Wylan Van Eck is wet, and cold, and having an absolutely horrible day.
Work was, to say the least, fucking awful. It was the worst, even, the absolute worst day he’s had in a long time. He knows without a doubt that Jesper staying home had something to do with it. But more than that he’s frustrated, he thinks, over the fact that Jesper had tried to insist on joining him, and the fact that he’d said no. Jesper had tried to insist but no, no, let it never be said that Wylan Van Eck is anything other than a stubborn fucking bastard. An idiot. A fool. To think he’d ever thought he could last a day fielding questions and queries and prodding, nosy merchers on his own, without anyone to laugh behind their backs just to make him smile.
That hadn’t been the worst part. It hadn’t been nice, sure, but he’d stuck with it. He was proud of himself, even, for managing, and looking forward to a nice, calm evening back home where he could whine and be given tea and cuddles and love.
Then he'd stepped out into a rare patch of sun without so much as a hat, thinking it would be fine.
He’s a damn fucking fool. It’s never fine; it’s Ketterdam.
The front door slams shut behind him, blocking out the torrential downpour he’d been caught in, even living - at most - fifteen minutes away from the Exchange. He catches Jesper’s eye and clocks the exact second he takes in just how completely bone-soakingly drenched he is.
“Bit damp out-”
“I’m not in the fucking mood,” Wylan snaps, and can’t even bring himself to feel sorry when the smile drops off of Jesper’s face. He doesn’t swear much at all, really, and never at Jesper.
It’s hard to even realise that Jesper’s moved, he’s that exhausted. And cold and wet and not happy, not at all. He feels like a disgruntled cat. He is most definitely disgruntled.
But Jesper takes his hand. Softly, very softly. He intertwines their fingers, and Wylan feels just a tiny bit warmer just for that. “Bad day?” he murmurs. Wylan snorts.
“Horrid,” he replies. Jesper brings his hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles, so, so softly. “I’m sorry I snapped.”
“You’re okay,” Jesper whispers. Wylan sighs. “Shall I have someone run you a bath?”
Wylan hums. Now that he’s inside, where it’s warm and dry and not him bundled up against the rain on his own, he feels better. Calmer, at least. Maybe that’s just Jesper.
“And some tea,” he decides. Jesper grins. “And cake, please,” he adds, because he’s rich and he can.
“I’ll keep them distracted if you want to dump your wet clothes here,” he offers. Wylan smiles. Jesper presses his lips against his knuckles again. Briefly, but so sweetly - so sweetly. Oh, saints, Wylan loves him to pieces.
He moves to pull away, but Wylan tightens his grip, holding just a little bit tighter.
He shifts his weight from foot to foot; Jesper’s still smiling at him. Hardly - it’s a barely there thing. But it is there, and it’s soft and kind and wow, Wylan is so disgustingly in love.
“Kiss me?” he asks, trying to look hopeful.
Jesper laughs, but leans in close, stepping right up to him, to do that very thing. He kisses him so gently, so lovingly, and Wylan feels himself burn a touch brighter. Feeling soft and good and kind and in love.
He pulls away too soon, but that’s okay; “I’ll kiss you more in the bath,” he murmurs.
Wylan shivers, and doesn’t think it’s the cold. “I do suppose I should get out of these clothes before I catch a fever,” he replies.
Despite Wylan wanting, in no small part, for Jesper to forgo everything he’d suggested just to get him naked and kiss him senseless, the bath is welcome. Warm, at least, and good.
Like Jesper. He’s good too, because of course he is.
The water is run and ready and hot by the time Wylan makes his way to the bathroom, lured in by the soft waft of steam and the smell of apples and cinnamon. It’s nice. There’s a carafe of juice and some chewy caramel candies, the ones Jesper knows he loves and keeps hidden around the house for when he’s having a bad day, already set in a bowl and left at the side of the tub. Tea and cake to come, Jesper assures him.
It’s so nice.
Jesper leaves him be, which is just fine. He’s freezing cold for the few seconds it takes him to strip off all his soaking wet clothes and sink into the water, but it’s delightfully warm in a way that starts to ease all the tension in his muscles before he’s even settled. But when he is, it’s nice. It’s nice. He’s left his wet clothes in a heap by the door and doesn’t even care.
He reaches for a candy. He has some juice. He lets the weight and grit of the day melt away from him like paint on his hands, swirling down, down, down.
