Spicy Emil & Florian Short Story

[[NSFW, 18+ ONLY]]

“He’s late.” Emil sighs, “Again.”

From your spot perching on Florian’s ridiculously large bed, you glance over at Emil, “He had a meeting with Councilor Janvier. It was bound to happen.”

“I hate that man.” The dark-haired mage rolls his eyes, unclasping his cloak and tossing it over one of the velvet chairs by the fireplace, “He talks far too much yet says so little.”

“The life of a councilor,” You grin.

“Says the advisor.” He says as he approaches you, sprawling back on the bed at your side.

His hair pools around his head like a halo, and you know the shoulder-length locks are as soft as they look. You lean back, propping yourself up on one elbow as you slowly run your fingers through his hair. You move your hand down to cup his cheek, enjoying the way he turns his face to press further into you.

He’s come so far from when you all first became an item. The Emil of old would squirm when being shown physical affection; now he leans into it wholeheartedly.

You lean down, brushing your lips over his, enjoying the small gasp it elicits from Emil as he tries to push ever closer. His hand buries itself in the hair along your nape, tugging you down. The kiss devolves into something messy and hungry, and when you finally break away the both of you have ended up panting.

Your hands are dislodged from him when he rolls over onto his stomach and carefully places his head squarely in your lap, looking up at you with a soft gaze. Running your thumb over his still-slick lips, he catches your hand and holds it there. He places soft kisses on every finger and all over your palm, and he delights in watching your pupils dilate.

The both of you are strung tight like bowstrings, waiting to be loosed.

“Wren,” Emil breathes, and for a split second, your mind is blank.

Then the door crashes open.

“Sorry, sorry!” Florian says as he bustles into the room, “I know I’m late! Janvier wouldn’t shut the hell up and-”

He freezes as he finally lays eyes on the both of you, your thumb still halfway pushing into Emil’s parted lips. Your gazes hold his as he blinks slowly, once and then twice, trying to commit the scene before him to memory.

“Am I interrupting?” He asks, stupefied.

“Well,” Emil sighs, sitting up once more and looking particularly captivating with his mussed hair and flushed face, “If someone wasn’t late, we wouldn’t have had to keep ourselves busy.”

“I said sorry!” Florian insists before faltering, his gaze running up and down each inch of you both, “By all means, though, please continue. I love to watch both of you together.”

It’s true, he does. Any time you and Emil are talking, kissing, or even just standing near each other, Florian watches with a soft gaze and besotted eyes.

“Absolutely not,” You scoff, throwing a hand out and motioning him over, “Get your ass in this bed effective immediately.”

“You’ve been far too stressed lately,” Emil drawls out, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips, “We thought we might remedy the situation.”

“You’re both incredibly bossy, you know that, right?” The king complains, but in the end, it doesn’t take much convincing.

He draws near with haste until he’s at the side of the bed, shedding his embroidered coat and letting it fall to the ground. You grow impatient quickly, grabbing both of his hands and tugging him down. He tumbles forward, landing halfway between you and Emil.

Emil wastes little time, tossing one leg over Florian’s torso until he’s straddling the king with practiced ease. Florian’s hands came to rest comfortably on the other man’s hips, trying to get impossibly closer.

You cup the king’s face with both hands, holding him gently as you pepper his face with kisses, “Ah, ah. Have patience.”

Emil makes quick work of his clothes, briefly parting from Florian to shimmy from his pants and strip himself of his tunic. Both you and Florian have eyes locked on Emil’s bare hips and the way they move; graceful and fluid, so much more comfortable in his body than you can recall ever before.

Florian tires of having patience rather quickly, even for him. His hands find Emil’s hips as he stifles a little choked-off whine in the back of his throat. Emil smiles down at him pityingly, though it’s more of a smirk than anything else.

The mage then holds out a hand to grip you by your shirt and reel you in closer. This kiss turns messy even faster than before. You end up practically crawling over Florian as Emil drags you closer, his tongue finding yours in a move that leaves you giving a moan muffled by the mage’s own mouth.

When you glance down, Florian is watching the both of you with bright, attentive eyes. One hand leaves Emil’s hip to stroke a burning path up your thigh and ass; it’s as if he has to have at least one hand on each of you at all times.

Emil then leans back, helping you tug your shirt over your head and relieve yourself of your pants. All your clothing ends up kicked to the floor in sloppy motions as overeager hands reach for equally overeager limbs once again.

“Not that I’m not thrilled to watch this,” Florian says, his breathing heavy as he drags both your attention back down to him, “But if I don’t touch one of you soon, we might have an accidental tornado in my bedroom.”

His eyes are far more golden than usual, his magic flaring as it usually does when he’s in a state of emotional or physical turmoil. Although, this turmoil is certainly better than any other kind he might suffer from.

“Poor little king,” You coo as you and Emil both lean down over him, “You want more attention?”

Florian props himself up on his elbows, fervently pressing his lips to your own in a scalding kiss. He sits up fully, breaking away from you only to strip his shirt over his head and toss it to the floor.

