Chapter Text
Scar feels wonderfully relaxed.
It’s not often that he sleeps so well on the life servers. Playing on a server where your friends are trying to kill you will make sleep a little harder, kept awake either by stress and worry or the need to watch one’s own back or remain prepared. Getting enough sleep is rare, let alone waking up feeling as rested as he does.
He burrows down under his blankets, drifting on the edge of lucidity, and every small brush of soft fabric against his skin feels electric, isn’t that odd? He lets out a little contented sigh as his head grows fuzzy, a cozy sort of haze settling over him as he shivers, mind is filled with a strange softness skin to cotton wool. There’s a simmering heat pooling in his gut like liquid gold, and his hand drifts idly to skim across the sensitive skin of his stomach, eliciting goosebumps. He’s not sure why he’s woken up feeling so sensitive, but. It’s not it’s a bad feeling.
He rolls over, eyes closed, still very much on the edge of sleep. He swears he feels ghost-like touches on his shoulders, massaging him gently. They trail lower, appraising his chest, his ribs, and he keens as something lovely and warm fizzes across his back. There’s an intensity to it that hits him like a lightning strike, spine arching. The tingly, effervescent feeling continues to slowly travel down his back, vertebrae by vertebrae, heat soaking through his muscles like melted butter. He’s moaning properly now with each warm touch-like sensation, hand dropping to mindlessly stroke his length. It’s— shit, that feels good, a flick here and a twist there and it’s almost like there’s two hands on him at once. He should give himself more credit if he can give himself this good of a handjob when he’s so sleepy.
Squinting through the sheets, it’s still dark out. But he doesn’t quite want to admit to himself that he’s conscious yet. He must have been having a very nice dream, the details already lost on him, for him to wake up feeling like this. He muffles a soft cry with his pillow as he feels another satisfying zing of pleasure down his spine, breath hitching in surprise. Jeez, that felt good. Better than simply stroking himself normally would. He must have accidentally brushed his tip against his sheets or his knee, or something? He groans, rolling onto his back, hips twitching as he ruts into empty air. A few more flicks of his wrist, and the tension knotting and curling in his stomach begins to build properly, leaving him feeling warm all over.
He lies there, still somewhat dead to the world, phantom touches he doesn’t think much about on his shoulders and back as he slowly rubs himself off, shaking apart alone in the dark.
It’s when he feels his cheeks spread apart and his hole stretch without any input that he finally realises something is wrong, his eyes shooting open, stomach dropping with dread.
What.
He sits bolt upright, checking he’s alone. He’s— who is he kidding, he’s definitely alone, Grian’s not here, of course he’s not. His breath is quick and shallow, heart racing as— oh fuck, he chokes on a moan as he feels something pressing devastating little circles into his walls, softening the muscle. He lifts his hips, reaching around to confirm that there really is nothing there, legs trembling as pleasure continues to build in his core, something firmly massaging his insides, stretching him out oh so gently. He’s not touching himself anymore, but he swears he still feels little sparks of pleasure shooting through his length as if there is some source of friction, soft and imprecise but enough to rile him up further.
He whimpers as the stretch becomes more, something wider being forced past his rim, his mind caught halfway between that feels amazing and what the heck is going on. There’s a scissoring motion and— fingers, he realises, it’s like he’s being worked open by someone’s fingers. He struggles to get a sense of whether they’re long or thick or calloused, the pleasure itself singing through his body with a lot more clarity than the actual sensation of being touched, but the way they press into his walls is plenty familiar. He goes to pinch himself to triple check this isn’t all just a dream as they skim past his prostate, sending a mental apology to Grian in advance since he’ll feel the pain of the—
Oh. Grian.
He freezes as the different pieces begin to fall into place, the room quiet and still other than the feeling of being slowly, gently fucked.
Oh.
Oh.
Immediately the image of Grian reaching behind himself, skin flushed and shining with sweat, appears in his mind unbidden. And his attempts to push the thought away are not at all helped by a series of firm strokes to his prostate, making him cry out, arousal rushing to his crotch. He bites back a quiet keen as the languid strokes continue— void, what sounds must Grian be making? Pretty whimpers and grunts? Shrill little chirps? Does he know what he’s doing to Scar?
