bulwarkbolvirk

[bulwarkbolvirk]

Reblog to let your mutuals know. . .

that they are appreciated. that they are important. that they are amazing. that they are creative. that they are loved.

No matter how long you take to reply, what mood you are in, how insecure you are feeling about your writing, or how active you are — your presence is still very much enjoyed. You never have to apologize or feel bad for taking a while with a reply, or not answering an ask right away. Life can get busy, energy can fluctuate, interest can shift, and emotions can change. You are human and these things do not make you a bad person/partner.

We write together because it is fun and enjoyable, not because it is expected of you to answer every little thing at the snap of fingers.

[bulwarkbolvirk]

Bolvirk had imagined this many times, among the myriad of dreams and fantasies about Cyrus, so to feel it and watch it and hear it was a vivid rush. Now he could know all the timbres of his dearest friend's moans, could know just how talented that mouth was. He bit his lower lip, more as another outlet of the effort to stay still rather than any attempt to muffle his sounds.

The pace was indulgent, yet not lazy by any meaning of the word. Rather, Cyrus seemed fixed upon finding every attention that drove Bolvirk wild, and refining them until he melted into the lounge's cushions. He soon let go of his lip, his grasp on the upholstered wood tightening instead, to loose another throaty moan as Cyrus' mouth lingered around the head of his cock. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so savored, so adored.

And gods, the sight of Cyrus pulling back for breath, with nothing but heated eagerness to return to the task... arousal burned in Bolvirk's groin.

Feeling the subtle pressure of his love's throat against his tip, he tensed, not even daring to breathe too deep until Cyrus eased off. Any nerves about pushing the other man's limits were soothed by the fond sweeps of one broad hand over his midriff, coaxing his back into a shallow arch as he purred out another groan.

One hand finally let go of the lounge's arm, to reach down and cradle Cyrus' cheek after the latter pulled back, this time to speak. Bolvirk tipped his head in lieu of a shrug, with a mildly sheepish smirk; he couldn't deny it had been a while, probably half a year at least. His adoration of Cyrus had been growing so intense, it had impeded his desire to find any nighttime company. It'd been enough, despite the intense yearning, to settle into sleep beside his friend. His smirk became a grin at Cyrus' promise.

Expression softening into pure pleasure, Bolvirk pressed his rear and heel into the cushions so his upper torso could squirm. His cradling fingers slid onto the back of Cyrus' head, doing his best not to exert any strong force. He could never forget this, even if he forgot his own name. So when Cyrus abruptly pulled back, just as Bolvirk's orgasm began to wind up, the latter let out a surprised, almost dismayed noise.

Broad chest heaving as he began to catch his breath, his lashes pried open to meet his partner's gaze with a pleading look. Bolvirk licked his lips again while he watched Cyrus tease. It felt vaguely like a claim was being staked, even before the other man said as much. Bolvirk managed a couple nods, but little else. Sinking into that incredible mouth was what pushed words from his own. "Yours, all yours, kjaere," he agreed anew, nigh-desperate as his orgasm began building with a vengeance. "So, so faen — Ah! So good, fuck...!"

Blunt nails dragged up the back of Cyrus' shorn scalp, his back arching a little again while he sought to roll his hips in complement to the other's rhythm. Bolvirk's moans grew shorter and breathier, sharpened with need, while his toes curled with the effort to hang on a bit longer. "I'm, I'm close, Cy, careful...!" It was all the warning Bolvirk could give.

The hot tension coiling in his groin frayed apart. Balls drawn up and eyes reflexively shut, he rumbled out a loud and ragged moan as he spilled in several prolonged, thick spurts. Cock still twitching afterward, with occasional drips and beads of white at the tip, Bolvirk relaxed in a slump against the lounge cushions and let go of its arm. His eyes slivered open once more to gaze at Cyrus in unbridled affection, curled fingers smoothing down the man's cheek.

Sweet Freyja, how he'd craved for Cyrus' touch to wander just like this. Every time they'd river-bathed together, it'd been an inner battle not to let his own hands reach out to wander as well, not to casually offer to wash each other for some chance of it leading to more. But now they were here. Now he didn't need excuses, nor did he need - or want - to hold back.

Bolvirk's breath snagged in his throat again at the teasing brush of lips to the very base of his length, which twitched in his hold. That frank, softspoken promise made him swallow. Now, later, anytime Cyrus wanted would be anytime Bolvirk wanted too. When his hand was coaxed away from his own cock, he trailed fingertips along Cyrus' forearm, then lifted them to brush the man's cheek and behind one ear. Bolvirk hummed low in his throat when a broad hand grasped his shaft instead, weighing and toying with it, and those gorgeous eyes watching as if mesmerized.

His grin emerged once more. "Sounds perfect. How better to get familiar with the place, right?" He winked, before his expression softened. "...And you're already well on your way to making me the happiest man alive." A pause, for an encouraging vocal sigh at Cyrus' twisting strokes and teasing thumb. "You just had to be you," Bolvirk added in assurance, even with arousal fluttering through his veins.

He watched Cyrus the whole way, lashes half lowered. Quiet hums and throaty moans escaped parted lips with every kiss, every stroke or drag of tongue. Bolvirk melted into the lounge cushions, free hand resting on its curved arm above his head. His other palm joined it in sheer anticipation, bracing as Cyrus' breath ghosted over his flushed tip. Bolvirk's grasp tightened on padded wood - in part to keep his hips still - as inch after inch of his cock sank into the wet heat of his love's mouth. Toes curled briefly at the slide of Cyrus' tongue along the underside of his shaft, the tension traveling up into his thighs and stomach once the head of his arousal met the back of Cyrus' throat.

Those moans vibrating around him dragged out a clearer groan of pleasure from Bolvirk's chest. Dark brown eyes managed to open once he realized they'd fallen shut, his tongue skimming over parted lips at the shameless volume of Cyrus' attentions. Another thing that kept his stare fixed on his love's face was the glimpse of tears welling in the eyes he'd adored for years. He knew it was a response to the strain of taking in someone of his size so deep, but nonetheless he wanted to make sure Cyrus wasn't pushed past his limit.

Bolvirk wasn't fully aware that the position of his arms had emphasized the hills and valley of his chest. All he could think about at the moment was Cyrus' thorough adorations, and keeping his hips in place so he wouldn't ruin the moment. His own breath shivered a little when Cyrus pulled away with a teasing kiss. Even so, Bolvirk chuckled while his grip on the lounge's arm relaxed. "I might have. But it sounds even better when you say it."

Licking his lips again as Cyrus stripped down to smalls, he withheld a noise of complaint when those smalls then came off without showing what sat within them. Later, hopefully. For now, Bolvirk admired every inch of what he could see, aching to lavish Cyrus with hands and mouth anywhere he'd be allowed. That, too, could be tucked in the back of his mind for later. Especially when his love growled out a claim and a promise - the first of which, in particular, made his breath catch and his cock twitch in Cyrus' grasp.

