve seen the wonders of Tural. You’ll have so many stories to tell when you get back. They’ll all be jealous.” Jannequinard smiles and kisses Quimperain’s shoulder.

“When you put it that way…” Quimperain’s good hand reaches into his shirt and pulls out Jannequinard’s hand where it’s stopped its exploration just above his belly. “Very well. Shall I plan out an itinerary for our vacation?”

Jannequinard grins as Quimperain raises his hand to his lips, and kisses his knuckles, just above his multitudes of rings. 

“Oh, that’d be delightful. You’re much better at planning than I. But before that, I did come here for another reason.”

“And what might that be?”

“Well, I thought we could take a little nap together. Like the old times.”

They hadn’t been able to spend idle time together as often, not since the introduction of Beauremont to the household. There was always the risk of him coming into Jannequinard’s quarters to tidy up, and if he were to find Quimperain in the lord’s bed with said lord… well, the scandal wouldn’t be the worst of it.

“Isn’t Beauremont-”

“I’ve sent him to the Crozier to collect a number of items for me. One of said items is a hat that is still at the milliner’s, but I instructed him to wait until it is finished.”

“You’re simply incorrigible.”

“I gave him a good bit of pocket money! He can find something to do while he waits. Now, lay down, I’ll take my rest with you now.”

Quimperain sighs and clears the bed of the clean laundry, and lays down. He knows the procedure well by now- he raises his arm to frame the pillow, and Jannequinard grins as he hops up onto the bed, and cuddles close to his side. Head nestled squarely in Quimperain’s arm, he sighs in satisfaction.

“I’ve missed this so much. Just being able to lay down with you… I’ve taken it for granted, I’m afraid.”

“‘Tis rare that there is another in your personal wing of the manor.”

Jannequinard hums. He resumes unbuttoning Quimperain’s shirt, and now with more access to his chest, he rubs his belly. Quimperain had thinned out a bit when he had gone away– perhaps the harder physical labor of working at the reclamation had made him lose some weight. However, as he sinks his fingers into the softness there, he is pleased to see that it had come back with the more relaxed pace back at the manor as he recovers.

“We do get to play house when it’s just the both of us, don’t we?”

“Like children.” Quimperain snorts softly and turns to kiss Jannequinard’s forehead. 

“Perhaps one day we needn’t play at it.”

“Hm?”

Jannequinard sighs. His fingers stop their exploration just beneath Quimperain’s navel.

“Maybe some day… we can leave the manor. I’ve more than enough to purchase a small home in the Pillars. Just the two of us. Plenty of bachelors keep their own home away from the family. I’ve only stayed out of habit.”

Quimperain is quiet.

“Would it please you?”

“I… I’m not sure if it is something I want to do soon. But it would please me greatly, yes. Being able to live together without fear of someone stumbling upon us.” Jannequinard is pensive. “How sad, that something so lovely as this is something that so many would frown upon.”

“You’d know better than most. How many times have I had to hide you from Inquisitors and Temple Knights for your work?” Quimperain has his bad arm resting on his chest now, and Jannequinard smiles softly.

“I suppose.” There’s a strange ache in his heart at the thought of how much the two have been through together. How Quimperain has been one of the few constants in his life, in the sea of comings and goings of everyone he’s known. His family, his friends. Master Rufin, his mother, his estranged father.

Quimperain’s always been there. He’s seen all of Jannequinard. His lows, his highs. His mercurial temperaments.

Jannequinard has seen him too. In his moments of sorrow as he thinks about a past life that Jannequinard would never be able to fully understand, at least, not with the bits and pieces that his love has let slip through his walls. His moments of anger and frustration- often with Jannequinard himself, though as quick as they came, they’d leave, and he’d never once turned his hand or even his words upon him. 

And his joys, too. When Jannequinard dances with him to some remembered song from a gala long ago or that same night, when he returns home and wants no one but Quimperain, his cheeks flushed and breath scented with sweet wine and figs. It always amuses him so, and Quimperain will smile as he’s led about the foyer in a shoddy two-step.

This was what love was, he thinks to himself. 

