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There are many things swirling around his troubled mind. He thought, once, that freedom would give him that sense of peace, but the sudden yawning void inside of him only served to remind him of the decades he spent living guarded, reticent, quiet. Never reaching out, never accepting help, shying away from the gentle hands of the man who loved him and never stopped loving him even though he kept pulling away.
Qifrey struggles to grasp his forgiveness. How could Olruggio forgive him so easily, he wonders? Any anger the man would have felt faded as soon as it came, replaced instead by worry, love, and comfort. Qifrey can accept it now, there is no more risk of that parasite crawling beneath his skin, tearing through his flesh, blooming, tearing down walls and the roof. And yet he still doesn’t understand, and he wishes, desperately, that Olruggio would be angry with him for once. He always touches him so gently, kisses him tenderly, smiles at him as bright as his fire and laughs into Qifrey’s throat when he presses kisses to it. What would it take to get him angry?
Clearly avoiding him for the day did not work. It just made Olruggio worry for him more, because he’s far too kind for his own good. The girls have gone to bed, and it’s just them two left to finish cleaning up the common area. It had rained, and Tetia had forgotten to wipe her boots off before tracking mud inside. She’d been very apologetic. While she’d cleaned up after herself, Qifrey had found that brushbuddy had left its own little pawprints everywhere.
He’s folding the quilt thrown over the couch over his arm when Olruggio says from behind him, “You’ve been ignorin' me all day.”
Qifrey frowns. He doesn’t turn to look at him. “No. I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to even spare me a single glance,” Olruggio’s tone has an edge of irritation to it. Ah, good, that brings a little swell of satisfaction to Qifrey’s chest… up until he feels Olruggio right behind him, his lips pressing to his nape, feeling burning hot even through his collar. “Are you angry with me?”
“What?” Now it’s Qifrey’s turn to be incredulous. “Why would I ever be angry with you? You’ve given me no reason.”
Except, perhaps, that horrific promise you made me keep. Over and over and over and over and…
Olruggio’s warm hands settle on his hips. Qifrey feels him rest his forehead against the back of his shoulder. “I think I’ve given you plenty of reasons,” he responds. “Attemptin’ to turn your apprentice in to the Knights, chasin’ you into the mountains in the dead of winter—”
“Neither of which would have happened without me committing my own grievous errors,” Qifrey murmurs. He looks down at the quilt. It has the crest of Ghodrey embroidered into it. Olruggio had brought it with him to the Great Hall, and then to their atelier. “Therefore, hardly your fault.”
“As if you forced my hand.”
“What I mean is that you have more of a reason to be angry with me. But you aren’t.” Qifrey finally turns to look at Olruggio properly for the first time that day. Olruggio tilts his chin up to meet his gaze. Adjusting the quilt over his arm, Qifrey uses his free hand to cradle the other’s cheek. “And I have been struggling to understand why.”
“So you ignored me to make me angry?” Olruggio huffs. Qifrey doesn’t respond, so Olruggio continues, “Well, you just made me worried. So that plan failed.”
Qifrey’s mouth quirks up, his expression a mixture of wistful and amused. “Yes, I suppose it was doomed from the start.”
Olruggio’s hands run up his sides, slide over his shoulders, cup Qifrey’s cheeks. His thumb brushes over the scar hidden beneath his hair. Qifrey turns his face into the touch, sighing softly. His heart is beating fast, and he can’t help but say, “I know you do not begrudge me for all I’ve done to you…”
“...From what you’ve told me, it was my idea to begin with.”
The laugh Qifrey gives is wet. “Well, yes. Let me continue.” He presses his thumb to the corner of Olruggio’s mouth. “If you were angry with me,” his thumb runs over Olruggio’s bottom lip, “and you sought to punish me for what I have done…”
Olruggio’s brow quirks. He doesn’t say anything yet.
“...What would you do?”
There is a stretch of silence where Olruggio just looks at him. Really looks at him, his stare intense, deep, searching Qifrey’s face. Qifrey wonders for a moment if he’s said something silly, if Olruggio will laugh at him, or rebuff him. Maybe he’ll react with some sort of disgust. Ah… no, Olruggio isn’t like that.
When the other finally speaks, his voice is low, and his smile makes the skin around his eyes crinkle, “Let’s finish cleaning.” The quilt is pulled from Qifrey’s arm. “And then I’ll show you.”
—
It ends up with them in Olruggio’s workshop, Olruggio seated on the edge of the bed with Qifrey straddling his lap, skirt rucked up to make it easier. Qifrey kisses him hungrily, panting into his mouth, pawing at his chest and squeezing the soft flesh through the fabric of his shirt. Olruggio’s firm hands slide under where his robes hang around his hips, squeezing his backside through his trousers and tugging him closer as he does.
