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Illumina considers himself a paragon of holiness amongst his fellow Swords. He may not be the oldest of his siblings, nor the strongest, but he holds the most true to his purpose. Most of the Swords wander the Inpherno, interacting with the lowly mortal demons, wasting their time and energy. Only he and Ghostwalker uphold their duties in the way they were meant to. And even then, only Illumina goes above and beyond to keep his family unified and strong. None of the others seem to care about their bonds and power waning. It's just the scholar, bearing the weight of all the knowledge he can get his hands on, fighting to keep the Swords together and alive.
Ironic that it's the Sword with nearly-absent emotions that manages to test his devotion.
Illumina had been walking through the corridors of Ghostwalker's library, combing the titles for a too-hidden book on plants that one of the watchers had requested. Ghostwalker had gone by with a cart full of books to shelve about when Illumina's patience was running thin. If Illumina were a lesser demon, he may have snapped at his sibling, who had simply asked what he was looking for.
He can't deny having had a touch of growl in his voice in the ensuing idle questioning, however. After a moment, Ghostwalker looked at him, considering, detached in that way of theirs.
And had offered sex to ease his mind. Easily. Casual blasphemy and taboo in one sentence.
Illumina had scolded him, naturally, to Ghostwalker's utter indifference, and he stormed off soon after.
To his own domain in particular, for a quiet place to sort through this and bring reason to his unexpected upset.
A sibling bond, for the love of everything, ought not to be corrupted like this. Their creators made them siblings for a reason, made them inseparable, because they are stronger together than apart. And their creators had said, do not ruin this sacred vow. Do not indulge in frivolous attractions, do not break the trust and solidarity of your pantheon. There is nothing more pure and good than family. True loyalty is incompatible with flighty desire.
Firebrand knows this well, by simple knowledge and by painful experience. His status as the eldest brother of the Swords is forged in design, instinct, and his own intention.
That should have been that. Incest is not a topic to be debated or discussed, let alone considered.
Ghostwalker's voice still lingers in Illumina's mind, defiant.
What was that offer but an attempt at reaching out? Was it not a show of good will from the stoic archivist? Ghostwalker rarely opted to talk to their siblings, let alone- Illumina can't even put a certain date to the last time Ghostwalker went out of their way to provide something unrelated to their work.
No, no, this doesn't change the fact that any sort of physical relations between Swords is against their creators' intentions. They must stay united and make no room for any changes in what keeps them together. Such a betrayal to their siblingship would destroy the Swords.
Frustrating, that such an argument sounds so weak despite its inarguable urgency and certainty.
Ultimately, Illumina wants to believe that Ghostwalker at least thinks highly of him. This turmoil is why he's now standing just outside of Ghostwalker's office door, hand half-raised. He needs to know if they were sincere.
Illumina hesitates in the cold, quiet stillness of the archives. Is this the right thing to do? Is this not impulsive, selfish, unholy, wrong? He stares down the dark grey wood grain of the door, a perfect preservation of a tree species long gone.
As if a young specimen like this has answers to a Sword's moral dilemma.
Oddly, the childish and absurd thought of a tree offering bad advice is what gets him to finally knock. Three even raps. If he never inquires, or shows interest, Ghostwalker may not express concern again.
A shuffle of papers from within, and a voice rings out.
"Come in," Ghostwalker says.
No going back. Illumina takes a brief second to glance over himself for anything particularly out of place. When he finds nothing, he turns the knob and steps into the office.
Although Ghostwalker prides themself on neutrality, certain personal preferences are evident in how their work spaces are designed. Wooden bookcases line every wall of the archivist's office, excepting a massive metal filing cabinet behind the desk. The room is well-lit despite the lack of windows. A small electric chandelier hangs from the ceiling, its pale blue light overlapping the bright yellow glow of the equally ornate desk lamp. The desk itself, atop a large rug, is made out of the same material as the door, its carved details sparse and simpler than the elaborate crafting of the light fixtures.
Heating is not one of Ghostwalker's concerns. The office and the archives both retain a certain chill natural to their maker's domain. One is wise to bring heavier clothes when visiting. And shoes, the concrete floor is freezing.
None of this detail is a surprise- Illumina has been here countless times before- but if he fully focuses on the deity seated in the plush desk chair, he may lose his nerve.
"Brother," Ghostwalker addresses, setting down the papers they had in hand.
Illumina halts, sudden, and fights to keep the tension off of his face when his stomach swoops. Ridiculous, he should not be this affected, he's experienced far worse scenarios and reacted less.
"Archivist Ghostwalker," he says, averting his gaze. A formal acknowledgement, leagues better than returning the sentiment and therefore tainting the rest of the conversation. His teeth click as he swallows down the tension in his throat. Ghostwalker is quick to pick up on moods, they've surely noticed his unusual behavior. He can't back down now.
"Tell me the problem," Ghostwalker says. There it is. Expected response.
It would be proper to make eye contact to ask a question, Illumina reminds himself. He doesn't follow his own advice.
"Does your offer from two days ago still stand?"
"Yes. Did you want sex now?"
Illumina's eyes snap up to Ghostwalker's face, taking in a strained breath as heat rises into his cheeks. Heights, what disgusting bluntness, what thoughtless heresy.
