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"I like feeling needed. I find it fulfilling. Maybe the key to a fulfilling life is just having plenty of moments that make me feel that way."
It's the sort of conclusion that Ifa came to long ago. Being a vet would almost certainly guarantee that the absence of "being needed" would never cross him — he would always be needed, in some capacity. Even if the name attached to "Saurian vet" was unnecessary, at the very least, he could put his skills to use and reap the emotional benefits of having done a job well done. Of course, Ifa doesn't typically think that grimly: most people like him, and it isn't like the name "Ifa" isn't household. In fact, compared to other Saurian vets, he's made quite the name for himself.
It has it's drawbacks, certainly. For one, any extended time off is usually thrust upon him by the chiefs — he can't just forget the fact that he was practically shipped off to Fontaine with Ororon in tow because they believed that he was "due for a vacation." Indeed, if had that long of a moment to spare, he was certainly not the one who chose it.
That was the sort of guy he was, and he was almost painfully aware of it ever since he was young. "Pushing past his own illness to help others" sort of guy. "Always at the scene and at a timely manner" sort of guy. "Always putting his needs before himself" sort of guy. In his head, that was the kind of person he admired, and the kind of person he wished to be; so, naturally, of course, he did everything in his power to emulate the vision in his head, the sort of guy that everyone else thought he was.
This concerns "Ifa the sauro-vet." But if you asked Ifa about "Ifa the guy", it's a bit different.
Once upon a time, he read a novel — just one that he happened to borrow from Granny Itzili's collection, because she had too many collecting dust, and lending the responsible young man one book wouldn't kill her. It was something he picked up while waiting for her to sober up and decided to pass the time with. It was a romance novel, because of course it was. Not Ifa's first pick, certainly, but as the first page became the first ten, he was already hooked on the plot, and slipped it into his backpack after receiving permission to borrow it.
He read it on his leisure time. It was about two Kshahrewar students falling in love through a mutual love of architecture. He eventually finished it, and returned it to it's rightful owner. Truthfully, if you asked Ifa about the plotline, he's long forgotten the beats to such a tale. There is, however, something that stuck out: at the crux of the novel, when the main female lead is pouring her heart out to the male lead, she blurts out:
"If we didn't have architecture, then would you even love me?"
To which the male lead responds, after a period of dramatic silence,
"How could you ask such a question? If we didn't have architecture, we wouldn't be the same people. How could I love a you that doesn't love architecture? That simply wouldn't be you, anymore."
And he comes to apply it to his own life: If I weren't a sauro-vet, then what sort of person would I be? ... Well, I wouldn't know. It simply wouldn't be me anymore.
Ifa's had doubts about being a veterinarian in the past. There was no arguing against that — but now that he's solidified himself as one of Natlan's best, there's no turning back from the image that everyone else has painted in his head. His job is quintessential to what others think of him, so if he was one day stripped of his job, then what would others come to expect out of him? Where would he feel "needed"?
Who loves "Ifa the guy"?
"I don't think my opinion would change." Is what Ororon responds with when Ifa asks him, earnestly, how he would feel about him if one day, he stopped being a sauro-vet. "Ifa is Ifa."
"Sure, but that's not really what I'm getting at," Ifa responds as he starts to lay the saurus crackers onto the baking sheet. Ororon is beside him, diligently counting out how many of each saurian are currently cut out, and making sure the next one he makes evens out the number. "Like... I don't know. Do you think you'd still like my company?"
Ororon's answer is immediate, "Of course. You being a vet has nothing to do with how much I like being around you, y'know."
"Fair point," Ifa concludes. He wants to press further on — something inside of him is unsatisfied with the answer supplied, even though there isn't anything inherently wrong with it. And yet, he finds no valid reason to continue the topic, and redirects the conversation to the amount of frosting they may or may not have to complete the batch.
It's unusual for Ifa to be unsettled. He's a vet — he has much better things to worry about, and work is perfect distraction from most simple nagging thoughts in his brain. Naturally, he can get through the next few days of work fine without any issue: it's the night time that really makes him feel like a pile of shit, for lack of better word. Sure, he can continue racking his brain about what the schedule will look like for tomorrow, but he's fallen into a workable, healthy-ish ritual of coming home, sorting out his schedule for the next day in the shower, and then cooking himself a quick meal before falling asleep.
He never had to worry about restlessness or insomnia. Exhaustion came with the job, and was a natural melatonin: so when even after a full days of work isn't enough to put him straight to bed as soon as the covers are on and his light is on, he knows something is up.
"I just don't understand why I'm feeling this way," He tells himself as he looks at his reflection in the mirror. "Did something happen?"
The vet tries to index through his recent memories to try and find a moment where it all toppled over. He finds none. Sure, maybe there were a few hiccups here and there that damped his mood for 5-10 minutes, but truly nothing major that would cause him to miss out on precious sleeping hours. Right?
When he gets the chance to visit Ororon again, he asks him for any Nightwind remedies for restlessness, which he supplies in earnest, but not without curiously asking, "Is this for a patient or for—?"
"Me," Ifa admits, nearly sheepishly, as he rubs the back of his neck. "Just haven't been sleeping well recently. I think it might have to do with my... work."
Ororon carefully packages the proper herbs and signs off a step-by-step list on how to brew the tea effectively, before slipping it into the container that it holds all of it, handing it to Ifa, "It's not like you to have something keeping you up at night."
