#kac | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kiruuuuu · 1 year

Text

Kiru's Advent Calendar, Day 21🛌

Without any further ado, here's the second part of that Smoke/Mute fic I posted yesterday! I hope you enjoy 😊 (Rating E, the best combination: explicit + emotional hurt/comfort + fluff, 6.9k words)

“Lie down”, comes the quiet request and neither of them lets go, resulting in Smoke half-dragging Mute with him, pondering whether he should awkwardly remove everything covering the bed with one hand or look for an alternative. He still hasn’t decided when Mute reaches around him and simply tosses the blanket aside, sending everything on top flying and replacing it with Smoke himself, pushed down onto the mattress with their connection now severed. He doesn’t get the chance to miss the contact because Mute descends on him immediately, shuffling the both of them further up on the bed until Smoke can rest his head on the pillow, chasing kisses and ‘accidentally’ kneeling on Smoke’s sweatpants, forcing him to partially undress himself.

Mute finishes the job with intoxicating smoothness, palms gliding over Smoke’s legs and brushing off his trousers almost as an afterthought, then pushing his shirt up until it pools around his neck. Their mouths only leave one another to allow for Smoke to take his top off properly, then slot back together for kisses deep enough to sink into entirely. It doesn’t feel like a mistake anymore, not even a tiny one, not like a grey area or anything questionable. It feels like heaven. It feels like something they should’ve been doing all along. Every touch of tongue on tongue is electrifying, the sensation of embracing the strong body above him a desperately needed kind of soothing. He wraps his legs around Mute’s hips to pull him closer until the weight of the other man presses him further into the mattress and he wishes they could stay like this forever.

Alas, they can’t – though the alternative is acceptable too: Mute sits back up to take his own t-shirt off, arms crossed and all, showing off muscles, and Smoke’s body temperature rises with every inch of revealed skin. He remembers vividly how he stared in disbelief when Mute undressed himself last time, exposing his sculpted chest and tan skin, and somehow, it’s even sexier this time. Maybe because he does it more deliberately, returns Smoke’s gaze, holds it as he finally gets rid of the stupid belt, unzips his jeans and good lord. Just the bit of underwear peeking out has Smoke sweating, let alone the way Mute so carelessly tosses his clothes aside like he’s got better things to do. Like the butt-naked Englishman before him.

And Smoke can’t help himself, he marvels at the beauty of Mute’s (largely) unmarred skin and needs to do something about it, he can’t not. Decisively, he yanks the younger man back down to his level and peppers his shoulder with kisses, smiling when Mute shies away with a low chuckle, and sucks on warm skin once it’s clear Mute isn’t going anywhere. They’re moving against each other now, bodies melting together like they were made for it, dancing to the rhythm of Smoke’s muffled moans. Somehow, he manages to drag Mute’s trousers down with his feet, hooks his toes into the waistband or the belt loops, whichever he can reach, and pulls them over toned thighs while his mouth makes Mute squirm delightfully. There’s only a thin layer of fabric separating their erections now and, judging by the noises escaping from his throat, Mute is getting into it again.

Hunger drives them as they start devouring what’s theirs, Mute’s hands squeezing Smoke’s arse, all of his weight half crushing the man under him, but Smoke doesn’t mind, not with his fingers carding through messy hair and his hips rolling against Mute’s, mouth still occupied with biting and suckling and licking whichever part of his lover he can reach. Teeth pull on Mute’s earlobe, forcing out a quiet gasp that shoots straight to his cock, and catching a glimpse of reddened, almost purple skin and bite marks fills him with pride. Regardless of the outcome, Mute will have to live with these mementos, just like the bruise on Smoke’s calf which faded over the course of almost two weeks. Reminding him every time he caught sight of it.

They could fuck like this, a steady transition of more and more insistent touches until Mute is suddenly inside him and they strive towards a mutual orgasm, and Smoke has no doubt it’d be phenomenal, but he’s got something else in mind. With more effort than he’d like to admit, he flips them over so he’s straddling the subject of all his desires and finally gets a better look at him. Mute’s hair is more tousled than usual, wet lips parted and stretched into a dreamy smile, neck covered in love bites (and they flatter him beautifully), breaths deep and measured. He looks like a young god.

It almost hurts to look at him.

