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Chapter Text

"About time to get dinner started, hm?"

With Cynric's one hand between Marcurio's legs and the other entangled in his hair, this definitely isn't a good time to cook. However, to stop Cynric from leaving the couch and their very intimate situation, Marcurio has to take charge.

In the perfect world, he'd straddle Cynric's strong, lean thighs and wrangle the rest of his shirt off. He'd kiss Cynric's neck and whisper to him not to stop, that dinner can wait, and maybe even offer himself as the meal of the evening.

"Ah… Yes, I suppose," Marcurio murmurs instead, letting go of Cynric's lapels to smooth his wrinkled shirt. "It's getting rather late, isn't it?"

Disappointment reeks on Cynric's skin, but he doesn't reveal any of it but for a shallow sigh. "Right." He presses a soft kiss to Marcurio's cheek before getting off the sofa with some effort, not even hiding having to adjust the front of his trousers.

Why does this have to be so difficult?

This conversation has been up a good couple of times already. Marcurio stutters about his fear of rejection and self-doubt that stands in the way of initiating anything remotely sexual, while Cynric misses being sought after. It's understandable, and his request for Marcurio to be more forward is reasonable. It's nowhere near an easy task, though.

It doesn't matter that Cynric's been impeccably clear about how much he'd appreciate Marcurio being more handsy and "y'know, horny," as he put it, even if Marcurio woke him up in the middle of the night. However, the thought of opening himself up to being vulnerable and asking for such intimacy only to be let down eats at his heart.

So, in order to force a reaction out of him, Cynric has stopped engaging in sexual relations. Whenever they happen to edge into a more passionate situation, he disengages, then waits for Marcurio to pick up the torch and continue. It's all good in the sense that they've agreed on it; Cynric wouldn't just decide on such a thing since Marcurio would assume he's no longer desirable.

Only now, Marcurio isn't only frustrating himself with his inability but causing Cynric's frustration as well.

'Come on, you silly fool. You're betrothed to the man; there's no chance that he won't be excited if you show him some enthusiasm for once.'

Still, when Marcurio enters the kitchen after his pulse has calmed, he can't convince his legs to walk up to Cynric or his hands to explore his delicate body. Instead, he sits at the table and concludes that the light-blue cloth needs a wash.

The atmosphere cools to normal as they eat, only to simmer as they get ready for bed.

It isn't too common that Cynric stays all night, given his profession, so they usually make the most of it whenever they can bond and enjoy themselves from the rising to the setting of the moon.

Marcurio wants that, desperately so, enough that his body tingles with need when Cynric dresses down to get into bed. All he has to do, the only little thing he has to do, is to put his hands on the man and ask him to… Well. Maybe not even ask; just show him.

"Lost in your head again?"

Jerking, Marcurio returns to the bedroom where Cynric has slipped beneath the cover, watching him with amused puzzlement.

'Maybe I can at least talk about it? We're good at doing that.'

"Ah, yes, I tend to end up there," he admits with a tired chuckle, removing his robe to hang on its designated spot.

"Can I guess what it's about'?"

Marcurio snorts. "Yes, there isn't much else keeping my focus now." He smooths out a few wrinkles on his robe, not confident enough to face his beloved. "I desperately want to be able to be more forward, but it's difficult. I can't describe it, but it's as if my body just… refuses to do my bidding."

The enchanted fabric tingles softly against his palms. Cynric sighs, sheets shifting as he moves around. "Y'know, I appreciate that you're trying."

"No need to patronize me."

Cynric chuckles. "I'm not. I mean it, really." Those stormy gray eyes watch Marcurio as he dares to face the bed, where Cynric lies on the side with his head in his palm. The candlelight flickers across his shoulder in an unusually enchanting way, though perhaps that's Marcurio's needs talking. "I know it's tough on you, and I'm not expecting you to suddenly change. You've been traumatized, y'know."

"Would've preferred to just snap out of it," Marcurio grumbles and takes his shirt off, folding it to place in the drawer. "I feel trapped in my own body, and it's driving me mad."

"Hey, you're working on it, and that's all you can do." Cynric lifts the blanket for him once he's undressed to ease into the comforting softness of the bed. "I know we agreed on this whole 'it's up to you' thing, but we can always go back on it."

Marcurio shakes his head. "No. I want to get over this annoying hindrance." He lies on his back and looks up at Cynric, urged by steaming needs but held back by fear. "I just don't know how." He cups Cynric's cheek in one hand and sighs. "You've told me multiple times that I'm welcome to, um... make advances, but I don't feel so confident in how I would do so."

A smirk curls the corner of Cynric's mouth. "Want to practice?"

'By Mara, yes, please, teach me how to woo you out of your clothes.'

"I... I wouldn't mind."

"What do I like, hm? Have you paid attention?"

Marcurio's face burns as he thinks of it. "W—well, you enjoy it when I'm... grabby. When I'm, um, touching you directly. You never were one for subtlety."

