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NSFW Claude Week, Jun 6: Purity
Claude takes in a good look at the items strewn across his bed, his head tilted to the side curiously. "Well," he says. "I certainly never would have thought of this as a gift from you, Lorenz."
Not a lot of people are permitted in the personal room of the king of Almyra, especially him as king. Lorenz is no doubt quite aware of this from where he stands to the side of Claude's bed, his arms folded behind his back and that very same back ramrod straight. His face has been pink ever since he first stepped inside alongside Dimitri, and that particular shade has only been rowing in intensity the longer he's been in here. When he'd delicately placed down the gift of brilliant white lace down on Claude's bed, it had been a particularly striking scarlet, and that color is only darker now as he responds. "I thought that it would look particularly flattering upon you, Your Majesty, King Khalid."
Oh, what a sweet, sweet sound it is to hear that title fall from Lorenz's lips. Claude likes to think he's not the kind of guy who rides high on his own coattails. If it weren't for his dreams, the changes he wants to see happen in the world that will bring people closer together, he wouldn't really care about what title he had at all. But there's something about hearing it from Lorenz...
Claude's gaze flicks over to where Dimitri is relaxing in a chaise lounge. His fellow king seems perfectly at ease, watching with a mild smile on his lips and a churning interest behind his one good eye. Dimitri isn't really the planning sort of guy - no, that's not quite right, and a little insulting as well. Dimitri has plans, of course. He has things he wants to accomplish, just like Claude. He can be pretty clever, too, whether that's in coming up with battle tactics thanks to tricks he learned from Teach or being a little sneaky as he gets determined to do something for someone.
But he's not normally what one would call sly - that's it, that's the word Claude is looking for. He doesn't do sneaky little things all to some other grand or self serving goal. And yet....
A grin flashes across Claude's face. "Well, what do you think, Dimitri?" he asks, foregoing any sort of formality with the other man. Why not? They're both kings. Although he has to wonder and suspect that Dimitri knew what effect their titles would have on Lorenz... "Does white lace suit me?"
For a moment, all quiet restraint and mild lounging disappears, and Dimitri gives him the kind of adoring and earnest smile that secretly made Claude swoon back in their school days. The menace. "Everything you wear suits you," he says, too honest and sweet for words. He's going to kill a man, being like that, Claude swears. But then that eases up, his gaze flicking over to where Lorenz is still standing no doubt nervously, and he hums. "Still, I think there's only one course of action in order to be completely sure."
Is he suggesting what Claude thinks he's suggesting? He bites down on his lip a little, still grinning as something hot flutters briefly in the pit of his stomach. Well, one thing he's definitely suggesting, and Claude can only hope that he's right on the other one. Even if he's not, well....
He thinks he rather likes the idea of giving it a shot anyway.
"You are right," Claude agrees, and he turns his head a little, gaze sliding over to where Lorenz is waiting. "There's really only one course of action to take. Lord Gloucester?"
One of these days, Lorenz might actually get over himself. Claude has faith in him, of course. He's improved a great deal from the uptight snob that he admittedly was back when they were all attending school together, and taken strides from the conflicted person who had taken part in the war. That he's even involved with such intimate games and relations with the two of them - men, when Lorenz's family has always stressed onto him the importance of passing on his Crest - is even more proof of this progress.
So, eventually, he'll no doubt get over matters of propriety, and relax a little more about the fact that his lips have met those of two kings. It's just not tonight, as his spine seems to become impossibly straighter. "Yes, Your Majesty King Khalid?"
Well, that works too. Claude thinks he can adjust this in a way that's pleasurable for both of them. And so he turns around, back to the bed where all that pretty lingerie lays, and holds his arms out. "Undress me, please," he says mildly, and waits. As he waits, he watches the way Lorenz's jaw goes a little slack, and every single thought he's probably been having just vanishes behind his eyes.