"I know." It's a matter-of-fact statement. Somehow, Ifa finds himself struggling to voice the rest of his concerns — he knows Ororon isn't the best at emotional support, but he is his closest friend. There's undoubtedly some certainty that he can provide with a few more questions, something that the casual exchange from the other day couldn't quite close. As the two make their way to the living room to enjoy some of the saurus crackers they had finished baking together, Ifa begins to test the water. "Say, do you struggle with feeling needed?"
The question catches Ororon by surprise as he sits, "Needed? Mmm... not particularly. I'm just living my life, every step of the way."
"Gotcha." He expected such an answer — but was still curious anyways.
Ifa's mind begins to wander. He knew well about Ororon's struggle to return the favor of his failed sacrifice, but that didn't necessarily equate to a feeling of being consistently needed. In fact, Ororon seemed to be on the opposite end of the spectrum to him: someone who lived on his own, and was motivated by his own love. How lucky for him that he found the way that works for him, the way that makes him tick.
There then came the question of how Ifa fit into his life. Did he need Ifa, as much as Ifa needed him?
"Can I ask you another question?" Ifa asks, being met with an obedient, saurus-cracker mouth filled noise of agreement. "What do you think of me?"
Ororon swallows what's in his mouth — maybe a bit too eagerly — to answer Ifa's inquiry, "Well, you're Ifa."
"Okay." Ororon hits him with two thumbs up, and this time, Ifa has to push further. "Okay, but what about me being Ifa, dude?"
"You're Ifa," Just as Ifa is about to let out another groan, Ororon finally follows up. "You're a great vet, and a patient person. You scold your patients a lot. And you scold me sometimes. But we both get scolded by Granny Itzili, so I guess that makes it fine. Ifa's like grainfruit. He can withstand harsh conditions, can be found all over the place, and still end up really tasty if you cook him right."
Ifa blinks, almost at a loss for words, "I... for real, bro?"
"For real, bro." Is what Ororon answers with, before chomping on another saurus cracker.
Ifa sighs, defeated, So, it seems I might not be as important to Ororon as he might be to me... well, I should probably give him the benefit of the doubt since he uses gardening analogies with everything, but it still isn't the most reassuring. ... Who am I kidding? I'm looking for reassurance from Ororon of all people.
The evening goes by as quickly as a small creek, chatting once again about little things and random happenstances. That was the thing, about being with Ororon: time just ... passed. Not in a way where he was so busy and realized it was past a healthy time to eat lunch, but in a way where he could literally be doing nothing but sitting down and running his mouth, and suddenly he has to make his way back to his home to settle down for bed.
Their last conversation before Ifa got up had to do with the war, that was already well passed at this point — they had gone from talking about Citlali, to drinking, to the Fatui, after Ororon had tried a Snezhnayan alcohol blend called "Fire-Water", which he was surprisingly able to tolerate. He knew Snezhnayans were heavy drinkers — so heavy they could give Granny a run for her money — so hearing about Ororon's exploits into Snezhnayan culture was entertaining to hear, to say the least.
"Sounds like you made good friends with the Captain and his recruits. I'm happy for you, bro." It's completely earnest. After all, Ororon is a weirdo among weirdos. Hearing about how well he got along with foreigners puts an ease in Ifa's heart.
The Mictlan man looks fondly at the drink they had gotten halfway into their long couch conversation, a small smile curled on the ends of his lips, "Mhm. They had a rather effective way of making me feel like I belonged."
It's enough to have Ifa shift in his seat in interest, "Belonged?"
"Yeah," Ororon softly nods. "Don't get me wrong. I like living as I am. I still do. Everyone's very nice to me, and the gardens are healthy, and the aphids are healthy as well. I've got nothing to complain about. But... for what it's worth during those times, it was nice to be around people who didn't really know my history. Of course, that never erased it from my own mind. But the way they treated me was unlike anything I had ever experienced. I'm grateful for it."
"Oh." It comes out more dryly than Ifa intended; he didn't mean it negatively in the slightest. To make up for the blunder, he quickly adds on. "That's great. I mean... I'm glad. I get it... that must've been cathartic for you."
Ororon laughs — a sort of lighthearted laugh that could make anyone's heart flutter. Ifa is no exception, "I guess."
As Ifa made his way back home, he sucked on the conversation like it was a piece of hard candy, extracting all the flavors and nuances that he could. Ororon said it himself: he felt like he belonged, among the Fatui soldiers, among the Captain's ranks. That feeling of belonging... the feeling of necessity.... they were like two sides of the same coin. Feeling necessary didn't mean you felt like you belonged, and feeling belonging didn't mean you were necessary.
When he opens the door to his home, his boots feel heavier than they usually do, and Ifa can barely drag himself to the shower as he muddles over the revelation: Do I make Ororon feel like he belongs?
He tries to return to his usual routine of sorting out his schedule for the next day, but nothing comes up — only the daunting realization that his presence in Ororon's life may not be as intensely reciprocated. The question of "what would I do if he were out of my life?" raises from the suds of his shampoo, and suddenly the feeling of unexplainable heartache morphs into something much more potent: dread.
Even more questions dawned upon him: would Ororon ever leave Natlan to be by the Captain’s side, were he to have survived his sacrifice? Would he find that it was more satisfying than the life he currently led? What is he, compared to such a strong and mysterious and imposing and powerful leader like the Captain? By all means, when it came to a Fatui Harbinger, he was certainly the most ideal candidate to whisk Ororon away. Granny Citlali would make a fit, but she’d do that with anyone, including himself.
