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*
Reuenthal wakes to the first rays of sunlight filtering through the window.
Winter on Heinessen is much colder than any he'd experienced on Odin where he had spent most of his younger years. He doesn't really mind though, used to far worse conditions than a slight chill in the air before dawn.
He pushes himself up into a seated position, the blanket covering him falling to pool around his hips, baring his upper body entirely. Reuenthal doesn't even seem to notice, glancing to his left, gaze softening at the sight that greets him.
Yang is still asleep, chest rising and falling rhythmically, his black hair is a mess, with strands falling across his cheek and eyes. He’s lying huddled within the blanket, curled into himself with his knees tucked towards his chest. Yang obviously does not handle the chill well at all, brow furrowed slightly even in sleep, despite it being his home planet.
Reuenthal reaches out a hand and smooths over the tiny creases of the frown, taking the opportunity to brush Yang’s hair away from his face as well, tucking the slightly longer strands behind his ear.
Yang makes a soft noise, drawn into wakefulness by the touch. He blinks dark eyes open sleepily.
“ - Oskar?” he murmurs after a moment, confusion and his half-asleep state blurring his name into a jumble of barely understandable letters.
He presses his cheek into Reuenthal’s palm though, eyes fluttering shut again, dark lashes fanning across his cheeks, and rubs against it a few times. At that moment, he reminds Reuenthal of nothing more than a lazy cat asking for some affection.
Reuenthal obliges him, hand stroking over Yang’s smooth cheek gently once, twice, before he caves to temptation and leans down to kiss him.
At the first brush of lips against his, Yang lifts his chin almost automatically to meet Reuenthal, lips parting a tiny bit on an inhale.
Reuenthal smiles at that, a tiny curve of his lips that almost looks too gentle and indulgent to belong to him before lets his eyes fall shut as well. He tilts his head a little to one side, curling his fingers around the back of Yang’s neck lightly and deepening the kiss, coaxing Yang’s mouth open with gentle licks and tiny bites on his lower lip.
Yang’s response is a soft moan and opens up obediently even as he wriggles his arms out from beneath the blankets to circle Reuenthal’s neck, trying to pull him down and closer, wanting the feel of skin on skin.
Neither of them are wearing anything, their clothes still scattered messily around the house from last night, laying out a visible trail from the front door to the living room where Yang had clenched his hands in Reuenthal’s hair, spending himself in the hot, wet heat of his mouth.
The trail detours to the kitchen, with Yang’s handprints still visible on the otherwise pristine surface of the table from where he had braced himself, head lowered and panting when Reuenthal had worked him open, deliberately slow, with nothing but his tongue and fingers.
Reuenthal had carried him into the bedroom after that, with Yang’s legs wrapped around his hips, holding on tight to his shoulders. Reuenthal had thrown him into the bed, stripped off what remained of both their clothes and spent the next hour almost leisurely bringing Yang to the edge again and again until Yang had begged him, almost in tears, to let him come.
“Oskar,” Yang says again now, voice still rough with sleep, unintentionally echoing the way he had been moaning Reuenthal’s name last night.
Reuenthal shifts a little, feeling the familiar, sweet heat of anticipation coil low in his stomach. Yang looks more awake now as well, the pink flush of his skin visible to Reuenthal’s sharp eyes even in the low light.
Reuenthal lets his hand skim over the pale skin, it’s perfection marred only by a trail of faint red marks from yesterday. He brushes across the marks with a possessive hand as he chases the flush of colour, going lower and lower on the pretense of wanting to see how far down it went.
Yang draws in a sharp inhale as each inch of skin is exposed to the morning chill, goosebumps prickling across his arms and chest.
“Stop that, it’s cold,” he complains after a moment, letting go of Reuenthal to try and tug the blanket back up.
“I could warm you right up,” Reuenthal purrs into Yang’s ear as he crawls into the space between his thighs, hands low on Yang’s hips, fingers brushing dangerously close to Yang’s lower half. “You just need to say the right words.”
Yang’s eyes widen, both the thought of sleep and his quest for blankets suddenly forgotten, as cool fingers wrap around his half-hard length and stroke him to full hardness with the ease of long practice.
He can’t stop the soft moan, entire body going limp, almost a conditioned response by now. “Oskar.”
Reuenthal lets his touch lighten deliberately, thumb rubbing across the leaking tip a few times before he raises the hand to his lips and licks at the slightly sticky liquid there. It’s not unpleasant, the faint taste of salt lingering on his tongue as he cages Yang in with his arms on either side of his pillow.
Reuenthal lowers himself just the slightest bit until he can feel the barest hint of warmth rising from Yang’s body below. He presses his lower half down further even as he drags hips upwards slowly, rubbing himself against Yang briefly, hard and hot.
“Yang,” he replies, eyes half-lidded and dark as he watches Yang arch his back to try and get more contact, just a little more friction. “What do you want?”
