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Wingmen	By : megadeth425 Category: +A through F > Fire Emblem (all) > Fire Emblem (all) Views: 3027 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Fire Emblem and make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Wingmen
- 1
“Why didn't you stay with the girls?”
Gerome laid Inigo down onto the bed, sighing as the blue-haired man's breath blew the sting of alcohol vapours into his face. He then slumped against the side of the bed, knees up in his chest, and let out a heavy sigh of relief. Although the tavern they'd spent the night at was right next door to the inn they'd holed up in for a few nights, the dead weight of an uncooperative, fully-grown man wasn't an easy thing to haul, especially with those stairs. He couldn't even get Inigo up to his third-floor room, settling instead for his own second floor one.
“Why do you think?” he sighed, leaning his head back against the bed. His hands fumbled around his mask and he started to adjust it, the hands of a few female admirers having put it out of alignment, as had the occasional stubborn push to the face by Inigo. “I found you passed out drunk in the corner with half-dried tears on your cheeks.”
Not even remembering anything between another woman's rejection and being hoisted up into Gerome's arms, Inigo tried to take mental stock of how many drinks he'd had, only to find that the list in both number and variety eluded him. He knew that he'd started out with an ale, but each rejection temporarily shook his confidence, leading to another, harder drink each time to keep him afloat. Any young woman not in the embrace of another man received his come-ons, and each of them in sequence rejected him. It hadn't helped that his alcohol tolerance wasn't very high.
“But the girls,” he slurred, rolling onto his stomach and staring at the back of Gerome's head. “We're wingmen, and a wingman isn't supposed to get in the way of his friend scoring.” He stumbled his way through that thought, sighing as he closed his eyes.
Gerome spoke more steadily and was only a little motion-impaired, having only had a few drinks himself. They were to calm his own nerves, but were instead because of the unwanted attention he received as his friend press-ganged him into yet another night on 'the town'. As time went on he'd come to enjoy Inigo's company, but more for the kinship in a world that wasn't his own than for the chance to interact with women, something he had no intention of doing. “I don't care about 'scoring',” he said sternly. “I didn't share anyone's interest tonight more than I have any other night. Assuring your safety was tantamount, and you gave me a reason to escape some very assertive suitors.”
Inigo scoffed, wriggling a little as he got as comfortable as one could lying atop the covers, fully clothed, with the room spinning whenever he closed his eyes. "You're hopeless," he sighed, caring more about Gerome's lack of interest in finding love than he did the toll his drinking that night took on him. It stung how Gerome so effortlessly seemed to attract the attention of women every night regardless of his total disinterest in them. He'd tried it one night, being a distant, cool jerk who didn't pay women any mind, only to himself as unsuccessful as he did any other night. Every night he went back to camp or to his inn room alone, Gerome following him without even bothering to get so much as a kiss from his many admirers before leaving. Sometimes three or more women! In that same position Inigo would have invited them all to his bed for the greatest night of his life.
Instead of remarking on the "hopeless" remark, Gerome continued fiddling with his mask. It didn't need adjustment by that point, but he prodded and reapplied it regardless, the tipsy reprieve granted by the alcohol greatly diminishing after the panic of finding the temporarily asleep Inigo and then carrying him upstairs. It was sobering, making his body process much of what little he drank quicker than he would have liked, leaving him sober to contemplate sober thoughts punctuated by the occasional groan and sigh from the bed. His bed. The bed he slumped on because his friend needed to lie down more than he did.
Inigo. In his bed. Under all the wrong circumstances. He closed his eyes and joined the bluenette in a sigh for completely different reasons. The past few weeks had been a lot for him to take in as he contemplated during the cloudy moments between his head hitting the pillow and the alcohol's soporific effects carrying him off to the most calm slumber he knew. The stream of women he had to admit were beautiful but who never appealed to him, hands touching him only to be politely but firmly pushed away, whispered offers of their tongues on any part of his body he so desired up against his ear that failed to entice him. Each time his body reacted less to the new-found sensation of an affectionate touch, and each time he came closer and closer to the conclusion he'd pondered for some time before coming to the past. As his situation became clearer, so too did a strange affection for the slender, blue-haired man who he seemed eager to spend time with more and more, suffering through the endless nights drinking and being pawed simply because it was the activity that had made their friendship what it was, and the only way he knew to spend time beside him.
