The man, having gotten the response he wanted, laughed and fell back into the crowd.
“How often had that happened today?” Pheobus asked.
“I haven’t kept track,” Clopin admitted. “So! Your wife has left you in my sinful hands, has she?”
Pheobus blushed, and took another swig of wine.
“I see,” Clopin said. He put his other hand on Pheobus’ elbow, leading him gently from the crowd. “Gyspy women are more spirited than French women, aren’t they?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Pheobus admitted.
“No?” Clopin said, not sure if he was surprised. “You’re a very handsome, confident man. What wouldn’t the women of France want with you?”
“I have been on the front since I was a boy,” Pheobus said. “I took the place of my General when he was killed in battle,”
Clopin nearly asked what a boy was doing on the war front before the answer occurred to him.
“Where did your General find you?” He asked instead.
“Following the company. I was too young to join, but he promised to keep me with him until I was old enough,”
“I’m sure you grew quickly under his care,” Clopin remarked.
“I would like to think so,” Pheobus said. “He trained me in armed combat for years,”
Clopin decided that he was uncomfortable with the turn this conversation was going, so drew it back to their combined interests. “Is that what produced the fine specimen of manhood we see before us?”
Pheobus blushed. “You mock me,”
“I do no such thing,” Clopin said.
“I think you do,”
“Why think? You know precisely when I’m mocking you, Captain, because I’m not the type to hide a good joke,”
“Please, call me Pheobus. Saying ‘Captain’ sounds like a joke,”
“If you insist,” Clopin said. “I can call you whatever you like, wherever you like. And I can call it quite loudly, you know. Some have said I’m quite operatic- an altissimo, said one aficionado,”
“I- what?”
“Well, he wasn’t in the position to call me a castrata,”
Pheobus gave him a glazed, wine-addle stare. Clopin raised his mask to frown at him.
“I hope the wine hasn’t dulled you too much,” Clopin said. “I don’t know what my sinful hands would do with themselves if you couldn’t rise to the occasion,”
Understanding finally cleared across Pheobus’ face.
“M’sieur Clopin,” He choked. “I am no longer a boy,”
“Who ever said you were? Boys are instructed in swordplay, while men already know how to handle one. Sadly, I’m no solider, so I’ll ask you to direct the maneuvers from here on out,”
“No, you don’t understand,” Pheobus snapped. “I’m married,”
“I understand that very well,” Clopin asked. “Just as well as I understand what your wife doesn’t have,”
“No,” Pheobus said, working fruitlessly to untangle himself from Clopin’s arms. “I’m going to find my wife,”
Clopin spun him like a dance partner into a quiet alcove, away from the main street. He made a little prayer that no one would look out their window to see him feeling up the old Captain of the Guard anytime soon, and set to work pressing Pheobus against the wall.
“M’sieur Pheobus, your dedication to holy matrimony is touching. Really, it is! But the bonds that bind don’t touch as well as the human body, and we both know your wife is out dancing,” Clopin said. “Now, in response, I believe I suggested the opera,”
“You did,” Pheobus said. “Very eloquently. I believe I told you I was done with that nonsense,”
“Too true,” Clopin said. “But nonsense is never really done with you, which is why it’s best to avoid nonsense as often as possible,”
He dragged a nail along the sensitive sides of Pheobus’ neck.
“Stop that,” Pheobus said.
“Nonesense,” Clopin responded, tucking his knee between Pheobus’ legs. He was hardening already. He pulled the neck of Pheobus’ tunic down a touch and sucked at his collarbone. His breathe hitched against him.
“Clopin-“ Pheobus warned.
“It’s a pity you aren’t a boy anymore,” Clopin muttered, hands moving under Pheobus’ tunic. “Because there are things I could do that would make a boy sing like a castrata. There are parts of the body the boy hasn’t been familiarized with, yet. Moves and practices he hasn’t heard of, before,”
His thumb brushed across a nipple, which hardened.