Ifa struggles to get out of the shower no less return to the kitchen to make himself a proper meal. (“What would I do without you?”) He looks in his cabinets for something to eat, hoping to find maybe even just a fruit or two to say he had put something in his system, but all he finds is two quenepa berries, both of which he surrenders to Cacucu, and more saurus crackers. (“What would you do without me?”) He's already ran through one whole jar of saurus cracker snacks from his earlier visit to Ororon's place, but better that than nothing. (“Would you miss my crackers?”) He makes sure to tack on "ask Ororon for more produce" on his list of items to do the next day.
As he begins to warm up some water for the tea, he opens the container of herbs that Ororon lent him, taking out the instructional piece of paper. (“Who will I go to for my produce?”) It's straightforward enough, and he follows the instructions to a T. Having something to do with his hands distracts him from the brewing pensiveness in his head. Ifa pours it into a cup, lets the scent waft, and starts to close the canister up again — though some ink through the paper reveals there's a message on the other side of the paper he missed.
"Shoot. Hope I didn't miss a step," He mutters as he flips the paper, but on the opposing side lies no further steps. Just a brief message from the other man.
Ifa —
I hope you have sweet dreams after trying this tea.
— Ororon
Ifa stares at the message, blinking once, twice, and then three times. It's simple, exactly the sort of message he would expect Ororon to leave him. Yet, something in him aches even further; he wished him well, it was totally up his alley, so why was he disappointed, somehow? He balls his fist against his chest, sips the tea, and relishes in the flavor. It's fine in taste, and goes down as easy as tea would.
He sleeps quicker than he would thanks to it, but his dreams are not sweet nor sour. They are simply nonexistent.
Ifa typically doesn't visit Ororon two evenings in a row, but he makes a special exception for the fact he needs some of his produce to restock his pantries. After Ororon finishes counting off the appropriate baskets, he gives Ifa the okay, and the two of them find themselves making the on-foot trek to Ifa's house.
"I'm surprised you didn't remember to ask me yesterday," Ororon comments as they make their way past purple-grassed scenery. "You usually double, triple-check if you've missed out on anything. Has your insomnia been that bad?"
"Kinda," Ifa admits. "Gotta say, it's definitely a pain in my arse."
Ororon stays silent for a moment in thought before responding, "Did my tea help?"
"Yeah."
They leave the conversation as that until finally arriving at Ifa's abode. Ororon graciously helps put the ingredients in their proper cubbies, making sure Ifa's pantry is well stocked with fruits to supply his midnight munchies. By the time they're finished, dusk has already appeared — about the time of day Ifa would be returning home for his shower and meal. Asking Ororon to stay the night rewards him with an affirmation, and the two once again find themselves on the couch, just on a different one than before.
Their mundane chats fill the air, and as Cacucu rests on his perch not too far away, they once again come around to simple, easy topics. The dread that filled Ifa's chest had lifted ever since meeting Ororon again that day, but it hits like a flaming Qucusaur when Ororon suddenly shifts the topic with a new comment, "Ifa, I noticed something recently. You've been acting strangely."
"Huh?" Ifa's casual smile falls. "What do you mean?"
"Well, it isn't all the time. You usually seem alright after we talk for a bit, and it's only been here and there. But... I remember the other day, you asked me that strange question about me liking your company. And then, yesterday, you asked about my opinion of you. And then, you got all stumbly in words when we talked about the Fatui." Ororon innocently tilts his head towards Ifa, his large eyes curious. "Is that what's been bothering you?"
Honestly, he fully expected his behaviors to go under Ororon's radar — he was, self-admitted, not very good with people, so when Ororon perfectly pin-points his previous mannerisms, he can't help but inhale sharply, "I... maybe."
His pathetic excuse for admittance only earns Ororon scooting closer, eyes wider, and gaze closer, "...Ifa."
"Okay, okay." The Tlalocan is ridiculously weak to Ororon's pleading face — his own eyes turned away and towards a much more interesting wall, ignoring the heat that rises against his cheeks sparked by their newfound proximity. Ororon pulls his body away, leaving more room, and finally earning Ifa's confidence back to face him. "I don't... know. Recently, I've begun to feel ..."
"Feel?"
Ifa furrows his brow. Shamefully, he mutters, "...Insecure."
"Oh wow." Ororon says almost immediately as a response, but before Ifa can retort against it, he cuts him off. "I didn't know you could feel insecure."
"I... of course I can feel insecure," Admitting it felt more painful than getting scratched by two, maybe three, Qucusaur chicks. "I just hate saying it."
"Why?" And when the Mictlan man receives an unsure response, he continues. "There's nothing to be ashamed about. Sometimes I feel bummed and unconfident. ... Although, something tells me this is a special type of insecurity. Clearly, the type that's keeping you up at night."
Ifa chuckles, rubbing his own arm in solace. "Yeah." The silence that follows is almost deafening. Too embarrassed to decipher if Ororon is thinking or genuinely has nothing to say, he continues. "Well, it's fine... just need a few more days and it'll go away on it's—"
"Ifa, no." Ororon's rejection startles even him. "You like to do that."
"...Do what?"