Careful and eager tension returned to his body, stare once more focused on the other man's face, for Bolvirk's own reassurance as much as anything else. It was impossible to care that Cyrus hadn't gone down to the base, when it was further than anyone else and felt this good. Bolvirk kept his hands on the lounge's arm, worried he'd accidentally force Cyrus' head down too far in a moment of need. "Fuck... fuck yes I'm all yours," he managed, one lower leg draping on the man's back. Another moan when he meant to speak, then another swallow and he tried again. "No one's... ever taken it this deep, gods...!"

[bulwarkbolvirk]

Bolvirk's wonder whether Cyrus could really be feeling totally fine, after that injury by the lake, lingered in the back of his mind yet was overshadowed more and more with every kiss and sweet word. Cyrus knew himself best, and had a better grasp on all the magic stuff that Bolvirk had only glimpsed on occasion since they'd met.

He hadn't expected an outpouring of worry instead over that subtle bulge in his stomach from earlier. The love behind that concern further warmed Bolvirk's reassuring smile, while his thumb traced along Cyrus' cheekbone. "Shh, hey..." he whispered, resting their foreheads together once more. "I'm alright. It didn't hurt, and I'm not gettin' any pain now either. Probably couldn't push any farther yet, but honestly... it felt hot as hell," Bolvirk admitted with another light chuckle.

The short rest was still appreciated, just to breathe and bask in each other's presence. It was enough to leach some of the strongest tremors out of Bolvirk's thighs, though sporadic reflexive twitches remained as his muscles sought to relax after such prolonged tension. It was enough to hear that quiet praise, and grin in return.

Bolvirk lifted his hand and head a little when Cyrus shifted, then followed the pull of his partner's arms. He adjusted, humming softly when his thighs shook at being spread wide again. A sigh became a gasp, then a half-muffled groan, at the other man's hand stroking his cock with an indulgent slowness. Bolvirk could still feel his hole fluttering around nothing, craving the deep stretch of Cyrus' length; he could almost sense how close it was, despite being unable to look.

Instead, he was transfixed by Cyrus' gaze, answering a look that wanted to devour him with a tender desire that offered himself freely. Bolvirk's focus honed once more when the other let go of him to guide his hand to Cyrus' shaft. He licked his parted lips at the feel of it, how more precum was already dripping down over his fingers. The command was an easy one to follow, a repeat of earlier and wanted just as keenly.

Bolvirk allowed himself a couple small, slow strokes while lining up the flushed head with his hole. He endeavored to keep his hips angled, at least long enough for the first inch or so to push back inside. The renewed stretch pulled a moan from low in Bolvirk's chest, their brows meeting for a grounding point this time. Much as he yearned to sink down as deep as he could take, Bolvirk obeyed Cyrus' guidance. More brief shivers became apparent in his breaths. "Want it..." he managed, sounding almost dazed with distraction. "Fuck, love the way you feel, Cy... spread me wide open, filling me up before you even finish." Another moan escaped, gravelled by a drying throat.

Subtly hazy though his gaze seemed, Bolvirk caught the shift in Cyrus’ look, that sharper brighter burn backlighting his partner’s affection. He managed another deep breath when his legs were spread further, far and high enough for a bit of strain in his hips. The palm spread on his lower stomach drew more of Bolvirk’s focus there, how each thrust felt like they were prodding at his diaphragm.

The shifts in speed and rhythm left Bolvirk almost dizzy, sapping strength from his limbs in the most wonderful way. Even so, he strove to brace his free hand, finding purchase first on the blanket and the hay beneath. When his other hand was at last coaxed away from the lower part of Cyrus’ cock, Bolvirk dragged it up his partner’s front - then splayed it on one muscled swell of the other man’s broad chest, fingers curled slightly to cling while another of countless moans leapt from his drying throat. Bolvirk swallowed hard, but couldn’t help letting his mouth hang open again at the constant presses and drags against that cluster of nerves, lighting up his whole body with waves of desire.

There was no room in his thoughts for anything except Cyrus - what he was doing, how he looked, how he sounded in both voice and every slicked movement. All manner of needy noises poured from Bolvirk with his panting breaths, inhales occasionally hitching and moans sometimes strained, but never more pain than pleasure. God, Cyrus was a fucking vision above him. To have so much strength coiled in those broad muscles and use it for this, for one more way of expressing love, rather than any violence… If Bolvirk could’ve found the steadiness and space to move, he’d have clung close to his partner in sheer adoration.

Bolvirk’s awareness honed in again, as the new angle of Cyrus’ thrusts jammed directly against his prostate, sparking a long and loud almost-wail of a moan. Breathy curses shook past his lips, tangled together with his partner’s name, while the pressure curling tight and low seemed to ripple through the rest of his body. It took a moment for Bolvirk to register Cyrus’ praise, shut eyes slivering open beneath a pleading upturned furrow of his brows. Both hands now on his partner’s shoulders, they raked blunt nails down to Cyrus’ chest once more, in lieu of managing any words in response.

Another low noise trembled out from Bolvirk’s chest after those powerful hips finally stilled, his love’s dizzying length buried as far as it could reach. Fuck, he swore he could see where it distended his stomach; Bolvirk’s own dripping cock twitched at the realization. He tipped his head back then, trying to take more deep breaths to steady himself. Much as he’d tried to hold out in other ways, Bolvirk couldn’t do anything but let his legs drop when Cyrus finally eased them down. His inhale was audible as his partner drew back far enough to pull out, and Bolvirk bit his lip at the emptiness.

It was at least easier to catch his breath now that he could stretch out more. Limbs draped open with one hand loosely holding onto the blanket, his stare fixed on Cyrus in return. Still such a vision, standing over him with a perfect look of lust and love, all power and tenderness, and with that gorgeous behemoth in hand. His comfort, his joy, a friend and lover he’d happily spend the rest of his life with.

Bolvirk turned in toward Cyrus with a soft smile, following the arm around his shoulders. Every one of his partner’s suggestions flared heat in his blood, even with his laugh at that playful waggle of eyebrows, the sound soon melting into their kiss. Palm cradling Cyrus’ cheek, their noses brushing, Bolvirk at least felt coherent enough for words now. “Sounds perfect,” he murmured, quiet and sincere. “Want all of that, t'be honest. Wanna get wrung dry. But mounting me might hafta wait for round two; I’m not sure my legs would cooperate right now. You sure yours are okay to be doin’ all the work, though?”

[bulwarkbolvirk]

when a mutuals struggling but you know you can't say anything to help so you just like their post and hope they know they're not alone

[bulwarkbolvirk]

GET. AI. OUT. OF. FANDOM. Stop making headcanons with it, stop making fanfic with it, stop making fanart with it. If I see one more "asking chatgpt *blank* about *character/characters in a fandom* I'm going to lose my goddamn mind. Use your own fucking brain, stop asking AI to do everything. You could even ask other real people what they think. Just. Stop. Using. AI. In. Creative. Spaces.