“But no, you have to be a man, fresh from war and marriage. With men, I must become creative. The piano-maker can play his piano from the start, but the pianist must acquaint himself with the new tone of each instrument. The keys must be played, the pitch perfected. Men are much the same way. Some are out of tune, but the process of fixing them is pleasurable for everyone. Boys are alright, but I much prefer the men,” Clopin said, his hands sliding all around Pheobus’ body, marking the spaces that made his breathe quicken when his nimble fingers played across it.
His stomach was sensitive, so Clopin dived down to taste his navel. Pheobus bucked suddenly against him, and Clopin held his hips as he licked across his stomach. Then up he went, slowly circling a nipple as Pheobus’ breath came in heavy pants, hips jerking vainly.
He sucked one into his mouth and heard a quiet, strangled grunt. He pulled away.
“Something the matter, Pheobus?” He asked. Pheobus was flushed, incoherent. Poor boy.
“You look terrible. I think you ought to lie down,” Clopin said, tucking Pheobus back into his clothes. He pulled the sun mask down over his face, then took his hand like a child and led him through Paris. “Come along,”
I only just rewatched this movie for the first time in like, ever (partly so I could see the appeal of all these HoND prompts ...), and dear sweet lord this was awesome!
Clopin was brilliant--plus, I got to learn some history when I went to look up who Brighelle was--and OMG this is way better than I would've expected, based on a prompt for a movie I'm not screamingly fond of. ♥
“But no, you have to be a man, fresh from war and marriage. With men, I must become creative. The piano-maker can play his piano from the start, but the pianist must acquaint himself with the new tone of each instrument. The keys must be played, the pitch perfected. Men are much the same way. Some are out of tune, but the process of fixing them is pleasurable for everyone. Boys are alright, but I much prefer the men,” Clopin said, his hands sliding all around Pheobus’ body, marking the spaces that made his breathe quicken when his nimble fingers played across it.
*dead* That was brilliantly worded, and I love the piano reference--it worked perfect for this!
Clopin’s caravan was parked just outside the carnival. His horses were very glad to see him, straining against their tethers to nuzzle his face. He greeted them briefly, then lead Pheobus up the stairs, and inside.
“You have… lots of things,” Pheobus said slowly, looking around the packed caravan at the knickknacks and tchochkes Clopin had collected from his travels. Normally, Clopin would be very interested in showing Pheobus the many different toys and puppets he had brought from across the globe, but today he was focused. Instead, he took both of their hats, masks and jackets, tossed them somewhere, and lay Pheobus on the bed.
“Ooh,” Clopin said, delighted at the wall of muscle hidden under Pheobus’ tunic. “Scars,”
Clopin sucked the one on his shoulder. Pheobus grunted.
“Delicious,” He said. He licked Pheobus from ear to collar, trailing a line between his pecs, and then down to the front of his pants. “Are you still wearing your shoes?”
“Huh?” Pheobus said.
“Wearing shoes to bed is simply rude,” Clopin sighed. He pushed Pheobus’ boots off, then whipped off his pants. The little solider, unheeded by alcohol, sprang to attention.
“Are there scars down here, too?” Clopin asked, skimming his hands along Pheobus’ thighs. He ran his nails downwards and watched Pheobus shiver.
“I don’t remember,” Pheobus said.
“I had better check, then, shouldn’t I?” Clopin said, clambering down the bed to spread his knees apart. He started at the knee, kissing and licking from inside out. Pheobus sputtered, then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Was that one?”
“Yes,” Pheobus said. Clopin nipped inside his thigh. “Yes. Yes, that’s the one,”
Clopin went slowly from knee to knee (“That’s one”), moving upward (“Oh god, yes,”) and punctuating the landscape with little bites (“Holy mother offfffu-“). Eventually, he ran out of leg, and reached the groin. Pheobus’ balls were tight, his dick straining against his stomach.
“Yes yes yes yes yes,” Pheobus whimpered.
“Really? Here?” Clopin asked, rolling a thumb from base to tip. “No scars from this angle. From the look of it, it could have broken a saber. At least, in the condition it’s in,”
“Yes,” Pheobus moaned.
