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Olruggio knew something was wrong with Qifrey long before the man appeared in his doorway that evening, his single eye troubled and his posture drawn tight. After all, the signs had been accumulating all week, subtle at first, then impossible to ignore. Olruggio, who had spent years quietly loving Qifrey, recognized them for what they were.
From the moment they eradicated the Silverwood Tree from Qifrey’s body, the man changed in ways that still surprised him. Slowly and tentatively at first, he began to uncoil that perpetual tension that lived in his shoulders for as long as Olruggio had known him. He let himself relax more easily, laughed more freely, and, perhaps most unexpectedly of all, grew remarkably comfortable with physical affection.
Against every expectation Olruggio had once held, Qifrey turned out to be rather tactile with his fondness, as though years of denied contact were finally spilling out of him all at once. A hand resting casually on his waist while he worked. A brief hug pressed against his back as Qifrey passed behind him at the kitchen table. And, most notably, the way he would curl around Olruggio in bed at night, limbs tangled and face buried in his neck, as though he could not bear even an inch of distance between them.
Perhaps he had always been this way, or perhaps it was something new. Either way, Olruggio had grown used to it, even fond of it, in the quiet way he was fond of most things regarding Qifrey.
But the past week had been different. The past week, Qifrey had taken it tenfold.
Every morning, Olruggio woke to find himself practically ensnared. Qifrey was always glued to his side as though they were two halves of a single whole, arms locked firmly around his waist and legs tangled so thoroughly that he could not have extricated himself without a concerted effort.
On the rare occasions when Olruggio managed to stir first and attempted to slip out of bed before the other man woke, Qifrey would grumble low in his throat, sounding nothing but discontent, and drag him back with surprising strength, nuzzling insistently into the curve of his neck. There, he would press soft, lazy kisses along his pulse point, occasionally punctuating them with gentle bites that sent shivers down Olruggio's spine. It would take nearly an hour of this before Olruggio could finally summon the willpower to insist, in his most exasperated voice, that they both needed to get ready because they had an atelier to run, for stars' sake.
Unfortunately for his poor heart, it did not stop there.
Throughout the day, Qifrey's hands would find him relentlessly. A palm pressed warm and steady against the small of his back as they walked down the stairs together. Fingers brushing along the curve of his waist whenever they stood side by side, as though Qifrey needed the constant reassurance that Olruggio was still there.
During the late nights he kept working, he would drift behind Olruggio and rest both hands on his shoulders, thumbs tracing absent circles against his collarbones while he watched him draw. In the kitchen, he would crowd into Olruggio's space under the pretense of reaching for ingredients, pressing his chest against Olruggio's back and burying his nose in his hair, breathing him in like a man starved for air.
And his neck, stars above, his neck. Qifrey had developed an almost obsessive fascination with it, nuzzling against the sensitive skin at every opportunity. He would come up behind Olruggio while he was concentrating, hook his chin over his shoulder, and press his lips to the curve where shoulder met throat, leaving a trail of featherlight kisses that made Olruggio's concentration scatter like startled birds.
More than once, Olruggio had caught his reflection in a window or a polished surface and discovered a fresh mark blooming against his skin, impossible to hide. He had told Qifrey, more times than he could count, that he could not keep leaving such obvious evidence of their intimacy where others might see it. Qifrey would nod, looking appropriately ashamed of himself, and then an hour later Olruggio would feel his teeth again, sharp and deliberate against the same spot, as though he simply could not help himself.
Don’t even get him started with his ears.
Olruggio had always been sensitive about them, after all, they always twitched and flattened with his emotions, betraying him at the worst moments. Qifrey had discovered this weakness since they were kids and he exploited it mercilessly. In quiet moments between tasks, he would often lean in and catch the pointed tip of Olruggio's ear between his teeth, biting down with just enough pressure to make him gasp, then soothe the sting with a warm swipe of his tongue. As an answer, Olruggio would swat him away, his ears flattening in embarrassed irritation, and Qifrey would only laugh and do it again not even an hour later, just to watch him squirm.
In fact, right at that moment, he was absolutely trying his best to concentrate on his work, opting to ignore the warmth of Qifrey's chest pressed against his spine and those arms wrapped loosely around his middle. Qifrey had drifted in sometime during the last hour, wordlessly settling behind him and pulling him into a gentle embrace, his chin coming to rest atop Olruggio's head like it belonged there.
Olruggio leaned back into the contact without thinking, focusing on the circle he had been drawing, his body responding to Qifrey's presence with an ease that still surprised him sometimes. His ears twitched involuntarily, swiveling backward to catch the soft rhythm of Qifrey's breathing, and he felt more than heard the quiet hum of satisfaction that rumbled through the other man's chest when he started to purr softly.
"Will you come to dinner?" Qifrey murmured into Olruggio's hair, the words slightly muffled. "The girls miss you, you know. Coco did most of the cooking, and she's rather pleased with herself. She wanted you to see it."
Olruggio smiled, thinking about how the girl cooked everything with so much enthusiasm when magic was involved.
"I'll join if I manage to finish this commission," Olruggio said, tapping his pen against the paper. "I'm almost done. Just need to find a way for this sigil to work.”
"Mm." Qifrey's arms tightened fractionally around him, and he pressed his nose into Olruggio's hair, inhaling deeply. "You work too hard."
"Pot meet kettle."
Qifrey laughed quietly at that and from there, the conversation wound its way back to the comfortable domesticity that had become second nature to them. As they talked, Qifrey's thumb traced idle patterns against Olruggio's stomach through his robes, and his ears gradually relaxed from their alert position, drooping slightly at the tips as he allowed himself to be soothed.
But Olruggio knew him too well.