“One day we’ll have it. A nice house in the Pillars. I’ll have my library and my telescope room, and you can have your kitchen, set up all how you like it. We’ll have a little tree for Starlight.” 

“That does sound nice. Our armchairs by the fireplace. Or would you rather a loveseat?” Quimperain’s good arm is wrapped around Jannequinard’s shoulder, and his hand is able to reach a lock of his hair that drapes upon it. He twirls it idly as he thinks.

“A loveseat. So we may fall asleep together upon it, while the fire keeps us warm.” Jannequinard notices the hand playing with his hair, and he reaches up to hold it. “Thank you for indulging my whims.”

“They’re as much mine as they are yours. I’d be lying if I said the thought hasn’t occurred to me.” Quimperain squeezes Jannequinard’s hand, and winces slightly. 

“Your arm is still bothering you, is it not?” Jannequinard furrows his brow.

“Don’t worry about it- it will pass.” Quimperain tries to sound assured, but Jannequinard shakes his head. He returns Quimperain’s little squeeze with one of his own, and slips his hand out to touch upon his cast lightly.

“Blasted thing,” he murmurs, before his fingers dip lower-

“Janne-”

Quimperain’s cheeks are turning a soft shade of pink, and Jannequinard smirks as his hand trails along the waistband of his trousers.

“Perhaps if I gave your body something else to pay mind to, it will pass even quicker.” Jannequinard gets up from his position on the bed, and scratches Quimperain’s hip lightly with his nails, feeling the shiver that runs through the knight beneath him. 

Quimperain attempts to sit up, but receives a gentle shove that has him plop back against the pillows. 

“Lie back, and let your lordship take care of you.”

Quimperain grunts softly as Jannequinard keeps him down with one hand on his sternum, the other undoing the fastenings of his trousers.

He’s half hard from Jannequinard’s teasing, and he can feel himself only filling out more as the astrologian continues to pet his chest, his stomach. 

It’s embarrassing how much his body responds to this- when Jannequinard chooses to lavish attention upon him. He’s trembling already, his cock twitching in his smalls and pressing against the seam of his trousers uncomfortably. 

And Jannequinard knows- the way his lips turn up at the corners in a catlike smile, his eyes narrowing along with it. His monocle glimmers in the cool sunlight that filters through the curtains. 

“Mm… I always love this. Seeing you spread out under me. Gorgeous, big man, all for me.” Jannequinard is rubbing his palm over Quimperain’s bulge now, admiring the way that his belly tenses with each stroke. 

Jannequinard has slotted himself between his legs now, and Quimperain’s thighs are pressed up around his hips. They’re strong, thick with muscle and fat, and Jannequinard is sure that if Quimperain desired- he could easily crush him like a melon between them.

Well- there was a thought. Perhaps he’ll send Beauremont to the markets for a melon, and see if he can put his theory to the test.

“Janne?”

“Ah, forgive me, my love. I was lost in thought. Now, let’s see what these healing hands can do for you.” 

Quimperain shakes his head, laughing softly. 

Jannequinard strokes him through his clothing a couple more times, before he reaches into his smalls, and feels the heavy, dripping member beneath his fingers.

It’s a habitual reaction for him now- to feel Quimperain’s hard length and his whole body will just clench in response. 

He squeezes his thighs together. Not now- he can wait. He wants to give Quimperain all he can, and leave him seeing stars.

He tugs down Quimperain’s trousers a few ilms, then pulls the heavy length free of the restrictive clothing.

The cool air on Quimperain’s cock makes him twitch hard in his hand, and Jannequinard giggles softly as he takes his spare hand and cups it over the fat, leaking tip.

“Someone’s excited.”

“How can I not be?” Quimperain’s voice is strained, but he looks at Jannequinard with nothing but naked admiration. “The most beautiful man in Ishgard is tending to me personally.”

“Oh, hush. You’re stealing my line.” Jannequinard cups his sac with one hand, squeezing gently around velvety soft skin and hearing the soft moan that it makes Quimperain let out.

“Fuck- Janne-”

Jannequinard grins. Quimperain wouldn’t admit it for the longest time, but if he did this-

“Janne!”

