emeraldembers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
emeraldembers) wrote2015-10-05 09:19 pm
emeraldembers) wrote2015-10-05 09:19 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: The Taste of You (Dishonored, Farley Havelock/Teague Martin, NC17)
Title: The Taste of You
Fandom: Dishonored
Pairing: Farley Havelock/Teague Martin
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 1948
Summary: After returning to the Hound Pits and having his injuries tended to, Martin makes a point of repaying the favour.
Author's Notes: Originally written for the prompt “I ship these two bastards and crave more porn with them. Bonus if Havelock gives Martin a neck/back massage after he’s rescued and this turns into sex. (But really, any other scenario is just as good, as long as it gets smutty.)” over on dhkinkmeme. Thanks, as always, go to my lovely beta decadentmousse <3.
* * *
Martin knew full well that even if he had been born a woman his taste in men would have been frowned upon. It would have been significantly less likely to get him killed, yes, but still frowned upon. Fashion dictated that the modern man ought to cut a neat and wasp-waisted figure, with flawless pale skin and finely turned calves, but Martin's preference had always been for something wilder.
How he had fantasised as a boy about living like a Tyvian hero, bargaining his way onto sailing ships by sleeping with the rough and ready crew. He had dreamt of being tied down in a captain's cabin, admission charged to each sailor that had their way with him, and of curling up in the bulk of the captain's arms at the end of the day.
Reality had not allowed such an adventure, and growing older meant growing tall and broad enough that finding a man fitting his taste was no easy feat. He enjoyed flings with plenty of women, needing little more than a witty mouth and a large bosom to take pleasure in their company, but men were few and far between. A beautiful blond who was as strong and well-hung as an ox when he was a soldier, a Tyvian with more facial hair than skin during his stint as a highwayman, and one brief, delicious tryst with a street thug during the Fugue Feast.
He had left his overseer's uniform on for entertainment as much as anonymity.
Havelock was a pleasant surprise. Martin had expected the bulk of any conspiracy against the Lord Regent would consist of nobles whose families had fallen from favour with the Empress, men and women who hoped restoring her daughter to power would boost their position in society. To have a military man on their side, even an aging one, was a bonus.
The more often he met with Havelock, the more taken he was with the man's sheer size. His height was fairly average, but he was heavy-set on all fronts - broad of face, of chest, of shoulders, of thighs - and carried himself well despite his age and injuries. There was nothing slovenly about the man, and he had a certain blunt eloquence about him.
Martin might have been able to disguise his attraction to Havelock if it weren't for his damned hands. They were a constant distraction, not least because he practically never wore gloves, and after conducting their little blood pact with Pendleton, Martin had been unable to take his eyes off the wound as it healed.
Martin suspected their alliance would end in more serious bloodshed eventually, but when Havelock had cornered him about the staring, he had feared that bloodshed was due sooner rather than later.
When Havelock cut off his flustering with a kiss and an attempted handjob that Martin was too relieved to actually enjoy, Martin had very, very briefly contemplating giving thanks to the Void.
Retiring to Havelock's quarters after sending Corvo off to the Golden Cat was a blessing, pure and simple. Martin had caught a few minutes of fitful sleep here and there on his way to the Hound Pits, but he had been acutely aware at all times of how his capture could mean instant death, and was unable to get any real rest as a result. Pleading innocence over Corvo's escape from prison had its merits when much of the proof lay in one man's word against another's, but Corvo's assistance in his own escape from Holger Square more than countered those merits.
"You look like shit," Havelock said, charmingly blunt as he helped Martin ease out of his jacket, and hissing when Martin removed his gloves and revealed the bloodied mess of his wrists and neck. No wincing or feigned pity, for which Martin was thankful, but a realistic understanding of the pain wearing a pillory caused. Havelock clenched his jaw for a moment, something fierce burning in his eyes. "While you were bound, did anyone..."
