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forlorn-crows · 10 hours

Text

Learning To Swim

Rating: E (Explicit)

Pairing: Mountain/Rain

Words: 3,861

Tags: transmasc!rain, gill play, first times, tentacles, gill fingering, masturbation, squirting. mountain getting stupid horny while rain teaches him how to finger his gills.

Summary: Though the earth ghoul is no stranger to Rain’s sexual wiles, never has he let him touch like this: slipping his fingers into places they’ve yet to explore. Mountain’s been afraid to, truthfully. Afraid to harm or push too far, despite his reputation as a (mostly) gentle giant.

He’d rather Rain show him; he revels in the teaching moments—wants his lovers to tell him what he likes, show him how good something makes them feel. He wants the opportunity to take it slow, to map out their most sensitive parts until he knows them like the back of his hand.

Rain is ever so kind to indulge him.

Read on AO3, or under the cut:

please consider reblogging and/or commenting on AO3 ♡

“Soft,” Mountain murmurs. His fingertips trace as light as a feather along the edge of Rain’s gills, tender like a cautious new lover. Though the earth ghoul is no stranger to Rain’s sexual wiles, never has he let him touch like this: slipping his fingers into places they’ve yet to explore. Mountain’s been afraid to, truthfully. Afraid to harm or push too far, despite his reputation as a (mostly) gentle giant.

Rain is ever so kind to indulge him.

He hums, tipping his head back to rest on Mountain’s collarbone. He’s sat back to chest with him, stark naked, positioned in front of a full length mirror so that the earth ghoul has ample view of his everything.

“Sensitive too,” Rain adds. He threads his hand through the hair at the back of Mountain’s head, encouraging him to lean in close to the slits on his neck. “Better when they’re wet . . . kiss them for me?”

Mountain hums. “I can do that.” He smiles easily, nosing along Rain’s ear, the hinge of his jaw. He smells fresh, like damp grass in spring, tinged with the slightest hint of something richer, darker. Black currant and woody oud.

The water ghoul tilts his head further, gills unfurling from his neck like petals. “Tongue too. Really get them slick,” he instructs. Mountain sees him smile in the mirror, double fangs poking out over his lower lip. “Nice and sloppy,” he whispers with a wink. Just because he knows his mate will throb about it.

And oh, does he—cock stirring where it's trapped beneath his boxers and between their bodies. Mountain rumbles a tiny groan and lets his hands wander over Rain’s torso, roaming over cool skin before hugging him flush to his body.

He catches his eyes in the mirror. He indulges in a slow once over of his lithe body, gaze hovering between his thighs before inching back up again. Eyes dipping into his belly button, weaving through the dark hair of his happy trail as it goes up, up, up; lingering on the swell of his tits, darting between each pebbling nipple, then back up to those entrancing, cerulean eyes. Mountain nuzzles into his cheek and presses a kiss there. Rain sighs, blinking slow and heavy.

“Anything for you, my sweet tadpole.”

He starts by kissing at his jaw, peppering little presses of his lips along the sharp line. Stubble prickles his skin as he moves towards Rain’s ear, the gossamer-thin fins along the shell of it fanning out under his touch, sensation spreading along and making them ripple as if underwater. Mountain could spend ages kissing here, just to watch them move. But it’s merely a means to an end today, so he descends further.

He meets the edge of the first set of gills, their ruffly perimeter tickling at his chin. Rain’s breath hitches. Mountain’s kissed them before, chaste along the slits, tonguing at the corners, but it’s different with the promise of more. He moves along the curved slit where the beet-red filaments barely peek out, parting his lips to let his saliva start to wet the supple skin.

“Did Dew ever let you play with them?” Rain asks quietly. Mountain sees his hands idly pet at his own thighs out of his periphery.

He makes a noncommittal noise against his skin. “Maybe,” he teases, cupping one of his tits with a squeeze.

