#Ghost centered | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghoulangerlee · 19 days

Text

are you watching me with eyes of a predator ; swiss/ifrit

commissioned by @wrathofrats, this one got to be so out of control from what I originally planned but I do have to say I'm very happy with how it turned out haha.

7k of sloppy sex featuring newly summoned Swiss and Ifrit who's in charge of his surface acclimation.

content: wing/feather kink, Just The Tip, cunnilingus, Wet&Messy, multiple orgasms, vague play at Innocence kink, Ifrit-bimbofication, Swiss has a cunt in this one though he's not explicitly mentioned to be trans (cunt and clit and folds are used for his anatomy).

read it here on ao3!

fic under the read more:

The summoning chambers are always cold, mostly dark—the ceilings high and grand in a way that makes it feel less like a basement and more like a chapel.

At least, that’s what Ifrit thinks as he stands off to the side, watching Cardinal Copia putter around the chamber, the circle is pristine and stark in the center of the room and each candle corresponding with the elemental symbol sits in its place—it's all too perfect really, so much different from the other summonings he’s been a part of.

He’s only here to be part of the welcoming crew, as his place in the band had been dissolved, much to his own relief. There was an ache in him after Terzo’s death, something about going back on stage with a new face didn’t sit right with him, made him feel jumpy and nervous—he's not sure why, but he knew that once Cardinal Copia became part of it all, he’d need to step back.

So, he did.

But he’s been helping with a few behind the scenes things for now, practicing with Dew, who’s taken his spot in the band, working with Rain, the new water ghoul that Cardinal Copia had summoned—and while it wasn’t the exciting life that Terzo had promised him when he was first summoned, it was definitely different.

The Cardinal is speaking, reciting Latin from a book he’s holding, chanting through stanzas of words as the circle on the floor starts to come to life—around them, the others are waiting with bated breath to see if the offering, if the request is enough to entice another ghoul forward.

It can be tricky sometimes to find the ghouls who want to come to the surface, and while it's supposed to be voluntary, he knows that sometimes it’s not, and in the past, it had been such a big thing within the church.

He likes to think that Cardinal Copia is on the right side of history these days, but it’s always hard to tell—he'd been summoned and promised so many things, only for his summoner to be murdered and his station in church be questioned by the very people who’d carried out the murder.

There’s a hush in the room and Ifrit’s drawn back to the present in enough time to see a ghoul claw its way out of the portal—stark black skin and shining mismatched eyes, the ghoul has feathers but smells strongly of fire, of burning wood and ozone.

Ifrit is almost immediately enamored.

His name is Swiss, at least, that’s what he settles on after the others gather round and toss out name suggestions—they all have names, but some of them are harder for humans to vocalize, most of them unable to properly speak Infernal in a way that’s understandable.

It’s just easier to choose a new name, rather than be referred to as ghoul all the time (though this doesn’t discount the ghouls who do want to be called ghoul; it’s their prerogative, but Ifrit doesn’t like the way the word sits on a human tongue, sounding more like an insult than a name.).

When Swiss grins at being called Swiss, Ifrit has to look away from that sharp yet bright smile, the sparkle in his eyes—one is a soft lavender color and the other a warm brown, because suddenly he wants to be the reason that Swiss is smiling.

Cardinal Copia calls him forth and Ifrit goes, while the others are still fawning over Swiss, he ignores it in favor of focusing on the human, standing with his hands clasped behind his back in front of him.

“I know you’re probably tired of this,” Cardinal Copia says with a wry sort of laugh, “But do you have the bandwidth to acclimate one more ghoul?”

Ifrit grins, looks back at where Swiss is standing in a half-formed circle with the others, then back at the Cardinal, he shrugs, tries not to show his excitement at the prospect of it all, “I could move a few things around.”

The worry lines on the Cardinals face seem to melt away and he smiles, reaches out and gently pats his gloved hand against Ifrit’s sleeve covered arm, “Thank you, I’ll make sure to requisition pay for this,” he says as a promise—and yeah, the money is good, but the idea of having a newly summoned hybrid ghoul almost outweighs it.

Well. He’s getting a bit ahead of himself.

“No worries, Cardinal. I know the song catalogue too; do you know what you’re going to have him do yet? We can work on that once we finish with the acclimation.”

Cardinal Copia looks thoughtful, “I’ll need to think it over first, but I’ll let you know. If you could get him familiar with it all though, that’d be wonderful.”

“No problem,” Ifrit says with a casual indifference that he’s somewhat proud of, “If there’s anything else just let me know. I’m going to go ahead and,” he breaks off, waving his hand in the direction of the other ghouls—they've got Swiss wrapped up in a cloak now, hood pulled over his head, but despite that, Ifrit can still see the glow of his eyes. “We’re going to head up to the den now if that’s alright with you.”

