The first time Swiss and Dew sleep together without anyone else joining in is far more vulnerable than either of them are ready to admit. Explicit, 1.8k words. Contains a handjob, cumming early and in pants. Some miscommunication that is easily remedied. A little less mushy than intended but the characters yoink the keyboard every now and then.
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
“Well. This is it,” Swiss says, tail flicking in an off beat pattern that Dew knows now means that he’s nervous. He leads Dew into his room in the den, shutting the door behind him.
Dew’s a little taken aback, because just over a year after his summoning, the walls are still bare. Shelves are empty, the bedding’s standard issue, nothing’s been brought in or added. If it weren’t for the nameplate on the door, there’s no sign that this room belongs to Swiss at all.
He does his best to keep his confusion from his expression, a little nervous himself. They’ve fallen in together multiple times on tour, at home. Have made a habit of it, even. But never once has it just been the two of them. Swiss has slept with him and Aether, him and Mountain, even one notable time where they’d warmed their Cardinal’s bed together.
But never once has it been just the two of them, stripped bare like the walls around them. Aether’d been invited in with Cirrus and Mountain, and Swiss had offered company.
Dew clears his throat, watching Swiss shift his weight between his feet. “This is it, huh?”
“Yeah,” Swiss nods. “I- I know it’s not much. At least compared to yours. I just-”
Dew takes a seat on the edge of the bed, watching Swiss ramble. “You planning on making this yours?” he asks, as gently as he can. “I mean. There’s time now, before the Cardinal wants to go on the road again.”
Swiss winces, can’t make eye contact. “I’ve been meaning to. Since we got home. But before- I didn’t see the point. I didn’t know if I was staying.”
Dew nods. “I uh. I think I understand. Do you? Do you know now?”
“Yeah,” Swiss breathes, like it’s hard to say. “I’m still here.”
“Good,” Dew says, a little too curtly.
Swiss sighs and sets his shoulders. He runs a hand through his braids, the charms and jewelry woven into them jingling like the windchimes Mountain has outside his window. “I’m killing the mood,” he mutters, mostly to himself, but still loud enough to hear. “Shit, sorry.”
Dew just shrugs. He doesn’t make eye contact, but pats the bed beside him. Inviting Swiss to his own bed. “I mean. I’m still here. Think it takes more than that to scare me off. I deal with Aether on a regular basis.”
His shoulders drop a little, smile twitching at the corners of his lips. Swiss looks a little more familiar as he takes a breath and sits down next to him. The bed dips, and Dew can feel the heat of him long before they ever come to contact.
“I- I still want this,” Swiss blurts out. He reaches, slow, curious, and tucks a strand of copper hair behind the point of Dew’s ear. His face burns, and he tries so hard to keep the blush from forming.
Instead, he surges up to kiss him, a little too hard, teeth clicking, but thankfully they both melt into it. Swiss is eager, pouring so much enthusiasm into it. His hand cups the side of Dew’s face, the other finding his waist, something almost tender.
Dew tangles his hands in Swiss’s braids instead, throwing himself into it as hard as he can. Nips at Swiss’s bottom lip, savoring the gasp it pulls from him. Deepens the kiss until he can taste the sweet spicy of Swiss’s scent, knows that Swiss can taste campfire smoke and caramelized sugar.
Dew tries to lead them somewhere a little more horizontal, pulling at Swiss’s arms until he gets the hint, laying both of them down on his bed and looming over him.
“You should take the lead,” Dew purrs, panting as they part. There’s a thin strand of spit connecting them until it snaps. “’M the guest here, in your bed. What do you want?”
Swiss’s gold eyes widen a little. “I- uh. I want what you want.”
Well, shit. Dew raises an eyebrow. It’s not the answer he was expecting by any means. But he can work with that.
“Think I want your hands, then,” Dew whispers, his eyes gleaming. All he can smell is chai, and the air spikes with how sweet Swiss’s scent gets. “I’ve seen you, out there. Such a tease. That’s what I want.”
Swiss nods, his braids spilling over his shoulder, blocking out the lamplight like a curtain hiding the two of them from the world. “Can do that. I can do that,” he breathes, ducking back down to kiss him again. He’s more confident by the second, and it’s not long until all of Swiss’s nervousness seems to have melted away, leaving only the ghoul Dew’s seen sharing the stage with him.
His hands roam, and Dew rewards him with a groan, his cock chubbing up in his jeans. “Y’re so warm,” Dew whispers, and Swiss swallows the noise down like it’s the greatest sacrament he’s ever taken. “Nobody else feels so warm anymore.”
“Probably the fire,” Swiss breathes back, his hand sneaking under the hem of Dew’s shirt, just resting on the flat of his sternum. Dew curses the way that he can certainly feel the way his heart races like a rabbit. “My elemental mix’s mostly fire.”
“Makes sense,” Dew hisses, biting his lip as he arches up into the touch. His face burns with how easy Swiss seems to take him apart. He can feel his pulse through his whole body. Dew plants a socked foot on Swiss’s bed, propping his thigh up enough to slot it between Swiss’s, just so he can feel like he’s reciprocating.
Swiss groans, eyes fluttering, and Dew can feel just how hard he is already. It makes him feel a little better about how quickly he’s gotten worked up. He kisses him harder, a hand slipping under Dew’s head to card through the hair at the nape of his neck.
