Daud had settled in the armchair by the recessed window, half of what Corvo had brought up from the kitchens on the small end table nearby and the rest gone with him to be eaten as he bathed. Through the summer, the sun rose early enough that Daud could sit in this chair and get in an hour or so of reading before the morning truly started; now he sprawled there naked with a towel under his damp ass, feet propped up on the low windowsill, popping a sweetmeat into his mouth while he watched the noon cloud cover burn away.
He couldn't remember the last time he had indulged like this. Possibly never. Even for a Fugue, he might not have allowed this level of idle luxury if Corvo hadn't been there to encourage it.
Chin propped up in his hand, he surveyed the kitchen tray. Someone had thought to present it like a Serkonan medley—many small bowls to dip into—but rather than flatbread and stewed meats there were fresh vegetables cut into sticks and three types of sauce, then square colored crackers, and finally a dish of cubed and glazed meat with thin metal forks to spear it up. Daud picked out three carrot sticks and cracked them between his teeth plain before trying out the dips.
It took a little while, but Corvo finally came back out of the bathroom, fruit bowl under his arm; he left it at the foot of the small table and sat on the floor with a bunch of grapes in hand. The fragile, rubbed-thin expression from before was gone; either seeing his sister again hadn't troubled him as much as it had seemed, or he was taking it well, finding peace in it. Good. Daud reached down to scratch fingers through the hair at Corvo's nape; it was damp, though the rest of it was dry. He must have tied it back to keep it out of the way.
Corvo glanced up, and even as he bit through thin green skin to sweet juice his mouth curved with a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He stood; picked Daud's feet up from the sill and set them down; then sat, graceless, between Daud's legs, his back against Daud's thigh. He offered up a grape.
Daud took a bite of the apple he'd picked out of the bowl. “Eat it yourself.”
The first grape that Daud refused, Corvo split with the edge of his nail and spread open to tongue out the seeds, maintaining pointed eye contact. Daud raised an eyebrow at him, and he noisily sucked the flesh from the skin, which he discarded on the edge of the tray. Daud grimaced. Disgusting.
The second grape Daud refused, Corvo threw at his face.
He jerked back, narrowly avoiding it, the apple flying from his hand in the process, and smacked Corvo upside the head.
“I was aiming for your big mouth,” Corvo said, laughing, and plucked up another grape, offering this one too. Daud glared at him, narrow-eyed—then, with ill grace, bent down to accept it, Corvo holding it up for Daud to close his teeth on it and pull back. The skin broke, bitter, leaking juice; he chewed and swallowed. Corvo held out another, and Daud huffed but bent down again.
This time, Corvo didn't let him pull away, catching the back of Daud's neck, fingers pushing the grape past his teeth, slipping in, touching the wet inside of his mouth—Daud bit his fingers and he yanked his hand away, laughing again.
“That's enough,” Daud said once he'd finished the grape, having seen Corvo not-so-discreetly pick a new one from the bunch; he popped it into his own mouth instead, unbothered, and resettled, bending back his neck to rest his head on Daud's thigh.
“You feed me, then,” he said, opening his mouth to show off the grape before eating it. Daud observed him a moment: the wicked curl to his smile, the damp shine of his skin in the hollow of his throat where he hadn't toweled himself entirely dry. Grape finished, Corvo stuck his tongue out again.
It made him look ridiculous, but there was a curious little twist of something tightening in Daud's chest, winding down into his gut. He leaned over, dipped his thumb in the bowl of cream and herb sauce then, under Corvo's interested eye, put it to the man's tongue, the rest of his hand catching under his chin. Corvo wrapped his lips around it and sucked, trying, with some success, to look sultry; his tongue flexed, wet and sliding, and Daud pinned it down harder, pressed little circles into it.
Corvo blinked up at him; Daud held his gaze as he started pushing, gradual, the rest of his thumb into Corvo's mouth.
His second knuckle hit teeth and Corvo let out a thin noise, tongue rippling as he swallowed—but when Daud glanced up from his mouth he looked far from concerned, pupils blown wide, squirming where he sat. Daud pushed his thumb in further and Corvo breathed out, shocked and sharp, mouth opening around him and head turning though not to get away, the hand he had curled around Daud's ankle going tighter—no, not to escape: the sound coming out of his throat might have been 'please' if his mouth had been free to shape it, and his eyes were fixed on Daud's cock, a different kind of hunger in them.
Daud looked down, between Corvo's legs. He hadn't gotten hard yet—but then they were just starting, and he had promises to keep.
The heel of his hand pressed against Corvo's chin. Any deeper and he might touch the back of his tongue. Corvo, the skin of his throat warm under Daud's fingertips and his breaths coming hard, made a half-strangled noise.
“Did you eat enough?” Daud asked, fingers keeping Corvo in place despite his straining, and he nodded, not bothering to joke. “Do you want to begin?” Daud added, voice low, rumbling, knowing how Corvo liked that; he gasped what might have been a word and nodded again. Daud drew him up by the grip on his jaw and the hand behind his head, and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Then come up here.”
As soon as Daud's thumb withdrew Corvo surged up, strong hands grasping whatever they could reach, to climb onto his lap and wedge his knees where the armchair allowed. He leaned in; pressed his half-open mouth against the dry line of Daud's, licked the seam of his lips until Daud allowed him in and drank his quiet, fervent breaths.
Corvo bit his lower lip, sucked on it a little as he rocked his hips against Daud's thigh. Daud gripped the back of his neck and kissed him hard and full-mouthed, his other hand dropping to the curve of Corvo's ass, squeezing. Corvo jolted; Daud could feel him starting to get hard.
“Ready to be patient?” he murmured into his mouth, fumbling blind for the end table's drawer and the flask of oil he had left inside.
Corvo pressed him to the back of the armchair with another kiss, the noise in his throat a growl or a whine or something heady between the two. “Yes,” he breathed, “So much, put your hands on me already,” no trace of irony in the words, and Daud felt himself smirking as he opened the flask and poured oil into the cup of his palm, spreading it on both his hands. Corvo wriggled in his lap like he wanted to be closer; gritted out, “I can't—”
“I have you,” Daud said, and reached down, and when he closed his fist around Corvo's half-hard cock Corvo groaned through his teeth, pleasure and relief, and snapped his hips up into Daud's grip. He stroked him, straightforward, following his motions, feeling the way he went hard and hot in his hand. “How long do you think you can hold out?” he asked.
“As long as you'll give me,” Corvo answered, grinning rakish and bold.
Daud regarded him with a cooly measuring look. “Is that a challenge?”
“It is if you want it to be,” Corvo shot back, and thrust forward like he was making a point.
He had found a steady rhythm, working his cock through the slick hole of Daud's fist, but his breath hitched on a sound when Daud took a handful of his balls, rolling them carefully in his palm, then moved down to slide an oil-wet finger into his cleft. The pad of his finger rubbed up against his hole and Corvo arched his back, braced on the chair's arms; Daud stopped stroking him to hold his hip and keep him from moving.
“Thought you were going to be patient,” Daud said, holding his gaze with equanimity, finger still pressing back and forth at his rim. Corvo shuddered, teeth gritting—then stilled, though unsettled, his thighs flexing like they were trying to slide further apart than the chair would let them, the skin of his sides twitching with the tensing of muscle. Daud stroked another finger across his hole, spreading more oil, and as he pushed his thumb against his perineum he slipped a fingertip into him.