"Aha." Cynric moves a few strands behind Marcurio's ear. "Wanna do that?"

Swallowing, Marcurio nods. "I think I just need a little direction."

"Forget where my cocks' at?" Cynric laughs when Marcurio slaps his shoulder, though it's hard to stay annoyed at him when those eyes glitter in the candlelight. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Look, I'm not more complicated than that. Put a hand between my legs or grab my ass or something, and I'll get the hint."

Marcurio hums as he ponders the suggestion. "Don't you think you deserve something more delicate than such… brutish treatment?"

Cynric frowns in puzzlement while drawing a nonsensical pattern with his finger on Marcurio's chest. "What do you mean?"

"You're always so sweet and gentle with me. Or, well, most times, but you never grope me like you ask me to do to you. Of course, if that's what you enjoy, I'll do my best to give that to you." He toys with a coil of raven hair framing Cynric's face. "I just don't want you to ask for the bare minimum when I can learn to give you more."

Stunned, Cynric watches him as seemingly nothing happens behind his eyes. Marcurio proceeds, "Is there anything else you enjoy or that makes you, um, aroused?"

Cynric clears his throat. "Um, well, I'm not sure. I haven't really thought about it." He drums his fingers on Marcurio's chest in thought. "I like it when you bite my neck or pull my hair, y'know, when we kiss and stuff. Makes me hard as fuck."

"Mercy," Marcurio murmurs into the narrow space between them, chuckling at this forwardness that still catches him off guard. "So, if I were to kiss you and pull your hair, would that be sufficient to get my intentions across?"

A teasing smirk spreads on Cynric's lips. "Let's find out, hm?"

Despite having kissed the man thousands of times, doing it with a purpose makes Marcurio stupidly nervous. He seeks comfort in the warmth of Cynric's skin, smoothing a hand up his chest to his neck, where it finds that familiar, perfect spot that fits him better than a pair of tailored gloves. Cynric is already purring when Marcurio pulls him closer and eagerly responds to his kisses without taking over.

Still awkward about leading, it takes a few shy tries before Marcurio licks Cynric's lips in invitation and almost succumbs to fervently kissing him rather than pursuing any matters further. It's enough to set the resting embers in his groin ablaze, and it takes some mind over body to recall his mission.

Pfth, mission. Mission 'Make my husband-to-be aroused after being passive for several years.'. Silly.

Determined to get out of this loop of insecurities, Marcurio moves his hand up the back of Cynric's head, sliding fanned fingers into his thick curls, and forms a fist around them.

"Mmmh," comes a low purr against Marcurio's mouth, and he gathers the courage to disengage the kiss and pull Cynric's head back, revealing his neck, and sinks his teeth into it like the most pathetic predator—it's barely a bite, more like touching him with his teeth, but Cynric arches his back either way. "Fuck..."

Fueled with pretend boldness, Marcurio pulls a little harder, eliciting a needy moan that vibrates against his teeth, and he bites again with some more strength.

"Yeah," Cynric mumbles, breathing hard through his nose. "That does get your, mh, intentions across. Fuck, that's nice."

'By the grace of Mara then, please, claim me.'

When Cynric doesn't immediately take matters into his own hands, Marcurio eases a little closer, uses his other hand to rub up and down Cynric's chest, and even hooks a leg over his hips.

"Mh, I like this," Cynric whispers, sliding a hand along Marcurio's leg. Finally, fingers dig into the back of his thigh. "You're good at being a little tease."

"Trust me; nothing I'm doing is an attempt at teasing you."

"Just horny, hm?"

"You have a very talented mouth—how about you put it to good use rather than making me uncomfortable?"

"Am I?" Cynric all but launches at Marcurio's neck in return, grinning at the surprised yelp before traveling down his chest lips first. "Making you uncomfortable?"

"W—well, in a way, you're the one teasing—oh."

"Hm?" Cynric laps his tongue across Marcurio's nipple again, clearly uninterested in the answer, as he pushes Marcurio down on his back and moves a hand down the inside of his thigh. “You said something?”

“Mongrel.”

"Mm. I love it when you call me cute things."

Marcurio pulls his hair. "Mouth. Elsewhere."

"Needy."

There's no dignity in the whine leaving Marcurio's throat when Cynric sucks a nipple between his lips. Instead, he arches into the sensation of warm and wet, nearly tearing up when Cynric proceeds to palm him over his underwear. He never had to go long without pleasure with Cynric being in heat nearly constantly, and as much as he's longed for it, receiving the wonders of touch after days of nothing but kisses elevates the sentience of eager hands on his skin.

"You're fucking sexy when you're needy, though," Cynric whispers and finally travels down Marcurio's body, kissing his way to the inside of his thigh. "I rarely see you like this."

"You usually keep me satisfied enough not to go insane," Marcurio points out and bites down a moan when Cynric mouths his arousal through the thin fabric. "Gods, please, stop dallying."

