the dark is the season

Everything else is accentuated too, the fat of his belly, the curve of his ass. The way the fabric stretches dangerously tight across the swell of chest. And to make it all worse, he can very clearly see the outline of his underwear across his thighs beneath the thin fabric.

A knock at the dressing room door startles Aether out of his thoughts.

"Aeth, hurry up! We're all waiting to see!" Dew calls excitedly from the other side of the door, and then he knocks again even louder, for good measure.

"Just a second!" He answers back in a panic, face going red hot. He'd never really been self-conscious about his body before, but the way that the skintight fabric of the bodysuit clings to every curve and bulge and swell of flesh is jarring, to say the least.

He feels exposed.

Dew knocks again a moment later and Aether capitulates. No going back now, he supposes with a sigh.

"Alright fine, come in!" he calls, face still burning red.

The door swings open and Dewdrop walks into the dressing room, followed closely behind by Mountain, Swiss, and Rain.

Aether turns to face them and instantly, Dew stops dead in his tracks and bursts out laughing like a maniac.

"Dew!" Rain scolds immediately. But as soon as he sees Aether for himself, he gasps, covering his mouth with his hand.

Swiss wolf whistles, and Mountain stands dead silent beside him, staring.

Aether is so mortified he could die, but before he can say anything Dew composes himself enough to stop laughing. He wipes a tear from his eye and points directly at Aether's crotch.

"Holy fuck, Aether, look at that thing," he says, genuinely in awe, still pointing between Aether's legs. "That is a fucking weapon," Dew continues despite Aether's obvious misery. "Papa's gonna get arrested if he walks you out on stage like that." And then he's laughing again, like he can't help himself.

Aether would like to disappear, thank you very much. It doesn't help that he's the only one in costume, the rest of them having had their fittings a few days prior. He curls in on himself self-consciously, turning to face away from his bandmates' prying eyes.

That just makes it worse.

"Holy shit," he hears Swiss say the second he gets a glimpse of his ass. Mountain draws in a shaky breath.

Aether groans, scrubbing his hands across his face. He's ready for the experience to be over as soon as possible.

"No, no, Aeth, are you kidding me?!" Dew exclaims, finally acknowledging Aether's discomfort. He steps in close and reaches forward to run his hand up the length of Aether's torso. "You look fucking amazing like this." He stops to rest his palms on the swell of Aether's tits. Two perfect handfuls for Dew.

"All wrapped up like a gift," Swiss agrees with a grin, moving to stand directly behind him, admiring the view from behind once again. Aether yelps as Swiss presses himself against his backside and cups one of his ass cheeks in the palm of his hand. Beside him, Mountain grunts in agreement as he crowds in beside Swiss and Aether feels one of his big hands squeeze its own handful of his other cheek.

"Mm," Rain hums stepping up besides Dew. He runs an elegant hand across the swell of his belly, traveling slowly, slowly downward, agonizingly slow. Trailing those perfect fingers down his body until he cups Aether in his palm and squeezes.

Aether yelps. Things have taken a turn quickly; they've got him boxed in now, crowding in and touching all over his body. Appreciating every curve and swell, every inch of flesh. All of his muscles and fat, so many sensations that Aether goes dizzy with it, self-consciousness beginning to fade away with the pleasure of being felt up by so many roaming hands.

Instead he focuses where he can. On the way Dew kneads at his tits, pinches his nipples through the fabric. The way Mountain leans down to mouth at his neck as he glides the palm of his big hand up and down, across the curve of his ass cheek and up to his hip, down to the meat of his thigh and back up again. He feels Swiss press up against him, the way he squeezes the muscle of his behind, fingers pressing into flesh hard enough to bruise. It takes his breath away. He's fully hard now, too, with the way Rain is squeezing him, working him up. The bodysuit was tight down there before, but with his cock fully filled out it's even more restrictive.

"You're so fucking hot, Aeth," Dew murmurs, standing up on his tippy toes to nip at Aether's shoulder, fangs pricking the delicate fabric of the bodysuit. "Look so good like this," Aether gasps and he feels Dew grin against him, still squeezing and pawing and kneading at his chest.

