Archive of Our Own

There has never been a time in Qifrey's life where he felt his body was truly his own.

Two decades spent with a parasite writhing beneath his skin, that made him shrink away from even the tiniest comforts, to make him live in a constant state of crisis. Even with the wretched thing burned out of him, any relief was short-lived.

It has been maybe two months of freedom when it happens. They are in the middle of spring. His apprentices are surrounded by paper and tomes in the front room, the smell of ink strong, while Qifrey is chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Quick, clean, precise cuts; he barely has to think about it.

There is no warning. Just a sudden tension coiled tight in his belly and the air feeling much too hot. Sweat beads up on his forehead, his throat feels dry. He smells something strong, like a burning bonfire and spiced booze, which makes saliva pool in his mouth. He swallows. The dizziness comes next, causing him to sway to the side, the knife slipping and slicing into his palm. Pain blooms, blood splatters against the wood of the cutting board, and drips after him as he drops the knife and flees. Tearing through the atelier like a hurricane, his apprentice's worried calls of his name are distant and muted in his ears.

The workshop was possibly the worst place he could have gone, but it is where his instincts drove him: toward that familiar, soothing, but intoxicating scent. The scent of a man who is currently away for work and has no idea of Qifrey's plight.

Neither of them would have ever expected this, anyway. When Qifrey came of age when those secondary characteristics should have started budding, nothing happened. It was really a relief, when he thought about it. Not having to ever worry about losing control of his own body and mind in the instinctual desire to breed. He did not have the parts to impregnate anyone else, and none formed; he had the parts, however, to be impregnated, secondary sex or not, and that was always a source of dread for him.

So he was glad, under the impression he would never suffer the torment of his body desiring the very thing he hated.

And it seemed he was so, so very wrong.

Perhaps it was the parasite that was suppressing it for so long. Those branches were crushing down that heat, that need to be fucked and impregnated and birth children. Those branches, while restricting so much of his life, aided him in having just some small semblance of control. He did not know, did not think to tie it back to that, too content to think that he was simply nothing and could live with one less worry.

It has to be that. There is no other explanation for why this would hit him so suddenly only after he's been rid of the silverwood.

Blood smears across the sheets of the bed. He creates a bright red handprint in the quilt. It hurts, but the pain is dulled by the throbbing heat in his body. It pulses between his thighs, curls tight in his belly. Qifrey presses his face into the pillows and that's a mistake, because the smell there is so overpowering it makes him whine, followed by a wet trickle between his legs, soaking into this undergarments and trousers.

Yet, he still nuzzles in further. He pants heavily, eye screwed shut, sweat on his forehead. The quilt is curled tight around his shoulders. It's uncomfortable, it's humiliating, it's mortifying. It's something he doesn't want. If he had known he was capable, he would have taken steps to prepare, or stop it, but he didn't. It's so sudden. Much like his first menstrual cycle. Sudden, unbidden, wretched, disgusting. It does not matter to him just how natural it is.

Qifrey does not know how long he lies there. Every so often there will be a knock on the door, one of the girls asking him if he's okay, if he needs anything, and he has to breathlessly reply that he simply started feeling quite unwell but simply just needs some rest. There's stew in the cookpot for supper if they would like, go on then, don't worry.

The sun moves across the sky and the shadows dance along the workshop walls with it. It isn't until night falls that he's able to make himself move. The girls are likely in their rooms by now. His wound has ceased bleeding, but the blood is dry, sticky, and flaking. Qifrey's knees feel weak, but he's still able to find the strength to gather up the bloodied linens and take them to the wash barrels, letting the magic do its job while he cleans and disinfects the cut in his palm and wraps it in clean bandages with a shaky hand.

When he places the freshly-washed bedding back on the bed, he stands there at the bedside and stares at it for a long time. It still stinks of their missing housemate. That smell is stronger than the floral scent of the soap. And the smell also doesn't seem like— enough, despite how overwhelming it already is. Qifrey's legs move seemingly on their own throughout the workshop, and then other rooms of the atelier, quickly and quietly gathering up cushions and blankets and squirreling them away to that bed.

Olruggio's clothes, too, are stolen from his drawers and tucked amongst the blankets and pillows. Qifrey wriggles his tunic off and nearly rips open his collar before he clambers back into the bed. He really wishes he had Olruggio's cloak with him. It was velvety, heavy, and would undoubtedly be covered in his scent. Of course, he'd smelled Olruggio before—anyone could, regardless of their secondary sex, but it never had much of an effect on him. It was a pleasant smell, comforting and familiar.

Now it's driving him insane, but he doesn't want to get away from it.

Qifrey does not sleep that night. His body screams for relief and release. Occasionally, his uninjured hand creeps down to press up between his thighs through his clothing in an attempt to try to relieve some of the building pressure. But he does not try to touch himself outside of that, does not try to chase any sort of pleasure. The desperation is sickening. It's making him itch.

It's good they live so far away from others. There is no doubt that whatever stink he's giving off now would draw in every potential assailant located nearby were he somewhere like the Great Hall or Kalhn, and he does not know if he would be able to resist them if they did. He'd like to think he would, because his heart and mind desire only one person, but that person is not here right now.

He spends the night curled in this nest, trembling and breathing hard, feeling lightheaded and sick to his stomach. It isn't until morning that he realizes he's dehydrated and hungry, but he does not want to move. He can hear the girls puttering about and he feels guilty for leaving them to their own devices instead of being there as he should, but he knows they are old enough to fend for themselves for a short while. They will call him if they need help, and he will do his best to help despite the state of things.

Thighs clenched, he feels so unbearably, achingly empty. He's wet, soaking into his clothes. Hard, too. Qifrey's insides are fluttering, squeezing up around nothing, desperate for something. Maybe his fingers could provide some relief, but he worries that if he tries to chase it then it will just make things worse. So he's trying to fight it, to force it down, to hope that his body will realize it will not get the release it so desires and simply give up and let him carry on normally.

