#kocctien

~

It starts with a comment spat by a mercenary who had almost ended up getting skewered rather than giving over the very important, very necessary information it turned out he had.

“Better get your dogs on a leash, boy.” The words are snarled at Occtis as he stands between the mercenary and the combined, dangerous front that is Julien and Kattigan. Between the former’s short temper and the latter’s relative disregard for social niceties, this isn’t the first time they’ve almost started a fight when talking would serve them better. Occtis has managed to salvage the situation this time, but it’s beginning to become a problem.

Especially since they still spend an unnecessary amount of time trying to outdo one another, which means that every situation tends to just… escalate.

The words linger in his head, even when he knows they were meant as an insult. A part of him is revolted by them; it sounds like the way his family would treat people they viewed as lesser, as if they were mere objects or, at best, animals to be owned and controlled. Occtis cannot imagine treating anyone that way.

Still…

Images intrude on his thoughts when he least expects them, filtering in like particularly insidious daydreams. Flashes of hooking his fingertips under a band of leather encircling Kattigan’s throat, feeling his pulse thundering beneath Occtis’ touch; a vivid picture of Julien on his knees, a leash trailing from Occtis’ hand to the collar fastened around his neck. The thoughts return and return, no matter how often he tries to banish them as perverse fantasies unworthy of consideration.

It’s driving him a little crazy.

He’ll think of it when he’s trying to sink into a trance for the night, one or both of them asleep alongside him (they’ve stopped letting the two of them take watches together after an… incident that led to the entire camp getting woken up by a shouting match). It takes every bit of self control he has not to trace his fingertips along the fragile skin of their bare throats, imagining.

He continues to shove the constant images down until a night in the far north of Timmony, where they’ve managed to find an inn for the night rather than needing to camp. It means they have more comfortable accommodations, but it also means easier access to a few of the party’s more obvious vices, and Occtis is unsurprised, but not remotely pleased when Kattigan and Julien end up half-drunk and arguing, yet again.

He at least manages to get them upstairs and into their rented room before his temper snaps. He doesn’t think; he just lashes out, channeling a spell with formless, angry intent. Cold green light encircles both of the older men’s throats, tethers of it extending back to Occtis’ hand, and he yanks just hard enough to get their attention.

Julien stumbles, almost going to one knee, and Occtis sees the slight glassiness of drink give way to a flicker of heat in his eyes. Kattigan stills, but his gaze turns immediately to the arcanist - not in anger, but as if awaiting a command.

The sudden knowledge of the power he holds right now - not just the spell itself, but the effect he is capable of having on these two - absolutely floors him. His anger wavers, and the magic fizzles out, dissipating into empty air.

Kat moves first, ducking his head in an almost sheepish motion, a slow grin curling his lips. “Sorry ‘bout that, pretty boy.” There’s still a faint slurred edge to his words, but his attention is focused, direct. Julien hums a wordless agreement as he closes distance to catch Occtis’ hand, pressing an apologetic kiss against his knuckles.

He is sufficiently distracted from his earlier annoyance to accept the apologies. Julien’s lips brush over the back of his hand, then the curve of his wrist; Kattigan slips up behind him, mouthing at the corner of his jaw. Occtis relaxes into the familiarity of their touches, and he lets the night dissolve into something softer: kisses that taste of too-rich wine, warm bodies against his, calloused hands on his skin.

In the morning, they’re still sprawled across the bed, limbs tangled, pleasantly sated. Julien stirs from where he’s sandwiched between Occtis and Kattigan, running a fingertip absently along the arcanist’s collarbone. “That spell,” he murmurs after a long few moments, quietly thoughtful. Occtis freezes for a moment, but the knight’s next words are more than a little reassuring. “I wonder if you could do it again.”

Kattigan’s chuckle holds a note of wordless agreement, and Occtis feels heat beginning to build in his core again, sees the flicker of new and curiously compelling images in his mind’s eye. “Or maybe I’ll find something a little more permanent,” he muses, already considering, and no longer remotely disgusted by the thought.

~

Occtis is a mess in the aftermath of battle, yet again.

He saved half their lives with a clever usage of magic, but put himself at risk to do so - something he has a tendency to keep doing, despite the fact that every single one of their party has gone out of their way to caution him not to. They all have their reasons, from Bolaire’s pragmatic interest to Thimble’s genuine concern, but half the time the wizard doesn’t seem to believe it. He still has a hard time thinking of himself as a person, let alone one worth caring about.

It’s driving Julien up a wall, and he knows from the restless tension in the way Kattigan moves that it’s bothering him, too. They’ve both done their level best to reassure the anxious arcanist that he is important to both of them, to all of them, but he’s stubborn to a fault. (Besides, he keeps pointing out that both of them are reckless all the time, so they don’t have a solid argument. Which might be true, but is beside the point.)

In the process of patching up wounds in the calm after the fight, the two gravitate towards one another automatically. They’ve been working alongside each other long enough now to have a shorthand - glances and a few words exchanged, and they have a plan. The fact that the rest of the party has also learned a good bit about how to read them means they aren’t remotely surprised when Kattigan herds them off towards the nearest town with an inn rather than finding a place to camp closer to the road. Nobody asks too many questions. They’re all familiar enough now to be able to make reasonable guesses as to what’s going on.

