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grinding with passion (cuz it's your birthday)

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As usual, Viren wakes before Aaravos.

 

The elf is a warm, comforting weight, sprawled over him, breaths huffing lightly against Viren’s neck. His brows narrow slightly as Viren scoots away the tiniest bit — just enough to be able to look at him properly — but his eyes remain closed, breathing deeply. He doesn’t move as Viren slides careful fingers through his hair, moving it away from his face, revealing a star-freckled cheek that’s warm beneath Viren’s lips as he presses a slow kiss to the skin.

 

“Mmm?” Aaravos hums softly, tightening an arm around Viren’s middle, shifting languidly beneath the sheets.

 

“Guess what today is,” Viren murmurs, fingers playing idly in long, silken white hair as he gives him another gentle kiss, and another.

 

There’s a deep chuckle, and Aaravos peeks an eye open before closing it again, his voice husky with sleep. “Saturday?”

 

“Aaravos.” Viren smiles, now trailing his fingers down Aaravos’s bare back, leaning in to nip his chin. “We began the celebrations last night.”

 

“Did we?” Aaravos teases, humming in surprise when Viren now bites his lower lip hard in retaliation. Growling softly, he pulls Viren closer for a needy kiss, rutting against his hip, and then makes a small noise of surprise when Viren deftly reverses their positions, flipping them over and pressing Aaravos into the bed, trapping his wrists above his head and licking hungrily into his mouth. The kiss is long and deep and slow, and Viren only pulls away when Aaravos releases a shuddering moan, giving him one last lingering peck before raising a challenging eyebrow, smug.

 

“Yes. We did.”

 

“Consider my memory refreshed,” Aaravos quips, flexing his wrists while blinking beseechingly up at Viren. Viren grins his equally tacit refusal, rolling his hips once in a slow, deliberate grind, gratified to feel the needy twitch of Aaravos’ heavy cock against his. “Viren.”

 

“Hm?”

 

Aaravos’ belly tightens as he thrusts upward, seeking more friction, arms straining in Viren’s grip. He could free himself if he really wanted to; they have no illusions about who is physically stronger. But he loves this, Viren knows; loves to be pinned down and bossed around a little, and that’s exactly what Viren plans to do.

 

Another kiss, shorter this time, so Viren can break away to busy his mouth in other places: the smooth curve of Aaravos’ jaw, the warm juncture of his neck and shoulder, the hyper-sensitive markings in the center of his chest, pulling goosebumps to the surface of Aaravos’ skin with the mere suggestion of lips, of teeth. Viren’s tongue, swirling wetly over hardened nipples; his hands, now sure of Aaravos’ obedience, abandoning their firm wrist hold to graze down his biceps, nails just barely scraping sensitive skin of his inner arms, his sides, thumbs rubbing slow circles into the divots of his hips.

 

Aaravos has never once — once, since their very first time in that damp, cold cave, another lifetime ago — attempted to censor his immediate reactions to Viren’s touch, and he certainly doesn’t now: each sharp gasp and pleased, rumbling moan, every murmur of praise and delight stoking steadily at the heat spreading across the surface of Viren’s skin, lighting him up, each stroke and smack and suck a brighter spark. Soon they’re both enveloped in it, Aaravos pliant — spread — panting, gazing down at where Viren’s settled between his legs, opening his mouth wide to bite down on the meat of the elf’s clenched inner thigh.

 

“Can...I move my—”

 

“No,” Viren answers instantly, lovingly, dragging his tongue along the indentations left by his teeth, admiring the convex brutishness of the mark. He imagines it, Aaravos’ long fingers dragging tightly through his hair — he keeps it longer now, solely because of this — and his mouth waters for the want of it, and for the pleasure in the denial, which Aaravos’ answering groan seems to intercept. He palms Aaravos’ upper thighs again, urging him wider, opening his mouth and dragging it along the length of his cock. Delicately.

 

Aaravos jerks against him, blurting precum that drips slick down Viren’s cheek. Viren lifts his head and raises an eyebrow at him, biting back a laugh at the defiance that peeks through the fevered anguish spelled across Aaravos' face. “Well, aren’t you being good for me.”

 

“Suck me, Viren. It’s my birthday.”

 

Viren quickly turns his head to muffle his laughter in the opposite thigh, giving it a punishing bite. “Ah, you do know what day it is.”

 

Aaravos huffs, now gripping the headboard, needing to steady himself as Viren trails gentle kisses upward. “Yesss, yes — ”

 

“And you want me to suck you?” Viren confirms, speaking hotly over the leaking head, looking up to find Aaravos gazing down at him, mouth open, eyes wide.

 

“Yes.” Aaravos swallows, audibly. “Please.”

 

“Please,” Viren repeats quietly, amused, before taking mercy and swallowing him down, relishing Aaravos’ sudden shout of relief as the fat head taps the back of his throat. Then Viren pulls slowly off, flicking his tongue at the tip as he withdraws, sucking down the small spurt that thanks or curses him or both as he withdraws.

 

“I said please,” Aaravos grits out, flushed and frustrated, and Viren has to reach down and close a hand around the base of his cock to calm himself down. Bratty Aaravos really does it for him. Always has.

 

“You did,” Viren says fondly, releasing the grip on his cock to grasp Aaravos’ instead, jacking him leisurely, fingers slipping in the slickness his mouth generously left behind. The sound is obscene and Aaravos’ expression is too, eyes slamming shut and mouth falling open in a wild grin as he bucks into Viren’s hand.