In front of him, Rain drops to his knees to nuzzle at him. Drags his lips across the front of the suit, mindful of the crystals that dot the fabric. Aether groans and tips his head back against Mountain's chest

"Dew," Aether hears Rain whisper. "Look."

He sees Dew look down to where Rain sits between his knees.

"Fuck," Dew whispers back. Aether is so hard that the fabric of the suit doesn't stand a chance in concealing anything. It does nothing to hide him, and Dew can see it all. The outline of him so clear and visible that he can see the ridge of the head, the tiniest dark spot soaking through at the tip. He can see it all, the thick vein running up the underside, the swell of his balls, hanging heavy against the seam of the suit's crotch.

The way they're all over him feels so good he's dizzy. He's long lost count of whose hands are whose, of who is touching him where. Are those Dew's hands squeezing his thighs? Swiss' hands reaching around to knead at his chest? Is that Mountain's hand, bigger than all the rest, stroking the length of him through the fabric? Are those Rain's soft lips, nipping playfully at his balls, mouthing at his crotch until the fabric goes damp?

He closes his eyes and loses himself in the feeling, of being overwhelmed by the group of them worshiping his body. Telling him how good he feels, how perfect he looks. Delicious, like a treat. A gift for them to enjoy. How they can't wait for the world get to see him like this too. Fully exposed, on display like he was always meant to be.

"Dew, I - fuck," Aether chokes out. "I - I think I'm gonna…" he trails off with a groan, hips twitching up. He gasps and squeezes his eyes shut as Rain nips at his tip once again.

Behind the rush of blood in his ears, he hears the sound of the zipper being dragged down. Feels it click, click, click down slowly, one tooth at a time until cool air hits his chest. Dew works to peel the bodysuit off of him, multiple sets of hands chasing every piece of newly exposed flesh as it goes. Rain helps him as he gets lower, tugs and shimmies that tight, stretchy fabric over his belly, down his hips, and past his thighs. Someone drags his briefs down until the whole uniform pools around his ankles and he's left completely naked, pressed between the four of them.

He opens his eyes just in time to look down and see Rain take him properly in his mouth. The 360 degree mirrors in the room offer him a view of everyone with their hands on him and that's enough to set Aether off immediately. He comes with a shout, sagging back into Swiss and Mountain's waiting arms.

He opens his eyes and Dew swoops up for a kiss, filthy and deep, licking his way into Aether's mouth until they're both moaning into it. When Dew pulls back, Aether is left panting and sweaty. Completely taken apart with his brand new uniform still sitting in a puddle at his feet. Mountain wraps an arm around his waist as Swiss helps him step out of it.

The harness has three buckles and Rain has already redone the middle one twice.

"You've got this," Dew says from the bed, which would be more helpful if he wasn't saying it in the tone of someone watching a nature documentary.

"I know."

Rain tugs the strap, checks the fit. Tugs it again. It's not — he knows how this works, conceptually, he's not dumb. It's just different when it's his hips and his hands fumbling with hardware that doesn't care about his nerves.

"The left one's twisted."

Rain looks down and straightens it without comment.

Dew makes a sound that is technically not a laugh.

"You can keep doing that," Rain says pleasantly, "and I can take my time with this."

Silence.

Blessed, cooperative silence, for about eleven seconds, which is honestly Dew's personal record.

"Do you want me to—"

"No."

"I'm just saying I've done this before, I could—"

Rain turns around and looks at him.

Dew closes his mouth and tilts his head back against the pillow with the exaggerated patience of a ghoul being deeply wronged. His whole body is a complaint.

It's also very distracting, which Rain is not going to acknowledge. Because that would give Dew power, and that's the last thing he needs right now.

He turns back to the mirror and gets the last buckle.

The toy slots into the ring and Rain takes one breath, then another.

It's — okay. It's a lot, actually.

Dark, almost black, ridged in a spiral that tapers to a wicked curve at the tip. Rain is abruptly aware that Dew looked at this specific object and made a series of choices. Rain had assumed, when Dew produced it, that the plan had been —

well.

Not this.