“This hardly feels like punishment,” Qifrey breathes out. Olruggio’s teeth scrape over his jaw and his eye flutters shut. His skin feels hot and the space between his thighs feels aching and empty, worsened when he feels Olruggio’s own arousal press up against his leg. “Come now, Olly.”
“I just wanted to kiss you first,” Olruggio says simply, and something about that feels like an arrow through the heart. It’s earnest and tender, a little too much so for their current position, but it makes Qifrey flush red and hide his face against Olruggio’s shoulder. Olruggio smiles into his hair as he kneads at his ass, then slips one hand up to run over Qifrey’s spine and rest between his shoulder blades. “Let’s get these clothes off you.”
“Just me?”
“Yeah.”
He stands in front of Olruggio and lets the other man take his sweet time in undressing him. Those gentle hands do away with every little thing fastening his clothes together, peel away his thin layers to leave him exposed to the warmth of his workshop. Qifrey helps him, a little, shifting his weight from one leg to the next to remove his trousers and undergarments, raising his arms so his shirt could be tugged off. The spectacles stay on.
When the binding tape is peeled off he shivers. His nipples are already hard, and he hopes that Olruggio might give them a little bit of attention. The other did seem to enjoy taking them into his mouth, after all.
Olruggio leans back and looks him up and down, his gaze traveling slowly, taking in every detail. Every little mole, every tiny scar, like he hasn’t seen them dozens of times over by now. Even before they grew intimate they’d seen one another completely bare many times, never putting much thought into it. Qifrey wonders if Olruggio’s gaze had ever lingered when he wasn’t paying attention.
Slowly, Olruggio leans in and presses a kiss to Qifrey’s belly. His hand lands on Qifrey’s hip, drawing him in closer. Another kiss, then another, traveling up to his chest where he drags his tongue over his sternum, right between his breasts. Teeth gnaw gently at his clavicle, creating little red marks that won’t linger for too long. When Olruggio takes hold of one breast, it’s barely enough to fill his palm. His thumb rolls over the nipple and Qifrey lets out a shaky sigh.
“Under the bed,” Olruggio murmurs against his skin, “there’s a box. Wooden. Get it for me.”
Qifrey nods slowly. He draws back, as much as he doesn’t want to, and kneels down to reach past Olruggio’s legs and beneath the bed. It doesn’t take long for his hand to find the smooth wooden surface of the aforementioned box, and he pulls it out and rises, handing it over. Olruggio sets it aside without opening it.
“What’s in it?” Qifrey asks; he’s genuinely curious.
“That,” Olruggio begins, “is a surprise, my love.”
My love. It makes Qifrey feel a little lightheaded. He’s still getting used to Olruggio being so open with his affection, but whenever Olruggio calls him that—my love, my dear, beloved, says ‘I love you’—he feels like he’s on cloud nine.
“Lay across my lap,” Olruggio says, patting his knee. “On your stomach.” Qifrey looks at him quizzically, but does as he’s told. Olruggio slides back a little further to give Qifrey more room to lay across him comfortably without partially dangling. He can feel Olruggio’s cock press up against his abdomen like this. Qifrey presses his face to the sheets, his eye falling shut.
He hears the soft sound of fabric shuffling. Olruggio must be tying up his sleeves. Qifrey swallows, chews on the inside of his cheek, turns his head so he can peer hazily over his shoulder. Yes, Olruggio is tying his sleeves up, his hands moving quickly and efficiently like they always do. Qifrey blinks, kicking one leg up. It makes Olruggio look at him.
“Gettin' impatient?” Olruggio asks. He tightens up the thread with one last tug before placing his hand on the small curve of Qifrey’s backside.
Qifrey drops his leg back down. “Perhaps.”
“Then maybe I should make you wait longer.”
Brows furrowing, Qifrey’s lips push out in a little pout. “I would rather you didn’t.”
“I don’t think you’re in any position to be tellin' me what to do,” Olruggio says, sounding maybe a little too cheery. His hand slides from Qifrey’s ass down to the back of his thigh, to his inner knee, fingers tracing over the soft, unmarred skin there before traveling back up. Fingers dip past the crevasse of his rear, sliding between his thighs where he’s already wanting. “Wet already, huh.”
"Astute observation as always, Olly," Qifrey mumbles like the feeling of Olruggio's fingers slipping through his folds isn't making him feel lightheaded.
"Might not be in your best interest to mouth off right now." Olruggio's fingers run over his clit and Qifrey has to bite back a whine. His head turns again so he can press his face back into the sheets. Olruggio laughs above him and pulls his hand away, leaving Qifrey lying there beginning to shiver, untouched and aching, not knowing what Olruggio has in store for him. The uncertainty brings a little thrill, but also a twist of anxiety in his gut.