He just floats.
He hasn’t a clue how long he stays in the water for - there’s a chance he falls asleep - by the time the door cracks open. He glances up and sinks lower out of habit, until the curve of his lips and his face, the very tips of his knees, are the only things sticking out of the water. The rest is hidden beneath bubbles and the pink, soapy tinge of the water, just the way he likes.
He has to blink a haze of relaxation out of his eyes to remember that the door opened in the first place. Saints, he’s tired. Not in an overtired way, though. Just in a sense of soft sleepiness, now.
When the kiss comes, Wylan isn’t expecting it. He hadn’t heard Jesper come through the room, hadn’t known he was so close. He hardly minds, though; no, not at all. There are lips pressing against his forehead, where his ruddy hair is plastered to his skin. Jesper hums, and his lips linger, soft as cotton. They pull away before Wylan is ready for Jesper to leave, but they return just as quickly to kiss his nose.
“Mm,” Wylan says.
“Maybe,” he replies. Jesper laughs. Jesper kisses him again, so gently. Jesper loves him, and it’s so, so clear.
“You’re gonna turn into a wrinkly little plum if you don’t get out of the bath,” he teases, which...
Wylan furrows his eyebrows.
“What?” he says. He looks up at him with confusion all over his face. Jesper blinks.
“A wrinkly plum,” he says, again, “My Ma used to say it to me when I was a kid and we went swimming.”
“It’s not something I’ve ever heard anyone say, ever,” Wylan laughs. He watches Jesper glance away, like he’s embarrassed.
“Maybe it’s a Zemeni thing,” he mutters.
“It doesn’t sound very Kerch,” Wylan says. “It’s cute, though. Your little plum.”
“My wrinkly plum.”
“The wrinkly bit is less cute, Jesper.”
“My little plum, then,” Jesper laughs, “Saints know you blush enough for it.”
Wylan feels his face tinge a soft pink, probably not helped by the hot water. He doesn’t mind it, though, he really doesn’t.
Jesper helps him stand. Water and soap suds drip off of him with a gentle plink!
Jesper grins. Wylan shivers.
“See? Bright red. My little plum.”
“I’m very cold,” he says, and Jesper laughs.
He brings him towels, fluffy and soft, and wraps one around his shoulders. Wylan hums, letting himself be helped out of the bath to stand on the tile floor. There are stones beneath the floor, heated up so the ground is warm to the touch under his feet. His father was a horrible man but at the very least he knew how to set up his home - Wylan’s home - for luxury.
Jesper leads him to bed, so softly. Carefully, too. Wylan is maybe too sleepy to make sense of it, even when hands drag the towel over him to dry the damp sheen of water that hasn’t quite yet been caught up yet.
He sinks into the mattress in seconds, letting out a quiet, contented noise when he does.
“You can never move me again,” he says. He hears it when Jesper chuckles, but can’t really make sense of it. He’s so disgustingly relaxed. Trying to open his eyes feels like something that would take an ungodly amount of effort.
There’s a dip in the mattress, and Wylan rolls onto his side against his will. He doesn’t have the energy to stop himself. What does sto him rolling off the bed is a warm, firm pressure against his chest. He blinks his eyes open to the sight of Jesper, grinning down at him with a look of fondness so sharp and obvious in his eyes.
“Don’t be mean,” Wylan mutters.
“I didn’t say anything!”
Wylan doesn’t reply, but Jesper doesn’t press it either. He brings a hand up to stroke gently over Wylan’s hair while it dries. It’s so nice.
They sit like that in the gentle quiet, for a while. Wylan can hear the storm raging outside. It got worse, he thinks, since he’s been outside. It’s habit to say a gentle, thankful prayer for the warm, secure home he finds himself in: habit, leftover from the sharp memory of storms in a room that was draughty and freezing and hardly dry. The ceiling doesn’t leak in the Geldstraat - not even in the apartments kept for the staff, because unlike his father he cares about keeping them genuinely comfortable.
Jesper breaks the silence first.
“Want a massage?” he murmurs.
Oh Ghezen, yes he does.
He just hums, like that’s it’s own answer, and shuffles until he can lie flat on his stomach. Jesper goes quiet: looking for something, Wylan imagines.
The first press of hands against his skin is so fucking nice.
