Day Twenty-Eight – Thirst (Of A Nobleman)

Anybody else would just think that Freed had been particularly thirsty. Nobody would have even noticed just how much Freed had been drinking throughout the day, and if they actually had, they would've just assumed that he needed a drink. There was no chance of anyone realising the actual reason that Freed had been continually drinking flute after flute of champagne throughout the afternoon.

Freed also hoped that Gajeel didn't know the reason for his apparent thirst. He would be intolerably smug when he realised it was because of him.

Weeks prior, Freed had been invited to attend a party at a nearby manor house owned by the Dreyar family. Being close with the son of the family, Freed had also gotten Gajeel an invitation. His lover would be there under the guise of a possible business partner that Freed needed to impress. Only the Dreyar's themselves knew that Gajeel was Freed's lover, so the excuse was needed.

And with such an excuse, Gajeel needed a change of clothes.

The man, being an ironmonger, didn't have many luxurious pieces of clothing, and had needed to go to the tailors so the lie of him being a businessman could be believable. Freed had through nothing of it as he'd sent the man to his tailor, expecting him to come back in something more similar to what Freed often worn. He had thought that Gajeel would have some clothes of a nicer fabric and more modern stylings, and that was it.

He hadn't expected the outfit to be so… flattering.

Of course, flattering wasn't the word that came to mind when he first saw Gajeel wearing it. Freed's immediate impressions were that it was gorgeous, gentlemanly, and, importantly, tight. Tight enough to encourage a rush of blood to swell Freed's groin.

And throughout the afternoon, Gajeel had been wearing the outfit. It was a test of patience for Freed rivalling torture, and the man believed he deserved a damn medal for not insisting they find an unused room in the house and buggering the man against the wall like a pair of animals. The urge had been there throughout the entire day, and Freed had only managed to keep his hands off his lover by busying them with something else.

Namely, drinking.

It had been a hellishly difficult task. The formal clothes had been measured to fit snugly around Gajeel, highlight his strong physique. His biceps bulged in his sleeves, his chest was pronounced in his shirt and coat, and his riding trousers had been so damn tight Freed could see the musculature that made up his thigs through them. Freed would have to have a word with his tailor, perhaps docking him some pay for making his balls blue.

What was worse, Gajeel himself had taken to the outfit perfectly. Well, in a sense. He didn't play the part of an aristocrat, but as someone who had fallen into money but stuck to his workman roots. The juxtaposition of the man's luxury against his rough and common personality had an effect on Freed he couldn't quantify.

Forget a medal. Freed deserved compensation for being so patient.

And Gajeel had more torture for Freed yet. Once the party was over, and they had returned to Freed's home, Gajeel had delivered a final blow. He shucked off his jacket and undid the top two buttons of his shirt. Now a tantalising vision of his hair covered chest was peeking out, and Freed felt his sanity slipping away.

"Scoundrel," Freed muttered to himself, not expecting Gajeel to hear.

"What?" Gajeel asked, and Freed looked up to see he was grinning.

Freed's breath caught in his lungs. Gajeel was sitting in the armchair that Freed often read at, lounging over the leather with the smuggest expression on his face. His legs were spread wide, and Freed was given clear clarification that Gajeel hadn't worn a codpiece. His arms were bulging in his sleeves and, finally, Freed realised that the bastard knew what effect he had on his lover, and had been making it worse.

"I called you a scoundrel," Freed said again, glaring. Gajeel grinned. "You… you bloody well did all of that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Don't know what you mean," Gajeel grinned. He didn't even try to be convincing. "I just asked for my clothes to be tight cause I like the feeling."

"You… you-" The words wouldn't come to Freed. Gajeel sauntered over to his lover, smirking.

"I thought this party was gonna be full of stuffy asshats, I needed to have a little fun," He grinned, standing over Freed. He leant down, took the glaring man's chin in his fingers and leant closer. "I've never seen a nobleman so thirsty before. The sun must have been getting to ya. Only thing that makes sense, given how hot and sweaty you were lookin'."

"You will regret doing this," Freed muttered, eyes hard. The looming presence of his gorgeous lover above him was starting to take an effect, however. "I will make damn sure of that."

"I'm scared," Gajeel chuckled. "If it makes ya any less angry, I wanted ta jump on ya just as much."

Before Freed could say anything, Gajeel leant down and brought their lips together in a heated and passionate kiss. Freed returned it within an instant, running a hand over Gajeel's strong arms and feeling the muscles flexing over the fabric. He grabbed the collar of the man's shirt and tugged on it sharply, making the man collapse into his lap. The kiss continued as he did so.

"I very much doubt it," Freed snapped against Gajeel's lips.

Gajeel cackled, pressing himself further against Freed as they kissed against the chair. When he felt Freed's hands roaming under his shirt, unbuttoning it without elegance nor patience, he grinned into the kiss. Freed pinched his skin in retort, and Gajeel laughed. He would have to make his nobleman 'thirsty' more often, it seemed.