“I want to ride you, babe”, Smoke tells him, though he should’ve phrased it as need, not want, and Mute does a content, affirmative nod like that’s what he’d been hoping for anyway, dopey smile still brightening his expression. He obediently lifts his hips as soon as Smoke reaches down to remove the last piece of clothing he’s still wearing, making Smoke rise with the gesture as well with no visible effort and Jesus Christ that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Smoke takes his time on purpose, generously fondles Mute’s tight buttocks, brushes against his rock hard shaft, lets the waistband drag over it while pulling the briefs down and only relents when Mute starts trembling slightly from the exertion. He never once complains, however.

Once the offending piece of fabric is gone, Mute’s lower half sinks back onto the mattress and Smoke is suddenly glad he went for a larger toy earlier. His hand moves on his own, wraps fingers around the velvety-smooth flesh and marvels at the heat of it. Yeah, he needs this inside of him like five minutes ago. Before he can even open his mouth, Mute reads his mind and indicates the bedside table with his chin, muttering a vaguely embarrassed: “Behind the beer, next to the bowls.”

I’m in love with a fucking slob, Smoke thinks and suppresses the immediate flare up of panic upon the realisation that yes, he still does, and never didn’t, and this really isn’t the moment. He manages to grab the bottle in question without causing anything to topple, not even the precariously balanced pile of books, and pours some of the massage oil into his palm to warm it up. “No lube?”, he asks, curious, and earns a shake of the head. “Babe, you gotta stock up.”

“Didn’t have the need so far.”

Smoke raises a brow. “Well now you do.” And if Mute was planning on replying, he’s stopped short by Smoke’s hand encasing his cock and gliding down from the head to the very base, then back up just as slowly to coat it in the slippery liquid. He’s chewing on his lower lip again, visibly holding back a moan which escapes him nonetheless as soon as Smoke’s thumb rubs over his frenulum. He’s so sensitive, eyelids already falling shut as Smoke pumps him lazily – it must’ve been a miracle that he lasted as long as he did last time. “Babe. Talk to me”, he requests, drinking in how Mute blinks up at him in return, gaze unfocused.

The answer is not what he’d expected, delivered in a marvellously hoarse voice, a deadpan: “Get on with it.”

Well. No need to tell him twice. He flashes a quick grin, stomach flipping when it’s met with a mirror image, and lifts his hips, shuffling further up until he’s positioned correctly. The tip of Mute’s penis kisses his hole and has him shudder already, the anticipation killing him. He’s been fantasising about this ever since Mute very nearly fucked him unconscious, and despite the differing circumstances he’s not any less aroused – Mute is gorgeous, and hot, and staring up at him like he hung the stars, which in and of itself makes Smoke’s dick throb as violently as his heart.

When he pushes down slightly, he has to make a conscious effort to relax and is rewarded with the addictive feeling of being opened by Mute’s erection, his ring of muscle stretching to accommodate and twitching once the head finally slips in, aided by generous amounts of oil. Smoke has to pause and breathe, already feeling full yet wanting more, adjusting slowly to the girth. Mute’s facial expression has slipped a tad, disbelief creeping in, and when Smoke eventually buries him a little deeper, Mute’s eyelashes flutter and his mouth forms a silent oh. His eyes flick up and down, not sure whether to focus on the spot where they’re now connected or Smoke’s face, and impatience has his lower half attempt to meet somewhat faster, forcing a whimper out of Smoke as the thick shaft pushes in further.

“Don’t move, babe”, he gasps, pressing down on Mute’s taut stomach muscles as if that’d actually stop him from anything, “wait. Don’t move yet.” It feels so good, having Mute inside at last, but he knows he should go slowly if he wants to enjoy the ride.

Mute draws a shaky breath yet nods, hands coming to rest on Smoke’s thighs, creeping up a bit, and then they push -

“And don’t do that”, Smoke tries to admonish him while swatting his hands away, fighting against the amusement showing on his face, “you’re unbelievable. Don’t touch me. No, don’t – put your arms up. Arms up, babe. Keep them there.” He relaxes once Mute has obeyed and gripped the headboard with both hands, pursing his lips in an adorable pout, and how is he this cute with half his cock up Smoke’s arse?

