Work Text:
It was raining. Olgan glared up at the sky as he trudged up the steps towards the inn Ragnarok had unofficially claimed. He had always hated the rain – actually hated water in general, several frightening experiences in his past being the main source. The white mage pulled his hood up even further.
“Why can’t the damn uniforms for the Order be like the Shades? At least the hats are more waterproof than this damned cloak.”
He was grumbling, he knew. Weather like this always brought out the worst in him, an attitude he usually kept buried deep inside. The mage’s scowl was certainly out of place for his calling, and passerby would most likely think him to be one of the Shade Weavers rather than the Order of Kirin. Lucky for him, it was late and there weren’t many travelers on the streets.
Rounding a corner, the inn finally pulled into view, and Olgan managed to put some speed into his step. He was exhausted from the mission Marche had requested of him. A sickness had sprung up in Cadoan, and the city had need of more white mages to gather supplies and heal those who were beyond the help of potions. It was weeks before the Order had managed to contain the sickness. Olgan – being one of the few Masters of the Order – had run himself ragged between organizing and setting tasks for trainees, and forced himself into healing trances nearly beyond his limits. He briefly wondered how Xia had managed for her first weeks serving the Clan as the main healer without her mentor. While the young viera white mage was competent skill wise, she had a tendency to panic while under pressure.
The inn was mostly dark, most of the patrons of the tavern having gone home, and the master of the inn slowly finishing up his cleaning behind the counter. The main fireplace had been banked, casting the back of the tavern in an eerie light. Olgan pushed back his hood and stumbled a bit up the steps towards the bar, catching himself on the bannister. He eyed the stairwell further back, wondering if they truly were worth climbing to get to his room.
“I’m sorry, the tavern has closed for the night, and all the rooms have been booked.” The aged innkeep continued his cleaning, not bothering to turn to see who his patron was. Olgan snorted, and slowly dragged himself past the counter. Despite his unwillingness to climb the single flight to his room, he wanted to be rid of his drenched robes more. He more than likely was bringing shame to the Order with the way he looked – wet hair plastered to his head, despite the hood. His robes were splattered with mud and other unknown muck, and Olgan wondered if he’d have to go to the Temple again for replacements.
“That may be, Master Cluff, but I should hope that my room is still available.” Cluff looked up with surprise, half turning to the mage. The man smiled at the sodden man as he stumbled by.
“Ah! No, young master! I never rent those rooms that Clan Ragnarok keeps!” The innkeep took a harder look at the mage. “You look tired, Master Olgan. Shall I draw you up a bath?” Olgan waved the older man off as he made his way around the counter, shaking his head tiredly. He somehow managed to make it up the stairwell without landing on his face, but he more than likely would pass out in a bath.
Olgan stood before his door, dropping his bag to the floor as quietly as he could, and fumbling in his belt pouch for the key. As his fingers finally grasped the leather strap on the key, the door jerked open and a tanned hand closed around his wrist. Olgan jumped, his other hand flicking out to release the catch on the dagger strapped to his forearm, reflexes still surprisingly quick despite his exhaustion. He couldn’t quite help it, those reflexes were borne from living too long in the Jagds. If you weren’t quick, you were dead.
The other body easily blocked the jab to the chest, twisting another hand around the his other wrist and pulling the knife away. Arms closed about the mage, pulling him into a warm chest as a hand wove it’s way into his hair. Olgan blinked as a familiar scent tightened about him as the arms did.
“Oo–oops! Sorry, sorry.” The voice was familiar, a soft deep rumble against his ear. “Forgot how jumpy you are. I should have known better.”
Kemal. Kemal was hugging him. But he had been sent out on his own mission, hadn’t he?
“Come on, let’s get you inside and dried out.” The fighter pulled back and smiled down at the paler man. Kemal’s short black hair was fluffed out, feathery. Normally it was matted down by his helmet, which meant that the man had been here a while. He leaned down and picked up the mage’s bag, pulling Olgan into the room with a brief tug. It was warm in the room, fireplace casting a warm glow, and towels were piled up on the table. Large fluffy ones, by the looks of them. Olgan blinked stupidly. The taller man smiled at the blank look, dark brown eyes crinkling at the edges.
“Wha—when did you get back?”
“Few days ago. The jewel caravan decided to take the riskier route through the Peaks and Tubola, so it actually got us to Baguba faster than expected. Even with the bandits trying to waylay us.” Kemal’s large hands were already pulling at the belts, tugging at the soaked robes clinging to his mage. “Are you going to help me here, or am I expected to do all the work?”
Olgan swore and swatted the fighter away, blush creeping up his neck. He set his staff carefully on the table, and began fumbling at the collar of his robe. Kemal stepped back, shaking out one of the towels and planting it on Olgan’s head. His hands were nearly rough as he toweled the damp hair off.
“Your letters never spoke of any of this.” Olgan’s words were muffled as he fought with the damned cloth. The lacings had knotted on him, and the soaked leather wasn’t helping him pick them out.