Rain scoffs. “Don’t keep secrets, water ghoul whore.”

“What can I say, I like ‘em wet.”

“Oh, I know you do.”

Mountain snorts, and Rain flinches at the resulting ticklish sensation. He mutters a sorry and kisses to appease him. “He was pretty guarded about others playing with them, actually,” Mountain confesses. “Touching, fine.” Another kiss to the corner of the gill flap. “Kissing, very fine.” A darting of his tongue to the surrounding fins. “Not so much the fingers. But,” the earth ghoul tightens his hands around Rain’s body, fingers lining up along the ridges of his ribs, “his own fingers? Well, I’m sure you’re familiar with those.”

Rain shudders, lilac blush blooming on the apples of his cheeks. “Maybe,” he echoes. His fingers slide towards his inner thighs, ghosting closer to that nest of curls between them.

The earth ghoul slides the flat of his tongue along the full edge of his top gills. Huffing hotly when they twitch. “Tell me how it feels?” he asks quietly.

“Like sin,” Rain groans. “Like they’re something that shouldn't be touched like this, but when you do it’s . . .” He searches for the words, sighing as Mountain continues to lick and kiss wetly along. “Felt wrong the first time. Sort of like it feels wrong to stick your fingers inside yourself. Past the initial resistance, though—”

“It’s good, yeah,” Mountain finishes for him.

“So good. Like touching something secret, sacred almost.” He laughs then. “Swear the nerves go right down to my dick.”

Mountain moves to the middle set of gills, kissing softly at the corner as before. “What’s more sensitive, though? These or . . .” He grazes a hand down Rain’s belly, teasing down the middle of his folds to press one finger to his chubbing clit. “This?”

Rain shivers with a soft oh. He watches his eyes flutter shut in the mirror, pelvis tipping upwards towards his hand. Mountain traces around the little round head of his dick, circling light and slow. Kissing down the slit on his neck as he does.

“It’s—oh?” The end of his word quirks up like a question when Mountain’s finger dips down even lower, swiping through slick before coming up again. Rain’s mouth falls open with a soft moan, and his fingers dig into his own thighs.

The earth ghoul slips out too quickly. He raises the finger to Rain’s mouth, locking eyes in the mirror as he pushes it past his lips to stroke along his tongue. “It’s what, darling?” he purrs, teasing again.

Rain whines around his finger, sucking it clean until Mountain pulls it out with a pop. “Mm. Different,” the water ghoul supplies. He smooths his hands over his thighs again, pushing them apart until his folds separate. His hard clit now on full display in the mirror. Rain’s no stranger to his own beauty, and he groans along with Mountain when he throbs at his reflection.

“The gills take more time to loosen up; they’re stiffer. Not really meant to be so open out of water, you know?” He dips down to rub at his folds with two fingers. “Not like here,” he sighs, feeling himself. “But when they do open up? Get ‘em all wet? Fuck, it’s so good, Mount.”

He rumbles against his neck, eager to know. Eager to see how Rain comes apart for him, to see the sensations reflect on his face and ripple throughout his body.

“How am I doing so far?” he asks, continuing his line of kisses across the second gill flap.

“Very good,” Rain breathes, melting further against him. “Keep—hmm, keep doing that.”

Mountain chuffs at the praise and lets himself get lost in his own ministrations. It hasn’t been so long since he’s had his mouth on a set of gills. But Rain isn’t Dew, and he doesn’t want to treat him as such, despite their elemental similarities.

Rain twitches against him as he dips his tongue past the gill flap, only going far enough to taste the cilia-like filaments hiding just beneath his skin. A pretty noise bubbles out of his throat as the tissue flutters under his touch, the salty taste coming to life as his saliva wets them: tangy like his slick, concentrated almost to the point of bitterness. It dissipates, though. Either he gets used to it the more he kisses and tastes, or it truly does get sweeter the longer he spends latched onto Rain’s neck.

