` ` They're Hurting Again ` `

“They’re hurting again?”

The bed dips down as another weight settles upon the mattress. Machiavelli slides into the empty space left beside the other body on it, gladly taking up the area. Without hesitation, Azazel finds himself melting into it, his body craving the tender contact- especially with the way his chest is hurting right now. That isn’t an uncommon feeling: his chest has always sagged more than usual, barely supported by the belt he wraps around the bottom, but it feels worse now with the weights that his… recent developments have brought on.

They told him they would swell alongside his stomach, but he underestimated just how much it would hurt.

“Yeah.” He murmurs in reply.

“Well,” Machiavelli presses into his side, one arm reaching around him by habit while the other lifts up a small pack: it looks like water, though there is a layer of ice-film around it alongside a very thin cloth. “Good thing I brought these then, yeah?”

“What is that?”

“Cold compresses,” Machiavelli says, his hand snaking around to Azazel’s front. It crawls along until it settles on the soft plane of Azzy’s lower stomach; even through the fabric of a shirt, his palm is warm. Vel’s hands have always been small, but they feel good on the bump beneath them right now. Well… its bigger than a bump now, though Azazel is still stubbornly calling it that. If he thinks of it as small, surely it will stay small, unnoticeable.

Even if he can feel it growing larger every day.

… He leans into the warmth, letting Vel’s hand hide it.

Vel continues. “You know ice packs, right? This is just an ice pack for your, y’know. I’ve seen ‘em help people- it was something Faron suggested, too.”

“Mm…” If Faron said so, then it should be fine. Not that he didn’t already trust Vel’s knowledge.

“Ctimene actually offered to help, too.” He prattles on, confident now that Azazel didn’t reject the compression. “She’s got these really soft bras she says helped her a lot with the pain. They hold everything up... real well…”

He trails off.

At the mention of 'bra', the other's expression fell, he just noticed.

… He knows Azazel is sensitive about all of this. Throughout this entire situation so far, Machiavelli has witnessed Azzy's increasing discomfort and awkwardness, every explanation merely serving to make him squirm more and more. It isn’t anything new, but he can see that today's particular squirms are pointing towards a specific sort of awkwardness- one that includes shiny eyes, not so much discomfort with the subject, but discomfort with himself.

Vel holds back a sigh.

Slow, he nuzzles closer, pushing his nose into Azazel’s shoulder as he leaves the compress in his lap, choosing to place his hand on Azazel’s arm for now instead. His other begins rubbing a small rhythm into his stomach.

“It would help,” His voice is softer. “Less pain, maybe. It wouldn’t be terrible to try it, right?”

That doesn’t soothe Azazel’s expression.

“I don’t…” He falters. Stupidly, he feels a small sting behind his eyes. “I don’t want to feel like…”

He doesn’t finish the thought. Though… Vel catches his meaning.

Azazel has occasionally struggled with dislike of his body. Well- no, he’s dissatisfied with a lot of it, but this is a very specific dislike, one for qualities that he himself has deemed “feminine”. It has been pretty rare up until now, usually smoothed away by the others, but recently it has gotten… pretty common. More than Vel would like.

Even gentler than before, he wraps both arms completely around the larger body, one creeping further up. His thumb finds the skin beneath Azazel’s chest, right along the beginning of the swell of his breasts, where he offers small strokes. The leather makes a shudder run through Azazel, even if the motion is meant to soothe.

“You’re not.” Machiavelli murmurs. “And I’ve worn them before too, you know.”

“But you were trying to be a girl.” Comes Azazel’s reply, lightly bitter.

“Well. Yeah, kinda. I didn’t ever feel like one though.” He nuzzles more into Azazel’s neck. The stubble of his beard lightly scratches the skin it touches. “You get me? I didn’t feel like one, even though I was wearing that kinda stuff. It doesn’t make you one, not if you don’t want to be.”

His hand pauses. “...You’ve always been a guy to me, Azzy. Nothing else.”

… That does help.

A small sigh escapes Azazel, then. That does help.

He lets Vel reach for the compressions after that. The smaller man moves his hand from Azazel’s stomach to the hem of his shirt, tugging upward, lifting the garment off of him for now so he can work. Azazel complies for the moment- but a small whimper from him has the two of them briefly pausing, a wince skittering over Vel’s face.

“Sorry.” He whispers. A few more words of encouragement follow while his hands try being soft and slow, working to keep the shirt from brushing against the sensitive peaks anymore than they have to as he takes off the shirt.

It comes off quickly enough, despite that. Vel tosses it elsewhere for now, eyes flitting back to Azazel’s torso.

With that out of the way- Vel wraps himself back around Azzy, applying the remedy. Lord… The cold touches Azazel's heated skin in a way that has a small whine escaping him, his body melting into Vel and his teeth sinking into his lip.

“Shit, is that hurting it-?”