"Your casual disrespect of the Swordbearers never ceases to amaze," he says, irritated.
"Bluntness is efficient," Ghostwalker replies, even. They retrieve a pen on their desk and flip through the papers they had been holding before, like nothing's wrong. Admittedly, the lack of that dead stare does make it easier for Illumina to gather his thoughts and settle his feathers.
"It's your turn to answer, Illumina."
"Such an action is blatant incest, Ghostwalker."
"Swords are not beholden to the same social rules as mortals."
A response Illumina often hears to philosophy arguments, the kind of discussion he occasionally seeks his sibling out for. An interesting hobby, one that doesn't quite capture the scope of what Ghostwalker is arguing with him on, this time. It's hard to say if the familiarity is soothing or aggravating.
"This is a taboo shared by our creators. It is unholy."
"The Swords were not made strictly in their image. And customs evolve."
"Weak reasoning."
"Impasse, our creators aren't here to inform or correct us on personal judgements. Move on, you must have more to your point."
Hmph. Yet another common conclusion from Ghostwalker, typical of their philosophy talks. They don't seem to understand the gravity of this.
"Firebrand would despise us. Mortals would be disgusted. My status and power would be forever stained," Illumina counters.
"'Those aren't certain outcomes. If you like, I can keep anything a secret."
"One must always prepare for the future. If a secret like this does slip-"
"My domain is the storage and safekeeping of knowledge, scholar. Do you think I'm incapable?"
"Your watchers are intelligent, and mistakes happen. Some degree of carelessness is unavoidable. Dangerous."
"Yes. You still catastrophize. There are far worse secrets than two deities having consensual sex."
That's... true. Illumina inclines his head, a minor show of concession. It's hardly like there isn't communication going on here. Or that they aren't treating each other as equals. He listens to the scratch of pen on paper for a moment. He's reluctant to admit that his sibling's measured responses have kept him from leaving in a wound-up huff. Nothing quite like the smooth, droning voice of the archivist. Perhaps he's more concerned about the social fallout than the actual morality.
"My goal in offering," Ghostwalker says, pausing their writing to flip through the stack of papers, "Was to help. You could use a break, and pleasure is a good way to stop thinking for a while."
Isn't that something. Illumina was right in his musing of Ghostwalker's motives. He subtly flexes his fingers, offput by the fact that he's actually touched. Had his stress really been that obvious?
"If your guilt outweighs the positives, you're welcome to turn me down," Ghostwalker says, and Illumina turns his head away, anticipating what they're leading into. "But you're here, so you've thought it over some. Verdict?"
Damn it all. Illumina sighs, slow, face warmer than he'd like. His final answer should be direct, at least. He returns his eyes to Ghostwalker, who had put their pen down and now stares back. Illumina's throat pinches closed for a second under the weight of that expectant look. It feels like he's making a mistake.
"Fine. I accept your offer. What did you have in mind?" he says, strained.
Strangely, something in Ghostwalker's posture loosens.
"Now?" they ask.
More shameful heat in Illumina's cheeks. He holds his wrists behind himself for a lack of anything better to do.
"If you have the time," he says, flustered. Ghostwalker doesn't seem to mind, attention turning to their desk.
"Work currently takes priority, but I can get tasks done on my tablet. If you ride me, I would be able to stay seated and have my hands free for the touchscreen," they say, picking through the contents of a drawer, entirely casual. Entirely effortless, as if they hadn't just proposed that Illumina-
Heights. Illumina's face burns, and he steadfastly ignores how his sheath throbs.
"Ever industrious, I suppose," he says, far from what his kneejerk offense could have been. Did he really come all this way just for Ghostwalker to be distracted during the act of sacrilege itself? The morality discussion was one thing, this is another entirely.
Well. What's done is done, and he is in fact imposing on the archivist's work hours.
He doesn't need to be. He knows he doesn't need to be here right now.
Desire simmers under his skin, impatient, hungry.
Illumina approaches, apprehensive, and raises his eyebrows slightly when he's handed an opaque bottle. He turns it to get a look at the label and blinks at what it reads.
"You... keep lube at your desk?" he says, tilting it and noting the distribution of weight. About halfway empty. It's hard to imagine Ghostwalker willingly seeking partners, only to use their office for intimacy instead of the bedroom next door. Then again, that's apparently their plan. Illumina didn't even consider supplies when paying this visit.
"For masturbation, when restlessness or stress strikes," Ghostwalker says, placing a package of wipes close by on the desk and closing the drawer. That answers that. Illumina carefully doesn't imagine further.
A funny dumb idle sentiment, given that Ghostwalker then adjusts their office chair to recline back, briefly lifts their hips in order to slide a hand towel under themself, and then undoes their pants to unsheathe their cock. Illumina blushes dark, his own sheath throbbing again, and swiftly redirects his attention to setting the lube bottle aside and undoing his belt. He really needs to stop being surprised. This is just a way to reduce stress anyhow, as Ghostwalker said. Casual, twisted help from a sibling. If it works in the first place.
"Take your time," Ghostwalker says, picking up their tablet and turning it on, not hesitating at all in getting back to work.
