Archive of Our Own

""I have to say, Traveler," Alhaitham begins, very casually, "you really are terrible at finding time to relax."

Across the room, Aether blinks.

It's hard to say whether or not the traveler should be offended. He hasn't done anything that would warrant a sudden passive-aggressive comment like that, at least by his own consideration. They are both in Alhaitham's home, and the blond-haired outlander has simply been investigating what looks like some sort of unfinished project of Kaveh's, helping the man sort differently-colored wood chips into their matching boxes; Alhaitham, for his part, has been lounging on one of the various divans placed throughout his house, reading another thick tome on physics or astronomy or some obscure biological theory that Aether doesn't have time to read or comprehend.

In the end, after weighing his options, the traveler decides to respond with a wary request for clarification. 

"I'm sorry?" he asks.

"Of course, it's none of my business whether you choose to relax or not," Alhaitham continues, as if Aether hadn't responded. "You may very well prefer to keep a full schedule every single day. That's fine by me." He turns a page of his book, still not looking Aether in the eyes. "But answer me this: why are you organizing Kaveh's project materials right now?"

"Um, because," Aether answers slowly, "I heard him muttering as he left the house just now... He said that he needs to sort all the wood chips here by the types of wood in them. That didn't sound very difficult, so I figured I would do it for him."

"Why?"

"Well, he didn't ask me to, but it's easy enough. And it's a nice thing to do for him, right? He sounded really stressed about it."

"You've barely met him," the scribe replies calmly. "I don't see why you should be worried about what he thinks or how he feels. The others may extol your virtues, but I didn't take you for someone with that kind of bleeding-heart empathy for others." 

"I'm really not like that, I promise," Aether grimaces. They are both implicitly thinking of Kaveh, of course, and his propensity to be fleeced under the guise of any good deed. No, Aether isn't like that at all, as he's neither that altruistic nor that naïve. "But there's nothing else for me to do right now."

"Nothing else to do?"

"Well, you invited me over," the traveler replies, "but you haven't asked me to do anything."

Alhaitham raises a single elegant brow. "Isn't that what 'friends' are supposed to do?" he asks, in a tone that suggests he has never even once called any other person a friend before. "Spend time with one another, without external obligations?"

Aether blinks once more, openly staring. He nearly gapes in shock, but he manages to his keep face still as he processes this information.

Is that what Alhaitham wanted? Friendship? Camaraderie? Is that what he invited Aether over for? The traveler feels distinctly flabbergasted.

"I didn't realize that was what you wanted," Aether says slowly. "You normally only reach out to me when you need something, so I thought you needed something from me. But since you didn't give me anything to do, I thought I'd just... make myself busy while I waited for you to explain why you called me here."

At last, Alhaitham looks up from his book to look at Aether. He exhales in a thin way that reminds the traveler of a sigh, but he doesn't get up from where he's lying down on the chaise. "I see. I haven't been clear enough about my intentions for you today." After another moment of consideration, Alhaitham rolls over onto his back, and then beckons to the blond traveler. "Aether, come here."

"Why?"

"I'll show you how you should relax," Alhaitham replies, a little impatiently. "Come here."

Still feeling bewildered, Aether walks over to where Alhaitham is lying down on the sofa. When he thinks he's gotten close enough, the scribe is still beckoning him closer, so — still puzzled — Aether closes the distance between their bodies still further, sitting on the edge of the divan.

To his surprise, Alhaitham takes him by the wrist and guides him into a lying position on top of him, then positions his head so that his cheek is pressed up against the scribe's broad chest.

Seized by a shock so potent that it almost resembles horror, Aether can't help but wonder what the catch is here.

"Rest your head here," the scholar commands, in his deep, low voice.

The funny thing is that this isn't even the first time that he and Alhaitham have been intimate — there was a time in Port Ormos, and then another time in Aaru Village after that — but Aether can't help but feel terribly, terribly embarrassed to be in this position, nevertheless. "I — I can't do that!" he protests, turning a brilliant pink.

"Why not?" Alhaitham asks, unperturbed. "You've plainly wanted to do it since you met me."

"Y-You knew?!"

"You are not terribly subtle." The scribe's expression is entirely neutral, save for the way his eyes are lowered in smug satisfaction. "You're always staring."

"It's just that I'm directly eye level —"

"I think I've even seen you drooling," Alhaitham continues. Then, after a pause (during which Aether seriously considers erasing his memories via Irminsul), he adds: "Only joking, of course."

