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“Mumbo, we need to have a serious talk.”
Those are the last words he ever wants to hear come out of Grian’s mouth of all people. Between the two of them, Mumbo is the one who has to bring up the difficult topics. After all, his partner has a great many strengths in their relationship, but intentionally engaging in a conversation that involves any semblance of emotion is out of his comfort zone.
It’s something he is becoming better at, but Mumbo is happy to lead the charge while he becomes more comfortable with having honest discussions about their feelings.
That being said, Grian bringing an issue up with such determination on his face tells Mumbo they are about to delve into territory he does not want to be a part of. ‘It’s finally happening; he’s finally breaking up with me’, is the first thing that comes to mind. The phrasing left very little room for anything else. He pales, though it’s hard to tell with how pale he already is, and he can already feel the beginnings of ice-cold panic in his veins. No longer paying attention to the task at hand, he drops the dishes in his hands onto the floor, too distracted to even flinch when the ceramic shatters on the floor.
Grian’s eyes widen, and he waves his hands wildly while shaking his head. “That came out totally wrong! I wrote it down and everything like you suggested, and I was just trying to sound assertive — I’m not breaking up with you or anything like that.”
Oh, thank goodness. Mumbo falls forward, catching himself on the counter top, trying to steady his racing heart.
Thankfully, the plate he dropped broke into three clean pieces, not leaving many shards for either of them to step on. Grian brings him shoes just to be cautious and they sweep up the big pieces and mop any of the remaining tiny pieces that could sneak up on them. Boy, is there a reason why Mumbo is usually the one who starts important conversations.
Then again, he is proud of Grian for trying. They had discussed writing down his thoughts beforehand in his notepad to be prepared for the actual confrontation. It is just like him to practice his delivery so much that he comes across as too emphatic.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Of course we can.” He sits back down.
“You say that now,” Grian says under his breath. There’s a grimace on his face and a bitterness to his tone. Mumbo starts getting anxious again. It must be something serious, even if it is not anything near as drastic as ending their relationship. Sighing, Grian sits opposite to him, wringing his hands and staring at him with a grim expression. “Okay, so... ugh.” He falters as he usually does when he has to be serious.
Despite being nervous, he gives an encouraging smile and reaches to squeeze his partner’s hand. That seems to relieve some of his anxieties. Grian then uses his other hand to fish a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. From the back of the paper, Mumbo can see many scratched out lines. He begins to read directly from it.
“This topic is very important to me. I know that it might be uncomfortable to talk about, but to continue maintaining healthy communication in our relationship, we have to.” Each word comes out unnatural and stilted as he reads it from the page, and Grian looks like he’s trying to set the paper on fire with his mind. It takes a great deal of will not to laugh at his clumsy attempt. Grian throws his written speech away, rubbing at his temples. “That sucked,” he acknowledges, which finally sets off Mumbo’s laughter. Thankfully, his partner joins in with him, giggling until tears come to their eyes.
“But seriously Mumbo, I need you to promise me you’re not going to completely shut down when I bring this up.”
Unable to imagine what Grian thought would set him off so much that he wouldn’t even engage with the topic, he nods. If Grian doesn’t even seem to be upset with him how bad could it possibly be?
“I want to talk about sex.”
Oh, dear.
Grian was clever about it. Going out of his comfort zone to make sure they are on the same level in their relationship. Making sure that Mumbo promised beforehand not to shut him down when he’s being vulnerable. If it were not for that set up, he definitely would have left the room or at least tried to switch the topic.
Recognizing how immediately uncomfortable he became, Grian sighs and releases Mumbo’s hand. He grabs it back, and tries to unwind. As awful as this conversation would be, it is important to his partner, so it is important to him by extension.
“To be clear, I’m not expecting us to have sex. I would love to, of course.” He says it like it’s obvious, which makes Mumbo’s heart flutter and stomach churn at once. “If it never happens, that’s fine, but we still need to establish some boundaries. I mean, we’ve been together for a pretty long time, and you avoid the talk every time. Are you asexual?”
“Uh, no.” He replies in a voice he keeps from sounding strained, but is definitely an octave too high. “I’m interested, just...”
How is he supposed to explain what his hang ups are? At best, he would sound like a fool, and at worst, unworthy of being with Grian. He breathes out heavy, trying to expel the emotion rising in him with little results. Grian squeezes his hand a few times; a little signal to say ‘I love you’ when he’s having trouble saying it out loud. It reminds him in his spiral that his partner said explicitly that he was alright with never having... that at all. Even if he didn’t want to engage in that with Mumbo, they would still love each other.
Where would he begin explaining it though?
“Just what?” Grian prompts when a full minute goes back without a continuation. “Is it a physical thing? Have you never had sex before? Is it an insecurity? ‘Cause I have only seen you shirtless briefly in a non-sexual context. Do you have a lot of scars or something?” His barrage of guesses stop as he looks down at himself. “Is it because you don’t want to have sex with me specifically? Is it because I’m trans?”
Mumbo takes a second to go through all the questions in his head.
“Yes, I have, yes, no, no, and absolutely not.” Grian raises his eyebrows. Of course he doesn’t remember the order of his own damn questions. “It’s partially a physical issue. I have, uh, done the do before.” He cringes at that poor attempt at an innuendo before Grian can as well. “It is definitely an insecurity. No to the scar thing. Most important for last, no it has absolutely nothing to do with you or your gender. My attraction to you is literally the only thing I am having no trouble with in this conversation.”
They take a pause to give each other soft smiles that would make any onlooker feel uncomfortable seeing with how corny they are. Then, Grian’s expression changes to one of bewilderment.
“Wait, you’ve actually had sex before?!” Mumbo can’t help but take offence at his utter surprise. Then again, he would be surprised if he was in his partner’s shoes. He didn’t exactly have what you would call ‘game’. Or attractiveness. “Err, not to be rude. I just mean, timeline wise, I have no idea when that would have happened. You never really had friends before me and Hermitcraft. Also when you say things like ‘done the do,’ it’s a bit surprising.”
Honestly, Mumbo wishes Grian had been correct in his assumption. He would be better off if he were just a clueless virgin who would have a nice, if inept, first time with his long-term partner. Not what really happened.
“Well, my first time was with my ex fiancee.”
“... You were engaged. And you never told me about it?” There is no hint of rage or confusion in Grian’s voice. It is just flat. With how out of left field that confession was, Mumbo can understand why it’s taking him a second to process the information.
Mumbo had only talked about his childhood a handful of times. Most of his stories revolved around his late sister. After all, everyone else in his family were shadows hiding behind masks of pleasantries. There were no adventures or adversities to be told. Empty halls and emptier words did not make for an interesting tale.
“I wasn’t trying to keep it from you.” But he did. There was never room to bring it up, but it’s also nearly impossible to voice. Not without making him sound... “I just don’t think of it often. It was barely an engagement. I only met her three times. Four, if you count the time we saw each other without exchanging a single word. Arranged, and all that.” Grian still looks conflicted, but he nods. Supportive in spite of Mumbo’s lie of omission.
The families discuss Mumbo’s marriage like he isn’t in the room. So, he pretends like he isn’t in the room. His first thought is to go to his happy place, but he realizes that he doesn’t have one. Where has he ever been actually happy outside of hearing of secondhand joy from his now-dead sister?
Instead, he pretends like he is furniture, looking over a marriage arrangement that is not his own. No one glances in his direction because he is just part of the furniture, he tells himself. Not because his opinions about his own future don’t matter. It is an embarrassing and childish lie to tell himself, but it’s all he can think to do to keep control over his life.
His eyes catch on the woman they’re discussing setting him up with.
Honestly, when they told him about the possible arrangement, he did not listen to a single word after that. Even her name is lost on him. It doesn’t matter, he thought to himself before the meeting, they don’t expect him to talk to her anyway.
But she is impressively beautiful.
Being an exceedingly unremarkable son, he expected to be saddled with another perfectly average woman from a family of similar wealth to their own. From the deference his parents are showing, his prospective wife’s family is wealthier than theirs by a significant margin. It makes no sense that the middle child with no exceptional skills would even be considered as a marriage opportunity with this woman. Smooth skin, well-maintained curly hair, full lips, and dark, sensual eyes. Someone anyone’s eyes would be drawn to. Mumbo isn’t sure if she is his ‘type’, but he is also unsure of whether he has a type at all, seeing how few people he has encountered under the age of fifty who are not his siblings. Still, he knows he would be seen as lucky if this woman accepted his (parents’) proposal.
