#water!dew

Dew sways in place, humming a tune to complement the raindrops pattering against the glass walls surrounding him. A springtime sunshower that makes him feel refreshed, makes his skin buzz and his gills flutter. He's tempted to sneak away, just long enough to get his fins damp and his hair frizzy, but it's a fleeting thought.

Dew's tail swishes aimlessly on the ground, stirs up fallen leaves and withered petals. The result of one of Mountain's seasonal repotting days, of hours spent pruning and stripping and checking for root rot. Of lugging around countless pots and sacks of dirt and the putrid fertilizer Mountain swears by. It's lousy work, really. Delicate but backbreaking, especially for a ghoul of smaller stature. Exhausting.

Dew's been here since just after sunup, and there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

It's been hours now, the sun hanging high where it peeks through the rainclouds. He has at least six different kinds of soil caked under his nails and streaked across his face, muddy smears covering both his apron and the garbage pair of jeans he'd yanked on this morning. They're more stain than denim at this point, and Dew wears them exactly four times a year. The little ghoul stretches his arms over his head and relishes the way his spine pops.

He's sore all over, truth be told, but it's a kind of good sore. The kind that comes from manual labor, from hard work and dedication. Dew catalogs the places he'll need to ask Aether to rub later, a little quintessence analgesic that he'll definitely have earned; his shoulders for sure, they're starting to crunch when he rolls them. His fingers too, Dew knows his knuckles will be all swollen up otherwise. Probably his legs and feet as well, but that would be better saved for -

"I'm back."

Dew's ears perk up when a deep voice calls from across the greenhouse, accompanied by the telltale squeal of the heavy glass door. Booted footsteps follow, wet soles squeaking against dirty concrete, and Dew hops off the stool he's been perched on just in time for Mountain to round a nearby pallet of exotic ferns.

"Don't get up on my accout," he chuckles, smoothing wind-mussed hair back between his antlers. Dew can just barely see misty droplets clinging to those auburn strands. "Besides," Mountain adds, holding up a paper bag, "I brought you lunch, and you don't want to eat standing up."

Dew's stomach growls mightily the moment he says it, loud enough that they both look down at it.

"Good timing," he says, poking at his belly. Dew hops back up onto his seat and scoots it closer to the filthy bench he's been working on. "Any longer and I might have started consuming things with no regard for signage."

Mountain laughs, but it's true. Dew hasn't eaten anything since he and Mountain found each other in the kitchen this morning. Even that wasn't much, a couple pieces of toast and a container of some weird coconut yogurt he'd found on the bottom shelf of the fridge.

Dew has these four days memorized at this point - three days before a solstice or three days after an equinox - but Mountain still always seems surprised to see him stroll into the common room in his work boots and crusty jeans. Dew supposes that has something to do with the fact that he usually sleeps until at least noon, but that's neither here nor there.

"Wouldn't recommend that," Mountain rumbles, setting the bag on the table for Dew to pounce on. "Last time Ifrit did that I couldn't keep him off me for a week."

"Woe is you, " Dew laments, collecting his prize. "I'm sure you suffered, what with his huge dick and endless stamina."

"It was a struggle like no other," Mountain deadpans, slipping his apron back over his head. He'd hosed it off before Terzo had called him for an unexpected meeting, and Dew had taken the liberty of pulling the moisture from it while he was gone. Left it in dark stains on the floor below instead. "I smelled like him for two weeks."

Dew snickers, opening up the bag. Pulling out a hefty container that's still warm to the touch and a real fork. There's a drink in there too, a bottle of coffee in Dew’s preferred mocha, and a paper-wrapped fruit pie the size of his hand. He looks up at Mountain with a quirked brow.

"What's all this?" Mountain tips his head while he secures his apron, makes a questioning sound. "You said lunch, I figured I'd have a sandwich or something. This is like," Dew gestures vaguely, "this is a whole thing."

Mountain shrugs, rolls up his sleeves. Dew definitely doesn't stare at his forearms for the second or two it takes to open the container. For the smell of it to hit him - roasted salmon with creamy polenta, along with a small pile of green beans flecked with garlic and lemon zest. His mouth waters immediately, and his stomach gives another loud complaint. Dew grabs his fork and gathers up an oversized bite, and it's halfway to his mouth when Mountain answers.

"I stopped by the mess after my meeting," he explains with a casual shrug. "Got there at the right time, I guess."

Dew freezes mid-bite, looks over at Mountain with his mouth still hanging open. He's in the middle of hauling pots onto his own bench, a cart of miniature rose bushes in the process of being repotted sitting beside it.

"You went to the mess?"

It's a well known fact that Mountain can't stand the parts of the abbey that attract swaths of humanity - it takes real effort to even get him to attend mass - and Dew can't imagine him braving the mess hall on his own. Again, Mountain shrugs.

"It was on the way back from Terzo's office," he offers, collecting a bush from the cart. Setting it on his worktable and brushing a few stray leaves to the ground. "You've been working hard, you deserve real food."

Dew's face goes unbearably warm, but he doesn't argue.

"Thank you," he murmurs instead, soft but genuine.

Honest.

