KatM @katmalak999 - Tumblr Blog

Rubs hands like an evil fly... waiting patiently for the Olrufrey fic...

Learn Your Lesson

🍓It's finished. I know this took a while for me to get out, but I promise you I was working super hard on it. I am really proud of this. I had so much fun writing it. My only worry is that Olly's dialogue is clunky, and the conversations don't flow well together... I do apologize for not making this gender neutral. I had a difficult time bringing it together with what I was picturing. I can make a second version with a male reader/gn reader if that is in demand. This is it, though! I do hope that you all like it. Much love <3

TW: Teasing; Fingering; Explicit NSFW (Mdni 18+); Overstimulation; cum eating; slight humiliation; oral sex (reader receiving); dom/sub dynamics; female reader

Word Count: 6k

Wouldn’t it be funny, you thought, to try and rock the boat? Just a little. Not so much that it tipped over, but enough that you got a little splashing. A silly little idea. Harmless, you felt. Just to see. To watch how they reacted.

It started just before noon, helping Qifrey in the kitchen. His hands were delicate and steady, so sure of themselves as he carefully pulled the blaze beans from their pod. A sweeter flavor for this month's stock, it seems. You were supposed to be focusing on slicing up some vegetables, but the little game you were unwittingly pulling your beloved into was more exciting than that.

Quietly, you stepped over to his side, just close enough that you were invading his space, not so close that you were blocking his way. You can see the way his lips quirk in amusement, and it fills you with excitement, “Aren’t you supposed to be chopping?”

“I’ve found myself… distracted,” you hum back, not hiding the heat in your tone.

You take note how he glances over the room before he responds, ensuring no little ears are about to hear such adult implications, “...have you now? That won’t do in a kitchen.”

“Certainly not,” you round to the other side of him, drawing your fingers between his shoulder blades as you do, “see, the way you move your hands always catches my eyes. So precise and delicate.”

“Mmm.” He hums back, separating another pod with the gentleness he normally handles you with. Carefully pulling the beans from the spot they rest in with the slightest, precise wiggle. Show off.

“I can’t help it,” you sigh at last, leaning into his space, head resting on his shoulder. The little smirk you couldn’t hide was warning enough of your plan, but Qifrey still leaned in just a bit closer, horribly weak to your displays of intimacy, “they remind me of Olruggio.”

His hands pause, only for a moment, but long enough to tell you you’d been successful, “Olruggio…?”

“He’s fantastic with his hands, you know,” you sigh, “too bad he’s busy now, else I might’ve sought him out.”

You remove yourself from him at once, returning to your spot from before and beginning your work, slicing and dicing. He blinks owlishly at you from his spot, eye wide, “Are you–”

“Master Qifrey!” Agott called from across the room, leaned out of her doorway just enough, “Coco broke something again.”

“I’m sorry!” the mousy girl squeaks from inside their room.

Qifrey smiles, shaking off both their concern and the odd tension you’d built up in his shoulders, “It’s alright, nothing we can’t fix, I’m sure.”

“I’ll take over for you,” you assure, patting his shoulder gently for added effect. If it does anything to shake him, he doesn’t show it.

—

Your little game continues in the mid-afternoon, bored out of your mind with Qifrey preoccupied with the young apprentices. It was something you could have stepped in and helped with, but Qifrey insisted you step back and relax. Something like ‘you’ll need the energy.’ Whatever that meant.

So, despite knowing better, you decide the only option is to pester Olruggio for a little while. Kicking off phase two of your plan would be difficult without him, of course. So, you crept through the hallway to his room, ignoring the warning sign, and stepped into the dank, dark dungeon he called home.

You let the door close behind you, and almost immediately his voice calls, “Better be good, else I won’t be in a good mood.”

“You’re never in a good mood,” you grumble back, already floating up to the little nook he works at.

His desk is a mess, as it always is. As he is, clearly having been tugging at his hair and flailing about, coming up with this new contraption of his. You land at his side, leaning over his shoulder in curiosity. You don’t get a good look, he swats you away before you can, and you stumble back into his hammock without fanfare.

“‘Re you here to bother me, or are you going to behave yerself,” he frowns over his shoulder while you make yourself comfortable in his bed.

The hammock is always more comfortable than you remember it being, such a shame he never gets any good use of it, “I’m behaving, I’m behaving. Just thought you could use the company.”