Flustered and embarrassed beyond explanation, Aether nevertheless decides to make the most of his situation and does, in fact, press his face into Alhaitham's chest. The gold detailing on the man's shirt is a little cold to the touch, but the thin black material of his top feels smooth against Aether's skin, and the traveler can't help but enjoy the warm mounds curving up against his cheeks. Burying his face in Alhaitham's pecs has always just been something of a fantasy — even when they fucked in other places, Aether hadn't really touched them in earnest. Now the fantasy is real, and the man is letting him do it.

Aether enjoys the softness beneath his cheeks for a moment, then lets the tension escape from his shoulders with a pleased, audible sigh.

"Happy?" Alhaitham asks dryly. He is still reading his book above Aether's head.

"Very."

Swathed in softness, Aether wonders how much he can get away with. Experimentally, he rolls his head around on Alhaitham's chest. The scribe doesn't move. He lifts one hand and pokes at one of the warm pecs beneath his cheek; the scribe doesn't react. Feeling emboldened, Aether rests his palm atop the curve of one of Alhaitham's tits, but he doesn't squeeze or fondle it just yet.

He looks at Alhaitham respectfully.

After a moment, he ventures a slightly nervous question. "Is this all you want me to do, or...?"

"Shouldn't you ask yourself that?" Alhaitham asks. He hasn't stopped reading, so his eyes are still not focused on Aether's face. Serenely, he turns another page of his book. "You can do whatever you like. As long as it doesn't require me to put down this book, that is."

"Anything I want?"

"Anything," the scribe affirms. Another page of his book rustles behind Aether's head. "For the record, I wouldn't offer this to just anyone. Take full advantage of it while you can." 

Well.

Who would Aether be to refuse a tempting offer like that?

Shyly at first, and then more boldly when Alhaitham doesn't stop him, Aether allows his fingers to curl around one of Alhaitham's big tits. The muscle is so broad that he can't really fit all of it into his palm. Holding his breath, he hefts one large pec and is vaguely surprised to feel it move around. It's fascinating. It's not as though Aether doesn't have pecs of his own, but they're just not the same size at all, and Alhaitham's body has been tempting his baser instincts from the very start.

Swallowing hard on a dry throat, Aether squeezes the scribe's pec a little harder, and is surprised to feel his fingers sink in. Getting greedier, the traveler moves his other hand and places it on top of Alhaitham's untouched pec, and then squeezes both tits at once. They're both smooth and firm, and each sinful curve of trained muscle responds warmly to Aether's touch, soft and squishy as though welcoming his interest. Slowly, the pink flush on the traveler's cheeks abates, and the bashful shame on his features turns into keen focus.

"They're softer than I thought they'd be," he marvels.

"Chest muscles generally aren't firm unless they're being flexed." Alhaitham sounds bored, but Aether doesn't think that the man is really bored — just flatly explanatory, as he often is. "Do you want to see?"

With a slight movement of his shoulders, Alhaitham flexes his chest, making each pec bulge more prominently. Aether eagerly presses his fingers into both. They're firmer now, as promised, and bigger than before. Curious, he investigates both with his cheeks and his lips, but the hard muscle doesn't yield at all until the scribe senses that Aether's had his fun and relaxes his shoulders again. Alhaitham relaxes his shoulders; his pecs relax too. Aether massages both, fascinated by the firm yet yielding texture of Alhaitham's skin.

"I think I like them more when you aren't flexing," Aether confesses, though he's not sure why Alhaitham would need to know that at all.

"Mm." The scribe doesn't seem interested, but conversely, he also doesn't seem bothered. "Amuse yourself however you want. I'll be reading." 

The traveler doesn't reply. He's too invested in patting and poking Alhaitham's pecs, massaging each of them with his gentle fingers. Slapping them gently makes them quiver somewhat — not as much as a woman's breast might bounce, but there's a satisfactory jiggle nonetheless. Emboldened still further, Aether begins fondling Alhaitham's chest outright; the scribe still doesn't stop him, and even seems at ease with the contact.

After a brief silence, punctuated only by the turning of the scribe's pages, Aether decides that it's time to move on to the next step.

"Alhaitham, can you take your shirt off?" he asks, a little sweetly, and a little shyly.

Of course the scribe has to tease him for it. "Not enough for you to touch them through the fabric?"

"I... want to see if I can make you feel good, too."

It's a pretty vague statement to make, but Alhaitham doesn't ask him to clarify it. He reads the implications of Aether's sentence and makes correct assumptions, as always. "I'll have to disappoint you," the scribe says. "I'm not that sensitive. If you really want to please me, you should suck my cock instead."

