"That is an abuse of power."
Vaike rolls them.
It is easy for him because Evran is smaller by so much, and Vaike moves him like he weighs nothing, and then Evran is on his back with Vaike braced over him, one hand planted beside his head, the other settling at his hip. The blankets have come down around Vaike's waist, then slither further as Vaike shifts his weight, baring them both to the cool morning air of the room.
He never quite gets over the sight of him. Vaike above him, broad-shouldered and eyes bright with mischief, the long pale line of the old scar across his ribs, the flat plane of his stomach and the heavy weight of his cock, flushed and thick and smeared wet at the tip, hanging between them in the space where Evran's own is arching up toward his stomach. The difference in their sizes is always starkest here, in the bed, in the morning light, Evran slender and freckled and half-dwarfed, Vaike built like something the mountain itself shaped with its own hands.
Vaike kisses him again, thorough and unhurried, a kiss that takes its time mapping every corner of Evran's mouth like he has not kissed this mouth a thousand times before. Then he kisses his way down. He knows the path well enough by this point and he is in no hurry. He drags his beard along the line of Evran's jaw, mouths at the soft underside of it, and when he reaches the join of neck and shoulder he pauses there and bites. It's not hard, just the firm closing of teeth on skin, but Evran's wholebody arches off the furs with a gasp that is half-laugh, half-something-else.
The mouth moves on. Vaike's beard is scratchy against the thin skin of his throat and his chest, and Evran knows already that there will be a pink bloom along his collarbones by noon that Aether will pretend not to see. Vaike drags his tongue, flat and hot, across one of Evran's nipples and Evran makes a sound he is not proud of. Vaike does it again, slower, closes his mouth around it and sucks, and Evran's hands fly to his hair and fist there without permission.
Vaike transfers his attention to the other nipple with the same care, and by the time he lifts his mouth off and continues downward Evran is flushed bright pink from his collarbones to his sternum and his cock is leaking against his own stomach, shiny and aching.
Vaike nuzzles into the soft space below his navel. Mouths at the faint trail of hair there. Pauses at the jut of his hipbone and closes his teeth there, too, just enough to mark, and Evran's hips jerk up into nothing.
Vaike laughs against his hip, warm puff of breath, and then his mouth closes around the head of Evran's cock and Evran's back bows off the bed.
Vaike takes his time. He always does. He holds Evran down with one forearm flat across his lower belly, pinning him to the furs when his hips try to rise, and he sinks down and swallows and hollows his cheeks and pulls back up with an obscene wet sound that Evran will hear all afternoon if he closes his eyes. His free hand is at the base of Evran's cock, loosely ringed. His beard scrapes at the sensitive skin of Evran's thigh every time he moves.
Evran makes the mistake of looking down once and the sight of the Warlord of the Drakkari kneeling between Evran's thighswith his mouth full, hair tangled, stormy eyes looking up at him, nearly undoes him right there.
Vaike hums around him. A low, pleased vibration, and that is unfair, that is entirely unfair, and Evran's hand tightens in his hair and he tries to warn him —
"I'm — I am —"
Vaike does not lift off. Vaike tightens the hand at the base of him instead, and strokes, steady and firm, and swallows down around the head, and Evran comes with a broken sound into his mouth, hips jerking against the arm that holds him down, thighs trembling on either side of Vaike's shoulders.
For a long moment he cannot think.
Vaike pulls off slowly, gentle with him, and presses a kiss to the inside of Evran's thigh that is almost courtly in its tenderness. Then he crawls back up the length of Evran's body and settles over him, braced on his forearms, and looks down at Evran with the expression he gets at moments like this. It's a look that seems to say he's surprised to find Evran in his bed and has just discovered he gets to keep him. As though there is anywhere Evran would rather be.
Evran drags him down by the back of the neck and kisses him. He tastes himself on Vaike's tongue.
He reaches down between them. Vaike is still hard, still leaking, hot and heavy against Evran's hip, and Vaike's breath hitches when Evran's fingers close loosely around him.
He only gets to touch him briefly before Vaike catches his wrist gently and lifts Evran's hand away. He presses a kiss to the inside of it, the way he did earlier with the other one, and then sets it aside on the pillow.
"Turn over," he says.
Evran swallows. His mouth has gone dry. He turns.
He goes willingly onto his belly, and Vaike gathers him up at once against his chest the way they had started, Vaike on his sidebehind him, one heavy arm sliding beneath Evran's chest to hold him there, the other spreading across his lower belly. Evran is still shivery from the aftershocks, soft and boneless, and being wrapped up in Vaike like this feels like coming home again after a long absence, even though he has not gone anywhere at all.
Vaike reaches over him for the small bottle of oil on the low shelf beside the bed.
There's the click of the stopper and the soft wet sound of his fingers working into the oil. Evran's breath has gone shallow already, just from the anticipation, just from knowing what's coming.
The first finger is slow. It is always slow. Evran used to be embarrassed by how much time Vaike spent on this part until he understood that Vaike likes it. That Vaike will work him open for as long as Evran will let him, that Vaike has, more than once, made Evran come just from this, with nothing but his fingers and his mouth on the back of Evran's neck and the low, steady murmur of his voice.
The second finger joins the first. Evran's breath catches. His hips press back, involuntarily, and Vaike's beard scrapes against his shoulder as he laughs, low and fond, against the nape of his neck.
"Hmm you're so eager, my love."
He crooks his fingers, finds the place he is looking for, and Evran makes a thin sound and presses his face into the pillow. Vaike does it again. And again. Rolling pressure, the kind that builds a low heavy ache back up in Evran's belly even though he came not ten minutes ago, even though his cock is soft and tender against the furs and he should not, by any rational accounting, be hardening again this quickly.
The third finger slides in and it's a longer stretch now, burn and give both at once, and Vaike is whispering things against the back of his neck that Evran half-hears and half-feels. Evran'shands are fisted white-knuckled in the furs beneath him and he is pressing back onto Vaike's fingers without meaning to, without even being able to help it.
The fingers withdraw. Evran makes a small bereft noise that he will absolutely deny later. Vaike mouths at the spot just behind his ear that always makes him shiver, and then Evran feels the impossible, hot weight of Vaike's cock pressing against where Vaike's fingers just were.