Illumina hums, somewhere between irritation and dismissal. He folds the fabric of his belt and sets the metal buckle on top before setting them on the floor next to the desk. One thing at a time so he doesn’t spiral like a virgin idiot.
"I don't suppose you have anywhere comfortable for me to sit?" he says, unfastening the buckles on his boots and stepping out of them.
"Hm. No, not unless my lap counts, which you are welcome to."
Illumina narrows his eyes at Ghostwalker but concedes with a sigh. A problem where the fault lies in not waiting for a bedroom to be an option. When he steps next to Ghostwalker's knees, it becomes impossible to avoid his ultimate goal.
Which is a frankly ridiculous, roundabout way of saying that he's now staring at the other Sword's dick, laying flaccid and exposed down the opened zipper of their pants. Dark grey like the rest of them, fading into a slightly lighter tone at the tip. Rather plain, all things considered.
This is going to be humiliating. Illumina disregards the low burn of arousal in his gut and pulls down his pants, gathering up some of his tunic's fabric under an arm before gingerly sitting on Ghostwalker's legs. The chilly air of the office only makes him more aware of the slight wetness to his slit. Hopefully prep won't take too long, he'd like to get this whole mess of a situation over with so he can stop ruminating and get back to his studies.
Illumina grabs the lube, popping the lid open and squirting a decent amount on his fingers. He spreads his thighs, the rough texture of Ghostwalker's slacks prickling against his skin, and carefully works two slick digits into himself. Stars, it's been a while since he's indulged like this, he's a bit sensitive. It's an easy slide thanks to the lube, and his still-sheathed cock lends a sense of fullness to the pleasure. Illumina's breath catches as he starts up a languid pace of stretching himself open. He does his best to angle his hand to reduce the noise, but there's no doubt that Ghostwalker, albeit distracted, can hear every little sound of their brother fingerfucking himself on their lap. Illumina's motions falter in a brief second when he tightens. Fuck, maybe he needs a distraction of his own.
"Are you certain no one else will be visiting today?" he says, voice thankfully even. More lube is a good idea, he'll do that too.
"Yes," Ghostwalker says, tablet propped up against their chest as they type, "I have messaged the watchers, told them not to interrupt my office work."
"Is that enough precaution?"
"Anyone else who wants entry into my archives needs their permission. They pass on the message."
That's reassuring, at least. Illumina makes the effort to relax his spine and breathe a bit deeper. Still difficult, regarding the situation. He spreads his fingers, cheeks going hot at the lewd sound that produces. Maybe he should break the silence again. Illumina's eyes drift over the stacks of paper sitting on Ghostwalker's desk. Sketches of a potential new wing for the archive, reports from each reigon's half-heartedly upkept morgues, letters and documents of various kinds. All neatly organized.
"How fare your projects?" he asks. Small-talkish, though a common topic between them at least.
"No significant changes since I last told you," Ghostwalker says.
"I don't suppose you found those old spawn-focused spellbooks from Lost Temple?" Illumina says, addding a third finger to his cunt. Worth the ache.
"Only one, not far from Crossroads," Ghostwalker says, a low rumble.
Typically, Illumina would be more interested in this revelation. He's always had an interest in how mortals manipulate magic, if only because their fumbling is entertaining. Here, seated on Ghostwalker's legs, readying himself for a warm cock to ride, the distraction is proving hard to focus on. Language and logic require brainpower. Shocker.
"In decent condition?" he asks.
"I haven't seen it myself yet," Ghostwalker says.
Unfortunate. There's not much to say to that, and he's run out of ideas. They lapse into silence, not uncomfortable, both occupied with rather different tasks. Illumina's breathing becomes heavier as he continues, and the slick sounds of his fingers thrusting into his slit become louder as his patience wanes. Eventually, the strain of keeping his swollen dick hidden is too much, and he unsheathes with a ragged exhale.
Alright, he's done waiting. Illumina removes his fingers from his cunt and rises just enough to not be seated anymore. He glances back at Ghostwalker. Still engrossed in their work. Relaxed, almost absent. Looking at them, Illumina hesitates. Is their work a form of comfort in the face of disgust or begrudging duty? Are they simply putting up with him? At the lack of action or word, Ghostwalker glances up.
"Did you need something?" they ask.
Illumina bites back an unsuitably vulgar response when his pussy clenches around nothing, as if protesting the lack of stimulation. Humiliation follows, forming a knot of tension in his chest.
"Your consent," he murmurs, carefully watching Ghostwalker's expression and body language.
When his sibling sighs, Illumina's chest twists in sudden, bright panic. He starts to move off, but a hand on his thigh stops him short.
"I did not ask you to leave," Ghostwalker says, "You have my consent. You're enjoying yourself, I'd like for you to continue."
The fear fades, and Illumina lets out a breath, eyes closing for a moment. Alright, maybe he jumped to conclusions too fast. The touch is a welcome reassurance that helps slow his heartbeat.
"If you're sure," he says, to which he recieves an affirmative hum. Good.