“Well, I don’t,” he hisses, but makes no move to kick you out or snap at you further, returning to his work just as quickly as you made yourself comfortable.

The quiet scratching of his pen is the only noise in the room for a while, coupled with your occasional shifting in his sheets. His hammock was comfortable enough, but you couldn’t imagine how he slept in it so often. It was probably to blame for his back problems, among other issues.

The setting sun casts the room in a comfortable orange light, serene in its display. Like this, everything feels homey and peaceful. You could drift off to sleep here without a care in the world… too bad you had other plans.

Your shifting became purposefully restless, and it bothered him, if the glares he sent over his shoulder were signal enough of that. Then you added in little sounds of discontent, sighs, groans, whatever made him flinch the most. Finally, when it didn’t seem enough to get his attention, you pestered.

Leaning over, much too far to be safe, you pressed a finger to the back of his head. It gives you too much amusement when he flinches, hunching his shoulders up tight against his neck. An annoyed groan pushes itself out of him, and he fixes you with an ice-cold glare that does little to quell your joy. It was his fault for not kicking you out, after all, he knows what you’re like.

“You looking to get into trouble?” he asks, slowly moving to abandon his work.

You give him a pout, “Me? Never. There was just something in your hair.”

“Was there now,” he’s incredibly intentional with his body language, moving slow and steady as he stalks up to his full height, looming above you now. Right where you want him.

Head tilted to the side, you give a Cheshire grin, “Mhm. Just trying to be helpful.”

An eyebrow is quirked, “Helpful, hmm?”

Another step closer, and you’re being pulled up to sit, forced to crane your neck to look him in the eyes. A calloused finger runs along the sensitive underside of your chin, keeping you locked on him. Subtly commanding your obedience. It’s nearly effective in getting you to behave. Nearly.

“You want to be helpful,” he hums, a smirk crawling over his features, “I have a few more options that’ll be far more effective. All you have to do is listen, you can do that, can’t ya pet?”

You lean into his touch, selling the act of submission like you were born for the role. You even let a shudder roll down your back when he strokes your chin lovingly, feeling the smallest bit of guilt at ruining this little moment for him. It all disappears as you hum, smile turning catty.

“No, I don’t think I can…”

“Go– what?”

You cross your legs, closing him off from access in a small way, “I said, I don’t wanna. I’d rather listen to Qifrey; he’s better at giving directions anyway.”

Olruggio looks offended at the suggestion, mouth agape and gasping for a response. The brattiness of pitting them against one another sends his mind into a tizzy. You have to resist rubbing your thighs together at how excited that gets you.

His lips twitch, a response finally coming to mind, but he is stopped by the sound of a small voice calling your name. You smirk, all too pleased at the interruption, and pat him lightly on the shoulder as you stand to leave.

“Girls need me,” you hum, sugary sweet, “shouldn’t leave them waiting, should I?”

You don’t wait for the response, taking care to walk down to his door, just so he could stare in shock for a little while longer. The only regret you have is that you can’t sit and admire the sheer bewilderment on his face a couple of moments longer. You’re sure it was terribly cute.

—

Nightfall is when everything falls into place. You noted how Qifrey had slipped into Olruggio’s room at some point before dinner, and quietly reappeared at your side before it was time to eat. Good, they were discussing.

You only do your part in helping the girls get ready for bed, playing innocent and unaware. Again, Qifrey disappears for a short while, only to manifest himself as you say your final goodnights to the girls together. Still, he doesn’t say a word about anything for a long time.

The two of you sit in your own places in front of the hearth, passively engaging in your activities without conversation. It almost disappoints you that he doesn’t bring up anything; perhaps this endeavor of yours would take a little longer than you hoped. Oh well, the juiciest fruits always require a little more ripening.

As you reach the last page of the chapter you were on in some book you were hardly paying attention to, Qifrey stands. Not only does he stand, but he moves behind you, leaning down in your space as if it were his as well. There is no betrayal of what he is thinking in his eye, but a sparkle of mischief alights something within them. You can’t prove it, though.

“Darling,” he hums, soft and low, almost like a warning.

You make a small noise of acknowledgement, casually marking your spot and closing your book.

