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“You’re so tense, sunshine.”
Hobie’s voice curls light and teasing around the words, as their tongue flicks over the inside of Pav’s wrist, just around the edge of – circling the sensitive spot, even, and Pavitr whines, but Hobie trails higher instead of giving him –
“Need t’ work some of that tension out, yeah?”
They whisper it sweetly against his fluttering pulse, press a butterfly kiss on the delicate ridge of bone there, making him gasp. And then Hobie’s nipping at the meat of Pav’s palm, letting their teeth catch on skin as they trail their tongue down Pav’s wrist, way too fucking far from –
Fuck, come on, he needs more.
Pav groans, his hips canting into nothing without his brain’s input, before Hobie locks a knee over his thighs and stops him. He glares, frustration like fire in his veins, like the fire on his cheeks as Hobie’s eyes glitter with amusement and they suck a mark into his skin, holding his wrist tightly, keeping it in place even as Pav wriggles and grasps at air impatiently.
“Need somethin’, love?” they ask, the innocence of their voice at odds with the way they swirl their tongue over the wine-stain bruise.
Pavitr tries to whimper, to beg, but it’s muffled into Hobie’s hand, cool and heavy and clamped over his mouth. He begs with his eyes instead, turning them on Hobie all wide and pleading, and they’ve never failed him before. Sure enough, Hobie’s breath stutters just the slightest bit, their brow twitching with a half-frown, and Pav can see the resistance cracking in their face as they bite down on his wrist. Pavitr whines and arches into the sting, so close, so fucking close, thoda upar –
And Hobie knows it too, smirking smugly down at him, and Pav breathes harshly, glowering through his mussed hair at their unfairly beautiful face cutting sharply through the soft moonlight. The heat skirts the edge of pleasure, coursing scorchingly sweet under his skin, and Pav can feel it spread out in a blush on his face.
“Careful, Pav,” Hobie leans down, hums by his ear, “Wouldn’t want to wake ‘em up now, would you?”
They tilt their head at Miles and Gwen, sleeping cuddled up on the bed together like the sweetest, most innocent creatures to ever have existed in any universe. As if on cue, Gwen snores extra-loud, pulling Miles closer like a human-sized teddy bear, just as the extra topping of guilt-cheese and shame-pineapple on the pizza of Pav’s horniness.
Fuck you.
Pav hisses, muffled, into Hobie’s quelling palm. He can tell by their grin they understood exactly what he was saying, too.
“Hmm, no, not tonight, love,” their breath fans coolly on the skin of his wrist, the teasing – torture – starting all over yet again, “Think I jus’ wanna experiment with this for now. So sensitive here, sunshine, wanna take my time… should see if I can make you come just like this, yeah? Be so pretty, so good for me.”
Pav moans at the words, then grumbles in frustration.
Yeah, could probably find out if you’d actually start, angrezi khajoor –
His words are lost to Hobie’s hand, and so is the string of pleases he whines out as Hobie licks languidly up his wrist again, just skirting over the –
Come on, please, please –
He is so close to tears, can actually feel the first ones pricking in his eyes, desperation mixing hotly with frustration and just about spilling over. Pav whimpers, and shifts to bare his throat, the warm skin all down to his neckline soft for Hobie to sink their teeth into, to kiss down and mark up like they love to do, anything that will tempt them to put their mouth to good use instead of just fucking teasing.
Hobie’s warm weight on top of him shifts, just slightly, and Pav keens as their lips ghost over his neck, his eyes fluttering shut as they kiss over the sensitive spot under his jaw. The sweetness skirts the edge of his gut as Hobie bites at the skin, leaves a hickey, or two, or three. Pavitr gasps contentedly, all thoughts out of the window, lost in the warm, soft haze of Hobie’s familiar mouth, familiar touch, the safe whispered assurance that they’ll take care of him, don’t worry, sunshine.
And then Hobie’s mouth is back on his wrist, hot and wet and they’re licking right there, where Pav needs so badly, the teasing replaced by bolts of overwhelming pleasure like lightning fizzling through Pav’s system. They lick greedily at his wrist, holding it still as Pavitr almost thrashes, the soft flesh giving under the graze of their teeth, sucking hungrily at the skin and fuck fuck fuck –
It’s only because of Hobie’s silencing hand over his mouth that Pavitr’s high, sharp squeal doesn’t reverberate around the room and wake up their friends, and probably get picked up by satellites in space and somehow alert Miguel too for good measure.