Finally, his ears catch on something unbelievable.
“To be perfectly candid,” Of course, her father starts his sentence in the same obnoxiously snooty way that every other rich person does. “There is no need to convince us here. After all, our dear daughter begged us to ask for your son’s hand in marriage. Apparently, he caught her eye at a gala and was positively enraptured by him!” He guffaws as the excessively wealthy did to indicate they were not like the peasants who just laughed. “Young love and all that. We couldn’t possibly deny her wishes.”
It makes no sense. No sense at all. Mumbo never considered himself handsome, and his charisma, or lack thereof, only subtracts from his attractiveness. For goodness’ sake, he’s a misshapen seventeen year old. He almost breaks his silence just to call out the obvious lie, but then the woman (that he is suddenly regretting not learning the name of) bats her eyelashes and turns away like she is shy about the information her father just revealed.
And for once Mumbo feels like he could be something. Someone outside of the pathetic, invisible, lonely boy he is. Someone who could be seen and desired; making him more than passable.
His sister spoke of the way her boyfriend treated her, and he’d seen it in the limited moments they spent grieving together. He never thought that anyone could love him like that. If this woman chose him, he might experience something close to that.
Three weeks and three meetings later, he is fumbling while trying to unbutton his shirt. Her hands take over, stripping him down with a lecherous gaze. There still has not been an opportunity for him to ask her name, and she hasn’t been letting him do much talking.
Mumbo is willing to be silent if that’s what his fiancee wants, and it very much seems to be. Every time he tries to ask what she wants or request she slow down, she just smiles and shushes him.
Before he can process it, his clothes are all off aside from his underwear. He feels suitably exposed, especially as she continues to strip him down with her eyes. Maybe he should be striking some sort of pose to impress her, but he has no idea what anyone would consider attractive about him. What part of himself should he even be showing off? He starts breathing heavy, which she smirks at, probably assuming it’s from arousal. When she takes off her own clothes in an overly seductive manner, Mumbo thinks he should be aroused. Instead, he is just. Well, he’s not really sure what he’s feeling.
Nervous? Their underwear comes off next, and she frowns when she sees what’s under it. Could be because it remains flaccid, or she just thinks it’s disappointing in general.
Insecure? He never had anyone to compare it to before, and he isn’t sure what the beauty standards are for genitals, but he is clearly not living up to them. Plus, her assessment of his body didn’t seem to make her outwardly excited. And from the little he knows about her, she is not the type to hold things inward.
Overwhelmed? Without a word, she takes his length into her mouth, trying to get him excited. It feels... physically good, he supposes, and he can tell she’s talented. At the same time, he wants to shrink away from it. His body spasms in his confusion, and she chokes a bit. He apologizes, but he doesn’t think she is listening to a word that leaves his mouth.
Objectified? He is in the same state he was back when their parents were discussing their engagement. Like he is just part of the furniture — an extension of the bed. She is fucking him, but Mumbo is not part of the equation. That’s probably bad etiquette. He should be focusing on reciprocating pleasure, not just lying down and pretending you didn’t exist. Then again, you can’t reciprocate pleasure you aren’t receiving.
Detached? He barely notices when they finish. Did she finish? Did he?
“I thought you looked like the strong, silent type, and in my experience, repressed boys are the best to fuck. Guess I’ll have to reevaluate that,” she says dismissively as she pulls her stockings back on.
Worthless. That’s the emotion he lands on as he lays panting, staring up at his ceiling and trying to hold back tears. He hears the door close and he knows she isn’t coming back. Figuring there’s no one to impress, he cries hard, wracking his whole body but not making a sound.
The engagement is called off the next day.
“So, I was basically so bad in bed that my engagement ended. That’s why I didn’t tell you. For one, it lasted for a total of twenty-three days when I was seventeen, and I still don’t know her name. More so, I didn’t want you to think I was incompetent or like... grotesque looking or anything. I’m not. I don’t think I am anyway. I mean, I know I am hardly the most attractive person on the planet, but I’m more plain than hideous, I think. Probably. Do you think I am?”
Throughout his recital, he averted his eyes; too afraid to watch his partner’s reactions. Finally, Mumbo looks up to ask him that last question, and sees Grian face of complete horror.
The horror is obvious, anyone could detect that, but he isn’t sure what to attribute it to. Mumbo’s heart races as his mind floods with dread. He never should have brought it up. Should have declared that he is uncomfortable with talking about or having sex and cut it off there. Now, Grian knows he settled with the wrong person. Not only a liar, but totally undesirable.
“Forget I said anything,” Mumbo begs, standing up from his chair so fast that its legs probably leave a mark on the floor and he gets light headed. Adrenaline floods through him, but he has nothing to do with it.
Normally, when he has a panic attack, he tries to get the energy out with yelling or anger, however unfair it is to the people around him. But even if there was anything to be mad at Grian about, he cannot begin to make words form. He feels just like he did in the two hours he was stuck in bed, the last words from his ex-fiancee playing on loop in his mind. Except now there is someone more important on the line than a woman he could never recall the name of and never loved or cared much for at all. This is Grian, and he is the most important person in the world to Mumbo, and he can’t lose him, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t—
“Mumbo, breathe.” He can’t, he can’t, he can’t. “Try, just try. Please?”
Desperate to do what Grian asked of him, he tries sucking in a breath, but the oxygen is not reaching his lungs. He can’t do anything right. “You need to exhale, not inhale.” Oh, that makes sense. When he tries breathing out instead, he is much more successful. “Good, great.”
Grian is suddenly by his side and asking if he can touch Mumbo as if he would ever refuse his touch. He sits him back down and hugs him from behind. The tight hold and the encouraging words in his ears calm him enough to start breathing properly, though if a single thing goes wrong, he’ll probably end up having a full-on breakdown. Fortunately, his partner doesn’t seem to look angry at him, or if he is, he isn’t showing it.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take so long to respond,” Grian murmurs into his shoulder, planting a chaste kiss to his neck as a little reassurance. “To be absolutely clear, I don’t think you’re ‘grotesque’ or ‘incompetent’, or any other thing you’re thinking. That was just a lot to process.”
Mumbo winces.
“I know I should have told you about the engagement, but honestly, I don’t think of it very much.” He pauses. “Or, I try not to think about it.”
“Void, you think I’m upset about that... that sham of an engagement?” There must be something Mumbo is missing because he can’t think about what Grian is upset about if not the engagement. Past the mask of calm that he put on to get Mumbo to come down from his panic attack, he can see that his partner looks absolutely devastated. At most, he feared the man would be furious, not be distraught! “Mumbo,” he starts, sounding like he’s speaking to a beaten shelter dog. “I am not mad at you whatsoever.”
Nothing makes sense. Angry is the least Mumbo deserves from him after hiding such an important detail about his life. About their relationship. He feels that same weird feeling that he did when he was a kid, pretending to be part of the furniture. Retreating to that inner place where he doesn’t have to be a part of the world around him; the world that is confusing and uncertain. The devoted attention Grian is paying him and the arms around his chest bring him back to feeling human, but his mind is still a little detached. Like his feelings aren’t quite reaching his brain.
“What?” He hears himself ask, but he didn’t think of the word before it left his mouth.
Grian releases him from his tight hold, and he nearly starts crying at the loss. Is he going to leave? Then, he kneels in front of where Mumbo is sat and takes his hands again, clasping them together like he knows Mumbo will float away if he isn’t tying him down.
“She was the one who messed up there, not you.”
That... doesn’t seem right. Mumbo was the one to lay there doing nothing while she tried her best to please him. The one who under-performed so horrifically that his engagement ended up being called off in an act which made the utter neutrality his parents looked at him with turn to outright resentment. He can’t even blame it on being gay either, as he’s fairly sure he is attracted to women, and he was certainly attracted to this woman’s stunning beauty.
“I am being so serious, Mumbo. You were coerced into having sex with this woman. Of course you didn’t enjoy it! And that monster had the gall to blame you for it?”
He spits. The hatred in his voice shocks Mumbo a little, not used to hearing Grian be so genuinely upset at someone for all the wars he declares. Mistaking his surprise for discomfort, his partner takes a breath and lowers his voice again.
“It sounds like you were rushed into sex and never consented. And don’t say you never said no, because that is not a yes.” Mumbo opens and immediately closes his mouth because, yes, that is exactly what he was going to say. “That is not okay. You aren’t expected to be good in bed if you don’t even want to be there, so get that idea out of your head.”