He set down his pen and turned his head, craning his neck slightly to look up at Qifrey's face. The man's expression was placid enough, but there was a tightness around his eye that hadn't been there before, a subtle tension in his jaw that spoke of something unsaid. Olruggio's ears flattened slightly, his brow furrowing.
"Will you tell me what's been eating at you this past week?" he asked, voice low.
Qifrey blinked, eyes widening with faint surprise. He released Olruggio and got up, stepping back. His hands dropped to his sides, and he looked away, fixing his gaze on the window as though the darkness outside held answers he couldn't find in Olruggio's face.
“It’s nothing, Olly," he said, but his voice was too light, too carefully casual. "It doesn't matter. I will let you finish your work."
Olruggio's ears flattened further, pressing almost flat against his skull. The sight of Qifrey retreating like this sent a pang of something sharp and anxious through his chest. It reminded him too much of how the past few years had gone, leaving Olruggio to guess and worry and wonder if he'd done something wrong.
At a complete loss for what else it could be, Olruggio could only assume it had something to do with his decision to skip dinner. Maybe the girls had missed him. That had to be it. What else could possibly explain the sudden shift?
Decision made, Olruggio pushed back from his desk and rose to his feet. He stretched his arms high above his head. while his eyes slid shut as he arched his back, his mouth opening in a wide, silent yawn that showed off his slightly pointed canines.
"Alright," he said, his voice still rough with the remnants of his yawn. "I'll come. The commission can wait another hour."
He headed for the door, tugging his robes back into place as he walked. "I can’t let Coco’s efforts go to waste. You know how she gets when—"
Before he could continue, however, a hand caught the edge of his sleeve.
Olruggio stopped mid-stride, turning in surprise. Qifrey stood behind him, his fingers curled loosely around the fabric of Olruggio's robe, his eye fixed on the floor. His cheeks were dusted with pink, and his shoulders were hunched slightly, making him look smaller than he had any right to be. There was something almost childlike about the posture, a shy, hesitant quality that reminded Olruggio so viscerally of the boy Qifrey had once been that it made his chest ache with nostalgia.
That boy had long grown into this man, tall and confident and fierce in his own quiet way, but sometimes, in moments like this, Olruggio could still see the ghost of him.
"Qifrey?" he prompted gently. "What is it?"
Qifrey's grip on his sleeve tightened, and he seemed to steel himself, drawing a breath that shuddered slightly on the way in. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost inaudible.
"Olly, I… would you be willing to spend my next mating cycle with me?"
Olruggio's ears shot straight up, every hair on his body standing on end. His eyes went wide, and he stared at Qifrey as though the man had just sprouted a second head.
His what now?
"W-With you?" Olruggio finally managed, his voice cracking slightly. "Qifrey, are you—are you sure you're okay with that?"
Qifrey looked up at him then, and the expression on his face was so soft, so unbearably fond, that Olruggio almost felt the need to look away, afraid he would burn from how much affection he had for the other man. His eye crinkled at the corner, warm and patient, as though Olruggio had just asked the most obvious question in the world.
"Olly," he said, his voice gentle, "I'm the one asking you. Of course I'm okay with it."
"But—It's not—I mean, it's a lot. We've never—I didn't think you'd want to—"
"Hey," Qifrey stepped closer, his hand sliding from Olruggio's sleeve to take his hand, lacing their fingers together. "I'm asking because I want to and because I've been thinking about it for a while now. I mean, you're—" He paused, his cheeks flushing darker. "You're the only one I would ever want for this."
Olruggio's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, his tail thrashing in sharp and agitated arcs, showing clearly how distressed he was feeling.
"You can say no," Qifrey cut in, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "You can absolutely say no, Olly. Just so you're aware, I get clingy, demanding, and I don't always think straight. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable." He paused, drawing a measured breath. "If you turn me down, I'll understand. I'll still be here, and nothing between us will change. And if you say yes—well, you can walk away at any time, too. If you ever need me to stop, or need space, you can shove me, hit me, push me aside. I swear I won't be upset."
"Qifrey." Olruggio squeezed his hand, cutting off the rising panic from the man in front of him. "I'm not going to hit you."
"I'm serious, Olly." Qifrey's eye was earnest. "If you agree, you are allowed to stop this at any time."
Olruggio stared at him, and felt something warm and complicated unfurl in his chest. Qifrey was the most considerate and gentle person Olruggio had ever known, and the idea of him ever being "too much" in a way that wasn't still fundamentally kind was almost laughable. He opened his mouth to say exactly that, to reassure Qifrey that he had nothing to worry about, that Olruggio trusted him absolutely—
But then Qifrey frowned, his eye narrowing slightly, and he shook his head, as if he knew what he was going to say.
"I mean it, Olly," he said firmly. "I'm not joking. You might think you know what you're getting into, but it's different when it's actually happening. I get possessive. I get territorial. I get—" He made a vague gesture. "I don't want to overwhelm you. So if it's too much, if I'm too much, you tell me. You push me away if you have to. You don't just let me do whatever I want because you think it's what I need. Do you understand?"
Olruggio nearly argued on reflex, because the thought of Qifrey being anything other than kind was, quite frankly, ridiculous, but he stopped himself. He wouldn’t do it when Qifrey's honesty was written so plainly across his face.
"Fine. I…" He hesitated, the words catching. He'd never spent his… moments with anyone, never trusting another man to even consider it. But if there was one person he'd trust with that part of himself, it was Qifrey. "I want to help. If you'll have me."
Qifrey's breath caught audibly, his eyes widening just a fraction. For a moment, he seemed like he hadn't actually expected Olruggio to say yes. Then, his shoulders sagged with relief, and he offered Olruggio a small, grateful smile.