He’s panting quietly now, feeling Grian begin to stretch himself wider, trying to decide whether it’s possible Grian does know and is just going for it anyway, the thought sending another dizzying rush of arousal straight to his gut, until— wait what the hell can he feel in his mouth.
A tongue. Another mouth. Lips. Gentle suction.
Oh.
Grian is decidedly not alone. Scar’s eyes grow round as he forces himself not to prioritise correcting the mental image of Grian fucking himself on his fingers and replacing it with someone else working him open, trying to think through the implications. Grian has been sneaking around lately. Scar figured it had something to do with hiding the sugarcane from him, or something adjacent to that, but. Huh.
And if he’s been trying to keep that a secret, he definitely won’t know Scar can feel this.
He considers sending his soulmate a message, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be checking his communicator at a time like this, when he’s being opened up so nicely. He needs to get his attention in some other way, and taking large amounts of damage feels unnecessary. Especially now that he knows other types of touches reach through the soulbond to some degree. No, he’ll do something that can’t possibly be mistaken for his mystery lover in the same room, that might even get the message across that, hey, Grian, I can feel you’re about to get dicked down right now.
He raises two fingers to his face, brows creasing. After one more contemplative look at them, he shoves them down his own throat
It doesn’t feel pleasant. It feels incredibly weird. His soft palate is a lot more sensitive than he expects. He screws up his face as he feels around the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat, and yeah, this is definitely weird enough and intense enough that Grian’s going to notice. Sure enough, the movement in his ass comes to a halt, fingers withdrawing, and his communicator buzzes a moment later.
<Grian> SCAR
<Grian> WHAT
<Grian> ARE YOU DOING
He pulls his fingers out of his mouth, wiping spit on his sheets, before replying.
<GoodTimeWithScar> gRIAN
<GoodTimeWithScar> had to get your attentiojn
<GoodTimeWithScar> I think there’s something you should know about the soulbond
<Grian> bit busy
Scar grits his teeth, anger flaring in his gut. Look like Grian hasn’t quite put together the pieces yet.
bit busy
’What is it if it was urgent enough for you to shove your fingers down your throat’ would’ve been nice. Or even, ‘what is it, be quick, bit busy’. Y’know, any amount of interest in the situation at hand. Any amount of interest in or concern for Scar.
Oh, if that’s how it’s going to be.
Giving it half a moment’s consideration (maybe less), he drops the communicator on the bed in front of him, finally removes his pants fully, and palms his dick, firmly. Nothing like the soft touches Grian’s been receiving so far, and hopefully enough of a contrast and enough like Scar that he’ll notice the difference. He bites his lip, intentionally being a little rough with himself, lubing himself up with the small amount of pre gathered at his tip and moving his hand up and down with an intensity Grian can’t possibly be expecting. His breath quickens as he drags his hand up and down his length, leg twitching involuntarily with each little wave of too-sharp pleasure.
He smirks as he hears the communicator buzz.
<Grian> what
<Grian> WHAT
He tips his head back, laughing quietly, running his thumb over his tip and relishing the twisting heat that begins to tighten in his stomach, as if his insides are crumpling in on themselves. Oh, that’s delicious, and he’s fairly sure Grian is catching on. Something inside him glows at the thought that he’s affecting his partner, makes his gut churn with delight at the thought of filling the other with that mixture of wonderful arousal and shock as he connects the dots. Something about turnabout being fair play, although instead of reciprocating a harm, he’s repaying unbidden pleasure.
<Grian> SCAR NO
<Grian> NO WAY
<Grian> SCAR IS THAT YOU
Scar tightens his grip, speeding up in lieu of a reply. He can feel himself growing properly overheated now, the air feeling a little thicker. He closes his eyes, losing himself in the intensity somewhat, thoughts clouding over. He imagines Grian, writhing in place, trying to get away from the confusing sensation and yet shaking apart at the seams. Trying to process what’s going on, trying to type into the communicator with trembling hands, face flushed.
He glances back down at the communicator as it buzzes once more.
<Grian> SCAR
<Grian> SCAR STOP
And he does, abruptly. Even if it leaves him feeling a bit desperate. Leaving no doubt as to what exactly is going on. He waits for Grian’s next message.
