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Late evening. Qifrey stands outside the door and inhales. He’s anxious, though his anxiety is directionless. The girls are settled in for bed, everyone liked the dinner he cooked, they’re all safe and warm and happy. There is, realistically, nothing for him to be worried about.
But Olruggio had pulled him aside earlier today. Put a note into his hand. Meet me after the girls have gone to bed. My workshop. I want to talk.
(That’s the thing about Olruggio: he always wants to talk.)
Qifrey musters all his courage. He knocks.
“Didn’t you read the sign? Don’t do that,” Olruggio says from inside. “Just come in.”
He doesn’t sound too mad, at least. That’s good. Qifrey steps across the threshold and ascends the stairs. “I thought the sign was meant to keep others out.”
“Yeah, well.” Olruggio flushes beneath his stubble. “You’re not really others, not to me. You can come in whenever you like.”
Those words make something in Qifrey’s throat feel strange, but he swallows thickly anyway. Put it away. Pack it up and think about it another time. Think about it never. “You wanted to see me?” he prompts. “To… talk?”
“Oh! Uh, yes.” Olruggio clears his throat. “You’re here to see me.” He sits down at his desk, taking his time. Making Qifrey wait for him. “Take a seat.”
It’s unusual of him to make demands, but Qifrey’s hardly in a position to disobey. He sits down across from him and folds his hands in his lap. “So?” he says, trying to mask his nervousness with casualty. “What did you want to speak with me about?”
Olruggio clears aside some of the papers from his desk—a mess of nonsensical invention blueprints, Qifrey observes fondly—and looks evenly at him. “As you know, it’s my job as a Watchful Eye to observe and report your practices in this atelier.”
“Yes, of course.” He’d nearly forgotten about all the formalities, with how comfortable their life together has become. “Is something the matter? If the meal wasn’t to your liking, you could have just—”
“Don’t distract me. The Knights care not for our dinner.”
The lighthearted talk dies in midair. Qifrey’s jaw tenses.
“You’re aware that I must report any illicit use of magic,” Olruggio says, a non-sequiteur. “And that your punishment may be extreme, given that instructors set the example for the next generation of witches.”
“Naturally.”
Olruggio exhales, long and gentle. When he looks at Qifrey, his eyes are thick with some indecipherable emotion. “Qifrey,” he says softly. “I know.”
Qifrey’s blood runs cold.
No. No, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t. In fact the whole point of it is that Olruggio doesn’t know; they’ve both given everything to ensure that. “I—I, Olruggio. Olly. Don’t talk nonsense. Please.”
“I saw it,” Olruggio clarifies, his voice purposely slow. “Tonight, during dinner. You used magic on one of the girls.”
Qifrey’s panic is arrested in its tracks.
Yes. Of course Olruggio doesn’t know. How could he? He’s done well, protecting his little family. They’ve both done well, protecting each other.
Qifrey takes a breath. He pulls himself together and gets back with the program. “Of course I didn’t,” he says, though the words taste bitter in his mouth. “I would never use magic on another person.”
“Then explain what you did when Richeh choked.”
“She didn’t choke,” Qifrey explains. “She’s allergic to tree nuts. I didn’t realize Coco had added almonds to her own dessert. When Richeh took a bite, she started having an allergic reaction, so I performed transformative magic on the almonds in her system. Not on her.”
Olruggio looks at him with his hard eyes. “So you admit her reaction had already started when you intervened. And that it stopped as soon as you were done.”
Qifrey’s stomach drops. He suddenly sees where this is going. “It was a fortunate coincidence.”
“Very fortunate,” Olruggio agrees, not smiling. He picks up a non-magical pen and one of his abandoned contraption sketches. “You won’t mind if I put this in my report, then.”
Qifrey bites back a smile. This silly man. “Olly, dear. That’s your blueprint.”
Olruggio blinks. He looks down at the paper and blushes again. He shoves it aside and picks up a clean, new piece of paper, this one more suited for report-writing. Then he lowers his pen to the paper again as if to write up the incident.
“Wait,” Qifrey blurts. He throws out his hands to stop him from writing. “This is a minor incident, surely? You said it yourself: the Knights needn’t hear about our dinner…” He laughs weakly.
Olruggio looks across the table at him. His mouth twists.
“Please,” Qifrey says softly. “I know… We both know I didn’t do anything wrong, but the Knights may not see it that way.”
“It’s the Knights’ business which way they see it.” Swiftly, Olruggio turns his wrist out of Qifrey’s grip and smoothly pins both of Qifrey’s hands to the desk. “And you’ll do well to remember that.”
