It happens when Rain is still fresh; when he's still wrapping his mind around what bodies can do and when the stretch of Mountain's cock is tinted with something a bit more than just pleasure.
It's not the first time they've been together. Not the second, or even the third, but it is the first time that Mountain laid the long line of his body against Rain's back when his thrusts became staggered, the first time he tried to get closer when he finished instead of pulling away to make some part of Rain's skin a canvas to splatter. When Mountain moans long and low into Rain's ear, the warmth of his body spreading into his spine, he stays exactly where he is. And Rain feels it in his cunt, the way Mountain's heat spills into him there, too, filling him up more than he thought he could carry.
He doesn't know how much there is, whether it's normal or a little or too much. It feels like too much; it spills out around Mountain's cock, leaking out of his hole and dripping drown. Rain knows because he can feel it sliding down his thigh.
But it feels good, to be used that way, to be stuffed beyond what he can hold. When Mountain finally pulls out, panting on his knees behind Rain to admire his work, Rain's fingers beat his to the drop spilling down. He catches it and flops onto his back, admiring the way the light casts through it and the way it coats his skin. It's thick. A bit sticky. Nothing Rain hasn't seen before.
The air feels heavy between them. A thought forms in Rain's sex-addled mind, and Mountain must feel it, because his gaze meets Rain's just in time to watch him bring those coated fingers to his mouth.
He licks them first, curious, letting the taste make its way to his tongue and settle. It's salty, musky, with maybe a ghost of sweet. Somehow, he thinks it tastes like Mountain. So he goes back.
Rain crooks his fingers to scoop up the line of cum running down his thigh and tastes that too— this time, he sucks it off his fingers. It's quicker that way.
He gasps when he touches himself, his fingers brushing his sensitive, still-stretched walls to reach the rest of the gift Mountain's given him. He licks it all, every last drop, cleaning himself until he realizes all at once that he misses the feeling of fullness he had only moments ago.
Mountain's eyes haven't left his fingers. Rain's not even sure he's blinked.
When Rain finally speaks, it's to state the very simple conclusion he's reached, and his voice comes out hoarse but steady:
Something about me that may surprise the moots: ummmm i do not know actually! but my two fun madi ghost trivia facts are that i accidentally stayed in the same hotel as the band in denver and sat right next to vanessa at the hotel bar but she seemed rly tired and was off duty so i didnt say anything lol + my brother saw them open for iron maiden in 2017 so he got the very brief and very iconic ifrit/zephyr/bass dew lineup.... i envy him for it every day bc he doesnt even know how lucky he was but I DO!!
My favorite drink: probably an iced mocha w some kind of flavoring! i love hazelnut mochas sooo much but im also rly fond of white mochas w coconut or pistachio :)
An activity or hobby that I do: very many, none very well! i draw sometimes and im trying to decide if i wanna start posting some of it here too or just keep this acct for writing 😅 i also like to make bracelets and earrings, and ive recently learned how to crochet, so im doing a lot of little stuff with that!
TV Show or movie I'm watching: interview with the vampire s3/the vampire lestat s1 Best show on television baby!!!!! on a grander scale im also trying to watch riverdale but it takes so much time and immersion i wanna wait until i feel like i have time before i start the next season im on :(
A book I'm reading: none rn, ive been so busy lately :(( but the next book on my tbr is wuthering heights! and after that i wanna keep reading the vampire chronicles and start merrick
Favorite dessert: hmm i think either tiramisu or creme brulee!!
tagging @bloodfin and @ghoulishicous-spam and um... whoever else might wanna do it :3 but no pressure obv ! <3
Somewhere in the third hour Mountain clocks a problem at table seven.
two weeks ago @bloodfin answered this mcpf au ask and as is my nature, i fixated on two throwaway lines and drew a bunch of nonsense about swiss and mountain struggling to behave on the job because 1. they are extremely in love, 2. mountain cannot help but Look at his husband, and 3. i have a problem
thankfully(?) kay shares this problem and wrote an entire fic to exorcise our demons! many of the details/design choices here are directly inspired by the snippets they sent to torment me because the only thing we know how to do is make each other worse; read it go go go go find out what it is swiss and mountain are being extremely responsible about in this nicely lit bathroom
mountrora scissoring and mountain's legs are soooo long splayed out around her body and she's so small underneath him it makes it too easy to just take and take and take what he needs while she falls apart and lets herself be used
Top rain thoughts, top rain! Bottom dewdrop , thoughts!?!?! 👀
first time for everything
Rain/Dewdrop
Summary - Rain tries something new. Dew tries to help.
AO3
Warnings - strap ons, top rain, bottom dew, first time (for rain with a strap), established relationship, trans male characters, t4t, idiots in love, boys kissing, dirty talk, size difference, size kink (light), sexual overstimulation, squirting/vaginal ejaculation, multiple orgasms, praise kink, light restraint, i'm forgetting something.... oh RIGHT -- Tentacles, the tentacle is a dildo
a/n: i have so, so, so many thoughts. i hope you like it gay and goofy🤍 i hope you're all having a wonderful pride month this was so much fun even if i don't remember writing half of it because i was in dental hell
· · · — ⸸ · ⛧ · ⸸ — · · ·
The harness has three buckles and Rain has already redone the middle one twice.
"You've got this," Dew says from the bed, which would be more helpful if he wasn't saying it in the tone of someone watching a nature documentary.
"I know."
Rain tugs the strap, checks the fit. Tugs it again. It's not — he knows how this works, conceptually, he's not dumb. It's just different when it's his hips and his hands fumbling with hardware that doesn't care about his nerves.
"The left one's twisted."
Rain looks down and straightens it without comment.
Dew makes a sound that is technically not a laugh.
"You can keep doing that," Rain says pleasantly, "and I can take my time with this."
Silence.
Blessed, cooperative silence, for about eleven seconds, which is honestly Dew's personal record.
"Do you want me to—"
"No."
"I'm just saying I've done this before, I could—"
Rain turns around and looks at him.
Dew closes his mouth and tilts his head back against the pillow with the exaggerated patience of a ghoul being deeply wronged. His whole body is a complaint.
It's also very distracting, which Rain is not going to acknowledge. Because that would give Dew power, and that's the last thing he needs right now.
He turns back to the mirror and gets the last buckle.
The toy slots into the ring and Rain takes one breath, then another.
It's — okay. It's a lot, actually.
Dark, almost black, ridged in a spiral that tapers to a wicked curve at the tip. Rain is abruptly aware that Dew looked at this specific object and made a series of choices. Rain had assumed, when Dew produced it, that the plan had been —
well.
Not this.
He looks at himself in the mirror. The deep black of it against his grey-blue skin is striking. Interesting, even, in a way that lands slightly stunned in his chest.
Dew bought a tentacle toy and decided Rain should wear it first.
They'll discuss that later.
"Okay," he says, mostly to himself.
"Okay," Dew agrees. His voice has dropped out of documentary narrator and into something deep that does Rain's focus absolutely no favors.
He crosses to the bed.
Dew moves to make room and then immediately doesn't, reaching up instead, hands finding Rain's hips with great confidence, forgetting the current arrangement.
Rain catches both wrists.
Dew blinks up at him.
"You," Rain says, carefully moving Dew's hands to the mattress, "are staying there."
"I was just—"
"I know what you were doing."
Dew's expression cycles through several things and lands on something that is trying very hard to be innocent. "I'm being very patient."
"Are you?"
"Can you blame me? Look at you."
Dew reaches for him again and Rain pins his wrists above his head, mostly on instinct.
Dew makes a sound like the air left his body.
Oh. Okay.
Rain puts that away to use later, another thread to pull.
He settles between Dew's thighs and feels something unknot in him when Dew stops trying to do anything and just looks up at him, expression open in a way it doesn't always get, even with him.
Rain kisses him once, soft, and Dew tips up into it immediately, chasing, and that's familiar ground, that's easy, that's them.
They stay there for a while.
Rain kisses the corner of his mouth. His cheek. Comes back to his lips slow and Dew makes a small sound and opens for him, one hand coming up to curl into Rain's hair without thinking, without grabbing, just — holding.
Rain can feel him breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, the way some last held thing in him is gradually releasing. He tastes like he always does. Feels like home in a way Rain has never quite found the words for and has mostly stopped trying to locate. Rain kisses him a little slower, just to stay there.