<Grian> you have my attention
Scar bites his tongue as something less pleasant twists in his stomach. Resentment, maybe. An apology would be nice. Or an explanation. Or anything that remotely acknowledges the fact that Scar has also just figured this out the hard way, with some unknown third person involved, no less. He hesitates to call it cheating since he and Grian aren’t in a relationship. But the fact that Grian felt the need to go behind his back speaks volumes. He sighs, wiping some stickiness off his hand and neglecting his hardness as he types a response.
<GoodTimeWithScar> Thought you should know
He pulls a blanket over himself as he waits for the next reply. Suddenly the chill of the room seems much more pronounced.
<Grian> okay
Scar waits a moment to see if Grian will send another message. He doesn’t. He blinks, mouth twisting.
<GoodTimeWithScar> Okay? dude who are you with
<Grian> does it matter
Scar bites his tongue. He almost hates the way his heart aches with worry for Grian. He almost wants to rip away any notion of the benefit of the doubt, jump to the conclusion that Grian doesn’t care that this could’ve been a very scary and unpleasant experience for Scar, to let the heat in his stomach turn to resentment without another thought.
The key word being ‘almost’.
Unfortunately, he cares about Grian more than words can say. As much as he should expect sourness to creep in, as much as he probably deserves to be angry, all of that is overshadowed by concern. Grian’s not acting like himself. He can be mean, he can be distant, he can be monstrous, he can be an agent of destruction and terror and chaos in the name of self-preservation and mad laughter when he wants to, when he needs to. But it’s not like him to be apathetic. Even during the earlier stages of Double Life, when he was lamenting his fate as Scar’s soulmate and showing a complete lack of faith in him, there was an undercurrent of love and jest, always. And Scar’s not sure he feels that now.
does it matter
The words are flat, empty. Devoid of love or laughter. And yet in a sense, no, it doesn’t matter. Scar trusts Grian (despite it all), and he’s quite content to be made to feel good by whoever his soulmate has run off to in the middle of the night. But he’s not sure why Grian doesn’t want him to know, and whatever’s going on in his that head of his, that matters.
He sighs heavily, feeling his heart melt. He misses Grian. He misses the Grian who can practically read his mind, who laughs with mad glee at every one of Scar’s shenanigans, who meets his eye and grins at him and sees him. He types out his reply.
<GoodTimeWithScar> I won’t make you tell me
<GoodTimeWithScar> I get it
(And he does. He gets why Grian is running away, why he wants space. They’ve done this dance before, been partnered like this before. Scar’s had his toes stepped on, and Grian’s never forgiven himself for his two left feet. They know how they are. They know this will hurt. They know they’re both to blame. But it’s much easier to blame each other this time to see how it feels on their tongues, to see if it makes it easier.)
His lip quirks as he figures out exactly how he can worm his way through the cracks in Grian’s walls.
<GoodTimeWithScar> Don’t worry about me
Because if he knows Grian (and he does), his impulse to disobey direct instructions and his strange protectiveness of Scar will be working twofold to make him pause. A bit of reverse psychology never hurt anyone.
<Grian> wait no scar what
<Grian> of course im gonna worry
<Grian> Scar
And there’s his Grian, emerging from hiding, head peeking out of its shell like a snail in a rain shower. Scar’s lip quirks, a little pleased with himself and a little bit not, all too aware of his Machiavellianism. But to a good end this time, he hopes.
He rolls onto his side as he types a reply back.
<GoodTimeWithScar> Okay it’s just that
<GoodTimeWithScar> We’ve both been so caught up in our own heads with the whole death game going on
<GoodTimeWithScar> And you’re being a little meaner than usual
<GoodTimeWithScar> I miss you?
There’s a long pause as Grian types. Scar lies quietly in the dark with bated breath.
<Grian> oh, Scar
<Grian> i should’ve, yeah.
<Grian> i dunno
Scar blinks slowly. Patient. He sees Grian is still typing.
<Grian> you already know I’m not thrilled we’re soulmates but if I’ve been weird about it it’s mostly because I’m really worried about you dying (and you messing around with pandas instead of doing something useful is not helping)
He bites the inside of his cheek, pushing down the anger brewing in his stomach. Grian’s worried about him going and dying on them? He knows Grian doesn’t think he’s completely incompetent, it’s a bit, it’s the same bit as during Third Life, but. It says something that he’s had to go to extra lengths to remind himself of that far too often recently.