(Expecting a newly summoned ghoul to glamour so soon can backfire sometimes, can be messy and horrifying if they’re not used to the surface, if their magic isn’t attuned to everything, if they’re without a proper pack—not that Swiss had been summoned packless, he’d been, by default, initiated the moment he accepted the offerings, but still, it was better safe than sorry.)

The Cardinal pats Ifrit’s arm one more time before stepping back, “Yes, of course, thank you again. I’ll be in touch about the rest of it all. And you should expect payment within the next week. I trust that you’ll take care of him.”

Ifrit smiles sickly sweet, “Of course, Cardinal, only the best care for the band ghouls.”

Swiss is different, Ifrit learns as the two of them spend a lot of time together—almost immediately after the pack whisk him away out of the basement and up to the den, the tense line of his shoulders goes loose and the drops the hood down from over his head.

He grins at Ifrit, cocking his head to the side—his tightly coiled curls bouncing with the movement of his head, “Didn’t realize there could be two fire ghouls in the band.”

There’s something melodic and mesmerizing about his voice and Ifrit blinks a few times to clear the sudden fog in his mind, “There’s not,” he answers, “I’m not in the band, I just help with the administrative stuff.”

Swiss cocks an eyebrow at him, “So I’m administrative stuff then?” he asks, shifting the cloak around his shoulders enough that the front of it opens just enough for Ifrit to get an eyeful of dark, bare skin; the flash of lavender further down.

He clears his throat, “Acclimation falls under administrative,” he says, knowing how stupid he sounds as he says it, but unable to stop his mouth from continuing the thought, “I’m pretty good at it. Acclimating new ghouls to the surface.”

“Oh?” Swiss asks, his eyes shining in amusement, tugging the front of the cloak together again, “Well, then I’m glad that I’m in your capable hands,” he purrs, stepping further into Ifrit’s space, “I’m sure you’ll teach me all about life on the surface.”

He does, or he tries to, but Swiss is so distracting—on purpose it feels like.

It takes Swiss several days to fully form his glamour, so he spends a good portion of the time before mostly nude; not uncommon because Rain had been completely nude for the first few weeks of him time here, but Ifrit hadn’t wanted to drag Rain to his bed in the same way that he wants Swiss there.

And Swiss seems to know it too, if the way he preens whenever he catches Ifrit watching him, the way he seems to purposely run his fingers through the no doubt soft feathers that Ifrit can see peeking just above the waistband of the slacks he’s wearing.

Unfortunately, Ifrit knows just how far those feathers go down as pants were a new thing for Swiss within the last day, now choosing to mostly walk around shirtless within the den—he’s less feathered below the belt, he’d explained, and every shirt he’d tried on thus far just felt constricting to his feathers.

Again, everything was fine.

He was sure that this was a very normal thing that air ghouls went through, he was summoned after Zephyr, so he hadn’t had a chance to see if this was just how they were on the surface or not, too focused on his own acclimation.

He was sure that his own mind made things worse because of how attractive he found Swiss, because the others seemed less enamored by him, though no doubt just as friendly, like pack were.

Like Ifrit should have been.

Instead, he was here trying his best not to scare off Swiss—sex was a natural thing, as natural to them as breathing most of the time, their nature as ghouls meant they had less reservations about things than humans did so it should have been no problem, just bring it up to Swiss and then it’d be done.

They could fuck about it and move on with the acclimation.

But maybe, just maybe Ifrit had been around humans for too long and now he’s here, reconsidering everything; thinking about going to the Cardinal and letting him know that he’ll need to get someone else to help with the acclimation because he couldn’t do it with a clear head.

Not when his baser instincts were nearly screaming at him to take Swiss to bed, to make him his.

Maybe, if he could just ignore the voice inside his head, telling him that every little thing Swiss was doing was Swiss opening up to him, accepting him as some sort of sexual partner even though he hadn’t asked—well, if he could ignore it, then he wouldn’t feel so awful about the focus he was putting on trying to make sure Swiss understood what life on the surface was like instead of putting his focus on pack bonding.

(If he focused too hard on Swiss and pack then his mind tended to get possessive. The urge to take Swiss and hide him away, the need to be the one to make Swiss smile, laugh, happy.)

Swiss however, was no idiot.

“You smell like you want to fuck,” Swiss says bluntly, head tilted as he corners Ifrit—he's taller, by only a few inches, taller, but not as broad as Ifrit, except when he’s got Ifrit backed up against the wall of the den, Ifrit feels small.

Ifrit makes a noise, presses his hands flat against the wall, “Oh, it’s...almost time for. You know how ghoul biology works,” he says, though it's a flimsy excuse, about six months too early to really mean anything—the pulse of heat under his skin has nothing to do with anything other than the way Swiss is looking down at him.

