#conorarcher

[beyondedenton]

Such tenderness that Conor was not used to. Volya had told him this before. He never had to think about it, because he would never die. But he was hearing the words like he was being told them for the first time. Once, this had been sharing information, stating fact. Now, this was a confession, and an invitation to be Volya's weakness.

One hand wrapped around Volya's thigh, the other reached for his jaw. "I'm immortal." he reminded, fingers scratch at the under side of Volya's leg, feeling his skin affectionately. "I'm also a crazy person. I want your name on me because you own me. I want you, Volya. I don't want to exist without you. Are you sure you want that with me? If I put my name on you... you'll never find a normal, nice person to be with, because then you'll be mine."

Volya listened, watching Conor's hand glide across his skin. Those hands had touched him more than a hundred times. Safe, reliable, strong hands. He loved them. The sensation was just as exquisite when he raised his knee, inviting more of his touch.

"Why would my heart seek anyone else?" He cradled Conor's hand against his jaw, thumb slowly stroking. "The one you love is mortal. This ending is going to hurt. But... this is the contract of love." The question was already there. One Conor had side-stepped just a moment ago. It was silly; they knew the truth.

"Will you be my life mate?"

[beyondedenton]

Even with the guidance, there's a split second Conor does not know what Volya means. For a moment, he has no clue was 'it' is. There's a brief moment where there's more confusion than any other emotion, and it was a brief relief from the heavy tension he felt.

He lowered his lashes, bashful, looking down at Volya's thigh, his thumb that caressed it over material. His gaze slid to the other's knee, settling there as he dared to move his hand. He was not innocent, and he was not stupid; on top of that, he was a man himself, with every part belonging to one. He knew what he'd feel, but some part of him hadn't been prepared.

He let his palm run over it, his fingers too timid to meet it. To ease himself, to soothe himself, he lets his lips capture Volya's over and over again. It helped him sink into things more.

"How does it feel? What are you thinking?" as if every thought didn't sway Volya's dreamscape. He wanted to hear it properly.

This was as safe a place as they could possibly be. No one to interrupt them, no distractions, no threats. Volya watched Conor's hand, and then his eyes. He watched for fear, for disgust, for a quickening rise and fall of his chest. Any reason in any measure to remind him this was safe; he was not beholden to touch, to do anything.

The touch came as a surprise, his attention fixed on Conor's eyes, until they closed, allowing himself a moment of acceptance. In the conscious world, Volya rocked in his sleep. Here, he melted into their kisses, submissive, patient, mindful not to take any lead that was not encouraged.

Volya breathed deeply, leaning back just enough to find those eyes again. He wanted so much to reciprocate, but he dared not. It was his turn, helpless to know what was appropriate for his hands. He almost wanted to apologize for throbbing.

"I'm thinking about you. Are you... all right?"

[beyondedenton]

So, there was no pressure either way. Volya would not demand to enter nor be entered. That eased him, a little. He didn't know what he preferred, so the fact that, if they were to ever arrive at that bridge, it would be one they could slowly take together eased him. He nodded,

"You said... to start with exploring and kissing, right?" that he could do. That they done a million times before. However, this time felt different. As he leaned in, the anticipation settled in as if it was their very first kiss all over again. The deep impending... something. Bliss? Doom? Something else entirely? His mouth found Volya's, his hand holding on tighter to the other as the other carefully placed their precious stencils aside so they would not crumple the paper.

"You'll teach me how to make you feel good, right?" he whispered.

They had eternity, and yet his hands yearned to be everywhere at once, as if he might awaken to find Conor Archer a figment of his broken imagination. To fall upon his whims would be to overwhelm the man he loved most. Knowing this, he placed his hands on Conor's chest, caressing down his ribs with the same careful intent as their kiss.

The question was met with a smile. He placed Conor's free hand between his legs, just shy of his tightening bulge.

"You already make me feel good. When you're ready, you may touch it. If you wish, you may look. Touching it will be enough."

[beyondedenton]

Conor tried not to think about the last time he'd experienced such things. Being 'explored'. Being unclothed. Being touched where the other pleased. Being tasted against his will. It made his skin crawl when his imagination, his memory, drifted. But those gentle words, It stops when you want us to stop, I won't force you to do what you cannot, pulled him back to where he was. To who he was with. The image in his mind was replaced. The idea of it being Volya's hands on him - then a hand truly came, and easily eased his worries. His fingers stroked the other's thigh.

"What about..." he cleared his throat, looking away, "going inside..." phewww was it hot in here, "if we get that far... how... who...?"

The question of intercourse had been expected, which was why he had tried to get ahead of it. Conor's continued concern squeezed something in his chest. He didn't want sex that felt like a series of mechanical motions, and he was certain it wouldn't be; the question was for peace of mind. An understanding of desires.

