lena

It’s still early in the evening, but Dewdrop’s energy seems to be flagging. He’s lying on his side on his bed, curled in on himself loosely. He’s blinking slowly like a contented cat, letting his eyes stay closed a fraction of a second longer each time.

Rain, sitting on the bed next to him, is frozen, held in place by a desire not to disturb the present calm. They’re trapped together in an ambiguous place between sleep and wakefulness. Realistically, Dew would be more comfortable under the covers, but Rain is caught in the paradox of avoiding the short uphill climb that would lead to the easy descent of restful sleep.

So he gives Dew a few more minutes before prompting him, “You going to call it a night?”

Dew shakes his head, or makes some semblance of the gesture, the best he can with his head pressed against the mattress. He rolls onto his back and, laboriously, sits himself up. “I was going to take a shower.” He leans back, propping himself up with one arm extended behind him. “I need to wash my hair. I feel gross.”

“You’re not gross.”

“I just meant… I feel gross.” He drags his hand through his hair. It gathers together between his fingers, stiffer than it usually is, more substantial. Then he holds his empty hand in front of him, palm up, like he’s displaying something. There’s nothing there, just the suggestion of a sensation.

“Oh.”

Dew sighs. He makes no move to get up, to head for the bathroom.

“Do you want…”

Dew tips his head to one side.

“Do you want me to help?”

His eyebrows raise, a barely perceptible twitch. “You mean…?”

“To do it for you? Only if you want.”

He pauses, silent for a moment that feels like forever, before he speaks again. “I’d like that.”

Rain stands, released from the lingering air of meticulous stillness. Dew stands too; he sways slightly in place before he starts walking to the bathroom. Rain follows.

In the bathroom, Rain turns on the shower. He spins the handle until it’s set almost as hot as it will go — Dew’s preference. Standing at the edge of his peripheral vision, Dew pulls his shirt over his head.

They’ve showered together before, but they’ve never really done this before — taking their clothes off in the bathroom for the sole purpose of showering with each other, as the main event. Dew’s shirt drops from his fingers and crumples to the floor.

Rain pulls his own shirt off, steps out of his pants. He feels the water with his hand. It’s hot. He knew it would be; steam is starting to fill the room.

They step into the shower, Dew first and Rain after him. Dew stands facing the wall, directly under the water, his head tipped forward so that it runs off his forehead in a flat sheet that splatters noisily against the floor. Then he takes a small step back, moving out of the spray, and flips his sopping wet hair out of his face with one hand. Behind him, Rain is barely getting wet at all, which is fine. It’s not why he’s here.

Dew picks up the shampoo bottle. Almost immediately, it slips from his grasp; he drops it on the shower floor, the hollow plastic clattering a cacophonous thunder on the tile. His shoulders first rise towards his ears in response to the jarring sound, then sink in a forceful, frustrated sigh, inaudible over the sound of running water.

“Let me,” Rain offers — or reminds, really. This was the idea in the first place. He picks up the shampoo from where it’s come to rest after skittering across the slippery surface, somewhere near his right foot. He uncaps the bottle and pours some of its contents into his open palm. Dew, still facing away, fidgets in place, bending one knee slightly, shifting his weight.

Rain brings his hands to Dew’s wet hair, slowly, like he’s trying not to startle a skittish animal, and presses the shampoo into it with gentle strokes of his hands. He works it into a lather with his fingertips, rubbing small circles into Dew’s scalp.

Dew is so pliable, tilting his head in accordance with the gentle pressure applied to it. Rain rubs behind his ears, at the base of his horns, along the junction where his skull meets his neck. A hefty blob of shampoo foam drops to the floor with a quiet plop.

“They increased my dose,” Dew says, breaking the relative silence between them. “Last night. Feels like starting over.” He’s offering a handful of vague, disjoint half-statements, expending the minimum energy required to get his point across, leaving Rain to fill in the gaps.

“Like the first day? I saw you, it looked like you were sleepwalking.”

“I feel like I’m sleepwalking.”

Rain hums. He drops his hands to Dew’s shoulders and guides him to turn around so his back is to the water. Dew’s eyes are closed. With gentle fingers against his scalp again, Rain tips his head back into the stream.

