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shelterforananimal · 1 year

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Okay third and final time posting this because I got too nervous the first two times and deleted the post. This was written as a gift for St-Danger. I’m shelterforananimal on ao3 if you want to keep up with my writing :)

Rating: E

Pairing: Aether/Dewdrop

Words: 10,918

Warnings: under-negotiated kink

Summary: When Dew had decided to make his move, he hadn't expected it to be so hard. Dew romances Aether, eventually.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43023222

When Dew had decided to make his move, he hadn’t expected it to be so hard.

Yesterday, he was outside with the other ghouls, finishing up the final steps of winterizing Mountain’s greenhouse. Sweden gets cold as all hell, and the spacious building has thin walls that need a little extra help holding up to the harsh chill. It’s already pretty cold outside, so one of the sisters had brought them all mugs of hot chocolate to keep warm and boost morale. It was, quite frankly, delicious. It seemed like real hot chocolate, not that powdered stuff, and she had added spices. Dew sat down and drank his right away, more than willing to shirk his work for a bit. Aether, on the other hand, had set his down until he finished his part of the job. By the look on his face when he took the first sip, it went cold by time he got to it.

Dew sidled up to him, squeezing their thighs together on the small bench. The stone made his ass cold, so he raised his body temperature a little bit to counteract it. He didn’t miss the way Aether leaned into his side just the slightest.

“Here,” Dew said, making grabby hands toward the mug, “Let me.” Aether handed it over, giving Dew a quizzical look. Dew ignored that, wrapping both hands around the cup. He swirled it as he warmed it, making sure the liquid was evenly heated. Once steam started rising from the dark brown liquid, he offered the mug to Aether, who gave one of his blinding, toothy smiles. Aether had thanked him, their fingers brushing as he took the cup. His face scrunched up with the second sip, but relaxed into his regular small smile quickly.

“It’s almost too hot, now,” he said, chuckling a little. Dew spit out the first thing that came to mind.

“Just like you,” he said, immediately regretting it. How fucking corny was that? But that’s the thing about Aether: his mere presence shuts off Dew’s brain. Dew can be suave and smooth when he wants to, except whenever Aether is involved. Which sucks, because that’s when he needs it the most. Despite his stupid line, Aether laughed brightly. He shook his head and started up a conversation about Cumulus’s new potential solo.

So here Dew is, trying to think up a way to hit on Aether other than grabbing his junk on stage, as ghouls are wont to do. If he comes up with a plan ahead of time, he figures, maybe he won’t mess up and say something dumb. Unfortunately, nothing comes to mind. Well, a lot of things come to mind, actually, but none of them are very appropriate.

It would be so much easier if it were just sex. He’d just pull Aether into some alcove and get on his knees. No one has ever been able or inclined to say no to that. But Dew actually– ugh– likes Aether. He doesn’t just want to blow him, he wants to kiss him and hold his hand and whisper sweet nothings to him. It’s all pretty gross, but he can’t help himself. Yes, he wants Aether to push his face into the mattress and rail him until he cries, but he also wants Aether to say he loves him afterward.

Ew.

Anyway, he’s stalking around the abbey, plotting his next move. He must look as agitated as he feels, because everyone he passes gives him a wide berth. Dew’s notorious for his temper, so he can’t blame them. He makes his way outside, hoping the cold air will clear his mind and help him think. As he rounds the building, he hears Swiss’s voice as he laments forgetting his lighter. When he comes into sight, Dew realizes Aether is to Swiss’s left, leaning against the stone wall of the abbey.

“Stop smoking, then,” Dew chides as he approaches, “Dumbass.” Swiss gives him the finger, before using it to snap a flame into existence. He lights the end of his cigarette as Aether pushes off the wall to approach Dew. He can feel his heart begin to speed up the closer Aether gets.

“Gimme a light?” he asks, coming to a stop closer to Dew than is acceptable for polite company. Good thing no one has ever accused Dew of being polite.

“Yeah,” Dew agrees easily, “Of course.” He mimics Swiss’s snap, the flame above his fingers flickering in the wind. Aether puts the cigarettes between his lips– which are very distracting, by the way– and leans forward, ducking his head down toward Dew’s fingers. Just as he’s about to make contact, Dew draws his fingers back slowly. Aether moves forward, Dew’s hand moves back. The few seconds they dance this dance feels like a hundred years. Dew stops once he can feel the flame about to burn his face. He and Aether are breathing each other’s air, and when Aether touches the cig to the flame and inhales deeply, it pulls the breath right out of Dew’s lungs. Aether keeps unwavering eye contact through it all, his irises shining silver in the midday sun. When Aether pulls back, Dew barely resists the urge to follow him. He blows the smoke in a steady stream above Dew’s head, looking back down at him with a crooked smile.

“Thanks,” he says, returning to his place against the wall.

It’s hours later when Dew realizes Swiss could have lit both cigarettes, but Aether came to him, instead.

Two tries down and Dew is starting to think he needs to bring out the big guns. One thing he’s noticed about Aether over the years is that he doesn’t seem to realize he’s cold until he stops and thinks about it. He’ll walk around all day with no coat and his shirt sleeves rolled up, but then be huddled under a pile of blankets in the living room by sundown. Today is one of those days.

Dew comes back from finishing his chores to hopefully watch a movie, and finds Aether curled up in the corner of the couch, at least three blankets piled on top of him. Dew steals the remote and nestles on the other side of the couch. He switches from HGTV to some horror movie from years ago that he remembers being vaguely scary. Aether doesn’t fight him on it, unwilling to leave his little nest. As Dew watches, he begins to sprawl out, unable to stay contained for long. He puts his feet up on the ottoman, stretching one arm along the back of the couch and the other on the armrest. The movie isn’t as good as he thought, though he can see Aether flinch at one of the jump scares.

Seeing Aether out of the corner of his eye is both good and bad. Good, because seeing Aether is always a blessing. Bad, because he can’t stop noticing the other ghoul’s miserable shivering. He looks pathetic and Dew wants to kiss him so badly that it aches. Aether keeps surreptitiously looking at Dew, and it takes a while for him to figure out why. Dew is a furnace in a ghoul’s body, and Aether is freezing.

“Come here,” Dew commands once the realization hits. Aether knows exactly what he means, doesn’t even pretend to be confused, but he still hesitates. Dew pats the cushion next to him invitingly, until Aether finally moves. He crawls across the couch, dragging his blankets with him. Dew valiantly tries not to think of how he looks on his hands and knees. He fails.

Pulling Aether close to his side is heart-stopping, despite the chill he brings with him. They’ve cuddled countless times on the bus and backstage, but tour is different. Things feel less real on the road, somehow. Then again, things have felt different since Dew admitted his feelings to himself.