“No,” Azazel is quick to whisper, stopping Vel from tugging it away. “No, it’s- it’s good.”

“It’s helping?”

“Mmhm.”

“Good.” Machiavelli breathes out. He keeps the contact at that assurance, re-nestling himself into Azazel’s back. “Lemme know when to take it off, I don’t want to freeze your tits off.”

There’s a pause. “… Can that happen?”

“Hm?” Oh. “Uh… No, prolly not. Figure of speech.”

Tension bleeds out of the shoulder he’s nuzzled into at that. When he notices, Vel catches himself smiling. Cute.

For a while after that, Machiavelli holds the small things up for Azazel, letting the larger man relax into him. Lord knows he needs it… The man’s chest hurts on a good day, so Vel can only imagine how heavy and sore they must be with all the recent changes.

… He remembers someone who used to complain about it all the time: a memory where she was rubbing her chest while her other hand flipped him off, prattling off about how he was so lucky he didn’t have to deal with that. Despite himself, he smiles a little at the thought.

A hitched breath drags him out of it: Vel’s brows furrow as he glances over Azazel’s shoulder, catching the concerned expression the man wears.

“What?” He mutters when Azazel doesn’t say anything. His eyes search, before landing on…

Oh.

He sees a bead of white.

Vel has generally been good about leaving the man’s tits alone recently, since he knows that Azzy needed that break. The stimulation from the casual contact must have still been enough to lead to their stiffening though- Vel blinks at the sight of them, hard and wetted with white.

A beat of silence passes between them.

Then, soft and tentative, Azazel mumbles, “Is… Is that normal…?”

Huh. In Machiavelli’s experience, it started a bit later, but… Well, Vel is touching them, and Azazel’s been having issues out of them, so he supposes it makes sense. Still… “Oh. Yeah- yeah, that’s normal.”

He shifts, scooting forward a bit so he can get a better grip: tentatively, he cups the breast with his right hand, easing the compression farther down so he can get a better look at the nipple. His thumb reaches out to wipe away the wetness, and he blinks in fascination as another bead takes its place, followed by a flicker of red across Azazel’s face.

“It’s, uh,” He glances at the soft red of Azazel’s eyes, then pointedly looks down. “You know. Milk. That can happen.”

Even in his peripheral, he sees the way the developing blush creeps over Azzy’s cheeks. “What?”

“Hormonal stuff.” How did Faron put it? The little guy always puts things in way smarter-sounding terms than Vel can. “You’re gonna have to feed the kid, so your body is just getting ready for that. It can kinda- leak, before then.”

That doesn’t help the blush any. Azazel just bites his lip a bit harder before, endearing as always, he tilts his head down, hair flopping pitifully into his face. A sigh leaves Vel at the sight, a fond smile tugging at him.

“R-right.”

“It’s natural.”

“Mmhm.”

“Nothing to get so embarrassed about.” He cannot help it: his left hand finds Azazel’s cheek, brushing away the thick locks of hair.

A shy, hesitant look greets him. Poor guy…

He hates seeing Azazel so down about it. How is he supposed to fix that though…? He has tried comforting him so often, yet Azazel still gives him those wet eyes and pitiful pouts, making Vel’s heart twist with the guilt of it all. He did cause this… the least he could do is try to make it more manageable. It’s not like he’s ever been pregnant before though. Hell, he doesn’t even have tits (… he thinks a lot about if he did, but that’s besides the point).

…But. Well, there are other ways of making a person forget about things… Something Vel likes to think he is good at.

The silence stretches on for a moment longer before Vel simply blurts out, “I think it’s pretty hot, too.”

Azazel chokes.

It has the desired effect at least…! Vel stifles a grin as he hears Azazel’s garbled sound, half-confused. He looks down at the brunette buried in his side, mouth gaping open, before he manages to sputter out, “Huh?”

“I said it’s hot.”

More stammering. Then, with a huff that finally cracks Vel’s smile, he says, “Of course you would think so.”

“C’monnn, that’s mean-”

“You’re obsessed with them.”

“Lil bit. C’mon though, you can’t blame me!” He drops his left hand back down, giving Azazel’s side a playful pat. “How am I supposed to resist such handsomeness, huh?”

Bingo. In a strained tone, Azazel says, “What?”

Vel can work with this. If he can’t solve the problem through soft words, he can do it through other means.

“It’s true- they’re utterly handsome. You are too, but you already knew that.” When he is met with the expected blank stare, he doubles down. “Oh, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that?”

Both his hands settle into the soft fat of Azazel’s sides now, finding the rolls and squeezing.

“Così, così bello.” Sure, he is laying it on thick, but he knows the man needs that. “Look at these, ah? So captivating.”

An absolutely tiny “Velli…” rewards him. Confident, Machiavelli chases the feeling, tucking his face into Azazel’s jaw in order to nuzzle the scruff along the man’s chin.