He hears the box open and Olruggio pulling some things out. Then there is the sound of wood clicking shut, and suddenly Olruggio is taking hold of one of his hands and pressing something hard but warm into his palm. Qifrey lifts his head and brings his hand closer to his face, squinting at the snugstone tucked comfortably into it.
"Hold onto that," Olruggio tells him. "And… uh, if things get too much, you let it go. Drop it, throw it at me, whatever you want, and I'll stop."
Ah. How thoughtful. Qifrey's lips twitch into a wobbly smile. He curls his fingers tightly around the stone and brings his closed fist to his lips. "All right. Duly noted."
"Keep your hands to yourself," Olruggio commands, his hand running up the delicate arch of Qifrey's spine. His skin is so warm. Qifrey loves how his hands feel, with their worn skin, their scars, their calluses. "I'll give you a chance to behave, but only one."
"What will you do if I don't?" He can't help but ask.
It's met with a sharp swat to his backside, making him jolt and squeak in surprise. Still, the stinging pain brings with it a new rush of arousal and Qifrey sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. His face burns hot, sweat already forming on his temples.
"That's for me to know," Olruggio responds, "and for you to maybe find out, if you want to make things harder for yourself."
Qifrey doesn't say anything. He just nods once, which is enough for Olruggio. That warm hand settles on the nape of Qifrey's neck, applying just enough pressure to keep him held down while the other hand slips back between Qifrey's thighs. Callused pads rub up against his clit, the press soft and gentle at first but still sending a shock through his system. He exhales shakily, his toes curling.
"Oh, I forgot to mention," Olruggio says, suddenly stopping his movements. He still sounds a bit too cheerful. "You aren't allowed to come until I tell you to."
"O…kay," Qifrey breathes out. "What happens if I do anyway?"
"Well, if you want to come so badly," his lover says sweetly, "I'll make sure you come over, and over, and over, until you can't take it anymore."
Before Qifrey can say a word, Olruggio's palm presses flush to the heated flesh of his cunt, his fingers digging harder against his clit. The short length of it is stroked with firm fingers, the hood drawing back to reveal the reddened bud to the warm air. A thumb presses down against it, rubbing in circular motions. Qifrey's breathing accelerates, punctuated by soft whimpers. His hand curls tighter around the stone, his eye screwing shut. He's not sure how he's supposed to keep himself from coming.
He jumps a bit when he feels Olruggio suddenly smack his palm against his core, sparks of pleasure-pain shooting up his spine. Qifrey can't help the moan that rips from him, short and high-pitched and airy, which just makes Olruggio chuckle.
"S'fine, right?" Olruggio murmurs, voice soft.
"Mmh," Qifrey manages. He doesn't jump when he's struck again, just gasps. Heat pulses between his thighs; he can feel his release trickling down his skin. From where he's positioned, it must be staining Olruggio's skirt.
"Good." He can hear the smile in Olruggio's voice. "You sure like bein' smacked around, love."
Qifrey doesn't say anything. He's salivating, panting, nose squished into the sheets and his brows furrowed tight. They've barely even begun and he already feels too worked up, everywhere that Olruggio touches feeling like it's on fire. The hand on his nape gently squeezes, eliciting a whine from him.
Almost of their own accord, he feels his hips lift when Olruggio starts stroking against his cunt again. Deep, slow circles against the sensitive flesh, fingertips teasing his waiting hole before tracing back to his aching clit.
"Olly," Qifrey breathes, voice pitched up. He can feel the other's arousal pressing insistently against his belly. "Oh, I want…"
"What do you want?" Olruggio asks. At the same time, his ring finger slides right into the waiting heat of Qifrey's cunt. Qifrey almost chokes on the sharp sound he makes.
"Want you to fuck me," he murmurs, half-dazed. He squirms a little, the movement rubbing up against Olruggio's clothed dick. Clearly the other feels the friction by how he tenses, how his breath hitches.
Olruggio squeezes his neck again. A warning. "Not yet."
Qifrey shivers, swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth before it can dribble past his lips. A second finger joins the first inside of him, both beginning to steadily pump in and out. The only sounds are his heavy breathing and the wet slide of Olruggio's fingers fucking him, the pace getting faster, faster. He gets lost in the pleasure of it, in the rough skin of Olruggio's fingers dragging along his insides, in the steady hand pressing down on his neck. He almost misses when Olruggio speaks again:
“How does it feel?”
Qifrey simply hums contentedly, sighs softly, and drops his heated face into the sheets.
The fingers in him stall their movements, then twist. “Qifrey.”
He jolts, wriggles a little, but feels Olruggio press his forearm down against his leg to still him. Qifrey doesn’t respond, his stubborn, defiant streak raising its head in that moment. Maybe because he’s curious about what Olruggio will do.