“Mmhm,” Swiss says, somewhat like he barely believes him and well, fair, even Ifrit barely believes the things he’s said. “I’m beginning to think you don’t like me all that much, firebird,” he plants a hand beside Ifrit’s head and leans down into his space, “But your scent tells me that you do like me and it’s very confusing.”

That’s all fine and dandy because Ifrit is also confused.

“I’m supposed to help you acclimate,” Ifrit says carefully, not wanting to reveal too much about himself or the entire situation, “Cardinal Copia asked me to do it because the others are preparing for the tour coming up, easier to delegate to the guy who’s not going on tour.”

Swiss tilts his head, his mismatched eyes look bigger up close, shiny and wide as he stares into Ifrit’s eyes before leaning back, “I’ve been on the surface before,” he says slowly, “I...am almost certain I mentioned that before. I know how this whole thing works, just not the glamour bit cause I didn’t need one of those where I was last summoned.”

Swiss may have mentioned it once, maybe twice, if Ifrit thinks about it too hard and pushes past the weird feelings he has around that, not that Swiss being summoned previously is a problem—it's actually the opposite of it, it’s something so grand that Ifrit almost wants to propose they fuck about this whole misunderstanding.

(Is it really a misunderstanding if only Ifrit misunderstood?)

“You’ve been really weird this whole time, you smell like you want me but then you shy away from touching me,” Swiss stares hard at Ifrit’s face, almost enough to make Ifrit squirm, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have some sort of weird thing about wanting to fuck me but not wanting to fuck me because I’m new.”

It’s a little judgmental, his words, and Ifrit can’t help the stir of shame, the flood of arousal, he swallows heavily, works his jaw a few times trying to find the right words, “Well,” he says, “I just don’t want to come on too strong or anything.”

Swiss laughs then, it’s a loud and boisterous sound and it fills Ifrit with warmth, “Too strong?” he asks, and then he reaches up, shuffles his fingers through his own hair, lower down towards the back of his neck, works something free—a feather, it’s soft purple on the ends, the color fading into a warm chocolate brown towards the base.

Ifrit watches somewhat dumbly as Swiss brings the feather closer, drawing the tip of it against his cheek, down his jaw, ticking his throat, “I think when you figure out your little shame thing, you should come find me,” he whispers.

He flushes, pale pink against his gray skin, eyes fluttering a little as Swiss drags the tip of the feather across his collarbones, “Maybe we can work something out,” he continues, speaking in a near whisper now as he finally straightens, pulls the feather away from Ifrit’s skin.

“But you’ve got to be the one to make the first move, baby,” Swiss murmurs smoothly, reaching down to take Ifrit’s hand, rubbing his thumb against the center of his palm before he presses the feather into Ifrit’s hand, a clear sign of his intentions.

“Too strong?” he asks as he takes a few steps back, a satisfied grin on his lips as he watches Ifrit for a moment. “You know where to find me, baby.”

Before Ifrit’s able to form a proper sentence, Swiss is gone, melting into the shadows like some kind of apparition, leaving behind a feather and the lingering scent of burning wood and ozone.

It takes him decidedly less time to get over himself as Swiss had put it in not so many words, the feather held delicately between his fingers as he paced the length of the den, sure that if he were to walk any harder or any faster, he’d wear a hole in the stone.

“Oh, he finally told you, huh?” Dew asks, coming into the den, carrying a basket of laundry, “We were wondering if you were ever going to catch on that he was trying to get your attention.”

Ifrit stops walking, turns to look at Dew, who’s stopped by the door, watching him, “You knew?” he asked, “Why didn’t you say something?”

Dew snorts softly and hefts the basket of laundry up higher on his hip, “What? And miss a chance to watch you fumble around? You were the one who decided to think too loud with your dick and ignore what Swiss was saying to you.”

“I’ll admit that I’ve been handling him too carefully,” Ifrit says, only mildly insulted by Dew’s insinuation, “But, the last thing anyone needs is being accosted by the person helping them acclimate when they’re first summoned.”

Unimpressed, Dew finally moves further into the room and places the laundry basket down on the couch, “Yeah, he made it very clear that first week that he wasn’t new to the surface, and one could argue that he made it clearer by accepting your advances, however unconscious those were,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Seriously though, and I mean this in the nicest way I can muster, you smell absolutely disgusting to me right now, will you please go take care of that so things can go vaguely back to normal.”

It’s not a question and there’s an undercurrent of annoyance in Dew’s tone that Ifrit’s not too keen on pushing, “Yeah, sure, I was just thinking,” he holds the feather up, twirling it between his fingers, “I’ll get out of your hair, take care of everything and you’ve got nothing to worry about, big guy.”