Dew melts into it, arching up into the kiss and the contact. He feels so warm, everything ratcheting up higher and higher as Swiss’s hand skates down his sternum.
“Fuck, your hands,” Dew sighs, pulling Swiss down until he grinds hard against his thigh, trying desperately to even the playing field.
Swiss laughs, bright and golden, and kisses him again. “Haven’t even given you my hands yet,” he rumbles. “Not in the way you asked for.”
“What- What are you waiting for, then?” Dew pants, a little petulantly, but he can’t bring himself to care.
Swiss just grins, almost blinding, and his hand toys with the waistband of his jeans. “Nothing,” he whispers. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want.”
He pops the button, and when Dew pushes his hips up to help Swiss get them off easier, he laughs and presses his hips back down to the bed. Instead, he just shoves his hand into them, under the elastic of his boxers and takes Dew in hand.
Dew yowls as Swiss makes contact, so warm and grip solid around him. They both can feel the way he twitches hard, the way his tip’s already sticky and wet with pre. Swiss’s hand is so big, Dew can feel his little finger brush against the root of him, completely covered.
“Fuck, Dew, so wet,” Swiss groans, too eager to start jerking Dew off. “So fucking hot.”
He can see the bulge in his pants moving, unable to see his hand actually doing the work, and his head spins, lolling back into Swiss’s covers. He tangles a hand into Swiss’s braids, the other clutching at the sheets so hard he fears he might rip them.
It feels good. Too good. So much so fast and Dew wants more. Swiss doesn’t start slow, smearing Dew’s own pre to ease the glide.
“Holy- Lucifer-” Dew chokes out, struggling to draw a full breath under the onslaught.
“That’s it,” Swiss groans, nosing into Dew’s hair even as he watches his own hand move in Dew’s pants. “Looks like it feels good. Am I making you feel good?”
And something about that makes Dew’s stomach flip in a way that is worryingly familiar. His toes curl and he nods, hair falling into his face. Swiss grins and kisses him harder.
Dew keens and whines, the heat of Swiss’s body next to him so warm it’s overwhelming, all of his senses dialed up to eleven as Swiss doesn’t falter. It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s going to make him blow embarrassingly early and there’s nothing he can do about it-
“Oh no-” Dew gasps, his balls drawing up tight to his body. His cock kicks in Swiss’s hand as he spills, hot and sticky and darkening a steadily growing patch on the front of his pants.
His face burns as it crashes over him, eyes rolling back as he scrabbles at the sheets. Through the haze, he can hear something like bells. Laughter.
Swiss’s laughter.
When he drops back into his body, dick starting to go soft in his hand, Dew turns and shoves at Swiss’s shoulder. “Don’t fucking laugh at me,” he hisses, so warm he’s afraid he’s going to set the bedding on fire.
Swiss is bigger than him, didn’t just cum his brains out from half a handjob, and Dew’s pushing doesn’t do anything. His eyes are wide, darting back and forth, ears pinned back as Dew shoves his face in his chest.
“I didn’t- That’s not-” Swiss whispers, drawing back into himself. His hand shakes. Dew can feel the way his heart races like a trapped bird behind his ribs.
“Then what the fuck’s your problem?” Dew rumbles, about three seconds from fleeing, regardless of the massive wet spot in his pants.
“Was just happy,” Swiss breathes. “I was just happy I could make you feel good.”
Dew freezes, some confusing mess of emotions hitting him that he cannot even begin to parse.
“I- I can make it up to you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he says, scent getting a little bitter, burnt coffee seeping into it.
Dew pulls back from his chest and stares, trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with both of them. Why their gravity has pulled them into this misaligned orbit. “Make it up to me?” Dew parrots.
“Yeah,” Swiss whispers. “I can make it up to you. Would get my mouth on you once you’re not so sensitive?”
Dew blinks. He’s had Swiss’s mouth before, in their various trysts with their packmates. He’d be a damn fool to say no. So he nods, and Swiss perks up at what must be the thought of some sort of redemption.
“I’ll treat you so good, I promise,” Swiss whispers, grinning boyishly and eager as he helps Dew yank his pants off. He dives between Dew’s legs to clean up his mess.
Dew tangles his hands in Swiss’s braids and holds on for dear life.
Copia and Aeon spend an afternoon playing games with each other. No warnings, 450 words.
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
Copia’s lost track of time when he hears a knock on the doorframe to his room. He startles hard, his video game controller clattering to the ground as it slips from his hands. “Cazzo-” he hisses, fumbling for it, before straightening up to see who’s come calling.
He finds an equally startled quint ghoul, Aeon’s mismatched eyes wide and bright. They’re clutching their own console, tail flicking behind them and ears pinned back. “Hi, Cee,” they say tentatively. “Didn’t- didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Eh, I wasn’t scared,” Copia lies, knowing his face is red enough to give him away. “How can I help you, pipistrello?”
Aeon smiles, relaxing a little. They take a single step into Copia’s room before second guessing themself. “Was wondering if I might be able to sit with you?” They ask, chittering softly. “I’ve got my own game, I can turn the volume down, I won’t be a bother.”
Copia waves them over, smiling far more fondly before patting the edge of the bed next to him. “You’re never a bother, Aeon,” he says. “Not to me. Come, sit, sit.”
