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Font of Passion

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The weight on Sorey’s shoulders felt lighter. The journey before him seemed less daunting. The world itself seemed brighter – and it was all because Mikleo was back at his side, back where he’d always been. Closer to him now than they’d even been before.

That last bit was probably why Sorey currently had a raging hard-on.

After he and Mikleo forged their pact and spectacularly dispatched the hoard of hellions bearing down on them, they’d split the party into two teams to better explore the ruins for the holy water they’d come to collect. Sorey should have been overjoyed at the chance to explore with Mikleo again, and he was, he really was, there was just the…issue that had arisen. Alisha and Lailah were off somewhere in the sprawling halls, thankfully far enough away that they were not around to bear witness to Sorey’s unexpected-but-really-not reaction to armatizing with Mikleo. Sorey shivered at the memory of Mikleo being inside him like that – well, not like that, but Mikleo being inside him like that was so much like Mikleo being inside him like that, that there wasn’t really a difference in the end result.

The end result was Sorey’s boner.

Mikleo had been present in each of his limbs, shared his breath, shared his heartbeat, shared his thoughts; tucked tightly together, cheek to cheek and soul to soul as they had been when they were babies in the same cradle. He couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by it all, Sorey reasoned. But they’d been exploring for ages now, it seemed. The lingering thrill of their armatization was slowly giving way to general exhaustion from adventuring, and Sorey felt his energy beginning to fade. (The boner, not so much. Mikleo’s hips and cute little butt were still wiggling temptingly within his line of vision, after all.)

Sorey could hear the gentle flow of water echoing through the ruins’ high ceilings and wide hallways, but could not pinpoint a source. His throat felt so parched – it seemed almost cruel. Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to…

Sorey’s sharp mind was reminded of what Mikleo used to do to soothe Sorey’s thirst when they spent long afternoons adventuring in Elysia. He put on his best pitiful look and reached out to tug at Mikleo’s sleeve. Mikleo misconstrued the gesture, taking it as Sorey needing further reassurance after their recent fight. Mikleo briefly reached back to take Sorey’s hand in his own for a quick, reassuring squeeze. Sorey’s heart did backflips, and he was almost distracted from his mission. But no – he would not be deterred. Sorey grit his teeth in determination, and tugged on Mikleo’s sleeve again, giving a little plaintive noise to emphasize.

“Mikleo,” he whined piteously. “I’m thirsty.”

“We’re almost done,” Mikleo assured him. “I can sense the holy water from here. Then we can call Alisha and Lailah back and head back to town.”

At Mikleo’s comment, after the next door, they found themselves in an open room with a gentle trickle of water at one end – the holy water they were looking for.

“But I’m thirsty now,” Sorey insisted. “Can we do the thing that we used to?”

Sorey saw Mikleo’s ears turn red, and Mikleo turned his head to glare at him with the cutest little pout. His cheeks were red as cherries and looked twice as sweet. Sorey felt himself leaning in to try and kiss them, only to have Mikleo shove at his shoulder.

No. Sorey!” Mikleo sputtered as Sorey tried to lean in again, and scowled, turning even redder. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re not alone here. Go stick your head under the waterfall and drink like a normal human.”

Sorey grabbed Mikleo close; pulling him into a bear hug as he backed them into a wall. He leaned down until their foreheads bumped together, and smiled adoringly down at him. He wanted more contact with Mikleo. As much as he could get, and then some. A single short tickle fight was nowhere near enough – their fight, their separation, and their reconciliation had stoked a need inside of him that their time in the armatus had only intensified. He pressed his hips against Mikleo’s, letting him feel the hardness between his legs. Mikleo sputtered again, and couldn’t quite meet Sorey’s eyes.

“I don’t think that waterfall will still be holy if I dunk my head in it,” Sorey said, low. “And I don’t think I have the strength to walk all the way over there. Pray, gentle sublord, won’t you provide thy Shepherd with sweet succor from thy lips?”

“I will not.”

“I entreat thee,” Sorey murmured against his lips. “With my body and soul.”

Mikleo’s mouth remained stubbornly shut as Sorey pressed their lips together, and refused to open even as Sorey gently traced the shape of his lips with his tongue. Sorey was not to be deterred so easily. He moaned from deep within his chest, and slid one hand up to cradle the back of Mikleo’s neck as he continued to slowly move his lips against Mikleo’s.

Little by little, he felt Mikleo’s lips soften against his own; felt Mikleo relax against him, and curl his hand into his cloak to keep him close. Sorey moaned again, encouragingly, and gently tugged on Mikleo’s bottom lip with his teeth. Mikleo gave an almost imperceptible whimper that went straight to Sorey’s groin. Sorey rolled his hips against Mikleo’s to soothe the ache, but his efforts were thwarted on that account when he felt Mikleo’s tongue touch his own. His whole body burned, and the fire was in no way quenched when he felt Mikleo begin to guide water into Sorey’s mouth.

The water was cool and wonderful and pure, and it soothed the dryness of his throat. He could drink forever from this source and never be quenched. Sorey greedily twirled his tongue with Mikleo’s; whining whenever he tried to draw back. More, he needed more. He’d missed Mikleo so much. They’d fought before, so many times, but never like that – and with the stakes like this, their past fights seemed so petty. Sorey needed this – this gentle reassurance, the warmth of Mikleo’s body, and his electric touch.

Sorey moved his hand from where it gripped Mikleo’s hip around to grope at his backside, and he nearly melted at the purr Mikleo made in his throat at the feeling. In response, Mikleo disengaged his grip on Sorey’s cloak and traced it down, down; tracing Sorey’s chest, his stomach, tracing his belt and going lower to cup his hard cock in his sure grip, and—

“Oh my, oh my…”

Sorey barely heard the entrance of their guests, but Mikleo did, and he shoved Sorey back with a panicked kind of urgency. Sorey blinked at Lailah and Alisha where they stood in the entryway, his mouth still full of water.

“Hi,” said Sorey. Or tried to say. When he opened his mouth to talk, the leftover water dribbled down his chin and soaked through his cloak and shirt. Mikleo hid his face in his hand and groaned, mortified at the sight. “I was thirsty.”

Lailah looked so delighted she could burst, and tittered something about the “red-hot passion of youth” before trailing off to settle herself with some deep breathing exercises. Alisha was rather red in the face herself, though didn’t look as close to evaporating into mist as Mikleo did. She couldn’t quite look Sorey in the face, nor Mikleo. She settled for shifting uncomfortably in place as Lailah loudly huffed and wheezed behind her.

“…we’re…so terribly sorry to interrupt, your um, your…” she paused, grasping for words. She gave up. “We, ah, followed the sound of the, ah, water flow to its – its source, its source being here, of course, and--”

“Great minds think alike,” Mikleo grumbled.

“Ah. Quite.” Alisha paused, then gave a little smile. “…forgive my presumption, but please let me offer my congratulations; I was quite unaware of any sort of, ah, relationship between the two of you…”

Sorey blinked, confused. “What, seriously? No, we’ve been together for years; when we were five we got married and a goat was the ringbearer--”

Before Sorey could continue, he found himself hosed by a spray from the waterfall. Fuming, Mikleo collected the sample they needed, and stormed out the door; stepping over Lailah on the floor as he went. Sorey shrugged and wrung out his cloak.

“So anyway. A goat was the ringbearer, and I had a lace veil and a crown made out of daisies…”