Cynric grins against his thigh and laughs darkly when Marcurio eagerly helps remove his remaining clothes. "Maybe I should deny you sex more often."

Veins burning with need, Marcurio grabs Cynric's hair and pushes his face between his legs. "Do that, and I will deny you your breath, you evil hound."

Of the reactions Marcurio expected, a rumbling moan wasn't one of them, and he spots Cynric watching him with reverence. Saying nothing, he makes a show of kissing and licking Marcurio's throbbing arousal like he isn't on the edge of committing murder already, and he doesn't feel a bit bad when thrusting into Cynric's mouth the second it's on him.

"Mara," he moans to the ceiling, melting from the overwhelming sensation of warm and wet and goddess; the sound Cynric makes around him is—oh. It takes a second to realize what he's done, and he wakes from floating in pleasure. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to; I just—"

"Do that again."

Bewildered, Marcurio looks down to find Cynric watching him with pupils so large the gray is but a thin thread. Oh, he's panting, fingers flexing around Marcurio's thighs.

"S—sorry?"

"Move your hips again."

Marcurio doesn't have the sense to get embarrassed and does as told, albeit more controlled this time, and Cynric's moaning makes it impossible to be gentle. More fills his mind, consumes every cell, and he combs trembling fingers through Cynric's hair while rolling his hips with increasingly frantic movements.

"So good," Cynric slurs while catching air and digs strong fingers into Marcurio's thighs, holding on while allowing him to pick the haphazard pace. Come to think of it, there's so little Marcurio knows about Cynric's preferences regarding intimacy—he always leads, always offers Marcurio whatever he wants and needs, rarely asking for anything in return.

It's shameful, he realizes, not wanting to learn about your partner's preferences or how to please them. He's always been too shy and afraid to venture too deep into same-sex intimacy, another trauma scrambling about in the bottom of his backpack of life experiences, but there hasn't been anyone else he feels this safe with.

"Do you like it?" He dares ask, struggling to keep contact with reality with the promise of blissful release hanging on the horizon. "This?"

Cynric moans, eyes rolled back as Marcurio uses his mouth however he wants, squeezing his thighs in what feels like encouragement. He wants to give; give to the man that always offers and never takes, that spoils him rotten with touch and pleasure.

Determined to be more forward, and quite stupidly so with most of his blood pooling elsewhere, Marcurio grabs Cynric's hair and pushes, forcing him to take more. Panic rushes through his stomach when Cynric pulls back with a cough, and he's ready to apologize but is shut down by the fierce smolder burning in Cynric's eyes.

"T—too much?"

"More."

"Oh, okay. Let me know if it gets too much, will you?"

Cynric nods eagerly and devours him again, severing the little connection between Marcurio's brain and body, and it takes some force to take control over both Cynric's head and his own hips.

Marcurio should be ashamed for enjoying such crude debauchery, but he isn't. He wants to blame it on Cynric's mindless moaning, on how he rocks into the bed at the same pace as Marcurio's hips into his mouth, that this is all his doing, but even Marcurio knows better. He wants it, needs it, and has been driven to the point of desperation that he can't even be decent enough to hide his voice.

"Fuck, love," comes Cynric's hoarse moaning when he pulls back for air, his voice dripping with arousal in a way that forces Marcurio to look at him. As much as the man always looks like passion incarnate during their intimate moments, there's something daedric about the glistening saliva around his mouth and dripping down his chin, in the way he watches Marcurio like he's seconds away from scaling him like a wall.

Shamelessly, Marcurio wants nothing more, and maybe he says it aloud, or Cynric can read his mind because Cynric kisses the insides of his thighs while easing onto his knees, pushing into the space between Marcurio's legs as if he's not already welcoming him like one of Dibella's devotees.

"What do you want?" the asshole asks as if it isn't written all over Marcurio's face or clear in how he grips his shoulders. "I want to hear it."

Is it possible to hate and love a man with equal measure? "You and your bloated ego."

"C'mon," he purrs, hands wandering up Marcurio's burning body. "Tell me what you want from me."

"Fewer words and more touching," Marcurio demands, though what little authority his voice holds vanishes when Cynric dips his head to suck a nipple into his mouth, tonguing it like a marble sweet until he moans in helpless arousal. His nimble fingers easily find the other without looking, pinching, and pulling in just the way to make Marcurio thrust against his flat stomach. Part of him wants Cynric to continue until he finds release against his hot skin, but that wouldn't be as satisfying. Cynric knows it too.

"How about you use your words then, hm?" he teases, the bloody scoundrel, kissing his way to Marcurio's lips, making him lose himself in the heat of his mouth. "Can't read your mind, y'know."

"We both know that you can."

Cynric grins against Marcurio's lips. "Yeah, but hearing you say it is fucking delicious."

"Mongrel."