<GoodTimeWithScar> Grian I know I have a reputation for dying a lot but it’s not like I can’t take care of myself. I don’t plan on being the reason why we lose if I can help it?
Grian’s response is immediate.
<Grian> OH
<Grian> no no no no no
<Grian> scar
<Grian> its not about me dying too
<Grian> im worried about you dying because I care about you
And Scar blinks, feeling something in his heart soften even further.
Oh.
<Grian> i hate watching you die in the life series
<Grian> it really scares me
Void, does Scar want to hold him. Kiss him. To somehow reassure him that it’s all okay when words won’t do it because it’s not quite true.
He does the closest thing he can. Carefully, he puts the communicator down, and tucks his own hair behind his ear, taking his time to tug a little at the strands and running a couple of calloused fingers over the skin behind his ear. Then, hoping Grian’s figured out what he’s trying to do, he cups his own face in his hands, tracing his cheekbones with his pinkie fingers was if holding Grian’s face lovingly.
He sucks in a breath as he feels a ghostly touch on his own cheek, and another pressed to the back of his hand, as if someone is placing a hand over his, tracing tiny little patterns on one of his fingers.
They stay there in silence, neither daring to move. Scar’s heart feels so incredibly full, basking in the careful touches echoing on his skin, the communicator’s dim blue glow the only source of light in the room. Slowly, he removes one of his hands, tracing a finger under his own chin, before reaching around his torso to skim his fingers across bare skin at his ribs, holding his breath. Shivers erupt across his skin in their wake, and maybe Grins feels just as sensitive, the way he feel the light pressure on the back of his hand turn into more of a gentle grip. He doesn’t make any further movements as he feels Grian’s hands fall away, and the little indicator that he’s typing lights up on his communicator again.
<Grian> you wanna go back to where this was headed before?
Scar’s eyes light up, an anticipatory zing shooting through his stomach. He also withdraws his hands, typing as quickly as he can.
<GoodTimeWithScar> Yes please
And immediately there’s the feeling of hands on his stomach hand a kiss pressed to his spine, and he shudders, melting into it. He’s not sure if he’s going to get an answer was to who this is, he doesn’t think he minds. He rolls onto his front and places a pillow under his chest, arms wrapping around it, letting them control the pace and settling in for the ride. There’s a flicker of surprise as he hears the communicator buzz again.
<Grian> also I’m genuinely sorry I was a bit dismissive of the shared sensations bit, I do absolutely care about whether or not you consent
Scar chuckles at the image of Grian still insisting on texting as his lover trails kisses down his spine, his own back arching into it. He reaches for his communicator and props himself up onto his elbows to type a reply.
<GoodTimeWithScar> I’m not upset I promise!
<GoodTimeWithScar> Was enjoying it
<GoodTimeWithScar> Mostly wanted to make sure you and your mystery lover knew I was implicated in all this
He swallows, hesitating, before quickly adding:
<GoodTimeWithScar> Especially since you’ve been, y’know. Not sure you wanted me specifically to be a part of this
He settles back onto his stomach, head resting on his arms, feeling oddly nervous. Vulnerable. It doesn’t take Grian long to respond.
<Grian> oh, Scar
<Grian> you beautiful frustrating you
<Grian> tell you what
<Grian> bigb says hes gonna make both of us feel real good he’s being such a sweetheart
<Grian> im really sorry
Oh, it’s BigB! That makes sense, in hindsight. He can’t think who else on the server would treat Grian quite this softly, knowing him to be the gremlin that he is. He smiles as he sends a message back.
<GoodTimeWithScar> Oh hi BigB! Nothing to apologise for we did not know this would happen
There’s a quiet bzzt-bzzt as Grian responds.
<Grian> no no no
<Grian> im sorry for
<Grian> yeah
<Grian> being a bad soulmate
Scar’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly at the admission. He didn’t expect that, he’s not sure that’s really fair, but it is touching. He the corner of his lip quirks as he types out his reply.