"I'd think that you would be more grateful to a friend who was more concerned with your well-being than with their own enjoyment." He hadn't had any enjoyment, granted, but it would have undercut his message to admit that. "And I'd hope that if you saw a friend in such a state, you'd care about them enough to quit your follies for just a single night." He hadn't meant it to come out so cold, but his eyes shut tightly and he took in a deep breath, realizing how much of a bitter edge his voice carried. Turning his head to look at Inigo, he pulled his mask up, letting the sincerity show on his face as he spoke in a more controlled, calm manner. "I care about you, Inigo." Facing away from him again, he dug into his position against the bed, trying to get comfortably as his head leaned against the mattress and lamented the lack of a pillow to rest on. He didn't dare climb into bed with Inigo, not even sure if the relentless flirt wouldn't take immediate offence to such a thing.
The stinging words caught him off-guard, but not as much as seeing the redhead's bared face. The mask wasn't about mystique, and a drunken confession a few nights earlier made that clear. It was to put up a wall between him and his emotions. To pull it down and make sure Inigo knew that he was serious was a gesture that Inigo hadn't drunk nearly enough to miss. His hand nervously extended out, resting beside Gerome's head as he shut his eyes and let it all sink in. He could do with caring about his friends a little more too. It didn't help that he wasn't very concerned with getting the clearly disinterested chick magnet that was Gerome a girl. It was more like Gerome was his wingman, listening to him complain whenever a girl shot him down, carrying his drunk ass up a flight of stairs so he didn't wake up on the bar floor. Which was for the best, since given his luck he'd be found by Severa and never live it down—or worse: his mother.
"Thanks," he said, smiling a little as his hand trailed along. He wondered why Gerome tagged along if not for the women. He didn't seem like a drunk, only starting to drink more than a little bit when he got flanked by women who wanted to touch his mask. Maybe he just needed a friend? Gerome definitely isolated himself from people, and before their nightly excursions to local taverns he spent his nights alone in his room or tent, or with Minerva. And for that matter, why was he so opposed to the affection of every woman who spoke to him? That was a tough one, because women of all stripes had taken to him. All body types, demeanours, professions, and hair colours... What was his damage? In his still hazy stupor, he thought asking was a good idea. "Why don't you ever like any of the girls?"
The question made Gerome tighten up, and he kept his steely gaze toward the door. "I'm not looking for a girlfriend," he said, dodging the question by being vague, albeit honest. He didn't want to face that sort of questioning in the state both of them were in, but hoped against hope that maybe Inigo would come around, in which case it wouldn't have been wise to say he wasn't looking for anybody.
"Then why do you come along?" Inigo's hand moved a little, fingers finding themselves in Gerome's perpetually windswept red hair. They slid between the locks, somewhere between a hesitantly affectionate stroke and a still rather drunk man amusing himself with something tactile. "You've never said no to coming along once. If anything, you've put up less of a fight each time."
Gerome could feel his chest tighten, and he held his breath, shutting his eyes tightly as the fingers slid through his hair. Earlier that night a breathtakingly proportioned woman had done the same thing to him while asking him if he would consider retiring with her for the "best night of his life". He didn't even blink. Inigo touching him that very same way prompted very real reactions. His body felt week from nerves and his cheeks burned so warm that he was worried his mask would catch flame. "You've never been drunk enough to do that," he said, his voice keeping as still as it could.
Inigo's face was bright, bright red as well, not from the alcohol as much as from embarrassment. Truth be told, he wasn't nearly as focused on women as his behaviour made it seem; his mother told him to build confidence talking to women, and it spiralled out of control into a mask of his own. When he and the people he grew up with were left as orphans to fight their parents' war, he became the one willing to smile. Much like Gerome, he wore a mask, but his was a facial expression and lofty, practised compliments. Men held his interest too, even if it was to a lesser degree than women, but his paper-thin confidence and reputation as an aspiring womanizer simply worked better when he focused his efforts onto women.
