Vanya ran his fingertips up the middle of Soren’s back, over the leather of his waistcoat, until he could tangle his fingers in Soren’s hair. He used his grip to tilt Soren’s head more, adjusting the angle of the kiss until he could take control and deepen it, holding the younger man in place.
The way Soren moaned into his mouth and shifted against him on the throne sent sparks of heat skittering through his skin. Vanya licked his tongue past Soren’s teeth, attempting to breathe for the both of them and failing after a few minutes. He broke the kiss, tugging Soren’s head back to better get his mouth on that taut throat, field gear not an issue at the moment.
He sucked an open-mouthed kiss against the pulse of life in Soren’s vein, feeling it beat against the pressure of his tongue. He felt Soren’s moan as much as he heard it, the vibrations of it humming against his lips.
“I’ve missed you,” Vanya said against warm skin, the soft light hanging above the throne casting strange shadows across the planes of Soren’s body.
Soren’s hands swooped over his shoulders, up his neck, thumbing over his temples to cradle his skull in a callused grip he’d hungered for since Oeiras. “Did you now?”
The teasing lilt of his voice caused Vanya to let go of Soren’s hair in order to grab him by the ass and jerk him closer. His field leathers and Vanya’s own robe weren’t enough to hide his desire or Soren’s. The growing ache of want had coalesced in Vanya’s cock, half-hard in his trousers after only trading kisses.
Soren shifted against him, grinding down in a way that had Vanya trying to dig fingertip-shaped bruises into his hips. The idea of leaving the throne room to make their way back to the family wing and their bed seemed like too much effort in that moment.
He nipped at the edge of Soren’s jaw, kissing his way back to warm lips and the taste of the other man in the here and now rather than in his dreams. “Take off your clothes.”
The shiver that ran through Soren jerked their hips together, and he heard the other man swallow thickly. “Someone will see.”
“Let them.”
All three entrances to the Imperial throne room were open to the hallways beyond, allowing anyone to pass by and peer in and see Vanya on the throne with Soren. The acoustics in the space were meant to amplify voices, and thepraetorialegionnaires on duty out in the hallway would hear everything.
“Vanya,” Soren very nearly whined as Vanya shifted on the throne, pushing him off his lap.
He was already undoing the buttons and clasps lining the center of his robe beneath a fold of fabric, peeling it open. His undershirt was light enough, and the belt looped through his trousers was easy to undo.
“Soren,” Vanya said, pitching his voice low in a way that brooked no arguments. “I want to see what you look like on your knees before my throne.”
He heard the other man swallow, loud in the hushed quiet of the throne room. Soren’s gray eyes were more pupil than anything else as he licked his lips before unbuckling his gun belt. It fell off his hips, and he leaned forward to sling it over the top frame of the Imperial throne with a casualness that would make any high-ranked courtier faint at his lack of manners. But the pistols remained in reach that way, and Vanya couldn’t fault him for that.
He watched Soren strip out of his field uniform, one piece at a time, until his clothes and boots were scattered over the dais, and he stood naked between Vanya’s legs. His scarred skin was cast in odd shadows from the light above, and Vanya traced the history of survival written out there with greedy eyes.
Soren sank to his knees with an easy grace that spoke of control he gave up readily enough to Vanya in moments like this. The gold medallion glinted against his sternum, a promise made and a vow not yet kept. Vanya reached for it, curling his fingers around the metal chain, and tugged Soren forward. He moved without resisting, resting his hands against Vanya’s inner thighs as Vanya drew him close.
“Check my pocket,” Vanya said. “I want you to get yourself ready for me.”
“You’ll need to let me go,” Soren replied, nodding slightly at the taut chain holding him in place even as he followed Vanya’s order.
“No, I don’t think I will.”
Soren flushed a little at the way Vanya deliberately misinterpreted his statement. He still gamely slipped one hand into Vanya’s trouser pocket, coming away with the small metal tin Vanya had retrieved from his bedroom before dinner. Soren popped it open, the lid clattering to the dais with a tinny ringing sound they both ignored. He coated the fingers of one hand in the cream there, reaching behind to prepare himself.
Vanya leaned back against his throne and spread his legs wider, giving Soren room. He let go of the medallion’s chain and lazily gestured at the bulge of his half-hard cock pressing against the seam of his trousers. “I’m waiting.”
“And if I kept you waiting, princeling?”
Vanya smiled at that, gaze half-lidded as he dragged his fingers through Soren’s hair. “I think we both know we’ve waited long enough.”
Soren inhaled sharply before bowing his shoulders and dipping his head, setting the tin aside momentarily to get his hands on Vanya’s clothes and undo them, freeing his cock. The slick, wet heat of his mouth on Vanya’s cock was enough to make him dig his fingernails into the armrests of the Imperial throne. He watched in quiet awe at the way Soren took him all the way to the root, gray eyes looking right at him with a clarity, aknowing, that no one else would ever have.
Vanya groaned, canting his hips upward, driving his cock deeper into Soren’s throat. The constriction as Soren swallowed made him harder, and he dug his heels against the dais, rolling his hips again. Soren took the motion with ease, bobbing his head and breathing around the length in his mouth with small, gasping breaths. He wrapped a hand around the base of Vanya’s cock to stroke him, his other one working behind him out of Vanya’s sight.
On his knees, body on display for anyone who would cast a glance into the throne room, Soren was a sight to behold, and Vanya couldn’t resist touching him. He stroked his fingers over the hollowed-out spaces of Soren’s cheek, curling them past his jaw to touch his throat. Soren moaned, lips sliding farther down the length of his cock. Vanya sucked in a heavy breath when he pressed his fingers against Soren’s throat, feeling out the space his cock took up.
Soren worked him over until he was fully hard, aching with wanting more, and Vanya wasn’t shy about taking what Soren so readily gave him in moments like this. He fisted his hand in Soren’s hair, drawing the other man off his cock. A line of saliva stretched between Soren’s lips and the flushed head of his cock before breaking.
“Come here,” Vanya said, his voice loud with want in his ears.
Soren licked his lips and rose to his knees, following Vanya’s pull. Soren climbed into his lap, knees squeezed between Vanya’s thighs and the sides of the Imperial throne. Vanya let his hair go only to grab him by the hips, steadying him. Soren settled a hand on Vanya’s shoulder to brace himself, kneeling over Vanya, his own cock hard and curved and glistening at the tip.
