Archive of Our Own

Norton’s got a problem.

Not the kind that sends most men cryin’ to their mothers, but still a problem. One that’s clung to him like a tick on a hound. Through his teenage years, through the long dry stretch of adulthood, and hell, especially through adulthood.

The one that stung the worst? That’d be the night after his first big interview with Orpheus. He’s feeling proud, got a little extra money burning a hole in his pocket, so he figures he’ll celebrate like any man with poor judgment does — at a bar.

And wouldn’t you know it, luck actually seems to be on his side for once. Pretty girl. Brown hair, brown eyes, smile like she’s never had to pay rent in her life. She laughs at his jokes — the bad ones, too — and that right there’s enough to make a man believe in miracles.

Couple drinks later, he mentions heading home, and she says, sure, why not? That’s when he knows the night’s going his way. They stumble through his door, she’s got that spark in her, and he’s thinkin’ maybe, just maybe, life’s finally decided to give him a break.

But then they hit the bed, the clothes start coming  off — and that’s when the problem shows up. The same damn problem that’s been hauntin’ him since he was sixteen, smirking in the corner. 

His dick. 

Its too damn big. 

Immediately, the girl looked real shocked. Got a little finicky like every girl he’d ever brought home. And it's not her fault he's like this. So he settled for a blowjob, then did her in real good with his fingers. Lord knows he’s had to learn that just to get by..

And the present day? Its not looking any better.

Meeting Orpheus was the one stroke of luck he’s ever had — the kind that shows up once in a man’s life just to make him wonder what the catch is. The guy asks questions for a living, even if he's supposedly a writer.  Some of them nosy enough to make your teeth itch — but he pays well. Real well. Keeps Norton fed, keeps him busy, and every now and then, lets him crash on a mattress that doesn’t feel like a ton of bricks.

Of course, there’s the fact that Orpheus himself is… strange. Not the kind of strange you laugh about. The kind that makes you wonder if you’re talkin’ to a man or a doll someone left behind in a shed. He’s polite enough, sure, but he’s got that thing where he just.. Doesn’t blink. Sits there, calm, all quiet, and suddenly you’re spilling your guts about the time your mom sold your only shirt for moldy bread and you’re not even sure how you got there.

Still, there’s something about him. Maybe it’s the way he listens. Maybe it’s that voice, slow and steady like he’s narrating a campfire story. Or maybe it’s just that Norton hasn’t had anyone look at him that long without wanting something in return.

So yeah. One thing led to another.

And before Norton could remind himself that this was a man who kept skulls on his bookshelves and used the word "psyche", he’d fallen into bed with him, too.

Bad choice.

But here’s why it’s not looking any damn better.

First off, there’s the problem. The same cursed thing that’s chased off every woman Norton’s ever tried. Never changes. Just sits there, waiting to ruin his night like clockwork. Orpheus takes it in stride — hell, he takes everything in stride — but that’s a bridge Norton’s not ready to cross till it’s on fire behind him.

Then there’s the other thing. The real kicker. Orpheus won’t let him touch. Not even a little. Doesn’t matter how good the mood gets, or how close they end up; the man’s got boundaries tighter than a bank vault. He’ll just... take care of Norton, real quiet-like, using that calm, clinical way of his, and then he’s gone. Already halfway across the room, asking questions again, or sending Norton off to the guest room like he’s a mutt that chewed the furniture.

And Norton, fool that he is, lets it slide. Every damn time.

Orpheus has this way of talking that smooths the edge right off his temper. Gentle voice, light touch. One minute Norton’s bristling, ready to raise hell about what they are or aren’t doing, and the next he’s sitting there nodding along, half-convinced Orpheus has a point.

By the time he remembers what he wanted to say, the man’s already moved on — jotting notes, humming to himself, and his face unreadable.

And Norton’s left there again, staring at the ceiling, wondering when exactly he turned into the world’s most patient idiot.

Now is one such time.

Norton’s buried in Orpheus' throat. How he manages to even swallow around him entirely is still baffling to him, but he definitely isn't complaining.

The miner can’t stop his voice from slipping no matter how hard he tries, one hand pressed firmly against his own leg while the other claws at the table in front of him. Its crude, because Norton’s definitely not one to let dinner go to waste. Yet here he is, hardly having touched it.

Its not even his damn fault! Watching Orpheus chew at the tip of his pen for the last two hours would’ve drove anyone crazy. So when he crawled under the table and started undoing Norton’s pants, who was he to refuse?

Norton hisses, cold air hitting his dick as Orpheus abruptly pops off to catch his breath, gasping quietly as the other hand begins to pump him. 

Precum drips onto the floor, just begging to be back in the others mouth. Norton opens his own weakly. "Orpheus, come on. Don’t tease." 

From below, a light chuckle. "I’m not teasing, Mr. Campbell. Have some sympathy for my poor throat." 

Despite Orpheus’ supposed composure, there's still a tinge of hoarseness lining his voice. Its enough to make Norton twitch with renewed interest. But he knows better than to rush or — god forbid — grab Orpheus' hair.

Luckily he doesn't have to wait long, leaning back in his chair as Orpheu grabs at his thighs and sucks. Hard enough that Norton bucks up, then again when he realizes he isn’t stopping. In fact, Orpheus makes a sound. A real sound. 

A bit high pitched, a sound like Norton’s never even heard. Almost a moan. 

Before he can even warn him, Norton’s cumming down Orpheus' throat. The other chokes, pulling off as cum lands on his gorgeous face. Norton isn't there to see it, though, pressing his forehead into the tabletop as he pants. 

…Damn it. He came halfway down his throat, he's in trouble.

Norton hears Orpheus shuffling up, quiet as ever, the sound of fabric brushing against fabric. The man straightens his shirt, smooths down his hair.  The same hair Norton hadn’t even touched.

Then that small hand (smaller than Norton’s, always smaller) lands on his shoulder. The touch is light, nearly absent, but it’s enough to draw Norton’s eyes open again. Orpheus leans close, voice low and distractingly sore.

"Enjoyed yourself a bit too much, didn’t you?"

Norton grunts, cheek still pressed to the edge of the table. "Sounded like you were, too."

That earns him silence. Then the hand disappears. Norton looks up, and sure enough, Orpheus is already walking away, slipping toward his bedroom without a backward glance. He pauses in the doorway, half-shadowed by the dim light.

"Goodnight, Norton."

Norton sits up halfway, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don’t want any help? Do you even get keyed up?"

"Goodnight, Norton," Orpheus says again, tone exactly the same — polite, and final. Like the end of one of the poems Norton likes so much. The door closes behind him with a sound too sharp for such a quiet house.

For a second, Norton just sits there, staring at the empty hallway. Then he huffs a laugh that doesn’t sound much like one.

"Well," he mutters, pushing himself up properly. "At least I’ve got dinner." 

Can’t be too mad.

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Another three months of this. Norton gets tired of waiting.

"Whats it gonna take for you to let me fuck you?"

Beside him, Orpheus nearly chokes.

It’s not a delicate sound, either. He whips around to stare at Norton, who’s sprawled across the bed like he owns the place. Sunlight pours through the window, sharp and golden; it must be midday by now. Norton wasted the whole thing napping, stretching, and doing his best impression of a man with no obligations.

Not a bad way to live, really. Especially in a room like this. Orpheus’s place is irritatingly neat. Books aligned, papers squared, even the dust seems to know better than to settle. Norton’s tempted to touch something just to see if the man would twitch.

The second round of spluttering draws his attention back. Oh, right. The request.

Orpheus seems to be going through the five stages of grief in real time, mouth half open, words tripping over each other as he searches for the right ones. Watching him think is a show in itself. Norton props his chin on his fist and waits, amused.

Finally, Orpheus manages, "I… wasn’t aware that was something you desired."

Norton arches a brow.

The hesitation lasts maybe two seconds before Orpheus folds. "Alright," he concedes, voice stiff. "I was aware. But that’s a rather bold way to ask."

"Only way’s direct," Norton says, lazy as anything. "You can just say no, if you want. Saves us both time."

