Chapter Text
“I’m not going to burn you,” Dewdrop says, offended. “Not unless you’re into that.”
Aeon blinks a couple of times. He swears Dew’s hands are smoking, steam rising off the surface of his skin like water off a steel pan. That combined with the fact that he’s sweating buckets while snow falls outside doesn’t have him very reassured. Maybe it’s his imagination, and he really is just anxious, but he suspects it may have something to do with being naked in front of a fully clothed Dewdrop.
Dew holds out his hand. Aeon stares at it like he’s been handed a live frog. It’s almost just as big as his, only slightly smaller, but he feels so insignificant taking it. Hand in hand, they’re like a painting that someone got too lazy to properly finish. Dew, perfect. Aeon, not so much.
“Well?” Dew asks, just a little softer. “You wanna?”
Aeon takes his hand and lets himself be guided onto his back, against the ridiculously tall pile of pillows. He’s surprised Dew had the courtesy—all he’s heard so far are stories about how Dew is rough, nasty, mean in bed, and frankly he can testify to that, but he’s been treated with nothing but softness today. It’s suspicious.
“Dew,” he starts to say, but the words fail him before he can get the next one out.
Dew moves his legs apart and kneels between them, palms pressing lightly against his thighs. He looks at Aeon with the sweetest smile, and Aeon feels his heart rate drop by a couple of beats. “Still in the mood?”
As if Aeon’s rock-hard cock isn’t within arm’s reach, twitching and shiny with pre at the tip.
“Yeah,” Aeon says. It comes out hoarser than expected. He clears his throat. “Are you gonna take your clothes off?”
“Oh, I was hoping you could,” Dew replies, while he sneaks his fingers around Aeon’s cock to give him a furtive squeeze. God, he is so much harder than he thought. “Had a feeling you were the romantic kind. Flower petals and candles and all that.”
Aeon isn’t the romantic kind, if flower petals and candles is the impression Dew has of him. That seems to be more of a Mountain thing. But he hums in agreement anyway, rolling his hips up into Dew’s hand, chasing the feeling. “I can, if you’d like.”
“Great.” Dew grabs Aeon’s balls with his other hand and gropes them for a little bit, cupping them in his warm palm. Aeon’s head falls back against the pillows. “Go ahead. Don’t mind me.”
It’s really unfair that Dew’s distracting Aeon like that, but Aeon’s fear of disappointing Dew far outweighs his sense of self preservation. He’s able to reach the top button of Dew’s uniform to pop it open and feel his way down from there, undoing as he goes. His dexterity is in shambles, especially with the handjob Dew’s insistent on giving him right now, but he manages through sheer horny willpower, even as his hands shake all the way.
Before he knows it, Dew’s slipping his shirt from his skinny shoulders and bunching it up to throw it somewhere behind him. Aeon sighs with relief, shuffling back to the pillow pile. Dew follows, going on his knees to kneel where Aeon can see him.
“Pants.”
Stupid skinny jeans, Aeon thinks, as he fumbles to unzip Dew’s fly. Could have worn anything but skinny jeans. It’s a real effort to push them down Dew’s hips enough for Dew to step out of them, and his arms are aching by the end of it. All the while, Dew doesn’t let go of his cock, holding it like a goddamn microphone. He would laugh if he wasn’t so desperate.
He crawls backwards again, a little shakier this time. Dew closes the distance between them and gives his cheek an affectionate pat.
“Took you long enough,” he says, but he doesn’t sound angry. Mildly amused, maybe. At least he isn’t smoking anymore.
“Sorry,” Aeon says quietly.
Dew pecks him on the lips. “Don’t be.”
Aeon nods, painfully aware of the bulge in Dew’s pants. Denim never feels good on a boner, and he knows from experience that Dew doesn’t wear underwear, but Dew seems to have remarkably good tolerance for discomfort. Either that or he’s used to it, and Aeon doesn’t know which turns him on more. He reaches out to stroke Dew’s jaw, fingers lingering on his chin. Dew’s a little stubbly there, hair pale enough to be invisible. Aeon can’t wait to feel him on his skin.
“All yours,” Dew says sweetly, rubbing his face into Aeon’s hands like a cat. His voice goes all soft and breathy when he’s like this, eager to give. He has the loveliest voice when it isn’t being used to swear.
Aeon tilts Dew’s head curiously, like he’s examining a foreign specimen. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Dew entertains Aeon’s examining, neck going slack and pliable like a ragdoll. “All for you. You can use me.”
