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Barry leaves his room in a constant state of mess now that his mother isn't around to clean up after him. Clothes are strewn on every available surface, Roddy barely notices, it suits him just fine when he lets himself in.

Frank is interstate preparing for a business conference next week. He'll remain blissfully ignorant as to why exactly Roddy has a spare key to their house, and just what he uses it for.

Roddy loves Barry's room because it isn't perfect and pristine, and it smells like him: his sweat, his soap and deodorant lingering in the air. Roddy inhales deeply, searching out the deeper, earthier scent of his boyfriend and follows it to a discarded shirt, then scooping up a familiar pair of boxers on his wander to the bed.

Roddy hasn't seen Barry in two days: he's annoyed, he's impatient, and the heady musk of Barry lying in Roddy's hands is only a reminder that he's here and Barry isn't.

"Come over 'round three. Dad's out of town, but I'm still house-locked," Barry had said when he dropped Roddy off to orchestra practice two days before.

Roddy had smirked, the notion of Barry trying to obey the rules made him laugh. Had more weight with the law and Frank's bitter disappointment behind it.

"You always do what your dad tells you?"

Barry's smile had tensed, shifting the Jeep into first gear. "Come if you want to."

Two days later, Roddy spares a glance for the indigenous painting above the bed, flopping onto his back with a sigh and checks the clock on his phone. No messages, no missed calls. Roddy isn't even early. Where is Barry?

Roddy shuts his eyes, burying his nose in Barry's clothes. His senses cloud with the sharp tang of sweat, so thick and heavy, he can almost taste it. He tries, laving his tongue across the seam of the shirt's neckline, the front, where sweat would have gathered on his chest; he seeks further into the armpit, and his whole body clenches with the memory of being surrounded by that smell.

Moaning softly, he rests his feet parted on the bed's edge, his back curving as the memory rides through him. His hips yield into the mattress, he greedily sucks in the scent on Barry's boxers, sex and arousal, and he pushes the hand with those boxers down his neck, his chest, and under his belt to wrap around himself.

He jerks up into the soft silk, undoes his zip and lifts his hips to push his jeans down his thighs. He shivers. Barry wore these, they'd slid between his legs, brushed his balls and cock, maybe even trailed precome where Roddy thumbs his tip; this simple pair of boxers probably costs more than Roddy spends on food in a fortnight. Or a month. It feels fucking fantastic, he makes a soft sound at the back of his throat, rubbing fingers against his hole through the silk, thighs parting further to accommodate the angle.

A low growl makes him open his eyes.

"You should let yourself in more often." Barry leans against the doorframe, dark eyes raking in the sight of Roddy on his bed. Skin flushed, damp hair pushed back from his eyes, Barry pulls his iPod from his running clothes, dropping it on the desk by the door.

Barry's gaze flickers from Roddy's face to the hand between his legs, and the spike of lust hits Roddy like a wave of humidity, making his mouth water.

Roddy thrusts up into the boxers in his hand, smirks when Barry takes a few steps into the room, hesitant. "Your clothes smell like you."

A low chuckle, and Barry crosses the distance. "You want me or my clothes?"

Barry pulls Roddy's hands away to hook fingers in Roddy's shirt, pulling it over his head. Barry leans down, sinks between the open 'v' of his legs at the bed's edge and crushes his mouth to Roddy's with a soft, pleased noise.

A secondary wave of scent crashes through taste when Roddy parts his lips and thrusts back against the invasion of Barry's tongue: he tastes/smells the coffee Barry drank that morning, the banana he ate; the trails of pollen, pine, and the ethanol in the car exhaust that clung to Barry on his run. He smells like the world, but Roddy inhales deeply, burrowing beneath all those distractions to the parts that are just Barry; primal, dirty musk and desire grinding heavy between his thighs.

Barry rubs the length of his body against Roddy, and Roddy hooks ankles around his thighs to roll up against the hardness at his groin, hands digging into the shoulderblades of his damp shirt. God. So good. Barry is still hot, sweaty, and breathing hard from his jog; the mix with the outside earth, the Jägerbar and the simple teenager stirring beneath it, rolls over Roddy like steam. He devours it, writhing beneath Barry to get closer as the other Wesen thrusts against him, humming the notes of a laugh into his mouth, pinning him to the bed.

"Miss me?" Barry asks.