Martin laughed, shook his head and felt a quick sickening jolt at the realisation he had been lucky on that front. "Nothing worse than a few dogs and one drunk pissing on me. I've had worse during the Fugue Feast."
"Good," Havelock said, walking over to the desk and pulling out his chair before gesturing for Martin to sit down. "Vest and shirt off."
Martin obeyed readily, glad to be taking orders from someone he didn't despise entirely, and grimaced as he tugged his shirt off over his head. The cold and damp hadn't hit him too hard thanks to the layers his uniform offered, but being stuck in the one position for hours on end hadn't done his joints any favours.
Martin let out a sigh that swiftly turned into a groan when Havelock's fingers dug into the meat of his shoulders, pushing in hard and working knots open as he found them. Havelock knew a thousand ways to kill a man from his years at sea, and it seemed he knew a good hundred or so ways to put one back together.
"By the Void, that's good," Martin said, voice thick and slurred, and let his head fall forward as Havelock continued working his way across the full stretch of Martin's shoulders, down his arms and circling back after reaching his elbows. On other occasions he had attended to Martin's wrists as well, but they were still too raw to risk it, even after ingesting enough of Sokolov's elixir to ensure the wound stayed clean.
"I aim to please," Havelock replied, swapping from fingers to the heels of his palms as he worked on Martin's back, and Martin let his eyes drift shut, moaning quietly on every other hard stroke out from his spine across his ribs.
The chair soon prevented Havelock's hands from moving any lower, but Martin was satisfied with the care he'd been given, reached up behind him for Havelock's neck and pulled the older man down towards him so he could tilt his head up for an awkward but much needed kiss.
"That angle isn't going to do your neck any good," Havelock cautioned, moving to stand in front of the chair and bending over for another kiss, taking this one slower and deeper. "Now, about repayment -"
Martin nodded, stroked his hands down Havelock's chest. "Does that hip injury need tending to?"
"I was thinking more about fucking your mouth," Havelock said, and Martin flushed with heat before grinning.
"Were you indeed?" Martin asked, letting his hands slide lower still, palming Havelock's cock through his pants and finding it half-hard. There was something flattering in that when Martin was still mostly presentable and hadn't contributed anything filthy to their conversation, but then, he had seen Havelock's face after their experiments with rope had left Martin with red-raw skin before.
Apparently the man really did have a taste for blood. At least he was honest about it.
Havelock didn't bother with removing anything more than his belt, opting instead to unfasten what little needed unfastening and allowing Martin the privilege of pulling his cock free and stroking it to full hardness. Havelock's cock wasn't quite as obscenely large as his girth in other areas might suggest, but he was still thick and long enough to make Martin's mouth water, and Martin licked his lips before looking up at Havelock, making eye contact.
He kept eye contact as he pressed his tongue flat against the head of Havelock's cock, felt blood rushing to his own in response to the obscenity of the action, and continued keeping eye contact as he opened his mouth wide and slid down as far as he could without gagging. There was plenty still to take in, and he shut his eyes for the last, bracing himself when he felt Havelock's hand on the back of his head.
"Good man," Havelock said, and thrust forward sharply, Martin feeling himself flush from head to toe as Havelock's cock nudged down his throat. The hand on the back of his head felt like a threat and a promise at the same time; it was a dangerous thrill to know that even if he could back out of this at any moment, Havelock was strong enough that he could make it a challenge if he wanted to.
Martin groaned shamelessly at the thought, using breath he couldn't afford to spare, and gasped when Havelock pulled back before thrusting back in hard, balls smacking against Martin's chin.
At least the pillory meant he'd have a good excuse for his hoarse throat when this was over.
Martin let Havelock take control, freeing his own hands up so he could quickly unfasten his pants, getting one hand around his cock and the other on his balls; he didn't try to keep time with Havelock, his need for release having built up fast and sharp and urgent, and moaned in a way that sounded pathetic even to his own ears when Havelock stilled, taking time to stroke Martin's cheeks.
