Archive of Our Own

Conrad slammed the bedroom door behind him with exactly the kind of RV-rattling force that told Worth that, after days of careful plotting, weeks of planning, waiting, of stepping on heels and tapping cigarette ash into socks, he had finally, finally won.

Worth grinned at his fuming partner, purple around the ears and looking close to completely blowing a gasket.

“What. The fuck. Is your problem.” Conrad punctuated each part of the demand with a sharp jab to Worth’s chest, advancing on him like 

“Not sure what yer talkin’ about Connie.” He fluttered his lashes, all innocence, in a way that was sure to piss Conrad off even more. The effect was exactly what Worth had hoped—Conrad’s eyes flashing, fists clenching at his sides. Worth smothered a grin. Fuck, who would have thought after all these years it would still feel so good to get him going.

“Oh, fuck you, you know exactly what you’re doing!”

And sure, maybe he did. Maybe it was a kind of game Worth had been playing when he could get away with it—seeing how far he could push Conrad before he snapped in all the right ways.

The first time it had happened, it was an accident. He’d been chasing a fight more than anything, tossing Conrad’s shit on the floor right after Conrad pitched a hissy fit about keeping the space clean. He thought he'd got it when he found himself pinned to the floor, Conrad growling in his ear, holding him by the throat. But then the tension snapped like a tendon, and the wrestling devolved into frantic, rugburned fucking before either of them really knew what was happening.

The second time it was a hope, not yet an expectation, that first time still crystal clear in mind, the toe-curling hours long afterglow it had left him with. And the third was a challenge: what would it take to tip Conrad’s rage into something else?

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the classiest move, slapping your boyfriend’s ass in front of the whole fey council. Especially not directly after he’d just given a very impassioned and serious speech about the encroachments of werewolves on human settlements, and the equal responsibility of humans to respect the hunting grounds of the Moonlight Races. Worth hadn’t really been listening, but the long moment of silence, punctured by murmured approval from his audience, had seemed like the perfect time to strike. And if the snorts of laughter from the back row and Conrad’s flushed, horrified face hadn’t confirmed it, this certainly did.

Could hardly blame a man. Was Conrad’s fault, if anything. He always seemed to forget that getting pinned down and shoved around was just about Worth’s favorite form of punishment.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?" Worth leered down at him. "Thought ya liked PDA.”

Right on cue, Conrad’s cool, solid hands slammed into his chest, shoving him hard into the wall.

“You are such a fucking asshole I should—I should…fucking kick you outside at sunrise. Fucking toss all your goddamn bloodthorn in the sewer—I should—”

Worth cracked a grin as Conrad crowded closer, practically spewing steam from his ears.

“Yeah, Connie, tell me what a bad boy I been.”

And then Conrad’s fingers were in his hair, twisting hard, yanking his head to the side and sending a jolt down his spine and straight to his dick, twitching now with interest. didn’t bother to bite back a groan.

Conrad’s lips were level with his ear in this position, mouth ghosting over Worth’s jaw as he hissed out a “Fuck you.” Check and mate.

Worth shut his eyes, pressed his chest against Conrad’s and leaned into the sting of the hand in his hair, waiting for the blow. Or the kiss or the whatever kind of foreplay Conrad was up for that night. He was ready, he was so fucking ready, and anything Connie could give, he could take.

What he wasn’t ready for, however, was the sudden absence of Conrad, right as he was skimming a hand down his side to grope at his ass. The hand vanished from his hair, the cool, solid presence of him gone from his ribs.

He blinked around into the dark for a few confused moments, hair mussed, pants chafing at him already.

Conrad was standing at the side of the bed with his arms crossed with an expression of cool disconnect. He’d only taken a single step away, but christ, any distance was intolerable now that Worth’s scalp prickled with the imprint of his fingers. Conrad’s eyes glittered darkly.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” Conrad said with practiced calm.

Worth licked his lips. "Yeah? And wassat, Connie dearest?"

“You’re trying to piss me off.”

“What, it a crime now for a man to appreciate his wifey’s form?”

Conrad’s eyes flashed dangerously and oh fuck yes, there it was. That tiny tipping point between rage and desire—so easy to miss, so good if he got it just right. He placed the cherry on top with a flourish.

“Ain’t my fault you can’t take a compliment, princess.”

“You want a fight?” Conrad growled in his ear. “Fine. You’ve got one.”

And then Conrad was whipping him around, shoving him hard into the bed before he could process what was happening.