For now, he focuses on warming Aether up without burning him. Sometimes it’s difficult to control his body heat when he gets flustered, so he does his best to stay calm and breathe deep. The channel is already changed before Dew realizes Aether has snaked his arm around to snatch the remote without him noticing. It may be the first time Dew has ever not noticed Aether’s arms. Dew would complain, but Aether sighs in content and sinks further into him, and how could he disagree with that?

Nothing happens, unfortunately, but a confession sits on the back of Dew’s tongue all night. If only he had the guts to say it.

A few more days pass, and Dew finally comes up with a plan. It’s almost embarrassingly obvious, but Dew is nothing if not forward. He rushes through his chores that day, doing them just well enough that Imperator will only grimace at him but not make him redo them. The hope had been to begin his plan as soon as possible, but he inconveniently forgot that he has to wait for Aether to finish his chores, too. He spends a couple hours in the living room staring blankly at the TV. He couldn’t tell someone what’s been playing if they paid him. All he can think of his the last time he’d been here with Aether. The way the quintessence ghoul had melted into his side, completely relaxed, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. Even after the chill had been chased from his skin, he stayed where he was, purring almost too quietly for Dew to hear.

After a small eternity of torturing himself with his thoughts, Aether walks by on the way to his room. Dew scrambles to his feet, tripping over the corner on the ottoman and stubbing his toe on the leg in the process. He tumbles to the ground, banging his elbow on the hardwood. The string of curses he lets loose is colorful and creative. Immediately, Aether is above him, asking if he’s okay. Dew assures him that he’s fine, as he takes the offered hand and lets Aether pull him up like he weighs nothing. The quiet strength makes him clear his throat to avoid saying something stupid.

“Do you wanna go for a walk?” Dew asks, without preamble. He’d intended to be suave about it all, but Aether agrees anyway, so he’ll count it as a win. Dew had kept his shoes next to the couch to expedite the process, so it only takes a second to slip the boots on and zip them up. Once again, Aether is only wearing a regular shirt, sleeves up to his elbows. Perfect.

Snow is falling lightly when they exit the abbey, a thin layer already accumulated on the ground. There aren’t any flowers or animals to look at, like there would be in the spring, but it’s peaceful in a way they rarely get to experience. They walk together, about a foot apart, chatting about whatever comes to mind. Aether brings up the time Dew choked Rain on stage, and Dew gets a little heated relating the thorough dressing-down he’d received afterward, which earns him a laugh from Aether. Dew leaves out the part where Rain gave him a… demonstration about proper choking technique later. It’s no secret that Dew has slept with most of the band, ghoul and ghoulette alike, but that’s not something he wants to bring up right now.

As Aether is telling a story about Mountain, Cirrus, and some honey, Dew looks at his hands. Aether had let his sleeves down some time ago to stave off the winter chill, but his hands are still bare. They’re flushed a dark grey, almost black with the blood flow stagnated by cold. Now is the moment he’s been waiting for. All he has to do is reach out. Just reach out.

Something inside of him won’t let him. Maybe it’s the way his pulse has skyrocketed with the thought, or how his brain is playing out a million nightmare scenarios. Dew has never been one for anxiety, and he tends to get bitey when it does surface. But this time, he wants to retreat into his room and never come out. His want is so humiliating in its enormity, and to express that want, that need, seems like it would flay him apart, leave all of him open for Aether to see.

Then Aether laughs.

Aether laughs, and Dew could withstand any shame in the world for the chance to stand in his light.

Without asking without thinking, he reaches out and takes Aether’s hand in his own. Aether stops in his tracks, looks to their joined hands, looks back to Dew’s eyes. His expression is inscrutable, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to bite Dew’s throat out. The snow insulates the world around them, making everything unbearably quiet.

“Your hand looked cold,” Dew says weakly. Something in Aether’s face changes, a soft smile taking root there. There’s a sad edge to it, for some reason, and Dew wants it gone. He wants the small, secret, delighted smile Aether only ever gives to him. He laces their fingers together, beginning to walk again, gently tugging Aether along. As always, Aether follows.

“So,” Dew prompts, “Mountain had the honey on his back?”

In the days following their walk, Dew begins to rethink his mission. He’s been about as obvious as he can be without outright telling Aether how he feels, and yet nothing has come of it. Sure, Aether hasn’t, like, told him to fuck off, and he freely partakes of Dew’s affection, but that’s not what he wants. Well, it is what he wants, but he was kind of hoping for some kind of confession or dramatic declaration of love. Instead, he just gets this ache of longing in his chest whenever he feels Aether against him. An ache he would kill anyone else for so much as suggesting, but that he feels nonetheless.

He’s playing cards with Swiss this afternoon, getting his ass handed to him in rummy. Just before they’d started, Dew had the revelation that if Aether isn’t reciprocating his advances, it certainly means that he doesn’t feel the same way. Aether obviously doesn’t mind their affectionate friendship, but Dew’s not sure he can stand having everything he wants laid out in front of him, and not being allowed to have it. He’s not sure he can live without the feel of Aether’s skin against his own, either.

Swiss makes two combos at once, and Dew growls, throwing down his cards. This game is stupid, anyway. Unfortunately, Swiss is the least likely to shy away from Dew’s moods. Which means that he calmly sets down his own cards, folds his hands on the table, and stares directly into Dew’s harsh glare.

“This is about Aether,” he says, not a question. There have been several times that Dew suspected Swiss can read minds, though he insists that he can’t. This is another time to add to the list. Swiss has only been around for a fraction of his interactions with Aether, though Aether has taken to cuddling with Dew no matter who else is around. But that’s not damning evidence. Dew’s done his best to be obvious to Aether, but that doesn’t mean it’d be obvious to anyone else. Apparently Dew’s stunned silence is enough of a response for Swiss, because he continues.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asks, shooting Dew a smirk, “Lovers’ quarrel already?” That only serves to make Dew angrier. Not only does he have to call him out like it’s nothing, but he has the nerve to make fun of Dew about something like this? Fucking asshole. Dew mutters as much as he shoves himself up out of his chair to leave. That seems to startle Swiss, which Dew takes a sick satisfaction in. He starts off toward his room, fully intending to slam the door in Swiss’s stupid face. Swiss can be a dick, but he’s rarely cruel. It’s been hard enough for Dew to reckon with his own feelings; he doesn’t need someone pointing them out and mocking them. He’s never felt so soft in his life, so vulnerable, and it’s messing with his head. He’s allowed himself this deep desire, and he can’t have it, and it makes him want to tear something apart. Tear himself apart.