Aether feels himself turning red again, not least because Alhaitham has correctly guessed that he wanted to try sucking his juicy tits. "Can I at least try?"

The scribe grunts assent. "Do what you want." 

It takes some finagling, but it turns out there's a hidden zipper along the side of Alhaitham's top, which is convenient for Aether, as it means he can take the scribe's shirt off without asking him to move his arms away from his book too much. Once it's managed, Aether kisses Alhaitham's neck in apology (because kissing his mouth might interfere with his line of sight as he's reading). Then he kisses a path down to the man's broad chest, lingering slightly over the scribe's smooth, freshly exposed skin before sealing his lips around one of Alhaitham's nipples.

Aether licks slow, warm circles around the pink bud in his mouth, sensual and kittenlike in the way that only he can be. Alhaitham is wonderfully unblemished beneath him; unlike other men who might be sensuously scarred all over, the self-professed "feeble scholar's" skin is deliciously milky and creamy, and Aether can't help but give in to the temptation to lick him all over, leave little marks. Kissing, sucking, teasing, even biting a little bit — Aether lets himself go, freely pursuing his lesser instincts, and, blessedly, Alhaitham doesn't stop him from going a little feral.

At one particularly long, indulgent suck on his warm pec, Alhaitham lets out a soft sigh that sounds suspiciously like a quiet moan.

Curious, Aether lifts his mouth from the juicy tit in question. "Did you like that?"

"It wasn't bad," Alhaitham admits. "You can do it again."

Aether does as he's told to, producing a soft wet sound from between his lips; he's rewarded with another low sigh. Privately, he wonders if Alhaitham isn't more sensitive than he claimed to be. "I really love your tits," he murmurs, once he's had his fill.

"My tits?" If Alhaitham is offended by the terminology applied to his finely sculpted chest, he doesn't show it. He seems to consider it visibly for a moment, and then, presumably, files it away under the evolution of language, as any Haravatat scholar should. "Sure. As long as you're having fun. I can't get off on just this, personally, but this isn't about me."

"It's about me, right?" Aether answers smugly. Then, knowing the answer, he returns to sucking on Alhaitham's tits, lips latched on to one of his pink nipples. The man doesn't produce milk, so there's no particular taste to his skin — it's just satisfying to Aether's basest impulses.

Alhaitham laughs once, and the sound rumbles through his chest; Aether can't help but purr in response. "I think I like the sight of you sucking on my tits like this," the scribe observes, and he sounds almost fond. "Not a thought in your head except how much you want to me to fuck you."

"I thought you like giving people time to think and use their brains."

"You use yours too much," the scribe replies. "Like you are right now, actually. Be quiet and keep yourself occupied."

Aether tries to stop thinking, he really does. He wonders vaguely if this is a skill that Alhaitham himself has — if the man, so prone to strategizing and plotting, actually just turns off his brain every time he turns on the soundproofing on his earpieces. Nevertheless, there is something very pressing weighing on the back of his mind as he continues sucking and playing with Alhaitham's tits, and it cannot be ignored for another minute.

"Alhaitham," Aether whines, "I'm hard."

He hates that it came out sounding like a child's plea, but Alhaitham doesn't seem to be bothered by his petulance. "And what would you like me to do about it?"

Aether's heart is racing in his own chest. He wonders if he's pushing his luck. "Can you suck me off?"

"The rule was that you can't ask me to do anything that might require putting my book down."

"Well," Aether stammers, caught off-guard by the rejection, "you could — if you just let me, um, use your mouth, you won't have to move."

"I have a better idea." Shifting slightly, Alhaitham lowers his book and brings his arms closer together, such that his biceps are bracketing his pecs and pressing them together. They catch the light streaming in through the window, making his skin look slightly glossy and his curves even more tempting than before. "There. That should be good enough for you."

Aether stares, wide-eyed — genuinely so this time. "You want me to fuck your tits?"

"You seem enamored enough with them for it to work."

Shyly, the traveler shifts his weight so that his cock is lined up with the valley of Alhaitham's cleavage; his waist is narrow enough that the scribe can still read his book past his hips, given the way his wrist is angled. "I'll give it a try," Aether mumbles, "but I feel a little stupid."

Slowly, he begins thrusting his erection up and between Alhaitham's tits. It's clumsy, at first; there's not enough lubrication, and for a moment Aether wonders if he shouldn't go to the scribe's bedroom to fetch some kind of oil for their purposes. But his own precum soon gets Alhaitham's chest slick enough. Eventually, it feels more or less like using his own hand would, with the caveat that Alhaitham is providing a lot of visual interest, and Aether can't help but feel spurred on by the thought that if he cums like this, he'll get to cum on the scribe's face.

