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“That’s the last of it,” Olivine says as he deposits a bundle in the shed. “The tribe seemed especially glad for the provisions this time.”
“Mm,” Quincy responds. “It’s been a difficult year for them.”
“Still, they went out of their way to return the favor in their own way.”
“Thanks to you.”
Quincy reaches out a hand, but he quickly lets it drop. Habit, he supposes, from spending so much time with the little devil. Olivine is not prone to neediness and requires no special treatment for good behavior.
With a light laugh, Olivine says, “Were you about to pat my head?”
Ah, he’s noticed, then. Quincy chuckles too, not quite embarrassed yet feeling a mild twinge at being spotted so easily.
“Sorry,” he says. “Forgot myself for a moment.”
“No need to apologize. I understand.” Even so, he takes a step back. “Surely I’ve overstayed my welcome. If you need me, I’ll be—”
Quincy reaches out and curls his fingers around Olivine’s wrist, effectively stopping him. The priest looks down and then back up so their eyes meet, his lips parting in surprise.
“Mr. Quincy?”
“Stay,” Quincy says. He exhales gruffly. “Please.”
Long used to being alone for extended periods, there’s no real reason why Quincy wants the company now. He’d have an explanation if it were Eiden. A hot meal, good sex, comfortable rest. But this is Olivine, who has no reason to visit aside from delivering goods to the tribe for trade.
There was a time, eons ago now, when Quincy would’ve been able to maintain his end of a deep conversation. To offer philosophical waxing on many subjects, to hold the interest of another person, to drink in their responses. He doesn’t possess that skillset any longer.
“If you’re sure…” Olivine’s expression is soft, a bit indulgent. It makes heat bloom in Quincy’s belly.
“I’m sure.”
He lets go of Olivine’s wrist and hides his sudden awkwardness by turning his back to tend the fire. He can’t look because if he does, he’s certain he’ll see confusion and concern in Olivine’s expression.
“Would you like me to make tea?”
At last Quincy glances over his shoulder. “That…would be good.”
Without further comment, Olivine begins opening cupboards. Quincy feigns concentration on making his cabin warmer, listening to the sound of Olivine moving about in the kitchen. The man must think him a dull or lacking in social graces, though he’s kind enough not to say it outright.
When it’s no longer reasonable to continue stoking the fire, Quincy closes the stove and joins Olivine in the kitchen. He watches him for a moment or two—or possibly several—as he prepares their tea, acting as though this is an ordinary afternoon and something he does on the regular.
Perhaps feeling eyes on him, Olivine eventually turns around. He shows no sign of discomfort as he sets sugar, cream, and two cups on the table.
“It must be troublesome using my method to brew the tea.” Quincy didn’t really mean to say that aloud, but it’s too late to take the words back.
“Not at all. I’ve used many methods when visiting homebound members of the temple.” Olivine’s cheeks redden. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to imply that you…that you’re…”
Quincy chuckles, the tension releasing from his gut. “I didn’t take it that way.”
Olivine smiles, but it trembles. Quincy wants to reach out to him and soothe his worries, but he doesn’t. The moment passes, and Olivine sets the pot of freshly brewed tea on the table.
They sip in companionable silence. At first, Quincy worries that it might be uninteresting for Olivine. But instead, it’s as though some weight is lifted from his shoulders by the warmth and quiet in the cabin. Olivine’s whole being seems at ease, the peace reflected in his gentle eyes whenever their gazes meet.
The sounds of the crackling fire and the whistling wind outside make Quincy sleepy. He’s been up for more hours than usual, taking care of his early rounds of the traps and nets followed by deliveries to the tribe and filling his storage shed. Somehow, the day seemed less of a slog than most.
He must’ve dozed off, cheek propped on his fist, because the next thing he’s aware of is Olivine washing the dishes. He raises his head to speak and make amends for being impolite to a guest. But when Olivine turns around, the words die on his lips.
Olivine has shed his thick sweater, perhaps to keep it from being splashed while doing the washing up. He’s rolled up the sleeves on his plain shirt, and the apron he borrowed is tied in a way that accentuates the curves of his chest and stomach. He looks homey and domestic in a way that makes Quincy’s stomach swirl pleasantly.
He has to look away before his desire becomes known. This feeling toward someone else is something he’s unaccustomed to. For many years, he made do with distractions of one sort or another. Afterward, he set aside any hope of something more meaningful than a single night. Not until the little devil came along did he entertain the idea of anything else. He’s adjusted to the intensity of his adoration for Eiden, but even so, he’s never considered the possibility of those feelings blooming with anyone else. Not until now. Not until having someone alongside him whose kindness held the respect of the tribe…and of himself.