“And have I ever mentioned how dashing this is? I didn’t think you’d ever grow facial hair when we were younger, but it looks like you proved me wrong.” He presses a kiss against it, enjoying the shudder that brings. “Mm, look at me guapo.”

Another swallowed sound. Azazel listens, despite that, to Vel’s delight: with the lightest shake of his head, he slowly looks over, barely seeing Vel through his bangs. Vel merely smiles at the sight, satisfaction sending heat through his core.

“M-Mm.”

“Bene.” Bright eyes meet red ones; the man’s lovely blush only spreads as Vel sits up more, lips straining up to reach his nose, where he trails kisses down the hooked edge. “Mm, and look at this… It looks like it was chiseled. De piedra. Who gave you the right to be this good-looking, hm?”

Azazel is full-on squirming now. “Um…”

Annoying as usual, Vel holds back a chuckle as he tilts his head, teeth finding the nearest thing- which happens to be the edge of Azzy’s gauges. “C’mon- who?”

The man’s voice is hoarse with embarrassment when he manages speech. “N-No one did…”

“Really? Damn.” Another squeeze into the deposits of fat elicits another gasp, though this one gets a low rumble of amusement out of the brunette. “Nobody? Look at you, not letting anyone tell you what to think- that’s my man.”

…That gets him a narrowed look.

“… That one was bad.” Azazel murmurs, indignation in his tone- though it is far less effective with the way he is squirming in Vel’s hands. The meaning, at least, must be making Azazel happy given by how he hasn’t told Vel to stop yet

“Yeah, yeah.” Whatever. He nuzzles into Azazel’s jaw again, planting a few extra kisses along the surface. “I’m just being honest. Promise."

Though… Before Vel elects to push this any further, he adds, a bit more sincere this time, "Do you want me to keep going?

It is a very simple question- and yet, it has Azazel glancing away, eliciting what is probably the worst of Azazel's blushes yet. Machiavelli can practically feel the sweet embarrassment rolling off of him. Really-? He is so easy, all it takes is a little question to get him flustered…

Machiavelli can tell, though, what the issue is: Azazel is doing that thing again where he wants, but is to shy to ever put that want into words- a thought that makes Machiavelli's smile morph into something far more devilish.

"Do you?" He prods further. Knowingly.

That attempt to hide grows more insistent: Azazel shrinks further into his hair, but Vel simply nuzzles further into his chin, a low rumble escaping him as he shoves himself more into Azazel's space, not letting him escape just yet. Not when he knows that Azazel wants it, now. It has been awhile since they've gone at it, after all…

"I think I get it." His voice is too cocky all of a sudden.

A red eye blinks at him in reply.

"You like hearing how fine you are, don't you?" There is a flash of white, before Vel's teeth clink against the silver of the gauge hanging from Azzy's pointed ear. "I bet it feels good, being reminded of that, mm? Is that it? You like being sat down and told how handsome you are, you spoiled little thing."

Slowly, the hand he has settled on Azazel's side begins creeping further up.

"Though, you really do deserve some spoiling right now, don't you…?" He debates in a faux contemplative tone, breath touching Azazel's neck from the proximity. The hairs along Azazel's neck twitch in reply to the warmth, barely holding back a shudder. "You've been working so hard these last few months, after all…"

Azazel knows what Vel is doing— and it's working, damn him. He feels his heart give a small flutter, something in his gut warming, sensations that are already causing embarrassment to rise in him. He tries to shut his eyes, to breathe through the feeling—but an insistent poke to his side has his eyes snapping back open, a soft eep escaping him.

"C'mon," Vel repeats, insistent. He wanted an answer. "You've been working hard, right?"

…His voice is nearly a whine. "V- Velli…"

"I asked a question, Azzy."

"Mm," Another whine. The embarrassment on his face is clear, a soft red that tangles his tongue, making him squirm instead of using that beautiful voice of his. Through the firm blush, though, he does manage a strangled, "Mmhm."

Vel cannot help himself. If they're going to do this, then… "What was that…?"

"Y- Yes."

"There we go." And great- Vel's voice is stupidly satisfied, his smile even more so as he rewards Azazel with a quick kiss to his jaw. It should make Azazel want to shove him off the bed—and it does—but he cannot seem fight past the stupid, heated thing in his gut to do so, the same thing that takes pleasure in the flush Machiavelli seems to so easily be able to pull out of him.

And, as usual, Vel never stops; although, Azazel cannot say that he hates that, either.

"Well, I think you've earned a little reward then." His voice eases into a little whisper, meant just for Azazel's ears. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

It is then that Vel's hands finally fully cup what they had been inching towards: they grasp the weighted fat of Azazel's chest, before-

A sharp, strained gasp is yanked out of the larger man as those gloved hands squeeze, digits sinking into the skin. It sends sparks firing through Azazel's nerves, pain and and a terrible flush of pleasure forcing his back into an arch, one that Vel's own body chases, his front pressing against the curve.

