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Qifrey took a deep breath, letting the chilly crocus scented air fill his lungs.
It still felt like a miracle, even nearing a month since he was freed from the Silverwood, that he was allowed to breathe, to revel in the simple joy of feeling his lungs expand.
Adjusting to living without the ever present branches hadn't always been an easy thing. Some days, it was all Qifrey could do to cling, vice like, to Olruggio as he shook, drowning under the ocean of guilt and loss and the incomprehensible vastness of forgiveness.
Recovery, as Qifrey was discovering, wasn't always pretty. Sometimes it hurt nearly as much as the worst his parasite ever put him through.
Other times, though, the sun would hit his face just right, or Olruggio would smile at him and he would return it without a trace of hesitation, and he would feel so completely, devastatingly happy he could laugh or weep or both.
Qifrey was enjoying one of the latter days.
He had woken up the same way he had every day for nearly a month: in Olruggio's bed, with the other man draped over him. The morning sun had danced across his face, peppering his tanned skin with soft golden kisses. Qifrey had found himself captivated watching Olruggio slowly creep toward wakefulness. First, his dark eyelashes fluttered, scattering shadows over his cheeks. Then, his eyebrows pinched, his nose scrunching as he curled tighter around Qifrey, clinging to sleep just a moment longer. Finally his eyes blinked open, distant and unfocused at first before he caught Qifrey already looking at him and he smiled. His smile was so sweet and open that Qifrey ached with it. He was getting better at moving past the voice that insisted he did not deserve this. It was easier when he could lean up and taste that sweet smile against his lips.
Olruggio, much to Qifrey's chagrin, had work to attend to. They shared a slow morning, the casual well worn intimacy of moving about the kitchen together doing as much to warm Qifrey as the hot tea he sipped, before Olruggio departed with a final chaste kiss and disappeared into his workshop.
Qifrey allowed himself but a moment to sulk before he took a basket and his cloak and set off for Kalhn. There was a market in town and he was eager for the opportunity to restock the pantry.
The market was beautiful. The sun was bright and the air was heavy with the scent of budding flowers and the sounds of a world once again waking up from its snow covered sleep. For Qifrey, it was like he had woken up for the first time. People bustled past him in the crowded town square, shopping and laughing and living their lives and, for once, Qifrey was not forced to stand apart from it.
It was overwhelming, certainly, but Qifrey was learning to weather it.
He pressed a coin into the palm of a woman selling mountain apples and, as he bit into the fruit, as the tart juice exploded across his tongue, Qifrey smiled without a trace of the crafted mask he had worn for so long.
It was in this way that he made his way through the market: a little overwhelmed, little in love with the world he finally actually got to live in. His filled his basket with wine and a few fine cuts of meat that would go well with the radishes Qifrey would soon need to harvest.
He stopped into the apothecary, urged on by a short list of salves and ointments given to him by Coco for the scarring and residual pain from the surgery. The shop was not unfamiliar to Qifrey who, between his own chronic pain, Olruggio's anemia, and raising four adventurous girls who were injured far more than Qifrey would have liked, had long since learned his way around. What was unfamiliar, though, were the specific things Coco had told him to buy. He wandered the shelves, glancing between his list and the labels on the shining glass bottles. Perhaps he should ask for help, he thought, but the shop keeper appeared busy with her own tasks and Qifrey would have rather avoided being a bother. So, he wandered.
Somehow, he found himself not among the various remedies, but surrounded by perfumes and other cosmetic oils. He sighed, tucking the list away and letting his fingers idly trace the cool surface of the glass bottles. One caught his eye, the soft amber liquid that filled it sparkling in the dim light of the shop. Curious, he raised it to his face and breathed in. The scent of vanilla, lotus blossoms, and sweet almond greeted him, filling his lungs and his head with the delicate aroma. He had never bought perfume before, didn't know if smelling like anything but himself was something he particularly wanted. It was quite a nice smell, though.
I wonder if Olly would like it.
The moment the thought entered his head, it was followed by the image of Olly pressing his nose into Qifrey's neck, chasing the sweet scent. Would he follow it with his lips? His tongue? Would he like it enough that he would want more? Would he want to push Qifrey down, push his clothes aside and—
Qifrey shook his head sharply, face burning and fingers white from gripping the bottle so hard. The fantasy faded but the want didn't. It never would, Qifrey thought as he placed the cologne bottle in his basket and turned to the next isle. If thirty years of hopeless pining hadn't made him stop wanting Olruggio, sharing a bed with him every night certainly wouldn't. Which wasn't to say he didn't have Olly, he knew his best friend held the same singular devotion for him as Qifrey held in return. Qifrey knew how his lips felt, the scrape of his stubble, how his calloused fingers felt gently caressing bare skin. Qifrey was happy, so happy with everything he and Olly had done, every way they were learning to be together.
But…
But they still hadn't…
It was for the best, Qifrey knew. His body was wholly unaccustomed to pleasure, especially at the beginning, and it wasn't as rare as Qifrey would like that something as simple as a bite of soup that was just a bit too comforting set him panicking and waiting, wide eyed, for branches to tear through his skin. Olly said he wanted them to be ready, which Qifrey understood at the time. A month on, though, he was beginning to wonder if he ever would feel totally ready, if he really knew what that meant.
Maybe, he thought as he stared unseeing at a new row of bottles, ready is something we can chose to be, any we can trust each other to be there regardless of the outcome. It felt silly, too simple and too complicated, but it resonated somehow.
Qifrey focused on the labels of the bottles in front of him, still vaguely aware he had things he was meant to be looking for. For a moment, he didn't know what he was looking at, didn't quite understand the descriptions written in tight script on the tag. A sort of massage oil perhaps?