To ease the slide, Smoke leans back, propping himself up on the mattress next to Mute’s thighs, and allows the rest of Mute’s erection inside with small thrusts, going deeper and deeper until it bottoms out and that’s approximately when Smoke’s brain stops working. He throws his head back as he grinds against the impossibly big cock, still getting accustomed to the feeling of being filled completely, and moans through clenched teeth when it twitches hard against his sweet spot. He’s sleeping with Mute, again, they’re enjoying the same intimacy as before, and it’s not just a spur-of-the-moment thing, Mute wants him and Mute wants him instead of anybody else, and it feels so fucking good he’s getting light-headed.

True to his word, Mute stays perfectly still yet is betrayed by the muscles standing out in his strong arms where he’s holding on to the headboard; he’s trying so hard not to move Smoke takes mercy on him. He rises up and up until the head pushes against the inside of his entrance and then sinks back down, enveloping it in tight heat once again, drawing a pitiful noise out of his lover. The movement is smooth, Mute’s cock going balls deep without any trouble again, throbbing in pleasure. Just to be sure, Smoke repeats the motion, toes curling as Mute reaches deep into his guts, and then he does it again because he likes the helpless look Mute throws him too much.

Normally, he’d go for a witty quip or some more dirty talk (especially since Mute is weak to it), but another vicious throb inside him hits just the right place, so all Smoke grits out before starting to ride Mute in earnest is a quiet, heartfelt oh GOD. And then his world melts together into an onslaught of pleasurable sensations.

Being in full control means he gets to set the pace and the angle, which in turn means he’s slamming his hips down like his life depended on it while grazing his prostate with every downwards motion – he only needs half of Mute’s length for that, though he occasionally buries him all the way inside when he’s forgotten what overstimulation feels like, or when he has to take a momentary break, or simply whenever he wants to hear Mute moan like a whore. The sound alone would be enough for fierce need to pool low in his belly, and coupled with the sensation of impaling himself on Mute’s dick, it’s positively magical.

He relishes it all, Mute’s adorable, adoring glances, feeling the body between his legs tense up in pleasure, his own thrumming lust demanding for more and ever more. Internally, he’s fighting over whether he should draw this out and enjoy it for longer or instead take what he can, hoping for a round two, aim for an orgasm intense enough to knock his socks off. And though he’d initially vowed to make it last (in case this ends up being a one-off, but he’s not thinking that too loudly), he has to admit the latter option seems more tempting.

Mute’s chest is glistening with sweat, the labour of not doing any work clearly getting to him – his entire body is tensing up, muscles tight and dancing on display, abs twitching. The moans he produces are miserable, either it’s too much or not enough for him; Smoke can’t tell because Mute doesn’t tell, though the lack of complaints has to indicate something. Now and then, he rakes his gaze over Smoke’s entire body, head to toe, always getting stuck in the middle where he can watch his own dick disappear inside his fellow teammate, where he can watch Smoke’s own follow his motions, slapping against his belly. Mute’s mouth seems lonely. Smoke idly wonders whether Mute would suck him off if he asked, and whether he’d let him come down his throat. His tongue is certainly skilled enough to coax out a killer climax.

By now, Smoke’s body is protesting against the position, his arms trembling under his weight, so he takes the opportunity to lean forward, lean down and seal Mute’s lips with his own once more. Their kisses start out sloppy and only get worse as Smoke keeps grinding his hips, yet the extra stimulation from playing with Mute’s tongue and rubbing his poor, forgotten erection over Mute’s flawless skin is more than worth the awkward position. The lad snogs him like he needs it to live, all open mouth and thinly-veiled despair, arching his back and needy groans. Smoke enjoys it for a little longer, sucks on his lower lip while letting him go deep, but when he sits back up, it’s his gig again.

He’s steadying himself on Mute’s chest, pressing down on ribs and savouring the resulting shallow, fast breaths, and picks up the pace. It’s not perfect, he can feel the sheer size of Mute’s dick better though the angle doesn’t work as well, yet they’re closer like this, keeping up eye contact, sharing more body heat. It makes Smoke want to tell him, burst out with all the feelings he’s harboured for his friend; his heart is full and threatening to overflow and maybe, just maybe, he can chalk it up to the heat of the moment later. He got away with it last time, didn’t he?

“James”, Mute interrupts his thoughts before he can decide to act on them, “can I touch you? Please?”

And he’s nodded before he fully processed the plea because how could he ever say no to this man?