Mountain's tail sways up to pat at his arm in response, the tufted end ticklish against his exposed forearm. Dew finally pops that forkful of food into his mouth, and the taste of it is exquisite. He groans, his eyes fall shut, his shoulders curl, the whole shebang. Surely an overreaction, but in fairness he's really hungry.

"Fuckin' hells, that's good," Dew sighs, popping a green bean into his mouth. "Say what you will about Sister Agata, but that old broad makes damn good food."

Mountain scoffs, shoots him a dramatic, offended look.

"Better than mine?"

Dew snorts, shoveling another mouthful of polenta. He makes a wavy gesture with his hand, a silent ehhh, maybe that Mountain responds to with a shocked gasp. Dew rolls his eyes, flicks his tail at Mountain's calf.

"'Course not," Dew assures him, spearing a bean on each tine of his fork. He gives the other ghoul a wink. "No one burns popcorn like you, Mount."

The end of Mountain’s tail whacks the back of his head, right above the knot he's tied his hair into. Dew waves it off, but makes a happy little sound when that tail settles on his thigh instead.

They fall into comfortable silence, Dew watching Mountain unearth a bush from its home and set it on his table. Munching away while he follows the way Mountain starts gentling its roots apart, spreading them out to better suit the large pot at his feet. No matter how often Dew does this, he can never get enough of seeing the way Mountain gets lost in his element.

If Mountain were anyone else, Dew would've asked where his lunch was, why he was eating alone. But there would be no point; Mountain has a certain philosophy when it comes to food, something that must have come ingrained in his vessel. He believes in only eating what he grows or catches himself - be it fish from the lake and streams, animals from the forest or even the odd, wandering sibling. He wouldn't eat mess hall food if it were the last thing Above.

Plus Dew's pretty sure he can photosynthesize, so there's that too.

Dew polishes off his meal quickly, while he watches flowering vines curl their way up Mountain's antlers. Speckled with tiny pale blue blossoms that Dew knows match his eyes. He's quiet, but his lips are moving like he's speaking to the plant in his hands. Dew imagines him encouraging it, coaxing life back into any fading roots. He's tossing back the last of his coffee by the time Mountain's hoisting the new pot onto the workbench, already lined with rich, black soil that will keep that little rosebush happy for months to come.

"What color will that one be?"

Full and re-energized, Dew slides from his seat and sidles up beside Mountain, observing the way he meticulously shake the old dirt from that mess of roots.

"Pink, supposedly," he mutters, brow gently furrowed. "That's what the label said, at least. Hard to know with these, though. Ivy did a lot of crossbreeding in her younger years. These could be black for all I know."

Mountain settles the little bush into its new home, carefully aerating the new earth with nimble fingers. Dew reaches forward out of habit, helps to redistribute that soft dirt and get those roots covered up nice and snug.

"I hope they're white," Dew chimes in, focused only on the task at hand. "The white ones are my favorite."

"And Zephyr's," Mountain hums, tapping the back of Dew's hand when he's happy with the plant job. Dew pulls back obediently, gives Mountain the space to fluff up its leaves. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see."

"Guess so," Dew sighs, leaning his elbows on the table while Mountain adds a layer of topsoil to the pot. "My turn now?"

"If you'd like," Mountain offers, standing back. "Unless you want to wait until they're all potted first."

"Nah," Dew straightens, cracks his knuckles, "I already walked all the way over here, might as well."

Mountain laughs, a brief but rich sound that Dew treasures every time he hears it. Dew extends his hand, takes a deep breath through his nose and exhales between his fangs. The tips of his fingers tingle, cool in the temperate heat of the greenhouse.

"Soil or leaves?"

"Both," Mountain replies, and with a nod Dew twists his wrist.

This is his favorite part, of course. When it comes time for the watering, for Dew to make himself useful and earn a pat between the horns for his efforts. He holds a flat palm towards the bush and manipulates the moisture hanging around them - in the air, consensed on the glass walls, even the few droplets still clinging Mountain's hair. Channels it all into a fine mist that he's sure to apply to every last leaf and burgeoning bud. Dew hums to himself while he works, cupping his hands once he's happy with his coverage and letting the water fill his palms instead.

"There," he says, pleased, pouring a few modest handfuls into thirtsty soil. "Good enough?"

Dew steps back so Mountain can check his work. He wipes both hands on his apron, smears around the caked on dirt that'll take a chisel to remove by the time the day is done. Mountain rumbles his approval after a moment, and Dew preens from the sound alone.

"Very well done," he lilts, and Dew rolls up onto the balls of his feet just in time to meet Mountain's hand. It rests perfectly between his mother-of-pearl horns, ruffling the loose hairs that have escaped their ties. Dew purrs, Mountain chuckles, and they part once more.

"One down," Dew says, peeking around Mountain at the remaining plants on the cart. "How many to go?"

"Eight," Mountain replies easily, already hoisting the next bush up to work on. "Of these, at least. I think the new guy is almost done racking the orchids, so those will be next."

Mountain looks at him from the corner of his eye, like he's waiting for Dew to complain. To whine about this taking too long, or that it's too boring. The look he gives him every time Dew volunteers to help him with this. Dew gives him a fang-filled smile instead.

"Sounds good," he says easily, striding back to his own work station. "I'm here as long as you want me, big guy."