Corvo's hips jerked, like he had wanted to move and stopped himself in time, but Daud's eyes were fixed on his face, on the way his mouth had gone loose at first then thinned as he struggled with himself; the way his eyes were unfocused, staring somewhere beyond the room; the way his breaths came out as low, vibrating sounds—the way he said, “Oh, fuck,” barely more than a shape on his lips, when the rhythm Daud took up was an agonizing, slow thing. He gave tiny thrusts of his finger, slick and incremental, and his thumb rubbed a counterpoint behind Corvo's balls that had him rocking on his hand, trying to be discreet and failing, the air shivering out of his lungs. His cock curved out in front of him, heavy and dark with blood, the wet head peeking out from the foreskin.
Daud didn't mind the rocking, didn't mind that he couldn't help himself—liked it, really. It made something in him tighten and warm to think of.
Corvo had reached up to grab the top edge of the chair like an anchor for his hands, but when Daud nudged another knuckle inside him the wood creaked dangerously at his back. A pair of broken manacles, the chain twisted apart, came to mind. He gently drew his finger out.
“Ah—please—” Corvo moaned, and canted his hips like he expected Daud to fuck him then and there with barely a finger's worth of preparation. Daud huffed out a breath and petted his flank, the tight line of his thigh.
“We talked about this,” he said. Admittedly, it had only been the once, but Corvo had been insistent enough about being worked open on nothing but cock that he knew the argument would recur.
“And I told you I could take it,” Corvo griped in that way he had that admitted defeat even as it argued the contrary, his body losing its expectant arch. Daud hummed.
“Some other time,” he conceded. “Now turn around.”
Corvo blinked, head tilting with an intent curiosity, and moved to sit on Daud's knees. Daud splayed his hand on the long line of his back; brushed the hollow where muscle dipped in to spine; pushed, other hand holding Corvo's hip, until he bent forward and his elbows were braced on the windowsill. Like this, Daud could see the shine of oil down the crack of his ass, spreading to the backs of his thighs; see the way thick muscle clenched when he brushed fingertips against his tailbone. He reached down and touched himself, light.
Corvo glanced back at him, only his eyes and teasing eyebrows visible over the line of his shoulder. “Like what you see?”
Daud rumbled in answer, and pushed a thumb into his hole.
Corvo's head ducked down, the surprised sound punched out of him going high, vibrating like a plucked string as Daud pressed inside, dug deeper until the web of skin between thumb and pointer stretched over his rim and he could do nothing more than apply pressure in waves, Corvo rocking back to meet every grinding motion. “Oh,” he gasped, and keened when the rest of Daud's fingers curled under his balls, squeezing just enough to make him say, “That's good,” make him tremble.
Daud hooked his thumb and dragged it back out of him, Corvo spreading his legs a little wider around Daud's knees; then he pushed in with pointer and middle finger instead, more oil to stretch but not burn, and Corvo made a hoarse little noise and flattened a hand to the windowpane, bracing himself, arching again to push back. His thighs shook; his voice broke on a sound, and a whine fell from his open throat. Daud tightened his other hand around himself, finally getting properly hard.
He let go, letting Corvo fuck himself on his hand as he reached down to feel how close he was, and found him rock-hard and leaking, precome dripping sticky from his tip, puddling somewhere below him on the floor. He wrapped his fingers around Corvo's shaft, and to the sound of Corvo's “Fuck, yes,” he stroked him once, “Yes please—” then squeezed and leaned forward to press his lips against the sweat-damp line of his spine.
“Think you can come just from this?” Daud asked, loosening his fist as he twisted his fingers. Corvo whimpered, arm working to shove himself back onto Daud's hand and hips thrusting down into his grip, caught between two points. Daud hummed something soothing and stroked him on the inside, light, searching, until Corvo shuddered in his hands.
“You want me to beg?” Corvo blurted, and when he raised his head Daud twisted his fist on the end of his cock and a cry jumped from his parted lips. “I, I beg so pretty I swear,” he added, and Daud knew this already, but he kissed the long, twitching muscle in his back in encouragement, “I'll beg on my knees, I'll beg while you fuck me but please, please just fuck me, I need you—”
Daud squeezed him long and hard and dug fingers into his tender inner parts and Corvo wailed a noise that was too frustrated to be lost and too ecstatic to be angry.
“I want you to wait first,” he said, and let go of him but pressed another careful finger in, eyes on the clench and release of his hole, “So be good, Corvo.”
Corvo moaned into the arm he had curled around his head, shifting his legs as far apart as they could go while he worked his hips back onto Daud's hand, frantic and purposeful and terribly, beautifully desperate despite having come less than an hour before. He arched and stilled again when Daud got his pinky in alongside the rest, a strained noise warbling up out of him—Daud thought it had to burn now, but he took it so well, open and welcoming and his spine a lovely bowed shape—and then Daud's thumb toyed at his stretched rim, started to tease him wider, and with a high-pitched little, “Oh,” he snapped a hand down to grab himself and came on the floor.
Daud steadied him as he spasmed, then, when he was done and Daud had pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the towel under him, dragged the chair in closer to the window, giving Corvo more of his lap to slump into. He stroked up and down his back, along his trembling thighs—deep, calming pressure—until Corvo's breaths settled; a tug on his hips and Corvo pushed off of the windowsill and sat back against him, tucked up snug. His hair tickled Daud's nose.
“You didn't last that long,” Daud rumbled, pushing hair aside to press his mouth, then the edge of his teeth, to Corvo's sweat-damp neck. He rocked his hips up, his cock sliding through the leftover oil in Corvo's cleft. “Thought you meant to give me a challenge.”
“I can keep going,” Corvo huffed, and hitched his hips up to reach back—
Daud caught his wrist, guided his hand to his own lap while his other arm curled around Corvo's waist and pulled him down tight. “I'll take care of that,” he said, and wrapped both their hands around the limp shape of Corvo's cock. “You take care of this.”
Corvo grunted, managing to sound content and pissed-off all at once, and vindictively braced against the chair's arms, pushing back whole-bodied, hips rolling; Daud's breath caught and he pulled him even closer, jacking up to meet him, good and hard and slick and stinging with pleasure. He breathed out harsh into Corvo's shoulder, the air washing back damp on his face.
“Touch yourself,” he said, pressing the words into skin as his hand twined around Corvo's, clasping, and Corvo made a low, humming noise and curled two fingers just under the head of his cock, a circle that squeezed and released, the air quavering in his lungs. He was always a little oversensitive after coming.
Daud took the oil flask again, dripped more into his palm and slicked it over himself, then set about driving his hips up against Corvo's, pulling him into a loose arc. The sound of wet skin, of Daud's own swallowing loud in his ears, Corvo's pleased sighs—he rocked up hard, grinding his cock in closer, and Corvo canted his hips over him, undulated into it with a muffled whimper like he'd bitten his lip. He'd wrapped more of his hand around himself, stroking light and slow, either making it last or still too needled by contact. Working by touch, tracking the texture of scars, Daud ran his hands down Corvo's legs, pressed his knees open a little wider, and as he slid back up he dug his nails in, scratching the soft inside—a sharp cry from above him, half surprise, half barely-restrained want as Corvo grabbed for the chair's arms—then he tucked his fingers in the hot, damp crease between groin and thigh, the base of Corvo's cock a searing weight against the sides of his thumbs.