[bulwarkbolvirk]

Bolvirk could never tire of the stretch around him, oil-slicked and silken and just the right amount of tightness. The way it shivered tension throughout Raiju's body, pooled arousal atop Bolvirk's stomach til it overflowed down his sides, beaded clear fluid at his own tip buried within Raiju. He always fit so snugly and so well within the other's walls, to the point he was reluctant each time to ever pull out.

Even so, Bolvirk strove to keep his patience while Raiju worked over his cock. He bit the inside of his lower lip to brace against an impulse to thrust in balls-deep - not yet, not until or unless he had Raiju's permission. Not even when the other man fluttered around him, as if trying to coax his length in further. Bolvirk let out another unsteady breath between them while Raiju leaned in close. His hands massaged broad muscle from where they were splayed, a soft yet cheeky smile resurfacing on his lips as he drank in Raiju's pitched moans and praise. 'My love'... Only the other man's urging that they fuck before that confession could be reciprocated held Bolvirk's answer in check.

Returning what kisses he could, Bolvirk tilted his head into Raiju's guidance, half-lidded gaze locked on his companion's. A chest-deep sigh of a moan rumbled out of him at the slow, indulging grind, enough of his smile lingering to bolster a wink in response. All he ever said in moments like this was the unvarnished truth. The existence of anything or anyone beyond the bounds of their inn room barely registered in the back of Bolvirk's mind. There was only him and Raiju, in their own little world.

Dazed, darkened brown eyes flicked down to belatedly follow where his dearest friend's hand had wandered. Even if he couldn't glimpse it all in the narrow space between them, the way he felt more fluid drip onto his stomach and catch between them more than made up for it. Lips parting wider at the light brush of Raiju's, another vocal breathy hum bore unmistakable adoration. Bolvirk's thighs, rear, and stomach trembled subtly with his persisting restraint, his grasp tightening a little on the other's rounded cheeks.

'Own' was right; it was Raiju's, he was Raiju's.

"Gods," Bolvirk groaned, lashes wavering with the urge to close. "Yeah, fuck yeah, always...!" His breath snagged at the end of the last word, eyes indeed falling shut for a moment with that purposeful clench around most of his length. The lack of movement helped clear a little of the haze from Bolvirk's mind. Whether Raiju made that encouraging declaration as a want or a need, Bolvirk would give it his all. Though, if the other man's legs were so close to giving out, it might be best to shift position...

One palm remained on Raiju's ass, while Bolvirk's other arm braced an elbow and his legs bent for better leverage. He sat up, careful and supporting Raiju the whole way, to lay his companion back and lean in above him. Though a couple inches of his cock did slip out in the rearrangement, Bolvirk didn't pull back completely. "Two taps anywhere you can reach, if you really want me to stop," he reminded Raiju gently, punctuating with a kiss to the other's forehead. "I'm all yours, every part of me." His hands dragged up the undersides of Raiju's thighs, easing them back and a bit further apart. "And you're all mine."

A single thrust at first, only as deep as Raiju had already gone. "So let's see if you can fit the rest, aye?" Bolvirk's tone was a mix of challenge and tenderness. Even so, he didn't push all the way in to start with. Bolvirk built up a slow, steady pace first, groaning so low it was more like a purr. Only once he'd settled into the rhythm did he start grinding deeper in distinct increments, hands now bracketing Raiju's sides with those strong legs hooked at his elbows. Moans and sighs and breathless praise poured from Bolvirk's open mouth, his stare once more fixed on Raiju's face.

Bolvirk meant his promise; he could never tire of Orion’s affections either, so they were well-suited. A flattered chuckle of his own arose at the other’s compliment, threaded with humor that grew more apparent in the warm, longer laugh that followed. “Venn is a mare, but I get your meaning.”

Orion had made his appreciation very apparent since they’d met - of many aspects of their companionship, ones mutually treasured, but of Bolvirk’s cock and body in particular. Bolvirk didn’t mind it; he’d come to understand that for Orion, words flowed easier alongside actions, and that the emotions which fed both could be found in every act if one had the care to look. Besides, Bolvirk always enjoyed their intimacy. Especially moments like this, as more and more of his length was engulfed in Orion’s gorgeous, almost dizzying tightness.

A sighing, rumbling hum emerged from his chest after his praise, at the adoring sweeps of the other’s palms over his body. Lashes subtly fluttered, and parted lips curved in another smile. There was nothing like feeling loved, feeling seen for everything he was. Some focused on his fighting strength and scars, others on his gentler acts and his soft stomach. Neither were wrong, though neither had the whole picture. It might be easier, sure, to lean into one or the other, but Bolvirk refused to lose any part of himself. So when he found someone like Orion, who saw and loved both sides… Those three little words resonated in Bolvirk’s mind.

In the meantime, each slow drag along his aching heated length nipped at his resolve to stay still, coaxing out a moan or a stuttering breath each time. Bolvirk met those wandering eyes when he could, and otherwise watched Orion’s face in return. Gods, had he ever seen anything more beautiful…? As the other man rocked gradually lower onto his shaft, Bolvirk’s teasing touch at the rim moved just enough to grasp one round cheek. He could feel how much Orion was leaking onto his lower stomach already, how it pooled until a movement and a breath sent one drop sliding down his side, clear as water and viscous as honey.

“And how perfect you sound, too,” he added onto his praise, as tender as the touch that brushed under one teary eye, before biting his lip to muffle a few more of his own sounds. Orion could find the pace for now, as they settled in; Bolvirk preferred taking over from a place of comfort. Curled fingers skimming down Orion’s jaw, Bolvirk’s hand then turned and spread as it reached that strong neck and broad chest, pausing for a squeeze of his own before continuing downward. His trailing touch diverted onto one side, then around, until both hands gripped Orion’s tempting rear. “I will, kjaere, don’t worry.” Bolvirk could make a decent guess as to what Orion was pleading so sweetly for. “Just wait a little longer for me, aye? Don’t want to make this more pain than pleasure. You deserve the best I can give.”

Bolvirk did offer guidance with his hands in the meantime, though. He kept the rhythm slow - in part because, while he didn’t push any deeper yet than Orion had gone, he did bring the other to that limit with each pull down onto his cock. “Want me to touch you once I get started?” Bolvirk added, faintly breathless from restraint. “You’re already dripping so much, won’t even need oil or spit. Faen gorgeous, as always.”

[bulwarkbolvirk]

hey psa that gore blog is back at @/fackcarerpc. block from settings if you have to.

[bulwarkbolvirk]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[bulwarkbolvirk]

Hey fellas.

There's a blog named @/fucktrpc that's putting posts of dead animals in tags used for rpc. I'd recommend blocking that blog asap as they seem to be a troll blog looking to get some sick kicks.