Did Mumbo want to be there?
He wanted to be with someone. Or... he wanted to stop being alone. He wanted to be loved by someone, and this woman seemed like his best chance at the time. Did he want to have sex at that moment? Well, he didn’t not want to. At the time, he would have done anything to get her to stay. Failed at that, huh? It just moved so fast, and he wasn’t ready, but she would have been upset if he... said no.
Huh.
“I think you might have some sexual trauma,” explains Grian carefully.
“Potentially,” he agrees.
The more he thinks on it, the more Mumbo realizes how thoroughly fucked up that whole experience was, and the more he wants to stop thinking about it forever. He suddenly feels like he has a layer of grime covering him. Scrubbing at himself in the shower until his skin is red and raw sounds like a great plan.
“Is that—where are we supposed to go from here?” Does he even want to have sex with Mumbo after hearing that? He banishes the question from his mind. Grian would not think of him as undesirable for having trauma, especially considering that would be a real pot-kettle situation. “I’m still interested in doing, ahem, all that with you, but I’m not sure how to go about navigating that. I mean, I don’t even have a healthy sexual relationship on my own, let alone with another person involved. Even if that person is you.”
In the past five years, he has had seven attempts at getting himself off. Four times, he managed to get hard. Two were perfectly successful. On the other hand, two other attempts ended with a severe panic attack. Calling that an unhealthy relationship with sexuality is like calling bedrock ‘difficult to break.’
Grian falters, seemingly as out of his depth as Mumbo. Then, after a minute of contemplation, a look of inspiration crosses his face.
Mumbo taps on the closed computer sitting on his lap. Having decided that he needed some soothing scents, he had the bright idea of lighting up one of Grian’s scented candles. He forgot how pungent and aggressive the man’s taste is, so the whole room smells like watermelon bubblegum cotton candy or something equally as egregious. Rather than the calming effect he intended, it only serves to make the atmosphere all the more stifling.
“Any good sexual relationship is built on self-love as much as love for each other,” Grian explained three weeks ago.
While Grian had assigned him this ‘homework’, there wasn’t an exact time given to get it done in. That was too much pressure, and frankly, Mumbo is too flustered to let Grian know when he’s planning on wanking.
Thankfully (and embarrassingly), Grian has been spending a suspicious amount of time outside the house since their conversation, giving Mumbo plenty of time to give it a shot. He would have procrastinated this forever if it were not for the promise that he and his partner could finally have sex once he gets over this teensy hurdle.
Except, this teensy hurdle is beginning to look like a mountain.
Firstly, he sort of hates how he looks naked. He never used to before... but then he started getting insecure about it. Mumbo is very large, no matter how he tries to slouch and shrink in on himself. He has a sort of naturally giant, boxy figure, but not with a particular excess of either muscle or fat. Really, he just kind of looks poorly distributed. Either that or he has spent too much time looking in the mirror thinking of reasons why he could be considered physically repulsive.
Secondly, the more nervous he gets, the more distant of a prospect it is to get an erection, and Mumbo is already halfway to hyperventilating before he has undressed.
Thirdly, and the most pressing all of a sudden, he has never really watched a significant amount of porn before. As a hormonal teenager, he had more than a couple sexual fantasies, but he didn’t really have access to adult videos. To his own humiliation, when Mumbo finally opens the laptop, the tech whiz he is, he decides to search ‘porn’ and clicks on the first site that comes up. Once he gets past the bashfulness of seeing a screen full of naked bodies, there is the problem of filtering. How is he supposed to filter the damn thing when he doesn’t even know what he likes?
Though he has a certain level of attraction towards women, he decides that ‘gay’ is probably the easiest place to start since he wants to think about sex with Grian in particular. After some internal debate over whether it constitutes as fetishization, he decides to add in ‘trans’ as well.
Grian made it clear that not only was it okay to fantasize about him, but encouraged. Offhandedly, he mentioned getting off while thinking about Mumbo ‘all the time’. Mumbo is not sure whether he should be nervous about living up to the expectations Grian has built up in his head or incredibly horny. Both, he decides on.
He skims through some titles, unsure what it is he’s supposed to be looking for.
His question is answered when he sees a gorgeous man in one of the thumbnails with dirty blond hair and a small frame. Post-top surgery, unlike Grian, but Mumbo is not particularly fussed either way. He doesn’t care much to observe the man’s partner in the video, but he finds himself unbothered by the fact that it looks nothing like himself. If anything, the mid-length brown hair, emerald green eyes, and muscular physique looks more like—
Ah, well Mumbo is not going to dwell on those thoughts, considering Grian’s history with their mutual friend back in Third Life.
To prepare himself, he takes in a deep breath. Temporarily, he forgot about the overwhelming sickly sweet scent in the air, and nearly chokes on it. Mumbo is going to have to go to the shopping district with Grian soon to pick out a candle that compromises between the mild, earthy smells Mumbo prefers and the offensive fruity ones his partner buys in bulk. Maybe something citrus-y?
Okay, he is just procrastinating now.
Before he can talk himself out of it, Mumbo clicks on the video.
Thankfully, it starts off tame. There is some sort of plot that he is not following. His head is too filled with the anticipation of there being sex at some point in this video. It’s probably a good time to take off his trousers.
The two men on screen prattle on about something related to a bet. One of those corny ‘I bet I can last longer than you while sucking you off, and if I win, you bottom’ gambles. Honestly, the blowjob does not do much for Mumbo. He would feel awkward receiving one, and he has an overactive gag reflex, so reciprocating is out of the question. Not that Grian has the anatomy for that in the first place. Though, he would not be opposed to the, ahem, vaginal equivalent, he thinks. The only problem being that Mumbo is sure he would fumble terribly while trying.
Then again, he doesn’t think there is anything he could do successfully while having sex with Grian. Now that he thinks about it, this whole thing is going to be a terrible idea. He should probably break it off with Grian now and hope that he’s able to find someone who is worth his time!
His anxious spiralling is cut off by obnoxiously loud moaning.
The actor who almost looks like Grian is riding the other man (who looks nothing like anyone else he knows, alright?) with an impressive amount of energy. There is some very intense kissing between the two, and Mumbo... well, he thinks he could be on the receiving end of that treatment and not perform too terribly.
To Mumbo’s surprise, his body actually begins to react how he wants it to. He breathes a sigh of relief. At the very least, even if he isn’t able to finish, that will be plenty of progress for the day.
That takes a weight off his shoulders he wasn’t quite aware was there. He relaxes into his cushions and focuses his attention on the screen in front of him. When he isn’t in his head about it, Mumbo finds the display to be embarrassingly arousing. There is something entrancing about the way the man on top arches his back and lets out noises he can pretend are authentic if he turns his brain off.
However egotistical it might be, Mumbo could imagine putting Grian into a similar state of pleasure.
He rolls his hips into his hand a couple times, unconsciously mimicking the movements of the man on the bottom. Mumbo joins in on the moaning, and is engaged enough in his activities not to hate the way he sounds.
Before he knows it, he’s clutching the sheets with his free hand while just on the right side of breathing heavily. Mumbo almost blacks out from the relief of his third successful attempt at masturbating in the past five years, and he only sort of had a panic attack. Fuck, he almost forgot how good that feels!
The video is still playing in the background when the daze somewhat wears off. Seeing as he allotted himself about four hours before Grian comes back home, Mumbo decides he may as well go above and beyond on the assignment.
“Honey, I’m ho-ome!” Grian announces, putting on his best American accent (which is not very good). Mumbo humours him with a soft snort and a peck on the cheek when Grian joins him on the sofa. Although he hasn’t been engaging in self-gratification in a couple hours, Mumbo still gets a full-body tingle when he presses his lips to his partner’s skin. It’s an addictive sensation.
Realizing that he has blanket permission to touch his partner, Mumbo takes full advantage. He drops his head into Grian’s lap and lazily tangles their fingers together. The position gives him a full view of his boyfriend’s face too. He gives an amused smile at Mumbo’s clinginess, but he doesn’t comment. It is nothing new for them—they are touchy with each other to a degree that no one except for Scar has been able to match—but it is usually Grian who initiates the touch so boldly.
“You look weirdly relaxed. Get up to something fun today?”
Mumbo’s mind goes to static at the question. Looking at the bland interest on Grian’s face, he doesn’t suspect what Mumbo got up to today, and the phrasing is coincidental.
“Err, do I look relaxed?”