“Use you?” Aeon isn’t too sure about that. The word makes him feel a little uneasy—he shouldn’t be using Dewdrop. If anything, it should be him on that end, gratefully accepting everything and anything Dewdrop deigns to give. “Tell me how.”
“I’m gonna suck you off,” Dew announces, jacking Aeon a couple of times, preparing him for the real thing. “You can pull my hair, hold my head down, I don’t mind. I’ll tap you if I need a breather.” He taps Aeon twice on the thigh. “Like that.”
Aeon tries for a smile. “Okay.”
He likes being told what to do. Options are not good, but orders are. Rules are good. Free rein is so-so. He wonders how Dew always seems to know what he likes.
Maybe that’s just a Dew thing.
“Stop me if it doesn’t feel good,” Dew says, and Aeon wishes he had that kind of confidence, to know it definitely will feel good. He doesn’t have much time to ponder, though, because Dew’s mouth on his cock is the distraction to end all distractions. When he groans louder than he thought he would, he can’t help but buck his hips up at the same time, hitting Dew right at the back of the throat.
“Sorry,” he says again, embarrassed, but Dew doesn’t gag. He just looks up at Aeon through his lashes and blinks all soft and pretty, like that baby deer from that Bambi movie that made Rain cry.
Aeon doesn’t think he can look at Dew without losing his mind, so he tips his head back and grabs fistfuls of the sheets to hold himself in place, resisting the temptation to fuck up into that wonderful heat. This isn’t the first blowjob he’s received, but it’s up there in his top ten, he swears. Top five, even.
And then Dew starts bobbing his head. And Dew’s mouth is molten around him, the air surrounding them heated by a few degrees, but it doesn’t stop Aeon from shivering. It’s tight and wet and burning hot but Aeon isn’t worried—Dewdrop isn’t hurting him, Dewdrop is trusting him, and that thought in itself turns him on so much he’s anxious he might cum way too soon.
He’s so caught up in his own head that he almost doesn’t realise when Dew takes his hand and guides it to his hair. He grabs it instinctively, the feeling of soft strands against his fingers foreign but not unwelcome, and gives an experimental tug.
“Mm-hm,” Dew moans around his cock, outstandingly pornographic. Just like that, his eyes seem to say.
Unchallenged, Aeon tugs again, harder, and harder after that, relishing in the resistance Dew puts up. Dew’s just so little, built like the wire and steel boning inside a statue. Aeon tugs until he can’t.
The twitch of a muscle, the snap of a bowstring. Dew lets out a soft gasp as he’s rudely pulled to his knees. A smile splits his face the next instant, even as his hands flail for a second.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “You like that, huh? Roughing me up? Pushing me around?”
Aeon likes that more than he is willing to admit.
“I do,” he says, feeling his cheeks heat up.
“Good,” Dew says. “So do it.”
Aeon shoves him back down, spearing him meanly on his cock, and this time Dew does gag, throat working to accommodate Aeon’s length. It’s a lewd, wet sound, so wrong but so right. Aeon doesn’t apologise a second time—Dew’s made it clear he’s into this, made it clear Aeon can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want, so Aeon tightens his grip on Dew’s lovely hair and fucks into Dew’s lovely mouth until his thighs start to shake, until he’s sure Dew can’t hold his breath any longer.
He gets it now. It’s a power trip. Holding Dew in the palm of his hand, reducing him to a fucktoy, a fleshlight. Using his mouth for pleasure. Manhandling him. Aeon feels filthy in all the best ways, ways that’ll have him cringing when post-nut clarity hits, but hit like a drug while he’s in the heat of the moment. He’s just as helpless as Dew looks right now, nothing but a giant cluster of nerve endings and tangled feelings, a million balls of precious yarn he doesn’t want to unravel so soon.
“Oh, Dew,” he cries out, feeling Dew swallow around him. He should probably let Dew up to breathe, but between Dew’s hands gripping his thighs and Dew’s throat working his cock, it’s a futile effort.
He wonders if Dewdrop will let him cum in his mouth.
He should probably ask.
“Fuck,” he swears, yanking Dew’s head up so he can look at him properly, in all his spit-slick teary-eyed glory. There’s the light scratch of Dew’s claws on his knees, seeking purchase. Aeon ignores it.