The man's expression is serenely, placidly unbothered. He continues to read his book. Every now and then, his brilliant green eyes flick towards the tip of Aether's engorged cock, but otherwise, he doesn't seem to pay the traveler's thrusting any mind.

Desperately, Aether bucks his hips; a shiver runs all the way up his spine and seems to settle at the back of his skull before bouncing back down to his cock. He can feel his balls starting to tighten and pull up with interest; his cock is making sloppy noises between Alhaitham's tits, and something about the man's disinterested expression is only making him more and more desperate to come. "Ah, this — this actually — feels really good..."

"See? I told you it would work." Much to the traveler's surprise, Alhaitham settles his free hand atop one of Aether's thighs, and his gaze settles on the tip of his cock as it thrusts between his pecs. "You look cute, Aether. Open-mouthed and pink-cheeked. Bucking your hips like a whore."

A vivid rush of shame floods through Aether at the description, but that's just the thing to tip him over the edge. Shuddering, the traveler tips his head back and lets himself crest over the rising peak of pleasure; sure enough, he comes on Alhaitham's face as he thought he would, but the scribe doesn't get angry. Indeed, he doesn't react much. He simply lets his tongue peek out of the corner of his lips, and then licks up Aether's spend where it fell over his mouth.

"Had your fun?" Alhaitham asks, wiping a streak of cum off his brow. "Now it's my turn."

Aether panics; the scribe's book isn't in his hand anymore, and he's using both hands to push the traveler down. "What — what do you mean — oh!"

Suddenly, Aether is on his back on the divan, legs spread wide beneath Alhaitham's hand, and the fingers that are slick with his own cum suddenly pry into him, roughly but firmly working him open. The scribe's fingers are thick, yet long and elegant; he only needs to get his middle finger in down to the knuckle to find Aether's prostate, and then he's pulsing pleasure into the traveler's overstimulated brain, heedless of his moans and cries.

"I finished the chapter," Alhaitham explains calmly, "so I have time to play with you now." 

Aether is beyond being able to feel shame. Alhaitham's fingers feel so good inside of him that it's all he can do to wiggle his hips around, pleading for more. His legs are spread wide, promiscuous and whorish, and his cheeks are pink, lips parted with need; not a man in Sumeru would be able to resist him the way he looks now. "Alhaitham — Alhaitham, deeper, please —"

"Begging me for more already?" A satisfied smirk has crept into the man's voice. "Slut."

He's finger-fucking Aether even faster, making his spent cock twitch even more, and Aether's knees and thighs are trembling. He's never felt so well-fucked by anybody's fingers in his life. He can feel himself nearing another orgasm, coming over the edge, and he lets it wash over him, claim his body as release jolts out of him and onto his own belly. "Oh, gods, yes —"

"The gods don't have anything to do with this. I'm just getting started." Aether nearly squeals as Alhaitham finds an even better place to press into his prostate. In sex, as in all things, the man is ruthlessly efficient, and he makes Aether feel like nothing more than a willing hole to be played with and used. "You've come once from my tits. Can you come on my fingers?"

"Yes, yes, yes —" 

"That's what I thought." A particularly wide scissoring motion of his fingers makes Aether's toes curl as another pathetic dribble spurts out of his cock. He can't even tell if he's coming or not anymore, it all just feels so good, and the one certainty he knows is that this can only end with Alhaitham's thick cock pistoning in and out of him until the man is satisfied. "Your ass is so soft and wet."

"Please," Aether begs incoherently, "please, I just came —"

"So silky," Alhaitham continues, as though he hadn't spoken. His fingers move around in Aether's hole, churning it, turning it even sweeter and slicker than before. "So loose and ready for my cock. If Kaveh came in right now, would you let him fuck you, too? He's so stressed, after all. I'm sure he'd appreciate it if you let him use your body once or twice."

Dimly, Aether understands the point that Alhaitham is trying to make, but it's not quite making sense in his mind; whatever, it hardly even matters right now. "No — no, I'm not like that —"

"Then stop offering yourself to everyone around you," the scholar snaps. Then he plants one hand on Aether's thigh and pulls it up so that his hole is closer to Alhaitham's lips. "Let's see. I believe you wanted me to use my mouth, correct?"

"No, please, I'm s-sensitive right now — ah!"

