fic: suit of armor (saber/lancer, nc17)
Title: Suit of Armor
Author: sinemoras09
Characters: Saber/Lancer
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1553
---
"I should like to undress you," Diarmuid said.
They were sitting in the bedroom. Moonlight spilled like milk onto the grayscale of the shadowed bed, giving just enough light for Saber's eyes to adjust and see Diarmuid's face. He was smiling. She grinned and shook her head.
"Why?" Saber said. "I am not wearing civilian clothes and I can just as easily de-materialize my armor." A flick of her wrist showed him; the metal plates disappeared leaving the blue frock underneath.
His body twined close, his neck curving, meeting hers. "If you would please indulge me, Arturia," Diarmuid said. "I would be in your debt."
Saber looked up at him, grinning and shaking her head, and materialized back her armor.
"It is a lot," Saber said. "My squires could hardly help to remove my armor without denting the plates or accidentally dropping the pieces on their feet."
"I am no squire, King."
"No, you are a knight who mixes pleasure with self-denial. I warn you now, this armor is a cage."
"Will you undress me as well?" he spoke against her neck. Saber laughed softly against his chest.
"If it pleases you. Although I see no pleasure in having to wait."
He smiled as he kissed her. She felt his hand come up, cupping the side of her face.
Fingers deftly undid the fastenings to her breastplate, separating the cuirass. He pulled off one armored glove after another, then stepped close to undo the armored plates spanning the length of her hips. He set them down carefully, the way a squire would, setting them on the leather undercovers and smartly hanging the chainmail.
"....Are you sure you're not a squire?" Saber said, impressed. He fingered a clasp on her neck, considering.
"I suppose we have all done squiring duties at one point or another."
"How strange. And here I've imagined your armies fighting only with glory and war paint."
"Well. The plate armor does impede one's agility. Among other things."
She was just in her frock now. Without her armor, her body felt light, and as she pressed against him she delighted in the feel of not having the breastplate in the way of feeling him.
"What other things?" she asked, and his neck bowed forward, lips brushing against a pulsepoint by her neck as he quietly unfastened the hooks around the buttons. Diarmuid considered.
"I imagine it would be difficult to use a spear when one's range of motion is limited by plate armor."
"Indeed. Which is why I only wore the breastplate." She stood patiently as he worked on the button-back of her frock. They were not buttons in the modern sense, but thick, rounded fastenings that were closed with fabric hooks, the type only seen now on wedding dresses in this age. She wondered, silently, if that was part of the appeal.
"You are taking much too long," Saber told him.
"Are you that eager, my King?"
"Do not grin at me like that, I can see your eagerness plainly enough." She worked on unfastening the shoulder guards. The buckle came loose, and she tugged the leather pauldron off around his arm, dropping it at his feet.
"Saber," Diarmuid said. "You really are in a hurry."
She backed him against the bed. "I am tired of waiting," Saber said. She pushed her dress down by the shoulders, the hook fastenings ripping and buttons popping in protest, pulling her arms out of the sleeves and stepping out of the skirt. He laughed, delighted.
"Come here," she said, and she tugged him close to her, bare breasts pressed up against the green leather of his chest. She wrapped her arms around him and searched blindly for the fastenings with her fingers, feeling the ridges of his backplate like braille. "...How does this come off?"
"There is a fastening on the side. Once it's undone, it slides off in one piece, like a shirt."
"Here?" Saber said, and she felt a buckle.
The leather loosened, and she was rewarded by the sudden feel of warm skin under her hand.
"Ah," Saber said, and she tugged off his chest piece, pulling it over his head.
"Finally," Saber said, and she hugged him, reaching up to kiss him and press her body against warm, delicious skin.
They smiled as they kissed, separating only a moment while he dropped worshipful kisses along the side of her jaw and the line of her throat. She felt a solid hardness pressed against her mound that was not part of his armor.