He sucks gently around the lowest set of gills now, daring, even, to pull the edge of the flap of skin between his lips and worry it like he would the water ghoul’s nipple or bottom lip.

“Oh,” the water ghoul gasps. “That’s so nice, my love.” His fingers still move lazily between his legs. Petting over his slick-soaked cunt as Mountain essentially makes out with the respiratory organs on his neck. He grinds his ass against him and the earth ghoul moans into them, halted and needy.

“Gonna make me wanna fuck you, not finger you, if you keep doing that,” he admits.

Rain huffs a laugh. “Feels good, can’t help it.”

Mountain pulls back. He looks at his neck, now coated in saliva, gills glistening and opened up. He takes the tip of his index finger and runs from the top gill down, a barely-there touch that wrings another sigh from Rain.

He meets his lidded eyes in the mirror. “Show me how to touch them?”

“Hmpf, but what if you just kissed them forever?” he whines in fake protest, grinding his ass back again. Mountain growls playfully in response and captures his lips in a hungry kiss. He slides his tongue inside with the same flourish as he had with the gills, licking as both a promise and a demand.

“—okay, okay,” Rain laughs against his mouth.

The water ghoul shuffles a bit, scooching so his back is once again snug against Mountain’s chest. He chirps when Mountain lays his palms on his thighs, arms under Rain’s so his are free to demonstrate. The earth ghoul watches his mate pull his fingers from between his folds, hand floating up gracefully towards his mouth. The digits are slick-coated, a shining treat . . . and Mountain can’t help the way his mouth waters like a begging dog.

“Clean them off for me?” Rain asks, all bitten-lip and cotton-candy sweet. Without a second thought, Mountain lolls his tongue out so he can slip them inside. He fixes his eyes on Rain’s in the mirror and sucks down to the third knuckles, groaning at the taste.

Rain whimpers. The sound goes straight to his gut, fingers tightening on the tops of his thighs as he licks off tangy slick and replaces it with his own saliva. The water ghoul pets at his tongue, a mirror of the way he had pet at himself. But he doesn’t linger too long, and soon his fingers retreat with a healthy sheen of spit.

“Very good,” he breathes. “So—” Those wet fingers land on his neck, fondling. The little fins that surround each of the gills fluff up under his own fingertips, and the flaps open up even more with each careful stroke. “It’s slow. Like a little dance. We’ll do it with the middle one, since it’s the easiest to see what you’re doing.” Rain migrates to that set of gills and rubs along the slit. “I don’t like to go right in. Too sensitive.”

Mountain nods. “Kind of like . . .”

“Yeah, kind of,” Rain agrees. He sighs and tips his head back and towards the opposite side, and Mountain watches all three sets of gills fan out and reveal peeks of crimson, ruby, and deep maroon. The spindly, hair-like filaments along each arched row separate slowly, moving almost like the tendrils of a sea anemone in a current. He moves his head away to better see them unfurl, mesmerized.

“Never seen the inside like this,” he mumbles.

“Probably see right into my throat at that angle,” Rain says, giving him a sidelong look. He says it on purpose, knowingly. Mountain does not want to analyze how the fact makes him feel.

His dick, unfortunately, makes his thoughts quite obvious. Rain smirks as his fingers move to hover over the opening. “Pay attention,” he whispers.

As if his eyes were looking anywhere else.

His fingers dip slowly into the opening, grazing the filaments with gentle motions. “Like this, to start.” His voice is huskier, breathier. “Back and forth . . .” He bites back a fuck when Mountain’s hands unconsciously grip at his thighs again. “Just kind of stroking them. They’re soft, but they might feel a little weird at first.”

He dips his fingers in then, only until the deep red tendrils pass his first knuckle. “Then you can go in,” he says softly. “You won’t hurt me, but they’re—nng—tight.”

Mountain can see his stomach jump, and the full length of his dick juts proudly out of his folds now. When he peeks at the mirror, he can see the line of slick drooling down towards the rug, too.

