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It was long after midnight and Roche was lying in his tent still wide awake. He couldn’t sleep. Again.
The camp was quiet - or as quiet as an army camp can get in the middle of the night - someone in the tent right next to his was snoring so loudly that even the poles were shaking, and Ves also stopped wiggling a long time ago and now her breathing was calm and regular. Just Roche couldn’t find peace. It was probably the full moon to blame. Despite the thick fabric, there was an awful lot of light coming in there, and he had trouble falling asleep in the light since he was a little boy. And you can’t sleep with your head buried in the pillow the whole night, no matter how hard he tried.
The muffled voices of the patrol also inevitably belong to the normal hum of the camp. For a moment he considered that he might send one of his men to sleep and take his turn, but damn, he was so tired. Just the thought of getting up was killing him, so no luck for the boys, it’s on their shoulders.
He should try to get some sleep, though, or he'll face another day of crawling around the camp like the corpse of some sorcerer's apprentice trying his hand at necromancy in vain.
He rolled over - for the fiftieth time that night - and sighed. Just a few more moments and he’ll count sheep out of desperation. The last time he did it he got to about seven hundred when he gave up. Damn sheep.
"I've heard you can buy every single girl there at once!" The patrol's conversation grew louder. Wonderful.
"At once! How the hell are you supposed to outlive that? Your cock must catch on fire by the third one."
"Well, you can give it a shot yourself if you get your furlough. It's a bit of a hike to Novigrad, but it's definitely worth it. If I had the dough, I’d definitely bang there for dear life even if it should kill me!"
Roche rolled his eyes. Of course, the men would only have sex on their minds. It’s true that in their situation, they don’t have much fun in the middle of the woods. Be it city guards, their work would be easier and sex more accessible, but they are the Blue Stripes and right now the furlough is their only chance to reward themselves for their service.
He himself almost didn’t remember when was the last time he had a successful date. Although he had opportunities to get out and have a moment to himself, his morals and past made brothels a disgusting reminder; seeing his mother in every woman’s face. And the older he got, the harder it was to win a woman's favour without the help of money or a lot of alcohol and luck. Yeah, it was bad.
He rolled over for the fifty-first time and listened again to the sounds around him: Ves - still breathing regularly; the tent next to him - still in a deep coma; the patrol - engaged in sharing wild stories some of which may even have been true. And the snoring would drown out any sounds that might escape him.
He let his hand slowly wander under his blanket. Well, why not? It would be better than hearing about Novigrad, Vizima or any other brothels for the next two hours. And maybe it will help him sleep.
He struggled with the laces of his pants for a moment or two before he finally managed to untie the codpiece and slip his hand into his breeches and around his soft member.
He allowed himself just a little bit of friction to test if it was even the right mood. Sometimes - now more often than when he was younger - he could do whatever he tried, but he wouldn't get even half hard. Today was apparently not one of those days, but he needed a little help from his own imagination.
Just some sweet little memories. Just the face and smile of some cute girl, so he can imagine it's her hand and look at her curves inside his mind while touching himself.
"-and we were slipping coins in his butt!"
"Really?"
"Well, not really his butt, but in his pants! And he didn't notice until-"
Fuck. It's not going to work with those assholes sharing their drunk stories this loud.
He pulled the edges of his chaperone lower so it would block the sound a little more and tried to search in his memories for something more vivid that would keep him far away from reality.
Think of something else. He kept searching in his head, but recalling the voice was perhaps even more difficult than recalling faces. The only female voice he knew well enough to be able to recall at any time was Ves', and he wouldn't do that even in his greatest desperation. That was just wrong. Not just that any commander shouldn't mess up the hierarchy in his unit with this crap, but Ves was like his own daughter! No, just no. Anyone else.
His last sexual encounter happened so long ago that all that was left was some blurry feeling. To be fair, he was also drunk, which didn’t help at all. Honestly, he was amazed that he even got it up that night.
Shit, this also isn’t something to get hard about.
The harder he thought, the more his strokes became uncomfortable rather than leading him to climax. But he will probably have nothing left but to jerk off until he’ll eventually come.
He spat in his hand to make it more enjoyable and shifted a little bit. If he is going to do this without any help from his brain, he has to be comfortable enough.
He shouldn’t be so surprised by this lack of erotic thoughts. All he does is shout at his men in camp, to do their duties and train in their spare moments, then he stretches his brain over plans and orders, then takes a few sips of something strong and goes to sleep. And the next day, all over again.
His biggest thrills are encounters with the squirrels, and his greatest fun: sparring with Iorveth. But he wouldn’t change this life. Some other man probably would have, but not Vernon Roche. In a way, the thrill of fighting is often quite comparable to sex. No! Not like that! He doesn't have any weird kinks!
Although the fact is that if that were the case, he would recall Iorveth's voice and that scarred face of his anywhere and under any circumstances. Arrogant prick. He could almost hear him, mocking. "Can't even find someone to beat your meat to."