Machiavelli cannot help himself, then. He tugs himself out from behind Azazel and then into the space in front of him: Azazel's lap, specifically where the plush fat of his thighs connect to the colder, harder surface of his prosthetics. Like this, he knows the larger man can no longer hide as easily— this was purposeful, for Vel. In his new spot, Machiavelli, as a bonus, wriggles a bit in place, enjoying the way Azazel has to bite back a wanting sound in reply.

Wanting to push further, Vel presses forward, his mouth finding the soft expanse of Azazel's neck. He trails down it, his chapped lips and the itch of his beard scratching against the skin in a way that has Azazel shuddering, mouth struggling to remain closed with the stimulation. All the while, Vel's hands dig, fingers crawling up to the sensitive centers of Azazel's chest in their attention.

"God," Is what escapes Azazel, and Vel can only laugh into his skin.

"Shh, shh, not yet." He murmurs. His lips trail further down, scruff itching along the expanse of his collarbone while the leather tips of his gloves stroke along the peaks of Azazel's nipples, rolling and rubbing until they're as hard as Vel wants. While tracing the stiff things, Vel's mouth eases down over his clavicle, following the small patches of hair like a path down his breast until it reaches the tip.

The only warning Azazel receives is the flash of white, before— before one latches.

Teeth graze over the peak, gentle but insistent, and the stimulation has Azazel only able to yank his head back, a groan leaving his parted lips. It is impossible to stay still now: his body squirms, hand clawing until it finds Machiavelli's hair, his own gloved digits sinking into the strands and yanking.

A mirrored sound of delight grunts out of the smaller man as the tied-back locks are pulled from their tie, beginning to cascade around Vel's face in a way Vel ignores as his tongue rolls around the bead of Azazel's hardened nipple. The pain of Azazel's grip—robotic and gloved—make sparks of heat light up within him, the same way the pain to the man's tits light up similar sensations within Azazel.

Deep brown eyes finally look up, blinking past the strands that flutter into his view as he takes in the sight of the red that stares down at him, a shared look of heat flashing in them. Good, he thinks. Good. It is satisfying, seeing Azazel enjoy this.

"Handsome." Vel whispers. Briefly, his tongue tastes the skin again, a pleasant hum escaping him as his other hand gives Azazel's other breast a bit more attention: Azazel jumps a bit, hissing through his teeth as Vel's hand kneads it lightly.

"I wish I had these myself." He says. "Do you believe me now?"

Azazel can only let out a soft, strangled sound in reply. Vel grins, stupidly pleased.

But, as he begins to open his mouth once again, prepared to nibble further at the skin- his eyes catch onto a familiar bead of white.

Is that…?

It's the same as earlier: a white bead budding on the tip of Azazel's nipple. Both of their eyes widen at the sight, at the way that Vel's attention has eased out more of what he knows now is milk. It matches the wide white of Vel's eyes, his expression owlish as he blinks at the sight.

His eyes dart up to catch Azazel's— and he swallows at the way the bigger man is panting at the sight, his face a beautiful shade of scarlet at how his body had reacted.

Vel had said before that this was perfectly normal; Azzy's body was going to produce this after the pregnancy, there was not anything wrong with it appearing early. Nothing wrong at all.

His mouth feels dry as he stares at it. At the tantalizing way Azazel's nipple puffs again, leaking.

…How much could it produce, theoretically?

Tentative, Vel leans a bit closer. His own face is now burning, heal pooling impossibly hot in his gut. And the look he gets in return- there is some mix of confusion, surprise, and- and lust that has Vel wanting to do anything to please that face, just to get Azazel to keep looking at him like that.

So, with a brief lick to his lips, Vel leans forward, mouth opening, before…

His tongue darts out, catching the stray drop.

…It is not the worst thing he has ever tasted; it's mostly just wet. Vel pushes away the taste, not focusing on it right now. Instead, he focuses on the way a few more drops dribble out in response to the stimulation, ones that he eases away with his tongue as well. All the while, he keeps his eyes up and on Azazel, eyeing the way Azazel's entire face burns in response.

His eyes are glassy, breath stuttering, just as heavy as Vel's are right now.

It should not have been hot. It really shouldn't have been. But, Vel finds that his entire brain is buzzing, his thoughts getting harder to conjure as Azazel's eyes crease, a smaller, choked, lewd noise escaping him.

He liked it. Fuck, he liked it. They both did.

His teeth nip at the skin a few more times, teasing out whatever he can in the moment- and oh is it worth it, just to see the way Azazel rocks his head back, eyes squeezing shut as another strained sound leaves him. How much more can Vel wring out of him-?

Both hands find this breast now, and Vel pushes his thumbs into the fat, mouth opening wider and taking in as much as it can. Another groan follows that, sparks flashing through Azazel as his tit is practically wrung out. The sensation is entirely new to him: sure, Vel has bitten and sucked at his breasts before, that is not anything uncommon, but what is different is the way they react now: he can feel the way the area of breast tissue tingles, what he knows is milk—what small amount there is—now being sucked out of the ducts.