“Belial, Rain,” he groans.

“Yeah,” he huffs. “There’s like, a little—shit, a little like, flap behind them. That I kind of . . .” His fingers slide in deeper, up to the second knuckle. A near-violent shudder wracks his entire body as his fingers graze the wetness of his throat, touching a hidden part of himself that probably isn’t meant to be prodded at all, but Satanas, is it one of the most sinful things he’s seen Rain do.

“That’s . . . fuck, that’s hot,” Mountain says eloquently.

“You know when,” he swallows, and all three sets of his gills constrict, “guh fuck—you have a scab? Or a bruise? And you shouldn’t poke it or pick at it, but you–oh, but you do?”

“Shouldn’t do it, but it feels too good to stop,” Mountain offers dazedly.

“Uh huh,” Rain whines. “Want you to try. Touch me here?”

The earth ghoul silently offers his fingers in front of Rain’s mouth, presenting his index and middle to be sucked in. He makes the tiniest noise before curling his tongue around them, eyes falling shut. Coating from the very tips down to the fold of skin that connects them. Mountain whimpers. He can’t help that he does. Not when he has a particular weakness for that cool, wet mouth. But he pulls them out anyway and watches a string of spit stretch and snap between the digits and Rain’s lower lip, deliciously thick and shiny.

“Gonna touch yourself while I do this?” the earth ghoul asks, already knowing the answer.

The fingers in his gills retreat slowly, and he drags the wetness down his neck, his torso, and right down between his legs. “Fuck yes,” he breathes. “Put ‘em in, right in the middle.”

“‘Kay,” Mountain whispers. His fingers hover over them, hanging on the moment before he touches them for the first time. Hanging onto that anticipation with trembling hand and bated breath.

“Please, Mount,” the water ghoul begs.

Without further hesitation, he pushes past the gill flap and into the rows of filaments, stroking them gently.

“Oh.”

They’re wet and fleshy, not unlike the inside of Rain’s mouth. But they’re thicker, almost like the bristles of the silicone bottle brush that sits in the common room sink: strong, dense, flexible. Some of them stick together as his fingers breeze past, only to separate when he grazes them again. Mountain strokes along the inside of the gill flap experimentally, just to feel the difference, and Rain heaves a shaky sigh.

“That okay?” Mountain checks in.

“More than,” the water ghoul chokes out. His fingers are moving up and down his cock, slicking its length with wetness from his entrance every few strokes. Toes curling each time his fingers skirt over the round little head. Rain makes a pretty sound when he presses against the gill flap again, and Mountain’s dick kicks hard in his shorts.

“Does it ever tickle?” It certainly tickles Mountain’s fingers towards the edges of the gills, where the filaments are shorter, thinner.

“On the very ends, if that’s—mmm—if that’s all you touch,” Rain answers. “Makes me cough.”

He hums an acknowledgement. Mountain scooches closer to him, as if their bodies weren’t already melded together. His free hand rises up to slip into Rain’s hair, scratching gently before holding steady against his scalp and encouraging him to lean into the touch.

“Gonna dip them in now,” he whispers.

Rain’s pulse thrums against the heel of his hand. He whines a soft yes, hips twitching up.

Mountain meets a small amount of resistance as he pushes in that first inch, just as Rain said he would. For the most part, though, it is slick—wet with saliva and some (un)natural dampness that allows him to delve in. He bites his tongue in order to relish in the pitchy moan that spills from the water ghoul’s lips—even though he can’t help but offer a little whimper of his own.

“Guh,” Rain all but gurgles. His hips twitch again and he swallows hard.

The gills constrict around his fingers, and Mountain’s mind goes in a thousand different directions at once, none of them remotely innocent. “Fuck,” he curses. “That’s—”

“Deeper. Need you deeper-uhh,” Rain moans, suddenly jacking himself in earnest now.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” he half-hisses, half-whines. “N-need it, she needs it, Mount.” Rain shudders.