That hits its mark. Orpheus doesn’t quite wince, but his composure ripples, a perfect mask slipping just a fraction. He brings the pen he’d been writing with to his mouth, worrying the end between those too-perfect teeth. Norton stares at the movement a little too long.
He remembers the other night. Those same teeth catching his fingers, briefly. Carefully.

Ah, hell. He’s doomed.

If Orpheus notices the storm behind Norton’s quiet, he doesn’t show it. He’s too caught in his own, Eyes darting, mouth pressed thin, every thought painted right there on his face. When he finally looks back up, there’s something in his eyes that Norton hasn’t seen in a long while.

Curiosity.

The last time he’d seen that look was during their first interview. Orpheus had been fascinated back then.  With his past, his habits, the way his voice hitched when he talked about certain things. Every scar had been an invitation for another question.

Still is, sometimes. On the nights Norton isn’t kicked out to the couch, when the world’s quiet and they end up sharing the same bed, Orpheus will reach for him. Trace the marks across his arms and back, asking where each came from, how old it is, whether it still hurts.

Norton always answers. Sometimes he lies, sometimes he doesn’t. Orpheus never seems to mind either way.

"Checkers."

The word cuts through his thoughts like a bell. Norton blinks, pulled out of the warm fog of memory to glance over at Orpheus, who’s watching him again. The curiosity is gone from his eyes, replaced by that damn smile — the unreadable kind that gives nothing away. The one Norton’s been trying to decode for months, to no success whatsoever.

Well. It was fun while it lasted.

"Beat me at checkers," Orpheus says mildly, folding his hands behind his back. "And I’ll allow it."

"Eh? That’s it?" Norton’s not sure if he’s being serious or pulling his leg.

Orpheus nods once. "That’s it, Mr. Campbell."

…Well, damn. That’s about the easiest deal he’s ever been offered.

Norton might not have gotten to stick around in school long enough to earn much more than a sense of direction, but he isn’t an idiot. Far from it. He’s good at games — really good. The kind that make you think three steps ahead. Lifes taught him patience, strategy, and making peace with the fact that sometimes you’ve got to sacrifice the good pieces first.

Chess comes easy to him. Checkers, he figures, shouldn’t be too different.

So he shrugs. "Sure, checkers. Didn’t bring any oil with me, though. So let’s play next week when I’m back, huh?"

For the first time in his life, Norton gets to see it — the crack in Orpheus’s perfect composure. A flicker of color rises under that pale skin, climbing from the collar up to his jaw, maybe further. Norton can’t see the rest, but he imagines it goes all the way down. The thought makes him grin before he can stop himself.

Orpheus shakes his head, laughter catching in his throat before it escapes, soft and breathy. "Let’s," he says, voice faintly amused. "I have a board already, so don’t trouble yourself with getting one."

Norton nods, rolling back onto the bed. There’s a smug little warmth rising in his chest, one he doesn’t bother to hide. He feels… pleased. Ridiculous, sure, but pleased. Like a boy who just got the pretty girl to smile back at him for the first time.

In a way, Orpheus is pretty like that. Always has been.

Short hair, neat and sharp, but the eyes are something else — wide, bright, too expressive for someone who is so damn hard to figure out. His lashes are long, annoyingly so. Makes him look delicate, though he’s anything but. Norton wonders what his hair would feel like between his fingers. If it’d be soft, like a girl’s, or silky and strange, like everything else about him.

Then again, maybe Norton’s just too damn good at working himself up over nothing.

He hears movement from the desk. The scrape of a chair leg, the creak of floorboards. And then Orpheus is there.

Norton flips back onto his back to see what the man’s up to, but he doesn’t get far — Orpheus has already moved in close, effortlessly, like he’d planned it. One moment he’s standing across the room; the next, he’s slipped into that impossible proximity again, right at home between Norton’s leg. 

A long finger traces a line up Norton’s thigh, slow enough that it makes him shiver. 

"There’s no reason to rush off," Orpheus murmurs, resting his cheek against the same spot his hand had brushed. His voice hums against Norton’s skin. "Stay a while."

Norton swallows. His throat’s dry, his brain blank.

And honestly, he doesn’t need to be told twice.

He sinks back into the sheets, the last of the sunlight bleeding across the room, and decides — for the sake of his sanity — not to think too hard about how fast his heart is beating.

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A week later, Norton’s back.

Ready to play checkers. And not just checkers. He even hauled out his old chess set beforehand, just to sharpen his wits, dust off the logic he hadn’t needed to use in a while. He’s plenty sure he’s got this. Might lose once or twice, sure, but not enough to make him look foolish. And if Orpheus decides to limit him, well… that’d be just the kind of challenge Norton likes. Rules make games interesting.

Norton knocks a few times, bag slung lazily over one shoulder. Old leather, worn and creased, but repaired recently enough that it feels like a new companion. Even his shoes are polished, though not overly so. Orpheus would notice. Probably make fun of him.

It’s a damn nice thing they’ve got going on. Having coins in his pocket that weren’t borrowed. A place to sleep , furnished and paid for by Orpheus, warm and clean and entirely unlike the back-alley apartments Norton’s used to. Every week he shows up early in the morning, more precaution than anything. Need to be early in case Orpheus wants him to linger, in case there are questions he’d forgotten. Or just came up with.

"I’m a novelist," Orpheus had said the first time they met. "I heard all about the disaster you survived. I couldn’t help but be fascinated. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to be my muse?"

Norton had been skeptical then. Uneasy, unnerved, unwilling to answer half of the things that came to mind. But Orpheus had that way about him. Persistent, patient, nails sinking in just enough to pry past the defenses Norton had spent his entire life perfecting. Slowly, carefully, he peeled away layers of grit and callous, teasing out what made Norton tick. And in the end… it had paid.

The company, strange as it was, had grown into something almost… pleasant. A little pocket of stability in a world that had spent years trying to punch him in the teeth. And that contract? If Norton remembered correctly, it had another two years to run. Plenty of time to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. Plenty of time to make sure he stayed far, far away from where he came from. Plenty of time to keep his Sundays for Orpheus.

The door creaks open, and Norton freezes a beat. At first, Orpheus looks… off. Not quite a smile, more like he’s caught somewhere between thought and dream, and for a second Norton wonders if he caught him at the wrong time. Then Orpheus swings it open fully, alive now, and Norton can’t help the small smile he gives in return.

"You’re late," Orpheus teases, and Norton feels the familiar tug of disappointment.

"…I joke," Orpheus adds, voice smooth. "You’re actually half an hour early. Lucky for you, I’m up."

Norton shrugs, stepping inside. Careful to toe his boots off after stomping them on the mat. Orpheus was meticulous about things like that. Little routines, little boundaries. All part of the man’s unspoken order, and Norton had learned long ago that it was easier to play along than to push back.

"Didn’t want to miss our game," Norton says, voice low, casual.

Orpheus huffs, the sound amused more than annoyed. "Don’t forget our usual deal, Mr. Campbell."

Norton just grins. After that, they settle into a rhythm. Orpheus chooses the fireplace today, the weather outside nipping sharp at the windows. Norton obliges, plopping down in one of the ridiculously oversized chairs. A throne that's for a giant or a king  rather than a man barely scraping by. Who needs chairs this big? Norton asks himself. Yet he does it anyway, sinking into the cushions as someone who’s claimed this small patch of warmth as his own.

Orpheus fetches a notepad, pen poised, and Norton lets himself get lost in the little domestic absurdities of it all. He wonders, not for the first time, if one day he’ll have a home like this. chairs this big, fireplaces carved from stone, bookshelves that reach to the ceiling. Ridiculous, sure. But the thought lodges somewhere in his chest and refuses to leave. The idea that he might be able to hope, to plan, to live in a world that isn’t just about surviving is a damn good one. 

Norton breathes it in: the smell of burning wood, the soft scratch of Orpheus’s pen against paper, the quiet warmth of a room built from care and preferences. 

The scratching stops. Norton cracks open an eye, Orpheus is patiently waiting for him.