Qifrey’s pulse skips erratically. He struggles, tugging at his grip, but nothing happens.
Shit. He’s stronger than Qifrey thought he’d be.
“As I was saying,” Olruggio continues, as if they’re still having a completely civil conversation and one of them isn’t pinned to the damn desk. “I’m a fair man. If you have anything to say in your defense, or any additional context you’d like in the report, I can do that. But I will be reporting this.”
Qifrey tugs at his grip again, to no effect. In fact, Olruggio’s fingers only squeeze tighter. Tighter. What the hell? He’s starting to get a little hot under the collar. “Would you mind letting me go?”
“You attempted to physically obstruct me.”
That’s fair, actually. Still, Qifrey’s not keen to stay trapped at this desk with his Watchful Eye while he writes what could essentially become Qifrey’s arrest warrant. “I won’t do it again. I give you my word.”
Briefly, Olruggio’s grip loosens. Qifrey, relieved, pulls his wrists away as fast as he can. He’s got his casting-hand back! And then—
—Olruggio catches his casting-wrist in the air and slams it back down onto the desk.
Qifrey can’t help it. His breath slips away from him in a gasp.
In the silence of the tranquil evening, the sound echoes like a warning bell. Qifrey’s face flushes hot.
“Is something the matter?” Olruggio says, lower. Like he knows.
Qifrey’s lips part. His fingers twitch against the table. “…No.”
“Sit back down.”
Qifrey sits.
Olruggio looks at him for a long moment with his dark eyes. He stares at him like he’s peeling away all of Qifrey’s layers in his mind, leaving just the core of him. Maybe he’s picked up mind-reading magic.
“Please,” Qifrey says, barely more than a rough whisper. “Don’t write about this. It’s of no importance. Believe me.”
Casually, Olruggio turns Qifrey’s hand over, exposing the soft skin of his palm. He rubs his thumb over the pulse point, watching his face. Qifrey makes a helpless noise and tilts his head away quickly.
A long, tense few seconds. Olruggio presses down on the divot of his inner wrist. Qifrey bites back a whimper.
At last Olruggio releases him. “I could be convinced.”
Qifrey exhales in abject relief. “Oh! Thank you. You don’t know how much this—”
“Not quite. I said I could be convinced.”
Qifrey scrambles for something, anything, to use to his advantage. “I can have the girls vouch for me,” he offers. “Or I can recreate the spell, or—”
Olruggio leans back in his chair. “You misunderstand,” he says. Then, trailing his hand down Qifrey’s jaw: “I want you to convince me.”
Oh. He means.
Oh.
Olruggio’s hand drops from his skin. He looks up, and Qifrey realizes this is his last chance. If he doesn’t act now, it might all be over.
Qifrey stands on shaky legs.
Olruggio’s smile is sharp. “That’s what I thought. Come here.”
Qifrey puts his sylph shoes together and floats over the desk. The trajectory drops him directly in Olruggio’s lap. He lands with his legs slung over the side of the chair and his face hot with intention.
When he looks up, he finds Olruggio’s face flushed the same color. Olruggio opens his mouth and says, “I thought you’d just—”
“Shh,” says Qifrey. He takes off his glasses, sets them on the desk, and kisses him hard on the mouth.
He’s a little shy about it, still not sure if this is what Olruggio was really asking for, but his doubts are wiped near instantly. Olruggio’s hand falls to his waist and grips tight, tighter than he’d held his wrists down, like the prospect of losing the touch is worse than letting a potential criminal get away. Qifrey twists away from the kiss, surprised. “You’re—”
Olruggio barely even gives him time to breathe. “Don’t talk back,” he rasps. “You knew what you were getting into.”
Then he’s kissing him again, hot and relentless and oh, fuck, he’s sliding down to Qifrey’s jaw and he knows the spot above his clavicle bruises easily and he’s still going for it, Qifrey hates him, hates him, shit…
“Olly,” he gasps, rolling his hips down. “Oh, oh, how is this convincing you, exactly?”
“We’re getting there,” he says into Qifrey’s skin. “Be patient.”
The low vibrations of his voice make Qifrey feel crazy, or at least crazier than he normally is. He squirms in Olruggio’s hold. All he gets for his effort is a tighter grip on his hipbone.
Olruggio makes a satisfied noise when he stops moving, and holds him firmly in place while they kiss. Suddenly Qifrey understands—he’s pinned exactly where Olruggio wants him. He’s not powerless, per se. He could definitely escape, but if he doesn’t want the incident in that report…
He cannot put the girls in danger. There’s no alternative. This is his only recourse.