Qifrey only gets up to urinate and avoids running into anyone else in the home. He considers bolting the workshop door whenever he returns, but always decides against it. Qifrey presses his face back into the pillows and imagines that he's not alone, that Olruggio is there and wrapping him in his scent, is taking him into his arms and pressing his warm body to his. If he were to let anyone help him, it'd be Olruggio. They have already laid with one another, after all.

But it is also a burden he does not want to place on the other. He knows there is no danger of Olruggio losing control and falling back into base instincts and bringing him harm, that is not what Qifrey is worried about. Qifrey worries Olruggio would not be comfortable, and would only agree due to a sense of obligation. He worries that he wouldn't be able to control his own desires and become some sort of whining, desperate, pathetic beast whose body craved to be pinned and filled over, and over, and over, no matter who was doing it.

The thought of Olruggio gripping him by the hips and pinning him does, however, bring another rush of wetness between his thighs and makes Qifrey groan, muffled, into the pillows.

He doesn't know what time it is when the door swings open, just that the sun is still out. And he is slammed with that scent again, so strongly and so suddenly that he realizes the blankets, the pillows, the clothes, everything had been quite stale in comparison. This was warm, fresh. It makes drool run from the corner of his mouth, makes him curl into a tighter ball beneath the pile of blankets.

The door slams shut and quick footsteps approach the bedside. A low, rumbling voice calls for him, "Qifrey?"

And how is he supposed to respond when Olruggio sounds so worried? Just ignore him? Absolutely not.

Qifrey pokes his head out from under the blankets to stare blearily up at Olruggio, who stares at him wide-eyed, concerned. Still in his cloak and still smelling of travel and so many other strangers that he's been surrounded by for the past week. Qifrey didn't realize he'd be home today. He doesn't know whether to be happy about it, or angry, because now how is he supposed to ignore this awful, burning desire?

"Olly," Qifrey says, his voice more of a whine than anything. His eye begins to water. He talks faster than he can think, "You left me alone. Why? I…"

His mouth clicks shut. Where did that come from? Qifrey's face burns from shame, now, and he turns it back into the pillows. "I apologize. There is no way you could have known."

Olruggio sits down on the edge of the bed. His hand lands on Qifrey's leg through the blankets and that touch feels like a shock to the system. The swell of desire is so great and so dizzying he thinks he might pass out, he wants to throw the blankets off and fling himself onto Olruggio, but it wars with the sudden flood of despair and rage. Qifrey nearly kicks Olruggio to get his hand off and barks out, "Don't touch me!"

"Sorry," Olruggio says, pulling his hand back. When Qifrey peers over the edge of the blanket again he can see the confusion and hurt on the other's face, combined with naked concern. The anger is wiped away in an instant, replaced instead by guilt.

Lashing out was unnecessary. Olruggio was simply trying to offer him a comforting touch, as he often did.

Qifrey swallows, saying nothing.

"Did you know?" Olruggio asks. "That this could happen."

Shaking his head, Qifrey says, "No. It is just as much of a surprise to me as it is to you."

"Well. That complicates things."

Olruggio remains sitting there. He pulls his cap off and holds it in his lap, turning it in his hands, focusing on it instead of looking at Qifrey's face. Then Olruggio says, "Do you want me to get medicine for you? Sinocia knows how to make it discreet. No one else'll figure it out."

"I would rather you not leave again," Qifrey replies hoarsely. "Taking suppressants in the middle of an already-active heat is dangerous, anyway. I simply have to bear it."

"Ah. Got it. Sorry, I never had to… worry 'bout that, so." Olruggio clears his throat. "Qifrey?"

"Mm."

"Me bein' here doesn't make it worse?"

"Oh. No, it very much does."

"Then why—"

"I would be suffering with or without you at my side. However, if I can freely and safely make the choice to not go through it alone, then I will make that choice each time."

Olruggio takes in a deep breath, nodding. "Okay."

They sit in silence for another minute. Olruggio's smell is overwhelming. Olruggio looks a little antsy, too. Qifrey cannot smell himself, but he imagines it must be just as overpowering. He wonders what Olruggio is thinking: if Olruggio is imagining ripping those blankets away and pinning Qifrey beneath him, covering his body with his own, kissing him and fucking him and giving him that relief his body so desperately desires. It shows a great amount of respect and self-control that he does not act upon these whims, if he has them.

Part of Qifrey hopes he has them. That animalistic part of him, at least.

"Uh," Olruggio grunts. "Is… is there anythin' I can do to help?"

The other's eyes move to Qifrey's face again, and then down the outline of his body beneath the blankets. There is a flash of heat in his eyes, Qifrey watches as Olruggio's tongue darts out to wet his lips. Half of him wants to say yes, spread me open and take me, I want you desperately, only you, please, while the other half revolts against it. He does not know how much of the desire is truly his own and how much was brought on by this wretched heat. To not know is terrifying. To not have that control is horrific.

"Hungry," Qifrey says. "Thirsty."

"Right." Olruggio stands up maybe a little too quickly, sways in place, and then quickly leaves the workshop once he's reoriented himself. Qifrey grieves his absence silently, but he can still smell him from across the atelier, at least. The fact he is still nearby is enough to bring some comfort.

He closes his eye, breathes in deep. The heat continues to thrum beneath his skin. His cunt aches. Now, though, Olruggio's fresher scent is surrounding him, and he's beginning to feel drowsy from it. Or maybe he's just tired because he hasn't eaten, or he's just too emotionally exhausted.

Regardless, he finally manages to doze, only stirring when Olruggio returns. He's shed his dark cloak and dropped it into the nest. There is a plate full of sliced up fruit in his hand, and a vessel of water in the other.