"Maybe." He pinches harder, making Marcurio jolt in part arousal and part pain. "But this mongrel wants to know if you want him to fuck you into the bed or not."

Embarrassment claims Marcurio before he can get a word out, making him hide behind his hands. Yes! He wants to shout, Please!, but the words stick to his throat like melted toffee. It's still hard after all these years to just say it, so all he can do is nod.

Cynric kisses Marcurio's chest and neck, forcing him out of hiding to receive some lovely pampering from his lips. "Yeah? You want me to do that?"

Marcurio nods again and moans when Cynric rolls his hips against his, offering the friction he's been aching for. "I—I want, mh."

"You want what?" Cynric whispers to his jaw, kissing it while fumbling for the oil in the nightstand. "Wanna tell me?"

Oh, Marcurio does, but his tongue is knotted in shame. He nods.

"You're so brave for me," Cynric coos. It shouldn't encourage Marcurio as much as it does, but he can't help the pride despite not doing anything to deserve it. "So beautiful and brave." He pops the cork open, the sound enough to make Marcurio's skin prickle with eagerness. "C'mon, my love, tell me."

"I want — haah… That." It's not much of a description, but Cynric surely knows what Marcurio means when his slick fingers trace between his legs, to which he responds by spreading them further. "I want you."

"Mhm?" Cynric rubs his fingers in tantalizing circles, pushing but not enough, while his free hand still toys with Marcurio's nipple. "Want me to what?"

Gods, Marcurio is too needy for this. How isn't Cynric too needy to be an asshole? "Just get your bloody fingers inside me, you thief!"

"As you wish," he whispers and does just that, easing two inside Marcurio's trembling body while Marcurio buries his hands in Cynric's wild hair, prudishness be gone while moaning into the crook of his shoulder. "So beautiful, my love," Cynric says in awe, curling his fingers until Marcurio arches into his touch. "So wonderfully noisy and beautiful."

Marcurio has no retort, his mind blurry and overwhelmed with arousal while Cynric works his fingers into an eager pace, soon drawing wisps of energy from beneath Marcurio’s skin into the room. Marcurio tries to hold back, but Cynric increases the pace while he melts into the bed, succumbing to the weight of his body and the rhythm of his fingers.

"Cyn," is all Marcurio manages to choke out while Cynric makes his legs shake and toes curl, his control slipping as more energy escapes his barrier, crackling as it lights up the room. "I — I… "

"That's it, love," Cynric encourages eagerly, panting into Marcurio’s neck. "I'm gonna make you cum so fucking hard that you set the room on fire."

"Oh, Mara."

Ever since that happened, Cynric has made it his sole purpose in life to relieve the panic of putting out a pair of flaming curtains, which Marcurio still can't believe he thinks is the best thing that ever happened to him. It's all about his ego, and as much as Marcurio wants to enjoy this pair of curtains a bit longer, they might go to waste if Cynric keeps this up.

Which, of course, he does, and even in the chaotic euphoria of an orgasm, he can feel the smile on his skin, how it grows when he loses control over his voice and body when the smell of burnt wood rises into the room from where he's clinging on to the bed frame. Cynric holds Marcurio throughout it, grounds him while he ascends to a quiet, tingling paradise, allows him to float for as long as it takes before descending back to the bed, to his safe arms, and—oh.

"How are you holding up?" Marcurio asks, not even trying to hide his amusement. Cynric makes a frustrated noise through gritted teeth, his breathing strained as he's likely holding back in wait for Marcurio to calm down.

"Barely," he admits with a laugh, pressing his hot arousal against Marcurio’s leg. "Watching you cum almost sends me off, y'know?" He kisses Marcurio’s cheek when he tries to hide again and catches his lips with a needy moan. "Can I please fuck you silly now?"

"Well, I suppose that’s alright—"

Cynric almost falls off the bed when fumbling for the nightstand again, but he doesn't grab the vial at first, but a stamina potion.

"Really?" Marcurio raises an eyebrow as Cynric almost chokes on the greenish liquid, some spilling down the side of his mouth. "Already?"

"Unless you want this night to end the second I get my cock in you, then yes."

"... Ah. Well, I, um..."

Cynric grins as he reaches for the oil. "I thought so. May I invite you to turn around, my sweet?"

Usually, he’d need a lot more coaxing into such a perverted position, but tonight he can't care enough to be a prude and rolls over to his stomach beneath Cynric's burning gaze.

"Yeees," he sighs when Marcurio lifts his hips into his eager hands, fingers kneading his thighs. Marcurio gets just enough time to stuff two pillows beneath him for support before Cynric pushes inside with a moan that makes his skin prickle.

At a normal time, they spend a lot of time touching and kissing, but there's no time for such gestures now, and Marcurio can't complain when Cynric rushes the pace to something desperate that does a good job of scratching that itch of not having touched each other for days.