Something about that displeases him, if the twitch of his brow was any indication, “Olruggio asked us to his room. He wishes to test out a new theory.”

“Theory,” you question, allowing him to help you to your feet and guide you up the stairs like a maiden, “I wasn’t aware he was that kind of intellectual.”

He hums, pressing the door open, “I must admit, I was a bit hesitant when he suggested it to me, but I believe it’s… well deserved.”

“Deserved…?”

The door closes behind you, and from the corner of your eye, you see Qifrey place a silencing spell upon it. Oh. Deserved.

“Since you seem to have new preferences,” Olruggio sounds, leaning over the lip of his cozy little workplace, “I thought it only fair we indulge you as you please.”

The man at your side nods, urging you up to the nook with gentle hands, “If that’s alright with you, of course. We wouldn’t want to displease you.”

Olruggio's desk is clear, except for himself, of course. A small seat between his legs is open, more than likely for you. He regards you with mild interest, though he is careful not to show too much. You were in the hot seat, after all, so he couldn’t let you believe you were getting off free.

You become all too aware, all too late, how much Qifrey is crowding you. Perfectly slotted between yourself and your only easy exit out of the situation you’d built for yourself. If you wanted to escape, that is.

The man leans over your shoulder, just enough that you could see the false smile on his lips. Goodness, he was not happy with your little shenanigans, “Darling?”

“Ah– yes, of course,” you sputter out, then quickly compose yourself, “I wouldn’t deny such a thing.”

His smile turns warmer, but not warm enough, “Wonderful. Then, you’ll strip yourself for us, won’t you?”

You watch, taken aback, as he sits himself on the hammock politely. Like he was having afternoon tea, not planning to defile you. Such words from Qifrey of all people knocked the wind out of you.

You don’t have time to respond before Olruggio is laughing, “What? I thought you liked takin’ command from Qifrey, unless that was a fib.”

You scowl at him, quickly tugging at your shirt, all too eager to prove him wrong with rapid precision “Of course it wasn’t–”

“Slowly,” Qifrey corrects, drawing your attention back to him, “I’d like to savor this, if you don’t mind.”

You swallow, taking a moment to collect yourself, then nod. Always the obedient little thing when Qifrey was around.

Carefully, you pop the buttons of your shirt, one by one, until they are all undone. You feel Olruggio’s eyes on your fingers, hotter than his own magic, awaiting the sight to be revealed at each opening. But before you can open the shirt itself, Qifrey makes a little tut, “Turn. Olruggio is fond of your back.”

No attempt is made to hide the way you grip your shirt, nervous, but listening as you shuffle to face Qifrey again. He is still smiling, but something more heated lies beneath the surface. A sort of smug satisfaction at your obedience. Selfish bastard.

Intentionally slowly, you open the shirt, revealing your chest to him. His eyes do not leave your face, and that is more embarrassing than anything you were doing for him now. You don’t stop sliding it from your shoulders, though, knowing the repercussions could be worse than this. On your other end, Olruggio’s eyes are boring into you. Taking in each revealed expanse of skin like it were a painting to be admired.

Qifrey tilts his head, observing the two of you with unbridled interest, “Skirt next, my love. One layer at a time.”

Your fingers tuck into the hem of it, making a show of drawing it down over your rear, bending down as it pools at your ankles, then the underskirt in a similar fashion. You draw your arms up your legs as you rise, sliding slowly and sensually across your thighs and then around the swell of your ass until you are upright again. Naked and barefoot as you stepped out of the fabric for good.

The white-haired man in front of you regards your show with beguilement, tapping his chin thoughtfully through the whole display. That blue eye of his squints at you like you were a puzzle to be solved, thinking over everything with careful consideration. You shiver as it trails along your exposed flesh, feeling naked more than just literally now. Olruggio, behind you, is drawing his eyes over your back and rear in quick succession; you can feel the way he savors the sight with intensity, can picture in your mind how his hand trembles in anticipation, wanting to touch and knowing he too must behave for tonight.

Qifrey breaks the tension, clapping his fist into his hand, determined, “I’ve got it!”

It’s too cute for the scenario you’re in, like he’s figured out what he’d like for lunch, rather than how he’ll be having you instead. He leans to the side slightly, looking past you to Olruggio, who shifts behind you.

“I’ll have you make room between your legs,” he hums, too cheerful, “she’ll be needing that spot.”