“Come on, touch me,” Corvo demanded, and Daud splayed his hands all around but not on him, rubbing with palms and the pads of his fingers, so close, so aggravatingly far, just to feel him tense and shift in his lap. A brush of fingertips told him what he'd guessed: Corvo was already getting hard again.
“You recover quickly,” Daud said, mouthing at the swell of his shoulder, trailing his nails down Corvo's cock. There had been that time, when Delilah's paintings had arrived; he had thought the occasion something of an exception. Maybe he'd been wrong.
“Jealous?” Corvo asked, holding on white-knuckled to the chair. Daud pulled him in to another grinding thrust by the fold of his thighs, then shifted him forward. “Afraid you won't be up to the task? That you might—nn, ah—” He tightened around Daud's finger pressing inside him, swallowed, and kept going, the stubborn ass, “—might not get it up ag—hhah—again? I could pull another one out of you—” Daud squeezed around his cock and he jack-knifed into it, and as he came down Daud pushed in a second finger and he breathed hard and swore, arching, the muscles of his arms stark, taut lines through the skin, and he said, higher-pitched, “You know I could, I can do it, fuck—” straining as the thrust of Daud's fingers pushed him up on tiptoe, bracing most of his weight on his arms, “Please I'll do it please, I'll suck you off, I'll do anything you want—” and when Daud pulled his fingers out and thrust his cock inside, Corvo groaned out all the air in his chest, deep and satisfied and loud, almost a shout if it hadn't been so languidly drawn-out. Daud rolled his hips and tugged him closer until they were flush, Corvo's warm and shivering back sticking to his stomach with sweat. He brushed hair away to nip at the top of his spine.
“Then be patient,” Daud murmured once he'd gone quiet and panting, holding him with both arms around his waist, “And take what I give you,” and he tilted back his hips and snapped in again, grinding in deep, Corvo jerking in his lap with a breathy moan—
But of course he wouldn't settle for that, never had, it was always a fight with him—practically a literal one now as Corvo reached behind him for the back of the chair, clamped down on it with his freakish strength and tried to use the leverage to ride him at his own pace. Daud growled, the nipping turning into a full bite like that might keep him still and Corvo hissed at that, mouth falling open on another sharp, wanting cry, arching to meet him even as Daud kneed his legs further apart and threw off his balance but he dropped his hands back to the chair's arms to lift himself up—
Daud fisted a hand in his hair and tugged, vicious and controlled, and Corvo yelped and bore down on him, hot, tight, cursing, his voice shaking with arousal. He keened when Daud shoved him forward, but he bent, so pliable, willing—
“Up, on your feet,” Daud snarled, and though Corvo bit out a complaint he obeyed, drawing off of him as he stood, bracing himself on the windowsill again. His legs were splayed, oil shining down to the crease between ass and thigh, his cock hanging reddish and thick, rock-hard; Daud rose after him.
He thrust back in with a snap of his hips, all at once, merciless. Corvo bleated something shocked and bright; braced himself against the window as Daud fucked in again, and again, measured and whole and overwhelming; clenched hard enough Daud had to slow not to hurt him, then gave a dumb little cry and relaxed, fingers scrabbling against the glass, like he couldn't bear anything but savage and fast.
“Daud,” he called out, the name jostled out of him on another sharp thrust, “Daud, so good, feels so good keep going, keep—” Daud crowded him forward, barely pulling out before shoving back in deep and Corvo's breaths had gone shallow like there wasn't enough space left in him for air, Daud's arm tight around his chest and his hips pushed up against the wall below the sill and Daud kept going, kept pushing, wondered if Corvo would even try to stop him and found that the answer was no as he let Daud grab him by the hair again and press his cheek to the window, damp breath fogging the glass. His black eyes were wide, his hair sticking in tendrils to the sweat at his temples and brow. Daud leaned close, rocking into him; couldn't reach high enough to kiss his slack mouth, so pressed his lips to where Corvo's shoulder blades flexed as he breathed.
“Can you see down?” Daud asked, rolling his hips and knowing the answer was yes; Corvo gasped, at the question or the motion, and his shaking legs shifted for balance along Daud's. Below, there were the royal gardens, and the few guards on rotation through Fugue. Daud rolled his hips again, leisurely now, and licked salt sweat from his skin as Corvo trembled and whined. “Ssh,” he hushed, pressing up against his ass. “They can't see you up here. They hardly even think to look up.” Corvo made a rough little noise in his throat, neither relief nor disagreement.
Daud pulled his hips back just enough to worm a hand down Corvo's front and cup the hot, thick shape of his cock; rubbed the heel of his hand down its length—the window shook as Corvo slammed a palm on it, and Daud felt the way his knees almost gave out, the arm around Corvo's middle suddenly carrying more weight. When he wrapped fingers around Corvo's cock he knew from personal experience what the calluses felt like slicked over with oil.
Corvo panted against the glass, breaths short and high, body clenching.
“Please,” he wheezed, arching back like there was any more of Daud's cock to fit inside him, “Please I'd let them watch if you wanted, please, anything you want,” and his arm shook where it was set on the sill, and he moaned, loud and unashamed, when Daud pulled out an inch and gave it back with interest.
Daud let himself smile, his mouth curving against skin. “I'd rather enjoy you in private,” he said, stroking him brisk until Corvo's whole body began to draw tight, “But you can think of everyone who can hear you scream for my cock if it helps,” and Corvo did shout that time, clenching hard as he pulsed in Daud's hand, streaking the wall in white.
Daud squeezed him as he came down from his high, enjoying how he tightened in waves, the oversensitive tremor to his voice. He was only a little rueful for how much they'd have to clean up, after.
The window creaked as Corvo slumped against it; Daud pulled him away, still lodged inside him, enough that Corvo lay in a blissful puddle on the windowsill instead of being pressed up to the glass. His legs were twitching but steady. When Daud leaned back a little and held him open, he could see the way his hole stretched around the width of his cock, slick, pink, nothing like the last time Corvo had asked to be fucked. Daud touched the swollen rim of it and Corvo twitched, hard breaths stopping for a second.
“What in the Void did you do last time to hurt yourself?” Daud asked, sliding a finger along the edge where they joined to feel him shiver. It echoed up through him in small shocks. He wasn't sure how long he'd last this time until he went soft, but he would enjoy it while he could.
“I got impatient,” Corvo huffed.
“You learned your lesson, then?”
Corvo contracted, weak but game, too sensitized to try pushing back on him yet. “Maybe I will if you give me a couple more pointers.”
Daud considered him, bent over and well-fucked, and wondered whether to allow him a break; then he withdrew almost all the way, relishing how Corvo's breath shook out of him, and very slowly rocked back inside, watching, avid, every shudder and shift it called up, how his head tossed when Daud pushed into him—and once he was pressed flush with Corvo's ass he did it again, swaying and deliberate, until he had Corvo trembling at every slide out, and moaning, “Oh shit,” with a feverish heat at every slide in, not quite flinching from the stimulation but on edge, shaken.
