Afire
Written for August Fic Challenge 2023, Prompt: Incandescent. Follows Wildfire and Starfire and Soulfire. Note for references to Farid's unsavory past (Implied/Referenced Underage Sex) but he is definitely 18 in this fic. Comments and Kudos are awesome! Please enjoy!
The Inkworld is all Farid dreamed it would be and so, so much more. Full of magic and mysticism. Sprawling forests full of towering trees all littered with magnificent creatures of every shape and size and color. Rivers that flow with life unlike anything he has ever seen before, the banks dotted with equally mysterious flora and fauna. There is a grand castle somewhere off in the distance, and there are scattered towns full of fascinating people, all living such different lives than the ones he has left behind in those other worlds. But, even in his wildest dreams of this place, there is one thing he had never dared to think of, no matter how much he might have wanted it. It turns out that in the Inkworld, even that hopeless dream is possible.
Because here, now, he has Dustfinger. In ways that he had never truly believed he ever could. That Dustfinger would care for him so much, that he would finally be free to share the man's bed, his heart, his life in the ways he has since his arrival here – it is, in some ways, more magical than the Inkworld itself.
It has been a little more than a month since their reunion. And they have settled into this new life together with considerably more ease than they had the last one, in the strange woods of Silvertongue's equally strange land. He has learned that Dustfinger had, briefly, returned to his wife, his daughters, but he had not stayed with them. They had moved on in ways that he could not, trapped in that other world for so long, and there was no going back now, not for any of them. He was not the same man that Roxane had married, not the father Brianna and Rosanna had known when they were young, nearly too young to recall him at all. He could not pretend he still fit there with them, in the new shape of their family.
But with Farid, there is no need to pretend. They fit together perfectly, as if that was always how it was meant to be, no matter what worlds they had started out in.
And so, it is just the two of them, wandering where they will in the Wayless Wood. They will put on shows if they happen upon a village. They will trade for supplies or shelter should they need it. Mostly, they keep to themselves – no rush, no plans, no worries.
Tonight is no exception. They are settled together deep in the forest, far from any town, a fire crackling nearby, with Gwin and Jink off hunting in the trees. It is so like those nights in the other world, but so very different. Now, Farid finds himself laid out on a bedroll, the older man's body braced over his own as they trade long, lazy kisses in the firelight, the pace slowly trending toward something more purposeful and determined. They get lost in each other so easily.
"Touch me," Farid begs, his own hands greedy and searching, dragging over the well-defined muscles and scattered scars hidden under the soft linen of Dustfinger's shirt; his skin seems even hotter than usual, like Farid is the one setting it alight. "Please."
"Of course," Dustfinger answers, quick to comply with this request even if it drags his attention away from the marks he has been determined to litter over Farid's neck. He works Farid out of his clothes as swiftly as possible, shedding his own as he goes. He lets his fingers graze over skin here and there, teasing, taunting, tempting.
He revels in Dustfinger's touch, the fire of his fingers tracing over bare skin in the cool night air. It is the only time Farid likes to be cold – lives to feel that stark difference between them, the contrasting temperatures playing havoc with his body.
It is the one reason he is glad Dustfinger has not yet shown him how to talk to the fire – he knows that once he tastes the fire honey they will be the same, that Dustfinger's touch will not feel so starkly different from his own. They will both have the fire thrumming through their veins, then, and while that does offer up the opportunity for some likely more… adventurous activities, it also means he will lose this one.
But that is a problem for another night.
Because these encounters have been steadily escalating for a while now and it seems like tonight may be the night Dustfinger finally takes what is on offer.
"Are you sure?" Dustfinger asks, when Farid shifts meaningfully beneath him.
And Farid has done this before. All of it. More. In much less pleasant conditions than this. In his own world and in the world he had been read into. Bartered with his body for money or food or shelter or protection, whatever he needed to survive on his own. But not in this one. In this world, he is only Dustfinger's. Will never let anyone but Dustfinger have him ever again.
He had never liked those things he had to do. But he wants to give Dustfinger everything. Everything.
"Yes," he answers, the single word so resolute that Dustfinger does not question it.
The people he had done those things with before, they had never been gentle, they had never worried about hurting him, never lavished him with praise, never called him 'love,' or 'darling,' or 'sweetheart'. None of them had bothered giving him any pleasure for what he had given them.
But Dustfinger does.