You hear the rustling of fabric, resisting the urge to turn around and look behind as Qifrey does. In the few moments you have with their attention off of you, you think it’s a bit odd to be bossed around by Qifrey in the bedroom. It’s more odd to have Olruggio be completely quiet; the two of them often have some sort of banter, which eases the tension of sex. Yet, with only Qifrey speaking and Olruggio listening intently, it puts the pressure on. Despite your brattiness getting you here, you want to perform now. You want to please, because this strangeness in the air ignites a fire in your stomach you’d like to extend further.

When Olruggio is settled, Qifrey pulls you back into the moment with a little wave of his hand. You listen immediately, backing up part of the way before Olruggio drags you the rest and settles you between his legs. Without a word, he hooks one of yours over his, holding you in place with a hand on your hip and your thigh, spread nice and wide for all to appreciate.

With the little light the floatglow lamp provides, you can see how your folds are glistening in arousal. Excited shivers run up your spine, anticipating the touch yet to come as Olruggio strokes your inner thigh as if painting his own masterpiece.

“What a pretty sight,” Qifrey murmurs to himself, fingers running across his lips.

A gruff sound of agreement breathes across your collarbone, “Aye. It’s a sight to behold.”

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” the other man admits, almost rueful in his tone, “after your little admission, I couldn’t get the sight out of my head. It was improper to be thinking such things when I have a responsibility to the girls.”

“I must say, when you’d told me I was lookin’ forward to it myself,” Olruggio agrees from behind, “but… I’m not sure she deserves it just yet.”

You try not to squirm, but your shoulders tense just the tiniest bit. Just enough that Olruggio would notice at this proximity, and he does, if the chuckle he huffs is any indication. Logically, they would never leave you unsatisfied; the two of them were too giving for that. Emotionally…? The very idea that they would make you redress and deal with the arousal yourself made you want to vomit.

“Don’t think she likes that one,” Olruggio smiles.

“No, it doesn’t seem so,” comes the reply, and cheekily, he taps his chin as he thinks up his next words, “but… what else could be deserving of poor behavior? If only there was something she could do to make it up to us. Do you have any ideas, Olly?”

Blue eyes watch your face intently, “I’ve a few. How's about we start with an apology, yeah?”

“A wonderful idea, and an explanation as well,” Qifrey cheers, “it’s only fair, don’t you agree, love?”

You feel your walls flutter around nothing, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding against your ribcage. So this was the angle they were taking, how humiliating. It’s only made worse because it’s too effective at getting you to crack. Two against one simply wasn’t a fair fight, and you weren’t willing to take it in your state.

You open your mouth to explain, then close it quickly. What was the best way to phrase your plot without getting into more trouble? Vulnerable as you were, it was hard to come up with any words to excuse it all. But, punishment or not, Qifrey was always too aware of your internal strife to leave you fumbling too long – even when he was supposed to be upset with you.

“Come now,” he soothes, making his way over so he could cup your face in his hand, “all you have to do is tell us just what you’ve been thinking in that silly little brain of yours, we won’t be cross. Will we, Olruggio?”

The raven-haired man behind you shakes his head, “‘Course not. Just need to ‘ear if from ya, right?”

You swallow, pressing your face into Qifrey’s hands for extra pity points, “Well… I had this idea… I only wanted to see how you’d react, honest. I’m sorry for causing you two trouble.”

“And we’ve already forgiven you,” Qifrey soothes, his thumb across your cheek, “but we’d still like you to tell us what you were aiming to achieve here.”

“Well, you’re both… rather skilled in certain areas… and I was wondering how you might react if I’d insinuated otherwise?” You offer, making sure to pout up at him (though the look only ever works on Olruggio).

“Jealousy then?” Olruggio laughs.

“Not exactly–” you try to defend.

“How cute,” Qifrey damn near giggles, “you could’ve asked if you’d liked us to switch roles, no need to cause such a stir.”

You huff, “The two of you always tease me when I do! Besides, that wasn’t the point.”

“Point aside,” Olruggio reminds, squeezing your thigh, “you’ve given us a brilliant new idea. Why don’t you let us test it out, hmm?”

Qifrey brings you back to him with a finger under your chin, “All you have to say is no, and we’ll stop right away, alright?”