Being fresh blood and all, Worth really should be the spry one of the two. He was faster now, sure, and plenty strong. But even still, Conrad remained just a little bit faster, a little bit stronger than him. His powers had come in faster, sure, but he was still catching up, still finding the limits of his body. He tried to be annoyed by it, but all he could really do was wonder what else Conrad could do with that strength, with that speed, if he was pushed. If he really put his mind to it.

An experiment for another time, Worth thought, as Conrad’s weight settled across his hips, straddling him, holding him down. For now, this was everything he’d wanted, everything he’d hoped for. Worth licked his lips, hands drifting up Conrad’s thighs, triumph ringing in his ears. Conrad was practically trembling above him, eyes hot with rage. With cruelty. With desire. Conrad shoved him flat and Worth grinned and rolled his hips. “Goddamn, finally—”

“Shut up.” Before he could get out another word, Conrad’s fingers choked him silent.

It was just a single hand, bruisingly tight against his throat, but it was all Conrad needed to pin him in place, catching words in his mouth.

Worth didn’t need to breathe anymore. He knew that logically. But the pressure and the sudden pain of it made him spasm, mouth caught open, Adam’s apple bobbing against Conrad’s palm. The feeling of all that delicate machinery being held at Conrad’s whim. In the palm of his hand. The sensation is the same, and his cock really doesn’t seem to know the fucking difference, jumping at the pressure of Conrad’s body against his, at the sure grip closing his trachea.

Conrad settled more comfortably into place across Worth’s thighs, just short of his growing erection, so that Worth’s writhing doesn’t offer him an ounce of friction. The whole time, Conrad’s expression didn’t change once as Worth gaped up at him. Cool and uninterested. Haughty and bored. Like Worth was a fucking piece of lint on his shoe.

“I didn’t give you permission to speak.”

Worth groaned with the last of his air. Fuck, oh Christ, why hadn’t they tried this while he was alive? When he needed to breathe, when Conrad really could have done some damage?

Conrad leaned in, brushing his lips against Worth’s jaw, careful to avoid touching him anywhere else. When he speaks, it’s low and commanding in his Worth’s ear.

“This time, you’re going to be a good boy and do exactly what I fucking tell you. Yes?”

Worth tried to spit out something else, he really did. Something about Connie being the puppy here. About being not kidding himself over who was gonna heel for who. Anything filthy and irritating enough to crack that calm confidence. But Conrad didn’t lift his hand from Worth’s throat. Just stared down at him with that same expression of disinterested resolve, waiting while Worth’s larynx convulsed uselessly. Waiting for him to be a good boy. And fuck, he realized as he squirmed under Conrad’s gaze. It kind of sounded really fucking good in his mouth—the promise and threat of it. The delicacy and power in his grip.

Finally Worth nodded, openmouthed.

“Good.”

Then the hand around his throat was gone and he gasped a lungful of air instinctively, nearly dizzying himself on oxygen. Fuck, didn’t think that was possible anymore. But here he was, almost giddy with it, chest buzzing, head reeling.

Conrad leaned down close, propped up on one elbow, the other hand coming to rest on the bed by Worth’s hip, and Worth has never been so aware of the distance between their bodies. Conrad was still perched carefully across his thighs—not quite in his lap, but his weight always on the verge of sliding there. Conrad’s lips brushed slowly down the side of his neck, still stinging with fast-healing bruises, mouth not quite on the skin either, but close enough to leave a tingling trail behind, nerves lighting up at the withheld promise of contact. He couldn’t help but moan aloud as the sharp edge of Conrad’s fang finally grazed light over the jugular, not quite drawing blood.

He closed his eyes as the fang scraped down down down to his collarbone, and waited for the bite.

It didn’t come.

Instead, Conrad’s mouth lingered at the soft skin where shoulder met throat, teeth dragging every now and again. It takes him a moment to work out what he’s doing.

Tiny cuts. Over and over. So light he can hardly feel them at first, but firmer and firmer as Conrad works his way down and across. Conrad nicks a spot just under his jaw and Worth can feel the slow ooze of thick blood trickling down, the flat pressure of his tongue swiping it away, the skin re-knitting, healing itself up, before Conrad makes another gentle cut, reopening it all over again.