“I wanted to surprise you. Though you took longer than I expected. And of course you get soaked. You never have any luck with the weather, do you? Hopefully you won’t catch anything this time.” The toweling got a little harder, and the voice was verging on laughter.
“Are you – trying to – take my head off?” The rough treatment was waking him up, giving him something to focus on. Olgan finally managed to pull off the outer robe, toeing his boots off at the same time. He was somehow able to kick the boots off to the side, along with his robe, reaching up to grasp the other’s wrists forcing the rough ministrations to slow. Kemal laughed and pushed the towel up, revealing irritated blue eyes. His grin was wide, and Olgan scowled at the taller man. The fighter leaned forward, resting his head gently on the the younger man’s forehead.
“Never, love.” The toothy grin gentled, the man’s deep voice sending a shiver down the mage’s spine. Olgan flushed again, this time a faint pink dusting across his cheeks. It wasn’t often he and Kemal were able to be this close. The Clan was busy, Marche desperately trying to make up for the time he was incapacitated. Too much to do, and that often left them on different missions, different errands.
The fighter whipped the towel off, tossing it aside. A hand gently cupped Olgan’s face, gently stroking the edge of the blush with a thumb. Olgan tentatively smiled and fisted a hand in the leather top, drawing Kemal closer. The fighter returned the smile and pulled the mage in, licking the other’s lips before sealing over them.
It had been too long, too many weeks of forced abstinence. Olgan moaned into the fighter’s mouth, his other hand going up and tightening at Kemal’s neck, trying desperately to pull him closer. Kemal pulled the other flush against him, a hand at the small of Olgan’s back. He tugged at the tunic, pushing it up enough to slip a hand under, revealing the mage’s pale skin. One calloused hand traced the many scars scattered there, traveling up to gently pinch and pull at a nipple. The other hand trailed lower, sliding into Olgan’s breeches, fingers rubbing the skin just above the cleft of his ass.
Olgan moaned and arched into the touches, grinding into the hardness pressed against him. Kemal had discovered that spot by accident, early into their relationship. Olgan had been coming down from his orgasm, when the fighter petted down his back and lingered there. The result had dragged the high out longer for the mage, forcing him down harder as he rode out the feeling, much to the amusement to the older man.
The fingers gave him a final stroke, before traveling lower, cupping his ass. Olgan gasped as the fighter delicately teased his entrance, Kemal slowly backing them up towards the bed. The mage trembled, wondering why his lover never thought of being anything but a lowly fighter. With those talented hands, surely Kemal would be better suited as a bard. Kemal chuckled at the reactions he was drawing from the mage. He broke the kiss to trail down his chin and latched onto Olgan’s neck, worrying the skin there with teeth and tongue.
Still tired and definitely distracted, Olgan jerked in response to his legs hitting the mattress. The fighter slipped his hand around to the front of the mage’s pants, and while he gave a firm stroke, hooked a leg around the other’s knee and sent him tumbling back onto the mattress.
Olgan gasped, thrusting up into Kemal’s hand, and began pulling blindly at the other’s top, needing to feel more skin. Kemal pulled away long enough to allow the leather top to be pulled up and off, hitching his own hands up to return the favor. Once Olgan was free of the restraining cloth, Kemal resumed suckling at the pale skin, following the pale lines crisscrossing over the mage’s body. Kemal kissed down the lightly muscular chest, gently lapping at one dusky nipple.
He missed this. Oh, how he missed this. Olgan felt Kemal’s smile against his skin, one hand fumbling at the edge of the bed. The hand remaining about his length tightened, a firm yet gentle grip. A low cry escaped, hips thrusting up, hand tangling in black hair, desperate for more. The fighter gave one last stroke of tongue against the erect nipple before sucking it in. Teeth lightly grazed the flesh as the mage writhed.
The bed shifted as Kemal rose to his knees, drawing back to look at the man below him. He gave Olgan’s member one more firm stroke before completely pulling away. Olgan was flushed, eyes half-lidded, chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath. Blue eyes slowly focused on Kemal, a frown pulling at his lips. The fighter smiled, loving the rumpled look to the normally composed mage. All that control gone because of him.
“Why did you stop?” A glare was forming, but instead of being intimidating, it nearly looked like a pout. Kemal merely responded by grabbing mage’s leggings and jerking them down. Olgan’s freed arousal bobbed, flushed and precum dribbled slowly out the head. The mage jerked at the near violence of his pants being discarded, eyes widening. Kemal pulled a vial from the folds in the blanket, the item he had been fumbling for earlier quickly opened and oil spread quickly onto the fighter’s waiting palm.
“It’s been a long time, love, and while I would love to tease you until you begged for it, I fear as tired as you are, you’ll just fall asleep before we even get to that point.”
Olgan opened his mouth to snarl, but his head dropped back, moan strangling out in place of the sharp response. Kemal had firmly planted a finger against his hole and his head dropping down to nuzzle at the weeping erection. A warm, wet swipe was distraction enough for the man to slip said finger inside, delving deep. Olgan’s body remembered the feeling, though it was tighter than normal from their time apart. He arched, uncertain if he wanted to push down onto the finger gently probing, or thrust up to the hot mouth lapping at him. He settled for the moment on burying his hands into soft hair, grip tightening as the other continued to tease.