Dew's wrists flex against Rain's grip but don't pull. He's getting warmer. Getting good.
Rain kisses him again and Dew opens for it immediately, easy. Rain forgets for a moment what he was doing because Dew's mouth is — it's Dew, it's always Dew, warm and seeking and Rain follows where it leads without meaning to, tongue sliding against his. Dew makes a low sound in his chest and arches up into him and Rain forgets a little more —
He's not sure how long they stay there.
Long enough that Dew makes a different sound. Less patient.
Rain shifts his weight and loosens his grip by half an inch, lining up, and Dew's already twisting free, reaching down. Two fingers trying to do three jobs at once — parting, guiding, helping —
"I had it—"
"You were taking forever—"
"Could you not wait two seconds, Dew—"
"You were being careful," Dew says, like it's a character flaw. He rocks his hips up at the same time his fingers pull and the angle goes completely wrong and there's a sound neither of them made and they both freeze and look down and the toy is just.
Gone.
They stare at each other and then there is a small, distant thump from the floor on Dew's side of the bed.
The silence holds for two full seconds.
They blink simultaneously and Dew makes a noise like a dying animal. Rain tries to say something and can't, drops his forehead onto Dew's sternum instead.
They are simply gone. Dew is shaking with it, actual tears, wheezing 'I was helping' which only makes Rain laugh harder.
It takes an embarrassing amount of time to recover.
Rain has to actually retrieve it, which means climbing off the bed while Dew laughs at his back. When he stands up holding the toy straight in the air like a tenticular trophy Dew loses it all over again, face buried in the pillow, shoulders heaving.
"You," Rain says.
Dew surfaces just enough to look at him. Can't speak.
"This is your fault."
Rain, without thinking, points at him with the dildo and Dew collapses back into the pillow.
It's too much.
Rain looks down at the toy in his hand and starts laughing again too, helplessly, because it is funny. Something about standing here in this harness holding this thing while Dew weeps with laughter into their pillowcase is the least dignified and yet most comfortable he's felt all night.
He slots it back in. Checks it twice, and climbs back onto the bed. Dew is still grinning, eyes wet, when Rain gets back between his thighs.
"Don't," Rain says.
"I'm keeping my hands exactly where they are," Dew says. They're at his sides and he pats the bed twice, gently. His grin hasn't moved. "See? Good."
Rain looks at him for a moment. Dew's hair is a mess. His eyes are still bright with laughter and something else underneath it, something that's been there this whole time, patient in its own way. He can't help but smile back.
Rain kisses him slower this time.
Dew goes quiet in the way he gets when something catches him off guard and he hasn't figured out how to be clever about it yet. Rain feels it as Dew exhales against his mouth, his hands staying exactly where they are without being reminded. The only part of him that moves is his hips, tilting up, chasing the pressure of the toy against him without quite meaning to.
Rain pulls back to look at him.
Dew's jaw tightens.
"Hands above your head," Rain says, quietly.
Something moves across Dew's face. Surprise, maybe, or the specific irritation of being perceived, but he does it anyway. Slowly. Like it was his idea in the first place.
Rain watches him settle and feels something warm and new move through his chest.
"Good," Rain says, and means it. He watches the word land on Dew like a physical thing.
He lines up again, his own breath coming careful.
"Okay?" he murmurs.
"Yeah," Dew says, and his voice is different now, stripped of the commentary. "Yeah."
Rain shifts and gets both of Dew's wrists in one hand again without really thinking about it, and feels the moment it changes.
The way Dew's wrists sit together in his grip with room to spare. Dew's small arrested breath, the way his whole body does something involuntary and then tries to pretend it didn't.
Rain looks down at him.
"You like this," he says, and it's not a question. It's just a fact he's turning over in his hands like something new and interesting. Dew opens his mouth and then closes it because what is he going to say, no? With both his wrists swallowed up in one of Rain's hands like they were always meant to be there?
Rain kisses his jaw instead of waiting for the answer and Dew's head tips back with a groan.
Rain rocks his hips, small, experimental, feeling out the weight and movement of it. Dew makes a sound that he immediately tries to swallow. Rain feels him, actually feels him, slick and unmistakable, the way the toy is sliding between his folds.
"Oh," Rain says softly. Not smug exactly, more wondering. "Dew."
"Shut up," Dew says, breathless, meaning the opposite.
Rain keeps moving against him, luxuriating in the sounds, in the slick heat of it, in the way Dew's whole body is running ahead of his mouth for once in his life.
He rolls his hips again, deliberate this time, and leans down close enough that his mouth brushes Dew's ear when he speaks.
"You've been thinking about this."
Dew's breath catches. "I haven't—"
"You have." Not accusation. Just Rain, calm and certain, the way he gets when he knows something. "You've been thinking about having me like this." Another slow roll of his hips, finding a rhythm, learning it. "Weren't you."
That's not a question either.
Dew turns his face away and Rain can see the color rising in him, the tips of his ears going dark. Something about that does things to Rain's chest; that he can make Dew do this, that underneath all the commentary and the grabbing and the 'I was helping' there was this —
"Look at you," Rain murmurs, and his voice comes out lower than he expected. "Can't even argue with me."
"I could argue with you."
"Okay." Rain stills his hips completely.
"Don't you dare—"
Rain moves again and Dew's whole back arches and whatever he was going to say dissolves into something wordless. Rain presses his mouth to Dew's jaw, his cheek, feels the heat radiating off him.
"That's what I thought," Rain says softly, and Dew makes a sound that is embarrassingly close to a whimper.
Rain has to stop for a moment.
Dew makes a lot of noise but not like that, not that unguarded, and something about it reaches into Rain's chest and rearranges things quietly. The smugness doesn't leave exactly. It just makes room.
He decides to take his time with it.
That's new too. Usually there's Dew setting the pace, Dew's hands, Dew's mouth, Dew — and Rain has always been happy to follow. But right now Dew's wrists are still caught in his hand and Rain is learning something about himself, about the satisfaction of slow, of deliberate, of making Dew wait —
He pushes in to the base and feels Dew's breath leave him in a rush.
"Rain—"
"Yeah," Rain says quietly. He feels Dew shudder under him. He shifts his weight, settles deeper, and watches Dew's face do something complicated and overwhelmed and beautiful. "How's that?"
"It's—" Dew stops. Swallows. "Fine."
Rain laughs low in his chest. He rolls his hips just enough to make the word a liar and Dew's fingers flex against his grip.
"Fine," Rain repeats.
"Good," Dew grits out. "It's good, you know it's good—"
"I do know," Rain agrees, insufferably calm, and leans down to speak against Dew's throat. "You're so full of my cock you can't even be mean about it."
The sound Dew makes is not dignified. Nothing about the next three seconds is dignified, the way his whole body reacts, the way his legs come up and cross at the small of Rain's back like pure reflex, locking, pulling —
Rain isn't going anywhere.
He tests that, just slightly, a small draw back, and Dew's thighs tighten immediately, heels digging in.
"Don't," Dew says, and it comes out wrecked, all the smug stripped clean out of it.
Rain looks down at him. Flushed and bright-eyed and holding on with everything he has.
"Wasn't planning to," Rain says honestly.
Dew makes a helpless noise and turns his face into his own shoulder like he can hide there and Rain frees his wrists finally, brings his hand up to cup Dew's jaw and turn him back, make him look.
"Hey," Rain says softly. "I see you."
Dew stares up at him and for once in his life says absolutely nothing.
Rain kisses him slow and deep and starts to move.
He finds a rhythm and sticks to it.
Steady. Unhurried.
Feeling out every small thing Dew's body tells him and using it, which it turns out is not so different from everything else Rain is good at.
Dew is coming apart beautifully.
"Tell me," Rain says, low, not breaking pace.
"Tell you what," Dew manages, which is impressive given the state of him.
"How long."
A pause. Dew's jaw works. "How long what?"
Rain shifts his angle just slightly and Dew's whole spine curves and there it is.
Rain smiles and hits it again, watches Dew's composure develop a structural problem.
"How long you've been thinking about this?"
"I haven't been—"
Rain hits that angle again. Deliberately.
"Fuck," Dew says, and then, smaller, losing ground fast — "a while."
"A while," Rain repeats.
"Don't make it weird."
