#inspired by tags by icedjuiceboxes actually they got me thinking about expressing all these weirdass thoughts and feelings

[no-light-left-on]

1k words of pure, self indulgent corvosider fluff post-doto, early into their relationship

The mattress dips as Corvo crawls on the bed behind the Outsider – he does little as Corvo wraps an arm around his waist and presses a kiss to his hair, far too preoccupied with the text of the novel. He turns the page, smiling as Corvo presses closer, his broad chest against the Outsider’s back, and kisses down the back of his neck until he can bury his face into his shoulder. He pulls the Outsider closer until there is no space left, his hand large enough to cover his stomach, and he rubs little circles into his side. His hand does not stay long, though, restless as fingers catch on pearl buttons and the Outsider pauses.

Corvo’s hand dips under the silk fabric, trailing lower and lower until he reaches the belt.

“Corvo,” the Outsider says, somewhere between a plea and a warning as his hand shoots to Corvo’s. The hold around him eases and the Outsider curses himself as Corvo’s warmth gets further.

“I’m sorry.” Corvo rolls away, his weight no longer on top of the Outsider’s, though the Outsider is quick to follow as he rolls on his back to face him.

The Outsider kisses his shoulder, a chaste little peace offering. “No, no- it’s okay. No need to apologise.”

Still, Corvo remains tense, propped up on his elbow. There is too much distance between them now.

The Outsider reaches out, pressing his thumb between Corvo’s brows to smooth his wrinkles out. They sit heavy over his forehead, and while most would read them as the lord protector’s stern gaze, the Outsider knows them for what they are. Anxiety.

“You did nothing wrong,” he assures, but something else sits atop the worry. An old vulnerability of Corvo’s, and a new one, too.

“You’re always so skittish when we get physical,” Corvo states. He does not pose a question next, knows he doesn’t need to. The Outsider reads him like an open book.

Am I too old? Is it the age? Or is it me?

The Outsider cups his cheek, his beard prickling his palm, and as he brushes his thumb over an old scar on Corvo’s cheek, Corvo’s breath catches.

Are you repulsed by what you might find under?

The Outsider takes a deep breath, screws his eyes shut as he feels his stomach drop. His core feels like it is being swallowed by the Void as he speaks. “Corvo, I’m just not interested.”

He knows the words he chose were wrong the moment they leave his mouth.

“In me?” Corvo asks, tentative and cautious.

“In sex.”

Oh. Oh.

“Oh,” Corvo says with all the eloquence of a noble and the father of the empress. The tension dissipates out of his muscles.

“Yeah.”

“At all?”

“At all.”

Corvo laughs, startled and relieved, then buries his face back in the Outsider’s shoulder.

“That was a horrid way to phrase it,” he mutters into the silks as the Outsider combs his fingers through his hair.

“I’ve never been known to speak with other people’s emotions in mind,” the Outsider says as an apology. It is not one, but it will do.

“One day you’ll be the death of me,” Corvo whispers.

“I am honoured that you wish to keep me around for that long.”

They fall silent, with Corvo’s head resting on the Outsider’s chest, lulled by the beating of his painfully human heart.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“What for?” the Outsider asks.

“For trying to get physical.” Corvo shifts, suddenly far too aware of the thinness of the Outsider’s shirt, of his own hand on his belly, their intertwined legs. “It didn’t even cross my mind that you-”

The Outsider catches his face, cupping both cheeks in his cold hands, their eyes meeting. “Corvo.” The sound of his name stops Corvo’s rambling, intent and captivating the same way it was during the bad old days at the shrines. “You didn’t know. I never told you. I didn’t even intend on telling you this soon. Most humans don’t feel this way, and you had no way of simply figuring it out, not with how close I let you. Please, do not feel bad.” He takes a deep breath. His stomach turns, empty yet heavy like he’s drank the cold water of the Wrenhaven. “This is- I do not know where to begin explaining this. But take it as… it is just another odd quirk of mine. I don’t know.”

“Mio,” Corvo coos. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I feel like I have to,” the Outsider admits. “We both know that I am voidawful at this whole being human business. I only ever had the opportunity to watch, but there is so very little I remember of how to feel, and experience, and live, and all that I seem to do now is so very other to how humans have been for all those centuries I spent watching. And this is no different, I suppose. But this time it involves you, too.”

Corvo opens his mouth to argue, stops. “I don’t mind that you feel different about these things,” he settles on. “I’m just glad you told me.”

“I had to.” For you and for myself, both. The thought of it is too raw. The Outsider grins and instead says: “You always looked like a kicked pup when I smacked your hand away.”

Corvo gapes and the Outsider smiles wider.

“Or like a wolfhound that just got scolded for trying to eat without permission,” he teases.

“Mio-”

“Whenever I told you off you looked at me like a wolfhound begging for a piece of steak.”

“Mio!”

The Outsider bursts out laughing as blood rushes into Corvo’s cheeks. “Oh, feared Lord Protector, if only the nobles of Dunwall saw how easily you melt for me-” He yelps as Corvo buries his face into the crook of his neck, his beard prickling the tender skin, and the sensation makes him laugh harder. Corvo holds him down, pinning him into the pillows as the Outsider kicks out, struggling and giggling and pushing at Corvo’s shoulders as Corvo kisses the bare skin and nuzzles his collarbone.

This, he could get used to.