Work Text:
It shouldn’t have affected Scar as much as it did when he first saw Grian’s new outfit.
A sudden heat wave had swept over the vicinity of Magic Mountain, leaving all its occupants sticky and hot and miserable. Everyone, in unspoken synchronicity, made the decision to remove a good chunk of fabric from their wardrobes, changing into short-sleeved shirts and short pants in order to not die of heatstroke. Everyone except Impulse, who was still wearing his normal long pants and jacket and seemed to be in a one-sided conflict with the weather. And, sure, it was slightly jarring to see Mumbo in something other than his usual suit, and it was amusing to see Gem struggling to maintain her spooky aesthetic when she physically and emotionally couldn’t wear a shirt and jacket and cape all at once, but the changes hadn’t warranted anything more than a teasing comment from Scar. The novelty for them wore off soon enough.
The novelty, in Grian’s case, did not wear off soon enough.
When Scar first spotted Grian’s summer outfit during a short, relaxed flight back from Skizz’s base, he nearly flew into a tree with the force of his double take. His first thought, while struggling to both land without dying and keep Grian in his line of sight, was: oh my god, legs. His second thought, directly on the heels of the first, was: I am never going to live this down.
At first glance, Grian’s new clothes weren't much different from his usual ones; a red top the colour of a stop sign, and dark coloured bottoms. What had stopped Scar in his tracks was the amount of skin they showed now. Grian was standing in the skeleton of a building, shadows draped over his frame, yet Scar was still able to see how his arms and shoulders were on full display from the open-back tank top he had on, designed to accommodate for his wings. Instead of his usual jeans, he now wore black denim shorts that were a sensible length, hitting just above mid-thigh, the muscles of his legs toned from launching himself into flight and from hauling lumber and stone and other building materials over long distances. In no way, shape, or form were the shorts meant to be attractive, but because it was Grian wearing them, it was incredibly attractive to Scar.
As Scar continued watching, Grian took a step out from the cover of the building and was bathed in light, turning radiant and ethereal as a sunbeam knifing through the dense green canopy of a forest, an impressionist painting of lean, strong limbs. Then Scar focused fully on Grian, and something low in his stomach dropped open.
In the past, Grian had told Scar that he only had two options when he got too much sun: freckled or sun-burnt. At the time, Scar had been too busy being amused at the thought of a sun-burnt Grian that he hadn't even considered the other option. Now, Grian raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, the muscles of his arm shifting, turning slightly so that he wasn’t staring straight at it. This put him at an angle for Scar to see that the normally faint freckles dusted across his cheekbones and shoulders were now darkened to the colour of coffee grounds, and, holy shit, they were really working for Scar.
With an irritated flip of his wings, Grian grabbed the collar of his tank top and yanked it up to wipe the sweat off his jaw, exposing the pale curve of his stomach, and Scar could actually feel part of his brain short-circuit. Grian let his hand drop slightly from his face, his lips parting in a sigh or an inhale or a silent complaint, his hair messy and darkened with sweat. It was almost too much, bare skin and thighs and freckles, dark eyes and a red mouth and sweat-soaked hair, all of which created an image that was, to Scar, practically pornographical, and it was then that Scar became painfully, blindingly aware of the raging fucking boner in his pants.
He practically sprinted back to his room to deal with his problem, and didn't even make it to his bed before shoving a hand down his shorts to quell the burning need in his gut.
He’d thought it was a one-and-done situation, had thought, glad I got that out of my system, while kneeling on the floor of his room, slumped against the wall, fingers coated in his own come. But then the next morning, he’d woken up drenched in sweat and half-hard with the fading remnants of a dream of Grian leaning above him, straddling his face, thighs framing his head while he slowly undid his shorts, and maybe Scar did actually have a problem.
And what was really shit about this situation was that Scar couldn’t even do anything about it. Or—he could, technically, he’d been in a relationship with Grian since around the end of Hermitcraft Nine. But he could tell his friend was elbows-deep in a new build, and it was best to leave Grian alone when he got into the flow of a project. If he got distracted he never finished anything. In fact, both of them were extremely busy people; Scar even had his own long, long list of tasks he had to complete, so he resigned himself to the fact that his hand and imagination would have to be enough for him for the time being.
His imagination was more than happy to work overtime. He could be doing anything: decorating a part of his base or reorganizing his storage, and out of nowhere he’d be hit by random thoughts of pure, unbridled want. Licking and kissing the freckles dotted along Grian’s skin, leaving the surface wet and shiny with spit. Scratching thin red lines along pale legs with his fingernails before leaving bite marks along his inner thigh. Grian’s legs painted in come, pooling in the dips and creases of his muscles, while he stared up at Scar with a ruined expression. Legs hooked around Scar’s shoulders, thighs bracketing his head, a hand fisted in his hair pushing him further down on—
So maybe Scar had a thing for Grian’s thighs. And if that wasn’t already bad enough, the constant heat somehow made the whole situation worse, causing an almost hyper-awareness of his body, clothes sticking and clinging to his skin, sweat coating every surface, making it all too easy to imagine how it felt when he was tangled up with Grian.