"How long is a while, Dew?"
Dew turns his face away. His ears are fully dark. "...long."
Rain presses his mouth to his cheekbone, his temple, and keeps moving, keeps that steady devastating pace.
"Was it good," he murmurs. "What you imagined?"
Dew laughs, broken at the edges. "It was — yeah. But it's." He stops.
Rain waits.
"This is better," Dew says, like it costs him something. "Shut up, it's better, don't —"
"I'm not saying anything."
"You're smiling—"
"Dew." Rain pulls back just enough to look at him, really look, and drops the teasing from his voice entirely. It's just them now. Just this. He moves slow and deep and watches Dew's eyes go glassy. "Tell me what you want."
Something shifts in Dew's face. The last little wall.
"You," he says simply. No deflection left in him. "You, Rain, I want — just you, just keep —"
Rain kisses him before he can take it back.
Dew makes a broken sound against his mouth and holds on with everything he has and Rain swallows every bit of it, keeps moving, steady and sure and his.
"Good," Rain says again, against his lips. "I've got you."
He snaps his hips and finds it by accident.
That's the thing that will undo Dew later, re-examining it in his memory. Rain wasn't even trying, just shifting his weight, adjusting, learning, and he hits something and Dew's whole body seizes like he's been struck. The sound he makes is completely involuntary and completely humiliating and he cannot do a single thing about either.
"There —" Rain says softly, almost to himself. "There you are. That's my Dew."
"Rain—" Dew starts.
Rain does it again.
"Rain—"
Again.
Steady. Inevitable.
Rain with his whole focused attention locked onto Dew like he's the only thing in the room, like he's something worth studying, worth memorizing, worth every embarrassment that led up to exactly this.
Dew can feel it building into something enormous and he doesn't know what to do with enormous — he's always been the one doing this to other people, always been the one watching someone come undone. He doesn't know how to be the one who gets taken apart.
But Rain keeps moving. Keeps his mouth at Dew's ear, low and certain.
"That's it," he says. "Feel how good you take it? Feel how wet you are for me?" Dew makes a broken sound and Rain doesn't stop, doesn't let up. "Been thinking about this so long and now you've got it — you've got all of it — just let go, Dew." A roll of his hips, deep and deliberate.
"Let go. I've got you."
That's what does it.
It rolls through him like a wave breaking and he can't stop it, can't redirect it, can't be clever about it. There's a split second of oh no and then his body just goes, a rush of heat and wet he can hear, can feel soaking into the sheets beneath him, completely beyond him, and he hears himself make a sound that doesn't belong to any version of himself he usually performs —
Rain stops, one hand braced beside Dew's head.
"Dew," he says, and it comes out wrecked. Reverent. Like he's been handed something he doesn't have words for yet.
Dew's thighs are shaking. He's crying a little, becomes aware of this distantly, hates that he can't do anything about it —
"I'm not—" he starts.
"I know," Rain says, and his voice is still doing that thing, still undone, like Dew coming apart like that took him apart too.
"I didn't mean to—"
"Dew." Rain cups his face. Tilts it up. Eyes dark and warm and completely blown in a way Dew has never seen on him before. "I know."
Dew stares up at him, ruined and soaked and wrung completely out, and yet Rain is looking at him like he hung something in the sky.
"Come here," Rain says softly, and Dew goes, pulls him down, buries his face in Rain's neck and holds on.
Rain gets a hand between them.
Dew makes a sound like a live wire. "I can't — Rain, I'm — it's too—"
"You're okay," Rain says. He means it, he always means it, and starts to move again.
"Rain—"
"I know." He keeps moving. Keeps his hand moving. Dew is so wet, so oversensitive, making sounds like he can't decide if it's too much or not enough, and Rain presses his mouth to his temple and just stays there. Breathing him in. Feeling everything.
It builds slow and then all at once.
Dew gets there first, properly this time, whole body clenching, Rain's name dissolving into something wordless, pulled out of him with a shuddering exhale.
Rain follows him over almost immediately, the pressure of the harness and the sounds Dew is making and the sheer overwhelming fact that he's the one causing it all.
They stay tangled together after, breathing.
Rain presses his mouth to the top of Dew's head after, lazy and warm, floating somewhere soft and satisfied in a way he's never quite felt before.
He made Dew do that.
He did that.
The satisfaction is enormous. He's thinking about it from every angle, still a little stunned by the fact of it —
Dew lets him hold it for maybe three minutes, and then Rain feels it. Dew's quiet changing. The way he goes from boneless to something else, something quieter and more deliberate, the same way a cat goes still right before it pounces.
Rain's satisfaction develops a crack in it.
Dew's head lifts.
His eyes are clear. Bright. His fangs catch the light when he smiles and Rain's stomach does something complicated because that's not the smile of someone who just got destroyed, that's the smile of someone making plans —
"Rain."
"...yeah?"
"Your turn."
Rain opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.
"I — we don't have to—"
"Oh we really do," Dew says pleasantly.
"Dew—"
But Dew is already moving, already pushing Rain onto his back, already swinging a leg over him, and when his fingers find the harness buckles they just… open.
One, two, three, easy as breathing, like they were meant for his hands specifically.
Rain stares up at him.
Something on his face must give him away, the last dying embers of smugness colliding headfirst with the very clear understanding of what is about to happen to him, because Dew's smile goes absolutely feral.
"You took forever with those," Dew says pleasantly.
"That's — that's not the point—"
Dew leans down and kisses him once, sharp and sweet and full of terrible promise.
"No," he agrees against Rain's mouth. "It really isn't."
cumulus sends the most beautiful artful nudes to cirrus while she's on tour and all cirrus can send back is rushed blurry pics in the tour bus bathroom
Vampire!Dew and transmasc Rain on their period.... Uh forget I said anything
full service vampire
Rain/Dewdrop
Summary - Vampire!Dew and transmasc Rain on his period... In which Rain spends three days assuming his vampire boyfriend will be weird about it, and Dew spends three days quietly buying him snacks.
AO3
Warnings - vampire character; trans male character; trans rain; menstruation; menstrual sex; blood kink; blood drinking; blood as lube; vampire bites; oral sex; praise kink; penis in vagina sex; boy cunt; aftercare; established relationship; gender dysphoria (period related); porn with feelings; dew is trying his best; he's a gentleman, actually (mostly)
a/n: while we start with period related dysphoria, we do end firmly in euphoria. they are in love your honor. I shall not forget you said anything, in fact I will write 7.5k words explaining why I love it. Also -- how have I never written period fic considering all the blood I write. First time for everything, hope you enjoy <3
· · · — ⸸ · ⛧ · ⸸ — · · ·
It's day three, and Dew is being an absolute fucking gentleman about it.
This is the part nobody warns you about, when they tell you about being a vampire. They tell you about the teeth and the speed and the sun, and they leave out the part where you spend most of your existence aware of every living thing in a thirty-foot radius and you have to choose, constantly, second by second, to not be a problem about it.
Dew has gotten good at it over the years. He can sit in the ministry kitchen at eight in the morning with a cup of coffee he doesn't need, and he can let Aether's heartbeat just be a thing happening across the room. He can let Cumulus pad past him in socked feet without doing anything weird about the warm soft animal of her, and he can be normal. Dew is so normal.
Dew is, on the spectrum of vampires existing in close quarters with food, an absolute goddamn saint.
Rain walks into the kitchen and Dew puts the coffee down because his hand has gone unsteady.
"Morning," Rain says, not looking at him.
"Morning," Dew says, which is an acceptable thing to say.
Rain crosses to the kettle. He's wearing the big hoodie, the gray one with the thumb holes that he stole off Mountain a year ago and has refused to give back.
The hood is up.
Dew watches him fill the kettle and set it on the burner and stand there with his back to the room, both hands braced on the counter, head down. Watches him take a slow breath like he's counting through something. Watches him roll his shoulders once, carefully, the way you do when your whole body is a low-grade complaint.
Dew looks down at his coffee.
It's been three days. Dew noticed it on day one — sensed it before Rain did, probably, the way the scent of him had shifted by about half a degree on Monday afternoon, gone from the wet stone and watercress thing Rain usually is to something a little richer underneath, copper sitting under the rain, the unmistakable announcement of a body doing what bodies do.
Dew had nearly dropped a plate.
