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Olruggio sighs in relief as the girls disappear down the road with Tartah and his grandfather, leaving him and Qifrey standing alone on the stoop of the Atelier for the first time in what feels like an eternity. It isn’t that he doesn’t like having them around or anything. Quite the opposite in fact: he’s come to adore the strange little family of witches that he and Qifrey have somehow created.
But, on occasion, Olruggio doesn’t mind the chance to have his husband all to himself, and so when Tartah nervously asked if his friends could come to visit for a couple days, Olruggio readily agreed. Insisted upon it even. Not only does he want a little peace and quiet with Qifrey, but it’s good for the girls to enjoy the simple joy of just being children now and then.
“So…” Qifrey begins, and Olruggio fails to stifle a smile when he feels slim, delicate fingers brush over his palm. “We have the Atelier to ourselves… What should we do with all this free time?”
Olruggio hums thoughtfully, slipping an arm around Qifrey’s waist to tug him in against his chest. He’s a little bit taller than Olruggio and twice as pretty, with his soft, white hair and smooth skin. A single sky blue eye glitters with mischief from behind his fancy little spectacles, as bright and enchanting as the water magic he’s so gifted at using.
“Hmmm… I don’t know. Dinner is almost done. I think I’d like to enjoy a nice, quiet meal with my husband maybe,” he murmurs, producing a small, silver ring from a secret pocket inside of his robes.
Qifrey smiles patiently as Olruggio slips it onto his left hand ring finger, then produces a matching one from his own robes that he guides onto Olruggio’s hand.
Some would probably think it strange that he and Qifrey hide their married status from the world. Neither of them are ashamed of their relationship, or each other, but there’s a certain degree of practicality in keeping their private business private.
Besides. Olruggio didn’t make Qifrey his husband for the rest of the world’s benefit. What they have between them is just for him and Qifrey. He’s sure at least Agott has figured them out, possibly all four of Qifrey’s students even, but if they did they haven’t said anything.
Olruggio likes it this way. He has nothing to prove to anyone, and he’s never been a boastful or jealous man. He doesn’t need to put a public claim on his husband to know that Qifrey is his and his alone.
“I think your husband might also enjoy a nice, quiet meal with his husband,” Qifrey teases sweetly, trailing delicate fingertips along the stubbled roughness of Olruggio’s cheekbone. “What else do you have planned for him this evening?”
Olruggio considers the question with a thoughtful noise, carefully plucking the spectacles off Qifrey’s face so he can get a better look at him. The magic fades, exposing the twisted gnarl of Qifrey’s right eye to the only person he’s ever willingly shown it to. He cradles a callused palm against his husband’s face and strokes his thumb across scarring he’s long since memorized by sight and touch.
“I think perhaps I may take him to bed after that and see just how many freckles I can find on his body beneath all the layers of his pretty clothes…” he whispers, pleased when this drags the slightest of shivers from the normally unflappable Qifrey. “Lay him back upon the mattress and draw a bit of magic upon him with my mouth and hands.”
He sweeps his husband up into his arms and carries him into the warm comfort of the Atelier, smiling when Qifrey circles his arms around Olruggio’s neck and laughs, soft and musical as bell song.
“Why Professor Olruggio, is it not forbidden to perform magic upon the human body? I could report you,” Qifrey chuckles, expression darkening with interest when Olruggio stops walking and nudges their foreheads together.
“I think I’ll take the risk, Professor Qifrey,” he murmurs softly, lips brushing Qifrey’s with each syllable.
He can feel the curve of his husband’s lips against his own when Qifrey smiles, preening slightly under the hands that have slipped into his dark hair to rub at his scalp. Olruggio is half tempted to skip dinner entirely and go straight to dessert, but neither of them have eaten all day, nor have they slept very well, and he knows it would be unwise. The academic struggles of work obsessed witches, after all.
Turns out Olruggio was getting a little ahead of himself in his planning however. It’s several hours later, well into the night, when he suddenly blinks back awake at the sensation of something heavy against his chest shifting in its sleep. He stares in mild confusion at the ceiling of the common area, wincing when the pressure of the unforgiving wood floor beneath him makes itself known in the form of an ache in his back.