Unlike his chestpiece, the bottom part of Diarmuid's armor was more complicated than Saber realized. His boots reached up to the thigh, fastened by three leather strips around each leg; those fastenings were connected to a wide belt that sat low around his hips, hooking around his waist.
Her fingers moved, unbuckling the straps.
Too many buckles. She freed one strap, tugged on another. Fingers searched for another clasp. She tugged; the piece would not come free, having missed another buckle on the back. She undid the other buckle; the piece got caught where his belt still hung around his hips.
"How do you get dressed?" Saber said. She tugged hard at his waist. Diarmuid sat up and started unbuckling the straps on his other leg. "This must take hours to put on!"
"It is only a few buckles, Arturia, I'm surprised you're having such difficulty."
"Any longer, and I shall cut these straps off myself!" Saber said. The last buckle came loose, and she tugged his boot free. She stared at his other leg, mournfully. "Lancer--"
"Here," he said, and he moved to help her.
Boots. Pants. ...boxer briefs? ("I happen to like them," Diarmuid said, and Saber laughed, warmly.) They fell in a heap on the floor as she pushed him back against the bed, pinning his body under hers and sighing gratefully at the feel of naked, warm skin. She straddled him, the ridge of her pelvis sliding up against his length, but she would not let him penetrate her. Not yet. Not after making her undo all those damned buckles.
"...Arturia?"
"Wait your turn, Lancer. Allow me to have mine."
He laughed softly. "You are angry," he said.
She tried to look stern but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Need I remind you, Lancer, we could have been doing this far earlier and at less hassle to ourselves were you not so hellbent on undressing me."
And she ground down her hips, thoroughly enjoying the cupped friction of his cock rubbing against the swollen nub of her clitoris, a pleasurable sensation that made her exhale softly. She painted his length with her wetness, sliding her body along his hardness and focusing her weight onto that spot, the muscles of her stomach and thighs tightening, clenching as she rubbed herself on him. He reached up to kiss her and she let out a strangled sound as he began fondling her breasts, cupping them and rolling her nipples between his fingers.
"Oh, dear." Saber gasped as Diarmuid cleverly pinched her nipple with one hand while craning his neck to lick the other. "Oh dear. Lancer--"
She made a soft, squeaking noise, entirely undignified for a king, and tipped over the edge of her pleasure, gasping at each rhythmic contraction, before sagging limply on top of him. She felt him rest his hand on her head as he laughed against her neck, fondly.
He rolled her onto her back, sliding inside her with one smooth stroke, before leaning on his arms as if to better study her body. Saber knew what he saw: pink-tipped breasts, the thumbprint dip of her navel. He smiled and kissed her lovingly, moving gently and reaching up to caress her face.
"May I tell you something, Arturia?"
"Hm?"
"I had imagined this, that first time we sparred."
Saber laughed, warmly. "Did you, now? I would not have taken you for a man to be so easily distracted."
"Why Arturia. I believe I did fairly well despite those distractions." She felt the tips of his fingers gently brush her arm where Gae Buidhe once pierced her skin, her body wet and aching and responding to his thrusts.
They smiled and kissed again, before he moved his head to mouth at her neck. She squeezed her thighs around his hips, feeling the muscles of his flanks contract and release with each thrust, arching her pelvis against his body and wrapping her arms around his back. He sighed against her neck, and she let her hands drift upward, following the line of his spine and pausing only at the telltale scar from where he had speared himself. She soothed the scar with her fingers, rubbing small circles along the raised edge, and felt a small wave a satisfaction as he exhaled softly, thrusting a fraction harder at her touch.
"Lancer?"
"Yes?"
"Allow me to get on top."
He shifted and she rolled him onto his back, taking care to keep their bodies joined as they switched positions. Dipping low, she framed his face with her hands and rocked slowly, kissing him as if she were plucking the seams of something delicate. She kissed the side of his face and jaw, mouthed the triangle of his collarbone before kissing the scar at the center of his chest.