Yang’s cheeks are burning by now, being cold a very definite thing of the past, and he’s breathing unsteadily, chest rising and falling with each shaky inhale and exhale.
He’s always been easy to rile up in bed and Reuenthal is a self-taught master at it. He nudges Yang’s thighs apart a little more with a knee and slips one hand behind.
Two fingers slide in easily, Yang still loose and a little slick from last night, he draws his fingers out before sliding them back in, mimicking the motion of how he had fucked Yang only a couple of hours ago. Yang makes a low noise of pleasure and his head falls back, exposing his neck to Reuenthal perfectly.
Reuenthal takes this offering gladly, biting down gently on the base of Yang’s throat, worrying at the skin with teeth and tongue until a bruise blooms. He repeats the action again, this time higher, making sure that the next bruise will sit well above the collar of Yang’s uniform.
He doesn’t stop moving his fingers at all during this time, distracting Yang enough that he doesn’t have the presence of mind to even make a token protest at the location of the second love bite. Reuenthal makes sure to keep his movements torturously slow, twisting his wrist on each thrust back inside.
He kisses Yang, licking into his mouth, wet and filthy, before withdrawing a little and then repeating the action, mirroring the motions of his hand lower down.
“Oskar,” Yang murmurs when they part for air. He stares at Reuenthal almost pleadingly, lips a kiss-swollen red and pupils blown wide with desire. “Please.”
The last word catches on a gasp as Reuenthal rewards him with a crook of his fingers inside and hits the spot that makes him see stars.
“Please what?” Reuenthal asks, skimming his lips down Yang’s throat, following the smooth trail of skin down towards his chest, causing Yang to shiver beneath him.
He doesn’t make it easy for him at all, lowering his head to nibble at Yang’s chest now, biting one sensitive nipple teasingly before soothing it with tiny little licks to the nub.
When he finally decides that Yang is ready, Reuenthal withdraws his fingers, listening to the tiny whimper of disappointment. He presses him into the bed with the full weight of his body, shifting his hips languidly to make sure Yang can feel how hard he still is against his inner thigh. “What do you want, Yang?”
“You,” Yang says, managing to put together a coherent word at last. “Oskar, please, I want you.”
Reuenthal smirks. “Good boy,” he murmurs as he steadies Yang’s hips, raising one of his legs slightly to slide himself in.
He bottoms out with one smooth movement and holds himself there for a moment, savouring the feel of Yang’s tight, slick heat around him before he starts to move, rolling his hips in a way that ensures that each stroke is slow and deep.
Yang clutches at him like a lifeline, blunt nails scratching at Reuenthal’s back, leaving red marks in his wake. His mouth falls open on a soundless moan, dark eyes hazy with pleasure.
“More, please. I need -” Yang pleads softly from where he's pinned into the bed by Reuenthal’s hands around his hips, futilely trying to match his movement.
“You only had to ask, my love,” Reuenthal tells him, leaning down to reward him with a brief kiss again before he starts moving in earnest, fucking into Yang with brutal, sharp thrusts.
There’s nothing but the sound of their breathing and the slick sound of skin on skin. Yang still clutches at his shoulders, one arm now hooked around his neck. The corners of his eyes are wet and he’s making small, soft whimpers, each one slightly louder than the last, staring up at Reuenthal.
It’s not long before he feels Yang tightening around him and he goes a little faster again, making sure to hit that spot that makes Yang choke on a sob.
Yang reaches down with his left arm, wanting to touch himself, obviously close. Reuenthal grabs the rogue hand before it reaches its destination and then his right one as well for good measure, lifting them both up and pinning them above Yang’s head easily with one of his own.
“I want you to come from nothing but me inside you,” Reuenthal says, voice low and a little rough, licking a wet stripe up Yang’s neck. “You can do it, can’t you, Yang?”
“So close,” Yang whimpers, finally able to move his hips now to meet Reuenthal’s thrusts, movements erratic and desperate.
Reuenthal kisses him again and it's nothing more than a harsh press of lips against each other this time. Yang is panting, fingers curling into fists above his pillow where Reuenthal still holds him.
“You can do it, baby,” Reuenthal croons softly. “Come for me.”
Yang’s back arches when he comes, sobbing Reuenthal’s name. He tightens sweetly around Reuenthal and it’s that, combined with the dazed, wrecked look that he wears that pushes Reuenthal over the edge as well.
They stay like that, Reuenthal braced over Yang, trading soft, open-mouthed kisses, for just a moment longer as they catch their breath.
The winter sun is fully up now, its rays falling across the bed, golden splashes of light spilling across the two of them. The coolness of the air has long since dissipated as well, chased away by the sun.
Reuenthal draws back, just a little, and Yang blinks slowly, dark lashes fluttering across his pale cheeks for an instant before he looks up again, eyes clear and bright.
He smiles then, the expression sweet and a tiny little bit shy, warmer than any sun.
“Good morning, Oskar.”
*