Author: Mosh Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
Rosenstolz Academy was arguably at its most beautiful in the spring. During the daytime, a perpetual golden haze fell between ripening leaves on the old oaks lining the courtyard. Boys went about their business in their thin white school shirts - smart coats be damned - as the atmosphere grew progressively hotter and the air was almost constantly permeated with a warm tang of promise and dusky earth. All around fell the mellow splashing of the many fountains dotting the campus, the birds soaring above, the Zeppelins lazily drifting even higher still. In the Halls of Residence, Ludwig had a decent view of all these things from his rooms on the fourth floor. It was during one of his more pensive moods, as he looked down onto the microcosm of Kuchen kept safely within the school’s wrought iron fences, that he spotted another spectacle among the drones. A spectacle that blossomed fairly in the warmer weather, along with the roses and hyacinths. Camus stood out not just for the light, silver colour of his hair, but also his much smaller stature. It would be easy to mistake him for a girl, if it weren’t for his cloak of crimson and more masculine stride. The Bauhaus wall clock across the room melodically chimed the hour, before fading back to its rhythmic tick-tock. Ludwig noted his younger cousin was running a few minutes late, which wasn’t really a surprise - it was often hard tearing him from the greenhouses where he spent most of his afternoons once classes had ended, especially near the beginning of term. Like a bee to a honey pot, Camus was so predictable. Ludwig went to his large mahogany desk and seated himself behind it, resting his elbows on the shiny surface and steepling his fingers in front of his face. Just over ten minutes later, there came a soft rapping at his door. “Enter.” With a creak, the door opened. Before Camus had fully crossed the threshold Ludwig said, “You’re late.” Camus paused, standing in the doorway with one delicate hand poised on the brass knob. “Um… my apologies, Lui. I was-” “Fussing over your plants, I’m sure.” Camus’s face broke into a soft smile. “I can’t deny it.” He entered and closed the door quietly behind him, then approached the desk. As he moved further into the window light, Ludwig was able to survey him better. Camus displayed his usual pale demeanour, and moved carefully across the carpet, as if afraid to scuff his boots and ruin the thread. He was still quite short for his age, and Ludwig was certain he always would be. His eyes, however, were alert and spoke the truth of his seventeen years. He looked well; better than he sometimes did. “You wanted to see me, Lui?” Ludwig refrained from pointing out the uselessness of that statement, since he had only half an hour ago penned a request that Camus come to him immediately, and sent it along with Naoji on his way to the woods where he was no doubt currently wrapped up in his Kendo exercises. “I was busy over Easter and didn’t have the chance to visit your family.” Camus seemed surprised. “Oh. Well, yes, I wondered why you never came. I was hoping to see you at least once during the holiday.” He smiled again, that soft, verging on bittersweet smile of his. Ludwig clenched his jaw briefly. “I trust your mother is well.” “Yes, very well, thank you. Her pains cleared up quickly after Doctor Ehrlich prescribed her medicine.” “And Uncle, is he still on business in England?” “Due to come home in a couple of weeks.” Ludwig nodded noncommittally. His aunt and uncle leaned a little too left for his liking; during his visits to the Lüneburg estate he tended towards his young cousin’s company rather than theirs. He preferred to leave his father to arguing politics with his uncle - to Ludwig, it was a fruitless endeavour. Still, he felt it was only polite to enquire after them, since they had been kind to him as a young boy. “I see.” He slowly leaned back in his chair, the leather seat cover groaning expensively under him. Letting his hands rest flat on the desktop, he watched Camus coolly for a moment, then said, “Come closer.” Camus was already standing at the edge of the desk, so the only way for him to follow Ludwig’s order was to go around it and stand beside Ludwig’s chair. Which he did, after a second of hesitation. Ludwig immediately sensed the excitement in Camus, hidden just under the surface of his subdued mask. He