"Velli," Azazel grits out. His grip on Machiavelli's hair tightens impossibly. "You- that's- fuck-"

In reply, Vel only lets out some throaty groan of appreciation, a sound that goes straight to Azazel's head. It sends a jolt of delight thrumming through his back, and he cannot help but arch further into the attention, a choked sound escaping him. It should not have felt this good. His tits ache, but he does not tell Vel to stop, he only lets him continue until Vel finally opens his mouth, panting overtop the skin.

"Forgot to breath." Is all he offers; his voice is only an amused huff of air. It is unfair how out-of-breath he looks when Azazel is the one on the receiving end of this, he thinks.

Vel stays in position, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he looks up once more, eyes shining. But- Machiavelli must see something in Azazel's expression at that moment, because his face suddenly softens, smile fading. In a quieter tone, he adds, "Was that okay?"

Was it? Azazel's breast tingles, the area more achey than it was a moment ago, but…

…It didn't feel bad…

The blush over his cheeks is practically sizzling as Azazel gives a little nod.

At that, Vel finally lets the nipple slip from his mouth, planting a few extra kisses to the area as a little apology before backing off, letting the sore thing rest. He eases up onto both knees, his hands reaching up to cup Azazel's face. There on his mouth, Azazel can see it: a sheen of white. It leaves Azazel swallowing, hard.

Before he can really tackle that thought though, their lips meet: Vel presses forward, and Azazel can feel the wetness on his lips, the white lost between them. It pulls a deeper sound out of the brunette, and Vel only pushes further in response, letting Azazel take his lips so he can better taste what Vel had just sucked out of him.

When he pulls back, Vel is grinning, satisfied with himself.

"You liked it?" Machiavelli whispers.

Azazel swallows again, face still buzzing. He blinks a few times, through the feeling, before managing to squeak out, "You're so weird."

Vel just laughs. "But you let me do it, so what does that make you?"

"…You're still the weird one."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Vel rolls his eyes— though they quickly return to Azazel's chest. His eyes sparkle for a moment, before he asks (with far too much excitement), "Can I do that to the other one?"

Azazel didn't think he could get any more red.

He nearly chokes. Machiavelli just waits through the embarrassed noises Azazel squeezes out though, a stupidly smug look on his face.

"I…"

"Use your words~"

"Shut up," He grunts. "I… No."

Oh. Vel blinks— but simply nods, very easily accepting the boundary. Though, despite the quick acceptance, Azazel squirms for another moment, something else on the tip of his tongue.

"…It's just because they're still sore." He mumbles an explanation.

Vel's expression softens immediately.

"Well, we'll leave them alone for a bit then." He presses a quick kiss against Azazel's nose. "I've got other things in mind, anyways."

With that, Vel's hands move downward: they slip back over Azazel's sides and then down behind him, cupping his back. Azazel shudders at the touch— before a moment later, he feels lifting. Vel's hands easily lift his hips, and slowly, Azazel is laid down. With a few extra kisses along his jaw, Vel gets him settled onto his back, his hands left to rub up and down Azazel's sides.

Still struggling to spit out coherent thoughts, Azazel mumbles, "What…?"

"Shh," Vel shushes. Wordless, he tugs over a pillow, getting it settled behind Azazel's head— to which the brunette only looks more confused at. In reply, Vel just scoots back, his smile wide as he says, "Just relax, papito. Let me take care of everything."

A flash runs through Azzy at that, embarrassment surging through him so strongly Vel can feel it— and it only causes the smaller man to laugh.

"What? That is what they're going to be calling you, right?" His fingers dance along Azazel's side, finding the curve of his stomach. A finger just barely grazes the area, tracing right below his navel. "Papa, Papí, their daddy…"

Azazel shudders. The very gentle sensation of touch along his stomach has him wanting to squirm all over again, suddenly reminded of just how tender the area is. There's a visible bump there, and the way Vel traces it… It makes it feel sensitive. Very sensitive.

Vel leans further down then, lips grazing the hardness of it. He presses a softer kiss there, whispering, "Don't worry, I won't hurt your papí. I'll try not to bother you too much either, 'kay?"

And with that, his fingers move to Azazel's pants: in a deft motion, they undo the button and zipper, letting it open up with a soft pop, the fat they were keeping locked behind lolling out. Vel cannot help but stroke it, enjoying the way it moves beneath his touch. It's addicting, really, and he knows it is evidence of the softness Vel has tried so hard to work into him.

His thumb briefly passes over the pink of the jagged scar just underneath his stomach, as if soothing it.

He neglects to touch the undergarments yet, enjoying Azazel's body first. Though, Azazel only lets Vel get away with making him writhe for a moment more, before he grits—in what is definitely a whine—out, "Velli."