It was better and worse than being bitten. Slower, more gradual than being split open all at once, so that at first it doesn’t feel like much at all. But after a few minutes of pressure, cutting and healing and cutting and healing and worrying the tender flesh between the flat of his teeth, soothing it with his tongue, he’s squirming and gasping with every new pass of the teeth. He tried to slip his hand up to grip at Conrad’s hip, but gave up after being swatted away twice, fingers coming to grip uselessly at the sheets instead.

A particularly rough nip forced a sharp, helpless noise out of him, and Conrad growled against his skin, raked sharp nails over Worth’s stomach in response.

Fuck, his pants were getting tight, and Conrad hadn't even done him the courtesy of unbuttoning them. His hips were shifting more restlessly now, trying to shift Conrad into position to get something, anything, any amount of friction against his now painfully hard cock. But Conrad held steady, pressing him down by the stomach and touching him nowhere else but the slow, inexorable sting and press of Conrad’s teeth.

Fuck, it was torture. It was…too much and not enough all rolled into one and his head was buzzing with the potential energy of everything he was on the edge of doing.

He needed. Something. He needed to be bitten. To be hit or choked or cut or touched. Anything besides this slow, steady working over, the sparks of not-quite-enough pain fizzing under the ministrations of that soft, wet fucking mouth.

He opened his mouth, intending to suggest another use for that tongue, when Conrad, as if sensing the incoming insolence, grabbed a nipple and twisted.

Worth yelped, back arching up off the bed, heels planted into the mattress, fingers scrabbling at Conrad’s sides.

Then Conrad went right back to the slow, languorous laving that had him panting useless breaths into the dark, teeth reopening that same sore spot over and over and over and over, healing just enough for a fresh burst of pain with every pass.

Worth could do this. He could sit still. Wait Conrad out. He could be good. All it would take was a little time and patience, and Conrad would give up, decide to do something about his own erection swelling steadily against Worth’s leg. He tried to keep his hips in place and his need in check.

And then Conrad bit.

He practically shouted, twisting up against him into the sharp edge of Conrad’s fangs and oh fuck it still felt good, so fucking good, even dead, even without any human blood for Conrad to take from him. The tight sear of being opened up, Conrad not bothering to be gentle with the freshly knitted flesh.

He can't fucking wait anymore. He’s painfully hard every nerve is lighting up, an overloaded circuit board of sensation he can’t categorize into pleasure or pain anymore. His legs twitch up to wrap around Conrad's waist, urging him closer, and when Conrad holds steady, body held carefully at a torturous distance, he can’t take it anymore. He breaks like a fuckin’ old lady’s hip.

“Christ Connie, come on, ya can’t just—”

“Can't just what?” He says low in Worth's ear, voice still prickling with cool fury. “What is it I can’t do? Can’t hurt you? Tease you? Humiliate you? Drive you up the fucking wall? I can't what?”

That hand is back around his throat and fuck, his head is spinning like he really does have to breathe.

“I am so sick and goddamn tired of you acting like you can say and do whatever you want. And that I’ll just sit there and take it. Because you know what I think?” Conrad’s voice is low and dangerous. “I think I can do whatever I want to you. And I think you'll let me.”

The fingers around his throat loosened and trailed feather light up his jaw. He brushed two fingers over his lower lip, almost tenderly. Then abruptly, he pushed them both inside. 

“Suck,” Conrad commanded. And Worth didn't think twice before obeying.

He let Conrad push past his lip, sliding over his tongue and pressing deeper until his mouth and eyes were watering. If he had to breathe he would have been choking, and even still, the instinct to pull away from the intrusion, to take in deep lungfuls of useless oxygen, was powerful. He gagged involuntarily as the fingers reached the back of his throat.

Conrad didn't break eye contact for a moment, nor did he pull back when Worth's throat convulsed. He just watched, cool and unaffected, made him take it deeper. Which, of course, made Worth want to take it that much more.

Conrad's knuckles were pressed against his teeth, just shy of his fangs. He could have bitten. Could have pulled away or drawn blood. But he didn't. Couldn't, he thought, even if he wanted to. Not with Conrad staring down at him like that, with those dangerous eyes, tension coiled and controlled inside him like a venomous snake. Instead, he just tipped his head, shifted a little to allow him better access. When Conrad added a third finger he groaned, sucking as best he could with his mouth stretched wide and drooling.

"See?" Conrad's voice was dripping with disdain that made Worth's cock strain at his zipper. "Christ, you're so desperate for this. You would let me do anything, wouldn't you?"