All remaining tension drains from them, and Aeon rushes to join him. But instead of taking the proffered seat at Copia’s side, Aeon plops down crosslegged at Copia’s feet. They chuff and rumble, rubbing their cheek against his knee, and hand his controller back up to him.
“Oh, thank you, caro,” Copia hums, smoothing a hand through their hair, grinning as it makes them chirp. “Is that comfortable enough?”
They stretch, leaning back against Copia’s shins. “It’s perfect, Cee,” they grin. Their tail taps against the floor, and they boot up their switch, something bright and colorful filling the screen. “Is my volume too loud?”
Copia peers over Aeon’s shoulder, watching little avatars walk around a bright island. “No, you’re alright,” he hums. “Is that me?”
Aeon cranes their neck to beam up at him. “Yeah, it is. Took ages to get the paint just right with the controller. Only the best for my Papa.”
“That’s very sweet,” he laughs. “You are what, playing with us like dolls?”
They shrug, still grinning. “More or less. You and Aether are crushing on each other, and Dew’s jealous. Cumulus and Rory are best friends, and me and Rain are getting to know each other. Still working on getting more space for the rest of everyone, but I plan on making the entire pack.”
“Sounds very fun, caro,” Copia says. He watches them play for a little while, leaving his own game paused. “You tell me if you are uncomfortable or my game is too loud, alright?”
“You’ll be the first to know, Cee, I promise,” Aeon hums, not looking up from their game. “Just like spending time with you.”
“Me as well, Aeon. Me as well,” Copia breathes. He picks up his controller and unpauses the game, happy to just sit and coexist with his ghoul.
what about day 25 + hockey au + the first time swiss and dew get drunk together 👀
Mushy May Day 25: Drunken Affection
Dew finds a familiar face in a local bar. No warnings, a bit of a bittersweet ending though we all know how hockey au winds up anyways, 1.7k words.
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
The bar’s loud, and Dew rolls his shoulders before stepping inside. There are probably fifteen different screens, each one showing a different game, different sport, different teams. The bar’s full, people talking with each other and drinking, glasses clinking against each other, the scrape of ice behind the bar.
He sighs, finding the one empty stool and ordering a beer. Dew does everything he can to avoid the tv directly across from him, airing playoff hockey. It’s a little bit of a sore spot, something bitter to swallow, no matter how long he’s been doing this professionally. The Ghouls’ season had ended before they could even earn a playoff spot, a slew of injuries and an unlucky streak affecting their overall performance.
Though, Dew supposes, sipping his beer, that just means more time to rest before the next season picked up. More time to work, to push, to get better as well. But for now, he enjoys the sound of people around him, an ice cold beer in his hand to nurse.
When he finishes his drink, the bartender sets another bottle down as she takes the empty one away. Dew’s brow furrows, staring at the label.
“I didn’t?” He says, confused. “Didn’t order another.”
She cracks a smile. “Gentleman down the bar put it on his tab.”
Dew nods curtly, and she moves down to serve another customer who’s flagging her down. He turns the bottle over in his hand, watching a bead of condensation or ice water roll down the neck before looking up.
All of the people seated around him are strangers. Dew scans over them as nonchalantly as he can, not to come off like he’s staring. Someone might have recognized him. It happens, living in the same city as the team he plays for. They might have, and bought him the same beer he’d been drinking.
He keeps looking, just in case, and then he meets someone’s gaze. Someone familiar. A pair of eyes he last saw through plexiglass during the last regular season. Dew’s stomach flips wildly.
Dew’d blame it on his drink, but he’s only had one beer, and it’s been years since he was such a lightweight that a single bottle of beer would make him see things. Still, he blinks, but the man across the bar is still there. He lifts his own bottle in acknowledgment before taking a long drink.
His mind races, trying to come up with a reason as to why Swiss Truppe is in his city, his neighborhood, without the pretense of hockey. The Popestars were out of the playoffs in the second round, his season’s over too.
But he can’t help himself but stare. He didn’t know Swiss wore jewelry, a pair of earrings and a few cuffs in his braids that catch the light. It makes sense, having only seen the man in an ice rink for the last few years, where such things could be a liability on the ice. Dew’s only ever seen him in a uniform, be it his Popestar jersey and gear or the suit he wears coming into rinks, or without clothes at all. It’s a little jarring to see him in regular, normal clothes, a baseball tee and jeans, but Dew doesn’t mind.
They stare at each other, the noise of the patrons around them different enough from the sound of the crowd.
Dew doesn’t know how long he goes without blinking. Then the man sitting next to Swiss pays his tab, laughing to his friends, and gets up and leaves. Swiss glances away, just long enough to register what’s happened, before turning back to Dew and raising an eyebrow.
He tries to tell himself he shouldn’t. That he should keep it, whatever this is, at the rink, in locker rooms. Strictly business, even if the business itself is more for pleasure.
Instead, Dew takes a swig of the beer Swiss had bought him, stands up, and marches around the bar to sit at the newly vacated stool.
“Thanks for the beer,” he murmurs just loud enough to be heard, nudging his shoulder against Swiss’s. “What the fuck are you doing here, Truppe? Thought you were halfway across the country.”
Swiss laughs, something that rumbles through him. He’s had a few already. Loosened up and a little giddy. “I, well. I went to college out this way. Was meeting up with some friends.”