He looks at himself in the mirror. The deep black of it against his grey-blue skin is striking. Interesting, even, in a way that lands slightly stunned in his chest.

Dew bought a tentacle toy and decided Rain should wear it first.

They'll discuss that later.

"Okay," he says, mostly to himself.

"Okay," Dew agrees. His voice has dropped out of documentary narrator and into something deep that does Rain's focus absolutely no favors.

He crosses to the bed.

Dew moves to make room and then immediately doesn't, reaching up instead, hands finding Rain's hips with great confidence, forgetting the current arrangement.

Rain catches both wrists.

Dew blinks up at him.

"You," Rain says, carefully moving Dew's hands to the mattress, "are staying there."

"I was just—"

"I know what you were doing."

Dew's expression cycles through several things and lands on something that is trying very hard to be innocent. "I'm being very patient."

"Are you?"

"Can you blame me? Look at you."

Dew reaches for him again and Rain pins his wrists above his head, mostly on instinct.

Dew makes a sound like the air left his body.

Oh. Okay.

Rain puts that away to use later, another thread to pull.

He settles between Dew's thighs and feels something unknot in him when Dew stops trying to do anything and just looks up at him, expression open in a way it doesn't always get, even with him.

Rain kisses him once, soft, and Dew tips up into it immediately, chasing, and that's familiar ground, that's easy, that's them.

They stay there for a while.

Rain kisses the corner of his mouth. His cheek. Comes back to his lips slow and Dew makes a small sound and opens for him, one hand coming up to curl into Rain's hair without thinking, without grabbing, just — holding.

Rain can feel him breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, the way some last held thing in him is gradually releasing. He tastes like he always does. Feels like home in a way Rain has never quite found the words for and has mostly stopped trying to locate. Rain kisses him a little slower, just to stay there.

Dew's wrists flex against Rain's grip but don't pull. He's getting warmer. Getting good.

Rain kisses him again and Dew opens for it immediately, easy. Rain forgets for a moment what he was doing because Dew's mouth is — it's Dew, it's always Dew, warm and seeking and Rain follows where it leads without meaning to, tongue sliding against his. Dew makes a low sound in his chest and arches up into him and Rain forgets a little more —

He's not sure how long they stay there.

Long enough that Dew makes a different sound. Less patient.

Rain shifts his weight and loosens his grip by half an inch, lining up, and Dew's already twisting free, reaching down. Two fingers trying to do three jobs at once — parting, guiding, helping —

"I had it—"

"You were taking forever—"

"Could you not wait two seconds, Dew—"

"You were being careful," Dew says, like it's a character flaw. He rocks his hips up at the same time his fingers pull and the angle goes completely wrong and there's a sound neither of them made and they both freeze and look down and the toy is just.

Gone.

They stare at each other and then there is a small, distant thump from the floor on Dew's side of the bed.

The silence holds for two full seconds.

They blink simultaneously and Dew makes a noise like a dying animal. Rain tries to say something and can't, drops his forehead onto Dew's sternum instead.

They are simply gone. Dew is shaking with it, actual tears, wheezing 'I was helping' which only makes Rain laugh harder.

It takes an embarrassing amount of time to recover.

Rain has to actually retrieve it, which means climbing off the bed while Dew laughs at his back. When he stands up holding the toy straight in the air like a tenticular trophy Dew loses it all over again, face buried in the pillow, shoulders heaving.

"You," Rain says.

Dew surfaces just enough to look at him. Can't speak.

"This is your fault."

Rain, without thinking, points at him with the dildo and Dew collapses back into the pillow.

It's too much.

Rain looks down at the toy in his hand and starts laughing again too, helplessly, because it is funny. Something about standing here in this harness holding this thing while Dew weeps with laughter into their pillowcase is the least dignified and yet most comfortable he's felt all night.

He slots it back in. Checks it twice, and climbs back onto the bed. Dew is still grinning, eyes wet, when Rain gets back between his thighs.

"Don't," Rain says.

"I'm keeping my hands exactly where they are," Dew says. They're at his sides and he pats the bed twice, gently. His grin hasn't moved. "See? Good."