“Thank you, Olly."
“No need to thank me. Now can we stop being so serious?" Olruggio tried for a lighthearted tone, a teasing grin spreading across his face. He squeezed Qifrey's hand again and leaned in closer, his ears perking forward. "I mean, honestly, Qifrey. How bad can it be anyway? It's what, two or three days? You make it sound like I'm signing up for some kind of ordeal."
Qifrey's smile flickered. He looked away, his gaze sliding to the floor with something that might have been embarrassment. His hand tightened around Olruggio's, and he cleared his throat, averting his gaze.
"Something like that," he said, his voice carefully neutral.
Olruggio blinked.
"Something like that?"
Qifrey didn't answer. He simply smiled that quiet smile of his, the one that said he knew something Olruggio didn't and had no intention of sharing, and began tugging him gently toward the door.
"Come on, the girls are waiting."
Olruggio would only realize much, much later, how wrong he had been.
With the girls gone for the week, going to spend time with Beldaruit under the assumption Qifrey was sick, the atelier felt almost unnervingly quiet. It was a rare, precious stretch of time that Olruggio would usually use to catch up on his own work, or, most importantly, taking a sweet, sweep nap.
However, considering the occasion was different now, he had spent his afternoon making sure everything was in order. Food and water were set out in the kitchen and a few essentials, like water, were placed in Qifrey’s room should he need them. When everything seemed to be done with, he took a shower and joined Qifrey on the bed, where he seemed to have spent most of his time sleeping the day away.
Sleep came easily at first, his body heavy with exhaustion. But even in the haze of unconsciousness, he was acutely aware of the arms that wound themselves around his waist, pulling him close. A head nestled into the crook of his neck, breath warm against his skin, nuzzling in as if seeking comfort. It was a gesture so inherently Qifrey that Olruggio felt a small, tired smile tug at his lips, even as he drifted further under.
Soon enough, things started to escalate, making Olruggio painfully aware that this was not a simple sleepover.
Qifrey, who had always run as cold as a snake, was now radiating an almost unbearable heat against him. It was a disorienting change, forcing Olruggio’s drowsy mind to surface just enough to register the weight of what that heat implied. The realization settled heavily on his shoulders, and, of course, that meant sleep suddenly became elusive. He lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts spiraling as he contemplated what the morning would bring.
It wasn't as though this was their first time sharing a bed. They had done this countless times before, had crossed and re-crossed the lines of friendship and intimacy. Yet, every single time it happened, Olruggio felt like a flustered teenager all over again. Perhaps that was simply the nature of love, he mused, his eyes growing heavy once more. Maybe everyone felt this way when they were pressed so close to the person who meant the most to them, wanting and wanting and wanting.
Eventually, despite his racing heart, sleep claimed him again. But it was a short-lived respite.
He awoke to the distinct, unmistakable sensation of teeth grazing his neck. A sharp, deliberate bite, followed by the soothing wet stroke of a tongue.
Again.
"Qifrey," Olruggio mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. Without opening his eyes, he brought a hand up to card gently through the white hair at the nape of the other man's neck. "It's too damn early for you to be making me your chew toy."
Normally, this would have drawn a teasing remark. Qifrey would have lifted his head, one eyebrow arched, and offered some retort about how Olruggio was too tempting to resist. Normally, he would have pulled back just enough to meet Olruggio's gaze with those sharp, fond eyes and would’ve murmured a soft "Good morning, Olly," with his voice laced with affection.
But this was decidedly not normal.
Because, as Olruggio was quickly becoming aware, there was something undeniably hard pressing insistently against his thigh. At the same time, the white-haired witch apparently decided that his first bite hadn't been sufficient, because he chose that moment to sink his teeth in once more with considerably more force.
Olruggio hissed through his teeth, a jolt of sensation — half pain, half pleasure — shooting down his spine. Immediately, Qifrey's tongue soothed over the offended spot, a slow, languid apology, before he pressed a trail of feather-light kisses along the column of Olruggio's throat.
Then, a hand — a sinner's hand, Olruggio's sleep-addled brain supplied, because he knew those long, clever fingers intimately — slid up from beneath the hem of his shirt, one he had long stolen from Qifrey, because it was too damn comfy to resist. That hand found its target without hesitation, palm flattening against his chest before fingers curled, groping one of his breasts with a possessive, practiced grip.
Olruggio's breath hitched, his body already responding despite his lingering drowsiness. He was awake now, fully and completely, with the warmth of Qifrey's body pressed against his back, the teeth on his neck, and the hand on his chest all conspiring to make his brain shutdown.
He brought his own hand up, covering the one that was groping his chest, and squeezed, before caressing it with his thumb.
"Qifrey," he said, his voice softer now, gentler despite the rasp of sleep still clinging to it. "Are you okay?"
For a moment, there was no answer. Just the heavy rhythm of Qifrey's hot breath against his neck. Then, a whine, small and desperate, seemed to tear itself from somewhere deep in Qifrey's throat. It was followed by the unmistakable press of hips grinding against his thigh, an urgent, seeking motion that made Olruggio's stomach flip.
"Olly," Qifrey breathed against his skin, the word muffled and broken. "Olly, Olly, Olly." His voice cracked on the third repetition, raw in a way that made Olruggio's heart clench.
Olruggio gently pried the hand from his chest, interlocking their fingers for just a moment before letting go. He turned in Qifrey's embrace, shifting until they were face to face. Even in the dim light filtering through the curtains, he could see the flush that painted Qifrey's cheeks, the way his lips were parted and slightly swollen from their earlier activities. It was, however, his eyes that caught Olruggio's attention, because they were squeezed shut, lashes dark against pale skin, as if the man was holding himself back.
