The Rose That Blooms Forever
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While Guy and Maria recovered in the tent that Minwu and Firion had set up for them, the time had finally arrived for Minwu to assess Firion’s condition. The stream of battles had been rough, won by the skin of their teeth by the synergy of Firion’s enthusiasm and Minwu’s experience. The rest of the party were in severe condition, and that had required Minwu’s direct attention most of the night before. But now, they had been tended to, and it was time for Firion, who had thankfully lacked any telltale signs of injury or affliction, to receive personal care from the mysterious man who was so trusted within the ranks of the rebellion. Once Minwu checked over Firion for any concerns, the party would be ready by the next day to set out once more on their quest.
The couple sat under a tall tree. It was the early morning, when the birds had begun to sing. The fire from the night before had crackled and sputtered to embers, no longer necessary under the heat of the spring sun. In the moments where Minwu had not been administering Esuna last night, when Minwu had come to rest against this very tree, while it was Firion’s turn to keep watch, Firion had enough time to realize how unique his feelings were about their new companion. It had kept Firion’s attention all night, the curves of Minwu’s body a mystery he was desperate to solve. He would trace the lines that Minwu’s tight pectoral muscles made against the small piece of fabric that hugged his chest, or the way that the plane of Minwu’s midriff looked elegant and exciting caught in the light of their campfire. From time to time, Firion would be caught in the act, though Minwu’s masked face rendered his emotions unreadable. Instead, Firion would lock eyes with Minwu’s striking, blue ones, if only for a fleeting moment. Firion would spring back timidly, throwing his gaze anywhere else, obvious in his guilt. The image of Minwu’s gentle, kohl-lined eyes, of the unreadable emotion that glinted behind them, was seared into Firion’s mind, even when he was trying to convince himself that the starry night sky had been nearly as interesting.
“Come, my little knight.” Minwu's voice snapped Firion back to reality. He extended an arm towards where Firion sat like a nervous child across from him. Minwu’s white cloak gave further elegance to each graceful movement he made.
This one-sided tension made Firion's chest flutter as he wordlessly knelt closer to Minwu.
“Don’t be afraid.” Minwu’s voice was always calm, metered with gentleness. It was subtle, but there was a strength to it; a quiet confidence that was unboasting, unassuming. “Let me relieve you of your pain.”
Firion felt the giddiness of his boyhood and the desire of his manhood crash into him in a confusing shape, puzzling him. Entranced by Minwu’s careful words, Firion was now nearly within Minwu’s lap. Firion had the sense not to admit that the only thing that currently hurt within his body was this mounting new desire—a desire which he had never discovered until he had found himself as close to Minwu as he did now, close enough to notice the way the first rays of dawn were caught and refracted in Minwu’s ruby earrings.
Minwu reached for Firion calmly, helping Firion lay down onto his waiting lap. Firion’s heart drummed each time Minwu’s long nails grazed against his arms, each time he felt the surreal heat of Minwu’s dark skin against his own. Firion melted into his touch, his mind in a complete fog.
“T… thank you.” Firion breathed as he let his head rest against Minwu’s thigh. With one arm, Minwu cradled Firion’s body, holding him. With the other, Minwu pressed against the cold plates of armor against Firion’s chest and stomach.
“I’ll need to remove these to access your condition.” Minwu traced a finger down the groove the plate of armor made against the cleavage of Firion’s chest. “Is that alright with you?”
Firion blushed despite himself. He couldn’t bear to look up into Minwu’s face, even if most of it was covered behind the veil of Minwu’s mask or under the shade of the wisps of his dark brown bangs. Firion’s intense feelings made him feel a childish guilt, ashamed of the gravity of his reaction to such simple direct attention.
“Yes. That would be fine,” Firion swallowed.
Before he could remove anything himself, Minwu was expertly loosening and untying whatever stood in his way. He splayed his hands against Firion as if to command him to relax, to stay still, to remain in a state of acceptance. Firion obeyed.
He felt like a strange fever had consumed him. The way that Minwu touched him was, on the surface, professional; standard practice in healing battle-worn bodies. Yet, the warmth of his touch, Minwu's dedication as he combed across every inch of him, so intimately, quietly, calmly, sent shudders down Firion’s spine. He knew that he ought to contain himself, that it would be inappropriate to moan, even when Minwu cupped his palms against Firion’s tender chest. This was just procedure. The wall of fabric which obscured Minwu’s face gave Firion the illusion that he was safe to let his gaze linger, to stare upon Minwu’s features that were cast in a gentle concentration. Firion never realized how much he could sense just from one's eyes. The mystery of how Minwu’s mouth might look, if his lips were parted, how soft they might be, or how pink, drove Firion mad. Firion studied the slope of Minwu’s nose until he was caught in his investigation.
“Please tell me right away if I do anything that hurts.” There was a sense of knowing within Minwu’s soft voice. Effortlessly he held Firion’s gaze. He didn’t look away when Firion flinched and threw his head in the opposite direction guiltily.