Rain looks at him for a moment. Dew's hair is a mess. His eyes are still bright with laughter and something else underneath it, something that's been there this whole time, patient in its own way. He can't help but smile back.

Rain kisses him slower this time.

Dew goes quiet in the way he gets when something catches him off guard and he hasn't figured out how to be clever about it yet. Rain feels it as Dew exhales against his mouth, his hands staying exactly where they are without being reminded. The only part of him that moves is his hips, tilting up, chasing the pressure of the toy against him without quite meaning to.

Rain pulls back to look at him.

Dew's jaw tightens.

"Hands above your head," Rain says, quietly.

Something moves across Dew's face. Surprise, maybe, or the specific irritation of being perceived, but he does it anyway. Slowly. Like it was his idea in the first place.

Rain watches him settle and feels something warm and new move through his chest.

"Good," Rain says, and means it. He watches the word land on Dew like a physical thing.

He lines up again, his own breath coming careful.

"Okay?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," Dew says, and his voice is different now, stripped of the commentary. "Yeah."

Rain shifts and gets both of Dew's wrists in one hand again without really thinking about it, and feels the moment it changes.

The way Dew's wrists sit together in his grip with room to spare. Dew's small arrested breath, the way his whole body does something involuntary and then tries to pretend it didn't.

Rain looks down at him.

"You like this," he says, and it's not a question. It's just a fact he's turning over in his hands like something new and interesting. Dew opens his mouth and then closes it because what is he going to say, no? With both his wrists swallowed up in one of Rain's hands like they were always meant to be there?

Rain kisses his jaw instead of waiting for the answer and Dew's head tips back with a groan.

Rain rocks his hips, small, experimental, feeling out the weight and movement of it. Dew makes a sound that he immediately tries to swallow. Rain feels him, actually feels him, slick and unmistakable, the way the toy is sliding between his folds.

"Oh," Rain says softly. Not smug exactly, more wondering. "Dew."

"Shut up," Dew says, breathless, meaning the opposite.

Rain keeps moving against him, luxuriating in the sounds, in the slick heat of it, in the way Dew's whole body is running ahead of his mouth for once in his life.

He rolls his hips again, deliberate this time, and leans down close enough that his mouth brushes Dew's ear when he speaks.

"You've been thinking about this."

Dew's breath catches. "I haven't—"

"You have." Not accusation. Just Rain, calm and certain, the way he gets when he knows something. "You've been thinking about having me like this." Another slow roll of his hips, finding a rhythm, learning it. "Weren't you."

That's not a question either.

Dew turns his face away and Rain can see the color rising in him, the tips of his ears going dark. Something about that does things to Rain's chest; that he can make Dew do this, that underneath all the commentary and the grabbing and the 'I was helping' there was this —

"Look at you," Rain murmurs, and his voice comes out lower than he expected. "Can't even argue with me."

"I could argue with you."

"Okay." Rain stills his hips completely.

"Don't you dare—"

Rain moves again and Dew's whole back arches and whatever he was going to say dissolves into something wordless. Rain presses his mouth to Dew's jaw, his cheek, feels the heat radiating off him.

"That's what I thought," Rain says softly, and Dew makes a sound that is embarrassingly close to a whimper.

Rain has to stop for a moment.

Dew makes a lot of noise but not like that, not that unguarded, and something about it reaches into Rain's chest and rearranges things quietly. The smugness doesn't leave exactly. It just makes room.

He decides to take his time with it.

That's new too. Usually there's Dew setting the pace, Dew's hands, Dew's mouth, Dew — and Rain has always been happy to follow. But right now Dew's wrists are still caught in his hand and Rain is learning something about himself, about the satisfaction of slow, of deliberate, of making Dew wait —

He pushes in to the base and feels Dew's breath leave him in a rush.

"Rain—"

"Yeah," Rain says quietly. He feels Dew shudder under him. He shifts his weight, settles deeper, and watches Dew's face do something complicated and overwhelmed and beautiful. "How's that?"

"It's—" Dew stops. Swallows. "Fine."