Dew’s eyes are unfocused, and he’s curled in on himself, just enough to be noticeable, but his dazed grin never falters. Aeon smacks him across the face, just to hear the satisfying crack of his palm on Dew’s skin, and Dew makes the sweetest, most startled sound. Unrelenting, Aeon leans in to scrape his canines along Dew’s throat, right where it’s tender and vulnerable.
“Oh,” Dew breathes. “Just like that, just like that. Harder, come on—” He tilts his head back, exposing more of his skin for Aeon to fuck up, yipping at the vicious bites Aeon leaves in his wake.
“Harder?” Aeon asks, inspired. “You want it harder?”
Dew lets out a mournful little ah! sound when Aeon grabs his hair and yanks, dragging him back down to wipe his cock all over Dew’s cheek. His blush extends to his hairline, Aeon notices with no small amount of endearment. His neck and shoulders, too.
“Yeah,” Dew breathes, when Aeon finally lets go. He coughs a couple of times, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Heavy-handed, aren’t you.” He pillows his head on Aeon’s thigh, lips parted through his soft breaths. “Shy boy was all an act, huh?”
“It wasn’t an act,” Aeon snaps.
He doesn’t know when he started snapping.
Aeon finds he doesn’t feel quite so guilty anymore. His fingers are stiff from how tightly he’s been gripping Dew’s hair, and his head is pounding with how much willpower it took to drag Dew’s mouth off his cock. Everything in him feels like it’s coming apart at the seams, stitch by stitch, and he suspects Dewdrop has something to do with it.
Dew mouths at his cock, greedy as anything, and Aeon pushes him away.
“I’m too close,” he grits out. “Give me a second.”
No one has ever made him finish this fast with just their mouth. There were always hands involved, or toys. Dew’s just full of surprises. Dew’s just that good. And he knows it, too, judging from the smug expression on his face. He rubs his cheek into the inside of Aeon’s thigh, prickly and warm.
Aeon finds he doesn’t mind the feeling.
“You want me to swallow?” Dew asks, rubbing his palms up and down Aeon’s thighs as he crawls up Aeon’s body, the epitome of allure. “I promise I won’t spill.”
“Do you want to?” Aeon asks, some of that timidness returning as he reaches to cradle Dew’s face, smoothing his thumbs over Dew’s flushed cheekbones. The possibility of asking for something Dew wouldn’t feel comfortable doing repulses him, but he isn’t going to pretend he doesn’t want to shoot his load down Dew’s throat. He’d hold Dew’s hand while he did it, murmur something sweet so only Dew could hear it. He’d make it as good as possible for Dew.
Dew opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out, and Aeon can’t bear it anymore.
“All of it,” he snarls. “Swallow all of it.” He doesn’t know where the dirty talk is coming from, but there’s no time to unpack all of that right now. He grabs Dew’s chin, pries his jaw open, and spits in Dew’s waiting mouth without a second thought. It lands squarely on his tongue, a big glob of saliva; he shoves his fingers in to smear it around before rudely bullying Dew’s head back down onto his cock.
Aeon’s never been one to play rough—he’s always preferred soft and slow to hard and fast—but he’s breaking all his rules for Dew. It’s the most natural thing in the world to fuck into Dew’s mouth, holding his head for leverage, bumping unkindly into his soft palate, hard enough that he’s sure he’ll leave a bruise. He’ll make Dew open his mouth later, make him show Aeon just how fucked up he is.
The pressure builds at the base of his spine, spreading outwards, into his ass and his thighs and the pit of his stomach. He crushes Dew’s nose to his crotch, hips working in sharp, aborted thrusts, balancing on the precipice of almost and too much until Dew hollows his cheeks and Aeon loses it.
“Dew,” he groans, because the only thing that comes to mind once he’s lost it is Dew’s name. He comes in harsh spurts, fucking shallowly into Dew’s spit-slick mouth, holding his jaw shut until he feels the bob of his throat that proves he’s swallowed. Between his toes curling and his thighs shaking to high hell, he finds the wherewithal to press his fingers to Dew’s sternum, like he can feel it moving into his stomach. The notion is so filthy it makes his head spin.
Dew keeps his promise, swallowing every last drop, not coming up until after Aeon has finished squirting. He stays down even longer, in fact, long enough that Aeon’s cock starts to hurt with overstimulation and he has to wiggle awkwardly out of Dew’s mouth. They’re both panting so hard, filling the space with the sound of their breathing. Aeon tries his best to not breathe harder than Dew.