He rakes his fingers through Dew’s hair, plowing furrows in the dense foam, creating channels into which the water rushes and whisks it away. He strokes Dew’s hair back with his hands, squeezing the water from it over and over, until all the shampoo rinsed out. He picks up the bottle of body wash. Dew opens his eyes just a sliver, peeking out past damp lashes.

Rain snaps open the flimsy plastic flip-top lid of the body wash. Once again, Dew is remarkably pliable, allowing Rain to lather soap all over him, providing easy access to all his limbs, shuffling around as needed. He braces a hand against the tiled wall for balance.

Rain guides him back under the water falling from the shower head. It quickly rinses off the majority of the soap suds, driving rivers through a landscape of rolling hills formed by a thin coating of white foam. Bubbles gather at the drain in a heap, holding on to the last moments of their life before they succumb to the flow of water.

He brushes his hands over Dew’s skin, slippery with a residual coating of soap. He pushes the running water across his shoulders, neck, arms, down his back, over his legs. The slipperiness washes away, dissipates until only the feeling of wet skin remains. Even so, he continues, pushing clean water away to be replaced by more clean water, again and again.

“Rain.” Dew’s voice is quiet, mixing in with the sound of water droplets hitting the shower floor.

Rain’s hands pause, frozen in place on Dew’s body, held against either side of his ribcage.

“This is nice, but can we go lie down now?”

“Of course.” Rain drops his hands away.

Before Rain can lean forward and turn off the shower, Dew turns around. He places his hands on Rain’s sides, just above his hip bones, an echo of the position they paused in just moments ago.

The water is hitting the back of Dew’s head now, like earlier, but this time he’s looking up, looking at Rain. A rivulet of water runs down the side of his face. The image evokes some dramatic romance movie scene, a climactic moment where the love interests are caught in a torrential downpour.

Rain feels his lips pull into a smile, an involuntary expression betraying his thoughts. He’s not sure he could put a word to this emotion. There’s a fondness at the forefront, a familiar, deep sea of warmth he feels whenever he looks at Dew. The salt breeze of it carries the vague, ambiguously masculine scent of his body wash, some wood smell. Cedar, maybe.

The sea is deeper than before, more vast, impossibly so, its waters all-encompassing. Its shimmering surface ripples with so many more feelings, thoughts, ideas, a kaleidoscopic interface with the ambient air. Comfort. Worry. Humor in the inadvertent romance movie parallel. Appreciation for the trust Dew is putting in him right now.

“Thank you,” Dew says.

Rain pushes a stray lock of wet hair away from Dew’s face. “Of course.”

He turns off the shower, the steady thrum of water quickly diminishing to a slow, rhythmic drip. Dew steps out and wraps himself with a towel, draping it around his shoulders like a blanket. He shuffles out of the bathroom.

Rain hastily dries himself off and puts his clothes back on, retrieving them from where he discarded them on the tile floor. When he returns to the main room of Dew’s dorm, he finds Dew curled up on the bed again, still wrapped in the towel.

Rain picks out some clothes from the dresser — boxers and an old t-shirt. Dew lets the towel fall against the covers as he sits up. Rain slips the neck of the shirt over his head. It’s large on him, the worn fabric draping loosely against his torso. Dew puts his underwear on himself. Rain uses the fallen towel to blot Dew’s still soaking wet hair dry.

When he’s satisfied with the state of Dew’s hair, Rain removes the towel. Dew flops back onto the bed and lies there for a moment, perfectly still save for the rise and fall of his chest, but then he drags himself up and heads back into the bathroom. Rain busies himself tidying up — hanging the used towels to dry, gathering Dew’s clothes from their pile on the floor and putting them with his dirty laundry.

In the bathroom, Dew brushes his teeth, leaning heavily against the sink. When he’s done, he pads back into the other room, flops onto his bed, and crawls under the covers.

He nestles his head into the pillow, then looks up at Rain. “Stay?”

“Oh, um, it’s— it’s kind of early…”

Dew stares at him like his mental gears have jammed trying to process that statement. His tired eyes look like they can’t perceive a world in which any of its inhabitants wouldn’t want to go to sleep right now.

Rain kicks himself for saying something like that. Of course he can stay. “Until you fall asleep.”