When he figured out what, exactly, sort of oil it was, whatever blush had faded from his face returned with force. He turned his eye upwards, imagining he could see the stars through the shop roof and the bright midday sky.
If this is a message, he thought fervently, consider it received.
He slipped the new bottle into his basket nest to the cologne and made his way to the front as quickly as he could.
The shop keeper made no comment when he placed his items on the counter, simply wrapped them in delicate parchment and asked him if he found everything he needed. Once again, Qifrey remembered Coco's list and he sheepishly slid the bit of paper toward her.
"Ah," she said, adjusting her glasses as she read, "We keep these in the back, I'll just be a moment, love."
Qifrey smiled and thanked her and, as promised, was presented with two more glass bottles and a small clay jar a moment later. The shop keeper wrapped them all for him and, after passing her the appropriate amount of coins, he was on his way.
He felt a bit silly as he began his walk back home, giddy and nervous like he hadn't been since he was a teenager. Even as a teenager, he had hardly been allowed to indulge in the hazy, bubbly feelings that would tumble through him. He ran his tongue over the rough scar tissue that made up the inside of his cheek, remembering the first time he caught Olruggio looking at him with that now familiar heated interest. That had been the first of so many times Qifrey had needed to bite his cheek to calm the Silverwood.
That was the past, Qifrey reminded himself. The Silverwood was gone and there was nothing to stop him reveling in the strange fluttering sensation deep inside him, like a thousand butterflies had taken up residence in his chest. It was sort of delightful to be nervous about something that wouldn't hurt him, Qifrey thought. Whatever happened when Qifrey got home, whether they did it or not, their love would not be questioned. Anything they did, or didn't do, would be inextricably bound up in that love.
Qifrey did hope, with a burning little flame of want he was just learning to tend to instead of relentlessly smother, that that night would be the night.
He smiled his whole walk home and, if he was still blushing when he got inside, he could blame it on the remaining cold air of a winter that hadn't quite yielded to the dawning spring.
Olly was still hidden away in his workshop when Qifrey got home, a fact that he was reluctantly grateful for. Readiness was a nebulous thing, a feeling that Qifrey couldn't quite get his hands around. He did, however, know how to make something feel special, intentional. Raising four young witches had taught him well enough the many ways to stop and mark an occasion. In Qifrey's household, it more often than not came down to some sort of food. Even with the tree, Qifrey knew how to press love into soft dough, how to stir it into a warm stew.
It was too early for dinner, though they were overdue lunch. Really, he should be making something hearty for them. He would, later. Or pull something from the magic cookpot, at least. For now, what they needed was the delicate, familiar sweetness of the rose apple tarts they both loved.
He hummed to himself as he rolled out the dough and set a hot water spell to steam the mountain apples. It was nice to do something with his hands, to have somewhere to put the nervous energy that was building up in his fingers. He tried to keep his mind clear as he assembled the tarts and set them baking but, now that he had opened the proverbial floodgates, it was becoming increasingly difficult.
Images fluttered through his mind, stolen glances stitching themselves together into scenes that made his head spin. Olly's hand wrapped around his pen, Olly's skin glistening with sweat from one of his fire spells, Olly's back that first night they spent together after the Silverwood, the way his muscles shifted as he changed clothes.
Olly, Olly, Olly.
He drifted, face hot and eye just a bit unfocused, up to the atelier's washroom. After spending the day outside, he needed a shower, and he hoped the water would help clear his head.
It didn't. Which shouldn't have been surprising, when had water ever done anything for him but make problems worse? Not that this was a problem, not really, even if it was beginning to feel like one. The shower had done little but make his skin tingle with oversensitivity, and it was impossible to forget the link rings he used to dry off were Olly's. How could he have thought a shower would calm him when after he would inevitably feel Olruggio's warm magic dancing over his bare skin?
Qifrey sighed as he stared at himself in his bedroom mirror. His body had changed dramatically in the time since the Silverwood was removed, and he was still trying to pin down exactly how he felt about it. He had known he was dying, of course, but he had always imagined that death to come suddenly and obviously in cracking bones and skin hardening into ashen wood. In all that effort spent trying to push away that impending end, he hadn't noticed the dozens of little ways life was slipping away from him. It wasn't until he started to recover that he understood just how bad he had gotten, it wasn't until he realized he couldn't see the sharp outline of his sternum through the delicate skin of his chest anymore that he realized that was probably something he should have been more concerned about.
The bit of weight he had gained was the most obvious of the changes, but it wasn't the only one. His skin was brighter, softer, his posture was more relaxed than it ever had been. It was also increasingly rare that the pale skin of his neck and chest was left unmarked by the sweet little bruises Olly liked to leave him.
That last one Qifrey did have very definite feelings about, and he smiled at the dull ache as he gently pressed his fingers into the marks.
Qifrey took the little bottle of cologne from where it sat on his vanity. He lifted the bottle to his face to smell it again, just for the joy of letting the sweet fragrance drift through him, before dabbing a few drops on his neck and on the pulse point of his wrists. He went, then, over to his wardrobe intending to pull on something simple but comfortable, something easy to take off if the evening went his way. Something caught his eye though, a bit of color hidden behind rows of dull gray black and white.
He pulled the garment out, running his hand over delicately spun silk the deep violet of a sky just before dawn. He had bought the thing years ago in a rare flight of fancy. It had been so beautiful where it hung in the shop window, the light catching on the shimmering fibers and the intricate silver dragons embroidered around the trim. Qifrey had been so tired at the time, so starving for anything like comfort that he couldn't resist it. The robe had gone straight to the back of his closet never to be worn and rarely to be seen. Just because he craved softness didn't mean he could afford to indulge in it.