Carefully, Olruggio brought both hands up to cup Qifrey's face, thumbs brushing over the sharp lines of his cheekbones. He leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to those parted lips.
When he pulled back, he let out a small, fond huff of laughter. "You big baby," he murmured, his forehead resting against Qifrey's. "I'm not going anywhere."
Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. Or the right one.
His eyes snapped open, and Olruggio found himself drowning in them. Qifrey's pupils were blown wide, so dilated that the usual calm blue of his irises was reduced to nothing but a thin ring of color. In their dark depths, Olruggio could see his own reflection perfectly.
Olruggio didn't have time to process it further.
Without any warning at all, Qifrey surged forward, and a hot tongue invaded his mouth. The kiss was nothing short of desperate, the complete opposite of the gentle press Olruggio had just offered. It was all teeth and heat and desperate hunger, Qifrey's tongue sweeping against his own with fervor.
At the same time, one of Qifrey's hands found its way into Olruggio's hair, fingers tangling in the messy strands and gripping tight. He pulled, angling Olruggio's head to deepen the kiss even further, as if he was trying to crawl inside him. The other hand shot down to Olruggio's thigh, fingers digging in with enough force that Olruggio could already feel the promise of bruises forming beneath the thin fabric of his borrowed shirt.
Olruggio gasped into Qifrey's mouth, his own hands flying up to grip Qifrey's shoulders.
The gasp was swallowed greedily, Qifrey's tongue plunging deep to tangle with Olruggio's own, sucking on it with a fervor that bordered on desperate. He drank down the desperate whine it elicited from Olruggio like a man dying of thirst.
The kiss went on and on, filthy and consuming, all slick heat and the slide of tongues, until Olruggio's lungs burned and spots danced behind his closed eyelids. His chest was tight, his head spinning, and he knew he had to break free or risk passing out entirely.
He broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting their lips, just long enough to gasp out, "Qifrey—"
Qifrey chased his mouth immediately, not giving him a moment to recover. His teeth captured Olruggio's lower lip, biting down just hard enough for the sharp sting to bloom into the metallic taste of blood, spreading across his tongue as the skin split. The pain was fleeting, quickly soothed by the hot sweep of Qifrey's tongue as he licked over the wound, lapping up the blood.
"Olly," he breathed against Olruggio's lips, the name a hot whisper that ghosted over his swollen mouth. "You taste so good."
Before Olruggio could even draw a shaky breath, Qifrey buried his face in the crook of his neck. He nuzzled into the warm skin there, his nose brushing against the spot where he had left his marks earlier, his breath hot and uneven against Olruggio's pulse point. His grip on Olruggio's thigh loosened just slightly, fingers spreading wide as if he was trying to claim as much of him as possible.
"Qifrey," he murmured, his voice a low rasp against the top of Qifrey's head. He gave the man's ears a soft, affectionate pat, his thumb brushing over one tenderly. "Tell me where you need me. I'm right here. Just tell me."
For a long moment, Qifrey didn't move. He stayed buried in the crook of Olruggio's neck, his breath hot and uneven against the pulse point that fluttered wildly beneath his lips. Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to meet Olruggio's gaze.
His eyes were still blown wide, pupils swallowed by darkness, making Olruggio, against all odds, look like a prey who had been caught between sharp teeth.
"Can I fuck you?"
Olruggio felt his breath catch, his heart stuttering in his chest, letting his mouth form the shape of a simple ‘o’. He didn’t remember the last time he saw Qifrey swear in his life.
"Yeah," he breathed, his voice rough but certain. "Yeah, you can. I want you to."
With that being all the acceptance he needed, Qifrey moved, swinging a leg over Olruggio's hips and settling on top of him with a fluid grace that belied the urgency thrumming through both of their bodies.
He reached down, grabbing the hem of his own shirt and pulling it over his head in one swift motion. The fabric landed on the floor in a discarded heap, forgotten and irrelevant.
As always, Olruggio's breath caught at the sight of him. Qifrey was beautiful, all sharp angles and lean muscle, and Olruggio would never be tired of looking at him.
But Qifrey didn't give him time to admire. His hands moved to Olruggio's waist, fingers hooking into the waistband of his underwear. He tugged them down with an impatient urgency, and Olruggio lifted his hips to help, his breath hitching as the fabric slid down his thighs and was kicked away.
His cock sprang free, hard and aching, the cool air of the room a sharp contrast to the heat that had been building there. Olruggio's cheeks flushed, but before he could feel self-conscious, Qifrey's gaze dropped to it.
All the warning Olruggio had before Qifrey lunged was the sight of him licking his lips. It was a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue that was equal parts promise and threat. The motion was almost predatory, and Olruggio's breath caught in his throat as he watched, mesmerized by the glint of moisture on Qifrey's lower lip.
And then Qifrey's head was lowering, his mouth descending, and Olruggio watched with wide eyes as those lips parted and took him in.
The first touch of Qifrey's tongue was searing, hot and wet, making Olruggio's hips buck involuntarily. As an answer, Qifrey’s hand immediately pressed down on his stomach, pinning him to the mattress, and the other wrapped around the base of his cock, holding him steady as he took more of him into his mouth.
Olruggio's head fell back against the pillow, a broken moan tearing from his throat as Qifrey sucked him down. The sight of Qifrey's white hair spread across his thighs, those dark eyes flickering up to meet his, lips stretched wide and glistening, was enough to make him feel like he was coming apart at the seams.
"Qifrey—" he gasped, his hand flying to tangle his hair, gripping tight. To draw him more close or away, he wasn’t sure. "Stars, Qifrey—"
Qifrey just hummed around him, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine, and kept going.