Aether knows what's coming, but even so, he's not prepared for the way Alhaitham's tongue breaches into him, wet and probing like the hot tentacle of an Abyssal beast. Alhaitham is just as ferocious with his tongue as he is his fingers; Aether feels violated in ways he's never felt before, violated in the absolute best way — and as Alhaitham licks into his prostate and makes him come again, something finally clicks about the way the man has been behaving all day.

"Haitham," the traveler gasps, "a-are you — just — jealous — ?"

He doesn't get a chance to finish before Alhaitham has pressed in two of his fingers next to his tongue in Aether's ass, and the combination of the stretch and sensations makes him come a fifth or sixth time — he's lost track, each orgasm just blurs into the next, and he's almost completely limp against the divan already. Alhaitham does not answer his question. He merely withdraws his mouth, licking his lips, and then he licks up the cum that dripped onto Aether's belly, his gaze dark and predatory like that of a beast in the night.

"Still thick," Alhaitham observes blandly. "Now it's my turn to use you."

The scribe's hard, engorged cock needs attention, Aether knows, but the traveler is already so spent that he doesn't know how he's going to manage. "Haitham..." he begs, openly pathetic and cognizant of it. "Alhaitham, please, I c-can't cum anymore..."

"Oh?" the scholar says, his tone faintly mocking. "That's a shame. Well, then, what do you want me to do?"

Aether's head is spinning with lust and satisfaction. "Do?"

"Do you want me to stop?"

"I want..." His mouth seems to have gone very dry. "I want..."

"Or do you actually want me to push you past your breaking point and shove my cock into your greedy hole right now?"

The shiver of arousal that tingles through Aether's brain is so potent that it brings him to a level of degeneracy he never thought he'd reach.

Eyes bright, body taut with renewed need, Aether finds himself reaching down with shaky hands to spread his loose hole wide, just the way Alhaitham likes it.

"Y-You said... you'd help me relax... right?" the traveler begs, face flushed with fresh shame.

Alhaitham smirks.

"I'll fuck you until you don't even remember your own name," he promises, and that is when the demon breaks loose.

He doesn't need another word of consent. Alhaitham's cock pounds into him with a jackhammer's intensity, jolting pleasure through his brain with every thrust. The traveler doesn't even know if he's beautiful or not, with his face twisted in pleasure, lips parted and gasping and begging desperately for the next thrust and the next and the next — he simply has to assume that he must be, given the look of feral delight that's crossed Alhaitham's normally stoic features. The man claims him again and again and again, carving out new spaces inside of him, getting him hooked on Alhaitham's cock and Alhaitham's cock alone.

Aether doesn't even know how, but he finds himself coming helplessly, spurting with each and every thrust into his body, whimpering desperately beneath the scribe — and Alhaitham only laughs cruelly at his desperation, grabbing his ankles to fuck him even harder.

"Cumming like a damned fountain," the scholar breathes, gasping hard from exertion. "You really like it like this, huh?"

"Yes — y-yes —" He feels so limp, so relaxed, so good. So thoroughly conquered, by a man who never set out to be anybody's conqueror. "Your cock is so good —"

"Is it? Keep going. Tell me more."

"The perfect s-size and shape — the way you thrust inside me — oh! Haitham — Haitham —"

"Fuck," Alhaitham groans, in a low and hot tone that suggests he is slowly beginning to unravel. "You're so tight... so fucking good..."

"Alhaitham," Aether begs, feeling himself getting tighter and tighter around Alhaitham's cock against his own will, "please, I'm losing my mind —"

"Good," he grunts, "lose it." He thrusts a few moments longer, feral and beastlike, and then he doubles over, growling like a wild tiger. "Your hips are so — your waist is just — you have no idea — how much I've wanted to fuck you, how much we've all wanted to fuck you —"

The scribe comes with a low grunt and a few final strokes of his massive girth. The rush of cum inside of Aether is unlike anything else he's ever felt; it seems to flood his insides, coating his walls in sticky satisfaction. It's Alhaitham's. He's Alhaitham's. Everything is Alhaitham's, every inch of his body is tingling with pleasure because of Alhaitham, and he's — he can't even think. Can't even put it into words.

He's finally relaxed at last.

"Ah," Aether gasps, thoughts fully emptied, head fully blank. He can feel a little rivulet of cum roll out of his gaping asshole and into the cushions below. "Ah... so full... it's dripping..."

Atop him and astride him, Alhaitham gasps for breath. His skin glistens with exertion. He pushes his shock of silver hair out of his eyes. He looks impossibly fulfilled. Impossibly satisfied. Dangerous, too, in the way that beasts are when they have their prey in their mouths.