It was still novel that he could now indulge that craving. Even so, he hesitated to put it on. Was it too much? Would he seem too eager? He was eager, of course, but would Olruggio be put off to see him like that? Qifrey almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the thought. This wasn't some stranger he was trying to impress, some first date he needed to seem coy around. This was his Olly.
Distantly, the timer spell announcing the tarts were finished baking chimed and Qifrey pushed aside his worries for a moment. He pulled on the robe, tied it closed, and slipped the oil from the apothecary into its pocket before he could lose himself again in his own head. He put his glasses on, took them back off, tousled his hair a bit, and ran down pull the tarts from the oven before they could burn.
The tarts were perfect, a relief though not a surprise. He had made them so many times over the years, he likely could have pulled them together in his sleep.
They needed to cool which, unfortunately, gave his anxiety one last chance to send his heart pounding and his head spinning. He fussed with his hair some more, insuring the curls fell properly over his scar. Qifrey knew Olly didn't mind the sight of it but, without the shield of his glasses, it made him feel better not to have to think about the obvious symbol of his brokenness.
Not broken, said a suspiciously Olly sounding voice in his head as pulled out a bottle of fresh sweet wine. Fine, he thought. Perhaps he could acquiesce to that. Perhaps he could accept that the things he had been through hadn't ruined him. The scar, though, still hurt to look at. It was still a reminder of all the years hiding the ugliest parts of himself, no matter how many soft kisses Olly brushed over the marred skin.
When they were cool enough, Qifrey plated the tarts and, very suddenly, there was nothing left to keep him from making the short walk to Olruggio's wing of the atelier.
Right then.
Stars, why was he so nervous?
He had fought dragons. He had gone toe to toe with the most ruthless of the Brimmed Caps with naught but his mind and his pen to fight for him. He had survived with a Silverwood growing inside him for thirty years.
Why did telling his best friend, partner, soulmate, whatever they were, that he wanted to have sex with him feel like the scariest thing he had ever done?
Qifrey groaned, passing his fingers through his hair one last time before taking the tray of tarts and the bottle of wine, before he took one last deep breath and started the short walk to Olruggio's workshop.
Olruggio's workshop door was, as ever, cracked open slightly. The sound of him muttering to himself as he worked was both like a balm to his nerves and a bolt of pure magic energy to everything else he was feeling. It felt like it had been ages since he saw him last, though it had really only been a handful of hours.
Like the tide is drawn to the moon, Qifrey felt helplessly, cosmically, pulled through the door into the endlessly comforting warmth of the workshop.
Olruggio looked away from his project neither when Qifrey entered the room nor when he softly called his name. Qifrey set his tray down on a rare empty space on Olly's table and approached the other witch.
"Is it dinner time already?" He asked, still focused on what he was working on but leaning into the hand Qifrey ran up the nape of his neck all the same. "Sorry Love, I did mean to come help, I just—"
Finally, Olruggio turned to look at Qifrey and whatever he was saying died immediately in his throat. His intense, deep ocean blue eyes dragged from Qifrey's face, down the length of the semi-sheer robe, and back up the way they came, his face flushing a pretty red as he found Qifrey's eye again.
"Fuck, Qifrey."
Olruggio was standing in a second, whatever commission he had been working on forgotten as he pulled Qifrey against him with a tender hand on his waist. He tilted his head up and Qifrey met him halfway in a sweet kiss.
Olly kissed, Qifrey was discovering, like he drank wine: slowly at first, savoring it and exploring the way it felt in his mouth, then, once he had learned the taste, with reckless abandon till his head was spinning and he was a blushing mess.
Or, he could only assume Olruggio's head was spinning. Qifrey's head was spinning. He pulled away from the kiss just enough to catch his breath, only to lose it again when Olly's attention turned to his neck. It started with ticklish little pecks down the side of his throat before Olruggio buried his face in the crook of his neck and groaned softly.
"Stars, Love, you're beautiful. And you smell like…" He trailed off, his mouth suddenly occupied with adding another love bite to his growing collection.
"It's cologne," Qifrey said, a little uselessly. It was hard to think, especially when one of Olly's hands had come up from his waist and tangled in his hair, tugging his head to the side so he had better access. "I got it at the apothecary today, thought you might like—" his words cut off with a sharp little gasp as a spark of pain shot through his neck.
Olly bit him.
Before he could properly process that, Olruggio was apologizing and pulling away, clearly just as surprised as Qifrey that he had done it. Qifrey stopped him before he could get far, stilling him with careful hands on either side of his worried face. When he pulled him back into a kiss, there was very little of the gentle sweetness they started with.
The bite was unexpected and probably something he would have liked to be asked about beforehand, but it did something to Qifrey. He was mad with starvation and the only thing that could sate him was walking Olruggio back till he was half seated on his desk and pressing his tongue as deeply as he could into the sweet warmth of the other witch's mouth.
A wrecked little sound escaped Olruggio's throat and Qifrey drank it down like the finest of wines. There was a need building in Qifrey's core, not as unfamiliar as it had been a month ago but just as insistent, just as terrifying in its magnitude. He needed to be closer, he needed to find a way to exist in the same skin as Olly and never leave. For now, he settled on wrapping an arm around his lower back and pulling him in so every possible inch of their bodies was pressed together.
There was a flash of sensation, pure and white hot, as Olly shifted against him and he suddenly became very aware of how interested both their bodies had become in the proceedings. Qifrey broke the kiss with a gasp and Olruggio took the opportunity to tuck his head under Qifrey's chin, giving them both a moment to breathe.