Mountain chuffs, eyes sparkling. Dew can't believe how much more obvious the gold flecks in his emerald irises stand out on these days. He looks so...whole. Mountain's fingers dance over what will one day be a rose, now just a green bud, and Dew doesn't miss the way his ear flicks.

"Hey, Dew?" His voice carries something deep, something real.

"Yeah?"

There's a long beat of silence, and all Dew can hear are fading raindrops. The sun's getting brighter now, fewer clouds to hide behind. He can see Mountain’s freckles in the warm light, and the streak of copper in his hair. Then,

"I'm...really glad you're here."

Everything around them seems to soften. Dew smiles, unabashed and open, his tail drifting over to tangle with Mountain's just because he can. He huffs our a deeply amused laugh, staring down at his tabletop to hide the way his cheeks flush. Force of habit.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be," he replies, easy as anything, and he really hopes Mountain believes it. "Now gimme something to pot, my fingers are gettin' itchy."

Mountain snorts, shakes his head, but doesn't hesitate to grab another bush and a pot, depositing them on Dew's table. Dew busies himself scooping fresh dirt into the terracotta vessel while Mountain checks the plant for anything that requires pruning.

"This one's even supposed to be white," he says, not missing the way Dew perks up at the words. "Take good care of it, yeah?"

He will, of course. And in a few months, when these plants are hale and hearty and flush with springtime blooms, a bouquet of them will appear in Dew's room. Perfectly trimmed and never wilting, wrapped in silky green ribbon that Dew will save in a secret place behind his sock drawer.

For now, Mountain returns to his own table, and together they work. The silence doesn't last nearly as long this time, broken by Mountain humming a folksy tune that Dew has heard enough times to harmonize with. So he does, the sound bouncing around them and accompanied by the gentle rustle of leaves swaying in a nonexistent breeze. The plants singing with them, Dew thinks. Peaceful.

Soon enough, one of them will speak again. Will break up the monotony with talk of music or recent happenings, or maybe even indulge in a little gossip regarding Terzo's newest summon. He's a hybrid, Dew heard, fire and earth and supposedly just enough quintessence to make him a Problem. Dew wonders if that's what Mountain's meeting was about, but he doesn't ask. Not yet.

Dew rarely feels as overwhelmed as he does beneath Mountain.

Every thrust forces the air from his lungs, and even his gills aren’t enough to help him catch his breath. He clings to Mountain for dear life, shaky legs wrapped around his waist and claws dug into his broad shoulders. Mountain has his face buried in the juncture of Dew’s neck and shoulder, spewing a stream of nonsense into sweat-slick skin. Dew knows he's not much better off - the stone walls of Mountain's bedchamber echo his helpless yips, and he's entirely too far beyond being able to quash them. 

Mountain’s as lost in it as he is, one hand fisted in Dew’s hair and the other at his lower back, holding his hips up off the mattress. Dew swears he can feel Mountain in his throat like this, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Mountain engulfs him, overpowers him, makes him feel weak and small in a way no one else does. Fills him, stretches him, hits places the little ghoul didn’t even know he had. Dew always feels it for days afterwards, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

Today, though, something is different. It’s subtle, but the longer Mountain fucks into his little body the more obvious it becomes. An vaguely familiar pressure accompanying every excruciatingly pleasurable drag over his prostate. Dew can’t place it, but as his cock kicks and leaks between their bodies he finds he doesn’t much care. It’s good, whatever it is. A deep, insistent throb in his pelvis that has his eyes rolling back in his head and his toes curling. 

The room is filled with the wet, filthy sound of Mountain using him, and it does nothing to stave off the release rapidly barrelling down Dew’s spine. That odd pressure isn’t helping, but something about it has a sense of unease prickling at the back of his mind. It still isn’t enough to distract, though - Dew can’t focus long enough to get out anything besides a breathless cry of fuck, fuck, fuck, but clearly Mountain understands. The other ghoul lets out a deep groan, the sound rattling through Dew’s chest as Mountain nips at the sensitive spot between his gills and his ear.

“Getting close, tadpole?” Dew makes a gurgling sound, struggling to keep his legs around the other ghoul’s waist. He’s shaking head to toe now, every nerve buzzing, and Mountain lets out a tight moan when a fresh wave of slick leaks around his cock. “Yeah you are,” he breathes, licking a slow stripe along the little ghoul’s jaw. He meets Dew’s unfocused gaze with blazing emerald eyes, tendrils of auburn hair stuck to his forehead. “You’re going to make a mess for me, aren’t you?”

Dew moans low and broken when Mountain slams into him, knocking the last bit of his brain loose. The other ghoul catches him in a searing kiss, all tongue and fang, and the way his thrusts start going jerky tells Dew that he’s almost at his limit too.

“Let go,” Mountain pants into his mouth, sucking Dew’s lower lip for good measure. “Let me up so I can make you.”

The words are little more than a courtesy and they both know it. Mountain could do anything he wanted with the little body trapped beneath him and Dew couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Still, though, he complies. Lets his limbs fall useless to the mattress, his chest heaving as Mountain pushes himself upright. He towers over the Dew like this, standing between his quivering thighs at the edge of the bed, and the reminder of Mountain’s size is enough to have Dew throbbing.