He hums again, sinking deeper into the pillow beneath his cheek. Oh, yes. This is something he can get used to; very, very easily. Slick hands, warmed up and smelling a little bit like sandalwood, pressing against his spine. He thinks it’s a perfume Inej got them. He can’t really piece together thoughts enough to know for sure.
“Good,” Jesper murmurs, so, so quietly. He sounds reverent. Wylan lets out a tiny moan. It’s involuntary. Jesper doesn’t even laugh.
He sinks another touch deeper into the mattress.
There’s a risk he might fall asleep.
It’s just so nice and calming, to have the press of hands against his bare skin. He’s still warm from the bath, and so, so relaxed. Everything is so light, in the strangest way, and maybe that’s the recoil of Jesper taking back his hands after pressing him hard into the mattress. He didn’t even realise he was sore and tense until now, when each pinch of aching tension seeps out of him with Jesper’s touch.
Saints, he’s in love.
Lips press against the back of his shoulder blade.
Jesper moves his lips further in, until he’s pressing them against the back of Wylan’s neck. The wispy curls of his hair there are starting to dry, he thinks, and he wonders if they’re tickling against Jesper’s face. Either way Wylan hums, vaguely, and tilts his face further forward to give him more room. His chin tucks into his chest. There’s laughter ghosting against the back of his neck, and the kisses come again, more insistent.
They trail along his shoulder again, and Wylan only just has the sense to try not to make any embarrassing noises.
“You can’t start something,” he says, and saints, is he slurring his words? He is. He’s just so… relaxed.
“I won’t,” Jesper laughs. He kisses him again, though, and Wylan hums. “Just want you to know you’re special and loved,” he adds.
He does feel special. He does feel loved. Saints. He just feels good.
He feels really, really good.
He shifts where he’s lying, pressing his lips together hard to stop noises falling out. He shifts again. It grinds his hips against the bed, and his breath hitches, near unnoticeable. He hopes.
“Stay still, love,” Jesper whispers, seemingly unaware that he is the reason that Wylan is so restless.
He’s not restless, though, is he?
He’s turned on.
Jesper’s hands are so warm, and he starts to squirm beneath them. He’s half hard, and getting harder. The hands on him just feel fantastic, as they inch down to his lower back again and again before moving on again. When they stay, though, with the heel of his hand, his thumbs, pressing into the divot of his lower back, it’s just- it feels fantastic. It feels fantastic in it’s own way but it grinds his hips and his thighs and his cock hard against the mattress below him and that’s really not helping Wylan calm down, as it were. Definitely not. Oh, Ghezen.
This is not as relaxing as it was a few seconds ago.
“Jes,” he whispers.
He clears his throat. Oh, saints.
He presses his hands against his lower back hard enough that Wylan’s cock drags perfect and delicious against the mattress, just as he opens his mouth to explain something, anything, and-
Wylan moans, instead.
He can’t help it, but it’s mortifying anyway. Jesper stops completely, even if he doesn’t take his hands away or off of him.
“Oh,” he says.
Wylan feels his face positively burn.
He is mortified.
There’s a hand on his waist, insistent, and Wylan groans, trying to curl up as best he can and just hide. Jesper doesn’t let him, though, not truly. He rolls him onto his back and catches his leg with a broad hand on his thigh before he can curl his knees all the way to his chest. Wylan is aware, very suddenly, that he’s completely naked, still, and very nearly fully hard, and now Jesper is holding his legs away from his stomach to make that all so very obvious.
He flushes a bright red under the attention, but Jesper just keeps staring. Leering, almost, saints, in the best way possible.
“Saints,” Jesper says, finally. His voice is rough.
“I’m sorry,” Wylan squeaks, only just managing to make it not sound like a question.
“Don’t be,” he murmurs, “This is delightful.” He looks like he feels delightful, staring, watching, drinking in the sight of Wylan Van Eck naked and hard and scandalously flushed. Wylan says nothing, caught up in residual embarrassment still. He succeeds in tugging his legs out from Jesper’s grips, and in seconds those grey eyes soften. “I can stop touching you and let you be, if you like,” he says.
“Or,” he says, very carefully. Jesper snorts, before he even finishes speaking. “You could help take care of this problem you’ve created.”
“Problem,” Jesper snorts.
“Of a sort,” Wylan retorts.