They had yet to get quite this far before. It was terrifying and exhilarating, like climbing a mountain and with no idea what the view would be from the top but knowing it would be ok as long as their hands stayed intertwined.
"Qifrey…" Olruggio pulled away just a bit, just enough to look Qifrey in the eye.
His face was flushed deeper than Qifrey had ever seen it, his eyes were brilliant as precious stones in the dim light, and his lips were shining and kiss-bruised.
Stars, had there ever been someone so beautiful?
Qifrey wanted to kiss him again, but Olly had rested his hand gently but firmly on his chest. He looked a bit dazed but obviously determined to say something. That was alright, though Qifrey was not a patient person by nature, he had gotten enough practice at it over the years.
"Qifrey," he said again, his voice rough and deep and the most beautiful music to Qifrey's ears. "Just so we're clear, just so I know, Qifrey, I need you to tell me what you want."
What did he want? He had very little but half remembered snippets of a book a much younger Qifrey had taken from a section of a book store he definitely shouldn't have been in to go off of. That, and the intense, all encompassing desire to be closer. Probably, he should have thought this part out better, but he truthfully cared very little for exactly how they went about it, as long as Olruggio was there and Qifrey could make him feel good.
How could he say all that though? How could he be expected to think at all when he could feel Olruggio's hot breath against the sensitive skin of his neck, feel his hardness against the corner of his hip?
"Anything," Qifrey managed. "Everything, I just want you."
A sound rumbled from Olruggio's chest, another spark on the ever growing fire that was building in Qifrey's core. He pressed a kiss, soft as butterfly wings, into the hollow between Qifrey's collarbones.
"Aye," Olly said, sitting up straighter and easing Qifrey back a step. "Whatever you want, Love, just—" he looked over his shoulder at the mess of papers and bits of contraptions littering his desk. "—maybe not here? Not the first time, anyway." Olruggio met his eye again. He took Qifrey's hand and, pressing a kiss into his knuckles, asked, "Let me take you to bed?"
Qifrey nodded, a choked little "yes" making its way past his lips.
Olly smiled and pulled him by their still joined hands toward the stairs.
This was better, Qifrey thought. They were exploring something new, it only made sense for him to follow where his Torch lead.
The bed, their bed, was as familiar as any part of the atelier, piled high with pillows and blankets and still unmade from the previous. It felt bigger, somehow, or maybe just more significant than it had when they left it that morning. Qifrey was having trouble looking away from it, the anxiety from before reappearing briefly before melting away entirely when Olly reached up and pulled him into a kiss so tender it made Qifrey ache.
"Don't be nervous, Love," he whispered, brushing his lips against the soft skin behind Qifrey's ear.
Qifrey only sighed in response, whatever tension was left in him leaving in a rush of breath as he let Olly guide him deeper into the room until the backs of his legs hit the bed and he was being pushed carefully down. He went easily, expecting Olruggio to join him. He didn't. Instead, he sank down further, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses down his neck, his stomach through the thin fabric of the robe that was just barely still falling in a way that kept him somewhat modest. Suddenly self conscious, Qifrey wondered if he regretted not wearing anything under the robe, but then Olly's knees hit the thick rug on the floor and he looked up through his eyelashes with such hunger that Qifrey couldn't imagine anything in the world more important than giving him whatever he wanted.
"Olly," Qifrey breathed, already ruined just by the sight of him between his knees. He brought his hand up to Olruggio's cheek and he nuzzled into it, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he met Qifrey's gaze again.
"You know, I've wanted you in my mouth so long, I hardly remember what it was like to not crave it. Thought about it so many times, stuck my own fingers in my mouth like that would help, but it didn't. Nothing did, 'cause nothing I could think up would be anything like lookin' up and seeing you."
This was going to kill him. After all these years, everything he had been through and survived, looking Olly in the eye while he talked like that would be the thing that did him in, Qifrey was sure of it. There was a high, half animal sound coming from the back of Qifrey's throat. He shifted his hand, curling his fingers into the hair just above the nape of Olruggio's neck.
"Please, Olly," he pleaded, shameless in his desperation.
Olruggio, kind as ever, kissed the side of his knee and gently lifted one leg to rest comfortably over his shoulder.
He moved slowly, running his hands up Qifrey's bare legs under the robe, pushing it aside little by little and painting each newly discovered patch of skin with lovely little bruises. The sharp edge of anticipation, the balm of Olly's lips and tongue against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, It was the most blissful agony Qifrey had ever experienced.
Qifrey's eye fell shut, darkness falling like a cloak around him as sensation flowed through him, only to snap back open again when Olly finally uncovered him fully and the cool air rushed over his burning, sensitive skin.
He turned his eye upward, not wanting to see himself, not wanting to face whatever expression was on Olruggio's face.
"Stars, Qifrey." Qifrey didn't have to be looking at him to hear the unfettered lust in his voice. He had little choice in that, though, when a gentle hand came to rest on his face, guiding him to look down, to meet Olruggio's eyes over his own hardness. "You're so beautiful."
Qifrey wanted to respond, but a moment later Olly's mouth was on him and all rational thought fled him. Olruggio's mouth was impossibly hot around him and there was no stopping the sound that tore out of him. The feeling was indescribable. It was pure sensation shooting like lightning flashes through his body. He felt himself hurtling toward the edge of something and he fought for some way to catch himself, not wanting this to end so quickly, not when Olly's face was so beautifully caught up in the pleasure of sucking him off.
Before, when the Silverwood was Qifrey's only companion more constant than Olruggio himself, when there was no way to physically remove himself from a situation that triggered the tree or hurt himself enough to stop it, Qifrey had learned to let his mind step away. It wasn't always practical, not when there were four young girls to look after, and it wasn't always enough to stop the branches, but it could be enough now. Only for a moment, only long enough for Olly to eat his fill, and then he could come back and make him feel just as much as he was feeling now.