Swiss grabs Dew’s arm just outside his door. Dew spins on him and snaps his teeth in his face. When he’s angry, his skin gets hot enough to burn, which is usually enough to deter people from touching him. But Swiss is a multi-ghoul, so he doesn’t even flinch. Damn him and his heat resistance.

“Dew,” he says, clearly concerned, “What the fuck?” It’s such a Swiss way to ask “are you okay” that a little bit of the fire inside of him dampens. He still wants to punch him in the face, but the feral part of him at least now recognizes that this is his friend. Dew huffs, tears his arm out of Swiss’s grip, and crosses both over his chest.

“It’s not fucking funny,” he says, flicking his eyes toward the ground. He’s never been good at any emotion other than anger, but at least he tries. There’s a long, uncomfortable silence that stretches between them. Dew’s tempted to just turn around and retreat to his room, but Swiss speaks before he can.

“You haven’t told him,” he says, softer than Dew is used to hearing him. He bristles, tail whipping in agitation. The pity rolling off of Swiss in waves has his teeth itching to sink into flesh. Pity is even worse than cruelty. The feelings inside of Dew are a whirlwind, a tempestuous roil that’s leaving him more confused and overwhelmed by the second. They’re moving too fast for him to recognize, his body being thrown between sensations that he can’t name. He wants to kill. He wants to cry.

“Dew,” Swiss says his name so gently, like the smallest sound will break him, “What the fuck?” It’s amazing how much Swiss can convery by repeating the same sentence. Why haven’t you told him, Dew’s mind supplies, you need to tell him. Every fresh feeling of disappointment and rejection and devastation that Dew has been suppressing for weeks comes crashing down on him, extinguishing his anger, but still making him want to scream. His throat is tight with the urge, his arms moving to hug his torso defensively, his claws digging into his sides. If he presses any harder, his shirt will rip.

“He doesn’t want me,” he manages to choke out. His chest hurts. His eyes burn. He’s getting a headache and he feels like he’s going to suffocate. All the passion he’s been holding on to for weeks, months, years, is twisting into something else. It just hurts.

“He said that?” Swiss seems genuinely surprised, like this is the most unexpected thing he’s heard in his life. As much as it hurts Dew, it doesn’t surprise him. Aether is sweet, and funny, and kind and strong and talented and everything Dew is not. With his newfound clarity, it’s obvious to him that Aether wouldn’t feel the same. How could he ever fall for someone like Dew? Someone so brash and hot headed and annoying? Aether deserves better. He deserves everything. He deserves more than Dew could ever be.

“He didn’t say it out loud,” Dew replies, feeling exhaustion start to weigh him down, “But I can take a hint.” He’d thought he was so close. He’s been a fool.

“Oh my god,” Swiss says, rubbing a hand over his face, “You’re so stupid.” What’s left of Dew’s anger bristles again. Being insulted by Swiss is almost always a lowkey affectionate gesture, but that doesn’t mean Dew’s first reaction isn’t to call him a bitch.

“You have to tell him,” Swiss says, resolute, “With your words.” The idea of speaking his emotions out loud is disgusting, especially now.

“No,” Dew replies immediately, “Why would I do that.” Swiss heaves a sigh, like he’s dealing with a small child. Dew may be small, but he’s no child.

“Because that’s the only way to know for sure,” he says. Dew scoffs.

“I know,” he insists, “And I’m not gonna make him uncomfortable like that.” Having to reject someone outright is always awful and awkward, especially when it’s a friend. He’s not about to put Aether through that just to hear what he already knows.

“Dew,” Swiss says his name yet again, frustrated this time, “You need to handle this like an adult.” In Dew’s opinion, this is the adult way to handle it. He tried, he failed, he accepted defeat. Other than this interaction, he’s kept his outbursts confined to his room. He hasn’t fought anyone. That’s about as adult as it gets.

“I’m not setting myself up to get rejected again,” Dew replies. His claws have stopped trying to tear through his shirt, and he hugs himself tightly. It’s a small comfort in the face of the idea of humiliating himself. Swiss takes a step forward, getting closer than Dew would like. He dips his head down to speak lowly.

“You won’t get rejected,” he says, like a secret and a threat, “Because Aether is in love with you too.” The proximity and grave way he speaks leave Dew speechless. He says it like it’s a sure thing, like he knows something Dew doesn’t. Half of Dew wants so desperately to believe him, the other half just can’t. Swiss moves back, and Dew feels like he can breathe again. The air rushes out of him, the last of his energy going with it. Satan, how do people deal with having feelings all the time? It’s exhausting.

“Just do it, please,” Swiss requests, patting Dew’s shoulder, “If only so I don’t have to watch your pathetic puppy dog eyes.” This entire interaction has been surprisingly soft on Swiss’s end, until right then. It’s a rare occasion for him to be so gentle and serious, especially both at once. The oddity of it makes it stick in Dew’s mind through sitting in his room, through getting ready for bed. He wishes sleeping pills worked for demons, because he spends way too much of the night thinking.

The lack of sleep makes him grumpy the next day. He grumbles the whole time he does his chores, snaps at a Brother for getting in his way. It’s only when he settles into the couch, Aether huddled against his side even though he’s not cold, that his brain calms and his mood lifts. He falls asleep like that, regardless of the movie playing that he actually wants to watch. When he wakes, it’s to Aether’s tired-soft eyes as he shakes him. Aether walks him to his room, bids him goodnight at the door like a gentleman. Dew sleeps better that night.

Days pass, somehow painfully slowly but blindingly quick. Swiss’s words are still stuck in Dew’s head, surfacing to distract him at inconvenient times. Even Mountain comments on how out of it Dew has been. He finds himself thinking of Aether’s hand in his as he washes the windows, thinking of their faces so close together, separated only by a flame, while he does the dishes. Most of all, he fantasizes about telling Aether how he feels. Imagines him reciprocating, lighting up like the sun, taking Dew’s face in his hands and kissing him. It’s a sweet type of pain, the bit of hope in his heart refusing to be pushed away.

Aether catches him after he finishes his chores, inviting him to take another walk. Dew agrees, of course, and they set out. Winter is in full swing, snow covering everything as far as the eye can see. The trees are heavy with it, the abbey looking ironically like a Christmas card. Their uniform boots aren’t exactly well insulated, but Dew will deal with the wet and cold if it means he gets to see the dark flush high on Aether’s cheeks, the brightness of his silver eyes as he admires their surroundings. Aether has his sleeves up, as per usual, and Dew watches as the black overtakes his hands, begins to creep up his forearms.

Without warning, without looking at him, Aether takes his hand.

Dew stops, staring down at their linked fingers. He’s already started to raise his temperature to warm Aether without realizing. Dew looks up to meet Aether’s eyes.