The weight shifting on top of him turns out to be Qifrey, half undressed with his white tunic bunched around his waist and drooling quietly into Olruggio’s shoulder. Their empty bowls and glasses sit nearby, telling a pretty clear story even if Olruggio didn’t remember exactly what had happened.
They ate, and they drank, and they talked. About their students. About their magic. About the upcoming Silver Night Festival.
Bodies growing heavy. The solid press of Qifrey against his side, and the murmured promise that they were just going to rest their eyes for a few minutes as the warmth of their dinner settled in their bellies, and the candles glowed soft and comfortable around them.
“Mm… Qifrey, we should go to bed,” Olruggio whispers, wincing as his joints crack stiffly when he attempts to stretch out his aching limbs.
Qifrey makes a dissenting noise and burrows deeper into Olruggio’s side, gripping tightly at the front of his tunic shirt. Some of the buttons that keep it closed have popped open, exposing a sliver of Olruggio’s chest to the cool night air, and Qifrey takes full advantage of this to nose into the thatch of dark hair between his pectorals, sighing comfortably.
“I’m fine right here,” Qifrey answers pleasantly, slipping his hand beneath Olruggio’s shirt to idly run his fingers through the wiry curls on his sternum.
When Olruggio twists his head to look at him there’s a wicked, teasing glow in his eye that immediately banishes all thoughts of sleep from his mind. He slides a palm down the line of Qifrey’s spine to find the ties that make up his robe belt, plucking at each knot while he and Qifrey quietly size one another up.
“I see… But while you slept quite comfortably on top of me, my back was left to rest painfully upon the wood. How do you plan to make this up to me?” he asks, tugging Qifrey’s belt off.
Qifrey smiles that small, mischievous smile of his and slowly sits up to slide on top of him, straddling his hips with practiced, almost elegant ease. Wordlessly he peels his black undershirt over his head and discards it to the side, exposing miles of smooth, mouthwatering skin to Olruggio’s gaze.
“I can probably think of something,” Qifrey hums, rubbing a palm down the center of his own chest until he reaches the tunic puddled around his waist.
Olruggio watches, dry mouthed and suddenly starving again despite the large dinner they’d had as Qifrey kneels over him and undresses, fumbling his own belt off so he can pull his tunic shirt out from the waistband of his dark trousers and kick them off. He keeps his eyes on Qifrey the entire time, shuddering when the now naked weight of his husband settles back down to sit on his belly.
Qifrey runs his hands over Olruggio’s body and through the thick, dark hair on his stomach and chest. He’s offered to shave it on many occasions, fearing that his husband may find it scratchy and uncomfortable, but Qifrey has steadfastly refused to allow this every single time.
“It’s been a long time since we last had the luxury of this,” Qifrey croons softly, rocking his ass backwards against the increasingly interested length of Olruggio’s cock. “I’ve been thinking about it… Fantasizing about you storming into my study and pushing me down on my work, taking me bent over my magic like you just couldn’t control yourself any longer.”
Olruggio swears under his breath and reaches up to grab at Qifrey’s slender hips, digging his fingers into the soft, supple flesh. Qifrey’s own cock, slender and pretty as the rest of him, rubs against Olruggio’s belly as he leans down over him. He’s smiling, showing far too many teeth for Olruggio to not feel distinctly like a prey animal trapped beneath a powerful, vicious predator.
“Well? Is my husband going to take care of me like he promised, or am I going to have to do all the work myself?”
Qifrey’s voice is sweet and cloying, like a spoonful of honey sticking to the roof of Olruggio’s mouth. He tightens his grip on Qifrey’s hips by a fraction before slipping them behind him to grope at his ass, dipping his fingers into the cleft to find the tight pucker of his hole.
“Do you have anything to ease the way, oh husband of mine?” Olruggio growls, tipping his head up to nip at Qifrey’s plush lower lip.
Qifrey produces a small bottle of oil from the discarded pile of his robes and presses it against the back of Olruggio’s hand, a silent sort of challenge in his eye that gets Olruggio’s blood thrumming. He has to be careful though, and take it slow.
He never wants to be counted among those who have caused pain to Qifrey, even if in the pursuit of pleasure.