Qifrey let his head roll back as the familiar numbness crept through him, dulling his senses just enough that he could breathe again. This was okay, Qifrey thought through the haze that filled his mind. He couldn't still feel Olly moving around him, it was just a little distant, a little muted. The pleasure was still there, just not so overwhelming.
But then,
It stopped.
"Qifrey?"
Calloused hands rested on either side of Qifrey's face and he blinked, trying to focus, trying to understand what changed. Olruggio sounded upset, but he had just been enjoying himself. Qifrey must have done something wrong, he knew by the pained look on his face when he managed to lock eyes with him again, he just didn't understand what.
Qifrey moved his hand from his hair back to his cheek, stroking gently at the corner of his frown.
"Olly? What…"
A rush of breath escaped Olruggio, half pained, half relieved, and he leaned forward to press their foreheads together. At some point, he had moved from the floor to sit on the bed beside him. When had that happened? How had Qifrey not noticed? Perhaps he had fallen farther away than he realized.
"Back with me?" Olruggio whispered into the space between them.
Qifrey nodded, his body trembling as his senses sharpened again.
"Olly, I'm sorry, I—"
"Don't." Olruggio turned and kissed his temple softly. "Please don't apologize, Love." He leaned back, intense blue eyes sparkling in the low light. "You went somewhere, Qifrey. You were here with me then you were somewhere else."
Oh.
Of course Olly noticed. Of course he wouldn't have wanted to keep going with Qifrey retreated like that. He had said all he wanted was to be able to look up and see him and he couldn't even give him that. Stars, he was an idiot for thinking he could do this, that he wasn't too broken to have this.
Qifrey pulled away, pressing his palm into the rippling scar tissue over his right eye hard enough to send pain branching through him. He felt exposed, every ugly, damaged, sharp edged part of him unforgivingly illuminated.
"I—" he stopped himself just before he apologized again. That wasn't was Olly wanted, not what he deserved. He deserved so much more than another on the endless pile of Qifrey's apologies. He deserved something though, so Qifrey tried for an explanation.
"It was all so much, so good, and you looked so happy. I didn't want it to be over."
He brought his other hand up to his face, hiding it completely. Shame, ice-cold and unbearable, filled him. Qifrey felt like a fool for how excited he had been, even more so for how his body still hadn't seemed to catch up. He still wanted, still longed for Olruggio to touch him like he had been.
"Qifrey…"
Mortifyingly, Qifrey cold feel tears against his fingertips. It was as if, after the Silverwood, all he ever did was cry.
"This wasn't how this was supposed to go." His voice was small and pathetic and he wanted to curl so tightly on himself that he disappeared entirely.
Olruggio's hands curling gently around is wrists was the only thing that stopped him.
"Qifrey, Love, will you look at me?"
Qifrey let the hand be pulled away from his uninjured eye. Olly brought his hand to his lips, tenderly kissing the tears off his fingertips.
It was hard to meet his eyes, to face the fathomless well of kindness and forgiveness he knew he would find there. He did it anyway, because it was what Olly asked.
"Listen to me, Qifrey," he said, intertwining their fingers, "I know I said I wanted us to be ready, and I do want that, but I hope you know that doesn't mean I expected our first time to go completely smooth. We have, both of us, survived things that will make this sort of thing more difficult than it might be for most. I don't care about most, though, I care about you. I want this, I want to be close to you like this, you know that, but it's not ever something I would take from you while you were anything less than fully with me. Whatever we do, or don't do, Qifrey it all means nothin' if you aren't present for it."
Qifrey looked away, unable to bare Olly's eyes any longer. He nodded though and, by the way Olruggio kissed his knuckles, he guessed that was alright.
"I am sorry, Olly," he said, voice low as if to hide the apology he knew Olruggio didn't want. Qifrey needed to say it, though, and he was grateful that he was allowed to continue. "Feeling good, it's still so foreign to me, I don't always know how to handle it." He dug his palm deeper into his eye socket. "I didn't mean to ruin this."
Olly pulled at his right wrist and, reluctantly, Qifrey let that hand be pulled away as well. "Oh, Love." Qifrey's eye was still turned away and it fluttered shut when Olly softly kissed his cheek, lips brushing softly over the lowest point of his starburst scar. He leaned closer, pulling Qifrey into his arms and combing his fingers through his hair. "Nothing's ruined. I'm not runnin' Qifrey, you should know by now it would take a lot more than somethin' like this to scare me off." He leaned up and kissed Qifrey's face again, right over his mangled eyelid. Qifrey leaned into it, strange as the feeling was against the slightly numb skin. "We don't have to do anything else tonight. We can go down, share the tarts and the bottle of wine, and fall asleep holdin' each other like we have every night for a month. Like I want to every night for the rest of our lives." He kissed lower, Qifrey's cheekbone, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. "Or…" he hovered not an inch from Qifrey's lips, waiting, patient as ever.
"Or?" Their lips brushed when Qifrey asked, not quite a kiss, not yet.
"If you want, if you're up for it, we could try again."
"You would want that?"
"Anything. Everything, long as it's with you."
What choice did Qifrey have, upon hearing his words from before leave Olly's mouth, but to finally close the gap between them. The relief when their lips finally met again, chaste as it was, was more than Qifrey could have said.
"I love you," Qifrey whispered against his lover's lips. "I want to try again."
Qifrey felt Olly's smile against his lips for just a moment before he deepened the kiss, his tongue just barely passing the barrier of Qifrey's mouth only to pull away again.