You nod, watching as he backs up to the hammock again, and suddenly you’re back where you were. Legs spread, naked, and completely dependent on them. Olruggio’s calloused hands squeeze your thigh and hip at a steady pace, reminders of what's to come. And Qifrey resumes watching you like prey, amusement oozing off the pair of them in waves. The moment you stepped into the room, you were a lamb to the slaughter, and your hungry wolves seemed to hold little patience for what comes next.

“Olly,” Qifrey calls, and the other man acknowledges it with a grunt, “I’d like you to spread her open with your fingers.”

He nods, and the hand on your hip slides down, slow and careful, until they reach your folds. With practiced hands, he spreads them open, cool air hitting your more sensitive bits all at once, making you shiver. He kisses your shoulder reassuringly, soothing the chill with heat running down your spine.

“She’s glistening,” Qifrey grins, resting his head against his hand dreamily.

“Practically soakin’ my skirt, aren’t you, lass?” Olruggio teases lightly.

Fingers dance along your thigh, mirroring the way Qifrey’s tap across his cheek, a tango only the two of them knew the moves to forming. It gave you a thrill. What would be next?

“I’d like to see…” the man across you mumbles.

Olruggio doesn’t let him finish, drawing his fingers down to coat them in a thin layer of your slick. It connects him to you for a little while longer when he pulls them up to the light, stringy, clear fluid separating as he spreads his fingers. Both of them seem a bit surprised, Olruggio repeating the motion thrice before he is satisfied at the sight.

“My…”

“We should do this one more often.”

You wiggle impatiently, reminding them that you were there and still capable of hearing. Olly settles you with another squeeze to your thigh, but his hand returns between your legs dutifully, resting along your folds while he awaits orders. They come quickly and without hesitation.

“I’d like to see how you do it,” he gives thoughtfully, “I’ve never paid attention, and… perhaps she had a point. I could learn a thing or two.”

“Can’t imagine it’s much different,” he mumbles into your shoulder, “you alright with that?”

All it takes is your nod, and he’s moving his fingers where you need them most. Olruggio wasn’t one to hesitate much in bed, so it's no surprise when he starts by dipping two fingers inside your sopping hole. It pulls a muffled sigh from your throat, head rolling back onto his shoulder with it.

His fingers are thicker than Qifrey’s, more textured from how often he uses his hands on his contraptions. They stretch you out better, but they don’t reach quite as deep as the formers, not that it's an issue when he strokes the ribbed ceiling of you. Each come hither adds to the tightening of your walls around him, drawing you deep into pleasure.

At the same time, the butt of his palm nudges your clit, ensuring all of you get the love you need. He works you up fast and without effort, creating a symphony from your lips alone. It's a relief after all the waiting you’d done, happy to find that your punishment was not the lack of a high. Your toes curl as your orgasm builds, warming your body inch by inch as it spreads evenly across your skin.

Then, “Wait.”

Instantly, Olruggio stops all his stroking and pleasuring, sitting completely still inside you. It makes you huff indignantly, wiggling forward in his lap for a little friction. All it takes is a warning look from Qifrey to stop you.

“You go too fast,” Qifrey comments.

He shrugs, “It ends the same anyway.”

“That sounds so unlike you… half of the fun is the journey, after all.”

“Half the fun is bein’ inside her.”

The silver-haired man clicks his tongue at both of you, shaking his head like a disappointed father. It's the same look he gives the girls when they’re too reckless, or when they complain about something they shouldn’t be. If you could, it would get your thighs rubbing together.

“Both of you are too impatient…” he stands, returning to his place in front of you, only now he crouches down between Olruggio’s thighs.

With patient hands, he carefully lifts your other leg to rest over his shoulder, leaving you completely exposed to the open air in the room. Yet, Qifrey’s warm breath heats the air between himself and your quim. Slim fingers squeeze the meat of your thigh, the other resting upon Olruggio’s just as well.

Olruggio peers down at your partner over your shoulder, scratchy beard tickling your collarbone as he rests his chin there, “You intend to tell me how to fix it, then?”

“Of course,” he smiles, “first of all, the internal parts are just as important as the external. You shouldn’t focus on only one or the other.”

“I’m giving the external plenty of attention–”

A black brow arches, soft lips turning to a frown, “Do you want to learn, Olruggio?”