Daud was panting, finding an edge of his own in taking his time; he stopped, Corvo clenching on him in protest, to push back the end of this game a little further. Corvo locked up tight when Daud reached past his hip and touched his limp cock with the tips of his fingers, light; when he pulled back the loose edge of his foreskin to thumb the head. His hand came away wet.
Corvo had steadied by now, and when Daud finally pulled out of him he grunted and reached back.
“No,” he muttered, grappling for something to hold, “Why—”
“I'm just getting more oil,” Daud soothed, stooping to get the flask.
Corvo shuffled in place, but when Daud turned back he had only spread his feet for better balance and turned, face half-hidden behind his arm, to throw Daud a dour look. “I'm already slick,” he grumbled. “Any more and I won't even feel anything.”
Daud smirked, coming back to him with the flask. He was going to feel plenty.
“I like getting you wet,” he said plainly, dribbling a thin stream of oil down the crack of his ass, and whether it was at the words or the cold, dripping slick Corvo jerked and wheezed out a breath. Daud caught most of the oil with a couple of fingers before it could slide down Corvo's legs, and pushed it into him with a filthy sound. “I like watching you squirm with my fingers in you, too,” he added.
Corvo tightened with a half-obscured groan, and pushed himself up to his hands, tossing hair out of his face to look over his shoulder—not at Daud, but at the motion of his hand, eyes locked on the place where Daud's thumb was pressing a divot into the flesh of his ass, where he was tilting his hips up into the flexing of Daud's wrist, two fingers sinking into him to the last knuckle and drawing back out shining and slick. Daud pressed them in deep, pushed into raw nerves, thumb smearing oil across skin, and when Corvo's arms shook and gave in Daud pulled his fingers out and stepped up to his side, caught the back of his head, tugged him in to lick at his whimpering mouth.
“Sit up,” he said low against his lips, and pressed their mouths together again, damp, sliding, stroked his thighs and stomach and strong flanks as Corvo straightened and braced back on his arms, ass balanced on the edge of the sill. Daud stepped between his legs; leaned forward until he was almost lying over him, skin touching from chest to hip, Corvo supporting his weight, and when he pushed their bodies together Daud could feel the hot line of his cock sliding against his belly. He craned up, bit the edge of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “You wanted to watch, didn't you?” he asked, and when he drew back he hitched one of Corvo's legs into his elbow, guided himself into the damp, soft flesh of his hole, and with his free hand pushed Corvo's balls and half-hard cock out of the way so he could see Daud sink into him.
Corvo whined, a quiet, hitching sound, and as Daud rocked into him steady but shallow he wondered what about the sight left him so broken. There was a flush throughout his face, sweat beading and sliding down from his brow to his neck; he had bitten his lower lip red and swollen; his eyes were as black as ever, half-lidded, hazy—what was he thinking of? Doing this to Daud? To himself? Daud's fingers dug into his hips, bruising, and Corvo's throat bent back as he panted and squirmed, his cock jerking and filling up under Daud's palm, his foot pressing into Daud's lower back.
“Touch yourself again,” Daud rasped, his own breaths heavy as he got both hands under Corvo's ass for a better grip. “I want to watch you, too.”
Corvo stared at him for a long, sustained moment, blinking slow, and Daud belatedly remembered that he needed both arms to stay upright—but then Corvo smiled, wicked and all the sharper from his bitten-red lips, and he twisted to drop back on one elbow, his other hand free to reach down.
“Pushy,” he said, and stroked himself with what oil was left from when Daud had brought him off. His heel dug into Daud's tailbone, insistent. “Keep going,” he huffed, knuckles flexing as his hand tightened, “Keep—” and he gasped at the snap of Daud's hips, elbow scraping back on the sill, shoulder straining to keep him steady, “Ah—like that—”
Daud hitched him up and lay into him, Corvo's thighs locking unshakably around his waist even as he trembled, chest struggling to pull in full breaths, but half of Daud's mind was on Corvo's hands, his long fingers, the curl and twist of them as he jerked himself off, the way he pushed into his own grip whenever Daud's rhythm allowed. He'd had those fingers inside him, though only once. He wouldn't mind it happening again.
Fuck, he would like it, he knew, just as much as he liked how Corvo's mouth grew tight and slackened in turns, and the tiny sounds he made, a constant litany of them, praise and frantic exclamations and desperate encouragements—
He thrust in deep, startling a rough sound out of himself, and the orgasm blindsided him when it tore up through his gut.
It left him shaky and panting, eyes screwed shut. Skin and rough hair scratched sweat-damp across his forehead and he realized he'd let himself fall forward until he was almost lying on Corvo's chest, the only thing keeping them up being Corvo's impressive core strength.
“Well that's frustrating,” Daud muttered, still prickling with aftershocks. He hadn't been done working Corvo over yet. Above his head, Corvo grunted and wriggled his arm out from between them, touching the back of Daud's shoulder.
“Why'd you stop?”
“Technical difficulties,” Daud answered. He needed to catch his breath—and get a sense of where the rest of him was. This had thrown him for a loop. His body hadn't caught him this much by surprise since he was a teenager still figuring out the logistics of sex. Corvo clenched around him and every part of his brain connected to his cock lit up, suddenly hyperaware.
“Aw,” Corvo said, disappointed but commendably unperturbed. “Lost your hard-on?”
“In a sense,” Daud grated, and moved to pull out of him, but Corvo's legs refused to budge from around his hips and Daud felt fingers in the hair at his nape, threading through and going tight.
“No, don't go.” His tone was harsh, demanding, but despite the grip he had on Daud's hair he didn't pull. “Stay there. Look at me.”
Daud knew what was coming almost before the words came out of Corvo's mouth; he straightened, looked him in the eye, saw that strange, liquid shift in the black of them. His whole body felt like the string of a violin pulled taut and plucked.
The heat hit like it always did: a wave, stepping from a cool basement to the height of afternoon in a Karnacan summer, and Daud breathed out a sound and pushed his hips up against Corvo's, his own come leaking out onto his thigh. It went to his head first, made him dizzy, blurred his thoughts; he rocked into the vee of Corvo's legs again. Corvo's hand dropped to his ass, pulled him close—or maybe he just wanted something to hold on to, since the tight grip of his legs left no room to back up anyway, but then Corvo's mouth opened on a bright, curling sound and Daud forgot to think of anything but convincing it out of him once more, body jerking up into his, a driving force. He realized, distantly, that he was starting to get stiff again.
“Yeah, that's it, come on,” Corvo panted, hand closing and relaxing fitfully behind Daud's neck, black eyes shock-wide. He was starting to look strung-out and gray, lines of tension around his eyes, but Daud could barely think, could hardly shape the raw sounds he was making, couldn't even stop looking at him, at his eyes, the drinking depths of them, or keep himself from slamming in harder. Corvo dropped back to his elbows and went tight, and the both of them groaned, Corvo half-laughing, joyous, Daud grating and lost.
Corvo closed his eyes and Daud's breath fell out of him as he made himself stop, disoriented. It had been different, this time—maybe because he'd already come once, and for him to get hard again, never mind so fast, was a deeply foreign experience; maybe because all of his senses felt tuned in, too strong. His whole body pulsed with arousal, like heat had replaced the blood in his veins.