It's raw and harsh in just the right way, Cynric digging bruises into his hips with each pull, twin moans melting together with the debauched echo of sweaty skin on skin, all while Cynric, um, well, fucks him into the bed.

"C'mere," Cynric gasps while pulling Marcurio's hips, helping him to sit back on his lap. The pace slows as Cynric leans back on one hand, using the other to roam across Marcurio's body while snapping his hip upward. That stamina potion sure serves him well. "Have I told you how beautiful you are?"

Marcurio leans on the pile of pillows, arching into Cynric's generous treatment. "Quite often."

"I mean it, y'know? Just... fuck." Cynric strokes his back, hand curving around his hip. "It's like I've been blessed and gotten a fucking god for a husband."

"Fiancé," Marcurio corrects, though he forgets the subject when Cynric toys with his increasingly interested arousal. "Oh, mercy..."

Cynric chuckles. "No mercy in this house tonight."

Thank the goddess for that.

The sun peeks over the horizon in a splendor of liquid gold when Cynric collapses next to Marcurio, both hoarse to the point that talking is painful. All his muscles ache, from a throbbing back to stiff thighs, but Marcurio couldn't have asked for a lovelier night.

"Fuck me, that was… Damn," Cynric says between gasping breaths, laughing as he rolls over to wrap himself around Marcurio. "Maybe we should go a week without sex now and again."

"No, we should not," Marcurio protests, much to Cynric's amusement. "I agree that tonight was... different, in a very pleasant way, but I prefer being able to focus on my work and not, um..."

"Fantasizing about riding my cock every day?"

Cynric laughs when Marcurio slaps his arm, then more when he's got nothing to defend himself with since that was mostly what's been on his mind.

"I appreciate all the effort you made for me," Cynric goes on while Marcurio contemplates getting out of bed to get cleaned up or not. "I know it's been difficult for you, and you really didn't have to, but I'm glad you did." He smiles against Marcurio's chest, pecking little kisses to the dark coils of hair. "Do you think you'll be more comfortable taking initiative in the future?"

Marcurio contemplates for a moment while playing with Cynric's hair. "I think so? At least now I know how to approach you since I have done it once."

"You'll let me know if it gets uncomfortable, right? You feeling good is most important."

It's still baffling to be the main focus of someone's loving attention, especially when coming from a family where any form of appreciation had to be deserved. Even after all this time, Marcurio still struggles to believe it, but Cynric never lets him forget that he's important.

"I promise to be clear about how it feels," he agrees. It's foreign to be in what must be considered a healthy relationship, where differences are discussed rather than screamed or ignored. "I do look forward to feeling a bit more brave."

Cynric eases up on an elbow to look at him, that usually smug grin wiped off for a soft smile prettily framed by greasy black hair. "You're already the bravest person I know, so I bet that won't feel much different."

"Pfft, silly man." Marcurio reaches for Cynric's cheek to guide him down for a kiss. "You say such things."

"They're all true, too," Cynric whispers against his lips before kissing him again. "And you're fucking cute when you blush."

"Mongrel."

Cynric laughs as he settles on Marcurio's chest. "Yours truly. So, what color curtains do you want the next ones to be?"

"I'm more concerned with getting fireproof curtains than a specific color."

"Nooo," Cynric pleads against his neck. "I love it when you lose control like that."

Marcurio clears his throat. "While I appreciate that, I'd appreciate more not risking burning the house down."

"It's fine, my sweet; I'll be in charge of rebuilding if that happens."

As reassuring as that should be, Marcurio still raises an eyebrow at Cynric's innocent gaze, followed by a laugh. "I can't believe you're willing to risk our house for something as silly as that."

"Hey, orgasms are important! And making you cum is the best thing in the world, so yes, I'd risk the entire city for it." Cynric yawns before beginning to battle the sheets, to which Marcurio clears his throat.

"We're getting cleaned up."

Cynric sighs dramatically. "C'mon, I'm exhausted. We can get cleaned up after sleep."

"What? No, the sheets will get ruined."

"My sweet thing, I believe they already are."

Marcurio huffs, though he refuses to look when Cynric holds the cover up to display some debauched stain next to a couple of burn marks. "I'm terribly sticky."

"I'll bathe you with flowers and fragrant soaps and clean the bed if you just sleep for a few hours with me."

"... You promise?"

Cynric throws the cover over them, stain-side up. "Whatever you wish for, my love, just close your eyes and sleep."

Reluctantly, Marcurio relents, and it doesn't take five minutes before he dozes off with Cynric's sweaty limbs wrapped around him like a needy octopus, just the way he likes it, and as the sun rises above a grimy Riften, his courage climbs another step on the ladder of confidence.

One day, perhaps, he'll be able to face the world and the love of his life without doubt.

Chapter Text

Maybe he can be brave once more.