She. The earth ghoul glances in the mirror and—yes, there’s that telltale bump under his rapidly moving hand. Just behind that membrane, he knows, lies his tentacle: her body coiled and ready to spring forth when pleasure crests.

“She likes when you do this?” he asks, voice dropping an octave. He pushes his fingers in a centimeter more.

“Loves,” he wheezes. “Oh fuck please.”

“Come out and play, sweet thing,” Mountain lilts, a little out of his mind.

He finally reaches that inner layer of flesh behind Rain’s gills, tips of his fingers prodding at the inside of his throat, and the reaction is immediate. Rain keens, high and feminine, digging his fingers into Mountain’s upper thigh. His hips float off the ground with how sharply he tries to curl in on himself, writhing and gasping as that membrane situated above his folds grows thinner and thinner.

“Satanas,” Mountain mumbles. “So fucking beautiful.” He can feel Rain’s throat move from the inside out, feel his breath rush past in wispy sighs, feel the vibration of his voice as it rumbles right under his fingertips. His grip on Rain’s hair tightens and the water ghoul nearly squeals.

“Hair, too—too much,” he pleads.

The earth ghoul immediately releases his grip, circling his fingertips gently across his scalp in apology. “Sorry, darling. Alright now?”

“Mm-hm.” Rain sighs.

Mountain strokes inside his throat. “This still okay?”

He mewls his assent, a tiny little noise that makes the earth ghoul’s stomach churn with need. “Keep going, ‘m close.” Rain’s hand speeds up once more, and Mountain sees his eyes roll all the way back. “Fuck,” he grits out.

“Shit, Rainy,” he breathes.

A string of explicits falls from his lips like an unholy hymn. The sound of his cunt alone, lewd and creamy, makes Mountain want to shove his fingers—among other things—in there instead; but, he keeps petting that sensitive place over and over until Rain’s hand can’t possibly move any faster. Until his thighs jump towards each other and his feet point inward, each exhale a punch of air as he nears the edge.

“Gonna cum for me?” Mountain asks after a particularly wanton sound.

Rain swallows hard again, squeezing the fingers now pumping in and out of his gills. “Gonna,” he echoes. “She’s gonna—gonna make me—”

“Let her make you feel good. That’s it.”

Rain goes rigid against him in less than two strokes to his throat, heel of his hand pressing down on his mound and fingers pulling hard at his cock. He cums with an almost pained whine, struggling to keep his eyes on himself in the mirror as he squirts onto the rug.

“Uuhh fuuuckk—”

“Belial, there you go,” Mountain groans. The tentacle emerges between his folds, her midnight blue skin glistening with wetness as she wriggles upwards towards Rain’s hand.

At the sight of her flexing suckers, Mountain decides it’s far more worthwhile to put his fingers somewhere else.

While Rain’s still twitching, he slips his fingers from his gills as gently as he can muster, and then he’s touching him everywhere; dragging that hand down his torso to grasp at his tentacle, turning his face by the jaw so he can slip his tongue into his mouth, hooking a leg over his thigh so he can grind his cock between those pretty round cheeks.

“Need to have you,” he slurs. “Let her play too, get you nice and full.”

Rain moans like a damned whore and squirms in his grip. “Fuck, Mount—”

“Think she likes that idea,” he breathes, commenting on the way she’s looped around his wrist and attached herself to his skin. He gives her a gentle squeeze and Rain’s legs twitch. “Yeah? Get you snuggled in next to my cock, make Rainy feel so good.” He’s getting a bit feral, but he can’t help it. Any semblance of composure blurted right out of the tip of his dick when Rain came like that.

“Oh fucking Lords below,” the water ghoul curses.