Corvo's hips jerked against him.
“Give me a second,” he groused, adjusting to make up for the ache in his arms. Corvo didn't look as bad as he'd thought: the gray pall was gone, and his expression was more impatient than worn. As he settled back into his skin, Daud considered him and smirked.
He pulled his hips back—then held still, his cock just barely inside, Corvo a taut, hooked line of tension to keep from falling. He wheezed out a breath, the muscles of his stomach trembling.
“Why're you—come on, I want it, give it to me,” he whined, and when Daud swayed closer only to pull away again he growled, baring his teeth, the wild want in his eyes giving Daud a sweet, victorious thrill.
“I told you what you were in for,” Daud said, sliding in again, so shallow it could be nothing but frustrating. “Don't think I appreciate how little you listen to me.”
“I listen,” Corvo gritted out, mulishly trying to push back onto him by bracing with his elbows, “You just have no authority.”
Daud let go of his ass to brace his hands on the edge of the windowsill, and Corvo's legs clamped hard around his hips.
“I'm offended,” Daud said, and pushed in, then kept pushing until Corvo's shoulders hit the window, his hands grabbing for the edges of the recess, and when he fucked in again the glass rattled at Corvo's back and he swore, tilting his hips into the punishing thrust of it.
Sharp punched-out noises escaped him at every shove of Daud's body against his—“Hhuh—Daud—y-yes—please, please, please yes—” and he had hitched his knees up to Daud's ribs, the muscles of his thighs flexing when Daud pushed, heels jabbing bruises where they were hooked above his ass. The window shook and he shook with it, like he believed the threat of falling despite how his nails were gouging into the wallpaper with how tight he held on.
His cock was leaking on his stomach. Daud dragged a finger through the slick streak of it; took him in hand, stroked him with tight, twisting jerks, and once he was leaking on himself, straining in all directions, away from the window and against Daud's cock and into his fist, Daud closed his fingers around the base of him and squeezed hard and Corvo jolted, cursing him, heel kicking a new bruise into his back.
“I'll kill you,” he said, hoarse and struggling, arms shaking with tension, “I swear on the Outsider's cock, if you don't fuck me senseless—”
Daud shoved up against him, folding him almost in half to reach the crooked snarl of his mouth and kiss the anger from his tongue, tender and biting, cradling the swell of his ribs.
“I'll have you begging me for mercy by the end,” he promised; nipped the lobe of his ear; backed off a bit, fucking him deep and grinding, focused, until he felt how Corvo went tight around him, his growling cut off with a high note—and proceeded to wreck him entirely, ramming up inside him, Corvo's moaning a long, uninterrupted cry forced out through his teeth.
“You're such—a bastard—” Corvo gasped out, and shuddered as he came again.
Daud got an arm under his ass, the other around him, so that when he went limp he didn't fall and hit the edge of the sill; then he drew out and lowered him to his feet, slow, let him lean back on unsteady limbs, one arm still tucked around the small of Corvo's back. There was come spattered up his stomach, though not much—nearing the end of his rope, maybe. Daud smeared his fingertips through it and brought one to his mouth with a twinge of curiosity.
He grimaced at the taste. Didn't know what he'd expected.
Corvo threw a slack arm around his shoulders and tugged him closer, then lapped at his mouth, his tongue, his other hand coming up to cup Daud's jaw.
“Can't say I understand the appeal,” Daud muttered, backing up until their lips were only brushing; Corvo yanked him back in, kissed him hungry and warm.
“I just think it's hot,” Corvo mumbled when he let him go. “Mine—yours. Especially yours,” he added, the light in his eye more fond than impish now that the urgency of arousal was gone. “It came out of you, it's—ugh, why're you asking me questions—”
“I didn't,” Daud snorted, smirking, and left him leaning against the window to fall into the chair and wipe his hand off on the towel. He quirked a finger at him, beckoning. “Join me.”
Corvo huffed, and before he stumbled gracelessly across the foot or two of floor space, clumsy with encroaching exhaustion, Daud took in the lax shape of his body in the light: how the sun haloed the mess of his hair and gleamed on the sweat at his shoulders, how little he cared about the mess on his stomach. He should have been disgusting, and he glowed.
Daud's breath didn't catch, but it grew full and aching—and Corvo's dark eyes made it no better as he climbed up onto the chair, legs tucking up alongside Daud's, and bent to settle his forehead in the crook of Daud's shoulder. His breath washed warm across his chest, and Daud carded a hand through his sweat-damp hair; then there were fingers, too light to be teasing, brushing the hard, pulsing curve of his cock. Daud shivered, muscles shifting in his legs, and let him explore.
The fingers slid down to the thin, delicate skin of his sac, slick with oil run-off; then back up, sticking a little when they pulled away, Daud feeling himself twitch with it. Corvo made a low, confused noise, and left oil on Daud's hip when he dropped his hand there.
“How have you not come yet?” he asked, wonder in his voice.
Daud grunted, shrugging the side Corvo wasn't resting on. “I did.”
There was a moment's pause where the nails trailing across his hip pricked in, surprise or realization hitting, and then Corvo's whole hand curled around his cock, warm and squeezing, the contact tacky with drying fluids. Corvo's head turned, lips damp against his neck.
“You're sly,” he said, tired and delighted, the line of his mouth smiling. “Worse than me.”
Daud scratched at the back of his head, working down his neck and up again, and with his free hand reached to slide fingers into the still-wet cleft of his ass, running them over his hole as he listened, careful, to his breathing. “You alright? Hurting?”
“Bit sore,” Corvo sighed, but pushed into his touch, mouth falling open and tongue flicking out to lick Daud's collarbone. His hand tightened on Daud's cock.
Daud took his arms, and pressed Corvo's palms to his thighs, thumb rubbing the broad knob of bone at his wrist. “Still ready?”
Corvo whined, a tired little curse of a breath—“Yes,”—and sat up on his knees so Daud could slide down in the chair enough that Corvo was straddling his hips instead; so Daud could pull him close, and guide him, gentle and remorseless, back onto his cock. He quivered at the slow push in, small sounds trembling out of him, his insides contracting in shaky bouts—more pained than he had let on, maybe, or the effort of it all finally getting to him—but once his ass touched the tops of Daud's thighs he drew up again with a strained grunt and started working his hips, Daud holding still to let him, to watch—mouth half-open and licking his own lips—the rippling of his stomach, or how his ribs heaved with air, or the wet trail his soft cock left below Daud's navel on every downstroke.
The armchair made his work harder: not enough space, his legs confined. Daud ran his hands down the tense line of Corvo's thighs and dug his thumbs into the inner muscle, kneading; Corvo cupped both sides of his neck and jerked with a low, rough sound. His back bowed, his forehead meeting Daud's.
“Please, Daud,” he groaned, dark eyes pleading, “Help me.” His hips were still rolling in Daud's lap, the wet sound of it loud, and his thumbs had pressed into each side of Daud's jaw, holding him there as Corvo angled in and breathed into his mouth, rubbed their lips together, touched his teeth with the tip of his tongue and licked in deeper, opening wide. Daud thrust up and he exclaimed right into his mouth, the sound a burst of hot air; on the next he bit down on Daud's lip, face pinched, like the pleasure of it had turned to thorns. Daud hushed him, ran his palms up and down his sides, soothing him like he might a spooked horse.