"I… sent the girls to the Great Hall for a few days," Olruggio explains. "Told 'em you just need some time to recover. Beldaruit'll take care of 'em."

"You told him?" Qifrey asks, not without an edge of nervousness to his voice. The last thing he needs now is Beldaruit knowing what was going on. His former master would be insufferable and far-too nosy.

"Not everythin'," Olruggio assures him. "Just that you were sick and you needed him to look after 'em."

"Ah," Qifrey breathes. "Thank you."

Olruggio sits beside him and Qifrey slowly pushes himself upright. When he takes the offered vessel of water, Olruggio's eyes flicker to his bandaged hand.

"You're injured?" He asks worriedly.

"Mishap in the kitchen," Qifrey replies. He takes a few sips and the cool water is refreshing in his parched throat. "Nothing to concern yourself over."

"It's always somethin' with you," Olruggio sighs.

He offers Qifrey a slice of mountain apple and Qifrey leans in to take it right out of his fingers with his mouth unthinkingly. Olruggio says nothing about it. Qifrey keeps doing it for each bite, for several slices, in complete silence.

On the final slice, the final bite, his lips brush over Olruggio's fingertips and something in his brain breaks a little. He drags his tongue over the rough skin, feeling out the scars and calluses with it, lapping up the juice on his fingers. Qifrey's mouth, suddenly eager, presses hotly against his fingers, runs down to his palm, his tongue sliding across it. A little whimper escapes him. There is a gland right there on Olruggio's wrist and his teeth graze it, threatening to sink down; he really wants to—

That hand twists and takes a strong hold of his jaw, forcing Qifrey to look Olruggio in the eye.

"No, Qifrey," Olruggio says, voice firm. "Not right now. Eat."

It's almost embarrassing how easily both his brain and body submit. He nods and Olruggio releases him. Qifrey feels a little sick with himself, sick because he almost gave into those instincts so quickly the moment the one he wanted was before him. His thighs squeeze together beneath the blankets. The slick there makes his clothes stick to his skin uncomfortably.

Olruggio keeps feeding him. Qifrey keeps nursing at the water. Food and fluid in his system is starting to make him feel a little less deranged, a little less ready to draw some sort of wicked spell to set everything including himself aflame, but there is still that gnawing, ravenous hunger to be taken that he just cannot shake.

"Do you want a bath?" Olruggio asks him gently, setting the now-empty plate aside. Qifrey wonders if he's imagining the light flush in his cheeks. "I can change your bandages, too."

A bath might him feel a little less like a mess, too. Of course, he'll still end up wet all down his thighs again, but it'd be nice to get the sticky film of sweat off of him for at least a little bit. In a few hours it'll return, but he would certainly enjoy being clean. Besides, Olruggio always enjoyed doting on him in the bath. Perhaps just that would be enough to put him at ease.

"All right," Qifrey rasps, exhausted. Olruggio stands up and Qifrey slowly drags himself from the bed, letting Olruggio catch him by the arms as he sways sideways. His knees are shaking. Qifrey slumps forward, his face pressed close to Olruggio's neck. Far too close. The scent there is dizzying, he can feel himself salivating, can feel another rush of slick down his thighs. A tiny whimper escapes him.

Olruggio's hand moves to his back and he murmurs, "I got you."

That thread of composure is fraying rapidly. The hand on his back makes him feel like he might scream, or throw up, or black out, or all three in that exact order.

Olruggio guides him out of the workshop and through the atelier to the bath. Qifrey barely manages to walk on his own with how shaky his legs have gotten, and he's grateful for Olruggio's arm now around his waist to help keep him upright even if the contact makes him want to slam his head through the wall or rip something apart with his teeth.

"Okay," Olruggio says quietly when they reach the bath. "Clothes off."

The quiet command feels like another shock. Qifrey knows he didn't mean it in that way, but he still can't help the choked sound that gets caught in his throat. Olruggio immediately makes distance between them, but Qifrey wonders if he imagined the little growl rumbling from deep within Olruggio's chest then.

As Olruggio pulls open the vapor bubble hanging over the bath, Qifrey unwinds the bandages from his hand, letting them fall to the floor. The cut is a soft pink, still sore, but no sign of infection. It might leave a scar. He pulls his spectacles off, delicately places them aside, and strips carefully out of his clothes next. Being naked provides him with more relief than he thought it would, no longer feeling tightly suffocated, the clothes sticking uncomfortably to his sweaty, hot skin.

But it also reveals this: the glistening of his thighs, his hard nipples, the red flush of his cunt, his clit hard and neglected. Qifrey wishes he could turn to hide himself, but it would do very little good. It isn't like Olruggio hasn't seen him in the throes of want and passion before, but this time is different, isn't it?

Olruggio, who had been crouching beside the bath to test the water's temperature with his hand, rises back to his full height and turns to face Qifrey.

"All right, you—" His breath hitches, mouth hanging open. Qifrey, despite the way his vision blurs without his spectacles, can still see how his nostrils flare. Olruggio swallows hard, casting his gaze aside. "You can get in. C'mon."

"R-right," Qifrey coughs out, stumbling over. He doesn't even hesitate to step into the water like he normally might, descending the few short steps and immediately sitting down near the edge so Olruggio can reach him. The water is pleasantly warm, and despite how hot he already feels it doesn't make him feel at risk of overheating. He sinks back and Olruggio settles on the raised floor behind him.

The washcloth glides over Qifrey's shoulders, his arms. It wipes gently at his sweaty, red face. Olruggio's hands making contact with his bare skin makes him want to squirm, but he manages enough self-control not to do that. Soap is lathered onto his skin, gently rinsed off.

He thinks Olruggio must be superhuman with the fact he manages to maintain focus even when Qifrey has to stand up briefly so he can wash his lower body. Qifrey is not oblivious to the the strained look on Olruggio's face, like he might puke, or something, but there is a determined furrow in his brow and he continues doing what he set out to do: give Qifrey a bath.