Olruggio's mind went blank, every thought scattering like leaves in a storm as Qifrey's tongue worked its magic. He could feel every detail: the way that clever tongue circled around him, tracing the sensitive ridge before flicking deliberately over the tip. The sensation was electric, shooting through him like lightning, and he gasped, his hips twitching despite the firm hand pressed against his stomach.
Then Qifrey pulled off with a wet, obscene sound that made Olruggio's cheeks burn. He looked up, watching through half-lidded eyes as Qifrey brought one of his own fingers to his lips. Their eyes met briefly as Qifrey slowly, deliberately, took the digit into his mouth. His tongue swirled around it, coating it thoroughly with saliva, and the sight alone was enough to make Olruggio's cock twitch against his stomach.
Before he could even process what was happening, Qifrey's head was descending again. His mouth closed around Olruggio once more, taking him deep with a practiced, eager swallow. At the same time, that wet finger, now slick and warm, trailed down, tracing a path over Olruggio's hip, past his thigh, and lower, lower, lower.
Olruggio's breath caught in his throat. His hand shot up, pressing his palm flat against his own mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle the sounds that threatened to spill out. He bit down on the heel of his hand, teeth digging into the flesh as Qifrey's tongue continued its relentless assault on his cock.
And then he felt it.
Qifrey's finger pressed against his entrance, circling slowly, teasingly, before beginning to push inside. Olruggio's back arched off the bed, a choked cry escaping from behind his hand as the sensation overwhelmed him. The stretch was foreign and familiar all at once, a burn that melted into something deeper, making his toes curl and his vision blur.
Maybe feeling what he was doing right, his finger pushed deeper, curling slightly, and Olruggio's hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the sensation even as his hand pressed harder against his mouth to stifle the broken moans.
"Qifrey—" he tried to say, but the name came out muffled, barely intelligible. His other hand was still tangled in Qifrey's hair, gripping tight, not sure if he wanted to pull him closer or push him away. The pleasure was too much, building too fast, and he could feel himself already teetering on the edge.
Qifrey seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He added a second finger, working them both inside with a patient, steady rhythm that had Olruggio seeing stars. His tongue never stopped, never faltered, lapping and sucking and driving Olruggio slowly, inexorably, toward the brink of madness.
Olruggio could feel Qifrey's fingers moving inside him, stretching and searching. The pleasure was building too fast, coiling tight in his belly. He could feel himself teetering on the edge, every nerve ending alight with sensation, and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer, not if—
Qifrey found it.
His fingers curled, pressing against that spot deep inside him, and Olruggio's entire world shattered. A broken cry tore from his throat, muffled by his hand, and his back arched off the bed as the pleasure crashed through him like a tidal wave.
"Qifrey, wait. I'm going to—" he gasped, his hand flying to Qifrey's hair, trying to pull him away. "I'm going to come, I can't—"
He didn't stop. If anything, the warning only made him double his efforts. His tongue worked faster, his fingers pressed harder, and Olruggio felt himself hurtling toward the edge with no way to stop it.
And then he was coming, spilling into Qifrey's waiting mouth with a shuddering cry that was swallowed greedily. Qifrey's throat worked as he drank him down, his tongue still lapping and sucking, milking every last drop until Olruggio was left trembling and boneless beneath him.
Finally, Qifrey pulled off with a wet, satisfied sound. His fingers slipped out slowly, and Olruggio couldn't help the small whimper that escaped at the loss, feeling immediately empty inside. He lay there, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath as the aftershocks rippled through his body.
But Qifrey wasn't done with him yet.
He crawled up Olruggio's body, his weight settling over him, and before Olruggio could open his eyes, Qifrey's lips were on his. The kiss was deep and searching. Olruggio tasted himself on Qifrey's tongue — salty and musky, a flavor that should have been strange but instead just made his head spin. He groaned into the kiss, his hands coming up to grip Qifrey's shoulders as the man's tongue swept through his mouth, claiming him thoroughly.
At the same time, Qifrey's hands found his chest. Long fingers closed around his nipples, pushing and pulling, rolling them between thumb and forefinger with a practiced ease that made Olruggio gasp into the kiss. The sensation was overwhelming, too much after everything that had just happened, and he broke away from the kiss with a desperate whimper.
"Qifrey—" he tried to say, but the words dissolved into a moan as Qifrey pinched down on one of his nipples, hard. His hips bucked involuntarily, and he was horrified to feel himself growing hard again. He couldn't think, couldn't process anything beyond the feeling of Qifrey's clever fingers working his chest.
The sounds spilling from his throat were shameful, broken and needy. Olruggio couldn't stop them, so he bit down on his lower lip hard, trying to muffle himself, embarrassed of making such sounds. To his dismay, Qifrey noticed immediately and suddenly, one hand left his chest to cup his chin, forcing his eyes open.
"If you want to stay quiet," Qifrey murmured, his voice low and rough, "you can bite me instead. Don’t hurt yourself, my dear."
He tilted his head, offering his shoulder. Olruggio stared at the pale skin, the sharp curve of bone and muscle, and before he could think better of it, he leaned forward and sank his teeth into Qifrey's shoulder just as the man's fingers pinched his nipple again.
Qifrey hissed, a sharp, surprised sound that was more pleasure than anything, letting Olruggio feel a thrill of satisfaction at the reaction. He bit down harder, using the pain to ground himself as Qifrey continued to work his chest, his fingers relentless as they pushed and pulled.
It was all too much, that he barely felt when something tried to enter him again.
The tip of Qifrey's cock, warm and slick, pressed against his entrance, teasing the rim. Olruggio's eyes flew open. He hadn't even noticed Qifrey getting out of his pants, too consumed by everything else, but now he could feel every inch of him, hard and ready and pressing insistently against him.