He'd spent the rest of Monday white-knuckling through it, not because he was going to do anything about it — he wasn't, he wouldn't, he's a gentleman — but because his entire nervous system had lit up like a switchboard and refused to dim back down.
By Tuesday he had himself in hand. He was managing.
By Wednesday, today, day three, he had noticed the other thing.
Rain won't look at him.
Not in a dramatic way. Rain isn't avoiding him to make a point. Rain is avoiding him the way you avoid a sore tooth — not even consciously, just routing around it. Slipping out of rooms when Dew comes in, going to bed early, eating dinner at the counter instead of at the table.
They haven't slept in the same bed since Sunday night. On Monday Rain had said I think I'm gonna crash in my own room, I'm restless, don't wanna kick you, and on Tuesday he'd said I'm just gonna read for a bit, don't wait up, and last night he hadn't said anything at all, just hadn't come.
Dew isn't going to make a thing about it.
Dew is going to drink his coffee, and he's going to let Rain have his kettle and his hoodie and his three feet of counter space, and he's going to be normal about it until Rain decides to be normal about it, and that's the plan. That is the entire plan.
Dew has been a vampire for a long time and he has gotten very good at waiting.
Rain pours the hot water into his mug. The teabag goes in. The spoon. Three slow stirs. He stands there with both hands wrapped around the ceramic, and Dew watches the line of his shoulders, the way his head is still tipped down, the way the hood casts a shadow across his jaw, and Dew thinks, very clearly: he is miserable, and he is hiding from me, and I don't know how to ask him why without making it worse.
"Hey," Dew says, before he can stop himself. "You okay?"
Rain's shoulders go up half an inch.
"Yeah," he says, to the mug. "Just tired."
"Okay," Dew says.
Rain takes the mug and leaves the kitchen, doesn't look at Dew on the way out.
Dew sits at the table with his now cold coffee and listens to Rain's footsteps go down the hall and stop. The door opens, closes, the quiet click of a lock.
Right, Dew thinks.
He drinks the coffee. It tastes like nothing. He sits there for another ten minutes, just to prove to himself that he can, just to prove that he is not going to follow, and then he gets up and rinses his mug and goes to find something to do with his hands.
⸸
He finds Rain on the couch at one in the morning.
Dew has been trying to read for three hours. The book is a perfectly good book — Cumulus pressed it on him last week, said it would gut him, and on a normal night Dew would have been gutted by now, but tonight every sentence has been sliding off his eyes like rain off a windshield. He's been on the same page for forty minutes.
The Abbey is quiet. The fire in the den has burned down to coals. He'd gone looking for a glass of water and walked through the living room and stopped.
Rain is asleep on the couch.
The hoodie is still on.
The hood is down now, and his hair is a mess, falling across his forehead the way it does when he hasn't bothered with it. He's curled on his side facing the back of the couch, knees drawn up, one hand tucked under his cheek and the other clutching at the front of the hoodie like he was holding his own stomach when he went under. There's a half-empty mug of tea on the coffee table — different tea than the morning, this one with the lemon-and-ginger smell Rain reaches for when he's hurting. A heating pad has slid off his hip and is making a faint warm noise on the cushion behind him.
Dew stands in the doorway and doesn't move.
It would be a kindness, he thinks, to leave. It would be a kindness to back out of the room and let Rain sleep and pretend tomorrow that he never saw this. Never saw the heating pad or the second mug or the small defensive curl of Rain's body around itself.
It would be a gentleman's kindness.
But the scent is impossible at this distance.
Dew's mouth floods. He keeps his teeth where they belong with an effort that feels almost physical, like holding a door shut against a strong wind. He stays in the doorway and he doesn't move. Just watches Rain breathe, slow and shallow, the rise and fall of the hoodie under his chin, and he thinks —
Oh. Oh, baby. You've been carrying this alone.
He doesn't realize he's crossed the room until he's at the couch.
He kneels down next to it. Slow. Quiet. He's not going to touch — he's just going to pick up the heating pad and put it back where it goes, settle the blanket over Rain's shoulders, leave him be. He's just doing a small kind thing in the dark and then he's leaving. That's the plan.
That's the entire —
Rain's eyes open.
They go wide for one half-second of unprocessed sleep, and then they focus, and land on Dew's face. Dew watches it happen in real time — the recognition and the immediate hot flash of caught, the way Rain's whole face shutters down into something defensive before he's even all the way awake.
"Hey," Dew says, very softly. "Hi. It's just me."
"What time is it," Rain says. His voice is rough.
"Late. One-ish. I was getting water."
"Oh." Rain pushes himself up onto one elbow. The hoodie has ridden up at his hip; he tugs it down with the hand that isn't holding his weight. He won't quite look at Dew. "Sorry. I fell asleep."
"It's okay."
"I should go to bed."
"Yeah."
Neither of them moves.
Dew is still kneeling next to the couch. He can see Rain's pulse in his throat — a small steady visible thing, faster than it should be, his body giving away what his face is trying to hide. He can smell the heating pad and the ginger tea and Rain himself, the watercress and the copper and underneath it the faint sour-sweet tang of three nights of bad sleep.
Rain's eyes are tired. There are shadows under them that weren't there on Sunday.
"Rain," Dew says.
"Don't."
"Okay."
"I just —" Rain swallows. His jaw works. He still isn't looking at Dew. "I'm fine. I'm just gonna go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay," Dew says again. And then, because he can't help it, because three days of being a gentleman has worn through him in one specific place: "You don't have to hide from me."
Rain goes very still.
"I'm not," he says, to the back of the couch.
"Baby."
"I'm not."
"Rain. Look at me."
Rain doesn't.
Rain stares at the back of the couch for a long moment.
Dew watches his throat work, watches his free hand curl tighter into the hem of the hoodie, watches him try to assemble a face that will get him out of this room without having this conversation.
Watches the assembly fail.
Rain's eyes close. His mouth twists.
"I didn't want you to know," he says.
"I know."
Rain's eyes open. He looks at Dew, finally, properly, and his face is doing something complicated — embarrassment and exhaustion and something else under both of those, something Dew has been watching him carry around for three days without a name.
"You know?"
"Sweetheart. I'm a vampire."
"Lucifer's taint."
"I knew on Monday."
"Are you fucking kidding me."
"I wasn't gonna say anything —"
"You knew on Monday —"
"I wasn't gonna make it a thing! I just — you were ducking me, and I didn't want to push, and I —"
"Lucifer's taint," Rain says again, and he puts his free hand over his face. He laughs once, a small wrecked sound that isn't quite a laugh, and Dew watches his shoulders shake and cannot tell for one terrible second whether Rain is laughing or crying or both. When Rain drops his hand and his eyes are wet but he is, in fact, laughing, in the awful way you laugh when something has been sitting on your chest for three days and somebody has finally, gently, lifted it off.
"Come here," Dew says.
Rain comes. He sits up properly and swings his legs down and Dew settles on the couch next to him, close but not touching, giving him the half-inch of space to decide. Rain takes about two seconds and then he tips sideways into Dew's shoulder and stays there. Dew puts an arm around him.
Rain is warm. Rain is never this warm — the water ghoul of him, the crisp cool sea under his skin — but tonight he's warmer, the low banked heat of a body working hard at something.
Dew lets himself, finally, breathe him in.
"I thought you'd be weird about it," Rain says, into his shoulder.
"Why?"
"Because — I don't know. Because it's gross. Because it's — I don't know. I didn't want you looking at me different."
"Different how?"
"Different like —" Rain's voice is muffled. "Different like you were thinking about it. Different like you were remembering. I don't want — when you look at me I want you to just look at me, I don't want you to —"
"Rain."
"— I don't want it to be a thing —"
"Rainy. Baby. Hey. Look at me."
Rain looks up.
Dew puts his hand on Rain's jaw. Very gentle. Very deliberate. He turns Rain's face up toward his own and he holds Rain's eyes. He speaks slowly, because he wants Rain to hear every word.
"I have been looking at you all week. I have been looking at you, and at nothing else, and I have been losing my mind."
Rain's breath catches.
"I have been," Dew says, "a paragon of restraint. I have been a monk. I haven't said anything because you weren't saying anything and I thought you wanted space and I was trying to give it to you. And I will keep giving it to you. If you tell me right now that you want to go to bed and sleep this off and never talk about it again, I will walk you to your door and I will kiss you on the forehead and I will not say a word."