With a relieved sigh, Mute immediately makes use of the permission and runs his palms over Smoke’s thighs, follows the rolling of his hips and guides them gently before moving on to roam over the rest of his body. Curious fingers seek out all his erogenous zones as if they knew exactly what to aim for: fingertips brush over his throat and press down experimentally, causing Smoke’s breath to hitch and his rhythm to falter momentarily because holy hell how does he know. They push between their legs and stroke over the place where they’ve become one, force Smoke to pause for a moment while they prod at his hole, making him shiver in pleasure. Of course, they play with his nipples, twist throaty moans out of him and have him nearly fold in half at some point, hips stuttering and stomach fluttering.

Eventually, they explore his crotch, wipe up some of the oil from the base of Mute’s own cock to smear it onto Smoke’s, stroke and squeeze and massage even more powerless noises out of him. They adapt to his tempo, sliding up when he bears down onto the delicious piece of flesh, stroking him all the way to the base when he lifts his pelvis again. He can’t see straight anymore, the mixture of Mute’s eagerness to please and his dick hitting all the right places is too much for him, he’s rapidly climbing up towards his climax now. Mute steals his move by massaging the sensitive spot directly below Smoke’s glans and adds an unfair twist to his wrist on the upstrokes and if he keeps this up for just a little longer, Smoke is going to blow his load much sooner than he’d like.

“Babe, I’m getting close”, he warns his lover, “but don’t stop. This feels amazing, you feel so good.” Mute’s focused expression shifts into something Smoke can’t interpret, but what he can interpret is Mute’s hands letting go of his weeping erection to move back to the top of his thighs. “I said don’t sto-oh fuck -”

While he’s still reeling, Mute looks up at him with what can only be described as puppy dog eyes, full of feigned innocence despite knowing he’s being very naughty, probably expecting Smoke to tell him off yet before he can do so, Mute again slams up into him, to the hilt, at the same time pushing Smoke’s hips down to meet his thrust and Smoke’s vision is gone for a second.

This is too much. It’s too deep. He explicitly told Mute not to -

When Mute repeats the motion, one of Smoke’s arms gives in and he’s forced to steady himself on his lower arms instead of just his hands, which brings him much closer to Mute’s face, meaning the bastard can give him a quick, cheeky kiss before rearranging his insides. Again. “Babe”, he starts and whatever else he wanted to add is lost and replaced with a high-pitched whine because now Mute’s changed to a choppy, fast tempo, burying himself completely inside Smoke with each thrust and holding him in place, allowing for no escape. He’s got no choice but to let Mute have his way with him, he’s physically too weak to fight back and mentally too smitten to try – besides, it feels fucking sensational, it’s just – it’s the principle of it, he wanted to be in control this time and -

- and Mute slams right against his sweet spot and Smoke’s cock twitches so hard he worries about pulling a muscle.

Okay. Yeah.

This is fine.

He gives in with an animalistic, guttural groan and lets Mute mercilessly pound into him for the second time in his life. The lad is manipulating his body however he wants it, pushes him up so they can trade some more spit (because this has little to do with kissing anymore), lifts and drops his hips so he can reach as deep as he likes, digs his fingertips into strained thigh muscles to force out more half pained, half appreciative noises. When it becomes clear Mute is too occupied with scratching up Smoke’s sides and groping his backside to pay any attention to his neglected erection, Smoke (literally) takes it into his own hand and starts jerking himself to the erratic tempo of Mute’s movements.

His blood is hot in his veins, intensifying every shock of pleasure until he’s left simply whining into the crook of Mute’s neck, cheek against cheek, their chests pressed together, bodies moving in unison. He’s close, Mute’s ministrations brought him almost to the edge and now he’s hovering near it, pausing his strokes intermittently to not go too far, and their physical proximity is getting to him. Mute is cradling him in his arms, mouthing at and moaning against his skin, sweat-slicked and burning, thrusts getting faster, more desperate. His increasing urgency is contagious and Smoke finds himself babbling, he’s got no control over what comes out of his mouth anymore.

“Come inside me, babe, please”, he begs, probably preaching to the choir, “just tell me when. I love you. God, you feel so good. Don’t stop.”

Mute’s rhythm falters momentarily (and Smoke can guess why), he draws a sharp breath and buries his teeth in Smoke’s shoulder, the brilliant pain somehow amplifying the overwhelming need to come. “Don’t”, Mute mumbles around a mouthful of skin while he continues to bury himself balls deep. “James – don’t.”