"What?"

He gets an attempt at a scowl. His lips are far too pouty though, kind of ruining the attempt. It just makes Vel snicker again.

"Needy, needy." He tsks, enjoying the shudder he gets at that comment. He does relent then, though; he always gives in when Azazel asks.

He slips the boxers down next, and low whistle leaves him as the rest of that beautiful, ashy skin greets him, fully freckled and dotted with moles. They're scattered around perfectly, a trail just for him, only interrupted by patches of hair.

"Looky here." He murmurs.

His eyes pick over the delicate hairs that trail down Azazel's navel, broken up along his stomach lining by scars before bushing farther down. Careful now, his hand eases down over the expanse of Azazel's larger thighs, rubbing against the soft fat in circles that ease closer to the tantalizing slit of pink he sees between them. His eyes go alight at the sight.

Azazel loses his breath watching him. It's impossible not to, when Vel looks at him like that.

"Velli." He just barely knocks enough sense into his brain to kick at Vel's leg with his own, part of his pants still hanging off them. His voice is nearly a whimper, bless him. "I don't… I'm the only one who…"

Machiavelli just raises an eyebrow— which causes another flush over Azazel's face, though honestly, the one from before never completely went away. Still, he turns his head, purposefully letting his wayward bangs crash over his eyes, hiding them.

"Yours too…"

Ah. Vel's eyes soften.

"Impatient, aren't you? Just a minute, I'm admiring you." He says. Azzy's mouth twitches, folding downward in an embarrassed pout that Vel is so used to by now that he cannot help but snort at the sight.

"You're being mean."

"I'm being the opposite of mean right now, actually." Despite that though, Machiavelli does let up a bit: he reaches for his own shirt, quickly undoing the buttons. Call him soft, but he finds that he really cannot deny Azazel much of anything these days. "But fine, fine. Have it your way."

It does not take long at all to shimmy out of the fabric; Vel tugs off the button-up, tossing it off the bed elsewhere to be forgotten for now. It leaves him at least half-way bare; his pants are still on, as is his gloves, but it's good enough for now.

He watches Azazel's eyes rake over the sight. They pick over the bare expanse of his torso, taking in the darker skin and lighter scars that litter its surface. Vel, for just a moment, decides to let him. Why not preen a little under those gleaming eyes? It makes more heat crowd under his own cheeks. He knows he is attractive— it just feels nice to know Azazel agrees.

He lets it carry on for another moment before moving on: once that is over, he eases back down, hands finding Azazel's thighs once more. This time, as he gives the fat a loving squeeze, he eases them further open, eyes taking in… ah. He grins wider.

A little appreciative hum leaves him as his finger slips closer, tracing the edge of soft, flushed folds and the darker member waiting for him. He has always been enamored by this little thing… He has seen plenty of genitalia, but only a few times has he seen anatomy quite like this. Beautiful folds joined by what Vel has always assumed is a cock, though smaller. A beautiful combination of both things Vel knows well…

Both are already horribly sensitive— Vel feels the shudder that runs through Azzy at the delicate touch, followed by the low groan that comes with slipping his contact just a bit deeper.

"So eager." He murmurs. The leather of his gloves glisten back at him as they are covered with the wetness already waiting there for him. Mm…

A sharp whine leaves Azazel and Vel finds what he was looking for.

Azazel cannot stay still then: he squirms on the mattress, back arching lightly with the sound as Vel finally closes his fingertips around his cock. He gives it a little experimental tug- and heat rushes through him at the lewd sounds he gains in response. God, is it satisfying hearing those sweet noises from the other man. He has heard Azazel whimper and whine in embarrassment, but this cadence is far different, far more sweet in a way that just makes Vel want to pull more and more out of him.

He rolls it along his fingers, stroking and pulling lightly, just wanting to push Azazel a bit farther. Though, he does have other things in mind other than teasing Azzy's dick the entire time.

His other hand tugs down the rest of Azazel's garments. They pool at Azazel's ankles before being tugged off the prosthetics entirely, leaving Azazel, finally, entirely bare on the mattress. Nearly all his skin is flushed a beautiful red now, a lovely shade that makes his freckles stand out even more: so, so beautiful. The heat matches the one in Azazel's gaze, the accompanying hitched breaths making Vel's heart flutter wonderfully in his chest.

"God, you're so beautiful." Machiavelli finds himself murmuring as his other hand slips beneath Azazel's thighs. How is he supposed to keep from complimenting every inch, when he is this gorgeous? "So, so handsome."

Before the man can question it, Vel hefts his thigh upward, raising the man's hips and easing one leg over his shoulder. His other remains over Vel's lap, leaving… leaving Azzy's sensitivities open to the air, a motion that has Azazel gasping softly.

Machiavelli's name starts to choke out of Azazel's mouth once again, only to be shushed as Vel's lips find his skin.