Since he’d made the decision to leave Grian to his work, Scar now had plenty of time to miserably reconsider all his life choices that had led up to this moment. Even in the desert, at least from the scattered and fragmented memories Scar could recall, Grian had still insisted on wearing his usual pants and sweater no matter how hot and sunny it got. Scar didn’t understand why he was so fixated on Grian’s new outfit; he couldn’t even call it a clothing kink, not like how Grian had a clothing kink. Sword to his throat, he supposed he would describe it as more of a lack-of-clothing kink, that Grian’s clothes were made sexy only through knowledge of what he looked like with them off.
And it wasn’t like this was a brand-new thing for him or anything. He’d seen Grian’s bare legs before, was very intimately acquainted with them, in fact, so he didn’t understand how he’d gotten to the point where Grian would pass by him, and he was barely able to restrain himself from pushing Grian down into the dirt and getting those thighs wrapped around him. He supposed—during the resulting post-nut clarity from jerking off after seeing Grian working on the roof of his build, on his hands and knees as he fitted stone slabs together, sweat coating every inch of exposed skin—that it tracked with the rest of his life experiences, where he only became fixated on something when it was directly in front of him. Every single time he saw Grian out of the corner of his eye and caught a flash of bare leg, he felt like a fish with a shiny lure being dangled right in front of its face.
It got to the point where he didn’t even want to be the one to initiate a conversation, because there was an extremely high chance that he would immediately fall to his knees and say: Please, please crush my skull with your thighs, instead of saying something a normal person would, like: Hey, how've you been?
As it turned out, Grian was the one to initiate a conversation first, sneaking up on Scar when he'd been laying out the undercarriage of his next train car. Grian grabbed Scar’s wrist and started dragging him over to his newly completed storage room, wings twitching with excitement. “Scar, come look, come look, you’re gonna be so proud of me.”
After days of barely interacting with each other outside of distracted half-waves to each other in passing, receiving the full brunt of Grian’s attention felt a bit like going hours without drinking any water and then getting sprayed full in the face with a hose that was set on jet mode. Scar was left reeling slightly from the force of it. Then his gaze dropped lower to Grian’s legs, tracing the lines of his thigh muscles, the curve of his calf, and Scar thought, slightly hysterically, Oh right, I want him carnally.
Grian screeched to a stop inside the storage room, dropping Scar’s hand and spinning around to point at the far wall, talking a mile a minute about the design of the room and his thought processes behind everything.
“Uh-huh,” Scar said distractedly, preoccupied by the thought of Grian pushing him up against the rows of chests and slotting his knee between Scar’s legs. Oblivious to the complete filth playing in Scar’s mind, Grian moved on to the actual storage system itself, gesturing enthusiastically at labels and flipping open chests. And Scar was trying his absolute best to pay attention to what Grian was saying—he was proud of his friend, really, he knew how monumental a thing it was that not only had Grian finished a project he’d assigned himself, and he’d also came up with an actual storage system that worked for him—but legs. Pale skin covered with brown hair and a faint sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as Grian crouched down to point out the bottom row of chests, the hem of his shorts riding up. Scar wanted to feel the shift of muscles against his tongue.
“Well?” Grian asked expectantly, apparently finished his little tour. “What do you think?’
“I'm sorry,” Scar blurted out.
Grian’s feather’s flattened slightly at Scar’s sudden outburst. Slowly closing the lid of the chest, he turned back to Scar. “Erm. Okay. What are you sorry for?”
And maybe exposure to Grian’s bare legs had actually fried Scar’s brain, because instead of deflecting like he should have done, Scar started trying to explain himself, to his distant internal horror, words spilling out of his mouth before his rational thought could catch up. “It’s just—you were so excited to show me your storage room and I’m—I feel bad because instead of admiring your organization skills, I’m having inappropriate thoughts about your legs.”
It was at that exact moment that Joel walked by them and caught the tail end of Scar’s confession, one of his eyebrows flicking up judgmentally. Scar was struck with the urge to cover his face with his hands, briefly considering if he could just equip his wings and fly the hell out of there without anyone noticing, before deciding: fuck it, why not consider the most extreme scenario while he was at it, and briefly imagined the moon crashing into the server again, killing everyone instantly and ending his suffering. Grian wiggled his fingers at Joel's retreating figure in cheerful greeting and farewell, before turning his attention back to Scar.
Scar had expected Grian to laugh him off, or raise an eyebrow before merely moving on from his admission. He did not expect Grian to take a step closer to him, interest beginning to creep over his face like the sun coming up over the horizon, and ask, “What sort of inappropriate thoughts?”
All the fantasies Scar’d had in the past few days violently flashed into the forefront of his brain and he nearly tipped over from the force of it. The most he could manage was a strangled, “Uh,” before he snapped his mouth shut, not trusting himself to say anything.
Grian took pity on him, only smiling briefly instead of outright laughing in his face. Tucking his hands behind his back, he leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “It’s okay; take your time.”
Scar could feel his face heating from Grian’s gentle teasing and the near-physical sensation of his dark gaze, and he gave in to the urge to cover his face with his hands, swallowing down the nervous laughter he felt building up in his chest. A beat later, he felt warm hands wrap around his forearms, not pushing his arms down or away, just resting reassuringly against them.