Though Occtis still looks somewhat surprised when Julien and Kattigan hurry him up into their rented room, and the knight immediately backs him into the ranger’s waiting grasp. “You have to stop risking yourself like that, caro,” Julien murmurs, nuzzling into the crook of the other’s neck, lips brushing lightly across the mostly-healed marks where an elemental monstrosity had wrapped vines around Occtis’ throat. He may not need to breathe, but the damn thing could have snapped his spine, and none of them are sure what that would do to the undead wizard.

“I wasn’t—“ Julien cuts him off with a kiss, and Occtis tenses for a moment before relaxing into it. Behind him, Kattigan has arms wound around the arcanist’s waist, is already working on the buttons of his coat and shirt with steady efficiency. His hands find bare skin, and Julien swallows Occtis’ small sigh of pleasure.

Neither he nor the ranger are terribly good with words. Every time they try to argue their point, Occtis has clever deflections and excuses at hand, and he’s far more deft at explaining his actions away. This, though, they’re good at - simple physicality, a way to express what they mean without the complication of speaking. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best way they have to remind Occtis what he means to both of them.

They’ve grown accustomed to this, trading off kisses that steadily grow more and more heated, hands tugging at clothing and brushing over cool skin that warms steadily beneath their touch. At one point, Occtis reaches for Julien’s belt, and Kattigan catches his wrist, bringing his hand up to brush a kiss across his knuckles. “Let us take care of you tonight, yeah?”

Occtis gives a hazy nod, sinking back into both of them.

There are more marks from the fight visible as they get him undressed, mostly mended from the healing magic, but not quite gone. Kattigan brushes fingertips and lips gently over every single one while Julien tosses all of their clothing and gear into a corner of the room, rifling through his pack for certain necessities before returning to the pair. The ranger has Occtis settled on his lap on the bed now, and Julien goes to his knees in front of him, brushing a kiss along the soft inner curve of his thigh.

He swallows Occtis’ cock, reveling in the low, needy sound the wizard makes and Kattigan’s husky chuckle of approval. He can see the other man’s hands on Occtis’ thighs out of the corner of his eye, gently kneading tense muscle as Julien applies himself to taking the boy apart. It never takes too terribly long to make him come the first time, despite his frequent fretting that his undead body doesn’t react the same as a living one. Julien can’t say he’s noticed a great amount of difference, at least not in this area.

Pulling back with a satisfied smirk, he sits back on his heels as Occtis turns in Kattigan’s lap, fingers burying in the older man’s hair as he kisses him breathless. Julien takes a moment to catch his own breath, enjoying the view - especially when Kat reaches for the vial of oil the knight had left within easy grasp and slicks his fingers, tracing a teasing line around Occtis’ hole. The boy is already half-melted with pleasure, relaxed if just a touch oversensitive, and he makes the most beautiful noises as Kattigan slowly fingers him open. Julien absently strokes his own cock, hard and aching, but his attention is entirely focused on Occtis.

Kattigan’s too; the ranger is taking note of every sound, every squirm, breathing quiet endearments against Occtis’ neck and jaw. When he finally slips his fingers out of the boy and slots the head of his cock against that stretched hole instead, he bites down on the guttural groan that threatens to escape, burying it against soft skin. He takes his time, slowly letting Occtis sink down on him, refusing to let impatient eagerness push him on any faster.

Not that the arcanist seems to give a damn about the attempt at self-control, narrow hips shifting, letting out needy little noises that urge the other to move in response. Occtis isn’t as fragile as he seems, they both know, but this isn’t about him being something weak, or breakable.

It’s about him being something precious.

Still. He doesn’t want them to treat him like glass, so they don’t. Even now, with the boy still banged-up from the earlier battle, Kattigan takes his prompting and snaps his hips up into him with more force, though only once before stilling again. Occtis moans low and long, and Julien rises to his feet again so he can brush a kiss along the back of the other’s neck, trace fingertips down his spine. He meets Kattigan’s eye for a moment, and the man shoots him an approving grin.

Julien lets his hand drop lower, tracing the other’s rim where it’s stretched around Kattigan’s cock. There’s still oil slick against his skin, but Julien reaches for the vial, knowing they’ll need more. “Let us both take care of you tonight,” he murmurs into Occtis’ ear, and a delighted shiver trails down the boy’s spine, another moan dropping from his lips.

He presses two oiled fingers in, stretching the other further, and Occtis makes a sound that is almost a whimper, rocking back against Kattigan’s cock and Julien’s hand. Despite the temptation of those sounds, he takes his time; they’ve learned through trial and error how best to make this work. Occtis tends to forget that when he’s in the moment, though, too eager to remember necessary patience.

Still, soon enough Kat is sprawled back on the bed, pulling the arcanist against his chest, and Julien is positioning himself, one hand gripping Occtis’ hip as he presses in. The tight clench of the other’s ass and the friction as his cock slides against Kattigan’s has Julien almost biting through his bottom lip, trembling slightly with the effort to give Occtis time to adjust.

The wizard’s desperate whimper spurs him to motion, though. He and Kattigan move in a seamless rhythm, attention not on their own pleasure, but on Occtis.

All that night, they give him what he craves, what he needs, give everything they can to tell him what their words fail to. They dote on him in the best way they know how, reminding him with every kiss and touch and thrust just how much they care for him. That they want him, need him, need him be safe and well and as alive as he can be.