Now that they’ve started, Hobie doesn’t let up, and Pav just mewls and whines and sobs into their hand helplessly, his brain rapidly reduced to putty. The buzzing pleasure is dancing in waves over his nerves, fraying them more with every wet lick, the hot suction of their lips over the hole, and fuck Pavitr just knows Hobie is going to be absolutely insufferable about this new discovery –
In this moment, he can’t quite bring himself to regret it.
“That is so cool,” Gwen pokes at the tiny, barely-visible hole on Pavitr’s wrist, thumbing the edge as wide open as it goes and squinting into it like it’s going to reveal some kind of existential secret. Pav suppresses a shiver, the fluttery pleasure sparking over his skin, and holds still for her, “So how much webbing can you produce in a day? Do you ever run out?”
“Well,” Pav focuses resolutely on her question and not how weirdly good it feels as she thumbs over his spinneret, “It depends on how much food – specifically protein intake – I’ve got. On an average day, one meal can last me about six hours if I don’t overuse it, after that the webs slowly start getting thinner and weaker till I eat again. But even when I start to run out, it’s not sudden, I get this bone-deep kind of fatigue first as a sort of warning. And then if I keep using webs, my head starts to hurt and my wrists start to get raw and hurt and then, after that, my body stops being able to produce web fluid, so I run out.”
“Woah, lucky, that’s a good long time,” Gwen rubs softly at the spinneret – Pav ignores the heat rushing to his face, bites back a whine – and seems like she’s about to ask another question, but Pavitr’s abruptly distracted by Miles’ equally curious prodding at his other wrist.
“Don’t your wrists hurt afterwards? Mine get sore as hell, and I’m just using webshooters.” Miles skims over the skin around the hole, like he’s looking for bruising of some kind.
“Mmh – nah... I mean haan! Yeah, uh, my wrists do get sore, and the spinneret starts hurting quite a bit after a long day. But it does get okay in a couple hours, it’s almost like a muscle pull, you know? It’s tense, but theek ho jaata hai with some rest and pressure.” Pav would normally get into all the science and details about his spinnerets, all the infodumping he never gets the chance to do normally, but he’s a bit distracted by the way his friends are poking and rubbing at them. How had he not realized until this moment just how sensitive they are?
To be fair, this is also the first time he’s ever shown his spinnerets off to anyone. He can’t tell anyone in Mumbattan of course, and it hadn’t really occurred to him until this moment that having webs au naturale was an unusual thing – his brain somehow decided to gloss over the little detail that all his friends used hi-tech webshooters until Hobie pointed it out with a curious tilt of their head.
Hence, the session of intense study and poking now. Miles and Gwen are just curious, of course they are, and Hobie must be too for all they pretend to sit back nonchalantly – Pavitr can see them out of the corner of his eye, staring hard at his wrists and ears trained to all his answers – and Pav is trying so hard to sit still and let them explore and focus on their questions. But it’s a bit difficult when every little touch to the tiny holes on his wrists sends little bolts of sweetness shooting through him.
And then Miles starts circling his spinneret more deliberately, rubbing and massaging it gently with his thumb. The sensation floors Pav all at once, nerves tingling hotly with it, and he has to bite down on his lip, hard, to keep the strangled moan from escaping.
He doesn’t quite manage to stifle the noise completely though, and when his gaze refocuses, Miles’ head has snapped up to him, big golden-brown eyes staring at him in concern.
“Fuck, sorry, Pav, did that hurt? Didn’t mean to, I was just trying to – ‘cause you said they get sore, so I wanted to see if massaging helps – I didn’t mean for it to hurt –”
“It didn’t, fikar not, my dude,” Pavitr reassures, smiling winningly. Gwen’s paused too, looking at him with her brow creased, but more pressingly, Pav can also feel Hobie’s gaze on him, uncharacteristically quiet, heavy with something entirely different. His face feels hot, and he just tries to compose himself for Miles and Gwen, doesn’t dare look at Hobie; they’re the only one who knows what that sound really meant, the only person in this room who’s heard it in an entirely different context. They’re going to give him so much shit for it later, Pav just knows it.