"How do you feel?" Olruggio finally asks as he's massaging shampoo into Qifrey's hair. Even past the smell of soap Olruggio's scent is strong, but his hands are soothing and gentle, and Qifrey feels very, very drowsy. But despite the burning want in his body, he feels much more content than he did prior.

"Better," Qifrey replies quietly. "Somewhat."

"Good," Olruggio replies. "I'm glad. After this, I'll make you some tea to help you sleep."

Qifrey hums. His eye flutters shut. There is that usual twinge of anxiety when he feels water pour over his head to rinse the shampoo out.

Qifrey tips his head forward, feeling Olruggio's warm hands land on his shoulders. Those fingers knead into the tense muscle there, thumbs digging into the curve where neck meets shoulder. It makes him grimace, but that grimace relaxes as Olruggio rubs harder, deeper circles and pulls at the muscle to loosen the tension. A shaky sigh slips from Qifrey. Yes, maybe this much touch is enough to satiate him. He doesn't need anything in him, doesn't need to be bred. He will be happy like this.

…Or, he would have been had Olruggio not done this:

Lean forward, far forward, his beard brushing against Qifrey's bare, damp skin, his breath hot and sweet-smelling, and kiss the back of his neck.

He does not understand why that tiny gesture is enough to send him over the edge.

"Olly," Qifrey gasps. He turns quickly, the water splashing around him, his eye opening wide. Both wet hands raise to fist into the front of Olruggio's shirt. "Olly, I—"

"Q-Qifrey?" Olruggio chokes out. No, there is no imagining the flush of Olruggio's cheeks, the way his pupils are blown wide, or the tent in the front of his skirt that he's evidently been doing his best to hide this entire time.

Proof that he's just as affected by this as Qifrey is.

Qifrey whimpers again. He can't take it anymore. He tells himself that his desire is because Olruggio is Olruggio, he loves him; it's not simply because of what Olruggio is, what Olruggio can give him. That is merely an added benefit. Funny how things work out.

But will Olruggio give in to his desire as well? Oh, he hopes.

He yanks Olruggio in, their mouths crashing together. Olruggio inhales sharply through his nose, lets out a low groan in the back of his throat. The kiss is uncoordinated and sloppy, all frantic mashing of lips and sliding of tongues, Qifrey feeling disoriented and delirious and desperate.

Olruggio breaks the kiss with a gasp. Qifrey goes after him, mouthing messily along his scruffy jaw, nipping at the skin over his pulse, practically drooling all over his neck.

"Please," Qifrey pants. "Please. I want you."

"Qifrey," Olruggio chokes out. "You— are you sure?"

Strong hands grab his shoulders to hold him back. Qifrey whines at the distance, squirming. It's so unlike him, but he can barely bring himself to care anymore. What he wants is right there, right in front of him, and he can have him whenever he likes now. This huge problem could be solved so easily. And then when it's solved, he will take medicine and never have to worry about it ever again.

So just a few days of recklessness. There are ways to negate the consequences later.

"Please," Qifrey repeats plaintively.

Olruggio looks like he's actively losing his mind, but he still manages a, "I need a yes or no, Qifrey. Are you sure?"

"Yes," Qifrey nearly sobs. "Yes. Yes."

"Okay," Olruggio says shakily. "C'mon. Out. Wait—" Clarity seems to slam into him in that moment, all too sudden. "Your hand. Let me—"

"Don't want to wait," Qifrey says, petulant.

"It won't take long. I promise."

It doesn't take long, that's true. Olruggio helps Qifrey out of the bath, towels him off dries him the rest of the way with his link rings, and then sits him down as he fishes out their bandages from the washroom's pantry. They're wound snugly around his hand. Each little touch is like fire. Qifrey thinks he might faint when Olruggio presses a kiss to his knuckles after. All of this only takes a few minutes.

Olruggio, uncaring about getting his sleeves wet, dares to take a moment to lean in and reach his arm into the water to pull the plug of the drain. Qifrey feels a little infuriated that he's doing anything but picking him up and carrying him off to his workshop, but it's also giving him a little more time to get his thoughts in order. To think a little more clearly.

He does want this, right? Yes, he does. Fuck. He wants it badly. Olruggio is so kind, so attentive, he's been gone for a week, even without the heat Qifrey would want him.

Somehow, he's always surprised by the strength hidden in Olruggio's body. A little squeak bubbles up in his throat when Olruggio bodily hauls him from the washroom back to the workshop, his footsteps quick. A man on a mission. Qifrey lets himself be manhandled, his hands pawing at every inch of Olruggio he can reach as they go. His body is warm, and soft. There is hair peeking out from the plunging neckline of his shirt. His skin is burning red.

He smells so, so good, and he's so handsome, and Qifrey knows he'll take care of him.

The pressure and tension in his gut is almost agonizing. It radiates to his spine, down his legs. It's begging to be popped, released in some way. Qifrey feels like writhing from just how uncomfortable it is. Beneath that want is pain and distress, so great that it makes him want to cry.

Olruggio places him back into bed. Qifrey's chest heaves. He's red down to his breasts. A new rush of slick is shining against his thighs. Sweat is already forming on his freshly-washed skin. It's so hot. He feels nauseated, his heart is beating too fast, everything around him is spinning and he has to shut his eye. He feels like he's dying.

"Qifrey." Olruggio's voice sounds distant. A hand cradles his cheek. Qifrey turns his face into it, nuzzling that worn palm, brushing his lips over the rough skin. "Qifrey, love, look at me."

His eye cracks open. Olruggio is hovering over him, his eyes shining with worry. He's close enough that Qifrey can get a clearer view of his face, blushing and beautiful and steadily dampening with sweat. Shakily, Qifrey reaches up to grasp at his shirt again, tugging the piece of fabric insistently until it spills out from over Olruggio's belt.