He can't think. Can't agree or disagree or get any of the sharp comments that kept skittering across the back of his mind.

"Can't even deny it, can you? Christ, you're pathetic."

Worth wasn't usually the type to get off on this shit. Degrading, humiliating, getting under the skin—that was his job, and Conrad had a talent for responding beautifully to it every time. But something about the steel in Conrad’s eyes, the cold edge in his voice made him wish it was Conrad's cock shoving roughly into his mouth. He imagined being put on his knees, head held back. Mouth forced open so Conrad could fuck his throat, staring down with that same expression of disgust and disapproval. The image made him groan, suck harder.

Finally, Conrad withdrew his fingers and was gone from Worth's lap. His eyes had drifted closed without realizing it, but at Conrad's sudden absence, they snapped open again. He needn't have worried though—Conrad was standing at the end of the bed now, unbuttoning his pants, his own interest obvious through the tenting of his boxers.

"Turn around."

And Worth practically tripped over himself to comply.

"Shirt off for me."

He doesn't even have to think anymore, to translate command into action. Conrad speaks and Worth simply acts. Does whatever he says without a single goddamn thought otherwise. He tosses the shirt over the side of the mattress.

"Pants too."

With trembling fingers, he undoes the button and shimmies them down to his knees, then tries to lift a leg to kick them the rest of the way off, but Conrad stops him, holding his hip firmly in place.

"That's enough."

For the first time in a while that makes him pause.

He feels…exposed…like this. Pants around his knees, unable to move his legs comfortably. Ass out, and no way to cover himself quickly if he needs to. It's not the first time he's fucked half-clothed. Back alleys and cars, dirty bathrooms at clubs. Before the end of the world, pretty much anything was fair game for him, and even more so after, before he and Connie got together anyway. But it feels different to be bared like this in his own goddamn bed. Unable to do much more than shuffle up and down the mattress while Conrad manipulates him deftly from behind. Helpless. Like he's some back alley quickie Conrad can't be bothered to take his time with. Something to be used and used up.

That thought is…it should piss him off. It should, he knows it. It should make him kick back and snap something callous and take back some semblance of his dignity while he could. But instead it makes his cock throb, makes his stomach flip with adrenaline, fear, discomfort, desire, all rolled into one. Then Conrad's fingers are back in his hair, shoving his head roughly into the pillows, and he can't think about much of anything anymore. Conrad tugs sharply, startling a yelp out of him.

"I should make you wait, you know…" Conrad's free hand is still coated in spit, and he's tracing a slick line down his lower back, getting close, so fucking close to his hole. Worth makes a low, desperate noise.

"I should make you fucking beg for it. I should make you sit here and wait while I finish. I don't know if you deserve being touched at all. Do you think you deserve it?"

"Fuckin'...want it…"

"Oh, I know," Conrad says darkly in his ear, his stomach pressed suddenly across Worth's back. "You think I don't know? When you're hounding me all day and night? Humiliating me whenever you can? You're such a prick. Such a fucking hypocrite. You pick a fight in front of all those people, trying to show who's boss. And really, all you want is this."

Conrad is picking up speed, the anger back in his voice. His slicked fingers are pressed right up against his entrance, circling the delicate skin.

"Maybe I should have bent you over right there, showed everyone exactly how desperate and pathetic you are. Showed them what a slut you are for this. You'd like that wouldn't you."

It wasn't a question, and Worth couldn't answer even if it was. He groaned into the pillows, cock still neglected, ass up, unable to do anything but push uselessly toward Conrad's touch, and Conrad seemed in no great hurry.

Worth had done a lot of stupid shit in bed in his day. Been cut, burned, choked, hit, tied up. Often more than one at once, and all of them with Conrad at this point.

But anyone ever came close to talking to him like this before, and they'd be out on their ass. This degrading, humiliation shit wasn't something he'd ever gotten. That was something other people were into. Sadsacks who couldn't cop to the freaky shit they actually wanted, and needed to feel guilty about it. He should be annoyed by this. Bored, pissed off. Anything but achingly hard and desperate for more. But the way Conrad's voice got low, rumbling in his ear, fingers twisting in his hair, knuckles pressed against him, just shy of giving him what he wanted…Christ it made every fucking nerve light up. Made his head feel fizzy and distant, his chest hot and dark. For Conrad, he could be a desperate slut, some cheap whore. He would be absolutely anything to get more of it. He would be fucking nothing at all and thank him for the privilege.