“Quincy? Are you all right?”
The words break him out of his reverie. “I am…fine. I didn’t intend to trouble you further.”
Olivine slides back into his chair at the table. He reaches out, pauses, and then lays his hand on top of Quincy’s. “It isn’t any trouble. If I’m honest, I’ve enjoyed caring for you.”
“Hm.” Quincy lets his gaze linger, the corner of his mouth lifting a little against his will.
To his surprise, Olivine takes his hand and rests it against his cheek. “I would very much like to…continue looking after you.” His cheeks are beautifully pink now, but there’s determination in the set of his chin.
“How do you intend to do so?”
The question comes out with a more cheeky tone than Quincy meant, but he supposes that isn’t a bad thing, not when it results in Olivine lowering his lashes in a subtly flirtatious way. A smile sneaks its way across his face, and he leans in. The proximity makes Quincy’s heart speed up, his essence stirring.
“A bath? To cleanse today’s hard work.”
He rises from his chair and sets off toward the bath. The slight exaggeration in the sway of his ass cannot be unintentional. Quincy lingers for a moment before following.
Olivine is no stranger to Quincy’s large tub. After all, it’s where many of them have come when in need of soothing minerals after battling monsters or running into unexpected plants or engaging in a round of rough bedroom play. Everyone knows that there won’t be any questions asked, only healing water and hot tea and rest.
It’s different, however, when the goal is not recovery. As yet, Quincy isn’t sure where this is going, and perhaps Olivine has no more in mind than to help him bathe and put him to bed. Somehow, even if that’s the case, Quincy will accept it with gratitude. Yet something tells him to remain open to possibilities.
While Olivine runs the bath, Quincy begins to undress. He’s only gotten as far as removing his shirt and unfastening his trousers when Olivine steps back from the tub. He’s watching now, and if Quincy isn’t careful, he’ll plump up before he can sink into the water and allow the bubbles to hide him from view. He swiftly removes the rest of his clothes, enjoying Olivine’s raised eyebrows at his lack of underpants.
He shrugs in response. “Troublesome.”
Olivine giggles, the sound as ticklish as the foam in the tub as Quincy lowers himself. “I imagine so. Would you like me to help you wash?”
“That would be…acceptable.”
On receiving his answer, Olivine removes the apron and then his shirt. Quincy has to press his lips together to stop the urge to make a show of appreciation. Olivine’s chest is plush, his stomach sweetly fleshy. The slender chains connecting his piercings to his gemstone sway, clinking against the side of the tub as he kneels. Quincy tries to mask his disappointment that his view is now obstructed.
The thought dissipates as Olivine rises on his knees, grabbing the sponge and rubbing soap all over it. His hands, like everything else about him, are firm but gentle as he washes Quincy’s body. It leaves him vacillating between comfort and arousal, his head spinning from the shift.
“Do you,” Quincy says, then has to swallow before he can try again. “Do you want to join me? There’s room.”
There’s that smile again, the one that leaves Quincy lightheaded and with his chest tight. Olivine doesn’t answer with words; he simply gets to his feet and removes his remaining clothes. Unlike Quincy, he does have something on under his trousers—a lacy green thong that perfectly encases his bits. When he lowers it, Quincy notes that he’s a good size, not too long but of a nice girth. He has the sense to flush when Olivine catches him staring.
They soak together in the hot water, and Quincy is pleased that Olivine thought to use a bit of magic to enhance the temperature. Though it is under the guise of bathing one another, they continue to touch until Quincy’s longing becomes unbearable. It reaches a boiling point when Olivine leans in to rinse his hair.
With water pouring down his cheeks, Quincy wraps his arms around Olivine’s waist and pulls him close. In the next moment, they give in to the building desire, lips meeting in a sensual kiss. Quincy tangles his fingers in Olivine’s damp locks, a trembling sigh escaping and his eyes falling shut.
Eventually, they part. The tub is plenty large enough to bathe together but not for lovemaking, at least not without the pair of them sloshing water all over the floor. Reluctantly, Quincy stands and steps out before offering his hand to Olivine.
They dry off, but neither of them dresses before making their way to the bed. Their backs have barely touched the mattress before they’re kissing again and running their hands over each other’s bodies. Quincy rolls Olivine onto his back, pressing him into the bed and sliding his hand down to grasp his hip.
“Wait,” Olivine says.
“Hm?”
Olivine traces a finger down Quincy’s cheek and leans up for a light kiss. “I’m not through taking care of you.”