But there was Gerome, someone who he had never thought about in such a way. Someone whose behaviour came into perspective suddenly, and it clicked so well that he was certain it wasn't just the alcohol talking, although that's what anyone would say about a conclusion. He was perceptive enough to notice the way his shoulders stiffened and his voice came out strangely, the way Inigo's touch had gotten to him in ways that countless women couldn't, and he wasn't even coming onto him.
"I'm actually feeling a lot more sober," he said, not nearly as good at keeping his voice in line. His nervousness showed, and he buried his face in the pillow as he caught himself sounding so obvious. He pulled the mask off of Gerome's head entirely and let his fingers caress more confidently, petting the man as his mind continued pondering the situation.
Except Gerome wasn't too concerned about Inigo's own voice. The words were enough. "Why don't you stay here anyway? I think I'm going to go to the stables." Minervykins was his one constant. Despite not being able to speak back to him, he always shared his feelings with his trusted steed, finding relief in getting them off his chest. There was a lot on his chest as Inigo stroked his hair. "And then once I'm feeling a little sober... I have your room key, I'll just take your room for the night."
He pulled back, stumbling a little, not having entirely worked off the ale. He brushed Inigo's hand away, only to find it having wrapped around his wrist. Although Inigo was drunker and focused more on a lean figure than building strength or muscle, he was able to pull Gerome onto him. It didn't work quite as dramatically as it did in his head, where he imaged pulling the bigger man down into a kiss that would make the heavens sing and immediately resolve everything about the situation. Instead, Gerome's head missed his entirely, and he had a very built, very heavy man falling onto him.
"Be honest with me," Inigo said, not caring about dislodging Gerome from atop him, no matter how heavy he was. If anything, there was a strange pleasantness in it. While not comfortable, the warmth of another against him was what he'd longed for all this time, and there it was, even if it wasn't how he expected it.
Both men had to look each other in the face, see the colour in their cheeks and wonder whether it was embarrassment or the liquor. Inigo was not an intimidating man, being lean, cute, and with a youthful face that probably wouldn't fade into a more adult and masculine one for a while. But even still, there was something about his gaze that made Gerome nervous, something intimidating in spite of his appearance, that made him sigh. The warmth was doing a lot for him too, urging him not to pull himself off and flee from the room in a panic. It made him want to stay, to get comfortable, to do away with the clothes they'd worn all day and get beneath the blankets.
Gerome wasn't the best with words that weren't, "Go away," and it showed as he tried to form his lips around a sound that would convince Inigo of anything other than the truth, but his head buzzed and he felt drunker than he was, a moment of panic dulling his better judgement until he finally just gave in. It was easier to show Inigo what he meant with a kiss than it was to spin a hundred more lies. His hand reached up to stroke Inigo's cheek as their lips met, and although it wasn't as storybook as either of them expected, there was indeed a strange relief to be found in having his affections come out, regardless of what would happen next.
"That wasn't very stoic," Inigo teased, trying to hide his blushing behind words, even Gerome's eyes looked down on his perfectly formed, boyish face with deep, abiding affection.
"And you've never tried to sweet talk me into a kiss, so I guess we're even."
"Flirting with women comes easy to me. You compliment their smiles, hair, eyes, and if you're feeling particularly adventurous their 'assets'... It's much harder with a man. I don't even try. At this point, everyone would just think I'm so desperate for affection that I've decided to take on all comers."
Gerome took in a sharp breath, the thought not having occurred to him, but Gerome had so willingly laid that possibility out. "A-are you?" That would have absolutely ruined the night and filled everything with regret. The kiss would have gone from a pleasant, hope-inducing spot of joy in a dark, painful life to a spiral he wasn't sure he'd get out of.
"No," he said simply, not having meant to raise that thought, and closing his eyes. He wrapped his arms around the redhead's waist and held him close, trying to feel more of that warmth as he reassured Gerome. "It's easier to be the flirt who always smiles and has women on the mind than it is to be me. Just like it's easier to hide behind a mask and isolate yourself. But here you are with your mask off, and it's only fair that I do the same."
They kissed again, Inigo having left it off on a note so perfect to Gerome that he needn't respond to it with anything other than a kiss. The hand on Inigo's cheek reached up into his hair, and soon enough he felt Inigo do the same, the fingers finding the exact place they'd been tending to immediately and going right back to it. Everything became close and warm. Neither had felt someone this close to them before, never been in a state of mutual affection. They kissed and touched, closing the distance that Gerome put between himself and everyone, and which Inigo sought to close with an act that nobody enjoyed.