<GoodTimeWithScar> I have also not been the best soulmate to be fair
Grian doesn’t respond immediately. Something flutters in his chest and— it’s rare that the soulbond lets shared emotions bleed through, the only time he’s noticed before was in hindsight the pit of despair when Grian must have found out he was Scar’s soulmate which he attributed to his own dismay about his allay flying off, (look, allays are cute and he’d never seen one before, it was very easy to believe he was that invested in this,) and never in the last few weeks has he felt Grian’s anger towards him. But there’s a barely-there nervousness that isn’t his as his communicator pings.
<Grian> Love you
<Grian> Sorry
And before Scar can reply the touches start up again, slowly. Two hands settling around his waist, someone— BigB— at their back. He lets out a shaky exhale, putting the communicator down and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist in lieu of a reply. There’s a series of kisses to the back of his neck and his shoulders, before a light, cautious touch brushes across his rim. There’s a long pause. A question?
Scar’s chest floods with warmth, reaching all the way to his core. Oh, that’s— he didn’t expect to feel like an active participant, that’s wonderful. He’s both shocked and touched at how he can possibly feel so cared for despite being completely alone. He grinds slowly into the mattress as an answer, gently stimulating his groin, and he can imagine Grian gasping and instructing BigB: Yes, go go go go go, please—
And the finger slips back inside, something soft and ticklish—a kiss—pressed to the small of his back. The pace BigB sets is deliciously slow, stretching them out with so a carefulness that neither of them have had much of recently, and Scar is sighing and warm and tingling all over, that’s lovely. It’s not long before BigB works them back up to where they were before, two fingers inside. Scar closes his eyes and tries to imagine Grian’s little trills and chirps and hums of pleasure, and— oh gosh, there’s that warm sensation on his back again, pleasure flooding his system and he has no idea what magic BigB is working with his hands but it’s overwhelming and tingly and wonderful. Like his muscles are being unknotted and unravelled, each string of fibre filled with radiant warmth and nudged into its correct place.
He barely notices as a third finger is added, lost completely in the sensations in his upper back, until the finger is eased beyond where Grian was stretched to before. He moans as they work their muscles with soothing strokes, massaging their insides and encouraging them to relax with little circles rubbed into one of their cheeks, encouraging them to relax. Scar lets some of the tension he’s been holding onto melt away, as if him doing so will help Grian do the same.
Grian being relaxed enough to take more doesn’t seem like it will be much of a hurdle, though, as there’s pressure on his prostate again, making both of them twitch. Scar can feel Grian, who must be lying on his stomach also, rutting into something soft — the bed, he suspects, or a pillow. Scar feels himself growing a little desperate, blush creeping down his neck as he grows more needy, hand slipping lower to palm his dick. He gasps at the contact, eyes fluttering closed as he begins to drag his fingers up and down, bucking his hips slightly as he chases that little bit of extra friction.
Until he hears the communicator buzz.
<Grian> hands over your head
Oh, void.
Heat pools in Scar’s groin as he whimpers, removing his hands and resting them above his head, wrists together on instinct. He tries to grind into the bed but it’s not the same, it’s not enough. He cracks his eyes open as the communicator buzzes again.
<Grian> that’s it
<Grian> doing so well
<Grian> so good for us
<Grian> bigb says no need to do anytihng he wants you to just feel it
Scar nods desperately, forgetting for a moment that neither Grian nor BigB can see him before typing a shaky reply, even as BigB’s fingers drag over his sweet spot in a way that makes him writhe, ass lifting up off the bed.
<GoodTimeWithScar> yeFJhh good godfh cool gosh it
<Grian> lol
And Scar genuinely does not know how to feel about receiving a message saying ‘lol’ from his soulmate in the middle of sex but he barely spends another moment thinking about it as he feels a sudden devastating emptiness, whining. He crosses his wrists above his head again and grabs at the sheets, forcing himself to stay still and not touch himself as he waits. His patience proves worth it a moment later as he feels something blunt nudge at their entrance, being carefully guided in bit by bit and oh goodness BigB is a lovely size. There’s certainly a bit of a stretch around the tight ring of muscle at his entrance, but Grian’s hole has been massaged and loosened up in such a way that the muscles are willing to accommodate, leaving Scar feeling only the smallest of aches and wonderfully full as he sinks all the way in. He would be extremely content to just stay there, warming BigB’s cock and basking in the feeling of fullness, he almost forgets that BigB is going to move.
