Work Text:
It was always late into the day that Welt found himself in his room behind his desk.
The time that felt like a designated twilight for a train stuck in the stasis of neverending space, was always the hour that quiet and time to work alone felt so lovely.
This particular night, he was allotting his time to translating old sheet music. Sunday had expressed a curiosity in the instruments on the Astral Express in his spare time, finding his musically inclined past something good for his idle hands in the long hours of the day. His past artistic knowledge and rather curious mind found it to be his pleasant work regardless.
Naturally then, Welt offered such expertise to the newest passenger of the Express, inclined to making the halovian as comfortable and at ease as possible with his new space there.
The ever so grateful and insisting Sunday told him he’d show his gratitude properly, or at least so he said, looking at Welt from beneath heavy gray lashes when he was seated beside him at the bar of the Astral Express.
Welt had only laughed, peering over the top of his glass in deep thought, and had properly replied he owed him no such thing, his lover required no favors in return for his generosity. Even still he knew the look of admiration and determination when it settled in those captivating yellow eyes.
After the fourth time of attempting to organize the same note in the right spot, misreading it entirely, with a frustratingly distracted mind, he leaned back against his chair with a heavy sigh, rubbing his nose bridge and fixing his glasses.
“Sunday, baby, you’re killing me,” he huffed, and the squirming under his desk could be heard, and a soft humming noise of a full mouth reverberated through his core making him shudder.
For the past eighteen and a half minutes, Sunday had been kneeled under his desk, with hazy eyes and a full mouth. Cockwarming him comfortably, down to the base.
The longer he was left down there the more maddening the sensation on both ends.
“Sunday?” Welt combed his fingers through the gray hair, clearing it out of the Halovian’s face. Sunday’s eyes looked completely glazed over, content as he looked up at Welt, bleary, drool dripping off his chin and from the corner of his lips, down the front of his throat and down Welt’s balls. Likely making a wet stain on the chair underneath too.
He could only seem to make a faint whining sound in reply, wings around his face shifting, puffing up before flattening, adjusting himself to a more comfortable position under the older man’s gaze.
Sunday was naked beneath the desk, as the day he had been born (hatched?) with his clothes discarded elsewhere in the room, thrown aside in a rush, frantic to kneel and take care of Welt. His poor nipples were hardened in the cold air, pebbled pink on the tiny mounds of his chest, and if Welt squinted he was quite certain he could see strings of slick between Sunday's legs, his pussy framed by tiny wings was drooling bare and neglected onto the hardwood floor that would surely bruise his pale knees. It certainly wouldn’t be good for his legs or his mouth to be cramped in such a position for so long.
Gently tugging at the hair he angled his hips away from Sunday and tried pulling his head off, guiding him up and off his dick. “Let’s give your jaw a break baby, you gotta—“
Sunday whined in protest, grabbing his leg and pushing himself closer, all the way to the hilt, until his nose was pressed into the hair on Welt’s pelvis, gagging and tearing up as he forced himself to take the full length as he was being pulled off, wings about his face flapping frantically.
“Oh—fuck,” Welt sputtered choking on air. “You shouldn’t,” he tried to start again, but Sunday made a subtle movement of shaking his head the most he was able to move, practically nuzzling into Welt’s thighs, with a soft mewling noise.
Tossing his head back against the back of the chair, Welt panted, brow furrowed, hands flexing against his desk, resisting the urge to thrust roughly into Sunday's mouth, to accidentally treat him meaner than he wanted to.
Even with tears spilling out of the corner of his eyes, and a tiny bit of snot from his nose, Sunday made a deeply self satisfied sound, eyes squinting in a smile, tears running over his cheeks properly with the movement.
The set of damaged wings on his lower back shuddered as he slid off just enough to breathe, breathing heavily through his nose, sniffling, but keeping the obscenely heavy and leaking tip in his mouth, shifting his thighs back and forth before swallowing him back down again, with a choked whine. Trying to keep his eyes up and looking at Welt but his vision was so blurred with tears he could barely make out the outline of him.
A slick wet noise was heard every time he raised his head up and down, lewd and embarrassingly loud in the silence of the office, all he could hear was the scratching of a pen against paper, and the slurping noises, the clicking gag of his own throat, filling his ears and making him flush down to his chest and his nipples.
