Prompt Post 2
Welcome to the second round of the_eagle_kink .
Please see the rules before posting.
Please check our delcious account before prompting.
Happy Kink, everyone.
~CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS~
Please see the rules before posting.
Please check our delcious account before prompting.
Happy Kink, everyone.
~CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS~
- MORE MOD NOTES: Alright guys I know this fandom is really into historical accuracy and all that jazz but here's the thing. This is a KINK MEME and therefore historical accuracy is not ( Read more... )
Since Esca had returned with Marcus Flavius Aquila with the Eagle, a free man and a friend of the infamous centurion, he had been trying his hand at different methods of acquiring money. While he had accepted Marcus’s offer to stay at his Uncle’s villa until they found more appropriate accommodation and heard of a decision on the possible reformation of the Ninth, he had also refused any means of financial aid that Marcus had been willing to bestow.
He did not need charity, and while he knew Marcus meant well, Esca also insisted that since he was now staying in Rome, he would have to learn how to fend for himself. The most prosperous endeavor turned out to be selling meat and fur of the animals he had hunted. Even Marcus was impressed by his spoils by the end of the first week of hawking his goods. Impressed and a bit proud of seeing his friend find his independent bearings.
There was also fondness and probably more congratulatory hair-ruffling than necessary, but Marcus just couldn’t even help himself there.
He assumed Esca would save the money. Perhaps buy himself weapons, exotic food. Even a woman, though the thought of that made Marcus cringe when he considered his month-long efforts to get Esca into his bed (unsuccessful thus far).
Needless to say, Marcus did not expect himself to be excitedly dragged along by his former slave at the marketplace to a stall full of women’s skirts. The only reason Marcus didn't turn around then was because the feeling of Esca's fingers wrapped around his wrist still lingered, reminding him that they were there for Esca, not for him.
“It’s not a skirt. It’s a kilt.” Esca corrected in amusement when Marcus voiced his confusion. He was smiling widely, holding one of the articles of clothing to his waist. “The men in my tribe often wore these.”
Eyeing the pleated cloth, Marcus frowned, “This is what your men wore? It seems very… vulnerable. ”
“They’re worn during formal occasions. Not exactly intended for battle.”
Not exactly intended to show off a man’s manliness, either, but Marcus kept that to himself. Esca looked too pleased and happy, the Roman couldn't bring himself to ruin it. Instead, he picked up one of the kilts himself, examining it, “Are there ceremonial trousers to go with these?”
At this point, Esca's smile grew, fingers continuing to gently run along the wool material, "Traditionally, it is customary to wear the kilt on its own. Exposing oneself to the elements is a sign of strength.”
“It is intended to be worn with no undergarments?” Marcus repeated, staring somewhat blankly at the plaid item in his hands now. Esca nodded with a chuckle, too delighted with his find to pay any attention to Marcus. He slowly sidled away to see what else the booth had to offer, drinking in the connection to his own culture rapidly and leaving Marcus to flounder in confusion behind him.
Marcus watched Esca start examining elaborate belts as he tried to imagine the shorter male wearing one of these kilts. A dark red and black pattern swashed about his waist, ending just at his knees, clearing showing off his strong legs and calves. How easy it would be to slide his fingers up underneath that flimsy kilt, to grasp heated flesh and tease the lanky male by massaging his powerful thighs. Thighs that could easily be wrapped around Marcus’s waist, tense as Esca shifted his body, pushing down on Marcus, shoving their groins together as he earnestly rode his erection, unbearably tight and intoxicating to pound into.
He would be making soft noises as Marcus would shift his hips up to meet his desperate bounces. Fingers fisted in the plaid material, Esca would lift up the kilt, bunching it up around his stomach to keep it out of the way, exposing himself completely. His own cock would be uncovered, free to touch and stroke as Esca continued to thrust his hips down, then back up, clutching at his kilt, throwing his head back, cumming hard and ruining the fine wool material…
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“I like that, too.” Marcus mumbled distractedly, eyes glazed and caught in his own daydream.
And suddenly, Esca’s voice isn’t so breathless and sexually satisfied as it once was.
“You haven’t even looked at it.”
The daydream was harshly crushed as Marcus blinked away the fog to see Esca, in his typical breeches and tunic, holding up a folded swab of cloth. Blue and black. Well, close enough.
“Oh. Yes.” Marcus briefly reached out to pat the offered kilt, as if it would help in appraising the quality, “It’s a fitting pattern.”