Dew looks around, not exactly convinced. Swiss hadn’t been talking to anyone sitting around him. “And you’re at a bar alone?”
Swiss just shrugs, easy. “We had dinner here. They had work in the morning, and I just wanted another beer before I went back to my hotel.” He sighs, taking a long drink of his own. “I- uh. My plane home’s in the morning. I wanted to see- never mind.”
Dew doesn’t fully believe his excuse, but he’s not going to look a gift beer in the mouth. “Well, uh, I think it’s good to see you, Swiss.”
“You too, Dewdrop,” Swiss says. Out of the corner of his eye, Dew watches Swiss’s shoulders drop, like a weight’s been lifted from them. “I- uh. The last game.”
Dew bristles a little. “What about it?” He remembers Swiss making his shots and how he hadn’t made his own. Remembers fighting for real, not fighting to set something up, and how Swiss had made eyes at him through the plexiglass of the penalty box.
“You- ah. I thought we were going to have a meeting,” Swiss says, swallowing hard, watching his words with other people around. “Thought we’d set up a debrief. So to speak. And- uh- Well. You weren’t there.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Dew hums, gripping the bottle in his hand so tight his knuckles ache a little. “Took care of my business and went home. You’d just knocked us out of the playoffs.”
“Ah,” Swiss says eloquently, staring at nothing like he’d just put the pieces together. “I thought- I don’t- Shit. I just. I didn’t want that to be the last time I saw you for the season.”
Dew turns, fully, to face him. Stares openly as his brain tries to comprehend what he just heard. “You didn’t- you didn’t what?”
Swiss sighs, finishes his beer. He sets the bottle down onto the bartop with a clink before running a hand through his hair. His face is warm, cheeks flushed, and Dew can’t tell if it’s how much he’s drank or embarrassment or something else. “You’re- all things considered. You’re a good guy, Dew. I just- I think I was worried.”
“Oh,” Dew whispers. He doesn’t know if Swiss can even hear it. “I- uh- yeah.”
“Yeah,” Swiss agrees. “I just. It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too, Swiss,” Dew hums. He finds that he means it. “What time’s your plane?”
“Eight,” Swiss groans, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m absolutely going to regret booking the early flight. And there’s a layover. Your airport here’s so small, dude.”
“Damn,” Dew laughs, knocking his shoulder against Swiss’s. “Have fun with that one.”
“Fuck you, man,” Swiss laughs with him. “I will, for sure. Should- ah. Should probably go back to the hotel soon. No need to make it any worse.”
For some reason, that makes something twist in Dew’s chest. “Probably a good idea, Truppe,” he hums. “Where you staying?”
“Uh, um, fuck,” Swiss hisses, trying to come up with the name of the hotel but coming up blank. “Here.” He pulls his wallet from his pocket, showing Dew the keycard.
He grins. “That’s actually on my way home from here. I can- uh. I can walk you back, if you’d like.”
Swiss grins and it’s brighter than any of the lights or screens in this place. “That would be fantastic, Dew. Such a gentleman, for once.”
“Hey!” Dew sputters as Swiss pays his tab.
“What?” he laughs as the two of them head out. The air’s cooling off, the summer heat dissipating as the breeze from off of the lake picks up. It’s refreshing after the heat of the bar, of people packed in together and the alcohol warming their veins.
“Nothing,” Dew shakes his head, taking his hair down and tying it back up. “Absolutely nothing, Swiss.”
They share a quiet walk back to Swiss’s hotel, and Dew tries hard to think about how it’s the first time they’ve ever really been civil with each other. Shoulder to shoulder, walking together like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Well, maybe not physically. Swiss’s had a bit more to drink than Dew has, but they’re punchdrunk and giddy and nothing else in the world matters.
It’s not long before they find themselves in front of the hotel, and the smile melts from Swiss’s face. “Well, this is me,” he sighs. “It was good seeing you, Dew.”
“You too, Swiss,” Dew says. “Have a good night.”
“Yeah, you too.” Swiss grabs Dew’s shoulder, gently, nothing like the way he’d get grabbed on the ice. “Hope you have a good off season.”
Dew nods. “Better luck next year.”
And before either of them can part, Swiss ducks down and kisses him.
Dew balks for just a moment before letting it happen. Before kissing back. It’s the chastest thing they’ve ever done, and just the thought of comparing it to what happens in their locker room showers makes Dew’s head spin.
He wants more. He won’t say it out loud.
When they part, Swiss’s eyes go wide, face flushed, and Dew knows he’s faring no better. “Fuck, I-” he stutters, feeling far dizzier than the beers he’s had.
“I’m sorry- I didn’t-” Swiss says, just as flustered. “I should probably go. I’m sorry-”
Swiss relaxes, but only a little. “Thank you, Dew. Really. Fuck.”
“Of course,” Dew breathes. “Have a good night?”
He takes a deep breath too, and nods. “Have a good night, Dew.”
Swiss disappears into the hotel, and Dew stands outside and stares for just a bit too long before heading on his way home. It’s not far, and the world is a little too quiet, something heavy on his chest he can’t get off.
Alone in his apartment, Dew shouts into a pillow. He knows they’re not going to talk about this when hockey comes back, when they see each other next. Whenever that may be.
Copia and Dew share a quiet post-Ritual night together. No warnings, 650 words.
