Takes place circa Eiderdown era
“How does it feel being an empty nester?”
Rook sprawls out on their four-poster bed as indolent as a large cat.
“Don’t say that,” Nice chides. His fingers make quick work of his hair. He’d just recently returned from yet another trip. Although the winter had promised no more diplomatic trips, he was called to the city of Vada-el for something he had only told Rook about in vaguest terms.
“Hiding from me?” Rook had asked, half a tease.
“I would only bore you,” Nice had said, before deftly twisting the topic to other things.
Nice regards himself in the mirror, tilting his head to the side to take in the white fishtail braid that begins above his left ear and trails down to his throat. It’s strung through with beautiful baubles, glass beads the size of marbles that contain the vast blueness of the cerulean ocean, as well as crystals set to look like glorious four-pointed stars, bright against a backdrop of snow.
He unravels the braid with his smallest fingers, drawing the colorful pieces from the strands of his hair and setting them in a shallow dish where they plink together like water.
When he’s through, he scritches the tips of his fingers through his hair, waking up and soothing his sore scalp with a sigh. He’s been wearing the ornate Vada-elan hairstyles more and more lately, even getting proficient at doing the simplest of them himself, but he’s still not quite used to it.
Rook watches his husband from the bed, feeling the stirrings of desire as he watches the modest swell of his ass in well-draped pants. He’s half-hard and makes no bones about it.
In the mirror, he sees his husband’s mouth turn down into a moue. Perhaps he’s actually stepped into troubled waters, then.
“June will be back. He belongs here. He belongs with me.”
“Possessive.”
Nice tilts his head, and it’s haughty enough to give Rook a thrill. “Haven’t I always been?”
“Come join your poor husband. He’s getting lonely without you.”
“My poor husband can wait while I wash the makeup and the grit from the road off my skin.”
Rook wonders, as he lies back again, if he’s being punished. He lies back on the bed with his head pillowed on his hands. He closes golden eyes and lets the sounds wash over him. Their room is quiet save for the splash of water from the bathroom. A short while later, Rook hears the pad of tender feet against the floor.
He keeps his eyes closed, ears perked as he feels the depression of the mattress to his right. He feels a knee press down beside his hip and then another skinny leg swinging over him to neatly straddle his hips in a dance they’ve done a hundred times before.
Nice’s voice sounds closer than Rook expected when he says, right beside Rook’s ear, “I know you’re not sleeping.”
His warm breath stirs the fine hairs that line the inside of Rook’s ear, and Rook’s mouth quirks up in a crooked smile, although he still doesn’t open his eyes—not just yet. He draws it out as his hands come up automatically to rest on Nice’s hips—perfect handholds made just for him.
Nice doesn’t care that Rook is still pretending—eyes closed, that can be a fun game, too. He shifts his weight and presses a kiss to Rook’s mouth, one that starts filthy as it means to go on. He licks inside Rook’s mouth, making sinful little sighs as their tongues play together.
Rook’s hands slide up and under the voluminous fabric of Nice’s soft, oversized sleep shirt, to find his nipples unerringly. He pinches them softly, and Nice ruts against him like a reflex. The motion puts his half-hard cock in contact with Rook’s rapidly burgeoning erection through the fabric of their clothes.
Nice is used to his husband’s eyes by now. They’re inhumanly beautiful, like a wolf’s eyes, a bright and brilliant gold. That doesn’t mean he’s unaffected by them. When Rook finally opens his eyes, Nice finds himself suddenly staring into a pair of matched gold ore. The intensity of that gaze makes him weak—weak enough that he moans out loud even as he turns to jelly in his knees.
His skin is clean and soft from the quick washing he’d given it, and now he feels himself sweating anew. Hypnotized. Mesmerized.
He really was sore about the comment Rook made about June, but it skitters away.
“Missed you,” Rook says.
He leans in and kisses Nice’s neck, and Nice shudders.
“I always miss you,” Nice breathes.
