Study Aid
With calm deliberation, Louis picks up the next stack of flash cards, and rearranges himself in his chair, uncrossing and then crossing his legs the other way. Takes his sweet time, selecting a question, and then checking the answer just to ensure that he has it well in mind. Sets the flashcards down, reaches out – a loud whine tears through the air – and he halts his hand looking at the body sprawled across the desk, shirt pushed up to the base of a trembling chin. A chest laid bare heaving for breath as it tries not to squirm, coated in a peach-like pinkness all the way down to the part of trembling thighs from which an opaque liquid appears to be gathering. Louis feels his lips curl up in a smile that he has been informed multiple times makes him look like a smug bastard, but he can't help himself when faced with the beautiful sight in front of him. Licks his lips and resumes retrieving his tea, taking a long gulp of the warm liquid.
"Are you ready to continue?" He asks, modulating his voice after his grandfather's, and feels a trill of sheer pleasure at the glower he receives for his question. There's a strangled huff and Astolfo snorts, cheeks flushing in sharp contrast to his furrowed brow. Louis reaches out and brushes back his soft green hair helpfully, tucking the locks back behind his ear, fingers trailing down to linger briefly on his ear piercing admiring it the way it catches the light. It suits Astolfo's ferocious and rebellious nature to a tee, though Louis will never tell him that less his ego gets any bigger. "Well?" He inquires mildly and sets the mug back down.
"Have I told you that you're a fucking bastard?" Astolfo snarls, voice high-pitched and wavering, as if he's trying to bite back another whine. Louis simply arches an eyebrow and drags his hand down that trembling chest, skips his fingers over well-defined pectorals avoiding the scarring out of habit, and then taps them lightly on the little wolf body transpiercing the pert nipple. Lifts his gaze to meet Astolfo's widening eyes and takes the little nub between two fingers, twisting it gently but with intent. The reaction is instantaneous. "You fucker!" Astolfo screeches even as he arches up into his hand, blush darkening in response to the stimulation. Continues to squirm helplessly under Louis' patient touch, his arms trembling and jerking above his head, but the cuffs hold firm, the desk as well, its solid wood remaining unperturbed by the struggling fury on top of it.
"Is that any way to speak to the person you begged help from?' Louis questions, drawing his hand back eventually and innocently letting it drag down his stomach, all the way to the part of his thighs and curls his fingers around the end of the dildo. "After I took time out of my busy day to sit in here with you."
"Somehow, I don't think this is helping me study," Astolfo hisses, tone going all haughty like it does when he's attempting to one-up up someone. Seeing as how this whole ordeal was his idea though, Louis feels perfectly within his right to withdraw the thick plastic rob and shove it back in, the motion smooth and practiced. Astolfo releases a choked noise, high pitched and wheezing, his body jerking against the wood. Absentmindedly Louis catches the foot aiming for his head and pins it to the chair, giving himself more room to work as he repeats the gesture. "Fucker! Fuck, fuck!" Astolfo screeches, but his legs spread compliantly, far too used to the terrifying stretches of ballet dancers to find issue with the one that Louis is currently inflicting on him. Louis relents after a third thrust, not keen on letting Astolfo orgasm so soon after his last one.
"What are the dates for the Song of Roland?" He continues pleasantly, his gaze flickering briefly down to the flashcards and then returning to Astolfo's red face as the latter chokes on a whimper.
"I don't give a fuck about that dumbass!" He squeak-yells, kicking out at Louis again. "Why is that stupid epic on the exam anyway. It's Christian propaganda and complete bullshit. I don't want to learn about a moron that got all his soldiers killed 'cause he was so stupidly arrogant."
"Says the Christian," Louis mutters, unable to resist needling him a little bit and Astolfo puffs up in sheer rage.
"That's different! The type of Christian that I aspire to be is not the type that gets people killed nor goes on murdering rampages! I'm not a holy knight or whatever, I just…! I just want to help people, stop touching me there, you bastard!" Astolfo turns his head to glower at him, utterly out of breath and looking quite scary with his fangs sticking out of his mouth, and yet the only thing Louis feels coursing through his heart is affection. It's a strange thing to think that someone like him would fall for someone like Astolfo and yet, here he is, struggling to withhold a smile as his heart thunders so loudly that it's almost painful.
"That's nice," he says instead of the proclamation of love that's coiling around his heart like a python, "now when and where does the song of Roland take place? What tale is it supposed to be recounting? Who and what were the primary factors for the–" has to stop talking as a chuckle breaks free of his throat, a direct response to the seething rage in Astolfo's eyes.
"The Song of Roland recounts the tale of a moronic dumbass that served under Charlemagne the great. According to this particular text, Sir fuckwad was his nephew and in possession of the divine weapon Durandal. In his company was the honorable Sir Oliver and 10 other knights of land. Spoiler alert, they all die, because – nng! Fuck! Don't stick your finger in there!"
"Because?" Louis prompts and continues to ease his finger in next to the dildo, testing how much give there is, before he withdraws it and cleans it off on Astolfo's trembling stomach.
"I hate you so much," Astolfo hisses between clenched jaws, "from the bottom of my heart, I despise you so very much. They die at the battle of Roncevaux pass, because of an ambush due to treason from Roland's stepfather, Ganelon. The year… the year was 778. August, I think. There did I… nng, oh God, did I get it?"