"I think you missed me more," Roddy gasps into Barry's mouth, dizzy, tugging the thin braid of rope around his neck. "Smell good." He follows when Barry sinks to his haunches at the foot of the bed.

Barry grins, tugging Roddy's jeans free from his ankles. He shucks off his own shirt, and Roddy touches the tattoo on his chest, flushed red, still damp with sweat. His fingers curl against Barry's skin. He really wants to taste the sweat on that tattoo.

"Bears are supposed to have the best sense of smell in the animal kingdom." Barry's fingers tug on the elastic of Roddy's briefs, drawing them down to pile with his jeans on the floor.

"Reinegen smell through taste, too," Roddy says, hips twitching as the cool air brushes his cock.

Barry's hands stroke up his bare thighs to the dip of his hipbones, eyes dark and glittering. "Taste, huh?" Barry lifts Roddy's hips, hooking knees over his shoulders. He bites a kiss to the inside of his thigh, Roddy smirks, shoulders falling back to the bed, relaxing every muscle in his body in anticipation of the hands that grope his cheeks apart, shivering when Barry noses at the skin behind his balls; hot, possessive breath ghosting across his hole.

"Barry?" Roddy's hands clench in the bed cover at the unexpected fangs that press against the inside of his thigh, the bear's growl vibrating through him.

"You... why d'you smell like lemons... and soap and... fucking potpourri?"

Roddy has to blink a few times before his memory provides the answer. "I might've been at Monroe's overnight. There might've been a spa.”

Fingers clench around his thighs. "You spa'd with that Blütbad?"

"Not the same time." Roddy rolls his eyes, looking down his body to meet the Jägerbar's dark look. "But he had stuff, so I poured some in the water. And I might have fallen asleep - what the hell does it matter?"

"You don't smell like you." Barry reins the bear under control, but he's still scowling, almost angry as he leans in, and then it hits Roddy: not angry. Hungry - starving. Barry's thumbs press at Roddy's rim, and when he licks a clear path across his hole, Roddy jerks, feels the Jägerbar's snarl. "I only want you."

"Fuck," he pants, tensing, and his cock gives a very interested twitch.

The fangs are gone the next time Barry sucks a kiss against his rim, laves his tongue slow, heavy and persistent over and over Roddy's hole. Roddy whines under the assault, stomach clenching, and lets himself fall back against the bed. Thumbs pull at his wet rim, stretching him for Barry to slide his tongue inside. Roddy cries out, split on that wet heat as it thrusts deep, pushes and curls against his walls, Barry's spit drips down the inside of his thighs with a blurt of Roddy's precome.

“'S better.”

Roddy can hear Barry's grin, shivers and thrusts into the hand that strokes up his cock, squeezing the head. Roddy groans when Barry's tongue withdraws, two slickened fingers sliding in easily to take its place. Barry pushes Roddy's own scent back into him, and his mouth returns around those fingers, chuckling, smug and ticklish, like he's won.

Roddy loves it when Barry fucks him like this, greedy and uninhibited, humming into Roddy's flesh; making him whimper and buck up into Barry's hot mouth. Barry is merciless, and Roddy loves how much the Jägerbar loves doing it, how Barry palms and kneads apart the cheeks of his ass, holding him there.

His hips slide from Barry's shoulders, he feels the bed depress with weight, a touch on his hip, and then Barry is hovering over him, lips shining and wet.

"I have a spa," he says lightly, blue eyes watching Roddy's face. He watches Roddy tilt his head back in a silent cry when those fingers thrust slow and deep, twisting past the second knuckle. "Big as this bed. Wanna try it?"

The light behind Roddy's eyelids swims in whorls of blissed out colour, imagining Barry fuck into him, hands gripped on the slippery edge, the water sloshing around them. He wants. "Raincheck."

Barry takes his cue when Roddy pushes the lube into his free hand, sits back with a grin and nearly empties the entire bottle with a single squeeze between Roddy's thighs. Roddy jerks, cursing at the cold. He glares at Barry who just gives him that smirk promising a filthy, vocal future. Roddy's grateful Barry's privileged upbringing lets him use more than he needs without a second thought for the cost.