Please feel free to reblog this to spread awareness.

[bulwarkbolvirk]

hi all, with that nasty blog circulating, i wanted to post a friendly reminder that you can block from your tumblr settings. * EDIT: sorry for the vague context, please do not click this blog, there is animal death & gore present.

after clicking blog settings, just scroll until you see blocked tumblrs.

then click the pencil icon & you can type the url. @/fucktrpc.

[bulwarkbolvirk]

Sweet Freyja, how he'd craved for Cyrus' touch to wander just like this. Every time they'd river-bathed together, it'd been an inner battle not to let his own hands reach out to wander as well, not to casually offer to wash each other for some chance of it leading to more. But now they were here. Now he didn't need excuses, nor did he need - or want - to hold back.

Bolvirk's breath snagged in his throat again at the teasing brush of lips to the very base of his length, which twitched in his hold. That frank, softspoken promise made him swallow. Now, later, anytime Cyrus wanted would be anytime Bolvirk wanted too. When his hand was coaxed away from his own cock, he trailed fingertips along Cyrus' forearm, then lifted them to brush the man's cheek and behind one ear. Bolvirk hummed low in his throat when a broad hand grasped his shaft instead, weighing and toying with it, and those gorgeous eyes watching as if mesmerized.

His grin emerged once more. "Sounds perfect. How better to get familiar with the place, right?" He winked, before his expression softened. "...And you're already well on your way to making me the happiest man alive." A pause, for an encouraging vocal sigh at Cyrus' twisting strokes and teasing thumb. "You just had to be you," Bolvirk added in assurance, even with arousal fluttering through his veins.

He watched Cyrus the whole way, lashes half lowered. Quiet hums and throaty moans escaped parted lips with every kiss, every stroke or drag of tongue. Bolvirk melted into the lounge cushions, free hand resting on its curved arm above his head. His other palm joined it in sheer anticipation, bracing as Cyrus' breath ghosted over his flushed tip. Bolvirk's grasp tightened on padded wood - in part to keep his hips still - as inch after inch of his cock sank into the wet heat of his love's mouth. Toes curled briefly at the slide of Cyrus' tongue along the underside of his shaft, the tension traveling up into his thighs and stomach once the head of his arousal met the back of Cyrus' throat.

Those moans vibrating around him dragged out a clearer groan of pleasure from Bolvirk's chest. Dark brown eyes managed to open once he realized they'd fallen shut, his tongue skimming over parted lips at the shameless volume of Cyrus' attentions. Another thing that kept his stare fixed on his love's face was the glimpse of tears welling in the eyes he'd adored for years. He knew it was a response to the strain of taking in someone of his size so deep, but nonetheless he wanted to make sure Cyrus wasn't pushed past his limit.

Bolvirk wasn't fully aware that the position of his arms had emphasized the hills and valley of his chest. All he could think about at the moment was Cyrus' thorough adorations, and keeping his hips in place so he wouldn't ruin the moment. His own breath shivered a little when Cyrus pulled away with a teasing kiss. Even so, Bolvirk chuckled while his grip on the lounge's arm relaxed. "I might have. But it sounds even better when you say it."

Licking his lips again as Cyrus stripped down to smalls, he withheld a noise of complaint when those smalls then came off without showing what sat within them. Later, hopefully. For now, Bolvirk admired every inch of what he could see, aching to lavish Cyrus with hands and mouth anywhere he'd be allowed. That, too, could be tucked in the back of his mind for later. Especially when his love growled out a claim and a promise - the first of which, in particular, made his breath catch and his cock twitch in Cyrus' grasp.

Careful and eager tension returned to his body, stare once more focused on the other man's face, for Bolvirk's own reassurance as much as anything else. It was impossible to care that Cyrus hadn't gone down to the base, when it was further than anyone else and felt this good. Bolvirk kept his hands on the lounge's arm, worried he'd accidentally force Cyrus' head down too far in a moment of need. "Fuck... fuck yes I'm all yours," he managed, one lower leg draping on the man's back. Another moan when he meant to speak, then another swallow and he tried again. "No one's... ever taken it this deep, gods...!"

That grinning 'wow' subtly tingled through Bolvirk's skin from head to toe. His own smile widened a bit, while his slow stroking hand dragged a little firmer along his length. Not for the first time, Bolvirk marveled at Cyrus; it had felt ever since they met like the man had been crafted by Freyja just for him. One more reason to be glad he'd finally worked up the nerve for a mutual confession.

Now he could have this, they both could. Bolvirk didn't have to rely just on imagination for how Cyrus might gaze at him with unbridled desire and affection. Nor did he have to only imagine how it felt to kiss his dearest friend and new lover.

Bolvirk's free hand cradled the back of Cyrus' neck while they kissed. The other deserved every ounce of his patience, even if nothing could extinguish his eagerness to share intimacy. Fingertips trailing away down Cyrus' front when the latter sat back, they skimmed first over fabric and then down scarred and soft-yet-firm muscles. Those scars were noticed, to be sure, as they were too numerous not to be. But they were not judged, weren't regarded as any sort of downside; they were only another part of the man Bolvirk had fallen for. Besides, he wasn't without scars either, even if his weren't as numerous.

While he had been looking forward to the shedding of Cyrus' smalls as well, to get another eyeful of that impressive length, it was as his lover said: 'all in good time'. He could wait.

Especially when waiting meant watching that look on Cyrus' face, and feeling those broad, gentle hands roam so indulgently over his body. The way they lingered, and seemed determined to touch every inch of him within immediate reach, gave the impression of being tenderly claimed. The idea made his length twitch slightly under his own palm, and colored his soft hum with a pleased smile.

It, and the first few kisses down his chest, brought Bolvirk into a shallow arch upward. His free hand immediately returned to Cyrus' skin, sliding from one trim side onto that broad back, while Bolvirk settled down against the sofa once more. When that tempting mouth diverted to tease at one nipple, Bolvirk breathed out a quiet, rumbling moan. Though it felt like too soon when Cyrus' mouth and tongue moved further downward, the adoration in every kiss made complaining unthinkable. Instead, Bolvirk wrapped his hand around his own shaft to stroke properly, with small squeezes at the base and at the reddening head.

Bolvirk did answer at first, with a prompt nod after Cyrus' whispered question. Yet he held off on speaking when the other man asked him to, apparently so Cyrus could lavish praise on Bolvirk's cock. His cheeks flushed as if mirroring the tip, but his smile easily resurfaced with the presence of his lover's. "Well, glad you like it," Bolvirk laughed lightly. "But you can do more than just look, if you want." His humored expression gentled with sincerity. "Cause I do want you to fuck me. Here, now, anywhere, anytime. Spent too many years convincing myself I'd ruin our friendship if I said so; I wanna make up for lost time."

