Chapter Text
Renoir was not afraid of marriage. He had already been married once, and even though he and Aline eventually fell out of love for each other, he had no fear of binding himself to his love in front of the eyes of God and people. Especially since his future husband was incredibly beautiful, clever and extremely inventive in bed.
Renoir was not afraid of death either. He'd been running his organisation for over twenty years and in that time so many people tried to assassinate him so many times that he'd lost count of failed attempts. If he worried about each one, he would not be in a comfortable bed right now, but dead from exhaustion in a coffin.
So when in the middle of the night, someone in black and tight clothes opened the window from outside and climbed into the room, Renoir didn't panic. He simply pulled out the gun from under the bed and pointed it in the direction of the nocturnal visitor. The red dot from the laser sight stopped exactly in the middle of the broad chest.
“Ren, it's me,” the guest said with irritation with Alan's voice, and Renoir lowered the gun.
“We are not supposed to see each other before the wedding,” he explained calmly, leaning back against the pillows.
“And we won't.” Alan snorted and threw something thick and silky against Renoir's chest. He lifted the object and realised it was a blindfold. “I want you, Ren. I want to fuck you one last time as a free man.”
Renoir would be a terrible husband if he refused his fiancé. Frankly, he could never refuse him at all.
“Won't you be able to see my face?” He asked, putting on the blindfold and tightening the bands so that he couldn't see anything. The rustle and sound of something soft falling to the floor implied that Alan was hurriedly getting rid of his clothes, and the bed sagging under heavy weight indicated that he was approaching, slowly and inevitably.
His cock, half-erected from the anticipation of tomorrow, fully hardened.
“Dearest.” A strong hand came down on his stomach. Renoir covered it with his palm and felt the fine, small scars with his fingers. “The upper part of your face is blindfolded and the lower part is hidden by that awesome beard. And it’s dark. I think I'll be fine.”
Alan lowered himself onto Renoir’s cock in one smooth motion, and the elder man gasped. His fiancé had prepared and stretched himself before sneaking into the room, and Renoir could appreciate his efforts. He placed his hands on Alan's thighs and squeezed them with force, feeling the muscles and smooth, clean-shaven skin.
“I didn't think you'd get into the wedding spirit so much,” Renoir commented, exploring his lover by touch. The tight blindfold made it impossible to appreciate the beauty and harmony of Alan's body, but he wasn't complaining. His future husband rose and lowered himself onto his cock, and Renoir thrust up to meet him with a quiet growl.
Alan's body, hard and hot, smelling of Renoir's heavy cologne and sweat, pressed pleasantly on top and embraced tightly from inside. His large hands rested on Renoir's chest and lightly scratched the sensitive skin near his nipples.
“You know…” Alan said in a hoarse and husky voice as he continued to move painfully slowly, “I've got a surprise for you. You're going to love it. Traditional values…” he lowered himself to his limit and moved around, getting comfortable. “... and all that.”
“Charming.”
Renoir clasped Alan's sides and thrust hips upwards, pulling him onto his cock. The sensual sob that followed sounded like a reward.
Renoir didn't need to see his lover's body to know where and how to touch it. The darkness beneath the blindfold made the sounds and sensations sharper — Alan clutched his shoulder with trembling fingers, moaning and sobbing softly, the hot tightness of his hole sliding over Renoir's cock with such rightness and he himself was impossibly hot and everywhere... and Renoir finished sooner than he expected, surrendering to the pressure of the young strong body and overstimulation. He moaned softly as he pressed himself into Alan and filled him deep and fully.
God, Renoir didn't know he could cum so hard.
Alan moved above him, dropped his forehead into his shoulder and with a couple of thrusts pushed himself to the limit. His semen splattered on Renoir's stomach and chest before Alan collapsed and sprawled on top of him, completely unconcerned by the mess between their bodies.
“What now?” Renoir asked hoarsely as soon as he regained his breath. He obediently kept his blindfold on until Alan gave him permission.
“How about to the hell with tradition? I'll stay with you for the night and leave in the morning the same way I came.”
Alan groaned and rose off his cock. Renoir could feel the hot and sticky liquid dripping out of him.
“You haven’t thought about how you leave, haven’t you?” He grinned, and the mattress beside him sagged under Alan's weight.
The answer was silence. Renoir pulled the blindfold off his eyes and looked at his fiancé. He was lying on his back, his dishevelled hair hiding his face and half-open lips, his thighs bruised from Renoir’s fingers.
My love. Mon loup.
Oh, Renoir couldn't wait for married life to begin.