He let go of Qifrey's shoulder, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
"Qifrey, wait, wait, wait. I just—I just came, I can't—"
Qifrey's lips brushed his ear, biting it softly before licking it briefly, his breath hot and steady. "You can," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. "You can take one more, Olly. I know you can."
And then he pushed.
Olruggio gasped as the head of Qifrey's cock slid inside him, the stretch sharp and burning. His hands flew up to Qifrey’s back, nails digging into the skin as he tried to adjust to the intrusion. Qifrey paused, holding himself there, only halfway in, his forehead pressed to Olruggio's as he waited.
"Breathe," Qifrey whispered, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. "Just breathe, Olly. You're doing so well. You're so good for me."
His tongue darted out, lapping at Olruggio's chin, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. The gentle, soothing motion was such a contrast to what was happening lower down that Olruggio felt his head spin.
"You're perfect," Qifrey breathed against his skin. "You're so perfect, Olly. So beautiful. So good for me."
Olruggio's eyes fluttered closed, his body slowly relaxing around the intrusion. The burn fading as the seconds passed, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that made his toes curl.
Qifrey pulled back just enough to look at him, his dark eyes searching. "Can I keep going?" he asked, his voice ragged. "Please, Olly. I swear I will be good to you. Can I—"
To that desperate plea, he nodded, eyes closing, not trusting his voice. He opened his mouth to say yes, but all that came out was a broken gasp as Qifrey pushed deeper. He clamped his teeth down on Qifrey's shoulder again, biting hard as the man drove himself fully inside in one smooth, devastating thrust.
When he was fully inside, Qifrey let out a long, shuddering sigh, the sound content and almost reverent. He nuzzled into the crook of Olruggio's neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. His breath was warm and uneven against the damp skin, and his voice came out as a low, trembling murmur.
"You feel so good, Olly," he breathed, the words barely more than a whisper against his pulse point. "So perfect. So warm. I could stay inside you forever."
His hips pulled back slowly, agonizingly, the drag of his cock against Olruggio's walls drawing a choked whimper from the man beneath him. And then he slammed forward again, a full, devastating thrust that rattled the bed frame against the wall. The headboard knocked softly, a rhythmic counterpoint to Olruggio's sharp cry.
Olruggio bit down harder on Qifrey's shoulder, his teeth sinking deep into the pale flesh. A small part of his mind, the part that still functioned, felt a twinge of guilt for the bruise that would surely bloom there by morning. But that thought was quickly obliterated as Qifrey set a relentless pace, his hips driving forward and back, each thrust pushing Olruggio further into the mattress.
Qifrey's breath was hot and ragged against his neck, each exhale a puff of warmth that made Olruggio shiver. The man's hands roamed over his body, one tangling in his hair while the other gripped his hip, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. The room filled with the sounds of their bodies meeting, slick and obscene, punctuated by Olruggio's muffled moans and Qifrey's low groans.
Then Qifrey's hands were cupping his cheeks, tilting his face up, and their mouths met in a deep kiss. Qifrey's tongue swept inside, claiming and possessive, swallowing every sound that Olruggio made. The kiss was filthy and consuming, a messy slide of lips and tongue that left Olruggio breathless.
When they parted, both gasping for air, Qifrey's hips snapped forward in a particularly harsh thrust. The force of it drove Olruggio up the bed, and his eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, dark strands clinging to his skin.
Olruggio looked up at him, his eyes closing in pleasure as another wave of sensation washed over him. His voice came out tender, barely more than a whisper, as if he was speaking a secret meant only for them.
"You are so beautiful," he said, the words coming out nothing but tender.
Qifrey's eyes went wide, shock flickering across his features. He froze, his hips stuttering, and then his whole body shuddered. A broken moan tore from his throat as he spilled inside Olruggio, hot and thick, painting his walls with warmth. His cock twitched and pulsed, emptying himself deep, and Olruggio could feel the heat spreading through him, filling him, making him feel impossibly full.
But Qifrey didn't stop. Even as he rode out his own orgasm, his hand found Olruggio's cock, pumping him with a desperate, urgent rhythm. Olruggio cried out, his back arching, and within moments he was coming too, spilling over Qifrey's fingers and his own stomach with a shattered moan.
Finally, Qifrey pulled out slowly, hissing at the sensitivity. He looked down at Olruggio, his expression a mix of satisfaction and something almost like embarrassment. "Sorry," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Olruggio's forehead. "You can't say things like that, Olly. It's not fair."
But Olruggio wasn't listening. His eyes were fixed on his own stomach, his gaze hazy and hypnotized. He could see it — the slight, barely-there swell, the curve of his belly that looked somehow fuller than before. His hand drifted down, pressing against the warm skin, and he let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh.
"I can't believe you did that," he murmured, his voice awestruck.
The sound that came from Qifrey was almost animalistic. It was a low, guttural growl that rumbled from deep in his chest. Before Olruggio could react, Qifrey was all over him again, his body pressing him into the mattress. His hips slotted between Olruggio's thighs, and Olruggio could feel him, already hard again, pressing insistently against his slick, sensitive entrance.
Qifrey looked down at him, his eyes wild and dark, the pupils blown wide with something that bordered on obsession. His voice was low and ragged, trembling with a desperate intensity.
"I can’t wait to see you filled with my pups," he breathed, the words spilling out like a confession. "I'll keep you full, keep you round. I'll fill you until you're heavy with my seed, until we are sure you will be having a full litter."
Olruggio's cheeks flushed a deep, burning red. He shook his head, a breathless laugh escaping his lips. "That's impossible," he managed, his voice shaky. "We're both men, Qifrey. That's not how it works."