“Yeah. You’re like, all boneless. Not as tense as usual.” Grian massages his shoulder muscles to demonstrate. Huh. Mumbo hadn’t noticed, but he’s right. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this mellowed out in... years, actually, now that I think about it. What have you gotten up to?”
It is times like these when he wishes that Grian were psychic.
He was hardly raised in an environment where he could talk about sex freely. Hell, his household discouraged prioritizing yourself and your pleasure in general. Even though Grian had given him this challenge to overcome, Mumbo feels his throat close up when it comes to discussing it. He sits up, distancing himself from Grian and tucking his gangly knees up to his chest on the opposite end of the sofa.
Tentative, Grian approaches Mumbo again, putting a supportive hand on his shoulder. It’s silly, being this embarrassed about a perfectly natural thing that his partner also does, but Mumbo cannot seem to find the words.
“What’s wrong? I assumed you had a good day.”
He did have a good day. For once, Mumbo is proud of himself, and comfortable in his skin. More comfortable than normal, anyway. It was more than just a physical relief, it was an emotional one as well. Like Mumbo finally gave himself permission to be present in the moment, unworried about whether he looked or sounded okay.
“It has been a good day. Really good, actually. I, well, um, ha. I did the, ah, the thing we talked about earlier?”
Grian levels him with a blank stare.
“The interior of your base?” Mumbo shakes his head. “The redstone thing that, I’ll be totally honest, I was not listening to?” He gives a disapproving look, but shakes his head again. “Is this going to be a guessing game?” A shrug. “Okay. Is it something we talked about earlier? Yeah? Like, a week ago? Two weeks? Three—? Three weeks. Mumbo, I have to admit, you’re gonna have to give me a hint, because I do not remember any discussion we had more than a couple days. Wait. Three weeks. That’s around the time we talked about...” Grian trails off.
His eyes widen as he cocks his head. With a part-excited, part-questioning expression, he makes a lewd hand gesture. Mumbo covers his flushed face with his hands, but responds with a quick nod. Grian practically squeals and tackles him with a hug.
“I thought it would take you way longer,” he admits, never one to hold back. “I’m so proud of you!” Grian punctuates each word with a kiss on the face. Quietly, Mumbo basks in the attention, forgetting more and more why he was nervous with each affectionate peck. They are once again a soothing balm to his oversensitive skin. For a moment, his partner backs off. “Did you manage to finish, then?”
At least Grian has the grace to not be so blunt as to use a more provocative euphemism.
“Three times.” Mumbo cannot contain his smirk as he reveals the information and watches as Grian’s jaw drops. “I mean, I had about four hours before you got back. Mainly did some exploring. Ahem, getting inspiration and all that. Three is probably not realistic in a shorter time frame, in case you were expecting that.”
“Don’t you dare downplay that!” Grian flicks him on the cheek. “That is a massive win. I thought I was gonna have to ask Zed how to make a potion so you could get it up, and that would have been a real awkward interaction. Glad we could avoid that.”
And that is a little astonishing as well. Realizing that Grian would go through the humiliating endeavour of requesting a potion for erectile dysfunction for the chance to have sex with Mumbo, of all people. Since he is still so boneless and his head is fuzzy with watermelon bubblegum cotton candy scent, he decides that fact is far more flattering than it it daunting. Grian expects nothing. Did not even expect him to be able to get it up without intervention. He could deal with that.
Mumbo is far too overstimulated to try for their first time that night.
Plus, as Grian stated, there is still work to be done. Managing to be okay with being nude alone in a non-sexual context. Learning what he likes and, very importantly according to his boyfriend, what he does not want. Not feeling as if Mumbo owes him sex, or owes him being good in bed. That last point needs some work.
“The goal of sex isn’t to cum,” Grian explains. Which does not make much sense to him. Physical release is the point. If Mumbo can’t make that happen for his partner, he has failed at having sex. Right? “It’s more like a spiritual thing really. We make each other comfortable and happy. Strip ourselves down to our most vulnerable and try our best to make our partner feel safe while being exposed.”
Safe while being exposed.
Mumbo hates when Grian gets all wise and philosophical. It always makes him self-reflect in ways he cannot handle.
Safe while being exposed.
That sounds like the ultimate fantasy. Mumbo pictures it as he watches a more brunette-leaning man without top surgery tie up a much larger man. Imagines being in the man’s shoes—or his leather restraints, in this case—and being completely at the other’s mercy. Yet, there is never any malice or disdain coming from the man who tied him up. Some light pain, a few jabs, but nothing mean. Nothing truly hurtful. Sort of like a game or a skit (that so happened to involve genitals).
Safe while being exposed.
Sex with love in it. With knowledge of the many years they have spent together. Sex with Grian, who was a half-step off from being able to read his mind. Stripping down for him to judge. Putting himself in the firing line for the worst insults.
Safe while being exposed.
What if he received only kind words instead?
Mumbo indulges in many ‘what if’s, but they are never positive. He never dares dream that the best outcome is a possibility. Out of everyone though, Grian has shown nothing but adoration when he shows a part of himself he doesn’t like much. For as mean and standoffish as Grian tries to make himself appear, he has always been loving. Doting, even, when Mumbo gets down on himself.
Disappointment seems less likely than being met with derision. Which should be a given with how often Grian has repeated that he doesn’t give a damn what Mumbo looks like underneath the suit or how ‘well’ the sex went.
Void, he went several years while Mumbo dodged the topic with all his might, and he’s still here. Not just waiting for him, but encouraging him to take it slower.
They went shopping for a better candle a while ago. Grian declared that despite his partner’s ‘sensitive nose,’ they could find a scent to agree on. Sandalwood Amber. Mumbo was not aware that amber could be a smell. The bedroom is filled with a mix of citrus, a vaguely floral tinge, vanilla, spices, and something that the salesperson refused to describe as anything other than ‘musk’. He still does not understand what musk is, but the intense yet grounded combination of things that smelled neither like sandalwood nor amber does something to Mumbo’s head. Seriously, how do they make all those things combine into one fucking candle?
The man in the video is tied in a way that keeps his legs open and prevents him from covering any part of his body. Nevertheless, the other man’s attraction to him does not stop. Realistically, there are many parts of the man that could be considered unattractive when put on full display like that.
For whatever reason, the complete exposure makes it incredibly hotter than if the subject looked picture perfect in a way Mumbo never could be. Would his partner feel the same if Mumbo were the one being exposed like that? Safe while being exposed. Could he really have that? Could he have someone paying attention, taking in every detail of him, and loving him anyway? Loving him more because they know every detail?
This candle is really getting to him. Mumbo remembers his tutoring about the senses. Smell is a sense that is deeply tied to memory and feeling. He lit these candles in hopes of inspiring an erotic mood.
It may be working too well.
Once again, as he comes down from the high of another successful orgasm, Mumbo believes he may have died and been embraced by the Void.
As soon as Grian gets home, he basically pounces on him. Their kisses had gotten heated on a few occasions, but they are more on the chaste side of things for the most part. This one is all tongue and spit and hot breath and hands in hair and teeth grazing just shy of leaving love bites.
Soon, Grian escorts him to the couch. At first, he tries to exit the kiss to move, but he is willing to keep their lips in contact as he shoves Mumbo into a sitting position. This is normal for them, since any extended period of making out leads to one or both of their necks getting cramped thanks to the height difference. There is nothing abnormal about Grian climbing onto his lap to get a better vantage point. Everything about this, other than the relative rarity of their intense make outs, is utterly normal.
Nevertheless, it feels much hotter than it has before.
Maybe it is because it has been explicitly stated that Mumbo is allowed to have sexual thoughts and impulses surrounding his partner. Maybe it’s the fact that he came his brains out about half an hour ago. Maybe Grian wearing a tank top is driving him up the fucking wall. It is quite uncommon to see him in anything that is not baggy and covering his entire torso, even within their own home, and it doesn’t look like he’s wearing a bra either. Maybe it’s that candle’s scent lingering after it has been blown out which is clouding Mumbo’s senses and turning it into a desperation for skin-on-skin.
The Void must have no end to its cruelty, for Grian parts from him to breathe. And yeah, Mumbo also needs to breathe, but he would be glad to suffocate in such a manner.
“Where,” Grian pauses to pant and wipe a string of drool from his mouth. Yes, their must be some otherworldly force manipulating Mumbo’s mental faculties since his first thought is ‘spit in my mouth’. Otherwise, if that were an Official Mumbo Thought™, it may be an indication that he is utterly depraved. “Where did that come from?”