Olruggio brushed his thumb over Qifrey's cheek. He looked up at Qifrey, eyes intense and serious but kind as ever. "Alright, Qifrey, as I say, anything you want." His voice was low, a gentle rumble that soothed Qifrey to his bones. "If we do, though, you have to promise you wont disappear on me again. We can stop if it ever gets too much, but I need you to tell me."
Qifrey took a breath, it shuddered a bit at the end. Could he promise that? He still felt so broken. It wasn't as if he was a different man than he had been a moment ago, a month ago. Olly still looked at him, love and patience so clear on his face. He had made Olruggio so many promises, so many vows infinitely more difficult to keep than a commitment to stay present with him. As if there was anywhere else he would rather be.
He took Olruggio's hand and pressed his knuckles to his forehead. Qifrey shut his eye but he felt Olly's warm skin against his knuckles and knew he was mirroring him.
"I promise," he said, and he would keep this one like he kept all the others.
Olly let go of his hand to cup his cheek, and Qifrey found himself being kissed once again. He wrapped his arm around Olruggio's neck, burying his fingers in his hair as he clung to him. There was a taste in Olly's mouth, foreign and slightly salty as Qifrey licked it off his tongue. Qifrey kissed him deeper, exploring, before the taste registered and he moaned, the sound disappearing into his lover's mouth.
"Alright?" Olly asked, concern just barely audible over the desperation breaking through his voice.
"I'm perfect," Qifrey replied, grinning. He learned forward, nipping Olruggio's earlobe before whispering, "You taste like me."
A groan tumbled out of Olruggio and he kissed him again, hard enough to knock Qifrey off balance and send him sprawling on his back across their nest of pillows, the air leaving his lungs in a soft puff.
"Sorry," Olruggio murmured, though, from the way he was looking down at Qifrey he didn't seem all that remorseful. Qifrey couldn't say he minded it either, truthfully. Especially when Olly shifted his weight, planted his knee between Qifrey's legs. An invitation, more than anything, but just its presence, so close to where Qifrey was still achingly hard, was enough to reignite any passion that had faded over the last minutes. He leaned up to kiss him, grinding his hips forward in the same movement, and letting whatever sound he made at the maddening contact melt away down Olly's throat.
Panting against Olruggio's mouth, Qifrey did it again, his movements shaky and uncoordinated as he chased something he hardly understood. Olly's hand moved slowly down his body, taking its time over the subtle swell of his chest, the hard ridges of his ribcage, the tender skin of his side, before it landed firmly on his hip. It was easy to relax into Olly's hand, easy to let himself be guided into a more steady pace.
Olly pressed kisses down Qifrey's jaw and into his neck, whispering
and
and take what you need, against his skin.
Qifrey had never felt so good, hadn't known his body capable of it. How he had lived so long with Olly so close and never experienced this, he didn't know. The answer, of course, was that he had hardly been living at all. He ignored that, best he could, as he did the familiar instinct to slip away again.
Instead, he focused on Olly.
Olly, who was, frustratingly, still fully dressed. Qifrey whimpered and brought his aimlessly wandering hands decisively down to pull the hem of his shirt up and out of the waistband of his skirt. He dragged his hands up the warm skin of his back, pulling the shirt up as he went, until it got stuck at his arms. He tugged at the shirt again, headless of the way one on Olruggio's arms was occupied supporting his weight and the other was still helping him grind against his thigh.
There was a laugh, muffled against his throat between kisses, and Qifrey, more frustrated now, tugged at the shirt again nearly hard enough to knock Olly off balance.
"Off," Qifrey managed through the tightness in his chest. "Want this off."
"Alight, alright go easy on me." There was still laughter in his voice but Qifrey had no trouble forgiving it when he sat back and finally pulled the shirt over his head.
Qifrey gazed up at him, basking in the sight of his golden skin, the coarse hair that danced across his chest and down his stomach, disappearing under his skirt. He followed it with his fingers, caressing every inch of exposed skin he had been granted, before he hooked thumbs into the waistband of the skirt and tugged at that as well.
"This too."
Olly laughed again but did as he was told, untying the skirt and tossing it somewhere with his shirt, only to reveal his pants, laced up tight enough they had to be uncomfortable over his bulge.
Qifrey threw his head back against the pillows. "Why do we wear so many layers?"
"If I had known where this evening would go, trust me, I wouldn't've."
Qifrey looked up at him, at his flushed, open face, at his hands, curled softly into fists beside him. There was a tension to him. Clearly he wanted more, he wanted touch and movement as much as Qifrey did, but he was waiting for Qifrey, caring for him as always.
He ran his hands up the soft linen covering Olruggio's thighs, memorizing the way his chest started to heave as he got closer, and paused at the top of the laces, keeping his touch so light it was barely there.
"Can I?"
"Aye," Olly responded immediately, desperately, and then, softer, "please."
Qifrey obliged, how could he not, but kept his touch light as he loosened the laces. Not to tease, just to savor the moment. When the pants were loose enough, he looked up, meeting Olly's eye for one last silent plea for permission. When he nodded, Qifrey pulled the last layer between them down with one swift movement.
"Olly…" Qifrey sighed as he took in the sight of him, all of him. His hands, feeling suddenly woefully empty, started to move again. One caressed up Olly's side, pressing into his warm skin and feeling his breathing through his fingertips. The other slowly, as he kept his eye trained dutifully on Olly's face, closed around the length of him. It was aimless at first, just touch for its own sake, for the sake of learning the weight of him in his hands. Immediately, Olly's face crumpled and he thrust weakly into Qifrey's loose fist. What could Qifrey do, then, but tighten his grip and move his other hand down to spread across his lower back, encouraging Olly's movements.