Roddy swallows, pushing his thighs further apart when a third finger burns into him, squelching obscenely, Barry's other hand massaging wet, soothing circles at the base of his tailbone, lifting his hips. He writhes, head thrown back and eyes shut in bliss as he fucks himself down onto those fingers, wishes Barry would push him that little bit harder, deeper –

And then Barry does just that, Roddy cries out, back arched, thighs melting as Barry twists and hooks back like a corkscrew as though saying, Not yet, come back to me, baby.

Fuck. Fuck. So, Roddy might have vocalised some of that request.

He's humping uselessly into air, Barry's thick fingers massage over his prostate, and it brings fucking tears to his eyes. Shaking, he grabs Barry's shoulders and hopes he leaves bruises because the Jägerbar just smirks back at him with an innocently raised eyebrow.

"Sure you don't want to spa with me?" Barry asks, but the thrust and stretch on 'spa' kills any patience Roddy might have had left to consider it.

"Shut up and get in me," Roddy growls.

"God, you ask so nice," Barry groans, fresh curl of arousal filling Roddy's nose.

Roddy grinds his jaw and sits up to tear open Barry's pants, slicks his palm with some of the lube still dripping from between his own thighs, and slides his hand into Barry's underwear, frees his cock in a single pass. Barry groans softly under his breath, jerking into Roddy's hand, shuddering when Roddy squeezes him in warning.

Roddy uses his heels hooked around Barry's thighs to anchor himself, dragging forward, tucking himself against Barry's hips. Barry winces and moans when Roddy fists them together, tilts his hips to rub himself against the base of Barry's cock. He smears sweat, precome and lube, and Barry stares at the way they slide together like he's the first man to discover fire.

Roddy has to unstupefy him. "Barry. C'mon," he murmurs, hot and breathless, against Barry's cheek.

He drops his mouth, giving into temptation to lick and suck at the lines of Barry's tattoo, tasting salt and soil, and he wonders how far Barry went into the forest today.

A pleased sound rumbles under his lips as Barry nuzzles his hair. "Want you." Barry sounds drunk, both hands finding slippery purchase on Roddy's hips.

His head swims with the wave of lust that rolls off Barry, lets his eyes draw closed under the weight of it. He feels like he's burning and Barry should have been crushing him down to the bed a long fucking time ago. Roddy doesn't ask for too much, does he?

He shivers, almost moans. "Fuck me."

"Yeah," Barry moans for him, looks into Roddy's face, and his eyes are dark, pupils completely dilated, soaking in the sight of Roddy going onto his back. A small frown flits across Barry's face. "You sure?"

Roddy glares at him in disbelief. "Don't you fucking dare."

If Barry leaves him now, Roddy will take Barry's cock and balls off with his own traditional claw from that display downstairs, and then disembowel him.

Barry shakes his head, fingers curling into Roddy's hip. "No - I mean... are you... enough?" His fingers stroke down between Roddy's cheeks, and Roddy instinctively parts his thighs wider, gut clenching. "Was that enough? I - you know - after last time, wanna make sure you're not gonna. You know. Hurt."

Roddy almost buries his face in his hands. He must not kill Barry. Okay. Last time they tried to do more than let Barry fuck him open with his tongue and fingers, they didn't plan ahead. Yeah, it hurt enough that Roddy ignored Barry for a week out of spite and tried to hide the fact he was limping from a sex injury, but that was on both of them, it's why they have lube....

"... and I know I'm lucky you're so fucking patient, but if you don't stop looking at me like that and just --" Roddy blinks, realising he said all of that aloud. Barry is staring at him with such confused awe and wonder, it takes the wind out of his sails. "Just...."

"I really want to kiss you," Barry says without breaking away from his gaze.

Roddy scowls. "You just had your tongue up my ass."

"Roddy." Barry sulks, leaning in anyway. "Dude, you tasted like bath salt and lemons."

But Roddy turns his head away and Barry finds the corner of his jaw instead. The grunt of annoyance huffs beneath Roddy's ear before Barry's mouth closes on his skin, licking along the soft curve of bone, up beneath his ear, and Roddy shivers at the flush of heat.

"Your jaw, huh?" Barry chuckles, free hand somehow escaped to wrap around Roddy's cock, and he feels his entire body vibrating when Barry's steady hand slides under the thighs wrapped around his waist, lifting and tilting Roddy's hips.

