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They come to a head one afternoon; Zia’s taking a nap in the cool shelter of her almost-finished house, Rucks is at the Bastion’s controls, and the Kid is pushing Zulf back against the counter of their makeshift kitchen, dropping to his knees and sliding underneath the fall of Zulf’s skirts.
He presses Zulf’s thighs further apart with the width of his shoulders, and Zulf begins a, “Not—” before choking himself off, head falling back as the Kid pulls the ties of his pants loose with his teeth and sucks his soft cock into his mouth.
The Kid hums in response to his protest, and Zulf bites back a moan as he feels himself start to harden, the Kid’s fingers pressing this side of too hard into his hips, holding him close; the lump in his skirts is both ridiculous and helplessly arousing, moving to the bob of the Kid’s head underneath. Zulf rests a hand on it for a moment, and the Kid lets him slip out of his mouth, nuzzles upwards against his cock and fingers, a contented noise rumbling out of the back of his throat, followed by a laugh.
Zulf considers what he could say— “Get out”, “You look ridiculous”, “You’re an idiot” (which would always come out more fond than he intended), and settles on, “You’re going to smother under there” as the Kid starts kissing his balls, the soft skin of his groin and inner thighs.
“‘S fine,” the Kid says, muffled by fabric. “Like it. Smells good.” Zulf can hear the grin in his voice; it makes him blush. “Like sex, and you get so hot…” and the Kid swallows him down again, starts sucking rhythmically; Zulf whines, scrabbles for purchase on the Kid, folding cloth and hair underneath up in his hands, trapped by blinding heat and pressure until he comes with an extended groan, fingers tightening and loosening in rhythm to the pulse of his cock, the way the Kid’s throat is contracting around him as he swallows; he’s a wilted, wrecked mess by the time the Kid pulls off of him, lips firm around his length, eliciting one more spent twitch and pulse of cum. The Kid gently runs lips over his wet length, muffles another fond chuckle against the skin of Zulf’s hip, before rising and crowding him back upright, kissing him. He smells like musk and cum and heat, the scent clinging to his hair and making Zulf blush; that’s him, that’s him marking the Kid so tangibly, and, as if to punctuate the thought, the Kid slides a lazy hand from hip to his pants, tugs them further down his thighs and rucks up his skirts to press closer, his cock sliding right into the warm, intimate space underneath his balls.
Zulf makes a not-noise at the feeling of it, and the Kid kisses him for it before thrusting, grinding really, into that soft juncture of flesh; Zulf groans at the hot slide against his balls, the skin behind them, just pushing against his asshole—the Kid presses against it with a fingertip he’d put in his mouth a moment ago, pushing in just enough to hook inside his rim and pull gently.
The sensations are enough to make Zulf start to harden again, the Kid pushing forward a bit more and pressing his head, his slit, against the ring of muscle, just hard enough for it to stay open, and letting Zulf feel the way he swells when he comes, shooting thick spurts against his ass, the back of his skirt, up into him when he thrusts forward involuntarily and between their position and his finger, there’s nowhere to go but up and in, his head popping into him for the last few spasms, a little too dry but so, so good—Zulf comes again with an extended groan, paints the front of his skirts and sags with a sigh of mingled pleasure and annoyance at the Kid, who’s muffled his own grunts in the crook of Zulf’s neck.
He pulls back after long seconds squashed together, sliding out of Zulf as he starts to soften, and replaces his cock with lazy fingers, massaging Zulf’s asshole, grinning at the way it spasms, pushing two fingertips in and scissoring, letting his cum drip out and ooze down Zulf’s perineum and inner thighs, runs his fingers, knuckles over it, smearing it messier and ignoring Zulf’s grumble of annoyance at him, turning his head to murmur in his ear, “Will y’stay like this ‘til after dinner for me?”
Zulf jerks in surprise (and, who is he kidding, at the low punch of arousal in his gut) at the request, pulling apart far enough to stare at the Kid, gauging his sincerity before mumbling, “You’re going to be the death of me.” A pause, then. “May I at least pull up my pants or be divested of them entirely?”
The Kid tells him he shouldn’t be able to use such big words after he’s come twice but helps take Zulf’s pants off, dropping kisses against his jaw, lips, neck all the while, smooths down his skirts to a more-wrinkled approximation of their previous state, hiding all the messy evidence of what they’d just done underneath, before Zulf elbows him to get out of the kitchen and go take a nap already, starting to rewash his hands; the Kid determines he’s done enough pleasant damage to Zulf’s composure and saunters off with one last kiss (to take that nap, because Zulf knows him too well).
After dinner, of course, will be another matter entirely.