It's a delight to witness, but Claude doesn't want to waste their night together. He clears his throat, and Lorenz's entire body jerks like he just got hit with a spell. "Oh- yes, of course," he says, and recovers by giving the kind of bow that any etiquette teacher would applaud in delight. That's just how Lorenz is, of course, falling back onto the familiar when faced with something he was unprepared for. That's fine; Claude wants to surprise him, not make him uncomfortable in this situation.
Or, well... Maybe a little uncomfortable, simply as a part of the process that comes with breaking old habits. That shows in how slow and careful Lorenz is as he reaches up, hands against Claude's shoulders in order to draw his robe downwards.
It's one of his more elaborate pieces that he's wearing, beautiful patterns spread across it to make it the highlight of his outfit. Claude is glad to see the way Lorenz admire it as he folds it up, so neat and tidy. It gets set to the side, folded over the back of a small chair, and then Lorenz returns. Maybe if he were to say something, the other man would feel more at ease, but Claude doesn't think so. Even with all of his growth, Lorenz still has his pride - and that's not a bad thing, in Claude's opinion. Yet it would probably make him bristle at being treated so delicately, like he's the kind of person who can't do a simple job like this right.
So Claude stays quiet, and lowers his arms to a more relaxed stance at his side. Lorenz takes the cue, steps around to his front with a slow deep breath. His fingers are swift but accurate when they reach the buttons that pull together Claude's shirt, undo them with no delay. They don't linger, but then, there's not much to linger on; Claude has another shirt underneath that one. It's that time of year in Almyra where the nights can get pretty damn cold...
Or maybe he just wants to watch Lorenz work to reach the thing he knows he wants, those sharp eyes following the curve of Claude's throat.
Just like the robe before it, the waistcoat gets folded up, placed to the side. "So meticulous," Claude says mildly, and watches Lorenz shiver for a moment.
"I am glad to hear that my work pleases you," Lorenz says, standing before him again. And here is the difficult part, where he hesitates. Next comes some things that are a little more intimate than just removing a robe, a waistcoat. Lorenz's lips part, ever so slightly, and he freezes before he can lick his lips. A cute little habit, one Claude has picked up on before. "May I...?"
Claude's gaze flicks away again, lands on Dimitri. It's like watching a lion out in the plains, further into Almyra: no concern, no need to be active just yet, but watching with a sharp gaze all the while. Claude smiles. "We don't have all night, Lord Glouchester."
Just a few words, and Lorenz picks up the pace, unwinding the cloth belt around Claude's waist, and forcing himself to go slow so that it can match the neatness of the other articles of clothing when he puts it to the side. It's such a delight, watching Lorenz battle with himself. It's all in that pride again, mingled in with what he desires. They both know what he wants, after all: to touch Claude, to bury himself into his warmth, and yet still to be serving. To still dress him up so prettily.
So his fingers tremble with how much he's holding himself back when he finally slides them underneath Claude's shirt, pulling it up his torso and over his head. They linger in place, just for a heartbeat, as they slide underneath his waistband to smoothly take care of pants and underclothes both.
And oh how those eyes linger on the exposed curves of Claude's body, ever little bit of him from the plush curves of his ass to the tips of his nipples to where his cock lays limp but waiting.
While the war was a heartache and tragedy in so many ways, Claude has to admit that it certainly had Lorenz learn a lot of little around-the-home type skills - or around the camp, as it were back then. It's not a surprise, frankly. One of Lorenz's better qualities, even when he was young and insufferable, was how he took things into his own hands when he saw other people struggling or suffering. It was what made him a good man underneath all the bullshit his father had dressed him up in when he didn't know better. Claude just never thought it would make him good in the bedroom. You know. Like this.
Claude flashes Lorenz an appreciative smile for all his troubles, because he knows the other man thrives on recognition. This is more horny than glory, but whatever gets the crank going at the time, right? "Truly the lords of Fodlan are all about that service," he purrs, even though that's kind of a damn lie, on account of the fact that Felix Fraldarius is a duke there and is as bossy as anything. "Well, you know the next step, don't you?"