Rain laughs low in his chest. He rolls his hips just enough to make the word a liar and Dew's fingers flex against his grip.

"Fine," Rain repeats.

"Good," Dew grits out. "It's good, you know it's good—"

"I do know," Rain agrees, insufferably calm, and leans down to speak against Dew's throat. "You're so full of my cock you can't even be mean about it."

The sound Dew makes is not dignified. Nothing about the next three seconds is dignified, the way his whole body reacts, the way his legs come up and cross at the small of Rain's back like pure reflex, locking, pulling —

Rain isn't going anywhere.

He tests that, just slightly, a small draw back, and Dew's thighs tighten immediately, heels digging in.

"Don't," Dew says, and it comes out wrecked, all the smug stripped clean out of it.

Rain looks down at him. Flushed and bright-eyed and holding on with everything he has.

"Wasn't planning to," Rain says honestly.

Dew makes a helpless noise and turns his face into his own shoulder like he can hide there and Rain frees his wrists finally, brings his hand up to cup Dew's jaw and turn him back, make him look.

"Hey," Rain says softly. "I see you."

Dew stares up at him and for once in his life says absolutely nothing.

Rain kisses him slow and deep and starts to move.

He finds a rhythm and sticks to it.

Steady. Unhurried.

Feeling out every small thing Dew's body tells him and using it, which it turns out is not so different from everything else Rain is good at.

Dew is coming apart beautifully.

"Tell me," Rain says, low, not breaking pace.

"Tell you what," Dew manages, which is impressive given the state of him.

"How long."

A pause. Dew's jaw works. "How long what?"

Rain shifts his angle just slightly and Dew's whole spine curves and there it is.

Rain smiles and hits it again, watches Dew's composure develop a structural problem.

"How long you've been thinking about this?"

"I haven't been—"

Rain hits that angle again. Deliberately.

"Fuck," Dew says, and then, smaller, losing ground fast — "a while."

"A while," Rain repeats.

"Don't make it weird."

"How long is a while, Dew?"

Dew turns his face away. His ears are fully dark. "...long."

Rain presses his mouth to his cheekbone, his temple, and keeps moving, keeps that steady devastating pace.

"Was it good," he murmurs. "What you imagined?"

Dew laughs, broken at the edges. "It was — yeah. But it's." He stops.

Rain waits.

"This is better," Dew says, like it costs him something. "Shut up, it's better, don't —"

"I'm not saying anything."

"You're smiling—"

"Dew." Rain pulls back just enough to look at him, really look, and drops the teasing from his voice entirely. It's just them now. Just this. He moves slow and deep and watches Dew's eyes go glassy. "Tell me what you want."

Something shifts in Dew's face. The last little wall.

"You," he says simply. No deflection left in him. "You, Rain, I want — just you, just keep —"

Rain kisses him before he can take it back.

Dew makes a broken sound against his mouth and holds on with everything he has and Rain swallows every bit of it, keeps moving, steady and sure and his.

"Good," Rain says again, against his lips. "I've got you."

He snaps his hips and finds it by accident.

That's the thing that will undo Dew later, re-examining it in his memory. Rain wasn't even trying, just shifting his weight, adjusting, learning, and he hits something and Dew's whole body seizes like he's been struck. The sound he makes is completely involuntary and completely humiliating and he cannot do a single thing about either.

"There —" Rain says softly, almost to himself. "There you are. That's my Dew."

"Rain—" Dew starts.

Rain does it again.

"Rain—"

Again.

Steady. Inevitable.

Rain with his whole focused attention locked onto Dew like he's the only thing in the room, like he's something worth studying, worth memorizing, worth every embarrassment that led up to exactly this.

Dew can feel it building into something enormous and he doesn't know what to do with enormous — he's always been the one doing this to other people, always been the one watching someone come undone. He doesn't know how to be the one who gets taken apart.

But Rain keeps moving. Keeps his mouth at Dew's ear, low and certain.

"That's it," he says. "Feel how good you take it? Feel how wet you are for me?" Dew makes a broken sound and Rain doesn't stop, doesn't let up. "Been thinking about this so long and now you've got it — you've got all of it — just let go, Dew." A roll of his hips, deep and deliberate.