“Umm.” My dick. “Felt like it? Why? Not, um... was that not good?”
“No, no, it’s good. Just not very much like you, is it?” Mumbo shrugs, not really sure how to articulate the emotional and sexual journey he’s been on since Grian first brought up ‘the talk’. “Unexpected, but not unwelcome in the slightest,” is his glowing review.
“I feel sort of good about myself right now.”
That elicits an upset expression, which is the opposite of the reaction Mumbo was intending to elicit. Regardless of the concern, Grian starts kissing him again, so he can hardly complain. It isn’t half as rushed as the last one, which Mumbo is still very okay with. So long as Grian is the one kissing him. He is very good at leading a kiss. Being led in the motions takes the pressure off needing to perform well or pull all the moves.
“Would you be able to do what you do for me in kissing when it comes to sex?” Mumbo gasps and throws a hand over his mouth when he processes what just came out of his own mouth. Only he would be able to scandalize himself. Grian goes stiff. Mumbo goes completely red in the face. “I’m so sorry, that was horribly inappropriate of me!”
Grian, the traitor, bursts out laughing. One of his high-pitched, near-yelling volume fits of laughter that last for minutes, until he’s choking on air. They are the carefree, undignified sounds that made Mumbo fall in love with him, but they aren’t nearly as fun when directed at Mumbo.
“Sorry,” he snorts, not sounding sorry in the least. “That just came out of nowhere!”
“Yeah, it sort of did, didn’t it?” Grian, the traitor, makes Mumbo laugh along with him. As they both lose breath, Grian winds up collapsing on his chest. “Sorry,” he reiterates, panting slightly. “I just, ahem, finished doing the thing you wanted to me to, and—fuck it, I wanked, alright?” That set off a whole new fit that Mumbo has to patiently wait through. “And it felt really not bad and it got me... thinking about stuff? I guess I’ve never really pictured sex where I felt good before. It was always more worrying about whether I would be able to do well for other people? Sex and pleasure have never really been synonymous for me, I guess. So, I’m learning. Like you suggested.”
His boyfriend smiles up at him with a great joy and great sadness coexisting.
“I wish someone else had made you feel good before.” Mumbo pictured being viewed as ‘sloppy seconds’ after his not-really fiance dumped him. And here Grian is, upset that no one had good sex with Mumbo before he was even in the picture. “However, I am very happy that I’ll get to.” Get to. Like it’s not a chore. Like Mumbo is the one doing him a favour. And he means it.
“Me too.”
“So, you said something about if I could, um. Have sex with you like I kissed you? What did you mean by that?”
How is Mumbo supposed to describe what he means? There was a commonality in what turned him on so far that he can’t quite piece together. The same feeling bubbled up in him when watching that guy on top, or the person getting tied up and used, or when he was being bossed around by Grian while setting up for an event and he got real hot and bothered by the sharp demands for seemingly no reason.
“Uh. I mean like... I like the way you take control of it? It takes a lot of weight off my shoulders, knowing that I can’t really fail since you are getting me to do exactly what you want kinda by force, I guess? I don’t know if that can translate 1:1 in sex or anything, but-”
“Mumbo, that is the textbook definition of being submissive. We can definitely make that happen. I personally prefer it, actually.”
Ah. Yes. Mumbo is not the most informed person in the world about the intricacies of sexuality and kink, (what else is new?) but he is vaguely aware of being submissive in bed. He’s aware of the general definition of the word, and yeah, Mumbo sort of conforms to that in day to day life. Being combative is awful, and it feels nice to do what he is told.
Is that a bad thing? Typically, it’s seen as more attractive to be assertive and whatnot in a sexual scenario. Mumbo cannot picture himself taking charge in the bedroom, especially not with Grian. And if he prefers it, what’s the problem? Other than submitting being seen as a humiliating ordeal. Emasculating, as an older brother of Mumbo’s put it. Knowing him however, he would have thought being gay at all is emasculating, especially as Grian is trans. So who gives a shit about his opinion?
Besides, Mumbo is beginning to think being humiliated around his boyfriend isn’t so bad. He manages to humiliate himself a thousand different ways throughout the day, and Grian is yet to walk out the door. May as well get off because of it.
“Right. That’s. Good. Great. I’d be alright with that. More than alright. I’d be chuffed to bits.”
Speaking of humiliating himself.
Grian is likely to pass out with how hard he has been laughing at Mumbo through this conversation. Which Mumbo cannot blame him for. Especially not when the man is kissing him all over in between his giggles. Ugh. Grian could probably win any argument using his lips alone.
“I’m glad you feel good about yourself,” he whispers eventually. Mumbo just hums, a little distracted by trying to cover every inch of the other’s skin in hickies. Since he wears turtlenecks almost every single day, they don’t have to worry about placement much. “And I’m glad you’re learning more about what you like.” That is the most polite way Grian could say ‘I am thrilled that my partner is masturbating’, which he is grateful for, since the man does not often bother avoiding crassness. “Stop me if I’m crossing a line here, but I think we could take things to a new level.”
Abruptly, Mumbo takes his mouth off the other, eyes going wide. Red alert red alert red alert red alert. Oh my goodness, he does not feel ready to go straight to sex. That was the deal, he supposes. But there’s a difference between ‘we can have sex once you manage to make yourself feel good’ and ‘you’ve succeeded in jerking off, time to have sex now’.
“Void, Mumbo, I don’t mean now!” He breathes a sigh of relief. “Which you should say no to if it makes you go that pale.” Right. Saying no. He can just do that with no consequence, as Grian promised. “And I’m not even talking about going all the way yet. I meant, like, second base.”
“I don’t see how you could have tied this into baseball.”
“I meant tit touching, Mumbo.”
“What does that have to do with baseball?!” Grian goes to explain, but waves it off. “Anyway, I thought you were uncomfortable with that. ‘Cause of the dysphoria?”
Grian looks down at his breasts like he just remembered they existed.
“Oh, right. That was before all...” he gestures to his wings. What does being a watcher have to do with gender dysphoria? “They changed my body pretty horrifically, so the whole gender thing sort of paled in comparison to having like. Wings and extra eyes and weird code stuff.” New anti-dysphoria hack: get a new, worse dysphoria to override the previous one. “Plus, Scar helped me out with not feeling like those parts of my body are ‘girl parts’ or anything.”
“I didn’t know you came out to Scar?”
While Grian is not exactly in the closet, he tends to avoid telling people about his gender identity now that he passes for male. Mumbo could understand that. Not to say that he understands the trans experience personally or anything, but he can sympathize. After all, Grian lost his birth family over the ordeal and spent his childhood fighting tooth and nail to be himself.
If any of the hermits ended up not accepting him, Grian would probably lose his sense of safety. So he never directly denies his being trans, but he will almost never bring it up. Xisuma and Pearl are the only ones on the server who know, to Mumbo’s knowledge.
Out of anyone, Scar is one of people he would assume Grian is more likely to tell. Still, Mumbo assumed he would have brought it up earlier.
“Oh. Um.” Grian’s face goes bright red, faltering like he’s just remembered something important. “Inadvertently, yeah. Or, as a side effect of what we were... I suppose I haven’t really come out to him? Not in, err. Not in a setting that he would remember now.” Mumbo squints as if that will help him interpret that mess of a statement. With a sigh and a flush that goes all the way down to his chest, Grian elaborates, “Y’know. In the games.”
Why would it be relevant to come out to Scar in the—?
“Ah. You mean when the two of you...” Knowing how much he hates them, Mumbo does not give another attempt at one of his awkward innuendos.
Grian nods, looking away. While he can technically understand where his guilt stems for—it could be argued that he cheated, but it would be a grand lack of empathy to ignore the horrific context surrounding their entanglement—it has never particularly bothered Mumbo. Is it normal not to be upset that Scar had sex with his partner before he did?
“Well, I don’t mean to push, but I kinda want to know how he helped you with that. Uh, no specific details needed, but if I can help with the dysphoria, it’d be nice to have a reference sheet.”
For a minute, Grian grapples with the idea. His inner turmoil is so potent it’s a step away from outer turmoil. Mumbo realizes the line of questioning is uncomfortable. Asking your boyfriend to tell you what a previous sexual partner did well in bed would be inadvisable under regular circumstances. Adding on the layer that they technically did the deed while Mumbo and Grian were together, it goes from inadvisable to tasteless. But goodness, Mumbo does not care, and if Scar has the secret key to making his boyfriend feel pleasure in bed, he wants to hear about it.
