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"We have a bell," Estinien mentions quietly, right after their evening meal. "Want to go for a walk?"
Aymeric can't find a reason to say no, even if he does need to wash up the three mugs, now devoid of tea, from his bedside table, his armour needs to be polished before patrol on Windsday, and he needs to write a letter back to his Mama before she sends one to his Captain demanding to know where he is and what it is he is doing.
He can never say no to Estinien, his longtime friend, especially as opportunities for private time together dwindle as the war intensifies and their careers progress.
So, he nods, and they make their way out of the encampment.
The seventh bell had just chimed, so the sun is now setting, amber light leaking through the trees and spilling across the grassy plains of western Coerthas. Wind tickles Aymeric's hair, caresses his face and ears, and it feels delightfully warm and soothing. 'Tis a pleasant evening, all in all, and despite the past sennight's circumstances, Aymeric doesn’t want to let the memory of it ruin his night.
An unexpected wyvern attack close to the encampment had sent soldiers into action just three days prior. Lancers, archers and paladins alike had all burst out into the fray as fire had rained down upon them, swooping attacks and beating wings surrounding their small band of men, who were vastly under equipped and under prepared. Ultimately, it had been won by the Ishgardians, but they had lost Maufoix that day, and Aymeric wasn't quite sure he was over it yet.
But in the fields of Coerthas, the back of his hand brushing against Estinien's, Aymeric can easily forget about it all. He can forget all about the war, his career, his fallen comrades, as long as he has Estinien walking beside him.
They had become somewhat inseparable ever since Aymeric had saved the young lancer’s life with a well timed arrow, and the past year had gone by in a sort of unexpected whirlwind for him. What had started as a fairly solid friendship had blossomed into something that left Aymeric feeling the thudding echo of his heart in Estinien’s presence, and experiencing the sort of dreams that would make a Halonic priest blush.
Luckily for Aymeric, Estinien had felt the same way. A messy makeout after a night of shameless drinking at the Forgotten Knight had resulted in this semi-relationship that they now shared. They were comrades. Brothers. Companions.
Friends who are lovers. Lovers who are friends.
Aymeric didn’t like to label it.
He knew that Estinien’s list of priorities would always start and end with Nidhogg and the war effort, but he liked to fantasise that with every shared glance, every desperate kiss, he would find himself rising higher and higher on Estinien’s list.
They had an unspoken agreement to just go with the flow for the time being, not to define it while they were still in training. It meant meals spent together in the mess hall whenever they could. Training sessions in the yard, sweat-soaked and aching, a fire crackling between them beneath their sodden shirts and heaving breaths. And any rare free bell together, where they could get away from it all, much like tonight.
Estinien is especially quiet on this particular walk. Like most of their outings together, Aymeric does most of the talking, but he can’t find it in himself to do so tonight, too immersed in the feeling of the autumnal nature and expansive landscape around him. ’Tis not like Estinien would notice anyway, his lack of attention to the nuances of social interaction meant that without Aymeric’s nudging, long periods of silence would often occur.
It did not matter, it was exactly how Aymeric liked Estinien to be.
He looks over at the other man, as they walk along the well-trodden path. Even with his stony exterior, Estinien’s face betrays more emotion than he lets on. His eyebrows are crossed, which one could attribute to the setting sun beaming right in their faces, but the thin line of his mouth is far from relaxed, his lips turned downwards into a frown.
Aymeric longs to peer into Estinien’s mind, to reach into the chest that stores his thoughts and uncover the treasure that rests inside, but he knows Estinien well enough by now to know that long and deep conversations about feelings are far and few between.
Instead, he takes Estinien’s hand and squeezes it gently. “Are you alright?”
“Mm,” Estinien hums, relaxing his face. “Long day.”
“Indeed,” Aymeric replies. The funeral for the men they had lost earlier in the sennight had been this morning, and the mood around camp had been particularly sombre for the rest of the day. Aymeric squeezes Estinien’s hand again.
“Tomorrow is a new one,” he continues. “Back to Ishgard on Firesday.”
Estinien nods. “You looking forward to it?”
“Mm. It will be nice to see Mama again, I haven’t seen her in over five moons.”
“How is she?” Estinien asks.
The question surprises Aymeric. Very rarely does Estinien ask about his family — Aymeric had chalked that up to Estinien not allowing himself to think of his own — so he feels a warmth rush through him and he involuntarily squeezes Estinien’s hand a third time.
“She is well! Now that the mould problem in the walls of her bedroom has been fixed, her breathing has been much improved.”
“Good to hear,” is all Estinien adds, but Aymeric laps it up all the same.
“Are you looking forward to returning?” he asks.
Estinien scrunches up his face. “…I’ve been avoiding Alberic’s letters.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t worry, he knows I am still alive. He would have received word if I wasn’t. The letters have simply added up in recent times, and I’ve just not had the time to reply.”
“You should make the time,” Aymeric says gently, smiling softly. “Or go and see him when we’re back.”
“I’ll try,” Estinien replies.
Aymeric knows better than to push it.
Their walking eventually takes them to a clearing where the bend in the river creates a small waterfall. The evening sun glistens over the water, making it sparkle like diamonds as it pours over the plains. Trees surround them, quiet and looming, the break in the small forest sheltering them from sight.