"Slut." Conrad yanked again at his hair, pressing firmly just behind his balls with the other hand. "I want to hear you say it."

His face went hot. His throat bobbed. Christ, it was one thing to hear Conrad say this stuff. It was another to say it himself…

"Ngh…"

"What was that?"

"'M a fuckin'...ah!"

Conrad cut him off with a twist of his hair. "I can't hear you."

"Fuckin'—christ, fine, 'm daddy's little slut, if that's what ya want! Will ya fuckin' get on with it now?"

Conrad didn’t move a muscle behind him. "You can do better than that."

Worth groaned and dropped his head to the mattress.

"One more time. What are you?"

And Worth just gives the fuck up. Lets go of whatever shame he had left and makes a sound that's dangerously close to whimper.

"Fuckin'. Slut…" he manages thickly.

“And whose are you?”

“Mmph…yours.”

One hand loosened in his hair then, and the other shifted to press more firmly against his perineum, making little sparks of pleasure and need pop behind his eyes. He groaned at the relief of it.

"That's right. Now tell me exactly what you want.”

Worth pounded a fist against the bed in frustration. 

“Fuck—fuck, fuck, goddamn want ya to—ugh, want ya to fuck me—”

“What was that? Not sure I heard you…"

“Fuck, Connie!”

"One more time. What do you want?"

"Fuckin'—want you! Christ, Connie, fuck, can't fuckin wait anymore, 'm a fuckin slut for your fuckin' cock, just—fuck, give it to me, come on—"

Conrad pressed two spit slicked fingers all the way in—one quick, rough movement that nearly made Worth's legs give out.

"That's what I thought," Conrad said primly.

It was tight and tense and too much and not nearly enough, but it was SOMETHING, and that alone was enough to punch a strangled noise out of him.

They definitely had lube somewhere. They made it a point to pilfer any they could get their hands on. The resale value alone was stellar, but they had plenty of personal reasons to keep it around too.

But Conrad made no move to grab it, and Worth wasn't about to ask him. Lube made things smooth. Easy. And well…sometimes that wasn't the goal. The tightness, the almost-painful stretch and press and stick of the thin layer of spit between their skin…Christ it was so good. So fucking good. Worth found himself getting lost in the pain as much as the pleasure.

Conrad pressed in another finger, and then another until Worth was wordless and gasping, trying with his limited range of motion to fuck himself back onto them. Then Conrad crooked his fingers, pressing deep until he hit exactly the right fucking spot to turn those sparks into a full-blown bonfire. Worth made a long, low sound that sounded so little like himself, it took him a minute to work out that he was the one making it.

"So goddamn desperate. You actually want it like this, don't you? You want me to make it hurt."

And he does, he really fucking does, though his better judgement keeps trying to insist otherwise, and his mouth is moving, unbidden, trying to tell Conrad so. 

"Fuck, yes yes fuck, come on, get in me already, fuckin'…"

"You're going to have to ask nicely, for once."

"Please…"

He almost cried at the blunt press of Conrad's cock at his entrance. There was some resistance at first, a tight stretch that the spit leftover on Conrad's fingers wasn't nearly enough to ease, and it hurt, it fucking hurt, but then, then, oh Christ yes he was in. Worth dragged in a ragged breath to steady himself as he felt himself stretch to accommodate the intrusion.

“Christ, you’re a cockslut.”

The rough drag, the tight tight so tight push of it. It stung and stretched but finally bottomed out, and the pressure on his prostate, the sweetness of the stretch after waiting so goddamn long was enough to make him forget any misgivings he might have had about anything else. He dropped his head in relief into the sheets.

"Fuuuucking finally…"

Then Conrad's fingers were back in his hair, snapping his head back, vice-tight, forcing his back into an arch.

He hardly had a moment to relax into it before Conrad snapped his hips, punching a noise out of him that was as much pleasure as pain.

"Do you like that?"

The hand in his hair loosened ever so slightly, and Conrad's voice was softer than it had been before. It was an actual question this time, and he recognized, distantly, that Conrad was giving him an out. That if he said no, right here and now, if he said fuck this, I don't like it, fuck off, they would stop, no questions asked.

The thought was nearly enough to make him panic, to instinctively twist his feet against the backs of Conrad's legs, holding him in place.

"Fuck. Yes," he managed, before Conrad could pull back. And the fingers tightened again, Conrad driving deep into him, and he moaned into the sheets in response. 