There's shift of Lorenz's arms where they are behind his back, and Claude wonders if he's clenching his fists, wanting so badly to shove him down and have his way with him just like that. But Lorenz Hellman Glouchester is a gentleman in the bedroom, and so he doesn't do that. Instead, he inquires ever so politely, "Would His Majesty prefer help with trying on the garments?"
The answer to that question is obvious.
Lorenz starts from the top down, enclosing the tall neckline that goes with what could be called a lace halter top of sorts. It fits quite well around Claude's chest, not too loose or tight, leaving him to wonder just what the tailor who made this was thinking when they received the order. Clearly it wouldn't have fit Lorenz's frame, and any regular tailor of his would have realized this was a gift, recognizing the misfit it would have made. Did he go to a new one? Either way, the lace feels wonderful against his skin, made perfectly so that it isn't too much of a bother.
As Lorenz does up the back ties, Claude glances at Dimitri, and what he sees immediately sends a wave of warmth rolling down his spine. Oh... Oh, he knows that look in his eye. The way it's grown dark, focused, centered purely on him. How his hand has gone carefully still against the lounge, so that his Crest-driven strength doesn't destroy something by accident.
That's certainly a sign that white lace suits the hell out of him.
"Ah," says Lorenz softly, snapping Claude out of his thoughts quite neatly and realizing that his other lover has come to kneel besides him. Only, he's paused mid-kneel, a pair of lace panties in his hands and his eyes locked on Claude's now half-hard cock.
Whups.
Claude doesn't hesitate in the slightest. "Is there a problem?" he asks, and Lorenz is forced to tear that hungry gaze away from his length. Down between his legs, perfectly visible thanks to the movement he stopped right in the middle of, it's so terribly easy to see the bulge that's pressing against the inside of his pants.
"Of course not," Lorenz manages, sounding incredibly put together despite the state of his arousal making it clear that he's not. Claude will chalk that up to the fine education of Lorenz's etiquette teachers, and a lifetime of having to play along to Fodlish noble political bullshit. Grace under pressure, or something like that. He slides his fingers right on the inside of the panties, spreads them out carefully as he holds them to Claude. Just like with the top, these feel good too as he steps inside, feels them slide up his legs.
They manage past his calves and over his knees with little issue. Yet when they reach the top of his thighs, Lorenz hesitates. There's an obvious solution to the problem Claude's ever hardening cock, of course. They both know what it is. Yet it takes Lorenz a moment to work up the courage and self control necessary to leave the panties to just one hand.
The other is an opportunist, not missing the chance to glide against Claude's skin as it circles around. That? Is an indulgence, and one Claude permits him. Besides, he's already going to be touching plenty more of him. Lorenz simply pauses, their play having reached this point so much quicker than really either of them could have expected it to. The weight of Dimitri's predatory gaze is heavy, practically physical, when Lorenz finally presses his fingers along Claude's length in order to guide it down into the panties to be tucked away out of sight.
Well, mostly out of sight. The bulge Claude's cock makes is impossible to miss, the faintest of little wet stains showing from where he got up at being handled so soon.
Poor Lorenz. It looks as though he wants to do so much in that moment, facade breaking completely for a second with the longing furrow of his brow, before he gets over himself. A deep breath, and then - "I will retrieve the garters and stockings next."
"Very good," Claude says, and lets him duck away behind him. One of these days, they really will get Lorenz to break. Having a 'punishment' is just as fun as anything else, after all, but Lorenz is too much of a proud perfectionist to get there that easily. Fortunately, Claude has someone else he can needle right to that point - although in this case, it's him that's goading on the punishment.
So while Lorenz is busy gathering up the last articles of clothing, Claude locks eyes with Dimitri. Slyly, teasing, he drags his hand down to his front, grinds the tip of his finger against the wet spot that signals just how much he wants. It feels good, teasing that sensitive little area, but what feels even better is the look Dimitri is giving him.
Ravenous. Possessive. Five seconds away from leaping from the lounge so hard it'd probably topple over, and fucking Claude through the floor.