But Qifrey just shook his head, his hips pressing forward. "I don't care," he said, his voice fierce and certain. "If I fill you enough, it might stick. It has to. It just has to."
And then he pushed inside again, burying himself deep with a single, smooth thrust. Olruggio cried out, his hands flying up to grip Qifrey's shoulders. "Qifrey—wait, I'm too sensitive, I can't—"
Qifrey didn't stop. He began to move, slow and deep, each thrust dragging against Olruggio's oversensitive walls. Olruggio whimpered, his body trembling, too overwhelmed to form coherent thoughts.
Somewhere in the haze, he wondered if this was what Qifrey had been trying to tell him before. Somehow, that gentle Qifrey looked like an illusion he conjured, because there was no way he became like this while mating.
With a broken gasp, he tried to wriggle away, to escape the overwhelming sensation, but Qifrey's hands shot down to his waist, gripping him tight, stopping his attempts to flee from the nonstop pleasure.
"Don't run from me," Qifrey almost growled. His fingers dug into Olruggio's hips, pulling him back with enough force to make him gasp. The movement drove Qifrey deeper, hitting that spot inside him that made his vision go white.
Olruggio came again with a broken, shattered cry, his body clenching tight around Qifrey's cock. The sudden, vice-like grip made Qifrey gasp, his hips stuttering as he felt Olruggio squeeze around him.
"Ah, you're so perfect," Qifrey groaned, his voice breaking. "So perfect, for me Olly. Always so good for me. I can already imagine our children will be the same."
And Olruggio, trembling and wrecked beneath him, could do nothing but hold on and nod as Qifrey continued to move.
With Qifrey keeping him in place, his hips locked in a relentless rhythm, forcing him to take every devastating thrust, Olruggio cried out in pleasure. He abandoned all pretense of keeping his moans down, his voice raw and broken as wave after wave of overstimulation crashed through him. His body was trembling, oversensitive and wrecked, every nerve ending alight with fire.
He barely noticed he started to cry before Qifrey's tongue was there, lapping at the tears that had spilled from the corners of his eyes, as if he could not tolerate even a drop of anything coming out of Olruggio being wasted. He could feel Qifrey's breath on his face, hot and uneven, and before he could prepare himself for what was coming next, Qifrey's hand found his tail.
His fingers wrapped around the base, stroking once, twice, and then tucked it gently but firmly against the small of his back.
The sensation was instant and electric. A sharp, blinding wave of pleasure crashed through him, and Olruggio came again with a strangled, broken sound that was barely human. This time, the liquid that spilled from him was slightly clearer, thinner, and his mind went completely blank. His eyes fluttered closed and his toes curled, his body arching off the bed as he rode out the overwhelming sensation.
When he finally managed to open his eyes again, his vision hazy and unfocused, he came to Qifrey spilling inside him once more, hot and thick, filling him to the brim. The sensation made him whimper, his oversensitive walls clenching around the pulsing length buried deep within him, hungry to keep the seed within, swallowing every drop.
Qifrey pulled out slowly, the motion drawing a wet, obscene sound that echoed in the quiet room. Olruggio felt the immediate rush of warmth as Qifrey's release began to leak from his stretched, sensitive hole. But before it could escape, Qifrey's fingers were there, pressing against his entrance and pushing it back inside, as if he couldn't bear to lose a single drop.
As he watched through half-lidded eyes, Qifrey's hand drifted down to his stomach, cupping the slight, barely-there swell with a tenderness that made his heart ache. Qifrey's palm pressed against the warm skin, his thumb tracing slow, reverent circles over the curve.
That part of his brain that had long since turned to mush under the relentless assault of Qifrey's mouth and hands and the heat of his body, really thought Qifrey succeed on knocking him up. He knew it was absurd, knew it was nothing more than the fevered fantasy of a mind drowning in pleasure, but the image bloomed behind his eyes nonetheless.
"Children," Qifrey murmured, his voice dreamy and distant, like he was speaking more to himself than to Olruggio. "I wonder what they'd look like. Your hair, maybe. Your eyes." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the swell of Olruggio's belly. "They'd be beautiful. They'd be perfect. They'd have your laugh and your kindness and—"
His voice cracked, and Olruggio felt something warm and wet drip onto his stomach. He looked down, his hazy gaze focusing, and realized Qifrey was crying.
Qifrey's face was buried against his stomach now, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The tears rolled down his cheeks, dripping onto Olruggio's skin, and he pressed his forehead against the warm swell as if it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.
"You have no idea," Qifrey choked out, his voice muffled and broken. "You have no idea how many years I longed to hold you."
Olruggio's heart clenched, a sharp, aching pain that cut through the haze of pleasure. He brought his hands up, cradling Qifrey's head, his fingers threading gently through the white hair and cupping the soft, floppy ears that were pressed flat against his skull in distress.
"Qifrey," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. "Hey. No need to cry, love. You have me now. You always will."
At that, Qifrey just cried harder, his body wracked with tremors as he pressed himself closer to Olruggio. He wrapped his arms around Olruggio's waist, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that had turned to water.
Through it all, he held Qifrey close, one hand stroking through his hair while the other rubbed slow, soothing circles on his back.
Olruggio hadn't been held by many people in his life. He could count them on one hand, probably. But this? Lying here with Qifrey wrapped around him, their bodies still slick with sweat and come, their hearts beating in tandem? This felt different.
This felt like home.
He thought, distantly, that maybe they fit together like two puzzle pieces meant for each other. Maybe their edges had become a little chipped and torn along the way, worn down by the years and the cruelty of the world, but they fit just the same, imperfect and beautiful in their brokenness.
As he felt the sobs from his partner starting to die down, he let a low, rumbling purr start in his chest, vibrating through his body as he continued to try to soothe Qifrey.