Olruggio ignores that for now in favor of stroking Qifrey's face.

"I need you to stay with me," he says gently. "Don't go off somewhere I can't reach you."

Qifrey swallows. The grip on Olruggio's shirt loosens, then relents entirely, his hands moving to instead rest on the other's shoulders. Qifrey feels like he's fading in and out, his grip on reality tenuous. All there is is burning heat, an ache between his legs, and that heady scent of the man he loves surrounding him. He can't focus on anything else. Nothing else feels real.

His eye slips shut. He hears Olruggio call his name again. It sounds distant.

He blacks out.

—

When he comes to, it's with an icepack on his forehead and Olruggio tucked up next to him in the bed. He does not know how much time has passed, but it is dark outside. The lamp at the bedside casts the workshop in a dim glow.

Olruggio is awake and startles when Qifrey stirs with a soft sound. He sits up and when Qifrey looks at him he can see that he's naked, too. Lips part to speak, but he's having trouble getting any words out. His mouth feels too dry. All he can manage is a rasping sound, and Olruggio wordlessly turns to the bedside where he apparently had brought in and placed a pitcher of water.

Water is poured into a vessel, then brought to Qifrey's lips. Qifrey sips at it slowly as to not make himself sick. The heat is still buzzing under his skin, but doesn't feel as horrifically overwhelming as it had before. His mind feels a little more clear.

"What happened?" Qifrey mumbles. "Did we…"

"No," Olruggio responds, shaking his head. "No, you… passed out. I think you were just too tired. And hot."

"Ah," Qifrey croaks. "Well. I did not sleep last night."

"That'll do it," Olruggio replies, setting the vessel aside when Qifrey finally nudges it away from his face. "I only… took my clothes off because I felt too hot, too."

Qifrey's guts are churning. He closes his eye, breathes in deep, then exhales slowly. His legs still feel like jelly, he's still soaked down his thighs, he still wants, but he doesn't feel like he's fading away from the real world. Maybe it's good that he passed out, then. Got some sleep, whether he wanted to or not. He wasn't in his right mind before.

"How do you feel?" Olruggio asks. The hand that touches Qifrey's arm feels like a brand and he almost yanks it away.

"Awful," Qifrey says with a dry laugh. "Like I might burst."

There it is again: the desire for control over his body, and this awful thing inside of him. At least he isn't being driven entirely by delirious instinct anymore when he says, "Olly, I need you to fuck me."

"Are you sure?" Olruggio asks. Again. It's starting to piss Qifrey off a bit.

"I don't think I've ever been more sure of something in my life."

"Just wanna make sure it's actually you talkin'," Olruggio says gently.

The icepack on Qifrey's head is pulled away and set aside. Qifrey blinks blearily up at Olruggio as the other moves to hover over him. Both of those weathered hands take hold of his face, holding him like he's something delicate. Olruggio gazes at him and Qifrey stares back at him, saliva threatening to spill over from his lips again. The scent glands on Olruggio's wrists are so close to his nose. Qifrey really, really loves the smell of him.

"You smell wonderful," Qifrey murmurs. "Like a summer bonfire."

Olruggio laughs a little. "You smell pretty good yourself."

"Do I?" Qifrey sighs. His legs fall open and Olruggio settles between them. Qifrey can feel his swollen cock brush up against his leg and he wants it, now. He communicates this by bucking his hips a little, feeling the head of that cock hit his clit. One of Olruggio's hands lands on his hip to still him.

"Aye. Like you just got out of the kitchen. All those herbs and spices you use."

Olruggio ducks his head down. His mouth makes a hot trail down Qifrey's neck, and Qifrey tilts his head back happily, lips twitching into a smile.

"Makes me want to eat you up," Olruggio continues, which makes Qifrey laugh.

"What's stopping you?"

"Nothin' now, I suppose."

They kiss again this time. Less clumsy, more coordinated, but not any less eager and desperate. Olruggio's tongue pushes into his mouth and Qifrey moans at the intrusion, his arms winding around the other's neck. The kiss deepens, Olruggio leaning forward, pressing down hard enough to tilt Qifrey's head back with the force of it.

He whines and Olruggio growls. The hand on his hip squeezes, while his other hand takes hold of one breast to knead into it. The nipple is tweaked, making Qifrey squeak again, and Olruggio swallows up that sound. Qifrey can feel a fresh gush of slick, and he knows it must be coating the front of Olruggio's thighs now, too.

When Olruggio breaks away to kiss down his neck Qifrey can't help but ask, "Olly. Have you ever—" He gasps when he feels teeth graze against his skin. "Ever— helped? With another—"

"No," Olruggio grunts. "So you gotta tell me if I'm doin' somethin' wrong, okay?"

"All right," Qifrey breathes. Something floods through him. Some odd sense of pride and possessiveness. Olruggio has known his own secondary sex for a long, long time. At first he'd been a little insecure about it, because he was shorter than many of the others like him, his face rounder, his eyes bigger, his body softer. But as he aged, he grew more confident in himself. That was attractive. If he'd helped another person with their heat, it would be no surprise. Qifrey's sure many would be lining up for him to.

And yet he hadn't. This is his first time.

To Qifrey's understanding, instinct is generally what drives a pair during the mating cycle. So they will have to let instinct do most of the talking. Their bodies will know what they want, want they need, what they like. Qifrey only hopes he can keep himself tethered to reality.

Olruggio's body hair tickles against his sensitive, heated skin. The hand on Qifrey's breast runs down his belly, then pushes between his thighs. Qifrey jolts. He feels unbelievably tender down there, Olruggio's fingers slipping through his soaked folds almost enough to send him over the edge after spending nearly two days denying himself any sort of relief.