[bulwarkbolvirk]

Subtly hazy though his gaze seemed, Bolvirk caught the shift in Cyrus' look, that sharper brighter burn backlighting his partner's affection. He managed another deep breath when his legs were spread further, far and high enough for a bit of strain in his hips. The palm spread on his lower stomach drew more of Bolvirk's focus there, how each thrust felt like they were prodding at his diaphragm.

The shifts in speed and rhythm left Bolvirk almost dizzy, sapping strength from his limbs in the most wonderful way. Even so, he strove to brace his free hand, finding purchase first on the blanket and the hay beneath. When his other hand was at last coaxed away from the lower part of Cyrus' cock, Bolvirk dragged it up his partner's front - then splayed it on one muscled swell of the other man's broad chest, fingers curled slightly to cling while another of countless moans leapt from his drying throat. Bolvirk swallowed hard, but couldn't help letting his mouth hang open again at the constant presses and drags against that cluster of nerves, lighting up his whole body with waves of desire.

There was no room in his thoughts for anything except Cyrus - what he was doing, how he looked, how he sounded in both voice and every slicked movement. All manner of needy noises poured from Bolvirk with his panting breaths, inhales occasionally hitching and moans sometimes strained, but never more pain than pleasure. God, Cyrus was a fucking vision above him. To have so much strength coiled in those broad muscles and use it for this, for one more way of expressing love, rather than any violence... If Bolvirk could've found the steadiness and space to move, he'd have clung close to his partner in sheer adoration.

Bolvirk's awareness honed in again, as the new angle of Cyrus' thrusts jammed directly against his prostate, sparking a long and loud almost-wail of a moan. Breathy curses shook past his lips, tangled together with his partner's name, while the pressure curling tight and low seemed to ripple through the rest of his body. It took a moment for Bolvirk to register Cyrus' praise, shut eyes slivering open beneath a pleading upturned furrow of his brows. Both hands now on his partner's shoulders, they raked blunt nails down to Cyrus' chest once more, in lieu of managing any words in response.

Another low noise trembled out from Bolvirk's chest after those powerful hips finally stilled, his love's dizzying length buried as far as it could reach. Fuck, he swore he could see where it distended his stomach; Bolvirk's own dripping cock twitched at the realization. He tipped his head back then, trying to take more deep breaths to steady himself. Much as he'd tried to hold out in other ways, Bolvirk couldn't do anything but let his legs drop when Cyrus finally eased them down. His inhale was audible as his partner drew back far enough to pull out, and Bolvirk bit his lip at the emptiness.

It was at least easier to catch his breath now that he could stretch out more. Limbs draped open with one hand loosely holding onto the blanket, his stare fixed on Cyrus in return. Still such a vision, standing over him with a perfect look of lust and love, all power and tenderness, and with that gorgeous behemoth in hand. His comfort, his joy, a friend and lover he'd happily spend the rest of his life with.

Bolvirk turned in toward Cyrus with a soft smile, following the arm around his shoulders. Every one of his partner's suggestions flared heat in his blood, even with his laugh at that playful waggle of eyebrows, the sound soon melting into their kiss. Palm cradling Cyrus' cheek, their noses brushing, Bolvirk at least felt coherent enough for words now. "Sounds perfect," he murmured, quiet and sincere. "Want all of that, t'be honest. Wanna get wrung dry. But mounting me might hafta wait for round two; I'm not sure my legs would cooperate right now. You sure yours are okay to be doin' all the work, though?"

Bolvirk carried a similar ache to welcome the entirety of Cyrus’ length inside, to feel his partner really go wild, to have that gut-deep reminder that he belonged to Cyrus. That ache, too, was tempered by reason. They were working their way up there gradually, much like with his mouth, but Bolvirk knew it wasn’t a process to rush. He didn’t want it to hurt, and didn’t want Cyrus to feel guilty for that hurt.

So for now, Bolvirk stayed still, quiet panting breaths beginning to shorten with every inch that entered him. He could barely even clench around the girth - one of his favorite parts about this, truth be told, to be stretched and filled so completely. This also couldn’t be rushed, however. His hand slid up, with a teasing drag of nails, to cradle the back of Cyrus’ head. Eyes closing when their foreheads met, Bolvirk smiled a little in utter tender affection. That expression broadened at the subtle crack in his partner’s voice amid the praise. Cyrus was one to talk about ‘incredible’, when the man had such restraint and was so sweetly attentive every time.

His hand at the base of that remarkable cock, meanwhile, rubbed a thumb in a gentle arc back and forth, brushing past pubic hair. It remained there with each careful yet indulgent roll of Cyrus’ hips; the motions also coaxed out more sighing, needy moans with each slide inward. Bolvirk was grateful to have his legs steadied, as he doubted he could’ve done so with his own preoccupied hands.

The one at Cyrus’ neck trailed away as the man sat back to adjust. Oh, hadn’t there been mention of riding, for the sake of his partner’s leg…? But Cyrus didn’t seem to be struggling with it, not even a wince… The other knew his own body best, in the end, and Bolvirk wasn’t trained in anything beyond first aid and CPR. Besides, the way he could feel the steady drip of pre-cum from Cyrus inside him, and how it further slicked the way for every slow thrust, proved rather distracting.

His trust in Cyrus was total. No matter how tempting it was to go faster and deeper, Bolvirk knew his partner wouldn’t until or unless it was safe. He also knew better than to ask, despite his own lingering wants. Besides, this was already enough to have his every nerve buzzing, moans and stuttered encouragement and a few wordless pleas pouring from Bolvirk’s mouth again. Closed lashes fluttered, before flying open with Cyrus’ small but distinct increase in speed. “Fuck, that’s perfect…!” he panted at the end of another long moan, punctuating with a shorter needy sound. Meeting his partner’s gaze, Bolvirk managed another smile. “Know just what I need, don’t ya? And the best way to give it to me…” He gave a brief squeeze to the base of Cyrus’ cock, teasing but appreciative.

[bulwarkbolvirk]

𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

basically i was looking over the protective prompts and the hero prompts and it hit me that like. the unbridled angst and vibes of the whole “post-battle” scene, or a scene set after an attack or a disaster or smth, needs to be ADDRESSED!!! and so y’all get the full weight of my angst today, sprinkled with a lot of teamwork and selfless and sacrificing vibes. i hope you enjoy! do NOT add further contributions to this list!!! i will curse your potato crops!!!

DIALOGUE PROMPTS.