Dew levels him with another unimpressed stare, “Just go,” he says, “Satan help me, you’re the one acting like you’ve never bedded a new summon before.”

A fair point that Ifrit doesn’t try to argue on, choosing instead to leave the communal den and to leave Dew to his chores, heart pounding as he heads down the hallway towards the separate dens each ghoul has—the whole time Dew’s words bounce around in his head.

Accepting your advances.

“Was I really that obtuse?” he asks himself out loud as he hurries further down the hallway until he comes to a stop in front of Swiss’s room.

The door’s ajar, just slightly, and there’s low humming coming from inside.

Ifrit pauses there with his hand raised to knock, biting his lower lip. He could knock, could push the door open and announce his presence—he could, but he stops for a moment, steps back and takes a deep breath.

“You can come inside, you know,” Swiss’s voice calls out, amused, “I won’t bite unless you ask first.”

He pushes the door open just enough to slip inside and closes it quietly behind him—Swiss's room smells strongly of the multi-ghoul and little else; the scent of smoldering wood permeates the area, filling Ifrit’s senses, calling to him; there’s an undercurrent of something fresh, the smell of open air on a sunny day.

Swiss himself is lounging on the bed, blankets haphazard like he’d been sleeping; he’s wearing sweats and a cropped t-shirt, only glamoured enough that his wings aren’t visible, and Ifrit feels ravenous all of a sudden.

“My eyes are up here, firebird,” Swiss says, amused, a grin stretching across his lips when Ifrit’s eyes meet his instead of where they’d been glued to his feathery happy trail.

Ifrit’s mouth feels dry and there’s heat coursing through his veins, “I don’t have feathers,” he says, somewhat dumbly.

Swiss pushes himself into a sitting position and reaches a hand out towards Ifrit, “You don’t,” he agrees easily, beckoning him forward with a finger, “Come here and I’ll show you mine.”

A choked noise leaves Ifrit but he shuffles forward, letting himself come to a stop as his knees hit the foot of Swiss’s bed—not that he stays there for long, because Swiss is sitting up further, reaching out and fisting a hand in his shirt, dragging him up onto the bed with little to no preamble.

“Dew said you had a thing for newly summoned ghouls and that once they’re acclimated, you like to invite them to bed with you,” Swiss murmurs in the space between them—this close, Ifrit can make out the specks of white and gold in Swiss’s brown eye, like constellations. “Probably threw you off that I’ve already been up here, huh?”

“A little bit,” Ifrit agrees, his voice low as he plants a hand on the bed beside Swiss’s hip—he's so close to him, half leaning over him, “Doesn’t mean I’m any less interested though, if you’ll have me.”

Swiss grins up at him, “I let you in here, didn’t I?” he asks, rhetorical, “I hope my experience isn’t off putting,” he murmurs then, tilting his head a little bit, lower lip brushing the curve of Ifrit’s in the barest hint of a kiss, “I can pretend to not know what your intentions are, let you show me what it’s like if that’s a deal breaker.”

Ifrit snorts in amusement at Swiss’s words, though the idea is enticing in a way, he shakes his head and brushes their lips together, finally, properly. “We can compare notes,” he mumbles, “Can I see your feathers now?” he asks, ignoring the way his voice goes a bit airy towards the end, like he’s whining.

A hum and Swiss’s hand comes up to the back of Ifrit’s neck, finally drawing him into something more than just a brush of lips—he's a little rough with it, a little bit overeager in the same way that Ifrit feels; sharp teeth catch on his lower lip for a moment before Ifrit’s opening his mouth, Swiss’s scent spiking up sharply as their tongues brush.

The hand on the back of his neck squeezes and it draws a sharp moan from Ifrit, Swiss easily swallowing the noise as the kiss continues, as it deepens further—and it’s different, bedding a freshly summoned ghoul who knows what they’re doing, still smelling of brimstone and ozone, still so in tune with their own instincts without the interference of humanity.

The kiss breaks and Ifrit’s immediately assaulted with the feeling of Swiss’s mouth on his jaw, down his throat, teeth sharp and dangerous against the delicate skin—the rush of it all makes Ifrit lightheaded. Swiss could easily incapacitate him if he wanted to, and Ifrit wouldn’t even try to stop him.

“What are you thinking about?” Swiss mumbles, dragging the sharp point of his canine over where Ifrit’s pulse is beating heavily.

Ifrit swallows thickly, eyes fluttering closed as he tilts his head back, bares his throat more, revels in the low, approving purr that comes from Swiss, “Thinking about you biting me,” he answers easily, breath hitching when Swiss fits his teeth against his throat, just pressing them there. “Shit, yeah, just like that.” he says, feeling nearly faint.