positively thrummed with it, like an electric charge set to pop at any moment. Something in the pit of Ludwig’s stomach stirred in answer. It wasn’t the first time Ludwig had been able to read his cousin’s mood in close proximity, though he did not like to ponder it too much. Camus received enough unwanted attention from the other students about his receptiveness to the feelings of others, and Ludwig was determined to preserve his own dignity. “Lui,” Camus said faintly, then cleared his throat. “I missed you.” “Did you really.” Ludwig rose, pushing his seat backwards. He stared down at the young man, observing him through narrowed eyes. “Of course I did.” Camus sounded almost scandalized. He took a step towards Ludwig, bringing them so close only a sword’s edge could have passed smoothly between them. The stirring within Ludwig rose to a familiar, insistent curl; warm, spreading outward. Camus tilted his chin to maintain eye contact with Ludwig, but the set of his mouth was unsure, a little pinched. “I’m happy you called me here. I didn’t want to assume, or interrupt you if you were studying.” “It’s the first day back. You know they never issue extra work on the first day,” Ludwig said. He spotted a small brown leaf twisted in Camus’s hair. Reaching up, he idly unthreaded it and pulled it out, dropping it on his desk. “Why did you hesitate to come of your own accord?” He saw the uncertainty in Camus’s eyes, dancing within the light brown irises. “Do not lie to me. I always know.” Only now did Camus break his gaze, looking down at the shiny buttons on Ludwig’s coat. “I… was worried.” “Worried? Why on earth would you need to worry?” Camus sniffed. “It’s just, when we’re alone at your home or mine I don’t mind so much, because our parents are always away on business, or in town having tea. But here…” “I like the way you assume so much.” He knew it was unfair to tease, but he got the reaction he expected. Camus flinched and spluttered, his slight frame stiffening with embarrassment. “I- no, it’s not like that. I just thought- I mean, last term when we…” Ludwig grew tired of the dithering and curled one arm around Camus’s waist. With a light tug, he moved the smaller man in front of the desk and pinned him there with a hard stare. “Lui-” “You’re afraid someone will find out. I will show you your fear is unfounded.” He pressed his hips forward, meeting Camus’s body with his own. Camus shivered visibly as Ludwig leaned down and spoke directly into his ear. “These are my rooms and nobody in their right mind would enter here without my express permission, not even Naoji.” Hardening within the restriction of his trousers, Ludwig shifted very slightly, a thrill running the length of his spine at the sensation. His cock twitched at the feel of Camus’s growing erection, strained against his own. “You want it, see,” breathed Ludwig, whispering through Camus’s hair. His cousin let out a choked sound, his back arching a fraction as if in response - whether a lame attempt at denial, or a firm admission, Ludwig didn’t care. Camus tensed again when Ludwig snaked his hand up to unclasp the red cloak he wore, then slipped down over his shoulder to unbutton his shirt. Camus’s breath hitched with each pop of a button, coming faster now. “Lui, we can’t - not here.” “Hush.” He didn’t need to say it loud or even firmly. Camus’s mouth snapped shut and his eyelids lowered momentarily. Once Ludwig had all the buttons undone he pushed Camus’s shirt over his shoulders, a quick motion that caught the younger man off-guard. At Camus’s lower back, Ludwig twisted the fabric, trapping his hands in the sleeves and rendering his cousin incapable of movement. “Lui!” “I told you to hush, did I not?” Ludwig took a small step back, instantly and coldly aware of the lack of friction. His erection pushed at the front of his trousers, so he made fast work of his coat, slipping out of it and tossing it over one arm of the chair. His crisply ironed shirt was next to go. All the while he undressed, Camus leant against the desk’s edge and watched, rapt. His mouth parted helplessly as Ludwig slipped out of his shirt and let it crumple behind him, taking great satisfaction in the look of admiration, barely suppressed want and also a little fear. It was one of Ludwig’s favourite expressions, and he very much enjoyed drawing it out of his cousin. He pulled his leather belt smoothly through the silver clasp he had been