"Change the subject when we talk about you. You did it every time." Ororon pouts, before looking down at his own hands, massaging the palm and tracing his dark tattoos. "...I'm not the sort of person that's good at emotional comfort. So... I don't always know what to say, especially immediately. I kinda just say what's on my mind. That's what Granny says I do, anyways. But... at the same time, I also want to try to do something to help you, Ifa. Even if my comfort isn't good, I want to try it, if that's what you need. So… please, do tell me what you need."
And finally, the pent-up sigh that Ifa didn’t know he had comes exhaling out between his lips. That part in itself was relieving: not only knowing that Ororon would stay by his side, but clearly seeming invested in improving his emotional wellbeing. Unfortunately, admitting that he felt insecure was already a mountain in itself to climb. Sorting over the rest and admitting what he wanted was like scaling a whole new set of peaks.
It made him feel dirty, and selfish. He wasn’t the sort of help he was used to requesting. A different sort of help than asking Cacucu to fetch him another medical supply, or even requesting Ororon’s produce to refill his cabinets. It was the sickening, pathetic sort. The sort that contorted the core of his stomach at the mere thought that he might ask Ororon to indulge him.
Yet, Ifa was emotionally mature enough to know the fact that Ororon’s reassurance is exactly what he was looking for.
I want to hold you tighter. I want you to try harder. I want to be needed by you. I want you to miss me. I want you to realize you love me back. His mind knows exactly what to say, but his mouth won’t comply.
Ororon, ever perceptive, narrows his eyes, “Ifa, answer me.”
“I know, I know,” Ifa instinctively dismisses. His tongue betweens to jut out new excuses, but Ororon cuts him off by scooting closer, his forehead pressed closer to Ifa’s face. It immediately draws a blush from the Tlalocan vet. “B-Bro?”
“I know you know what to say, bro, so just say it. Bros don’t leave other bros in the dark like this, bro,” Ororon says matter-of-factly, gazing up at Ifa through his thick upper eyelashes. Ifa knows he doesn’t realize it, but it really makes him look all the more attractive.
Shamefully, and without any avenues to hide in, Ifa’s gaze breaks away – the only solace he can offer himself while Ororon, literally, looks into his soul for answers. Finally, after another difficult, tight sigh, he relents, “I… want you…”
“Oh.” Ororon, once again, interrupts. Ifa knows he doesn’t mean to.
“Wait, you didn’t let me finish, dude,” He scrambles to carry on his initial thought, but hearing such a dumbfounded sound causes his brain to enter all sorts of areas of haywire. Oh Archons, oh Archons, what did I do? What did I do!? He’s not supposed to–
“Same.”
Huh? What?
Ifa blinks thrice, “Excuse me?”
“I want Ifa too. Is that it?” Ororon sits up properly, hand extending to Ifa’s wrist and putting it up against his own chest. A new dust of pink rises on Ororon’s cheeks, as the exposed ear on his head begins flickering. “If Ifa’s been sexually frustrated, then you’re free to use me as you’d like.”
“Bro!?” Ifa squawks, pulling his hand away in a rush – not because he doesn’t like it, but because he feels like a grade A pervert in the most terribly written self-insert erotic novel when Ororon acts like that. “Where did you learn that!? N-No, I haven’t been – well, maybe I? – no, no, that’s not where I’m coming from, bro…! And what do you mean, you too!? Ugh, wait, not the point…! I just…”
Ifa almost expects Ororon to cut him off and answer his rhetorical question, but when he’s met with the determined, furrowed brows of the Mictlan man and the return to his scrutinizing stare, he can finally return to where he was originally. Shakily sighing, the vet continues, “I don’t… know, where it came from, but recently, I’ve just been feeling down in the dumps, bro. Like… it’s seriously bad. As you know, it’s been keeping me up at night and just hounding my thoughts when it gets too quiet. And… I guess, recently? It’s latched on to you and my thoughts about you.”
“Like how?” Ororon inquires, with an almost out of character level of seriousness.
“Well, at first, I was just doing some introspective thinking about what my life and relationships would be like if I weren’t a vet. But… then I started questioning how… important, I really am. Not as a vet, just, as a person. And, since you’re my best bro, I started thinking about what you might say to that,” Ifa explains, carefully evading admission of affection. “You answered my questions honestly but… I don’t know. I guess a part of me wasn’t satisfied with the answers. There were also a few moments I… let myself doubt things. For example… when you said the Fatui made you feel like you belonged, I wondered if… I make you feel like that. … Man, I hate talking about this. It makes me feel so gross.”
The Tlalocan expects another painfully long pause of silence for Ororon to process things, but it doesn’t come. Instead, what he sees is the other’s previously determined expression morphed into a pout, as his ears press flat against his head, “Ifa… I’m sorry you’ve been feeling that way. And… I’m sorry for not giving you satisfying answers.”
Seeing this, Ifa immediately sits up, gathering Ororon’s hands in his own, “No, no, bro, it’s okay. You were never obligated to give me answers I may've wanted to hear.”
“I know that. I’m just bad… bad at expressing myself the best, I suppose. Again, I just say what comes to my mind. But… But if you need to hear more than that, then please ask me again,” Ororon requests, as he takes his turn gazing downwards with a sad, regretful frown. “Please ask me again. Please.”
Ifa knows he has nothing else to lose now. Ororon is there, both hands interlocked with his, begging to free Ifa from his confines. Finally, he takes the plunge.
“… Ororon, I love you. Do you love me too?”
“Mhm.” The answer is immediate.
“Ororon, seriously, I love you, bro. I have feelings for you. Do you love me too?”
