#ask drabbles

Xavier “Starlight! Are you okay!? Come here, let me see.” Despite telling you to come to him, he’s already rushing over and grabbing your hand. Inspecting the tip of your finger close to his face, you boop his nose. “H-hey, this is no time to boop me! Are you okay? Seriously.” “Yeah, I promise.” “No going back in there, okay? I’ll make sure it gets fixed.” He gently kisses your finger, “I hate seeing you get hurt. Are you sure you’re okay?” “Promise.” He kisses the top of your hand, “Mm, good.”

Rafayel “CUTIE! Let me see, come here!” He immediately grabs your wrist, bringing your hand close to his face. He delicately holds the finger you hurt, “Here?” “Mhm…” He gives the tip of your finger such a light kiss. “Are you okay, cutie? Does it hurt?” You shake your head, “Mm-mm.” “Good, good. Come sit with me, I’ll kiss it all better, yeah?”

Zayne He immediately gets up and places his hand over your heart. “Zayne, I’m fin—” “Sh, do you feel like your heartbeat is elevated?” “N-no—it’s—” “Sh, hold on.” “Mm…” “Do you feel faint?” “No, I promise.” “Come sit.” He pulls you into his side to examine your finger. “Are you sure you’re okay? Does it still hurt?” “No, no. Really, I’m fine.” “Hm…” “Maybe the doctor could…kiss it better, hm?” He smiles and immediately brings his lips to your finger, trailing up the top of your hand, then your wrist. “Better?” “Mmm…I think you need to keep going…” “Oh, yeah?” “Mmhm…” He offers a light grin before gently pulling you into his lap, continuing to kiss up your arm, “Mm…here? …How about here…?”

Sylus “Kitten, why didn’t you come get me?” You pout, “I didn’t notice anything was wrong!” He sighs, regretting the question as it sounded perhaps like an accusation. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I just always want you to ask for my help, okay?” “Mhm…” “I’ll have it fixed immediately. For now, come here, let me see.” “N-no, it’s okay, really.” “Kitten…” You shuffle over, offering your hand straight in front of his face. He offers a small grin, taking your hand in his, “My poor kitten…I’ll kiss it better, hm?”

Caleb “What!?” He immediately hops up out of his seat, rushing over to you. “Are you o— Let me see— Are you hurt? Does it hur—” He can’t get a proper sentence out, gently grabbing the whole of your arm and moving down to your wrist before getting to your hand. “Cal—” “Sh, let me see, pips.” “I’m o-okay, really.” “Mm-mm, let me see.” “Hmph—” “Don’t ‘hmph’ me! Why didn’t you come get me?” “Don’t scold me! I’m f-fine…” “I’m sorry—I’m sorry…I can’t stand to see you hurt. Always come get me right away, okay?”

Valko “Pup! Oh my god, are you—” He leans forward to get up but you shake your head at him, “Yes, yes. I’m okay, promise.” With a worried expression, he pats his thigh, beckoning you to come sit in his lap, “Come here, let me see.” When you sit in his lap, he brushes some hair away from your face, “Are you sure you’re okay, baby?” “Mhm, promise. Just a little tingle is all.” He gives you a soft, gentle kiss, “Mmm—puppy, you scared me. Always come get me, okay?”

Haarlep rolls onto their back with a petulant sigh, coal-burn eyes flicking up to the ceiling, and they run one hand down their body, over their meticulously made chest, stomach, between their thighs. They like leather and velvet and silk in equal measure, and today: silk. The kind of negligee that Raphael could've torn off them if he'd bothered to be here, and the kind of lace underwear that doesn't leave anything to the imagination.

Raphael will feel this, the stirrings of interest, as Haarlep palms absently at their cock. Inhaling, head tilting back against the pillow. He can feel everything. The tug of emotion like a thread tied under Haarlep's skin, something snagged and drawn on: if you were here, I wouldn't have to take care of myself, would I. He'll be—where would he be? Going over the finer points of a contract, maybe, sitting in a comfortable inn room, one knee draped over the other, and feeling his/their hands on his/their body.

Haarlep hums, eyes closing. They're getting warm—warmer—and half-hard under their palm, heat starting a slow drip down their spine to settle in the pit of their belly. They lift their negligee, and hook their thumbs into their underwear, pulling it down past their hips, leaving them around their thighs. The fabric pinches a little when they part their knees. They like that. The tension.