“My hand is cold,” Aether says, smiling, cheeks flushed a beautiful black. Dew thinks again of everything that’s been stuck on his mind for the past week and a half. How Aether had come to him for a light instead of Swiss, had played along when Dew led him close. How he falls so easily into Dew’s side on the couch, purrs quietly into his shoulder. How they held hands as they walked last time, all the way back to their rooms. He thinks of Aether holding his hand now, having reached out of his own accord, and he realizes.

“You love me,” he says dumbly. Aether’s blush starts to move toward his collar.

“What?” he responds, and Dew can’t tell if the subtle tremble of Aether’s hand is from the cold or nerves.

“You love me,” he says again. A giddiness is bubbling up inside of his chest. All this time, Dew had thought that Aether was only responding to his advances out of friendship, accepting the excuses Dew gave at face value. He hadn’t seen that this is reciprocation. That Aether has been using Dew’s excuses as his own, to justify getting as close as he can. Aether plays along because he wants this as much as Dew does. Because he wants Dew.

“Look,” Aether says, suddenly unable to look Dew in the eye, “I didn’t mean to make this weird, or freak you out. And I totally understand that you don’t feel the same way! But I can… compartmentalize or whatever, it doesn’t have to be, like, a thing.” Dew would literally jump for joy if he had an inch less of self control. His face stretches into the widest grin he’s managed in weeks, fangs showing.

“You love me,” he breathes, a million emotions swirling inside of him, his chest fit to burst. Aether forces his gaze up from the ground to meet Dew’s, embarrassed and all the cuter for it.

“Yeah,” he says. Dew wants to tear him apart. Instead, he cradles Aether’s face in his free hand, admiring the cut of his jaw and the way he leans into it the slightest bit.

“We’re both so stupid,” Dew says, a small chuckle turning into a full laugh at the ridiculousness of this entire situation. How could he have thought Aether didn’t love him? It was all right there, obvious now in hindsight. Even before Dew’s courting rituals, the signs were there. Aether’s delight with seemingly everything Dew does, even when Dew is throwing things at him to piss him off. Choosing time with Dew over others, insisting that they room together when hotel rooms are shared on the road. The time he spent hours cooking Dew’s favorite meal, something his mother used to make back when he was human, despite knowing it could never be quite as good. Aether has been showing him, over and over, how much he loves him, and Dew has been too oblivious to notice.

Aether is confused, and beginning to look uncomfortable. His head is still tilted into Dew’s hand, though.

“I love you too,” he says, finally letting loose the confession that’s been stuck in the back of his throat for months. When Aether gives a tentative smile, it hits Dew that he could have had this a long time ago, if he had only been braver. Suddenly, he’s overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him, a fire inside him burning bright and desperate.

“Yeah?” Aether asks, squeezing Dew’s hand once.

“Yeah,” Dew confirms, relishing that blinding, secret smile that he always craves, and Aether is now offering. He should have known before, but he knows now, and that’s more than enough.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” Dew says, and then he does. Both of their lips are chapped from the cold, and they’re smiling too much for it to work right, but it’s the best kiss Dew has ever had the pleasure of being a part of. The short, sweet kisses they exchange send sparks down Dew’s spine, so different from what he’s used to, but lighting him up from the inside out anyway. He rubs a thumb over Aether’s cheekbone, brushes a freshly fallen snowflake from his eyelashes. Aether shudders, either from the tenderness or the cold, or maybe both. Dew should probably get him back inside before he freezes to a second death.

They run back through the forest to the abbey, giggling like school children the entire way as they dodge through branches and hop over rocks. Dew’s heart is light and he never wants to hear anything but Aether’s laugh ever again. Even when he has the horrible thought Swiss was right, he can’t find it in himself to be irritated. He can’t manage to feel anything other than the joy and relief filling him top to bottom. Once inside the abbey, shaking off the snow that had coated their shirts, something stirs in Dew. He watches Aether mess his own hair around to get the snow out, protests when he tries to do the same to Dew. He sees the trembling of his body under his soaked shirt, his limp hair, the blush settled from the apples of his cheeks to the collar of his shirt, and he’s never wanted to wreck someone so badly in his life.

“Come on,” he says, taking Aether’s hand again, “Let me warm you up.” Luckily, Aether seems to catch that hint. If the dark look he gets in his eyes is any indication, he’s feeling the same way. Today, Dew has gotten almost everything he wants, and now he’s going to take the last thing he’s been longing for. They don’t run to his room, but it’s a near thing. They manage to make it through some pleasantries when they pass Cirrus and Cumulus in the living room, before ducking around the corner and slipping into Aether’s room as quietly as they can. He’s not sure why they’re being so secretive about it, because Dew ants to shout from the rooftops that Aether is his, that Aether chose him. At the same time, he likes it this way. He wants to keep this to himself for a moment, to have his own secret love, under the table. He wants Aether to himself, just for a little while.

Once in his room, they both pause. For a moment, Dew is struck with a self-consciousness he’s never felt before. It passes quickly. He knows he’s good in bed, and even though this feels somehow more important than any other time, he can’t imagine that Aether will protest anything he does. The dark looks returns to Aether, and he advances slowly on Dew. He backs him up against the door with bullying hands. He moves in close, dips his head down to get eye-level with Dew, and gives a toothy smile that flashes his fangs.

“I’m gonna kiss you, now,” he says, a dirty mimic of Dew’s own words. Dew expects a crashing kiss, clacking teeth and tangling tongues. Instead, Aether presses their lips together softly, lingering there for a long moment. He kisses Dew firmly, deeply, thoroughly, using quick flicks of his tongue to have Dew chasing his lips. It’s intoxicating and has his head swimming, but it’s not enough. When Dew tries to press forward, add force, Aether uses two hands on his shoulders to slam him back against the door. Dew can’t help but moan into the kiss.

The hands on his shoulders move up to either side of his neck, big enough to wrap around and then some. He doesn’t squeeze, but it knocks Dew breathless anyway. It takes everything in him to not fall straight to his knees. He feels Aether’s smile against his lips, so clearly the bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. His hands are still freezing, only adding to the sensation.

Dew reaches for Aether’s shirt, surprised when he doesn’t stop him from undoing the buttons. Aether still hasn’t stopped kissing him, no longer teasing but now exploring with his tongue. Dew runs hands along his chest, his sides, his stomach. When he brushes a nipple and Aether lets out his first real moan, it feels like a revelation. He does it again and again, drinking up the moans let out against his mouth. He pinches and Aether bites his lip, sucks the blood from the cut he leaves. Dew whines, tries to push his shirt off.

Aether finally leans back, both of them panting. He pulls off his still-wet shirt, slides off Dew’s jacket, and starts undoing the buttons on his shirt. He pulls off the half-damp garment, tossing it carelessly into the pile on the floor. His fingers find the rings through Dew’s nipples immediately, resting on top of them.