There’s no stopping him now. Smoke repeats it, meeting Mute’s thrusts and his own fist with reckless abandon, says it again and again and Mute’s response in the form of a quiet, hopeless whimper is music to his ears. Though he doesn’t trust his own body to support him anymore, not with how wobbly he feels, Smoke lifts himself up with one arm to say it directly to Mute’s pleading, desperate, pleasure-contorted, beautiful face: “Babe. I love you.”

And, without any warning at all, Mute just explodes inside him. He shoves himself as deep as he will go, and comes, lets out a deafening moan that his neighbours probably had no chance not to hear, eyes rolling back, grip impossibly tight on Smoke’s waist. Smoke can feel every single spurt, feels the shaft inside him jump and it’s the most magical thing he’s ever seen, even factoring in the last time they did this – and since his own hand never stopped, kept stroking his own cock, he’s shoved off the edge also as soon as he realises what exactly it was that triggered his lover’s orgasm.

When the first storm front of blinding pleasure rolls through him, he involuntarily clamps down on Mute’s throbbing dick, causing it to twitch even harder, causing Smoke to tense up again, and so they shudder their way through their orgasms, heightening each other’s pleasure as they hold on for dear life. Smoke can hardly bear touching himself with how intense it feels, his cock shooting out white strands all over Mute’s torso as he trembles and pants and wallows in mind-numbing ecstasy; and below him, Mute squirms and moves against him, intent on prolonging this divine feeling even more. They end up riding it out in small motions, teeth gritted and fingers twitching, basking in the intensity of it until it starts to fade gently. Even then, they coast on the aftershocks once the overpowering sensations have mellowed out, puffing out incredulous breaths, eyes closed in bliss.

Eventually, Smoke’s arm does give in and he unceremoniously collapses onto Mute, trapping his too-sensitive dick between their bodies but not finding it in himself to care. Mute withdraws awkwardly, leaves behind an uncomfortable void and it’s a sign Smoke is sobering up that their general stickiness is beginning to bother him. Still, he enjoys the physical contact, the warmth, the all-encompassing exhaustion slowly taking over; his limbs are made of butter and bones no more than a suggestion. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to even slide off without considerable help. Maybe Mute won’t mind sleeping like this. Smoke certainly doesn’t.

He considers driving the point home by repeating himself post-coitus, though he assumes Mute wouldn’t appreciate it – in the heat of the moment, sure, he might interpret it as appropriate teasing, as a way for Smoke to assert what little dominance he can, possibly even a form of dirty talk (and that thought is particularly weird). But now? Now it’d carry weight. It would actually mean something.

And somehow, that prospect terrifies him.

Below him, Mute’s breathing has evened out to a point where it’s becoming suspicious, so Smoke nudges him. “Hey. No sleeping yet.”

The response is a disgruntled hum he recognises as Mute’s universal sign for ‘leave me alone, I’m too tired’. His eyes are closed, his entire body devoid of tension. Yeah, he’s gonna be useless like this, they’d better postpone talking until the next morning.

Groaning in agony, Smoke rolls off the other man, stretching and bending parts of his body so they feel like his own again, and eventually manages to pull the blanket out from all the crap under which it’s still buried. If Mute doesn’t care enough to keep his bedroom clean, surely he won’t mind come stains on his sheets.

He looks peaceful like this, forehead smooth, long eyelashes fanned out on his reddened cheeks, chest rising and falling slowly. While Smoke watches, Mute turns away from him and then backs up until they’re spooning, melts into Smoke’s negative space and shoves him slightly to indicate he wants to cuddle proper, only stops once Smoke has wrapped an arm and a leg around him, pulling him close. It’s adorable. It’s so fucking adorable Smoke presses his nose into Mute’s hair and tries really hard not to tear up.

This is what he wanted. Above all, this is what he’s been wishing for – the sex is nice, sure… well, it’s phenomenal, but really he craves proximity, trust, shared comfort.

He hopes with every fibre of his being that they can clear up whatever went wrong tomorrow.

Despite sleeping like the dead, Smoke wakes up first, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling and requiring a few heartbeats to orient himself. They’ve lost most of the blanket overnight, though it’s not like they needed it – Mute is a space heater, radiating comforting warmth like nobody’s business. He’s still pressed against Smoke and taking deep breaths, sleep uninterrupted.