Claude swipes his hand away from his clothed cock just before the sound of Lorenz's boot heel signals he's turning around. "In my professional opinion, it would be easier to put your stockings on once you've seated yourself," he says, having decided he's an expert in fashion over the last six years. Sometimes, he's even right. "But allow me to put the garter belt on your person first."
"Well, who am I to argue with a professional opinion?" Claude says, maybe a little cheekily if only to watch Lorenz's mouth twitch. He counts that as another victory, honestly. He much prefers Lorenz as he is now, instead of the young man who dogged his footsteps and tried to undermine his authority, but, well, what can he say?
Sometimes it's nice to know he can still get under Lorenz's skin just a little bit.
Just like everything else, the garter belt fits perfectly along Claude's hips, and there's something about the snugness of it that makes him think of his lovers gripping him tightly as they fuck wildly into him. With how filthy his thoughts roll, it's nothing less than a miracle that his cock hasn't pressed right out of its pretty lace confinement. He keeps it under control, sitting on the edge of his bed.
That's when it properly hits him, for whatever reason. Suddenly, the lace almost feels as though it means something, as though he's become an entirely different person. He feels almost dainty, regal - which is kind of stupid and he's well aware. He's a king. Just by virtue of existing, he's regal. Or, alright, maybe it doesn't work like that, but that still means this shouldn't be anything new. How many times has he wore his crown now? How many times has he sat on the throne his father once sat on?
And yet this is what does it for him: raising his leg up, toes trailing against the outside of Lorenz's pants leg, and sitting in pretty white.
"So," he purrs, heat stirring in his groin as he watches Lorenz freeze. "The stockings, right?"
They're folded daintily over one of Lorenz's arms, so flat that one would never think they're anything special just looking at them. Stockings don't tend to. They shine best when they're slid over the tip of a toe, smoothed over the relaxed muscle of Claude's calf, and digging into his thighs as Lorenz attaches them to the garters.
Time feels as though it's stopped, with the two of them like this. Lorenz makes a striking figure as he kneels inbetween Claude's legs, his breath sinking down past silk and into his eagerly awaiting flesh. And all he has to do is hold his leg out, let this fingers slide against his skin. What a treat. What a temptation. The things he will do to Dimitri later in appreciation can almost not be said aloud.
It's very much the same feeling the second go around, and then... They stay in place. Their eyes meet, Claude's from above, Lorenz's from below, and there's another pulse of heat in his cock.
Slowly, pointedly, Claude slides his legs open just a little wider. "Good job, Lord Glouchester," he murmurs. "I think you've heard a reward for your skill."
He barely has time to finish the sentence, to hold his arms out for him, before Lorenz is already pushing himself up onto his feet and against Claude's body. If there's anything smoother than silk, it's Lorenz's hair and whatever mystery product he uses to keep it like that. It always feels good, and it feels great as it falls around Claude, brushes against his shoulders and ear.
The way their lips feel slotted together is even better.
Claude arches his back, groans into the kiss as Lorenz forgoes all his proper bullshit to grind down against him. His hands are greedy where they roam against his sides, taking in everything they've put onto his body like it's some sort of claim. Well, he can take in all he wants. Claude's priorities are similarly inclined, after all. He reaches up, slides his fingers against Lorenz's neck, into his hair, keeps him closer as he swallows up every demanding and needy groan. He's needy, too.
Overwhelmed by heat, drowning in kisses, it's easy to forget the rest of the world exists... At least, up until it presses down against Lorenz's back, and Claude breaks his kiss so that he can look over Lorenz's shoulder to meet one single brilliantly blue eye.
With the strings to his self control undone, Lorenz can't stop the moan that tumbles out of his throat when Dimitri leans down to drag his teeth along the length of it. Probably he catches a bit of that vividly purple hair in his mouth, but he doesn't seem to care. Dimitri has his priorities, and those priorities mean grabbing onto Lorenz's hips and nipping at his ear. "I believe I'll be stepping in now," he says, voice dark and low. Wanting as much as any of them.