Illumina shifts his feet on the floor as he moves his hips back to see and access Ghostwalker's crotch. They're only half hard. After a short pause, Illumina takes their dick in his messy hand and strokes the full length. A manageable four inches, wide and blunt unlike his own tapered dick. Ghostwalker makes a quiet, pleased sound.
"Must I do everything?" he muses in an attempt to hide a flare of arousal, feeling out the unusual texture on the underside of Ghostwalker's dick. Two vertical lines of four symmetrical bumps, less solid than the surrounding flesh. Interesting.
"I need my hands clean. Do as you wish," the other Sword replies, dry.
So be it. Illumina pumps Ghostwalker's cock, quick and impatient, until it's swollen and firm under his touch. Finally, finally he holds it up between two fingers and leans forward to set the tip against his achingly empty entrance. He slowly lowers his hips, thoughts fizzling into nothing as the head of Ghostwalker's cock breaches his slick pussy with ease and the rest follows. When he hilts at last, a tiny, breathy whine slips from his teeth. He feels... good, filled by Ghostwalker like this.
Filthy. Filthy, ruined, disgusting thing. Hot shame drips down Illumina's neck, thighs trembling and fists balled above his knees. He's fine. Calm is essential. He'll be fine. He forces air into his lungs, holds it, and lets it out without hurry, all done quietly. Ghostwalker has said yes to this, repeatedly, and knows how to keep secrets. As if they heard, Ghostwalker's thumb subtly pets the side of his leg.
Right. Just stress relief. He doesn't need to overthink this. Illumina consciously focuses instead on the heady burn of being stretched by something so solid and uniquely textured. After a minute of adjustment, he braces his clean hand against the desk, tucks the bottom of his tunic under his opposite arm, and rolls his hips experimentally.
The resulting friction is addicting. He does it again, and again, and again, losing his grip on his remaining inhibitions as he pursues the pleasure zipping up his spine. When he lifts himself higher and drops down, the spike of euphoria has him smothering a groan in his next breath. Understood, he needs more of that. He sets to repeating that motion, dick bobbing between his thighs as he languidly fucks himself on the willing body behind him.
Illumina barely notices when the hand on his thigh draws away, too focused on the drag of Ghostwalker's cock against his walls. He hadn't expected this would feel so damn good. It's not like he hasn't had sex before. The Swordbearers frowned upon full romantic relationships with mortals, and Illumina didn't care to entertain such fleeting attachments. But he still took the opportunity with some especially forward suitors to sate his curiosity.
Perhaps he had forgotten what it was like.
This is rather different than letting a lowly demon touch and praise him, though. Reverent awe and eager hands on him in the comfort of his study, enjoyable but dulled by detachment, different to this. Different to the chill of Ghostwalker's office against his skin, to how he must keep moving if he wants to chase pleasure. Not to mention the aspect of dissent. What would Firebrand think of him now, seated- Heights, seated on his sibling's cock like this? He should feel guilty, needs to be guilty about this betrayal, and yet he can't stop.
The sharp edged pleasure preceding orgasm arrives sooner than he wants it to, but like hell is he going to slow down. Illumina thrusts his hips down faster and tilts forward, driving Ghostwalker's dick deeper and pulling a blissful groan from him. It has definitely been too long since he last got off. He barely remembers not to ruin Ghostwalker's desk or make a mess of the rug. When his coherency vanishes in favor of sheer need, he shoves his palm against the head of his dick seconds before ecstasy seizes him with all the grace of a 2-ton impact. A shuddering moan slips from Illumina's teeth unbidden as the orgasm ripples through him. Cum drips down his hand and safely onto the towel rather than on important papers.
It's over too soon. Tension bleeds out of Illumina as he catches his breath and revels in the soft pulse of afterglow, but arousal remains pooled in his gut. Good, mind-meltingly good, and not enough.
He glances over his shoulder at Ghostwalker, who remains absorbed in work. Unaffected if not for the faster rise of their chest and the tense angle of their shoulders. An effective greenlight.
Illumina reaches for the wipes, opening the package and retrieving one to clean off his hand. To reduce the mess, if only by a bit. He tosses the used wipe in the conveniently nearby trash can and ruts back, eager to sate his hunger. He hadn't fully recovered. His legs are slightly weaker but the pleasure returns easily, as if picking up where he left off. Despite the mild twinging protest of his pussy, Illumina adjusts the angle of his open thighs and rides that willing cock just as fast as before.
Funny, how he tried to muffle the slick sounds of scissoring himself open, earlier. His pride stops him from outright moaning, but the obscene slapping of flesh meeting flesh is unavoidable. The feathers of Illumina's wing rise as he pants in the otherwise quiet room.
This really is something else. Debasing himself in this way, accepting a proposition at all, let alone from his calculating archivist sibling. The one being who entertains his curiosity and meets his scholarly intent with nothing but calm consideration. No question is stupid. Unbound by external expectations. Illumina grinds Ghostwalker's dick into a sensitive spot, a choked groan escaping when the pleasure deepens. It would be a lie to say he wasn't drawn to such stability.
He stays like that for a while, rolling his hips to abuse that sweet spot, coherency dissolving. Then something changes and he's shoving himself back on Ghostwalker's dick with wild abandon, cumming for a second time soon after with a startled gasp. The first spurt of cum reaches the floor before he has the mind to act, but he doesn't even have the capacity for annoyance as he squeezes the head of his dick and shudders through the high.