Usually, Scar had no problems telling Grian what he wanted, loudly, vocally, and repeatedly, but today it was too hot, there was sweat on the back of his neck, his clothes were sticking to his skin, and everything was combining together to make spoken words a far away concept right now. Not to mention he’d been thinking non-stop about Grian’s thighs over the past few days, and he didn’t know where to even begin explaining what he wanted, where the starting point of his circle of thoughts was. He knew Grian was still waiting for a response, and he was going to answer him, he just . . . needed a minute. Not for the first time in his life, he wished that words and thoughts were physical objects, wished that he could grab them and neatly line them up into something that made sense, like laying down bricks to make the wall of a building.
“I don't know if this helps,” Grian said into the awkward and mildly painful silence, “but there's really no need for you to—to feel bad about anything. I mean . . . I have had my tongue in your ass more times than I have fingers on my hand, so I think we’re kind of past the point of embarrassment now.”
Oddly enough, it did help. Grian’s words were enough to startle a laugh out of Scar, unraveling the tangled knot of thoughts in his mind. He let his hands drop from his face, and Grian slid his hands down until they met Scar’s, gently swinging their clasped hands together.
“There you are,” Grian said, his voice filled with warmth. Scar couldn't help but momentarily bask in the attention, like a cat stretching out in a pool of sunlight. Squeezing his hands, Grian prompted, “Well?”
“I want to take your shorts off,” Scar said in a rush, trying not to trip over his words.
A look of relief passed over Grian’s face. “Oh, great, I really thought I was gonna need to interrogate you longer to get a proper answer out of you. But wait, really? That’s it?” Grian asked. When Scar shrugged and nodded in response, Grian said, “Can I make a suggestion then?”
“Sure, go ahead.” Scar idly wondered if it was a not-smart move to let Grian make a decision for him. It was a toss-up between whether it would end amazingly well for both of them, or so terribly that he wouldn't be able to look Grian in the eyes for over a week.
Halting the movement of their hands, Grian appraised Scar for another moment. There was a familiar look on his face: dark eyes narrowed slightly, head tilted, mouth on the precipice of being a smile. It was a look that Scar was very, very well acquainted with, a look that meant Grian was puzzling out another way to thoroughly take Scar apart and leave him drowning in overwhelming sensation. He felt his mouth go dry, a low flicker of heat stir in his gut under the attention of that unblinking, unrelenting gaze. Finally, Grian asked, “How does grinding down against my thigh until you come sound to you?”
An image of Grian’s thigh pressed flush between his legs while he murmured encouragement into Scar’s ear flashed through Scar’s mind, and he let out a low whine before he could stop himself. Grian’s eyes flicked down to his mouth, biting his lip in an effort to stifle a smile, before meeting Scar’s gaze again.
Realizing he hadn’t given Grian an actual response, Scar said, “That—yes please, that sounds like the best thing in the world right now.” A distant part of him figured he should probably feel embarrassed about agreeing so quickly and so enthusiastically, but when presented with the incredibly delicious offer of Grian’s thigh, what was he supposed to do, not take it?
Grian was laughing, loud and bright, chin tipped up and his eyes curved with amusement. Scar knew the laughter wasn’t directed at him, it was the type of laughter where airy delight pooled and condensed in your chest, where it became too large for your ribcage to contain and had to escape your body somehow to be shared with the world. Scar was helpless to do anything but smile back.
“Dude, why didn't you say anything sooner?” Grian asked, tugging on Scar’s hands. “Ah, never mind, do you have time to do this right now?”
And when Grian was looking at him like that, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, black eyes practically sparkling, sunlight turning his eyelashes and the tips of his hair to gold, Scar didn’t have any choice but to agree.
He was led to Grian's base, built in the cool shadow of the mountain, hanging on the side like a human-sized cerulean birdhouse, where Grian waved him inside the bedroom with a theatrical sweep of his arm. Scar stopped a couple paces past the door, toeing off his shoes and socks, and paused for a moment to take in the familiar space. Walls and floor and ceiling in varying shades of blue, a lantern on the side dresser that was rendered unnecessary by the daylight that filtered in through the copper-latticed windows. An unmade bed, the blankets and pillows strewn haphazardly across the surface in a way that made Scar think of a nest. There were a few loose feathers in the corners of the room, blue and yellow and red, and the sight of them made him smile.
The soft click of a lock nudged him out of his perusal of the space. Turning around, he saw Grian still standing by the door, hand on the doorknob, an affectionate tilt to his mouth. Scar wanted Grian’s hands all over him, like, yesterday.
“Come here,” Scar said, voice rough.
It only took a few moments for Grian to cross the room, but it somehow felt like both forever and an impossibly short time. And then Grian was directly in front of him, shifting wings and sun-warmed skin and dark eyes as endless as the Void itself, all Scar’s to take.
He kissed Grian, threading his fingers through pale brown hair that was damp with sweat, and hands came to rest on his hips in response. Grian tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his lips parting invitingly, sweet and hot as a summer afternoon, an offer that Scar would fall over himself to accept every time it was presented to him. He slid his tongue into Grian's mouth, and—being the way that he was, where he’d die if he didn't annoy someone every five minutes—Grian bit down on it as soon as it passed near his teeth.
