Eight Avirin
EIGHT
Avirin
Impossibly, Lord Riften maintains control when he kneels. It’s like a spell has been cast over the balcony, stopping Avirin’s breath as music swells from the orchestra pit.
Lord Riften’s nimble fingers undo the front of the man’s trousers, and Samuel whimpers. When Lord Riften brushes the hardened length between Samuel’s legs, they cluck their tongue. “How long have you been like this?”
Even in the darkness, Avirin can see a blush spreading up from Samuel’s collar. Lord Riften’s words seem meant to humiliate him, but from the subtle shifts of Samuel’s hips, it almost seems like he enjoys the shame.
When Lord Riften flicks the bulge between Samuel’s legs, Samuel yelps. Lord Riften asks again, “How long?”
“Hours.” Samuel pants, the truth drawn out of him. “Days. Ever since you sent the letter to meet you here.”
Slowly, Lord Riften pulls off his gloves, and Avirin realizes her head is swimming.
She clamps her fingers around the arm of the chair to keep herself upright, and Samuel does the same, both of them trying to hide their squirming.
There’s something hypnotic about that, how her body responds like Samuel’s does, their chests rising and falling in time while their gazes go glassy.
The opera continues below as Lord Riften undoes the final button on Samuel’s trousers. “And have you touched yourself since you received my letter?”
“No, Sir,” Samuel whines.
Avirin shudders, as if she were the one under Lord Riften’s fingers. How does Samuel keep from fighting it? He’s about to be exposed to her, and he accepts it, allowing Lord Riften to do whatever he wants.
And why can’t she look away? She knows she should, but her eyes are glued to where Lord Riften teases the fabric of Samuel’s clothes. Why does it make her feel liquid and hot? Why can’t she bring herself to use the codeword? Why is she salivating at the thought of —
“Lady Avirin.” Lord Riften’s voice drizzles over her senses, leaving her sticky and warm. “Has anyone ever bared themself to you? Have you ever seen someone else stripped of their clothing?”
Her gaze clings to Lord Riften’s bare hands braced on Samuel’s thighs. “No.”
Lord Riften quirks a brow. They can’t know she’s not being wholly truthful, but the thought is exhilarating enough to force her to continue.
“Only from a distance,” she says breathlessly, “when someone would relieve themself behind the stables.”
Lord Riften trails fingers along the opening of Samuel’s trousers and brushes his skin. Unwittingly, Samuel’s hips buck, and Lord Riften closes a fist around him. Samuel groans, head tipping back as the music swells.
Avirin doesn’t know where to look: the arch of Samuel’s neck, the smirk on Lord Riften’s face, or the thick appendage pulled from Samuel’s trousers. She can’t reconcile seeing a lord touching another man like this. This isn’t done. This isn’t allowed.
Lord Riften drags their thumb against the tip of Samuel’s length and smears something wet. “Do you know what this is, Lady Avirin?”
Samuel covers his mouth to muffle his sounds. Lord Riften leaves him on display, tormenting him with Avirin’s lessons.
Her thighs clench as she glances toward the balcony curtain.
Someone could find them like this. Someone could see, yet she can’t stop herself, her body thrumming when she looks back between Samuel’s legs.
“His…” God, she’s never said any of the words aloud.
She’s hardly thought them. With a swallow, she manages to whisper, “His…member.”
Lord Riften chitters with amusement. “That’s one way of putting it. For our purposes, we’ll use some other language.” They circle their thumb around the tip again. “Samuel, why don’t you give her some examples? Ask for what you want.”
Samuel grips the chair beneath him. “Please touch my cock, Sir.” He says it so easily, his voice keening. “Please, Sir, please put my dick in your mouth.”
“Good boy,” Lord Riften murmurs.
It cracks like lightning deep in Avirin’s stomach. She squirms. Why does she crave the words herself? Why is she caught in the thrall of Lord Riften’s praise?
“Now, Lady Avirin, should you so choose…” Lord Riften lowers their face toward Samuel’s lap. “I have no doubt your future husband would be thrilled if you blessed his cock with your mouth.”
Her fingernails dig into the chair. Her mouth?