Maybe, if he inhales another breath and waves the intrusive fear away, he can be brave enough to approach his spouse-to-be, who is currently cutting vegetables for their dinner, and bold enough to do so with a naked torso after a cleanse. Marcurio can never tell if the thief is actually uncomfortable in the summer heat or if it's a simple trick to gather interest; either way, it's difficult to look away when the late afternoon sun casts his tinted skin in deep gold, and it's easy to imagine tracing those slim, muscular arms all the way up his shoulders and down his slender back.

Oh, Marcurio wants to, enough so that he considers the rejection being worth it.

"Seeing something you like?" Cynric teases without looking up from the chopping board, as if Marcurio's gawking is as loud as his footsteps. "'s good to know I'm still a nice view."

Marcurio silently curses the thief's excellent hearing and grand ego before entering their kitchen, tearing his gaze off of his glorious fiancé and finding comfort in the pale carpet running across the room from door to window. "I suppose it's an upside to living with you."

Cynric's laugh is bright and warm, which only draws Marcurio's attention back to his body, to the multitude of scars, and to the strength and resilience he's grown throughout the years of skulking in the shadows along with his fellow guild members. Mara, to think Marcurio ended up with a criminal of all things is equally as astonishing as him ending up with a man. A man whose shoulders shift and bulge as he chops vegetables, and Marcurio recalls them in bed a couple of nights ago, where he dug his fingers into those muscles with helpless abandon.

'Can't I offer him the joy of being sought after of my own accord just once?'

After reminding himself that Cynric has clearly stated that he wants Marcurio to approach him in search of pleasure, it still takes a couple of breaths to step off the carpet and crowd the man's space.

"Oh, hello, gorgeous." Cynric greets his arrival, hands sliding around Cynric's sturdy waist and onto his stomach. The thief exhales a content sigh when Marcurio embraces him from behind. "Are you alright?"

Mara, is that the first thing crossing his mind, that something is wrong in order for him to seek intimacy? Perhaps it isn't uncalled for, given how sadly rare it is, but it does bolster Marcurio's determination to break out of his prison bars of trauma for both of their sake.

"Perfectly fine," Marcurio assures between Cynric's shoulders and kisses the spot. Cynric shivers in response and hums. "Save for you making it difficult to focus." He kisses the spot again before resting his forehead against it, inhaling the refreshing scent of thyme on Cynric's warm skin.

"I do?" Cynric asks with the innocence of a condemned man. "How so?"

"Don't play stupid." Marcurio hugs him a little tighter before drawing back, and Cynric shifts like he's about to interfere before Marcurio smooths his palms up the thief's arms and shoulders, taking a moment to enjoy the familiar texture of skin and scars. "I know why you saunter around half naked as much as you do."

The knife clatters against the chopping board when Marcurio boldly runs a hand up Cynric's neck with fanned fingers, into the nest of untamed curls. The thief's breathing stops, his muscles tensing in what Marcurio prays is anticipation and not dislike. He swallows audibly when Marcurio kisses his shoulder. "Y-yeah? And why's that, then?"

"To annoy me," Marcurio tells his warm skin and pecks another nervous kiss further up his shoulder. "To throw my focus into disarray and bother me." Cynric finally starts breathing again, shallow gasps for air that stutter when Marcurio plants a shaky kiss against his neck. What if he's trying to find the correct words to turn him down or ask him to stop being a bother? The man is trying to prepare dinner, after all, so perhaps this was the dumbest moment to interfere.

"Hah, sounds like you caught me," Cynric admits with unfamiliar shakiness, followed by a pleased hum that sounds suspiciously much like a moan when Marcurio tamely bites his neck. "Gotta make sure the view is good for you since you never leave the house."

Emboldened by Cynric's shallow breaths, Marcurio forms a weak fist around the thief's hair just like that time in bed and guides his head to drop left, which it easily does, and kisses the revealed area a couple of times before biting again, this time with more strength. Cynric's moan is louder and clearer, making it obvious even to Marcurio's crippling anxiety that his approach is welcome, which further fuels his efforts to show this obnoxious man how attractive he is.

"Are you insinuating I'd find other attractive men should I simply walk out the door?" Marcurio remembers having a second hand and runs it down Cynric's flank, indulging in his hot skin as it travels around to the front to find a comfortable spot just above his belt. For a few seconds, he considers feeding Cynric more meals a day to keep him in good health now that he's moving around Skyrim more for 'work,' getting contracts that have him on the move so often it's slowly becoming frustrating to not be annoyed at a familiar interval.

Cynric's breath hitches when Marcurio thumbs over his pelvis. "Maybe? You never know." With one hand bracing against the counter, Cynric moves the other on top of Marcurio's, squeezing it in encouragement. It does help silence the whispers in the back of Marcurio's mind, and he bites harder, both from boosted confidence and a spark of annoyance. Cynric winces in response, alongside a breathy yelp. Afraid he's gone too far, Marcurio's nerves relax again when Cynric squeezes his wrist, followed by guiding his hand south to the belt buckle.