Barry sinks in with a helpless sound, the stretch still burns, but the slide is easy, almost too quick. Roddy seats himself, groaning through gritted teeth, litany storming through his head, relax, relax - yes, god -

It feels sharper than last time, pushes every complete thought beyond his reach as Barry fills him, and that's when Roddy realises he's making this strange noise, not quite moaning, more than humming, chest-to-chest. Barry's lifts the hand under Roddy's hips to snugly wrap low around his waist, other hand laying flat over the source of the vibrations in Roddy's chest.

"God, you... you feel...." Barry looks gorgeous, mouth red, blush in his cheeks as he winces, eyes shut, but his smell is amazing. Barry smells like heat and sex and hesitation; like metal, earth and life; and he's all Roddy's.

"Yeah." Roddy feels the pleased hum increase behind his ribs, nuzzling closer; Barry's first thrust is slow, experimental and shallow, but it still makes Roddy tremble with a soft sound, bearing down in frustration.

Barry gasps, his hips snap, and, for a split second, Roddy loses his breath.

Barry shifts to steady himself with a hand on the bed. He starts rocking up into Roddy, hips grinding, Roddy gasps out, clinging to Barry's arms with every push and the slick noise of Barry sliding out, in, again and again and, God, this is so much better than last time.

Barry's lips brush the corner of his mouth, sweaty forehead sliding against Roddy's temple. Roddy whimpers, too strung out to voice the 'no' low in his throat.

"Why not?" Barry honest-to-God whines, two-thirds sulking, one-third annoyed.

Roddy reluctantly surfaces from his sex-drunken haze. He doesn't confess he expected Barry to just take what he wanted by now, balls deep and grinding into Roddy's ass. "I say so."

The sulk on Barry's mouth darkens into a scowl. Hands curl under Roddy's thighs, and Roddy curses as he's flipped onto his knees, head spinning from the wrench of Barry still inside him. Barry shoves in hard, punching the air from Roddy's lungs, he drags out and holds Roddy open with hands kneading his ass for the next time he thrusts in, sparking white in Roddy's vision.

Wow. Just... wow.

Roddy's hands curl in the sheets, head hanging low to gasp the little air he can as Barry pounds into him, covering his back with his chest, mouthing wet, possessive kisses up Roddy's neck, his tongue curls into the short hairs at his nape. Barry grunts with every thrust and Roddy fights to keep in his breathless noises, whimpering, shoulders braced as he squirms and pushes himself back, but the heat is already shuddering through him, and Barry's fingers wrap so snugly around his cock, fucking Roddy into his hand. He can't. He shouts, back bowed, and comes all over the sheets beneath him.

He's vaguely aware of Barry growling into his skin as he rides it out, tight and shivering, then moaning as Barry's hands clamp around his hips, his thrusts slowing to a familiar, unsteady grind. He snarls and thrusts in deep a moment before Roddy feels the warm flood rush into him. He rocks into the bed with every hard shove of Barry's hips, smiles to himself as he clamps down and hears Barry moan piteously, milking Barry through his release.

Roddy's panting, forehead resting on his arms, when he feels the tension finally leave the body bracketing him. His thighs are dripping, wet; his head is pounding, and it occurs to him that, sometime soon, they're going to need to talk about protection.

He realises Barry is trying to talk to him as a worried voice pierces the cloud of his post-sex haze, hands stroking up his back. "You okay?"

"Awesome." Roddy tries for smug and winces, feeling the slight ache in his lower back, the burn of his muscles when Barry starts pulling out. He throws a hand back, clutching at Barry's hip to stop him, and clenches inwardly, feeling Barry's sharp inhale. "Just give me a minute here."

"Okay," Barry says, after a moment. "I'm gonna... here."

Roddy breathes out carefully as Barry settles them on their side, out of the wet spot. He's covered in sweat and come, he sucks in a deep breath of Barry's sex and hums in pleasure, reaching down to touch where Barry still breaches him. He hides his smile at the soft grunt in his hair, Barry's arms curling around him against the cold air.

"Don't, unless you want to go again," Barry warns, muffled and tired, in his hair.

Roddy takes Barry's hand and wraps it around his cock, still soft and slick with come. Barry's quiet groan sounds confused. Roddy doesn't expect his own body to show interest so soon, either. But it's a nice feeling, being held (for the thirty seconds he'll allow it before Barry starts wondering).

"I thought you were going to show me your spa," Roddy says.

The arms around him tighten, and he can practically hear Barry smiling.