“It didn’t hurt,” he tells Miles, and then adds because he still looks so dejected, “You did help, actually, that does feel better!”
“Oh!” Miles brightens up, and Gwen makes a small happy sound at seeing him smile – fucking down-bad loser, Pav teases her in his head – and the sight is worth the next few minutes of Pav suffering under how unfairly good it feels as Miles and Gwen both proceed to massage his spinnerets, trying not to make a sound and to act normal. The heat is coalescing lower down with the soothing, soft rubs on his sensitive skin, though, and it’s getting harder to keep it together –
“Mmph!”
“Fuck, sorry!” Pavitr yelps, having accidentally webbed Gwen right in the face, “Shit, sorry, maaf kar de, bro, I don’t know how that –”
“Imph hine!” Gwen mumbles through the web, then tears it off and gasps, “It’s fine, don’t – oof, I was not expecting that.”
“Me neither.” Pav scrunches up guiltily.
“Don’t worry, man, I’ve done worse, believe me. You okay, babe?” Miles scoots closer, patting her on the back, and she leans into the touch even as she looks like she’s (unsuccessfully) trying to be offended about the pet name.
“I’m fine, Miles. And yeah, Pav, he really has, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“I would like to clarify though, that was an accident.”
“An accident that defined my whole haircut for two years.”
“You defined your whole haircut for two years.”
“Well, I thought it looked cute.”
“You always look cute.”
Blegh. It would be cute if they weren’t so sickeningly sappy.
Almost automatically, Pavitr’s eyes search out Hobie, who’s lounging lazily on his desk chair, orange in their hand that they’re peeling meticulously into a bowl of two more oranges. Their face is neutral, unreadable, but there’s an undeniable delight in their eyes when they meet Pav’s gaze, and he turns away just as quickly, flustered.
“Okay, Pav, but now I gotta know about the mechanics, like, how exactly do you –”
“Aight, enough questions for today, knobheads, give ‘im a break. Who wants mandarins instead?” Hobie interrupts, sweeping themself off Pav’s chair and landing on his bed in one fell swoop, bowl of orange slices and all, landing with a heavy fwump and sprawled around the three of them.
“Oranges.” Pav sighs only a little petulantly, “They’re oranges, mandarins are the weird fancy ones that don’t get peeled right.”
“Other way ‘round, sunshine.” Hobie says smugly, hoisting their head to rest on Pav’s thigh, and smiling up at him lazily. They pick an orange slice and hold it up to Pavitr’s lips, “C’mon, orange time.”
Pav raises an eyebrow at Hobie. Hobie blinks.
“FUCK! What have you done to me, you arsehole,” Hobie sputters indignantly, “You’ve tricked me somehow, you fiend –”
“Just admit that I was right.” it’s Pav’s turn to grin at them. “It’s an orange.”
“NEVER! Mandarin.”
“Orange.”
“Mandarin.”
“Orngfh.” – muffled around the mouthful of fruit as Hobie successfully feeds him.
“Sorry, what’s that, sweetheart?” Hobie snickers, before Pav stuffs an orange slice into their mouth too.
“Fngh!!”
“Mmgh!”
“You both as so sickeningly sappy.” Gwen groans loudly, chucking a pillow at them and making them squawk, while Miles cackles.
It’s not long after Miles and Gwen have fallen asleep, cuddling up close together, that Pavitr becomes very aware that Hobie’s just as awake as he is. They’re draped along his back like an oversized limpet, and Pav can feel their breathing; and isn’t the deep, even, relaxed thing it gets when they’re asleep. Plus, their mindless thumbing at the knots in his shoulders, a phantom of the way they sometimes massage them out, is a dead giveaway; Hobie likes to fidget, and their favourite thing to fidget with is Pavitr – his hair, the edges of his clothes, his skin, his fingers, whatever’s in reach.