Good boy, he almost says, but that's not his line, so he holds his tongue.
“Fuck, Dew,” he says instead. He grabs Dew’s face and kisses him hard, heedless of the sad little whine Dew lets out at having Aeon’s cock taken away from him. When he slips his tongue into Dew’s mouth, he can taste himself, still irrevocably stuck to Dew. He presses kisses all over Dew’s face, all over his hair. “You’re so—fuck, you’re so good to me.”
“Bet that felt good,” Dew preens, undeterred. “Knew you had it in you.”
Aeon didn’t know he had it in him, but that’s the least of his concerns. He can’t look away from Dew’s red rimmed eyes, or the minefield of hickeys strewn across his neck, or the bird’s nest Aeon has made of his hair. He’s acutely aware of Dew’s own waiting erection, bouncing against his stomach every time he shifts.
So this is how it feels to take until your hands are full. This is how it feels to look greed in the eye and spit at its feet. He can’t stop thinking about the way Dew had gagged when he’d forced his head down, the way Dew had winced when Aeon wrenched him up by the hair. All the cruel things he never thought he would do, happy as Dew was to oblige him, happy as he always is to be on the receiving end.
He was right about clarity hitting after—he feels kind of guilty, out of control. What if Dew had tapped out, and he hadn’t noticed? Improbable as it may be, the thought terrifies him. He holds Dew tightly to his chest, and Dew doesn’t protest.
“Was I too rough?” Aeon asks, lips to Dew’s hair. “Are you alright?” He can’t stop kissing Dew, can’t stop touching him. His whole body is trembling, electrified, no grounding wire to stop him from bursting into flames.
“I’m okay,” Dew says, snaking his arms around Aeon’s middle. “Don’t worry about me. I’m all good.”
Aeon is ruined, inexorably. Spoiled rotten.
“I was rough,” Aeon says, like he can’t believe it himself.
“You were,” Dew agrees. “It was very hot, you know.” He nuzzles Aeon’s shoulder, poking his head underneath Aeon’s chin and nearly goring him with his horns. “Never pegged you for a biter, but…” He brings hand to his throat, brushing over the array of blooming red marks, and smiles all smug and satisfied.
Aeon hugs him tighter. Holding Dew is like holding a hot pack against a sore muscle, never mind the sweat. He pets Dew’s hair, halfheartedly combing through the tangles, and whatever he was about to say next is drowned out by Dew’s purring.
“Do you want me to suck you off?” he asks, rubbing Dew’s back, one finger tracing his spine. It’s the least he can do, especially after how hedonistically he indulged.
Dew hums noncommittally. “Do I?”
“I owe you,” Aeon says, fully meaning it. “Big time.”
Dew gives him a look like he’s contemplating it. Brows furrowed together, gears turning in his head. Like he hadn’t made his choice long before Aeon got his clothes off, like he hasn’t spent the last fifteen minutes letting Aeon think he’s in control.
“I suppose you do,” he muses.
Without warning, Dew grabs his shoulders and rolls them over.
“Wha—” Aeon starts, but he’s cut off by Dew clamping a hand over his mouth. He stares, wide eyed, as Dew’s smile widens, exposing razor sharp canines and a forked, unglamoured tongue. He feels like prey, their roles reversed so suddenly his brain has yet to catch up.
“You said it,” Dew coos. “You owe me. Fair play.”
It’s a quick turnaround. Aeon can’t say he was prepared, but he certainly isn’t surprised—it’s Dew, after all. He has just enough time to take a breath before he feels a familiar pressure around his neck, greedy and insistent, squeezing and squeezing until grittiness fades into the edges of his vision and his head turns to lead. It builds to the precipice of too much before Dew lets go all at once and he collapses against Dew, dizzy from being choked, reeling from being manhandled.
Dew pushes him away like a second thought. “Down,” Dew says, pointing to the space on the mattress between his legs. Aeon kneels. “More. Chest down.”
Dew drags him by the scruff before he can comply, and Aeon is helpless to resist. Not that he wants to, but the realisation hits him low in his gut, so hard he physically winces.
“Shuffle up a little,” Dew says, beckoning him closer, until he’s close enough that he could lick Dew’s cock if he wanted to. “Open your mouth and look at me.”
Dew pauses, then, holding his face just like Aeon did his—cradling his jaw, smoothing his thumbs over Aeon’s cheekbones, deceptively gentle. Aeon blinks slowly, catlike, a purr rumbling through his chest.