The thought is alluring and foreign, yet when Lord Riften presses a kiss to Samuel’s dick, Avirin makes a needy sound to rival Samuel’s.
She has heard rumors of Lord Riften with other men, but none of the men would confirm it.
It’s improper. It’s wrong. It is not what God intended, yet Avirin hears a chorus of angels when Lord Riften’s pretty mouth settles next to Samuel’s flushed member.
“There’s a myriad of things you can do.” Lord Riften lets their lips brush Samuel’s tender skin with every word. “Lick the head here…”
Lord Riften lays out their tongue, swirling around Samuel’s swollen tip and teasing the glistening hole.
Samuel tries to sit still. Avirin can only imagine what it’s like to have Lord Riften’s practiced mouth against him.
She digs her heels into the floor, and she can almost picture it, Lord Riften’s lashes fluttering while he lowers his mouth between her thighs.
Samuel whimpers when Lord Riften twists over the rim of his cock. “You can drag your tongue up the shaft.” Lord Riften flattens their tongue, covering Samuel’s entire length until it glistens with spit. “And some people like it when you tease every part of them. Isn’t that right, Samuel?”
With Lord Riften’s other hand, he lifts the sack of skin that hangs beneath Samuel’s cock and sucks one side into his mouth.
Samuel’s eyes roll back. The sight shouldn’t affect Avirin so deeply, but the building ache between her legs might leave a burning hole in her dress.
After another moment of teasing, Lord Riften returns to the shaft, rolling their tongue in a way that makes Avirin want to cry out.
“Avoid using your teeth, unless they ask for it. Be gentle, but firm. All this kissing, licking, sucking…” Lord Riften trails their tongue lazily along the rim of Samuel’s cockhead before they lift their gaze to Avirin.
“It works on more than just cocks. I bet it would work on that pretty little place between your legs, too.”
The sound she makes is swallowed by the music below. She presses her fist between her legs, but Lord Riften clicks their tongue.
“No touching, Lady Avirin. You remember the rules.”
A scoff escapes her. She can hardly remember her name, let alone what he’d told her moments before. Surely he isn’t serious; he has that impish look in his eyes, and the pain at her center is growing stronger. She needs a moment, just a second to press the heel of her hand against —
“Avirin.”
Their voice impales her like an arrow. She bites back a moan at the sound of her name, only her name, but the sharp look on Lord Riften’s face roots her in place.
It’s vexatious. It’s exasperating, and when she pulls her hand away, the ache grows.
She throbs with want, the slightest bit of friction making things unimaginably worse.
“I know,” Lord Riften coos mockingly. “It hurts, doesn’t it? Dear, sweet Lady Avirin, made to suffer.”
Avirin wants to cry out. She wants to scream. She wants to curse him, but his cruelty heightens the longing inside her. How can that be? How can his denial make her crave more?
Perhaps it’s a curse of her affliction. Perhaps this is a sign that her sinful nature is overtaking her, turning her into something wanton and wicked. Perhaps that is why she loves the queer sight of Lord Riften and Samuel together.
For one blasphemous moment, Avirin prays that she will not be cured.
Lord Riften laps at Samuel’s head like the cat who got the cream.
“There, there: I won’t torture you both.
We should give at least one of you relief.
” Benevolently, Lord Riften parts his lips against Samuel’s head, but he doesn’t move further.
He doesn’t move at all, leaving Samuel squirming for attention.
“Please, Sir,” Samuel gasps. “Please!”
“Ask our guest,” Lord Riften corrects.
Samuel’s needy eyes whip toward Avirin, his face so close she could kiss him. She hadn’t realized how they’ve drifted together, seeking someone else who understands the delicious torture Lord Riften inflicts.
“Please, my lady,” Samuel begs. His mouth is so close she could taste him, his eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. “Please tell him to touch me. Please tell him to take it —”
The man can hardly get the words out. His breath mingles with hers, and it takes all she has not to press her mouth to his, not to swallow his sounds with a soothing kiss to ease the ache. She doesn’t know why she wants it, why her body is bursting with pain and pleasure all at once.
“What do you think he wants?” Lord Riften muses.
Somehow, his indifference is infuriatingly arousing.