Yeah, that is definitely a weird thought.
“Okay.” The one word from Grian shocks him out of his thoughts. “In the most vague of terms, err. Well, you know Scar. I told him I’m trans, and his first questions were about genital terminology and whether I should be wearing a binder in the desert. Didn’t bat an eye otherwise.” That sounds perfectly in line with how Mumbo assumed Scar would respond. Those kinds of superficial things never interested him much. “So, not making a big deal out of it helps? Uhh. S’pose he gave me plenty of autonomy too. Plus, he is real upfront. So, he will just casually say how much he likes how I look naked, but say it’s okay if I want to keep my shirt on if I am feeling off about my chest. Void, sorry, that is way too much information!”
“No, no, I asked!” Mumbo is quick to reassure. Admittedly, he did start having a weird reaction as Grian got specific, but it wasn’t bad? Whatever. “All great pointers. I will have to keep them in mind. Anything else?”
He shrugs.
“I guess part of it is that he is totally, one hundred percent gay, and if he likes me...”
Then he definitely thinks I’m a man is left unspoken. Nothing Mumbo could help with on that end. While he never did any deep examination about his sexuality when he barely acknowledged he had a sexuality, Mumbo has some level of attraction to women. He has heard enough horror stories about the ‘best of both worlds’ bisexual chasers to know his attraction to men did not necessarily cross out him thinking of Grian as a woman. The thought makes him shudder.
The greatest obstacle in getting to second base, as it were, turns out not to be Grian. Seeing as Mumbo has been earnestly affirming his masculinity for the past several years, he has an implicit trust about the whole thing. He’s already seen the man shirtless in a non-sexual capacity plenty of times. Also, Grian is quite pent up.
This has added up to him being willing to strip his shirt off pretty much whenever Mumbo is willing to take advantage.
So far, that occasion has never come.
There is something about it that feels particularly dirty in his head. He has encountered plenty of flowery language about sex, but there was no word for touching breasts that sounded anything but violating. Anytime Mumbo got the urge to go for it, his brain would intervene by shamefully reminding him that he is thinking about groping his partner. Whenever that intrusive thought pops up, he becomes violently ill. Which is not helpful when you are trying to get turned on.
Getting better at the whole ‘communicating sexual desire’ thing, he brings up his fears with Grian. He spends a minute or so staying silent, squinting and furrowing his brows and scratching his stubble like he does whenever he is in the middle of brainstorming.
Altogether, it is a pretty good idea.
Yes, Mumbo’s idea of ‘violating’ Grian is irrational and based in either sexual repression or trauma, but recognizing that in an intellectual capacity does not make the fear go away. As a compromise, Grian creates a scenario where the sexual aspect of the... fondling is lesser. Bathing together. Swim trunks on and everything. Ingenious, really.
When Mumbo finally makes contact with his breasts, it feels completely natural. A result of holding his boyfriend and massaging him and touching almost every other inch of his body.
If that isn’t enough, easy praises from Grian come right after.
He tangles his fingers in the strands of Mumbo’s wet hair and tugs it forward until his face is buried in Grian’s neck. Kissing his neck is a lovely addition to the arrangement. One hand on his waist and another cupping a breast with all the gentleness he can muster, and his head is set spinning. The high goes from exhilarating to anxiety inducing when Mumbo notices his physical reaction to the stimulation.
“It’s alright.” Before he can get to the freaking out part, Grian has predicted his thought process. “I already told you, I want to make you feel good. It’s not a crime.” Without seeing his eyes, Mumbo could tell he was rolling his eyes.
“So, it’s okay that I..?”
He finds it difficult to articulate. Using clinical terms would lead to mockery, and using more colloquial terms would also lead to mockery because Mumbo used terms like ‘colloquial’ to think about sexual slang. Grian takes mercy on him, if you could call it that.
“Not to get you all in your head or anything, but you could stick that in me right now and I wouldn’t be complaining.”
That was how he phrased it in an attempt not to get Mumbo in his head?! Void, if he heard the unfiltered version, Mumbo would need a fainting couch. Although he mentioned it, Grian finding him desirable in a sexual capacity is not a concept that has sunken in. Hell, it took him years of dating for him to believe the romantic aspect. The fact that Grian is raring to go is. Well. It is not helping to prevent his physical reaction, if you catch his drift.
More than that, it’s... emboldening.
“Well, definitely not in the bathtub. We’d get pruny!” Grian let out a wild cackle, flinging his head back to rest on Mumbo’s shoulder while he goes boneless. “But, uh. Honestly, I don’t know what good waiting any longer will do, now that I’m thinking about it.” That manages to halt Grian’s laughter in its tracks. “I mean, if you were being serious. At least we wouldn’t have to worry about the, um. Y’know.” He lowers his voice. “The getting it up part.”
“You sure?” Grian asks for the fifth time since they got out of the bed. This time, he asks while lowering Mumbo onto the bed, so he isn’t too bothered by the repetition.
They decide to dry off and get semi-clothed beforehand. According to Grian, having sex while damp sucks. For the participants and the sheets, though if all goes as intended, they will be washing their bed-sheets thanks to different fluids. All they put on is underwear, no bra to worry about on Mumbo’s end. Stripping is meant to be a seductive event, after all.
Not that he thinks himself capable of genuine seduction.
It feels different from his first time—the first time that Grian insists he shouldn’t think of as a first, and not out of a possessive desire to be the only one. There is no insistence or shushing or disappointment. No disappointment yet.
There have been times in the past when he has seen Mumbo shirtless. Usually it’s seeing a glimpse of him while he is changing, for medical purposes, or the one time he went swimming (he spent the whole time underwater with his arms wrapped around his torso) before Pearl introduced him to what she calls a ‘rashie’ to cover him up. Even in the bath, he waited until the last minute to discard his shirt and sat behind Grian.
He is not keen on showing off, but under his partner, Mumbo is on full display. Shameless as always, Grian is not discreet about raking his gaze over his body. Not wanting to cause a whole fuss about it, Mumbo resists the urge to shrink into himself. However, he does ‘casually’ place an arm over his stomach.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. As long as you are.” He is not sure if it comes out sounding as insecure as he feels.
With no regard to his internal struggle, Grian’s hands begin to roam over the skin Mumbo never leaves exposed. The caresses are both loving and greedy, and his lips follow his hands’ path.
For all the times he calls Mumbo a ‘love vampire’ because of his habit of leaving hickeys all over the man’s neck, Grian is eager to leave bruising kisses everywhere below the neck. Not that he is complaining. Not at all.
“Is this good?” It is a miracle Mumbo can make out what he is saying between the heavy pants.
What he intends to say is something approving, but a little exasperated. ‘You don’t have to ask if everything is good; I’ll tell you if it stops being good’. A snarkier ‘Well, I have said yes the past six times you’ve asked, but now you’ve crossed the line by kissing my sternum’, but that does not sound like something Mumbo would say anyway. More likely would be a frantic ‘yes, yes, yes, yes please Instead, the blood flow leaving his brain allows his thoughts to slip out against his better judgment.
“Do you think I’m unattractive now?”
“Huh?”
“Sorry, sorry, that was—I have no idea where that came from. You’ve just never seen me missing this much clothing before, is all. If you, I dunno, if you had a preference for someone who looks different, I wouldn’t hold that against you. I know I am not the, er, not the peak of attractiveness. Which is fine. Not everyone can be as good looking as you, ha. So if you don’t, um, find me... sorry.”
One thing Mumbo could confidently say he was proficient in when it came to sex is killing the mood. He blames Grian for being so relentlessly arousing that he cannot filter himself around the man.
As soon as he works up the courage to ask to do the thing that every normal couple would have done years ago, he fucks it up. Two for two. Maybe Grian was wrong when he criticized Mumbo’s ex-fiancee. Maybe he had not yet realized how badly—
“Mumbo, I... hmm.” Grian’s eyes dart back and forth, like he is scanning the empty air for the right way to articulate himself. After a beat, he clicks his tongue and refocuses on his partner. “As you know, I’m not great at the whole romantic speech thing. So. You should know that I am soaking right now.”
For a moment, he is confused. First, about how that is relevant to the conversation. Secondly, they had dried off pretty thoroughly. Then, he remembers innuendo.