Unable to take it any longer, Welt thrust his hips, forcing Sunday to choke and squirm, a trill noise like a bird, but he looked overjoyed. Wet eyes looking up at Welt begging for more as he sat with his cock in his mouth, before bobbing his head a bit more, brows knit together and whining, begging.
“You want me to fuck your face?” He softly offered, holding back the biting want, the frustration of Sunday acting like a brat and refusing to just take his softer handling. The brat of a bird had to tease him and practically beg him to be mean or rough. Anything extra to sate his greed.
Sunday shifted excitedly, moving his weight from side to side, sitting properly and fixing his posture, finally letting the heavy cock slip from his lips with a thick sheen of spit, a glistening strand hanging from between the tip and his now reddened lips.
He chuckled at the younger man’s enthusiasm, standing up from his seat, pushing his chair back just enough to stand properly, red and bobbing cock, dripping in spit and pre-cum at perfect face level with Sunday.
Nudging the tip against plump lips before pushing in, Welt groaned, one hand cupping the back of his head, letting Sunday take it slowly, before beginning to fuck into his mouth, a sharp quick thrust down to the hilt making him choke and whine. With the first thrust Welt began to thrust in and out at a steady pace, with a wet sloppy mess further forming on Sunday’s chin.
Trying to bob his own head in time with the thrusts, Sunday gagged, eyes squeezed shut as he frantically tried to breathe and swallow around it, all while Welt was thrusting with an uneven pace, the conflicting movements of it all making it clearly difficult on Sunday despite his persistence. His enthusiasm was cute, but it was clear he wasn’t going to enjoy it, or maybe even puke if he kept this up.
He nudged at Sunday’s forehead once, and then twice, before yanking him off fully by the hair, watching the poor man pant and choke, heaving for air, while Welt still held him carefully by the hair.
“Breathe.” And Sunday squirmed in his hold before going slack, panting, eyes screwed shut, shoulders rising and falling drastically with each sharp breath.
Once Sunday wasn’t gasping Welt wiped the tears from one side of his face, keeping his head stuck in place by the hair. “There you go,” he said softly, giving him a few more moments before watching Sunday’s lips part once more, carefully feeding his throbbing dick back in, thrusting more softly, holding Sunday still and fucking into his mouth rather than letting the two work against each other.
The pace being so much more steady helped Sunday time his breathing, figuring out how to prepare himself and the right timing to roll his tongue against the fat tip when Welt pulled back, drawing a good many curses from the older man’s mouth, picking up the speed far more gradually, until he was thrusting at a good pace, the weight of his balls smacking against Sunday's chin, while his own hips bucked against nothing at all in futile pursuit of some sort of pleasure that was out of his reach.
Welt's thrusts just grew meaner, forcing Sunday to stifle his gags the best he could, clinging to the front of his pants for dear life, his head still suspended in the proper place.
“Shit Sunday, close—really close,” he managed out between gasps for air, and Sunday’s eyes rolled back in euphoria, so eager to please as the thrust stuttered, hips bucking and pulling out until only the fat tip remained in his mouth. Something thick and warm and salty splattered into his mouth, coating his tongue and filling his mouth.
Even from a man like Welt, who watched his health and diet rather nicely, Sunday had learned cum didn’t have a particularly nice taste. Salty and that thick consistency that was too easy to gag on and too thick to swallow down comfortably like a mouthful of water. It clung to your tongue and the insides of your mouth in the aftermath. By god was there a lot of it. A copious amount really, almost too much to keep in his mouth comfortably.
“Let me see baby,” the voice above him coaxed and he opened his mouth, showing off the mess and trying not to spill any of it, squirming his hips, only succeeded in rubbing his slick swollen clit uselessly against the cold floor. It always felt like such a waste when Welt came in his mouth rather than in his pussy.
“Can you swallow it for me? You were practicing it last time.” He stroked his fingers through Sunday’s hair, and Sunday swallowed. Or attempted to. There was an awful lot of it, and the sensation of it in the back of his tongue down his throat made him heave a little bit, before an empty tea cup was held under his mouth and he was given the silent permission to spit out whatever he couldn’t swallow.
He flushed red seeing it go to waste like that, but Welt made no complaint as he sat back down in his chair and Sunday gratefully crawled back over to him, resting his head against Welt’s thigh, letting him bask in the afterglow for a bit longer, not even bothering to put himself away or fix his pants.
