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Things had started off perfectly fine, totally normal, nothing out of the ordinary, just two guys huddled over books. But then Cyril’s big stupid crush began to rear its head, made him all too aware that he’s completely alone in Ashe’s bedroom with him. His eyes begin to stare a bit too long, too intensely, a blush blooming bright in his cheeks when Ashe smiles at him, his heart hammering relentlessly against his ribs. He finds it hard to breathe, every inhale filling his senses with the sweet aroma of Ashe -- violets, earth, mint.
“Are you alright, Cyril?” Ashe inquires, leaning back from his desk where he has books and papers spread out, his attempts to teach Cyril how to read and write.
Cyril swallows hard and nods, knowing his voice will definitely give him away if his tense posture hasn’t already. He’s avoiding eye contact, staring at the quill in his tight grip, praying that Ashe doesn’t notice the way he’s pathetically squeezing his thighs together.
“It seems like you’re distracted today,” Ashe comments quietly.
“I-I’m fine!” Cyril insists, abruptly whipping his head up.
The grin he finds on Ashe’s face is unexpected. As is the way that Ashe slowly turns in his chair to face Cyril, reaching a hand out to lightly touch his knee. Cyril grinds his teeth together, fears he might snap the quill in his fingers.
“Let me help you relax.” Ashe’s eyes burn bright, and Cyril can’t bring himself to pull away or deny the other man when he looks so enthusiastic, so he gives a tense nod.
Using his hand on Cyril’s leg as leverage, Ashe surges forward, brings his other hand up to cradle Cyril’s jaw, swiping the pad of his thumb over a quivering bottom lip. He smiles sweetly before closing the gap and brushing his mouth against Cyril’s dry lips. A shaky groan escapes Cyril’s throat, and Ashe swallows it down, presses closer and closer until he’s sitting in Cyril’s lap. It all happens so quick, makes Cyril dizzy with the rush of emotions--of lust --that has something molten sitting low in his abdomen, makes his trousers tighter.
“A-Ashe,” Cyril all but whimpers, getting smothered by insistent kisses. Ashe takes the opportunity to slip his tongue between Cyril’s lips, earning himself a low growl and a sudden buck of Cyril’s hips, which nearly throws Ashe to the ground. “‘m s-sorry!”
Ashe pulls back to give Cyril a heated look before looking down. “Is this what’s been occupying your mind today?” he says it coyly, slides a hand down Cyril’s chest to trail a finger over the extremely obvious bulge in his pants.
Cyril groans and grinds up into Ashe’s palm, shame making him warm all over. But Ashe doesn't seem to mind one bit, going so far as to let out an appreciative hum while his fingers toy with the laces of Cyril's pants. He looks up through his lashes, dark and wanting, and Cyril is maybe too quick to give permission, earning him another impish grin.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," Ashe murmurs, and Cyril can't even fathom the words as long, slender fingers graze the wet, swollen head of his cock.
Ashe wastes no time in getting his fist around Cyril, working from base to tip in smooth, languid motions, smearing precum to ease the dry friction. It’s too much, too quick, Cyril biting his lip to focus on the pain, anything to distract him from how insanely hot he feels with Ashe so close, perched on his thighs, his cock in those wonderful hands. He tries to swallow down the embarrassing noises rumbling in his throat, but it’s no use, because Ashe seems to enjoy the way Cyril is grunting and squirming, his grin ever present.
“You like it?” Ashe urges, beaming when Cyril nods quickly. “Am I making you feel good?”
“So-- hnng --fucking good, Ashe,” Cyril groans out once he realises that Ashe needs the verbal confirmation.
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear,” he purrs as he crowds closer. Cyril swallows hard, glances down to watch the tight circle of Ashe’s hand around his dick before he notices the heat radiating from the other man’s crotch, glances over at the very obvious outline of Ashe’s straining cock, the wetspot at its tip. “Um, would you mind if I--”
“No.” Cyril snaps his head up to give Ashe a heated look, already reaching his hands out to grip at his hips. “Please, let me.”
Ashe blinks in surprise, and for a moment Cyril is afraid that maybe he assumed too much, but then he’s grinning again, wiggling his hips and letting out a pleasant sigh as he gets his free hand in the waistband of his own trousers. Cyril is quick to help, his hands shaking nervously as he touches Ashe’s bare skin, marvels at how pale and soft he is. Every brush of skin is met with breathless little moans from Ashe, another stutter of his hips, an eager squeeze of his fingers, and once Cyril finally manages to pull down his pants enough to free his weeping cock, Ashe is all but crying out.
“Oh, goddess ,” Ashe swears, leaning forward to press his forehead against Cyril’s. His eyes are screwed shut, sweat on his brow, lip between his teeth.
“Are you--?” Ashe nods. “Can I--?” Another nod.
Cyril doesn’t need to be told twice, gets his own hand around Ashe, hesitates when he hears the sharp inhale of breath through gritted teeth. But Ashe is suddenly thrusting into his dry, calloused palm, another sweet moan on his wet lips as he begins to work at Cyril’s cock again. Their hands move in tandem, slowly, punctuated with simultaneous groans. Ashe slides closer and closer with each buck of his hips, until their knuckles are brushing together, the heads of their cocks almost kissing.
“ Ashe ,” Cyril growls out. He uses the hand still around Ashe’s waist to pull him the last few inches closer, and then they’re both groaning as they finally grind their erections together. “Faster.”
A haze glosses over Ashe’s eyes as he complies, looking down to get his hands around their dicks, whining high-pitched and needy when Cyril bucks up against his cock. Pressed so close, Ashe’s hands warm working at them so fervently, has Cyril groaning loud, a distinct pressure building in his abdomen. He only lasts a few more tugs before he’s crying out Ashe’s name, spilling hot and messy over his hands, his dick. Ashe pumps him through his orgasm, muttering curses as he tenses up, thrusting erratically into his palm before he’s adding to the mess, panting wetly against Cyril’s cheek.
Ashe sighs contentedly and lets his grip loosen as their dicks go flaccid. It takes a few moments for Cyril to come back to his senses, mortification settling icy cold in his gut as he realises what he’s just done. He pulls back from Ashe and scrambles to find something to clean up his hands with, an apology tumbling out of his mouth.
“Cyril,” Ashe interrupts. Cyril slowly, shamefully meets those bright, earnest greens. “Same time tomorrow?”