Quietly, Qifrey tips his head back and gives him better access.
“Hm. Good,” says Olruggio mildly.
Qifrey’s mouth goes dry. He loops his arms around Olruggio’s neck and lets himself go weak in his hold. If it’s a helpless, docile witch that he wants, then a helpless, docile witch Qifrey will be.
Predictably, this makes Olruggio very pleased. It also cuts off the neck-kissing, which is great—he’s pretty sure none of the girls know the intricacies of sex, and he’s not keen on explaining anything if they see the marks—but instead it makes him return to Qifrey’s mouth, which is.
Well.
It’s not bad, that’s for sure.
Qifrey tugs him closer with his looped arms and kisses him, open-mouthed and filthy this time. To be more convincing. And just for the hell of it, he lets himself start moaning into it, a little “Mm,” caught in his mouth and passed to Olruggio’s before it can ever see the light of day.
Before he knows it Olruggio’s other hand is tangled in his hair, Qifrey’s hat knocked somewhere on the floor, and Olruggio’s pulling him closer and crushing them together until he can hardly breathe.
Qifrey breaks away, gasping. “Hold on, Olly, slow down…”
Obligingly, he pauses and pulls away. Qifrey gratefully ducks his head into Olruggio’s collarbone. “Thank you.”
His thumb rubs firm circles into Qifrey’s waist, above the drawstring of his pants but underneath the robe—when did he undo the robe ties?—and Qifrey’s newly-caught breath stutters again. “Don’t thank me yet.”
He slides his fingers down beneath Qifrey’s waistband.
Qifrey jolts. He shifts away from the touch. “I just said—ohh…”
Olruggio kisses him quiet. Against his better judgment, Qifrey sinks into it. So what if he hasn’t been getting a lot of action, living in this rural atelier with just his four little girls and his distractingly handsome Watchful Eye. So what if he’s spent a few nights thinking about it, imagining it…
Olruggio’s fingers shift down further, sliding down between his legs. This time when Qifrey moans into the kiss it isn’t staged at all, small and high-pitched and mortifying.
Only then does Qifrey realize he’s downright soaked.
And that Olruggio, with his hands under Qifrey’s clothes, can feel it.
Shit.
“Sweetheart,” Olruggio murmurs, so nice that it’s insulting. It sends shivers down Qifrey’s spine. “You really are trying to convince me.”
Qifrey blinks several times. “I’m—what?”
“You’re enjoying this.” His fingers stroke lightly against Qifrey’s entrance, teasing. “I thought you were playing it up. Moaning like you’re getting paid. But I think you really just like it that much.”
“I like kissing,” Qifrey says defensively. “And teaching four apprentices doesn’t leave much time for sex. It’s only natural that I’d be…”
“Dripping for it?”
Qifrey’s face flushes hot with intermingled embarrassment and arousal. “Interested. A perfectly normal amount of interested.”
“Hm.” Olruggio’s fingers dance up, then back down again. Qifrey’s thighs tense, and his insides clench a little. Maybe he spills more wetness out of himself; he can’t really tell. He just sits there in Olruggio’s lap, letting him do as he pleases.
“Mm, hah, wait,” Qifrey breathes. “I meant to offer to please you. I could, ah, I could go down on you. I’ve been told I’m good with my—AH!”
Olruggio sinks two fingers into him without preamble.
“Oh, mm, oh god,” Qifrey rambles, not even sure what his mouth’s doing. He writhes in Olruggio’s lap, trying to change the angle, trying to escape. “How’s this going to—?”
“You should know better—” Olruggio pulls his fingers back, then drags them deeper inside. “—Than to talk about other men with me.”
Qifrey raises his eyebrows. He wasn’t talking about other men at all, in fact; it’s Olruggio who’s told him he’s good at giving head, and even then it’s only from practice. He opens his mouth to say as much. What comes out is, “Mmph, fuck, ah, there,” and then a string of moans that echo obscenely off the roof.
Olruggio slowly curls his fingers with firm pressure. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this. You’re the one who dropped yourself into my lap.”
“For—the—the report…” Qifrey thrashes against it. Olruggio’s fingers are hot inside him, like he’s trying to make Qifrey’s mind melt. Maybe it was meant to be this way. Water, fire: he was always going to be the one evaporating, when it came down to it. Was always going to be the one losing himself to the heat.