“You’ve had your fun,” Dew says firmly. “I get to have mine.”
Aeon nods helplessly.
Dew’s gaze is piercing. “I won’t be nice.”
“Okay,” Aeon says. That’s fine. He can do not-nice.
“You have to safeword if it’s too much. And tell me if anything hurts.”
“Yeah.” He tries to take Dew into his mouth, but Dew holds him back, shaking his head.
“You have to promise. Promise me.”
“I owe you, Dew,” Aeon says. “I promise.”
Dew spits in his face.
“Fucking filthy,” he snarls, and just like that, they’re back in the scene. “Loved that, didn’t you? Getting me on my knees?” He says it like it’s a bad thing, like he wasn't the perpetrator all along. He wraps Aeon’s hair around his fist, yanking far too hard, and if Aeon wasn’t whining his heart out he would make some snarky comment about how Dew’s so disgustingly full of himself, but alas.
“You liked it,” he manages to gasp, bolder than he has any right to be. He braces himself on Dew’s skinny thighs, fingers dimpling the lean muscle, then slides his hands up to the jut of Dew’s hips.
Dew makes an unhappy sound, batting Aeon’s hands away like they’ve personally offended him. Apparently touching isn’t allowed now. Which is fine, really, except it leaves Aeon with one less tether, and if Dew’s going to do to him exactly what he did to Dew, he’s going to need a way to keep himself at least a little bit compos mentis.
Dew sticks two fingers into his mouth at the same time he squeezes the sides of Aeon’s neck, and Aeon goes silent all at once, like a record player scratching. Dew’s eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, Aeon notes with muted delight, like this is something he has to do properly, something he has to do right. It subtracts slightly from the tough-guy act. He manoeuvres Aeon up a little, just enough to slide his dick into Aeon’s mouth and pull Aeon’s head the rest of the way, until his nose is pressed tightly to the thatch of hair at the base of Dew’s pelvis.
Aeon looks up at him with watery eyes. He didn’t even get to breathe.
“All the way,” Dew demands, when Aeon tries to pull off. “Lemme feel that throat before I fuck it. Nice and tight, there you go—”
He cuts himself off with a moan as Aeon swallows around him, barely keeping his gag reflex in check. It’s an urge at the back of his mind, banging on the gate, and it’s taking all his willpower to hold it at bay. He’ll lose it once Dew starts to really face fuck him, but he’s holding out well. Definitely better than the first time he did this, spluttering and choking all over the place, Dew’s cum dribbling out of his mouth because he couldn’t swallow in time.
He wonders if Dew is proud.
He moves a hand up to cup Dew’s balls, rolling them in his palm in that way Dew likes, playful and obscene. Dew shudders under him, grip faltering, and Aeon takes the opportunity to press the flat of his tongue against the sensitive underside of Dew’s cock.
“Fuck,” Dew hisses, hips jerking. “Fuck, fuck, just like that. Good boy.”
Aeon is here to give Dew pleasure. Aeon is here to put on a show. This is about Dew, not him. He reminds himself of these facts, chants them like a mantra in his head, a code he cannot forget. Satan forbid he disappoints Dew. Aeon would never forgive himself.
Dew thrusts up into his mouth, holding his head like a vice, and his cock hits the back of Aeon’s throat but Aeon isn’t prepared. He shoves frantically at Dew’s thighs, tapping and tapping, throat spasming at the intrusion.
Fuck, it hurts, really hurts his throat and his jaw and his chest. Prickles that turn into stings that turn into full-blown burning, like fire contained in a tiny metal box, glowing red-hot until it cracks and implodes.
Dew doesn’t let up.
“Dew,” he tries to say, but his mouth is full, and it doesn’t come out right—the sounds are stuck somewhere in the closing up of his throat. He can’t breathe, not with his nose pressed suffocatingly tight to Dew’s abdomen, and the realisation makes him panic. Lungs burning, he presses his claws into Dew’s skin just hard enough to pierce it, and Dew lurches away with an angry hiss.
“Fucker,” he snaps, backhanding Aeon across the face.
“Wait,” Aeon pants into the crease of Dew’s hip. “Dew, no, wait.” His eyes are all wet now, tears falling unbidden. He should be embarrassed. He isn’t.
Dew’s fingers slide out of his hair to gently cup his chin. “What’s wrong?”