“I asked you a question,” and the other’s voice is low, dark. “How,” a sharp thrust of his fingers that makes Qifrey gasp, pressing down inside of him hard, “does it feel?”
“Good,” Qifrey chokes out, his voice pitched high, a little bit petulant. "So good, Olly."
That earns him a gentle pat on the neck. "Glad to hear it. I have more for you. Be a good lad and lie still."
He does as he's told, even when those fingers slide out of him and the hand moves from his neck, leaving their only point of contact where Qifrey is stretched across Olruggio's lap. The lack of stimulation already makes him feel a little deranged, his eye cracking open and head lifting so he can prop his chin up on the mattress.
Somewhere behind him he can hear a soft click, and then a quiet, mechanical whirring. Qifrey turns his head to look hazily over his shoulder again, just in time to see the phallic object Olruggio has in his hands. He recognizes it, one of the contraptions Olruggio had made for the occasions Qifrey wore him out but was still raring to go himself.
The bulbous head of it makes contact with Qifrey's clit. The vibrations ripple through his cunt, radiate through his entire body, and Qifrey's eye rolls back immediately as his mouth falls open. Olruggio didn't bother with steadily increasing the intensity over time, he simply just- just put it at the highest setting he could, didn't he?
Something wraps around his thigh: a soft strip of fabric around the grip of the contraption to keep it in place without Olruggio having to hold onto it. Olruggio ties it tight, then gives Qifrey a little pat on the leg.
"Not too much, is it?" Olruggio asks gently, stroking his hand along Qifrey's spine once again.
"Nnnooo-ohhh," Qifrey replies dizzily. The stone digs into his palm. His other hand twists into the sheets. He's breathing harder now. Okay, now he really doesn't know how he's supposed to keep from coming. It seems far too out of his control. He blearily meets Olruggio's gaze over his shoulder before he drops his head back down, cheek pressed to the sheets, mouth still open as he pants. His eye is glassy, unfocused. The vibrations make him shake, his hips jerking against the contraption—unsure if the movement is more to chase the pleasure, or an attempt to get away from the overwhelming intensity of it.
A hand smacks up against his cunt again and Qifrey yelps. Another strike, and then another. His head is spinning, he thinks his brain really might melt out of his ears. It might be too much, and yet he still keeps his fingers clutched tightly around the snugstone in his hand. Qifrey breathes harshly, sweat trickling down his cheeks.
"You're doin' so good, love," Olruggio tells him as he finally slips his fingers back inside of him. He thrusts them hard, spreads them to stretch Qifrey out, curls them to press tight against his insides. "You're takin' it all so well."
Qifrey can't think. Everything is fading away into just the warmth of Olruggio's body and the pleasure between his thighs and the stone in his hand. The heat from it is comforting, and he moves his hand beneath him, tucking it under where his breasts are squished up against the mattress. He opens his palm, running the warm stone over his stiff nipples.
Bad idea. The feeling is too wonderful and he can feel his orgasm swiftly approaching, but he continues pressing it up against the tender flesh, alternating between the two.
"Olly," Qifrey chokes out. "Ah, ah, I'm- oh, I think- I'm going—"
"What did I tell you, Qifrey?" Olruggio cuts in. "Not until I say so."
"Olruggio," he hiccups. "I— can't."
There is a gentle hand in his hair, pushing through the snowy curls, fingertips kneading into his scalp. Qifrey nearly butts his head into the touch like a feline. "Shh. You can. Just a bit longer."
Qifrey's thighs clench. He turns his face back into the sheets, teeth digging into the soft fabric beneath him and eye screwing shut as he tries to concentrate on not coming, but all that concentration just makes him focus on the pleasure more, and oh, he's so, so close—
And then the contraption shuts off and Olruggio's fingers are gone, leaving Qifrey without stimulation. He lets out a desperate sob, his hips bucking, and gives a plaintive, "Olly!"
"Sorry," Olruggio says. "Looked like you couldn't hold back."
Sniffling, he turns his head again to look at his lover. Olruggio smiles at him, reaching over to run the back of his fingers down his sweaty cheek. Qifrey snaps at them petulantly and Olruggio laughs, grabbing his nose to give it a little tug. "Be good."
I've created a monster, Qifrey thinks despairingly. Why did I plant this idea into his head?
When he withdraws his hands, it's to lean over to the beside and pull something out of the small bowl there. Qifrey, trembling, shifts in his lap with the movement. He's still breathing hard. His arm is curled close to his chest, the other arm stretched above his head.