Illumina's chest heaves as he strokes himself to draw out the last dregs of pleasure, hips slowing. Stars, that's good. Tingling lightness settles into him, coiled tighter and hotter where his cock rests partially softened in his hand and where he's still clenching around Ghostwalker.
Hmm. Less intense than the first orgasm, but hit much faster. He gathers his awareness, one thought after another. The other Sword hasn't cum yet, a realization that has him... embarrassingly wanting. Even though his own satisfaction is supposedly the goal here.
It wouldn't be too much to aim for more at this point, would it?
"Ghostwalker," Illumina says, voice rougher than he expects. There's a brief lapse of quiet as he searches for what he intends to say next. He turns his head to the side, half-lidded gaze falling on his sibling. Ghostwalker's fingers subtly flex on the back of their tablet.
"I'd like to continue," he says. "Do you object?"
"No. Go on," Ghostwalker says, a bit taut.
He figured. Illumina sits up straighter and doesn't bother with the wipe this time, instead stroking his cock to full hardness with his cum-slicked hand.
His legs are a bit less willing to cooperate right away. Which is fine, it feels good to be kept warm and filled by Ghostwalker as he pays some attention to himself. Allows him the time to fit the curve between his index finger and thumb under the slight ridges at the base of his dick and enjoy the hot throb when he squeezes.
Although, now that he's not constantly moving, this does provide an opportunity. Illumina's fingers slip down to his pussy, gently probing around where he's being split open. His walls flutter when he slips two digits in to trace over the lowermost bumps on Ghostwalker's dick. They're not entirely solid, yet there's still a sensation of pressure when touching them.
"Are these bumps permanent features?" Illumina asks, almost idle as he starts to grind. They're certainly a welcome texture, gliding easily over the rim of his entrance.
"No. I can will them away, but not change their shape," Ghostwalker replies.
"Hm," Illumina says, a sound halfway to a muted moan. That's not unlike Ghostwalker's horn. Or their wings. Does that imply more, is there something else he's missing?
Impulsively, Illumina removes a finger from himself to instead curl it lower, into Ghostwalker's cunt. The archivist's walls tighten around the intrusion and they take in a hitched breath.
Fuck.
"Anything similar internally?" Illumina says. He's hardly paying attention, movement halted, nearly overcome by a wave of arousal. Ghostwalker is soaked, and tight, and liked that. Thorny guilt threatens to rise. Fucking Ghostwalker over their desk is an incredibly alluring idea, far more appealing than it should be.
"Yes. Three ridges on the floor of my vagina," Ghostwalker says, eyebrow only twitching when Illumina's finger reaches deeper. "I will tire faster if you test this," they add.
Unfortunate.
"Understood," Illumina says and retracts his hand, embarrassed by his need-driven curiosity.
If only self-awareness was a cure for desire, especially selfish desire. All he can do now is try to sate himself. He rises, legs complying this time, and resumes doing just that.
It's even easier than before to get lost in this hedonism. The pause had let him recover just enough for the sensitivity to be present, but less painful. Even the irregular sway of his dick, an undoubtedly lewd sight from an outside perspective, fuels his need.
Eventually, he's broken out of his rhythm by a hand on his hip, and he belatedly notices Ghostwalker's panting. He's... doing that. He's making his sibling feel good. Illumina brings the bottom corner of his tunic up to his teeth to bite down on, freeing his other hand. He holds onto the desk for stability and doubles his efforts, setting off fireworks of pleasure behind his eyes and earning strained moans from the archivist. It's not long at all until Ghostwalker's grip turns bruising. Their hips snap up into Illumina's, prompting a surprised, punched-out moan at the sudden help, and cold cum spills into his cunt.
The temperature is a shock, but an undeniably welcome one. Illumina clenches and continues his previous pace, reaching down to stroke his own dick and chase his fast-approaching peak.
"Illumina-" Ghostwalker says, breathless, Heights, the archivist saying his name like that is- he wants to hear it again. Illumina's riding becomes sloppier and he pumps his dick faster, desperate, until he cums for the third time with a warbling whine.
More, more, he needs more. His nerves are buzzing, alight with aftershocks and oversensitivity, but Illumina gathers his strength to lift himself for yet another round.
He doesn't quite get there. Ghostwalker growls, hardly audible, a sound that brings him to a halt even through his haze.
"Illumina. Let me rest and adjust," Ghostwalker says.
Damn it, he's tired of waiting. Illumina huffs, frustrated, as Ghostwalker sets to removing their underwear and slacks. It involves too much wiggling and awkward maneuvering, especially given that he refuses to get off of Ghostwalker's lap. When the pants are finally gone, Illumina, in a moment of petty revenge, narrows his eyes at them and grinds harshly on the half hard cock still inside of him. A twitch of interest, and yet Ghostwalker tsks at him.
"Be patient. You're free to touch yourself in the meanwhile," they say, unbuttoning their vest and undershirt. The garments are pulled open, exposing the plush curvature of their chest and stomach. Illumina's eyes linger on their charcoal-dark skin, not wholly of his own will. His sibling's preference for sturdy, full-length clothing makes this a rare sight, he realizes. Stunning. His pussy throbs urgently.