“Yes.”
A pause as Ifa intakes the new information. He wants to elaborate on the point, but decides against it, for now, in order to continue asking straightforward questions.
“Can you tell me why you love me?”
“What’s there not to like? Lots of people like you and for good reasons. You’re kind, responsible, and always want to help others. The same is for me, too. But… a little different, I suppose. The thing is, you spend more time with me than other people. I used to – or, still do – find that strange. I don’t think I’m any more worth your time of day than another person.” Ifa has to bite his tongue to not interject. “I can’t say I can complain, though. It actually makes me… happy. Really, really happy. Really, really, really happy bro. I don’t get it, but you want to be around me. And I can’t say that about many other people. I guess… that’s one reason why I love you. Because Ifa likes me that much. Is that an okay answer? Should I say more?”
The Mictlan man finally looks up at Ifa for approval. The vet nods, his eyes softening, “Yes. I mean… that was alright, bro. More than alright. I didn’t know that’s how you felt.”
“Really? I thought it was obvious. I guess that’s why I never said it with my words. But, it’s true… ever since we met, you’ve always been a special person… either to me, to Cacucu, or to everyone else. You help saurians and people alike, and that in itself is special enough; but when it comes down to it, if you suddenly stopped being a vet, my feelings about you wouldn’t change. That is… both my normal feelings, and the feeling that you’re special. I hope that makes sense.”
Ifa processes it all, and nods gently, “It does.”
The pause of quiet that follows, this time, is much more amiable than the times last. Ororon squeezes Ifa’s hands gently once before breaking it with his words, barely above a whisper, despite the fact that it’s just the two of them there, “Can I ask you a question now?”
“Shoot.”
“Did you mean it? When you said you loved me?”
“You could say I meant it even when I said I wanted you, bro. Though… you did cut me off.”
Ifa smiles at Ororon. Ororon can’t help but bashfully smile back. The palpable air pushes their faces closer together until there is no distance between their lips, both boys tightening their grip on the other’s hands as if they’ll fall from the sheer bliss of sharing their first kiss with the other.
When they finally pull away, the both of them are back to smiling at each other – before bursting into a fit of soft giggles. Like they were 18 again, awed at the sight of Cinder City in the distance on a Qucusaur’s back. Like they were 16 again, chuckling about how fat Cacucu had gotten. Like they were both 13 again, laughing about an iktomisaurus chick fumbling another spell.
“I was always special to you, huh?” Ifa asks, combing over the sweet memories.
“Mhm. More than I could ever tell you.”
There was always a sense of coolness and space in Ifa’s abode, with plenty of free room to accommodate young saurians – at least, to most people’s eyes. Ifa’s living room was quite adorably very him: neat, a bit spacious, and decorated with trinkets and thank you gifts from various patients in his lifetime. His bedroom, however, betrays the organized presentation that his living room gives guests, and is much more wild, casual, and untidy.
And hot. So, incredibly hot. At least, that’s how he felt about his room as Ororon presses up against him, their lips mutually locked as Ifa’s now bare thumbs rub the worn denim of Ororon’s jeans that rest tightly against his hipbone.
Ororon’s tongue is a dream that he’s held close to his heart for Archon’s knows how long, now, and he didn’t quite expect this. Granted, the real thing would have outshone all of the fantasies he swore were just curious thoughts regardless of what it actually felt like. He bites against Ororon’s lip experimentally. A soft whimper is beckoned out of the bat, and his newfound lover’s clawed fingers dig deeper into his dress shirt-clad shoulders as Ororon pulls away.
"Ifa," Ororon huffs, the ears atop his head fluttering in elation. He blinks up at Ifa through those long, navy lashes, again, and the vet is reminded of how utterly weak he is. "It's... selfish, but I want to ask you for more… e-even though it’s you who–"
"No, no, bro, please." Ifa’s insistence comes out so quickly that he unintentionally sounds out of breath, and the strain in his voice is ignored to continue speaking. "Please, please ask me for me. Please. I like it."
Ororon gasps, light as a feather, and as innocently as an angel, at the sudden enthusiasm. Ifa nearly apologizes, but Ororon cuts him to the chase, "Okay. Can you… can you touch me? More? We’re boyfriends now, so it should be alright, shouldn’t it?"
"Whoa– I, yes. Please. I mean… yes, bro, I’ll touch you more."
The following quiet laughter that comes out of Ororon’s lips is enough to pull at Ifa’s stupid little lovestruck heartstrings, "I didn’t realize you were so into getting told what to do, bro."
"It’s not that," Ifa bashfully argues with a tinge of genuine embarrassment. His hands go to the bottom of the Mictlan’s shirt, and after receiving a look of consent, his rugged fingers make their way underneath the fabric to help him pull it off. "It’s just, earlier… and, with recently… I really like being able to be reliable, I guess. But especially reliable to you."
Ororon’s ears rapidly shake as his shirt comes off ("so cute", Ifa thinks), with his own hands going up to Ifa’s shirt buttons to assist in undoing them one by one, "I don’t think ‘reliable’ is the right word… I think you might just have a praise kink."
"What? Bro? How do you know about that sort of thing? And – for real, bro!?"
"For real, bro." The bat laughs, popping the last button and watching as Ifa sheds the brown shirt to reveal his torso. Undeniably, he’s less toned than Ororon is, but something about Ifa’s slight softness is that much more attractive. He bites his lower lip. "…You look good."
