Work Text:
There is a parasite lying dormant under his skin.
But it does not feed off his flesh, nor his blood. It feeds off the starlight poured down his throat, the warmth of the hands cupping his face.
Olruggio kisses him, soft as he is with everything. Gentle, quiet things, a tender press of their lips and a shared breath.
It makes the leaves under his skin sing, precocious branches pricking his arteries. They want to be closer to him, desperate to crawl closer to their source of nourishment, to drink up every drop of his breath and cradle him in their boughs.
They cry that they cannot wait to meet him once more, to rupture and warp flimsy flesh to be able to hold him truly, for him to nurture their growth directly, to press kiss upon kiss to their silvery bark and caress their delicate blooms. They know he is warm, that he is safe, that he would tend to them with utmost kindness.
Qifrey cannot breathe. The branches constrict his lungs, monopolising his blood flow. He feels dizzy, pushing Olruggio away and gasping and gasping and gasping because he can't breathe -
Can Olly see it? The writhing mass underneath his skin, the leaves poking through his glasses? Can he hear the tinkling of leaves, so enraptured in starlight? Can he hear the way his heart thunders, the way his lips stutter, the way he melts under his caress like pure silver only to have his roots tangle through him, winding through his spine and pinning him in place?
Olruggio holds him, worry etched onto his face. He fumbles with his cloak and pulls it off him, instead cradling him with it like a blanket, and pulls his shirt up, exposing his pale chest.
"Is that better? Qifrey, I told you we should have brought your inhaler!"
Qifrey's chest shudders. Olruggio isn't kissing him anymore, but he's still holding him. His warm hands pull his cloak around him to keep him cosy, pulling his back flush against his chest instead of letting him flop onto the floor. Even without his cloak around him, Qifrey is sure he wouldn't get cold.
The sun's a star too, right? Olruggio is all the warmth he could ever need.
Despite the layers being pulled off, it doesn't make it any easier to breathe. The branches consume his lungs, creeping along the back of his throat and blurring his vision, black spots and compressed nerves.
"Qifrey?"
Olruggio looks down at him, but Qifrey can't even see his expression clearly. He can hear his concern, though, his worry. Qifrey shakes his head. It doesn't make anything better.
The branches retreat, the leaves hiding themselves shyly. They are causing their solace pain, and how are they meant to grow like this? They will be quiet for now, to gnaw on guilt and touch-starved hunger until the time comes to let themselves be satiated once again, to give in to temptation and let themselves be held, to be kissed and held reverently, to be cared for like the most precious thing in the world.
Olly strokes his head. "Calming down now, huh? Sorry, I shouldn't have kissed you so much."
It's not his fault. It's never his fault. He is radiant and he is hapless but to grow towards him.
Olly tilts his head to look up at him. The sun has started to set, golden orange rays spinning his hair into caramel and his eyes set alight. Nothing but devotion, a love that would stretch on forever.
His chest aches. His jaw trembles.
Olly sighs and presses their cheeks together, gentle hands brushing against his skin as they pull his shirt back down, clasping his cloak around him once again.
He is searingly warm, all comfort and round edges and it stirs inside of him, like leaves fluttering in his nauseous stomach, like his heart being squeezed.
The wind is light, breeze gentle as it tussles their hair, grass tickling where it sways against their legs.
Qifrey tangles their hands together, a small concession, for Olly's sake and not his own selfishness.
Olly smiles down at him, sweeter than any fruit he could hope to bear.
All roads lead to him. His warm body and his gaze, a home just for him.
The parasite scratches the back of his throat.