Work Text:
Waver feels like he's drowning.
Rider has him on his knees, nearly bent double, his arms stretched out above his head and held tight against the mattress by one giant hand. His face is buried in the sheets in a desperate attempt to muffle his cries—a useless effort, honestly, considering how loud and unabashed Rider’s grunting is above him, but Waver tries to show some amount of courtesy to the Mackenzies before he inevitably has to erase a few memories to preserve his dignity.
It's not as if this particular situation could be avoided. Waver is aware of his own limitations, and the amount of mana it takes to keep such a powerful Servant corporeal is too great to rely on a non-physical connection between the two of them. It would probably be an even more efficient transfer if certain positions were reversed, but—
Well, some things were apparently non-negotiable for the King of Conquerors.
"You've really never taken another man before me?" Rider finally speaks instead of just wordlessly vocalizing in a frankly embarrassing manner. "You take it so well, for someone so small."
"You said the same thing last time." Waver tries to keep his voice even, with moderate success. "And the time before tha—ah—at."
"I cease to be amazed, then."
Waver makes it about halfway through thinking of a snappy comeback before Rider increases the pace of his thrusts, and Waver turns his face back into the sheets.
"Why are you so intent on hiding your pleasure?" Rider is much better at speaking normally despite the rapid pace of his balls slapping against Waver's ass, and it makes Waver furious.
"Because unlike—some people,—hah—I have an ounce—of modesty." He wishes he had access to his wrist to bite down on, but instead he just pushes his face as far into the bed as he can to cover up a long moan when Rider leans down to breathe hot against the back of his neck.
Waver curls in on himself as much as he can in his current position, his face burning. "And anyway, it’s—it's not about that."
"It can be." Rider stops all at once, and Waver has to hold back a squawk of indignation, because it's not about that, it can't be about that, because he has more important things to worry about than something as stupid and useless as—
"But if it's not," Rider says as he shifts his body to the side, and Waver yelps as he feels the chill of Rider squeezing more lube between them, "Then I suppose you don't mind if I take my time."
Waver doesn't get the chance to ask what that means before Rider starts moving again, not as fast as before but in long, hard strokes that feel like they pierce through Waver's entire insides. Which, given how fucking enormous Rider's cock is, they just might be, and Waver is going to need surgery to reposition his organs back to where they belong.
Though the longer Waver has to adjust, the longer Rider is inside of him, the faster it becomes less of an intrusion and more of a welcome distraction from the weight of the War on his shoulders. If Waver had less self-control he'd probably let himself relax into it completely, let himself meet Rider’s pleased groans with sounds of his own.
But he doesn't. This is a necessary part of achieving his goals, and he can't screw it up by losing his concentration on forming the (completely magical and not at all anything else) connection between them.
Even when Rider's cock keeps brushing up perfectly against Waver's prostate, and the tickle of his beard against the back of Waver's neck makes all of his hair stand on end, and the angle that Rider is holding his hips at with the hand that isn't around Waver's wrists is just high enough that his own dick is completely devoid of contact with the sheets so he can’t even—
Rider fucks into him at just the right angle, and Waver bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood, utterly sabotaging his own attempt to keep himself quiet.
"Easy, there," Rider laughs, and slows down the slightest bit. Waver swallows a whine.
"If you want something, you'll have to ask." Rider thrusts in with a force that knocks the breath out of Waver's lungs and bites down on his shoulder.
Waver grits his teeth against the pain and pleasure both. Now that he's made a point of it, he can't back down.
Rider takes a hand off of Waver's hip to stroke across his chest, and Waver does not grind his hips down against the bed. He gasps as Rider presses the pad of his thumb against one of his nipples, but does not lean into the touch. He thinks about magic circuit theory and formulae and anything except the way Rider's face must look right now, strong and determined and indulging in his own pleasures as he tries to make Waver take his.
He must black out for a moment, because the next thing he knows Rider is asking him, "What was that?"
Waver opens his mouth to snap at him, but then Rider slides his tongue around the shell of his ear and all that comes out is a moan.
Rider slips his hand lower but deftly avoids Waver's cock, rubbing soft circles into his stomach just to the side of it instead. It's infuriating, being teased like this, there's no point to it, just Rider being fucking annoying as always.
And then one knuckle brushes ever so lightly against Waver's cock, and the shudder that passes through him must be some kind of magic he doesn't know about, because when it hits the back of his neck a please comes out of his mouth unbidden.
The dam breaks. Every inch of touch feels like ten thousand volts directly to the brain, every movement feels like it will tear him apart, and every word that comes to his head and from his throat is "Please, please, please."
He half expects Rider to make him be more specific, but there must be some amount of mercy in that thick head of his, because instead of making Waver wait another second he wraps his hand around Waver’s cock and strokes once, twice, and it's over before Waver can count the third. His body is overcome with the force of the assault on his senses inside and out, and he loses even the one word he had left in the garbled gasps and moans that he doesn't even have the energy to muffle into a pillow.
"Asshole," is the first thing he can manage to spit out once his body has started to calm down, and even then the syllables are shaky and small with embarrassment.
"You say that as if I'm done," Rider says, and Waver wails as he's lifted bodily into a new position on Rider's lap, but can't find it in himself anymore to complain.
At this point, all he can do is hold on and enjoy.