“ can you hear me? hey… [NAME], can you hear my voice? “

“ come on… wake up. please… please wake up… “

“ oh! oh, thank god! i thought we lost you… “

“ hey, hey… look at me, okay? you gotta get up now. you think you might be able to walk? ‘cause they sent for back-up, and if they find us… we cannot let them find us. understand? “

“ go, go! save yourself! i’ll buy you some time! “

“ we both know i’m not walking out of this one. it’s okay, alright? it’s okay… just… do me a favor, will you? will you make them pay for this? i don’t care how. but… don’t let them get away with it. “

“ hey, how badly are you hurt? can you move? you think you can walk? “

“ if you can’t walk, i’m gonna have to carry you, alright? we can’t stay here. “

“ hey, look at me. i’m slowing you down, we both know it. it’s okay. i’ll hide and wait for back-up; you get yourself out of here. “

“ you’re gonna need to climb up on my back, you’re slowing us down with that injury. “

“ will you quit talking like that?! i’m not leaving you behind! “

“ what the hell are you doing here?! i told you to get out of here! “

“ you’re shivering… hey. hey, listen to me, okay? everything’s gonna be alright, i promise. here… take my jacket. don’t worry, i’m warm-blooded. “

“ i’ll get blood on your shirt… “

“ hey, don’t you dare close your eyes, you hear me? you die in my arms, and i’m gonna stick the dry-cleaning bill for this shirt in your coffin, that’s a promise! “

“ i know we almost died just now, but… am i the only one who’s hungry? “

“ we need to get you to a hospital… “

“ hey, come on now… you’re okay. you’re good, right? “

“ i must be hurt pretty bad if you’re being this nice to me. “

“ quit playing the martyr. we’re not leaving you behind. “

“ you know, i hate to be the negative voice, but… did… did we just lose? “

“ look at me… i’m not gonna make it. it’s okay, i’m fine with that. but… you can’t stay here. you’ve got a good long life ahead of you. and you’re smart, too; too smart to wait around here and waste that long life. so you get out of here, and you go live that life. live it for both of us. will you promise me you’ll do that? “

“ back-up isn’t coming. is it? we’re on our own, right? “

“ can’t sleep, huh? it’s okay. it’s probably all that adrenaline and shock; i can’t sleep, either. wanna keep each other company? “

“ i don’t give two shits about the back-up; i’m just happy you’re alive. “

ACTION PROMPTS.

as always, add a “+ REVERSE” to switch the roles!

[ CARRY ]:     having found the receiver in an injured/weak/unconscious state, the sender carries them in their arms to safety.

[ TILT ]:     the sender gently tilts the receiver’s chin up so that they can check to see if they’re okay.

[ PULL ]:     sender takes the fallen receiver’s hands and carefully pulls them up so that they’re standing once more.

[ WAIST ]:     sender, while physically supporting and steadying the receiver, loops an arm around their waist for extra support.

[ BACK ]:     sender crouches down slightly to let the wounded receiver climb on their back, giving them a piggy-back ride to safety afterwards.

[ HAIR ]:     while in the process of checking the receiver for injuries or other signs of harm, the sender gently brushes several strands of hair from their eyes.

[ TEND ]:     sender begins to care for the receiver’s injuries.

[ LEAN ]:     the wounded sender leans against the receiver for physical support.

[ SUPPORT ]:     the sender encourages the wounded receiver to lean against them for physical support.

[ PUSH ]:     the sender gently pushes the receiver back to lie down so they can check them properly for injuries.

[ COAT ]:     sender removes their jacket and drapes it around the shoulders of the trembling receiver.

[ BLANKET ]:     just as they’re all about to go to sleep, the sender covers the receiver with their own blanket.

[ AWAKE ]:     the sender, unable to sleep, gets up to go for a walk, and finds that the receiver is also unable to sleep.

[ TOGETHER ]:     when the receiver awakens, they discover that the sender has been sleeping next to them, arms wrapped around one another for warmth, comfort, protection ( or something more… )

[ BANDAGE ]:     the sender sits down across from the receiver and begins to bandage their wounds.

[ DRAG ]:     unable to leave them behind, the sender drags the wounded receiver out of danger and into a safe hiding place for both of them to wait until help arrives.

[ TOUCH ]:     the sender nudges or touches the receiver to check and see if they’re alright after the attack.

[ CLEAN ]:     the sender gently and carefully begins to bathe the blood/soot/ash/dirt from the receiver’s skin during a moment of calm.

[ PRIORITY ]:     when they arrive at a designated safe place, the sender refuses to be examined or cared for until the receiver is taken care of first.

[ PROMISE ]:     before leaving to get help/food/water/a rescue mission etc, the sender assures and promises the receiver that they’ll return safely, refusing to bring them along or to stay behind.

[ BROKEN ]:     after having promised the receiver that they’d return, it’s learned that the sender died during their mission. how does the receiver respond?

[ TRAPPED ]:     after having promised the receiver that they’d return from a mission, the receiver learns that the sender has been kidnapped or otherwise trapped, requiring a rescue mission to bring them home.

[ RESCUE ]:     the sender and receiver reunite after the sender embarked upon an infamously perilous rescue mission to save the receiver.

[ FOUND ]:     after a massive rescue mission to try and find the missing receiver, the sender is the first to find them just as the efforts are about to be abandoned.

[ HOPE ]:     just as the receiver is about to lose hope in ever finding the sender again, a message or clue of some kind is discovered that essentially guarantees that the sender is still alive, restoring the receiver’s hope once more.

[ CLING ]:     having finally been reunited, the sender pulls the receiver into a tight, overwhelmingly relieved embrace, clinging to them and burying their face in their shoulder. the whole deal. make it EMOTIONAL–

[ TEARS ]:     having finally found the receiver, or having finally been found by the receiver, the sender breaks down in tears of relief, fear, and many other emotions as they officially reunite.

[ SACRIFICE ]:     knowing that the circumstances only allow one of them to survive, the sender sacrifices their life in order to guarantee the receiver’s survival and safety.

[bulwarkbolvirk]

𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

lads if i ever have to type “pin against the wall” ever again in this lifetime, it’ll be too soon, but i really hope you enjoy these!! if you think of more that you would like to be added, let me know! please do NOT add more in the reblogs, it is VERY likely that i can and will be making a second part to this list! now go drink some water and i hope y’all enjoy the memes!

[ KISS ]:     sender pins receiver against the wall and kisses them passionately.

[ ANGER ]:     sender pins receiver against the wall out of anger.

[ CHALLENGE ]:     in a motion designed to challenge the receiver’s authority, sender pins receiver against the wall.

[ TRAINING ]:     during a sparring match, sender ends up pinning the receiver against the wall.

[ HEAT ]:      while in the middle of a make-out session, sender pushes the receiver up against the wall, unwittingly heating things up even more.

[ SHIELD ]:     in order to protect them from physical harm caused by a third party, the sender shoves the receiver against the wall and shields them with their body.

[ COVER ]:     while hiding from persecutors, sender pushes the receiver against a wall and uses their body to hide the receiver’s face from view.

[ HIDE ]:     while on the run, the sender hastily grabs the receiver and pins them against a wall that’s hidden from public view to avoid being seen.

[ STOP ]:     in order to stop the receiver from walking away, the sender guides them back and pushes them against a wall.

[ FIGHT ]:     while in a physical fight, sender shoves the receiver against the wall in an effort to gain the upper hand.