"How dare you think I would enjoy the view of another man more than yours?" Marcurio whispers and fights the belt with nervous fingers. "That's rather insulting, joy."

"Well." Cynric lets go of Marcurio's hand to grab the counter edge when the belt finally falls open, allowing Marcurio to battle the strings of his trousers while he seemingly struggles to stay standing. "You've got grand taste, y'know? Maybe I'm not the only handsome man with a shitty hair care routine and a liking for sparkly things."

"You certainly are the most bothersome," Marcurio assures. He fights back the demons trying to convince him that his touch is unwanted, using Cynric's shuddering moans as a blade, blocking taunts with the heat rising off his skin. A hoarse 'oh, fuck' slaps the demons into darkness when Marcurio eases a hand inside the open trousers, through dark pubic hair, until his fingers touch the solid base of Cynric's obvious arousal.

He likes it, Marcurio realizes when his mind can't argue with the physical fact in his hand. Cynric bucks into his touch with none of the usual control he guides Marcurio with; it's needy, which is rare given Marcurio is usually the one seeking more attention than he gets, which only has to do with Cynric's amusement at driving him to the brink of desperation. Now, Cynric doesn't even say anything; he grips the counter so hard his knuckles have paled and whimpers when Marcurio pushes his trousers down, freeing him from the restraint.

Sad as it is, Marcurio hasn't seen him like this before. Guilt quenches his arousal; he's kept Cynric from experiencing this for so long for no better reason than fear.

"I'm sorry I've been so selfish," Marcurio whispers behind Cynric's ear and kisses the spot. "I'm sorry I've denied you touch for so long."

"'s not your fault," Cynric replies throatily, gasping when Marcurio wraps trembling fingers around him. "I know it's been difficult. 's why I don't mind. However, this—haah—is very welcome. Fuck, your hands feel so good."

"Are you not upset?"

Cynric laughs with disbelief. "Do I seem upset?"

Of course he doesn't. He appears to be fully enjoying himself, even meeting Marcurio's hand with a few shallow thrusts. "Not particularly." But that doesn't mean Marcurio's brain won't think he is.

"I won't lie and say I haven't wished for it," Cynric goes on with some difficulty, spearing Marcurio's heart. "But I'm not upset, sweetness. I'm—fuck—glad you feel so... so comfortable with me. You are so brave."

Brave isn't something one should be when it comes to giving their partner baseline attention, but hearing Cynric say it disperses some of the guilt, and he curls his fist tighter in Cynric's hair, eliciting a helpless moan that turns Marcurio's skin clammy beneath his robe. Part of him wants Cynric to switch the roles and take charge as usual, because it's easier to be led than to lead, but he knows how to touch Cynric to make the experience the most enjoyable; the thief is nothing if not patient and pedagogical, so when Marcurio teases the leaking head with his thumb and drags it down the frenulum, Cynric moans loud enough the market goers might've heard had the window been open, and his head falls back onto Marcurio's shoulder.

"Again," Cynric begs, and Marcurio gives it to him, suddenly understanding why the thief takes such enjoyment out of pleasuring and teasing him. It feels good to be the reason Cynric's knees buckle and slam into the counter, to be the reason he gasps for air, and to be the reason his voice pitches higher by the second. That, despite the lack of experience, Marcurio is slowly but surely driving Cynric into madness simply by knowing which points of his body have the highest level of response.

Setting the guilt and shame aside, Marcurio looks down Cynric's beautiful body to his hand working in a rolling up-and-down motion, lubricated with sweat and pleasure, silently pondering how something so simple can bring one such joy; it's just touch, after all, nothing extravagant like marble toys or complex rope-bindings he's read about in his not-so-secret stash of filthy books. It's fascinating, he realizes, watching Cynric's taut stomach shudder as he increases the speed of his hand, hearing his vocal cords go tired and hoarse, and soaking up the blazing heat from his body.

In what other ways can he make his body react?

Experimenting, however, is clearly off the table today when Cynric leans forward onto the counter, gasping and cursing. His arms shake in the effort of keeping his body from collapsing, and Marcurio knows by heart the signs that his dear menace is growing close to climax. So, filing away the notion to one day explore what other means of pleasure he's withheld from his partner all this time, Marcurio kisses Cynric's shoulder and pushes through the growing fatigue in his arm to the lovely sound of Cynric falling apart.

Should he say something? Cynric always encourages him and supports his distress throughout their intimate moments, but he's never voiced a wish to hear anything in return. Will he ruin the ascent if he says something? And can he even say anything with enough confidence not to sound absolutely silly? What could he say that'll enhance the moment? What does Cynric enjoy hearing him say? He can't think of anything filthy that'll come out boldly or cheekily enough to affect Cynric in an arousing way. No, it has to be something true to him rather than the thief, whose talented mouth knows exactly how to make Marcurio blush like a hormonal youngster.

