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No sooner than the front door is closed, Sylmannan is pressed against it. Grivik wrestles a knee between his legs, insistent as he seeks out Syl’s cock with calloused hands. Sylmannan is left balancing on his tiptoes while the half-orc toys with him, hands scrambling for the fabric of his shirt, then his braids.
Large hands find his hips, squeezing and caressing the scant bit of skin he can feel there. Grivik's fingers tease under the lacing before he cups the half-elf’s plush ass, grinding him harder against his thigh.
Syl grunts as sharp teeth sink, careful, into the side of his neck. One of Grivik's tusks scrapes along his jawline, urging him to tilt his head to accommodate him. Gods, he's going to have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow if they keep this up.
“W-wait!” As much as he doesn't want to, he tugs at Grivik's hair, relishing in the way he shivers before pulling away.
Sylmannan immediately regrets his decision when he sees familiar doubt returning to Grivik's mismatched eyes.
“I am so sorry,” Grivik starts, pulling away from Sylmannan swiftly, “you just look so good and I got very ahead of myself, I shouldn't have-”
“Grivik!” Syl interrupts him, gripping the half-orc's (thick, muscular, very hot) shoulder so he can't escape and start spiraling, “hey, it's okay! It's just, uh, I have a meeting tomorrow and I just didn't want any of the marks to be visible, okay?” He fixes Grivik with a sheepish smile, pleased to see some of the hesitation leaving his boyfriend.
“Okay,” Grivik starts, swallowing thickly, “just lower? I want to be sure.” He's looking at Syl intently, his brown and green gaze soft for now.
“Yes, please, now get back in here? I want you terribly.” Syl is urging him back in, guiding Grivik's hands to the front of his shirt where the laces of the low-cut shirt have sat open and teasing all night. He goes easily, breathing in the warm spicy-woody scent of the cologne Sylmannan had worn. He presses his tongue to the hollow of his throat just to hear him gasp, and is delighted to feel the half-elf’s cock twitch against his thigh. Grivik groans, rucking the fabric of his linen shirt up past his chest.
He begins to divest Sylmannan of his shirt, detouring to suck and mouth at his nipples. Syl sighs and grinds down on the well-muscled thigh between his legs, leaning his head against the door he's still pressed against. Grivik only begins to relent when they're swollen and rosy, tossing the offending fabric to the side to be picked up later.
With the shirt finally out of the way, his hands begin to wander, touching and grabbing and caressing every inch of exposed skin that he can. He dives in for a kiss, then, stealing Syl's breath as he draws their bodies closer. It doesn't take long for it to turn open mouthed and messy. The front door creaks with their combined weight when they begin to grind together as best they can. They lose themselves in it, quiet moans and sighs drifting between them.
Sylmannan snaps back to reality when Grivik breaks the kiss. He's about to complain about the loss of contact (he was so close), but it dies on his tongue as the larger man sinks to his knees before him. He has to squeeze his eyes shut at the sight of his lover, ruddy-faced and dark-eyed and staring right up at him with his clothes and hair still perfectly in place, lest he embarrass himself so early into the night. He takes a few grounding breaths before he braves looking down again. There's a knowing smirk on Grivik's face now, though he doesn't say a word. The sizable wet spot on the front of his leggings says enough, he thinks.
Grivik is the first to break eye contact, setting out to make him squirm some more. His mouth is ever careful as he drags his tongue over Sylmannan's lower belly, pausing to suck a dark bruise over his hip bone. It's just where the waist of his pants will sit tomorrow, a perfect reminder of what they've done tonight. Another one just above that, too, just for good measure.
He stops for a moment to take in the scent of him once more, spicy and musky with cologne and sweat, before tonguing at the precome staining the front of leggings with a groan. He chuckles as he hears Syl's head thunk against the door, manicured nails digging into his scalp and trying to direct him where he wants him most. Grivik’s cock throbs from the confines of his trousers, but he decides there will be time for that later.
His hands finally begin to untie the laces at the front of Sylmannan's leggings, infuriating as they've been tonight. The lacing up the side of each leg had distracted him all night, leaving his mouth dry and pants tight when his shirt had ridden up. It continued all the way up each side, leaving no room for undergarments, lest they be visible. He wants to tear them in his haste, but would mourn the loss of them too dearly.
“Fucking filthy...” He murmurs, once Sylmannan's cock is freed, red and weeping and twitching. He begins to stroke him, slow and searing hot.
Grivik could sit here like this forever, just taking in the sight of his beloved coming undone. Sylmannan is divine from here, red-faced and glassy-eyed with his long hair freed from its usual thick braid. His nipples are still dark and puffy from their earlier abuse, and the bruises along his hip and stomach are turning a lovely shade of purple. He sounds wrecked as he speaks, stilted and uneven with his boyfriend's fingers around his prick.