Scar jolted back, pressing his stinging tongue to the roof of his mouth while Grian tilted his head back and laughed, the sound turning screechy around the edges in the way it did whenever he was messing with someone. There was probably something very wrong with Scar, seeing as how the biting just made his dick harder, instead of making him mad or annoyed like a normal, sane person.
“You're an evil little creature,” Scar said, fighting back his own smile. He ducked back down and captured Grian’s laughing mouth with his, half-braced for another sharp bite that thankfully never came, sliding his tongue against Grian’s who let out a tight, needy sound that made Scar’s dick twitch in his shorts. Grian tasted metallic and slightly bitter-sweet, what Scar had slowly learned over the years was the taste of golden carrots from another person’s mouth.
Grian shifted so that his foot was between Scar’s, his abdomen brushing against where Scar was half-hard in his shorts, which was just so unfair of him to do. Scar moaned at the sensation, trying to shift closer, but was stopped by the hands at his hips, and he felt Grian smile against his mouth. Oh, how quickly the tables had turned.
He was allowed a few moments of grinding shallowly up against Grian before he was pushed gently away with a hand on his chest. In retaliation, he kissed the tip of Grian’s nose—a silly little gesture that never failed to make Grian blush harder and fluster. Pulling back, Scar watched in fascination as red crept unevenly across Grian’s face, his eyebrows twitching like he was aiming for annoyed, but couldn’t quite make it there. Scar moved on to kiss the ridge of Grian’s cheekbone where it was hot and slightly damp from sweat, then pressed the tip of his tongue to skin.
“Eugh,” Grian said, and Scar gave a hum of acknowledgement. While Grian’s hands moved to unbutton Scar’s shirt, Scar busied himself by licking a droplet of sweat off Grian’s jaw right where it met his earlobe, the taste of salt flooding his mouth. Feathers rustled with a sound like a whisper as Grian shivered. Wanting to feel that reflexive twitch again, Scar began pressing kisses to shoulders that were dotted with dark freckles, at the border where red fabric met pale skin.
“Scar, stop,” Grian bit out, an undercurrent of annoyance to his voice that filled Scar with a rush of excitement at being the cause of. “I'm trying to unbutton your shirt and you—this isn't helping.”
With a statement like that, Scar couldn't resist sinking his teeth into the meat of Grian's shoulder in response, canines leaving divots behind in his skin.
Grian jolted at the sharp sensation, hands skittering across Scar’s shirt. “You suck so much.”
“That's what she said,” Scar said, mostly on instinct, and Grian slapped his chest.
“Scar, you—that doesn't even—right, I'm actually going to leave,” Grian said, flicking another button open, “I'm gonna leave and you can—can fucking get yourself off, all alone—”
“Nooo,” Scar said, his voice starting out as a petulant whine and ending up as laughter, “no, you can't leave a man all by himself in this state.” Giddiness filled his chest, leaving him feeling floaty and almost light-headed, intertwining with the arousal that had been curled heavy and comfortable inside him ever since the conversation in Grian’s new storage room. He was so turned on right now, excitement thrumming through his body like electricity through a wire, but he couldn’t resist the urge to extend this trivial conversation that filled him with breathless amusement, that resulted in the irritated movements of Grian’s fingers and the smile he couldn’t quite smother as he glanced up at Scar.
It was a mutual desire of both of theirs to tease and prod at each other, to draw this shared moment out for as long as possible—such a far cry from the clawing, bleeding desperation of those dream-like worlds of green and yellow and red, where a single mistake could cause one of them to disappear forever. Here, they could do this whenever they wanted, spend however long they wanted in each other’s company. They had all the time in the world.
The last button of Scar’s shirt undone, Grian took a moment to rake his eyes over Scar’s torso, hands smoothing up his sides and dragging over his chest. Scar’s breathing stuttered under that focused gaze as a thumb swiped over his nipple, calluses scraping against sensitive skin. Nerve endings exploded to life under the touch, like a piece of flint scraping across steel, red-hot sparks crackling in its wake.
“God, I need to fuck you with as many of your clothes on as possible sometime soon,” Grian muttered, shoving Scar’s shirt off his shoulders so that it pooled at his elbows.
Clothing kink, Scar thought affectionately; he couldn't stop the eager shiver that went through him at Grian’s words and prayed he hadn't noticed. “You've fucked me with my clothes on before,” he said in an effort to save face, pulling his shirt free of his arms and letting it drop to the floor. Grian’s deft fingers went to the waistband of Scar’s shorts, knuckles brushing against Scar’s abdomen as he undid the zipper.
“Well, yeah, but I—I—” Grian let out a frustrated huff, tugging angrily at the fabric of Scar’s shorts. “Why are your shorts so bloody tight?”
Scar couldn't quite stifle his snicker, and it turned into full-on laughter as Grian scowled up at him. Pressing an appeasing kiss to Grian’s disgruntled mouth, he said, “Here, let me,” his hands joining Grian’s in working tight fabric down his legs, the task made more difficult thanks to the material of the shorts clinging to his sweat-sticky skin. His shorts and underwear soon joined his shirt on the floor. The room felt cooler—although not by much—now that all his clothes were off.