“If you insist,” Clopin said. He brought the head forward, swiping a bubble of precome from the tip. “Doesn’t taste like a scar,”
Pheobus made a noise. It might have been an affirmation. Clopin swiped his tongue across and around, then swallowed the whole thing down. Pheobus gasped, a hint of a cry escaping. Clopin worked the shaft with his hand, laving the cock with his tongue and stretching the foreskin away. Pheobus shook against him.
When he began to make quiet, mewling noises, Clopin decided enough was enough. He sat up, wiped his chin, and went to his cupboards.
“What-“ Pheobus sputtered.
“Oh please, like I would forget about your saber,” Clopin said, waving away his concern. “I was worried it might need a little oil, that’s all,”
He took his bottle of massage oil out of the cupboard and poured some on Pheobus’ chest. Normally, it was supposed to be heated, but he hadn’t had the time to prepare. Pheobus jolted when the cold liquid connected with flesh, then groaned when Clopin straddled his hips, working the oil into skin and muscle. He worked down, from the shoulders to his sides, focusing to stop himself from grinding on the cock pressed against his ass. Pheobus strained his hips upwards, seeking leverage, but Clopin was seated just far enough not to give him any friction.
Finally, the oil reached his thighs. Clopin moved away again, massaging first down, then up, covering the twitching cock from base to tip in the warmed, slippery liquid.
Pheobus grabbed him and dragged him into a kiss, ignoring his attempts to get up and finish what he’d started. Pheobus palmed a handful of his ass with one hand, and a smear of oil with the other. With Clopin’s erection pressed between their stomachs, he had all the leverage he needed to lift his hips, part his ass and push into the opening.
Clopin choked on a moan. “Somehow, I forgot you knew how to do this,”
“You have more tricks than I’m used to, but I’m not ignorant,” Pheobus admitted, working his finger deeper inside of him. Clopin shivered, fighting himself not to push back, biting back moans as Pheobus pressed the sensitive passage of his inner walls.
And then he reached the prostate. Clopin gave a very undignified yelp.
“Who was your reviewer? You don’t sound like an altissimo,”
“No need to strain at the start of the show,” Clopin gasped. He bucked and whined as Pheobus pushed a second finger inside. “One should always save the aria for last,”
“With a reputation like yours, I’m eager to hear it,” Pheobus said.
“If you keep doing that, the show will be much shorter than expected,” Clopin moaned, grinding away at Pheobus’ stomach. Pheobus lifted him away from the warmth of his chest, still fucking him open with his fingers. Clopin left a string of come across his stomach.
“You do really like this,” Pheobus remarked.
“I do, actually,” Clopin said, wrapping his fingers around Pheobus’ wrist and pulling him away. He lifted Pheobus’ knees and pushed himself onto Pheobus’ cock, whimpering. Pheobus guided him gently down until he’d been swallowed to the hilt.
Clopin stilled, shuddering, as he adjusted.
“Are you alright?” Pheobus asked. Clopin nodded. He was hot and tight around Pheobus, and he resisted the urge to thrust upward.
“You look far too worried for someone sharing my bed- why won’t you relax?” Clopin suggested, flicking Pheobus’ nose. He rolled his hips, and hissed. “If I were to judge only your expression, I’d think you were performing surgery instead of trying for a Bishop,”
“It’s been some time since my last biology lesson, but I believe a woman needs to be involved for the production of a Bishop,” Pheobus said.
“You were a solider less than an hour ago, now you’re training to be a doctor,” Clopin said, lifting himself on Pheobus’ knees and then pushing down again. “The sabre has become a scalpel,”
Part six FINALLY FINISHED
anonymous
June 9 2010, 14:23:25 UTC
“It’s been an educational experience,” Pheobus admitted, gripping Clopin’s hip to steady him. The gypsy gathered his knees beneath him to quicken his thrusts, bracing himself against Pheobus’ chest. Pheobus’ hips snapped forward, and the shock caused Clopin to cry out.