“What’re you thinking so hard about, mere priye?” Pav yawns, because he can feel Hobie’s thoughtful gaze burning holes into the top of his head. And since the universe has seen fit to grant tonight an insomnia-riddled period of exhaustion, maybe Hobie can distract him. Or they can be sleepless together – Pav doesn’t like disturbing Hobie when he can’t sleep, but if Hobie’s already awake, then well, it’s free real estate.
“Just how pretty you are. ‘n how lucky I am to have you.” Hobie’s voice is a deep, whispered rumble reverberating into his skin, not quite as rough as when they’ve just woken up but close enough that it makes warmth burst all fuzzy in Pav’s ribcage.
The warmth starts to trickle down lower too, especially as Hobie’s fingers start kneading into his shoulders, more purposeful now that they know he’s awake too. Pav takes a deep breath and stomps it down resolutely – he’s not going to ruin a sweet, perfectly respectable cuddle with his boyfriend just because his body decided to interpret an innocent touch or two as woohoo! Horny time!
Especially since Miles and Gwen are literally on his bed right now. (Hobie had decided to appropriate him on the thin mattress and chatayi Pav kept for exactly sleepover purposes since that bed is not big enough for all of them, and Hobie lost rock paper scissors.)
“Bas, ab SRK type line maarna hi bacha tha?” Pav half-muffles a giggle into his pillow, hides the slight warmth in his cheeks too. Hobie has a habit of trying to fluster him, and it would be cute if he wasn’t so easy to fluster that it’s frankly embarrassing.
“I mean it,” Hobie’s breath tickles the back of Pav’s neck, their arm slung around Pav tightening; and there’s something possessive in the way they nuzzle at the crook of his shoulder, lips soft and insistent, that make sparks of realization skitter down Pavitr’s body, “So pretty, sunshine. The prettiest.”
Pavitr is distracted by the way Hobie’s mouthing at his neck, nipping like they want to leave a mark there but are too impatient to follow through. He doesn’t even notice Hobie’s hand dart out until it’s clasped firmly around his wrists, pinning them together easily in their long, unyielding fingers.
“Even prettier when you’re comin’ apart in my hands.”
Aha. So the horniness wasn’t a false alarm.
Pav is almost annoyed he didn’t guess where this was going, but then again, he is too eager to be properly offended. He huffs, somewhere between a sigh and a gasp.
“Prettier still when you’re too fucked out to remember to be worried ‘bout shit.”
“Hobie…”
He says it like a warning. It’s too close to a whine.
“Prettiest when you say my name, just like that.” Hobie’s stupid grin is audible in their voice. “And ‘m so, so lucky I get t’ make you that way.”
“Smooth motherfucker.” Pav grumbles, heat rising in his cheeks way too readily. He presses back up into Hobie’s kisses at his neck, their body warm and solid against his, and tests the give of their grip on his wrists – firm but not strong, he could free himself if he wanted to, but why would he want to?
An embarrassing whine escapes him as Hobie scrapes their teeth, just a hint, over the sensitive spot under his jaw. Hobie pauses, lips parting in a smile against Pav’s skin, ready to make some smartass comment –
Pavitr makes a forbidding noise and elbows them in the rib, just to show them that this kind of tyranny won’t stand.
Hobie’s answering giggle is punched out and low. They proceed to have a short-lived tussle, more for the sake of it than any real feeling; Pavitr swearing lowly in Hindi and trying to roll over and twist himself around Hobie, while Hobie tries to secure Pav against the mattress and perch on top of him. Hobie wins eventually – because Pav lets them, of course, kabaddi khelte hue pala bada hai, aise thodi haarega – and flips them so they’re sitting on Pav, straddling his thighs and effectively pinning him down by the wrists.
Hobie grins down at Pavitr, a satisfied, feline thing, so breathtakingly pretty in the strips of moonlight pooling in through the grille of his window. It’s ridiculous, really. Unfair, even, how hot Hobie is. How’s Pav expected to function in this kind of environment?
“’s not fair, you know.” Hobie pouts consideringly, like they have any right to be offended, “You’re so hot. How’s a bloke supposed to function in this kinda environment?”
“Harami.” Pav rolls his eyes, wiggling impatiently even as he tries not to smile, “You talk too much.”