They curl their fingers around themselves, slow and mm, sensuous with themselves in a way that people rarely are with them. They take their time in part because they want to, and in part because they know this will be distracting: the slow up and down glide of their fingers, bumping over the ridges of their devillish cock, thumb running over the sensitive head.

Haarlep didn't realise how frustrated they were. It's so easy to be fully hard, to become aching in their own palm, to find their fingers slightly sticky with precome that dribbles out of him. Their lips part with a languid sigh, spine arching off the bed, just a little. Their other hand toys with the rest of their body: they scrape their sharp claws across their stomach to leave raised welts, dig claws into their chest.

Every glance of pain is a thrill of pleasure for Haarlep, and they know that every scratch will be felt on him, too. Their palm moves faster, eyes fluttering open to take in the room, to look down at themselves, the tremble of their muscles as heat builds. The shape of their cock, a little bigger and thicker than Raphael's, built to be his fantasy.

They won't last long; it's been too much time by themselves, wound up and alone, untouched and uncared for. They can already feel the tightening, the build of pressure and heat, move their hand faster, their breath coming quickly. They gasp and it's for nobody but them: just the sound of their own pleasure, head tipping back, craving the end of it.

Their orgasm comes quickly enough to take them by surprise—all muscles clenching, come splattering their stomach, dripping over their fingers. Somewhere, Raphael will be mid-conversation, and feeling the same thing, even if diluted. The waves of it. The way Haarlep's whole body answers the feeling. How Haarlep's mind is a brief, blissful, empty fog, nothing but this moment.

Afer, they clean off their fingers lazily, cattish, lapping up their own come, wiping it off their fingers and popping them in their mouth. No shame, not alone, but there wouldn't be if anyone else was here, either: to not clean themselves up would just be a waste.

Haarlep kicks their underwear the rest of the way off, letting it fall to the floor, and rolls onto their front, pulling a pillow towards them, their wings spreading out and relaxing. Then: they hear the smoke-burst, smell his perfume.

They close their eyes.

Of course this brought him home, undoubtedly wanting, expectant. They're stuck somewhere between deeply amused and profoundly annoyed.

It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Olls had clearly spent too much time studying, and had neglected his social education. Felix couldn't blame him- after all the stories about his parents, Ollie not being a Casanova was pretty much par for the course. If he had gotten a girlfriend back up in Liverpool, then where could he have taken her? Welcome to my house, it's full of rats and used needles would send any decent lass running in the opposite direction.

Ollie probably needed a girlfriend, too, just for a little bit. It'd be a learning experience. Even better, he and Oliver could go on double-dates with whoever his flavour of the week was. Felix's code of ethics regarding relationships was fairly... Lackadaisical, true, but he had morals. So, yes, he'd shag a girl and be her boyfriend until she got boring, but really... What did they expect? He wasn't about to look for a Future Lady Blabla Catton until at least third year, but this was groundwork. He wanted to find out which girls were the most bearable- and if he didn't go out with them, then how would he know? Besides, there were some right nutters out there. The ones who said I love you after a week, or went all doolally when he called it quits. Or ended up, well... Felix didn’t dwell on that, though. It wasn't his fault; if he blamed himself for everything other people did, then he'd never get out of bed in the morning.

Back to the matter at hand. Oliver Quick's love life, or lack thereof.

Oliver, inexperienced with the fairer sex; happy enough to shag 'em but not confident enough to bag 'em. Besides, he had it on good authority that Ollie wasn't shagging properly. He'd been eavesdropping, yes, but that meant it was far more likely to be true.

Oliver Quick? We hooked up... Well, sort of, he went down on me for ages, I think he was too drunk to get it up, but...

Why else would you do that, other than avoiding the main event? There was nothing in it for Oliver; Felix was a devotee to the snog, finger, fuck pipeline for a reason, and it was mostly because if he had his hand up a girl's skirt, she'd be giving him a little action through his jeans. Quid pro quo- and if she blew him, well, that was her choice, wasn't it? Didn't mean he had to venture down south and get his face all slimy.

Felix didn’t want to ask Ollie if he was a virgin, but he definitely wasn't fucking before Felix took him under his wing. Again, it wasn't bad, just... The first time was always a big deal, and Olls probably wanted to have an actual connection or something girly like that. Farleigh had agreed, slyly, smirking all over his face when Felix had asked for a second opinion. Farls seemed to think of it as somehow insulting; Felix almost thought it oddly nice. Ollie took things seriously, that was all. He probably wanted to do it for the first time with someone he loved.