The next noise he made was throaty and harsh, all frustration; his fingers dug harder into Daud's face.
“Help me,” he whined into his mouth, and when the strange depths of his pupils stirred again Daud sank nails into his back but didn't tell him to stop.
It was a light pull—enough to make sweat break out on the back of his neck, desire throbbing in his gut and his pelvis—but he answered it, spread his fingers through Corvo's hair and tugged, an anchor as he rocked his hips up into him again in waves, panting against his mouth. Corvo met him at every peak, any breath not spent devouring Daud's tongue and lips coming out as sharp, gritted words, “Fuck,” and “Void,” and an incoherent mess of syllables that might have meant something if Corvo had been trying at all. He pressed his curled-back lips and bared teeth to Daud's cheek, reaching down one-handed to touch himself and keening, clenching hard, when he brushed his limp cock.
His skin twitched wherever Daud touched: his high, straining shoulders, his sides, the length of his thighs—oversensitive, the discomfort lasting, and still he refused to stop, riding Daud with a single-minded frenzy and caressing himself with the backs of his fingers until he was half-hard again, the rhythm of his rocking unsteady, his legs trembling down to his curled toes. Daud kneaded his scalp, finding the quiver of his eyelashes sweet; then grabbed his hips, and pulled him down firm, not letting him budge.
Corvo's eyes snapped open, and his high whine turned into a snarl when Daud's hands fisted in his hair, holding him close.
“I'm not done with you yet,” Daud said, their noses almost touching.
Corvo's hand on the side of his neck tightened enough his heartbeat fluttered in his throat. “I'll fucking die before you're done with me,” he shot back, vehement, and instead of making Daud laugh the words struck something within him, a resonating chord, and he thought to himself loud and clear: Maybe you will; then, his pulse like a presence in his chest, occupying space where air was meant to be, Maybe I will, too, knowing it had nothing to do with what they were doing.
Rather than admit to any of that, he took Corvo's hands and raised them to the back of the chair, pressed them down, and said, “You promised me patience.”
“I'll regret it forever,” Corvo answered, gripping the chair tight and biting at his neck, then higher, just below his ear, and let out a warbling sigh as he rocked his hips for friction, entirely lacking in resentment.
His cock slid back and forth in its own slick. Daud let him find a rhythm again, something slower, less driven, where sensation ran shudders down his arched spine that even Daud could feel through his fingertips—then reached down for him, running his nails through the thatch of hair at his groin and teasing them along the base of his cock, light, probably tickling.
Corvo let out a short, harsh breath, aggravation or pleasure; Or both, Daud considered, biting his lip, rocking his hips on reflex while he focused on his task. He drew a finger up the underside, feeling out the thick vein there, how it was starting to fill and throb under his touch. The shaft of it twitched in his palm when he layed out his hand and rubbed his thumb along the base.
What oil had been there wasn't slick anymore, worked into silky skin instead. Under his other hand, Corvo's neck bowed and he huffed a low moan, mumbling a string of words into Daud's spit-damp neck. Daud let go of his cock; slid his hand under Corvo's hips to curl it around his balls, rolling the hot, soft shape of them in his palm, and Corvo jerked and shuddered again with a muffled sound; then he pressed a finger, deliberate, into his perineum.
Corvo clenched hard and sudden and Daud pistoned his hips up into slick heat, groaning, holding Corvo's face to his neck as he bit down again and cried out.
“Again,” Daud gasped, “Again, Corvo, come on,” petting his neck, his head through his hair, and Corvo rasped out a whine and swallowed, his tongue brushing wet against skin with the motion—and then he bore down, made himself tight, a narrow hole to fuck into, and Daud thrust up, the oil and come inside him starting to drag. Corvo grunted out a breath at every new push, hot and damp, his teeth squeezing a bruise into the side of Daud's neck. Daud had a hand at his cock once more, thumbing circles into the wet, red head of it, using the slick to press against the sensitive spot where his foreskin attached; Corvo's hips jerked like they were looking for more, but his keening made it sound like torture.
“Fuck, nnn—” He gulped down air, rocking mindlessly, pushing Daud's cock in and out of himself. “H-Hah, fffuck you,” he bit out, slow and exhausted, “So much.”
“Does it hurt?” Daud asked.
He made as if to pause, and the back of the chair creaked as Corvo went tense, hissing, “Don't stop, don't stop or you're a dead man,” his body one long, demanding arch that Daud calmed by running a hand down his spine. He hushed him again; gripped the curve of his ass and pulled him closer; spat into his other palm, and properly grabbed hold of his cock.
Corvo rode out the surge of his hips in hunched silence, his breathing shallow, his face tucked as far as it could into the bend of Daud's shoulder, and when the steady stroking drew him tight as a bow and released him he groaned low through clenched teeth, shaking, nothing coming out of him at all. Daud rubbed a hand up his back in broad sweeps; tried to keep his own hips still and not jostle him, not jack up into that sticky heat again. Corvo's body drooped into his, heavy and boneless.
“Please come,” he managed to say, empty of everything but desperation, or something close enough for the difference not to matter. “I need you to come.”
“Do you want to stop?” Daud asked against his temple, low and coaxing.
“I want you to come inside me,” Corvo said, “So I can sleep for a year.”
“Mm. Alright.” Daud combed fingers through his hair, grazed his nails along the soft skin behind his ear. “Think you can stand up for a second?”
“Probably.” He didn't, and opened his mouth on Daud's neck instead; kissed the indents his teeth had left, his tongue swiping across them. On a long, overworked sigh, he clenched a little, then released, his breath stopping with a loud swallowing sound. “Feels—good, like this. You in me. That why you like it so much?”
“I think we feel things somewhat differently if you have to exhaust yourself to enjoy this,” Daud retorted. His other hand had moved to the thick of Corvo's thigh, nails scratching at skin, and though Corvo shifted away at first he then pressed right back into it, like he was unsure whether he wanted it to stop.
He straightened up in Daud's lap, leaning an elbow against his shoulder. “I guess this is the part where I beg for mercy,” he said, tired enough that his tone sounded dry.
Daud smirked, but it must have been softer than he thought for Corvo to lean in and taste the shape of it. He waited for Corvo to finish, and said, “I distinctly remember you begging on two separate occasions before I ever mentioned it.”
“Doesn't count unless you make me beg again,” Corvo huffed.
“Then get up.” Daud squeezed him above his knees. “I want you kneeling on the armchair.”
Corvo grimaced as he drew off of him; the drag of tacky flesh on his cock shot sparks up Daud's spine, but it was definitely starting to chafe for him, or would start to soon. Daud grabbed the flask he'd left by the window, splashed some oil into his hand and slicked himself up again.
Corvo had settled sitting on his heels, elbows loosely draped over the back of the chair, and he had laid his head down on his forearm to watch Daud with half-lidded eyes. Strands of hair were stuck to his upper back with sweat, thin wild lines, the rest a mess from being carded through. Daud curled a hand over the solid curve of his shoulder, and slid oiled fingers down his tailbone into his crack, Corvo arching back into it with expectation now. The skin of his hole was hot against his fingertips.
“Remember to tell me if it hurts,” Daud said, and pushed his cock into his cleft, then inside him, sheathing himself in slow increments.