gifted with one Christmas. Ludwig felt no shame; the cream-white body arching mere inches from him saw to that. Camus squirmed a little as Ludwig dropped his belt, the buckle catching the edge of the desk with a dull clunk. Pushing his hair behind his shoulders, Ludwig moved in again, swooping low to capture Camus’s parted mouth. The younger man could not stop his moan this time, full blown and raw against Ludwig’s tongue. He hadn’t realised he was quite so hungry. If recollection was correct, it had been just over a month since he last spent private time with Camus, and back then it had been a hurried encounter during which neither of them had had time to undress or savour much of each other. Hurried encounters were momentarily satisfying, but there was nothing like relishing, controlling, taking just what was wanted in time. His cousin’s smooth, fine skin was a little paler than his own, but only a fraction; Ludwig always thought they complimented each other nicely. However, where Camus’s personality was warm and welcoming to match his skin, Ludwig could not boast the same dual feature. Though, for the life of him, as much as he scoffed at Camus’s tendency to trust and make friends easily, he could not deny he liked it - this closeness, the touch of another. “Mm… Lui, you kiss differently from last time.” Camus’s voice was faint and a little dazed after Ludwig broke away. Ignoring him, Ludwig untied his trousers and reached for the second drawer on the left side of his desk. All the while he kept his eyes on Camus, as he leaned down, watching Camus’s gaze move with him, watching those light brown eyes follow his arm to the drawer. After a second of rummaging, he located the balm he used to stop his hands chaffing under his gloves and drew it out, uncorking the lid. At this, Camus’s eyes widened. “You mean to… Lui, it’s too risky at this time of evening. What if Eduard or Orphe stop by? What if they go to the greenhouses and wonder why I’m not there?” “Would you prefer to do this in the greenhouses, then?” said Ludwig. The throbbing at his groin was growing with anticipation and he was in no mind for Camus’s feeble protests. He tugged on the delicate silver fastening on Camus’s shorts, opening it so the fabric parted in a V. Within, the rosy tip of Camus’s cock became visible. “No, you know what I meant.” Camus gasped prettily at the freedom. “Oh, that feels…” “Good,” Ludwig finished for him. Setting the balm on the desk, Ludwig pushed his trousers further down, letting them gather at his feet. He barely had time to touch Camus’s thighs before his cousin was struggling to lift himself up onto the desk. With Ludwig’s help, he was soon perched precariously on the edge, his shorts slipping of their own accord down over his thin knees and calves, dropping to the carpet. Cock standing up hard and frustrated, Camus’s earlier complaints seemed to have finally dried up. All the better - Ludwig could only tolerate them for so long. He ached to press up against the younger man, rut hard and fast until he was satisfied, but since it had been so long and they had not been together like this for even longer, he did not feel inclined to rush this time. He leaned in for a kiss and this time Camus kissed back, catching Ludwig’s tongue between his teeth gently before releasing and pushing back with his own. Ludwig pressed his hips forward little by little, until the tip of his erection brushed against Camus’s. The resulting groan from Camus was so deep and heartfelt it seemed to absorb and reverberate right through Ludwig, too. There was a little struggle, Camus pulling futilely against his tangled shirt sleeves to get free, most likely so he could touch himself, or pull Ludwig closer to him. Ludwig smiled into the kiss and he was granted a grunt of frustration. The next time he broke away, Camus muttered, “You don’t play fair,” against his wet lips. “That’s never stopped you enjoying it,” he pointed out, and then reached down to dip his fingers into the pot of gel. “Hn,” was all Camus had to say to that, in a mock-sulky manner. When Ludwig touched the head of Camus’s cock with slick fingers, there seemed to be barely room for breath, let alone sulkiness. The younger man’s eyelids fluttered shut, but not before Ludwig spotted the pupils beneath rolling upward. The cock in his fingers pulsed eagerly; Camus was by now on the verge. Foregoing the release his cousin so desperately