[A/N]: well then, here it is! A look into Ivor and Iorveth's past. And my first attempt at slash, ever.
Songs used for this chapter were "A Little Death" by The Neighbourhood and "I Wanna Be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys. I recommend listening to these sexy songs for this read~
Ivor's breath came out in small puffs in the cold winter air, but he didn't seem to notice as his eyes followed his prey. In the winter, hunting was difficult enough as it was, and so whenever he spotted something, anything, that could be caught and eaten, the last thing he wanted to do was let it get out of sight. Even if it was something as small as a rabbit.
That was easier said than done, however. Especially when his partner this day happened to be none other than Iorveth himself, his piercing green eye never once leaving its target. He held his bow – a masterpiece capable of making any self-respecting bowman jealous – at the ready, deft fingers curled around the bowstring.
Now normally Ivor could concentrate on the task at hand perfectly well – with or without his leader around. Lately, however, the two of them had been getting to know each other in… other ways, as well, in an attempt to overcome the harsh winter months while sharing each other's body heat. Any person in such a position had to admit the fact that, as scarred as the Aen Seidhe was, both on the inside and the outside, he still made for a beautiful and passionate creature. Even if his methods could be rather harsh.
Though Ivor did not always agree with the man, he admired his resolve to follow what he thought was right down to the bitter end. He had lost a lot and more, and each time he had come out all the stronger for it. Ivor had been around long enough to see it for himself. They had all suffered their own losses, as he himself had, but none shouldered as many burdens as the unit leader did. And that was part of the reason why Ivor felt such a strong attraction to the scarred man.
Iorveth's body was another reason for that. With his broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscular thighs, sleek arms… All hidden beneath the layers upon layers of armour, of course. A donkey jacket, a ring mail coat, and gauntlets and coats of studded leather hid his muscular, lean body from the sight of the world outside. Ivor had been one of the few to lay eyes upon his naked form – a thought that stirred something both physical and emotional in him. Physical in the sense that he wanted to undress the commander right then and there. Emotional, for he had witnessed someone so very powerful during moments of utter weakness.
"Do you see something you like?" Iorveth's voice, a deep timbre that had sounded raspy at first but which Ivor later could only describe as being velvety, cut through his thoughts like an arrow.
His cheeks turned pink – not that it mattered in this cold weather – and he quickly moved his gaze back towards the rabbit, which still hopped about, ignorant of the fate that lay before it. From the corner of his eye, he realised that Iorveth had never even looked away from it to begin with.
In the next moment, the familiar sound of a bow thwanging filled the air, and without a sound, the critter stopped moving. Without waiting for his companion, Iorveth dropped himself from the branch on which they stood, lowering himself to his knees as he landed. The snow crunched beneath his shoes as he made his way towards the rabbit, and off in the distance a lonely bird whistled a few times before flying off. Ivor followed his leader, his movements just as graceful as Iorveth's, and he approached the Aen Seidhe, who straightened his back with a scowl on his face.
"This is nigh enough for one, perhaps two of us," he grumbled, holding up the almost starved creature by its bound feet.
Just then, Ivor recognised the sound of footsteps off to the left, and he lifted a hand. Iorveth closed his mouth and followed Ivor's gaze, who had begun to creep towards the noise as silently as possible with the ankle-deep snow surrounding him. His hands slowly removed his bow from its holster. It wasn't as beautiful as that of Iorveth, though still quite the eye catcher with its wood carved into an elegant form, its limbs ending in spirals, and red vines painted along its sides.
He nocked an arrow and held it before him, one eye closed as he took a step, and another, and another, until he came to a row of naked shrubs that offered him hid him from sight as well as gave him the perfect vantage point. A clearing spread out before him, so no tree trunks hindered the view that he had of a deer sauntering through the snow. It dipped its nose into the white stuff, sniffling desperately.
Without a second thought, Ivor inhaled deeply, and the world seemed to slow down around him. The cold, the hunger, the man behind him – they all disappeared, until the only thing that existed was his own body and that of his target. His arrow soared through the air and found its mark with perfect precision. The deer went down with a cry, but it died immediately afterwards.
Iorveth walked past him towards the animal's body, his armour clinking softly as he went. While he kneeled beside it, his hands roaming the warm corpse, Ivor slung his bow back into place and followed him. The Seidhe stopped when he stood behind his leader, watching the other's back move as he inspected their catch. Unbidden, the image of his nails digging into its skin flitted through his mind, and he quickly looked away, the colour of his cheeks once more darkening. This time, Iorveth did not seem to notice, however.
"Fantastic," the leader stated, standing up again and turning to grin at Ivor.
The sight of it – teeth visible, lips quirked like this, for the first time – caused something to snap inside the usually docile man.
Determined, he took a few steps towards Iorveth, and he closed the distance between them in one swift movement, reaching up to pull the other's face down so that he could press his lips to those of his leader. He had closed his grey eyes and so he remained oblivious to the reactions of the man in front of him.
Almost at once, what little resistance Iorveth had thought to put up melted away, and the elf relaxed into the touch of his lover, whose fingers probed the armour that covered his shoulders, tried to squeeze the muscles beneath. The leader, in response, parted his lips, his tongue at once seeking that of the other, moving against it in a slow, tidal rhythm of retreating and diving back in, lips almost breaking apart before they caught each other once more. A sensual dance it was, no dominance, no conflict: only harmony.
