They were at it again.
Ezreal looked up from his book with a grumble as the headboard lurched over and over, and tried to arrange his pillow to soften the blows. Thump, thump, thump. And then came the low, loud moaning.
He slammed the book shut and threw his reading glasses on the side table, covering his head in his hands. Why did the walls have to be so damn thin? What a shithole of a motel. But then, it was the only motel on the Demacia/Noxus border that offered service to those on both sides of the war.
"The things I endure for you," he muttered to the man sleeping next to him. How he could sleep through such violent sex on the other side of the wall, Ezreal didn't know.
The moaning grew louder, and Ezreal could swear he was hearing the slapping of skin on skin. It was...kind of turning him on, actually, even as he tried to ignore it. It reminded him of what he'd done just hours ago, when he'd arrived at the motel. It was like clockwork: every Friday, he had a brief audience with Demacia's prince Jarvan IV, showing him what he'd discovered during his explorations that week. Jarvan was a cheerful fellow, one he'd known for years, and was always quietly excited when Ezreal would bring in shards of ancient civilizations. Then, he would be summoned to the Academic council, which met in Piltover, near the border to Zaun. As the youngest member, several of the scientists gave him a bit of leeway and favor in exchange for sitting between Jayce and Viktor during every meeting. Ezreal was very deft at keeping their hands off of each other during discussions, and wasn't afraid to interrupt either of them. Then, as a goodwill ambassador to Noxus, he would present the council's academic papers to Noxus's Tyrant, Swain. Swain was certainly an interesting man; being a Noxian, he was hardly afraid of killing, and had even stabbed an assassin sent for Ezreal. There were certain things you didn't do without becoming friends, and once Ezreal had returned the favor (two shots to the assassin's chest had done the trick), he found himself chatting amiably with the Tyrant over tea and these weird Zaunite biscuits each Friday evening. Once he'd taken down any messages Swain wanted delivered to Jarvan, mostly requests for land or the capture of Noxian criminals who'd fled to Demacia in exchange for cease-fires or treaties, he was sent home.
For the last five months, he'd been stopping at this motel on the way back to Piltover, and the man snoozing peacefully at his side was to blame.
Ezreal recalled their first meeting, deep in the woods of Noxus. He'd been hopelessly lost, the trees too thick to navigate by starlight, when he'd stumbled on an old dirt road cut roughly into the forest. It had been naive of him to follow it with his guard down, sure, but he hadn't been in Noxus for long enough to know better. He remembered the man who'd held him at knife point, the way his eyes were sharp with greed and laughter at the thought of killing Ezreal for his coin purse He remembered being pressed up against a tree, the man's breath heavy with the stench of alcohol and his stinking dinner. The man had called him "lass" and eyed him creepily, knife finding his belt and slicing it open.
Five metal points erupted from the man's chest, and Ezreal had tried to scramble away as the man bled and died on the spikes. The spikes retracted, the body fell, and Ezreal met eyes with a horrifying sight.
A towering man in a high-collared coat put one bloodied claw to his mouth, and cleaned it with a long lick. His face showed calm contentment as he continued lapping at the man's lifeblood, and when his metal claws were clean, he'd waved his hand over the body. Blood rose from the wound, and he puppeteered it to his whim. In seconds, he'd drained the corpse and was slurping happily at the floating glob of blood.
Ezreal had frozen with panic, wondering if he was next, but the man finished his gruesome snack and smiled at Ezreal.
"I apologize deeply for my rudeness," he said, then wiped a drop of crimson from his chin. He approached slowly, claws spread to his sides.
Ezreal clambered backwards until his back met a boulder, and he flattened himself against it as if it would hide him. His heart hammered against his ribcage. The man kept approaching, his white eyes glowing in the darkness.
"Let me introduce myself," he spoke again, his voice smoother than velvet. "My name is Vladimir."
He gently scooped Ezreal up with one arm, and carried him to the road again. Ezreal grabbed a fistful of Vladimir's coat to steady himself, unwilling to open his eyes as they passed the dead man.
The two of them had traveled along the road in silence for what felt like hours. Ezreal eventually relaxed; Vladimir was obviously uninterested in hurting him and was, in fact, quite polite when he finally spoke again. He chatted amicably about the woods, the weather, the war. His puns were so terrible, he made Ezreal laugh. And when the woods opened into a clearing, Ezreal could see Piltover in the distance.
Vladimir carried him all the way to the city's outskirts. Ezreal thanked him for everything: saving his life, understanding his exhaustion, and carrying him all the way here. Vladimir had grinned widely, and said, "my pleasure."
Then his hand went for Ezreal's waistband, and the boy tensed in surprise. Vlad tugged the cut belt from Ezreal's pants before setting him on his feet.
"Here, to make up for my earlier rudeness, let me replace this for you."
A week later, Ezreal couldn't believe how much he was pining over Vladimir's absence. He looked forward to getting his new belt every single day, just because it meant he could talk with Vladimir again.
Within the month, Vladimir had managed to steal him away four times, once each Friday night as Ezreal was returning home. On the fourth visit, Vladimir had kissed him goodnight before leaving Ezreal outside of Piltover. The rest is history, and five months later, Ezreal's weekend was going to be spent in this seedy motel next door to the loudest moaners the world has ever heard.
Their volume increased a notch more, and Vladimir grunted as he awoke. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, and he grimaced at the bedside lamp Ezreal had been reading under.