It’s where they usually end up on their walks out of the encampment; the area is quiet, serene, and most importantly — private.
There’s a beat, where all is silent except from the repetitive rush of water in the background and the leaves whistling in the trees. Aymeric sits down on the soft grass, and Estinien sits down next to him.
“’Tis lovely out tonight,” Aymeric murmurs.
Estinien hums in response.
Aymeric glances over at the other man. Takes in the sight of Estinien’s profile; the slightly curved nose, the thin lips, the fringe that teases his eyelashes. The beauty of him astounds Aymeric sometimes, he can’t believe he’s managed to win Estinien over and convince him to let him into his world.
He reaches over, presses a kiss to the corner of Estinien’s mouth.
And when Estinien turns his head, grabs his chain-mail collar and fuses their lips together, Aymeric can't say he is entirely surprised.
Estinien quickly pushes him back into the ground, his lips still pressed hard and unforgiving against Aymeric's, and encompasses him with his weight.
It's messy and rough and not unlike wrestling, the way they writhe around in the golden grasses. Estinien keeps a hand tight on Aymeric's collar, forcing his face to remain as close as possible as Aymeric does anything to keep Estinien atop him; the pressure of his weight is like an undeniable vice on his sanity.
Aymeric moans first, his gloved hand reaching up to curl into Estinien's hair, pulling slightly to force the other man to slow down. His fellow knight is always so determined and eager. Aymeric opens his mouth, letting their lips become slick with spit, and Estinien finally melts, his grip becoming loose as a soft growl escapes his throat.
They kiss for a few more moments, the wind rustling above them as they stay hidden in the grasses, crushing poor stalks beneath their metal bodies.
It drives Aymeric wild, the slow and steady of it. Feeling hands languidly roam across his torso, reaching down and hooking his knee to wrap around Estinien’s waist. The way Estinien's lips consume him, like he was the most delightful delicacy, the huffs of breath escaping him showing just how desperate he was to taste.
Knowing that Estinien wants him just as desperately as Aymeric wants him back.
Estinien moves to his neck, sucking gently at Aymeric's soft skin, and wedges a leg between Aymeric's that — despite the many layers — simultaneously gives them relief.
"Estinien," Aymeric gasps, as Estinien groans. "Gods, I- keep going."
Estinien does nothing but acquiesce, pressing his hips against Aymeric's hipbone, which in turn presses his leg deeper against Aymeric's groin, the friction working like fire straight to his cock. The hand clutching Aymeric's thigh tightens further, and Aymeric swears it would leave indents if Estinien hadn't been wearing gloves.
Aymeric can do nothing but inhale the sensation of Estinien around him. The scent of his hair, still fresh from yesterday’s wash, with the aroma of tea-tree and lemons. The musky, sweat-soaked skin of his neck, pressing salt and heat into Aymeric’s open mouth.
It’s becoming all too much. Aymeric feels that swelling sensation in his gut, and the desperate desire to give in to what it wants. “Estinien, please…You feel so good, I- I-“
A stutter. A sharp exhale of breath. Estinien stills.
Aymeric stills too.
"Shite," Estinien mutters after a moment, completely breathless. "I hadn't- I hadn't meant to let it get that far.”
Aymeric smiles, feeling utterly besotted, and he swears he spies Estinien's lips quirk.
They detach awkwardly, with a quick kiss and a shuffle, and Aymeric glances down at the result of his desires, straining proudly against his breeches.
"Do not fret, I would not have been far behind you," he says.
"Hm," Estinien grunts, also looking at Aymeric’s breeches. "Do you want help?"
Aymeric huffs a breath of laughter. "Nay. I can handle myself, thank you. 'Tis not a long walk til camp."
"You plan to sort it at camp?"
"Where else?"
Estinien shrugs. "In my mouth, against that tree."
Aymeric hears a ringing, his ears flushing hot. He might just reach his peak from the thought of that idea alone, of Estinien’s mouth hot and wet around him. But they do not have the time, nor Aymeric the courage, to attempt that act, so he shakes his head and laughs. "Another time, perhaps."
They stand, feeling the cool breeze whistle around their exposed skin. Aymeric adjusts his breeches, Estinien covers his.
Knowing they have to leave, that their time alone is short, Aymeric steps over to Estinien and presses a chaste kiss on his cheek, running a hand down his arm to reach for his hand, squeezing it briefly. 'Tis what he would do if he were courting Estinien, returning home after an evening promenade around the city, his heart thumping and his stomach filled with butterflies.
Estinien would blush, become coy, before uttering whispered promises of future meetings and future desires, before returning to their separate abodes in the city. Aymeric would swim through the concrete spires, floating on cloud nine until he returned to Borel Manor, to write the longest of love letters and dream of the one who had so quickly captured his heart.
But they are not in the city, and they are not courting each other for marriage, so Aymeric releases the hand he was so loath to let go of and says, “Shall we return?”
Estinien’s expression seems to mirror his own: a display of the complete aversion to returning so soon, but they are bound to duties so deeply that one might almost call it destiny. Duties that forbid staying out in the luscious grasses until the stars cross overhead and the sun rises once more, wrapped in each other’s arms for warmth. Duties that hold Estinien hostage and Aymeric responsible.
But they will always have this.
Their stolen moments together, in the fields of Coerthas.