wanted, Ludwig dropped his touch to Camus’s inner thigh, where the skin was so soft he thought it would break as easily as a ripe peach if bitten into. “Ohh.. Lui, t-touch…” Coherency, it seemed, was also lost, but it wasn’t as if Ludwig needed direction. He swirled his moist fingertip around in circles, inching further in and down, below Camus’s taught balls, to where the skin crinkled and resisted. With a little force, he began to stretch the younger man, first with one finger and a rhythmic rotating motion, then finally two. The exclamations wrung from Camus were the likes of which he would never dream of emitting in polite society. Despite himself, Ludwig was amused by this, and in equal part turned on by it. “I had no idea you were aware of such notions,” he teased, as he drew his fingers out of Camus and once again returned to the gel. “Uhh, Lui, stop poking fun.” Camus squirmed again delightfully. This time, Ludwig curled his hand around his own erection and stroked from tip down to base, then back up, biting lightly on his lower lip as he slicked himself with the warmed balm. It felt phenomenal enough, but he knew it was nothing compared to how Camus would feel squeezed around him. “A-are you certain nobody will come in?” Really, at a time like this. “I thought I told you,” said Ludwig, closing in and coming to stand between Camus’s thighs. “Nobody would dare enter here unless I give permission.” He angled his erection and pushed forward. “The same goes for here, too,” he added, closing his eyes as he started to feel some give. Camus made a small noise of discomfort, and since he was incapable of using his arms Ludwig took pity on him. Wrapping his free hand around Camus’s back, he sought out his hands and rested his palm against one of them. Camus immediately grabbed hold and squeezed tightly, anchoring himself against the ache. “Ohh, ohh…” With utterances like that raining against his collarbone, Ludwig couldn’t help but push a little harder, a little faster. Camus’s groans grew progressively louder, and in turn sounded much filthier than they had any right to. As he edged in, heated millimetre by heated blissful millimetre, Ludwig fought to maintain control. If he overdid it, he might hurt Camus, something he decidedly did not want. But lord, it was difficult, with the glorious clench and jump of Camus’s muscles, the intense heat of him, the tightness, the way he had gone from being resistant at the beginning to now - a mass of shivering groans and pinching, desperate hands. There was no doubt in Ludwig’s mind about spending the rest of his life with his cousin, whether as lovers, friends - he did not care. If Naoji was to be his right, then Camus was as surely destined to be his left - always by his side. He had managed to persuade Camus back to school during his time of doubt, and he would keep modelling the younger man to fulfill his potential. “Lui, more…” The order was so breathless and wanton Ludwig was, for once, in no mind to reprimand his younger cousin for being pushy. Wild horses could not have stopped him from giving in to Camus right then: he pushed harder, until his thighs connected with Camus’s and Camus was crying out loudly against his chest, a torrent of “Ohh, oh, please, yes, oh yes, yes…” “Sshh,” he soothed as he pulled out a little way, only to slide into Camus again. He muttered a very low curse, muffling it into Camus’s hair. The other man’s body, wrapped so tightly around his length, and the seemingly endless expanse of sweaty skin wriggling against his, reminded him what it was to be with someone, to open up and receive them as Camus was receiving him right now. To let go for once. Squeezing Camus’s hands gently, he thrust, and again, and again, drawing out more every time so that each stroke was longer, deeper, more incredible than the last. Camus’s body, as frail as it appeared, could withstand a surprising amount of strenuous exercise. That was something they had come to learn about each other over the last two years during holidays and at the Academy. Camus wrapped his still-stockinged legs around Ludwig’s waist, either to urge him on or find a more comfortable position; or both. As sturdy as it was, the table began to shake with their weight, as Ludwig threw caution to the wind and buried himself deep in Camus’s body, rotating his hips hard as he did so. He was unable to keep back a moan and at Camus’s loud cry, he thought that to