There’s a rumble of a laugh and Swiss’s teeth press inward; the shock of pain draws a moan from Ifrit—he feels shaky and loose, grabs at Swiss’s shoulder with one hand to keep himself centered, “That’s it, pretty bird,” he slurs, shivers when Swiss pulls away and drags the flat of his tongue over the indentions left by his teeth. “Fuck.”

“Who knew all I needed to do was get you in my bed for you to actually be normal around me,” Swiss mumbles, amused, and then he’s nudging Ifrit back onto his knees properly, so Ifrit’s kneeling in front of him on the bed. “It was cute watching you try to be careful though, all while smelling like you wanted to jump me.”

Ifrit groans, brings both hands up to cover his face, “Can we not talk about that, I’m here, aren’t I?” he asks, his voice going whiny again, and Swiss takes pity on him, prying his hands away from his face to kiss him again.

Somehow, at some point, they end up horizontal on the bed, side by side for now, sharing kisses, open mouthed and messy—Ifrit’s fingers find the shock of lavender feathers above the waistband of Swiss’s sweats, and he whimpers into the kiss as he drags his knuckles over them, the soft and downy feeling making him feel as if he’s going to burst.

There’s a laugh, the sound pouring into his mouth right before Swiss pulls away from the kiss, pressing a closed mouth kiss against his lower lip, “You want to see more?” he asks softly, biting at his jaw again, “Wanna feel more?”

Ifrit whimpers again and lets Swiss shove a leg between his thigh, giving him something to grind the hard line of his cock against, “Please,” he mumbles, begs as his other hand claws at the waistband of Swiss’s pants, “Let me see.”

“You’re so hot when you’re like this,” Swiss says reverently, shifting forward to press Ifrit back into the bed, hovering over him, “Begging to get in my pants,” he coos, head tilted as he smiles down at Ifrit, “Never had some beg like this, for me,” he adds and then he’s pulling the cropped shirt off, tossing it aside, allowing Ifrit a moment to feel along the hard planes of his chest, his stomach, fingers immediately going back to his happy trail.

He laughs then, “Oh baby, I think you’ve got a thing for my feathers,” he says, sitting back properly so he can shove his sweatpants down—there's nothing under them and Ifrit’s mouth waters as more skin, more feathers are revealed; they’re a little darker the further down they go, a bit curled and damp with Swiss’s arousal.

Ifrit makes a punched-out sort of noise, hands grasping at Swiss’s hips in desperation—he wants to taste him, wants to get his mouth on Swiss’s cunt, bury himself there until he can’t breathe.

“Can’t say I’ve ever made anyone speechless,” Swiss jokes, shifting around atop Ifrit until he’s able to properly kick off his sweatpants, laughing again when he’s suddenly being pulled forward until his thighs are spread wide over the width of Ifrit’s chest. “See something you like?” he asks, humming a little when Ifrit digs his fingers into the meat of his lower back, a clear sign of restraint.

“These your feathers?” Ifrit asks, the words sticking heavily to his tongue as he lets go of Swiss’s hips and presses his thumbs into the patch of feathers framing his cunt, “You lure all the ghouls you sleep with into bed by flashing them?”

Swiss shudders above him and Ifrit can feel the way his muscles move just under his skin, how they jump at the touch, the feathers ruffling, “Nope,” he says, his voice surprisingly steady, “You’re the first I’ve met that’s wanted them out.”

Something about that makes something inside Ifrit preen, a first—and yeah, okay, he may like being the first at things sometimes, but even the knowledge that Swiss has slept with others in the past does nothing to quell his thoughts.

Ifrit takes a moment to peer up at Swiss, his thumbs still carefully massaging into the feathers—Swiss is watching him with heavy eyes, the black of his pupil thin slits among the color of his irises before they expand and Swiss blinks down at him slowly, rolls his hips forward, trying to encourage more.

Ifrit licks his lips and watches as Swiss’s eyes drop to his mouth, digging his knees into the bed for leverage as he rocks forward again, and Ifrit lets his thumbs inch closer to his core, where he can see the barest hint of dark pink nestled among the feathers.

He lets out a sound, something incredulous, pressing a thumb inward and feeling as if Swiss himself had taken the air from his lungs, wanting nothing more than to fit his mouth over that pink nub, drink from him until Swiss is shaking and begging for it.

When Swiss shifts his hips backwards, Ifrit curls his thumb into the soft, silky skin of his cunt, spreading his lips just enough to make his own want surge—he's so pink, he’s so pretty and Satan, he must say that out loud because Swiss makes a noise, jerks forward until Ifrit’s thumb slides right up into his clit, warm and wet and pulsing.