Quimperain cries out as Jannequinard leans down, and his lips hover just above the tip of his cock. His fingers let go of his shaft, and squeeze at his balls gently, while his other hand’s thumb rubs into the soft, dusky skin just above his twitching hole.

“Ha-ah-” 

Jannequinard grins at the reactions it pulls from Quimperain. His face twists in pleasure, as Jannequinard circles against his skin, and he kneads gently at the heavy sac in his palm. 

“I’d like to tease you longer, but I do hate to leave someone hurting when I can do something about it. So-” 

Without any more pretense, Jannequinard takes the tip of Quimperain’s cock into his mouth, and moans aloud at the thick, rich taste that spreads on his tongue. The sensation makes Quimperain’s toes curl, his mouth falling open as he cries out.

Jannequinard’s mouth is silky and wet around him, soft as he takes him further in. Plush lips stretch wide to take him deeper, and his silver iris eyes are half closed as he breathes heavily through his nose.

Gods, it’s not like they never did this, but the sight would always set his blood aflame like it was the first time. 

Jannequinard is careful to keep his teeth out of the way until he can’t, and the barest scrape of teeth on sensitive flesh has a tingle running down Quimperain’s spine like a spark of ceruleum on a gunpowder trail. He can feel his hole twitch under his thumb, he’s getting all slick with his spit that had gathered and begun to dribble down his sac. 

Just like that, Jannequinard thinks to himself, as he replaces his thumb with his index, and traces around Quimperain’s hole, adding more and more pressure.

“Fuck me, Janne,” Quimperain begs. “Please, I-”

His voice cracks as Jannequinard sucks around him, and his finger presses in fully.

Quimperain’s vision goes fuzzy as Jannequinard brushes just against his prostate, suddenly feeling a hard jolt in his thighs and his belly. 

A thick spurt of precum fills Jannequinard’s mouth, and he lets out a little noise of surprise as he swallows. He works his finger against Quimperain’s walls. Gods, sometimes he wishes he had a cock just to be able to feel his warmth pressing all around him. Perhaps there was an enchantment he could use on his- 

Ah, but he was getting ahead of himself. He focuses on taking him deeper, until Quimperain’s cock is half in his mouth. He isn’t sure if he can handle all of him today, it’s been a while. Surely another day, he’ll work up to it. He rubs against Quimperain’s sweet spot, firm and deep. 

“Mmph- Janne- my love-” Quimperain’s voice is shaking, and he reaches down to gently run a hand through his hair. His hands are firm, steady, but gentle as they thread through his soft crimson locks and brush them back from his forehead. “You’re… you’re so good to me-”

Jannequinard’s ears prick up as he hears Quimperain’s voice, rough with pleasure, praising him. 

That delicious, deep, warm voice, so even but now melting with delight just for him, only him. 

Quimperain isn’t shy to admit that Jannequinard has been his only for years now. That he doesn’t want anyone else. That Jannequinard was the only person he would want to lay with. To think that this voice was only for him, his praise only for Jannequinard’s ears… Jannequinard shudders, pressing his thighs together. His clit is swollen with blood, his folds dripping with his own moisture. His hands are occupied, so he shifts his thighs together, hoping the pressure and friction can alleviate his arousal.

Instead, it just makes it build in his stomach, and he’s burning for touch. He moans, the vibration making Quimperain buck his hips up, and Jannequinard yelps in the back of his throat at the suddenness of his movement.

He can feel Quimperain squeezing tightly around his digit, and then his cock is pulsing hard in his mouth as he cums. Jannequinard is about to pull back, but something in the back of his mind makes him take him as deep in his mouth as he can, gagging slightly, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as Quimperain cums.

Quimperain’s grip in his hair never tightens- even at his peak, he’s always gentle unless Jannequinard asks. It makes warmth bloom through him, like a rose in spring, red petals unfurling. Satin soft, sweet. Jannequinard swallows diligently as his mouth is filled with Quimperain’s release, hot and salty and rich. His eyes close as he savors it, as he breathes deeply through his nose, and slowly pulls his mouth off of Quimperain. 