"We’re getting started?" Norton muttered, voice low, rough. He shifted in the chair, boots scuffing the floor.

Orpheus nodded once. Norton straightens, shoulders tensing — posture that had nothing to do with pride and everything to do with preparing for the questions he knew were coming.

Orpheus’s smile disappeared all at once.  "You were eight when your mother died."

Right to it. No preamble. No easing in.

Norton’s mouth went dry. His mother wasn’t something he ever talked about. At least, not willingly. The first time Orpheus had asked a question about her, Norton had nearly bitten his head off. He hadn’t been ready then. That had been before the first kiss, before even knowing what being close to Orpheus was like. 

Norton nodded, mute. Silence stretched like a thin wire. Orpheus’s head tilted slightly, a disapproving look that made Norton feel like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Yeah," he finally said, voice small. Tiny. Too small. He knew Orpheus hated it when he didn’t respond, hated it enough that Norton could feel it pressing down on his chest.

Orpheus wrote something in his notebook, the scratching sound loud in the quiet room. Then he was looking at him again, eyes dark, lashes heavy, a stare that made the floor beneath Norton feel too close. Norton dropped his gaze, tracing the shine on Orpheus’s shoes instead.  

Perfectly polished. 

"After her death," Orpheus continued, voice calm but precise, "how long was it until you realized she was gone?"

Norton wrung his hands together, fingers tight, skin rough. "I knew… from the moment I saw her," he said. "She was sick. Long time coming." He swallowed. The memory of her in the small bedroom, her breath ragged, the smell of iron from the blood she’d coughed up. He shook his head slightly, trying to focus on the floorboards instead of the scene.

Orpheus’s gaze didn’t waver. "She, uh… I didn’t know what to do. Had to drag her out to bury her. We didn’t own a shovel — sold it after my dad died — so I just… used my hands. Slit it open on a rock."

The words scraped across Norton’s mind like grit. He imagined the cold, hard stone, the weight of grief pressing into bone, the way his small body had to do the work of men. Not even his neighbour helped. He didn’t flinch, but his jaw tensed.

"Is there a scar?" Orpheus asked, casually, almost as if asking about a scratch on a desk instead of the thing that had defined Norton’s childhood.

"It’s real small. Healed over. Doubt I’d be able to find it," Norton said, exhaling slowly. "First one I got, though. I think." His gaze drifted. "Not worth putting in your book."

"I see." Orpheus didn’t nod. Didn’t smile. He wrote, the pen scratching in heartbeat like rhythm.. Silence hung, and Norton caught himself glancing up, hoping for… something. A flicker of any kind of emotion. There wasn’t. Not here. Not in the interviews.

Sometimes, in bed, Orpheus’s gaze could soften, maybe even glimmer with something private, but here? Words clipped. Face flat. The occasional faint smile felt rehearsed, and even that would vanish in a second. Never a frown. Never a tear. Never anger. Just questions, staring, and scolding when he didn’t answer as well as he should. Norton felt like a specimen, laid out for inspection.

"When you realized you were alone… how did that feel?" Orpheus’s next question came, precise, aggressive, cutting.

Norton’s chest tightened. Alone.. He saw himself — small, barefoot in a cold house that no longer had warmth, learning to cook, to survive, to live without either of the who had given him life. The memory pressed against him, heavy, suffocating.

He swallowed, fingers tightening on his knees. "Empty," he said, voice low, ragged. "And scared. Angry, too. Felt like… like I’d been left to rot before I even had a chance."

Orpheus wrote. The pen moved almost lazily, yet every stroke felt like it marked another bit of pressure on Norton's chest. He looked back up. Face calm, eyes steady. The same quiet patience that was more terrifying than a scream. "And your father?"

Norton’s teeth ground together. That black lung, that inevitable decay, the way his father had been strong until he wasn’t. "I… watched him die slow," he muttered. " That’s all there was to it."

Orpheus tilted his head, just slightly, scribbled again, then leaned back, watching. No expression, no warmth. Where had his Orpheus gone?

Finally, Norton forced a grin, light and rough. "When do we play chess?"

Orpheus’s eyes flicked up, sharp as ever. Calm, clipped. "It’s checkers, Mr. Campbell."

"Right," Norton mutters. "Checkers, then."

Orpheus doesn’t seem amused. He slides the page into his folder with clinical precision.  No rustle, no wasted movement. "Can you handle one more?"

Norton exhales through his nose, slow, careful. "Sure," he says, "Hit me."

Orpheus hums faintly, looking down as if sifting through invisible cards. He takes his time, which is always worse than the question itself. Then, that expression — a slow, widening smile, spreading like a crack across porcelain. Norton feels his pulse trip over itself.

"When you crawled out of that rubble," Orpheus says softly, "what did you think?"

Not again.

It’s not the first time Orpheus has asked him that. Not the second. Not the third. He’s meticulous with repetition. Same words, same tone, same tilt of his head. 

So he doesn’t hesitate anymore. He’s learned that silence makes Orpheus write more.
"I should’ve died with them," Norton says.

The pen doesn’t move. Orpheus just looks at him, that same unreadable interest glowing faintly behind his eyes. He’s close enough now that Norton can see the flecks of amber in his irises.  

"How long did you believe that?"

"Still do," Norton answers, before he can stop himself. His hands clench. "Some days."

A soft sound in reply. Approval, maybe. The pen scratches again. Orpheus nods as if Norton’s just solved an equation.

Norton tries to look anywhere else. The desk, the neat stack of papers, Orpheus’s silver watch. It’s ticking too loud, or maybe that’s his heart.

Orpheus doesn’t fill the silence. He lets it hang like a wire between them. Then, without looking up, he murmurs, "And yet, you clawed your way out."

"I didn’t want to."

"You did."

Norton’s breath hitches, sharper now. "I said I didn’t—"

"But you did." Orpheus finally looks at him again, and there’s something in his gaze. A flicker of something almost gentle. Not pity, exactly. Curiosity, worn thin. "You used your hands. Tore through the stone. You wanted to live, Mr. Campbell."

Norton swallows hard, throat clicking. "It was instinct."

"Is instinct not a kind of desire?"

"Desire’s got nothing to do with it."

"Mm." Orpheus’s lips press into a faint, satisfied curve, as if Norton’s just proven his point. "Tell me, then. When did you stop digging?"

The question shouldn’t hurt.  But it does, Norton’s stomach twists as the memory rises, unbidden: his hands bleeding, the air thick with dust, the sound of his own ragged breath. The silence after the cave-in, total and godless. The smell of iron, the heat of the stone under his nails.

"I didn’t stop," he says finally, voice brittle. "Someone found me."

"Ah." Orpheus leans back in his chair. "The rescuers." 

Norton laughs, short and ugly. "If you can call it that."

That earns him another faint smile. For a moment, Orpheus isn’t there at all again. Just his smile, and with a few blinks, its like hes back. The warmth returns to his posture, his face. Every bit of him. "That’ll do for today."

Norton lets out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding. His palms are damp. His shoulders ache.

Orpheus stands, smooth and unhurried. "You’ve done well."

"Yeah," Norton mutters, dragging a hand over his face. "Glad I could entertain."

"That isn’t the word I’d use," Orpheus says, slipping his notes into his coat pocket. "You’re... instructive."

"Great." Norton scoffs a bit. "Glad I could educate you."

Orpheus glances back, and for a moment Norton thinks he might say something about Norton's snark. But he only looks at him with that same kindness he's never been afforded before.

"When you’re ready," Orpheus says quietly, "we’ll play."

"Checkers," Norton says.

"Checkers," Orpheus repeats. A pause. Then, softer, "Though I do know you prefer chess."

"Yeah," Norton mutters. "I sure do."

Orpheus’s smile lingers, and then he turns away, leaving Norton alone as he vanishes into the bedroom.

Norton stares at the fire for a long time after the door shuts. The air feels heavier. He flexes his fingers, remembering the roughness of stone, the blood under his nails.

Not a big deal. He has a board game to win.