"Continue," Ghostwalker says, grabbing their tablet again, and Illumina hasn't heard a better order.
He braces against the desk with one hand, pumps his cock with the other, and obeys.
Ghostwalker does little in terms of interruptions after that.
Illumina loses himself. In any other situation he'd say that he lost track of time, but the minutes- hours, perhaps, he's unsure- he spends fucking himself on Ghostwalker's willing body is perhaps the least important of abstract things he fails to hold on to. Morality has been slipping since he entertained the thought of taking Ghostwalker up on their offer, for instance.
Dignity, however, is a more recent casualty. His first five orgasms make relatively quick work of it. As Illumina sinks deeper into this hedonistic, sinful, wonderful ecstasy, his vocal restraint is forgotten. Moans fall readily from his lips, as do whines and gasps and other such embarrassing noises. He does consider the concept of shame early on while recovering from the frankly annoying bouts of overstimulation. Not for long; such a concept doesn't stick around when he throws himself into another round and drowns out everything except his body, the pleasure, and Ghostwalker.
Sibling, sibling, his wonderful sibling, providing him this chance to feel good for once. Gaze averted, letting him do as he wishes without the pressure of being watched, judged. And they're busy with work, of course. Still, their voice often joins his, beautiful and breathless and all for him.
Illumina's orgasms are an even worse marker of progression than time is. Some are intense, leaving every muscle trembling and his vision sparkling with phosphenes, and others are only worth a brief seize and appreciative groan. None are spaced apart predictably. The chilled air of the office is more than welcome to counter the feverish haze he works himself up into. He finds the occasional shock of cold cum in his pussy to be even better.
At some point, Illumina hears a muffled impact, as if something was dropped on the rug. He thinks nothing of it, continuing to ride in absent bliss, until a hand settles on the small of his spine. Ghostwalker... speaks, coherent words most likely, and he's guided to lean back against the archivist. This stops him from moving and tilts his hips enough for Ghostwalker's dick to pull halfway out of his cunt. Illumina frowns, disapproving of that patricular development, until an arm is wrapped around his middle and two fingers tightly encircle the base of his cock.
"Hhnngh," he groans, disarmed by this sudden change. His tunic is still on- didn't think to bother with taking it off, given its loose fit and the room's low temperature- but the contact is soothing even through the fabric layer. He lets his hand fall away and Ghostwalker resumes the previous pace, prompting a squirm. An unpleasant burn follows each heady stroke, but that's nothing new, and it's trivial enough that he can enjoy touch that isn't his own. His walls flutter, his cunt unused to being partially empty like this.
"Relax," Ghostwalker murmurs, a difficult suggestion to take given the brutal pace their fingers take on his cock. The pleasure compounds. Illumina pants as it sharpens into a more painful point than before, and his thighs strain wider. He clings onto the arm around his middle, shaking, desperate, until, until, please, until-
He ran dry a long time ago. That doesn't stop this orgasm from striking, a wash of gratification that reduces everything to blissful static for several seconds. It fades slowly, and with it, so does the tension. Illumina's vision swims as he comes down from the high and his body starts remembering that his mind needs updates. Belatedly, he realizes the hand on his cock isn't there anymore, instead staying as a warm weight on the top of his thigh.
Again, is his only thought. If he can move, he needs to seek more. Illumina blinks slowly and soaks in the attention he now apparently has until he can see. With a soft grunt, he grips the office chair's arm rest and tries to pull himself upright.
"That's enough."
No it isn't. But the arm over his lower ribs tightens, pinning him, keeping him from his rightful pleasure. Illumina snarls, rattling and slow. This can't stop, he doesn't want it to stop, he needs this cyclic ecstasy from Ghostwalker to continue forever.
A brief hint of claws digging into his side, a disapproving tsk.
"Don't pout. You're past your limit and I'm at mine," Ghostwalker says, like this is truth.
...Maybe it is. After a pause to parse those spoken words, Illumina relents, going boneless in his sibling's hold and eyes fully unfocusing. Might as well take stock, it's not like he can go anywhere like this. Gradually, he pieces together more complex sensations as he sits reclined and catches his breath.
Huh. Most of him is sore, it turns out, not just his overtaxed genitals. Afterglow can only mask so much. The muscles of his legs most notably, though his spine and pelvic cradle would also like a word with him and his decisions.
He's disgustingly sweaty too, long strands of his hair clinging to his forehead and cheeks. So much for this place being cold. Or for his usually-neat bun now jostled partly out of place. His lips thin into a line as it sinks in just how much sex-produced slime he feels in his pussy, on his cock, down his thighs, and on his stomach. He's normally quite repulsed by messes, but he can't muster up the energy for more than mild distaste. And faint arousal. Doubtless he'll remember this at inopportune moments.
His poor tunic. He should have taken the damn thing off.