Ifa playfully rolls his eyes, "Appreciate it, man, but I don’t think I have a praise kink like you said. I have… something, okay? I have something. I don’t want to talk about the specifics. I just… want to talk about you."
"I– oh!" A cheeky comment is cut off by Ifa’s deft hands trailing up Ororon’s now bare chest, washing every crevice with the momentary heat of his palm. He’s immediately rewarded with a grateful shiver. "I-Ifa..."
Ifa doesn’t even bother to try and one-up Ororon with his newfound vocal advantage – he’s a man of his word, and all the words in his brain are now tainted with Ororon. The bat wriggles and weakly whines as Ifa maps his torso out, tattoos and all, head dipping to start pressing loving kisses against the other’s pecs and a growing bud. The noises it draws from Ororon are immaculate and chaste, nearly as if they had never before been uttered by his lips. The thought alone makes Ifa's cock strain even harder in his jeans than they were before.
After a series of soft praises against his skin, Ifa tilts his head upwards, "Do you mind if we go all the way?"
"All the way...," Ororon sighs dreamily, accompanied with his own series of excited nods. "I'm alright with that."
With verbal consent on his lips, Ifa presses one more kiss against Ororon's chest before hoisting himself upwards, getting up and off of the mattress and sauntering towards a nearby medicinal cabinet (even Ifa's room is not safe from materials associated with his occupation). Ororon lets out a noise of inquiry, something that Ifa can immediately recognize as confusion, "Don't worry, bro, I'm just getting the oil."
"Oh." Ororon may not be the most verse in sex, but he knows enough what that is for. As Ifa's back is turned, his hands quickly go to his own jeans and pop the buttons with a slight struggle, the burn of the jeans hot against his asscheeks as he sheds the denim off as quickly and eagerly as possible.
I have to be ready for Ifa! is the motivation for his rush, and encourages him to undress even faster, practically ripping off his underwear and gloves before laying down on his back and hooking his hands onto the undersides of his legs. Honestly, he's rather proud of how quickly he's gotten into position, although it feels a bit more awkward than he thought it'd be when reading up on Granny's more perverse material.
He knows Ifa has found what he's looking for when he hears a quiet "here ya are" from under his breath, and Ororon tightens the grip on his thighs with an unintentional determined brow as Ifa turns around. Ifa rewards him with exactly the type of reaction he expects, "AH—? BRO?"
"I'm ready." Ororon says in simple explanation.
"You— I... ah." Ifa can't help but blush, his voice stammering in both exasperation and embarrassment and endearment and fluster and so many emotions he can't quite come up with the words for at the present moment. And yet, at the end of his momentary pause to process, he can't help but shake his head and smile as he walks back over and crawls in between Ororon's legs. "You look like you're ready for an examination, not sex."
The playful comment makes the Mictlan man ponder as Ifa sheds his gloves and coats two fingers with slick oil, "Don't you think you're doing examinations all the time though?"
"...What?"
"I mean, when you think about it, you're always looking out for ailments. You never quite turn off vet mode. For example, if you saw my eye swelling and I didn't notice, you'd immediately stop trying to have sex and go, 'Bro, your eye is about to pop! Let me go get my equipment!'." Ororon explains with complete seriousness, and Ifa just stares at him in disbelief before huffing a laugh and smiling even wider.
Ifa's hand goes downwards towards Ororon's waiting hole, "Bro, that's something that anyone would do, I think."
"True, but you'd do it extra more than anyone else."
"Maybe because you're extra special to me and I'm always thinking of you, bro." Ifa puts promptly, before leaning in and kissing the spot where his ear meets his head. The noise the bat lets out at the duel stimulation of Ifa's fingers inserting into his entrance and the kiss is better than anything the vet could have conjured in his imagination. "I love you."
"I-Ifa—ahh...!" Ororon whines as his hands desperately leave his own thighs and claw to the vet's shoulders instead. "Ah, ah, humhmn...!"
"Too much?" Ifa asks, half teasingly, half concerned. Ororon shakes his head violently as his eyes keep shut, and a part of Ifa tells himself he's already going too far, but at the same time, he's too far in to go back. His fingers sink down to his knuckles, then down to the base of his fingers as he presses down on the spot he's 85% confident is Ororon's prostate. The moan Ororon lets out tells him he was right. "I love you."
"I love you too—" Ororon gasps as Ifa presses against his most sensitive spots, again and again. "Ifa, Ifa— p-please—"
"A little longer," Ifa requests as more kisses are pressed against his navy ear, and Ororon can't help but gently hit the other's chest with his hands in half frustration, half stimulation.
"No, no," Ororon begs with a shake of his head. "I-I want it already, sh— ahhh, m-more, n-no, wait— you, it's you I wanttt—!"
Maybe he really does have a thing for being told what to do, or maybe he just likes the way Ororon needs him, because Ifa mutters a soft "okay, okay" with an endeared chuckle and pulls his fingers out of Ororon. At the success of his command, the bat pries his eyes open and gazes at the Tlalocan as he hoists himself up onto his knees, beginning to take off his own pants. Ifa glances up and catches the other's pout with a small smile as he sits up, "What's wrong?"
"I still don't understand," Ororon admits as those sea green jeans are pulled down and his eyes trail down to the impressive mountain hidden inside Ifa's underwear. "Why don't you just do what you want to do? I mean... I know you said you like it when I ask you for stuff. But that feels counter-intuitive, doesn't it?"