Except then Jesper is flipping Wylan back onto his stomach before he can even reply, and any further reply Wylan might have had is cut off by a gasp. Jesper replaces his hands instantly, cupping his hips again as he readjusts to lean above him. Wylan groans, squirming beneath his touch. Jesper doesn’t take his hands away still, but he doesn’t press down again. Wylan bites his lip. He can feel Jesper inching his hands around over the soft skin of his waist, his hips, his ass, and he can’t tell what’s coming but wants wants wants -
Jesper leans in infinitely closer, until his hips are pressed against Wylan’s, and his face can press up beneath his ear. It presses Wylan further against the bed, and he shivers. When Jesper speaks, his voice is husky.
“What d’you want, darling?” he murmurs, running his hands up and down his waist. “What can I do?”
“What do you… want to do?”
“I want you to tell me how I can make you feel good,” he laughs. Wylan has no doubt that he means it.
“You can fuck me if you want,” he manages. He has a feeling Jesper grins, but he can’t exactly see. He swallows, knowing Jesper will call him out on his phrasing. “I want you to fuck me,” he corrects.
“Yeah?” Jesper says. “Want me to make you feel good? Or do you want me to use you to make myself feel good?”
“Both,” he says.
“Stay there, love,” he whispers.
With a kiss to the back of his head, Jesper stands, leaving Wylan to curl his hands around his pillow. He tucks his face into it, suddenly shy.
When Jesper speaks again, his voice is gentle.
“Legs apart,” he says, quietly enough that he must be near again. Wylan hadn’t even heard. A hand comes up to touch his lower back, and he can’t help but shiver. It trails down, down to his thighs, nudging them apart.
“Hands and knees?” Wylan asks.
“Mm,” Jesper hums. “Stay on your stomach.”
Wylan feels heat stir in his chest.
“Okay,” he says. It comes out like a sigh.
He does sigh at the first press of fingers against him. He shifts his knees apart a little wider still, but not to the point of discomfort. It just feels good. Very good. Even better, he reckons, when Jesper presses his fingers in slowly, completely. There’s a stretch, but barely, and it’s a good one anyway.
Jesper takes his time. On any other night Wylan would whine and complain but not tonight, not now. Now he takes it, and relishes in the slow drag of calloused fingertips inside him. They pull out completely to touch gently at his rim, and that’s nice too, impossibly so. He likes it.
He hasn’t a clue how long Jesper spends just touching him, pressing in more fingers to stretch him slowly and so, so carefully. His other hand returned to his hip, thumb dragging a soft pattern over his bare skin, and it all makes Wylan feel treasured.
When he pulls back, that’s slow too, and Wylan hums. He’s still turned on, almost painfully so, but he isn’t desperate. Not for anything fast or quick or hard. He’s full of a whole host of emotions that’ve made an ache bloom in his chest, a longing, or something. But that isn’t bad. It just reminds him how much he loves the man above him.
“Gonna fuck me now?” he says. His voice is so quiet, because he’s so calm. So content.
“If you want me to.”
He squirms, and doesn’t know how to put into words the sheer depths of what all he wants.
“Yes,” he manages, and how he gets the words to come out stays a mystery to him.
Jesper presses in easy, because Wylan’s so fucking relaxed. He bites his lip anyway though, and Jesper has to remind him just to breathe. It’s not easy to, with the feeling of him all consuming around him, above him, pressing against him slowly. He slots against his back perfectly, perfectly, like he’s made at just the right size.
“I’ll be gentle,” Jesper whispers. “Nice and slow.”
Wylan doesn’t know how to respond to that. Or, not verbally, at least. He has a response to it, but it’s a fluttering burst of love and affection so strong that he can’t think for the briefest of seconds. Nice, slow, gentle. All for him, to help him come back from an absolutely horrid day.
“Wanna make you feel so good,” Jesper continues, still nearly silent. “You deserve it, angel.”
“You’re going to, Jes-”
“I know,” he says. He sounds so sure of himself that Wylan’s cheeks flame a touch hotter. He doesn’t mind. He can’t wait, in fact.
Jesper does exactly what he promised. He fucks him gently; nice and slow.
Wylan groans at the feeling of it, at the achingly slow drag of his cock inside him. It grinds up against him in the best way, in a way that he doesn’t usually get when Jesper is full of energy and keen to fuck him hard enough he ends up dazed. Not that he minds when he does. It’s just that this, now, is so stupidly, perfectly comforting .
It’s exactly what he needs.