That kills any protest either of you might’ve had, not that you had much stake to begin with. Olruggio quiets his complaints, determined to listen well now that he’s been told off once. That’s the difference between the two of you – in the bedroom at least – he doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Good, now,” he pats the other man's thigh, “go on and remove your fingers, and I want you to really look at her when you do.”

He listens, of course, he does, and he leaves you feeling empty and cold as his fingers leave. His fingers glisten with your slick, the same way your folds did earlier. You want to lick the juice off them, taste yourself on his skin. Instead, Qifrey lifts his own, takes Olruggio by the wrist, and cleans them off himself.

Your brain stalls for a moment as his tongue swirls along the digits, mouth agape at the sight. He knows it too, that blue eye of his squinting up between the two of you, sparkling with that mischievous delight he has. Then, without a word on it, he carefully guides the hand back to your folds and shows Olruggio how to hold your lips open.

“This is a two-handed activity,” he instructs, “normally I’d like to draw it out a bit, but we’ve already warmed her up quite enough. So, this once, hold her open for easier access, then you’ll bring your other hand down to find her clitoris. Understood?”

He nods behind you, beard drawing along your shoulder, tickling you in a sinful way. The hand supporting your thigh comes between his fingers, finding your clit with ease. He doesn’t move the hand, however, awaiting his instructions like the well-behaved dog he is.

“Stimulate her with small circles– slowly. We don’t want to overwhelm her.”

Again, he does as told to a t, swirling the sensitive bud in careful, even circles with his calloused fingers. The care that he does so is unlike his usual rhythm, always quick with the foreplay, too eager to get to the fun part. Not as though you mind that, but Qifrey’s method added a certain something paired with Olruggio’s more roughness. It brings out a surprised ‘oh’ that tapers off into an unsure moan.

The motion is careful, consistent in speed and pressure. Each roll builds the pleasure in your stomach again, but far more steadily than before. Rather than feeling as though it was a wave crashing against you, it was a simmering heat bubbling over you. Somewhere along the lines, Qifrey taps his thigh again, and the speed increases a little. Still, his motion is considerate of how fast and rough he is, maintaining the steadiness Qifrey tends to prefer. Each tap to the thigh is an increase in speed, and each increase brings you closer and closer to the edge.

Your toes curl again as that same spread of heat crawls through your nerves, alighting your body in pleasure. Eyes close tight, not even trying to hold back your sounds anymore. It’s intense as it makes its way through your nervous system, that wonderful tightness overtaking your senses, so close to the edge you can feel yourself tumbling– then it stops.

A childish whine escapes your chest before you can stop it, throwing your head up again to glare at your offender. Qifrey holding Olruggio’s hands in each of his, which twitch impatiently in his grasp. His smile is all but cheeky, despite being the one on his knees here.

“What was that for?” You complain.

“I’d like to know as well,” Olruggio mirrors, clearly discontent.

Your other half merely grins, kissing the inside of your knee apologetically, “Forgive my selfishness, I’m feeling a bit… hungry…”

You blink, “Hungry…?”

Olruggio connects the dots faster than your mushy brain can, and leans back with an arm around your waist. You nearly protest, if not for the answer coming in the few moments you are glancing back at Olruggio in offense. Fingers pull apart your lips again, and lips press attentively to your already swollen bud. It makes you gasp, twitching in their grasp, but it does little to deter your determined beau.

His tongue follows the kiss, licking a long stripe up and latching onto said bud. He suckles on it gently, aware of how sensitive you had become, making sure you remained with him the whole ride through. When he opens his mouth to fully envelop you, he makes sure to lock eyes with Olruggio behind you, as if to say, ‘make sure you’re watching.’ You know he is; you can feel the shallow puffs of his breath on your cheek, completely enraptured by the show between your legs.

Then, and only then, does Qifrey work his tongue over your clit. Licking, rolling, and sucking so intentionally that you think he might be going after your soul. That blue eye of his does not break from the pairs above, intensity burning hotter than the pleasure he’s bringing. Forcing you to look.

Even when you tried to throw your head back, Olruggio’s hand pulled your face up and held it tightly in his grasp. No more bad behavior from you for the night; you would obey just as well as he had. The demandingness of it all made you throb hard, hands struggling to find purchase on anything. They settle on Olruggio’s skirt and bury into his hair, holding tight in hopes that might keep you tethered a moment longer.