Ifa rolls his eyes, "Do you want me to just go against what you're saying?"
"Hmmm, maybe a little." Ororon admits with a cheeky grin. "Though maybe it's impossible for you to just act without potentially overstepping some boundaries."
"Are you challenging me?"
"Maybe." The cheeky grin morphs into something more smug and teasing. "Right now I'm more inclined to believe you couldn't. That's all."
Ifa raises one eyebrow, "Oh yeah? What about what you said earlier about wanting to do things the way I want them?"
"But if the way you want to do things is the way I want to do things, then shouldn't you try and take up my challenge? Which will it be, Ifa?" The giggle he lets out is both affectionate and mischievous, though it ends up trailing off as Ifa finally pulls his underwear down and reveals the hidden girth. His eyes widen to the size of saucers. "Whoa."
"What's with that reaction, bro?" Ifa scoffs, unsure of whether to be flattered or embarrassed. "And, for the record, if that's seriously what you want, I'll do it. I just have to make sure. Can't go wrong with thorough consent."
"We're like aphids dancing around flames and chasing each other's tails," Ororon comments, eyes still glued to Ifa's cock as the vet pumps it in preparation. "Regardless of who's asking for what, in the end, we probably want the same thing..."
"Hah, yeah, true," Ifa responds offhandedly as his pumps quicken at the sight of Ororon staring at his own self-preparation. "You're certain I can do whatever I want? However I want it? You gotta say stop if you want me to stop though..."
"Yes, Ifa." Is Ororon's mildly exasperation reaction as Ifa finally shifts forward, resting his shaft against his throbbing, pert entrance and beginning to gently rub against him. "Don't hold back. That's what— m-mnh... — I'm asking you to do."
As apprehensive and hesitant as he is to cross the line, Ororon has gone from giving him consent to outright begging: something that the Tlalocan can no longer resist. The chains of his own mental prison and the shackles of his doubt temporarily slacken, and finally, he allows himself the celebration of a heart well conquered. This is a meal for him: Ororon served it to him on an intimate, naked, blushing platter, and he had reached the boiling point of rejecting something that looked so, so delicious. He aligns the head of his cock against Ororon's entrance and seizes the Mictlan's — and his own — virginity.
Their collective, shared, blissful moan is a noise that Ifa commits to eternal memory. By the way Ororon's lower lips tremble, and the way his ass resists slightly even with preparation, he knows that he's way too big for him to accommodate. He nearly stops to ask if he's okay, letting the hesitancy drag him right back around, before seizing the worry with one big reminder that Ororon wants this, Ororon wants me. Pushing past that fear rewards Ifa with his entire, throbbing cock sheathed to his smoothly trimmed base and an Ororon panting like his life depended on it.
"Ifa, so big— s-so big...," Ororon cries in praise, clawing at Ifa's bicep for his company. Ifa grants him it, lifting one of Ororon's tattoed legs in the process and hooking it over his shoulder. He knows it's an intense position for their first time, and Ororon struggles as he's contorted to his side. "Ah—!"
"I love you," Ifa repeats for the third time as he kisses the ear closest to his lips, grasping the thigh over his shoulder with one hand as the other comes up to hold one of Ororon's. The bat whimpers as he holds it with a tight squeeze of both Ifa's fingers and his cock. "I'm moving."
Before Ororon can affirm or deny him, Ifa begins to set the pace — not too hard, but certainly not as gentle as Ororon would have expected from the usually very careful Tlalocan vet for his first time. The physical assault against his ass makes Ororon moan in ecstasy: their position was much more vulnerable and sensitive than he was initially prepared for, but he knew well enough not to tell Ifa to stop. He didn't want him to, anyways.
"Ifa, oh, Archons— ah, ah...!" He moans as Ifa's fingers squeeze his thighs harder. The feeling of every smack against his prostate sends visions of white up into his eyes, his neck going slack as his strength transfers to trying to keep himself sane and reasonable. "Oh—! Hah, Ifa, fuck...!"
Hearing Ororon's cursing encourages Ifa's pace to steadily increase from unexpected to downright unimaginable. The amiable and kind Tlalocan vet that everyone sung praises for daily was between his legs and panting like a dog in heat with every single desperate thrust into his body, a sight for nobody else but Ororon. It astounded, amazed, and most of all aroused him — if the fact Ifa fucking him senseless wasn't already enough for his virgin body, this sole fact was. It was not one sided either: that usual droopy, tender, azure gaze that Ifa was known for had been completely replaced by something Ororon could only describe as feral lust.
He's mine, is what Ifa tells himself as Ororon calls out for him, a blissful chant that rings in his ear. His strong hips pound into the Mictlan man's with iron-willed fervor as he feasts upon the idea, drowning out any good-willed reason he's so used to relying upon. Tight, tight, he's fucking tight, he's tight and mine and tight and mine—
Of all the beasts and living beings Ororon's had the privilege of experiencing, nothing came close to the look on Ifa's face as his pace sends messages to his brain that he is going to walk out of this bred and trembling. It was a completely odd, foreign, arousing feeling: he felt small and vulnerable, yet the safest he's ever felt, being eaten whole and taken advantage of like this by Ifa's greedy hands. Maybe that was why: greed and Ifa felt like antonyms, and yet here Ifa was, gluttonously ravaging his body like he was nothing more than an object for his pleasure, if not for one fact.