Mountain wastes no time, gripping Dew’s bony hips hard enough to leave a purple stain of his fingerprints behind. He lifts the little ghoul off the mattress and starts a merciless rhythm of deep, pounding strokes. Not fast, but so fucking hard they make Dew’s brain bounce around in his skull. The angle is incredible, the pace maddening, and within a handful of thrusts Dew is practically insensate.

“Mount,” he gasps, drool leaking from the corner of his kiss-bruised lips, “Mount, please, fuck - need…I need - make it, make me, fuck, please-”

Dew raises a trembling hand to reach for his poor neglected cock, so hard it’s long since gone dusky and achy. Mountain bats his hand away before he can get there and Dew whimpers, trying his best to blink the haze from his glassy eyes. His vision clears just in time to see Mountain shift his grip, supporting his slight body with one hand and wrapping the other around his stiff little dick. It covers him completely, and Dew is powerless to stop the choked moan that slithers past his lips.

Mountain starts tugging, slow and methodical, and Dew feels himself starting to unravel. He can’t hold his head up, dropping back onto the mattress and mindlessly toying with a nipple ring. He’s out of his mind, every devastatingly perfect thrust against his prostate forces another blurt of pre from his swollen tip. That odd pressure makes itself known again too, only now it doesn’t fade. Dew can’t figure out why it sets his teeth on edge, but the only reason he hasn’t fallen apart at the seams already is the jingle of warning bells in the back of his useless head.

“You’re so wet,” Mountain huffs then, the slick sound of his hand nearly drowning out the words. “Always so fucking wet.” 

Dew moans out a mindless uh-huh; it’s only going to get worse and they both know it. There are no more words spoken, Dew reduced to reedy, punched-out cries and Mountain to little more than low growls and panting. It’s instinctual, animalistic. Brutal in the best way. Intense and viscerally satisfying. Mountain cants his hips just so, thumbs over the head, and the coil of heat in Dew’s belly goes taut. His balls draw up, his stomach clenches, and when that strange pressure floods his pelvis he’s hit with a wave of icy realization.

“Oh no,” he gasps, so very breathless, “no, oh no, no, no no no-”

Dew cums hard, arching off the mattress with a strained shout. It comes in waves, spurt after spurt coating Mountain’s hand and his own stomach. The other ghoul snarls, fucking into him faster, harder, chasing his own release, and Dew tries so hard to control himself.

But it’s too late. He can’t stop it. .  

Mountain’s hips stutter when the stream starts, and the sound Dew makes when he feels his piss splash against his belly is one of utter humiliation. He hides behind his hands, tries to curl his boneless body into itself, but he’s stuck. Dew is barely aware of Mountain’s strangled grunt, of the way his body bows, the way his hands shake and hold him tight.

He grasps his control back as soon as Mountain goes still, red hot from head to toe and teary eyed as he staunches the stream. He doesn’t even feel like he just came, the burn of embarrassment too overwhelming for him to process anything else. Mountain says something, but Dew doesn’t hear it over the rush of blood in his ears. 

The second Mountain’s hand moves from his still twitching dick Dew scrambles away, giving an unconscious yelp when Mountain’s not yet soft cock slips from the oversensitive clutch of his body. He stumbles to the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him, dizzy and filthy and so fucking ashamed he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

The little ghoul leans against the cool tile wall with a tight sigh, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. His whole body feels heavy, worn, the way it always does when Mountain is done with him. It cries out for contact, for the tight circle of the other ghoul’s strong arms. For the grounding rumble of his purr and the soothing scent of fresh soil and evergreen. He craves it.

Instead, he’s alone in a bathroom, surrounded by nothing but silence and the smell of sex and the way he embarrassed himself. Dew tells himself he won’t cry - it was an accident, after all - but there’s a telltale tightness in his chest that suggests he won’t have any control over that either.  

What the fuck is he supposed to do? It’s not like he can stay here forever, it’s Mountain’s bathroom. Eventually he’ll have to leave. Have to see the other ghoul and say…what is he supposed to say to Mountain? Sorry? That doesn’t seem like the right thing to say when someone fucks you so hard you piss yourself. It’s not nearly apologetic enough. Hell, Mountain will probably come stomping in any minute to throttle him. To sneer at him and call him disgusting. He deserves it, but the thought alone is still enough to give him the hiccups. He sinks to the floor and clutches his knees to his chest, shivering and sniffling, and awaits the inevitable.

What he gets, though,

“Dew?” Mountain’s voice filters through the thick oaken door, low and calm. “Dew, are you alright?”

Dew stares at the door wide-eyed, chest tight. Why doesn’t Mountain sound angry? Why wasn’t he storming in? Surely he’s upset, why wouldn’t he be? Dew swallows hard, but when he tries to talk he can’t find his voice. He whimpers instead, tucking his chin to his chest. Fuck, he’s pathetic. It’s a few minutes before Mountain speaks again.

“Droplet, please say something. Please.”

Dew’s ear twitches at the pet name, and at the other ghoul’s tone. Mountain doesn’t sound upset. He sounds…concerned. Worried. Dew peeks over his knees at the door, trying to calm the slam of his heart against his ribs. He clears his throat, swallowing down just enough of the bile in his throat to croak out a response.

“‘m sorry,” he manages, throaty and thick. Probably too quiet to be heard. There’s a soft sigh from the other side of the door.