Sunday sat there comfortably, breath soft against the bare inner thigh of Welt’s leg, blinking lazily. Until slowly he began to realize that even in the haze of his submission and the dazed feeling of it, his knees were beginning to ache from kneeling on cold wood, and the wetness between his thighs was becoming unbearable. Under normal circumstances he would’ve suffered with this for longer as penitence, but Welt had specifically asked him to communicate more, to be good, and aeons there was nothing that he wanted more in life then to be good for Welt.
It was odd, awfully so, for Welt to see the man who had attempted to rule over Penacony, the man with his violent bitter words and cruel tongue be so…serene and submissive. Sunday himself has compared himself to a pet. He could be trained to obedience, and he much preferred docility, he only needed to be guided to it with a gentle enough hand. He so much more preferred the empty headed submission then the frantic racing mind he usually resided in, it was just so hard for him to get there.
Submission and obedience, a learned method to get through his own control freak methods. At least Mr. Yang was kind and levelheaded enough. Wise and gentle that he could give himself up more freely without needing to physically beat the obsession out of himself. No, all he needed to do was to lie down at the feet of a man who was older, wiser, and surely knew better than him.
“Mr. Yang?” His voice was scratchy, rough and hoarse, dehydrated and throat sore from getting his throat fucked.
Welt’s leg jerked a bit in surprise looking down at Sunday properly, lost in his own thoughts for a moment. “Oh. Come here,” he tucked himself away in his pants and lowered a hand to help Sunday crawl up into his arms, letting him straddle Yang’s lap up in the chair.
“There we go,” he placed three kisses along Sunday’s jaw, wiping the drool off his lips and chin, grabbing a clean glass of water he had set out and helping the younger man drink some, before letting Sunday drop his head onto his shoulder, kneeling straddling him while his hands stroked up and down his spine, massaging the scars on the fat of his thighs and the base of his wings on his spine.
Laying against Welt entirely as dead weight was more than enough to leave him feeling fully sated and content. Well. At least for a few long moments, soaking in the hands tracing over him repeatedly.
One of the lower wings twitched, readjusted itself a few times, as if struggling to be comfortable, a nonverbal cue that he had learned when Sunday had something to say or that was bothering him.
“Mm?” He tipped his head, prompting Sunday to respond properly.
“My knees are tired from kneeling.” He manages softly, not wanting to sit on his knees for much longer even on a plush material of a chair his joints ached in the position and the weight of his own body.
Welt stood up in one easy go, and Sunday’s wings shot out frantically, flapping blindly, not like they would serve any actual purpose nor help if the two of them were to topple anyways, while his arms clung tight to his neck. “You’ve been so good Sunday.” The Halovian only whimpered in reply.
Carrying Sunday over to the bed, laying him down gently, careful of the wings when setting him on his back, massaging down his legs, and kissing the length down his ankle.
“Hah…Mr. Yang.” A soft call,
Behind the rims of those glasses the brown eyes stared back at him satisfied. “Yes handsome?”
“Can you…please?” Whined softly, faint.
Welt considered for a moment making him say the full thing, making him use his words, but he’d been so good up until this point it was only fair he deserved a good reward, and for Welt to cease his teasing. Tracing his fingertips up and down his leg, he hummed, nodding to the man under him, while he stroked the vulnerable skin.
Sunday tried frantically not to squirm under the slightly ticklish touch, leg kicking out awkwardly while Yang grasped his soft, plush of his inner thigh, forcing one leg up, coaxing his wings that covered and framed his pussy open, and they spread easily, so heavily aroused and already wet with his slick. After being denied for so long, Sunday was twitching and sensitive, any brief gentle touch drove him crazy.
Rubbing his hand over his soaking wet cunt, it glided smoothly through his folds with how wet he was. Gathering the webs of slick onto his fingers and more gushed out readily, body more than eager, dick twitching and pulsing in time with how he visibly clenched around nothing.
“Oh baby you’re so wet, were you this way the whole time?” He cooed, and Sunday shuddered violently, hiding his face behind his wings. Raising his hand Welt lightly spanked Sunday’s pussy, focusing on the reddened dick, making him cry out. A few more light taps, a good slap, and Sunday was crying, heavy glossy tears gathering in his lashes.