"You don't need to prepare me," Qifrey pants. "I promise, I am more than ready."

He's certainly wet enough. No wonder he keeps feeling so dehydrated so quickly. Olruggio presses a kiss to his sweaty clavicle and moves his hand from his cunt to his cock, gripping the base and pressing the head up against Qifrey's waiting hole. It pops in without any resistance and Qifrey shudders. The heat burns under his skin again, growing hotter, hotter. His nails dig into Olruggio's back, his lips press against the top of the other's head.

"Olly," he breathes. "Please."

And then Olruggio slides in the rest of the way in one go. It makes Qifrey seize up for a moment, before his entire body breaks out into tremors and he comes suddenly, with a shout. Release gushes over Olruggio's cock and onto the sheets beneath him. His vision whites out for a few moments, his ears ring, his mouth hangs open as he breathes hard and heavy. Saliva runs down his cheek.

"Qifrey?" Olruggio pats him on the cheek gently. Qifrey's vision returns back to normal quickly, everything around them as blurry as usual save for the man on top of him. His body is recovering fast. He would have thought that one orgasm would have been enough to quell the desperation, but no, his initial fear was correct: chasing that relief only made the ache worse. Olruggio smiles shakily at him. "Still with me?"

"Keep going," Qifrey demands, his eye unfocused. "Now."

"I— yeah, was plannin' on it," Olruggio responds with a breathless chuckle. His hips shift, he grinds in deep. Qifrey shivers, gritting his teeth. Olruggio is average in length, but he's still thick. Even with the amount of slick he's producing, the stretch is still delicious.

Qifrey's legs, still shaking, move to wrap around Olruggio's hips. His heel bumps against the other's backside, encouraging him to keep moving. Olruggio nuzzles against his throat, his beard tickling his skin. His hips draw back slowly, then snap forward with a slick sound. He repeats that motion over and over, Qifrey can feel his hips strike against his ass, the stinging sensation sending sparks of pleasure down his spine.

Olruggio's hands land on his thighs. He adjusts himself on his knees, leaning over further, pushing Qifrey's legs farther back until Qifrey can feel his knees bump against Olruggio's armpits. It gives him a deeper angle, letting him pump his hips down into the soaking wet heat of Qifrey's body.

"Olly," he moans, his eye rolling back. Olruggio groans in response. His forehead rests against the side of Qifrey's neck, his nose pressing against the scent gland there to breathe Qifrey in deep. One of Qifrey's hands moves to find one of Olruggio's, grasping at it to bring it up to his own face so he can press it against the gland on his wrist. He breathes in that warm, smoky smell of him, mouths over the gland with damp lips, drags his tongue over it and feels Olruggio's racing pulse jump.

His next orgasm hits him not long after the first, but not as hard. Qifrey thrashes a little, but Olruggio keeps him pinned under the weight of his body and fucks him through it. The other's mouth is pressing hotly against the gland on his neck, teeth scraping it but never sinking down. Qifrey wishes he would bite down. He knows it would bond them together, and that it's supposed to make this feel even better.

Qifrey also knows that's his heat-addled brain talking, and he has enough sense in that moment not to ask for it.

Olruggio is breathing hard. His hand twists free of Qifrey's grasp, his other hand moving along with it to reach for Qifrey's thin wrists and hold them tight. They're slammed down onto the bed with force and Qifrey lets out a startled moan, his hands flexing in the other's grasp. The movement of Olruggio's hips is getting harder, faster, the pace getting gradually more brutal.

Is Olly growling?

The scent of the other is getting stronger, more dizzying. It's almost suffocating. It takes Qifrey a few moments to realize just what's happening. He knew, logically, that heats could occasionally trigger a mate's rut, as well as the other way around. Not always. It was more common in younger, less experienced people who still had trouble reining in their desires and hormones. Olruggio's bruising grip, the bared teeth against his throat, the rumbling snarls, the sudden punishing force of his hips—all tell-tale signs of…

Well. He supposes they are both rather inexperienced in this.

Qifrey's sounds are getting louder the harder Olruggio goes. It doesn't hurt. He wants this. He wants to be taken and claimed, he realizes, if it's by the man on top of him. This is the only one he would ever trust with his body in this way. The only one he would ever trust to take care of these wretched heats, should they ever strike again.

"Ah, ah, ah, Olly," Qifrey gasps. Olruggio is such a kind, gentle soul, and seeing and feeling him become so rough is so jarring but makes that desire greater. "Oh, fuck—!"

He can feel it. That knot slowly growing and bumping up against where he's wanting. Qifrey's heels dig into Olruggio's back. Olruggio lifts his head, eyes wild, meeting Qifrey's equally-crazed stare.

Despite the fog of the rut, Olruggio still seems to be lucid enough to ask him, "Do you want—"

"Yes," Qifrey chokes out. "I want it. Give it to me."

That's all Olruggio needs to hear. He presses wet kisses along Qifrey's jaw, sucks a bruise beneath his ear, and jerks his hips forward. The stretch is more painful than it is pleasurable as the knot breaches his hole, and after a few agonizing moments where Qifrey's sounds warp from delight to discomfort it pops inside fully—and it all melts back into that dizzying pleasure once more. Fireworks explode in his vision and he swears everything goes black for a moment as he comes again.

He knows this orgasm is a loud one. It's echoing off the stone walls around them but he barely registers the sound of his own voice in his ears. Olruggio is groaning against his skin, spilling his seed so, so deeply inside of him. Qifrey's wrists twist in Olruggio's hold and Olruggio has enough sense to let them go so Qifrey can cling onto him.

"Take it," Olruggio bites out, voice rough. "You're so pretty. Take all of it—"

"Olly," Qifrey whines for the umpteenth time. His whole body quakes. That knot stays seated firmly inside of him, and it won't be leaving anytime soon. Both of his legs slump back down to the bed.