“It doesn’t hurt.” Firion choked. He felt his face burn red hot hearing how pathetic his voice sounded. He couldn’t help but behave like a young girl around Minwu, and the more he tried to fight it, the harder it was to stop.
“You’re very brave, Firion. You’ve done well,” Minwu brushed his hands upwards and across Firion’s shoulders, relieving Firion of his cape. It slid back and pooled down onto the earth. “You’ll feel much better soon.”
Firion sighed, a long, anxious sigh. His legs trembled against his will. He looked to where his sword had settled, discarded, in the tall blades of grass. It was no use to him now, in a moment where he had never felt so defenseless. The leaves of the tall tree above them rushed against the breeze and Firion tried his best to focus on them, to study them. Minwu’s hands curved down Firion’s waist, rolling his thumbs into the grooves carved by all of Firion’s training since beginning his fight against the Empire.
Firion had begun to sweat. His torso was fully nude against the elements and for a spring season it had been mild, so there was no reason for his rising temperature other than the effect Minwu and his touch had on his fragile mind. Firion’s ego bent and buckled, and he bit his tongue as he struggled against his own body. He could feel his sweat roll down against the arc of his shoulder, down his back, and into Minwu’s beautiful white robes.
“I see...” There was no judgment in Minwu’s voice.
Minwu stroked Firion’s abdomen tenderly. Firion threw his head back, closing his eyes. He held his breath. It was no use. All of the confusion he had felt through all of his time together with Minwu crashed into him like a fatal blow. He clutched the soft fabric of Minwu’s sleeve. With great dread and shame, Firion realized exactly what he wanted from Minwu, what he had so desperately been begging for this entire time.
Minwu had to have noticed it, had to have seen the humiliating way that Firion responded to his touch. Yet, Minwu made not a sound, even when Firion became fully erect just an inch from where his hand lay on Firion’s midriff. There was a moment of stillness shared between the couple, one where Firion was much too timid to bolt away, and where, perhaps, Minwu was savoring such a sight.
Minwu adjusted his position. This brought Firion to his senses. He started, readying himself to bolt. Minwu, however, caught him before he could leap from his place where he lay. Minwu pressed him down firmly but tenderly, even when Firion resisted.
Firion was wordless, confused as he stared up at Minwu.
“It’s alright,” the mage cooed.
Heat pooled in Firion’s stomach, rushing down through his body.
Minwu raised Firion’s tights by the waist, rolling the fabric down until it was snug against the thickest part of Firion’s thighs. Firion gasped as he was so suddenly exposed, noticing that the cloth against his cock was damp from excitement as soon as the spring air touched it.
“Don’t worry. Just relax,” Minwu pressed his palm confidently into Firion’s cock, letting it struggle against the confines of his braies. “This is part of my role as your white mage, too.”
The shock of his touch, the gratification and relief it gave him, made Firion go slack. He lost his grip against Minwu’s clothing, and whined like a captured animal.
Minwu coaxed Firion into acceptance, waiting until the rhythm of his strokes had calmed Firion enough to stay in place before he released Firion’s bare cock into his palms.
Firion’s eyes flashed open. The muscles of his stomach and chest visibly flexed. He dug his hands into the dirt instinctually, bracing himself.
“ Shhhh …” Minwu carefully circled his fingers around the head of Firion’s aching cock. Mercifully, he let Firion have a sample of what was to come, bringing his fist all the way down to its base. Firion groaned. His legs twitched.
“That’s much better.” Minwu softly pumped Firion’s cock up and down. There was enough precum that it already sounded wet, as if Minwu’s hand were needily sucking him. The salacious sound made Firion’s heart race. He bucked his hips upwards into Minwu’s waiting hand, hissing when the tip of his cock burst forth from the embrace of his touch into the open air. All he wanted was this, Minwu, to fuck, for it to be tighter, harder, more . Minwu kept a steady pace, patient in how he measured each stroke. Firion felt as though his mind were melting. He lost himself to the feeling. The only thoughts that could survive Minwu’s treatment were all of Firion’s fantasies about what lay beneath Minwu’s dress.
Minwu felt Firion’s cock pulse against him, a telltale sign that Firion wouldn’t last much longer under his undivided attention. Minwu hugged Firion’s cock tighter and rubbed gentle circles against Firion’s back where he laid in Minwu’s lap as he might have if Firion were a boy.
“Oh…” Firion gasped. His balls tightened. His cock pulsed. Helplessly, he breathed the words without hesitation, asking for more. “ Minwu… ”
Minwu ravished him, giving him exactly what he wanted. Firion cried out, repeating Minwu’s name between gasps, as his every rope of his cum was neatly collected into Minwu’s palm.
Panting, Firion’s muscles loosened. He collapsed into Minwu, completely slack, unwilling to even glance at how much cum must have been in Minwu’s hands—certainly more than Firion had cum in his entire life.
“There, there,” Minwu praised him, a hint of a smile audible in his kind voice. “You’re fully recovered.”