Ivor's hands never left Iorveth's shoulders, though the latter forced him to let go by wrapping his arms around the thin waist of his subordinate, pulling him snug against his own body. So snug, in fact, that the elf could feel his leader's oncoming hardness even through the many layers of armour and clothing that separated the two of them. Suddenly, they became too much and too heavy, and his finger's itched to remove them, despite the cold that surrounded them, turning the air that left their touching noses into an entwined cloud of vapour.
It seemed that Iorveth had been sharing those thoughts, for he pulled away – only their torsos, not their mouths – and, before Ivor could react, pushed him until his back hit a tree. The situation had heightened his senses, and he could feel the bark of it, arousing him even further. That, and the sound of their heavy breathing and his blood rushing through his ears, egged him on. His hands began to fumble at the accursed belt that held Iorveth's garments together.
And he let him, pausing the movements of his tongue as the scarf and the girdle fell to the snow-covered ground. Immediately afterwards, Ivor snaked his hand past the gap in Iorveth's studded leather coat, beneath the ring mail and the shorter coat. The palm of Ivor's hand pressed against him through his breeches, and he groaned.
In response, Iorveth continued to kiss the other, and he closed the distance between their bodies. Ivor moaned and rested the back of his head against the trunk, breaking the kiss, when he felt Iorveth's hardness in his hand, and his hand against himself, through all the armour.
His body felt like it was on fire, and if he could have, he might have wondered if it were possible for steam to rise from what little skin showed. He couldn't, however; especially when Iorveth took the opportunity and pressed his lips to the vines that crept along Ivor's throat. His teeth nipped at the skin before kissing it, drawing his tongue along the Adam's apple before him. The movement tore a deep groan from the Seidhe, who arched his back and pressed himself harder against his leader.
While Ivor's hand squeezed Iorveth's length, slowly stiffening beneath his touch, the latter unbuckled the clothes of the other, sliding the layers down to the ground in an almost tantalising manner, goose bumps rising in their wake. A shiver ran through Ivor as the cold tried to penetrate the coat he still wore, but he did not notice, since Iorveth's hand soon found him, too.
Abandoning all restraint, Ivor strengthened his hold on Iorveth's erection, now straining against the fabric of his breeches, before running his hand along its length, massaging it with gloved fingers. Iorveth bit down on his neck, but the Seidhe's wince came out sounding like a choke when the other palmed his member. Ivor could feel him grinning against his throat.
The commander pulled away all of a sudden, and Ivor stopped to look at him. Before he could realise what had happened, Iorveth's leather glove fell to the ground and he placed a hand against the trunk, beside his lover's head. With his other, no longer gloved digits, he worked his way back into the warm depths of Ivor's body, this time passing his underclothes as well. His fingers, calloused by war, grabbed him and jerked his skin upwards.
At the sudden pleasure, Ivor gasped and stretched his neck so that he could capture the other's lips in a desperate kiss, his tongue slowly moving against the commander's. Iorveth, in turn, growled, causing the cock in his hold to twitch, after which he hummed. The sounds he made reverberated inside their mouths, sending shivers down their spines. Ivor dropped a hand from Iorveth's neck – which he hadn't even realised had been there to begin with – in order to dig his fingers into the bark behind him.
"Ah," he breathed, almost as a warning, but Iorveth ignored it and continued to work his hard length.
His touch was a combination of harshness and gentleness, two things that didn't seem to mix but which he managed to pour into the movement of his fingers pulling the skin back and forth anyway. He began to swirl his thumb across the tip, spreading the pre-ejaculate across the surface.
Now normally Ivor would have complained about this – he did not like the mess it made, the chore of cleaning up after the deed. In that moment, however, he did not even realise what Iorveth was doing: all he knew was that it made his body feel hot, far too hot out here in this cold weather. Usually they came together in the confines of a tent, whether Ivor's or Iorveth's. Nobody knew about it; they had both decided that this, whatever this was, would remain between the two of them.
Out here in the open, where anybody and anything could intrude, find them in such a compromising position… It only made the skin around Ivor's member feel all the tighter, and Iorveth swallowed the string of moans he made as the leader quickened his pace and strengthened his grip.
"Don't," Ivor gasped, turning his head to the side. The pleasure curled up inside of him, almost coiling inwards, readying to spring. Like a bowstring being pulled back, tight and taut and trembling, before it was released. "I…"
But Iorveth ignored him and instead bent down to press his lips to the other's clenched jaw before whispering sweet nothings into his ear. A sharp intake of breath interrupted the otherwise quiet surroundings filled with moans and gasps. Ivor squeezed his eyes shut as Iorveth released the metaphorical arrow he had notched. As he spilled his seed into his clothes, he cursed the man before him.
Breathing heavily, he rested his head against the tree again, his limbs going limp. Only then did he note the colour of Iorveth's cheeks and the way he was panting, his breath visible in the cold air. He realised that, while he had been pleasuring him, Ivor had failed to stop his own movements. When the leader gingerly removed the other's sticky hand from beneath his coats, the latter couldn't help the grin that spread across his lips. He wasn't going to apologise for that. Not today.
They did not wait to catch their breath or for the stains to dry. Instead they fixed their clothes again, pointedly ignoring each other's gaze, before they moved towards the deer that lay next to them.
Only when they had tied up the animal and lifted it together did their eyes meet, and the corners of their lips quirked upwards. They'd have to repeat this moment later that day, and then they'd do it properly.