"If only Avalon could heal this," Saber said, sadly. Diarmuid smiled and touched her face.
"The warmth of my king is healing enough."
She smiled and kissed him, her hand trailing over the scar as she rocked, moving her hips slowly and relishing how good he felt inside her.
She leaned forward and hugged him, panting softly into his neck as he wrapped her in his arms. She felt him starting to move his hips a little. She obliged him, quickening the pace.
He was getting eager. She could tell by the slight tightening of his hands around her hips, the strain of the effort not to pull her closer toward him, not to thrust up too hard or too fast. The consummate gentleman. She decided perhaps it was time to give him some relief.
Pushing up on her hands, she sank down on him hard, adjusting her position a little for better traction, before pistoning her hips at a quickened pace. She grinned as he gasped a little at the sudden change in speed, blushing and biting off a startled moan.
"This must be how maidens look to their lovers," Saber said, not meaning to say it out loud, but thankfully Diarmuid looked more amused than offended.
"Surely you are not calling me a maiden?"
"Well you are very pretty like a maiden, Lancer. And you certainly blush like one, too."
He smirked. She laughed softly against his neck. "I shall pay you back for this later, Saber," he said, smiling, and as she looked at him, she thought to herself, I love this man, this noble, imperfect creature, burdened with guilt and bowed by grief. She traced the sides of his face with her thumbs, kissed his lips and jaw, smiling and breathing against him.
When he came, it was with a blush on his face and a soft, startled cry, the quiet pulse of his release pushing her toward hers. She fell on top of him, loose-limbed and pliant, and as they lay together she could feel her heartbeat in perfect harmony with his.
Afterwards, they dressed. She could easily make her dress disappear and reappear on her at will, but instead she lifted her hair and had him help her with the buttons. She felt him tugging the fabric of her dress closed, fingers expertly pulling back the eyelet hooks around the thick cloth buttons, the top of her dress growing more snug as he worked his way upwards. He dropped a small kiss at her nape before fastening the last button closed.
Author: sinemoras09
Characters: Saber/Lancer
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1553
---
"I should like to undress you," Diarmuid said.
They were sitting in the bedroom. Moonlight spilled like milk onto the grayscale of the shadowed bed, giving just enough light for Saber's eyes to adjust and see Diarmuid's face. He was smiling. She grinned and shook her head.
"Why?" Saber said. "I am not wearing civilian clothes and I can just as easily de-materialize my armor." A flick of her wrist showed him; the metal plates disappeared leaving the blue frock underneath.
His body twined close, his neck curving, meeting hers. "If you would please indulge me, Arturia," Diarmuid said. "I would be in your debt."
Saber looked up at him, grinning and shaking her head, and materialized back her armor.
"It is a lot," Saber said. "My squires could hardly help to remove my armor without denting the plates or accidentally dropping the pieces on their feet."
"I am no squire, King."
"No, you are a knight who mixes pleasure with self-denial. I warn you now, this armor is a cage."
"Will you undress me as well?" he spoke against her neck. Saber laughed softly against his chest.
"If it pleases you. Although I see no pleasure in having to wait."
He smiled as he kissed her. She felt his hand come up, cupping the side of her face.
Fingers deftly undid the fastenings to her breastplate, separating the cuirass. He pulled off one armored glove after another, then stepped close to undo the armored plates spanning the length of her hips. He set them down carefully, the way a squire would, setting them on the leather undercovers and smartly hanging the chainmail.
"....Are you sure you're not a squire?" Saber said, impressed. He fingered a clasp on her neck, considering.
"I suppose we have all done squiring duties at one point or another."
"How strange. And here I've imagined your armies fighting only with glory and war paint."
"Well. The plate armor does impede one's agility. Among other things."
She was just in her frock now. Without her armor, her body felt light, and as she pressed against him she delighted in the feel of not having the breastplate in the way of feeling him.