A pretty and perfect view, with legs held wide apart, pussy red and swollen, eyes squeezed shut with tears spilling over his cheeks, rivulets of slick running down to his ass, wings around his cunt quivering, twitching to try and cover himself on physical instinct, but he knew he wanted to be good.
Welt dipped a finger then two into his entrance, ensuring he was relaxed and wet enough, before kissing his thigh then his ankle as he moved back from him. He pulled away just long enough to quickly pull off his pants and boxers in one go, pulling his shirt over his head in record time.
As soon as he was undressed, Welt crawled over his body, tipping his chin up to him, coaxing him to open his eyes and look at him, kissing the tears off his cheeks and jaw. Sunday chirped, a sweet sound, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, sniffling through the now drying tears. It was alright, Welt was quite used to how much Sunday cried, sobbed and wailed, on and off through sex, and any intimacy really. He didn’t mind it, in fact he seemed to have a perversion to it that he wouldn’t really ever voice, despite them both being fully aware.
Lifting him up through the hips, he pulled Sunday up into his lap, half leaning back against the pillows by the headboard, the wet heat of Sunday's pussy pressed against his dick, sandwiched between their bodies.
Welt helped lift Sunday up by the hips, lining him up with his hole, rubbing against it in teasing thrusts, making Sunday clench, grasping his shoulders. Gritting his teeth in frustration and trying to hold back more “bratty” complaints and forms of begging, Sunday tried dropping right down, but Welt held him up firmly. The sudden harshness of the denial made fresh tears spring to his eyes. Aeons be damned, couldn’t Welt see how bad he needed it? How good he had been?
“What’s the word baby?”
Blinking blearily Sunday couldn’t seem to gather what was even said. “Huh?”
“What’s the word?” He rubbed his hip, rocking his length against Sunday’s swollen dick.
“Oh! Hah…please, Mr. Yang. Please oh please,” he tried so pleading , eyes squeezed shut as Welt lined up their hips and dropped him down on his length in one go.
Sunday yelped, the blunt nails of his fingers digging into his shoulders, tense. The stretch was immense, it always was, the sharp sudden fullness made his brain empty itself, left shaking and aching and impossibly stuffed. If he stared long enough he’d see the tiny bulge in his lower abdomen but if he focused on it he might start fully crying again.
He was much too full to move yet, and Welt himself wasn’t in much better shape, panting with furrowed brows, muttering incoherently about how tight Sunday was making, him whine and clench down harder by mistake, Welt hissed through his teeth at the sensation.
Sunday settled for keeping himself still and Welt was kind enough to give him the time to adjust to the sensation, peppering kisses to his cheeks and rubbing the backs of his wings. Reaching a hand down to part the lower wings of his pussy with his fingers, to get a better view of the way Sunday’s cunt was stretched out around him, where the entrance pulled tight.
Shaky breaths desperate to calm himself filled the air along with a shifting of Welt beneath him on the sheets, adjusting their positions more comfortably, slipping his glasses off his face and onto Sunday’s, who blinked at him dazedly. Huh. Nonprescription.
Encouragingly Welt held him by the hips, rocking him slowly, not thrusting, before pitifully Sunday raised his own hips and dropped himself down unceremoniously into Welt's lap once more.
The first thrust had his wings flapping, fanning out and stretching, but by the sixth had his mouth hanging open and in some pants and whines, desperately trying to find a rhythm, something to please both himself and Welt with.
The sopping wet smack each time their pelvis touched made Sunday hide his face behind his wings, until Welt batted them away, rubbing behind the wings making Sunday's eyes roll.
The well timed bounce of Sunday's hips and the strong thrusts of Welt from below had Sunday jostled, mouth hanging open breathless and tongue lolling out slightly, the glasses sliding off his face barely held up by his nose, trying to hold it up absently with a bend of his extended wing, as they slipped off his face.
Leaning up to him Welt licked and kissed at his mouth and exchanged the drool from the way Sunday’s tongue hung out, licking into his mouth, nudging the glasses onto his face with his nose.
“Mr. Ya—ngh,” Sunday clawed at him, rolling his hips, while Welt’s fingers toyed with his dick between them, rubbing it in little circles.
“Yes baby?”