"Okay," Rain whispers.
"But baby. If you are hiding from me because you think I don't want you right now."
Rain's eyes go wet again.
"I want you," Dew says, "so bad I have been chewing through the inside of my own mouth for three days."
"Dew."
"I want you more like this," Dew says. "Not despite. More. Because your body is doing the most magnificent fucking thing it does and you are walking around in it and I'm supposed to act normal and I'm — I'm not normal, sweetheart, I'm not, I'm —"
"Fucking hell, shut up," Rain says, and kisses him.
Rain kisses him hard. Rain kisses him like he's been holding it in his teeth for three days, which — yeah, probably, Dew can taste it, can taste the ginger and the want and the small wrecked relief of being everything he needed to hear.
Dew kisses him back and tries very hard not to bite, not yet, not until they have talked about it like grown men, and Rain is making a small sound into his mouth that is going to make talking about it like grown men extremely difficult.
Dew pulls back half an inch.
"Hey," he says.
"What."
"I need to ask you something."
"Fucking — what."
Dew puts his forehead against Rain's. He can feel Rain's pulse under his palm where his hand is still on Rain's jaw. He can feel his own teeth, aching, lower than they should be in his mouth.
"Can I have you," he says, "all the way. Tonight. The whole thing. Mouth on you, mouth in you, drink from you — all of it. Can I?"
Rain doesn't answer for a second. Just breathes.
"You want —" His voice has gone small. "You want — that. Like. With."
"Yes."
"You're sure?"
"Rain."
"I just want you to be sure —"
"I have been sure since Monday, my love, I have been sure for seventy-two hours, please —"
"Okay," Rain says. "Okay. Yeah. Yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes. Take me to bed."
⸸
Dew gets him there carefully — one arm under Rain's knees and one behind his shoulders, which Rain protests on principle for about four seconds and then gives up on, going boneless against Dew's chest with a small surprised exhale. Rain is heavier than he looks and Dew doesn't care. He would carry him through hell if he had to.
For now he carries him down the hall to his own room because his bed is bigger and the sheets are darker and he is not, all things considered, planning to be precious about the laundry.
He sets Rain down on the bed and Rain looks up at him. The hoodie has ridden up again and Dew can see the strip of his stomach above the waistband of his sweats, the soft pale blue line of him, the faint shadow of hair below his navel, and Dew thinks: I am going to be so fucking good to you. I am going to be so unbelievably good to you.
"Hoodie off," he says.
Rain hesitates.
"Or not," Dew says immediately. "Hoodie on. Hoodie stays! Whatever you —"
"No, I —" Rain sits up. Pulls the hoodie off over his head in one motion, the way he does, and his hair goes everywhere. He doesn't bother fixing it.
He's not wearing anything under it. His chest is bare and his scars are silver-pink in the lamplight and Dew has seen them a hundred times and every time it's the same — the gratitude of being allowed to look.
Rain meets his eyes, a little defiant.
"There's my boy," Dew says, soft, and watches Rain's whole face do something.
"Don't be weird about it."
"I'm not being weird about it. I'm being normal. Look at me being normal."
"You're being so weird about it."
"I'm being so normal." Dew climbs onto the bed and settles over him. Rain's hands come up to his sides, find the hem of his t-shirt and push it up. Dew helps, gets it off, throws it somewhere. "I'm being aggressively normal. Look at me. Normal is what I am."
"Your fangs are out."
"That's normal for me."
"Dew —"
"Sweats off, baby."
Rain goes quiet.
Dew watches him. Doesn't push. Just hovers there, his hands on either side of Rain's ribs, his weight on his knees, and lets Rain get there on his own. Rain's throat works. His eyes flicker down and then back up to Dew's face.
"It's gonna be messy," Rain says.
"Yeah."
"Like. Really messy."
"Rainy. Baby. Please."
"Okay."
Rain lifts his hips and pushes the sweats and the underwear down together. Dew helps him get them off, and then there's nothing left between them and Rain is looking at the ceiling instead of at Dew and Dew is, for one long moment, just looking.
Rain is flushed. The blood in him is close to the surface tonight — at his cheeks, his throat, the tops of his shoulders, the flat plane of his chest going navy down the sternum — and the scent of him at this distance is so much that Dew has to close his eyes for a second and just exist through it. The wet stone. The copper.
Dew has been alive for a long time and he has wanted a lot of things and he is not sure, in this moment, that he has ever wanted anything the way he wants the boy under him right now.
"Hey," he says.
Rain doesn't look.
"Hey. Look at me. Look at me, sweetheart, c'mon."
Rain looks.
"You are," Dew says, "the most beautiful fucking thing I have ever seen. I want you to know that. I want you to hear me say it. I want you to remember it tomorrow when you are being mean to yourself about whatever you are going to be mean to yourself about. Okay?"
"Okay," Rain whispers.
"Good." Dew bends down. Puts his mouth on Rain's throat — not biting, just mouthing, just feeling the pulse against his lips. "Now I'm gonna eat."
"Unholy fucking shit, Dew."
"Sorry. Was that too much?"
"That was so much —"
"I'll be normal."
"You will not —"
Dew laughs into his throat. Rain laughs too, a startled, wrecked little thing, the kind that's half-relief.
Dew kisses him under the jaw, and then lower, mouth working down the line of his throat, the dip of his collarbone, the slope of his sternum. He goes slow. He has time. He's going to take his time.
Rain's hands have come up into his hair and his fingers are trembling and Dew kisses every inch of him on the way down, every silver-pink line, every soft place, every freckle. He spends a long time at Rain's chest because he wants to and because Rain makes a noise when he does that he hasn't heard before, a small unguarded sound that goes straight through Dew's spine.
"You taste so good," Dew says, into his sternum.
"Don't say shit like that —"
"You taste so good, baby —"
"I'm eating nothing but garlic for the next year —"
"You smell so good I've been insane for days, I've been —"
He settles between Rain's thighs and he takes a second, just a second, to put his hands on the soft insides of them. He pushes them gently apart and lets himself look. Rain has thrown one arm over his eyes. The flush has gone all the way down his chest, his stomach, his thighs — and the mess of him is right there, dark and slick and red.
Dew's mouth is watering so badly he has to swallow before he can speak.
"Hey," he says.
"Don't describe it —"
"I wasn't going to."
"You were absolutely gonna describe it —"
"Only a little bit of it."
"Dew."
"Just a little."
"I hate you."
"I love you," Dew says.
Rain's arm comes off his eyes.
"You're a fucking menace," he says. His voice cracks in the middle. "You're an absolute fucking — I love you too, would love you more if you'd fucking get down there —"
Dew doesn't wait another second.
He puts his mouth on him and the taste is — Lucifer, the taste is —
Dew makes a sound he is not proud of, a low broken thing right into the heat of him. Rain's whole body jerks once and then goes pliant, thighs falling further open, hands flying back to Dew's hair, and Dew settles in.
He's wanted this for three days and now he has it and he is not going to rush.
He works Rain open with his tongue, slow and thorough, tasting every part of him. The slick of him, the copper of him, the small frantic pulse of him — and Rain is making noises Dew has never heard him make, small broken syllables that aren't words yet. His hips cant up to chase Dew's mouth and Dew lets him, hands on Rain's thighs holding them open, thumbs rubbing slow circles into the soft skin.
"Look at you," Dew says into him. "Look at you, fuck, you're — you're making this for me, you're —"
"Dew —"
"You're making it for me, baby, you're making it —"
"Dew —"
He gets his mouth on Rain's cock, the small flushed perfect thing of it, hard against his tongue, and Rain shouts.
Rain shouts and his hips come off the bed and Dew laughs, low and ragged, and pins him back down with a forearm across his hips and keeps going. Sucks him. Works him with his tongue. Goes back down lower and licks into him properly, sloppy and wet and unhurried.
Rain is crying. Dew can hear it, the wet hitching of his breath, the small sobs catching in his throat. He comes up off him just long enough to say, "good?"
"Yes," Rain sobs.
"You want me to keep going?"
"Yes —"
"You want me to make you come on my mouth, sweetheart?"