The only upside tonight, Norton realized, was that Orpheus was finally back. Warm, present, sitting on the bed with him. The lamp spilled mellow light over the checkers board, enough to see the pieces but not enough to light Orpheus face as well as Norton would like. 

He could feel the subtle press of Orpheus’s knee against his own, a small reminder of proximity that made Norton’s chest tighten and his hands twitch toward the board.

They played quietly, muttering between moves. Orpheus’s strategy was unnervingly precise. Norton had thought he’d at least get one win tonight, maybe two. He was wrong. Every attempt to corner a piece or force a jump ended with him staring at the empty spot where his piece had been, mouth opening, closing, and opening again.

By the seventh loss, Norton rubbed his temple, exasperation rising like hot iron in his veins. "You’re cheating," he said, voice rough, low.

Orpheus laughed — clear and airy, definitely mocking. "I am not."

"You’ve gotta be," Norton said, leaning closer, staring at the board, trying to find the flaw, the misstep.. He was good at this sort of thing. "This is such an easy game, too."

Orpheus chuckled again and took another piece, sliding it neatly to the side. Norton stared at the move, jaw tightening. How had he fallen into that trap? Simple game, simple rules, and yet here he was, floundering like a fool. 

He froze, hand over a piece, glancing up. Orpheus’s was blinking through those long lashes again, a hint of mischief in the eyes behind them.

Smug bastard. 

"Why this game, anyway?" Norton asked, letting his piece slide forward in a careless move. "Didn’t know you liked games."

Orpheus paused, finger pressed lightly to his cheek while he considered. Norton’s stomach tightened a bit at the gesture. Is something wrong with him if hes finding a grown man cute?. Finally, Orpheus spoke. "I appreciate the simplicity. It’s comforting."

Norton snorted, arms crossing over his chest. "You? Simple? That’s rich. Never seen anything about you that’s simple."

Orpheus didn’t reply immediately. He made his move, smooth, deliberate, taking one of Norton’s pieces without hesitation. "Simplicity is like people. Predictable. Easy to anticipate. Easy to play."

Norton bristled, pulling his hands back. "You’re calling me predictable?"

Orpheus smiled faintly, expression flat but with a small curve at the corner of his mouth. "If the shoe fits, my friend."

Norton barked a laugh, half frustration, half disbelief. He shoved a piece across the board, nearly flipping it over in his irritation. Orpheus just chuckled again, calm, collected, Norton’s outburst nothing more than wind against a window.

He felt heat creeping up the back of his neck, a mix of annoyance and a strange thrill. Orpheus always had that effect, always pulling just enough to make Norton feel small without ever hitting too hard. The idea made him a bit dizzy, and he knew he hated the feeling even as it made him pulse alive with energy.

Another round passed, and Norton forced himself to study the board, rubbing at his jaw. The room smelled faintly of Orpheus cologne, faintly of paper and ink and something else he couldn’t name. It made him feel like he was both home and trapped. Every small movement, every tilt of Orpheus’s head, every small movement pressed into Norton’s skin and left an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He’d lost count of the times Orpheus had taken advantage of a single moment of hesitation. Seven losses. Eight. He tried to psych himself up, but the calmness in those eyes, the patience, the way the other leaned back just slightly, still shifting the leg pressed up against Norton.. it was distracting.

Norton’s hand hovered over a piece, then pulled back. The lamp cast a warm glow across the board, across Orpheus’s face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the faint curve of his lips when he smiled. It made Norton’s chest tighten, and for a second he wondered if that little flicker of amusement was meant for him, or if it was just a twitch of Orpheus’ face.

Another turn. Norton tried a daring move, sliding one of his last pieces forward, and felt a brief surge of hope. Maybe this time. Maybe he could corner Orpheus. Maybe he’d finally see a flicker of error.

And then Orpheus moved.

The piece snapped into place, taking Norton’s hope with it. Norton’s jaw dropped, and he let out a low, defeated grunt.

"Damn it," he muttered, running a hand down his face. His fingers trembled slightly, partly in frustration, partly in disbelief. The board stared back at him, all white. He exhaled slowly, letting his hands drop to his knees. He’d lost again.

"Checkers…" Norton muttered, voice flat, weary.

"Checkers, Mr. Campbell," Orpheus repeated, as entertained as ever.

Norton let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. For all of his losses, Norton couldn’t help but feel a strange sort of satisfaction. He’d lost. Again. But he’d played.

He’d get him next week. 

Norton let the door click shut behind him, letting the quiet settle. The apartment was simple, clean, everything Orpheus paid for. He could live here, easy. Solid walls, a sofa that didn’t squeak, a small wooden table scarred with scratches and coffee stains . Nothing fancy, but it worked. Enough space to move, enough light to see, and quiet enough to think without the constant hum of the city pressing in.

Across the street, the flower shop caught the sun’s last rays, petals glowing orange in the light. One of the nicest girls he knew ran it, always cheerful, always remembering his name. Seemed a bit lonely, though.

Down the corner, the morning market had closed for the day, the leftover vegetables stacked neatly for cleanup. The apartment’s window was open, letting in a cool breeze that rustled and ruffled his hair. The sun hit his shoulders, and he realized it had been days since he’d seen sunlight. Not just a peek through autumn gloom, but full-on warm sunlight.

He kicked off his shoes, the tap and scrape hitting the floor out of habit. Dirt didn’t belong on floors, not even his own. He dropped his bag and went straight to his bedroom, letting himself flop onto the bed. It wasn’t Orpheus’s bed. Never would be. That mattress had a weight, a softness, a way of holding him that his own couldn’t match. He closed his eyes, feeling the worn sheets underneath, the faint scent of detergent, and let his body sink into what comfort he had.

Checkers. Seven losses. Eight. Orpheus had way too amused the whole time. And damn it, Norton hated how much it got under his skin.

"Predictable," he muttered to himself, voice low, grinding his teeth. The word looped through his mind, crawling under his skin, twisting with a kind of fire he hadn’t felt in a while. He had to shake it. He had to surprise Orpheus. Make him lean forward, make him pause mid-thought, make him notice. He couldn’t just be another board game to Orpheus, easily read and dismissed. That wasn’t his job. No. His job as a muse was to be studied, wasnt it? Looked at, but not so easily figured out? If ever figured out..

Norton shifted on the bed, propping his elbows on the mattress. The sunlight faded into gold, long shadows stretching across the room. Across the street, petals swayed gently in the evening breeze. Norton’s hands itched for action. He wanted to be unpredictable. Wanted to force a reaction. Wanted Orpheus to tilt that head, pause the pen, let the gaze linger. The thought made his chest tighten and his stomach coil with anticipation.

He rolled onto his side, staring out the window, letting the quiet stretch around him. Orpheus wouldn’t see it coming. That was the point. The thought made his grin sharper, almost feral. He could push Orpheus’s calm, press against it, and make him lean in. And when he won..

God, when Norton won.

He was going to ruin that man.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The next interview passed with the usual dread that came with them, but Norton didn’t care. He’d steeled himself, patched his nerves together with the stubbornness he’d learned from scraping through life. Tired, distracted, or annoyed, he’d win today. And he knew how.

Orpheus led him into the bedroom without a word. The board was already set, pieces in perfect formation. Orpheus looked calm, almost smug, and Norton scowled under his breath. Too confident. Way too confident. That was good. Perfect even. The man’s self-assurance was going to be his undoing, if Norton played it right.

Orpheus was smart, insanely smart. Too smart. But he had his moments. A drift of attention. A blink too slow. The man was spacey, to say the least. Those gaps, though small, were exactly where Norton thrived. He leaned back on the bed for a second, letting Orpheus settle in, letting him think the game would be smooth and simple.

Then Norton started. Slow at first. Hesitating, frowning, scratching his temple, letting Orpheus think he was clueless. That man was clearly losing attention. 

When Orpheus finally blinked and looked up, Norton grinned. There it was. That small lapse, the fraction of attention Orpheus lost in his careful calculations. Norton’s fingers itched.