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
Copia flips the light switch, the hotel room they’re staying in awash in golden light from the bedside lamps. “Fuck,” he groans, dropping his bag with a thud. His whole body hurts, a long night on the stage after three days of consecutive Rituals.
He goes to crash into the bed without bothering to take off any of his clothes before someone clears their throat behind him.
Dew looks just as exhausted, hair sweaty and tied in a braid that’s falling apart. “Paint,” he says, setting his own bag down. “You’re gonna make a mess if you go to bed like that, Cee.”
Copia sighs, reaching up to rub his eyes before stopping himself from doing that too. “Cazzo,” he hisses. “I am ready for this to be over, lucciola. I miss my bed.”
Dew smiles, the tiny little crook of his lips that Copia knows means a much wider smile than he intends to show. “Shit, me too,” he nods, unzipping his bag and rummaging through it. “But this will do for now.”
Copia watches his ghoul move, the same purposeful stride that he keeps on stage, in the public eye. The exhaustion’s starting to show through, Dew starting to unmask before he gets ready for bed.
But instead of any of his own toiletries, Dew whistles happily, pulling back from his bag with a packet of makeup wipes. His gaze softens, meeting mismatched eyes without hesitation. “May I, Papa?”
Copia’s heart kicks in his chest, nodding as a swell of fondness rushes over him like a wave. “I’d be honored, lucciola.”
Dew trills, directing Copia to sit down at the edge of one of the beds. “I’ll make it quick,” he promises. “Know we both wanna sleep.”
“Mhm,” Copia agrees. Dew stands between his knees, haloed by the lamplight, and if Copia didn’t know better, he’d say his ghoul looked angelic like this. Mussed up, in disarray. Perfect. “Thank you, caro.”
“Haven’t even started yet,” Dew chuckles, taking a wipe and setting the package aside. “But of course.”
Dew takes Copia’s chin in a warm hand, fingers so gentle as he tips Copia’s head back enough so he can work.
Copia tenses before he even makes contact, expecting the wipe to be like ice on his overheated skin. But instead, Dew’s natural temperature’s warmed the wipe enough to be comfortable, and he can’t help himself but lean into Dew’s hand as he works.
“Still,” Dew tries to admonish, but there’s no denying how he smiles. “Don’t want to get makeup remover in your eyes.”
Copia sighs and listens, holding as still as he can. He’s distracted well enough by the ghoul in front of him, as devoted at this as he is his guitar. Copia’s reminded of the look on Dew’s face when he’s knelt in the chapel at home. He tries hard not to think too much into that, instead just letting himself love his ghoul back.
Bit by bit, Dew removes all the paint from his skin, wiping away Papa and leaving just Copia behind. Weight lifts from Copia’s shoulders just from the thought. Dew throws away the wipe, and Copia gently grabs his wrist.
“Thank you, caro,” he hums, soft and a little too smitten. “Truly.”
Dew smiles back, leaning down to bump his forehead against Copia’s. He smells like pyro smoke and sweat, familiar enough to not be unpleasant. “Always, Cee.”
“May I return the favor, Dew?” he asks, reaching up with his other hand to curl the end of Dew’s braid around his finger. “See what kind of shower this place has, let me wash your hair for you?”
Dew chitters, lighting up at the prospect. “Fuck, yes. Sounds like a plan.”
Copia grins, standing up with a groan and leading his ghoul to the shower to pamper him in return.
Aurora and Dew spend an afternoon calling each other names. No warnings, 500 words
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
The lake water is cool against Dew’s feet, skimming through the surface as he sits at the end of the dock. There’s a beer in his hand, half finished. The wooden planks creak as someone pads towards him, sitting down crosslegged at his side.
Dew doesn’t even have to look to know who’s come to keep him company. “Rory,” he hums, trilling a little.
“Dewdrop,” she trills back, leaning back to bask in the sun. “It’s so nice out.”
“It really is,” he agrees, shutting his eyes as he lets the sun’s fire warm him, his magic settling and content with both of his elements. “You looking for anything in particular, ladybug?”
Aurora shrugs, her gills fluttering as she takes a long, slow breath, relaxing next to him. “Just to spend time with you. It’s a beautiful day. The lake’s calling. Surprised Rain’s not out with you.”
Dew laughs, taking another drink. “He’s somewhere in the deep. We’re probably not seeing him until tomorrow.”
“Rain? Absolutely not. At the very least,” she chuckles. Her eyes glint and flash like labradorite in the sun, dimples in her cheeks as she smiles wide.
Dew cracks a smile, leaning in to nudge his temple against hers without a word. She nudges back, and the two of them settle into a comfortable silence. It’s only broken by the lake lapping gently at its shores, at the sounds of junebugs singing, a breeze through the leaves on the trees across the way, birdsong chittering. It’s a fine way to spend an afternoon.
He finishes his beer, setting the bottle aside on the dock to take inside later. Dew watches the water, entranced with the way the light glitters and refracts on the surface. But there’s motion that draws his eyes away to a shaded little part of the shadows, darting through reeds and plants. He cocks his head, taking it in, and grinning when he realizes what he’s seeing.
“Rory,” he whispers, nudging her shoulder. “Aurora.”
“Hm?” She chirps, blinking slowly as she comes back to herself, having nodded off in the warmth. “Yeah?”