“Dew…is it alright if I come in?” 

He wants to say no. Wants to tell Mountain that he’d rather never be seen again, thank you very much. Wants to, but can’t. Can’t because he’s lacking quite literally all of his usual vitriol, forced into timidity by his own stupid body. Can’t because, if he’s honest, he wants to see Mountain too. Wants to feel his hands, his arms, his chest. Wants that comfort. Needs it.

Dew doesn’t know when the tears started, but now he can’t stop them. A sob bubbles its way out of his chest, and before he can so much as blink the door flies open and Mountain is kneeling before him, hands raised, worry writ large on his handsome face.

Something in Dew’s chest cracks, and before he can stop himself he’s launching himself into the other ghoul’s arms. Mountain doesn’t so much as hesitate, wrapping Dew up tight in a cocoon of familiar limbs. He buries his face in Mountain’s neck on instinct, hunting through the musk of sweat and sex for the scent of solid earth.

Mountain holds him through the tears, through the sobs. Doesn’t shush him or prod at him. Simply lets Dew cry it all out against his shoulder, stroking his hair and running his knuckles down his spine. It’s only a few minutes before his tears dry up and Dew is left simply sniffling, idly fiddling with Mountain’s chest hair. The other ghoul is the one to break the silence.

“Are you back with me, tadpole?”

Dew nods, a bit sluggish, but feeling more clear headed than he had a few minutes ago. He huffs against Mountain’s throat, shifting, and the movement serves to remind him that he’s still covered in…everything. His own messes coating his stomach and Mountain’s leaking down his thighs. His face heats again and Dew feebly tries to shove himself away, but Mountain won’t let him.

“‘m gross,” he murmurs, voice strained. “C’mon, lemme up.”

“No,” Mountain says simply, holding the little ghoul to his chest. “Not until I know you’re alright.”

It would be easy to lie. To say he was fine and wrestle his way out of the other ghoul’s arms. His ass may be sore, but his arms and legs don’t feel quite so much like jelly anymore. It would be easy.

“No,” he admits, tucking his chin to his chest, “I’m sorry, Mount, I didn’t -”

“It’s alright, Dew,” Mountain coos, rubbing his shin. “I promise it’s alright.” Dew pulls back just enough to scowl up at him.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s alright’?” Dew snaps, but it carries no malice. He’s so tired all of a sudden. “I fuckin’...I pissed on your damn hand, how is that alright?”

Mountain answers with a small smile, leaning down to give Dew an affectionate peck on the forehead. He knocks their horns together for good measure, and Dew will never admit how much that tiny gesture comforts him.

“I mean it’s alright,” he says with a shrug, “it’s not a big deal.” Dew stares at him like he’s grown a second head and Mountain huffs out a soft laugh. “We can talk about it later, okay?”

“But-”

“Later, droplet,” Mountain repeats, tucking mussed silver hair behind Dew’s pink-tipped ear. “For now, will you let me help you get cleaned up? You’re shivering, you must be frozen.”

Dew blinks. He hadn’t noticed, but now that he’s thinking about something besides his own crippling embarrassment - yeah, he’s definitely cold. Cold and sore and tired.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “yeah, okay.” 

Mountain nods and they both fall silent again. He helps Dew to his feet, and the little ghoul really has to fight the urge to hide himself. Mountain busies himself getting the shower ready, testing the water and gathering the bottles of shampoo and conditioner he keeps in his cupboard especially for Dew. He also tosses a small pouch into the bottom of the stall and the room rapidly fills with the scent of eucalyptus and sage. Dew groans as heady steam fills his lungs, flaring his gills and letting the warmth wash over him.

Mountain guides him into the shower with a gentle hand on his lower back, and Dew takes a moment to bask in the perfectly temperate spray. They fall into a familiar routine; Mountain washes his hair, always so thorough in the way he massages Dew’s scalp. In the way he combs through the conditioner. In the way he scrubs Dew’s back with peppermint-scented soap, applied with a home-grown loofah.

What’s different, though, is the way Mountain talks. This is usually something they do in silence, but today Mountain has chosen to walk through everything he does. Everywhere he touches, asking Dew each time ‘can I’ or ‘is this okay’ or ‘do you want me to stop’. Any other day Dew would find such frequent check-ins irritating. Obnoxious and unnecessary. Today, though, he’s nothing but appreciative. 

Mountain works slowly and methodically, sinking to his knees once Dew’s back is finished to take care of the mess on his thighs. He’s so delicate, so gentle, washing away more and more of Dew’s tension with each pass of the sponge. He hisses a bit when Mountain swipes over his abused hole, all pink and puffy, but it’s nothing he can’t handle.

“Alright,” Mountain murmurs, caressing Dew’s waist and pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades, “are you ready to turn around?”

Dew hesitates. He doesn’t mean to, but he does. There’s not really anything left to see, the water has rinsed away most of the mess coating his belly, but he suddenly feels weirdly exposed. 