Grian went to take off his shirt, undoing the complicated mess of buttons and ties and strings that made up the back to accommodate for his wings, his movements choppy in a way that spoke of self-consciousness, and dropped his shirt on the floor after a slight pause. Light from the windows lined the contours of his chest and stomach, the trail of brown hair leading down his stomach cut off by the fabric of his dark shorts. So pretty, Scar thought, the words catching in his throat, something about the way Grian’s gently shifting wings framed his bare torso rendering Scar unable to do anything but just stare.
Grian tapped the waistband of his shorts, and Scar’s attention was caught and held by the movement of long, slender fingers. Grian said, “Aren’t these what you wanted to take off? Scar?” he added, when he received no response.
“Huh,” Scar said intelligently, then snapped his head up when he finally registered what Grian had said. “I—right, yeah,” he said, and Grian’s mouth twitched like he was holding back laughter. Scar started undoing Grian’s shorts, mouth dry with anticipation and his hands thankfully steady. Letting out a low hum, Grian wound his arms around Scar’s shoulders, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Dark fabric slid down to bare his thighs, like a curtain being drawn back to unveil a priceless work of art.
“Oh my god, freckles,” Scar groaned, wrapping his fingers around Grian’s thigh as he kicked his shorts free of his ankles. Grian's thighs were, in fact, dusted with freckles in the area where they’d been covered by his shorts. Sliding his hand around to the back of Grian’s leg, short pale hair brushing against his palm, Scar couldn’t help but imagine Grian stretched out and laid bare in the sun in order to get freckles this dark on his upper thighs. Grian with his wings spread out behind him, his skin summer-warm, the sun tracing every line of his body and lightening his dark eyes to the colour of honeyed tea—
Grian sighed and shrugged slightly, a sort of what can you do? gesture. “Yeah, I know. UV light does not like me at all. But like I've said before, it's either this or the worst sunburn anyone's ever seen, so—” He cut himself off with a gasp as Scar dug his fingers into his leg.
“They're so hot,” Scar breathed with a shake of his head, in both disbelief and opposition to where Grian was going with his sentence.
Now Grian was completely naked except for his boxers, and Scar rested his fingers against the waistband. “On or off?” he asked in response to the curious look Grian shot him. When they had sex, sometimes Grian would feel more comfortable with his underwear on, sometimes he’d want them off. Scar always made sure to check with him; he wanted this to be good for both of them. Little check-ins like these were a small, subtle way to ensure Grian felt cared for and loved.
They’d done this enough times that Grian understood what Scar was getting at, what he’d been trying to convey through his actions and unspoken words. A smile began to tug at the corners of Grian’s mouth, before he halted it in his tracks by sinking teeth into his bottom lip, his face scrunching slightly like he was trying to stop his emotions from escaping beyond the confines of his body. “On, thanks,” he answered, then pressed a kiss to the corner of Scar’s mouth. His voice turned demanding as he said, “Now get on the bed.”
Scar shivered and nodded, walking backwards, pulling Grian along with him. He smoothed his hands along the backs and sides of Grian’s wings, taking care to avoid the more sensitive areas, keeping his touch sensual and soothing instead of arousing. Grian gave a pleased hum, wings shifting and rubbing back against Scar’s palms.
“Hello there, you gorgeous things,” Scar said appreciatively, stroking a wide, brilliantly blue primary feather. He never got tired of playing with Grian’s wings, miracles of nature that they were, soft and delicate under his fingertips, yet strong enough to easily carry Grian’s weight. And they were so responsive too, reacting beautifully to Scar’s touch, always twitching eagerly under his hands, whether that be from preening or foreplay or just brushing up against them in passing.
Grian’s feathers ruffled up slightly with a sound that was almost like pages of a book being turned. “Stop cooing at my wings, Scar,” Grian said with a giggle, “they’re not cats or dogs that you’re trying to make friends with, or something.”
Scar ignored Grian’s comment, trailing his hand along glossy coverts, avoiding the places where the wings joined to Grian’s back. “Yeah, I only want you because I think your wings are cool,” Scar said as Grian continued nudging him in the direction of the bed. “Sorry you had to find out this way.”
“I think I’ll live,” Grian said dryly.
The backs of Scar’s calves hit the side of the bed, and he sat down, breaking away from Grian and shoving aside blankets and pillows to make himself comfortable near the headboard. After a few seconds of rummaging around in the bedside table, Grian joined him on the bed with a rustle of sheets, shifting until he was straddling Scar’s hips, bracing a hand against his shoulder for support. Scar shivered as he watched the flex of muscles under freckled skin. He took Grian's face in hand and guided him into another open-mouthed kiss.
Dextrous fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking loosely. Grian’s hand was unexpectedly slick with lube, and the smooth glide caused electricity to shoot up Scar’s spine, startling a ragged moan out of him. He remembered the sound of a drawer opening; Grian was always so well-prepared for sex, no matter the time or location. Grian made a pleased noise against Scar’s mouth then immediately shifted to a fast, steady pace without easing him into it. Scar dropped a hand onto the solid thigh bracketing his hip, his fingers tightening and loosening in response to the strokes along his dick.