He clapped a hand across his mouth. Pheobus drove up again and heard a small gasp break free.
“I was promised an aria,” Pheobus reminded him.
“The devil take your aria,” Clopin moaned, grinding down on Pheobus’ cock. Pheobus dragged him into another kiss, rolling him onto his back.
“The devil takes too long,” Pheobus said. He spread Clopin’s legs and thrust deep inside of him, finally eliciting a groan.
“Varlet,” Clopin gasped. Pheobus pushed Clopin’s leg over his shoulder and pounded into him; the gasps became quicker and more ragged, culminating in soft cries.
Clopin reached up again to stifle the sounds, so Pheobus gathered his wrists in one hand and pushed them over his head. He bent his head and plowed into Clopin, surging towards completion.
“Ay, Santa Maria, la Madonna, nuestro madre de dios, el Senor Jesus Christ-” Clopin rattled off. “Please, touch me,”
“Blasphemy,” Pheobus groaned, wrapping his hand around Clopin’s dick. He spread his thumb across the head, and whatever Clopin tried to say in retaliation unraveled into whimpers.
“I’m about to come,” Pheobus squeaked.
“Yes,” Clopin moaned, bucking into Pheobus’ fist. “That’s fine,”
. Pheobus thrust hard inside the gypsy, and finally Clopin bent his head back and keened as he came in strings across his stomach. Pheobus was not far behind.
Clopin wrenched his wrists free and clapped both hands across his mouth. The gasps echoed in the hollow of his palms. Pheobus wrenched them apart.
“Pater hêmôn ho en toes ouranoes,” Clopin gasped. “Hagiasthêtô to onoma sou…”
“Prayers spoken in such circumstance will have you smote,” Pheobus mumbled.
“I think I have been smote,” Clopin said.
“You flatter me,”
“In the hopes of a repeat performance,” Clopin said, cocking an eyebrow. He looked remarkably like his own Brighelle mask, in the dim light.
“That reminds me,” Pheobus said. “Whatever amateur wrote your last review was an extremist- to a trained ear, you’re obviously a tenor,”
“At least I was in pitch,” Clopin said.
(The ending feels a little sudden to me- I kept looking for a better way to close it, but in all the other endings, they just kept talking. And I wanted to end this long bastard. So, yeah, I ship this, now. Thanks alot, OP)
Re: Part six FINALLY FINISHEDstarsimpulseJune 11 2010, 07:16:52 UTC
okay, this was epic. i haven't seen the movie in years and i adored it. clopin is so cheeky, and just, guh I SHIP THEM LIKE BURNING NOW. *goes off to watch the movie*
“How often had that happened today?” Pheobus asked.
“I haven’t kept track,” Clopin admitted. “So! Your wife has left you in my sinful hands, has she?”
Pheobus blushed, and took another swig of wine.
“I see,” Clopin said. He put his other hand on Pheobus’ elbow, leading him gently from the crowd. “Gyspy women are more spirited than French women, aren’t they?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Pheobus admitted.
“No?” Clopin said, not sure if he was surprised. “You’re a very handsome, confident man. What wouldn’t the women of France want with you?”
“I have been on the front since I was a boy,” Pheobus said. “I took the place of my General when he was killed in battle,”
Clopin nearly asked what a boy was doing on the war front before the answer occurred to him.
“Where did your General find you?” He asked instead.
“Following the company. I was too young to join, but he promised to keep me with him until I was old enough,”
“I’m sure you grew quickly under his care,” Clopin remarked.
“I would like to think so,” Pheobus said. “He trained me in armed combat for years,”
Clopin decided that he was uncomfortable with the turn this conversation was going, so drew it back to their combined interests. “Is that what produced the fine specimen of manhood we see before us?”
Pheobus blushed. “You mock me,”
“I do no such thing,” Clopin said.