Smoke decides against waking him for now in order to sort his own thoughts and slips out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom to take a leak and a well-deserved shower. The shower gel smells of nothing but Mute and it feels like blasphemy to surround himself with this scent, yet he can’t stop himself. While the too-hot water drums on his skull, he tries to come up with a plan, any sort of… idea of how to untangle this mess. Which questions to ask, which answers to demand. Which topics to avoid, maybe. Which apologies to give first.

It could be the early hour, or the residual tiredness, or the fact that thinking straight while wrapping himself in a towel that also smells like Mute is nigh impossible: his mind is utterly empty. All he can do is exist until Mute perceives him, and then the two of them can decide how to move forward. It feels like he’s stopped grieving for the time being without allowing himself any hope, and the result is vast emptiness. Gone is the dread overshadowing his entire life, but gone is also the pleasant afterglow from last night.

No hope. Not yet. He wouldn’t want the same thing to happen twice.

For a lack of better options, he puts his sweatpants and t-shirt back on, if only to feel vaguely human again, and moves the pile of boxes onto the windowsill so he can sit down on the only chair in the room, slightly behind the bed. He’s got a perfect view of Mute’s sleeping face like this, angelic and unguarded. Choosing not to take a picture with his phone is one of his better decisions, that’s for sure – if it all goes south, he wouldn’t want to be confronted with it again, neither now nor in the future. For various reasons. If this goes well, he’ll be blessed with the view again anyway.

If.

Before he can debate how to wake the sleeping beauty, Mute starts stirring by himself and rolls on his back to stretch, arms spreading and hands moving as if he’s looking for something – but before Smoke can draw attention to himself, Mute sits up abruptly, eyes wide. He glances down the opposite side of the bed from Smoke before hissing out a heartfelt fuck, and then he’s suddenly scrambling to get out of bed, half tripping over everything in the process. He rushes out of the room, still swearing under his breath, and leaves his dumbfounded guest behind.

Smoke blinks.

He can hear Mute race through the apartment, throwing doors open and uttering increasingly desperate curses, and it’s obvious what happened. He’s thinking Smoke left. He must’ve not seen him in his peripheral vision, checked for his clothes only to find them gone, and seems to be unsuccessful in his current search.

What in the world. Unexpected doesn’t cut it, this is bordering on concerning territory. It’s an intense reaction to finding Smoke missing, to say the least, and he has absolutely no idea what to do with it.

A soft vibration by his thigh prompts him to check his phone and, to nobody’s surprise (but everyone’s worry), it’s Mute texting him. And although it’s no more than three words, they reek of desperation, were likely typed with shaky fingers.

Call me, his display shows. Please.

Smoke draws a deep breath and puts his phone down on the bedside table before getting up. He finds Mute in the living room, still naked, kneeling on the floor and clutching his own device in his hands as if it allowed him to breathe. There are scratch marks on his body, love bites all over, his hair a complete mess. And despite knowing their origin, Smoke finds that it all makes Mute look wild, cornered. Hurt.

“What are you doing?”, he asks, making the poor lad nearly jump out of his skin. He stares at him, mouth open, then gets up, a whole bunch of different emotions visible in his expression: confusion, despair, distress, panic, shame. He even tries to hide his nakedness somehow, which serves as a sharp reminder that he must’ve been more intoxicated last night than Smoke realised. This is the Mute he knows, the one who turns into a skittish animal whenever honest feelings are involved, and not the suave fuckboy who doesn’t even ask for permission before ramming -

“Let’s get back to bed”, Smoke suggests, voice gentle, and holds out his hand. He thinks he can see moisture glistening in Mute’s eyes and wonders: what happened to you, darling.

To Mute’s credit, he accepts the offer and interlaces their fingers once more, trails awkwardly behind Smoke and takes the first opportunity to hide most of his body under the blanket. Attempting to even the playing field, Smoke undresses before joining him, though it somehow doesn’t quell the lad’s nervousness. “Please explain”, he demands and now Mute also tries to hide his face.

“Fuck”, he says, eloquently.

Silent, Smoke keeps on holding on to his hand while carding his fingers through Mute’s mane, hoping the gesture helps to slow both their heartbeats. Neither of them utters a word until Mute has ceased his trembling and there’s nothing left but vague horror on his face.