Aeon shuts his eyes, clinging on to Dew like a lifeline. He’s scraped so thin that just the sound of Dew’s voice is enough to make him shiver. “Can’t breathe,” he says, feeling so stupid. He is raw, flayed open, a knife pared to its last edge. He braces himself for the retort. Breathe through your nose, Dew had told him once, dripping with scorn, at a time when Aeon didn’t really know how to handle him. What, you can’t even do that? Can’t handle a cock in your mouth? Pathetic. He’d slapped Aeon, hard, and laughed when Aeon whined in distress.
But that had been different. Aeon had asked for it first, begged and begged to be used, abused, to be taken out of his own head. He’d thanked Dew afterwards with stars in his eyes.
Aeon doesn’t think he can handle that particular brand of cruelty right now.
Dew’s fingers comb through his hair, understanding and apologetic. “Sorry, bug,” he says softly. “I’m sorry I was so rough. Take your time.”
Which is—distressingly confusing. Dew was just beating him around like nobody’s business, and now he’s being so nice. Aeon thinks he might cry. He forces himself to look up at Dew, mouthing dazedly at his cock like it’ll make up for him slacking off.
It must show on his face, because Dew’s gaze softens.
“Aeon?” he asks carefully. “Is this a yellow? Do you need to stop?
“No,” Aeon says quickly. Suck it up, he tells himself. He presses a kiss to the head of Dew’s cock, tongue flicking out to lap up the precum beading at the tip, distracting himself for a moment longer.
“What is it?” Dew asks, touching his face sweetly.
Never mind fair play and I-owe-you and it’s-my-turn-now—Aeon knows, without a doubt, that all he has to do is say the word and Dew will let it go. He’ll drop everything, haul Aeon up to his chest, hold him until he’s nowhere near the brink of going insane, no matter the fact his dick is rock hard right now. No matter how badly he must need this too.
Aeon can’t stand the thought of that.
“Make me take it,” he says thickly. “Keep going.”
Dew frowns, concern passing over his sharp features. “Sweetheart, you just said—you don’t have to.”
“I do,” Aeon says, voice cracking as he wraps his fingers around Dew’s leaking cock and starts to stroke him with purpose. “Please. You’re so hard. You were so good to me. Make me take it.” He humps the mattress pathetically, his own sore cock stubbornly refusing to fill out. “Force me. You have to feel good.”
Dew stills him with a hand on his lower back. “It’s not about me,” Dew says steadily, but he doesn’t sound so sure anymore. “You have to want it too.”
“I do want it,” Aeon says, lips moving against Dew’s twitching cock. He kisses down the shaft, trying to get Dew back in the zone. If Dew wants, he wants. He takes Dew’s hand, very authoritatively threads it into his hair, and pushes his own head down, swallowing Dew to the hilt.
Can’t argue if his mouth is occupied.
Dew smacks the mattress beside him, making a startled, strangled sound, but he doesn’t shove Aeon away. His other hand comes to rest on the nape of Aeon’s neck, infinitely gentler than before.
“Aeon,” he gasps, “Aeon, Aeon—” He chants it like prayer, a litany, as Aeon swirls his tongue around the head, squeezes his lips around the shaft. He knows how good that’s got to feel. “Shit, warn a guy. Unholy Father, Aeon—good boy, such a good boy—”
There may have been an ulterior motive, Aeon will admit, as he closes his eyes and relaxes his throat, properly this time. He takes Dew as deep as he dares, hoping it’ll drag another good boy out of Dew’s mouth. He’s going to be so hoarse after this, going to sound like a smoker all week. It’ll be worth it.
“Let me take care of you,” Dew says, words slurring together like night melting into day. “Let me, after this—I’ll be so good to you, fuck, I’ll treat you so good—” He brings his knees up, feet on the bed, pushing his hips up to meet Aeon’s mouth. “So good, Aeon, you’re so good—”
The first rope of cum hits Aeon’s tongue. Aeon wishes he could see Dew’s face, but the vicious shake of Dew’s thighs as he comes undone more than makes up for it. The best he can do is imagine what Dew looks like: brows drawn together, eyes shut tight, scrunched up. Out of control, for once.
He swallows.
Dew drags him up, kisses him, licks the taste of himself right out of Aeon’s mouth. He’s murmuring something that might be praise against Aeon’s lips, or perhaps an apology. Aeon doesn’t know, and it doesn’t matter. Their foreheads are pressed together, noses bumping carelessly, but Aeon couldn’t care less—he feels numb, detached, like he’s looking down at himself from three storeys up. He is being kissed and his hair is being stroked and his back is being rubbed so tenderly, but he doesn’t feel it. All he feels is Dew, those warm hands roving all over his body. All he sees are Dew’s gorgeous blue eyes, so deep he could drown in them.