Mountain shuffles back towards the bed, promptly scooping Rain up by the ass and twisting him around to sit on his lap. He nearly ragdolls, too cumdrunk to move his limbs in any organized fashion. He does, however, have enough brainpower to grind over Mountain’s clothed dick, soaking the front of his shorts in slick and tentacle ooze.

“Satanas, feel so good, tadpole,” he groans, hugging his naked body close while Rain mouths sloppily at his neck.

Rain whines. “Take ‘em off.”

Mountain has to laugh a little at that. “Have to stop being a limp fishy. Hm?” He’s able to lift his shirt off easily with the water ghoul still clinging to him, but it’ll take some more maneuvering to get his shorts if Rain insists on playing princess. “Come on, up on those pretty knees.”

He does as he’s told, rising up on shaky legs so Mountain can shimmy off his underwear, ruddy cock springing free.

“Oh please, Mount,” Rain gasps, immediately sinking back down into his lap. His tentacle slithers along his length, snuggling up the underside and touching her tip to his. Cool, wet, and uniquely Rain.

Mountain groans and takes them both in hand, sliding up and down in long, luxurious strokes. Pulls Rain close again and presses his lips right to his ear, nibbling at the lobe until it earns him a shiver. “Thank you for teaching me. Trusting me,” he whispers. “And for showing me another way to turn you into a moaning little puddle.”

“Nooo,” he whines playfully. “Oh yes,” Mountain purrs in response. He removes his hand from around their cocks and takes hold of his own instead, swiping the head through the water ghoul’s folds before teasing at his entrance. Grinding up until just the tip slides inside. “Now, darling,” he continues, the tentacle curving in on herself, tickling at the top of the earth ghoul’s cock with her silken tip as he starts to slide inside, “let us in.”

#run it baaack

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forlorn-crows · 1 day

Note

"He knows they can take it. Knows he can crank them up, make them sweat, and whine. It's one of very few ways he can get Swiss to beg."

Look, I know how many requests you must have already, but if you ever elaborated on this it would ruin me in all the very best ways. You know how I feel about whiny begging Swiss.

for @comp-lady and @askingforthesun 1.8k of Mean Dew. Temperature play. VERY improper uses of hot wax. and a needy, whimpering, multi-ghoul.

Swiss prides himself on his ability to adapt. He takes things as they come. Be it a nasty fall off of the stage, or Rain driving his boot into his bladder until his vision blurs. Swiss doesn't buckle. He rolls with it. Leans in. He goes to his knees frequently but rarely drops all the way. Almost never begs. He doesn't get desperate for anything--doesn't need anything bad enough to grovel for it. It's rare that anyone can drag him into that headspace. Needy. Desperate. straddling the razors edge between panic and pleasure. "Color." Swiss tips his head back. He hadn't realized he'd been drifting, eyes unfocused toward the fire raging in Dew's fireplace. All of the logs Dew had stacked in it have burned to ash by now--but the fire doesn't stop. Propelled by Dew's magic. The same infernal heat that is crawling up Swiss' spine. He's deliciously dizzy, the world a little hazy, out of it. He feels sweat trickle down the side of his face. He blinks mismatched eyes at Dew's cruelly beautiful face and Dew sneers at him. He sets one burning hand against Swiss' cheek. "I asked you a question." "Green," Swiss says. He's trying to keep his voice level, it takes a lot of effort. Satanas he's so hot. It feels like the room should be burning down around him. Like he should catch on fire at any second. He's naked, sweat shimmering on every inch of dark skin. Despite the discomfort, the heat, the rough hearthstones beneath his knees, he's still so hard. "Good." Dew pats his hand on the side of Swiss' face, the grin he levels on him is cruel. It makes Swiss' stomach twist. Dew straightens. Swiss' is thrown off when the absence of his touch doesn't bring cool relief. If anything the heat intensities. It feels like it's coming from inside of him. A fever burning it's way through his chest. Into his veins. Immolation at a lazy wave of Dew's hand. He wonders how much Dew can really do--if this takes no visible effort. He watches Dew walk away from him. He's shirtless. Pale skin illuminated by flickering firelight. His golden hair is tied into a knot at the base of his neck. Unlike Swiss, Dew's skin is free from the glimmer of sweat. He looks perfectly at ease. Back as straight as ever, but relaxed. Unbothered by the twitching ghoul kneeling behind him. He's doing something at his desk that Swiss can't see, head bowed. Swiss shifts a little on his knees. The stones on the hearth dig into his shins. If he stays here much longer he'll have bruises from the mortar lines. That's probably exactly what Dew wants. To run his fingers over them later, press meanly against them to drag harsh gasps from Swiss' lungs. Dew's head rockets up as Swiss adjusts himself. The glare he fixes Swiss with as he turns to look at him fills Swiss' stomach with cold dread. He's been good. He hasn't moved. Has kept his hands where Dew told him (on his thighs, palms down). He feels all the drain away. Dew is never going to let him cum. Dew watches him cooly, then turns back to the task at hand. "What did I tell you?" "Stay still," Swiss parrots back to him. There's no keeping the shake out of his voice now. He's so hot. He's so fucking hard. He wants Dew to touch him. He wants him to turn the temperature down. He wants any form of minute relief. It's blissful torture. Pinned between wanting this agony to last forever, or for Dew to finally give in--to make him cum so hard he blacks out. Swiss' fingers shake against his thighs, but he doesn't move again.