Despite that, well- he stirs with more purpose, letting go of the chair to instead settle his arm on Ghostwalker's. It's hard to care about the consequences for long when his brain is unusually quiet, occupied more with afterglow and the presence of his sibling. He's safe. No idiot mortal to stare thoughtlessly and talk behind his back. Only Ghostwalker, chest rising and falling under him, warm where their bodies meet. Illumina, lulled by the peaceful moment, barely reacts when Ghostwalker starts sluggishly moving. The chair is rolled forward, then the seat rotated to allow access to the desk. They grab a wipe and push Illumina's tunic up further in order to gently clean off the cum smeared on his stomach. A light tremor runs down his spine at the unhurried touch. It's nice.
"You went for much longer than I expected," Ghostwalker says, low, idle. It takes several seconds for Illumina to respond.
"Yes," he replies. He fails to find anything else to add. He didn't expect to fuck himself senseless, either.
They lapse into silence as Ghostwalker continues to clean. Their movements are purposeful but unusually clumsy, wrist awkwardly bumping into his legs as they wipe his inner thighs. Illumina hums, almost inaudible, and tilts his head to let their horns lightly connect as he watches the process.
"You seem tired," he observes, and the words hardly sound like his own.
"I am," that smooth voice replies.
"I would be glad to help," Illumina says, as if his body isn't starting to register how hard he pushed himself now that the afterglow is fading.
Stomach and thighs done. He shudders, involuntary, when Ghostwalker places a wipe over his mostly-limp cock and drags it up, leaving stinging sensitivity behind. Barely feels good to begin with, at this point.
"Do not try," Ghostwalker says, "I can handle moving. You might not."
Insulting, but perhaps a reasonable assumption. The arm around his midsection pulls him up slightly, and Illumina makes a muted groan when Ghostwalker's dick slips out of him with a wet noise. A thick pulse of cum follows, pooling into a waiting wipe.
"Were you going to tell me that your semen is cold?" he says, willing his voice not to waver. Such an obscene detail about them. His cunt clenches around nothing, doing little to stop Ghostwalker's cum from dripping out.
"No," Ghostwalker says, leaving it at that. Illumina would call such an answer smug if the archivist was capable of such a thing.
Fine. Illumina sighs and tilts his hips to allow Ghostwalker to more easily clean themself up. The haze from before has mostly cleared up by now, and while he's exhausted, he's able to internally piece together coherent sentences with moderate success. Not very fast, mind you. This entire... thing and what it will mean for the future is a lot to process. Before he can properly ruminate, his sibling shifts and loops their arms under his knees and upper back. Wait, surely they're not- Alarm strikes and Illumina squirms, wing puffing and eyes wide, too late to stop Ghostwalker from picking him up bridal-style.
"Unnecessary," he hisses, affronted. He can dress himself and leave on his own, thank you very much!
"I doubt you would be able to walk," they say, carrying him to the door, "Turn the handle if you want to help."
Infuriating bastard, all efficiency and no tact. They're both half-naked. Ghostwalker is very lucky that Illumina is in no position to complain. He huffs and reaches out to do what he was told, eyes flicking warily down the hall when they’re out of the office. Silent; no witnesses in this relatively small corridor of the archives. This doesn't quite soothe the discomfort of being out in the open. At least Ghostwalker's room is right next to the office. Tension drops from Illumina's shoulders once they're in.
The spike of adrenaline is not sufficient to distract from how tired he realizes he is when he's set on their bed. It's tempting to lay down fully, but he'd rather not fall asleep, let alone in his dirty tunic. Illumina gingerly reclines against the plain headboard and watches his sibling for a moment as they turn and tread into the bathroom.
Something like trepidation settles in his chest. He should be feeling worse, but he's not. No sharp, unignorable emotions seem to be sticking around. That's not the usual effect of sleep deprivation, of which he's familiar. Concerning, if he was able to care much at this very moment. He blinks, and time must have passed, because now Ghostwalker is sitting on the edge of the bed closest to him. Their vest and shirt is gone, leaving them nude. A beat of idle observation passes between the two deities.
One likely more productive than the other. In a rare twist, Illumina doesn't have much in terms of linear thought. His gaze travels from those dead eyes to the broad but soft line of Ghostwalker's neck and shoulders; from their hands in their lap, upturned with damp cloths resting on them, to the curvature of their chest and stomach. Illumina's hands twitch, as if he wants to move, despite planning no such thing.
"Satisfactory?" his sibling says, and motions for him to remove his tunic. He obliges, sitting up with a grunt in order to peel the fabric off. Conveniently, this gives him a few seconds to figure out what he'd like to say.
"Yes," he replies, folding and setting it on the floor so that he doesn't need to make eye contact. "...Appreciated."
Ghostwalker dips their head in acknowledgement. Then they pick up a cloth and... nudge his thighs apart, wielding it with the intent to use it on him. What on inpherno? His skin is still a bit tacky- disposable wipes can only do so much- but surely a shower would be less work for them.
"You... don't need to do anything further," Illumina says, eyebrows pinching together. He doesn't stop it though, an involuntary shudder running through him as Ghostwalker firmly drags the cloth up his inner thigh. He wasn't expecting this much attention.
"I'd like to," Ghostwalker says. Illumina tilts his head back, taken off guard. That's a very unusual statement. Sentiment doesn't exactly come easily to his sibling. Or is there purpose to it that he's not understanding? He struggles through the mental sludge of exhaustion to make sense of it.