There’s a flush on Swiss’s cheeks, a constellation of dusky pink and gold, coloring down his throat, towards his chest, his mouth is open, he’s panting, grinding his hips forward in a tight circle, all but manipulating his clit against the pad of Ifrit’s thumb.

The color of his eyes swallowed up by the black of his pupils.

“Up here,” Ifrit manages to get out, grips at one of Swiss’s thighs while pressing his thumb harder against Swiss, “Up, sit on my face,” he gets out, letting loose a tortured noise when Swiss scrambles further up, thighs bracketing right around Ifrit’s head as he settles down there.

Swiss’s scent is thicker here, Ifrit’s nose pressed into the tuft of feathers right above his cunt—he takes a moment to breathe him in, grips both of Swiss’s thighs and pulls him down, and sure he’s eaten others out before, knows he’s got skills, an oral thing he’d been told by past partners, but he’s never had someone on his face with feathers.

It’s not much different to the coarse hair, the scales or the other ghoulish traits he’s had previous experience with, but it makes him feel heady in a way that he can’t describe, the gentle tickle of feathers against his cheeks as he nudges Swiss’s lips apart, licking into him eagerly.

Swiss’s hands immediately come to rest in his hair, one gripping the short strands tightly while the other cradles the side of his head; he’s moaning, a low and happy sort of thing as he grinds down onto Ifrit’s tongue, thighs spasming.

Ifrit makes a noise, shifts his head so his nose nudges against Swiss’s clit, licks deeper into him wondering if this will be the first time Swiss has gotten off since being summoned this time; it’s always easy and quick the first time, getting someone to the edge, that is. The rearranging of their genetic makeup to exist on the surface doing something to them.

It’s why he’s always keen to get a new summon in bed, to bring them to the edge over and over, a pleasant welcome to the surface.

He wiggles a hand in between their bodies for a moment, uses his thumb to hold Swiss open as he works his jaw, presses his tongue in as far as he can get it—in times like these, he wishes he were the type of fire ghoul who could lengthen his tongue, he’s not though, but he manages; using his grip on Swiss’s thigh to hold the ghoul down against him.

Swiss makes a noise in outrage, trying to break Ifrit’s hold on him, wanting to move, but Ifrit just holds him still, keeps him there as he takes his fill, and then he’s shifting his touch from holding Swiss open to drawing slow circles around his clit, his tongue doing something inside Swiss that has his thighs shaking around Ifrit’s head.

And Swiss comes, of course he does, he can’t help it—can't help the way he tightens his grip on Ifrit’s hair and tries to drag his face closer, closer, closer (even though he’s as close as he can be without being inside Swiss), Ifrit’s name falls from his lips as he pulses through his orgasm, gasping almost painfully as Ifrit keeps licking and licking and licking at him until he’s shaking, coming again so suddenly that he makes a wounded noise and tries to shove Ifrit’s head away.

Ifrit’s grip on his thigh loosens and Swiss shifts back and away from Ifrit, still shaking the slightest as he settles back onto the bed to catch his breath.

Ifrit is, of course, grinning this satisfied sort of thing, the lower part of his face a mess of slick; his eyes are glowing as he looks at Swiss—and he’s hard in his pants, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by Swiss.

“Insatiable,” Is the first thing he’s able to say once he’s caught his breath, splay-legged and lying beside Ifrit, “Absolutely disgusting.”

Ifrit laughs at that and rolls onto his side, bullying his way close to Swiss, throwing an arm over his waist and nuzzling into his jaw, rubbing the scent of Swiss’s slick and Ifrit’s own pheromones into Swiss’s feathers, matting them down and making the two of them reek of each other. “Didn’t hear you complaining,” he murmurs, mouths at Swiss’s jaw for a moment before pulling back to look at him properly.

Swiss turns his head, peering up at Ifrit with his mismatched eyes; watching him for a long moment before he smiles, something small and secretive, “Sounds like you’re fishing for a compliment,” he says, and then he’s reaching up, cupping the back of Ifrit’s neck with one of his hands—big and warm against his already overheated skin, dragging him down into a kiss that tastes like the two of them.

Ifrit’s the one who separates them first, panting softly against Swiss’s mouth as he does it, “Not fishing,” he mumbles, presses another kiss to Swiss’s lips, “But I wouldn’t say no to a compliment if you have one.”

“Of course,” Swiss says with a laugh, scratching his nails through the short hairs at the base of Ifrit’s neck, “You do have quite the mouth on you,” he adds after a moment, leaning in and biting at Ifrit’s lower lip, leaving behind the barest hint of teeth marks.

A moan, low and pleased, both from the bite and the compliment, it’s praise to him, knowing he was able to satisfy Swiss with just his mouth does things to his brain, makes him feel a little floaty and happy, makes him want to do more and draw more praise from Swiss’s lips.