Qifrey's crying slowly subsided, his breathing evening out as he nuzzled against Olruggio's chest. He pressed a soft, wet kiss to the skin over his heart, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse and trembling.
"I really think," Qifrey started, the words barely more than a whisper, almost a confession, "that you were meant to be loved."
Olruggio's breath caught, his hand stilling in Qifrey's hair.
Qifrey added, almost absent-mindedly, as if the thought had simply slipped out, “And that maybe, I was born to hold you."
As Qifrey came up for a kiss, sweet and timid now, he thought, seriously, that his heart had been molded to be big enough to hold all the love he had for Olruggio. Maybe his lungs were made only to breathe Olruggio's name, his ribcage shaped to protect the space where Olruggio would always fit. Maybe his stomach was forged to feel hunger only for Olruggio's laugh, his warmth, his presence.
Maybe, in the end, that was all Qifrey would ever be. Before being a witch, before being a Silverwood host, before being simply a lost boy searching for a place to belong — he had always been Olruggio’s alone.
As the kiss deepened, the one who felt the need to cry was Olruggio, now. Who knew Qifrey could be so sappy?
Olruggio pulled him closer, breaking the kiss and letting himself press his lipss to the top of Qifrey’s head.
"Then hold me," he whispered.
Qifrey pulled back from the kiss, his eyes still glistening with the remnants of tears, but something else was flickering in their depths now. That familiar hunger was creeping back in, dark and insistent, making Olruggio feel very much like prey caught in the sights of a patient predator. Qifrey's gaze dropped to his lips, then lower, trailing down his neck and chest with an intensity that made his skin prickle with heat.
His heart stuttered immediately. He knew that look now. He knew what it meant, and while a part of him was more than willing, the rest of him was acutely aware of his own limitations. He was not a young man anymore, and Qifrey had the stamina of a hare now in mating season. You don't need to be a genius to see how these two things don’t go well together.
So when Qifrey leaned in, clearly aiming for another kiss, Olruggio brought his hand up and pressed his palm firmly against Qifrey's mouth, stopping him mid-lunge. Qifrey's eyes widened in surprise, a muffled sound of protest vibrating against his skin, his eye dropping just as much as his ears do.
"Wait," Olruggio said, his voice still rough and breathless. "I need a moment. I'm thirsty."
It was a weak excuse, and he knew it, but it was also true. His throat was parched, his mouth dry from all the gasping and moaning and kissing. He hoped — prayed, really — that this would be the perfect opportunity for either of them to make a trip to the kitchen. A few minutes apart, some cold water, maybe a chance to catch his breath and remind his aging body that he wasn’t currently running a marathon.
But Qifrey, predictably, had other plans.
Instead of pulling away or offering to fetch something, without a word, he reached over to the bedside table, where, Olruggio now remembered with dread, he had placed a cup of water earlier, anticipating exactly this kind of need.
He had completely forgotten about it. But Qifrey hadn't.
The white-haired witch grabbed the cup and brought it to his lips. He drank deeply, but messily, letting a few droplets escape the corner of his mouth, trailing down his chin and dripping onto Olruggio's chest. The water was cool against his heated skin, making him shiver slightly.
Before Olruggio could react, he set the cup aside and dove down, pressing his mouth to Olruggio's, making him immediately taste the water, slightly warm now from Qifrey's mouth, mixed with the lingering salt of tears and the sweetness of something uniquely Qifrey. It was shared between them, passed from his lips to Olruggio's, and Olruggio found himself swallowing it down, his throat working as he drank from Qifrey's mouth.
The kiss was slower now, less frantic, but no less consuming. Olruggio felt the tension in his body begin to melt, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the simple feeling of being cared for.
When Qifrey finally pulled back, his forehead resting against Olruggio's, his breath was warm and steady against his lips.
"Better?" he asked, his voice soft and teasing, but with an undercurrent of genuine concern.
Olruggio let out a shaky laugh, his hand coming up to cup Qifrey's cheek, trailing up to caress his eye. His thumb brushed tenderly the scar there.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Better."
"Then you can continue, yes?"
Olruggio groaned, the sound theatrical and long-suffering, but there was no real protest in it. He let his head fall back against the pillow, his arms opening wide to welcome the man above him, an invitation and a surrender all at once, letting his tail curl around the man's thigh, squeezing softly just once.
"I'm all yours," he said. "Do your worst."
Qifrey laughed, a low, pleased sound that vibrated through the mattress and straight into Olruggio's bones.
"Oh, I intend to."
Time became something of a blur after that. Minutes bled into hours, marked only by the shifting light through the curtains and the increasingly incoherent sounds that escaped Olruggio's throat. He found himself on his stomach at some point, face buried in the pillows, fingers clutching the sheets as Qifrey took him apart piece by piece.
His back was arched, his hips pulled up just enough to give Qifrey the angle he wanted, and Olruggio was fairly certain he had lost all ability to form words about an hour ago. All that came out now were broken moans and desperate, half-formed pleas that he wouldn't remember making.
At one particularly deep thrust, his eyes rolled back and he felt drool escape the corner of his mouth, pooling on the pillow beneath him. He couldn't bring himself to care. His body was no longer his own, belonging to Qifrey now.
"Qifrey," he managed after a little while, his voice wrecked and barely audible. "How long—how long does this usually—"
Qifrey's pace slowed just slightly, his breath hot against Olruggio's shoulder as he pressed a kiss to the sweat-slicked skin there. "Usually months," he murmured, his voice husky and satisfied. "But since we both have work, I think a week will do."
A week.
Seven days.
One hundred and sixty-eight hours of this.
His soul made the decision for him. In the next second, he promptly passed out.