“Look,” he points, grinning slyly as he shows her a half grown tadpole, awkward and almost alien looking, swimming through the shallows. “It’s you as a kit.”
Aurora gasps, hand thrown to her chest as if she’s clutching pearls. “Dewdrop! Rude!” she admonishes, even though she’s grinning like a fiend. After all, Dew’s right. It’s not too far off from how most water kits look when they’re small. He’d know better than most.
She turns, hair whipping over her shoulder as she looks for- something- anything- “And that’s you!” She crows, pointing at a tiny lizard sunning itself on one of the rocks, bobbing its head in time to a rhythm that only it knows. “You cranky old reptile!”
Dew cackles, loud enough that the lizard startles and scurries off into the grass. “What, tadpole?”
She squawks, mock outrage on her face. “I am not a tadpole!
“Not anymore,” he grins. “You used to be.”
“Maybe so,” she hums. “Maybe so. But so did you. Buggy eyed little freak.”
“Damn right I was,” Dew grins, slinging an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close.
Please consider Day 21 with the ghirls and canonically-honorary-ghirl Aeon
Mushy May Day 21: Late Night Conversations
Aeon and the ghoulettes have a discussion about hair over glasses of wine. No warnings, 550 words.
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
Aurora’s got her head in Aeon’s lap, comfortable and warm in Cumulus’s nest. She watches, her view sideways, as the ghoulette in question gets up to refill her glass of wine. She’s not certain what time it is, head a little cotton fuzzy after a glass or two of her own.
She can feel it in the heat in her cheeks, the way her tail moves sluggishly against the covers. Aurora reaches up to toy at one of Aeon’s rings.
“Should grow your hair out,” she suggests. “All curly an’ wavy and pretty.”
“Yeah?” they ask, weaving a thin little braid into Aurora’s hair.
“Princess’s got a point,” Cirrus supplies, lounged out next to them, fingers tapping mindlessly along to the record that’s spinning on the dresser. If she strains, Aurora can make out the shape of the chords she’s playing. “Or you could dye it.”
She reaches forward, curling the white strand between Aeon’s horns around a long, lithe finger. It tugs just enough for Aeon to squeak, going an even darker violet.
“Yeah, that would be fun,” Sunny agrees, her curly hair falling out from its ponytail, pillowcreases still on her rosy cheek from where she’d been sleeping on and off at Cirrus’s side. “Go bright red, look like an emo from 2005.”
Aeon turns to face her, brows furrowed tight. Aurora squeaks as they jostle her in their lap. “You weren’t Up Top in 2005, what are you even talking about?”
“Neither were you, little shadow,” Sunny laughs, the gap in her front teeth obvious as she throws her head back with it. “There’s this magical thing called the internet, bug. You should learn about it.”
“I know about the internet!” Aeon sputters, the mattress dipping next to them as Cumulus comes back to bed, her glass full of something sweet and fruity that Mountain had picked out for her to share at girl’s night.
“Purple might be fun though,” she suggests, turning their face to her with a gentle hand, distracting them from bickering with Sunny, who makes a face once they’re not looking. “You’d look a little more like you when you’re in glamour. If that makes any sense. It’s still you like that. Just, a little more real.”
Aeon nods, leaning into her palm like a cat receiving chin scritches. “That might be fun,” they hum, smiling as Sunny makes a disgruntled noise.
“How about next girl’s night you get invited to, we play a little salon,” Cumulus suggests, laughing at how boneless Aeon goes for a little touch.
“Ooh, fun,” Sunny perks up. Aurora laughs, tying off the braid Aeon put in her hair with a little elastic.
“Put some music on, I could probably redo my side,” Cirrus hums, running a hand over where her undercut’s starting to grow out. “It would be a good time, I think.”
“Then it’s a date,” Aurora chirps. “Do you think Cee will lend us his card to use? For dye?”
Cirrus raises an eyebrow. “Borealis, you know he’d spoil you rotten if you bat your eyelashes at him.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Aurora smiles, eyes squinting smugly. She rubs her hands together as the five of them start to plot.
Aeon enjoys a quinted strap with their partner, and Swiss treats them so well for it. Contains a handjob and mild quintessence usage, 1.4k words.
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
Swiss’s chest behind them is solid. Warm. Aeon leans back against it, head tipping back so black and white hair can spill over his shoulder. They swear they can feel his pulse.
He’s so close that all Aeon can smell is cinnamon, black tea rich in their nose. Can feel the rumble of his voice more than they can hear it.
“That’s it, sweetheart, get comfortable,” Swiss hums, helping Aeon adjust until their thighs hook over the outside of his, both of them sitting on the edge of their bed.
Aeon nods, takes a deep breath. The warmth of Swiss’s fire cuts through the chill of the rest of the room. They’re completely bare with the slightest exception, though the lavender leather harness slung around Aeon’s hips does next to nothing in means of keeping them warm.
At least physically warm. Looking down to see the strap secured through the o-ring between their legs does funny things to Aeon’s body temperature. It's the exact shade of their skin, skinny and not too long, and it really looks like it belongs there. Euphoria and anticipation and glee mixing in their veins until the heat of the room is the last thing on their mind.
There’s lips on Aeon’s temple, and a soft crackle of ozone filters between the two of them. Swiss’s quintessence warms their blood even further, nerve endings flickering to life, connections forming.