He kisses a trail down Azazel's freckled thigh, his mouth following each mole like a guide. Really, it is incredible just how littered in these things the man is. Freckles, moles, scars, hair… it's a map of sensations, never an inch of skin left untouched. It is just another thing that is perfect about the brunette, in Vel's mind, something he wants to shove into Azazel's head and repeat over and over, you are beautiful.

"When are you going to believe me?" Escapes him, following his thoughts. "You're so handsome. You always have been."

His grip on Azazel's dick tightens, eliciting a shudder through the leg thrown over his shoulder, followed by the sound of Azazel sucking in a breath through his teeth.

"My beautiful man." He whispers against the fat. "I'd let you fuck me like the man you are, but I don't want to bother the extra passenger too much, so… forgive me, I'll just suck you off like one instead."

So, slow, his lips trail further down until…

Azazel groans.

His hands tighten impossibly in the covers the minute he feels Vel's mouth on him.

His leg is settled comfortably entirely over Vel's shoulder while the smaller man, without any warning, closes his lips around Azazel's cock. Wetness spills from Azazel's eyes at the stimulation, a gasp escaping him as Vel begins to suck.

The sounds that escape him are terrible. Vel, however, only lets them spur him on, a low, throaty hum escaping him as his teeth tease the mound in a way that has Azazel unable to hold still, arching from his place on the mattress.

"Velli-" The name leaves him in an erratic breath— but it succumbs to nothing but choked sounds as Vel continues, practically sucking the soul out of him while his other hand creeps back up Azazel's waist, his stomach, over his chest and settling back over the weights waiting there. He must forget himself in the moment, because Azazel feels the man grasp once more, fingers digging into his breast and squeezing alongside the pull of his teeth in a motion that has a louder, much more lewd groan spilling out of Azzy.

There are faint splashing sounds he hears between his legs, followed by the most satisfied hums— and the slightest growl— that has Azazel barely able to hold back. With the way Vel kneads his breast, his thigh, his mouth and tongue tugging wonders out of his cock— Azazel cannot help it. He finally lets it out. With a louder, open-mouthed whine, he spills out over Vel's hands and lips, hips still lifted over the bed. Though, Machiavelli only lets out an appreciative sound in reply, paying the mess no heed at all.

Azazel falls back into the mattress then, breaths coming out in pants. His cheeks are wet, though not any more than his thighs. He can only grip the covers, his eyes squeezed shut, as Vel finishes up down below; his mouth remains for another moment, cl- … cleaning up. Squirt after squirt is wrung out of him, far past the point of overwhelm now, and all Azazel can manage is small, choked sobs, eyes streaming.

By the time they're finished, Azazel's legs are shaking like a newborn colt's. Vel, however, only lets his lips curl into a smile as he tips his head back, tongue darting out to lick his mouth free of the wetness that clings to it. Azazel blinks open his eyes, watching the way Vel swallows, skin absolutely flushed as he finally pulls away. Azazel can see his expression from over the bulge of his stomach, catching the lust glittering in Vel's eyes.

"There we are." Vel says sweetly, before his tongue drags over Azazel's twitching dick. "So, so good."

He presses extra kisses to the insides of Azazel's thighs, as if trying to ease the way they tremble. That, or he really does just seem to enjoy tonguing the moles scattered there. Not that Azazel is really able to think of that right now: he can only whimper now in response to the way Vel's stubble scratches the sensitive skin there, too spent to speak up. He feels like he is drifting, mind splattered over the pillow right now.

Vel seems to pick up on that at least, judging by the way he calms after that: he leans forward, easing both of Azazel's legs up and bending them in the process so he can crawl between them. He presses several kisses to Azazel's stomach, to the firmness there, then lets them trail up to his chest, offering a few apology ones to the breast he had unintentionally squeezed in the excitement. Once he reaches Azazel's cheeks, his fingers— the ones that weren't inside him— trace over Azazel's cheeks, wiping away the tears that stain his cheeks.

"Shh, shh, you're okay. You did so good." He whispers to Azazel's hitched breathing. His voice is gentler now, a little comforting thing just for Azazel as he brushes back his bangs, tucking the hair behind Azazel's ear so he can view both eyes, one red and one such a pale blue.

He presses a few extra kisses along Azazel's nose, then one softer, so much softer, to Azazel's lips. Azazel lets him with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut, body still so spent after that. Vel is always sweet with him, after. Any tension that had built up melts all over again, pliant and soft beneath Vel's touch, even more so as Vel begins stroking his cheek, thumb rubbing the brow of the eye usually hidden by his hair. He strokes it slowly, lazily— and the easy smile over his lips, so loving, has Azazel leaning entirely into him.

"I love you." Vel murmurs, words that send little sparks of joy through Azazel's stomach. Vel wipes once more at the extra tears that drip down his cheek at those words, only repeating, "I love you so much."