Corvo choked out a sound and spread his legs wider on the seat, his spine forming a sharp arc; the next sound Daud's cock shoved out of him was strained, close-mouthed, as he shuddered and tried to relax. Daud hitched him up higher by his hips, rocked in deeper—another noise, another shaking wave of tension. The heartbeat behind his ribs was a rapid, throbbing thing under Daud's palm.
He started, “Corvo—”
“Keep going,” Corvo spat, his hands dropping to hold both sides of the chair's back. “Fuck, just keep—”
“It doesn't count if it hurts, either,” Daud said. If this was about Corvo proving himself, he'd rather stop everything here.
“Wrong,” he shot back, the words full of breath, “Speciff—it counts, in that case,” and canted his hips up like he was searching for more. Daud set a knee on the seat between his legs and forced them further apart, his hand on Corvo's other calf, locking him in place.
“It doesn't count here,” he said, final. “Don't piss me off.”
“Keep—going, Daud,” Corvo gritted out, shoulders flexing and head ducking down, and when Daud drew out and fucked back into him and didn't stop, a moan burst out of him, thin, wailing, only pausing for the short breaths he hiccuped in at every thrust until he muffled it by biting into the wood of the chair. Daud pushed in, rocked him forward, pulled him back into each new snap of his hips. Corvo's hands had clenched, the muscles of his arms wire-tight, and he was holding on like that was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.
Watching him, Daud found, hurt and wound him up in equal measure. The moan had turned to a steady, “Ah, ah, ah,” breathy little grunts half-hidden by his jaw's grip on the wood. Daud could feel his own release rising in him this time, a prickling in his skin, in the nape of his neck and along his fingers and legs, and all he could think of was how he wanted to see Corvo's face—track the shifting shape of his mouth, the light-reflections in his eyes, the expression he made when he found himself on the edge of pain and still, always, wanted to keep going. His fingers hooked around the unpadded bone of Corvo's hips, then reached lower, and he realized it at the same time as Corvo went tight and cried out, head thrown back: Corvo was growing hard again.
Under his fingertips, the skin of his cock was hot and sticky, soft, the flesh underneath stiff and pulsing with blood. Daud huffed, surprise and not a little awe in the sound. Was there even a point where he couldn't? Where he had to stop? How long could he go on, even slow to rise and overstimulated? Daud braced himself on the arms of the chair and leaned in over the long, trembling line of his back, hips close and grinding as Corvo whimpered.
“One more?” he asked, nuzzling through hair to reach a damp, taut nape. The growl that broke out of Corvo's throat, vibrating into Daud's lips, was almost high-pitched enough to be a whine.
“Yes,” he rasped, pushing back on him, “Yes, do it.”
Good thing he'd put the flask on the table: he only had to reach over for more oil, the stuff dripping from his fingers, and reach around Corvo's hip to take his cock in hand. He jerked up into his touch even before Daud had any kind of proper grip, his sharp snarl all frustration, until Daud squeezed the base of him between his thumb and two fingers and jacked him smooth and the snarl turned to a quavering shout. Daud thrust into him, shoved Corvo's hips into the waiting funnel of his hand; Corvo went taut with a bitten-back cry, arms shooting up to the top of the chair to fold around his head, his hands digging into his own hair.
Daud drew out far enough to fist his other hand around himself, spreading more oil, and when his knuckles brushed the red, swollen rim of Corvo's hole he twitched, breaths cutting off. Daud paused.
Then, curious, he pressed the tip of a slick finger in alongside his cock, easy and slow, and Corvo keened high in his throat.
“You really like this,” Daud rumbled, remembering how Corvo had reacted the other time he'd done this, how fast he'd come from four fingers in his ass, and pushed further as his other hand finished an upstroke with a twist. Corvo arched, gasping, rocking between both points. “You like being worked open.” He slipped in another finger, Corvo flexing and relaxing around the stretch of it; slid them both deep, squeezed his fist down the length of Corvo's cock and back up. “Don't you?”
“Yes!” A hand closed on the back of Daud's: Corvo's, guiding him to stroke faster, and Daud let him, only curling a little tighter around him as he blurted, “I like it, I do, Daud—oh—” and panted out pained, needy noises as Daud pushed in a third finger, cradling himself inside Corvo's body, arousal winding tight in his gut at the friction when he thrust them in.
Idle only in voice, Daud asked, “How many can I fit in you?” He knew his face was flushed; maybe it was better, then, that Corvo couldn't see him, so he could pretend he wasn't half as affected by this as he was. Under him, Corvo whimpered louder on every breath, stroking himself with Daud's hand and angling his hips up, his back a pleading curve.
Sometimes the sounds he was making disappeared on a swallow, like he was holding back words. Maybe, Daud thought, thrusting inside him with his hand and his cock and everything he had, the words were his name; maybe they were please; maybe, he wished with a thin moan, they were Daud, mercy.
Daud worked in another finger and Corvo gasped a series of curses, spine arching up, nails digging into Daud's hand, and he came dry, gritting his teeth, his orgasm like a quake.
Daud caught him before he fell over, gathering him up all floppy and shivering against his chest; pulled out of him, careful, and reached over for the water on the table. Corvo wriggled, weak, in his arms, hands grabbing loosely at what parts of Daud he could reach.
“You didn't—” he mumbled, groping at a hip, the top of a thigh, “I want you to, I said I want—”
“Here, drink first.” Daud held the mostly full glass to his lips, and Corvo raised a shaky hand to take it, gulping the water down. Daud put the glass back; wrapped his arm around Corvo's waist again. “Let's finish on the bed.”
“I want— Come inside me,” Corvo said, leaning back on him, uncoordinated. “Said you would.”
“I did,” Daud said into his hair, “I will—” and rolled his hips against Corvo's ass, his cock probably leaving streaks of oil everywhere, and he didn't give a damn about it, about anything but giving him exactly what he wanted. “Just need you to walk across the room with me. You can do that, come on.”
He almost had to carry him to the bed anyway, Corvo's legs too heavy to move aside from a vague shuffle in the direction his face was pointing, and when Daud dropped him on top of the sheets he sprawled, sweaty and loose, looking out of his head with something just to the left of satisfaction. Even as he made the effort to spread his legs, Daud shoving a pillow under his hips, his eyes closed like it took all the remaining energy out of him.
He looked about to fall asleep. Daud settled atop him, tucked into the warm space between his thighs; traced fingertips over the lines of his face. There was sweat even in the dip under his mouth, in the velvety space around the back of his ear, on the fine, lined skin under his eyes. His eyelids flickered open when Daud brushed along the soft ridge of his eyelashes, his chest echoing with an inaudible sound. Daud felt his hips cant up against him.
“'M gettin' you back for this,” Corvo said, the promise in his eyes sweet and dark. “Fuck you wet and screaming. See... how well you like it, then.”
“As well as you're liking it now, I hope,” Daud answered, reaching between the both of them to line himself up. “Sure you won't just wear yourself out?”
“I know h-how—hhfffuck—”
Braced on his elbows, Daud tilted his hips and slid in without trying, Corvo's reaction barely a clench at all.
“—How to, pace myself,” Corvo finished, breathing as hard as he had at the end of a full round of fucking, looking dizzy. He slung an arm around the back of Daud's neck, careless, and left it hanging there like he couldn't possibly do more.