“I’m glad that I got my storage room done and out of the way,” Grian said casually, like he didn’t have his hand around Scar this instant, “so that I can do this with you without it looming in the back of my mind.” He brushed a kiss against Scar’s temple. “You caught me at a good time.”
“You don’t even know how close I was to just snapping and dragging you away from your build,” Scar admitted. He tried to lift his hips to meet Grian’s strokes, but Grian tightened his legs, pinning Scar down and forcing him to stay still, an easy show of strength that made Scar feel more than a little lightheaded. Scar was tempted to give a half-hearted struggle just to feel Grian manhandle him again. “I was willing to do anything just to get you somewhere where I could peel all the clothes off your body.”
Grian clicked his tongue in a way that sounded more amused than annoyed. “All those talks where you told me not to procrastinate, and you were planning to seduce me away from my work?”
“Shut up.” Muscles bunched under his fingers as Grian shifted his leg, and Scar couldn't stop the shudder that went through his body. Digging his fingers into Grian’s thigh, he said, “You know, if you really look at it, it’s your fault. You’re the one who decided to wear these—these provocative shorts in public.”
“Well, sorry,” Grian responded, huffing a laugh against Scar’s jaw, “for wanting to wear comfortable clothes, man, I guess I’ll just go back to wearing trousers and long-sleeves even though it’s burning hot outside.”
Scar had a retort half-formed, but it was lost in the feeling of Grian’s fingers wrapped around him, the practiced and purposeful movement of his wrist. The temperature of the room was just shy of being uncomfortably hot, humid air gusting over his skin like a slow exhale, mixing with the heat of Grian’s breath as he trailed kisses along Scar’s face. They’ll probably need to change the sheets after, what with how damp the fabric was getting. Grian’s other hand slid up to cradle the back of Scar’s neck, thumb resting against the place where the top of his spine met the base of his skull. Swallowing down a low whine, Scar pressed his face into the crook of Grian’s neck, where the smell of sweat and heat and summer clung to his skin.
It was beginning to occur to Scar that Grian was straight-up not going to stop unless Scar outright told him. He could feel how close he was to the edge, especially as Grian started doing this thing where he scraped his fingernail under the head on every stroke, which felt fucking amazing, but was not what Scar had been promised. He wanted Grian surrounding him with a thigh pressed firmly between his legs.
Scar slapped at Grian’s arm to get his attention. “Grian, Grian, I’m—you need to get your thigh against me right now.”
“I don't know what you mean,” Grian said, in a tone that said he knew exactly what Scar meant. “My thighs are against you right now.” He slid his leg against Scar’s hip in emphasis, and Scar gasped at the teasing sensation that wasn't enough.
“Grian,” Scar begged and watched as Grian’s eyes lit up at his pleading tone, “if you don't get your thigh against my dick this instant, I'm literally gonna die.”
After a final brush of his thumb against the tip, Grian let go. In immediate contradiction to what he asked for, Scar’s hips jerked forward, chasing the stimulation, a frustrated noise slipping involuntarily out of him when he found nothing. Even when he’d asked Grian to stop, his body still reacted as if it needed Grian’s touch like oxygen.
After taking a moment to calm down and catch his breath, Scar tapped Grian’s hip and asked, “How do you wanna do this?”
“Okay, um,” Grian said, climbing off of Scar’s lap, “how about we just—”
It took some effort, but after a couple more minutes of manoeuvring, they managed to find a position where Scar could best grind down against a curve of muscle. They ended up with Grian on his knees, sitting back on his heels, with Scar straddling his thigh and bracing his forearms on Grian’s shoulders for support. Scar stayed hovering just over his leg for now, letting Grian make a couple final adjustments, his tongue poking slightly out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. Scar felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin with excitement. He wouldn’t be surprised if he came instantly as soon as he made contact with Grian’s thigh.
“Right, let’s try this, then.” Grian’s tone was pleased, a similar intonation as to when he’d discovered a new colour palette or shape of a structure he wanted to try. There was still leftover lube coating Grian’s hand, and after a moment of consideration he dragged it down his thigh, leaving his skin slick and glistening. Scar almost choked on his spit.
“To help with the friction,” Grian explained, oblivious to the way Scar was gaping at him like a fool. He looked up and grinned when he caught sight of Scar’s expression. After a quick kiss to Scar’s slack mouth, he said, half-teasingly, “Whenever you're ready, bud.”
Scar let his hips tilt down another half-inch before stopping. “Are you—you’re okay holding this position? It's not too uncomfortable?” Scar’s legs tended to fall asleep whenever he sat like that for too long, and he didn’t want Grian to experience the same thing and randomly fall over from pins and needles.
Grian gave him a fondly amused look. “Scar, I mean this in the least insulting way possible, but I really don't think you're gonna last that much longer.”
“No, I . . .” Scar sighed. “Yeah, you're right.”
Right before he fully settled on Grian’s thigh, he experienced a brief flash of worry. What if he’d been building this experience up in his head to be something unrealistically incredible, and when it actually happened, it would feel terrible? But at the first slide of his achingly hard cock against Grian’s slicked-up thigh, all his concerns evaporated into nothing, a loud moan punched out of him from the absolutely mind-numbing drag of friction. It was everything he'd dreamed it would be, life was fucking fantastic, and he could die a happy man.