“I’m – oh god, this is awful. I’m awful. I’m such a bloody moron”, he eventually mutters, shaking his head. His ears are crimson: an indication of how incredibly uncomfortable he must be right now. Smoke still understands nothing. “I’m so sorry. James, you don’t understand, and you won’t understand, but I genuinely am sorry. I just – I didn’t know. I didn’t know what to do, and what not to do, and so I did everything wrong -”

“Babe”, Smoke interrupts him, “as much as I enjoy watching you grovel, maybe you should tell me what in all of the fucks is going on.”

All Mute produces in return is something Smoke can only call a pitiful squeak, which clears up exactly fuck all. Alright. Different strategy.

“Then I’ll start. Because I’m sorry too.”

This, at least, penetrates the aura of embarrassment Mute projects probably without realising. “What?!”, he goes, almost indignant, previous terror entirely forgotten.

“I… took advantage of you. You know, last time. Well, yesterday too. You were -”

“No you didn’t.” There’s anger colouring his words now. “Bollocks. I told you to stay that time, didn’t I? You gave me every opportunity – and I initiated. Both times! What are you – don’t tell me that’s actually what you thought.”

Smoke frowns. “You were not in a position to give informed consent.”

“You know, that makes it worse. That makes it so much worse”, Mute muses, sounding fatalistic.

“What makes what worse?”

“Everything.”

They still haven’t moved forward a single step. “Look, why don’t you just… start at the beginning. What happened, why did you start avoiding me, what happened yesterday?”

“Okay.” Mute nods, rubbing over his face likely in the hopes it’ll help him get his brain in order (it doesn’t, Smoke has tried many times himself) and heaves a deep sigh. “Yeah. I suppose. But don’t hate me after this. And don’t laugh! Promise you won’t laugh.”

At this point Smoke would’ve given several toes if it meant he’d get a straight answer out of this idiot in front of him. He’s getting the creeping suspicion that he worried a lot about nothing and that Mute is even worse at communicating than he thought. “Sure. I promise.”

“Alright. Yes. Okay. Well, as you know – of course, you were there – we, um, there was the terrorist lab, and during the mission, I got, uh -”

Jesus fucking Christ. If Smoke wasn’t this tense about finding out what went wrong between them, he’d be a lot more amused about Mute’s waffling, but right now he doesn’t have the nerve to listen to it. “Yeah, yeah, you enthusiastically pounded several loads into my holes. Go on.” Mute fixes him with a unique mix of reproach and embarrassment. His ears are bright red. “Babe, you’ve had your cock all the way down my throat and you can’t even say out loud that we had sex?”

“This is part of the problem”, Mute grits out, sounding strained.

“My filthy mouth?” Smoke suggested it as a joke and did not expect for Mute to answer with a slight nod. “What, seriously? What? How?”

Wordlessly, Mute lifts the blanket and allows Smoke full view of his glorious cock, well on the way towards fully erect and proud.

“Oh”, says Smoke.

Mute drops the blanket again.

They look at each other for a few seconds, unmoving.

Well. There’s only one thing to do, probably. Smoke purses his lips and offers a quiet: “… want me to take care of that?”

Five minutes later, after Smoke has wanked his lover to completion, sucked on his nipples and cradled his balls while Mute shuddered and moaned through it all, he finally gets some answers. Mute’s orgasm has tangibly relaxed him, and while he pets Smoke’s head in absent-minded affection, he comes clean.

“I got too much in my own head, I suppose. I’m not normally that… dominant – unless I’m drunk apparently –, and I was worried you’d expect it of me afterwards. And I was sure you’d be disappointed. And then I started wondering whether you even had any interest in me, or whether you just saw it as a one night stand and that was it. Or whether you’d just want me for sex, or whether you would think I would just want you for sex when I suddenly showed an interest after we did it. It was a whole mess, I had myself convinced that we were doomed to fail, that you would laugh at me the next time we slept together, or that rumours would spread, or… something equally stupid. It was stupid. I was stupid, and I knew it, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Moron”, replies Smoke, deadpan, startling a snort out of the other man.

“Yeah. I was. I am. It’s probably the only area in my life where I’m really self conscious.”

“You should be more self conscious about tidying your room.”

“Fuck off.” Despite the blunt reply, Smoke’s light banter has conveyed exactly what it meant to: it’s fine. I still like you. The pained expression on Mute’s face that showed as he talked about the sensitive topic had no time to solidify.

“And you’re aware you could’ve, you know, talked to me, right?”