"Yes, please, please, please —"
"Yeah," Dew says. "Yeah, baby. C'mere. Come on, c'mere —"
He goes back down. Mouth and fingers both this time, two fingers slid into him slow, curling up, his mouth on Rain's cock, and Rain breaks. Rain breaks beautifully — back arching off the bed, one hand fisted in Dew's hair so hard it hurts, the other clutching at the sheet.
The sound he makes is a high wrecked thing that Dew is going to remember for the rest of his unnatural life.
He comes against Dew's tongue and Dew works him through it, slow and gentle now, sucking him soft until Rain's hand in his hair tugs once, weak, too much, and Dew comes up.
His mouth is red.
He can feel it. He can taste it. He licks his lips and Rain is looking at him, eyes wet, chest heaving, mouth open — and the look on Rain's face is something Dew does not have a word for.
"Come here," Rain whispers.
Dew crawls up him. Settles his weight along Rain's body, careful of the mess, and Rain pulls him down and kisses him — kisses him on a mouth that tastes like his own blood and slick and come — and Rain doesn't flinch, doesn't pull back, just licks into Dew's mouth like he wants to know what he tastes like through Dew's tongue, and Dew —
Dew might be the one crying now. He's not sure. There's wet on his face and he doesn't know whose it is.
"I'm not done," he says, against Rain's mouth.
"Oh fuck."
"I'm not, baby, I told you, I told you the whole thing —"
"You're gonna kill me —"
"Just one more. Just a little one. Will you let me —"
"Yes, fuck, yes, do it —"
Dew kisses down his body again. Slower this time. He's not in a hurry — Rain has come once and Rain will come again. He kisses Rain's stomach and his hip and the soft place at the crease of his thigh where the pulse runs close to the skin. He nuzzles in. Breathes him in.
Rain's hand is back in his hair, gentler now, fingers stroking.
"Here?" Dew murmurs, against the femoral.
"Yes."
"Gonna feel good. Promise."
"I know. I know it does. Do it."
Dew puts his teeth in slow — careful, careful, he has practiced this on Rain enough times to know exactly how — and Rain's whole body goes loose under him at the first pull, the way it always does, the bite-high that Rain falls into like falling into warm water.
Dew drinks slow.
The taste of him is thunderous tonight, richer than Dew has ever had him, the iron-bright shock of him doubled by what his body is already doing, and Dew has to hold himself back from taking too much, from taking and taking and taking, because what he wants is to drain Rain dry and curl up inside his ribcage and never come out, and what he can have is a careful measured mouthful, the way you sip something precious.
He takes what he needs and pulls off. Licks the punctures closed.
Rain is gone. Staring at the ceiling with his mouth half-open and his pupils blown out and his hand limp in Dew's hair and there's a small dreamy smile on his face that Dew has only ever put there with his teeth.
Dew kisses the bite mark. Kisses up his thigh. Kisses his hip and his stomach and his chest and his throat and his mouth, slow and thorough. Rain kisses him back lazily, lips parting under his, tongue meeting tongue, and Dew can taste him in his own mouth — copper and watercress and the impossible sweetness underneath — and he thinks, again, the way he has been thinking all night: I love you. I love you.
I love you.
He says it out loud. He can't help it.
"I know," Rain murmurs. His eyes are closed. "Me too. I love you. Fuck."
"You good?"
"Mmhm."
"Words, baby."
"M'good. M'so good. M'a puddle."
"Yeah you are," Dew huffs.
"Don't be smug —"
"I'm not being smug."
"You're being so smug —"
"I'm being normal."
Rain laughs. It's small and breathless, hardly anything at all, and Dew kisses him again — slower this time, lazier, because Rain is soft beneath him and getting softer and they have all the time in the world.
He would do this for the rest of the night.
He would do this for the rest of his unnatural life.
He kisses Rain's mouth and the corner of his jaw and he settles a little of his weight down onto Rain's body, just a little, just so Rain can feel him —
Rain shifts under him.
It's a small movement. A subtle one. Rain's hips canting up half an inch into the press of Dew's body, the kind of motion he probably doesn't know he's making, the body asking while the mind drifts.
Dew freezes.
He pulls back just enough to look at Rain's face.
Rain's eyes are still closed. The dreamy smile is still there. But there's a small line of want between his eyebrows now and his mouth has gone slightly open and his hips are still pressed up against Dew's, soft and insistent, and Dew thinks: oh.
"Baby."
"Mm."
"Hey. Rainy. Look at me."
Rain cracks his eyes open. Pupils still huge, the bite-high riding him soft and slow.
"You want more, sweetheart?"
Rain blinks at him.
"...mhm."
"Words, baby. Use your words. You want me to keep going?"
"Yeah," Rain says. His voice is drugged-small. Bite-soft. "Yeah, please. I'm — I'm still — I want —"
"You want me to fuck you?"
A small wrecked sound bubbles out of the deepest part of Rain. His hand finds Dew's hip and curls.
"Yeah."
"Yeah," Dew says, soft, and kisses the corner of his mouth. "Okay, baby. Yeah."
He pushes himself up enough to get his sweats off. He hasn't bothered with them all evening — they've been hanging low and forgotten on his hips since Rain pulled his t-shirt off — and now he shoves them down and kicks them somewhere. His cock is hard, has been hard, and Rain is looking at it now, eyes half-open, with a soft pleased look that goes through Dew like a hand around his throat.
"There you are," Rain chirps happily.
"Yeah, baby."
"C'mere."
Dew settles down between Rain's thighs again — different this time, higher up, his cock against the heat of Rain's body, the slick of him meeting Dew. Rain makes a sound under him that is almost a sob, and Dew kisses him through it, kisses him slow and careful, lining himself up with one hand while the other braces on the mattress next to Rain's head.
"You okay?"
"Mhm."
"You sure? We don't have to —"
"Dew. Please."
"Okay. Okay, sweetheart."
He pushes in.
Slow. Slow as anything. Rain is so wet that there's no resistance — just the long slow give of his body opening, hot and slick and welcoming. Dew has to close his eyes for a second because it's almost too much — the mess of him slipping warm between them, the smell of him filling the whole room, the way Rain's hands come up to grip Dew's shoulders and hold on. Almost too much.
Almost.
Dew bottoms out and stops.
Holds there.
Rain's breath is shaking. Dew is shaking. He puts his forehead against Rain's and breathes.
"Good?" he asks, ragged.
"So good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, Dew, please, please —"
"Yeah, baby. Yeah."
He starts to move.
Deep and slow, finding the angle, watching Rain's face — and Rain's face is doing something Dew is going to think about forever. The bite-high softness mixed with the new sharp want of it, mouth open, eyes wet, no defenses anywhere on him. Just open. Just here.
Three days ago Rain wouldn't look at him in the kitchen and now Rain is staring up at him like Dew is the only thing in the universe and Dew is —
Dew is going to come embarrassingly fast if he doesn't slow down.
He slows down. He gets his rhythm. Long slow drags of his cock through the slick of Rain, the wet sound of it shameless between them, Rain making small breathy noises with every push in and Dew is —
"Closer," Rain whispers.
"What, baby?"
"Closer, Dew. Please. Closer."
Dew lowers himself all the way down. Chest to chest, mouth to mouth, his weight settling fully onto Rain. Rain moans and Dew kisses it right out of his mouth. Keeps moving, slower now because he has to, shorter strokes because there's no room for long ones, just the deep grind of him into Rain over and over and over.
"Legs around me, sweetheart. C'mon. Up. Wrap 'em up."
Rain's legs come up around his waist. Lock at the ankles. Pull him in closer.
"Good boy."
Rain whimpers.
Dew kisses him through it — kisses his open mouth, kisses the corner of his jaw, kisses the bite mark on the side of his throat from three months ago that scarred soft. Dew can feel Rain's heels pressing into the small of his back, pulling him deeper with every thrust, and Dew thinks: yes. Yes. There you go. There's my boy.
"Look at you," he murmurs, into Rain's ear. "Look at you, sweetheart. So good. So good for me. You feel so good, baby, you feel — fuck, you feel —"
"Dew —"
"You're being so good. So good for me. Taking it so well —"
"Dew —"
"You like that, baby? You like when I tell you?"
"Yes —"
"Yeah you do. Yeah. Good boy. Good boy, Rain, look at you, look at how good you're being —"
Rain breaks differently this time.