“I think you do,”
“Why think? You know precisely when I’m mocking you, Captain, because I’m not the type to hide a good joke,”
“Please, call me Pheobus. Saying ‘Captain’ sounds like a joke,”
“If you insist,” Clopin said. “I can call you whatever you like, wherever you like. And I can call it quite loudly, you know. Some have said I’m quite operatic- an altissimo, said one aficionado,”
“I- what?”
“Well, he wasn’t in the position to call me a castrata,”
Pheobus gave him a glazed, wine-addle stare. Clopin raised his mask to frown at him.
“I hope the wine hasn’t dulled you too much,” Clopin said. “I don’t know what my sinful hands would do with themselves if you couldn’t rise to the occasion,”
Understanding finally cleared across Pheobus’ face.
“M’sieur Clopin,” He choked. “I am no longer a boy,”
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“No, you don’t understand,” Pheobus snapped. “I’m married,”
“I understand that very well,” Clopin asked. “Just as well as I understand what your wife doesn’t have,”
“No,” Pheobus said, working fruitlessly to untangle himself from Clopin’s arms. “I’m going to find my wife,”
Clopin spun him like a dance partner into a quiet alcove, away from the main street. He made a little prayer that no one would look out their window to see him feeling up the old Captain of the Guard anytime soon, and set to work pressing Pheobus against the wall.
“M’sieur Pheobus, your dedication to holy matrimony is touching. Really, it is! But the bonds that bind don’t touch as well as the human body, and we both know your wife is out dancing,” Clopin said. “Now, in response, I believe I suggested the opera,”
“You did,” Pheobus said. “Very eloquently. I believe I told you I was done with that nonsense,”
“Too true,” Clopin said. “But nonsense is never really done with you, which is why it’s best to avoid nonsense as often as possible,”
He dragged a nail along the sensitive sides of Pheobus’ neck.
“Stop that,” Pheobus said.
“Nonesense,” Clopin responded, tucking his knee between Pheobus’ legs. He was hardening already. He pulled the neck of Pheobus’ tunic down a touch and sucked at his collarbone. His breathe hitched against him.
“Clopin-“ Pheobus warned.
“It’s a pity you aren’t a boy anymore,” Clopin muttered, hands moving under Pheobus’ tunic. “Because there are things I could do that would make a boy sing like a castrata. There are parts of the body the boy hasn’t been familiarized with, yet. Moves and practices he hasn’t heard of, before,”
His thumb brushed across a nipple, which hardened.
“But no, you have to be a man, fresh from war and marriage. With men, I must become creative. The piano-maker can play his piano from the start, but the pianist must acquaint himself with the new tone of each instrument. The keys must be played, the pitch perfected. Men are much the same way. Some are out of tune, but the process of fixing them is pleasurable for everyone. Boys are alright, but I much prefer the men,” Clopin said, his hands sliding all around Pheobus’ body, marking the spaces that made his breathe quicken when his nimble fingers played across it.
His stomach was sensitive, so Clopin dived down to taste his navel. Pheobus bucked suddenly against him, and Clopin held his hips as he licked across his stomach. Then up he went, slowly circling a nipple as Pheobus’ breath came in heavy pants, hips jerking vainly.
He sucked one into his mouth and heard a quiet, strangled grunt. He pulled away.
“Something the matter, Pheobus?” He asked. Pheobus was flushed, incoherent. Poor boy.
“You look terrible. I think you ought to lie down,” Clopin said, tucking Pheobus back into his clothes. He pulled the sun mask down over his face, then took his hand like a child and led him through Paris. “Come along,”
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I only just rewatched this movie for the first time in like, ever (partly so I could see the appeal of all these HoND prompts ...), and dear sweet lord this was awesome!
Clopin was brilliant--plus, I got to learn some history when I went to look up who Brighelle was--and OMG this is way better than I would've expected, based on a prompt for a movie I'm not screamingly fond of. ♥
“But no, you have to be a man, fresh from war and marriage. With men, I must become creative. The piano-maker can play his piano from the start, but the pianist must acquaint himself with the new tone of each instrument. The keys must be played, the pitch perfected. Men are much the same way. Some are out of tune, but the process of fixing them is pleasurable for everyone. Boys are alright, but I much prefer the men,” Clopin said, his hands sliding all around Pheobus’ body, marking the spaces that made his breathe quicken when his nimble fingers played across it.