Clothing slowly came off, both aware that it led to a loss of heat between bodies, that they could be warmer if they were shirtless. Gerome undid the buttons along Inigo's shirt, his hands pressing into his chest in ways that weren't entirely productive, but which made the bluenette beneath him smile and press up against them just to feel the strong touch. When it was open, Gerome's hands flat on his toned stomach made him shudder as they pushed the hem of the shirt apart and then drifted up along his sides, eventually letting the unbuttoned shirt roll of his shoulders. Gerome's didn't have buttons, but that didn't stop Inigo from going just as slowly, savouring the feel of Gerome's chests beneath his softer, less firm touch as he took his sweet time in getting it off. The gentle caress was just what the distant, usually masked man needed, and he closed his eyes to soak in all the sensations his other senses brought about.
Once Gerome's shirt was off, they rolled, letting the slender Inigo lie atop Gerome, which allowed him to pull his arms out of the sleeves of his still-worn open shirt with ease. It relieved a lot of the pressure, and he took great advantage of the chance to press kisses down onto Gerome's lips. "I'm sorry if I kept you waiting for so long."
"I'm very patient," Gerome said, not able to pry his eyes from Inigo's. "I didn't expect you to realize, though. Let alone be receptive of my feelings. It's a surprise you even figured it out."
"I'm smarter than people give me credit for." His kisses trailed down to Gerome's neck, hands slipping down to the supine man's pants and tugging them down. There, his smallclothes, disturbed by a rigid bulge that his hands ran over. The touch drew a stifled moan Gerome failed to bite down, taken by surprise. "But please, let me make all those nights you had to suffer all those women and their awful, awful advances." His voice sounded dry, a mocking sarcasm that Gerome might have taken issue with had if he wasn't suddenly entranced by the fluidity with which the inebriated Inigo slithered down his body. He swallowed nervously, knowing what he was after and not wanting to stop him or ruin the moment.
Inigo pulled the band of Gerome's underwear down, nervously watching as the erection sprang up, finally uninhibited by clothing. It was a suddenly very intimidating sight to be up close and personal with, but Inigo's head buzzed and he knew that if nothing else, the lingering buzz would give him the confidence to get through this awkward first time okay. His hand wrapped around the base, pumping slowly as he leaned out and took a few careful licks at the tip, not certain how it would feel or taste. A few more licks one he got used to it, trying out different speeds and motions of his tongue. It was all experimental, but as he looked up at Gerome past his built midsection, he saw nothing but joy and affection looking back at him, and that gave him all he needed.
His mouth opened wide and he took Gerome's head into his mouth, dragging his tongue against it as he sucked, not yet moving, just getting used to the sudden, warm intrusion. It was a strange feeling, but once he was comfortable he pushed down a little, gently easing more into his mouth. His hand moved painfully slow, and he tried to think of it like dancing. You always learned a new move slowly so that you knew what the motion was, knew how your muscles were support to shift, and gradually ramp up the speed from there until it was right. That was exactly how he treated his first blowjob; like dancing. A private, naked dance he would give only to the man who cared about him, and who he cared about. The most important dance he would ever perform.
Gerome didn't try staying stoic. He didn't have the energy for it, nor the care anymore. Inigo had seen him naked, so he deserved to see him laid out bare; honest emotion. His head propped up by a pillow, he could look down at Inigo, watch him go, watch as somehow a night that should have been disastrous gradually became perfect. The soft, gentle hand; the warm, wet mouth; the spark of passion in Inigo's eyes... It was more than he could have asked for. Somehow, the wrong circumstances to have Inigo in his bed turned out to be the best, because without the liquor and awkward mishap, they would never have reached such a strange, honest intimacy. He would have never known how amazing Inigo's mouth felt wrapped around him, making a deep heat swell up inside of his chest.