"This look suits you," Havelock said, pushing his fingers in harder until they were pressing on his cock through Martin's cheeks, before picking up his pace in earnest, Martin unable to do much more than gasp for breath between thrusts, drool spilling down his chin and over Havelock's balls.
The trickle of precome down the back of his throat was more of a nuisance than a help, tickling more than it soothed, and Martin felt it smear when Havelock tightened both hands in his hair, pulling him forward hard and holding him in place until Martin was struggling for breath, swallowing desperately around Havelock's cock, praying he wouldn't pass out.
And yet he didn't tap out, holding on until Havelock pulled back far enough that Martin could open his eyes and look up at the bastard's smug face. "I think I'll come on you," Havelock said, pulling out the rest of the way and taking himself in hand, pumping his cock until Martin felt the fat white streaks land on his nose and chin, Havelock only pushing his cock back into Martin's mouth at the end to have it sucked clean.
Martin glared up at Havelock as he tried to finish himself off, succeeding only when Havelock traced the edges of his wounded neck with rough-skinned thumbs, but he had to admit that even if he tried to hate Havelock's methods, his resulting orgasm from the rough treatment left him shaking with its intensity.
"Let's get you clean," Havelock said, grabbing a glass of water from his desk and a handkerchief from his pocket. "I'll see about your other injuries after you've had some rest."
"You're a magnificent bastard," Martin grumbled, but allowed Havelock to wash his face and hands and cock, allowed Havelock to help him stand and fasten his pants so he would at least look presentable if a servant should wander in while he slept. "Am I on the bed or couch, then?"
"Use the bed. One of us should stay awake until Corvo returns, and I don't think it should be the one who's still bloody."
A firm slap across the backside was as close as Havelock gave to a "sleep tight", but Martin didn't take any offence, glad to have had at least that much off the man as he made his way to bed.
After a night kneeling in Holger Square, the floor of Piero's workshop would have seemed a luxury. A soft bed after a good massage and even better orgasm felt like a gift from the Outsider himself.
This gift just came with the perk of a somewhat intact soul.
Fandom: Dishonored
Pairing: Farley Havelock/Teague Martin
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 1948
Summary: After returning to the Hound Pits and having his injuries tended to, Martin makes a point of repaying the favour.
Author's Notes: Originally written for the prompt “I ship these two bastards and crave more porn with them. Bonus if Havelock gives Martin a neck/back massage after he’s rescued and this turns into sex. (But really, any other scenario is just as good, as long as it gets smutty.)” over on dhkinkmeme. Thanks, as always, go to my lovely beta decadentmousse <3.
* * *
Martin knew full well that even if he had been born a woman his taste in men would have been frowned upon. It would have been significantly less likely to get him killed, yes, but still frowned upon. Fashion dictated that the modern man ought to cut a neat and wasp-waisted figure, with flawless pale skin and finely turned calves, but Martin's preference had always been for something wilder.
How he had fantasised as a boy about living like a Tyvian hero, bargaining his way onto sailing ships by sleeping with the rough and ready crew. He had dreamt of being tied down in a captain's cabin, admission charged to each sailor that had their way with him, and of curling up in the bulk of the captain's arms at the end of the day.
Reality had not allowed such an adventure, and growing older meant growing tall and broad enough that finding a man fitting his taste was no easy feat. He enjoyed flings with plenty of women, needing little more than a witty mouth and a large bosom to take pleasure in their company, but men were few and far between. A beautiful blond who was as strong and well-hung as an ox when he was a soldier, a Tyvian with more facial hair than skin during his stint as a highwayman, and one brief, delicious tryst with a street thug during the Fugue Feast.
He had left his overseer's uniform on for entertainment as much as anonymity.
Havelock was a pleasant surprise. Martin had expected the bulk of any conspiracy against the Lord Regent would consist of nobles whose families had fallen from favour with the Empress, men and women who hoped restoring her daughter to power would boost their position in society. To have a military man on their side, even an aging one, was a bonus.