Even if it means none of them are going to be able to walk the next day.
Not a lot of people are permitted in the personal room of the king of Almyra, especially him as king. Lorenz is no doubt quite aware of this from where he stands to the side of Claude's bed, his arms folded behind his back and that very same back ramrod straight. His face has been pink ever since he first stepped inside alongside Dimitri, and that particular shade has only been rowing in intensity the longer he's been in here. When he'd delicately placed down the gift of brilliant white lace down on Claude's bed, it had been a particularly striking scarlet, and that color is only darker now as he responds. "I thought that it would look particularly flattering upon you, Your Majesty, King Khalid."
Oh, what a sweet, sweet sound it is to hear that title fall from Lorenz's lips. Claude likes to think he's not the kind of guy who rides high on his own coattails. If it weren't for his dreams, the changes he wants to see happen in the world that will bring people closer together, he wouldn't really care about what title he had at all. But there's something about hearing it from Lorenz...
Claude's gaze flicks over to where Dimitri is relaxing in a chaise lounge. His fellow king seems perfectly at ease, watching with a mild smile on his lips and a churning interest behind his one good eye. Dimitri isn't really the planning sort of guy - no, that's not quite right, and a little insulting as well. Dimitri has plans, of course. He has things he wants to accomplish, just like Claude. He can be pretty clever, too, whether that's in coming up with battle tactics thanks to tricks he learned from Teach or being a little sneaky as he gets determined to do something for someone.
But he's not normally what one would call sly - that's it, that's the word Claude is looking for. He doesn't do sneaky little things all to some other grand or self serving goal. And yet....
A grin flashes across Claude's face. "Well, what do you think, Dimitri?" he asks, foregoing any sort of formality with the other man. Why not? They're both kings. Although he has to wonder and suspect that Dimitri knew what effect their titles would have on Lorenz... "Does white lace suit me?"
For a moment, all quiet restraint and mild lounging disappears, and Dimitri gives him the kind of adoring and earnest smile that secretly made Claude swoon back in their school days. The menace. "Everything you wear suits you," he says, too honest and sweet for words. He's going to kill a man, being like that, Claude swears. But then that eases up, his gaze flicking over to where Lorenz is still standing no doubt nervously, and he hums. "Still, I think there's only one course of action in order to be completely sure."
Is he suggesting what Claude thinks he's suggesting? He bites down on his lip a little, still grinning as something hot flutters briefly in the pit of his stomach. Well, one thing he's definitely suggesting, and Claude can only hope that he's right on the other one. Even if he's not, well....
He thinks he rather likes the idea of giving it a shot anyway.
"You are right," Claude agrees, and he turns his head a little, gaze sliding over to where Lorenz is waiting. "There's really only one course of action to take. Lord Gloucester?"
One of these days, Lorenz might actually get over himself. Claude has faith in him, of course. He's improved a great deal from the uptight snob that he admittedly was back when they were all attending school together, and taken strides from the conflicted person who had taken part in the war. That he's even involved with such intimate games and relations with the two of them - men, when Lorenz's family has always stressed onto him the importance of passing on his Crest - is even more proof of this progress.
So, eventually, he'll no doubt get over matters of propriety, and relax a little more about the fact that his lips have met those of two kings. It's just not tonight, as his spine seems to become impossibly straighter. "Yes, Your Majesty King Khalid?"
Well, that works too. Claude thinks he can adjust this in a way that's pleasurable for both of them. And so he turns around, back to the bed where all that pretty lingerie lays, and holds his arms out. "Undress me, please," he says mildly, and waits. As he waits, he watches the way Lorenz's jaw goes a little slack, and every single thought he's probably been having just vanishes behind his eyes.
It's a delight to witness, but Claude doesn't want to waste their night together. He clears his throat, and Lorenz's entire body jerks like he just got hit with a spell. "Oh- yes, of course," he says, and recovers by giving the kind of bow that any etiquette teacher would applaud in delight. That's just how Lorenz is, of course, falling back onto the familiar when faced with something he was unprepared for. That's fine; Claude wants to surprise him, not make him uncomfortable in this situation.