He reached for a piece. Quick, subtle, precise. A flick of the wrist, and one of Orpheus’s pieces slid off the board. He didn’t even flinch. He plopped his own piece in the empty space, and for anyone else it would have looked innocent, harmless even. But Norton wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

He tilted his head, sniffled. Wiped at his nose like a minor annoyance had struck him. Then he leaned forward and popped the piece into his mouth, then swallowed. He could see Orpheus’s eyes flick down to the board. Blink. Narrow. Tilt. Pause. Perfect. He was clearly confused. 

A few turns later, Norton did it again. A quick pinch, and into his mouth before Orpheus could notice the subtle theft. 

By the third piece, Norton was trying to not laugh quietly to himself, the absurdity of it making his chest feel light. This was the height of genius. 

The game continued. Norton took his time, moving pieces with careful slowness, letting Orpheus think he was fumbling, distracted, maybe even losing focus. Orpheus leaned forward. Tilted his head. Cheekbone sharp in the lamp light. Fingers drummed lightly on bed, unaware that a couple of his pieces were now digesting somewhere inside Norton.

When Orpheus’s attention flicked up again, Norton smirked. He took another piece, glanced up like nothing was happening, and popped it into his mouth. Swallowed with a little gulp that he made as loud as possible without being obvious. Norton’s grin widened imperceptibly. He could see the faint crease in the brow, the pause in the gaze, the tiny hesitation.

By the time Norton was finishing the fifth piece, his stomach grumbled faintly. He ignored it. The thrill of the tiny rebellion, of holding the upper hand in a game that Orpheus thought he’d mastered.

Orpheus leaned back, no longer smiling. He didn’t frown either. Norton could see him trying to figure it out, trying to measure the unusual tilt of the board, the shifts in Norton’s posture, trying to understand why the board seemed so damn empty. 

Finally, Orpheus’s eyes narrowed, realizing something was off. Norton leaned back in his chair, fingers laced lazily behind his head, smirking like a man who knew secrets no one else could touch. The board sat between them, Orpheus’s eyes sharp, focused, flicking from piece to piece. The precise kind of look that said, you’ve done something, and I am going to figure it out made Norton grin wider.

"You didn’t," Orpheus said slowly, carefully, voice low, measured, dangerous in its own way.

"Didn’t what?" Norton asked, feigning ignorance, raising one brow, tipping his head back in mock innocence.

Orpheus’s eyes sharpened further. "You.. those pieces. They’re… missing. Did you take them?"

Norton shrugged casually, leaning a little farther back, letting his feet rest against the edge of the bed. He made a small show of shaking his jacket, letting it ruffle over his lap, checking his pockets in slow motion. "I, uh… I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Orpheus’s glare didn’t waver. It grew. Sharp and accusatory. If looks could kill. He leaned forward, peering at Norton like he expected the pieces to spill out of him, tumble from his pockets or his sleeves or his boots like tiny obedient soldiers.

"They’re… gone," Orpheus said flatly. "Where did they go?"

Norton hummed, tapping a finger lazily against his chin. "I… might have misplaced them." He offered this with a shrug that made his shoulders sag in mock defeat.

Orpheus’s expression froze for a second. His eyes darted around the room, scanning shelves, the floor, under the bed. He peered at the lampshade, looked behind the drapes, glared at the wall as if the missing pieces might have decided to tuck themselves into a corner and hide. He scanned Norton’s clothes with painstaking care, leaning close to run fingers along folds of fabric, patting down pockets, sleeves, cuffs, seams.

Norton’s grin widened with every frantic movement. Oh, this was going better than expected. Every meticulous search, every careful flick of Orpheus’s gaze, made Norton feel lighter, giddy almost. The absurdity of  Orpheus losing his mind over something so simple made his chest swell with delight.

Half an hour passed. Orpheus continued to look everywhere: the edges of the room, under the chairs, behind his own notebook, even at the ceiling as if the pieces might have floated there. Norton watched, leaning back further, smirking, tapping a finger on his knee. His own smug amusement was starting to feel dangerous.

"Where are they, Norton?" Orpheus finally said, exasperated, his voice tense but still clipped, still trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

Norton shrugged. "Where do you want ‘em?"

Orpheus froze, incredulous. "I… I mean, the pieces. Where are they really?"

Norton’s grin twitched wider. His plan was coming together. He could feel the tension in the room, the controlled frustration spilling from Orpheus in little bursts. Tiny crackling sparks. Perfect. "Well… that depends," Norton said casually, leaning forward just enough to look mischievous. "You got something to offer in return?"

Orpheus’s eyes went wide. The man blinked once, twice. Then he started scanning the room again, muttering softly, pacing slightly, looking anywhere he could think of. Under the desk. Between the mattress folds. Behind the lamp. Even made Norton stick his tongue out.

Norton chuckled quietly. Half pride, half relief. This was working beautifully. Orpheus, meticulous, intelligent, and completely stumped. A half hour of searching and questioning, and he had… nothing. 

Finally, Orpheus sat down heavily, fingers resting against his temples, sighing. A long, drawn-out exhale of frustration that made Norton’s chest swell. 

"If you tell me, I’ll count this as your victory." Orpheus finally concedes, head still buried in his own hands.

Norton leaned forward, smug as hell, letting a small smirk tug at his lips. "I ate them," he said plainly.

Orpheus’s gaze snapped to him, incredulous. "No. You didn’t."

"I did," Norton replied cheerfully. Completely unbothered by the creeping worry in the back of his mind about whether Orpheus would actually be mad.

Instead, Orpheus’s tension broke all at once, laughing a sudden, booming laugh that filled the room. Utterly bewildered. 

"You… you actually ate them?" Orpheus gasped between chuckles, looking like he wasn’t sure whether to be angry or impressed. "You… you’re so strange, Campbell! Were you so desperate to beat me?"

Norton leaned back, satisfied, proud of himself. The flush creeping onto his face wasn't important, even if it was a bit embarrassing. Yes, he was that desperate. 

Orpheus’s laughter subsided a little, still trembling on the edges, as he shook his head. "You… truly are something. Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, there is simply more to learn."

Norton didn’t wait for him to finish. He leaned back further, the weight of his own smugness making the bed groan under him. "Finally," he thought, "finally, some recognition."

Orpheus leaned forward, eyes twinkling now, exhausted from the combination of the game and the absurdity of what had just occurred. "So… are you going to take your prize then?" Orpheus perks up a bit as he says it. 

Norton’s grin stretches wide. 

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

For all of Orpheus' confidence, the man sure was nervous.

Being straddled by Norton was enough to make him squirm. Orpheus' hands trembled slightly as they came to rest against Norton's chest, his breath quickening before they'd even properly touched. Norton found it endearing. Something might be wrong with him.

"You look like you're about to faint," Norton murmured, his voice rough with want as he leaned closer, hovering just above Orpheus' lips.

"I assure you, I'm perfectly…" Orpheus began, but Norton silenced him with a kiss, swallowing whatever stupid denial was about to follow.

The first press of their mouths was gentle, almost hesitant, but Norton quickly deepened it, coaxing Orpheus' lips apart. The novelist made a sound before his hands moved to Norton's shoulders, nails digging deep enough to leave marks. Not pushing away, but anchoring himself as if afraid he might float away without the connection.

Norton didn't mind it. In fact, the slight sting only spurred him on.

He kissed Orpheus thoroughly, drawing out every reaction. The slight gasp when he nipped at his lower lip, the way Orpheus' body arched unconsciously when Norton's tongue slid against his. For someone so articulate, Orpheus kissed with endearing clumsiness, trying to mirror Norton's movements but always a beat behind, always just a little too eager or hesitant.

Norton's hips shifted forward instinctively, pressing his hardening cock against Orpheus' thigh. The friction, even through their pants, pulled a low groan from his throat. Orpheus' eyes widened at the sound, at the feeling of Norton's obvious arousal against him.

"Oh," Orpheus breathed, the single syllable sounding almost surprised.

Norton couldn't help but grin, rocking his hips forward again deliberately this time. "Problem?"

"N-Not quite," Orpheus stammered, his composed facade cracking further.