The more often he met with Havelock, the more taken he was with the man's sheer size. His height was fairly average, but he was heavy-set on all fronts - broad of face, of chest, of shoulders, of thighs - and carried himself well despite his age and injuries. There was nothing slovenly about the man, and he had a certain blunt eloquence about him.
Martin might have been able to disguise his attraction to Havelock if it weren't for his damned hands. They were a constant distraction, not least because he practically never wore gloves, and after conducting their little blood pact with Pendleton, Martin had been unable to take his eyes off the wound as it healed.
Martin suspected their alliance would end in more serious bloodshed eventually, but when Havelock had cornered him about the staring, he had feared that bloodshed was due sooner rather than later.
When Havelock cut off his flustering with a kiss and an attempted handjob that Martin was too relieved to actually enjoy, Martin had very, very briefly contemplating giving thanks to the Void.
Retiring to Havelock's quarters after sending Corvo off to the Golden Cat was a blessing, pure and simple. Martin had caught a few minutes of fitful sleep here and there on his way to the Hound Pits, but he had been acutely aware at all times of how his capture could mean instant death, and was unable to get any real rest as a result. Pleading innocence over Corvo's escape from prison had its merits when much of the proof lay in one man's word against another's, but Corvo's assistance in his own escape from Holger Square more than countered those merits.
"You look like shit," Havelock said, charmingly blunt as he helped Martin ease out of his jacket, and hissing when Martin removed his gloves and revealed the bloodied mess of his wrists and neck. No wincing or feigned pity, for which Martin was thankful, but a realistic understanding of the pain wearing a pillory caused. Havelock clenched his jaw for a moment, something fierce burning in his eyes. "While you were bound, did anyone..."
Martin laughed, shook his head and felt a quick sickening jolt at the realisation he had been lucky on that front. "Nothing worse than a few dogs and one drunk pissing on me. I've had worse during the Fugue Feast."
"Good," Havelock said, walking over to the desk and pulling out his chair before gesturing for Martin to sit down. "Vest and shirt off."
Martin obeyed readily, glad to be taking orders from someone he didn't despise entirely, and grimaced as he tugged his shirt off over his head. The cold and damp hadn't hit him too hard thanks to the layers his uniform offered, but being stuck in the one position for hours on end hadn't done his joints any favours.
Martin let out a sigh that swiftly turned into a groan when Havelock's fingers dug into the meat of his shoulders, pushing in hard and working knots open as he found them. Havelock knew a thousand ways to kill a man from his years at sea, and it seemed he knew a good hundred or so ways to put one back together.
"By the Void, that's good," Martin said, voice thick and slurred, and let his head fall forward as Havelock continued working his way across the full stretch of Martin's shoulders, down his arms and circling back after reaching his elbows. On other occasions he had attended to Martin's wrists as well, but they were still too raw to risk it, even after ingesting enough of Sokolov's elixir to ensure the wound stayed clean.
"I aim to please," Havelock replied, swapping from fingers to the heels of his palms as he worked on Martin's back, and Martin let his eyes drift shut, moaning quietly on every other hard stroke out from his spine across his ribs.
The chair soon prevented Havelock's hands from moving any lower, but Martin was satisfied with the care he'd been given, reached up behind him for Havelock's neck and pulled the older man down towards him so he could tilt his head up for an awkward but much needed kiss.
"That angle isn't going to do your neck any good," Havelock cautioned, moving to stand in front of the chair and bending over for another kiss, taking this one slower and deeper. "Now, about repayment -"
Martin nodded, stroked his hands down Havelock's chest. "Does that hip injury need tending to?"
"I was thinking more about fucking your mouth," Havelock said, and Martin flushed with heat before grinning.
