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Viren wakes on a gasp, the sharp memory of a hand ghosting up his chest lingering in his mind. There is arousal pooling in his gut, his cock halfway to hardness.
He curses under his breath.
This is a much less common occurrence than it once was, thankfully, middle aged as he is, and he’s gotten good at ignoring it when it does happen. What’s harder to ignore, however, is just who he happened to be dreaming about. Four long digits instead of five, indigo skin specked with starlight and a voice so smooth and deep it drew him in, harder and harder to resist.
“Are you alright?” says the owner of that voice, and in his half-aroused state Viren can’t suppress the shiver it sends down his spine.
He’s long since stopped being startled by sudden words right outside his ear, stopped being bothered by the tickle of the caterpillar’s tiny feel. It’s started to become almost comforting, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that.
“Why are you awake?” he mutters. He knows it’s a dumb question. It’s been weeks and he has never seen any evidence that Aaravos sleeps. He must, though. Elves need sleep as much as humans, don’t they?
“Why wouldn’t I be?” the elf asks, but doesn’t wait for a response. “You did not answer my question.”
“I’m fine.” Viren can see the shimmer of the elf’s ghostly image just out of sight, and he glances down, checking to see if he’s tenting the blanket. Thankfully, he isn’t.
Aaravos hums, and then goes quiet. A few minutes pass, and just as Viren thinks the elf has actually dropped the topic, his face pops into view, upside down with a terrifyingly delighted look on his face.
“Were you dreaming of me?”
Viren chokes. Which may as well have been a yes, but once he can speak through the resulting coughing fit he still says, “of course not.”
Aaravos, the asshole, sees right through his lie. “You were,” he says, the two syllables slow and drawn out, thick and hot like magma and probably just as dangerous.
This time Viren manages to suppress his shiver. He shuts his eyes and hopes Aaravos will take that as a dismissal, a request to leave him alone.
It’s a futile hope. There’s a pause, and then: “was it a sex dream?”
“Oh, for—!” Viren rolls onto his side, away from Aaravos. What does he even say to that? Yes, you got it, I was dreaming about you running your sparkly hands all over me, please forget about it and let me go back to sleep.
There is a blush creeping up his neck, and he hopes the darkness hides it. The elf was bound to notice his entirely inappropriate attraction sooner or later, but he’d expected a more scathing reaction. Something much less... amused.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” comes that silky voice again. Aaravos doesn’t reappear in his sight, but Viren knows he’s still close by. The caterpillar shifts, tiny feet tickling his ear. “I’m well aware of how you’ve been looking at me since we met.”
Viren’s cheeks are burning. Why is Aaravos doing this? “Are you looking for an apology?” he bites out, hoping anger will mask his shame.
Aaravos laughs. One of the elf’s hands, bright and incorporeal, comes to rest on Viren’s shoulder. He can’t feel it, but he can see it out of the corner of his eye.
“Oh the contrary,” says the elf, and somehow his voice is deeper, closer, “I’m hoping you’d allow me to watch.”
“You’d what?” Viren asks, before he can stop himself or actually process what Aaravos has said.
The hand tugs at his shoulder, or at least that’s the effect. Aaravos is incorporeal, unable to actually touch him, but the hand moves and his body is moved with it, Aaravos exerting his control to roll him onto his back.
The steady burn of shame is replaced with a flare of hot anger. So he hadn’t imagined Aaravos moving him when they fought the soldiers at the castle. He remembered the elf’s power rushing through him, remembered his body moving too easily, turning before he knew he needing to, keeping any soldiers from sneaking up on him. He’d avoided thinking about it, hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that he could be controlled so easily, or how little he actually minded. The potential loss of control should be terrifying, and yet the memory of that rush of power, the ease with which they moved and fought together...
He swallows and tries to ignore how the memory sends heat pooling into his gut. His anger flickers and fades as he looks up into the elf’s translucent face, a smirk twisting his lips and a hungry light in his eyes.
Well. It seems he hasn’t been the only one looking.
But still, he has to make his point. He closes his eyes for a moment so he can think, and steadies his voice. “Do not move me without my permission again,” he says. “This body belongs to me. You are a guest here.”
To Viren’s surprise, the elf’s expression softens. “My apologies,” he says, with a tilt of his head. He seems to mean it, at least somewhat, though that smirk is back when he meets Viren’s gaze again. “Only... you do seem to enjoy it.”
Viren is fucked. Figuratively, and possibly literally going by the way Aaravos is looking at him. He sighs and lifts both hands to rub the sleep from his eyes. Aaravos doesn’t seem willing to let him go back to sleep, and he’s not sure he’d be able to at this point anyway. His arousal had been starting to fade, but now his cock is hard and heavy and, like Aaravos, not showing any signs of backing down.