*dead* That was brilliantly worded, and I love the piano reference--it worked perfect for this!
Thank you for posting!
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“You have… lots of things,” Pheobus said slowly, looking around the packed caravan at the knickknacks and tchochkes Clopin had collected from his travels. Normally, Clopin would be very interested in showing Pheobus the many different toys and puppets he had brought from across the globe, but today he was focused. Instead, he took both of their hats, masks and jackets, tossed them somewhere, and lay Pheobus on the bed.
“Ooh,” Clopin said, delighted at the wall of muscle hidden under Pheobus’ tunic. “Scars,”
“Sabre,” Pheobus described, pointing. “Knife. Arrow,”
Clopin sucked the one on his shoulder. Pheobus grunted.
“Delicious,” He said. He licked Pheobus from ear to collar, trailing a line between his pecs, and then down to the front of his pants. “Are you still wearing your shoes?”
“Huh?” Pheobus said.
“Wearing shoes to bed is simply rude,” Clopin sighed. He pushed Pheobus’ boots off, then whipped off his pants. The little solider, unheeded by alcohol, sprang to attention.
“Are there scars down here, too?” Clopin asked, skimming his hands along Pheobus’ thighs. He ran his nails downwards and watched Pheobus shiver.
“I don’t remember,” Pheobus said.
“I had better check, then, shouldn’t I?” Clopin said, clambering down the bed to spread his knees apart. He started at the knee, kissing and licking from inside out. Pheobus sputtered, then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Was that one?”
“Yes,” Pheobus said. Clopin nipped inside his thigh. “Yes. Yes, that’s the one,”
Clopin went slowly from knee to knee (“That’s one”), moving upward (“Oh god, yes,”) and punctuating the landscape with little bites (“Holy mother offfffu-“). Eventually, he ran out of leg, and reached the groin. Pheobus’ balls were tight, his dick straining against his stomach.
“Yes yes yes yes yes,” Pheobus whimpered.
“Really? Here?” Clopin asked, rolling a thumb from base to tip. “No scars from this angle. From the look of it, it could have broken a saber. At least, in the condition it’s in,”
“Yes,” Pheobus moaned.
“If you insist,” Clopin said. He brought the head forward, swiping a bubble of precome from the tip. “Doesn’t taste like a scar,”
Pheobus made a noise. It might have been an affirmation. Clopin swiped his tongue across and around, then swallowed the whole thing down. Pheobus gasped, a hint of a cry escaping. Clopin worked the shaft with his hand, laving the cock with his tongue and stretching the foreskin away. Pheobus shook against him.
When he began to make quiet, mewling noises, Clopin decided enough was enough. He sat up, wiped his chin, and went to his cupboards.
“What-“ Pheobus sputtered.
“Oh please, like I would forget about your saber,” Clopin said, waving away his concern. “I was worried it might need a little oil, that’s all,”
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Scars~... Hmmm.
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Finally, the oil reached his thighs. Clopin moved away again, massaging first down, then up, covering the twitching cock from base to tip in the warmed, slippery liquid.
Pheobus grabbed him and dragged him into a kiss, ignoring his attempts to get up and finish what he’d started. Pheobus palmed a handful of his ass with one hand, and a smear of oil with the other. With Clopin’s erection pressed between their stomachs, he had all the leverage he needed to lift his hips, part his ass and push into the opening.
Clopin choked on a moan. “Somehow, I forgot you knew how to do this,”
“You have more tricks than I’m used to, but I’m not ignorant,” Pheobus admitted, working his finger deeper inside of him. Clopin shivered, fighting himself not to push back, biting back moans as Pheobus pressed the sensitive passage of his inner walls.
And then he reached the prostate. Clopin gave a very undignified yelp.