"Good boy."

And that really should not have made his stomach flip. It should not have turned his whole body cold then hot in quick succession. But Christ, something about Connie's voice low and soothing in his ear, the gentle scratch he gave Worth's scalp before twisting his fingers back into blonde strands…he was already too far gone to care anyway. So what if he liked it. So what if he'd let Conrad do anything with him right now, or any time, as long as this was in the cards. From where he knelt, that didn't seem half bad at all. 

Conrad settled quickly into the kind of rough, steady pace he knew Worth liked. One hand was shoving Worth's head into the pillows, the other gripping tight at his hip, digging in with his nails and, Worth was sure, leaving welts that would last days. He wanted that. Wanted to be marked, wanted to be able to touch, look at them, remember that he was Conrad's.

"Christ you take it so well," Conrad was muttering behind him. "Just like that. Fuck, you look like you were made for this, taking my cock…"

And fuck he felt like he was. Hot waves of shame and pleasure, shame and pleasure, kept washing through him, blazing over his skin, lighting him on fire inside and out until it was all the same thing. Kind of like pain. Like being cut open or shoved around or bitten. The way the that the worse it hurt, the better it was.

“You’re mine.”

“Fuck yes, ‘m all yours baby, all fuckin’ yours…”

He wanted to grit his teeth. To push back against the way that thought—that thought of being made for Conrad, for his use and nothing else, made to be held down here and fucked—the way it made him want to come here and now. He wanted to bury his face in the mattress where he couldn't be seen or heard, could just ride out the feeling to its inevitable conclusion. But Conrad's hand was relentless, keeping him facing up and out, mouth open, forcing desperate, choked sounds from his throat with every shove of the hips. It was easier going now, but still so fucking tight, so much pressure and pain and pleasure, Conrad's hips angling to hit exactly the right spot over and over.

He was hurtling toward the finish, faster than he could keep up, and Conrad hadn't even put a fucking hand on his dick yet. Worth shifted his weight, tried to reach a hand down to jerk himself and abruptly found his wrist pinned behind his back.

Conrad's voice was deadly soft in his ear again. "I didn't tell you you could touch yourself."

"'M close…"

Between his hair being yanked back, and his hand pinned firmly against his tailbone, Conrad had him arched up off the bed, his only point of control at the knees, which were, of course, hobbled by his own fucking jeans. Without enough dexterity to push back, to set his own rhythm, all he could really do was let go, allow himself to be rocked helplessly onto Conrad's cock, his own dick aching, still untouched, and now too far from the mattress to even force some friction with the bedsheets.

"I should keep you like this, you know," Conrad growled. "Make you take what you've been begging for. Maybe I'd even show you off. Pass you around, since you're such a slut for this."

"Christ…"

"Or maybe I'd just keep you tied up. All day, all night, back here in the dark. Use you when I saw fit. Leave you waiting and desperate when I didn’t."

"Connie—"

"Maybe I'd even let you get right up to the edge. Make you beg for it. Then take it away at the last moment. Because you don't really deserve it do you?"

He whined, working his hips, feeling raw as an exposed nerve.

"Do you?"

"Fuck. No…"

"But you want it."

"Yes..."

"Beg me, and maybe I'll let you."

He could only imagine how pathetic, how obscene he looked right now, neck arched sharply, jeans pooled around his knees, held up by his own balance and a cock in his ass, and fuck he didn't care, he didn't give a shit, he wanted to come now.

"Please Connie, please please fuck, please I'm—I fuckin’ need—can't—"

Then finally, finally a hand was around him, stroking tight and fast, slick with fresh spit Conrad must have produced when he wasn't paying attention, the friction such a relief he groans and fucks up into it, filthy pleas still spilling out of him, like Conrad might stop if he didn't keep up the begging because Christ, who knew, maybe he would. This Conrad was a different animal and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t really really fucking like it.

Conrad leaned over, twisting hard at his hair, chest pressed to Worth's back, and he only felt the press of his lips for a fleeting moment before Conrad was biting savagely into his shoulder—fucking him, using him, hurting him, pushing him to the blazing edge and finally hissing into his ear with a final nip to his earlobe: "Come."

And he did. Fuck, he did. He gave a hoarse cry and spilled over Conrad's fist, hips jerking into it, trembling all down his legs, Conrad not letting up until he was utterly spent, quaking and oversensitive, knees on the verge of collapse.