Or, well... Maybe a little uncomfortable, simply as a part of the process that comes with breaking old habits. That shows in how slow and careful Lorenz is as he reaches up, hands against Claude's shoulders in order to draw his robe downwards.
It's one of his more elaborate pieces that he's wearing, beautiful patterns spread across it to make it the highlight of his outfit. Claude is glad to see the way Lorenz admire it as he folds it up, so neat and tidy. It gets set to the side, folded over the back of a small chair, and then Lorenz returns. Maybe if he were to say something, the other man would feel more at ease, but Claude doesn't think so. Even with all of his growth, Lorenz still has his pride - and that's not a bad thing, in Claude's opinion. Yet it would probably make him bristle at being treated so delicately, like he's the kind of person who can't do a simple job like this right.
So Claude stays quiet, and lowers his arms to a more relaxed stance at his side. Lorenz takes the cue, steps around to his front with a slow deep breath. His fingers are swift but accurate when they reach the buttons that pull together Claude's shirt, undo them with no delay. They don't linger, but then, there's not much to linger on; Claude has another shirt underneath that one. It's that time of year in Almyra where the nights can get pretty damn cold...
Or maybe he just wants to watch Lorenz work to reach the thing he knows he wants, those sharp eyes following the curve of Claude's throat.
Just like the robe before it, the waistcoat gets folded up, placed to the side. "So meticulous," Claude says mildly, and watches Lorenz shiver for a moment.
"I am glad to hear that my work pleases you," Lorenz says, standing before him again. And here is the difficult part, where he hesitates. Next comes some things that are a little more intimate than just removing a robe, a waistcoat. Lorenz's lips part, ever so slightly, and he freezes before he can lick his lips. A cute little habit, one Claude has picked up on before. "May I...?"
Claude's gaze flicks away again, lands on Dimitri. It's like watching a lion out in the plains, further into Almyra: no concern, no need to be active just yet, but watching with a sharp gaze all the while. Claude smiles. "We don't have all night, Lord Glouchester."
Just a few words, and Lorenz picks up the pace, unwinding the cloth belt around Claude's waist, and forcing himself to go slow so that it can match the neatness of the other articles of clothing when he puts it to the side. It's such a delight, watching Lorenz battle with himself. It's all in that pride again, mingled in with what he desires. They both know what he wants, after all: to touch Claude, to bury himself into his warmth, and yet still to be serving. To still dress him up so prettily.
So his fingers tremble with how much he's holding himself back when he finally slides them underneath Claude's shirt, pulling it up his torso and over his head. They linger in place, just for a heartbeat, as they slide underneath his waistband to smoothly take care of pants and underclothes both.
And oh how those eyes linger on the exposed curves of Claude's body, ever little bit of him from the plush curves of his ass to the tips of his nipples to where his cock lays limp but waiting.
While the war was a heartache and tragedy in so many ways, Claude has to admit that it certainly had Lorenz learn a lot of little around-the-home type skills - or around the camp, as it were back then. It's not a surprise, frankly. One of Lorenz's better qualities, even when he was young and insufferable, was how he took things into his own hands when he saw other people struggling or suffering. It was what made him a good man underneath all the bullshit his father had dressed him up in when he didn't know better. Claude just never thought it would make him good in the bedroom. You know. Like this.
Claude flashes Lorenz an appreciative smile for all his troubles, because he knows the other man thrives on recognition. This is more horny than glory, but whatever gets the crank going at the time, right? "Truly the lords of Fodlan are all about that service," he purrs, even though that's kind of a damn lie, on account of the fact that Felix Fraldarius is a duke there and is as bossy as anything. "Well, you know the next step, don't you?"