“You don’t have to, it’s alright,” Mountain soothes, still holding his waist. “Would you rather do it yourself? Or I can leave, if it’s easier-”

“No!” Dew grabs at Mountain’s hand, his stomach flipping. “U-um,” he clears his throat, blaming his flushed cheeks on the warm water, “I mean…fuck, I dunno what I mean. But please don’t leave.” The last few words are barely a whisper, ones Dew almost feels guilty for saying, but the sigh of obvious relief Mountain looses helps to assuage the feeling.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, “not if you don’t want me to.”

They stay like that for a handful of moments before Dew steadies himself with a deep breath. He turns slowly, carefully, appreciative of the way Mountain doesn’t so much as move until he exhales. He holds up the loofah in silent offer, and Dew shakes his head.

“‘s better when you do it,” he mumbles. Mountain nods and gets back to work without question

He scrubs Dew’s chest and arms with practiced motions, luxurious swirls of that rough sponge. He pauses to draw an inverted triangle in the suds between Dew’s nipples, and Dew can’t help the little giggle it drags out of him. Mountain smiles up at him and Dew allows himself to return it. It falters when Mountain asks his next question.

“Is it alright if I wash you here?”

Dew knows what he means, but Mountain gestures anyway. At his stomach and limp little dick, hanging shy between his skinny thighs. Dew huffs out a harsh exhale.

“Yeah,” he breathes, giving a shallow nod. “Yeah, it’s alright.” Mountain’s already kind smile turns impossibly fond. 

“Thank you,” the other ghoul says, and Dew barks out a short laugh.

“You’re washing my dick after I pissed on you, and you’re the one thanking me?”

“I’m not thanking you for that, tadpole,” Mountain replies, scrubbing over his stomach. “I’m thanking you for trusting me to help.”

Dew…doesn’t know what to say to that. Is that what this is? Trust? It’s not the first word that would’ve come to mind - that would be vulnerability. But vulnerability and trust come hand in hand, he supposes. Hard to have one without the other. To be vulnerable with someone is to trust them, and Mountain?

Yeah, he trusts Mountain.

“I feel fuckin’ ridiculous,” Dew finally admits with a groan, shoulders sagging. He scrubs at his face with both hands, gills fluttering. 

“You shouldn’t.” Mountain finishes his stomach and moves on to his thighs. Dew peers down at him from between two fingers.

“What kind of fuckin’ water ghoul pisses himself, Mount?” Mountain stills, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You didn’t do it on purpose, Dew,” he says, easy as anything. “It wasn’t something you could control.”

“I know, but -” 

Dew cuts himself off with a surprised chirp when Mountain finally palms him with a soapy hand. There’s nothing lascivious in his touch, just simple care. It’s strangely comforting, and Dew finds himself sighing when Mountain pulls back.

“There we go,” he says, pushing himself upright with a grunt. Dew lets himself be turned, guided back under the water. Lets Mountain rinse the bubbles from his skin and watches them swirl down the drain. “All set.”

Mountain steps away, probably just to set down the loofah, but any distance is too far right now. Dew spins on his heel and rushes forward, flinging his arms around Mountain’s waist and burying his face in his chest. Mountain doesn’t miss a beat, wrapping the little ghoul in a tight embrace and kicking up the purr Dew loves so much. 

“Thank you,” Dew mumbles, pressing a kiss to Mountain’s wet skin, “and I’m sorry.”

“If you apologize one more time I’m going to ask who you are and what you’ve done with my Dewdrop.”

Dew pulls back to glare at him only to have Mountain flash that beatific smile, all chipped fangs and sparkling eyes. Maybe it’s the adrenaline wearing off, maybe it’s his body finally acknowledging his bone-melting orgasm, but Dew can’t help himself from returning it. He pushes himself up onto his tiptoes and presses a kiss to Mountain’s chin.

“Can we go to bed now?” Mountain drops a kiss of his own between his horns.

“Soon,” he promises. “Do you want to go get dressed while I wash up?” Dew shakes his head, nuzzling back between Mountain’s pecs. 

“I’m comfy here,” he murmurs, and Mountain laughs.

And, okay, he’s a little insecure. He’s big enough to admit that. But how could he not be? Dewdrop was summoned in an emergency when the last water ghoul suddenly left, and the older ghouls hadn’t been ready to welcome someone new. He had to fight for such a long time to prove himself before finally being accepted as part of the pack.

All of these thoughts swirl around in his head when he gets introduced to the new ghoul for the first time. Dewdrop immediately dislikes him—the ghoul is way too tall for his own good. Lanky, too. And his dumb wavy hair keeps falling into his face, hiding those bright blue eyes of his—

Anyway. The ghoul apparently doesn’t have a name yet, since he’s just been summoned. But everyone quickly grows to like him, endeared to his shy and quiet nature. Everyone except Dewdrop, that is, who can’t help but think that his demure personality is a front for something, too good to be true.

Over the next couple of weeks, Dewdrop begrudgingly spends time with the ghoul to help him practice his water powers. For some reason, the ghoul opens up to Dewdrop like he doesn’t with anyone else, talking about everything from his previous life in the pit to his anxieties about being in a new place. It’s all very weird—Dewdrop didn’t ask for this. For the ghoul to trust him in particular. For him to smile at Dewdrop like that. Not the small smile he gives everyone else, but a real one that lights up his face and makes his eyes crinkle in the corners.

