𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 [𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 - 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭]

10 | Making Allowances

... it gets spicy.

— THERE WAS UNUSUAL BIRD SONG ECHOING THROUGH HIS HEAD. Blood pounding beneath his ear. The rise and fall of a tender cotton-clad chest. There were fingers stroking the skin of his waist that made Four feel awake and alive. The touch burned gently into his skin like a brand, ruffling his sweatshirt just a little. One arm was tucked between the mattress and the plains of his stomach, the other flung somewhere overhead. Four's collarbones pressed against the incline of Vega's chest from this angle, his chin resting cautiously on a pectoral. A heart thudded under his lips.

The blond was softer than what he'd initially guessed on those days where he'd watch Bram lie across Vega's chest and try to quench his envy into something more appropriate. It was like Four could wrap his arms around him and squeeze and Vega's form would turn to putty. For all that he was musclebound and stronger than an ox, his skin was still sweet and fleshy beneath his palms.

Four moaned breathily at the thought, the vaguely embarrassing noise turning into a yawn as his ears turned red and his muscles tensed slightly. Now was definitely not the time for any bodily reactions, he chastised and eased himself slightly away from Vega's side lest his thoughts become action. Accidental, very much unrequited action.

Except, hadn't Vega kissed him last night? And he'd pushed him away, panicked by the mere scent of alcohol, convinced for a moment that he was young and powerless all over again. But then, he was young. He was decently naïve, though he'd never say it aloud. A few blind fumblings and week-long relationships didn't really equate to experience. And even though he had never been powerless in those encounters — quite the opposite, he'd had all the power, had entirely demanded it from the feeblest to the brawniest of people — he was powerless here. There was no chance now, no way that he could tie Vega down and keep him exactly where he wanted and growl commands until the other submitted. Four wouldn't be able to, not if there was even a trace of the usual fright in his murky green eyes. The roles were very much in reverse now; Four was entirely at Vega's mercy and the two hadn't even realised it.

He turned onto his back, spine arching to account for the thick arm still trapped beneath him. The warm body shifted, fingers slipping further across his stomach and down just a little, clenching comfortably. Four's breath hitched as a calloused palm glided across his hip bone and into the concave of his stomach, resting right between his belly button and the sliver buckle of his belt.

"Morin'." The rumble of a gravelly morning voice was so much worse, though. Like thunder on a warm summer's eve, rolling in sickly sugared molasses from Vega's tongue.

"Morning." He whispered in reply, voice hoarse. Four tensed again, body stiff, and it was only half out of discomfort. Vega seemed to shake himself awake, apparently not in the least hungover and properly well-rested for the first time in ages. As he did so, the hand retracted sheepishly and he shuffled back and wiped at his face, distancing himself as he sat up against the headboard, duvet tangled around his feet. He was still wearing his sinfully tight jeans and a scarcely buttoned black shirt that appeared baggy even on him. Four thought if he borrowed it it would swallow him whole. He didn't entirely hate the thought.