Vernon's grip tightened and he hissed. Persistence was starting to pay off, he was slowly getting closer to the edge. He let out a long breath and began to thrust his hips slowly in sync with the movements of his palm.
Iorveth is definitely not going to have it any easier, he continued in his thoughts. Roche and the Blue Stripes don't let them rest. If he's not sleeping with his squirrels, his biggest thrill is probably when he accidentally rubs against Roche’s knee in a knife fight. If he would even notice such a thing through the two pointless gambesons he wears.
Funny picture, Iorveth trying to jerk off to a barely felt touch through the layers of armour because no one else would touch him except with the edge of the sword. Who would want to sleep with a prick like him? Bet it has nothing to do with how he looks. They're all outlaws and soldiers with lots of scars, and all it takes is darkness and the right angle, and there's no need to worry about something like that. Roche just couldn’t imagine Iorveth shutting his mouth even during sex, and his bullshit is unbearable. Is Iorveth able to maintain his arrogant tone even when he comes?
Roche groaned and quickly grabbed the pillow to muffle the noises he was making. He slowly began to feel the sweet, pleasant, hot tension in his belly raising. The pressure building. The waiting.
His mind wandered freely, following the exact idea of Iorveth going off somewhere to make himself feel good. It has to be like this. Roche wouldn't stand the thought of his rival having a better sex life than he has.
The image made itself, Roche didn't even have to try. Somewhere at the edge of their hideout - Iorveth has to be someone who has to hide to do this. He probably sleeps alone, just under a tarpaulin or something. And only when everyone is asleep does he allow himself a little distraction.
Iorveth with his hose untied. Whining in high humiliating tones, probably covering his mouth with his hand so no one can hear how ridiculous he sounds, long cock in the other hand. Yeah, Iorveth looks like someone with a long and slender cock. Just like his impossibly long legs covered in that elven tattoo. Roche couldn't actually know if the tattoo goes all the way down, of course. He was just guessing. But oh gods, if it goes all the way down does it also mean...
A trickle of sweat ran down Roche's back, and his movements became frantic.
He was touching himself, and in his imagination, Iorveth did the same. He did it exactly how Roche likes it. Would Iorveth like it the same way? Would the same moves get the right reactions from the elf?
In his mind, Iorveth's scarf was missing, so he could imagine his face properly. He didn't actually know how the scar looked under it, but he got some idea. Right now both of his eyes are closed - the good and the blind one. Wait, does he even still have the eye? Never mind. Now there's no time for this.
His eyes are closed. His eyebrows frowned in expectation of his own orgasm. He is just as close as Roche is.
Panting. Whining, no, moaning softly. His voice is much, much softer when he is like this. Doesn't match his face at all. Or maybe it does. From a close distance - and Roche has been this close many times - the remains of his face are soft and... beautiful. There's something almost fragile in that single green eye. And something hot about the high cheekbones.
Now when he was thinking about it, he could also imagine the blush covering his cheeks, maybe even his chest. Does his shirt have the same absurdly low neckline as his gambeson? Fuck it, in this image it does.
"Yeah, just like that," gasped Iorveth in that strange soft version of his voice. His back arched into an incredible curve, and his dark hair spilt over the sheep's fleece and stuck to his forehead.
He was ready to come any minute now. Just like Roche. Their hips were now moving in a chaotic order, just shaking, just trying to reach the edge and finally, finally letting go.
Iorveth licked his damaged lips, in the light of the full moon glistening wet. “Come for me, Vernon.“
Roche had to cover his mouth with a pillow to keep himself from screaming out loud. He was shaking and couldn't catch his breath. He was coming in waves, lifting his hips from the bed, until his legs went completely numb and all energy escaped from his body. He wasn't even capable of managing the mess he has done, and now he had his cum all over his hand and in his breeches.
His head was spinning, and it took him several long minutes to get hold of himself, to even realize where and who he was. He probably never came this hard just from touching himself and imagining...
Oh, gods! He seriously just came from the image of-… Something was seriously wrong with him. Wrong. He had to get out of here, he had to get out of this forest and not come back for some time. He will take time off and go somewhere far away where the women will be very permissive and willing even to someone like him, so that he can completely erase what he was just thinking about. He's always had a very vivid imagination - a soldier always in the field has to, so that he doesn't go crazy - but this? Of all the people in the world, Iorveth? Now how was he even supposed to fight him without seeing his dick behind his eyes?
"What the fuck is wrong with me?" Roche asked himself and tiredly rubbed his eyes with the clean hand. He has to go clean himself quietly. Just rinsing with water from the flask won't do it this time, he has to change his clothes and make his way to the river tomorrow.
But before he could finish only the thought of getting up, a voice came from the other side of the tent: "Roche, you're quite old for pillorying yourself over masturbation, but for gods' sake, keep it quiet next time. People want to sleep here."
Not that just Ves wasn't sleeping anymore, even the snoring stopped. And if others didn't hear him coming, they definitely had to hear Ves now.
Oh fuck.