Rather than admit that yes, Viren apparently does like surrendering control of his body to Aaravos, he pushes through his embarrassment to ask, “so you want to watch me, what, masturbate?”
Aaravos snorts. “Yes,” he says, with dry amusement. His hand hovers over Viren’s chest, then moves lower, fingers tracing a winding path and stopping above his crotch. Even with the blanket and his night robe and the lack of any actual touch, Viren’s breath hitches just seeing that hand there. “At least for now,” Aaravos continues. “I would happily indulge in more, but for now the degree to which I can participate is... limited.”
There’s a flicker of anger or frustration in the elf’s face, and Viren remembers their conversation from earlier that day. “How long have you been imprisoned?” he asks.
“I stopped counting the days and years long ago, but since you found me I’ve gathered it’s been centuries, at least.”
Centuries. “And you’ve been alone all that time?”
A softer sort of smile, undercut by bitterness, twists the elf’s lips. “I have endured.” He bends lower, pressing ghostly lips to Viren’s chest. “And now I have you.”
Viren swallows, staring down into those eyes looking up at him with clear desire. His cock twitches, and Aaravos smirks.
“Enough talking, wouldn’t you say?” Aaravos sits up, then swings his legs over Viren’s thighs, straddling him. Though Viren can't feel him, the sight alone is plenty effective. His mouth goes dry as Aaravos leans forward, elbows on his chest as the elf whispers into his ear, “touch yourself for me, King of Katolis.”
Viren stifles a groan. Fuck, that voice.
A part of him is still reluctant, the part of him that’s ashamed of taking time for himself amidst their march on Xadia, and of being attracted to an elf. But Aaravos has helped him and been kind to him, so far at least.
He closes his eyes, letting his arousal push away his worries. Whatever happens tomorrow, in a week, in a year, he can allow himself to enjoy this. He wants this.
He shifts his legs, pushing the blanket down to his feet. Slowly, he peels away his night robe, and cool air ghosts over his skin. Aaravos hums his approval, and Viren’s next breath comes out shaky as he takes himself in hand.
“Ahhh,” Aaravos breathes. “That’s it. You’re already so hard. You’ve been wanting this for a while, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Viren admits on a shaky inhale as he twists his hand around the head of his cock. It’s been a while since he’s done this, hasn’t had much desire to in years. But now, having finally allowed himself to want it, to want Aaravos, he’s already sensitive and desperate.
“Go slow,” Aaravos says, and Viren tightens his throat, catching a whine before it escapes. “I want you to savor it.”
Viren slows his movements, drags his fingers up the underside then brushes his thumb lightly against the tip, smearing the moisture gathered there. A breath stutters from his lungs, parting his lips.
Aaravos sighs. “I wish I could kiss you. I want to steal your breath, taste your lips.”
Viren cracks open his eyes, seeing Aaravos licking his lips as he traces Viren’s lips with his thumb. His hand on his cock skips and pauses as he stares up at the elf, taking in the sight of him.
Aaravos notices his stare, and those lips turn up into a brilliant smirk. “You’d like to kiss me too, wouldn’t you? Have you wondered what an elf tastes like? If I taste just like you, or a little different, or like something else entirely? Perhaps I taste like starlight.” He leans down, so their lips are barely an inch apart. “I’ll let you find out for yourself, once I’m free.”
Viren’s breath rushes out, carrying a whimper with it. He tries to stop the sound too late and it comes out high and strangled.
Aaravos laughs, low and deep and slow, the sound rolling in his throat. “I want to hear you, Viren,” he sits up, resettling over Viren’s thighs. He slips the thin cloth off his shoulders, lets it fall around his hips as a hand slips below the waistband of his trousers.
Viren can barely breathe. He can’t remember ever feeling like this, feeling attracted to someone with this much intensity.
“It’s been so long since I’ve heard another’s sounds of pleasure,” Aaravos purrs. The hand beneath his trousers wraps around the length there, and he sighs a pleasured breath. He rolls his hips, delicate curves moving with a smoothness that speaks of carefully crafted strength.
“You shiver and grow desperate at the sound of my voice—I’ve seen your pupils dilate, the way your lips part and you swallow down the urge to lick and taste. You’re desperate for my voice, as I am for yours. I want to hear everything. Every breath, every whimper, every scream.”
Viren’s cheeks are burning again, though his arousal at the elf’s voice overcomes his shame at how easily he’s read him.