Qifrey had very little experience with this, even on himself. There was very little opportunity to learn such a thing when pleasure had been so dangerous for so long. Based on Olly's reaction though, on his deep moan and the way his body pitched forward, just barely catching himself on elbows now comfortingly bracketing Qifrey's face, he thought that he must have been doing an alright job.
Olly felt wonderful in his hands, heavy and thick as he stroked him, doing his best to meet his thrusts. He looked even more wonderful, brow creased and dark lashes low over his lapis lazuli eyes, lips red and shining, parted slightly as he gasped for breath. Watching him, feeling him move around him, it was awakening a deep, primal hunger in Qifrey, a hollowness that screamed to be filled as the half forgotten bottle of oil burned a hole in the pocket of his robe.
"Olly…"
Qifrey felt the tension in his back as Olruggio forced himself to slow his movements, forced himself to slow, forced his pleasure-dazed eyes to focus down on him.
"I want… I need—" the words caught in his throat. As unexperienced as Qifrey was with pleasure of any sort, he was even more so with asking aloud for things that would bring him pleasure. Olly leaned down and kissed his temple sweetly.
"Anything," he whispered against sweat damp skin. "Tell me how to make you feel good."
A whimper choked out of him and, releasing Olruggio, he fumbled his hand through the rumpled fabric of his robe till his fingers closed around the cool glass bottle. He pressed it into Olruggio's chest, desperately fighting the urge to look away, to hide his face as he spoke again.
"Want you inside me."
Olly blinked, clearly surprised as he sat back a bit, taking the bottle from Qifrey and holding it to the light to read the label. He raised an eyebrow, grinning as he looked down at Qifrey.
"Busy day at the market, eh?"
Qifrey rolled his eye, drawing his lower lip between his teeth. If he hadn't already been as flushed as he possibly could have, his face would have burned red.
"We don't have to," Qifrey had meant to sound lightly petulant, but his voice came out much smaller than he would have liked.
"I'm just teasin', Love." Olly took his hand and kissed his palm. "I want that too, Qifrey."
Qifrey sighed, relief melting through him. One day, he would learn to believe that he was just as fervently desired by Olly as he himself desired. One day, this sharing of pleasure would be another beloved part of the familiar life they had built together. One day, they would know each other's bodies as intimately and completely as their own and there would be no need for awkwardness or hesitation. Qifrey longed for that day but, looking up at his lover, he silently vowed to himself that he would delight in the learning.
"I'll need to… prepare you. First." There was an undercurrent of uncertainty in Olly's voice and Qifrey smiled. It was easy to forget that this was the first time for him, too. "You'll tell me if I hurt you?"
Qifrey brushed his thumb softly down the bridge of his nose. "I promise. I trust you, Olly."
The breath Olly released was a bit shaky but he was smiling again as he leaned down and kissed him. Qifrey hummed into his lips, happy for a moment to just have him close. His hunger would not long be ignored, however, and soon Qifrey was burning again, barely in control of his body as his hips jerked upward in desperate search for friction.
Olruggio laughed into his mouth. "Impatient, are we?"
"Yes," Qifrey responded immediately, too far gone to be ashamed of the way his voice broke.
"Don't worry, I won't keep you waiting Love." With one more lingering kiss he sat up, caressing the hand not holding the oil down his chest and making quick work of the ties still valiantly holding the robe shut around his waist. His fingers wondered lower, barely ghosting over Qifrey's hardness before moving to graze over his inner thigh, gently easing his legs further apart.
Qifrey turned his eye upward, unable to watch as he heard the bottle pop open. Anticipation built upon itself under Qifrey's skin. He could hardly breathe with it, but he tried to stay calm, he counted the little stars embroidered on the tapestry hung above their bed to keep himself from drifting.
"Qifrey?" Olly asked after a moment of shuffling just outside Qifrey's vision. "Can you keep your eye on me, Love? I want to see you."
He swallowed, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip, but managed to drag his eye down to meet Olly's. Olly smiled when he did so it was more than worth it.
"Hey there," he said, kissing the side of his knee softly. "Ready?"
Qifrey nodded sharply. "Yes, Olly, please"
True to his promise, Olruggio didn't keep him waiting. An oil-slicked finger pressed against his sensitive skin and Qifrey gasped, his eye falling shut.
"I'm alright," he said before Olruggio could ask. He opened his eye and found Olly's face. "Please, don't stop. It just felt strange, is all."
Olruggio nodded, hesitantly, and let his finger circle him tenderly. He let Qifrey relax, let him adjust to the feeling, before carefully pushing one finger inside. Qifrey gasped again, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth to muffle the sounds he was making. Thank the Stars, Olly didn't stop, just rubbed soothing circles into his thigh and continued working the finger inside him.
One finger was followed by another and a third till Qifrey was strung out and babbling.
"Please, Olly, need you, wont last, need to feel you, please,"
Qifrey knew Olruggio wouldn't proceed till he was as sure as he could be that he would not hurt him, but he couldn't stop himself from begging.
Eventually, he was rewarded by Olly carefully pulled his fingers out before pouring more oil over them and coating himself quickly. Qifrey watched, enraptured, as the light caught and sparkled over his skin.
Olruggio leaned over him again, his arm returning to frame Qifrey's face as he lined himself up with his other hand. Qifrey, his hands too long deprived his lover's skin, was quick to reach out to him, burying one in Olly's hair and pressing the other between his shoulder blades. He brought one leg up to wrap around his waist encouragingly.
"I love you," he whispered against the side of Qifrey's face, and pushed himself in.