Qifrey’s quiet gasp when Olruggio presses a slick finger into him feels like an affirmation and absolution all in one breath. He curls all the way down over him until their foreheads are pressed together, palms pressed to his chest as he rocks back into Olruggio’s touch. Olruggio cradles the palm of his free hand against his husband’s face, gently brushing his bangs back so he can see the entirety of it.
“Qifrey… Qifrey, look at me,” he whispers, sinking his finger into the tight clench of his body all the way up to the knuckle.
Soft, beautiful blue flutters open to meet his gaze and Olruggio smiles faintly before finally closing the distance between them to kiss him. His mouth tastes sweetly of wine when Olruggio licks past his lips, twining his tongue with Qifrey’s and swallowing every last little noise he makes when he presses a second finger past the twitching rim of his hole.
He kisses the corner of Qifrey’s mouth, and then his cheek. The rough ridges of his scar are familiar beneath his lips and Olruggio sighs pleasantly when Qifrey’s hands come up to bury in his dark hair, seeking out another proper kiss as he coaxes his body into loosening up for him.
“That’s enough… That’s enough, I want to feel you,” Qifrey pants softly, arching his back as Olruggio teases his fingertips around his sensitive prostate. “Olly, please.”
Who is Olruggio to deny him when he asks so sweetly?
There’s no way they’re going to make it upstairs to the bedroom, so Olruggio takes care to spread his dark cloak out across the wood before lying Qifrey back upon it. His pale skin glows in the candlelight, sweat already gathering in the hollows of his collarbones and hips. His body, soft and slender and dotted all over with freckles and the faded white remains of old scars, begs for Olruggio to mark it with his mouth and hands.
“You’re so beautiful,” Olruggio murmurs, kneeling between Qifrey’s milky thighs as he spreads his long, delicate legs to make space for him. “I could spend all night looking at you, admiring you.”
His silvery hair fans out like a waterfall, stark against the dark blue velvet of Olruggio’s cloak. He folds his arms above his head, leaving him as vulnerable and exposed as a powerful witch like Qifrey can possibly ever get. His body language, normally so restrained and closed off, is now open and trusting.
Olruggio tries not to let the knowledge that he’s the only one that will ever get to see Qifrey like this go to his head.
“I’d rather you touch me instead of just looking,” Qifrey admonishes, breath hitching when Olruggio slots their hips together and grinds his cock against Qifrey’s.
He plants his forearm beside Qifrey’s head to support himself so he doesn’t crush him, then cups a hand against his cheek to stroke his thumb beneath his husband’s one semi-good eye.
“Is the lighting okay or do you need your glasses?” he asks softly, peppering Qifrey’s face with little kisses while he considers the question.
A gentle, talented hand strokes through his hair and Olruggio makes a pleased sound, only to laugh when Qifrey uses his impossible, freakish strength to force Olruggio into lying his full weight on top of him.
“I’m fine like this. Just stay close so I can see you,” Qifrey croons in his ear, thighs pressing tight around Olruggio’s hips to prevent him from pulling too far away.
The position they’re in makes it a little difficult for Olruggio to get the angle right, and it takes a bit of clumsy fumbling for him to get his cock slicked with oil and pressed against Qifrey’s ass, but eventually he manages it well enough. Qifrey doesn’t make it any easier with the tight grip he has around his shoulders and hips, seeming quite unbothered while Olruggio struggles.
But when the thick head of Olruggio’s cock rubs over his wet hole he bites his lip, making a soft, sweet little sound before loosening the hold his thighs have on his waist. Granted more space to work, Olruggio kneels up and digs his knees into the floor to give himself enough leverage to finally, finally press into his husband’s body. Qifrey gasps and tenses almost immediately at the burn of being penetrated but when Olruggio goes to pull back again Qifrey is there to stop him with a tight grip on his sun freckled shoulders.
“Don’t… Olly, don’t,” Qifrey complains, relaxing by a fraction when Olruggio stops trying to pull out. “Just go slower.”
Olruggio obeys. If Quifrey wished for the very stars in the sky right now, all he’d need to do is ask and Olruggio would pluck every single one from the heavens and give them to him.