His lips are swollen from the friction, and the corners of his mouth ache slightly from the stretch of his jaw, but he smiles all the same. Carefully, he slips his finger out of Quimperain, and pets his thighs reassuringly as his softening member drapes against his hairy stomach. He gently strokes his hand up Quimperain’s thigh and to his flank, feeling his breath heavy in his lungs as Quimperain gasps for air.

“Mm, I did miss that.” Jannequinard’s voice is scratchy from the use of his throat, but he leans down to kiss Quimperain’s cheek.

Quimperain grunts and reaches up with his good hand, to cup the back of his head and bring him down into a deeper kiss. Jannequinard lets out a pleased noise, tongue slipping into Quimperain’s mouth. Neither of them care that their mouths taste like sex, that Jannequinard’s lips are still slick with precum and spit, as Quimperain’s fingers pull gently at his hair to keep him locked into the kiss.

Jannequinard moans, and ventures to lower himself against Quimperain’s body. He lowers his hands to the skirts of his robes, and hitches them up over his thighs as he presses himself to Quimperain, careful to avoid putting too much pressure on his spent flesh.

“Let me take care of that for you,” Quimperain groans. “Lay back against me.”

Jannequinard raises an eyebrow. He does, and Quimperain’s good arm hooks around his middle. He pulls the both of them back onto the bed until Quimperain’s sitting against the headboard, Jannequinard’s back to his chest, and then his bad arm comes up to take its place just under Jannequinard’s bust. 

“Be careful-” 

“‘M being careful.” Quimperain buries his face in Jannequinard’s shoulder, breathing deeply of his scent. Sweat has matted down his hair to his neck, and his skin is perfumed cinnamon and salt. He presses his tongue to his skin, lapping at him like a dog.

“Quimperain- ah-”

Quimperain’s good arm has snaked down between his legs, and with Jannequinard holding his skirts out of the way, he reaches his hand into his smalls, and finds the fabric soaked through with his arousal.

“I love you,” he whispers, barely audible over the sudden roar of blood in Jannequinard’s ears as his fingers squeeze hard around the swollen shaft of his clit. The astrologian squeaks and twists in his grip, but Quimperain’s bad arm, despite it not having been in use for some weeks now, is still strong enough to keep him in place. “Janne, let’s stay like this forever.”

“Forever?” Jannequinard’s voice is high as Quimperain starts to rub hard circles over his clit. Normally, it’d be too much, but it’s just right for him now, as tense as he is with anticipation. It’s enough to make his blood blaze in his veins, his cunt throbbing from deep within. He wants more, he wants to take Quimperain, but-

“Aye,” Quimperain kisses his cheek, his lips smacking loudly against Jannequinard’s skin. Jannequinard whimpers and arcs his back up off of Quimperain’s chest, but the hand between his legs keeps working at him regardless. “Just the both of us-”

“Yes,” Jannequinard groans, “yes, a thousand times- yes.” He’s panting openly now, his clit twitching under Quimperain’s fingers, as he rubs faster and faster. “That’d be- so- good-”

Quimperain smiles against his skin as Jannequinard wails, and with a hard shudder that shakes through him, he unravels in his arms.

Jannequinard slumps against him weakly, thighs trembling, as he gushes against Quimperain’s hand. He’s gasping for air much as Quimperain had done earlier, as Quimperain’s hand withdraws from his now ruined smalls, and rubs his hips soothingly. Jannequinard’s fuzzy stomach is trembling under his fingers, as he pets him, his head falling back against Quimperain’s shoulder.

“Ah… Quimperain….”

“You gorgeous thing,” Quimperain murmurs, as he kisses Jannequinard sweetly. “Perfect, gorgeous thing.”

“‘M not a thing,” Jannequinard protests, weakly. 

“Oh?” Quimperain’s voice is amused, but tired. He switches arms to hold him, his bad arm gets fatigued quickly now, and holding a squirming lordling is enough to wear him out. He’ll have to redouble his training once he’s able to. “You’re the most precious thing to me.”

“Fury, Quimperain,” Jannequinard laughs, breathes in deeply. “You’re a terrible sap today, aren’t you?”

“Is that not to your liking? I am simply letting you know how much I enjoy your company.”