The elf’s smirk only grows, and Viren’s jaw goes slack as the elf pushes down his trousers enough to reveal his cock. Viren can’t see color in this image of Aaravos, but he can see size, and he can see the stars, shimmering and so dense near the tip of his cock it’s like a beacon drawing his gaze.
“Like what you see?” Aaravos drags loose fingers up his shaft, rolling his shoulders back, head tilting to one side as he grins. “You’re so entranced by me that you’ve forgotten your own pleasure. Come, King Viren. I said go slow. I didn’t tell you to stop.”
Viren’s mouth has gone so dry it feels hard to breathe. He tightens his slackened grip and drags his hand up and down his length. It’s a bit dry, but he ignores the discomfort. There’s probably some kind of body-safe oil in his magic supplies, but there’s no way he’s getting up to search now. He won’t need it at this rate.
Then Aaravos pauses, pulling his hand out of his trousers to draw a glyph in the air. A moment later his hand is shiny with wetness.
“What—?” Viren breathes, and Aaravos smiles.
“May I?” He asks, and the index finger of Viren’s free hand twitches, Aaravos exerting his control for just a moment to emphasize his question.
“Yes,” Viren says, more quickly than would probably be smart. Hadn’t he just told the elf not to control his body? And yet here he was, agreeing to it like it was normal, like there was nothing terrifying about it.
Reluctantly he pulls his hand off of his length, and motions for Aaravos to take over. His arm rises, index finger moving with quick, practiced strokes, echoing the elf’s movements. Power surges through him as the glyph comes to life, leaving his fingers slick as it fades.
He spreads the warm liquid over his length and instinctively bites back the groan it drags up his throat. Then Aaravos meets his gaze, and he remembers the elf’s words, his request. He relaxes his throat and jaw, and as he rubs his palm over the head of his cock, he lets his gasp be unrestrained.
The elf’s eyes flutter closed. “That’s it. So good, Viren,” he sighs, long fingers wrapping around his own length and following Viren’s lead, long slow strokes and teasing caresses.
“You’re beautiful,” Viren gasps out, before he can catch the words and hold them back.
Aaravos groans, deep voice vibrating into Viren’s ear. “As are you,” he breathes.
Viren shuts his eyes. Were he capable, he would have scoffed. He has never been beautiful. Handsome, maybe, when he was younger. But never beautiful.
“You are,” Aaravos says, and Viren throws his left arm over his face. The next words are oddly soft, more gentle than he would have expected, not at all teasing. “Has no one told you you’re beautiful before, Viren? Has no one taken the time to make you feel beautiful? Like you’re worth watching, admiring? The way your skin has flushed down to your chest, pink and paleness marbled together, the way your lips part around pleasured breaths, the way your move, the gentle curve of your cock, and fuck, the way you sound.”
Viren bites down on his forearm, trying to contain his emotions. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, shame and embarrassment and pleasure and softness and warmth all mingling into something overwhelming.
“Aaravos—” The name comes out on a whimper, and Aaravos sucks in a breath that sounds almost startled.
“Yes, yes,” that voice is suddenly less controlled, more raw. “Again, Viren, say my name again.”
Viren swallows and lets his arm fall to his chest, seeing Aaravos stroking himself faster with his head thrown back, long hair flowing over his bare shoulders, sticking to sweaty skin. He swallows again, wrestling back control of his voice. “Aaravos,” he says, and makes it deep and thick with desire.
Aaravos moans. He pitches forward, free hand slamming down next to Viden’s waist to support him. The arm trembles, as his other moves faster still. His jaw is slack as he pants, eyes fluttering half-closed like he doesn’t have the strength to keep them open.
He seems so vulnerable, all of a sudden. Seeing him like that sobers Viren, seeing this magnificent, powerful, confident creature loosing himself to pleasure. He feels more sure of himself, less vulnerable in comparison, and instead of chasing his own pleasure he focuses on the elf, watching his face.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” he asks.
“Yes,” Aaravos pants.
He reaches up to brush the hair out of the elf’s face, forgetting for a moment that he can’t touch him. His hand passes through his hair, and he pauses, biting back the hollow disappointment in his throat. Aaravos meets his gaze, eyes unfocused, and Viren sucks in a steadying breath. He brushes his thumb over the stars beneath one eye, and pretends he can feel the skin. Those eyes go wide. There’s something Viren could never hope to decipher in the elf’s expression, but he can guess at some of it.
“Aaravos,” he whispers, more gentle this time, steadier. The elf’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, before he drags them open again. Viren hold his gaze and says, “you’re not alone anymore.”
Aaravos stares at him, then groans and shudders. His elbow buckles and his head drops toward Viren’s chest as he comes, the stars across his skin flashing in rolling waves of light.