“It’s the closest I can find to what I used to wear.” Esca shoved the kilt under his arm and the two fell into step walking back to the villa, “Would it shame you if I occasionally wore it to some of your Uncle’s dinners?”
The image of Esca half-naked in a kilt was still too fresh on his mind. Swallowing hard, Marcus managed a jerky shake of his head, “Of course not. In fact, I encourage you to wear it. I’m sure women will find you appealing.”
Obviously, Esca was in too good of a mood to notice the strain in the Roman’s voice, but couldn’t resist teasing the other anyway, “Are you implying they did not before?”
“Not at all. You’ve been appealing since you stepped into a gladiator ring and threw down your weapons.” Marcus answered immediately, grinning slightly at the recollection. Esca merely smiled at the bold statement, maintaining a thoughtful silence the rest of the journey back, leaving Marcus to wonder whether he had gone too far with his advances.
It’s not until they step inside that Esca finally speaks again, “Would you like to see how it looks?”
Marcus eyes the excited gleam in Esca’s eyes. He shouldn’t agree. Honestly, with the way he lacked self-control at times, as well as the Briton’s ignorance of his friend’s interest in him, it would have been better to decline. But Marcus could never say no to Esca. And he could never say no to the idea of looking at him in a kilt with nothing underneath but temptation.
“Of course.”
“I will stop by soon.” With that promise, Esca immediately retreats into his own room, Marcus thoughtfully returning to his, determined to get his mind away from his traitorous daydreams. But with the promise of the other man returning in nothing but a kilt is hard to ignore. Forty minutes of waiting are spent uselessly considering just how often Esca planned to wear his new garment, and how long it would take for Marcus to lose control.
Five. Surely, a centurion could handle five visits from a man in revealing clothing without revealing his true intentions. Five was a fair number. Five times to see Esca flounting his legs and the hints of no undergarments.
While Marcus paced the room, convincing himself that he had better self-restraint than he thought, the very source of his trouble walked into the room without knocking.
“What do you think?”
Five was not a fair number. Neither was four.
Marcus was now no longer sure if he could handle even one. He froze, staring at Esca.
His imagination had not given the kilt-wearer enough credit. The plaid material was wrapped tightly about his waist, hugging his hips delightfully and accenting his slender waist. Muscled legs jutted out from underneath, leading down to a pair of bare feet. Esca had been so excited to show off his new kilt that he hadn’t even bothered to put his boots back on.
Or his shirt, for that matter, Marcus noted as his eyes traveled back up to the man’s face. The idea that Esca had spent the last hour standing in his chamber naked, tying a ridiculous cloth that looked like a skirt about his hips, sent warm tendrils or something or other curling around in the pit of his stomach.
The smile on Esca’s face slipped a fraction. He had been standing in the middle of the room, swaying slightly to make the kilt brush against his knees, apparently delighted with the reunion of his tribe tradition. But Marcus had been too quiet, too still.
“… You don’t like it.”
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OH GOD ANON. THIS IS ALREADY WONDROUS.
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Marcus fervently wished that was the case. He wanted to tell Esca that it looked terrible and ridiculous. He wanted to laugh and say that perhaps Esca should go shopping with the women next time, it would certainly match his new clothing style. That the kilt didn’t make him extremely aroused and willing to do anything just to touch Esca at that moment in time.
So easy. So easy to just lift that up and out of the way.
But the idea of wiping Esca’s smile off his face was too horrendous to think about. The Briton, estranged in Rome, had so very little of his home to cling to, so little to show off to his friend, that even something so small like a kilt was obviously precious to him and Marcus had no right to ruin that. Besides, whatever negativity Marcus could possibly wrench up would have been a lie, anyway.
“Not at all.” Marcus hurriedly said, expression straining to remain neutral. Esca looked dubious, expecting his opinion.
The Roman had been caught like a deer in headlights when Esca had come in, stranded by his writing table. He now reached out blindly to grasp anything, to touch something, just to at least create the illusion that he was still a functioning member of society and not a lust/love-struck fool. A small carving of a boar Esca had made for him the other day fell into his grasp and Marcus instantly curled his fingers around it, hoping the feel of the rough wood underneath his fingertips would distract him, would solidify his resolve to resist.
Would Esca make any noises at being exposed? Would embarrassment dust his cheeks pink?
Marcus’s eyes then caught the swishing pleats still brushing gently against Esca’s knees and his spine practically shivered with a mix of emotions that were too muddled to identify. Every nerve in his body was suddenly on edge. His eyes practically twitched in their sockets, because while Marcus craved to run his gaze all over Esca, drink in the erotic sight, he forced himself to meet Esca’s hesitant stare instead, ignoring the want to step right across the small distance of the room, shove Esca against a wall, and have his way with him.