“I’ve always wanted to play with these,” Aether says, tugging them slightly to make Dew’s breath catch, “Drive me crazy when you’re shirtless.” That admission satisfies Dew deep inside. The idea that Aether has sat there, losing his mind over something so simple hits his pride just right. Maybe Aether’s retreated to his room after seeing Dew’s body before, laid down in bed and touched himself about it. Maybe he hadn’t even made it to the bed, just leaned against the door and jerked himself frantically, overtaken with lust. Dew will have to ask him some time.

A firm pull of his piercings brings him out of his thoughts, exhaling forcefully at the sensation. The sting of it is precisely the reason he’d gotten them in the first place, and Aether takes full advantage. He goes back to kissing Dew, pulling and flicking and pinching while Dew moans into his mouth. His dick is so fucking hard already. He grabs Aether by the hips, yanking him forward until he can grind against his thigh. He’s not tall enough to do the same for Aether, so he makes sure to arch his spine enough that Aether’s cock can rub against Dew’s lower abdomen. He’s seen Aether’s dick before on tour, but feeling it against him, separated only by his slacks, makes Dew’s mouth water.

The growl Aether lets out comes from deep in his chest, low and animalistic. He pinches Dew’s nipples hard with his mean nails, bites at his jaw. Dew continues rutting against him, a steady grind while Aether uses teeth and tongue on his neck like he’s intent on making sure that the entire congregation knows that Dew is his. Dew doesn’t mind that idea one bit.

Finally, Aether steps back, pulling Dew away from the door and lightly, repeatedly shoving him toward the bed. Dew puts up a token resistance, partially because he has a reputation to uphold, mostly because Aether showing his strength gets him hot under the collar. Aether must know, because he bodily picks Dew up and throws him onto the bed. Dew bounces twice before he can prop himself on his elbows, breathing heavy as his stomach burns with desire. The smirk on Aether’s face is smug, but the look in his eye belies how close he is to losing control.

Dew lets himself lean farther back as Aether crawls over him. He reaches out and tweaks one of Dew’s abused nipples, which definitely does not make Dew squeak. It gets Aether to smile and kiss him again, though, which he counts as a win. Aether palms Dew’s dick through his pants, and he’s helpless to stop his hips from bucking up into it. Aether sits back, uses one hand to hold Dew’s hips on the bed, keeping him immobilized as he continues to stroke him through the fabric. Dew can feel how hot his face is, how hot his entire body is, and knows Aether must see the blush spreading from cheeks to shoulders.

“So pretty,” Aether says, staring straight into Dew’s soul, “You’d let me do anything I wanted to you, wouldn’t you?” That just makes Dew even hotter, because yeah, yeah he would. Being called pretty doesn’t help either. It’s embarrassing. He’s been called sexy, hot, even handsome, but never pretty. At least, not in this context. It’s such a delicate word, makes him feel small in a way he’d never imagined. It’s a word for girls, not a male demon from literal hell. Aether squeezes him roughly, refocusing his attention with a moan.

“You would,” he repeats, “Wouldn’t you?” This is embarrassing, too. That they both clearly know the answer, but he’s going to make Dew admit it out loud anyway.

“Yeah,” Dew gasps out after another squeeze, “Whatever you want.” He wants to add a please at the end, and it throws him off. One thing about Dew is that he doesn’t beg. He’s been edged for hours without begging, even walked out on Swiss once when he’d tried to demand it. But if there’s someone who could make Dew break, it would be Aether.

“Good boy,” Aether praises, popping the button on Dew’s pants. His words are almost as good as the relief of his zipper being undone and his cock freed. Aether strokes him once, thumbs the head, never breaking eye contact. Dew gives a disgruntled noise when his hand stills. He tries to thrust into it, but Aether’s other hand is still firm on his hip.

“So pretty,” he says again, too soft and genuine. Dew throws his arm over his eyes, unable to look at Aether as he admires him. He’s allowed to hide for a few seconds before Aether releases his hip to move his arm out of the way, pinning it on the bed next to Dew’s head.

“You don’t like it when I call you pretty?” he asks, tilting his head, “Would you prefer beautiful?” Dew instinctively tries to cover his face again, but Aether’s grip is too solid. This is humiliating, and yet it’s only making his dick harder. It doesn’t escape Aether’s notice, couldn’t with the way Dew’s dick twitches in his other hand. He gives another long, slow stroke, just to make Dew whine.

Luckily, Aether decides there are better things to do with his mouth than embarrass Dew. He leans forward, kisses at Dew’s shoulders, his chest, sucks a deep mark into the curve of his pec just left of his nipple until he whines again. Dew’s hands fly to tangle in Aether’s hair, his arms finally freed so that Aether can stroke his sides. He gasps when Aether bites one of his nipples, heedless of the metal scraping his teeth. Dew tries to push his head downward, wants that mouth somewhere else. As always, Aether follows, laying kisses along his ribcage and stomach, stopping short of his dick. Dew presses harder, but doesn’t have the leverage he needs to force Aether to do anything. Aether lays his cheek on his stomach, looking up to Dew yet again..

Aether picks his head up, licks a stripe up his cock from base to tip, and bites his hip. The kisses he leaves on his hips and the crease of his thighs are gentle, the marks he makes are brutal on the sensitive skin. Apparently, he’s decided Dew’s desperate noises are more important than actually, y’know, following through on blowing him. If someone asked, Dew would say this lasts a year. Anyone with sense left in their brains would say five minutes, at best.

The way Dew keens when Aether finally takes the head into his mouth is something he will deny until he dies again.

The lead-up was a warning, it turns out, because Aether wastes no time in making Dew’s brain melt out of his ears. He sucks the head almost too hard, strokes the base, rubs at his balls. Of course, Dew tries to thrust up at the sensation; any reasonable person would. Aether’s thick forearm comes down on his abdomen like a metal bar, holding Dew exactly where he wants him. All he can do is moan and pull at Aether’s hair as he’s carefully taken apart. Aether’s mouth is so warm around him, working its way down. He lets his cock prod at the back of his throat, but doesn’t go any farther. The rhythm he starts up is so perfectly timed that it justifies his place in the band.

As soon as it starts feeling like too much, Aether pulls off. He toys with Dew’s balls for a few seconds longer, softening the loss of stimulation. Dew’s fingers fall from his hair when he sits up and back, taking in the view. Dew knows he must look like a mess already, sweating and hot from head to toe. His tail is flicking wildly without his brain’s input.