“Is that what it’s called now?” Jannequinard smirks, and receives a kiss for his troubles.

“The truth still remains, that you’re very important to me. And that I am happy to share these moments with you.” Quimperain nuzzles his cheek, and Jannequinard sighs contently. 

“I feel the same way, my dear Quimperain.” Jannequinard sighs. “I suppose we should get up before we’re found.”

“Or I could aid you in taking a midday bath and a change of clothes. There was a most unfortunate incident in which you dripped some blackcurrant cordial upon your robes, and of course, the lord must look presentable for dinner.”

“Look at you, Quimperain. I never thought I’d see the day that you’d learn to scheme as I do.”

“I have an excellent mentor.” He smiles at Jannequinard as the astrologian slides off of his lap, shakily.

“Then let’s make good use of our time for another lesson, why don’t we?” Jannequinard smooths out his skirts as Quimperain composes himself, buttoning up his trousers. He extends a hand for Quimperain, who takes it.

“Gladly.”

—

Quimperain flexes the fingers of his left arm carefully, using muscles that had been bound up tight in a plaster cast and he’s just started to train once more. He’s already loaded up the carriage with Jannequinard’s suitcases, all five of them (and the one carpet bag for himself). He waits now for Jannequinard in the foyer of the manor, along with Beauremont, who is shifting nervously from heel to heel.

“Relax. He’s not going to do anything drastic.”

He can hear the click of Jannequinard’s heels on the tile as he approaches.

“Quimperain, thank you for waiting, and thank you, Beauremont, for seeing us off. Now, there are some words both of us would like to share. Quimperain, do you wish to start?”

Quimperain nods.

“Beauremont, I am grateful for having you aid the lordship in his day to day needs, since my injury prevented me from doing much of my work. You show great promise as a retainer, and I can assure you that any lord or lady would be happy to have you in their employ.” He bows, and Beauremont’s pale cheeks turn pink.

“Oh- Ser Quimperain- that really isn’t necessary-”

“Oh, hush now, Beauremont. Now, my turn. Quimperain has said most of what I wish to say, but I think it will please you to know that I have taken the liberties to write glowing letters of recommendation to some friends I have in high places, who are in need of more staff. I assured them that you would suit their needs perfectly. I also have here,” Jannequinard draws a heavy looking coin purse from his side. “A little goodbye present. Don’t spend it all in one place now!”

Beauremont gulps like a fish out of water. 

“I- I don’t know what to say.” He bows deeply. “Thank you, milord!”

“You needn’t say anything, but if you’d like to brag to your friends of the prestigious position that you held, serving the Viscount of Durendaire, and his kindness, I will not stop you.” Jannequinard puffs out his chest. “Anyways, we shall be going now. I thank you for keeping the house in order while we will be in Tural, and upon our return to Eorzea, you are dismissed from your duties. But don’t think you can slack off! My astrolabe collection must be kept spotless. And I will be checking as soon as I come back.”

Quimperain shakes his head.

“Now, farewell, Beauremont. It was a pleasure to have you in my service. Come along, Quimperain!”

Jannequinard waltzes out the front door, and Quimperain bows his head in acknowledgement to Beauremont, who stands with the heavy sack of coin in his hands, still shell-shocked by the fact that he was holding more coin than he ever had in his life, perhaps.

He holds the carriage door open for Jannequinard, who climbs in as he begins to chatter about their destination.

“Are you excited, Quimperain? I’m very excited. Sandy beaches, warm waters… all the things we’ll do there. I’ve been reading….”

Quimperain just smiles at Jannequinard as he rattles on, like the wheels over the cobblestones. His voice is a warm golden bell in his ears. He’s leaning against his left arm, and Quimperain hums. He raises it up and around Jannequinard’s shoulder, and pulls him in close to his side.

“And- oh!” Jannequinard exclaims. “Your arm!”

“It’s well enough.” Quimperain leans down slightly to kiss his cheek. “Now, keep telling me about what we’ll be doing when we get there. I want to know all your plans.”

Jannequinard grins, and tucks himself closely against his side.

“Of course you do.”

Jannequinard continues, and Quimperain closes his eyes as he listens to him.