Olruggio slips the link rings onto his thumbs. They're clicked together, the glow illuminating Qifrey's body as Olruggio slides his palms over his skin. The heat from the rings radiates over his flesh, intense from the close proximity. He flinches when Olruggio presses the warm metal tight against him, before he melts into the feeling. It stings in a blissfully lovely way, but it won't leave any burns. Maybe some flushed red marks for a few hours, at most.
Qifrey swallows. The heat travels from the middle of his back, to his shoulderblades, up to his neck, then down to his backside. He feels it blast over his cunt and squirms, and then the rings press into the tense muscle of one thigh.
"Feel nice?"
"Mmm," Qifrey replies, eye falling shut.
The rings disconnect so Olruggio can slide his hands under Qifrey's belly. They click together again, Olruggio having to twist at the waist to get a better position to comfortably run his hands up Qifrey's abdomen, to his chest, warmth spreading through the soft flesh of his tits, blossoming across his ribcage. Every so often Olruggio presses down to leave a tiny mark, and Qifrey revels in the burning sensation. His bottom lip is pulled taut between his teeth, the corners of his top lip quirked upward, delighted sighs escaping his nostrils.
"Good boy," Olruggio rumbles. Qifrey whimpers in response, his hips jerking against nothing. The contraption is still strapped to his thigh, the head pressed to his clit, but remains still.
Qifrey feels loose and relaxed by the time Olruggio pulls his hands back and deposits the rings back into the bowl. He still has the stone held close to his chest, but Olruggio asks, "Good to keep goin'?"
He just nods wordlessly.
A hand lands on his thigh and kneads into the warmed flesh and muscle, then trails down to the contraption there. A flip of a switch and it whirs to life once more. He can feel the soaked flesh of his cunt quiver under the vibrations. Qifrey moans, drool trickling from the corner of his mouth, slick against his reddened lips.
"Qifrey," Olruggio's voice is almost a whisper. He doesn't slip his fingers back into Qifrey, just lets the contraption between his thighs do the work. Instead, his hands massage into the toned muscle of Qifrey's back. "You're so beautiful, y'know that?"
Qifrey gives a garbled sound in response, since his brain has seemingly forgotten how to formulate any words in any language that a human could feasibly recognize.
"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Fingers knead into the buttons of his spine. Qifrey shivers, gasps. "Like the moon touched down and became a person."
Really, when Olruggio gets sweet like this it's hard not to melt. His rough voice is so gentle, filled with so much love that Qifrey can hardly bear it. Contrasting with the vibrations against where he's most sensitive, he really might go insane.
"I feel so lucky… all the time," Olruggio continues, "that I get to see you like this."
Qifrey, through the fog in his brain, manages to whimper out the one word he can remember how to say: "Olly."
Oh, his orgasm is swiftly approaching again. Qifrey feels like he's standing on a cliff's edge, peering over to the crashing waves beneath, vertigo making him unsteady and threatening to topple over to drown in the depths. His breathing picks up, his heart hammers wildly in his chest, his voice gets louder, louder.
"Are you close?" Olruggio asks, voice kind.
Qifrey answers with a raspy moan and a few rapid nods. Olruggio strokes his hair again, the touch gentle.
"All right, then. Go ahead, love."
It's all he needs to hear. Qifrey sobs as he comes, the vibrations pulling that orgasm roughly out of him. He clenches around nothing, quakes and spasms, his legs kicking and one hand slapping against the pillows. All he can do is moan Olruggio's name over and over, hips bucking, release drenching his thighs and coating the contraption there.
When his moans die down into soft, short gasps Olruggio shuts the contraption off. The fabric tying it to his thigh is carefully undone, pulled away, and the contraption is set aside for later cleaning.
"Okay?" Olruggio murmurs. Qifrey, still not really capable of talking, just nods again. "Good to keep goin'?" Another nod. Olruggio breathes out a clear sigh of relief, then moves his hand close to the one Qifrey has curled close to his chest. "Let me have the stone?"
Slowly, he peels his arm away from his chest and shakily deposits the snugstone into Olruggio's palm. It's set aside, too. Olruggio pushes Qifrey's sweaty hair away from his face to press a soft kiss to his brow.
Qifrey remains there, slumped over Olruggio’s lap, limp and boneless. He’s still breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly. Olruggio’s hand rests gently on his thigh, kneading into the muscle there. It keeps Qifrey tethered to reality, keeps him from floating away. The hands on him move to his waist, and before Qifrey knows it he’s being moved around. Gently scooped up under his belly and hips, turned, and placed gently on his back on the bed.
He hums, content. Squirms when he feels Olruggio run his fingers over his still-sensitive cunt. Bites his lip when Olruggio nudges his thighs apart and settles between them, untucking his shirt, unfastening his belt, and tugging his skirt and trousers down enough to free his hard cock that had been nudging up against Qifrey's abdomen for some time now.