It’s like a firework going off as he feels BigB’s shaft drag back along his walls, before pushing back in again, deliciously slow. He moans into the pillow underneath him, face flushing at the almost embarrassingly slow pace, overwhelmed by the tenderness. Void, he can feel everything with BigB moving the way he is, he can make out every little twitch of Grian’s hips as they stutter backwards, every time the sensation sharpens as his hole clenches around BigB, every time the head brushes over his prostate and Scar’s head spins.
Grian must have given BigB some kind of instruction, because it’s not long before he begins to focus on that spot, speeding up a little. Scar lets out a choked gasp as their shared pleasure builds and builds, each thrust feeling like a punch in the gut in the most beautiful way. He’s not really keeping track of whether his eyes are open or not, not at all seeing the room around him either way, completely lost in the feeling of being fucked, something hitting that spot deep within him, glowing with it. He loses all sense of time as BigB speeds up just a little more, and a needy moan that makes his cheeks turn red with embarrassment despite being alone escapes him.
He twitches and squirms on the bed as he feels a wonderful warmth, gentle pressure and body heat, spread across his back and a kiss placed to the back of one of his shoulders as BigB leans over them, and gosh, they must both look gorgeous right now. He’s never been with BigB, but it’s not difficult to imagine Grian, twisting in place with need, wings puffed up, face flushed. He bucks his hips mindlessly, losing himself completely, feeling something in his stomach begin to tighten. As if BigB knows he’s getting close, (and maybe he does know, maybe Grian told him, maybe Grian can feel it, and the thought sparks even more molten pleasure swirling in his gut,) he speeds up, and Scar can feel what was a barely noticeable grip on his hips before tighten. The pace still isn’t as fast as Scar’s had it before but each thrust feels impossibly heavy, making him see stars.
He’s almost there, hands grasping at bedsheets as he feels more touches wandering across his chest and— he dimly realises that can’t be BigB, everything so far has been consistent with the gentle red name fucking them from behind. His heart swells as he figures Grian is helping, gently touching himself, fingers skimming across his chest, tracing a diagonal line across one pec that skirts around his nipple and—
No. No, he’s trailing his hand across Scar’s chest, following the line of his scars. He’s touching himself based on where he remembers Scar’s scars are.
Fuck.
Head swimming with the realisation, all it takes is a few more thrusts from BigB to send him over the edge. He lets out a high-pitched, devastated-pleased wail as he feels Grian being all but dragged with him, the touches to his pec becoming more shaky and desperate before growing still. His hole clenches around empty air, and he numbly lowers a hand to check that he can in fact feel his load gathering on his fingers and this is in fact real as he shakes through it, and fuck Grian can probably feel that too. He trembles as his euphoria is stretched even further at the thought, BigB still working them through it.
He comes down from his high slowly, panting and warm. BigB’s pace has become a little faster and shallower, and it’s just on the edge of overwhelming, but there’s nothing to do but ride it out unless he’s going to message Grian. He rolls onto his back, taking advantage of the extra mobility Grian doesn’t have and winding his hands into the sheets, holding on for the ride. He chokes as he feels the touch of skin on the back of his legs and on his palms and fuck, BigB reaches deeper, Grian is pulling him in. Insisting he come inside. Scar’s eyes screw shut as he takes the overstimulation, feeling BigB’s thrusts growing more erratic, before he feels everything tighten and— oh god, Grian is clenching down on him, and BigB’s coming. The sensation of his soulmate being filled with BigB’s release is oddly soothing when it’s numbed like this, slightly warm and syrupy. He sinks back into the bed, chest heaving, catching his breath.
After a moment, BigB pulls out, and Scar feels a soft kiss pressed to his lower back. He almost reaches for his communicator, before he feels a thumb that he just knows is Grian’s trace a prominent scar on his face, over the bridge of his nose, and his chest blossoms with warmth and fondness, the need to say anything melting away. His eyes close, sighing contentedly as he curls in on himself, kissing the back of his hand. They understand each other like this, this is enough.
He winces as he feels something cool touching him, and he realises BigB is cleaning Grian off. He sits up and half-heartedly pulls a water bucket and a piece of wool for his inventory, washing his hand and cleaning off his length before flopping back down with a contented smile.
He feels safe. He feels loved.
He’ll see Grian tomorrow.