"What other things?" she asked, and his neck bowed forward, lips brushing against a pulsepoint by her neck as he quietly unfastened the hooks around the buttons. Diarmuid considered.
"I imagine it would be difficult to use a spear when one's range of motion is limited by plate armor."
"Indeed. Which is why I only wore the breastplate." She stood patiently as he worked on the button-back of her frock. They were not buttons in the modern sense, but thick, rounded fastenings that were closed with fabric hooks, the type only seen now on wedding dresses in this age. She wondered, silently, if that was part of the appeal.
"You are taking much too long," Saber told him.
"Are you that eager, my King?"
"Do not grin at me like that, I can see your eagerness plainly enough." She worked on unfastening the shoulder guards. The buckle came loose, and she tugged the leather pauldron off around his arm, dropping it at his feet.
"Saber," Diarmuid said. "You really are in a hurry."
She backed him against the bed. "I am tired of waiting," Saber said. She pushed her dress down by the shoulders, the hook fastenings ripping and buttons popping in protest, pulling her arms out of the sleeves and stepping out of the skirt. He laughed, delighted.
"Come here," she said, and she tugged him close to her, bare breasts pressed up against the green leather of his chest. She wrapped her arms around him and searched blindly for the fastenings with her fingers, feeling the ridges of his backplate like braille. "...How does this come off?"
"There is a fastening on the side. Once it's undone, it slides off in one piece, like a shirt."
"Here?" Saber said, and she felt a buckle.
The leather loosened, and she was rewarded by the sudden feel of warm skin under her hand.
"Ah," Saber said, and she tugged off his chest piece, pulling it over his head.
"Finally," Saber said, and she hugged him, reaching up to kiss him and press her body against warm, delicious skin.
They smiled as they kissed, separating only a moment while he dropped worshipful kisses along the side of her jaw and the line of her throat. She felt a solid hardness pressed against her mound that was not part of his armor.
Unlike his chestpiece, the bottom part of Diarmuid's armor was more complicated than Saber realized. His boots reached up to the thigh, fastened by three leather strips around each leg; those fastenings were connected to a wide belt that sat low around his hips, hooking around his waist.
Her fingers moved, unbuckling the straps.
Too many buckles. She freed one strap, tugged on another. Fingers searched for another clasp. She tugged; the piece would not come free, having missed another buckle on the back. She undid the other buckle; the piece got caught where his belt still hung around his hips.
"How do you get dressed?" Saber said. She tugged hard at his waist. Diarmuid sat up and started unbuckling the straps on his other leg. "This must take hours to put on!"
"It is only a few buckles, Arturia, I'm surprised you're having such difficulty."
"Any longer, and I shall cut these straps off myself!" Saber said. The last buckle came loose, and she tugged his boot free. She stared at his other leg, mournfully. "Lancer--"
"Here," he said, and he moved to help her.
Boots. Pants. ...boxer briefs? ("I happen to like them," Diarmuid said, and Saber laughed, warmly.) They fell in a heap on the floor as she pushed him back against the bed, pinning his body under hers and sighing gratefully at the feel of naked, warm skin. She straddled him, the ridge of her pelvis sliding up against his length, but she would not let him penetrate her. Not yet. Not after making her undo all those damned buckles.
"...Arturia?"
"Wait your turn, Lancer. Allow me to have mine."
He laughed softly. "You are angry," he said.
She tried to look stern but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Need I remind you, Lancer, we could have been doing this far earlier and at less hassle to ourselves were you not so hellbent on undressing me."
And she ground down her hips, thoroughly enjoying the cupped friction of his cock rubbing against the swollen nub of her clitoris, a pleasurable sensation that made her exhale softly. She painted his length with her wetness, sliding her body along his hardness and focusing her weight onto that spot, the muscles of her stomach and thighs tightening, clenching as she rubbed herself on him. He reached up to kiss her and she let out a strangled sound as he began fondling her breasts, cupping them and rolling her nipples between his fingers.