"Were you indeed?" Martin asked, letting his hands slide lower still, palming Havelock's cock through his pants and finding it half-hard. There was something flattering in that when Martin was still mostly presentable and hadn't contributed anything filthy to their conversation, but then, he had seen Havelock's face after their experiments with rope had left Martin with red-raw skin before.
Apparently the man really did have a taste for blood. At least he was honest about it.
Havelock didn't bother with removing anything more than his belt, opting instead to unfasten what little needed unfastening and allowing Martin the privilege of pulling his cock free and stroking it to full hardness. Havelock's cock wasn't quite as obscenely large as his girth in other areas might suggest, but he was still thick and long enough to make Martin's mouth water, and Martin licked his lips before looking up at Havelock, making eye contact.
He kept eye contact as he pressed his tongue flat against the head of Havelock's cock, felt blood rushing to his own in response to the obscenity of the action, and continued keeping eye contact as he opened his mouth wide and slid down as far as he could without gagging. There was plenty still to take in, and he shut his eyes for the last, bracing himself when he felt Havelock's hand on the back of his head.
"Good man," Havelock said, and thrust forward sharply, Martin feeling himself flush from head to toe as Havelock's cock nudged down his throat. The hand on the back of his head felt like a threat and a promise at the same time; it was a dangerous thrill to know that even if he could back out of this at any moment, Havelock was strong enough that he could make it a challenge if he wanted to.
Martin groaned shamelessly at the thought, using breath he couldn't afford to spare, and gasped when Havelock pulled back before thrusting back in hard, balls smacking against Martin's chin.
At least the pillory meant he'd have a good excuse for his hoarse throat when this was over.
Martin let Havelock take control, freeing his own hands up so he could quickly unfasten his pants, getting one hand around his cock and the other on his balls; he didn't try to keep time with Havelock, his need for release having built up fast and sharp and urgent, and moaned in a way that sounded pathetic even to his own ears when Havelock stilled, taking time to stroke Martin's cheeks.
"This look suits you," Havelock said, pushing his fingers in harder until they were pressing on his cock through Martin's cheeks, before picking up his pace in earnest, Martin unable to do much more than gasp for breath between thrusts, drool spilling down his chin and over Havelock's balls.
The trickle of precome down the back of his throat was more of a nuisance than a help, tickling more than it soothed, and Martin felt it smear when Havelock tightened both hands in his hair, pulling him forward hard and holding him in place until Martin was struggling for breath, swallowing desperately around Havelock's cock, praying he wouldn't pass out.
And yet he didn't tap out, holding on until Havelock pulled back far enough that Martin could open his eyes and look up at the bastard's smug face. "I think I'll come on you," Havelock said, pulling out the rest of the way and taking himself in hand, pumping his cock until Martin felt the fat white streaks land on his nose and chin, Havelock only pushing his cock back into Martin's mouth at the end to have it sucked clean.
Martin glared up at Havelock as he tried to finish himself off, succeeding only when Havelock traced the edges of his wounded neck with rough-skinned thumbs, but he had to admit that even if he tried to hate Havelock's methods, his resulting orgasm from the rough treatment left him shaking with its intensity.
"Let's get you clean," Havelock said, grabbing a glass of water from his desk and a handkerchief from his pocket. "I'll see about your other injuries after you've had some rest."
"You're a magnificent bastard," Martin grumbled, but allowed Havelock to wash his face and hands and cock, allowed Havelock to help him stand and fasten his pants so he would at least look presentable if a servant should wander in while he slept. "Am I on the bed or couch, then?"
"Use the bed. One of us should stay awake until Corvo returns, and I don't think it should be the one who's still bloody."
A firm slap across the backside was as close as Havelock gave to a "sleep tight", but Martin didn't take any offence, glad to have had at least that much off the man as he made his way to bed.
After a night kneeling in Holger Square, the floor of Piero's workshop would have seemed a luxury. A soft bed after a good massage and even better orgasm felt like a gift from the Outsider himself.
This gift just came with the perk of a somewhat intact soul.