He feels cared for. He feels loved. He feels each bump of Jesper’s hips against his ass every so often and can’t stop the way it makes his breath hitch every damn time. He feels it when every careful, slow thrust drags his cock against the rough fabric of the blanket beneath his chest. It sends sparkling pleasure up and down his spine, but only flickers and twists tighter when Jesper brings warm hands up to his hips to help their movement. He fucks him at the same pace, slow, and wonderful, but presses down, down, down on his hips with every stroke until he feels like he’s on fire.
Jesper wobbles above him just as Wylan moans, but he doesn’t mind. He definitely doesn’t mind when Jesper drops forward with a gasp, pressing his forearm to the mattress beside his face until he’s crowding into him, all encompassing, all around him. It comes with kisses, against his forehead, against the side of his face.
“Good,” Jesper whispers.
Wylan bites his lip. Oh, saints. He clings a tiny bit tighter to the pillow underneath his face, holding it closer and closer with a vise-like grip. It takes everything not to just bury his face in it to ride out the slow building pleasure Jesper’s giving him. He fails, tucking his cheek against the soft cotton, curling his whole face into it while he takes each slow press of Jesper inside him.
“Good,” Jesper whispers, again.
He doesn’t speed up, not at all. Wylan loves him for it. He loves him for everything. He just loves him.
It’s impossible to do anything but lie there and take it, and he thinks that Jesper engineered it that way. Crowding into him and making him relish in the feeling of getting fucked so methodically.
“Good,” Jesper whispers, again, and that might just be what does it.
Wylan comes slowly, but it doesn’t stop for what feels like forever. Jesper keeps up the same steady thrust to work him through it, even if the pressure of the palm still on his hip eases just slightly. It’s a concession that Wylan wouldn’t have even thought of, but it means the world to him, keeping him from the ugly side of overstimulation. All because Jesper wanted to be thoughtful.
“Come inside me,” he manages, sounding strangled, and desperate.
“Saints,” Jesper moans.
He speeds up, then, but Wylan doesn’t mind. It’s wonderfully satisfying in it’s own strange way, and he feels privileged just to lie and take it. Possibly, it’s helped by the fact that Jesper comes quickly, almost exactly as directed. It makes Wylan’s stomach swoop at the feeling, but that might be the loud groan Jesper can’t bite back, falling from his lips where his face is still pressed to Wylan’s ear.
Oh, it’s perfect.
Wylan is still breathing heavily as Jesper pulls out, not wincing as much as he shudders at the sudden shift that comes with being empty again. Jesper keeps him still with a hand on his lower back, almost the same as when this all started. His thumb rubs against his skin, gentle as anything.
He cleans him up, and this is something Wylan has come to relish. Even if prodding fingers inside him to clean him makes him shiver, he loves it. He loves it. He loves the fact that Jesper leaves gentle kisses all over the probably flushed skin of his back while he does. It always tickles.
When he’s done, he flops onto the bed, dipping the mattress so Wylan rolls onto his side again. He groans, but there are gentle hands supporting him as he rolls further until he can settle his face against the bare skin of Jesper’s chest. He hadn’t even clocked that he’d stripped out of all his clothes. He hardly minds, though. Jesper Fahey is all sorts of gorgeous.
“Did you forget to get the tea?”
He hears him huff, and can’t help but smile, can’t even help but laugh.
“I got distracted,” he says, almost sounding defensive. He ruffles Wylan’s hair, but it’s with a gentle enough touch that it doesn’t even jostle him while he slowly recovers.
“You’ll need another bath,” Jesper murmurs, eventually.
“In a bit,” he replies. He’s far too comfortable to move anywhere but closer to Jesper. He shuffles just enough to press in.
The thing is, he’s still hyper aware of how much worse the day could have been. He came back to a warm home, and a man, a family, that loves him. There’ll be dinner on the table soon, and hot tea whenever he wants it.
“You deserve every good thing,” Jesper whispers, lips moving against his forehead, like he can read his mind.
He would have disagreed, once. He would have fought or argued or just simply not believed it. There wasn’t a single thing about his upbringing that made him think he deserved much of anything, let alone anything good.
But he doesn’t disagree, now. He knows he does, just as much as he knows that the man lying beneath him and running a hand over the soft skin of his waist is the best thing he could have possibly asked for.
He doesn’t say anything in response. He just snuggles closer, and Jesper laughs, and holds him tighter. It really does feel like every good thing.
It certainly feels like the makings of a very good day.