Sorry, Lass

He doesn't bother responding. Rune dips once more, lips so easily finding Brynjolf's warm skin. The divot between his pics, the soft skin over his clavicle, taut muscle in his shoulder. Rune kisses up Brynjolf's chest, indulging in every little breath that catches in his throat.

It's delicious, everything he was missing during their last dalliance. Brynjolf's hand curls around the nape of his neck, urging him on despite the almost shameful silence he's lapsed into.

"You always move so fast?" Rune breathes the words against Bryn's stubbled throat. There's a displeased grunt but Brynjolf's fingers tangle into his hair.

"Yeah." Brynjolf mumbles, breath catching as Rune's hand brazenly slides down his stomach. "No point in wastin' time."

Wasting time? Rune can't fathom feeling that way. Brynjolf's cock throbs against the palm of his hand and each kiss along his jaw brings their lips closer. It's all so wonderfully intimate, Rune can't imagine breezing past this for the sake of time.

Brynjolf is remarkably patient. Rune expected him to rush but he seems fairly content to let Rune do as he wants with him - cheeks flushed bright red and biting back every moan but he's patient.

How the fuck is he expected to last like this? Brynjolf wishes Rune would relent with this slow, sensual stuff. It would be far more efficient to pin him to the mattress and fuck him to tears again, why bother with all this kissing and touching? He's already hard, they're already in bed - what more do they need?

It feels nice, he supposes, but no one's ever been soft with Brynjolf. The point of sex is to orgasm. The rest of this is just unnecessary. He grips the headboard and withstands the tongue tracing around his nipple without interrupting. A light, unfamiliar type of arousal shooting through him and Brynjolf finds himself short of breath.

Rune's palm is surprisingly soft when it finally grips his cock. Brynjolf anticipates it - a few rough strokes, a filthy kiss and just enough contact to make him cum. At least this part will be easy, he supposes. Brynjolf braces himself, muscles along his back tensing for something that never occurs.

Of course Rune's kiss is devastatingly tender. His tongue is soft and he shamelessly sucks at Brynjolf's lower lip. There is no rough jerk, no speeding things up. Instead Rune grips both of their cocks in his broad hand, the movement somehow graceful.

"Rune -" Brynjolf gasps his name but it dissolves into an embarrassing groan with the first stroke. The pads of Rune's fingers slide along overly sensitive skin, the tips of their cocks bumping together with each motion. Brynjolf can't catch his breath, can't explain what the hell he feels, can't do anything but lie there and enjoy it.

"Not too bad, is it?" Rune mutters into Brynjolf's jaw. Bryn can't really respond. His head feels too fuzzy, hips rolling lewdly into his friend's palm. Precum leaks from him, slipping between their cocks and Brynjolf worries he'll finish simply from that. How shameful.

Rune almost can't bear the vulnerability. Somehow Brynjolf's completely broken down under him. Lips parted and panting something that sounds like his name. Chest heaving with each breath. Hips twitching wonderfully into his touch. Like Brynjolf craves it.

His head falls to Brynjolf's chest, back aching and muscles tight but Rune refuses to stop. It doesn't matter how long this takes - he will make Brynjolf understand what he's been missing. He keeps his movements even, predictable, gentle. Brynjolf fucking whines under him and Rune chances a look upward.

A stray tear streaks down his cheek. Rune's heart leaps and he fears that he's hurt his friend - wouldn't he say something? He stills, cocks throbbing together in his hand. His mouth opens to speak, to ask if something's wrong, but Rune's cut off.

"Keep goin'." Brynjolf's voice is so small but the request nearly wrecks Rune. He's nodding, shamelessly kissing at the sweaty skin of Brynjolf's chest and thankfully continues stroking their cocks.

It's slow. That delicious knot of arousal in Rune's lower stomach is tight but he refuses to cum first. Brynjolf, always the most serious among their Guild, is writhing under him like a blushing virgin. A few more tears coat his cheeks but he's whining Rune's name with every pump of their cocks.

When Brynjolf orgasms Rune swallows the broken whimper of his name. Sticky hands cup Brynjolf's face, cocks leaking between their bodies but this feels necessary. Bryn's body twitches under his and Rune continues kissing him, heart thumping at the intimacy of it all. He can't think of anything to say, can't explain how deeply all of this has changed him.

"Still a waste of time?" He jokes, huffing a laugh into Brynjolf's cheek. Joking around is easier than confronting the monster of feelings gathering swiftly behind his ribs.

"'S so good." Brynjolf mumbles, chasing Rune's mouth. "Next time you gotta let me do somethin' though."

"Next time?" Rune teases despite the eager fluttering of his heart. Brynjolf sobers a bit upon realizing what he's said but Rune can't let him overthink it. His lips descend again, kissing at the annoyed frown.