"I can take a shower later," he says, a little dumbly. Ghostwalker doesn't respond for a moment, moving on to Illumina's stomach. Another involuntary shiver. It's strange to be taken care of like this. It makes the various aches of his body seem less important.
"I'm aware," they say, "I'd rather you not leave."
Downright sweet. Illumina's heart pangs dully, inexplicably. What does he even say to that? What would he even want to say to that? Awareness sinks into him, like water into soil. Vulnerable. This entire situation, the way that Ghostwalker's hands are on his body, the way he's enjoying it, all disorientingly vulnerable. He can't look anymore. Illumina turns his head, face burning. Humiliation, helplessness, fluster, he doesn't know. He can't think properly like this.
"Ghostwalker-" he starts, only to be cut off.
"You are worrying too much, brother," his sibling warns, and swipes the cloth over his too-sensitive slit. Illumina's sheath throbs for a second, hot and painfully overwhelming. Heights, did they really need to-
"Unsheathe."
Fuck. No, not done on purpose, they just need to clean. Illumina clenches his teeth and unsheathes, swallowing down any verbal reaction as his aching length is enveloped by damp fabric and the light pressure of his sibling's fingers. Hopefully this will be over with soon.
"Are you feeling better, Illumina?"
It's hard to focus through the burning friction, even though Ghostwalker is being gentle. He manages, barely.
"Y-yes," he says in an embarrassing stutter.
"Leave it at that."
If only it were that easy. It's like a wound opens up in the core of him, raw and feverish with infection. He struggles through the exhaustion and overstimulation to find something to reply with. This isn't fair.
"I don't- nnh. I don't understand," Illumina says, less neutrally than he'd like. "I h- have betrayed you. And you are rewarding me."
The archivist sighs, long and tired. Was that not accurate? Illumina grips the sheets in subtly shaking hands as Ghostwalker dips the cloth into his pussy and a gentle palm smooths up his side.
"Debate me another time, when you are functioning on less arousal and more sleep," they say. Illumina has objections, probably, but between the haze that stubbornly shrouds his mind and Ghostwalker's wonderful touch, he's wordless for long enough that they speak again.
"You have earned a break, scholar."
A methodical, slow sweep through Illumina's folds. Ghostwalker is watching him closely, steady despite the fatigue in their voice. Everything else blurs.
"I value your company."
A thumb petting under his ribs, warm, present, anchoring. The dim lighting of the room does nothing to hide how his sibling is leaned forward, attentive. No tablet, no work to be done, certainly no one else to witness the fact that Ghostwalker's sole focus is him.
"You are my equal, and I will treat you as such."
It's too much.
"Gh- Ghostwalker, I-" he says, abruptly breathless, head swimming.
The cloth reaches deeper, and Illumina's thighs nearly snap closed. He cusses, and bright frustration sparks in his chest. He wants to respond intelligently, argue, apologize, anything, but the pleasure is mounting in a way that overshadows everything else. Is his body still not satiated, after that many times cumming on Ghostwalker's dick? Is he really this out of control? The pain fails to smother the intensity of his desire. Heat gathers behind his eyes.
"Please," he begs, unable to get a hold on any of the dignity he managed to restore. "Ghostwalker, si-sibling, please, more-"
They at least seem to understand, and they take mercy. Ghostwalker removes the damp cloth from Illumina's cunt and replaces it with three fingers, rubbing firm circles into his g-spot. And for good measure, they squeeze the base of Illumina's cock with their other hand, ripping a gasp from him. He doesn't even have the ability to feel anything more complex than thankfulness as one final dry orgasm ripples up his body, agonizing, euphoric. A long, hitching, tense cry is pulled from his throat that he hears more than feels. His vision blurs with tears, and he doesn't bother to blink them away.
The pleasure then fades, melts from his body like ice, and heavy static follows in its wake. Every nerve buzzes under his skin, leaving him warmed yet numb. Through the fog that eclipses his consciousness once more, he registers what sounds like an apology in Ghostwalker's low voice, to which he groans softly and lets his head droop to the side. Speaking is beyond his abilities. Tough luck, sibling.
Movement, sound, time. Not much gets through the hazy bliss. All he knows for certain is that at some point, he becomes horizontal on something soft, and he's less exposed to the open air of the room.
His mind catches on those words, like bramble snagging loose wool. Valued, they said. Equal. Worthy of care. Isolated as he normally is, he doesn't hear those platitudes often. Much less from...
The bed shifts, and Illumina stirs. Just enough to watch Ghostwalker shuffle under the sheets, clumsily settling beside him. If he were any less exhausted, he might have been able to come up with a half-decent way to express that whatever Ghostwalker has to offer, Illumina will treasure it.
Gratitude will have to be enough for now. He tilts his shoulders and lets his horn collide with Ghostwalker's, sliding until a branch hooks under theirs. A rumbling hum of question is his response.
"Thank you," Illumina says, and properly gives up on fighting the drowsiness.
He falls asleep, safe under the care of the Inpherno's elusive Ghostwalker. Scholar and archivist, side by side, eternally entwined.