drown here would be bliss, the only way to go. He felt beads of hot come streak his stomach and Camus shuddered violently, his gasps and pleas rasping uncontrollably through his teeth. He pressed his face against Ludwig’s chest and his fingers twitched as he came untouched and perfectly, his cheeks moist and so, so hot. “Lui, Lui… oh, God. Lui…” The mumbles started as Camus spiralled back down. Ludwig felt his own name spoken against his skin and revelled in the sound of it, spoken like a dirty curse. He slowed his thrusts, deepening them, working his way inside Camus with rolling jerks of his hips. Round and round and round until he was aware of nothing but his thundering heartbeat and, somewhere far off, Camus’s ragged panting. The tightness in his balls grew excruciating and finally, with a choked groan, he let himself be dragged under, surrendering to Camus and his own need. If his spine had been drawn out through his cock he would not have been surprised; for a heady moment he could feel nothing but intense pleasure, a bordering-on-pain relief. He could only see darkness, so black he felt like he was being absorbed into it, turning to nothing but essence of himself. He swore with abandon, too drunk on sex to care a whit how loud he was being or what he was saying. As the bursts of his release began to ebb, bit by bit, Ludwig was able to find himself again. He opened his eyes, lowering his head to press his mouth against Camus’s damp shoulder. He could see their fingers, still entwined at the base of Camus’s back, his larger hand cupping his cousin’s smaller ones. Yes, Camus would always be his, in some way or another, as he had been throughout school, so would he be thereafter. One term left, then everything would change except them, and the fact that they would always have each other. “What was that?” Camus said, his voice almost returned to normal, apart from a vaguely rough edge. “What?” Ludwig released Camus’s hands and slowly, carefully, withdrew. His body thrummed and felt raw, but it wasn’t a wholly unpleasant feeling. “You said something just then.” The younger man stared up at him with glazed eyes, his face and body wet from their exertion. “Did I?” Ludwig couldn’t recall speaking aloud. He was in no mind to remember what he had said, either, and definitely in no mind to clarify for Camus. Without further ado, he helped Camus off the desk, holding him steady while he found his footing, then reached behind to untangle his shirt. Finally free, Camus stretched his arms and rubbed at his wrists. There were faint red marks there. After a moment Camus caught Ludwig staring at them. “Oh, it’s all right. It doesn’t hurt.” He smiled faintly. “Really.” Ludwig retrieved a large handkerchief from his coat behind him, and proceeded to clean the mess on his stomach. Afterwards, he redressed with as much grace as he could muster, which wasn’t a great deal, to his shame. Somewhere he kept a crude box of tissues - after quickly checking the bureau, he found them and took a handful. Camus accepted them gratefully and wiped at his face. His cheeks were pink and healthy looking, and now that he’d had a chance to regain himself his eyes were bright and cheerful. Once he had re-clasped his shorts he reached for his cloak. However, Ludwig got to it first. “Stand still.” Twisting the cloak behind Camus’s back, he pulled the fabric around his shoulders and attached the brooch, then smoothed the folds neatly out of the way. He didn’t like to admit it, but a part of him was reluctant to let his younger cousin go. He inwardly scoffed at himself - what sort of a man was he becoming to entertain such sentimental thoughts? “Thank you, Lui,” said Camus, and rose up on tiptoe to dot a quick kiss to Ludwig’s mouth. Ludwig paused, then said, “You should go.” Camus smiled. “Of course. I’d best get back to the greenhouses.” “How did I know you’d head there?” “You can read me like a book.” “Indeed.” “Lui?” “What?” “Welcome back to school.” Ludwig watched his cousin walk across the room to the door, open it, and then throw a happy smile over his shoulder before leaving. In his wake, Ludwig let his body fall back into his chair. He needed a bath, wanted to open a window, but for the life of him he could not be bothered to move just yet. Slowly, a smile crept up over his mouth and lingered there for a moment,
before it disappeared again. |
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