“No! See? That’s the thing – I couldn’t!”, comes Mute’s emphatic response, and oh boy, this better be good. “I couldn’t talk to you. I tried. I almost did, once or twice, but it just… no.”

“Huh? Did I interrupt you? Or why?” Smoke seeks his gaze, confused, since he doesn’t remember the lad ever seeking him out for a serious conversation – sure, he’d looked at him a few times like he wanted to spill some beans, but nothing ever came out. And again, Mute gives him an almost accusatory stare before gesturing broadly in the direction of his own crotch.

“What?” He suddenly remembers Mute’s earlier remark as well as his… extreme reaction to Smoke’s dirty mouth, and the truth dawns on him. “… what.”

“Yes. I know. Tell me about it.” Mute seems genuinely upset. “I couldn’t. Every time I looked at you, I just remembered… god, it was so bloody hot that I couldn’t think about anything else while you were there. It’s like I suddenly had see-through-clothes-vision – which shouldn’t ever be called x-ray vision, thank you very much – because you might as well not have worn anything at all, ever, because I just… pictured you…”

Smoke’s mouth is wide open. He can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“And whenever you looked at me, it was even worse, it was like magnetic attraction or some shite. I couldn’t deal with it, not in public. I just couldn’t. You were too much. And acting on it would’ve been certifiably insane, we only saw each other at work which is an absolute no-go, especially after we’ve already done it on a mission – on a mission! – and the others were always around, and they’d know. Oh you know they’d know. So no chance. Nuh uh. Besides, you probably would’ve thought that all I wanted from you was sex which is not true, and therefore -”

“Wait. Wait, hold up.” It takes Mute several seconds to stop gabbing, he’s talked himself into a rage directed at himself and Smoke needs to take a huge fucking step back here. Because what the actual hell. “Mark. Are you actually telling me that the sole reason you ignored me for weeks, that the explanation for all the mental anguish I went through thinking you genuinely hated me, that I’d done something unforgivable to you, that I’d ruined a friendship and lost the love of my life, that all of that happened… because you got incurably horny around me and couldn’t deal with it like a grown adult?”

A long pause.

Smoke stares.

“I know, I know”, Mute is wincing now, face contorted in regret and shame, “there’s… no redemption there, I agree. But it was just… you called me babe once, I think on accident, and I had a boner for two hours – I had to hold a meeting in front of most of the others and I was adjusting my trousers the whole time, hoping nobody’s gonna say anythingand I know that doesn’t in any way compare to what you -”

“That”, Smoke cuts in, barely able to compose himself, “is so fucking funny.”

Mute blinks. Looks at him, bewildered. “What -”

He needs a moment before he can continue, eyes wide in disbelief and stomach clenching in suppressed amusement. “I – I promised not to laugh, so I’m not laughing. But if you think for even one second that I’d ever let you live this shite down, you’re sorely mistaken.” He can’t help the grin stealing onto his face, betraying the immense relief he feels – he’s giddy, his chest so light it feels like he could float away at any moment. God, what absolute idiots they both are, worrying about nothing when they’ve both wanted the same exact thing this whole time: each other. Hearing Mute say it (imply it, whatever, he said he wanted more than sex, which is good enough for him) leaves him dizzy and breathless and elated. “You can bet your pretty arse that I’ll be exploiting this for years to come. Oh, I’ll call you babe in public when you least expect it. Say goodbye to any kind of decency because I’ll -”

“Does that mean we’re good?”, comes the quiet, meek question which instantly disarms Smoke. His will to keep teasing his lover vanishes entirely, leaving nothing but fierce, helpless affection. Yeah, there’s no way he’s ever going to say no to anything Mute asks of him.

“Yeah. We’re good”, he confirms softly, kissing a dark purple spot on Mute’s shoulder before adding a grumbled: “Fucking gobshite.”

He earns a low chuckle and a tight embrace that feels like heaven. Like finally arriving after a long, arduous journey. Like a reunion at the airport. “I’m sorry”, says Mute again and Smoke has no doubt that he is.

Snuggling up to the light of his life, he mutters: “You do know that you owe me a variety of special favours now, right?”

And though he can’t see it, he’s positive Mute’s ears just turned a shade darker.

#rainbow six siege #fanfic #kac #smoke/mute #smoke #mute #these two absolutely haunt me and I'm ok with that #also mute you muppet #I thought about writing a bit of the in between events from his POV #because honestly that would've been hilarious

28 notes · View notes