There was no muffling the moan that tore through Qifrey, no point in embarrassment when Olly sounded just as wrecked. Qifrey tugged at his hair to guide him into a kiss, even as he dug his heal into Olly's lower back. Olly took the hint, his movement starting —as ever— slow and gentle, before picking up as they raced, hand in hand, toward their shared precipice.
Qifrey had never felt so full, so complete, so breathtakingly at home in his own body. Close as they were, even with his failing eyesight Qifrey could see every one of the finer details of Olly's face: the light dusting of freckles over his nose, the old scar from when he first started shaving, the crow's feet just barely making themselves knows at the corner of his eyes, the tears caught in his dark lashes. Even as Qifrey's body shook with the force of Olly thrusting into him, he held his lover's face still till he had kissed every detail he could.
There was a slight shift in position and, the next time Olly drove into him, he hit something deep inside him that made Qifrey throw his head back against the pillows and scream.
Olruggio took the opportunity to dive into his neck, sucking bruises from his jaw to his collarbones. He kept his angle the same, though, and now hit that same spot with every thrust.
Qifrey really wouldn't last, then. He tried to hold on, desperate for nothing more than to see Olly find his pleasure, but some things were too big to withstand.
"Olly," he gasped, "Olly, I'm so close, I'm going to—"
Softly, Olly kissed the words off his lips.
"It's alright, I am too." Olly's voice was more labored than Qifrey had ever heard it and he knew he was telling the truth.
"When you do, do it inside?"
Olly's hips stuttered and he could feel the way his breath caught under his hand. He nodded.
"Anything." He kissed Qifrey's lips again. "Anything for you."
Olly kissed his way across his cheek before brushing one against the shell of his ear and whispering, "Come for me, Love."
Who was Qifrey to refuse?
It crashed into him with such force his vision went white, every inch of his body forgetting any sensation but the pleasure coursing through him and the gentle rocking of Olly working him through it. Only a moment later, only barely long enough for his vision to clear again, Olly's twisted in breathtaking rapture and Qifrey could feel his spend pumping deep and hot inside him.
All tension seemingly fleeing him in the aftermath, Olruggio collapsed into Qifrey's chest. Qifrey was more than happy to tuck him under his chin and card his fingers through his hair, stroking his other hand down his back as they both caught their breath.
Moments passed, sweat and come cooled against their skin, and Olly started to pull away. Qifrey didn't let him get far, holding him tighter still against his chest.
"Qifrey," Olly said, words muffled in Qifrey's neck. "We should clean up. I know how you hate bein' wet"
Qifrey only held on tighter, his limbs at some point transforming into oversized glue flowers. "Later," was all he said.
Olruggio laughed, incredulous. "Alright, then. At least let me—" he moved to pull out but Qifrey whimpered, his leg remaining steadfastly wrapped around his waist.
"Stay," he begged, "just for a little while. Please."
Olly laughed again, nothing but fond, and settled back down. "As you like, you ridiculous man."
Qifrey hummed contentedly, burying his face in Olly's hair as he drifted away in an endlessly peaceful half-sleep.
They did, eventually, clean up. Qifrey did, of course, complain about the stickiness and their need to take an actual bath until Olly kissed him soundly and offered to wash his hair for him.
Later, when they were once again wrapped in each other's arms in the sanctuary of their bed, happy and warm and just on the edge of sleep, Qifrey said: "You know, I have the strangest feeling we should exchange tassels. Everything we've been through, it seems that there should be some evidence of it, some symbol to mark a new era." He laughed a bit, a little sad, "I fear anyone who has known us since childhood would get quite the wrong impression, though."
Olruggio hummed, thoughtful. "We could get new ones. Matching caps. If you wanted."
His hand freezing where it had been playing with Olruggio's hair. It was exceedingly rare for a witch to alter their uniform after graduation. Even something simple as an exchange of ornaments like they had done was hardly ever seen. When it did happen, when a witch commissioned an entirely new cap, it was a sign of a profound life change. When two witches commissioned matching caps, it was only ever those couples for who the traded jewelry and wedding vows weren't enough to symbolize their devotion. When they traded tassels as children, the situation had been so singular and they had been so young and so removed from thoughts of courtship as to not have considered the romantic implications of such a thing.
Now, though, there was no possibility Olruggio didn't know exactly what he was asking. Qifrey turned to look at him, desperate to see the look on his face, needing to be sure. He looked calmly happy, as if he had offered nothing more spectacular than to take care of dinner. There was an earnestness in his eyes, though, that betrayed just how serious the suggestion was.
"You would want to?" Qifrey's voice was low with wonderment.
"I want everything with you," Olly said, so honest Qifrey was struggling to breathe. "I'm not going anywhere, Qifrey. You're it for me, in every way possible. If you want us to wear a symbol of that for the world to see, believe me when I tell you, nothing would make me happier."
Qifrey was going to cry. He hid his face in Qifrey's hair, whispering, "I love you, Stars, Olly I love you," into the space between them.
Olly ran a calming hand down his side, shushing him gently.
"We could get the girls to help design them, you know. Coco and Tetia, at least, would get a kick out of it. And I'm sure the others would come around to pitching in."
Qifrey cried harder. He had never been so happy in his life, he felt like he would burst with it.
"Oh, Love," Olly switched their positions so he could pull Qifrey tightly against his chest, kissing his forehead and the tears off his cheek as he did. "Get some sleep, Qifrey," Olly whispered, "we can send a letter to the hat makers in the Hall in the morning, hmm?"
"Alright." Even as his eye slipped shut, Qifrey couldn't keep the smile off his face. And then, because he could, and because it was true, he said one more, "I love you, Olly."
"I love you too," Olly said with one last kiss to his forehead, "Always."