He's drifting again when Dew comes back. It's so rare that anyone really gets him to drop that he doesn't realize it until Dew's carding a gentle hand through his hair. His skin hot enough to scald if Swiss didn't have a little fire magic of his own. As it is, his touch stings. Swiss wonders what those hot hands will feel like on the rest of his body. His cock twitches at the thought. Dew notices, eyes dragging down to where Swiss is hard and heavy between his legs. His cock is flushed, the tip shiny with pre. His arousal is an ever-present ache. Somehow better and worse than the heat. They work in tandem to drive Swiss deeper--to drive him insane. "Please," Swiss says suddenly. His mouth is dry, his throat aches.

"Please what?" "Dew. Come on--Just..give me something. Anything," Swiss can't help it now. There's no holding back the pleading. The need for something other than this particular brand of purgatorial torture. "Anything?" Dew cocks an eyebrow. Swiss notices, too late, that Dew's other hand is behind his back. Swiss nods, not thinking. Edging toward stupid, desperate. The first drip of wax onto his collarbone wakes him up a little. It hurts. His cock kicks with each dribble. Precum beading at the tip as Dew holds a closed fist over Swiss' body and lets deep violet wax fall from his fingers. It doesn't dry fast enough. Running in burning rivulets down Swiss' overheated body. Dew watches their path, dripping over his nipples, down his belly to dry in the hair of his happy trail. Swiss tips his head back, arches his back, presses into that pain. A low groan dragged from his chest as Dew shifts his angle and the wax hits his hips, runs down the crease toward his balls. Swiss clamps his eyes closed. Feels each drip of wax as it lands on his skin. His thighs, his pubic bone. Closer and closer to the place he wants it, but never quite there. A splatter of wax hits his knuckles, drips over his inner thighs. Swiss can't think about how hot he is anymore--only about the ache in his groin. About the bright lines of decadent pain Dew is carving into him.

Dew shifts. Swiss feels it, and then suddenly they’re on the same level. Dew slips one knee between Swiss’ spread thighs and shoves his legs a little further open.

Swiss tips his head back up, looks at Dew stupidly. He wants to ask for something—to ask what’s next. But his tongue is so heavy in his mouth. And he doesn’t know what he wants—except whatever Dew is willing to give him. He isn’t as hot now, Dew must have pulled back on some of the heat. Dew’s watching him with careful eyes, calculating. He’s nudged up close, his kneecap pressed just barely up against Swiss’ balls.