He kicks weakly at Olruggio’s side, but it has no effect. Olruggio just smiles. Then he brings his thumb to Qifrey’s cock and traces over it, just light enough to drive him crazy.
Qifrey groans and digs his nails into the side of the chair. “This isn’t necessary! I’ll—really, ah, I’m easy, just let me get on my knees…”
“If I wanted you on your knees I’d have said so. Shut your mouth and take it.”
Qifrey shudders, bone-deep. He sinks down onto Olruggio’s fingers and lets himself fall slack, protestless.
“Obedient,” Olruggio observes, almost clinically. He circles Qifrey’s cock again. More pressure.
Qifrey whimpers.
Olruggio’s voice is gentle, in contrast with his relentless fingers. “Come on. Let it feel good.”
“I’ll come,” Qifrey begs, vision hazy. He tries to draw his vision into focus to look at Olruggio and fails, finding nothing but a blur of dark pleasure. “If you keep going I’ll—ah, ah…”
“Go ahead, then.”
Childishly, Qifrey thinks about arguing. Part of him doesn’t want to come like this, just to prove a point. He’s never thought of himself as particularly weak to pleasure, but here is Olruggio, reducing him to a liquid mess in his lap.
He can’t take it. He can’t take it. He can’t…
“Don’t fight it,” Olruggio murmurs encouragingly, right against the side of his jaw. “Don’t fight me.”
Then he presses his thumb down onto Qifrey’s cock, and all his protests become irrelevant.
Qifrey closes his eyes and shatters apart on his fingers. The sound he makes resonates like a long-held note of an opera, and the tension spirals out of him so quickly that he nearly brains himself on Olruggio’s desk.
He’s only stopped from hitting the desk’s edge by Olruggio’s gentle hand cupping the back of his head. “You’re alright,” he says, upturned like a question.
“Mmph,” Qifrey says eloquently. He imagines this is the point where someone with better vision would be seeing double. The aftershocks are making his legs weak, but he tries to stand anyway, leaning against the desk for support. “That was quite something.”
“Good?”
“Very.”
Olruggio smiles. Without his glasses, Qifrey can’t quite tell if it’s a kind smile or a sharp one. “Perfect,” he says, voice crisp again. “Then you’ll be ready, I trust?”
Qifrey’s already weak knees nearly buckle again. “For…?”
He stands from the chair and puts his hands on either side of Qifrey’s waist on the desk. “You can’t think that was all I wanted. I said I needed convincing.”
Qifrey’s pulse flutters. He makes half a nervous laugh. “You seemed quite satisfied.”
“With that? I don’t think even you’re satisfied with that. You always make yourself come at least twice when you’re alone.”
Qifrey freezes. There’s no way he’d know that, not unless— “You listen to me?”
Olruggio leans over him further, nearly blocking out the lamplight. “Watch, too, sometimes.”
“I,” says Qifrey weakly. Vaguely, he thinks that’s a reportable offense, something he could hold over Olruggio in return for the secret of his magic, but he can’t quite process that right now. “You do?”
“I am your Watchful Eye. It’s part of the job description.”
“It most certainly is not!”
“It is when you’re moaning my name.”
Ah. Of course he’s heard. Qifrey swallows thickly. “That’s—that’s pure circumstance. If there were any other suitable candidates within the nearest ten kilometers, I’d have their names in my mouth instead.”
Olruggio doesn’t bother responding. Instead he starts tonguing at that spot Qifrey likes again, below his jawline, and Qifrey’s remaining thoughts are swept from his mind like a great tidal wave has come through. He sinks backwards into the pleasure and lets it wash him away, adrift in Olruggio’s arms.
Somewhere along the way his hands find their way to Qifrey’s hips again and he starts sliding his clothes off. Qifrey shucks off his robe. It falls to the desk behind him like a blanket settling down. Some of Olruggio’s blueprints flutter to the floor in the wake of the wind it stirs up.
At last Olruggio pulls away enough to let him breathe. “Qifrey.”
Qifrey pulls himself together. “Yes?”
“I want to bend you over the desk.”
Qifrey jolts. He tries to pull away, but there’s nowhere left to retreat. “That’s a bit far,” he protests hastily. “I’m still perfectly willing to—”
“Shh.” Olruggio thumbs over the still-sensitive mark he left, and that’s not fair play, it really isn’t. “If I’m going to keep quiet, you’ll do what I want. You’re soaked for it, and I know you’ll open up so well for me.”
Keep quiet. The report. Right. Qifrey’s getting dizzy. Olruggio’s right that he’s turned on; he’s always been weak for this kind of hot-and-heavy approach.