He sinks into his husband inch by agonizing inch, kissing away the sweat beading on his temples and stroking soft, silver-white hair back from his face. And then their bodies are flush together and Qifrey is panting, nails digging crescent moons into Olruggio’s flesh.
Qifrey is tight, clenching wetly around Olruggio’s cock as he adjusts to the overwhelming fullness. It’s been too many months since they’ve had the time and privacy to do this and Olruggio feels almost as overcome by the onslaught of sensation as Qifrey, burying his face in his husband’s pale shoulder to steady himself before he comes too quickly.
“Olly… It’s so warm,” Qifrey complains, arching up into his chest when Olruggio kisses him.
The night air is hot and humid, worsened by the candles flickering around them. But Olruggio smiles faintly and seeks out the familiar shape of the runes he had stitched into the lining of the cloak under Qifrey a long time ago. He activates the magic, pleased when the tension between Qifrey’s brows eases as cold air swirls up from the cloak and envelops him.
“A cooling spell? How self indulgent of you, Professor Olruggio,” he teases gently, rubbing a soft inner thigh against Olruggio’s hip.
Olruggio offers his husband a wry grin, stroking his thumb in tender circles across the high arch of his cheekbone.
“I like to be comfortable. Wearing all this black gets hot in the summer,” he hums before claiming his lips in another deep, searching kiss.
Neither of them are going to last long. They’re tired, and Qifrey is so sensitive beneath his touch, his grip growing tighter when Olruggio finally begins to move inside of him. His body makes lewd, sticky wet noises from the oil and the drag of his inner walls around Olruggio’s cock is nearly too much to bear.
Quifrey is so tight it feels like he’s sucking Olruggio back inside and each time he bottoms out it drags a rough, deep moan from both of them, filling the Atelier with the sounds of their lovemaking.
“Olly… Olly, m’gonna…” Quifrey whines, gasping when Olruggio pulls him up off the floor and settles him on his lap instead.
The new position presses Olruggio’s cock even deeper and Qifrey groans in his ear, locking his legs around his waist and clinging to him with every inch of his body. His arms wind tightly over his shoulders, nails raking deep furrows into his flesh that Olruggio will admire come morning time.
There is very little in this world that makes Qifrey lose control, and Olruggio counts himself lucky that he’s among the chosen few that can ruffle Qifrey’s cool, quiet composure.
“Me too, Qi…” Olruggio growls softly, pressing a kiss to the delicate pulse in Qifrey’s throat as he bucks up into him.
He holds his husband steady with a strong grip on his waist, digging his knees into the wood for leverage. His body protests the harsh treatment but he steadfastly ignores it, instead choosing to focus on the faint beard burn on Qifrey’s jaw and the flush pink glow of heat in his face as they stare at one another.
His mouth is wet and swollen from Olruggio’s kisses, and the dancing fire of the candlelight is making his eye glow impossibly bright in the semi-dark. It’s like staring directly up into the sky on a summer day, when there isn’t a single cloud and all you can see for miles is endless, impossible blue infinity.
“I love you.”
The words come to him so easily, so naturally, it’s like breathing. Qifrey’s palm is against his cheek and Olruggio turns to kiss the thin silver band around his finger, the metal warm and solid beneath his lips. His husband smiles, panting breathlessly as he presses his forehead to Olruggio’s.
Olruggio’s thrusts have slowed to a simple rock up into Qifrey’s body, and when he goes to pull out Qifrey stops him again with a sweet, almost chaste brush of his mouth over Olruggio’s.
“Inside, Olly.”
He plants his palm over Olruggio’s heart and pushes until Olruggio lies back against the floor, stomach clenching with arousal when Qifrey just quietly smirks down at him. He rides him with deep, grinding rolls of his hips, ink flecked fingers curled into his chest hair as he chases his pleasure.
Olruggio can only stare up at him, enamored by the beauty of his face as it twists with need and want. His swollen mouth hangs open, his breathing becoming ragged and pitched each time Olruggio bottoms out inside of him. Sweat makes his silver hair curl damply around his ears, and the glittering gemstone of Qifrey’s eye remains fixed on his face, filled with a myriad of emotions that Olruggio can never quite identify.
“I love you,” he repeats, pulling Qifrey down to lie on top of him and planting his feet on the floor so he can help him chase his orgasm. “I love you.”