In a flash, Dew is on his stomach, Aether flipping him over like he weighs nothing. An oof comes out when he hits the mattress, pushing himself up on his forearms and twisting to look back at Aether. He just smiles, half fond, half burning. He runs a hand from Dew’s shoulder blades down the line of his spine. Dew just barely gets his knees under him when Aether lifts his hips up, his slacks still tangled at the bottom of his thighs. Aether gently traces the curve of his ass, openly admiring it.

“Pants,” Dew says, unable to form more words than that. It gets his point across, the two of them working together to get them off. With more room to spread out, Dew gets into a better position.

“Gonna eat you out, now,” Aether informs him, tacking on, “Beautiful.” It makes Dew’s breath hitch, obviously, but at least he doesn’t make any stupid noises. He had been expecting something more along the lines of “gonna fuck you now”, but he’ll take it. He’s not sure he’ll be able to handle it, with how close he already is, but he’s not going to pass up the opportunity to have Aether’s tongue on him. When he hangs his head down, Aether spreads him open and runs a thumb over his hole.

“Get to it, then,” he demands, pushing into the touch. Aether’s laugh is all the warning he gets. The first broad stroke of his tongue makes Dew sigh, relaxing into the touch. Aether doesn’t spend long warming him up, as if he knows that Dew won’t be patient enough for it. His tongue firms up, tracing nonsensical patterns across his hole, pressing just hard enough to make Dew’s head swim, but not enough to breach him. His thumbs dig into his ass where’s holding him open, and Dew has just enough brain power to hope that it bruises. He wants as many marks as possible to prove tomorrow that this happened, wants to feel it when he sits, to press fingers into the marks and let the sting bring back the memories. Not that he could ever forget this. Even if he fell off the stage straight on his head, he’d still have the way Aether’s tongue feels when he finally pushes past him rim burned into his brain.

Some would likely describe his moaning as “helpless”, but Dew prefers “enthusiastic”. Aether licks as deeply into him as he can, but Dew still wants him deeper. He wants Aether to consume him, to hollow him out and live inside of him, to reach all those secret parts he hides inside and love them. And Satan be damned, it feels like he’s trying.

When Aether pulls away, he has to run a soothing hand down Dew’s back until the bereft whining in his throat stops. He rummages around in the drawers next to the bed, and Dew doesn’t even look over to see what he’s grabbing. If they’re on the same page, he already knows anyway. The relieved huff he lets out once Aether’s mouth returns is beyond his control. The other ghoul doesn’t stop, even when he presses a clearly lubed finger into him. With how long Aether has been eating him out, making his bones feel like jelly, the intrusion doesn’t phase him. It’s welcome, even, because it means that he can reach farther inside, moving at different angles as he continues to tongue-fuck the life out of Dew. Either he’s valiantly ignoring the taste of the lube to do so, or he owns flavored lube, and if it’s the latter, Dew is absolutely going to make fun of him once he’s gathered his brain off the floor.

Right now, however, Aether has started stroking his prostate as he sucks at his rim, and all he can do is watch the sparks behind his eyes and try not to come. It wouldn’t be embarrassing at this point, with the attention Aether has been showering on him, but he wants to get fucked first. Satan knows he’s imagined it enough, and he’s not going to wait another day to experience it. Hell, he doesn’t want to wait another minute, but Aether seems intent on driving him crazy. When he slides the fourth finger in, Dew nearly bites through his own tongue, resisting the urge to sob. The stretch is good, the strategic pressure on his prostate is good, Aether’s mouth roaming his ass is good. It’s all good, but it’s too good, and if Aether doesn’t get his dick in Dew soon, he may not get it in at all. Dew bites his fist hard enough to break skin, tail thrashing in the air where it’s held out of the way.

When Aether pulls out and away, he really does sob. Aether’s big body blankets how own completely, the ghoul appeasing him with kisses on the back of his neck and whispers of what a good boy he is, so good, so fucking beautiful and perfect for me.

“C’mon,” Dew whines once his heart has returned to its place in his chest, rocking backward into Aether to tempt him into action. It works well enough, Aether standing to shuck off his pants and boxers. In the few seconds that he’s gone, Dew feels adrift, lost without his touch. The return of his hands is grounding, even as he pushes Dew over onto his back. Dew is usually a more active participant in sex, has never once just laid down and taken it like this. There’s just something about Aether that makes him want to obey, to settle down and be taken care of. A pillow princess, one might say, and Dew might punch them for it. Even thinking the word “princess” makes him blush, because it comes out in Aether’s voice.

“This good?” Aether asks once Dew is settled, running a thumb along his cheekbone, “Wanna see you.” Dew typically imagined being held face down into the mattress and fucked witless, but they’ll have time for that later. Apparently, Aether loves him, so he’s stuck with him now. But it would seem that Aether wants to give him the experience he’s rarely let himself dream. Aether and Dew, face to face, fucking missionary because they can’t bear to not look at each other.

“Yeah,” Dew agrees, kissing Aether between words, hands insistent on his face, “C’mon. C’mon.” This time, Aether’s laugh is smaller, sweeter, fanning out over Dew’s lips. He reaches down, bracing himself as he pushes in carefully. Dew wraps his legs around his waist, pulling as hard as he can to urge Aether on quicker. The fourth finger had made Dew want to tear his hair out, but he can see why Aether did it, now. It’s one thing to see his dick in passing on tour, it’s another to actually take it.

It’s a lot, more than anything he takes regularly, but he’s so desperate for it that he doesn’t care. The sting only adds to it, ramps him up with extra stimulation. Hot air is blowing rhythmically over his shoulder from where Aether’s face is buried as he takes deep, controlled breaths. Dew envies him, because his own breath is scraping out of his lungs as he whines like a bitch in heat.

When Aether finally bottoms out, Dew could swear he feels it in his throat. The sting has faded to a deep burning, his body unable to decide if it wants Aether in or out. Dew knows what he wants, obviously, but he’s having a hard time convincing his body of the same. The pressure is intense, clouding his mind, his skin too hot where Aether is laid over him. He’s tingling and burning and his throat is tight and he still can’t really believe that this is happening, and his chest is too full–

“Breathe,” Aether commands softly, running soothing hands over Dew’s chest and arms. It’s like a spell is lifted, air rushing into his lungs as he gasps. He does his best to match Aether’s calm breaths, some of the overwhelming stimulation fading as he relaxes. It takes a few long moments of breathing while Aether whispers encouragement into his neck before he can start nudging him again. Aether doesn’t budge.

“I’m good,” he assures, brain back online, “Come on, fuck me.” Aether finally raises his head, pinning Dew with his gaze as he draws out, pushes back in so, so slowly. Dew is so caught up in looking at him that he doesn’t even realize the sound he’s hearing is his own moan.