Not the high wrecked shout of the first one — this is softer, lower, a long shuddering wave of it that just keeps going, his whole body going tight around Dew's cock and then loose and then tight again, his face turned into Dew's neck, his teeth catching on Dew's shoulder.
Dew fucks him through it slow and steady and keeps talking, keeps murmuring good boy and so good and that's it, baby, that's it, that's my good boy. Rain is gasping and shaking and clutching at him and saying Dew's name over and over against his throat.
It pulls Dew with him. He couldn't stop it if he tried.
He buries himself deep and comes with his face pressed into Rain's hair, hips stuttering, the long low sound of it punched out of him. Rain holds him through it — arms around his back, legs still locked at the ankles, mouth pressed to Dew's temple.
For a long time neither of them moves.
Dew is breathing into Rain's hair. Rain is breathing into Dew's. The mess between them is thorough and Dew doesn't care and apparently neither does Rain because Rain's hand has come up to the back of Dew's neck and is just stroking, slow, fingers in the short hair at his nape.
"You okay?" Rain whispers, after a while.
Dew laughs. It comes out wet.
"Am I okay?"
"Yeah."
"Sweetheart."
"Are you?"
"Yes. Yes, baby, I'm — fuck, I'm —"
"Good."
Rain kisses his temple. His legs uncurl from around Dew's waist but stay tangled with Dew's, calf to calf, ankle to ankle, and Dew shifts his weight just enough to roll them slightly to the side so he isn't crushing him, his cock still inside, still half-hard, neither of them in any hurry to separate.
"Dew?"
"Yeah."
"That was —"
"Yeah."
"I haven't — in this body — I haven't —"
"I know, baby."
"Not like that."
"I know."
Rain's voice is very small.
"Such a good boy," Dew murmurs again, into his hair. Just to say it. Just because Rain made a sound when he said it before and Dew wants to put that sound in him again, gentle, no urgency, just a small confirmation. "My good boy."
Rain shivers against him.
"You can't just say that —"
"I'm gonna keep saying it."
"Dew."
"I'm gonna say it every day."
"I'm gonna die —"
"No you're not."
Dew slips out of him slow, careful, and Rain makes an unhappy sound at the loss that Dew kisses out of his mouth, and then Dew kisses him on the corner of the jaw and starts to roll away.
Rain makes another sound.
It's a small sound. Barely anything. It's the kind of sound Rain would deny making if Dew brought it up at breakfast tomorrow — a thin little hum of protest, half-formed, the back-of-the-throat thing you do when something warm leaves you and you're too tired to use real words about it.
Dew stops moving and looks down at Rain.
His eyes are closed. His mouth is open a little. There is a small frown of complaint between his eyebrows that he probably doesn't know he's making, and one of his hands is reaching, vague and uncoordinated, in the direction Dew is moving.
Dew lets himself, for one long second, just look again.
Rain is wrecked.
Hair everywhere. Mouth pink. The bite at his femoral has closed but the skin around it is still flushed dusky-blue. He is bare and bitten and fucked-out and he is making a small unconscious sound because Dew is six inches further away than he was four seconds ago, and Dew thinks that maybe, maybe, those human movies were on to something.
I have crossed oceans of time to find you.
"I'm coming back," he says, soft. "Baby. I'm coming right back. I just need to get something. Thirty seconds."
"Mm."
"Thirty seconds, sweetheart, I promise."
"Hurry," Rain mumbles, into the pillow.
"Promise."
Dew's quick. He's been planning this since Monday — has had the small private list assembling itself in the back of his head for three days, item by item, in between the white-knuckling and the gentleman-ing and the chewing through the inside of his own mouth — and now he gets to actually do it, and there is a particular satisfaction to that which Dew does not have the bandwidth to examine right now.
The en-suite first. Warm cloth, wrung out, not too wet.
He looks at himself in the mirror while he does it.
Mouth still pink at the corners, eyes a little wild, the smug evidence of the last hour written all over his face — and he allows himself one private second of I get to do this. I get to be the one who does this for him. Then he kills the light and goes.
The mini-fridge in the corner of his room next — the one he installed last spring under the loose pretext of needing to keep blood bags cold, which is true, it's just not the only thing he keeps in there.
He gets a bottle of water (the fancy glass kind, Rain pretends not to care about brands but he absolutely does), and the small tupperware (the dark chocolate-covered almonds with the sea salt, which Rain eats by the handful when he's hurting and which Dew bought on Tuesday from the place across town that does them right), and, from the bottom drawer of the dresser, which Rain doesn't know about, a fresh pair of the soft cotton boxer-briefs Rain wears on his period, the gray ones with the wide waistband, plus a clean pad already folded inside them.
He gets the t-shirt last — his own, the soft gray one, the one Rain has stolen before. Tucks it under his arm with everything else.
Twenty-eight seconds.
Rain hasn't moved.
"Hey," Dew says, climbing back onto the bed. "Hey. I'm back."
Rain makes the small sound again, but happier this time — the back-of-the-throat hum reversed. His hand finds Dew's hip without his eyes opening and curls into Dew's waistband and stays there.
Dew sets everything on the nightstand. Settles in next to him.
"Look at me, baby. Look. I brought you some stuff."
Rain cracks one eye open.
Closes it again.
"Mmhg."
"No, c'mon, look — water first. Sit up just a little."
"M'tired."
"I know, sweetheart. Two sips. C'mon."
He gets an arm under Rain's shoulders and props him up against his own chest. Rain goes pliant against him without protest, head heavy on Dew's collarbone.
Dew unscrews the water bottle one-handed and holds it to Rain's mouth. Rain takes two slow sips and then a third, and Dew watches his throat work and feels — absurdly, embarrassingly — like he might cry again.
"Good?"
"Mhm."
"Okay. Lie back down. I'm gonna clean you up, okay? Warm cloth. Then I have a surprise for you."
"What surprise."
"You'll see."
"Tell me the surprise."
"No."
"Dew."
"Lie back, sweetheart."
Rain lies back with a quiet huff.
Dew gets the warm cloth and works between Rain's thighs slow and careful, the way you wash something precious, the way you wash something you're grateful to be allowed to touch. Rain's eyes are closed again. His hand finds Dew's wrist while Dew works and stays there, loose, fingers curled around the bone.
"There," Dew murmurs, when he's done. "Almost. Hang on."
He gets up just enough to grab the boxer-briefs from the nightstand. Sits back down. Rain cracks both eyes open this time.
"What's that?"
"Surprise."
"Dew, what's —"
"They're yours."
"Those are — those are mine."
"Yes."
"Those are my period underwear."
"Yes."
"Why do you have my period underwear."
"Because I bought you some. Last cycle. They're in the bottom drawer. There's three pairs."
Rain stares at him.
"Why," Rain says.
"Because." Dew is suddenly, mortifyingly, a little shy. He looks down at the boxer-briefs in his hand. "Because I noticed you didn't have any in here last time. And I didn't — I wanted you to. I wanted you to not have to ask. I wanted you to be able to just — be here. Whenever. I —"
He stops. He has a pad already folded inside them and he is suddenly intensely aware that this is also a thing Rain is going to notice in about four seconds.
Rain notices in two.
"There's a pad —"
"Yes."
"You bought me pads —"
"Yes."
"Dew."
"I got the brand you use. I checked your bathroom."
"You checked my bathroom —"
"Once! I checked your bathroom once. Like a normal person. Like a person who loves you. I wasn't going to —"
"Come here," Rain says.
His voice has gone wet again.
Dew sets the briefs down and crawls up the bed and Rain pulls him close and kisses him. Slow, this time, no urgency. Just mouth on mouth, the salt of new tears on Rain's face going into the corner of Dew's mouth and Dew letting it until Rain pulls back just enough to put his forehead against Dew's and breathe.
"You're insane," Rain whispers.
"Yeah."
"You're actually fucking insane."
"Yeah, baby."
"I love you so much I can't stand it."
"I know."
"I don't deserve — don't. Don't say it. I know what you're gonna say. I know."
"Okay."
Rain breathes against him for another second. Then he pulls back and wipes his face with the heel of his hand, businesslike, and says — voice still wet but going for normal — "okay. Underwear. Pad. Hand 'em over, vampire."
"Of course."