Norton lowered his full weight onto him, slotting their bodies together, his hard cock now pressed directly against Orpheus' own growing erection. The sudden contact made Orpheus gasp, his hips jerking upward involuntarily.

"Fuck," Norton muttered, grinding down against him. "Can feel how hard you are already."

Orpheus turned his face away, embarrassment written across his features, but his body betrayed him, hips rising to meet Norton's movements, seeking that delicious friction. Norton captured his mouth again in a bruising kiss, setting a steady rhythm with his hips that had Orpheus whimpering against his lips.

"Could make you come just like this," Norton growled, his hands gripping Orpheus' hips tightly, guiding their movements together. "Bet you'd look pretty falling apart without me even touching your cock."

Orpheus made a choked sound, somewhere between protest and plea. His hands moved restlessly from Norton's shoulders to his back, fingers digging in as if trying to pull him even closer. Norton obliged, grinding down harder, the friction almost painful through the layers of fabric.

"Breathe," Norton whispered against his mouth, smiling as Orpheus exhaled shakily. "We've got all night."

"Is that a promise?" Orpheus asked, aiming for witty but landing somewhere around desperate.

Norton answered by kissing him again, harder this time, one hand sliding up to tangle in Orpheus' hair while the other explored the curve of his side, the dip of his waist. Orpheus responded instantly, melting into the touch, his own hands becoming bolder as they traced Norton's shoulders, his neck, threading through his hair.

The room felt impossibly hot, the air between them charged. Norton had kissed Orpheus before. Yet this was different. This was unhurried. Deliberate. A prelude rather than a stolen moment.

All the while, Norton continued to roll his hips, his cock straining painfully against his pants, seeking relief against Orpheus' body. The novelist was fully hard now too, his breath coming in short gasps as Norton ground against him.

"Norton," Orpheus managed, his voice strained. "I—I can't—"

"Already close?" Norton smirked, increasing the pace of his movements. "Just from this?"

Orpheus nodded, looking almost ashamed at how quickly he'd been reduced to this state. Norton felt a surge of possessive pride. Orpheus like this… flushed and wanting, writhing beneath him, coming undone from just the press of their bodies together. He wanted it for himself.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Norton growled, grinding down particularly hard. Orpheus' back arched off the bed, a strangled moan escaping him.

Norton forced himself to slow down, to ease the pressure. He wanted to be inside Orpheus when he came, not just rutting against him like teenagers. With considerable effort, he shifted his weight, his hand finding the edge of Orpheus' shirt, fingers grazing the warm skin beneath.

Orpheus jolted away like he'd been burned, eyes wide and startled.

Norton raised an eyebrow. "You alright?"

Orpheus took far too long to get his bearings, blinking blearily for a moment. His lips were red and slightly swollen, his carefully styled hair now thoroughly mussed. The patient smile he attempted lost what little effect it had as he flushed even further, glancing away. Or maybe it worked in every way he wanted it to, as he ran a hand through his already tousled hair.

Pretty like a girl, Norton thought, not for the first time. With those delicate features and long lashes, that hadn't ever been more apparent than now, with Orpheus flushed and disheveled beneath him.

"Fine," Orpheus insisted, his tone more frazzled than Norton would've expected. "Though, I feel I must confess something."

Norton immediately made a face. "If you're about to tell me you've been with someone else—"

Orpheus' eyes widened, and he shook his head frantically. "No, not at all." The relief that flooded Norton was immediate and intense. "Someone touching me in this way... Well, you know. I'm somewhat hands-off. This is all... I have yet to do something like this."

Norton's brain slowed to a halt. Hadn't... Ah. Orpheus was telling him he was a virgin. That he hadn't even had a proper makeout session with someone before. Perfect Orpheus, who had everything he wanted, hadn't been touched. Not by anyone but Norton.

Huh. Norton was suddenly feeling real lightheaded. His cock twitched painfully in his pants at the thought. That he would be the first, the only one to have Orpheus like this.

"If that bothers you..." Orpheus began, blinking up at him again, uncertainty written across features usually composed in careful confidence.

Norton didn't let him finish. He was on him within seconds, mouth on his neck, biting down hard enough to leave marks just where he knew Orpheus' collar would cover them. He needed to make this good for Orpheus. Good so he wouldn't go looking for anyone else. Hell, so that if he did, he'd be left unsatisfied and needing Norton. His smile was wide against the other's collarbone. Orpheus was the gift that just kept on giving.

One bite had Orpheus arching off the bed, hands grabbing at Norton's shoulders, then around his neck. Norton's strong hands fell down to grip Orpheus' hips, pinning him back onto the bed even as he continued to squirm.

Norton couldn't help himself—he pressed his still-clothed erection against Orpheus' thigh again, rutting against him with desperate, uneven movements. The friction was maddening, not enough and too much all at once.

"God, I want to fuck you," Norton growled against Orpheus' ear, feeling him shudder at the words. "Been thinking about it for months, getting inside you, making you take it."

"Aren't you... meant to be touching?" Orpheus gasped out in response, his chest heaving. Again, for someone who had only been made out with a little bit... No wonder he never let Norton touch. He'd fall apart at the first sign of getting tugged around. Their shirts weren't even off, for God's sake.

Norton wasn't complaining. One hand clumsily attempted to unbutton Orpheus' shirt with varying degrees of success, while the other reached blindly for the bag he knew he'd tossed somewhere nearby. He grinned when he managed to grab the edge. It was hiked up onto the bed, the oil inside falling into Norton's hand easily—if a bit difficult with the way Orpheus had wrapped around him. The man was clearly desperate to return the favor, arms still locked firmly around Norton's neck as he left his own marks on whatever skin he could reach.

He let him have his fun, finishing off the buttons and urging Orpheus up just a bit to pull the shirt off him. Orpheus was... gorgeous. Not a single scar on him, unless you counted the mole situated just above his hip bones. Even that looked more like a feature than any kind of flaw. He was slim, too. Maybe a bit too slim for someone who should be eating well. Not an ounce of muscle on him either.

Like a girl, Norton's brain helpfully supplied again. He shook the thought. Orpheus getting up and leaving because he called him pretty was the last thing he needed. Or wanted. The best part, though, was that he'd been right. Orpheus' flush went all the way down, then further when Norton pressed his fingers greedily into the soft flesh of his sides.

"Entertained?" Orpheus piped up, sounding a little too impatient for Norton's liking. Norton stared for a minute longer, trying to figure out just how far he'd actually get with Orpheus before the man couldn't take it anymore.

Hell, maybe Orpheus would take it all.

...Norton shouldn't get his hopes up. His prospects hadn't changed there. At least he'd actually get inside something for the first time, huh? It certainly wasn't his first rodeo, but it was the first time he'd succeed in getting this far. Assuming Orpheus didn't back out. Having seen it was one thing; realizing it was going to go inside you was another thing entirely.

"Gonna use my fingers," Norton responded after too long. "Lift up your hips for me."

Orpheus' breath hitched as he said it. So damn easy to rile up. Maybe if Norton had just looked a little harder, he'd have realized after all those blowjobs how affected Orpheus was. If he'd defied a little, yanked that pretty hair, they might have ended up like this a whole lot sooner. He wasn't given much more time to dwell as Orpheus lifted his hips, Norton finding the man's belt undone already.

He raised an eyebrow. Orpheus turned away, the tips of his ears bright red. Norton's laugh was almost silent as he slid a pillow into the newly freed-up space. Orpheus looked even more like a dream like this, back arched, arms falling limply at his sides. His pants were obviously tented in arousal, and Norton hooked his fingers along the waistband to begin pulling them down.

Orpheus made a soft sound at the friction, absolutely no help in getting himself naked as he lay still, refusing to look at Norton. Better for Norton. Gave him plenty of time to admire him real well. His dick was smaller than Norton's, but that was no surprise. It was real pretty, too. Curved up to leak against his pale stomach. It twitched under the attention, then again when Norton brushed a hand against his thigh.

"So damn pretty," Norton muttered, mostly to himself. Orpheus made another soft sound in reply. The temptation to wrap a hand around him was strong, to play with him until he came undone. But Norton would much rather see that happening on his fingers. Maybe his cock, if he got lucky.