"Oh, dear." Saber gasped as Diarmuid cleverly pinched her nipple with one hand while craning his neck to lick the other. "Oh dear. Lancer--"
She made a soft, squeaking noise, entirely undignified for a king, and tipped over the edge of her pleasure, gasping at each rhythmic contraction, before sagging limply on top of him. She felt him rest his hand on her head as he laughed against her neck, fondly.
He rolled her onto her back, sliding inside her with one smooth stroke, before leaning on his arms as if to better study her body. Saber knew what he saw: pink-tipped breasts, the thumbprint dip of her navel. He smiled and kissed her lovingly, moving gently and reaching up to caress her face.
"May I tell you something, Arturia?"
"Hm?"
"I had imagined this, that first time we sparred."
Saber laughed, warmly. "Did you, now? I would not have taken you for a man to be so easily distracted."
"Why Arturia. I believe I did fairly well despite those distractions." She felt the tips of his fingers gently brush her arm where Gae Buidhe once pierced her skin, her body wet and aching and responding to his thrusts.
They smiled and kissed again, before he moved his head to mouth at her neck. She squeezed her thighs around his hips, feeling the muscles of his flanks contract and release with each thrust, arching her pelvis against his body and wrapping her arms around his back. He sighed against her neck, and she let her hands drift upward, following the line of his spine and pausing only at the telltale scar from where he had speared himself. She soothed the scar with her fingers, rubbing small circles along the raised edge, and felt a small wave a satisfaction as he exhaled softly, thrusting a fraction harder at her touch.
"Lancer?"
"Yes?"
"Allow me to get on top."
He shifted and she rolled him onto his back, taking care to keep their bodies joined as they switched positions. Dipping low, she framed his face with her hands and rocked slowly, kissing him as if she were plucking the seams of something delicate. She kissed the side of his face and jaw, mouthed the triangle of his collarbone before kissing the scar at the center of his chest.
"If only Avalon could heal this," Saber said, sadly. Diarmuid smiled and touched her face.
"The warmth of my king is healing enough."
She smiled and kissed him, her hand trailing over the scar as she rocked, moving her hips slowly and relishing how good he felt inside her.
She leaned forward and hugged him, panting softly into his neck as he wrapped her in his arms. She felt him starting to move his hips a little. She obliged him, quickening the pace.
He was getting eager. She could tell by the slight tightening of his hands around her hips, the strain of the effort not to pull her closer toward him, not to thrust up too hard or too fast. The consummate gentleman. She decided perhaps it was time to give him some relief.
Pushing up on her hands, she sank down on him hard, adjusting her position a little for better traction, before pistoning her hips at a quickened pace. She grinned as he gasped a little at the sudden change in speed, blushing and biting off a startled moan.
"This must be how maidens look to their lovers," Saber said, not meaning to say it out loud, but thankfully Diarmuid looked more amused than offended.
"Surely you are not calling me a maiden?"
"Well you are very pretty like a maiden, Lancer. And you certainly blush like one, too."
He smirked. She laughed softly against his neck. "I shall pay you back for this later, Saber," he said, smiling, and as she looked at him, she thought to herself, I love this man, this noble, imperfect creature, burdened with guilt and bowed by grief. She traced the sides of his face with her thumbs, kissed his lips and jaw, smiling and breathing against him.
When he came, it was with a blush on his face and a soft, startled cry, the quiet pulse of his release pushing her toward hers. She fell on top of him, loose-limbed and pliant, and as they lay together she could feel her heartbeat in perfect harmony with his.
Afterwards, they dressed. She could easily make her dress disappear and reappear on her at will, but instead she lifted her hair and had him help her with the buttons. She felt him tugging the fabric of her dress closed, fingers expertly pulling back the eyelet hooks around the thick cloth buttons, the top of her dress growing more snug as he worked his way upwards. He dropped a small kiss at her nape before fastening the last button closed.