"Let go. I've got you."

That's what does it.

It rolls through him like a wave breaking and he can't stop it, can't redirect it, can't be clever about it. There's a split second of oh no and then his body just goes, a rush of heat and wet he can hear, can feel soaking into the sheets beneath him, completely beyond him, and he hears himself make a sound that doesn't belong to any version of himself he usually performs —

Rain stops, one hand braced beside Dew's head.

"Dew," he says, and it comes out wrecked. Reverent. Like he's been handed something he doesn't have words for yet.

Dew's thighs are shaking. He's crying a little, becomes aware of this distantly, hates that he can't do anything about it —

"I'm not—" he starts.

"I know," Rain says, and his voice is still doing that thing, still undone, like Dew coming apart like that took him apart too.

"I didn't mean to—"

"Dew." Rain cups his face. Tilts it up. Eyes dark and warm and completely blown in a way Dew has never seen on him before. "I know."

Dew stares up at him, ruined and soaked and wrung completely out, and yet Rain is looking at him like he hung something in the sky.

"Come here," Rain says softly, and Dew goes, pulls him down, buries his face in Rain's neck and holds on.

Rain gets a hand between them.

Dew makes a sound like a live wire. "I can't — Rain, I'm — it's too—"

"You're okay," Rain says. He means it, he always means it, and starts to move again.

"Rain—"

"I know." He keeps moving. Keeps his hand moving. Dew is so wet, so oversensitive, making sounds like he can't decide if it's too much or not enough, and Rain presses his mouth to his temple and just stays there. Breathing him in. Feeling everything.

It builds slow and then all at once.

Dew gets there first, properly this time, whole body clenching, Rain's name dissolving into something wordless, pulled out of him with a shuddering exhale.

Rain follows him over almost immediately, the pressure of the harness and the sounds Dew is making and the sheer overwhelming fact that he's the one causing it all.

They stay tangled together after, breathing.

Rain presses his mouth to the top of Dew's head after, lazy and warm, floating somewhere soft and satisfied in a way he's never quite felt before.

He made Dew do that.

He did that.

The satisfaction is enormous. He's thinking about it from every angle, still a little stunned by the fact of it —

Dew lets him hold it for maybe three minutes, and then Rain feels it. Dew's quiet changing. The way he goes from boneless to something else, something quieter and more deliberate, the same way a cat goes still right before it pounces.

Rain's satisfaction develops a crack in it.

Dew's head lifts.

His eyes are clear. Bright. His fangs catch the light when he smiles and Rain's stomach does something complicated because that's not the smile of someone who just got destroyed, that's the smile of someone making plans —

"Rain."

"...yeah?"

"Your turn."

Rain opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

"I — we don't have to—"

"Oh we really do," Dew says pleasantly.

"Dew—"

But Dew is already moving, already pushing Rain onto his back, already swinging a leg over him, and when his fingers find the harness buckles they just… open.

One, two, three, easy as breathing, like they were meant for his hands specifically.

Rain stares up at him.

Something on his face must give him away, the last dying embers of smugness colliding headfirst with the very clear understanding of what is about to happen to him, because Dew's smile goes absolutely feral.

"You took forever with those," Dew says pleasantly.

"That's — that's not the point—"

Dew leans down and kisses him once, sharp and sweet and full of terrible promise.

OPUS EPONYMOUS: Wild Geranium (steadfast piety) Black Mulberry (I will not survive you) Ox-eye Daisy (patience)

INFESTISUMAM: Snapdragon (presumption, deception, a gracious lady) Adder's Tongue (deceit) dittany of Crete (childbirth)

MELIORA: black Dahlia (betrayal, dishonesty) nightshade (falsehood)

PREQUELLE: black rhododendron (danger, beware, despair, death) straight up cannot remember what the yellow flower is I apparantly didnt write that one down 🧍🏼‍♂️

IMPERA: lavender (distrust) geranium (folly/ stupidity)

SKELETA: bluebells (sorrow) red spider lily (final goodbyes) lophospermum (ecstasy)