He used the grip on the other's thigh to spread Orpheus' legs, his own dick twitching with interest. In fact, Norton's pants were painfully tight. But he had to get Orpheus prepped unless he wanted to injure him and send both of them to the doctor. Hell. They probably couldn't even go to a doctor. How would they explain that away? Orpheus would keel over before admitting something like that. Norton might not even go with him.

The oil went on his fingers easily when he managed to separate himself from Orpheus. The hand he'd left clean reached for Orpheus' chin. So quiet. You'd think for a guy who talked so much, he'd have a little more to say during all this.

"You hiding?" Norton smirked. Orpheus wrinkled his nose in response, attempting to turn his head again.

"This is rather demeaning," the novelist eventually heaved out, though he didn't close his legs. So darling for Norton already, and all it took was a bit of scolding. He did tense up as Norton thumbed at his hole, slowly starting to slip a finger in. "Just... be gentle, please—"

Gentle. Huh. Yeah, that seemed about right for what Norton had expected out of Orpheus. He seemed like a guy who liked it slow. It was a shame that wasn't really what Norton was about, but he'd make it work. Lord knows he was hard enough to make anything work. Just as long as he got to be inside him.

Orpheus was tight enough—and squirmed enough—that Norton was pretty sure he wasn't lying about this being his first time. With his chin firmly in Norton's hand, he didn't even try to hide, sucking in a breath when Norton added another finger. "Is it going to feel like this the entire time?"

Norton huffed. "Give me a second, would you? You're real bossy." Norton curled his fingers. Then again when he got no reaction, grinning when Orpheus abruptly tried to slam his legs closed with a downright lewd squeal. A bit too loud, maybe, and higher pitched than Norton had ever heard.

"Told you," he grinned at the melody of whines coming from Orpheus now. More subdued than the first, yet still he scraped his fingers against the man's prostate with every thrust of fingers. "Feels real good when you stop complaining at me."

"Wait—Wait a moment—" Orpheus gasped, his fingers weakly clutching at Norton's wrist.

Norton laughed, stilling his fingers but keeping them pressed right against that spot inside Orpheus that made him squirm. He watched with satisfaction as Orpheus's grip loosened, only to claw desperately at Norton's sleeve a moment later.

"Yeah?" Norton drawled, his voice a low rumble. "Got something to say?"

Orpheus's chest heaved, his pale skin flushed pink all the way down to his navel. Sweat beaded along his hairline, plastering a few strands to his forehead. He looked utterly wrecked already, and Norton had barely gotten started.

"I—" Orpheus swallowed, his throat bobbing visibly. His eyes were glassy, unfocused. "I think I'm ready."

Norton barked out a laugh, cruel and short. "No, you ain't."

He twisted his fingers deliberately, watching Orpheus arch off the bed, a broken sound escaping his lips. Those pretty lips that had been wrapped around Norton's cock just days ago, taking him with a skill that belied his inexperience.

"You think three fingers is enough?" Norton asked, spreading them slightly to emphasize his point. Orpheus hissed, his body clenching around the intrusion. "You've seen my cock. You've had it down your throat. You really think this is enough?"

Orpheus tried to glare, but the effect was ruined by the way his eyes kept losing focus every time Norton's fingers brushed against his prostate.

"I said I'm ready," Orpheus insisted, that familiar bratty edge creeping into his voice. "Stop treating me like I'm made of glass."

Norton withdrew his fingers slowly, watching Orpheus's body try to cling to them. The novelist's cock twitched against his stomach, leaking a steady stream of precum that pooled in the dip of his navel. Norton had to admit, the sight was fucking gorgeous. Orpheus splayed out beneath him, flushed and wanting, trying so hard to maintain his composure even as his body betrayed him.

"Your funeral," Norton muttered, wiping his slick fingers on the bedsheets before reaching for the oil again.

He unbuckled his belt, the sound of metal clinking loud in the quiet room. Orpheus's eyes fixed on his hands, watching intently as Norton undid his pants and pushed them down just enough to free his cock.

The sharp intake of breath from Orpheus was immensely satisfying. Norton wasn't vain about much, but his cock? That was something else entirely. Thick and heavy, it jutted out from a nest of dark hair, the head already flushed an angry red. Next to Orpheus's slim, pretty cock, it looked almost obscenely large.

"Still think you're ready?" Norton smirked, pouring oil into his palm.

Orpheus's throat worked as he swallowed. "Yes," he said, but his voice wavered just slightly. His eyes never left Norton's cock as the miner stroked himself, coating it liberally with oil.

Norton positioned himself between Orpheus's spread thighs, using one hand to guide the head of his cock to Orpheus's entrance. He rubbed it teasingly against the slick rim, watching Orpheus's expression shift between desire and apprehension.

"Don't tease," Orpheus snapped, but there was no real heat in it. His hands fisted in the sheets, knuckles white.

"So impatient," Norton growled, pressing forward just enough for the head to catch on Orpheus's rim. "For someone who's been making me sleep in the guest room for months, you're awful eager now."

Orpheus's mouth opened, likely to deliver some cutting retort, but Norton chose that moment to push in. Just the tip, just barely breaching him—and whatever Orpheus had been about to say dissolved into a strangled gasp.

"Fuck," Norton hissed. The tight heat around just the head of his cock was already almost too much. "Christ, you're tight."

Orpheus was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes were squeezed shut, brows furrowed in concentration.

"You alright?" Norton asked, surprising himself with the hint of concern in his voice.

Orpheus nodded jerkily. "Just—give me a moment."

Norton held still, watching as Orpheus struggled to adjust. His cock throbbed, demanding more of that exquisite pressure, but he forced himself to wait. He'd waited this long; he could wait a little longer. Besides, the last thing he needed was to hurt Orpheus badly enough that this would be the first and last time.

After what felt like an eternity, Orpheus exhaled shakily and nodded. "More."

Norton pushed in another inch, feeling Orpheus's body resist before grudgingly yielding. The novelist's face contorted, a mix of pain and something else—something desperate and hungry that made Norton's cock throb inside him.

"Still think three fingers was enough?" Norton taunted, his voice rough with restraint.

"Shut up," Orpheus gasped, his hands clawing at Norton's forearms now. "Just—keep going."

Norton obliged, inching forward slowly, watching every flicker of expression on Orpheus's face. The man beneath him was trembling, his cock still hard despite the discomfort, leaking steadily onto his stomach. Norton was barely halfway in, and already Orpheus looked overwhelmed, his composure cracking at the seams.

"Look at you," Norton murmured, a mean edge to his voice that he couldn't quite control. "All those months making me sleep alone, and now you're falling apart on my cock."

Orpheus's eyes flew open, dark with a mixture of arousal and irritation. "I said shut up." 

Norton grinned, wolfish and sharp. "Make me."

In a move that surprised them both, Orpheus surged up, grabbing the back of Norton's neck and pulling him down into a bruising kiss. It was messy, all teeth and desperation, and Norton used the distraction to push in another inch, swallowing Orpheus's moan.

When they broke apart, Orpheus was panting, his lips swollen and red. "Is that all you've got?" he challenged, but his voice was shaky.

Norton growled, his patience finally snapping. He gripped Orpheus's hips hard enough to bruise and thrust forward in one smooth motion, burying himself to the hilt.

Orpheus's back arched off the bed, a cry tearing from his throat that was loud enough to make Norton briefly worry about neighbors. His body clenched around Norton's cock like a vise, so tight it was almost painful.

"Fuck," Norton groaned, his head dropping forward. "Fuck, Orpheus."

Orpheus was trembling beneath him, his eyes wide and unfocused, lips parted in a silent gasp. Norton could feel him pulsing around his cock, adjusting to the intrusion, struggling to accommodate Norton's size.

"You okay?" Norton asked again, his voice gruff.

Orpheus nodded, but he looked dazed. "I—I didn't think—" He broke off, swallowing hard. "You're very... substantial."

A laugh rumbled up from Norton's chest, unexpected and rough. "Yeah, I'm aware."