“Who was your reviewer? You don’t sound like an altissimo,”
“No need to strain at the start of the show,” Clopin gasped. He bucked and whined as Pheobus pushed a second finger inside. “One should always save the aria for last,”
“With a reputation like yours, I’m eager to hear it,” Pheobus said.
“If you keep doing that, the show will be much shorter than expected,” Clopin moaned, grinding away at Pheobus’ stomach. Pheobus lifted him away from the warmth of his chest, still fucking him open with his fingers. Clopin left a string of come across his stomach.
“You do really like this,” Pheobus remarked.
“I do, actually,” Clopin said, wrapping his fingers around Pheobus’ wrist and pulling him away. He lifted Pheobus’ knees and pushed himself onto Pheobus’ cock, whimpering. Pheobus guided him gently down until he’d been swallowed to the hilt.
Clopin stilled, shuddering, as he adjusted.
“Are you alright?” Pheobus asked. Clopin nodded. He was hot and tight around Pheobus, and he resisted the urge to thrust upward.
“You look far too worried for someone sharing my bed- why won’t you relax?” Clopin suggested, flicking Pheobus’ nose. He rolled his hips, and hissed. “If I were to judge only your expression, I’d think you were performing surgery instead of trying for a Bishop,”
“It’s been some time since my last biology lesson, but I believe a woman needs to be involved for the production of a Bishop,” Pheobus said.
“You were a solider less than an hour ago, now you’re training to be a doctor,” Clopin said, lifting himself on Pheobus’ knees and then pushing down again. “The sabre has become a scalpel,”
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He clapped a hand across his mouth. Pheobus drove up again and heard a small gasp break free.
“I was promised an aria,” Pheobus reminded him.
“The devil take your aria,” Clopin moaned, grinding down on Pheobus’ cock. Pheobus dragged him into another kiss, rolling him onto his back.
“The devil takes too long,” Pheobus said. He spread Clopin’s legs and thrust deep inside of him, finally eliciting a groan.
“Varlet,” Clopin gasped. Pheobus pushed Clopin’s leg over his shoulder and pounded into him; the gasps became quicker and more ragged, culminating in soft cries.
Clopin reached up again to stifle the sounds, so Pheobus gathered his wrists in one hand and pushed them over his head. He bent his head and plowed into Clopin, surging towards completion.
“Ay, Santa Maria, la Madonna, nuestro madre de dios, el Senor Jesus Christ-” Clopin rattled off. “Please, touch me,”
“Blasphemy,” Pheobus groaned, wrapping his hand around Clopin’s dick. He spread his thumb across the head, and whatever Clopin tried to say in retaliation unraveled into whimpers.
“I’m about to come,” Pheobus squeaked.
“Yes,” Clopin moaned, bucking into Pheobus’ fist. “That’s fine,”
. Pheobus thrust hard inside the gypsy, and finally Clopin bent his head back and keened as he came in strings across his stomach. Pheobus was not far behind.
Clopin wrenched his wrists free and clapped both hands across his mouth. The gasps echoed in the hollow of his palms. Pheobus wrenched them apart.
“Pater hêmôn ho en toes ouranoes,” Clopin gasped. “Hagiasthêtô to onoma sou…”
“Prayers spoken in such circumstance will have you smote,” Pheobus mumbled.
“I think I have been smote,” Clopin said.
“You flatter me,”
“In the hopes of a repeat performance,” Clopin said, cocking an eyebrow. He looked remarkably like his own Brighelle mask, in the dim light.
“That reminds me,” Pheobus said. “Whatever amateur wrote your last review was an extremist- to a trained ear, you’re obviously a tenor,”
“At least I was in pitch,” Clopin said.
(The ending feels a little sudden to me- I kept looking for a better way to close it, but in all the other endings, they just kept talking. And I wanted to end this long bastard. So, yeah, I ship this, now. Thanks alot, OP)
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Haha, not enough people ship it.
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BANTERY SEX. NNNNGH.
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I weep from all the witticisms and charm. And sex. Never forget the sex.
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