“Then come shut me up, why don’t y –”
Pavitr surges up then, freeing his wrists in one easy, uncontested movement, and captures Hobie’s lips in a kiss. Hobie makes a tiny sound of surprise, but melts into it immediately, humming delightedly as Pav kisses them hard, leaving stinging bites at their bottom lip.
Pav is smug, and he grins like it too as he settles back down, putting his hands right back under Hobie’s and taking in their breathlessness with satisfaction. Hobie blinks for a moment, and then grumbles and dips down to kiss him just as furiously, like they’re trying to prove a point. It’s endearing and it’s so them and it’s hot, goddammit.
Inconveniently so, considering they can’t actually do anything about that just now.
The thought hits him like a club, not quite tampering down the heat beginning to coalesce somewhere in his gut but enough to make him groan.
“Jaan, ruk, hang on.”
Hobie stops immediately, pulling back, dark eyes lit grey in the moonlight as they scan him for any signs of distress. Pav huffs and wraps a leg around their waist before they can even consider going farther.
“’s wrong, sunshine?”
“No, no – just, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting kind of… worked up, right now,” Pav starts diplomatically, and Hobie nods like the spirit of a wise old man living by the sea has possessed them.
“Yep, the knob’s standin’ up pretty straight for me too, love.”
Pavitr makes some noise that’s a mixture of a choked giggle, a deep groan and a world-weary sigh.
“Right, yes,” he continues, “And, as we know, the solution to that would normally be –”
“The horizontal mambo? Crashin’ the custard truck? Walkin’ the pickle?”
“I – how does half of that even – never mind, questioning you is a waste of time.” Pav sighs, “But yes. That. But at this moment, if you would look at exhibit A on your right,” he juts his chin towards where Miles and Gwen are deep in their slumber, blissfully unaware of the fruitcake shenanigans occurring just a few feet away, “You will see a reason why we absolutely cannot be doing –”
“Lickin’ the cheesecake? Scrubbin’ the carrot? Swipin’ the milkman?”
“ – that. Right now.”
“Well of course not, what do you take me for?” Hobie huffs, “I’m not gonna traumatize Miles and Gwendy like that, even with the chance they won’t know it.”
“I don’t know!” Pav whisper-yells, and then checks his volume when Hobie glances furtively at Miles and Gwen, “I don’t know, what are we doing then? Why’d you get me all fuckin – ugh – worked up and shit –”
“Awww, Pavi really wants to get dicked down.” Hobie teases, and Pav glares at him.
“Well, honestly, yeah!”
Hobie grins, and Pav aims a kick blindly, conveying his annoyance effectively against Hobie’s shin.
“Meanie. Haramkhor. Girgit ki aulaad. Magarmachh ki gaand.” He grouses.
“Alright, dickhead, I’m not all that,” Hobie rolls their eyes, grin unfazed, “Jus’ ‘cause we aren’t gonna juice the carrot –” Pav groans “– doesn’t mean we can’t deal with this some other way.”
“What did you have in mind?” Pav raises an eyebrow, intrigued now.
Hobie hums contemplatively, and finally, takes one of his wrists in hand and lifts it. Pavitr narrows his eyes, watching Hobie’s face for the minute tells, the curiosity as they tilted their head forty five degrees and the little wrinkle at the corner of their eye that meant they were definitely up to no good, his skin prickling with gooseflesh where Hobie traced over it, thumbing at his wrist until they honed in on – oh.
Pav makes a stifled noise, more a gasp than anything, and Hobie’s eyes dart to his face, mischief and arousal clear as day in the way they’re smirking.
Oh.
“’m rather curious about this, actually.” They say lowly, their voice silky, and fuck if that doesn’t make heat rise to Pav’s cheeks, “You had an… interesting reaction, earlier. Tell me, sunshine…” they rub the pad of their thumb, the callused skin rough over the spinneret on his wrist, “Are you sensitive here?”
“Fuck.” Pav’s voice is strangled, sparks of heat fizzing along his nerves from the stimulation and from the way Hobie fucking said that.
Hobie grins in a way that tells him they’ve very much got their answer, but they affect confusion anyway, because they’re a little shit like that.