Maybe...

"I love you," Marcurio whispers into Cynic's clammy skin and kisses his shoulder again, making a trail along the side of his neck. Cynric whines pitifully and shudders from head to feet. "I love you so much, my dear. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life alongside you."

"Fuck!" Cynric fumbles for Marcurio's free hand and brings it up and around, pressing it against his pounding heart. Marcurio bites through the grinding discomfort in his elbow and increases the speed further, tugging and rolling his wrist, finding endurance in Cynric's helpless moans and the surprising burst of passion when Cynric cries out his name, his love, babbling silly things like him being the world, the stars, and the moons, and Marcurio remains overcome with swelling emotions he's unsure how to handle when Cynric careens over the edge of pleasure, spilling all over his stomach and Marcurio's hand.

Filthy crosses Marcurio's mind purely out of habit when the warm liquid settles on his skin, quickly followed by fascination that he can so easily drag this obnoxious man across the limit of his composure. Then, the crashing wave of warmth and emotion, which he decidedly stomps down to let Cynric savor the moment; no need for tears at this time.

"Fucking shit," Cynric mumbles in half a laugh and proceeds to gasp for air, clinging to Marcurio's hand pressed against his chest. Marcurio remains still, save for offering a couple of kisses on the thief's burning skin, trying to ignore the icky liquid rapidly drying on his hand as Cynric's arousal softens. "I... I dunno what to say."

"No need to say anything, joy."

"I love you too."

Marcurio chuckles. "I bet you do now."

"Done that since ages, y'know?" With much effort, Cynric turns to rest against the counter, trousers hanging open and skin dotted with sweat and substances not unlike the remnants of a festival held in Dibella's name. He smiles dumbly. "I'd still do even if you didn't..." He gestures at his lower body. "...randomly jerk me off in the kitchen. And that's not criticism," he quickly adds when uncertainty bangs its fist in Marcurio's stomach. "You've become a fucking professional behind my back, apparently."

Heat raves across Marcurio's face, and he fails to look away when Cynric cradles his face, urging him to remain unhidden. "I, um... well. You are a proficient teacher, as I've already pointed out before."

"Didn't know I was that good." Cynric's grin is smug and annoying, but Marcurio's heart flutters nonetheless, and even more when Cynric guides his clean hand back to the spot above his heart. Marcurio stiffly holds the other, filthy one far away from their bodies. "Gotta ask you to treat me more often, it seems."

"Well, um." Marcurio, held fondly in Cynric's hands, casts his eyes aside not to face whatever judgement or patronizing sympathy he might risk receiving. "I'd hope to make sure that you...won't need to ask. At least not so often." He closes his eyes when Cynric's fingers twitch around his jaw, fear trickling down his spine that this whole encounter was unwelcome, and that Cynric only assures that it's not in order to be kind. "If-if that's, I mean, it'd be silly to assume, obviously you wouldn't always be interested, I wouldn't b-blame you if--"

As per Cynric's usual way of ending Marcurio's nervous rants, he's rewarded with a kiss so deep it replaces the air in his lungs. Then another, making Marcurio gasp, and a third that leaves him speechless.

"Love," Cynric whispers against his lips, "I'll never not appreciate you coming onto me, whether I'm in the mood or not, because it makes me feel wanted. And no, that doesn't mean I haven't felt wanted at all before," he adds before Marcurio gets the chance to spiral into anxiety. "Even if you offer and I say 'no,' that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it, alright?"

Marcurio struggles to find enough air to speak, still becoming dazed by Cynric's mere touch after so long. "A-alright."

"Good." Cynric kisses him again, and Marcurio wraps his arms around his thief, cradling his strong shoulders, and burrows a hand in his hair while being devoured by breathtaking kisses, drowning in affection until an uncomfortable sensation tugs on the skin of his hand.

"Oh. Oh, oh no."

Cynric is busy trailing kisses down his neck when realization hits like a bolt of fire. "Hmm?"

"We might need to wash your hair, my dear."

It hits Cynric then, and the thief angles his head, hissing when the small hairs in the back of his neck are glued to the dry remnants on Marcurio's hand. "Am I stuck in my own cum?"

Marcurio barks a laugh at the absurd sentence only to slap his other hand across his mouth. "It...appears so. Um, I'm terribly sorry."

"Are you?" Cynric's unamused gaze spears Marcurio's eyes, but it's not enough to quench the bubbling amusement. "I don't think you are."

"Nonsense," Marcurio insists, clearing his throat from laughter. "Come, let's...ease over to the sink, and we'll sort this out."

"And here I was planning on having you for starters."

Marcurio loses the battle with his willpower and laughs aloud at Cynric's bitterness; it's a rare thing to have the thief sulking, and why not make the most of it? "Don't worry, my dear, I'll return in my short summer robe for dinner, and your mind will fall right back into the gutter."

"...Asshole."