“Color,” Dew asks, softer this time. He takes the hand not coated in wax and puts it on Swiss’ cheek, forces their eyes together so Dew can look for something—Swiss doesn’t know what.

“Green. So green. Touch me with it,” Swiss grits out, nodding toward Dew’s wax coated hand.

Dew licks his lips. It’s the only warning Swiss has before Dew opens his fist. The last remnants of the candle he’d been clutching still melting against his skin. He curls his fingers around the base of Swiss’ aching cock and Swiss howls. Back bowing backward, hips jerking upward into Dew’s hand as white-hot pleasure sparks up his spine. It shouldn’t feel this good. It shouldn’t feel like this. The wax stays wet between their overheated bodies and Dew drags it up and down Swiss’ shaft in languid strokes at first, polishing the head, mixing wax and pre. Swiss is shuddering in no time. Thighs twitching, hips bucking up into Dew’s hand as he chases the coil in his gut. “Close already?” Dew asks, his voice cold. “Pathetic.” “Dew—oh fuck—Dew you’re gonna make me—”

“No.” Dew pulls his hand back and Swiss sags, he twitches, hips rolling up, searching for the one last bit of friction he needs to cum. He was so close, inches away. It barely starts to recede before Dew’s back on him, strokes not languid anymore, and it’s only second before Swiss is whining again. Begging. Dew pulls off as soon as the first please leaves Swiss’ lips. Dew sets a rhythm. A handful of quick strokes until Swiss is keening, before letting go. Watching Swiss’ cock bob and pulse.

On the last one, he grips the base of Swiss cock hard, hot wax running down the shaft and down to his aching balls. They’re so heavy. God all Swiss can think about is cumming. Not the heat still pulsing through him, or the wax drying on his skin. Just release, relief. He shakes in Dew’s grasp.

“Ask for it,” Dew orders. “Nicely.”

“Please,” Swiss gasps. Trying to fuck into Dew’s hand and failing. “Please make me cum, Dew. Please. I need it—I—please.” “Such a fucking whore aren’t you?” Swiss nods. Satanas he’ll say anything. Agree to anything. His cock kicks in Dew’s grip, stomach swooping at the dark look in Dew’s eyes. Swiss wants to reach out to him, wants to pull him in and beg. Offer him life and limb, and internal organs just for this.

Dew must see something in his eyes—a little too much desperation, a little too much devotion. Because when he starts to jack Swiss off this time he doesn’t stop. Not when Swiss keens, and rocks in his grip. Not when he warns him, voice breaking. All Dew does is shift his own position, pulling back so that when Swiss cums it’s all over the fireplace and not Dew’s jeans.

Swiss’ orgasm blows through him like a train. His eyes roll back as he bends in. Shoulders hunching, body shuddering with each wave. The pleasure pain of it is exquisite. Electricity sparking through his fingertips. He seizes, his vision darkens at the edges but Dew holds him upright, works him through it with measured strokes as Swiss spends himself all over the stones in front of the fire.

Dew whispers praises in his ears that Swiss doesn’t really hear. Strokes his hand through Swiss’ hair, over his back, as he comes back. Breathing slowing into something easy. He’s boneless like this, pliant. Dew presses a kiss between his horns.

Swiss looks up at him after a while, the room clearing. The world steady beneath him. He’s exhausted, fucked out, loose limbed. He feels good.

“Welcome back,” Dew whispers against his hair. “You ok?”

“Better than.”

“Good,” Dew grins at him. “Guess that means you can bathe yourself.”

Judging by the swift lance of panic that slices through Swiss—he isn’t back to normal as much as he thought. He clings to Dew even though he knows it’s a joke. Dragging the smaller ghoul closer even as Dew chuckles softly at him. “Yeah,” he says, bumping his horns against Swiss’ “that’s what I thought.”

#ougugh com this one was so good #cw: wax play #fanfic

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