“Hmm? What’s that, love? You didn’t like that?” Hobie circles the spot with a deft finger, making Pav bite back a gasp, before they pinch it gentle between thumb and forefinger, and okay, Pavitr has to sink his teeth into his lip to stop from whining too loud. “No? Aw, that’s too bad. Does this feel any better?” They stretch their fingers, spreading the little hole open gently, the ring of pink skin peeking out, clenching around air, and Hobie puts their lips to it and kisses it, soft and feather light but their tongue darting out ever-so-quickly to taste.
Pavitr’s brain short circuits, a moan punched out from his chest that hangs in the air between them.
When Pav has managed to focus his gaze again, Hobie’s looking at him like even they hadn’t anticipated the strength of his reaction. Pav’s face is already hot but somehow even more blood rushes into it.
“Don’t look at me like that!” he hisses, because Hobie’s gaze is intense and delighted and hungry all rolled up in one, and it’s doing things to him goddammit.
“How’s a bloke supposed t’ look away when you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous?” Hobie’s words ghost against his wrist and make Pav shiver.
“Madar – hmm!” he doesn’t even finish the word as Hobie licks the skin there like they’re savouring a rare delicacy. Hobie doesn’t stop, and Pav is twisting and barely stifling his whimpers, the pressure coiling tight, low in his belly, the familiar sensation of honey-thick pleasure building up, only so much higher than it has any right –
Hobie stops abruptly, damn them to hell.
“You never answered my question.” They raise an eyebrow, making an oh-so-innocent face.
“The – fuck, kya, what question?” Pav manages when he’s caught his breath, his brain barely functional with how much he wants Hobie to shut up and keep doing that.
“Are you sensitive here?” Hobie nips at the skin just below where Pav needs them, “Do you like that, sunshine?”
Pav squints at them in incredulity, and opens his mouth to either answer or swear at them, he doesn’t know which –
Hobie seals their soft, cool lips over his feverish skin and sucks and Pav’s head goes blank, the sound he produces nothing more than a mewl. The pleasure courses through him like fire, like the sensation of hot, wet suction over a place he hadn’t even known was so fucking sensitive is all that’s keeping him tethered to life, pumping some drug into him that makes nerve endings in his wrist and his belly and lower down sing.
He's whining and writhing and he’s close, somehow, the heady heat tightening inside him, and it’s not enough but it’s so much and he cries out –
And a hand is clamped over his mouth, heavy and silencing and a cool contrast against his flushed, bitten lips. Hobie only tortures him for a moment more, before stopping and breathing harshly against his fluttering pulse, their eyes raking over Pavitr with a smug satisfaction and something playful that Pav suspects is going to be very interesting for him indeed.
Pav feels dazed, drunk off the feeling of Hobie’s mouth on – gods, that’s weird, isn’t it, and he’s probably going to freak out about it later, but right now he feels wired and his body is alight with sensation and he doesn’t want Hobie to stop.
He tries to say as much, but even if his mouth wasn’t too preoccupied learning how to pronounce words again, Hobie’s hand is muffling him.
“Sorry, sunshine. Can’t have them wakin’ up.” Hobie nods at their friends, still blissfully asleep. Pav resists the powerful urge to – to do what, he doesn’t know, but he’d be lying if he said Hobie having to shut him up with their large, steady hand because Pav’s getting too loud and unable to control himself, isn’t hot as fuck.
Pav whimpers when Hobie hums against his skin, mouthing further down, away from the spinneret that is gaping and needy, now.
“Guess you do like this after all, hmm, love?”
Pavitr glares at them, aiming for unimpressed, trying to convey his ire. What gave it away, dipshit?
“Oi, don’t give me that look, now.” Hobie’s chuckle is musical, fucking magnetic, and Pav can’t help the whimper he stifles into their palm when they say, “You’re being such a good boy, Pavitr.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Hobie traces the contours of Pav’s wrist with their lips, their tongue flicking out to taste the skin, feel the veins under it.
“You’re so tense, sunshine.”