“Oh,” Grian said, surprised, his hands tightening on Scar’s waist, “so you really weren't joking about how horny you were over my thighs.”
Scar didn’t counter that absurd sentence, barely even registered the words, all higher thought burned away in favour of the need to grind down against Grian's leg. He could admit that it wasn’t perfect; his balls were kind of being crushed and the angle wasn’t quite correct to put the amount of pressure he wanted on his dick. But Grian’s thigh was firm and solid between his legs, Grian was beginning to mouth at his throat, all suggestion of teasing gone, so eager and willing to give Scar everything he wanted, and it was more than enough for Scar. It felt like his brain was melting, in the best way possible.
His grip on Grian’s shoulders was white-knuckled, nails digging into skin in a way that couldn’t be comfortable, but Grian didn’t seem to mind. Scar arched his back to get a better angle, gasping at the jolt of pleasure that shot through him, a good chunk of his concentration going into not coming on the spot, wanting to drag this out for as long as possible. But then Grian started talking and all his control flew out the window.
“That’s it,” Grian breathed, and Scar’s hips jolted forward in surprise. His hold on Grian’s shoulders slipped, and he nearly cracked his chin against the top of Grian’s head. Grian’s wings flared half-open to steady them and make sure they didn't tip over, but Scar barely noticed, his entire world narrowed to the thigh between his legs, the hands trailing down his sides, and the mouth at his throat.
“You’re doing amazing,” Grian continued without missing a beat, like he didn’t realize how much his voice was affecting Scar. “You look so hot grinding down on my thigh like this.” His voice was low and rough and dangerous, a tone chosen specifically to make Scar lose control, dredging up memories of moonlit bedrooms and rumpled clothes, the scratch of teeth against reddened skin and fingers deep inside him, slowly working him open.
“You think it’s bad watching me walk around in my outfit?” Grian said, fingers tracing the dips and ridges of Scar’s ribcage. “What about you? Wearing those ridiculously short shorts—” a featherlight brush of a knuckle along the crease of his thigh “—your shirt partly unbuttoned—” a fingertip trailing down his sternum “—all that bare skin on display . . . I can’t look away from you,” Grian finished. “You’re beautiful.”
“Grian,” Scar whimpered, the praise and the touches shooting straight to his dick. “I—mnh.”
“Yeah?” Grian said dreamily, his voice slow and almost languid, dragging a hand over Scar’s bicep. “Something you wanna tell me?”
“You—” Scar pressed closer against Grian’s front, grinding down harder against the solid muscle between his legs, watching as Grian’s eyes roved hungrily over his face. He knew how much Grian liked hearing how badly Scar wanted him, especially when he got like this—needy and painfully turned-on and struggling to string coherent sentences together—and he was perfectly happy to indulge him.
“Can’t—couldn’t stop thinking about your thighs,” Scar gasped, nails leaving red lines down Grian’s shoulder blades. “Wanted to come all over them—make a mess of—”
The rest of his sentence dissolved into nothing as a fingernail scraped against his nipple. His words seemed to have been enough, though, because Grian rewarded him with a featherlight brush of their mouths together. Scar leaned into the kiss, trying to deepen it, but Grian pulled back before he could, flicking his tongue against Scar’s lower lip teasingly before moving to trail kisses down his neck.
“Aww, you’re sweet.” Grian sank his teeth into the base of Scar’s throat. “Thinking about me that much, all worked up just from the thought of my thighs—god, you’re unbelievable.” His breathing was heavy and uneven, feathers whispering against the sheets with every inhale. It sent a wave of something possessive and heady through Scar—knowing that Grian was this deeply affected by Scar doing nothing but rutting against his leg. He distantly registered that Grian was making a low, throaty cooing noise, a noise that spoke of deep satisfaction at Scar’s current mindless state, at how Scar was shifting frantically in his lap. Grian's hands slid down his sides, his touch like a living flame, and came to rest against Scar’s hips. He didn't force Scar’s pace to speed up or slow down, just held him steady, letting Scar use him however he needed in order to feel good.
“Did you touch yourself while thinking about me?” Grian asked, and Scar let out a strangled noise of confirmation. Grian pressed his hand against the small of Scar’s back, shifting his thigh slightly so that the pressure increased, and Scar nearly shattered apart at the sensation. “Was it even enough for you? Probably not, seeing how desperate you’re acting right now.”
“I did, I—fuck, I got off thinking about your thighs, how they’d feel against me, and it didn’t help, it didn’t do anything.” It was such an addicting feeling, admitting the depths of his desire while having Grian pressed hot against him, and still wanting more. “I needed you.”
“Oh, Scar,” Grian sighed, nuzzling the side of his neck. “Sorry about neglecting you for such a long time, I’ll find a way to make it up to you.” He pulled back far enough for Scar to see the curve of his mouth turn wicked as he added, “Maybe I’ll let you fuck my thighs later.”