There he sits, destroying both of them while he remains completely placid.
Lord Riften flattens their tongue and taps Samuel’s cock against it until Samuel buries his face in Avirin’s shoulder.
Lord Riften only smiles. “Do you think he’d like it if I swallowed him into the back of my throat? ”
Samuel cries out against her skin, but Lord Riften’s eyes lock onto her. It leaves her panting, fingernails tearing into Samuel’s sleeve. His cock blushes and strains for more. The place between Avirin’s legs is just as swollen and needy, but Lord Riften forbids her relief.
God, she needs Samuel to find his release. She needs one of them to be able to combust. The words leave her in a rush. “Take all of it.”
“All of what?” Lord Riften teases.
Avirin’s ears burn, but Lord Riften does not give in.
Samuel keens against her.
“His — cock,” Avirin breathes before she can stop herself. “Take his cock into your mouth. Take all of him into your throat.”
Lord Riften’s gaze scorches into hers. “You want me to swallow him?”
Avirin’s teeth dig into her lip when she nods.
His eyes flash with pride. “As my lady wills it.” Then Lord Riften opens their mouth, sinking down until Samuel’s cock disappears inside.
It happens so swiftly that it seems impossible.
Samuel cries out, his hard length leaving an indentation in Lord Riften’s throat, but Lord Riften does not gag.
They bob their head slowly, filling the box with wet, hollow sounds that make Avirin grip the chair between her legs.
She’s desperate to move her hips, but Lord Riften shakes their head while they swallow around Samuel’s cock.
With a pitiful sound, she withdraws her hand. Samuel groans and bucks his hips, and when the orchestra crescendos, Lord Riften pulls back with a pop.
“Poor, precious boy.” His fist returns to Samuel’s tip, stroking the short span over and over until Samuel twitches. “I bet you’d like to come in the back of my throat, wouldn’t you? But that can’t happen yet.”
Samuel and Avirin both whine, but Lord Riften keeps pumping their fist and tilts their head toward Avirin.
“Give her your mouth, Samuel. Let her feed from you.”
Samuel does so without question, inclining his head like he’s desperate to obey.
Avirin is no better, digging her fingers into his shirt when she crowds the arm of the chair between them.
Her mouth drags sloppily against his. His lips are plush and soft, and she tries not to grind her hips at how willingly his mouth opens for her.
With every stroke of Lord Riften’s hand, Avirin swallows another of Samuel’s sounds and licks at the blue smoke curling from his lips. His energy drizzles into her mouth, and she moans and shudders while she clutches him closer.
Then Samuel’s breath hitches, spiraling into a groan as he spills from both ends. His energy floods Avirin’s mouth the same time Lord Riften swallows around him. Samuel shudders and gasps, fingers curling into Avirin’s hair to keep her close when he crests the peak.
Slowly, the orchestral music fades. Samuel and Avirin try to steady their breathing, but Lord Riften keeps working over Samuel’s cock until there’s not a drop left in him.
With a final swipe of his tongue, Lord Riften tucks Samuel back into his trousers and gingerly kneads the man’s thighs with their hands.
A hint of guilt worms into Avirin’s mind. She can hardly believe she’s done this. She watched Lord Riften suck another man’s cock, a man whom she kissed while he came apart in the opera balcony…and she enjoyed it.
She plucks the string of shame inside her, but any sound it makes is drowned out by the symphony of excitement still buzzing through her mind.
Samuel looks positively dazed. His head lolls against Avirin’s shoulder, and she finds herself toying with the soft tendrils of blond against his forehead.
“If I may be so bold…” Samuel drawls.
Avirin giggles. Was what the three of them partook in not bold enough?
Samuel grins lazily. “Please invite Lady Avirin to more of these events. She adds a certain…something to your performance, Sir.”
Avirin’s stomach clenches. With Samuel lush and drained between them, it almost seems like Avirin and Lord Riften consorted to take this man apart.
That thought galvanizes her, filling her mind with visions of Lord Riften as her accomplice, the two of them sneaking away from every party and laughing together in shadow.
Lord Riften’s eyes flash, like they’re enjoying the same thought. “We do make a good team. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Avirin?”