[ RESTRAIN ]:     sender pushes the receiver back against the wall to stop them from physically fighting the sender.

[ STEADY ]:     sender gently catches and guides the emotionally distressed receiver against a wall in order to physically steady them.

[ CLOSER ]:     while pinning the receiver against the wall, sender glances down at their lips, suddenly aware of how close they are to one another…

[ THROAT ]: sender pins the receiver to the wall by placing a hand or forearm against their throat.

[ FRONT ]: sender shoves the receiver against the wall so that the receiver’s front is pressed against the wall.

[ WHISPER ]: sender pins the receiver against a wall in order to whisper something into their ear (either a secret or in a manner of seduction).

[ FEAR ]: in order to frighten or intimidate the receiver, the sender shoves them back against a wall, positioning themselves so that the receiver can’t get out.

[bulwarkbolvirk]

Bolvirk meant his promise; he could never tire of Orion's affections either, so they were well-suited. A flattered chuckle of his own arose at the other's compliment, threaded with humor that grew more apparent in the warm, longer laugh that followed. "Venn is a mare, but I get your meaning."

Orion had made his appreciation very apparent since they'd met - of many aspects of their companionship, ones mutually treasured, but of Bolvirk's cock and body in particular. Bolvirk didn't mind it; he'd come to understand that for Orion, words flowed easier alongside actions, and that the emotions which fed both could be found in every act if one had the care to look. Besides, Bolvirk always enjoyed their intimacy. Especially moments like this, as more and more of his length was engulfed in Orion's gorgeous, almost dizzying tightness.

A sighing, rumbling hum emerged from his chest after his praise, at the adoring sweeps of the other's palms over his body. Lashes subtly fluttered, and parted lips curved in another smile. There was nothing like feeling loved, feeling seen for everything he was. Some focused on his fighting strength and scars, others on his gentler acts and his soft stomach. Neither were wrong, though neither had the whole picture. It might be easier, sure, to lean into one or the other, but Bolvirk refused to lose any part of himself. So when he found someone like Orion, who saw and loved both sides... Those three little words resonated in Bolvirk's mind.

In the meantime, each slow drag along his aching heated length nipped at his resolve to stay still, coaxing out a moan or a stuttering breath each time. Bolvirk met those wandering eyes when he could, and otherwise watched Orion's face in return. Gods, had he ever seen anything more beautiful...? As the other man rocked gradually lower onto his shaft, Bolvirk's teasing touch at the rim moved just enough to grasp one round cheek. He could feel how much Orion was leaking onto his lower stomach already, how it pooled until a movement and a breath sent one drop sliding down his side, clear as water and viscous as honey.

"And how perfect you sound, too," he added onto his praise, as tender as the touch that brushed under one teary eye, before biting his lip to muffle a few more of his own sounds. Orion could find the pace for now, as they settled in; Bolvirk preferred taking over from a place of comfort. Curled fingers skimming down Orion's jaw, Bolvirk's hand then turned and spread as it reached that strong neck and broad chest, pausing for a squeeze of his own before continuing downward. His trailing touch diverted onto one side, then around, until both hands gripped Orion's tempting rear. "I will, kjaere, don't worry." Bolvirk could make a decent guess as to what Orion was pleading so sweetly for. "Just wait a little longer for me, aye? Don't want to make this more pain than pleasure. You deserve the best I can give."

Bolvirk did offer guidance with his hands in the meantime, though. He kept the rhythm slow - in part because, while he didn't push any deeper yet than Orion had gone, he did bring the other to that limit with each pull down onto his cock. "Want me to touch you once I get started?" Bolvirk added, faintly breathless from restraint. "You're already dripping so much, won't even need oil or spit. Faen gorgeous, as always."

He couldn’t deny how good the slight, slow rocking along part of his length felt, yet just as apparent was the strain in that tightness and how it showed in both expression and posture. Bolvirk was tempted more by the minute to take initiative in a pause, only for long enough to retrieve the nearly-full oil he knew they had. Despite Raiju’s sweet words and touch, and how Bolvirk treasured them, he nonetheless mulled over how best to offer the suggestion.

He then wondered to himself if his thoughts were writ too clear in his look, as Raiju was the one to pull back first. I really don’t have the face for dice. Regardless, they’d settled on the same conclusion. It also helped that Bolvirk got to watch the firelight play over fair-skinned muscle, still feeling that touch down his front in a subtly tingling trail. Freyja herself blessed that ass, he was sure. Bolvirk remained where he was in the meantime, answering that smirk with a broader, slanted, inviting grin.

His palms immediately returned to Raiju’s thighs once the latter settled atop him again. Breath shuddering softly at the indulgent strokes spreading oil over his cock, Bolvirk nonetheless managed with his own mix of teasing and sincerity, “You’re welcome to it anytime.” And this time in particular, he got to watch Raiju open himself up with slicked fingers. Freyja’s blessing, indeed.

Bolvirk didn’t mark, nor much care, how much time passed before Raiju was readying once more. His hands slid back to support the other’s rear just like before; the hum of his moan carried a little extra tenderness, an unspoken praise and encouragement, as Raiju sank down more easily. Tension rippled through Bolvirk as well, though it was from the effort to stay still, no matter how amazing those fluttering squeezes felt around his shaft. He swallowed hard, then sighed out a moan at the pace Raiju started with. Lashes threatened to fall shut for a moment, but Bolvirk refused to take his eyes off the vision atop him.

When their gazes met, one hand slid up from Raiju’s rear over his side and chest to cradle his cheek. “I think I was,” Bolvirk agreed in similar quiet, adoring certainty. Another moan escaped the back of his throat. “I don’t have enough words in any tongue for how perfect you feel.” He coaxed Raiju closer, for a kiss burning with hunger and affection. In the meantime, his other hand’s fingertips roamed until settling in the cleft of his love’s rear, rubbing gently against the stretched, oiled rim in complement to Raiju’s steady rhythm. That urge to thrust his hips up had lost its sharpest edge for now, but it still simmered low in his gut. Not yet, Bolvirk reminded himself.

[bulwarkbolvirk]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐀 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒 .    (  a collection of  action prompts.   feel free to reverse roles as desired. this prompt will be updated.  )

[ REDWOOD ] sender lashes out at receiver when it isn't their fault.

[ WILLOW ] sender embraces receiver in a moment of extreme distress.

[ PINE ] sender fervently resists receiver's attempts to comfort / care for them.

[ BIRCH ] sender finally ends a tense argument by reaching out to apologize.

[ POPLAR ] sender mentors receiver through learning a new skill.

[ PALM ] sender and receiver avoid / ignore the stresses of real life together.

[ ELM ] sender lends receiver aid in a time of urgent need.

[ MAGNOLIA ] sender, believed to be dead, arrives at receiver's door.

[ DOGWOOD ] sender gifts receiver a token of good luck / protection.

[ MULBERRY ] sender and receiver take a long walk through nature together.