The two of them are outside one day, standing by the lake. Dewdrop is half paying attention to what the ghoul is doing, idly watching the water ripple gently across the lake. All of a sudden, the sky cracks in half and rain starts to pour down, drenching them both to the bone in a matter of seconds.

“Not again,” the ghoul groans. His tail flicks irritably.

He’s been trying to take control of the lake, coaxing the water into making some sort of wave or whirlpool. But no matter what he does, it’s the clouds that respond instead, as if the droplets of water inside are inexorably drawn to him.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it eventually,” Dewdrop tells him. He means it in a condescending way, but his tone comes out more encouraging than he intended.

The ghoul tilts his head and gives him a small smile. Dewdrop must be imagining it, but the expression on his face looks almost fond.

“Does anyone ever call you ’Dew’?” the ghoul asks, seemingly out of nowhere.

He bristles. “What? No, never. I don’t like nicknames,” he says, a warning.

The ghoul plows ahead anyway. “Sure you don’t, Dew,” he grins.

Dewdrop’s eye twitches, and a growl starts up low in his throat. “Shut up, Rainy.”

To his surprise, the ghoul looks delighted. “Oh, that’s perfect!” he replies. Before Dewdrop can ask what he means, he turns around and bounds inside, leaving Dewdrop to stew by himself, growing colder and colder as the rain keeps pelting down around him.

When Dewdrop finally makes it back inside, he learns that the ghoul has told everyone to call him Rain.

“Not Rainy?” Dewdrop asks him.

“No, that’s special. Only you get to call me that,” Rain replies, as if it’s obvious.

Dewdrop can’t imagine why Rain would decide that. But the next time that Rain pokes at him by calling him “Dew,” he doesn’t push back.

------------------------

Before long, Dew runs into another problem. All of the other ghouls have liked Rain right from the beginning, but now they’re starting to like him a little too much. It gets annoying, walking into the living room and seeing Swiss cuddled up next to Rain on the couch, his arm draped over the water ghoul’s shoulders. Or waking up and stumbling into the kitchen for breakfast, only to find Mountain and Rain cooking together at the stove, Mountain touching Rain’s lower back whenever he shuffles around him.

After one too many times of this happening, Dew decides to take matters into his own hands. He starts interrupting whenever he sees Rain with someone else, telling Swiss that Aether has been looking everywhere for him, or complaining to Mountain that the earth ghoul forgot to clean up his mess in the kitchen earlier. To Dew’s satisfaction, his lies work, and he gets to spend more time alone with Rain.

But apparently Dew is less subtle than he thinks, because it doesn’t take long for Rain to catch on.

“Why do you keep telling people to leave? Do you want my attention that badly?” Rain confronts Dew, his usually endless reserve of patience wearing thin.

“Because!” Dew says loudly, not even trying to deny it. “You need to stop flirting with everyone,” he huffs, the words spilling out before he can control himself.

“Excuse me, what?” Rain scoffs in disbelief. This is the first time that Dew has seen him truly pissed.

“You heard what I said,” Dew hisses, vaguely aware that he sounds slightly insane. “You can’t just go around to everyone flaunting yourself like that.”

“Like what, exactly?” Rain demands. When Dew just shakes his head angrily, at a loss for words, Rain keeps going. “Why the hell do you care so much, anyway?”

“I’m just looking out for you,” Dew insists. “So that you don’t get a—a reputation,” he stumbles at the end, immediately regretting his words.

“Is that what you think of me,” Rain says flatly, his voice low. Dew’s chest tightens at the hurt look on his face.

“No—Rainy, wait—”

But before Dew can begin to apologize, Rain turns around and stalks off.

------------------------

The two of them don’t speak to each other for the rest of the day, which bothers Dew more than he’d like to admit. It also bothers him that he can’t figure out exactly why he’s so possessive over Rain. Why seeing him with someone else makes the heat rise in his body, prickling uncomfortably under his skin.

By the time night falls, Dew has grown tired of the same thoughts running through his mind, over and over again. Without really thinking about it, he finds himself leaving the abbey and wandering down the familiar path to the lake. He can’t help but smile when he turns a corner and catches a glimpse of the water, the moonlight reflecting off the calm surface. He knows just how good it’ll feel to jump in and sink all the way down to the bottom of the lake, letting the pressure of the water envelop him and chase all his worries away.

Dew reaches the dock and strips off his clothes, and is about to jump in when he hears footsteps behind him. He turns around to see Rain standing there—apparently he’s not the only one to have the bright idea of seeking comfort in the water.

“I got here first,” Dew blurts out, by way of greeting. He tries to ignore the fact that Rain has shown up completely naked, ready to swim. Typical water ghoul.

“C’mon Dew, you can’t just claim the entire place for yourself,” Rain sighs. He looks more amused than annoyed, despite their earlier conversation.

“Sure I can,” he shoots back, voice petulant.

“Bet.” Before Dew has time to react, Rain runs past him and dives headlong into the water.

Dew curses and gives chase, leaping into the lake after him with a loud splash. He holds himself still underwater, squinting into the dark and listening for any sign of where Rain might be, but the water is eerily quiet all around him.

A sudden movement flashes in the corner of his eye, and Dew barely has time to whip his head around before Rain barrels into him, knocking the breath right out of him. Dew recovers quickly enough and grabs hold of Rain, their limbs getting tangled together as they pull each other upward.