Louis deliberates making him answer the question in its entirety, but it's clear that despite his attitude, Astolfo does indeed know the answers. "Close enough, as long as you don't use that language when you're taking the exam, you should survive." Astolfo glares at him, cheeks puffed out into a sulky pout, his nose curling in a manner that his akin to a bunny's and like this, spread out on the desk he looks utterly delectable. His whole body aflame with a red blush, chest heaving as sweat trickles down it, the thin choker around his neck standing out in sharp contrast. Absentmindedly, Louis licks his lips, and pulls the plastic dick out slightly before shoving it back in feeling his fingers brush up against the smelly juices of Astolfo's earlier orgasm.
"I've had enough studying," Astolfo whines, breath hitching harder, feet kicking helplessly at the desk. "I already know all this shit anyway; I've earned a break."
Louis looks down at the remaining flashcards, flipping through them lazily as his free hand continues to work the dildo in and out of Astolfo's greedy pussy, ignoring the sudden increase in desperate whines as he deliberates. There aren't many left, most are questions that he knows they've been over before and if he's being honest, it is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the own need pulsating in his nether regions. "Who wrote the Three Musketeers?" He asks, carefully storing the flash cards back in their box and setting it aside. Turns back at the lack of answer and flicks a nipple scoldingly. "Well?"
"Alexander Dumas!" Astolfo squeak-yells, stocked feet helplessly curling in the air. "Born in 1802! Died…Died 1870!" Slumps back with another high-pitched whine, tears gathering in his beautiful red-brown eyes, long lashes fluttering, as mascara continues to run on his cheeks.
"Very good, kitten," Louis purrs– ignoring the disgruntled growling – and wipes his hands on a handkerchief. Stands up and walks away from the desk, feeling a smirk come to his face at the responding sound of outrage, and begins the delicate task of removing his silk shirt. Removes it one button at a time, being careful not to cause unnecessary damage and relishing in the musical quality of the whines that reach his ears. Tosses it carelessly on the bed and strips out of his pants, returning with a familiar harness in hand. Reaches down and removes the dildo, dropping it to be dealt with later. "Ready for another orgasm?"
"I fucking hate you so much," is the snarled answer, "just you wait I'm going to – nng!"
"If you kill me, I won't be able to fuck you anymore," Louis points out, utterly unbothered by the threats though he does shift to void any potential jaw cracking kicks. Takes his time strapping on the harness, aware of the eyes avidly watching his every movement Checks that its well-adjusted, and only then does he reach down and free Astolfo's wrists, carefully bringing them to his chest and starting to massage them, wanting to ensure that they're still alright.
"Smugness does not look good on you, Pinkett," Astolfo growls, and makes an impatient gesture. "Get over here already, if you so much as fucking think of edging me I'll – ah! Fuunngg!"
"One of these days you'll learn how to beg properly," Louis says mock tragically and spreads Astolfo's legs further, making tiny, aborted thrusting gestures, enjoying the choked gasps that the action draws. "Be good and I'll let you bite me." Sets his hands on the muscular thighs and yanks, hearing a groan of pleasure escape from his own throat as he seats himself all the way, and the resulting rush of relieved pleasure very nearly has him giving in. Restrains himself in extremis, and inhales slowly, fingers loosening their bruising grip on the shuddering muscles below his hands. "Let me know when you're –"
"Move fucker!" Astolfo cuts him off, snarling like the feral kitten he is deep down. There are hands grasping at Louis' shoulders, his arms, and he finds himself giving in to their demands, bending forwards to meet the hungry lips. Astolfo kisses like a bonfire. All licking fangs and sharp sparks of embers. His tongue is just as vicious a combatant when employed in the art of crafting words as it is when he uses it for more physical pleasure. He kisses like he's trying to win a competition and Louis is nothing if not competitive. The younger twin, the unwanted one, the weird one. Too much like your pansy of a grandfather. Good grades mean nothing if your father never looks at your report card. Louis breaks away from the kiss, gasping for air, hauls Astolfo up into his arms and drops backwards into the chair. Loses himself into the rhythm of rocking upwards and kissing that sassy mouth, down his sharp jaw across his neck.
"Louis," Astolfo gasps into his ear. "Louis."
"Yes," Louis answers, struggles to say more, but his thought and words are like cotton being spun around the stick. As flimsy as wispy clouds being chased across the sky. Feels a sharp pain in his neck, recognizes it to be fangs, and hopes that they leave a mark. One that will tell the whole world that someone wants him, someone thinks that he's worth loving. Hauls Astolfo even closer and gives himself up to the pleasure, drinks in every keen and cry, seeks to draw even more from that pretty throat, wanting to imprint the memory of his existence on Astolfo's body.
"Louis," his name is like a spell being whispered from blood slick lips, and when he leans back, he's greeted with a smile, all pleasure and affection, something shining so brightly out of Astolfo's eyes that Louis has utterly no choice but to respond in kind.
I love you, he thinks, I'm grateful for your friendship. Leans forwards again, kissing along Astolfo's neck, all the way up to his ear and licks the shell of it, listening happily to the shocked squeak. Feels arms tighten around his back and neck, as Astolfo clings to him, shuddering once more through an orgasm. It's exhilarating the thought that he can reduce the firebrand to silence like this, flattering as well, even so Louis strings his words together and asks innocently. "How did Roland die in the text?"
Astolfo's screech of outrage is music to his ears.