“So big,” was the only thing Sunday was able to warble back, brows knitted together as he kept bouncing his hips, thighs getting increasingly sore the closer he got.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already?” Welt teased with a smile of love more than mockery, but he immediately put his free hand on Sunday's hip, helping him lift himself up and down easier.
A soft almost pitiful whimper was the only response he got in return, maybe an apology from how somber Sunday looked with furrowed brows full of worry, and Welt chuckled softly. “You’ve been so lovely,” he assured him, feeling him clench down around him instantly at the praise, still rubbing his dick in circles. “Such a good boy.”
With a strangled noise Sunday sputtered, legs seemingly locking up.“Coming—coming, oh Xipe, I’m coming—“ babbled out in a frantic mess, grasping onto Welt as he thrusted a few more times, the gush of wetness between his legs, and finally Welt stilled, allowing Sunday a moment to lay against his chest comfortably, slowly lifting Sunday off his cock, pulling the glasses off and tossing them onto the bedside table.
“Mr. Yang, o-oh, Mr. Yang,” he babbled, burying his face into the crook of Welt’s neck, as he slipped out of him, leaving him gaping and desperate to be filled once more, and slowly laid back down onto the bed again.
He flipped him over with a sharp yelp, face down onto the bed, and Welt bracketed him to it, making sure the pillow was in place under his face comfortably, massaging the fat of his hips and ass, placing a hand down his spine. Sliding it down to settle between the damaged wings that were just above his hips.
Sunday had insisted to him on many occasions that he was fine with being treated roughly. That he didn’t feel any pain in those wings despite their long time damages that left them hardly mobile. Damaged feathers that could never grow back, smaller than they should be, stubbier and bent at awkward angles, feathers plucked out that could never return and others clipped crudely.
Repeatedly Sunday told him that they didn’t hurt at all, and that he was fine to be grabbed by them, manhandled as was needed of Welt, but once he accidentally grasped one of them and Sunday had flinched, body convulsing, insisting it was fine and nothing hurt or was even mildly uncomfortable, even as tears sprung into his eyes. He remained adamant and persistent that he could be rougher, he could be meaner and he could take it, he would take whatever Welt gave him.
The striking difference was that Welt had no interest in being cruel. He liked the power and the dominance but had no desire to be rougher than was necessary for a bit of pleasure. A gentler hand of dominance was needed to handle a man like Sunday.
Tracing the shape of the base of the wings gently, before using a firm hand to force Sunday’s back into an arch, digging his fingers into the pillows roughly, trying to pace himself and prepare for what was hopefully coming soon.
With his back arched prettily, ass in the air, Welt laid his cock over Sunday’s ass, as if measuring something he already knew, flaunting it to the younger man, making his thighs quiver and legs feel weak.
“Mr. Yang…” he whined, needy, knuckles turning white as he gripped the pillow.
“Shh. Be patient.” He had just fucked him nicely after all, he could wait and handle a tiny bit of teasing. Welt pulled his hips back and nudged his tip against the already gaping, fluttering hole of Sunday's pussy, watching as if clenched around nothing as he smacked his dick to be swollen folds and the aching clit.
When he pulled back Sunday whined, rocking his hips back, refusing to be denied, but Welt used his hand to push him forward a tad more, holding him in place by the hip. Thankfully in Sunday’s case however, Welt was just as impatient, and he didn’t need to wait much longer.
In one good thrust, he pushed himself perfectly into the hilt, with a sloppy wet sound, resting his head along the curve of Sunday’s spine, right between the lower bits of his shoulder blades at the warmth. All it took was two test rolls of his hips and he picked up where he had stopped earlier, snapping his hips forward, pulling out only minutely, making rough quick thrusts. That way was his favorite, that way he barely even needed to pull out at all.
Sunday wailed into the pillow, practically suffocating himself with it as he covered his mouth with one hand and buried his face into the plush feathered pillows that smelled so strongly of Welt himself. He felt dizzy, surrounded by the feel and touch and smell of him.
A hand reached forward and carefully swatted away the hand, muffling himself, cupping his face and lifting it just enough so he couldn't use either his hands or the pillows.
“M-Mr. Yang—ah,” Sunday protested, trying to quiet his voice. “The walls aren’t that thi—“ a rough thrust into his g-spot had his position giving out, toes curling as his body almost gave out under him, shrieking, a high pitched bird sound.