When they break the surface of the water, they keep grappling with each other for several moments, Rain squirming in Dew’s grasp. But then they both realize they’ve reached a stalemate, and they stop and stare at each other. Their faces are so close together that Dew can feel Rain’s warm breath panting against his skin.

Abruptly, Dew becomes hyperaware of their position. Of Rain pressed tightly against him, the lines of their bodies fitting together somehow perfectly. And the moonlight falling over Rain’s sharp cheekbones, and the graceful curve of his horns, and—

Oh.

Oh.

Without thinking, Dew surges forward and presses his lips to Rain’s, hard. After a beat, Dew draws back to find Rain staring at him with wide eyes. Rain doesn’t move for a few seconds, long enough that Dew starts to panic. But then Rain leans in and kisses him back, and Dew can feel the curve of his smile against his lips.

“Finally,” Rain mutters in between kisses. Dew is so distracted by the feel of Rain all around him that the word doesn’t register at first.

Then Dew makes a small noise that sounds suspiciously close to a moan. “You—you’ve wanted this?”

“Since the beginning,” Rain whispers, and when Dew’s lips part in surprise, Rain takes advantage and slips his tongue into Dew’s mouth.

The slow slide of his tongue is cool against Dew’s, sending a thrill down Dew’s spine and straight to his cock. Dew bullies Rain against the dock and presses in closer to deepen the kiss, licking hungrily into Rain’s mouth. Then Dew sucks lightly on Rain’s tongue, and he responds with a breathy moan. The sound echoes in Dew’s ears, and he would do anything to keep drawing it out of Rain, over and over again.

When the two of them eventually part, a trail of saliva stretches between their kiss-swollen lips. Rain doesn’t miss the way that Dew’s eyes dart down to his neck, and tips back his chin the slightest amount in a show of submission. Dew lets out a growl and dips his head to mouth messily at Rain’s neck, dragging his tongue along his fluttering gills and licking at the scent gland at the base of his neck. Part of Dew’s brain is screaming at him to bite down and claim him right this moment, but he knows he has to wait and do it properly. To take his time and worship Rain like he deserves, to prove he’s worthy.

Rain’s hands roam across Dew’s body, featherlight and hesitant, never settling anywhere for long. When they finally come down to rest on Dew’s ass, Dew moans encouragingly and wraps his legs around Rain’s waist, bringing their hard cocks flush against each other. Rain’s hips buck forward automatically, but when Dew reaches for his cock, Rain’s body tenses.

“Oh,” Dew pauses. “You don’t want—”

“I do,” Rain says hurriedly, putting his hand over Dew’s to keep it in place. “Just, I haven’t—I haven’t had sex before. Not up on the surface, at least.” 

“But I thought—you and the others—” Dew says haltingly, confused.

Rain shakes his head. “I never actually did anything with them…I was waiting for you.”

“Fuck, Rainy,” Dew groans and leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. “You can’t just say things like that.”

Dew kisses Rain gentler than before, and this time, when he goes to wrap his hand around both of their cocks, Rain sighs softly and tightens his hold on Dew, pulling him impossibly closer. Dew starts jerking them off steadily, rubbing his thumb over the slit of Rain’s cock and along the sensitive spot underneath the head. But then Rain closes his larger hand over Dew’s to adjust the pace, making him move in long, slow pulls that feel like not enough and too much all at once.

So instead, Dew focuses his attention on the rest of Rain’s body. He strokes the spade of his tail up and down Rain’s sides, tracing the ridges of his gills. His free hand comes up to knead his chest and rub at his nipples, already hard from being in the cool water. Then, at the exact same moment, he tugs on Rain’s nipple and slides the very tip of his tail inside one of his gills, making Rain let out a sharp cry.

“Good?” Dew asks, even though the answer is obvious.

“Hnngh,” Rain manages, his head falling against Dew’s shoulder. “More, Dew, please.”

Dew fucks his tail shallowly in and out of Rain’s slit, feeling it grow slicker with every thrust. Rain keeps making the sweetest little moans, and Dew makes a mental note to use his tongue next time, to see what other noises he can pull out of him.

Before long, Rain is rutting up against Dew uncontrollably, chasing his release. He pulls back to look at Dew, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m close already—fuck—” he cuts off when Dew gives a particular flick of his wrist around his cock.

Dew nuzzles into Rain’s neck. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I want to see you cum,” he tells him, the term of endearment accidentally slipping out. But Rain just keeps whimpering and trembling in Dew’s arms, trying to hold on. Suddenly desperate to make Rain cum, Dew grazes his teeth along the soft skin of his neck.

“Gonna mark you here someday,” Dew promises. “Gonna make you mine.” He digs his teeth in lightly, the barest hint of a bite, and Rain falls over the edge. The moans spilling out of Rain’s mouth are too much to handle, and it only takes a few more strokes before Dew is cumming too, his hips jerking with every pulse.

When Dew’s eyes finally slide back into focus, Rain is looking at him with a coy smile. “You think that I’ll let you claim me?” Rain teases, although the soft adoration in his eyes makes the challenge far from serious.

“I know you will,” Dew counters with a huff, holding Rain close.

“You’ll have to romance me first. Make everything up to me.”