"You're mine—" Ifa pants out, and that itself precisely takes Ororon out of feeling like he's just a simple sex toy. Beyond that hazy, voracious, sexual hunger, a sheen of worship coated Ifa's eyes. This delirious, insatiable lust wasn't just sex for sex's sake: it was sex for Ororon's sake. Greediness because it was Ororon. Lust for him. And Ororon felt every inch of Ifa's lust in return, in all of it's selfish, sickening glory.
"M-Mine too," Ororon gasps out. It's a pathetic way to verbally express just how much he reciprocates the feeling, and he hopes to tightness of his hole and the way his entire body trembles as he approaches climax is enough to tell Ifa that much. "Y-You're mine, mine, I love you—!"
Were Ifa in a better place to consider philosophical reasoning, he would have come to the realization that Ororon, in his odd way of delivering metaphors, was really correct when it came to being aphids and chasing each other's tails besides a flickering flame, because the way Ororon ricochets his possession straight back onto him is enough to have his hips stuttering as well. His tempo becomes sloppy, and the deep tenor of his moan travels straight down Ororon's ear as he buries up until the hilt, cumming deep inside Ororon's orafice.
Ororon follows along only a second later, and their shared verbal ecstasy is yet another noise Ifa will commit to memory. White coats both of their shirts and Ororon's stomach as Ifa's pace rolls to a slow stop, half collapsing on the Mictlan man as he gathers him hastily up in his arms, pressing affectionate kisses against Ororon's neck, "Love you, baby, I love you, so much..."
"I— h-huah— l-love you too." No matter how many times he says it, Ororon would never tire nor stop saying it back. He weakly clings to Ifa's still clothed back, now slightly damp in sweat. "D-Don't pull out yet. Please."
"I didn't plan to." Ifa insists through kisses, as Ororon's gaze fixes to the ceiling dreamily. He isn't sure where all this extra energy is from, but Ororon knows better not to question good things. His eyelids relax and close as Ifa presses more notes of affection onto his neck and face, drowning in blissful infatuation.
The morning after, when Ororon's awake and comprehensible enough to talk, Ifa makes another round of a Nightwind remedy per Ororon's instruction. This concoction, however, is not for restlessness: rather soreness. Something that Ororon reminds him of every time the vet walks back into his bedroom, seeing the bat, still completely nude, curled up under his cover in a mostly dark room save for a small line of light where the curtains aren't completely closed.
"Here you are, bro," Ifa chimes in, sitting on the bed beside Ororon in just his shirt and underwear. Ororon sits up with a soft groan, laying his forehead on Ifa's shoulder and audibly sniffing. "Do you want to drink or do you want to smell me?"
"I can do both at the same time." Ororon points out. He keeps his head resting on the other's shoulder as Ifa hands him his drink with a soft chide, taking the other hand and wrapping it around Ororon's waist once he's finished with the hand-off. "Though, I'm going to have problems watering some of my plants. I don't think I can squat."
"No problem, bro. I'll get Cacucu on that too." The apologetic tone in Ifa's voice can't be helped: post nut clarity is a great way to manifest regret, and seeing the condition Ororon is in the morning after is enough to make Ifa shun himself for last night's behavior. Ororon seems to realize it though, because he looks up at him with a soft pout of his lower lip.
"I know what you're thinking." Ororon bumps his forehead on Ifa's head like a frustrated Iktomisaurus chick, something that unintentionally makes Ifa's heart melt. "I liked it. I asked for this. Every second of it. Even when we're not having sex... you never treat me unwell or in a way I hate."
Ifa almost speaks up to respond, but surprisingly, Ororon isn't finished speaking. All he does is sip his drink before continuing, "I'm a fortunate person. Honestly. I can't comprehend still why you've chosen me, but the Wayob knows just how much I appreciate that. Every step I take in this life is my own, and I was content traveling in solitude... but Ifa is like an undying comfort carrot. No matter how many times I think you'll depart from my life and pursue better paths, you don't. So... I came to think that our lives were simply inevitably intertwined."
Ifa takes a moment to think, "Inevitably intertwined, huh..."
"Yes." Ororon looks back up at him with a closed-eyed smile, cheeks powdered with a soft hue of pink. "If Ifa were a vegetable, you'd never leave my side. Both because you don't want to and because you wouldn't have legs. And you'd be a happy vegetable, I think. Wouldn't you be?"
The prospect of living his life as a carrot and never leaving Ororon's workbench... well, that in itself sounded like a rather dull experience to Ifa, in all honesty. Ifa's slightly sure that Ororon knows so too, but Ifa also knows to not quite take what he says at complete face value, even if he can't really comprehend the truest meaning. Ifa knows Ororon knows he doesn't quite know. And with that unsaid knowledge, Ifa simply nods as he kisses Ororon on the head.
He kinda gets it. And "kinda getting it" is as close as anyone would have the privilege of understanding with Ororon.
"I would be." Ifa concludes, and Ororon's tail wags behind him at the affirmation. "Would you be a happy vegetable if you were by my side forever?"
Ororon takes a second to think about it, and the way Ifa can practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he seriously ponders the question both endears and amuses him. When Ororon finally answers, his heart blossoms with a love that dispels any of the remaining darkness he's experienced for the last several days. His radiant, beautiful smile, gazing into the sincerity of his soul and making a home in his heart, is more than enough for him to know.
"I'd be happy by your side forever even if I weren't a vegetable."