Dew snorts. “It’ll be, like, two seconds.” He pulls the edge of the duvet to his chin.

Rain lies down next to him, on top of the covers to maximize his chances of sneaking away later without waking him up. There’s not much of a point, really; if Dew is feeling the way he did a few days ago, like he said earlier, he’ll be dead to the world soon. Still, he arranges himself carefully, thoughtfully, rolling over so he’s face to face with Dew.

Dew’s eyes are closed, his breathing even. Is he already asleep?

“Goodnight,” Rain whispers, so quiet it’s barely more than a breath.

It’s been a while since they’ve been able to exist together like this, without interruptions or needless stressors.

They’re sprawled on the dock, sopping wet with lakewater, laid out to dry on the sturdy wooden panels they so love to lounge on. Dew is staring up at the sky, eyes squinted to see the outline of the clouds in spite of the glaring sunlight over the water. One of his hands is tracing mindless patterns into the palm of Rain’s hand with his fingertip, a self soothing reflex that Dew hasn’t been able to stop since he began.

Rain, however, is staring at Dewdrop.

His eyes started on Dew’s nipple, considering how close it is to his face. The silver rings threaded through them make them stand out so, so much more, pink and perky and pretty. They used to match the faded scars under Dew’s chest, crescent shaped, clean surgical scar tissue from his top surgery. As much as Rain loved his cute little tits, something about the scars is so much more beautiful to him. His hand comes to rest on Dew’s ribs and he brushes his thumb over the scars, narrowly avoiding Dew’s nipple.

It gets a giggle out of the stuffy little fire ghoul, who bats Rain’s hand away and huffs out a soft ticklish! as a warning.

Now, Rain could abuse that right now.

But he looks back up at Dew’s face and sees the way he grins down, the creases near his eyes and the little scrunch of his nose. He promptly decides to swear off bullying the little guy… for today.

Dew begins to wither under his gaze. The longer Rain stares, the more he tries to wriggle away, to escape. He curls in on himself and shakes out his hair in an attempt to cover up his face and the bright, ruby red blush across his cheeks.

Jesus, Rain hasn’t even said anything yet.

The Rain in question brushes the hair out of his eyes again regardless, smiling just as softly as when he started to stare. He lifts himself on one arm and pushes Dew down, until his back meets the dock again and he’s staring up at Rain, doe-eyed. He’s shaking.

“You’re so pretty,” Rain finally, finally says.

Dew responds with a very intelligent noise and turns his face away, pouting.

“You are, lovebug,” Rain coaxes, the hand not supporting his weight coming up to Dew’s chin— it takes so little effort to make him look again, and if Rain weren’t so in awe of his beauty, he would laugh. “Gorgeous.”

“Shut up,” Dew mumbles, averting his eyes again. It may not be as good as looking away completely, but it’s the best he can get and he’ll take it.

He knows he’s grasping at straws for control.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” Rain warns, and even if it’s playful, it still makes Dew’s cunt clench around nothing, if only for the way he says it.

Dew, wisely, goes silent again. He’s helpless under Rain’s gaze.

The water ghoul brings him in for a kiss, which does wonders for his jittery nerves. It’s tender, but heated, clearly Rain has other motivations he hasn’t yet revealed, but Dew doesn’t find himself caring. The only thing he has the capacity to care about is the slow, luxurious slide of Rain’s tongue against his own. He almost wishes they’d brought a joint, but Dew has been going through his weed a bit too fast lately.

When Rain finally stops sucking on his face, Dew is utterly useless. Breathless, kiss drunk, swollen lips, and completely in love with Rain.

“Love your waist,” Rain huffs into the hollow of his neck, a cool hand resting on the curve of Dew’s waist, right where his mole is, “makes you look tiny. Pretty.”

If there were any breath to steal from Dew’s lungs, it would’ve been. But all he can do is let out a wheezy little whine and widen his eyes. “Love your thighs,” Rain says, strained as he rearranges himself to lay between Dew’s legs, “get my clothes behind your head. Prop yourself up.”

“But they’ll get—”

Rain narrows his eyes severely and it’s enough to make Dew shut up and listen. Dew takes their pile of discarded clothes— that he really doesn’t care about getting wet— and shoves it behind his head, now forced to meet Rain’s gaze from where he sits between his thighs.