You were hardly aware of the sounds you were making, especially not when he did that thing– that awful, wonderful thing with his tongue. There was a silencing spell on the door anyway. A few moans were hardly worth worrying about. That’s why you make a surprised little squeak when two slick cover fingers slip into your mouth, fighting them for only a moment until their owner whispers “you’re alright,” in your ear.

This is what you had wanted earlier, the taste of you mixed with Olly. Fingers pressed against your tongue, letting you clean your sweetness off his warm fingertips, covering them in saliva. It silences you, distracts you. Just long enough that Qifrey can sneakily slip his fingers inside you. The digits are long and deft as he presses them deep inside, reaching your sensitive spot effortlessly and drawing magic against it.

You are thankful that the fingers in your mouth muffle the embarrassing moan that choked its way up your throat. The fingers inside of you pet in the same way Olruggio had earlier, only more intentional in their movements. Your own tighten and curl where they rest on Olly, doing your best to try to savor the feeling washing over you.

When your toes curl, Olruggio removes his fingers from your mouth, instead pushing them through Qifrey’s white locs. He makes a sound of appreciation, which vibrates through your entire nervous system, ripping your moans out of you, helpless to stop them. You can feel the orgasm coming; it's not nearly as subtle as it normally is. This is a forest fire raging within your stomach, and the only thing that will douse it is Qifrey’s kindness in putting it out himself.

As it begins to hit, you screw your eyes shut, wanting to savor the feeling entirely. Yet, calloused hands squeeze your cheeks harshly, tugging your head just a little to startle your eyes open, “Eyes on him, yeah?”

Qifrey makes a disapproving sound at the roughness, but that only aids in furthering your spiral. The furrow in his brow as he admonishes your other partner, the preciseness of his fingers, his tongue doing that thing, and the very sight of him taking all of you on is what does you in.

You seize against both of them, orgasm burning across your whole body in an intense wave unlike any other you’ve had. Supported by both of them, keeping you firmly in place and looking straight at Qifrey as he works on elongating it as long as possible. And he does, working against you until your head is spinning, and he knows that you cannot take any more, lest you pass out from the pleasure.

He slows, easing you from your high, rather than torturing you with another sudden cut off. Hands from both parties are soothing you to relax, until you finally go limp into Olruggio’s chest. Deep breaths, mimicking the ones behind you, until you have calmed down fully. Only then do you open your eyes back to the present, where calloused hands are petting your stomach, and a scratchy beard is pressing soft kisses to the shell of your ear.

Your legs are closed now, resting naturally rather than stretched out as before, Qifrey working out the knots formed from the awkward position already. It all makes you smile, petting the man’s head appreciatively as you snuggle up to Olruggio for more warmth.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” He mutters into your ear.

You nod, “Mmm. I believe I’ve learned my lesson as well.”

You feel and see them smile, Qifrey standing to his full height now, “I would hope so. I do hate punishing you.”

“I feel as though that’s a lie,” you grin.

Olruggio eases you up onto your feet, helping you find your footing on jelly legs while Qifrey takes your hands to steady you, “We would never lie, would we, Olruggio?”

“Never,” he hums, “now, let’s get you cleaned up. Wouldn’t want an infection.”

You nod, shrugging on a too-big shirt he offers you without any protest. You allow them to float you down, rather than walk, for their sake more than yours. Yet, it is only when you are halfway to the bath that you realize.

“What about the two of you?” You whisper, glancing between the two of them.

Olruggio is the one to smirk at you this time, “I’m more than satisfied, aren’t you?”

“I’ve had my fill, besides,” Qifrey squeezes your side playfully, “I doubt you could handle much more than that.”

“Wh– of course I can!” You whisper-shout back, offended, “Come now, allow me to–”

You lose your footing, stumbling a bit as your still weak legs wobble and nearly give out beneath you. Caught by your partners, still clinging to you, the only things keeping you from getting yourself into more trouble.

“Still so stubborn, even after our lesson,” Qifrey scolds, steadying you.

Olruggio nods his agreement, “We’ll have to give you another when you’re in better shape, of course.”

It makes you scoff, but the smile on your face shows your true feelings, “The two of you are terrible… just like me, I suppose.”