It’s the most beautiful thing Viren has ever seen. And the most arousing.
He’s been stroking himself slowly, lazily, but now he picks up his pace, listening to the elf’s panting breaths as he recovers. Viren closes his eyes, remembering exactly how Aaravos had looked as he came, wondering what those stars would feel like under the pads of his fingers.
“Could I—” Aaravos’s voice is raw, as if he’d been much more vocal than he was. He huffs a breath that sounds almost exasperated.
Viren’s hand on his cock suddenly tightens for a moment, making him gasp. That hadn’t been him, that was—
“Can I? Please?” Aaravos asks. He almost sounds like he’s begging.
Viren nods, and slackens his own control over his arm in answer. And then his arm is moving again, quicker strokes with pauses to rub his palm in circles over the head, and just knowing that’s Aaravos controlling his body, touching him and giving him pleasure in the only way he can right now, sends Viren racing toward his own orgasm.
“Yes, Viren,” Aaravos whispers, the warmth of that voice seeping into his ear and down his spine. “Give in to it, let me make you come, let me see you.”
Whines and moans escape Viren’s throat with every panting breath. His left hand grips the bedroll below him, holding on for fear of loosing himself.
“Let me see you,” Aaravos says again. “Open your eyes for me.”
Viren cracks open his eyes, the most he can manage. The elf’s face is hovering just inches above his own, hair falling around them both in a translucent curtain, watching him with an intensity that Viren has never seen directed at him before, by anyone.
He cries out as he tumbles over the edge, vision going dark and fuzzy as he fights to keep eye contact. Aaravos whispers things into his ear in a blend of languages Viren mostly doesn’t speak, but the rumble of his voice carries him through his orgasm and sets him gently down on the other side.
“Aaravos,” he gasps out, as the intense waves of pleasure settle into something calm and soft.
There’s a flash of something desperate in the elf’s eyes, and then the familiar confidence is back, lips turning up into a smirk, though it’s still softer than it was when this all started.
“Thank you for indulging me, Viren,” he says, then sits up and straightens his clothes.
Viren nods, watching as Aaravos rolls off of him, laying down at his side. He feels less like hiding than he would have expected. Aaravos had coaxed him into a level of vulnerability he normally would never allow himself. But he thinks he’s not the only one feeling raw and exposed, and somehow that makes it okay.
“Did you mean everything you said?” he asks, head turned to watch the elf’s expression.
Aaravos only glances at him before looking back up at the ceiling. Viren wonders if he’s seeing the ceiling of the tent or the home he’s imprisoned in. “I never lie,” he says, quietly.
Viren huffs, and closes his eyes. He finally notes the wetness on his hand and stomach, and grimaces. He doesn’t have the energy to clean up right now, but if he doesn’t he’ll regret it in the morning.
“Did you?” Aaravos asks.
Viren blinks, looking back at him, but Aaravos still isn’t meeting his gaze. He’s suddenly overcome by the urge to roll toward him, to pull the elf into his arms and hold him. He tightens his fists to stop himself from trying, knowing his hands will go right through him and not knowing if the elf would appreciate the gesture. He’d shocked at himself for wanting it.
Instead, he sits up, leaning on his elbow to look down at Aaravos and waits for the elf’s eyes to flicker toward him. “Yes. I meant it,” he says.
The elf’s eyes close, and he lets out a long breath, some of the tension draining from his body, but not all.
As Viren lays back down, he notices he’s gotten semen on his bedroll. He groans. Damn, he really should deal with that.
But as he starts to sit up again, Aaravos asks, “allow me?”
Viren quirks a smile. “If it means I don’t have to get up, please.”
Aaravos chuckles, and Viren can’t help but sigh at the sound. His clean hand rises and draws a glyph in the air, leaving him and his bedroll clean as the light of it fades.
“You’re welcome,” Aaravos says smugly, and Viren rolls his eyes.
“Yes, yes. Now I really would like to get a bit more sleep before morning. I have an army to lead.”
“Of course,” Aaravos still sounds smug, but Viren detects something else there, something uncertain.
He straightens his robe, then pulls his blankets up to his shoulders and rolls to face Aaravos. The bug gives a startled squeak and quickly climbs around his head to his other ear. Aaravos, still on his back next to him, turns his head to look at him, brow raised curiously. Viren gets himself comfortable, then lays his arm out between them, palm up, and closes his eyes.
He’s exhausted, so sleep isn’t difficult to find. But before he sinks too deep, he cracks open one eye. Aaravos has turned toward him, his eyes closed and breaths slow and even, with one hand resting just next to his.