“Where were we,” the water ghoul mumbles, pressing his lips to Dew’s inner thigh with a wet smack. “Love your thighs,” he says again as he runs a hand up and down the smooth skin, “so pretty when I bruise them.”

Dewdrop whimpers again, even if he tries to hide it.

Rain is so close. He’s right there. The fire ghoul’s little hips jump in anticipation, pulling a satisfied noise from his water ghoul.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmurs, head resting on Dew’s leg as his hand finds Dew’s, “all you have to do is ask nicely. You know the rules.”

His head is spinning. He might die here and now, burning under Rain’s gaze, opposite of their elements. Dew makes another strangled sound before struggling to open his mouth, to speak.

Swiss getting him face down, ass up, pinning Dew's face to the bed while he rails him. Dew grabbing at the sheets and just gagging for it, so noisy and desperate. Swiss really giving to him, hard and deep just like they both like it. Running his mouth the whole time about how he's gonna fill Dew up, gonna make him take his knot, gonna get so deep inside.

Dew cums the second Swiss shoves it in, spasming and soaking Swiss's thighs. Swiss spills everything he has in Dew's perfect cunt, gripping his hips and grinding as deep as he can go. Telling Dew how good he feels, how well he's squeezing him, what a perfect hole he has.

Every clench wrings another dribble from him, and Swiss has a terrible idea.

He pulls out with effort while his knot is still half inflated, loving the gasp Dew gives him when it pops out. He doesn't pull back all the way, though. Leaves the tip inside. Swiss grabs Dew's wrists and pulls his arms back. Makes him grab his own ass. Dew moans low in his throat and takes the hint, spreading himself as wide as he can. Swiss groans.

"Good boy," he murmurs, rocking his hips, "now push me out."

Dew makes a choked sound, his toes curl, but he listens. Clenches until Swiss's softening cock slides from his body with an overtly wet noise. Swiss hisses with it, immediately cupping Dew's cunt with a large hand.

"Fuck, what a perfect little whore you are," he bites out, rubbing his palm over swollen folds to make Dew twitch. "Now give it back to me."

Dew whimpers when the request clicks, burying his face in the sheets when Swiss slides back to kneel at the foot of the bed. Gets himself level with that gorgeous cunt, still covered by his hand.

"I want every drop, baby," he coos, pressing a kiss to Dew's thigh, "lemme see you leak for me."

He pulls back his hand, and is immediately greeted by the sight of Dew's ruined hole, still gaped from his knot and already pouring his own mess. Swiss whines when it slides down over Dew's still-trobbing clit, a slippery trail that drips onto the damp sheets below. He runs encouraging hands over Dew's quivering thighs, shaking with the sheer level of exposure.

"Like that, just like that," Swiss rasps, licking his lips. "Push - yeah, push it out, oh fuck."

Swiss devolves into messy praise and curses, high on the sight of Dew's cunt clenching around nothing when he bears down.

"More, keep going," Swiss pants, fondling his still sensitive cock. No way he can get hard again so soon, but this it fucking him up beyond reason. "Every drop, sweetheart, you can do it."

Dew lets out a reedy whine, adjusting his grip to open himself wider, arching his back so Swiss can get a good look inside. So shamefully exposed, the little ghoul utterly embarrassed and so woefully into it. He bears down again, harder this time and -

"Oh."

They gasp it in unison when Dew leaks a tiny stream of piss along with Swiss's cum, immediately clenching hard enough to staunch it. He makes the saddest sound, but Swiss can't help his own deeply pained moan.

"Oh, baby," he huffs, reeling a little, "gimme that too, let it out for me, let me see it." He's babbling, he knows it, but he cant stop. His hips rock against the mattress, a useless little rut that feels good anyway. "Please, fuck, please lemme see -"

Swiss cuts himself off when Dew sniffles, visibly relaxing. Opening himself up again. The first few drops hit the sheets and Swiss nearly chokes on his own tongue.

The stream starts in earnest, splashing hot over Dew's thighs, and against all odds Swiss can feel himself stiffening up again.

"'m gonna fuck you again after this," he spits, "while you're all wet and sloppy." He drags his thumbs along Dew's spread lips, adoring the cry it elicits. "Then we're doing this again."