“Fuck,” Aeon sighs, melting a little more with the magic. They flex their fingers, reaching to knead at the covers.
“Yeah, bug?” Swiss rumbles, nosing into their hair. “Feeling good already? Haven’t even gotten my hand on you yet.”
Aeon nods, eyes fluttering shut as their stomach swoops. “You always make me feel good. Like feeling you. Your magic.”
“And it’s always a treat to give it to you,” he whispers. “Like making my buggy feel good.”
He wraps an arm slowly around Aeon’s narrow chest, his hand pressed right over their heart as he holds them to him. Aeon goes without hesitation, letting Swiss manipulate them in his lap. He spreads his thighs a little more, opening Aeon’s legs even more.
Aeon opens their eyes, swallowing audibly as they take in the sight. Swiss’s other hand sliding down the softness of their stomach, carding through a sparse happy trail before toying with the edge of the harness. Their arousal sparks, his hand so close to where they want him more than anything. “Swiss,” Aeon breathes, trying to push their hips up into his hand, but finding no leverage.
“So pretty,” Swiss hums against Aeon’s temple. “Handsome. You picked out a lovely cock, bug. Fits you just right. It’s yours.”
“Thanks,” Aeon breathes, head spinning already and they haven’t even been touched yet. “Oh fuck-”
Swiss chuckles as he runs a fingertip along the length of it, drawing a slow circle over the tip. With the quintessence, it feels like the silicone is really part of their body. Aeon’s nerves react as such, back arching a little, trying to get more pressure, more touch, more anything.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he promises, tapping the thumb of his other hand over Aeon’s chest, holding them secure and steady. “I’ve got you. Won’t leave you hanging.”
“I know you won’t,” Aeon nods, gnawing at their bottom lip as they try to take a few deep breaths.
“Good,” Swiss says, and then both of his hands are gone. But before Aeon can whine and turn to face him, they hear the click of Swiss opening the bottle of lube they keep on their nightstand, and then pouring it in his palm.
Aeon melts right back into the perfect headspace he’d made them, light and euphoric and so excited they swear they’re buzzing in his lap.
Swiss’s hand comes back to settle right over their sternum, and that touch is enough to keep them anchored to the world around them. They rest their head back on Swiss’s shoulder, just breathing him in.
“Love you,” they whisper. “Thank you.”
“Anything,” Swiss says, ducking to kiss over the racing line of their pulse. “I promise. Love you too.”
Aeon chuffs happily, shuddering at the scrape of his stubble against their jaw. Their tail flicks, nudging against Swiss’s. And then Swiss’s other arm snakes around Aeon’s hip, and there’s a warm, big hand wrapped around them, and all Aeon can do is moan, buzzing through their chest.
Swiss chuckles, stroking Aeon root to tip slow and steady. “That’s it, handsome. Sing so pretty for me,” he murmurs, hooking his chin over their shoulder to watch as he works.
“Fuck, Swiss,” they keen, toes curling as their nerves react as if they’ve been struck by lightning. Aeon realizes that Swiss hadn’t done anything to warm the lube up except the natural warmth of his fire, and for some reason, that makes their hips buck up into his grip.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he coos, “Gonna take good care of you. My good boy.”
Aeon shudders all the way down through their tail, just melting into Swiss’s lap. They reach up to hold onto his arm, the one slung across their chest almost like a seatbelt, just needing to touch and feel their partner. “Mhm. Yours,” they whisper, bottom lip pinned between their teeth.
“Just feel for me,” Swiss hums, a low rumble in his chest. They can feel how hard he is, especially with how much they’ve squirmed since Swiss got his hand on their cock, but he makes no move to seek out any relief of his own.
Aeon nods, turning just slightly to nose at Swiss’s jaw, just to breathe him in as he touches them.
“Good boy,” he says, and the slide of his hand is almost overly slick, grip tight and warm and melting every thought out of Aeon’s head. It’s perfect. All they can do is moan and pant as Swiss keeps an even pace, twisting his wrist at the tip of the strap.
“Fuck, shit, that’s good,” they slur, struggling to keep their eyes open. But fuck, the sight’s so good, their own cock between their legs, the quintessenced sensation perfectly matching the visuals. It’s almost enough to make them cum, just from the sight alone.
Swiss laughs, and it sounds like the bells above the chapel. His hand speeds up, the slick sounds going straight to Aeon’s dick and making their toes curl, back arching so hard it hurts. He pulls them back to his chest, holding them steady so he can keep working them over.
“Just feel good, baby, look at you, such a good boy for me, you deserve this,” Swiss whispers, a stream of praise and filth that cuts through the clouds that Aeon’s floating through. “Deserve to feel good, deserve to enjoy your body like this, that’s it, I’ve got you, handsome.”
Aeon nods weakly, hips twitching up into Swiss’s hand, but this time he allows it, lets them chase the pleasure he’s giving in spades. “Fuck- Swiss- Please-”
“I know, baby,” he purrs, “That’s it, look at you. So handsome falling apart for me. Will you show me, buggy? I want to see you. Please, sweetheart?”
Aeon nods, feeling the tension in their gut crank tighter and tighter. “Uh-huh-” they gasp, struggling to keep their eyes open so they can watch his hand on their cock. “Fuck, I’m gonna- Please don’t stop-”
“Never-” Swiss growls, nipping at Aeon’s pulse. His hand moves almost in a blur, intent on pushing Aeon closer and closer. “Show me. Cum f’r me, let me see you.”