He's sweaty again. His thighs feel sticky. He's breathing hard, his heart beating impossibly fast. But his body still feels calmer, in a way. The heat is still there, but it's been satiated—for now. At least until the knot deflates and Olruggio can pull out. Qifrey isn't sure how first heats usually go, it's not like he was ever expected to learn. He could be ready and raring to go long before Olruggio is able to keep going.

Which would be par for the course. That's how their sexual escapades usually ended up going.

Olruggio slumps on top of him. He presses his face into Qifrey's shoulder as he catches his breath and Qifrey's fingers knead into the tight muscle of his back. Qifrey turns his head, his lips pressing against Olruggio's sweaty temple.

"Thank you," he whispers. Olruggio gives a wordless grunt in reply that makes Qifrey smile.

He feels exhausted. His eye slips shut.

"I will need," Qifrey begins slowly, his brain still trying to remember how to properly formulate words in any recognizable language, "very many of those contraceptives, I think."

It sounds ridiculous to say when he's in the middle of his heat. But even if he did submit to his base instincts and let Olruggio knot and breed him, he has no actual desire to carry any children after this. Qifrey just hopes that normal contraceptives account for those who were bred during a heat, or perhaps he might have to get something… stronger.

"My back's gonna be killin' me after this," Olruggio grouses, but there's no real edge to it. He snuggles closer to Qifrey, because it's not like he really has the option to do otherwise with where they're joined at the crotch. One of Qifrey's hands slides up to pet his dark hair.

"You can lie down next time," Qifrey offers. "If it's easier."

"Might be," Olruggio says. Qifrey can feel him smiling against his shoulder. "Y'know, I never, um…"

Qifrey doesn't say anything. He just waits for Olruggio to find his words himself and finish.

"Never… had one of these…"

His eye snaps open.

"One of these?"

"A— rut."

Olruggio is knot-deep inside of him and still somehow has the gall to sound embarrassed.

"Well, I have never had a heat, so I suppose we're even."

The other man sniffs. He kisses Qifrey's shoulder lightly.

"Still. I got a little scared I wouldn't be able to control myself, n'that I'd hurt you."

Qifrey stares up at the high ceiling, which looks more like a blurry blob of gray, black, and blue from here. He keeps petting Olruggio's hair, occasionally grazing his blunt nails over his scalp and down his nape.

He knows Olruggio is a man of many fears and insecurities. He does not know why it never occurred to him that Olruggio might be afraid of losing control, too. But they are both human, and deep down able to fight back against those vicious, animalistic urges should they arise. Olruggio would never want to bring him harm, rut or not.

"Olly, I know you would never hurt me," he says. "If I tell you something is wrong, I know you would stop. Have more faith in yourself."

Olruggio doesn't respond. He just lies there on top of Qifrey, warm, fuzzy, and soft as usual. Qifrey runs his hands down to squeeze into the fat of his waist, then his lower back. It doesn't take long for Olruggio's breathing to slow, his body going almost entirely limp.

He fell asleep?!

Qifrey blinks a few times.

Well! Now he's stuck here both until the knot deflates and until Olruggio wakes up!

…He kind of has to pee, too!

—

"Slow- slow down a bit," Olruggio gasps.

Qifrey does not slow down. Olruggio is splayed out beneath him and Qifrey is crouched over his lap, dropping himself down over his cock repeatedly. Both hands are planted on Olruggio's belly to keep himself steady. The muscle in his thighs burns with the effort, but he barely even notices it, too caught up in chasing that pleasure and relieving the tension of the heat that once again raged beneath his skin.

"You just feel," Qifrey moans out, "so good."

Olruggio lets out a string of expletives. His hands are on Qifrey's tits, groping greedily at them, and he gives one nipple a particularly brutal pinch that definitely does the opposite of what he wants it to do, because it just makes Qifrey gush over his cock and keep slamming himself down with reckless abandon.

"You—" Olruggio lets out a strangled groan. "You are goin' to break my dick if you don't— slow down!"

The hands on his tits move to grip Qifrey's waist in a vise, but it does very little to actually get him to ease up. Qifrey's letting himself get lost in the pleasure, in the burn of his muscles, the stretch of his cunt around the cock inside of him.

"Qifrey!" Olruggio growls out. One hand on his waist moves, landing on the back of his neck and squeezing.

It makes Qifrey submit instantly. He drops down to his knees, panting, his hips stilling. Olruggio breathes hard. Qifrey can feel his cock throbbing inside of him. The hand remains on the back of his neck, while Olruggio's other hand slides to his backside to encourage him to move again. Slower, this time.

"There you go," Olruggio sighs. "Good. Good boy. Just like that."

The praise makes Qifrey squirm and whimper. He keeps up that same steady pace, less brutal and less risky for them both. Qifrey lets Olruggio pull him in with that hand on his neck, their foreheads touching. Tears cling to Qifrey's dark lashes. His hair feels damp, sticking to his forehead and temples and cheeks. His mouth is hanging open as he practically wheezes from the exertion.

"I'm not goin' anywhere," Olruggio assures him. "Take your time."

It is quite the funny thing for Olruggio to say, when only minutes later he ends up flipping them both over and fucking Qifrey from behind with enough force that Qifrey's nearly wailing. His throat is going to be raw by the end of this.

At least Olruggio hugs him tight from behind when they're slumped together again, joined by that knot once more, and kisses all over his shoulders. But Qifrey does pout a little that he can't look at him like this, or kiss him lazily while they wait.

—

The time between his heat resurfacing is starting to get longer. Qifrey doesn't know how long they've been at this now, he hasn't been keeping track. Their schedule has been this: fuck, washroom, eat, hydrate, fuck again, sleep a few hours, maybe take a bath, fuck and make the bath they just took pointless, eat once more, fuck…

According to Olruggio, it's been two days, which means it's been three days since his heat started. If he's lucky, that means it should be fading soon.