“I’ll do all the work,” Olruggio continues sweetly. Too sweetly, considering what he’s asking for. “You just have to lie there and spread your legs for me.”
Slowly, Qifrey looks away. He lets his thighs fall apart.
“Good.” Olruggio guides him backwards until Qifrey’s lying down across his desk, legs spread and clothes disheveled. “You’re beautiful,” he says, tracing his thumb up Qifrey’s inner thigh. “I’ll enjoy this.”
“Be—be gentle, please.” Qifrey looks up at him with watery eyes. “I haven’t been with someone else in a long while.”
“It’s alright,” Olruggio says, smiling at him. “I know what you can take.”
Qifrey’s pulse spikes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ve seen the toys you use on yourself.” His thumbs slide inward, down toward the apex of Qifrey’s thighs. “And when you fuck yourself on them, you still whine like they’re not enough.” He laughs. “Oh, Qifrey. Don’t worry. I’ll give you what you need.”
Qifrey exhales hard.
Fuck. If he’s seen the toys Qifrey likes to use on himself, and the pace he sets…
“Knew you’d like that,” Olruggio says, so low it practically vibrates through Qifrey’s skin. He tugs Qifrey’s hips closer to him, so his bare, wet core is on full display. “Don’t lie to me. You don’t want it gentle. You want it hard enough you can hardly put two words together.”
Qifrey’s thighs tremble as the tip of Olruggio’s thumb sinks into him. “Well,” he manages, unsteady. “You can be a little rough with me, I suppose. If—if that’s what you want.”
Olruggio laughs at him.
Qifrey’s face flares hot. “Get on with it.” He crosses his legs behind Olruggio’s thighs for good measure and tugs him close.
He’s expecting Olruggio to resist. To click his tongue and say something like Be patient, Qifrey, wait for it. He’s not expecting him to sink both thumbs into him immediately.
Qifrey yelps.
It’s not like they’ve never had sex before, but Olruggio’s never been so eager. Never spread him like he’s trying to fuck him as fast as possible, trying to get it over with so he can chase his own pleasure. Shit. Qifrey’s pulse flutters.
“I know,” says Olruggio gently, like it’s somehow not his fault. He spreads his thumbs apart, just slightly. “S’that hurt?”
“Ah—a bit,” Qifrey admits. It’s not pain, exactly, but it stings in the same way a satisfying stretch does. He feels it, for sure.
“Mm. Good,” Olruggio says dismissively. “You’ll come faster that way.”
Qifrey blinks. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Qifrey frowns. He tries to sit up, tries to protest, tries to do anything, but the minute he starts to move, Olruggio digs his blunt fingernails into the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, hard.
To his horror, Qifrey hears his own bitten-off moan echo back to him off the curved ceiling.
“Told you.” Olruggio roughly pulls his thighs further apart. “Can’t believe I didn’t do this earlier. You don’t even want sweetness first. You just want me to fuck you.”
“I—oh, god.” Qifrey’s breath is already heavy. This position’s spreading Olruggio’s thumbs further apart. “Do you mind?”
“Oh. Of course,” says Olruggio. Rather politely, he slides out of Qifrey’s dripping core and leaves him empty on the desk.
Then he turns around.
Qifrey blinks. When he tries to sit up, his wrists shake too hard to support his weight. “Olruggio? What’s going on? Aren’t you going to—” Use me until you come, Qifrey thinks, but this sounds too vulgar even in his mind. He coughs.
“Just getting ready.” Olruggio reaches for something high. He does something out of Qifrey’s line of vision, then comes back into view. He smiles down at him, too gently. “There.”
He starts undoing his belt. Qifrey hears the buckles click into place, hears fabric hit the floor. Something low in his stomach flips in anticipation. He can’t see what Olruggio’s doing, but he can hear him moving.
Funny. He doesn’t remember Olruggio’s belt having so many parts.
He doesn’t want to ask, but the nervousness wins out over his pride, in the end. “What are you…?”
Olruggio pauses. “Hm? Can’t you sit up and see?”
Qifrey’s face goes hot. “…My wrists are still weak.”
Olruggio laughs. He leans over him, coming back into view. “Qifrey. It’s like you were made to be teased.”
Qifrey turns his face into the wood like it’ll hide his blush.
“Don’t give me that look. I like it.” Olruggio leans down and presses a ticklish kiss against his sternum. “I’ve got this gorgeous witch in my lap, whining for it. Dripping all over my desk. Moaning so pretty when I’m rough with him. Of course I like it.”
