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Olivine can't imagine a better view than Quincy's head between his legs. His back is propped against a pile of pillows, and his thighs frame Quincy's cheeks as the man hums around his dick. His knees are bent over Quincy's shoulders, and the older man's arms are wrapped under his legs. Thick fingers knead his soft belly, rough-skinned thumbs brushing against the curling hair that trails below the gemstone in Olivine's navel.
Quincy opens his throat, sinks further down, and Olivine cries out in shock. He squeezes his thighs together, nearly suffocating the man. But he can't help the knee-jerk reaction that comes with his orgasm, and he whines loudly as it wracks through him.
Quincy swallows his release down, then taps him gently on his hip to get Olivine to free him.
Olivine gasps, still feeling oversensitive, but he parts his legs. Quincy pulls off, but doesn't pull away— he stays close, pressing kisses to Olivine's stomach that ease him into a comfortable post-orgasmic bliss.
He extends a tentative hand down to Quincy's head, runs his fingers through his wildly tousled blonde hair. Quincy expands his trail of kisses up Olivine's side, making him twist and writhe from the ticklish sensation. He feels Quincy chuckle against his skin, hot and breathy.
The kisses continue, up his ribs, under his pecs. Quincy gets to one of his pierced nipples and sucks, causing Olivine to whine once again. He's being teased, that much he knows. But Quincy doesn't stop there, going up his shoulder, then down his arm. He brushes his lips over the faint scars on Olivine's forearm, stops at his wrist and holds his hand.
"Do you want to die?" Quincy asks, low and straightforward, despite the fact they'd never spoken about his scars before. Quincy had been kind enough to ignore them, the first time Olivine had been naked in front of him.
"No," Olivine replies softly, "Not anymore."
Quincy hums like he understands.
"And in any case, it was more to feel pain, than to bleed out," he explains. He appreciates Quincy's concern, but it makes him wonder why he asked now, of all times. "It's repentance," he goes on.
"For what?" Quincy shifts, moving up to lie next to Olivine. He extends an arm, lets Olivine curl against his side and settle his head in the junction of his arm and shoulder.
"For impure thoughts," Olivine sighs. "For wanting to cast aside the duty I've been raised to fulfill and selfishly follow my own desires."
"Your body is an animal," Quincy says. He brushes Olivine's bangs away from his eyes. "It's not wrong to follow your instincts."
Olivine knows this. "But as a Priest of Klein—"
"You use essence to balance your crystal altar. Expelling excess essence is part of that."
He's grateful for Quincy's reassurance, but he glances down bashfully. "I want sex even when my essence levels are stable. That greed is certainly sinful, isn't it?"
Quincy huffs. "As long as that greed does no harm, there's no reason to be ashamed of it." He wraps an arm around Olivine, turning him on his side. He snakes his hands to rest in the small of his back. "Come here," he says, pulling him closer and slotting his thigh between Olivine's legs.
"Quincy—" Olivine frowns, trying to object. But he tangles their legs together despite himself.
Quincy's cock is still hard. After he had devoted himself purely to Olivine's pleasure, it's only to be expected that he'd seek his own release as well.
Olivine doesn't mind it, of course. His pout is more due to the fact that he knows Quincy is indulging him, giving him more of what he shouldn't have. But it had been a long time since Olivine had pressed pen nibs into his skin and watched the beads of blood that formed around metal. His shame is something that only comes out after a long visit with his family and their heavy expectations. Or, when he's alone in the dark of the night, touching himself because he aches for it. (He's reminded of the older brother and teacher-figure he should be, and he's reminded of the man he really is.)
"It's alright," Quincy mutters into his hair, and Olivine's chest tightens.
He lets out a shaky sigh, closes his eyes, and noses against the column of Quincy's neck. He smells like birch, a deep woody scent that never seems to fade. It lulls Olivine into a certain sense of security, and it's his turn to leave a kiss. He finds Quincy's dick with his fingers, brushes the heated skin, wraps his hand around it and strokes.
They hold each other, and Olivine relishes in hearing the soft hitches in Quincy's breath as he works him up. Olivine, meanwhile, rubs himself against Quincy's thigh, until he's at full mast as well. Then he pushes up against Quincy, and the two of them touch each other in tandem. Olivine can feel Quincy's low moans reverberating in his chest. He sucks on Quincy's neck, mumbles into his jaw: "Need— Oh, I need you—"
Quincy presses his thumb against him, the added pressure another reassurance. 'I'm here' it says to him.
He whines loudly into Quincy’s skin as he comes again, and Quincy follows soon after, spilling between them.
They stay huddled together for a while, boneless and sated. Quincy pets Olivine's head gently, like he would to calm a stray cat.
"Thank you," Olivine says.
Quincy hums softly, his eyes already drooping closed. Olivine smiles to himself, cuddles closer, and lets himself succumb to sleep as well.