The next handful of thrusts get faster, but the pace Aether settles on is still slow, measured and controlled. Dew himself is a hard-and-fast kind of guy, but he’s willing to entertain this, for now. Leave it to Aether to make their first time slow and sweet. Dew takes the opportunity to stretch his neck and shoulders, letting the delicious pressure lull him into a false sense of security. He nearly breaks his fucking neck when Aether lifts his hips and nails his prostate mid-stretch. Dew’s eyes fly open and he moans louder than he means to. Judging by the shit-eating grin on his face, Aether knew exactly what he was doing.

“Now my neck hurts,” he says, giving his own smirk, “Kiss it better.” That only makes Aether smile wider, dipping his head down to lay kisses along the line of Dew’s throat. It must be difficult to simultaneously hold him up and lean down over Dew, but Aether doesn’t falter. It’s not just that he’s strong– which he is, and which does funny things to Dew’s stomach– it’s because Dew is so much smaller than him, so he doesn’t have to reach as far– which also does funny things to Dew. The idea of being held aloft so easily because he’s so light, so small, is too much for him to handle right now. He scrabbles for a pillow, shoving it under his own hips so that Aether can let go. Maybe do something else with that hand, like touch Dew’s cock where it’s leaking all over itself.

“I’ve got you,” Aether says, digging his fingers harder into Dew’s lower back, “Don’t worry, princess.” So how Dew thought he would punch someone for calling him that? Turns out what he’d actually do is moan like a whore and blush to high hell. He tries to hide his face again, despite already knowing it won’t work. He whines as Aether stops, gathers up his wrists and pins them beside his head.

“Are you going to stop doing that?” he asks, not quite impatient, “Be a good girl for me?” That– that’s weird and wrong and definitely shouldn’t make his dick jump the way that it does. The quizzical look Aether’s giving him is insulting, like he’s actually expecting an answer to his question.

“Are you?” Aether asks again, looking genuinely curious. Dew squirms, trying to squeeze around his cock to distract him. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work. Part of him wants to just say it so that Aether will hopefully go back to fucking him, part of him wants to tap out and tell Aether to stop with all this, and a secret third part of him wants to say it because he means it, because yeah, he does want to be a good girl for him. He just can’t make himself say it. The longer he stays silent, the softer the look on Aether’s face gets.

“Too much?” he asks with a small, conciliatory smile. His grip on Dew’s wrists loosens and his right hand shifts so that he can run a thumb over the inside of Dew’s wrist. The gentle way Aether handles him, as if he’ll break, both irritates him and makes his heart melt. It also makes him stupid with lust, but that’s beside the point. The point being that he wants to play along, is trying to play along, but the shame won’t let him get the words out of his mouth. There’s also the matter of Aether sitting still, despite the fact that his cock is still buried inside of Dew.

“No, I wanna,” he grinds out, trying to figure out a way to let Aether know that he’s humiliatingly into this without babbling I’ll be a good girl, I promise, I’ll be such a good girl for you. Thank the Dark Lord, Aether seems to understand. The sharp look in his eye says he’s not done embarrassing him, though.

“So shy,” Aether coos, digging a claw into his wrist briefly as he shifts his hips slightly, “Can’t even say it out loud.” The patronizing tone is enough to make Dew’s teeth itch, but it’s not like he’s wrong. More important than his words is the fact that he’s started moving again, painfully slow thrusts that make Dew’s head foggy. It’s the way the slow slide forces him to feel every single inch of him, makes him viscerally aware of being fucked open. He wants it harder, faster, something to knock him out of his head and make him stop thinking. Instead, Aether is apparently set on slowly driving him out of his mind with pleasure that won’t get him close, but won’t stop either. He’s allowed to lose himself in it for a few moments, breathing heavily around the small noises he can’t help but make.

“Sound so pretty for me,” Aether speaks, sweat starting to bead on his forehead, “How did I get such a pretty girl all to myself?” As much as he’s been resisting it, the pace set by Aether’s clearly iron-clad self-control has made him sink into a bit of a haze, from which he doesn’t surface this time. He just whimpers, the urge to hide his face gone, cock kicking weakly against his stomach. It’s less about the words themselves and more about the shame they bring up, the way that Aether’s gentleness is so incongruous with who Dew normally is.

“Please,” the word is out before he realizes he intends to say it, “Please fuck me harder. Need it.” It’s only the shocked look on Aether’s face that makes him remember, oh yeah, he’s literally never begged for a thing in his life. Yet it feels right. Feels wrong and pathetic and too vulnerable, too, but it would seem that that’s the kind of thing that’s getting him going tonight. And maybe it’s not a bad thing, because Aether does start fucking him harder. Not faster, per se, but there’s a force behind his measured thrusts that knocks the air out of his lungs and rattles the bed frame. It isn’t exactly what Dew meant, but he’ll take it gladly.

“What a good boy,” Aether praises, a little easier to take without the feminine aspect, “Asking for what you want.” That eases the sting a little. Not that Dew really has the brain left to be too critical of himself right now. If he says and does stupid things, can he really be blamed? Not when Aether has been keeping him just this side of crazed for so long.

For a blessed few minutes, Aether doesn’t say anything. He dips down every few seconds to kiss Dew silly, never stopping his methodical movements. It kind of feels like he’s floating, unable to think beyond the sensations of his body. He’s not ready to burst into flames like he was before, but there’s still a heat inside him and a tingling across his skin. Stretched wide and held still, all he can do is sit and take whatever Aether is willing to give him. It’s oddly freeing.

While what they’ve got going is nice, Dew is pretty sure he’s going to pass out if he doesn’t come soon. Aether’s breathing has gotten heavier, the only thing betraying his own need. When Dew clenches around him again, just to see what happens, he hangs his head and spits an expletive as his hips stutter. It’s the first break in the momentum, barely anything, but it satisfies Dew nonetheless.

“Make me come,” he demands, and because he already said it twice, adds, “Please.” Asking nicely will get you everywhere in life, apparently, because Aether immediately releases one of his wrists to get a hand around his cock. The relief is instantaneous, making Dew throw his head back and moan loudly. The pleasure he’s been subjected to for who knows how long finally starts to mount, a knot twisting deep in his gut. Five seconds ago, he’d thought he’d never come. Now, he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stop himself.

“Wait for me,” Aether commands, moving quicker to match the speed of his hand, “Not until I say.” The whine he lets out is undignified. He can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed about anything anymore, too far gone and desperate to get off to care about much else. Whatever makes Aether let him come is good, in his cloudy opinion, and he’s pretty sure he has a great strategy.

“Please let me come, Aether,” Dew begs, eyes wide and wet, “Haven’t I been a good girl?” Aether’s groan sounds like it’s ripped out of him. He thumbs the head of Dew’s cock, leans down onto his forearm, fingers tucked slightly under the back of Dew’s neck, thumb rubbing along his artery.