There's shift of Lorenz's arms where they are behind his back, and Claude wonders if he's clenching his fists, wanting so badly to shove him down and have his way with him just like that. But Lorenz Hellman Glouchester is a gentleman in the bedroom, and so he doesn't do that. Instead, he inquires ever so politely, "Would His Majesty prefer help with trying on the garments?"
The answer to that question is obvious.
Lorenz starts from the top down, enclosing the tall neckline that goes with what could be called a lace halter top of sorts. It fits quite well around Claude's chest, not too loose or tight, leaving him to wonder just what the tailor who made this was thinking when they received the order. Clearly it wouldn't have fit Lorenz's frame, and any regular tailor of his would have realized this was a gift, recognizing the misfit it would have made. Did he go to a new one? Either way, the lace feels wonderful against his skin, made perfectly so that it isn't too much of a bother.
As Lorenz does up the back ties, Claude glances at Dimitri, and what he sees immediately sends a wave of warmth rolling down his spine. Oh... Oh, he knows that look in his eye. The way it's grown dark, focused, centered purely on him. How his hand has gone carefully still against the lounge, so that his Crest-driven strength doesn't destroy something by accident.
That's certainly a sign that white lace suits the hell out of him.
"Ah," says Lorenz softly, snapping Claude out of his thoughts quite neatly and realizing that his other lover has come to kneel besides him. Only, he's paused mid-kneel, a pair of lace panties in his hands and his eyes locked on Claude's now half-hard cock.
Whups.
Claude doesn't hesitate in the slightest. "Is there a problem?" he asks, and Lorenz is forced to tear that hungry gaze away from his length. Down between his legs, perfectly visible thanks to the movement he stopped right in the middle of, it's so terribly easy to see the bulge that's pressing against the inside of his pants.
"Of course not," Lorenz manages, sounding incredibly put together despite the state of his arousal making it clear that he's not. Claude will chalk that up to the fine education of Lorenz's etiquette teachers, and a lifetime of having to play along to Fodlish noble political bullshit. Grace under pressure, or something like that. He slides his fingers right on the inside of the panties, spreads them out carefully as he holds them to Claude. Just like with the top, these feel good too as he steps inside, feels them slide up his legs.
They manage past his calves and over his knees with little issue. Yet when they reach the top of his thighs, Lorenz hesitates. There's an obvious solution to the problem Claude's ever hardening cock, of course. They both know what it is. Yet it takes Lorenz a moment to work up the courage and self control necessary to leave the panties to just one hand.
The other is an opportunist, not missing the chance to glide against Claude's skin as it circles around. That? Is an indulgence, and one Claude permits him. Besides, he's already going to be touching plenty more of him. Lorenz simply pauses, their play having reached this point so much quicker than really either of them could have expected it to. The weight of Dimitri's predatory gaze is heavy, practically physical, when Lorenz finally presses his fingers along Claude's length in order to guide it down into the panties to be tucked away out of sight.
Well, mostly out of sight. The bulge Claude's cock makes is impossible to miss, the faintest of little wet stains showing from where he got up at being handled so soon.
Poor Lorenz. It looks as though he wants to do so much in that moment, facade breaking completely for a second with the longing furrow of his brow, before he gets over himself. A deep breath, and then - "I will retrieve the garters and stockings next."
"Very good," Claude says, and lets him duck away behind him. One of these days, they really will get Lorenz to break. Having a 'punishment' is just as fun as anything else, after all, but Lorenz is too much of a proud perfectionist to get there that easily. Fortunately, Claude has someone else he can needle right to that point - although in this case, it's him that's goading on the punishment.
So while Lorenz is busy gathering up the last articles of clothing, Claude locks eyes with Dimitri. Slyly, teasing, he drags his hand down to his front, grinds the tip of his finger against the wet spot that signals just how much he wants. It feels good, teasing that sensitive little area, but what feels even better is the look Dimitri is giving him.
Ravenous. Possessive. Five seconds away from leaping from the lounge so hard it'd probably topple over, and fucking Claude through the floor.