"You know what to do when you want me to stop," Olruggio mumbles.
Qifrey, his voice hoarse, simply replies, "I won't want you to stop."
Olruggio just chuckles, shaking his head. "Aye. I know. Just figured I'd say it anyway."
That cock slides into him without any resistance. He's soft and willing yet achingly sensitive, still barely recovered from what he could only describe as an earth-shattering orgasm and thinking that he should thank his lucky stars Olruggio put that silencing seal on his door.
“Easy,” his lover murmurs when Qifrey twitches around him. Olruggio sinks in deep, Qifrey can feel the dark curls of his groin tickle against his clit. He sighs shakily, reaching his arms out, and Olruggio gladly goes to him. They kiss, Qifrey's arms around Olruggio's neck while Olruggio fucks into him. He lets out soft, tiny sounds, his thighs shaking and twitching from the overstimulation.
Qifrey practically claws Olruggio's shirt up his back, enough to reveal enough of the warm skin underneath for him to touch.
“Fuck me,” Qifrey whines against his mouth. “Fuck me, fuck—”
“You’re bein' demandin',” Olruggio mutters. Qifrey bites at his lips in response and immediately feels a hand, one usually so gentle, curl into his hair to yank his head back. The sting against his scalp shoots through his body, a little thrill that makes him quiver and whine. There are teeth at his throat, marking the tender skin, while Qifrey’s mouth hangs open. The soft, sweet way Olruggio is fucking him feels so at odds with the teeth sinking into his flesh and leaving angry red bruises in their wake.
Distantly, Qifrey grumpily thinks that he wants to bite and leave marks on his lover, too, but he’s not really in the position to do that. Olruggio might push his face away, which would probably make Qifrey lick his palm, and it’d end up a whole thing. So, instead, his nails drag over his back to make angry, burning red lines, feeling the way gooseflesh rises under the pads of his fingers.
“Ah… mm…” His arms move, hands sliding down, down, down to grab at Olruggio’s love handles, digging his fingers into the soft flesh, then further down to grope at his ass to encourage him to keep going, that he loves this, that it feels good. “Olly…!”
Olruggio is breathing heavily above him, groaning as Qifrey drags him in. He sounds so pretty, lost in his pleasure like this, and this is a thought that Qifrey is finding himself having more than once, even past the aroused fog of his brain. A moan slips out of him in response, his reddened lips remaining parted.
The other drops his head down to pepper kisses along his collarbone, then down to his sternum, over to one breast. The stiff nipple is taken into Olruggio’s mouth, that beard scratches up against his skin, and Qifrey shudders. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth, his eye falling shut as Olruggio lavishes his tits in attention with his mouth and callused fingers.
His hands slide from Olruggio’s ass up his back again, fingers digging into the tense, knotted muscle he finds there. It’s going to be aching something fierce later, he imagines, but neither of them particularly care about that at the moment. Qifrey’s breath hitches, a choked-off sound caught in his throat, as Olruggio sucks a dark bruise into his breast. When he pulls off, a string of saliva connects his lips to Qifrey’s reddened nipple.
“That’s, oh, going to- to hurt, ah, to bind,” Qifrey manages to sputter out.
“Sorry,” Olruggio responds, not apologetic in the least.
Qifrey shoots him a glare that he imagines makes him look as intimidating as an owlkitten. Olruggio just laughs at him breathlessly, shifting his hips to pull out — much to Qifrey’s dismay. He wriggles his hips, makes a frustrated sound, kicks his heel into the back of Olruggio’s thigh.
“A tantrum’s not goin’ to get you anywhere,” Olruggio says, tweaking the bruised nipple and making Qifrey hiss. A rush of heat pools in his groin. That hand runs down, smoothing out over his belly, that warm palm like a brand against the unmarred skin. The meat of his palm rubs into the soft, small pouch of flesh under his navel. Then there are fingers at his waist, and Olruggio is softly murmuring, “C’mon, up you go, turn over.”
It’s a little hard to move on his own in his current state, so Olruggio is kind enough to help him sit up and roll over. At first Qifrey lays there on his belly, cheek flush against the pillow, up until Olruggio grabs his hips and pulls them up, forcing him to shift onto his knees. With how his head is turned he can’t see Olruggio behind him, but he feels him slide back in and sighs shakily. His arms go around one pillow, his face turning to hide when his lover begins to thrust again, muffling the weak, shaky sounds that each movement pulls out of him.
That doesn’t last long, though. A hand twists into his hair and yanks his head back once more. Qifrey gasps as he’s pulled up, Adam's apple bobbing. His hands scramble to find leverage in the sheets, while a groan rips through him as Olruggio leans over his back, sinking in deeper. He feels his belly push up against his lower back, the body hair there rubbing faint red burns into pale flesh. Lips press between his shoulderblades, dark hair tickling his skin.
