Reynir envies Onni’s stillness and his patience, qualities that Reynir has never possessed.
Except that he does now. Kind of. Possess them. Because they’re for Reynir. His stillness, his patience. His improvised blindfold, loose messy knot nestled in the back of Onni’s messy hair. His Onni, bare except for the blindfold, sitting on the mossy hillside of Reynir’s dream, hands resting lightly on his knees. Waiting.
It’s only when Reynir nudges Onni’s legs further apart to kneel between them, when he feels the tension and the slight tremor in Onni’s thighs, that he starts to suspect that half of the stillness is fear.
“Hey,” says Reynir, stroking down Onni’s leg. And gosh, the meat of it, Reynir just wants to dig his nails in, but instead he keeps his touch and his voice gentle. “Hey, it’s okay. Or, I mean, unless it isn’t? Because if it’s not, we can totally--”
“It’s fine,” says Onni all in one exhale, too fast, strained. As Reynir hesitates--because that wasn’t exactly as reassuring as he wants--Onni’s tongue darts out between his teeth, moistens his lips, and he swallows and adds, “Please.”
That’s good enough. That’s--yeah. “Okay,” Reynir breathes.
So they’re doing this.
He reverses the direction of his petting, just barely grazing the backs of his fingers up Onni’s inner thigh until his balls are resting heavily in Reynir’s hand. Reynir squeezes lightly, and Onni shudders, swallows back a groan, cock twitching. Whatever Reynir’s doubts, whatever Onni’s, Onni’s cock’s interest in what’s going on hasn’t flagged the whole time.
Onni’s cock is like Onni himself. Not long, but deliciously thick and solid. What would it be like if Reynir just slung a leg over his lap and sank down on it--okay. Yeah. That’s going on the bucket list. Not now, though. Reynir hasn’t come prepared for it, doesn’t quite know how you would, in a dream, and anyway, he’s just amazed that he’s gotten this far, really. Onni doesn’t trust easily, and on the list of people he’s got good reason to distrust, Reynir must be up there. But here they are.
He licks along the tip of Onni’s cock, then opens wider, dipping his head until Onni’s hair tickles his nose. The heat of Onni, the way he fills Reynir’s mouth, the heavy slide of him on Reynir’s tongue--it’s incredible. Onni’s hands twitch, and Reynir lifts his head long enough to say, “Go ahead, if you want. Touch, but don’t look.”
Slowly, a little hesitant still, Onni settles one hand on Reynir's back and the other one on his head, fingers tangling in his hair. Like this, with Onni’s legs bracketing him, he feels securely held. He rocks his hips, but there’s nothing there, no contact or pressure to help him along. It doesn’t matter. He’ll take care of it later, or Onni will. Right now it just makes him hungrier for Onni, and he takes him deeper, bending his head to meet Onni’s thrusts. For just a second he closes his eyes, lets the smells and sensations wash over him.
But just for a second, because he’s allowed to look, and Onni’s worth looking at, undone like this. His mouth slack beneath the blindfold, the sweat trickling down his neck to pool in the hollow of his throat, the flush on his skin, the breadth of his shoulders and chest. Reynir pulls off, because he can’t not, and says, “Gods, you’re gorgeous.”
And Onni, in between pants and the little whine he makes because Reynir’s mouth has left him, scoffs, “Oh, come on.”
Nope. That’s not going to fly. Reynir shifts up on his knees and puts a hand over Onni’s mouth. “Did I ask for an argument?” he says. “You listen and you say thank you.”
He rocks the spit-slick palm of his other hand over the head of Onni’s cock, in circles too light and slow to be anything but frustrating.
Onni growls against Reynir’s skin, and Reynir says, “Got it?”
Onni nods, and Reynir takes his hand away. “Thank you,” Onni spits.
Reynir laughs, rewards Onni with a firmer grasp on his cock and a lingering caress of his balls. “That’s better. See, you can be nice if you want.”
“‘M very nice,” Onni says on a gasp, his hand convulsively tightening in Reynir’s hair. “Everyone says so.”
“I’ll bet they do,” says Reynir. He licks up Onni’s cock, base to tip. “Bet you left a string of broken hearts behind you in Keuruu.” Another lick. “Lucky me, huh?”
Onni groans, thrusts up into Reynir’s mouth. Maybe it’s just to shut him up. If so, mission accomplished. There, that’s the spot. Reynir breathes through his nose, tries to relax his throat, but he can’t relax it quite enough. He’s going to wake up with a sore throat. A little piece of Onni to carry around with him all day.
It’s great. The only thing is. It’s just--
Maybe if Reynir had never lied, he’d be able to make Onni believe that everything he just said is true.