Welt dropped into a lower position as Sunday's hips met level with the bedding, feet kicking up in the air as Welt laid flat against his spine and an arm wrapped around his neck, fitting him into the elbow of the remarkably strong arm, the other arm half underneath him, holding his chest comfortably and using his own elbow to stay semi upright.
A headlock. A deliriously good headlock, Sunday decided as he started losing coherency while Welt hammered him into the bed with rather rough, snapping thrusts of his hips. Sunday was left to claw blindly, at the bicep, the bedding, anything in sight, and to go otherwise limp, drooling against his arm.
With each thrust Welt’s heavy balls smacked against Sunday’s clit making him squirm with nowhere to go. Bending his legs at the knee to kick the air but only succeeding in smacking the front of his legs into the mattress repeatedly.
“Oh Xipe, hah, M-Mr. Yang, W-Welt—oh fuck,” he cried mindlessly, tears spilling down his cheeks.
“It’s okay, you’ve been so good,” Welt promised him, nuzzling against Sunday’s head affectionately, a stark contrast from the fast pace of his hips below. “Been such a good boy, gotta let me take care of you.” Any word or at least coherent ones were lost, and Sunday could only warble in reply.
From practice and knowledge Welt was gentle enough to not squeeze or accidentally restrict airflow, Sunday had panicked when he had accidentally choked him before. Instead he used it as restraint, which is something the Halovian was obsessed with. Being held still and pampered and fucked and treated kindly, physical restraint made him melt, becoming putty in his hands.
The slick sounds of their bodies meeting in rough thrusts, the wet smack of his pelvis hitting Sunday's thighs and ass, the squelch of his soaked pussy, already one orgasms in, on the verge of another.
“Mr. Ya—ah—ang!” He stumbles over the words trying so hard to be good and communicate the way he was always asked to. “Close, close closecloseclose,” he babbled frantically, faster and faster than the last. He wasn’t good at holding back orgasm. Couldn’t control the sensation no matter how hard he tried, so he always handed the control to Welt.
“Good boy, go ahead, I’ve got you,” Welt kissed Sunday's cheeks, the tears off of them, and Sunday sobbed, thighs trying to clamp close, held open by the older man’s legs and hips in the position.
The gush of wetness, a mess soaking the bedding while Sunday's eyes rolled back, body locking up and the way his cunt clamped down, making Welt's hips stutter, vivid swears barely audible.
Less than four final rough thrusts in and Welt hilted himself deep finally, and the hot warmth filled Sunday, making him sigh contentedly, thighs quivering.
Gently rolling his hips a few more times, ensuring Sunday was pumped full, Welt slowly pulled out with a soft hiss of sensitivity, as he was finally going soft, gently detangling Sunday from his arm and letting him lay his cheek against the pillow instead.
Sunday made a soft trilling noise, eyes halflidded and deliriously content, laying limply still belly down against the bed by the time Welt dropped onto the pillow beside him.
The wet sensation of the still hot cum leaking out of his pussy, dripping down his folds onto his dick, making him whimper violently, and Welt leaned over him, pressing kisses to his neck and wings, before reaching down to gather what had begun to spill out on his fingers, and push it back inside the now sore and gaping hole. Sunday smiled softly, almost deliriously, craning his neck to kiss Welt a few more times, sloppy.
Something incoherent was mumbled into Welt’s throat, making him pause, waiting for Sunday to repeat himself more clearly.
“Should take a bath,” he slurred out, lazily, almost too tired to keep his eyes open.
Welt rubbed his back gently, massaging the space down his spine and between his wings. “Do you want to now or later?”
“Don’ know. I’m all gross,” he sighed into the soft bedding.
“Mmm,” a hand carefully moved the bangs out of Sunday’s eyes. “I’ll go get you a cloth and wipe you down and get some fresh blankets. We’ll bathe later.”
Sunday chirped in a pleased way as a kiss was placed on his awfully sweaty forehead. “Thank you, Mr. Yang.”
He stood up from the bed, grabbing a glass of water on the bedside table, passing it to Sunday before moving to walk down to his bathroom, making sure Sunday had everything he needed. “You can just call me Welt you know?”
An almost tittering, shy laugh with flushed cheeks followed. “Mm. I know.”