That made Felix feel a little nauseous, but why wouldn't it? All that mushy stuff triggered his gag reflex. Besides, Felix didn’t want Olls to get all long term committed. He just wanted Oliver to get his dick wet, because he was a good friend and hated anyone missing out. Oxford was heaving with skirt; he didn't want Olls to have a reputation as an overly-licky limp noodle.

Said noodle was trying to focus on an essay while Felix lay on his bed and slowly deconstructed his crisp packet in the hope of finding some more crumbs of salt hidden in the creases. He jammed a finger into his mouth; nothing, more's the pity, and Felix let the packet fall to the floor as he wiped his greasy hands on his jeans. "Olls."

Ollie was ignoring him, but he was sitting a little straighter. Felix rolled over, resting his chin on his hands. "Ollie-Ollie-Oliver, earth to Oliver, s'terrible manners to ignore your host, mate..."

"Just lemme finish this sentence, Felix, then I'm all yours." Oliver lowered his head determinedly, pen scratching against his notebook.

"Oliver Quick, I know how long your sentences can be. You'll get semi-bloody-colons involved, and I want to ask you something."

Oliver sighed, put the pen down, then gave a cursory glance behind him before flopping to Felix's grubby carpet. From this angle his weird eyes looked awfully big; Felix smiled down at him, the plan firm in his mind. Train Ollie up, turn him into a proper Romeo by the start of second year, and then they'd have loads of fun. "Would you like to go on a date, Oliver?"

Ollie's face screwed up. "Y'wha?"

"Fuck off, not like that, mate, I'm not bent. But I bet you've never ever been on a date before, yeah?" Felix was using his most reasonable voice. "It's like Rocky. A training montage."

"I don't want to date, Felix. Got enough on my plate as is." Oliver was still all scrunched-looking. "I'm fine as I am. No montage needed."

"And that attitude is exactly why you need my help." Felix pushed himself up, crawling off the bed to jab Oliver's ribs with one bare foot. "C'mon. Off you trot, put on something nice. I'll pay- fucking starving, up for Chinese?"

Oliver went all floppy, like a recalcitrant toddler, before nodding, slowly hauling himself upright. "Fine. But only for free food. Don't get any ideas."

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Felix thought that Ollie might only have one nice shirt. It wasn't even a decent nice shirt, that blue plaid thing, but Felix had excellent manners. He'd smiled as Oliver begrudgingly opened his dorm room door. Now, seated across from each other at a two-person table, Felix was going to teach Oliver how to carry on a polite dinner conversation.

"I have to say, Ollie, the colour of that shirt really brings out your eyes." Felix shoved another complimentary prawn cracker into his mouth, giving Oliver his most attentive smile. Ollie took a swig of his beer, nodding slowly.

"Thank you, Felix. You look... You look lovely, too." That was coupled with a very grim little smile, and Felix shook his head.

"I told you, Olls, you've got to pretend I'm, y'know, a fit bird. Not me. Try it again, mate, with feeling this time."

Oliver sighed, loudly, before reaching over and putting his hand on Felix's wrist. The eye contact went from fleeting to intense so quickly Felix felt as if he'd been pinned to some metaphysical wall; Oliver smiled at him, dimples puckering his cheeks, going all squinty and bright. "You look lovely tonight, Felix."

"Oh." Felix blinked, and the glow faded from Ollie as he withdrew his hand, returning to his usual, friendly little self. "Christ. No, you- you've got that down, mate. Good job."

The snowy chill outside had been present for so long that it was starting to settle into Sophia’s bones. Snow was piling up now, and it seemed cruel that the school year continued on even now. Everyone had been groggy in class, and now as the clock was ticking towards midnight, it was well past time to go to bed.

The library was still open at this hour, but the only noises that could be heard in the building were the flipping of book pages and the scratching of pencils and pens against paper. Everyone was too tired to be here, and this much was evident by the way that no one conversed at all.

The clock on the wall was the only reason everyone was still awake. It was a constant reminder that these assignments were due soon, and it kept everyone going.

The faint scent of coffee was floating through the building, but no one was drinking anything, so the source of the scent was unknown. The cold air had a scent of its own, nearly overpowering even the strong coffee. Somewhere in there was the scent of smoke as well, but it was so obscure that it could barely be detected.

Sophia glanced across the room to find the one man she didn’t mind studying in the same room with. He was deep in thought, his glasses settled on the bridge of his nose as he spun his pen in his hand. She now recognized that his was the scent of coffee, for a small cup was steaming next to his book. She smiled. She could make it tonight.