Claude swipes his hand away from his clothed cock just before the sound of Lorenz's boot heel signals he's turning around. "In my professional opinion, it would be easier to put your stockings on once you've seated yourself," he says, having decided he's an expert in fashion over the last six years. Sometimes, he's even right. "But allow me to put the garter belt on your person first."
"Well, who am I to argue with a professional opinion?" Claude says, maybe a little cheekily if only to watch Lorenz's mouth twitch. He counts that as another victory, honestly. He much prefers Lorenz as he is now, instead of the young man who dogged his footsteps and tried to undermine his authority, but, well, what can he say?
Sometimes it's nice to know he can still get under Lorenz's skin just a little bit.
Just like everything else, the garter belt fits perfectly along Claude's hips, and there's something about the snugness of it that makes him think of his lovers gripping him tightly as they fuck wildly into him. With how filthy his thoughts roll, it's nothing less than a miracle that his cock hasn't pressed right out of its pretty lace confinement. He keeps it under control, sitting on the edge of his bed.
That's when it properly hits him, for whatever reason. Suddenly, the lace almost feels as though it means something, as though he's become an entirely different person. He feels almost dainty, regal - which is kind of stupid and he's well aware. He's a king. Just by virtue of existing, he's regal. Or, alright, maybe it doesn't work like that, but that still means this shouldn't be anything new. How many times has he wore his crown now? How many times has he sat on the throne his father once sat on?
And yet this is what does it for him: raising his leg up, toes trailing against the outside of Lorenz's pants leg, and sitting in pretty white.
"So," he purrs, heat stirring in his groin as he watches Lorenz freeze. "The stockings, right?"
They're folded daintily over one of Lorenz's arms, so flat that one would never think they're anything special just looking at them. Stockings don't tend to. They shine best when they're slid over the tip of a toe, smoothed over the relaxed muscle of Claude's calf, and digging into his thighs as Lorenz attaches them to the garters.
Time feels as though it's stopped, with the two of them like this. Lorenz makes a striking figure as he kneels inbetween Claude's legs, his breath sinking down past silk and into his eagerly awaiting flesh. And all he has to do is hold his leg out, let this fingers slide against his skin. What a treat. What a temptation. The things he will do to Dimitri later in appreciation can almost not be said aloud.
It's very much the same feeling the second go around, and then... They stay in place. Their eyes meet, Claude's from above, Lorenz's from below, and there's another pulse of heat in his cock.
Slowly, pointedly, Claude slides his legs open just a little wider. "Good job, Lord Glouchester," he murmurs. "I think you've heard a reward for your skill."
He barely has time to finish the sentence, to hold his arms out for him, before Lorenz is already pushing himself up onto his feet and against Claude's body. If there's anything smoother than silk, it's Lorenz's hair and whatever mystery product he uses to keep it like that. It always feels good, and it feels great as it falls around Claude, brushes against his shoulders and ear.
The way their lips feel slotted together is even better.
Claude arches his back, groans into the kiss as Lorenz forgoes all his proper bullshit to grind down against him. His hands are greedy where they roam against his sides, taking in everything they've put onto his body like it's some sort of claim. Well, he can take in all he wants. Claude's priorities are similarly inclined, after all. He reaches up, slides his fingers against Lorenz's neck, into his hair, keeps him closer as he swallows up every demanding and needy groan. He's needy, too.
Overwhelmed by heat, drowning in kisses, it's easy to forget the rest of the world exists... At least, up until it presses down against Lorenz's back, and Claude breaks his kiss so that he can look over Lorenz's shoulder to meet one single brilliantly blue eye.
With the strings to his self control undone, Lorenz can't stop the moan that tumbles out of his throat when Dimitri leans down to drag his teeth along the length of it. Probably he catches a bit of that vividly purple hair in his mouth, but he doesn't seem to care. Dimitri has his priorities, and those priorities mean grabbing onto Lorenz's hips and nipping at his ear. "I believe I'll be stepping in now," he says, voice dark and low. Wanting as much as any of them.
Even if it means none of them are going to be able to walk the next day.