His hand reached down and lost itself in Inigo's hair, fingers embedding themselves as if afraid he would somehow pull away and leave him. He wasn't interested in guiding Inigo or pushing him down further, just in feeling the amazingly soft hair around his fingers, which for all their callouses could still appreciate the feel. The lips weren't tight around his shaft, and Inigo didn't swallow anything, leading to saliva trickling down his cock and onto the hand that so eagerly released its grip for a moment whenever there was saliva he could rub into the aching skin. He knew Inigo wouldn't be able to comfortably take his entire length into his mouth on their first time, but he was still doing his best to make every inch of flesh slick, as if readying him. "How do you know exactly what to do?" he asked, head rolling back into the gentle feather pillow.
Inigo smiled the same pearly smile that so many women had resisted, but which made Gerome blush and smile back. A rare sight, and one the dancer would cherish. "I don't," was his simple, honest response before taking it back in. He let Gerome come almost to the back of his throat, unwilling to go any further and risk choking or, worse, triggering his gag reflex. He didn't trust himself in his condition and wouldn't dare ruin the night like that, but it didn't seem like Gerome minded the compromise, clearly trying to keep from moaning as he leaked pre into his mouth. The bobbing of his head and hand in perfect unison grew quicker, coming to what he assumed was a respectable speed, but couldn't know for certain. He was clueless in the area of lovemaking and went solely off of what crude stories he could gleam off people in taverns, or lewd pictures sold on the street.
He sucked only long enough to be absolutely sure Gerome was fully slicked up, his saliva liberally coating the entire cock, his hand making sure of it with one final stroke from base to tip. Then, he pulled up, wincing as he pulled himself up, kneeling in front of the lying man and gripping the band of his smallclothes. Sliding them off, he revealed his own shaft, not quite as big, but still of more than adequate length, just as rigid, just as needy. He hadn't expected Gerome to bite his lower lip at the sight of a fully naked Inigo, but it was a great compliment. Gerome had the bigger muscles and the better cock and the mysterious aura, and the approval filled him with genuine confidence in himself, something that nights wingmanning for the redhead had begun to weather.
"I want to dance on you," he said, sounding more sure of himself than he thought he would, given the circumstances. He pulled forward, again far too fluidly for someone still tipsy, and sat in Gerome's lap, the slick cock nestled between the cheeks of his ass. He smirked, having known for a fact after great 'research' of everyone at camp that he had a much better ass than Gerome, owing to all the dance exercises his mother had passed down. He hadn't gone for muscles because save for certain establishments, even male dancers were more marketable as lean and taut instead of bulky. He set out to finally get mileage out of his ass, grinding back against Gerome, earning a moan as hands grabbed at his thighs. "I don't usually let people see me dance."
"I don't usually let people see me."
Another smile, and Inigo was starting to find that aspects of his flirty demeanour were slipping through with Gerome, completely by accident. He was giving him a strange confidence, and his flirtatiousness was entirely genuine, driven by a want for banter and closeness instead of to keep up appearances and play the fool.
He shifted, this time not focused on grinding up against Gerome, but instead on getting him inside. His hands reached back, pulling the firm cheeks apart and rubbing his rear entrance against the slick tip. Even with all his saliva it would take some getting used to, and he kept patient about it, using the rocking motion to let his pucker rub against the very end of Gerome's cock, keeping him teased and content as he gradually let it open him up, sinking just slightly into him. It was a process that would take time and care, but the way Gerome stroked his thighs and stared longingly into his eyes told him that it wasn't an issue so long as he stayed right there.
Once he had a couple inches inside of him, Inigo moaned, releasing his cheeks and letting the dance begin. He rocked, rolling his hips such that he pulled up on the forward motion, then down on the way back. It wasn't much, but he understandably hadn't thought through exactly what sort of dance he'd do in another man's lap. It wasn't something he sought to receive instruction from his mother for. His hands pressed down onto Gerome's stomachs, fingers spreading out and gliding along the grooves in his abs as he felt the man's cock deflower him. It was a very strange feeling, especially when he always assumed he'd be doing the penetration on his first time—always having assumed he'd hit it off with a girl before admitting anything to a guy—making the entire process a lesson in surprises. It was a pleasant one though, and he had to admit, riding Gerome's cock was a much better arrangement for 'dancing'.