I’m fine, he says, but he doesn’t really hear it. He feels the vibration of his own voice, and sees Dew nodding in response, but his senses stop there. All that matters is the rush of pride—he did it, he took all of it, Dew can’t tell him he did a pathetic job like last time—even as his heart pounds to the rhythm of the blood rushing in his ears.
It isn’t a bad feeling. Just a strange one, that’s all.
*
“Hey,” Dew’s saying, squeezing his hand. “Come back to me.”
Aeon blinks. He isn’t three storeys up anymore. He swallows a mouthful of nothing, and licks his cracked lips.
“You okay, bug?”
Dew's frowning. Aeon doesn't like it when Dew frowns. He’s clothed, he realises belatedly. He doesn’t remember Dew dressing him, or cleaning him up. He blinks again, and the room tilts three degrees to the right.
“Yeah,” he says softly.
Dew touches his cheek. “You disappeared for a minute there.” He sits on the edge of the mattress and holds something to Aeon’s mouth. It’s smooth, chilled. “Drink.”
Aeon wrinkles his nose. “I’m not thirsty.”
Dew gives him a Look. “Drink it, Aeon. It’s just water.”
Aeon drinks. Dew doesn’t break eye contact. Aeon can’t quite parse the exact emotion Dew is displaying right now, but it isn’t reassuring. He’s just glad, honestly. Happy. Relieved. He’s sore all over, but it’s a good soreness, the kind that lingers just long enough to leave an impression. The kind that makes you wince if you think about it too hard, like a lesson learned the hard way.
He stares at Dew. Dew stares at him. Aeon wishes he was better at reading people, because he’s sure Dew would be an immensely interesting one. Great for annotating, or for sticking colourful tabs in.
“Please tell me,” Dew starts, “that you really wanted that.”
Aeon blinks in surprise. “Of course I did.”
Dew touches his face again, like he’s making sure Aeon is real. His lips are pressed into a tight, thin line, so pale they almost match the rest of him. Aeon holds his breath.
“I was worried you had hurt yourself,” Dew says after a pause that lasts too long. “Or pushed yourself to do something you didn’t want to do.” The ghost of a smile passes over his lips, here and gone. “You do that a lot.”
And there it is. Such a Dewdrop thing to say. I know you, Aeon, are the words between the lines. Aeon doesn’t know how to make him understand.
“I just wanted you to feel good.”
A myriad of different emotions passes over Dew’s face. Aeon doesn’t know the names of any of them.
“We’re gonna have a chat about this,” Dew says, gentle but firm. “But first you’re gonna let me take care of you, and then we’re gonna shower, and then you’re gonna have a nap. Finish your water.”
We’re gonna have a chat is the most non-reassuring thing Dew could have said, but Aeon doesn’t pry. And he likes naps when he gets to curl up beside Dew and nestle into the crook of his arm. He finishes his water. Dew takes the glass and puts it on the nightstand, right on the existing water ring.
“Did I do something wrong?” Aeon asks nervously. “You’re not mad at me, right?”
“Of course not,” Dew says, voice soft. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind Aeon’s hair. “I’m not mad at you. Of course not.” He tips Aeon’s head to the side, fingertips brushing across the tender skin of his neck. Aeon tilts his head obediently, biting his tongue while Dew inspects him for damages, like he’s a parcel with FRAGILE stickers plastered all over it. He tries not to look at the mottled disaster of Dew's neck.
“Did I make you feel good?” he asks, out of the blue.
Next thing he knows, he’s being pressed to Dew’s chest, and Dew is holding him very, very tight, like he might disintegrate at any moment. It’s all very dramatic, Aeon thinks. He’s fine. Genuinely.
“Of course you did,” Dew whispers. “You always do.” He pulls back just enough to take Aeon’s face in his hands and press his lips to Aeon’s forehead. He’s trembling, Aeon notices. Dew’s trembling.
“You’re upset,” Aeon says, matter of fact.
“I’m not upset,” Dew says, which is blatant deflection, but Aeon doesn’t pry. “Let’s go shower. Alright to walk?”
Aeon nods.
“Come.” Dew holds out his hand.
Aeon takes it.