For a few long moments, Machiavelli simply brushes through Azazel's bangs, tucking the wayward things behind Azzy's ear over and over, playing with the strands while Azazel takes some time to calm down. He breathes deeply, letting himself settle, knowing Vel has never once minded waiting for him to do so.

And eventually, he does.

Machiavelli notices pretty quickly- he's good at that. His fingers tap along Azazel's cheekbone, humming, "Hey. You with me?"

Azazel just nods. Vel's expression eases at that.

"Don't feel like talking?"

"…Mm."

"Fair enough." Machiavelli leans in again, pressing a quick kiss to what he calls Azzy's 'secret mole'— the one above his eyebrow, usually hidden by hair. "Take your time."

With that, Vel decides to lay down on his side next to Azazel so that he does not have to straddle the poor man anymore. He starts to reach for him again— but he pauses, looking at his hands instead. His hands, that are covered with gloves. He makes a face, then quickly pulls at the tips, tugging them off; apparently he had not realized he was still wearing them.

"You could've told me." He mutters, setting them aside. Azazel just gives him a tired look, to which Vel rolls his eyes at. "Figures you liked it more that way though."

He rolls over a bit more then, nuzzling into Azazel's shoulder as he adds, "Speaking of— was that good? You doing okay?"

It was basic compared to some of the other stuff Azazel has been put through with the little guy- but he does still find himself smiling a little at the way Vel asks for reassurance. The way he checks in on Azazel. He always does this, no matter how 'tame' their intimacy was.

It's sweet. Azazel nods again, finding his voice as he murmurs, "Yeah."

Speaking was worth it, to see the way Machiavelli smiles at that, cheek-to-cheek.

"Good." He says. "It's been a while."

It has, honestly.

They have not really been intimate in this way since the group realized Azazel was carrying. And… Azazel is realizing, now, the relief that came with this.

Machiavelli still wants him. Still loves him. Nothing changed that.

…Though…

Azazel frowns. His eyes ease down to the other man's waist, to how Azazel is bare but Vel is still clothed in some manner. His hand—despite his tiredness—reaches over, bringing attention to Vel's hips, something that makes Vel raise his eyebrow.

"Mm? What?"

"…You too." Azazel mumbles. He feels his cheeks heat up again, embarrassment trickling through him. He didn't really think this through. "You… you know."

"…I don't?"

Azazel looks away, tilting his head to let his hair slip from his ear, back into his face. "You didn't get anything out of it…"

…Machiavelli's face undergoes several changes at that. Confusion, wilting, then… then something harder. Something more practiced.

Azazel hates it when he tries pulling those masks on him.

"Shh, I'm fine. This was about you."

"But-"

"I'll be okay." Vel rolls his eyes, flicking Azazel's cheek. "Later, okay? You look tired."

He is, but that's besides the point. He frowns deeper, and he says, "I want you to feel good too."

"I did." The response is easy— and honest. "I like making you feel good, you already know that. Besides- did it help?"

"…Help?"

"You know." Machiavelli lets his other arm settle over Azazel's stomach, palm cupping the swell. "Do you feel better?"

…Oh!

Azazel had not even thought about it. In all the, you know, everything, Azazel had pushed away those thoughts. And, now that he is able to process, he…

He feels… tired, but good. He feels good. And, he…

He thinks back to the pressure between his thighs and the words that fell from Vel's lips, and finds that he isn't… as upset, as he was earlier. Maybe he doesn't believe he is entirely as physically well off as Vel told him he was, but the affirmations and way Vel tried over and over to drill it into him, it… It makes him feel loved. And he doesn't actively despise the two weights on his chest right now, like he had before.

…Damn that little con man. Damn him for always doing what he can to help.

Vel sees the realization cross over his face, and looks absolutely smug over it. His voice, however, is genuine as he says, "I'm glad. Really."

…Azazel loves him.

Maybe years before, he would have held off from words like this, but right here, overwhelmed with all the sweetness Vel worked into him, he finds himself very quietly mumbling, "I love you."

And it is worth it, to see the way Machiavelli melts over that.

"…Love you too, Azz." He whispers back.

And with that, Vel settles entirely into him. His arm drapes entirely over Azazel's stomach, being mindful of the bump, and his head decides to take residence in the crook of Azazel's neck. Azazel just sighs, letting Vel reach and tug a blanket over him, hiding his body from the air. It's comfortable— Vel always is.

He lets the tiredness wash over him, eyes fluttering shut, soaking in the comfort. He could rest here, he thinks, content with the smaller man pressed into him and the warmth in his gut.

…But.

His eyes crack back open.

His eyebrows twitch. His gaze darts to Vel, scowling. Damn him. Damn him.

"Velli."

"Mm?"

"They still hurt."

"…Oh."

All the squeezing and sucking— the pain, it finally registers. And— ow. Ow.

"Worse."

The smaller man blinks. A sheepish expression comes over him.

"…Fuck."