Fingers digging into his crush's thighs, Gerome lay on the bed, breathing heavy as he watched, hypnotically swayed by the simple motion of Inigo's hips. It may not have been a spectacular dance, but it was one just for him, and in that regard it was the best dance he had ever witnessed. Not to mention the tightness of Inigo's ass, gradually opening up for him, the warm flesh snug around him. Each push down felt even better, and he could see beads of sweat forming on Inigo's forehead as the pleasure claimed him as well. His eyes lingered back down, catching Inigo's cock swaying along with his motions, and one of the hands that had set upon massaging a firm thigh reached inward, seizing it and tugging.
In that same instant, Inigo had pushed deep enough in that he felt a sudden, bliss-inducing pressure as his prostate became stimulated. He moaned, rolling his head back and pushing down a little more. It was encouraging, urging him to move just a little faster toward the final goal of having Gerome's entire cock in his ass, to riding his lap with the sort of passion and sensuality a dancer ought to bring to such an act, instead of the awkward slowness of virgins fumbling inebriated through sex. It helped that Gerome's hand moved faster than his dance, allowing him to accommodate the pumping by setting his dance to Gerome's tempo. As he did, he found that he accentuated each stroke, rocking forward into the hand. A group effort that made Gerome smile, realizing what he was doing, and loving it.
"You look so beautiful," Gerome moaned, shoulders rolling back against the pillow as he watched, unable to decide exactly which part of Inigo's body was best to watch. On one hand, the hips and gently bouncing shaft his hand gladly tended to was the most sexually arousing place, and each time he felt Inigo throb in his hand and drip a little more pre out, he shuddered. But then trailing up, he watched the dancer's torso sway, also moved by the silent music Inigo moved to, then up to his boyish face, flush red and trapped in a look of pure ecstasy. He was taken by it, showing his emotions in everything he did, captivating Gerome as he danced with more honesty than he ever had before.
It didn't feel like long before Inigo's ass pressed against Gerome's groin, the cock buried in him entirely. His back arched and he moaned, the dance growing in tempo as the song he imagined changed to a new part. This one was faster, more intense, swelling up to something glorious, and he knew that the dance wasn't the only thing nearing its climax. Both men writhed, vocally expressing their pleasure, throbbing and aching, trying hard to keep from release while wanting nothing more than to feel it. Gerome's hips constantly tried to rebel and push up, only held down by stubborn will and a desire to leave the dance pristine. It was hard, growing harder with each push down, the warm body pressing onto his in a way too tempting for its own good. He kept himself steeled, but it kept him from holding onto something else.
His orgasm wasn't something he could prevent, between inexperience and a lack of desire to hold it in. He pulled in a sharp breath and let out a long, ragged moan as he throbbed and jerked inside of Inigo. The dancer knew what was coming, pushing down and remaining there, calling out, "Let go of it," with a similarly shaky tone. A rush of warm, hot cum spurted up into him, making him cry out, thankful that Gerome understood 'it' to be his dick and let go of it as the slender boy's orgasm followed soon after. He spurted right onto Gerome's chest and stomach, several streaks of cum running in differing lengths, so warm that Gerome's eyes feel to them.
It didn't last, as Inigo slumped down onto Gerome, his lips aiming for his but missing their mark and finding his cheek. It didn't matter what he found though, because he would have kissed where he landed regardless, smothering Gerome's face in a thousand quick kisses between desperate breaths. Gerome was a lot calmer about it, wrapping an arm around Inigo and holding him close.
"We should probably pull the blanket out from under us and get under it," he said, unsure exactly what to say.
Inigo seemed taken aback by it too, regarding Gerome curiously, but pretending he didn't hear it, instead saying, "There's something I want to ask you."
"Anything," Gerome replied, closing his eyes and soaking in that warmth again. Something about being fresh off orgasm made their shared body heat even sweeter than it was before. "Anything for you."
"Can I... can we..." He seemed lost again, all that new-found confidence meaning nothing as he instead became a clumsy mess. "I want to be the most important person in your life."
"Minerva won't like it, but I can't turn down that offer, on one condition."
"Anything," Inigo said, smiling as he repeated Gerome. He was going to add, "Anything for you," but Gerome caught him in a quick kiss just as his mouth opened again.
"We stop going to bars."
- 1
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Wingmen