 

Viren could just let him come like this, of course, but what’s more delicious is to duck down and barely give Aaravos a chance to complain about the loss of his touch before Viren's spreading him and dragging his tongue against his hole, over and over until Aaravos’ legs twitch open even wider, trembling. Rutting against the sheets as Aaravos finally loses his tenuous self-control, grinding himself against Viren’s mouth, filthy, guttural moans spilling from his lips as Viren’s tongue pushes inside, a blunt spear of heat. In and out, in and out, gradually increasing in speed.

 

“Viren! Viren. Fuck.” Aaravos doesn’t usually curse in bed. That’s usually Viren’s purview, to utter every profanity his kingly facade won't allow him to let loose outside the heavy doors of their bedchamber. But this, this is the only time Aaravos is reduced to such base human response, when sharp, bitten off expletives are his only recourse to something like relief: and Viren is the only one, the only person on earth who gets to do this, to see such a gorgeous, majestic and commanding creature this eager and wanting.

 

It’s not surprising, then, when the hastily established rules go out the window, rough fingers tangling in Viren's hair, another needy hand gripping his back, nails biting into the skin. Aaravos is grunting loudly now, head tossed back on the pillow, fucking himself onto Viren’s aching tongue with increasing abandon, thick drops of precum pooling on his stomach. He's close, but he's not coming like this, either.

 

Viren pulls away and wastes no time in lining himself up at Aaravos’ hungry, winking hole, surprising even himself at the punched-out sound of his own desperation as he buries himself to the hilt, Aaravos’ legs wrapping around him instantly, pulling him close as his voice reverberates off the walls, breathless and hoarse.

 

“Stars — FUCK — Viren — !”

 

Viren is relentless, bracing himself over Aaravos as he sets up a bruising pace, breathing harshly into his ear as Aaravos clenches almost painfully around him, the sharp smacks of their coupling loud and insistent. There’s nothing, no anything, just this, the tight, wet clutch of heat and Aaravos bracketing him in like he belongs right where he is, strong arms holding him in place, the sharp and familiar and still slightly otherworldly smell of his sweat and arousal, the softness of his hair against Viren’s face as he licks up the angled shell of Aaravos’ ear, stroking his fingers deliberately over the curve of a pointed horn.

 

Aaravos seizes up, whimpering, turning to seek Viren’s lips for a sloppy kiss, which Viren happily obliges. Each gasp and moan, every bite and lick, now a furious blaze, white-hot, the tipping point into ecstasy. Time slips away into rushing whorls of light and sound as their pleasure aligns, deepens, ebbs to something slower, more raw and wanton. Their voices rise as one as they climb, and then Aaravos is coaxing Viren onto his back, arching backward, hair a tousled mess, working himself over Viren’s cock at a brisk, rocking rhythm, unable to utter anything but Viren’s name in a low, repeated supplication.

 

It’s all Viren can do to clutch at his hips and the rise of his ass, hard, torn between watching Aaravos’ face contort in pleasure and watching the place where their bodies meet, feeling full, so full, though it’s his cock that’s filling Aaravos up, again and again and again.

 

“Touch me,” Aaravos commands, and Viren doesn’t think twice, doesn’t challenge the sudden role reversal, just closes a tight hand around Aaravos’ gorgeous cock and jerks him until he’s shouting, coming, shooting in thick stripes all over Viren’s hand and stomach and chest, a few drops splattering across his lips. Aaravos trembles with the aftershocks, his expression slackening into a spent, exhausted smile, and Viren groans sharply as he finally empties himself into those clenching walls, dragging Aaravos down for a gasping kiss as he fucks deep inside, never, ever more at home than this.

 

For a few long seconds, weeks, or centuries, they just breathe, returning to themselves and to the earth, feeling the sweat prickle their skin, the deep muscle ache that precedes an even deeper and sweeter sleep. Outside, drifting in: a whispered morning breeze, distant birdsong, the slow rush of an ocean tide, breaking against the shore. Later, they’ll laze along the beach of their private, remote estate, draw purposeless fingers through the warm sand, drunk on the sun and each other.

 

Now, Aaravos slumps forward with an undignified grunt and giggle, and Viren hisses as he withdraws, pressing dopey smiles into warm skin, legs entangled as their lips bump and meet in what can barely be called a kiss. Viren sighs, content, tracing a thumb across Aaravos’ eyebrows, down his nose, presses the tips of two fingers against his full lower lip, watching amber eyes flutter shut, that clever tongue peek out, playful, exhausted.

 

Beautiful, he thinks, or says aloud, perhaps, because Aaravos smiles then, hums in quiet happiness.

 

“My love,” he sighs, and it always makes Viren blush when he talks like that, which is absurd, but here he is, face warm as Aaravos tightens his hold on him knowingly. “Viren...Viren, Viren.”

 

Viren has no response to that but to kiss him and kiss him, open-mouthed, yearning so sweetly for what’s already right here in his grasp, heavy and warm and real in his arms. Another year. Unchanged, and yet all the more transformed by the continued unlikely happenstance of their love. “Happy birthday,” Viren offers in quiet murmur, the rueful triteness of the wish at odds with the sudden lump in his throat.

 

Aaravos slits his eyes open, smiles. Touches his lips to Viren’s forehead, his cheeks, his lips.

 

They fall asleep like that, nose to nose.