The little zing of pain from Swiss’s teeth is enough for the tension to snap. Aeon cums with a cry, hips bucking as their cunt squeezes around nothing, eyes rolling back in their head. Swiss keeps his hand moving, driving Aeon higher and higher, pleasure so sharp it almost burns.
“That’s it, that’s it. Good boy, such a good fucking boy, cumming for me,” Swiss rambles. “There you go.”
Eventually, Aeon’s not sure how long they float, they come back down, still held fast in Swiss’s lap. He presses kisses to their cheek, temple, the line of their jaw. “Fuck,” they laugh, turning to nuzzle against his throat.
“There’s my bug,” Swiss says. They can feel his smile against their skin.
“Thank you,” they whisper, voice rough.
“Don’t have to thank me,” he whispers back, kissing their forehead. “Love you.”
“Love you too.” Aeon turns in his lap to kiss him properly, and they both smile into it, happy to share this feeling with each other.
Hi Dot! For mushy may requests, how about #18 with Dewther? So excited for your mushy may entries this year!!!
Mushy May Day 18: Unexpected Confessions
Aether and Dew share a late night moment together. No warnings, 750 words.
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
It’s dark, and quiet, and Aether is comfortable and warm. He stares up at the ceiling, moonlight filtering through the curtains that weren’t entirely shut before he went to bed.
In his arms, Dew shifts, nosing closer into his chest. Aether takes a deep breath, the campfire smoke scent getting more and more familiar with every passing day.
Sleep’s been difficult, the longest year of Aether’s life finally over, as everything he knew got turned over on its head, but Dew’s still here. He’s still got Dew, and Dew’s still got him and Mountain. Things are steady, ground stable under their feet once again.
But it’s not a malicious reason he’s woken up long before dawn. No unpleasant dreams, neither of his own nor Dew’s. He’s not uncomfortable, not too hot or looking for a blanket that’s been torn away when his mate rolled away in the night. The pillow’s just right under his head, he can feel the rise and fall of Dew’s breath, he should be fast asleep.
He finds himself awake anyways.
Aether gently tucks a strand of copper hair behind the point of Dew’s ear, tracing the ridge of cartilage soft enough not to disturb him. Dew deserves all the sleep he can get, as much rest as he can get his hands on.
“Love you,” he whispers, a low rumble in his chest more than sound itself. He says it because he can’t not say it, staring at this ghoul who helped him to his feet when he was summoned. The first one he ever saw when he came to this new and different world. His foundation, his rock.
Dew shfits, mumbling something incoherent. Aether freezes. Waits for him to wake up or settle back to sleep.
His heart sinks a little as a bright eye flicks open, staring up at him. “Wha’ time is it?” Dew murmurs, cheek squished against Aether’s chest.
“Too early, love, ‘m sorry,” Aether whispers, petting through Dew’s hair a little more openly now that he’s awake, trying to apologize. Soft with sleep and sweet like this.
“Dreamin’? You okay?” Dew props his head up, bleary eyes scanning over Aether’s face, looking for fear or distress. He finds none, just the slightly dopey look Aether always wears when he’s with him.
“Fine, darling,” he assures. “Didn’t mean to wake you. Forgive me.”
“Glad you’re okay,” Dew whispers. He settles back down slowly, almost cat like in the way he makes himself comfortable, pressed into Aether’s side.
“Glad you’re okay, love,” Aether says. They both know he doesn’t just mean this moment.
“I’ve got you. Of course I’m okay,” Dew says simply, like he’s stating that the sky is blue Up Top. Aether pulls Dew a little closer, kisses the space right between his horns.
“Love you, Dew,” he whispers. He doesn’t expect an answer back, knows his mate is far more comfortable using action rather than words, reacts just the same as if he said it back when he wraps his tail around Aether’s ankle instead.
They fall into a slow silence, halfway between sleep and awake, and Aether settles back into bed, waiting for sleep to take him. All he can hear is Dew’s breathing, the tick of a clock out in the hall, shifting of blankets as they get comfortable. And then-
“I think He made me for you,” Dew whispers. Soft, and a little hesitant, but sure. “He made me for this.”
“Yeah?” Aether whispers, hauling Dew closer. Holding him close, keeping him safe.
“I really think so. I- I mean. Serving the Project is great and all. But I think this is what I was meant for,” Dew rambles, eyes clear and bright. Alive.
Aether swallows hard, vision suddenly blurry and wet. “You know what, Dewdrop?” he breathes as steadily as he can. “I think I was made for you too. And if I wasn’t? I would’ve reshaped myself for you anyways.”
Dew’s breath hitches. “Think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, bastard,” he rumbles, a small fist raised up to scrub at his eyes.
“Then I better start saying sweeter things,” Aether chuckles, mirroring Dew and wiping his own eyes.
“You promise?”
“Oh, it’s on, love,” Aether promises. “In the morning. I love you.”
Dew nods, kissing his bitemark on Aether’s throat. “In the morning. Good night, Aeth.”
“Night, Dew,” Aether whispers, hooking his chin over Dew’s head and letting that familiar presence in his arms lull him back to a dreamless sleep.