“Only for you, always for you. I've been thinking about this all night, so please- fuck!” Grivik laps at the crown of his cock, driving the rest of his sentence elsewhere.
Before Syl can try to grind into his mouth, he pulls away, opting to pull those sinful leggings off him altogether. He tosses them, along with his boots and socks, in the same general direction as his shirt. He briefly soothes the marks left by the metal eyelets before dipping his head to suck another bruise into the half-elf’s inner thigh.
Sylmannan wilts against the door again as the half-orc's hot mouth envelops the head of his cock with an eager moan. He relishes in the feeling of the clever tongue playing with his slit before his head dips further. He won't last long, he knows, so he enjoys everything he can.
The clink of metal catches his attention. Grivik fumbles with his belt for a moment, then unlaces his pants just enough to pull himself out. He feels the stuttered breath against his belly as Grivik wraps a hand around himself and squeezes, just once. It looks painful, reddened and shining with precome; Sylmannan wants to choke on it, hopes Grivik will let him after this.
The half-orc sucks Syl's cock like a man starved, taking him to the root and holding him there for a moment just to hear him whimper. He takes a deep breath before working him over again and again, forever thankful for his lack of a gag reflex. His still wet hand cups Sylmannan's balls and rolls them between his fingers before creeping behind them to pet at the skin there. He presses upwards with his knuckles until he finds the right spot; a choked moan and shaking legs let him know.
“Oh gods above, Grivik, don't you dare stop now!” His hand is splayed over the nape of Grivik’s neck, disappearing into the collar of his shirt, like he might disappear if he lets go. It wouldn't be above his lover to tease him until he's on the verge of tears, then bring him off multiple times to make up for it.
Grivik hums an affirmative, pressing a thick finger to Sylmannan's hole. Slowly, he works one finger into the velvety heat of him and searches for his prostate. He wants to get his tongue in there, too, but decides there's time for that later, too, seeing as Syl can barely keep himself upright.
It only takes a few more intentional strokes before Sylmannan tenses and shouts, emptying himself down Grivik’s greedy throat. It seems to go on forever, making him lightheaded and shaky. By the time his soul is back in his body, Grivik has taken himself in hand, slicked by Syl's come. His cock makes a valiant attempt at hardness at the sight.
“No, let me,” he sinks to his knees, batting the half-orc's hands away, “I want to feel you, stand up.”
Grivik is a bit taken aback, but obeys (slowly, one of his legs had fallen asleep in his vigor). He's not about to tell Syl no when he's looking up at him so prettily, with his dark lashes and a sated flush that spreads to the tips of his ears and down his neck. He might come before he even does anything, he fears.
“Want you to fuck my mouth,” Syl presses kisses down the length of him as he speaks, scrapes his nails down Grivik’s still-clothed thighs, and watches another bead of precome form at the tip of his fat cock.
Grivik is looking at the ceiling, trying to stave himself off, so he's caught entirely off guard when Sylmannan sucks the head of his uncut cock, groaning and savoring it like it's a treat. His hand comes to rest at the crown of the other's head, tentative at first, before taking a handful of ash brown hair and tugging. The whimper he receives is enough of an answer. Sylmannan is hard again, somehow, as he risks a glance down. Glassy grey eyes stare up at him from where he's still suckling on him, eager.
“Ready?” Sylmannan's eyes flutter shut at the question, slackening his jaw. As ready as it gets, Grivik supposes. He wets his lips and thrusts forward just enough to test the waters.
He quickly finds his pace, fucking into the half-elfs willing mouth. One of his hands has come up to play with his heavy balls and the other is jerking his own cock haphazardly. It's not going to be long for either of them. He thrusts deep enough to gag him, just a little, to feel his throat spasm. Syl coughs and moans around him, hips jerking as he comes again, sudden and blinding.
It does Grivik in, hurriedly pulling Sylmannan off of his cock and painting him with his release with a groan. Not what he had intended at all, but a very good look for him, he notes.
In an instant, he's in the floor with Syl, fishing out the kerchief he always keeps with him. He carefully wipes him down, apologizing for the mess he's made of him, quite embarrassed about it.
“That was the hottest thing you've ever done to me, Grivik. I hope you know that.” Syl is grinning at him, eyes crinkling and his voice in shambles. There's still come in his hair and in the stubble along his jawline, but he doesn't seem to be bothered in the slightest. It flusters Grivik terribly.
“Yes, yes, now let's get off the floor, shall we? Neither of us are as young as we once were.” Grivik's knees are aching, definitely bruised from his time spent on them tonight. He pulls Sylmannan to his feet, before making a split second decision. He lifts Syl into a bridal carry, finally leaving the entryway of their shared home. The clothes and the mess can wait; he has more important things to do, like run a hot bath for his beloved.