[ HAZELNUT ] sender begrudgingly patches up receiver's wounds.

[ CAMPHOR ] sender suddenly pushes receiver out of danger's path.

[ CASHEW ] when they're finally alone, sender invites receiver to dance.

[ LAVENDER ] sender lays their head in receiver's lap and closes their eyes.

[ BEECH ] it comes to light that sender has betrayed receiver.

[ HIBISCUS ] sender invites receiver to go traveling with them.

[ HICKORY ] sender pushes receiver to admit that they need them.

[ MAPLE ] sender shakes receiver's shoulders, begging them to wake up.

[ CHERRY BLOSSOM ] sender revels in receiver's beauty, stunned.

[ JOSHUA ] sender offers receiver a safe place to hide / crash .

[ ASH ] sender and receiver become reacquainted after many years.

[ FIG ] sender, knowing receiver is hungry, pressures them to eat.

[ YEW ] sender beckons for receiver to join them in the water.

[ CYPRESS ] sender shamelessly flirts with receiver.

[ LINDEN ] sender cares for receiver, who took a hit to protect them.

[bulwarkbolvirk]

That grinning 'wow' subtly tingled through Bolvirk's skin from head to toe. His own smile widened a bit, while his slow stroking hand dragged a little firmer along his length. Not for the first time, Bolvirk marveled at Cyrus; it had felt ever since they met like the man had been crafted by Freyja just for him. One more reason to be glad he'd finally worked up the nerve for a mutual confession.

Now he could have this, they both could. Bolvirk didn't have to rely just on imagination for how Cyrus might gaze at him with unbridled desire and affection. Nor did he have to only imagine how it felt to kiss his dearest friend and new lover.

Bolvirk's free hand cradled the back of Cyrus' neck while they kissed. The other deserved every ounce of his patience, even if nothing could extinguish his eagerness to share intimacy. Fingertips trailing away down Cyrus' front when the latter sat back, they skimmed first over fabric and then down scarred and soft-yet-firm muscles. Those scars were noticed, to be sure, as they were too numerous not to be. But they were not judged, weren't regarded as any sort of downside; they were only another part of the man Bolvirk had fallen for. Besides, he wasn't without scars either, even if his weren't as numerous.

While he had been looking forward to the shedding of Cyrus' smalls as well, to get another eyeful of that impressive length, it was as his lover said: 'all in good time'. He could wait.

Especially when waiting meant watching that look on Cyrus' face, and feeling those broad, gentle hands roam so indulgently over his body. The way they lingered, and seemed determined to touch every inch of him within immediate reach, gave the impression of being tenderly claimed. The idea made his length twitch slightly under his own palm, and colored his soft hum with a pleased smile.

It, and the first few kisses down his chest, brought Bolvirk into a shallow arch upward. His free hand immediately returned to Cyrus' skin, sliding from one trim side onto that broad back, while Bolvirk settled down against the sofa once more. When that tempting mouth diverted to tease at one nipple, Bolvirk breathed out a quiet, rumbling moan. Though it felt like too soon when Cyrus' mouth and tongue moved further downward, the adoration in every kiss made complaining unthinkable. Instead, Bolvirk wrapped his hand around his own shaft to stroke properly, with small squeezes at the base and at the reddening head.

Bolvirk did answer at first, with a prompt nod after Cyrus' whispered question. Yet he held off on speaking when the other man asked him to, apparently so Cyrus could lavish praise on Bolvirk's cock. His cheeks flushed as if mirroring the tip, but his smile easily resurfaced with the presence of his lover's. "Well, glad you like it," Bolvirk laughed lightly. "But you can do more than just look, if you want." His humored expression gentled with sincerity. "Cause I do want you to fuck me. Here, now, anywhere, anytime. Spent too many years convincing myself I'd ruin our friendship if I said so; I wanna make up for lost time."

He arched slightly under the drag of Cyrus' hands over his front, and already wanted to tear the borrowed shirt off for one less layer between them. Welcoming the kisses along his jaw and neck with a tilt of his head, Bolvirk let slip a quiet chuckle. "I might have some."

That first skim of teeth over his skin did indeed spark a long, low hum from his throat, drawn out further when it ended in working up a small reddened mark. Bolvirk had been contented with only kisses and touch - but the rolling grinds of Cyrus' hips shifted the atmosphere, in the best kind of way. Just enough friction to whet his desire, to have his hands curling against thick muscle and short-cropped hair, to pull a sigh of a moan past parted lips. He returned the lighter kisses where and when he could, though not wanting to interrupt such high praise either. This was the perfect, luckiest place for him to be.

Bent leg tipping aside just a bit further when wandering hands found the waist of his smallclothes, Bolvirk bit his lip to hold back any passing, unserious complaint when Cyrus' touch only teased at the edge of fabric. He let go of it just in time for their mouths to meet again, melting into the deeper kiss without any attempt to contain any soft sounds of pleasure. "I mean every word," he breathed. Gods, that teasing again, even closer to where their hips met...

When Cyrus' forehead pressed to his, Bolvirk took a deeper inhale, sharing the same air with the friend he'd adored for years. His eyes closed for a long moment, then opened at the whispered words - somewhere between a request, an order, and a plea. The answer leapt readily to the tip of Bolvirk's tongue. It was waylaid, however, by those borrowed smallclothes getting tugged down his hips, far enough to leave his ass bare. Bare, but not unattended, as a broad hand splayed over one cheek. That alone had his head spinning with all the ways to have those hands on his rear.

What also didn't help his promptness was the promises that followed. Arousal rushed hot through his veins. Oh, how he wanted to get wrecked by this man, with the knowledge that Cyrus would be just as thorough in the doting afterward. And maybe he wouldn't have to worry about going totally nude around the manor as much as he'd thought. Bolvirk couldn't deny a little reflexive hesitation at the part about taking what he wanted. Cyrus had said so, clearly wanted him to... yet decades of striving to be everything his father wasn't still made him balk at being that forward. Maybe it would get easier with time, with guided attempts or patient reassurances. He hoped so; he wanted it to, when his partner was so keen on the idea.

That brief, inner hesitation didn't stop Bolvirk from sighing again at the skim of lips, nor from leaning in before Cyrus to meet the kiss. Even with only two pieces of linen clothing, already halfway rucked off, he felt too overdressed. The absence of their close press was soothed by another request from Cyrus. Bolvirk obeyed immediately, pulling the shirt off over his head first. While he let it drop to the rug, and reached to unfasten his smalls, he had the chance to give his earlier answer. "I want this so badly, Cy. I want you to fuck me til I see stars, til I have to wait for my knees to work." Bolvirk dropped the smallclothes aside as well, rubbing an open palm over his hardening cock with a tantalizing slowness. "I want to feel your mouth anywhere I can get it. I want to watch you finish, I know you'll look so beautiful..."

He trailed off into another low moan, gaze fixed on Cyrus' face all the while.