“I’m not dripping on your desk,” Qifrey points out, just to be contrary. “My cloak’s underneath me.”
Olruggio doesn’t even bother arguing back. Instead he presses his hand against Qifrey’s hip and says, “Don’t move.”
Qifrey blinks. “Huh?”
Then he feels something nudging against his entrance.
“I said don’t move,” Olruggio says, lower. “Unless you want me to shove it all in at once.”
Oh. Oh. That’s what Olruggio was doing, obviously: putting the strap on. No wonder there were more buckles than his belt. The anxiety floods out of him. This is comfortable territory. He’s been here before.
Qifrey exhales. He relaxes and lets his hips shift up.
It’s only when Olruggio starts pushing in that he realizes it’s big. Bigger than he remembers.
Oh. Oh, fuck.
“Olly,” he says, a little panicked. “Is this the same toy you’d usually use, or—?”
Olruggio’s nails scratch lightly against his hipbone, a warning. “Don’t call me that. And no. You’re whoring yourself out to me. Obviously, I’m not going to make it easy for you.”
Qifrey’s head spins. When did Olruggio have time to make a new cock for the strap? Is that what he’s been working on so hard lately, enough to draw fresh dark circles beneath his eyes? Has he been staying up designing something to fuck Qifrey with, shaping it, curving it, imagining it thrusting into him?
Slowly, Olruggio pushes his hips closer. Qifrey’s breath catches. The stretch is intense. He’s wet, but not wet enough to take the whole thing.
Fortunately, Olruggio seems to realize this. When he encounters resistance, he stops. He doesn’t try to keep pressing in. He just lets it stay, lets Qifrey clench while he gets used to it.
Eventually Qifrey relaxes. His hips shift down, letting the weight settle inside him. The stretch isn’t even that bad, not when it’s pressing nice and tight against his sensitive spots…
“There you go,” Olruggio says. “I knew you could take it.”
Qifrey has just long enough to think maybe this won’t be so bad, when—
—Olruggio thrusts into him, hard enough that the heavy wooden desk quivers with the force.
Qifrey shrieks.
Olruggio presses his hips flush to Qifrey’s, forcing his cock deeper inside. The new, bigger cock he made specially for Qifrey, for this situation. “I told you I’d give you what you need.”
“How is this what I, oh…” Qifrey breaks off. His breath feels strained, like his body’s trying to reshape itself to fit Olruggio inside him. His vision’s hazy, though it’s always kind of hazy, these days.
“How is this what you need?”
Maybe Olruggio’s taking mercy on him, not making him say the rest of it. Qifrey nods.
“Sweetheart,” Olruggio says, cruelly amused. He cups Qifrey’s cheek with one hand. “You know why.” He drags his hand down, trailing his fingers down his neck, the center of his chest, the soft center of his waist.
His hand settles just below Qifrey’s waistline. Right where the tip of his cock reaches inside him.
“Damn shame,” Olruggio says casually. “I thought I’d made it big enough to feel it inside you.”
Qifrey feels fucking lightheaded. There’s no way he’s looking for… “My god, Olly, that’s not real. People don’t—don’t have stomach bulges from getting fucked.”
“No?” Olruggio looks down at him, eyes dark. Carefully, he presses his hand down, into the soft give of Qifrey’s waist.
Slowly. Gently.
Until he presses hard enough, and—
“Nnh, oh, oh—!”
Against his will, Qifrey’s back arches up into the touch. He can feel it: Olruggio’s hand, pressing insistently into him, forcing him to get tighter. His hands are still weak with the remnants of adrenaline and pleasure in his system, but he throws them out anyway, trying to stop him.
Olruggio pins both of his wrists with one hand. His grip isn’t strong, but neither is Qifrey’s will to move. Besides, Qifrey’s made his bed. He has to lie in it, now.
“Stop, stop,” he gasps, forcing his hips back down. “You’ve, oh, you’ve made your point…!”
Olruggio doesn’t let up. For one brief, terrifying second, Qifrey wonders if he’s going to keep fucking him like this, pressed tight from the inside and outside. Wonders if Olruggio will ignore his pleas entirely, and just fuck him selfishly, fuck him until Qifrey passes out. He wouldn’t be able to stop him, not with his casting-hand shaking beyond repair. Olruggio could do whatever he wanted.
But then Olruggio releases the pressure, and the moment passes.
Qifrey exhales harshly. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. He almost wishes Olruggio would defy him; at least that way they’d be even, both taking something from each other. Taking, taking, taking, never asking.