He feels fingers run down his arm, curl around his wrist, pull his arm back. Then the other hand releases his hair to grab the other wrist, joining them both behind his back to be held tight in one strong hand. His fingers twitch and curl, his chest heaving, spine arched. Olruggio’s now-free hand lands back on his waist, the touch like fireworks.
Even if Olruggio fucks him dirty, he fucks him like a lover all the same: intense, deep, attentive. Watching for any signs of discomfort, listening for any pained sounds or requests to stop. Qifrey can feel his eyes burning into him from behind.
“Harder,” he pleads into the air. It’s so much, almost too much, the way that cock fucks into him, fills up that empty space inside of him, hot and heavy. Qifrey wants to rub at his neglected clit, but Olruggio’s got both of his wrists in a vise grip. The hand on his waist pulls him back into every thrust. Olruggio is breathing heavily behind him, parting his knees and leaning over his back as he does just as Qifrey asks.
He’s wet all down his thighs; it dribbles down, down, staining the bedding beneath them. Qifrey’s arms flex in Olruggio’s grasp, fingers curling.
“Olly,” he sobs weakly, head hanging forward, sweat dripping from his bangs. “You feel,” he’s cut off by a whine, “so good.”
Olruggio lets out a soft, short string of expletives. The grip on Qifrey’s wrists lets go and that hand finds his throat instead, curling around it and pulling Qifrey back so Olruggio’s chest presses flush against his shoulderblades. It almost makes him come again, so surprisingly rough and yet still so loving at the same time. The hand on his waist snakes around, slipping between his thighs.
The broken moans tumbling from him grow louder when Olruggio rubs hard circles into his clit. The hand on his throat moves to his jaw to turn his head, and his sounds are swallowed up as Olruggio kisses him through it. Qifrey moves one arm, his hand resting on the back of Olruggio’s head.
“Yes, my love,” Qifrey whimpers into the kiss. “Yes.”
His lover groans into his mouth. The kiss breaks and Olruggio slumps forward, fucking hard into him, his hips leaving sharp, stinging bruises against Qifrey’s ass. Qifrey’s arm drops and he just takes it, saliva running from his mouth and his eye rolling back.
“Gettin' tired,” Olruggio mumbles, and suddenly Qifrey feels himself tumbling back as Olruggio switches their position. His cock regrettably slips out of him and Qifrey’s aroused brain grieves that for the few moments it takes for him to turn to face Olruggio, straddle his hips, and slide back down onto it as Olruggio holds it in place. His hands slide under that large shirt, planting on that soft, fuzzy chest and kneading into it, fingers dragging over dusky nipples and eliciting a shiver from the man sprawled out underneath him.
Both of Olruggio’s hands are on him again, moving up his body, groping at his chest, mirroring Qifrey’s own hands. He rubs his callused thumbs over the pink nubs there. One of them still aches considerably from the bite mark he left, making Qifrey twitch.
He feels ready to burst. It’s hard to hold back his orgasm, but he can’t come until Olruggio tells him to. But the feeling of his cock sheathed in him, his hands squeezing his tits, the sound of his harsh breathing, it all makes it so difficult.
Qifrey tilts his head back, his lashes fluttering as his eye shuts. His hips rock forward, his clit rutting up against the soft swell of Olruggio's belly with each roll. The sensation makes everything around them fade into nothing but static.
“There,” Olruggio rasps out. “Good. You’re doin’ so good, love.”
The praise makes him shiver. Qifrey lets out a choked moan when one of Olruggio's hands drops lower, two knuckles squeezing around his clit to give it a tug each time Qifrey pushes himself up. The pressure is tight, it might be bordering on painful to anyone else, but his body chases the feeling desperately. Pain melts to pleasure, molten at the core of him.
His thighs are starting to burn. Qifrey’s getting tired, too. It shows in how much slower he begins to move, his hips moving a little more stiffly. Olruggio, ever vigilant, takes notice of this quickly and stalls the motion of Qifrey’s hips to pull him off. They shuffle around carefully until they lay on their sides, facing each other, foreheads touching. Qifrey has his leg hitched over Olruggio’s hip and Olruggio is sliding back into him.
Now, he fucks him slow and gentle. They kiss, sigh into each other’s mouths, nip at their lips and suckle on their tongues. Qifrey strokes Olruggio’s face with one hand and Olruggio squeezes his thigh.
“Olly, I want to come,” Qifrey begs, voice hushed. “Please, let me come.”
Olruggio gazes at him, his tired eyes bright, nothing but love swimming deep within them. It makes Qifrey’s heart ache. A hand lands on the back of his head as Olruggio says, “Go on."