Pav is sobbing and moaning into Hobie’s hand, feeling wound tight and thoroughly unravelled at the same time as Hobie strings him along. He’s lost sense of time, now, has no idea just how long Hobie’s been at this, but it could be forever, it could be an eternity compressed into a second, he wouldn’t know, he doesn’t care. His face hot and wet with tears, and he wants, he needs to come, the orgasm bubbling dangerously hot in his belly now but he can’t.
Pavitr whines in frustration.
It’s not enough, it’s simultaneously so much, so overwhelmingly much, but not enough, he needs more, he can feel where he’s wet and wanting and fucking empty and the ache of it is killing him.
Hobie doesn’t pause, doesn’t even slow down their ministrations on the hole on his wrist, hot and clenching in pleasure and slick with their spit now, but they seem to register Pav’s impatience, notice when his high, keening sobs tip over to this side of desperate that’s almost painful.
They shift, the weight of their legs holding his hips down suddenly gone, and then Hobie is sliding a thigh between both of Pavitr’s, pressing down against his heat. Pav moans as he bucks his hips up into it, finally rewarded with something other than air.
“There we go, good boy, Pavi, c’mon…”
The whispered praise makes Pavitr whimper, rutting against the steady, unyielding press of Hobie’s thigh. The friction and the heat is delicious against his cunt, layers of cloth between them doing nothing to dull the intensity of the drag, and it’s a perfect supplement to the maddening pleasure of Hobie’s mouth doing whatever the fuck it just did –
“C’mon, sunshine, you’re being so good, so perfect.”
Close, so close, he tries saying, but the words are lost in a moan before they even make it against Hobie’s palm. Hobie laps hotly at his wrist, and Pavitr humps their thigh like it’s the only thing he remembers how to do anymore, and the thing in his gut is getting impossibly hot and tight and his blood is mixed with the sweet fire that’s definitely burning away at whatever sanity he has left –
“Look at you, so pretty. All for me. You can let go now, Pav. Come for me.”
And that does it, somehow, and Pav is grateful for the hand quieting his wail as orgasm sweeps him up and spills him over hard.
It takes Pavitr a good while to come down, the intensity still leaving him dazed and slow as Hobie strokes his hair and whispers “Good boy” and “Love you” and other sweet nothings as they hold him close. It takes him a moment to register that their hand is gone from his mouth and his wrist’s been released too, Hobie’s arms wrapped around him and their legs tangled together as they cuddle him instead. Pav flexes his arm, twists his hand – his wrist is sore, the skin sensitive and raw, but in a good way somehow – and nuzzles further into Hobie’s chest.
Hobie hums, and he meets their assessing, loving gaze with his own. Opens his mouth –
And yawns.
Hobie laughs softly.
“Go to sleep, you pillock.”
“Mmh. Wh’t ‘bout you, should take care of –”
“’M just fine, sunshine. You, on the other hand,” Hobie presses a kiss against his forehead, “Go to sleep.”
“… should change, at least.” Pavitr groans, feeling the wet spot in his underwear. Hobie hums in assent, and before Pav can move, picks him up and carries him bridal-style.
“What are you doing!?” Pav yelps, and then glances at Miles and Gwen to make sure they didn’t wake up.
(Side note, whatever those two are on to sleep so deeply, he wants it.)
“The sooner you change, the sooner you sleep, so I’m makin’ it happen.”
And Hobie does, depositing him in the bathroom and rifling through his drawers to find new underwear and shorts surprisingly quickly, standing outside like a gentleman while Pav changes as quickly as possible with his wobbly limbs.
They’re back on the chatayi before Pav knows it, and he’s warm and snug in Hobie’s embrace, their heartbeat a steady rhythm, comforting under his head.
“You know,” Hobie mutters thoughtfully, and Pav makes a questioning sound.
“Technically, you just came from a wrist kiss.”
The smugness is evident in Hobie’s voice, and Pavitr groans as he knees them in the thigh.
"Oh my fucking gods."
"Also, you shot a web in my face when you, y'know, and let me tell you, it tasted like -"
“Go to sleep, gadhe.”
Hobie laughs, low and sweet, and Pav can’t help but smile, even as his eyelids droop and he feels sleep tugging at the edges of his consciousness.
“G’night, sunshine.”
“Goodnight, mere jaan…”