If only Olruggio were cruel enough to do to Qifrey what Qifrey’s already done to him a thousand times over.
“…Hey,” says Olruggio quietly. “Qifrey?”
Only then does Qifrey realize that Olruggio has long since released the hold on his wrists. He’s even pulled out a little, enough to make the stretch more comfortable instead of so deep it makes his head spin. When he opens his mouth, his voice is rougher than he expects. “Yes?”
“Is it too much?” Olruggio asks gently. “I can get my regular strap. I know we didn’t talk about this.”
Qifrey locks his legs around Olruggio’s hips. “No, I, no, don’t,” he begs aimlessly. Maybe Olruggio will know what he’s really asking for. “Please. Please just keep going.”
Olruggio hesitates, just briefly. But his hands settle back on Qifrey’s waist, squeezing tight like he always does.
Good. He’s back to his usual self. Qifrey can use this to his advantage, so he lets himself look wide-eyed and innocent again and says, “Why’d you stop? I thought you were going to use me.”
Olruggio huffs a small laugh. He leans over Qifrey, shifting his hips to get more comfortable.
“You know,” Qifrey says. “Convincing you?”
Olruggio pulls out, then grinds back in, slow and deliberate. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to clear up with you.”
“Mm,” Qifrey says, a little out of it. The new pressure is good. Too good. “Uh—yes?”
Olruggio’s hips come to a standstill again. He’s probably noticed how hard Qifrey’s trying to get off on it, how he keeps squirming to get any pressure on his cock. “You keep implying that I’m only in this for my own pleasure.”
Qifrey blinks. “Yes,” he says slowly. He shifts his hips subtly, trying to grind against him. Maybe if he’s discreet, Olruggio won’t even notice…
A hand on his waist, holding him steady. “Stop moving.”
Qifrey frowns. “Why? Doesn’t it feel good?”
“This is what I mean.” Olruggio leans in again, so that his face is hovering over Qifrey’s, bodies folded together over the desk like two pages of a palm quire. “You keep talking about me feeling good. Did it not occur to you that I might not be after that at all?”
He’s so beautiful, sweating and flushed over Qifrey’s face. Qifrey sort of forgets what they’re doing. “Well, no.”
“Did you not stop to think why I’d go through all this trouble? Watching you pleasure yourself? Stealing your toys? Making my own, bigger, better, to fuck you with?”
Qifrey hadn’t considered that at all. He’d sort of expected this to end with him choking on Olruggio’s cock and then going back to his room with a sore throat and masturbating furiously for a while. For a moment he’d felt in control, or at least like he knew where this was going. Now he thinks maybe he never understood to begin with.
“You don’t understand,” Olruggio murmurs. His dark amusement sends shivers down Qifrey’s spine. “I don’t want you to be my pliant fuck toy. Anyone can do that. No: I want you, Qifrey. And I want you ruined.”
Then something clicks to life, and the toy starts vibrating.
Qifrey has just enough time to say, “Oh, fuck,” before Olruggio’s grip shifts and he starts grinding inside again, deep and slow and Qifrey’s so dizzy with the pleasure that his eye slides out of focus.
“Yeah?” For once Olruggio doesn’t sound unaffected. The vibration must be good for him, too. “Is this what you wanted?”
“N—no,” Qifrey whispers. His ankles, still hooked together around Olruggio’s hips, feel shaky again, like they’d collapse under the slightest pressure. “I didn’t, this was your, this was your decision, I was just…”
“You were just begging for it,” Olruggio breathes, fucking him faster. “Just—fucking—looking at me like you wanted me to make you cry on my cock.”
Qifrey chokes on nothing and scrambles for purchase on the desk. His nails scratch against the wood, scraping into it.
“I bet you knew that when you came in here,” Olruggio says, his eyes intense under his sweat-matted hair. “Qifrey—you have to know how handsome you are. Had to know that if you just spread your legs I’d do anything for you.”
“My god,” Qifrey slurs, lost. “Olly, please, please—”
“Anything,” Olruggio says, sounding just as nonsensical. But he must understand the request, because he drops one hand down between Qifrey’s legs and presses relentlessly, grinding his palm down.
Qifrey yowls. He arches his back so hard his shoulders hurt.
Olruggio swears vaguely. He thrusts deep inside again, past the point where Qifrey’s loose and easy, and Qifrey presses closer, spiraling together, drawing closer, closer, like two sides of a spell ring, almost touching, almost, almost, and—
“Shit,” Qifrey says weakly, and it clicks into place.