Daud bent his neck, nipped at his collarbone, and arched to push his cock in harder; Corvo's sigh ended in a breathy groan, his thighs shifting either side of Daud's legs.
“Doubt that,” Daud said, the shape his mouth was taking less a smirk than a smile. “In any case, you'll have to sleep for a year first.”
His hips took up a steady, grinding beat—enough for him to feel it down to his toes, but not so much that Corvo would be overwhelmed, aching and fucked-out as he was already. He reached to cup Daud's cheek, his thumb brushing lips and cheekbone. Daud rose to his hands, fingers spread wide on the mattress for balance, and when he looked up, angled to thrust deep, and met Corvo's eye, the pull took him off guard.
His hips jerked in, startled harsh sounds out of him and Corvo both.
“Daud—” Corvo whined, his hands grasping for Daud's arms, “Let me, let me—lemme hear you—”
He looked him in the eye again, breath coming out in shakes, and Corvo snagged the wanting parts of him and dragged the heat up to the surface of his skin, pounding and raw. How could he barely walk and still find the strength to do this to him, pull him so thoroughly out of alignment? Daud drew out and sank into him, the slick and the warmth and every sensation sharper; did it again, little circling jabs of his hips, his thoughts slowed to a crawl and his body a live wire. Corvo trailed his nails up Daud's stomach, hardly touching, and he shivered like every line was a light bursting through his synapses.
When Corvo brushed the pads of his fingers over his nipples, he gasped and cried out, hips jacking rough, grinding in as he came. His locked elbows were the only thing that stopped him keeling over.
“Cheat,” he huffed; Corvo giggled, low and incoherent, probably loopy from pulling too hard on his powers. Daud felt himself slip out of him as he shifted, wet with his own spend, and looked down between them to check him over. Paused. What the— “Fuck,” he muttered, pushing himself to his knees and brushing the backs of his fingers over Corvo's stiffening cock. “You're a marvel.”
Corvo bit his lip, eyes screwed shut, his hands scratching at the sheets where they'd dropped.
“Thanks,” he wheezed, hips twitching. Daud pressed down more firmly, knuckled a line up the length of him, and Corvo's legs shifted apart to push up into the touch. “Daud—” he said, staring up at the ceiling with an expression like terrified revelation, “Daud—” and nothing more, all other words gone.
Daud lay himself flat on the bed, pushed the come that had started to leak out back into Corvo with his thumb, and took his cock in his mouth.
Corvo lay very still, gasping out breaths that weren't quite panic; Daud pulled off, pulled out his thumb and pushed two other fingers back in, shallow, waiting.
“Tell me to stop, Corvo,” he said. The taste of leftover oil sat heavy on his tongue, but not unpleasant.
Corvo's knees jerked up and relaxed, the intention behind it unclear. “Daud—” he said again, and breathed, pushing grating sounds out through his teeth.
“Tell me to stop,” Daud repeated, patient, and Corvo whined, high, frantic.
“Don't—” he said, and Daud froze— “No, don't stop, Daud, don't—”
Daud sank his fingers in deep and licked a stripe up his cock, oil and precome and sharp sweat, and Corvo squirmed like a demon in chains when he lipped at the tip, brought it into him—just that, just the head, sucking on it as he stroked the loose flesh of his insides, until it filled out behind his teeth. Muffled yelling above him, Corvo arching weakly, blocked by Daud's hand on his hip—he'd stuck his own wrist into his mouth, his every inhale rough and choked—and strangled, staccato mewling as Daud pushed himself a little lower, tongue flicking out, spit dribbling past his lips, then back up, not even trying to impress. He sucked on it again; drew off to press the tip of his tongue into the tender nerves below the head; made a curious, low sound and took it back into his mouth to explore the folds of his foreskin, Corvo shuddering, calling his name.
“Daud!” he cried—he must have stopped biting his wrist—and sobbed, the sound wet and tearing, despair and elation both—“Daud—Daud, please—”
Daud purred, dragging his fingers inside Corvo until his hips jerked and he shouted.
“Please, fucking please, haven't— Wasn't I patient? Didn't I wait, didn't I— Please, I'm begging you please please, fuck, oh fuck—”
Daud let his cock fall from his mouth. “You were patient, Corvo, you were good,” he rasped, raw with the sight and the sound of Corvo breaking apart, and bit the soft rise of muscle above his hip. “Just a little longer now.” He kissed the head of it, wet with his saliva; sucked at his slit, not even minding the bitter salt taste; licked the tip of it in once more, rubbing his fingers in tight circles against that oversensitive spot inside him, and when he felt the tremors in Corvo's thighs he let his hip go just enough that he could fuck into his mouth as he came, sobbing, relieved and overwhelmed.
Corvo fell back to the mattress, bone-tired, not even capable of shaking anymore. Daud pressed his face into Corvo's stomach, breathing out low and rumbling. He felt bizarrely pleased.
“Want a bath?” he asked, rolling over on the bed and nudging Corvo's leg with his foot. There was a deep, satiated ache in his every muscle, like after a fight; a tiredness, too. He might fall asleep in the bath, if he took another.
Corvo grunted, insensate. “Later,” he croaked. When Daud heaved himself up on one elbow to look at him, his eyes were wet, though he saw no tear tracks on his face. “I'll clean up later. Wake me when the bells ring.”
Daud snorted, but Corvo had already curled on his side and, apparently, fallen deep into sleep, true to form.
Corvo startled awake to something wet hitting him in the shoulder. His hand slapped down on a hot towel, and his eyes opened to Daud standing over him in pants and a half-buttoned shirt, looking refreshed.
“It's evening,” he said, his mouth quirking crooked. “ You slept nine hours. Clean up, there's a plate from dinner waiting for you.”
“The bells rang?” Outside the window, the sky had gone dark, a bare hint of sunset shaping the horizon. He wiped the towel across his face and arms; then found, going down his chest, that there wasn't much left to clean off at all. A glance at the sheets told him it wasn't because the mess had rubbed off in his sleep. “You did most of the work already.”
“Think I'd let you sleep in my bed covered in your own come?” Daud asked.
“And mine,” Daud conceded, and Corvo smiled, wiping himself where he still felt a little gunky. “The bells haven't rung yet. If they don't in the night, I'm kicking you out tomorrow. Can't spend the whole Fugue fucking.” He had gone to sit in his armchair, book in hand; the towel he'd put on the seat was gone, and the plate he'd spoken of lay on the end table, cleared of the tray from brunch.
“Why not?” Corvo asked, honestly curious, but Daud shot him a look that either meant it was obvious or that he didn't want to discuss it now. He shrugged. He could always ask again later.
“You're not done cleaning up,” Daud added, turning a page. He'd dragged the armchair near a light in the wall, the blue-gold of it soft on the side of his face. “Window, floor, sheets to change,” he said, pointing to each, and smirked. “You owe me for the desk.”
Corvo stared at him—then laughed, standing and stretching the aches from his muscles, the towel draped over his shoulder. He was hungry, and he had work to do.
Still, he said, “Next year,” the words a threat and a promise.
“Next year,” Daud murmured back, balancing his book on his knee.
The next Fugue Feast was going to be interesting.