“You tell me,” Aether challenges, tracing a claw over his carotid, heedless of the danger. If Dew made one wrong move right now, he could bleed out on Aether’s clean white sheets.

“I’ve been good,” Dew insists, swallowing hard once the claw has moved over to his trachea, “I even said please.” That only makes Aether chuckle above him, hanging his head to hide the dopey smile that Dew barely catches a glimpse of. It’s endearing, but there are more important things right now than his obvious fondness. Dew begins to clench down on him rhythmically, only half in his control. Aether doesn’t move any faster, but he does thrust harder, and it feels like he’s fucking all of Dew, head to toe. He can’t help but cant his hips into Aether’s hand, chasing his own end as much as he’s trying to give Aether his.

“I’m trying to be good,” he whines again, “I can’t wait much longer, sir, please.” The look Aether gives him is scalding in its intensity, burning through him as he seems to hit every one of Aether’s buttons. They’ll have to explore it more later, because right now, all he cares about is the tightness in his lower abdomen that signals how close he is. If Aether’s superhuman control doesn’t give soon, Dew’s going to have to disobey him. He’s trying so hard to be good, wants to be good, but there’s only so much he can take.

“Soon,” Aether assures, panting into Dew’s mouth, “Almost.” The promise of relief only makes Dew more needy, sounds he would never admit to forced out of him with every thrust of Aether’s hips. He needs it so fucking bad.

“Please,” he says, feeling his eyes get wetter, “Please.” He begins to chant the word mindlessly, thrashing a bit in the small space between their bodies. He’s on fire, his skin surely flushed black all over. The way he’s pinned, the claw tracing his throat, the pleasure that’s been wreaked on his body for longer than he can conceptualize, it’s all too much. He has to wait, he has to wait.

Aether doesn’t have a hand to wipe off the tears that begin to fall, Dew too overwhelmed to wipe them away himself. The sob that tears out of him when he feels Aether’s tongue against his cheek, licking up the trails of salt, is ragged and pathetic. He’s been so pathetic this entire time, and it’s making him so fucking hard.

“Go ahead,” Aether finally whispers against the thin skin of his face, “Come for me, baby.” Dew couldn’t stop himself if he tried.

He’s not sure if he’s ever blacked out before, but he does now. His brain goes fully offline, his vision going with it, unable to register anything but the bliss overtaking him. He’s pretty sure he stops breathing. Aether’s deep, demonic groan breaks through the haze, Dew feeling him fill him up. He wishes he could have seen Aether’s face, been able to burn the image into his mind. Instead, he hones into the places that they’re touching, hands and legs and foreheads.

When he comes back, Aether is kissing all over his face sweetly. He’s released Dew’s cock to run a firm hand up and down his side. Dew lets the touch ground him, bring him down from his high. He’s not cognizant enough to understand the warning Aether mutters to him before he pulls out, but he has enough wherewithal to only sigh a little bit at the loss. Aether tries to pull back, to free both hands, but Dew yanks him close again. The idea of being one inch farther from Aether’s cooler skin is unfathomable and undesirable. Aether just laughs quietly, continuing to pet Dew’s torso with the hand not holding him up.

“You did so good,” he says, sincere, “I’m so proud of you.” The praise hits just right, soothing the wild thing still kicking in Dew’s chest. A lot of that was new for him, but he did good. He did good.

Sniffling, the tears slow and stop. The solid movement of Aether’s hand is nice, but he needs more. He pulls Aether down on top of him completely, enjoying the heavy pressure like a weighted blanket. Since he can’t reach Dew’s face without hurting his neck this way, Aether begins mouthing at his neck. It’s not enough to turn him on, almost like a self soothing thing for Aether. Dew runs a hand along his back, trying to help him calm down in return.

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, Aether murmuring praise and thanks against his neck, interspersed with lips and teeth on his skin. It’s nice, probably the nicest thing Dew has ever experienced. There’s usually this impatient itching somewhere within him, leaving him in perpetual motion, but it’s silent now.

“Be right back,” Aether says finally, lifting himself up and off the bed. It’s much easier to tolerate now that Dew has his wits about him again. He stretches, popping his back and relaxing his tense muscles. In a few moments, Aether returns with a wet washcloth, wiping the sweat and tears from Dew’s face, cleaning his ass as well as he can. Dew will have to make him eat the cum out of him some time. That would be nice. For now, he enjoys being taken care of.

The second Aether kneels back on the bed, Dew drags him down, arranging him in the perfect way to lay his head on his chest. He curls into Aether’s side, tail waving in lazy circles without his input. He doesn’t mind letting Aether know how happy he is.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize what you were doing,” Aether muses, chuckling as he squeezes Dew gently, “I just couldn’t believe you would be into me.” It’s one of the more ridiculous things that Dew has heard. There’s not a sane person in the world who wouldn’t be into Aether. Beyond being occasionally moody and sometimes spiteful, he’s one of the best people Dew has ever known. Even with his flaws, he’s absolutely perfect. At least to Dew.

“I’ll have to make you pay for making me wait,” Dew replies playfully, already thinking of all the things he’s going to do to him in the future, “You don’t get away with it just because I love you.” Aether’s fingers tighten around his arm for a brief second, his chin bumping into Dew’s crown to get him to look up. The look he’s met with is so tender it’s painful.

“I love you, too,” Aether says, pressing a quick kiss to Dew’s forehead. The blush that had finally subsided returns, Dew wants to duck his head and hide, but he doesn’t. Aether deserves honest weakness, and Dew will do his best to give it to him.

“I love you, too,” he repeats Aether’s words back to him, can’t stop himself from tacking on, “Obviously.”

#ghost fanfiction #nameless ghouls #aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #aether x dewdrop #aether/dewdrop #i don't know what other tags to use #someone help

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stevebabey · 1 year

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part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

#at this point call this the 'can i' series #sweet boys asking each other for things they most certainly would be given <3 #but don't think they will <3 #tried to flip it and make it so even tho eddie is used to touch. the romantic touch? he's got none! that's where he's touch-starved #ALSO EVERYONE'S TAGS WERE SO NICE ON THE LAST ONE #trust i am. not feelin so bad nowadays (me saying this like 4 days later lmao)#but <3 thank u all #gay ppl in my phone.... you know what to do #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #touch-starved steve harrington #not rlly anymore hehe #does anyone notice that it ends with yet another 'can i?" question? HEHE #yet again stib gets kisses where ruby doesn't but alas <3 dis is way fluffier this time #nearly went the angst route! and went hmmmm naur #ok ok i'll be quiet now

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