He comes, and it’s like the water swallowing him again: drowning, drowning.
And there’s Olruggio above him, pulling him back to earth. Olruggio’s face swims vaguely above him, a blur of pleasure and affection, and he needs his glasses back but he doesn’t care, doesn’t care; he’s never seen more clearly in his life. This is all that matters, Qifrey thinks deliriously. This is all he’s ever wanted. This is all he’s ever had to worry about.
Ah.
It’s not like Qifrey didn’t already know it, but the reminder is sobering. He’d almost forgotten, somewhere along the way, why he was doing all of this.
The vibrations stop, and Olruggio collapses on top of him, exhausted. His hair is a little damp with sweat. “Good lord,” he says, like he’s been run over by a pegasus carriage.
“Mm,” Qifrey says. He decides he can let himself linger in the sweetness for a bit, and gently strokes his hair. “Olruggio.”
Olruggio breathes into the crook of Qifrey’s neck. He’s unsteady. Qifrey wraps his still-shaky hands around the back of Olruggio’s shoulders and holds him close.
“Thank you,” Qifrey says, because he thinks if Olruggio doesn’t hear it he’ll probably go insane with guilt. “You did an excellent job.”
Olruggio smiles weakly into his shoulder. “It wasn’t easy. I think I got into it by the end, though.”
Qifrey raises his eyebrows. “You think?”
Olruggio laughs. Slowly, carefully, he pulls out of Qifrey, leaving him empty and dripping all over the cloak. “Ah. Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I’ll clean that for you.”
“You don’t have to.” Qifrey tries to stand, and winces at the twinge in his back. Maybe they shouldn’t have fucked on the desk. He’s not twenty anymore, that’s for sure. He might be closer to becoming the wood of Olruggio’s desk than he is to twenty.
Olruggio offers his hand, and Qifrey takes it gratefully. He stands from the desk. Sure enough, his poor cloak is definitely out of commission until the next laundry day.
“Let me do it,” says Olruggio. “Let me take care of you.”
His devotion is almost indecipherable. Qifrey’s spent so long trying to understand him, and so long failing. “I can do it myself.”
Olruggio sighs deeply. “Just—let me,” he pleads, with his sad eyes. “I don’t like to hurt you. I know you asked for it, and I know it wasn’t real. But let me make up for it, okay? Let me make up for it.”
Ah. He needs to do something to feel like they’re even. Qifrey gets it. He’s been chasing that feeling for decades, now. It’s a fool’s endeavor, he thinks, like a gambler trying to beat the house. Qifrey’s taken one too many chances, dealt himself into one too many hands, and now he’s in Olruggio’s debt for life.
And yet he keeps going. Qifrey supposes that’s what all gamblers think: Just one more hand. This is the one where I pay it all back.
Qifrey understands. He, too, is an addict.
“At least I knew you were enjoying it,” Olruggio continues. His face is flushed pink. “I don’t think I could have been that mean if you weren’t setting it up for me.”
Qifrey smiles fondly. He was barely mean at all. The original plan was for him to slap Qifrey around and call him a pathetic slut. “Silly,” he says, ruffling Olruggio’s sweaty hair. “Maybe you’d find the heart to be a bit meaner if I were really doing forbidden magic, hm?”
“You wouldn’t,” Olruggio says, with terrifying confidence.
Qifrey’s wooden heart kicks to life in his chest. “I wouldn’t,” he repeats breathily. Not a question, but not a statement, either. Taking a chance. Gambling.
“I know you too well. I’d know if you were doing anything like that.”
Qifrey doesn’t breathe.
Olruggio hesitates, just briefly. “I’d know,” he says, quieter.
There’s a question in his eyes. Qifrey knows because he’s seen the same question in Olruggio’s eyes more times than he can count. The same question he always asks. The same question Qifrey always answers with a sad smile and a brushstroke.
And Olruggio reaches for his hand.
No—no. Qifrey can’t let this become one of those nights. He wants to keep this one. Wants this one to be real. He thinks if Olruggio kisses him again he’ll spill it all, and then he’ll have to go and clean up his own mess like he’s done a thousand times before.
He pulls his hand away.
Though he tries to hide it, Olruggio looks a little hurt. “I just want to help you.”
“Not tonight, Olly,” Qifrey says softly. He touches their foreheads together, the closest he can get to a kiss without shattering into a thousand pieces. “Please. Not tonight.”
Olruggio’s face softens. He takes Qifrey in his arms and holds him tight.
“Alright, Qifrey,” he says, just like he always does. “Whatever you want.”