"Do you want to? It doesn't have to be. If you want to... inside of me, then you may. If you wish to experience," he turned his fingers around each other, "I would be gentle."

[beyondedenton]

"It can be here. It can be now." before he loses his courage. Changing his mind was not on the table, he had been trying for years to work his way to this point, he had thought about trying this for months. Changing his mind and chickening out were two different things.

"How do people usually start...?" he truly was a useless man. He didn't mind, it meant Volya got to sculpt him to his own whims. The very thought made him so shy he couldn't look at the other's face, turning in to those pretty palms.

"They..." The question was considered a second longer, and answered with a shrug. "It comes naturally. To... explore. Kiss. When that's not enough, you take my clothes. When that's not enough, you touch where you please, and I do the same. We tease each other, caress each other. Exploring, fondling, letting our mouths taste, kiss. It stops when you want us to stop. I won't force you to do what you cannot."

Conor's hand was placed on his thigh, his expression studied.

"Sex is anything, if it makes your lover soar. I want to make you soar."

[beyondedenton]

Although Conor could not hear those thoughts, could not decipher word for word, he could feel them. The wave of affection rolled over him that could only be attributed to Volya and his love. It almost made him want to cry again. Such a warm, kind feeling, for someone who had spent so long being cold.

Those words did not help Conor's fight against his tears. He took a shaky breath in. Protection. The one thing he'd always wanted, needed, but always had lacked.

"Thank you, Volya. I will return it all to you ten fold." he leaned into that hand, kissing Volya's fingers before they could stray too far. "But I included... be one, physically. I want to try it for you."

His laughter was quiet out of habit. Mirth reached his eyes, bringing youth to what his species would call an old face. Letting him go felt impossible. His fingers had to touch bare skin at all times. Where better than his face?

"One in body and soul, yes. We will go at your pace." A promise he was certain Conor would feel as though his own intention; this was their shard universe, after all.

"Should it be here?" Here... we can speak. I don't want to make a mistake." If his eyes closed in a state of bliss, he might miss a vital sign. Conor's first experience needed no room for a slip.

[beyondedenton]

"Ending..." the word tasted vile in his mouth, "I might be able to find a way to trap your soul here with me." It was a joke, but. A reaper and a demon combination. Surely if anyone could find a way to do that it would be him. It was incredibly unlikely Volya would want that, though. Who would choose immortality? That went against the order of life.

His hand flattened against the offered leg, stroking his skin, up his knee, down his thigh. He was greedy in his absorption of the other's body.

Then, his hand stilled. His lips parted. His heart grew heavy.

Him? Of all people, him? Volya wanted to commit to a lifetime with him? Volya's affection for this broken creature who'd made so many mistakes and experienced so much pain extended this far?

Never could Conor have imagined this. Was it really his turn to feel happy? Was it really his turn to be accepted by someone?

His breathing trembled, tears prickling in his eyes.

Their future flashed before him. Almost countless days spent leisurely, tangled up together, holding each other. Softly in love like the two fragile things they were, with happiness and peace finally in their grasp.

He furiously nodded. "It would be my honour, Volya." he reached for the other, pulling him instantly into a strong, tight hug, cradling the back of his head. "I'm so lucky..." he sniffled, "to be loved by you."

Volya smiled softly. This wasn’t the first time discussing this; not the first time Conor had suggested indefinitely extending his life, but the weight of this moment was heavier, and yet, lighter than the imaginary air around them. This would be, he suspected, the final conversation on this subject. The final, ‘Are you certain?’ as meaningful and as permanent as it deserved.

Their future could be anything they desired. No longer beholden to others, free of leashes, cages, and chains. No more emotional manipulation of ill-intentioned people – or the will of the righteous and ignorant. Freedom, as the word was meant to feel.

Reaching out to wipe a threatening tear from beneath Conor's eye, he was interrupted by the most beautiful embrace. Volya buried his face against the warmth of his neck and sighed.

"Until the world ends, I am yours."

[beyondedenton]

Conor smiled at the kiss, the acceptance, the situation. He leaned back to look at Volya's drawing again. More detailed, now. Prettier.

"Write your name somewhere. I want your name on me, Volya."

The manner of which Conor expressed his desires was as unique as it was old fashioned. Older, like the first poetry. Blunt, yet not dull and predictable. They were wants, demands, sans a collar and a tugged leash. I want this. I will tell you this want. There is nothing to discuss.

Had he always been this way? Their cultural alignment, so seamless, he hadn't realized how deep these still waters ran.

"A vitas fish mates for life. When our mate dies, we wither and die of heartbreak. It happens slowly. The desire to eat leaves us. Our scales shed. We lose our voice, our venom. We don't wish to exist without our companion. Conor, do you want your name on my thigh?"