He stayed still, letting Orpheus adjust, even though every instinct screamed at him to move, to fuck into that tight heat until he came. The waiting was excruciating, but the sight of Orpheus beneath him was worth it.

Gradually, Orpheus's breathing steadied. His grip on Norton's shoulders relaxed slightly, and the painful tension in his body began to ease. Norton felt it, the slight give as Orpheus's body finally accepted him.

"Move," Orpheus whispered, his voice raw. "Please, Norton."

Norton didn't need to be told twice. He pulled back slowly, watching Orpheus's face contort as his cock dragged against sensitive inner walls, then pushed back in with a measured thrust. The friction was incredible, tight and slick and hot, and Norton had to grit his teeth to maintain control.

"God," Orpheus breathed, his eyes fluttering shut. "That's—"

Norton withdrew again, then thrust back in a little harder, cutting off whatever Orpheus had been about to say. He set a careful rhythm, not too fast, not too rough, watching Orpheus's reactions carefully. The novelist's hands gripped Norton's biceps, nails digging into skin, his face a study in conflicted pleasure.

"Still think you're ready?" Norton taunted, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust.

Orpheus's answering glare was undermined by the moan that escaped him. "I—ah—I can handle it."

Norton shifted slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts, searching. He knew he'd found what he was looking for when Orpheus's entire body jolted, a broken sound escaping his throat.

"There it is," Norton murmured, satisfaction coloring his voice. He kept the angle, driving into that spot with each thrust, watching as Orpheus unraveled beneath him.

The novelist was no longer trying to maintain his composure. His head was thrown back, throat exposed, sounds falling from his lips that Norton had never heard before, desperate, needy sounds that sent heat coursing through Norton's veins.

"Look at you," Norton growled, increasing his pace slightly. “All proper and put-together, huh? Hows that going for you now?” 

Orpheus's eyes flew open, a flash of that familiar defiance surfacing through the haze of pleasure. "Don't—don't flatter yourself," he gasped, but the effect was ruined by the way his body clenched around Norton with each thrust.

Norton laughed, low and mean. "No? Then why's your pretty little cock leaking all over your stomach? Haven't even touched it, and you're dripping."

As if to prove his point, he thrust particularly hard, and a fresh bead of precum oozed from the tip of Orpheus's cock. The novelist flushed deeper, his breath hitching.

"Shut up," Orpheus hissed, but there was no real heat in it. His eyes were half-lidded, glazed with pleasure, and his cock twitched against his stomach with each thrust.

Norton leaned down, bracing his weight on one forearm beside Orpheus's head. The new position drove him even deeper, and Orpheus whimpered, his hands scrambling for purchase on Norton's sweat-slick back.

"You want me to shut up?" Norton murmured, his lips brushing the shell of Orpheus's ear. "Go on and make me."

Orpheus turned his head, capturing Norton's mouth in a desperate kiss. It was sloppy, uncoordinated, broken by Orpheus's gasps as Norton continued to thrust into him. When they parted, Orpheus was panting, his eyes unfocused.

"Norton," he breathed, the name sounding like something between a prayer and a curse.

"Yeah?" Norton's rhythm faltered slightly at the raw need in Orpheus's voice.

"Harder," Orpheus demanded, his nails digging into Norton's shoulders. "Please, I need—"

Norton didn't wait for him to finish. He gripped Orpheus's hips, tilting them slightly for better leverage, and began to fuck into him with renewed vigor. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, accompanied by Orpheus's increasingly desperate moans.

"This what you wanted?" Norton growled, driving into Orpheus with enough force to shift the bed. "This why you've been pushing me away? Afraid of how much you'd like it?"

Orpheus couldn't answer, reduced to incoherent sounds as Norton pounded into him. His cock bounced against his stomach with each thrust, leaking steadily, untouched and neglected.

Norton could feel his own orgasm building, a tight coil of heat at the base of his spine. But he was determined to make Orpheus come first, proving just how much the man had been denying himself.

"You're gonna come like this," Norton panted, his thrusts becoming more erratic as his control slipped. "Just from my cock. No hands. Show me how bad you needed this."

Orpheus's eyes flew open, a flash of panic crossing his face as he realized how close he was. "Norton—I can't—"

"You can," Norton insisted, angling his hips to hit that spot inside Orpheus with each thrust. "You will."

Orpheus's back arched, his body going taut as a bowstring. His mouth opened in a silent cry, and then he was coming, untouched, his cock pulsing as thick ropes of cum painted his stomach and chest. His body clamped down on Norton like a vise, the rhythmic contractions almost painful in their intensity.

The sight of Orpheus coming apart beneath him, combined with the incredible pressure around his cock, pushed Norton over the edge. He buried himself deep with one final thrust and came with a guttural groan, filling Orpheus with pulse after pulse of hot cum.

For a moment, they stayed frozen, Norton buried to the hilt inside Orpheus, both of them panting and trembling with the aftershocks of their orgasms. Then Norton's arms gave out, and he collapsed onto Orpheus, mindful at the last second to shift his weight to avoid crushing the smaller man.

The room was quiet except for the sound of their ragged breathing. Norton could feel Orpheus's heart hammering against his chest, gradually slowing as they both came down from their high.

After what felt like an eternity, Norton found the strength to push himself up on his elbows, looking down at Orpheus. The novelist looked thoroughly debauched—hair a mess, lips swollen, skin flushed and marked with the beginnings of bruises where Norton had gripped too hard. His stomach and chest were streaked with his own release, and he was looking up at Norton with an expression that was difficult to read.

Norton couldn't help the smug grin that spread across his face. "Told you three fingers wasn't enough."

Orpheus's expression shifted immediately to irritation, though it lacked any real heat. "Must you ruin the moment?"

"What moment?" Norton teased, slowly withdrawing from Orpheus's body. The novelist winced slightly, and Norton had the decency to feel a twinge of concern. "You alright?"

Orpheus nodded, though his movements were gingerly as he shifted on the bed. "I'll be... tender, I imagine."

Norton snorted. "That's one way of putting it." He glanced down, watching with fascination as his own release began to leak from Orpheus's body. Something primal and possessive curled in his chest at the sight. "Might've fucked you a bit too hard for your first time."

"I asked for harder," Orpheus pointed out, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "I don't regret it."

Norton raised an eyebrow, surprised by the admission. "No?” 

"No," Orpheus confirmed, meeting Norton's gaze steadily despite the flush still coloring his cheeks. "Though I will say, you were not exaggerating about your... problem."

Norton laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "Told you. Been chasing me my whole damn life."

Orpheus's lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. "Well, it seems we've found at least one solution."

Norton grinned, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in his chest. "Yeah? Are you planning on letting me stay in your bed now?"

"Perhaps," Orpheus said, his tone maddeningly noncommittal, but there was a spark in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "Though I may need some convincing."

Norton leaned down, stealing a quick, rough kiss. "Oh, I think I can be very convincing."

He pulled back slightly, eyeing the mess on Orpheus's stomach. "You came untouched," he pointed out, unable to keep the smug satisfaction from his voice. "Didn't even need a hand. Just my cock splitting you open."

The flush on Orpheus's cheeks deepened, but instead of the embarrassment Norton expected, there was a flash of defiance in his eyes. "And you filled me quite thoroughly," he retorted, his voice dropping to a murmur that sent a shiver down Norton's spine. "I can still feel you. I imagine I'll be feeling you for days."

Norton's spent cock gave a valiant twitch at the words. "Christ, Orpheus," he groaned. "You can't just say shit like that."

"Why not?" Orpheus asked, a hint of that bratty edge returning to his voice. "Does it bother you?"

Norton narrowed his eyes. "You're playing with fire."

"Am I?" Orpheus's expression was all innocent curiosity, but Norton wasn't fooled. The man knew exactly what he was doing.

"Yeah," Norton growled, his hand moving to grip Orpheus's jaw. "And you know what happens when you play with fire?"

Orpheus's lips curved into a small, challenging smile. "Why don't you show me?"

Norton's answering grin was all teeth. "Gladly." “