Content to lie there while Swiss comes down, he nearly forgets about his own need until he feels Swiss’s hand tug at the buttons on his pants, “If you’re the type to not need reciprocation, let me know now,” Swiss is mumbling, “But I really want to touch you, been thinking about getting my hand around this from the beginning.”

“Beginning?” Ifrit asks, shifting back so he can help Swiss get his pants undone and pushed down, “Shit, no, no, please, you can do whatever you want to my baby, I’m real easy.”

Swiss hums softly, pleased and happy as he gets Ifrit almost fully nude, “Shirt goes too,” he says, shifting to push Ifrit onto his back again, hands pushing the material up until Ifrit’s able to get it off, “And yes, the beginning. Do you think I just show my feathers to anyone?” he asks, incredulously before he’s climbing into Ifrit’s lap, settling across his thighs. “You really are out of practice with how air ghouls show they’re interested, huh?”

Ifrit feels a bit dumb as Swiss settles his weight down on him, he can feel the heat coming from Swiss’s cunt again, hovering so precariously close where he’s hard and curled up against his belly, “Oh,” he says, and then he laughs about it, because he can’t believe he’d been blind to it, the first flash of lavender, the suggestive tilt of his mouth, “Now I feel a bit silly,” he manages to say as his hands go to cradle Swiss’s hips.

There’s a sly sort of grin on Swiss’s mouth, the corners curling upwards, the points of his teeth pressing into his lower lip as he presses his knees into the bed for leverage, moving from his perch on Ifrit’s thighs, “You are kind of dumb,” Swiss says as he settles his weight on Ifrit’s lower belly, cunt right over his cock, “But in that really endearing way. Chivalrous and concerned about my wellbeing all while denying yourself something you really wanted.”

Ifrit gasps at the sudden weight on his belly, at Swiss’s heat right where he’s hard and sensitive, “Oh Satan,” he says, digging his fingertips into Swiss’s hips, “Yeah, fuck, baby, I’ll be as dumb as you want me to be if you keep doing what you’re about to do.”

Swiss laughs at him, leaning down to kiss him quiet as he rocks his hips, slow and steady, reaching down between them long enough to spread himself, choking back his own moan when Ifrit’s cock slips right between his folds, hot and hard and right against his clit with each thrust forward.

At some point, Ifrit pulls away from the kiss, tossing his head back as he holds Swiss down against him, digging his heels into the bed and letting himself get lost in the slick heat he’s grinding against—he almost misses it, when Swiss shifts a little bit more, bends over him properly and right against his ear, murmurs, “Wanna put it in me?”

Ifrit moans, loud and unbidden, hips stuttering a bit as he tries not to come, he’s nodding trying to tug Swiss onto his cock, feels it slip down just a bit, nudging against where Swiss is wet and open and warm, and he makes a sort of pained noise when Swiss lifts up so suddenly and they’re not touching anymore.

“Just the tip,” Swiss says, firm, there’s a teasing grin on his face as he says it, hovering over Ifrit, “Do you think you can do that? Only the tip baby, don’t think I can take the whole thing yet,” he lowers his voice, pitches it in a way that ties knots in Ifrit’s stomach. “S’my first time, after all.”

He nods, several times, mouth open in shock—it's not Swiss’s first time, something that he’d made very clear from the beginning, but hell the implications of it, the way Swiss plays into it has Ifrit all frazzled, “Baby,” he says, managing to find his words after a moment, “I’ll take such good care of you. Let you control what you take, how much.”

Swiss makes a happy little trill in the back of his throat, settles back down over Ifrit’s cock, rocks his hips in slow circles for a few moments, “You’ll have to teach me how to take all of you,” he murmurs, still in that faux innocent tone, and this time, when he lifts up, it’s so he can reach down between them, “’m so wet, I can take you without any prep,” he continues, wrapping a hand around Ifrit’s cock with one hand and Ifrit has to watch, eyes trained on the feathers, on the part of his cunt, the dusky pink of his hole as he shifts back on his heels, guiding Ifrit’s cock into him.

Ifrit’s sure he passes out, his grip on Swiss’s hips so tight he’s pretty sure there’ll be bruises there, indents of his fingertips left behind, he’s only coherent enough to not let his claws pop, though he’s sure Swiss would have no problem with that—Swiss's cunt is so tight, so warm, squeezing around him like he’s trying to milk him, like he wants more.

“Oh,” Swiss says, high and breathless, stills and just lets Ifrit stay inside, “You feel so good,” he praises, “So big, s’not that much in me but I can feel you stretching me, gonna take a lot of practice to get you all the way in here.”