There isn’t much preamble. There doesn’t need to be, with them. Rook reaches down to untie his pants and push them down just far enough to spring his cock free. Nice sits up on his knees. He hadn’t bothered to put on underwear—what would be the point, when this was always inevitable?
Rook holds his cock steady so Nice can sink down, sitting back on it and letting it fill him by slow degrees.
It’s been a while, and the thick stretch of Rook’s member makes him hiss.
“Hurts,” Nice murmurs when he’s fully seated.
It does hurt, but there’s a sly edge to him—he knows Rook loves it.
Sure enough.
“Yeah, baby?” Rook groans, pushing himself even deeper—deep enough to make Nice gasp. It feels like Rook’s cock is going all the way into his stomach. He can almost feel it in his throat. “Is this big cock hurting you?”
“Yeah,” Nice nods, letting his head hang down as he gets his bearings and then—a little too soon—starts to ride. “Feels like it’s splitting me open, taking my tight little virgin hole.”
Rook groans again and thrusts up hard.
“Aah!”
Nice doesn’t even have to play. The feeling of suddenly having all of Rook’s enormous cock shoved in his hole is overwhelming. It doesn’t take long before he’s pushed forward with his face against the mattress, drooling against the sheets with his ass in the air as Rook fucks him hard, driving into him with deep, punishing thrusts of his hips.
Nice can feel his resolve cracking, being broken down. He can cum like this, untouched like this.
Rook can tell he’s getting close, like scenting blood in the water.
“Nearly there, love? Going to cum on my cock?”
His words send a sick thrill through Nice, drilling down deep into his gut where he feels them. He doesn’t speak, only grunts out an affirmation, spreading his legs wider on their bed.
Another few thrusts have him coming with a shout. Rook fucks the cum out of him, drilling him in his most sensitive space, hollowing him out over and over. He grips Nice by the wrists, pulling his arms behind his back as he chases his own pleasure, his own orgasm nearly there. He fucks Nice through the overstimulation, using Nice the way he knows Nice likes to be used, and finally cums inside him with a moan.
He’s gentle with Nice in the aftermath, letting him down gently, and helping to rub his limbs to make sure there isn’t any soreness.
Nice submits to the ministrations for a few minutes, then gently waves Rook off. He sits up, testing his limbs carefully, and yawns in contentment.
He grimaces a little. He can feel Rook’s spend leaking from him down below. If he doesn’t go back to the bathroom, he’s going to end up sleeping in a wet patch tonight.
“Did it really bother you?” Rook asks once they’re settled once more, cuddled together under the duvet that keeps the chill of winter out. “What I said earlier.”
Nice is halfway asleep, floating in that completely sated place, and it takes him a while to surface when he’s spoken to.
“Mmph?” he makes a soft sound, and then his lovely face cracks open on a yawn, eyes squinting shut. “Did what bother me?”
Probably, at this point, Rook should just let it lie. “What I said about June.”
“Oh.”
Nice blinks, letting himself come more fully awake. He feels like he needs to be, for this conversation.
Nice doesn’t like examining his own feelings very much. They’re like a thorny, nettled pit in the center of him—not a nice place to visit. But Rook asked, so he tentatively pulls out a feeling now, holding it up to the light so he can see it better.
In the quiet dark, with Rook’s bare chest pressed warm to his back, Nice says, “I don’t like when things change, I guess. And… June is mine. I think I’m a little jealous of your brother.” Nice tilts his head. “Is that strange?”
“No stranger than me being jealous of June when you talk like that.”
“You know you have no reason to be…” Nice says lowly.
“I know,” Rook says instead of teasing. He leans forward to press a kiss to the back of Nice’s head, inhaling the sweet scent of his lover, ylang-ylang shampoo and a delicate, masculine scent underneath, like clean sweat.
That Nice had fucked June, had given him his body… Rook couldn’t say it didn’t hurt. But he loves Nice like his own bones, his own blood, and he would never hold it against him.
And besides, Nice is in his own bed on this night, wrapped up safe in Rook’s arms instead of far away in any of the places that he could be. It’s enough.