Dew helps him into them like it's the easiest thing in the world. The boxer-briefs go on; the pad is already where it needs to be; the t-shirt goes over Rain's head and Rain makes a small contented sound when it settles around him because it smells like Dew.
Then he sees the almonds.
"Are those —"
"Chocolate almonds. The good ones. From the place in town."
"You went all the way into town —"
"On Tuesday. While you were ducking me."
"Dew."
"Eat one."
Rain puts one in his mouth and chews slowly. His eyes close. His face does the thing it does when he eats something he loves, the half-second of pure undisguised pleasure that he never lets anyone see in public.
"These are the right ones," he says.
"Yeah."
"How did you —"
"I pay attention."
Rain doesn't say anything for a second. He eats another almond. Then he looks at Dew with his eyes wet again and says, very small: "you really have been planning this."
"Since Monday."
"Since Monday."
"I told you, sweetheart. I told you I've been losing my mind."
"I thought you meant — I thought you meant the sex part."
"That too."
"Dew."
"Both. Sex and snacks. I'm a full-service vampire."
Rain laughs. It's a real laugh this time — small still, but real, the kind that means the tears aren't going to keep coming. He shakes his head, eats another almond.
He shifts against Dew until he's tucked back into the curve of Dew's arm and his head is on Dew's chest. Dew pulls the duvet up over both of them and settles in, hand splayed warm over his stomach where the cramps live. Rain makes a small contented sound and presses closer into him.
"Okay," he says, around the almond.
"Okay."
"I'm keeping you."
"Yeah, baby."
"Just so we're clear. I'm keeping you. You don't get to — you can't just — you can't do shit like this and then think I'm gonna —"
"I know."
"Okay."
"Okay."
Rain falls quiet again. Dew can feel him breathing. Can feel the slow steady thump of his pulse under the palm Dew has spread across his stomach. Can feel, somewhere under all of that, the small ongoing miracle of him — the body doing what it does, the blood replenishing, the boy of him warm and tired and finally, finally not hiding.
"I love you," Rain mumbles, drifting into sleep.
Dew stays awake a while longer, just to feel it — the slow tide of Rain breathing, the warmth of him, the scent of him that has stopped being unbearable and has become, instead, the only thing in the room Dew wants to be smelling.
He closes his eyes and presses his mouth to the back of Rain's neck, and lets himself, finally, rest.
i haven't written smut in so long but ya'll already know im a sucker for first times so here is Dew eating Haze out until her brain evaporates
Read here or on ao3
WC: 1276
Summary: Haze has heard the stories, she knows what she wants when she goes to Dew. What she gets is something more than she could have imagined
She went to Dew because she heard the stories. She would see the aftermath littered on Rain or Phantom's skin. She would watch him on stage. She saw how intense his fire burned and she wanted to see how long she could stand his heat before she collapsed like a dying star snuffed out.
She expected pain; claws and fang and fire. She expected his tongue to crack like a whip, filling her ears with venom. She expected to be pinned down and used and maybe if she was good she would be allowed to get off.
Not once did she expect this.
"You want it, baby?" Dew says softly against her neck, kissing over her pulse.
His hips twitch forward, grinding his bulge against her bare cunt. He got her undressed so slowly it made her dizzy. Careful hands gliding under the fabric of her shirt to coax it off. Slipping her pajama pants off with a honeyed pace. Left her in just her bra and panties for as long as he could, leisurely kissing and groping. Not once did he move to take anything off himself. Did not even give her the chance to try. Always found what makes her head spin if her fingertips dared to brush bare skin.
Dew is efficient, targeted. It is like he knows her body despite this being the first time she has stretched out in his bed. It scares her. It excites her. She cannot help but give herself over to him. To test him. To see if he knows more than she does.
Haze hums. "Want you. Want to know what it feels like."
"Whatever you need, doll." Another kiss.
This one is deeper, sucking a mark into her skin, one too high to cover with a shirt collar. One she is going to wear proudly until it fades. Dew trails his lips down her body; over her collar bone, each breast, her tummy, her hips, all the way down until warm breath fans just below her navel. He nuzzles his nose into the sparse patch of hair, deeply inhaling her scent.
Dew glances up at her, a lazy grin on his face. His eyes blaze like the sun; hot, intense, impossible to stare at. Haze has to tilt her head back, letting it thump against the pillow. The sight of him between her legs, all his sharp angles turned soft, is going to kill her if she keeps looking.
She hears him laugh, something quiet and breathy. That is all the warning she gets before he licks a long stripe over her, flicking the tip of his tongue over her clit. She sucks air through her teeth. Oh. Oh, his mouth is hot. Hot and wet and entirely too knowledgeable. He dips low, circling his tongue around her hole, indulging in her taste, before dipping inside.
"Oh, Dewdrop." She sighs as the jut of his nose brushes against her clit.
He does not tear his mouth away from her, not even for a second. He could not leave her wanting like that. Dew wraps his arms around her thighs, squeezing at the soft flesh as he tongues her in lazy, yet targeted strokes.
Haze's hands find his hair, fingers twining and tangling with long, soft golden locks. She does not push him, she does not coax him into something hard and fast. She is not even sure that is what she wants anymore. She just needs something to hold onto, something to ground since her touch of earth is useless behind a fog of desire. Not once did she consider Dew capable of being so, dare she say, sweet. Now that she has it, she has to have more.
Dew pauses in his ministrations, only to shift angles. He licks up her cunt, stopping with the flat of his tongue pressed to her clit. He wraps his lips around the little thing, letting it rest in the fork of his tongue, and sucks.
Haze gasps, something electric zipping through every nerve and settling hot at the base of her spine. She grabs at his hair, claws scraping his scalp and tugging on the strands. It pulls a quiet groan from Dew, something she feels more than hears. The rumbling vibration makes it worse. Her thighs flex, cunt clenching around nothing.
Dew takes it as an invitation. He teases two fingers at her entrance, circling the tips around her labia before dipping inside. He does not shove in, he does not slide all the way down to the knuckle, he just rests the tips of his fingers inside of her. Lets her get used to the feeling. Lets it drive her insane.
Haze clenches around him. "Please?"
Nothing.
She swallows. "Please finger me, Dewdrop, I need to feel you."
Good answer. He sinks further inside of her, curling his fingers. He pets at her upper wall; slowly, methodically, with the same pace he uses to suck at her clit. She feels like she is on fire and he has barely even touched her. She should be ashamed of herself. She should be, but she cannot find it in herself to care. Not with the way Dew is taking her apart with the same calculated touches he uses to restring his guitar.
Haze sings just as pretty too. Calloused fingertips brush over the spot that makes her blood boil. She bites at her lip, trying to stifle the moan that bubbles up. Her leathery wings twitch, thumping against the mattress as she presses her hips down. Presses Dew closer.
He takes the hint. His pace picks up, but not by much. If he had not been licking her at the speed of honey, she would not have noticed the difference. Oh, but she does. The effect is immediate; her eyes screw shut and she turn her head, squishing her nose into her shoulder. She fully holds Dew's head between her hands, palms flat against his temples. Her thighs stop him from moving, so does the heel digging into his back.
All it takes is a flex of his tongue. A flex that causes the bifurcated tip to contract right where her clit in is nestled.
Haze cums with a choked off gasp, wings flaring as her blood pounds percussive pleasure through her entire body. She is vaguely aware of his fingers continuing to work her, but she does not really register it. Not with the way her mind fills with blinding white heat.
Dew only stops when her thighs stop shaking and her muscles begin to relax and she sucks air through her teeth, overstimulation starting to set in. All he does though is lift his head. He keeps his fingers inside her. Just to feel her heat.
He looks up at her. Waits for her eyes to finally open. Only when she finds his ember glow does he make a show out of licking her slicks from his lips.
"Everything you ever wanted?" Dew kisses the crease of her thigh.
Haze looks down at him with heavy eyes. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, air desperately trying to slow her heart and get thought back into her head.
"No," her mouth moves before mind, "didn't let me have you."
His eyebrows quirk up. Barely. He grins, wide enough to flash fang. He slowly, carefully unhooks her legs from his shoulders and sits up onto his knees. Dew cocks his head and squeezes at his bulge.
"This what you need, baby?"
She nods rapidly, the flush of her face deepening.
Good answer.
"Oh, anything for you." Deft fingers pop the buttons of his jeans.