It is only when Dustfinger presses his fingers inside of him, drags the digits over something deep inside that makes him see stars that he realizes just how good it can feel. Dustfinger takes his time, stretches him open and when he does finally slide in, generously slicked with oil, he realizes this does not have to hurt the way it had with those faceless nobodies. What little pain there is gets lost under the burn of Dustfinger's skin against his own and by the time he brushes against that bundle of nerves inside him again, there is no pain at all – only white hot pleasure. Now, he is almost glad that those others had not been kind to him, that there had been none of those pet names – those things are all Dustfinger's now. "I've got you," Dustfinger assures him, holding Farid's body flush against his own, the two of them pressed together so much so that it is difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins, the warmth of the fire wrapped around them both. "You're doing so good, love," he says, pressing biting kisses against the curve of his shoulder when he starts to move, "I've got you."
Farid cannot speak. The heat is too much. Burning from the inside out, but in a good way, the best way.
"You're mine," Dustfinger continues, hands moving everywhere they can, trailing over every bit of bare skin they can reach, leaving heat trails that make Farid shiver when the night air creeps back in to chase them away. "Mine, always."
He nods, lets out an eager sort of noise when Dustfinger's fingers curl into his hair to pull his head back so he can claim a proper kiss, lips sealed to his like a firebrand. "Yours," he agrees. All he has ever wanted, the only place he has ever truly belonged. "Always."
Dustfinger's hand curls around his arousal and he groans at the overload of sensation. It has never felt so good. Once more the heat is overwhelming, outside and in. The only thing he can do is brace himself through it all as Dustfinger rocks against him, listening to all the pretty words that spill from Dustfinger's lips, all of them meant, unbelievably, for him.
Farid is fairly certain he is saying things back. Likely nothing moreso than a rambling and desperate litany of pleas for more, but at some point he is reasonably sure the words 'I love you,' escape him. They have said those words to each other already in the time since their reunion, but he can feel the press of Dustfinger's lips against his shoulder shift into a smile and they are promptly said in return.
And as much as Farid wants it to last, there comes an inevitable end. Dustfinger works them both up to the edge, sends them careening over it together. Sweat-slick and panting for breath, they stay close in the come down, still too entwined with each other for the chill of the night air to really settle in between them.
Finally, Farid shifts in Dustfinger's hold, turns to face the other man, sated and content to stay there for as long as possible. "We should have done that much, much sooner," he says. He reaches out, drags his fingers along the raised edges of the scars on Dustfinger's face just because he can. Some part of him still refuses to believe that that fond look in Dustfinger's icy blues eyes is directed at him.
"You might be right about that," Dustfinger answers, leans in even closer as he brushes errant strands of Farid's hair out of his face and soon enough they fall into those lazy, languid kisses again.
The kissing slows as sleep draws them closer, but it is the eventual return of the martens that finally spurs any sort of significant movement. Dustfinger pulls away, shooing a scampering Jink off of him – he and Gwin chirp in protest and opt to settle on Farid's discarded shirt, instead. He does not go far, just goes digging in their bags for some spare scrap of cloth. He dampens it with water and uses it to clean them both up as best he can. He is in the process of gathering up the rest of their hastily shed clothing when he finally asks, "Are you okay?"
"I assure you I am far more than okay," Farid answers with a breathless sigh, still sprawled out on the bedroll, still unabashedly naked and aware of Dustfinger's eyes trailing over his body in the flickering light of the fire. "I did not know it could feel so good. It has always hurt before, but not with you."
There is a flash of a different kind of fire behind Dustfinger's eyes, then, a flurry of confusion on his face as the words register. They do not often speak of Farid's life before Silvertongue read him into his world. And Dustfinger does not know everything that happened over the long winter after Orpheus damned them to separate worlds. So many questions, so many answers and now is not the time for them. Not now, when this night is otherwise perfect.
"I did not care for them, and they did not care for me," he explains as briefly as possible, "I gave them what they wanted in return for things I needed and they did not see a reason to be gentle. That was all. But with you…"
"You thought it would hurt but still let me…?"
Farid frowns, does not quite know how to answer that. "I love you," he finally settles on, "I wanted to do that with you. I trust you."
Dustfinger moves before he can ramble on any further, on top of him once more. That fiery look in his icy blue eyes might as well be an inferno now. "Never," he says, hands framing Farid's face. "I will never do anything that hurts you."
"I know," Farid answers, as if he had ever had any doubt.
"I will never do anything to you that I would not let you do to me, either," he adds, and that does catch Farid a bit off guard. He has never done that before, and even the mere idea of it stirs him. Dustfinger chuckles, "Not tonight, though, my love," he says. He wrangles them beneath the blankets that are only just barely necessary and they settle together once more.
Dustfinger draws him down for another kiss, this one a searing promise.