Calling your peculiar tastes a type was perhaps an oversimplification and true, there were cruder ways to word it. Niles certainly would have the vocabulary for colorful words, along with a knowing eyebrow waggle your direction. He would be one of the few to have the imagination to know where your gazes settled, but there were others.
When Jagen casually approached you in the garden courtyard, you almost didn't recognize the shared recognition for what it was. He had come to you sans his dusky purple armor, now clad in a simple but striking tunic. After exchanging pleasantries the old knight had murmured about his aching back with his lovely gravely voice, the injury to be easily remedied by a press of the hand and you had obliged, reaching out with earnest. For the briefest moment, you felt a thrill as your fingertips smoothed along his taunt shirt feeling lean muscles ripple underneath the fabric, handsome loose skin shifting like velvet. Dutifully you followed his gentlemanly instructions with presses of fingertips and palms and it was only afterwards—
—afterwards with a sharpened, observant gleam of his steady eye at your own gaze baldly trailing down his sinewy body, a second too late to hide, that—well.
He understood what your furtive glances and eagerness had meant, and the old knight had not been the last.
It had been Gunter to be the second canny veteran to notice.
By his unreadable expression when he cornered you later in the supply closet by the sparring grounds. you had assumed he was there to deliver the strategy table report. The lilac-grey haired Nohrian had been a stellar choice to delegate the weekly meetings to as there were always too many blasted meetings and not enough time for study, training, mentoring others, and the thousands of other tasks.
His wisdom had been a tremendous asset you valued, amongst much more physical attributes your sordid mind couldn't help but lurch towards at night, alone. The day he had come to Askr, you immediately noticed the dangerous grace he carried himself with the heavy black plate armor. Like Jagen, he had the powerfully built muscular physique of a man used to war, to killing, to riding for days on end, and decades had only given his flesh a handsome patina. Theirs was both an expression of severity, most times, of intimidation that kept others away.
Unlike Jagen, he walked like a wolf—and when his black-clawed gauntlets gripped your chin and forced you to meet his penetrating gaze, alone in that storeroom, you knew you were ensnared within those teeth.
it was another perk of advanced age that there was no need for delicate dances as unnecessary as a fig leaf on a lewd sculpture. Both of the veteran knights were to the point and brisk in their reports, much like yourself. Efficiency and experience were traits you valued greatly, and there was mutual respect in that dry assessment, contradicting the beguiling heat.
There was no need for useless words afterwards other than an agreement on a specific night and a singular, calculating gaze between the two of them when they had casually wandered into a storeroom for a spot of privacy, thick with the frisson of anticipation. Likely with their experienced years, the two knights had known others who needed to break in the heat of night, in fleshy pleasure that was always available in wartime.
And as agreed in that storeroom with other minor details, both of the old knights found their way to your quarters later, in the dead of the night.
Talented knights, you added with an afterthought as Jagen silently closed the door with his sturdy black leather glove. It surely could not have been easy for the two of them to slip past the legions of ninjas, assassins, and guards between the common grounds and your spindly tower. Takes one to know one, you thought sardonically with some amount of amusement at their particular skillsets, the men having been seasoned guardians to their own lords through the years.
True, sneaking to your rooms was helped by the fact that no-one would ever guess the true reason for the illicit rendezvous.
In public, they both held themselves with the utmost stoic professionalism, shared masks that started to slip nakedly as they stripped, watching you with creased, hooded eyes that darkened with their own lust. Such deception only made the planned debauchery taste that much sweeter, and heat unfurled within your belly. (Niles might), you reconsidered, leaning back onto the bed with your own robes stripped, fingertips starting to drift down to pleasure yourself openly while watching, and while their gazes devoured you.
(Niles would simply have to keep it to himself.)
Efficiently, the men disrobed fully, light tunics and trousers falling away to show generous displays of sinewy vein-streaked flesh that made your mouth go very, very dry. Both Gunter and Jagen disrobed with haste, you might even add, trying not to eye them overly much in the moonlight that did absolutely everything to reveal the handsome lines underneath all of that plate armor, and their handsome silver-streaked hair. Surely they appreciated a young soul's eyes, but you did not want to move too quickly for them.
In hindsight, you shouldn't have worried.
You were aroused with heat even before a shared calculating glance passed between them, and it was Jagen who positioned himself between your legs first, the knight and his soldier stiffly proud.