The rhythm of Scar’s hips stuttered at those words, vivid images flashing through his mind almost faster than he could register. It was so easy to imagine Grian lying flat on his stomach with his wings splayed out, head turned just enough to show one black eye and half of his smile, so easy to imagine the tight heat of his thighs around Scar’s cock. Scar thought he said please or yes, but whatever had come out of his mouth was enough to make Grian laugh softly and run his fingers through Scar’s hair. “So desperate,” he repeated, and Scar whined in agreement.
He loved it when sex deteriorated into something sloppy and uncoordinated, when he felt strained and strung-out, chasing that next hit of pleasure that he knew Grian would be more than willing to give him. The sensations surrounding him were almost overwhelming: the slide of sweat-slick skin against his, the graceless drag of his cock against hard muscle, the pressure building at the base of his spine. He was so close; he just needed one more push to get him over the edge.
That final push came in the form of wings shifting and coming up to wrap around them both, surrounding them in a blanket of warm shadows. Feathers brushed softly against Scar’s skin, a heady contrast to the bite of fingers tightening on his hip and the starburst of pain of a sharp mouth sucking a bruise against his skin.
“Scar,” Grian started, his voice low and reverent and drawn-out, like he was savouring the taste of the word in his mouth. He might have said something else, but just the sound of his name was enough to send Scar over the edge. He came hard with a cry that may have been a plea or a curse or Grian’s name. Obsidian black eyes remained fixed on him the entire time, watching him intently, like Grian wanted to burn the image of Scar breaking apart against him into his memory. Scar couldn’t remember a time where Grian wasn’t staring unblinkingly at him when he climaxed, a captivated and almost awed look on his face, and no matter how many times Scar saw that expression, it never failed to make some bone-deep part of him preen smugly under the attention, at being the only person to cause that expression on Grian’s face.
Strong arms circled his back, a palm splaying between his shoulder blades, holding him close while he rode out his orgasm. His hips stuttered weakly down for a few more moments in an effort to prolong the heat dripping through his nerves, before he finally stopped. Collapsing bonelessly against Grian, he buried his face in sandy-brown hair, feeling tired and sticky and content.
“Good?” Grian asked, squeezing his shoulder.
Scar mumbled something he hoped Grian would interpret as an affirmative, then said, half-deliriously, “You should walk around with your pants off more often.”
Shoulders shaking with silent laughter, Grian patted the top of Scar’s head. “Sure, buddy, anything for you.”
Sliding off of Grian’s lap, Scar let his forehead drop against Grian’s shoulder and took a moment to hazily admire the mess he’d made of his thigh: freckled skin, reddened slightly from friction, was streaked with a viscous mixture of come and sweat and lube that was running slowly down towards his knee. Scar traced the line of Grian’s quadricep with a finger, smearing the white fluid further, and when he brought his finger to his mouth and licked it clean, Grian made a strangled noise like he'd been punched in the stomach.
“You are something else,” Grian said, voice rough, and Scar laughed weakly.
There was a bout of comfortable silence as Scar continued to come down from his orgasm, and Grian shifted slightly to stretch out his legs, before resettling back down with his legs crossed. Warm fingers traced nonsense patterns along Scar's back as he set himself to the arduous task of hooking his neurons back together. Once his brain was in a somewhat more solid state, Scar hovered his hand near Grian’s waist and asked, “Do you want . . . ?” letting his words trail off in a held out invitation that Grian was free to take or refuse.
Grian’s answering smile was slow and warm and involuntary as a sunrise. “I'm okay for now,” he said, and pressed a kiss to Scar’s cheek. His gaze slid away from Scar, adorably shy in a way that made Scar want to eat concrete, as he asked, “But can we stay like this for a little bit longer?”
“Oh—yeah, of course,” Scar answered, shifting so that his cheek was pillowed comfortably on Grian’s shoulder, looping his arms around Grian’s waist. “I’m so down for some post-coital cuddling,” he added, and Grian let out a good-natured huff at his choice of words.
“Why do you speak,” Grian said, fingers trailing down Scar’s spine, “why do words come out of your mouth.”
“Mmm, sure, okay,” Scar said agreeably, gently toying with Grian’s secondaries, running his fingers along the curved edges, and Grian laughed softly. It was almost ridiculous how much Scar enjoyed seeing Grian happy, where he was practically glowing, his face still flushed and sunlight reflected in his dark eyes, loose strands of hair sticking to his sweat-damp temples. The quiet joy surrounding him here was such a contrast from the misery of those other worlds they’d been trapped in before, where his face was tear-streaked and bloodstained and furious. Scar snuggled closer against Grian’s side, feeling indescribably greedy for the sensation of having Grian in his arms.
“Wait, Scar.” Grian spluttered out a laugh right next to Scar’s ear, who jolted slightly in surprise. It sounded like Grian had been holding in his laughter for a while. The sound was more than a little mean around the edges, which was a clear sign that Scar should’ve been out of Grian’s immediate vicinity at least five minutes ago. “Scar, of all the things for you to—ha, you—my legs? Really? You’re such a—”
Scar didn’t get to hear what he was, because he’d already shoved Grian away from him with a strangled noise of embarrassment that he hoped conveyed the depths of his incredulity over how Grian had the ability to ruin literally anything. Grian flopped over sideways on the bed, still cackling, and Scar gave serious consideration to firmly holding a pillow over Grian’s face until he suffocated.
“Grian, oh my god.”