Kemal licked up the hard length, dragging his tongue slowly across the tip, savoring the taste of his mage. He latched on right below the head, sucking gently. Olgan whimpered, hips jerking up as the searching digit deep inside brushed dangerously close to his prostate. He managed a few more thrusts before a hand pushed him down firmly by the hip, pinning him to the bed. That hot mouth slowly descended on him, down deep nearly to the root, teeth kept carefully back as another finger joined the first. The two fingers began thrusting slowly, pushing closer and closer towards that swollen nub inside.
“Please...please, please--!”
A chuckle nearly undid him, combined with fingers finally sliding over that spot. The mage twisted under the restraining hand, unable to do anything but feel as yet another long finger pushed deep, scissoring and stretching. Kemal pulled up rapidly from Olgan’s arousal, hand pulling free of the tight entrance. Olgan lay panting, eyes shut and still attempting to thrust. He whined, no longer even able to beg. The fighter took a moment to stare, wondering briefly how he ended up with the beautiful brunette spread out below him. It probably wouldn’t be long before they were separated by missions again, and he wanted to keep this moment for those lonely nights.
Kemal fumbled at his pants, flinging the cloth belt to the side. The loosened cloth of his pants pooled at his knees and the man quickly kicked them back and over the edge of the bed. A lightly trembling hand reached for the vial, only to find that it was not where he left it. Frowning, Kemal looked up in time to see a sharp smirk as a slick hand closed around his thick arousal.
Olgan couldn’t help but laugh at the bliss that flickered across the other’s face. But while he loved to turn the tables around, tease for tease, Kemal had brought him desperately close to that edge. He pulled at the other’s erection, an aching want for the thick length inside him. He reached up, slinging an arm around the bulkier man and pulled himself up to latch on Kemal’s neck, mouthing at the tanned skin.
Kemal shuddered and found himself pushing the smaller man down, hitching the deceptively muscled legs up in the air. He steadied himself against his mage’s entrance, head slotting against and stretching the ring of muscle as he pushed. The fit was tight. Kemal thrust forward slowly, not wanting to cause the other pain. It was difficult to keep himself from shoving the other further into the bed and fucking every whine right out of those perfect lips.
Olgan hissed at the slow progress Kemal was setting, arching his hips up and taking the man further into himself. The sudden deep thrust made both shudder, Olgan’s hips twitching back again to take the rest of Kemal in. It burned, but the mage merely threw his head back against the bed and moaned. Kemal buried his head into the nape of the mage’s neck, snapping and grinding his hips down into the tight heat. Another grind before the man managed to still. Olgan twisted underneath him, trying to encourage Kemal to resume thrusting.
“I’m not—going to break—!”
The voice was a breathy whine, and Kemal chuckled. Even as gone as he clearly was, Olgan still was trying to be in control.
“Fine. If that’s—what you wish.”
Kemal drew his hips back, settling his arms behind the mage’s knees and pushing them up further. Nearly doubling the other over on the bed, the fighter began to thrust in earnest. He leaned up, catching Olgan’s mouth with his own, swallowing down the moans escaping. It was nearly savage, bed rocking with the rough thrusts, tongues and mouths and hands grappling for dominance. Kemal shifted, widening his legs and angling his hips deeper for that spot he knew would send the mage over. Olgan keened, hips snapping up. Close! So close!
With a cry, Olgan wrapped his arms about Kemal. The fighter had worked an arm free of a leg, fisting the erection bobbing between them. Olgan gasped, tightening and Kemal shuddered at the rippling heat gripping his own erection. He ground down minutely, but it wasn’t enough.
“Just a little more, love.”
Kemal hitched his arms underneath his mage, pulling the pale man up as he sat back. Olgan gasped as he was thrust up into, eyes fluttering closed as the fighter began to buck erratically. He shifted down at each thrust, gasping and tightening unconsciously. Kemal in turn, tightened his grip, pulling desperately on Olgan’s arousal.
Olgan stiffened, streams of white coating Kemal’s hand, and he continued to stroke the mage, massaging the seed into skin and drawing out the orgasm. Kemal thrust up on last time, grinding as deep as he could as he reached his own release. Olgan shuddered as he slowly came down, slumping limply against the fighter. Kemal ran a shaking hand down Olgan’s back, giving the man a brief stroke at where they were still joined.
They sat like that for a long moment, breathing deeply. Kemal grunted as he softened, member slipping out of his mage. Olgan made a small noise of protest, eyes slipping closed as he buried his face into Kemal’s shoulder. The fighter smiled, gathering a far corner of the blankets to wipe them down briefly. He hitched an arm under Olgan, lifting the man as he scooted back. He managed to stand just long enough to pull the blankets back and gently slipped them into the bed.
Olgan mumbled something under his breath, already slipping into sleep. The fighter smiled tiredly, pulling the covers over them and drawing his mage close. They’d clean up further in the morning.