Not that he can really think about that right now. Olruggio's face is damp from eating him out, and it's now pressed against his shoulder as he holds Qifrey in his lap, chest to Qifrey's back. Both arms are wrapped around his knees to hold his legs up, and he's fucking up into Qifrey's cunt as he holds him in place. Qifrey's arms are pinned to his sides, and he has to wonder just where Olruggio has gotten all of this stamina. Is it the rut?! Goodness, he doesn't know, nor does he actually really care, because he feels like his brains are melting out of his ears.

"Yes," Qifrey pants. "Oh, yes, Olly. Keep going, like that."

He feels messy and debauched. His whole body is sore, covered in bite marks and bruises. After this, he might still need a few days before anyone returns home so he can actually take some time to sleep it all off and recover.

The arms around his legs tighten. Olruggio fucks into him harder, gasping against his shoulder. His mouth brushes over the gland on Qifrey's neck again and, not for the first time these past few days, Qifrey considers asking him to bite down. And, again, he decides against it. Not yet. The thought is too scary, and what if it's enough to make them both lose their senses entirely? It is not a risk he wants to take when everything is already so unfamiliar.

Maybe one day, somewhere further down the line. Qifrey does not think he needs them to do such a thing for their bond to be real, anyway.

Qifrey's gotten used to the sensation of the knot slipping inside of him by now. It always makes him orgasm every time it makes it past his sensitive rim, a loud and messy thing that turns him into a quaking mess in his lover's arms. And when the orgasm passes, he's able to doze comfortably, pressed flush against Olruggio's warm body until it's time to go again, or time to eat, or bathe.

He turns his head and catches Olruggio's mouth with his own in a messy kiss. It lingers for a few moments before Olruggio maneuvers them to lay on their sides, spooning Qifrey like he often did when they slept.

"I love you," Qifrey says drowsily.

Olruggio presses a kiss to his nape. When he responds, his hoarse voice is almost reverent, "Love you."

—

Qifrey wakes in the morning feeling extremely exhausted, his groin throbbing painfully, with an ache at the base of his spine.

He no longer feels sweaty, overheated, or needy. Instead, he feels sticky, pained, and cranky. The bite marks on him sting a little, and the bruises are going to take a long time to fade. He can barely even move his legs without discomfort. The smells around him still remain, but are hardly as strong anymore. They fade into the background just like everything else unless he tries to focus on them.

Sometime in the night he'd ended up on his back, with Olruggio curled up close to his side with his head on his chest. Olruggio, who is still asleep now, looking much more comfortable than Qifrey feels. He squints down at him. The morning sunlight makes it hard to see much of anything clearly, really, but he imagines Olruggio must feel quite peaceful.

"Olly," he mumbles, poking the other's soft cheek. Olruggio groans in protest, nuzzling further into Qifrey's chest. It would be endearing if Qifrey wasn't becoming extremely aware of how badly he needs to go to the toilet. "Olly, if you don't move, there is going to be an incident."

"Mmrgh…?" Olruggio grunts tiredly, his eyes cracking open. "An incident?"

"I have to pee," Qifrey states, voice flat. "Also, my heat is over."

Olruggio takes a moment to process that, and when he does he's suddenly shooting upright so fast it clearly makes him dizzy. Qifrey grabs his elbow to help steady him, and also use it as an aid to pull himself up into a sitting position.

"So you feel better?" Olruggio asks, scooting to the side to give Qifrey room to climb out of bed.

"My whole body hurts, I am very tired, and I am very thirsty," Qifrey replies. "But, in terms of wanting to crawl up the walls, or bite a chunk out of the door, or run into the wilderness, never to return? Yes, I feel much better."

When he gets out of bed, he manages the standing thing just fine despite how wobbly his knees feel. It's only when he tries to take a step that he falls forward and eats stone. The light from the stones illuminates his face as he lies there, thinking that it might just be easier to give up and hope that the ground opens up and swallows him whole.

Olruggio is at his side quickly, helping him to his feet. He checks Qifrey's face for any injuries, finding nothing except for dust on his cheek.

"Steady now," Olruggio says. Qifrey wraps an arm around his shoulder and lets him help him down the hallway to the washroom. There is a noticeable limp in both of their steps. If Olruggio is also in pain, he's doing well not to mention it.

They both need a day or two to sleep all of this off, don't they?

"Olly," Qifrey states minutes later from where he's perched on the toilet, watching Olruggio fish out the usual salves for bite marks and beard burns from the washroom pantry.

"Yeah?" Olruggio says, turning his attention back to Qifrey curiously.

"You did a wonderful job. If that were a test, I would say you passed with flying colors."

Olruggio's face immediately burns bright red. He looks away again. "Didn't think I'd be gettin' graded on it. I swear, everythin' is a teachin' moment for you."

Qifrey smiles. "But..."

Those big eyes snap back over to him, brows furrowed. "But?"

"Get that medicine from Sinocia," Qifrey says pleasantly. "As much as I love having you inside of me, I am never doing that again."

He will take back control of his body in some way. Whatever way he can. Because his body has to be his own, will be his own. If he ever does something like that again, it will be under his own terms, of his own volition.

Besides, neither of them are getting any younger. Clearly, with the way Olruggio is hunched and moving as stiff as some of the elder witches of the Great Hall, neither he nor Qifrey are built for days of nonstop, punishing sex with very little time to breathe in between.

…But he will not complain about Olruggio doting on him this time, nor will he complain about any opportunity to dote on Olruggio in turn. Once he has the energy, he will make him his favorite dessert.

Right now, all he can manage is a laugh as Olruggio walks up to him, bends over, and kisses him on the mouth while he's still on the toilet.

Qifrey's beaming when he exclaims, "Couldn't you wait until I'm finished?"