Ifrit finds himself purring, something he doesn’t do often, but the rumble starts low in his chest as he slowly but surely loosens his grip on Swiss’s hips, instead, running his palms up Swiss’s sides, “We’ve got time, baby,” he says, hoping his voice is steady, “Can take as long as we need. Can do it as many times as you want. Could spend hours stretching you out for me.”

Swiss smiles down at him, shifts his hips a little bit after another few minutes, clenching around the tip before he grinds backwards, fucking himself on just a couple inches of Ifrit’s cock, moaning low and happily in his throat as he does, “You feel so good,” he finds himself repeating as Ifrit drags him down into a kiss.

They kiss for a while, open mouthed and panting as Swiss works himself on Ifrit, almost as if he were trying to chase his own orgasm and not worry about Ifrit’s--and well, that thought does a lot more to him that he realizes, hazy and hot and cunt drunk as he is.

It’s why when he feels himself nearing the edge, he’s barely able to get out a warning, the slide of Swiss’s cunt against his cock and then the way he sinks the tip into him every few thrusts—he doesn’t know the proper thing to do here, if he should make an effort to not come inside Swiss or if he should—how far does showing ones feathers go when it comes to sex?

He’s thinking, probably way too much about this, so when Swiss sinks down onto the tip of his cock one more time, he’s surprised when Swiss just stays there, his own answering purrs much lower than Ifrit’s rumbling deep in his chest, he grinds a little, another inch slips into him and Swiss clenches around him so suddenly it draws his orgasm out of him with very little warning.

Ifrit grasps at Swiss, only at the last second not pulling him down any further, so instead he curls his upper body upwards, pressing his face into Swiss’s heaving chest, shaking under him as he empties inside Swiss—all the while Swiss is milking him again, clenching rhythmically around him until Ifrit’s making soft little uh, uh, uh noises against Swiss’s skin, shivering at how it starts to tip over into the too much territory.

When he slips out of Swiss, spent and softening, Ifrit barely thinks as he grabs at Swiss’s thighs and hauls him upwards, mouth open, tongue out, hoping to catch the leak of his own come out of Swiss’s cunt before any of it gets on the sheets under them.

Swiss has a hand in his hair again and this time, Ifrit lets Swiss fuck down onto his face, riding his tongue, letting Ifrit lick his own come out of him until he’s arching, his own hand coming down to rub at his clit only a few times before he’s spasming around Ifrit’s tongue, coming in such an explosive manner than Ifrit’s sure he’s going to be tasting him for days now.

Which, good.

Good.

Swiss slips off of him this time, curling on his side and pressing his face into the side of Ifrit’s neck, panting heavily as he does so—Ifrit wraps an arm around Swiss and holds him close, holding him through the aftershocks and murmuring softly into his temple.

When Swiss is only mildly coherent, he lifts his head enough to share a kiss, moans at the taste of himself and Ifrit on the fire ghoul’s tongue, before he pulls away and hides away in Ifrit’s neck again—and while Ifrit wants to ask him if it was good again, the tease on the tip of his tongue, he holds back.

He waits, patiently.

“Disgusting,” Swiss mumbles into Ifrit’s neck this time, slurring just a little, “Absolutely filthy, disgusting ghoul. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Ifrit laughs at his words, can hear the undercurrent of humor, the hint of awe—it's a compliment and he takes it as one, rolling them until he can properly cuddle Swiss, letting his warmth seep into Swiss’s skin as the cold chill of the room starts to settle over them now that they’re basking.

“That tongue thing you do should be illegal,” Swiss mumbles with a shake of his head. “I’m fucking inconsolable, right now.”

Ifrit glances down at the top of Swiss’s head, quirks an eyebrow, “You okay?” he asks, a little hesitant, but mostly amused.

When Swiss lifts his head, he looks exasperated, a little hazy eyed, sated, “You fuck, I want to go again,” he says, “I’m so fucking sloppy right now but I just want more.”

That draws another laugh out of Ifrit, surprised and pleased that he’s good and makes Swiss feel insatiable, “Well, if you’re done being in charge, maybe let me take care of you this time?” he asks, rolling Swiss onto his back, looming over him with a glint in his eyes, “Let me make you feel good.”

Swiss covers his eyes with his forearm, lets Ifrit bully his way between his legs properly until he’s got one of them up over Ifrit’s shoulder his cunt spread and exposed—but he’s grinning, biting his lower lip, “Fuck, yeah, yeah, okay, do your worst. Make me feel good, firebird.”

Ifrit makes good on his word, keeps Swiss in bed for the rest of the day, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of him until they’re both too tired to continue.

#Swiss/Ifrit #the band ghost fic #my writing #this goes about as you'd expect a swiss centered fic by me to be written #please enjoy!

47 notes · View notes