That hand draws Qifrey’s face to Olruggio’s shoulder as Qifrey comes almost instantly, his shout muffled in the fabric of his lover’s shirt. He spasms around the cock inside of him, his fingers wrench into Olruggio’s shirt, his leg jolts. Olruggio keeps fucking him through it, chasing his own orgasm. He feels aching, too sensitive, tired and spent and sore but so, so blissful.
“Where,” Olruggio rasps out, “where do you want it?”
“Inside,” Qifrey responds, dizzy. “Oh, Olruggio.”
The desperate call of his name seems to be enough to tip Olruggio over the edge. He thrusts a few more times, a little clumsy, a little sloppy, before he spills deep into Qifrey's cunt. Both of them sigh in unison, Olruggio jerks his hips once, twice, three times until he's sure he's emptied the last of his seed into Qifrey, and then he pulls out with a wet pop.
Qifrey trembles against him. His skin still feels like it's on fire, his nerves alight, his thighs shaking. Olruggio is warm and solid against him, his arms looping around his slimmer frame to draw him closer. Protective. Safe. There is a hand in his hair. Lips press against his temple. Olruggio is breathing hard but still says something to Qifrey that Qifrey can't quite make out past the roaring of blood in his ears.
It's all— so much, so suddenly. He begins to cry. Not loud, devastating sobs; no, just quiet sniffles and hiccups, muffled against Olruggio's shoulder. They aren't tears of pain or sorrow, but tears of release. Emotions crash over him in violent waves and the security of his lover's arms lets him relax enough to let go, soaking tears into his shirt. He breathes harshly, coughs, and Olruggio strokes his hair with one hand, his back with the other.
"I got you, love," Olruggio whispers. "I got you. It's all right."
Qifrey's hands move from where they've curled into Olruggio's shirt to wipe at his face. He pulls his head back and Olruggio takes that chance to lean in, to press soft kisses all over his flushed skin, the hand in Qifrey's hair snaking around to remove his spectacles so he has easier access to the scar tissue beneath his fringe.
Multiple kisses to his scar, a kiss to his brow, to his forehead, to the tip of his nose, both cheeks, his jaw. Kiss after kiss after kiss until the little cries turn into soft giggles. Qifrey sniffles again, clears his throat, cracking his eye open to get a hazy look at Olruggio in front of him. They're still pressed close, his leg is still tangled over his hip, Olruggio still holds him securely with an arm around his middle.
"Feelin' better?" Olruggio asks him, keeping his voice low. Qifrey rests a hand on his cheek, his lips trembling as he smiles.
"Yes. Much. Thank you, Olly."
"You're not gonna keep dwellin' on all that nonsense now, are you?"
Qifrey gives a watery laugh. "I make no promises."
Olruggio massages into the small of his back with his warm palm. He gazes at Qifrey for a long time, thoughtful. Their sweat is cooling and drying, and the bodily fluid between their legs is getting uncomfortable, but they can ignore that for another few minutes.
"Would it help if I told you," Olruggio begins, leaning in to press their foreheads together, "that I forgive you?"
His throat tightens, heat spiking behind his eye again as tears threaten to spill over once again. Qifrey smiles wider, so wide it's starting to make his cheeks hurt. Their lips connect in a brief, chaste kiss before Qifrey says, "Maybe a little bit."
Struggles to grasp forgiveness, yes, but Olruggio still doles it out with ease, no matter what Qifrey says. Maybe he will come to accept it, one day.
"Then I'll tell you as many times as it takes," Olruggio promises, brushing his thumb over Qifrey's cheek.
Qifrey closes his eye. "I'll hold you to that."
They lay there for another minute in silence, simply listening to the other breathe, relishing in the warmth of their bodies, but they can only ignore the uncomfortable stickiness for so long, and Qifrey knows that Olruggio must be dying to dote on him further in the bath. He did get some new, nice soaps just for Qifrey's enjoyment, after all…
"Olly, dear," he mumbles sleepily.
"Mm?"
"You'll have to carry me to the bath," Qifrey says with a little laugh, "I don't think my legs work anymore."
They feel a bit too much like jelly. He can barely move his from Olruggio's hip.
Olruggio laughs. In a careful but quick motion, he's sitting up, pulling Qifrey along with him. "You're really puttin' me to work, aren't you?"
"Are you complaining?" Qifrey says from his perch in Olruggio's lap, hands landing on his shoulders as he looks down at him.
Eyes sparkling, Olruggio stares up at him like he's the most amazing thing he's ever seen, grinning from ear to ear. "No," he breathes. "Never."
Qifrey leans in to kiss him again. It's soft and sweet, lingering for a few moments before Olruggio has to go ruin it by saying, "Okay, maybe sometimes."
It still makes him laugh, and that's what matters.