He urged his tongue to move in the proper way that it should to form the proper words.
Not ‘I think that kilt makes you extremely desirable. To me.’
Not ‘If you could come a little closer, I must examine the details of your kilt before I wrench it off with my teeth.’
Nor did he say ‘I would like it more if you pulled it up while I claimed your body for my own.’
Instead, he said, with a deep breath and solemn expression, “It brings out the color of your eyes quite well.”
Oh gods. Because that was obviously better than the other three options he had had in mind.
Esca blinked, looking down at his kilt in confusion. Marcus began considering what would be a better way of hiding his shame; walking away and plunging his head into a vat of boiling oil or asking the local army to trample him with horses.
“That’s very observant of you.” Esca finally said after what felt like ages of awkward silence, the corners of his lips twitching in what was unmistakably amusement. “You don’t think it looks womanly? I know it does not fit the fashion styles of Romans at the moment.”
“No, n-no.” Marcus cleared his throat hurriedly after his voice caught, his words coming out gruffly, “Not at all. There is nothing womanly about you, Esca, it is a very … noble garment.”
“It is a shame I cannot wear it more regularly.”
“You. You do not plan on wearing it often?” The innocent tone in Marcus’s voice was almost completely overshadowed with the poorly veiled disappointment. Still, it was helping that they were speaking, that Esca didn’t seem to notice how tense his friend was, that the hand gripping the carved poor was white-knuckled.
But he could do this. Soon, hopefully, Esca would be leaving with his sinful kilt and Marcus would be left in peace to his own devices and calming cold baths. And sexual thoughts of Esca.
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Esca was obviously indecisive about his kilt. He made a soft sound of frustration, “I am unsure. The cloth is very well made, it would surely be better to save it for celebrations and ceremonies.”
The Briton began tugging at the edges of the kilt, lifting it teasingly higher, inch by inch. He was picking at the material, considering it, but to Marcus, he was torturing him in an almost agonizing fashion, revealing more and more of his pale thighs. The Roman watched the upwards progress of it carefully, tongue running over his bottom lip until Esca allowed the kilt to fall from his fingers, hiding the tempting view. For a panicked second, he thought that perhaps he had given himself away, but Wwhen Marcus jerked his attention back to Esca’s face, he found the younger man simply smirking slightly.
“And yet it brings out my eyes, as you say, Marcus. When would you have me wear it?”
Every day. Every damn day.
“I would not want you to break tradition, Esca. Wear it at your own discretion. Though I cannot guarantee that other Romans will be as accepting of Briton tradition.”
In any other case, the reminder of Esca’s estrangement would have caused the former slave’s brow to furrow as he retreated back into his impenetrable mask, but to Marcus’s surprise, he smiled instead.
“Perhaps I will just wear it for your benefit, then.”
He was jesting, surely. Taking it as a joke, Marcus simply chuckled and shook his head, truing to play it off and ignore the potential flirtation in the phrase, just as Esca added,
“Actually, I may need your help right now in taking it off. The pin that I used to secure it with is difficult to use.”
Now Marcus wasn’t laughing. His entire body, which had finally started to relax, tensed all over again. First Esca had teased him, and now he was asking him to take his only article of clothing off completely? It was like the man was asking for Marcus’s control to snap.
Regardless of whatever Marcus wanted, Esca was already moving towards him, joining him by the table and turning around so that his back was to the other.
“The pin’s somewhere in the back.” He murmured, softer now that Marcus was closer. So much closer to the kilt-adorned, shirtless body. Holding his breath, Marcus reached out to skim over the high, tight cloth wrapped around Esca’s waist, eyes lingering on the back of his tanned neck before traveling down.
The material was soft, warmed by Esca’s body heat. Esca didn’t move as hands brushed over him, staring straight ahead instead. But he wasn’t completely silent. Marcus, still searching for whatever was holding the kilt up, was letting his hands roam as free as they possibly could. He kept one pressed to the skin just above where the kilt ended, the other brushed over the pleated back, sometimes straying into territory lower than necessary.
The first time he brushed over Esca’s bottom, the Briton inhaled sharply, twitching under his touch.
“Apologies.” Marcus mumbled, though he truly did not regret a thing. Esca merely nodded distractedly, waiting for him to continue. His back was visibly tense, though, one hand lifting to idly graze the edge of the table.