Emil, meanwhile, makes himself busy by sliding down between Florian’s legs to help him out of his pants. Then Emil bends at the waist, swallowing Florian’s cock with the ease of someone who’s never had a gag reflex. His thin fingers dig into Florian’s soft but lean thighs as he does, and Florian’s surprised moan reverberates in your mouth.

Half choking on a moan as he breaks the kiss, Florian pulls away from you to run a distressed hand down his face, “Gods, please give me some warning…”

Emil pulls off, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, “No. It’s more fun this way.”

Things devolve from there. All clothes are stripped away as the three of you end up in a tangle of limbs on the bed. You’re perched on top of Florian, rocking against him, while Emil is pressed against his side and kissing a line down his jaw.

“By the Gods, do the two of you plan on teasing me into an early grave?” Florian groans, trying to simultaneously lean into the both of you, “Or do you intend to actually fuck sometime in this evening’s proceedings?”

“Florian?” You glance down at him.

“Yes, dearest?” He responds, batting his eyes up at you.

“Shut up.” You and Emil say at the same time, giving each other a smirk.

The thing about pleasure is that it makes Florian curiously obedient, and he does actually shut himself up. It probably helps that Emil is pressing his lips against the king’s to aid in his effort.

Finally, once oil has covered all the necessary body parts and just about everything else as well, you slide down Florian with a cut-off gasp. The king groans, his hands wrapping around your hips and digging his thumbs into the dimples at the base of your spine. He tilts you how he likes, manhandling you on his lap as you make little keening noises atop him at every movement.

You scramble to grasp the sheets beneath you as Emil presses up against your side, reaching down to grasp you in hand and stroke you firmly. You can’t communicate in words, only gasps, as you twitch between both of your lovers.

It doesn’t take long for Florian to finish, and you come right along after him. Emil is still pressed against you, watching with a hungry gaze, and you follow his earlier example and bend to take him into your mouth.

He wasn’t expecting the move, and neither was Florian. They both groan as if they’ve been wounded, and Florian has to shut his eyes against the sight for the briefest moments. His gaze is drawn back to you both again, however; the sight of you both is his true north, and he’s loathe to lose sight of his loves.

Emil’s breathing is heavy, a slight wheeze caught in his chest as if he has to force his lungs to cooperate. His long fingers tangle in your hair, gripping you tightly as you gag around him. His hips buck up to meet you, his arms trembling as any semblance of control he had begins to slip.

His hips begin to move with more force, and you know you’ll likely have a sore throat. Luckily, that’s something magic can heal, so you let him move with abandon.

“Oh, W-Wren-!” The mage stumbles over your name, eyes clenching shut as his back arches.

Florian slides behind him, wrapping him in an embrace as he shakes through his peak. The king runs soothing hands up and down his sides as Emil’s world goes blank. His eyes are hazy as he groans out your name one last time and spills down your throat, his entire body quivering from the force of it.

You take all he has to give, used to the routine by now, before gently reaching up and removing his hands from your hair. You tangle your fingers together instead, sliding up his body. Caressing soft and sweat-soaked skin with an approving gaze, you come to fit yourself on his lap and curl against his chest, your legs wrapping around his waist.

Florian is at his back, effectively pressing him between his lovers as the king whispers endearments to the mage and lavishes your thighs with comforting touches. You’re shaking a bit, oversensitive, and as Emil comes back to himself he squeezes your hands still wrapped in his own.

You’re all folded into a shared embrace atop Florian’s fancy blankets that have been rather efficiently soiled. You try not to think too hard about the servant’s gossip that will result from this.

“Would anyone else like to volunteer their bed for sleeping?” Florian mutters tiredly, his voice hoarse, “Mine is rather…screwed if you will.”

Emil smirks, “No, that was Wren.”

You snicker slightly, pressing your nose into the mage’s shoulder to hide your smile, “Come on, Emil, your bed is even bigger than Florian’s. We can crash in your room tonight, right?”

You pull back, blinking up at him pleadingly.

He lets out a sharp breath, glancing away from you, “Damn your eyes. Yes, alright, my room it is.”

“Great.” Florian sighs, slumping down to rest his head on Emil’s other shoulder, “Glad we have that settled. I don’t think I’m going to be moving anytime soon, though. My legs feel like jelly.”

“But you’re relaxed, right?” You give him a coy grin across Emil’s shoulder.

“Might you two please shut up so I can bask in the afterglow a bit longer?” Emil sighs, slumping back against Florian and dragging you with him.

“You were talking, too,” Florian points out, “More than me, actually.”

Emil snakes a hand back and pinches him in the side. The king chuckles, pressing a kiss into the mage’s neck.

“Bossy as ever.” Florian says fondly, his eyes slipping closed as you all lay twisted together in some manner or another, “Alright, I’m shutting up.”

“A miracle,” Emil says into the silence.

None of you ever actually get up to go to Emil’s room. Florian just finds one blanket that had been spared amidst the chaos and tugs it over the three of you, calling it a night.