The whole bed was lurching at this point, and as Vladimir slowly shrugged away the drowsiness, he cocked an eyebrow at Ezreal in amusement. Ezreal had the pillow wrapped around his head and a look of annoyance on his face; the tent in the covers told a different story, and Vladimir kissed his cheek with a chuckle. His hands moved the comforter out of the way, and Ezreal crossed his bare legs against the rush of cold air.
"Mmm," Vlad hummed into Ezreal's neck playfully, and kissed him across his jaw and on his lips. Ezreal sighed, but wove his fingers into Vladimir's soft white hair to pull him down. Soon, Ezreal was laughing as Vladimir kissed his ticklish neck and down to his chest. Ezreal's nipples were still sore from their earlier activities, so Vladimir kissed each one, then moved on to avoid hurting Ezreal. He kissed his way down Ezreal's thin, hard abs, and without warning, drew Ezreal's cock into his warm mouth.
Ezreal threw his head back and moaned at the unexpected attention, bucking his hips eagerly.
"Louder," Vladimir instructed with a mischievous smile. He drew Ezreal in and out, making sure to keep his sharp teeth away from Ezreal's sensitive flesh. Ezreal moaned, louder this time, but still not as loud as the couple next door.
After a few minutes of teasing Ezreal with his talented mouth, Vladimir pulled away.
"Can you go again?" he asked Ezreal, breathless. Ezreal nodded emphatically, his pupils dilated with pleasure and anticipation.
He was still loose from earlier, so Vladimir spent little time slipping a condom on and slicking it with lube from the bedside table before sliding in. He waited patiently for Ezreal to relax, and once he had, Vladimir started out very slowly. He drew himself out to the tip, and then carefully pressed in as far as he could. Ezreal gave a breathy cry as he hit that spot deep inside of him, and spread his legs even wider. Vladimir repeated the motion, a bit faster this time, and then again. Once Vladimir was sliding in and out with no resistance, he stopped and pulled out.
"Get on your hands and knees this time," he suggested, "and brace your hands on the headboard."
Ezreal complied, leaning his forehead against the backs of his arms as Vladimir pressed in again. The angle was different, and the change felt amazing. He moaned loudly as Vladimir bucked his hips again and again. Vladimir growled, a deep noise that vibrated against Ezreal's back.
And then Vladimir put as much power as he dared into his thrusts, Ezreal's thin frame shuddering under the onslaught of friction and pressure and hot rough pleasure.
"Louder!" Vladimir roared. "I bet we can out-" he paused to gasp - "moan them."
Ezreal half-laughed, half-cried out Vladimir's name. Vladimir had a competitive streak a mile wide, but he hadn't expected it to manifest like this. Oh well, he'd play along.
Both men moaned as loudly as possible, the headboard banging into the wall so hard that Ezreal was sure the lamp would fall off of the bedside table. He thought he heard one of the men in the room next door begin to laugh, but was quickly silenced by another deep groan.
Vladimir reached around Ezreal's stomach and wrapped his hand around Ezreal's cock, the lubrication making it slip readily inside his hand.
With the loudest moan yet, Ezreal came. His nails bit into the wooden headboard, and he stilled as his vision went white. Vladimir kept thrusting until he, too, peaked with a booming cry. Ezreal was shaking with aftershocks, gasping until Vladimir pulled himself out. They heard the men next door cry out, and then go quiet.
Vladimir pulled Ezreal to the side of the bed they hadn't made a mess of, and after discarding the condom and wiping them up, he wrapped the comforter around his lover and held him close. They fell asleep curled around each other, both of them exhausted beyond measure.
When Ezreal awoke the next day, he was struck by an urgent need for a glass of ice-cold water. Their bucket of motel ice had melted overnight, so Ezreal grumbled but untangled himself from Vladimir's limbs and the bedding so he could go fetch some more.
He dumped the water into the sink, and then grabbed the nearest article of clothing he could find: Vladimir's red coat. He pulled it on quickly, foregoing pants because heck, it was long enough, and after buttoning it closed, he left the room and found the ice machine.
He placed the bucket under the spigot and pressed the button, and after a few moments of gurgling noises, it spat out a cascade of ice cubes Satisfied, he scooped the bucket back up and turned towards his room.
The door next to his opened, and a man in a familiar green coat stepped outside. He looked up, hand still on the doorknob, and froze with a look of shock on his face.
Ezreal dropped the bucket.
Swain, the Tyrant of Noxus, looked down at his ambassador and the direction he was headed, putting two and two together in the blink of an eye. Ezreal had the expression of a deer caught in a car's headlights.
"Mmm, Jericho, what's the hold up?" came a voice Ezreal recognized with horror. A second man slid into view behind Swain, and Ezreal's eyes somehow managed to open wider.
Demacia's Prince Jarvan peered around the door frame at him, standing inside with nothing more than a towel around his hips.
Swain hadn't moved a muscle. Now, he took a step back and closed the door slowly, as if he was pretending this had never happened.
Ezreal left the bucket where it lay, and vowed to never leave his motel room again.
One week later, he had to return to his duties. His audience with Jarvan had been awkward up until the prince had threatened him with death if he revealed his secret to anyone. He then smiled broadly and clapped Ezreal on the back, but added, "seriously, don't tell anyone." Ezreal had vowed, and then they'd had a good laugh about it.
Talking to Swain was a different matter entirely. The Tyrant had coughed awkwardly when Ezreal arrived, and the two of them couldn't meet eyes for the duration of the presentation.
The Tyrant's potions master and chemist, who had shaken Ezreal's hand once in the past, was present for this meeting. Singed didn't say a word until Ezreal asked politely if they had any questions.
"So...is Vladimir a good lay?" he drawled through his bandages.
Swain choked on his tea.