The small gesture made the Roman smile and reach out to stop Esca’s restless motions. Now as he grasped Esca’s hand, there was a more audible hitch of breath. It was those types of sounds that went straight to Marcus’s groin, made him bite his lip. He would have done anything to steam ahead with his primal instincts and just take Esca right there, but pride was just as strong a motivator. As was his need to keep his friendship with the Briton intact.
But with the way Esca was shivering under his touch, the fraying self-control he had over himself was wearing thin with the hope that perhaps Esca would not be so indifferent to the idea of being taken.
“Can you not find the pin?” The Briton turned his head to glance at Marcus over his shoulder. If Marcus wasn’t mistaken, there was the slightest hint of pink across his cheeks. Maybe. Just maybe.
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IT IS UNBELIEVABLY HOT, HUMOROUS AND BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN.
AND I HOPE TO GOD ESCA KEEPS IT ON WHEN THEY FUCK
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Kilts, man. Kilts.
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dude, i'm scottish. i *know*
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“Well. No.” Marcus admitted, now taking Esca’s hips with both hands and dipping his thumbs underneath the plaid material, thumbnail scraping along the skin. “But I’m also not in a hurry to get this kilt off of you.”
“No?” Esca’s ears were most certainly a shade of crimson now, his voice a little more breathless than before, though that may have been as a result of Marcus’s free hand slipping underneath the edge of the top of his kilt. “Then what exactly are you trying to do, Marcus?”
Marcus kept going, kept jumping through hoops he swore not to jump through, because Esca’s reactions were irresistible to draw out. Nothing in the Briton’s body language was telling him to stop, and that was fine with Marcus. But he was still hesitant. It would be so blissfully simple to take Esca where he stood, but it would be just as easy to scare the other man away.
Then again, considering Esca’s tough, fierce nature, perhaps that wasn’t actually the case. He attempted a blunt approach, lowering his voice to a husky murmur, “I’m trying to resist pushing you against this table and having my way with you.”
Marcus was still holding Esca’s hand and at this point, the smaller man’s fingers twitched in surprise. He moved in closer and continued, “But you’re making it very difficult by coming into my room without a tunic, asking me to help you take this kilt off for you.”
“That’s the point, Marcus.” was the soft, amused reply. Damn Esca. So stiff and aloof at times, keeping to himself. And yet other times, he knew exactly how to get under Marcus’s skin in all the right, albeit devious, ways.
With a disbelieving laugh, Marcus squeezed the smaller man’s hip, “The point? Are you saying that you purposely came in here to tempt me? To see me crumble?”
In a bolder but characteristic move, Esca took the initiative and laced their hands together, Marcus’s fingers fitting in perfectly with Esca’s slender digits. If there was ever a sign that perhaps his month of wooing and blatant attention had paid off, it was that. The Briton’s lip curled into a small smirk again.
“The compliment about my eyes was a bonus.”
“Sly dog.” Marcus purred as his mind scrambled to keep up to his libido, which had eagerly taken the reigns and decided to steer through most of Marcus’s next decisions. So slowly, he retrieved both of his hands and used them to grasp Esca’s hips and nudge him into the table, pinning him there. If Esca had come to be the embodiment of temptation, he had surely succeeded.
“You’re not going to take the kilt off?” The Briton glanced over his shoulder, surprised, “It’s going to get in the way.”
“Not if you hold it up.” He dragged one hand up Esca’s bare back, gently applying pressure to push him down until the smaller male was forced to clamp down onto the table for support, “I hope you wore this as per your customs, Esca.”
A visibly shiver rocked through Esca’s body as Marcus drifted a hand teasingly down the man’s side, smoothing the plaid material to the very edge before ducking underneath it to hit that precious pale thigh he had been dying to touch. It was tempting to leave his touches feathersoft, to tease and draw it out, but the situation was far more urgent. Perhaps later.
So instead of gently running his hands up Esca’s kilt, he pushed into the firm thighs and dragged his fingers up, taking the pleated material with him until it was bunched over over Esca’s exposed bottom.
“Hold it there.” Marcus murmured. Esca was quick to comply, reaching around to bunch up the extra material and pull it firmly to his stomach, keeping it out of the way. With a smile, the Roman appraised the firm twin cheeks he had just uncovered, noting the way Esca’s ears were bright pink and his knees were twitching in anticipation.
“Good boy,” he breathed out, mouth watering at the sight of Esca bent over a table, ass in the air, kilt around his hips. Thank the gods for British traditions.
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