“I’m guessing you developed an insecurity or two after your last experience,” he says the word like it’s an affront. “But I am not lying when I say I’m attracted to you. For goodness’ sake; you turn me on, you spoon!” Fond and frustrated, he smacks Mumbo’s chest ever-so lightly. “When I am in the shower, alone and horny after seeing you sweaty or flustered or passionate or fucking anything—I finger myself while thinking about you. By that standard alone, you have made me cum, like, hundreds of times. Indirectly!”
It isn’t that Grian is incapable of lying. Sure, he obfuscates reality when it suits him. When it comes to niceties and sparing people’s feelings? He never found cared enough about them to lie. On the occasions he gets intensely passionate, there is never room for deceit either. All that to say, when Grian gets up in arms about how he’s fingered himself to the thought of Mumbo, he believes him.
“I love every part of you. And you make me super horny. If you want, I can prove it. Directly,” he whispers in Mumbo’s ear. His voice takes on a husky timbre it so rarely does, paired with a playful edge it almost always has.
No sound is exiting Mumbo’s voice-box when he gets this flustered—he could barely form a sentence when asked his favourite colour—so he nods.
With a half-wicked half-tender grin only Grian could pull off, he takes Mumbo’s arm. Operating on trust alone, he allows his partner to gradually tug his on his hand until it nears Grian’s boxers. Right before making contact, he pauses. Eventually, Mumbo realizes, he wants him to go the distance by his own volition. Though he panics internally, Mumbo takes comfort in the fact that Grian is the one who guided him to this position. Who has expressed yearning with the most restraint he has ever seen from the man.
Emboldened, he lightly grazes Grian’s underwear, and fuck, he was not kidding; that is capital W Wet.
Mumbo’s ears turn a bright shade of red, and he can hear blood rushing in his ears. Frozen mind and body, he barely registers that he hasn’t taken his hands off the boxers. Until Grian unconsciously thrusts into the sensation, jolting Mumbo right out of his thoughts. This is real, this is happening, this is a quick-time event.
“Oh, that’s. Ha.” Pathetic. He’s panting and getting flustered before they are even bare. “Yeah, if you, or, you clearly like this and meant what you said, right? Yeah, good, so. I wanna do this too. I would like to um, take a stab at giving you a direct orgasm.” Loser, loser, loser, loser!
“Void yes, I would love that!” The way Grian rolls his head back and his hips forward emphasized that. “But just so you know, this is about you feeling good, okay? If I don’t get there, it’s fine. Journey, destination—you know the line.” Mumbo may be the luckiest person alive. With a confidence he does not have on his own, Grian jams Mumbo’s hand further against the his clothed sex, and uses it as a surface to grind his cunt against. “Why don’t we give it a shot though?”
His tone left the possibility of ‘no’ open. Mumbo doesn’t want to say no.
“Yeah, I can try. How far do you want to...?”
Grian gives him a look. Rather than just say his expectations out loud, he goes the more insane route of slipping a finger down his own boxers, presumably stick a finger into his hole, and wiggling his eyebrows with a smug smirk. As the off-the-rails cherry on top, he takes the finger out, pausing a moment to show Mumbo how it glistened, and licking the fluid off.
“However far you’re willing~” He sings. If he thought Grian was crazy when he wasn’t drunk on carnal desire...
Mumbo decides to take him by the jaw and kiss him with way too much tongue. Intentionally, in an effort to taste the slick Grian licked up second-hand.
As soon as their lips part, the man goes back to treating every inch of Mumbo’s body like a chew toy. Between breaths, he leaves short, simple compliments to further correct the internal storm. ‘Good’, ‘pretty’, ‘hot’, ‘my man’ before diving right back in.
Eventually, Mumbo decides to take the plunge. Well, less like a plunge and more like a single toe dipped in the water. He trails down to Grian’s waistband and just rubs his thumb along the fabric. To get his question across without having to take his mouth off his partner, Mumbo gives a light tug. Not demanding—clearly asking permission. For instruction. More eager than he ever has been to teach, Grian holds his (much smaller) hands over Mumbo’s, and uses them to slip off his underwear.
Impatient as ever, he unfastens his own bra and tosses it on the floor. If he had half a braincell more, Mumbo would be telling him to fold the damn thing. In the long run, it is better for the both of them. Otherwise, Grian would have to endure him fumbling over the clasps until were both of them were thoroughly turned off.
“Do you mind if I...?”
He waves a couple fingers around and gestures to the lube. Upon realizing what he is implying, Grian’s legs unconsciously spread out a little further. Mumbo’s stomach twists at the sight in some strange combination of heated passion and the fluttering you get seeing your crush smiling at you.
“Oh, please do. Fantasy only does so much—your fingers are almost twice the size of mine.”
It is barely an exaggeration. Mumbo has always had mammoth hands, and he has often been gawked at for how small things look when he holds them. Meanwhile, Grian’s hands have always been fairly average in length, but abnormally slender. When they hold hands, Mumbo almost engulfs his palms completely. This has never struck him as anything notable. The unbridled longing in Grian’s tone makes him reconsider the importance of the size discrepancy.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure not to do too much at once.”
Mumbo coats his index, middle, and ring fingers with a generous serving of lubricant. He does not expect to need the third finger, but better to be prepared. It’s a bit cold, so he waits until the temperature adjusts to something that he would not hiss at if he were to put it up his own hole.
Genital don’t do much for him, but he finds Grian’s fascinating. He finds Grian fascinating.
Mercifully, testosterone helps Mumbo out, making the clit clear as day. Over two inches, if he were to eyeball it. From a semi-recent study he remembers (of course Mumbo’s most useful knowledge about sex is from a study) there is something like 10,000 nerves in the clitoris. Out of curiosity, he lightly presses the tip of his thumb to the head. Mumbo thinks the man must be exaggerating when he goes straight to bucking his hips and whining, but he trusts that Grian would redirect him if he was not in the right spot.
“Fuuuuck, please do too much at once,” Grian practically demands.
Seeing no point in prolonging it any further, Mumbo eases the tip of his index into Grian’s hole. With the natural and manufactured lube alike, there is no resistance.
Grian does not hesitate to lower his hips until comes close the knuckle. Impatient, but expected. Other than a slight wince, he can’t see any sign of discomfort. Taking the hint to speed things along, Mumbo adds in the middle finger. Considering the digit is genuinely huge, and Grian hasn’t gotten any since Third Life, it is a more significant stretch.
Apparently, it’s a stretch that his partner revels in. At least, that’s how Mumbo interprets the ‘mhm’s, quiet groans that sound like a door creaking (why in the world does he find that so hot? Sex is weird), and how he sprawls out his puffed-up wings.
With how deep in he already is, it takes no time at all to find the g-spot.
Whether it is concern that he won’t be able to deliver the pleasure Grian deserves, even if he insists he doesn’t need it, or a hunger of his own, Mumbo decides to bring his tongue into the mix. Just lapping at the t-dick. From the reaction he elicited with his thumb earlier, he concludes that less is more.
“Are you trying to torture me, you absolute dick?” He jeers around his whines, so Mumbo doesn’t take it to heart. “Feel like taking your pants off and putting me out of my misery?” If this is misery, it rather resembles pleasure.
“Uhm, I don’t know? I’m not, uh. Fully hard yet?”
However pleasant the display has been—and it has already far surpassed his past attempt—his cock has remained untouched throughout. For a moment, he worries that Grian will take his not-quite hardness as a personal reflection, but his feather remained unruffled. Literally and figuratively. He slaps his forehead. Without an explanation, he sits up from his position on the bed and slides off Mumbo’s fingers (pouting at the loss).
“Thank goodness for our giant bed,” Grian murmurs.
Plan still mysterious, he tests out a few poses, grimacing or humming at each of them. He clicks his tongue before a smirk comes to his face. When he locks eyes with Mumbo, he feels like prey being stalked. Grian grabs him by the waist. Leading him, as they would in dancing. (They had one ballroom dancing competition, and never one to do things halfway, Grian practised until they wowed the dance-floor. Mumbo just appreciated being led) It’s a little nudge to say ‘just go with it’, so Mumbo cooperates when his partner practically shoves him so he sits up against the headboard.
When Grian gets on his stomach and trails his fingers from Mumbo’s thigh to his waistband, he is suddenly clued in.
“You don’t have to do that,” Mumbo assured. “I know that it’s difficult to...”
“Mumbo, you big spoon, unless you have a problem with it, shut up and let me suck your dick. I’m no spring chicken, alright?” How could Grian make fun of him for saying things like ‘do the do’ when he said ‘spring chicken’ in bed? Pot, meet kettle. “Plus, I used my dildo gag, like, two days ago, so I’m prepped.”