“I—” Quincy pauses in surprise.
He’s grown used to Eiden’s teasing, the way he goads Quincy into claiming him. The way he always makes a show of protesting that he won’t be able to take his large cock. And it’s gratifying, truly. It’s sexy the way he submits even when he’s being troublesome. But it doesn’t scratch that longstanding itch, the secret desire Quincy has to give himself over to someone else’s care.
Nodding, he rolls back over, tugging Olivine with him. For a while, they simply give in to their craving for each other’s mouths. But it’s clear Olivine has something in mind when he breaks the kiss to trail his lips downward.
He teases at Quincy’s hardened nipples, his tongue playing with one while his hand cups and fondles his other tit. At an agonizingly slow pace, he kisses and nips and licks his way lower until he reaches the hard rod between his legs. Expecting his cock to be engulfed, Quincy startles when Olivine pushes his legs apart, exposing what lies behind.
“What—”
Olivine’s expression is a mix of determination and anxiety. “I’ve never done this,” he says.
“You don’t have to.”
“No, I—” Olivine shakes his head. “I want to. As long as you do.”
“Mm. I do.”
“Then…let me take care of you.”
He’s inexperienced, but in Quincy’s mind, that’s part of the pleasure. That he gets to be the first gives him a rush he can’t put into words even in his own head. Olivine’s tongue is as soft as everything else about him, and it won’t be nearly enough, but there’s such a sweetness to his hesitant, fumbling effort that it sends Quincy’s essence and desire soaring regardless.
While Olivine laves his hole, Quincy can’t help playing with himself a bit, stoking his need. Pleasure washes over him in waves, his whole body relaxed and feeling good. There’s a pause, and Quincy peers down at his companion.
“I…can I…” Olivine’s eyes are shining, his breath coming out in small gasps. “Can I use my fingers?”
Quincy exhales. “Yeah.”
Expecting him to be equally unsure as when using his mouth, Quincy jolts in surprise at the intense pleasure when Olivine slides a slick finger inside. He knows exactly where to aim and hits with precision that almost makes Quincy see stars. This, he’s done before.
He works Quincy open expertly, making his need grow until he’s writhing against the sheets, one hand gripping the pillow behind his head and one tangles in Olivine’s hair. He retreats when Quincy’s ragged breathing speeds up, then returns to toying with his sweet spot, slowly edging him to the point Quincy almost gives in and takes charge. But he restrains himself, wanting this to play out to the end.
Olivine is nearly undone himself, his cheeks red and his body swaying as though he’s trying to relieve his own need. Taking pity on him, Quincy tugs on his hair and encourages him to settle between his legs.
“Put it in,” he says.
Needing no further direction, Olivine shifts so he can do as asked. He peers between their bodies and guides himself in, biting his lip so hard Quincy is afraid he’ll draw blood. He lets out a forceful breath, propping himself up on shaking arms. Quincy grips his waist and hauls him closer, capturing his lips once more.
They thrust against each other until Olivine tears his mouth away to let out a stuttering moan. Quincy is used to hearing the sounds he makes when he’s lost in pleasure; he isn’t quiet about it when he and the little devil are fucking. But now those sounds are for his ears, a sensual song meant only for him. It’s different, being the recipient of his desperation.
Together, they create a symphony of heated desire: skin slapping and wet noises erupting from where they’re joined; the bed frame cracking against the wall; Olivine’s warbling cries and Quincy’s throttled grunts. They’re both so close, it won’t take much to push them that last little bit. Quincy’s thick index finger finds its way between Olivine’s ass cheeks, brushing against his sensitive hole.
That’s enough to send him hurtling through his climax, gripping Quincy with his iron hands. A fraction of a second later, Quincy bursts as well, splattering them both with his hot seed. There’s a brief stillness, and then Olivine collapses on top of him, gasping. Quincy’s vision is still out of focus, blood pounding in his ears.
Olivine rolls off him, and Quincy reaches for a soft cloth to wipe them both down. He tosses it onto the floor and turns onto his side. Olivine is watching him now, his expression somewhat guarded.
“Was it all right?”
“Mm.” Quincy reaches out and strokes the side of his head. “It was good.”
“I’m glad.” But Olivine shifts away as though he still believes he’s crossed some line.
“You should stay,” Quincy says. “Rest.”
He watches Olivine shudder with relief, relaxing back onto the mattress. “Well. I don’t really have anything else pressing today.”
Quincy chuckles. “Good.”
He folds Olivine into his embrace again, appreciating his softness. Perhaps next time, Quincy will be the caretaker.