He kisses Qifrey’s brow, and then the tip of his nose, shivering when Qifrey’s fingers bury in his beard to pull him in for a proper kiss. He’s overdue for a shave, but Qifrey doesn’t complain when the rough, wiry hair rubs at the delicate skin around his mouth.
“I love you,” he whispers into the kiss, and Qifrey doesn’t repeat it back but Olruggio doesn’t need to hear the words out loud when Qifrey says it quite clearly with how tightly he presses his body into Olruggio’s embrace.
The shape of his name on Qifrey’s lips tastes better than any food or drink Olruggio has ever consumed, and who needs the validation of spoken language when every inch of Qifrey’s being, body and soul, is telling Olruggio that he loves him?
Qifrey orgasms with a quiet cry of pleasure that Olruggio devours, tightening his grip on his husband when he hits his own peak and coming deep inside of Qifrey. They rock together as they ride out their climaxes, and then Olruggio finally collapses fully back into the floor, grunting when Qifrey drops his full body weight square on his chest.
Their lips brush as they catch their breath, and Olruggio smiles tiredly at the feeling of Qifrey’s fingers combing through his chest hair once more. They lie there in silence for a while, enjoying the peaceful afterglow and the feel of the warm night air on their sweat soaked skin.
He’s still buried inside of Qifrey and Olruggio enjoys the quiet intimacy of that, and of the tiny kisses Qifrey is butterflying across his cheek.
“Bath… and then sleep? Or sleep and then bath,” Olruggio asks in a low murmur, idly tracing the shapes of familiar runes into Qifrey’s back with his fingertips.
“Mmm, I might fall asleep in the bath,” Qifrey admits, much to Olruggio’s relief. He very much does not have the energy to draw a bath for them right now.
“Sleep first it is.”
It takes every single ounce of strength left in Olruggio’s body to get them up off the floor. He regretfully has to pull out of Qifrey to do this, who makes an indignant sort of noise when lube and Olruggio’s come immediately starts to leak out of him.
Olruggio takes a mental note to clean up their mess later and hauls Qifrey against his chest, guiding him to wrap his arms and legs around his torso to aid in supporting his weight before he finally stands them up. His knees waver and threaten to buckle from the agony of kneeling on the unforgiving wood floor for so long, but he manages to get them both up the stairs and into his bedroom after dousing the candles.
His bed is barely big enough for them to squeeze into, but Olruggio doesn’t mind it because it means they have to stick close together to both fit. He cleans the worst of the mess between Qifrey’s thighs with one of his spare work rags, quietly eyeing the smears of come across his belly from his own orgasm.
“Olly, are you–”
Qifrey doesn’t get to finish his question. Olruggio leans down to lick a wet stripe across the soft expanse of his abdomen, cleaning up one of the white streaks with a noisy little slurp. Qifrey’s hands immediately bury in his hair, but they don’t pull him off or push him away, so Olruggio takes that as permission to keep going.
Bitter saltiness fills his mouth as he cleans up the mess on Qifrey’s stomach, patiently licking away each streak of semen until all he can taste is clean skin. When he glances up at his husband, Qifrey’s face is pink and there’s a weight to his stare that fills Olruggio with a firm sense of purpose.
He’ll do whatever it takes so long as Qifrey continues to look at him with such wild, untamed desire.
Qifrey curls his fingers into his beard and tugs him up for a kiss, sighing comfortably when Olruggio slots between his legs and lies on top of him once more. The press of Qifrey’s hips against his own is insistent, but it’s clear after a few dedicated minutes of kissing and touching that neither of them have the energy for another round.
With a tired huff, Olruggio collapses on top of Qifrey and buries his face in his neck, relaxing when his husband immediately starts to stroke his hair.
“Sleep first,” Qifrey repeats, sighing contently into Olruggio’s temple. “We have all tomorrow to do whatever we please before the girls get home.”
Olruggio makes what he hopes sounds like an agreeable noise, eyes already firmly closed and nose pressed to the hollow of Qifrey’s throat to breathe in his scent.
He swears, just before he drifts off, that he can feel Qifrey’s lips form the words ‘I love you’ against his skin.
And it is enough.