“What in the world is a dildo gag?”
“It’s pretty much all in the name, dude.”
Fair enough. Isn’t that a picture? Mumbo does not personally see the appeal of voluntary choking. Well, actually, now that he is dwelling on it, there is a certain interesting dynamic. A desperation, a sacrifice, a loss or gain of control. From an objective standpoint, he can understand where it comes from. Grian keeps repeating that he has thought about Mumbo sexually. Did he ever use the gag and picture him? Is that egotistical?
Oh, right. His partner is asking permission to take off his pants and give him a blowjob, and he is vocally overjoyed with the situation. Seeing Grian’s messy, soft hair, his Void-like eyes, that petite but toned physique, those slender hands, the beauty marks that dotted him in all the places that Mumbo had avoided looking at...
Yeah, he deserves to be a little egotistical when Grian is looking back at him with the same worship.
He takes off and folds his underwear and doesn’t immediately have a panic attack about someone seeing ‘it’. Nothing blows up, and Grian does not walk out the door. Instead, he stares down Mumbo’s cock like he’s holding back on devouring a nice meal.
“Is it normal?” Mumbo blurts out.
Once again, he makes a fool of himself at the most inopportune times. Once again, Grian responds like he isn’t an insane man or a walking mood-killer.
“Who cares?” Me, he’s too embarrassed to say. Picking up on the seriousness of the topic, his partner changes tactics. “Okay, there is no ‘normal’. Everybody’s different. I have dated guys with huge dicks, tiny ones, skinny ones, thick ones. One guy was missing a testicle!” Mumbo snorts at the ridiculous sexual fun fact. “I never really cared for what was normal as long as I had a good time.”
Was that just code for saying it looks weird, but he’d look past it for the sake of love? Mumbo crosses his legs ever so slightly. However, he does not resist when Grian forcefully uncrosses them. Who is he to deny his angel? (He would never call him that out loud, knowing all the watcher baggage with the wings. In his head, it is fitting)
“I know that’s not what you are looking for. It’s on the larger side of normal. Well, I’d estimate six inches, yeah?” Mumbo shrugs. “You haven’t measured it? Okay, well you are definitely abnormal in that sense. Every man I’ve met has his overestimated measurement. Anyway, the only problem we’d encounter is that it is thick as hell. With fingers to match. Which isn’t a real problem actually, since I love feeling stuffed up. That enough of a review for you, big guy?” He wiggles his eyebrows as Mumbo cringes at the name.
“Yeah. That’s—thanks.”
“Right, so can I get to it?”
Goodness gracious, how did he almost forget about that? Mumbo nods and obediently spreads his legs when Grian taps his thigh.
There is very little buildup. There is a mouth around his penis, and it’s not that weird. Wet, sure, but he can deal with that. It becomes increasingly impressive the further down Grian manages to get. Even without words, he is directing Mumbo; getting him to grip his hair. Tugging is a big no for Mumbo. He doesn’t want to hurt the man, not even a little bit. No, he just holds it. It’s... grounding.
Mumbo tries to keep track of the techniques Grian is employing. It doesn’t really make sense to be trying to learn from him since he can’t reciprocate with his partner’s genitals, but Mumbo is oddly convinced he is going to try it for himself someday. (Maybe on someone with beautiful green eyes)
Inevitably, he loses track of how exactly Grian is moving his mouth and tongue to create the best sensations, and chooses to appreciate them instead.
Until he feels his legs start to shake. He has given himself enough orgasms lately to recognize the sensation. He gives a few frantic taps to Grian’s shoulder and escorts him off. The man complies easily, wiping off the drool with his arm, which is not helping with Mumbo’s problem thank you very much.
“Okay, okay, enough of that part. I just wanted to get fully hard, and good job, thanks so much, that felt so good, thank you.” Void, no one told him part of exploring his sexuality involved realizing he is the annoying guy who repeatedly thanks his partner. Thank goodness Grian finds him endearing. “I would like to get onto the. Uh, sorry, let me catch me breath. Get to the main event, y’know? If that’s okay with you.”
Grian does not protest.
Kisses are weird when you can taste your own dick on your boyfriend’s breath, so Mumbo is fine to stop mauling each other until they brush their teeth. Without that distraction, they get things done a lot faster.
Mumbo debates putting a third finger in, weighing whether the potentially painful stretch of his three massive fingers would be worse than him going in after two fingers worth of loosening. When Grian begs to be filled up in ‘the next fucking second or I’m tearing your nuts off with my bear teeth’, the decision is made for him.
It is... not as terrifying as he built it up to be.
Grian is obviously having fun, and unlike he ever imagined, Mumbo is having fun too. It’s fun, and they both feel good and he’s being complimented.
With the other man taking the lead and riding him, Mumbo doesn’t have to worry about what motions were alright. He just has to meet Grian’s hips where they’re at. Weirdly, it feels like what they do when they go row-boating together. Ever the one to create his own terms, Grian decides the pace and what they’re doing. Ever the doe-eyed love bird, Mumbo does whatever he can to support him, and trusts that they will reach land. If nothing else, he is good at following.
Without the pressures of having to decide, he thrives. Mumbo never conceived of a sex where he does not have to be the one setting the pace. Thanks for that little tidbit of toxic masculinity, childhood. If someone told him years ago that sex could mean playing along and not worrying about being judged for it, he would have had Grian riding him a month into their relationship.
“Fuck, I wish we’d done this earlier!” Mumbo cries as he feels himself approaching the edge.
“Oh, me too. Void, I know you’ve been keeping in all those dirty little urges, but I have been dreaming about this since before we were dating.” If he gave it his best shot, Grian could take him apart with his words alone.
Is it weird to have a thing for being told nice things? No, right? Is he that deprived?
“Out of your head, back in the bed,” Grian demands. The bizarre rhyme is jarring enough that any self-doubt is forgotten in an instant. Right. Mumbo is doing a good job. Stay on target. “Mmm, yup, there, there, there, there!” If he isn’t mistaken, that must be the g-spot he’s hitting. Mumbo keeps his hips angled in the right way to keep slamming into it when Grian juts down into him. Feels weird, but in a good way.
There has been a mild tremor in Grian’s leg for a while, but they suddenly go limp. Mumbo manages to catch him by the hips and slowly lower him so he doesn’t fully collapse. His head lolls back and he goes dead quiet. Mumbo starts to panic that something has gone medically wrong, but the sudden stickiness smeared on his lap informs him of what really happened.
“Did you—?”
Grian starts to laugh, and collapses into Mumbo’s chest as he surrenders total muscle control. The wings help with balance, so Mumbo does not have to use too much strength to keep the man upright.
“And you were worried I wouldn’t cum,” he says through breathless, half-shrieking giggles. “Hold on, just keep going until you get there too.” That seems selfish, doesn’t it? Like Mumbo is using him has some sort of fleshlight! Grian shakes his head. “A benefit of having a cunt is that we have much shorter refractory periods. I ain’t outta the running yet. My legs just aren’t cooperating, y’know? Think you can get yourself there, baby?”
The pet name is unlike him, but he is drunk on the sweet taste of an orgasm provided by the man he had been fantasizing about for years with no relief.
Mumbo lets out a dumb ‘uh huh’. Without guidance, he is far less impressive. He just ruts upward until he eventually reaches that now-familiar sensation of climax. There is a reason it’s called that. It’s climactic, alright. With the rubber on, less overtly dramatic, but climactic.
“One hell of a first time, huh?”
Grian regains his ability to form sentences far earlier than Mumbo. Speaking sounds like a chore he won’t be attending to until he has a good rest. Today has been a big day. His silent thumbs up says volumes.
“I wish we could have done this while I was human,” he laments quietly as he lightly traces the lines Mumbo’s palm. The exhausted grief tells him this is an old wound being pried open again. “We kissed and held hands and went on dates back when I was normal. We never did this without the wings and the... the baggage.”
“No difference to me.”
That is the last things Mumbo manages to say before passing out. He would regret falling asleep when he woke up with semi-dried fluids smeared on his nude body. Shower first next time, then sleep, Grian suggests as Mumbo makes disgusted noises. When he asks why Grian didn’t think to wake him, he gave the response that must have been designed in a lab to soften Mumbo right up. I would have woken you, but I thought it was a perfect place to end your first time.
He has to agree.