Through the haze of good good so fucking good, he felt Conrad pull away. Felt the splatter across his back as Conrad followed him, gasping, over the edge, then collapsed next to him. He felt it all, but he was still somewhere far away. Vibrating with it down to his goddamn bones.

They drifted like that for a while. Worth could have lived there. Pitched a tent (ha) and set up camp for a long while in that hazy feeling of being faraway and floating. Could have fallen asleep at least, for damn sure.

Beside him, Conrad dropped heavily to his back.

“Oh my god.”

Worth opened one eye and searched for him blearily in the dark. Ah, hell.

Conrad was staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling, looking way too goddamn tense for someone who just nutted their brains out.

“Mm?” was about all Worth could get out, and he thought it was pretty damn charitable of him to even try.

Conrad had a hand spread across his face as if in disbelief.

“That was…” he stuttered. “I mean. Jesus, I’m. I’m so sorry, I don’t—I don’t know where any of that came from. You know I didn’t really mean that stuff, right?”

“Hey.”

“I mean yeah, I was annoyed, but not that annoyed. Jesus, I don’t—I don’t know what’s wrong with me—”

“Hey.”

“Why did all that come out. It’s not like…I wasn’t really—”

Worth summoned what’s left of his strength to shove himself half-upright and shut Conrad up with a lazy kiss. Which worked, for the most part. But when he pulled back, Conrad is still staring at him, wide-eyed and shamefaced.

“Can ya shut up for ten seconds? Some of us just got the best goddamn fuck of our afterlives here.”

Worth wondered how many times they’d have to have sex before Conrad stopped giving him that shocked virgin face. Like he couldn’t imagine anyone saying something so crass.

“You...liked that?” Conrad asked, like he hadn’t just had Worth on his knees begging for it a minute ago. Christ, there really was no helping him.

Worth snorted and flopped back into his stomach, letting his eyes fall shut. “Thought I made it pretty obvious, princess.”

“Even when I…uh…insulted you and called you names?”

“Especially then.”

“Jesus. Why?”

Worth shrugged. “Needa reason for everything? ‘Sides, seems like you liked it too, sweetheart.”

Conrad shifted off the bed for a moment, and when he returned, it was to swipe what felt like an old shirt over Worth’s back. Oh yeah. Jizz. Almost forgot about that. Felt his pants being pulled the rest of the way off too, which was a relief. Finally, Conrad’s weight returned, settling next to him in bed, closer than before.

“I did,” Conrad admitted finally, after a moment of silence. “But I just assumed…it seems like it would be, I don’t know, different? Being on the receiving end.”

“Well, you ain’t wrong.” Worth cracked open an eye to see Conrad on his side and staring at him. He grinned. “’S better.”

Conrad laughed, some of that tension dropping out of his shoulders.

“’Course, can workshop some’a the details. I mean…’cockslut’?”

Conrad shoved him, but he was still smiling, more playful than genuine annoyance. “It was the first thing I thought of! I didn’t hear you complaining, anyway.”

“Yeah well. Was pretty goddamn good. Shame it takes so much to get ya good and worked up these days.”

“Ha! So you were being insufferable on purpose! You are such an asshole, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, it worked out well enough for the both of us. Should piss ya off more often if anything.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible. You could also. I don’t know. Fucking ask.”

But the heat had all burned away, leaving what little Conrad had in terms of soft edges in its wake. Worth lets himself be rolled over into to crook of Conrad’s arm, allows him to snake a cool arm around his waist.

“Nah,” Worth said sleepily. “Surprise is half the fun. The other half is annoyin’ ya.”

“I thought the fun was getting your brains screwed out.”

“That too. That’s the third half.”

And he knew Conrad was as worn out as he was when he didn’t even take the opportunity to argue the semantics of that.

“You know,” Conrad said quietly after a long moment, just as Worth thought he might have fallen asleep. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean all that other stuff but. I did kind of like seeing you like that for me. I liked hearing you say it. That you were mine.”

“Don’t get sappy on me now,” Worth grunted. Conrad said nothing, but he could feel him awake behind him, waiting for something else. Worth turned his face into the pillow, breathed in the distinct lack of smell that was Conrad’s and his now and the smell of Conrad on him.

“Yeah,” Worth said finally. “Guess I liked it too.”

The arm tightened around his waist, and he felt a kiss pressed whisper light to the top of his spine, and skin buzzing, mouth full of the taste and smell of Conrad, he fell asleep.