#simispoorchoices

Pamin was not good at subtlety. They didn’t pick up on hints or quiet, soft gazes. And Muriel was turning out to be nothing but softness. 

Gentle brushes and half spoken words and lingering gazes. And now that they were both. Well. 

It had never occurred to Pamin that someone who walked around without a shirt on would be so very clearly nervous about being fully unclothed. But with Pamin nearly about to straddle his thighs, it was strikingly obvious that Muriel was doing his best to cover himself without actually moving to cover himself.

“Muriel?” Pamin asked gently, letting the last article of their own clothing fall to the ground. It tinkled slightly on impact, silver jewelry hitting hardwood. Muriel took in a steadying breath, deep and slow, “Can I touch you?” 

Muriel didn’t respond right away, seeming to mull the question over slowly in his mind before finding an angle he could approve of. 

“Yes,” he replied, deep and soft. Pamin did their best to keep themselves in check. They moved slowly, half crawling over the edge of the bed to seat themselves gently in Muriel’s lap. Keeping their eyes on Muriel’s face, keen for any sign of distress, Pamin ran a thumb along the length of particularly vicious looking scar. They were struck by a sudden and consuming desire to soothe each one–to place kisses imbued with some form of magic they didn’t yet know and erase the terrible marks with their lips. 

Warm hands, like twin rays of sunlight, caressed their hips, their thighs, moving up to the small of their back. When Muriel finally glanced up from where Pamin was seated against him, Pamin leaned forward to brush their mouths together. Asking permission. 

Muriel’s tongue slipped out to wet his lips and the movement caught Pamin’s. Muriel retreated a bit too sharply and Pamin found themselves pressing forward to follow. There was a stiffening of muscle beneath them before a wonderful release of tension and Muriel. Kissing them back. One hand on the space just below their shoulder blades, the other on the back of their neck and pulling them closer and.

Oh. 

Pamin felt something heavy in their lungs that made it terribly difficult to open their eyes. To breathe. To do anything else but move forward, upper body flush to Muriel’s and lower body rutting forward and there was Muriel’s hand now on their lower back and encouraging the slide of their hips and friction and.

He moaned low and shuddering into the kiss and Pamin could have devoured him on he spot. Instead they let their hands have free reign, mapping the scarred skin as if this was the only chance they would ever have to touch him. They needed to make the most of it. 

The hand on the back of their neck moved and came to blanket them both–a little too dry, a little too gentle, a little too unsure and Pamin felt themselves rising desperately into the touch. Unsure if it was hesitation or temptation that was leading Muriel to keep his touch barely hovering, Pamin had no mind left to wait to find out. They brushed his ghostly touch away and gripped them both.

Asra moved slowly. 

Movements shallow, breathing gentle, touches so feather soft and light that Otto may have been forgiven for thinking he’d imagined them. Asra’s fingers had traipsed their way up the back of Otto’s neck and were running across his scalp now, writing words that Otto could only begin to guess the meaning of. 

Otto desperately wanted to kiss him, if only to get the intense stare off of his face. He felt almost trapped by it, exposed–a butterfly pinned and ready for examination. And then Asra’s gaze softened, as if he could tell he was staring too much, and.

Otto couldn’t quite tell what happened with Asra’ eyes at that point because his slow thrusting had shifted, bringing him to rub directly against Otto’s prostate. Otto would have bet cold hard coin that what happened next was impossible. He, obviously, would have lost the bet.

Asra found a way to move slower. 

Otto made a sound that was suspiciously close to being a whimper, eyes sliding shut. The tightness winding in his lower abdomen was building so slowly it practically made his fingers twitch. He felt softness against his skin as Asra leaned in to press their foreheads together. 

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Asra’s words tickled against Otto’s lips. Otto let one of his hands rise up from where they had been resting on the other magician’s waist to cup at Asra’s cheek. 

“I’m,” Otto paused, letting the long, disastrously slow, slide of Asra thrusting back in steal his breath before continuing. He went to continue but Asra was already beginning his retreat and Otto thought he could feel the pleasure of it in his bones if he really focused. “I’m a mess,” he laughed weakly. 

Asra ‘hmm’ed gently, not really contradicting the statement. Mercifully, when Otto moved his head up Asra allowed the hand on his cheek to hold him still. For a split second Asra’s whole body seemed to shudder, hands suddenly gripping tight, the force behind his next thrust hard and sharp. A weak, almost desperate noise, that didn’t quite manage to get cut off in his throat. 

The kiss broke, neither one would be able to say who had ended it, and Asra returned his gaze to Otto’s face.