Work Text:
Teleus swears as he comes, Relius’ hands wringing it out of him like one wrings out a cloth. Pleasure sweeps over him, thighs shaking, pushing up into that grip as he holds on desperately to Relius’ shoulders.
Coming down, Teleus takes the cloth to clean himself up, and then takes Relius’ hands to clean him too. Delicate now, running over the knobs of once-broken bones, missing fingers, thick yellowed nails that had to be regrown.
Relius smirks, kisses him slow and deep, stirring the quiescent embers of lust as always.
No one can resist these hands. Never have, never will.