If you craned your chin up even more, just enough it ached, you could see the hidden smirk tucked at the side of Gunter's scarred lips as he too, positioned himself above your head and shoulders on the other end of the bed.
Not a word passed between them and you other than quick tight breaths in anticipation; there was no need for it as obvious desire hung heavy in the air, same as the scent of sex-sweat.
You whimpered as Jagen’s slick cock slid in your tightness, heavy and somehow gently forceful at the same time. He started with shallow measured thrusts, a courtesy you appreciated after several gargled moans at feeling his sheer size slowly throb around your clenching muscles, stars dancing in your vision for a brief moment of concern you could even take him. He was powerfully built, enough your hips ached as his thrusts quickened and deepened, splitting you with waves and waves of mounting pleasure.
Despite his years, his strength was immense and skill—oh, he had skill in excess, quickly finding that sensitive place deep in you with harder, murderously precise rhythmic thrusts.
Ride a knight, the first half of the old lewd Askran joke ran in circles in your lust-addled mind as you rode his own rocking meaty cockhead. More efficient with two, you thought with a hysterical cackle—but the distraction was cut short when your eyelids fluttered only to find Gunter's considerable girth not mere inches away from your lips. Instinctively, you kissed the wrinkly underside of his shaft, drawing a deep possessive groan, louder still when you mouthed at him, lightly trailing a tongue over his sensitive redness in invitation, and he obliged.
A garbled wet moan from your lips forced itself around Gunter's cockhead, somehow impossibly loud even with his precome and your spit that soon choked and coated your throat. You swallowed, and you could only taste the remnants of that delicious flesh and that salt-heat.
Gunter's strength and iron-firm hold on you was the only thing holding your writhing body still as Jagen relentlessly drove in, his great patience a delicious virtue, lips curling in a pleased snarl as you felt him throb in you.
“Knowing you, Summoner—" Gunter purred, and here his smirk deepened, and you would have gone even more sunset red if it was possible. “—you would surely have the foresight to pace yourself....”
The sly glance under his hooded eyes revealed he knew the answer as you did.
“Wouldn't you?”
The old knight said it as a naked threat and oh, that was what undid you at the moment, keening out with a loud cry as you seized around Jagen, a club of masculine solidity rutting in you with the final thrusts of his powerful climax.
A mess of his come and fluids leaked out of your hole as you laid there, panting wetly and just as messily as you twitched, lust making it impossible to move an inch. Just as well, when you felt Gunter's gaze alight on you as he took his own place between your legs.
You clawed at the sheets with a barely muffled scream of pleasure as Gunter thrust with his whole length all at once. It was a test, you realized, one of his many little games and tricks of the mind as lessons in turn. His was a much faster and more punishing pace than Jagen, and it was not long before headier waves of pleasure coursed through you, thick and strong and unrelenting as a tide as his body bore into yours. Gunter’s heavy grunts and pants felt on your back and shoulders as his creased hands pressed you down and deeper against his thick root. You stared at Gunter's creased hand beside your gaze, face half pressed into the sheets, and dizzily thought there was nothing more beautiful as the way his fingers flexed and grasped in his own throes of pleasure.
Jagen's lidded, lusty gaze preyed on you as he watched from an arms-length away, contentedly satisfied like an old lion. You could see his bare hairy legs splayed on the chair in your quarters, having claimed your space as his own, and somehow that was erotic as being speared.
“Not just yet, Summoner.” Gunter’s rough voice growled, sensing the demanding pleasure build with your many twitches under him, and suddenly the world went molten. His hips snapped against yours, precise as a javelin hit as you moaned sloppily against the sheets, undone, feeling his heavy cock pulse and throb against your own tightening flesh.
Perversely, you whimpered even louder when he pulled out with a deep laugh at your protests, and hot ropy come splashed on your bare back, marking you as surely as the scars that laced over both of their bodies like silver-white ink.
You knew, without a doubt that no matter how staid the old men looked in strategy meetings, none of you would forget the look of you speared, spread out, willing and oh so compliant. To be used, unmercifully—
And it was that thought that undid you for the last time, biting the back of your fist to muffle a shriek as Gunter's fingertips slid slowly against your flesh, taunting the shreds of your willpower, making you rut back into his callouses with deranged sloppy abandon, quivering at his merest touches, completely undone.
You came again and again under the moonlight as witness.