Scrung fingermouths

"I've been like this all day, y'know." Lucas says, like it's an accusation.

Magnus can only manage a nod. From the moment Lucas crawled into his lap, he's felt frozen, palms stuck hovering inches from Lucas' waist.

"Do you know how fucking hard it is, watching you do that shit all day?" He continues, nodding in the vague direction of Magnus' workbench, where his tools and carving project lie abandoned, and smirks. "How hard /I've/ been?"

Magnus' throat feels like sawdust. "A lot?"

A snort. "Yeah, Magnus. A lot hard."

Fingers walk down the pudge of Magnus' stomach to between them both, and he watches as they unbutton and slip inside Lucas' pants.

No underwear. Of course. Magnus inhales deep.

"'m starting to think maybe you didn't join me in the workshop because you're interested in wood after all."

Another snorted huff of laughter. "Gods. /Too easy/."

Before Magnus can ask what he means, Lucas' wrist is moving in slow circles, and he can hear the slick, wet sounds between them.

"It's fucking /torture/, Magnus," Lucas sighs, though he doesn't seem very tortured, "you've ruined me. I can barely get off without your fingers."

The room feels suddenly very warm. Lucas' wrist is still moving, sliding deeper between his legs, and his head is tilted back in a way that makes him look relaxed. Pretty.

"Y-You seem to be doing just fine."

He moans, though whether in pleasure or petulance Magnus can't be sure.

"You could be doing me better," he says, a slight hitch to his breath as he takes his hand from his pants and moves it, slow, to Magnus' lips, "don't you think?"

Magnus takes his fingers without hesitation, his hand finding Lucas' wrist to brace it - it's /a lot/ how he can wrap his fingers around it with room to spare - and sucks.

He's never neat, at this, but Lucas never chastises. He can't help a moan at the /taste/ of him, how he got three of his own fingers in him so easy but /still/ needs more. Bitten-short nails drag against his tongue, and heat blooms in his belly.

Lucas' free hand finds Magnus' hair, gripping and guiding the pace of his mouth. With no hands spare to touch himself, he takes to grinding down on Magnus' thigh, and even between both of their pants, Magnus can /feel/ him. The slick. The ache.

Deep-throating Lucas' fingers takes little effort, tiny as he is. Manoeuvring a hand to Lucas' crotch, at this angle, requires a tad more dexterity, but if the resulting whine is any indication, he thinks he's got it.

"Mags, /please/, I've been /waiting/," hips grind down as he plays with the nub of his dick, "don't tease."

He's burning hot, and wet, and Magnus' mouth is watering at the thought of tasting more than just the slick off his fingers. But Lucas has made it pretty clear what he's after, and that suits him just fine, too. He eases one finger into Lucas, both of them moaning in tandem at how he clenches, and then another.

Just two is enough. Two is a /stretch/, it feels like.

The fingers in his mouth run along his teeth, up on the roof of his mouth, touching as far back towards his throat as Lucas dares. Magnus knows he's drooling down to Lucas' wrist at this point, wet from more saliva now than come, but at least they're both equally messy.

Lucas fucks down on his fingers like it's the first and last chance he'll ever get. Like- like a /slut/. Not that Magnus has the moral high ground there. He's hard in his own pants, would probably be hard just from having loving fingers jammed down his throat, and he's sure his face would show it if Lucas were to look.

A choked, broken sound comes from Magnus' shoulder, where Lucas has buried his face, and he feels him constrict around his fingers like a fucking vice.

Distracted, Lucas' own fingers slip from his mouth, but Magnus stays resolute, milking him through waves of it until he makes him peak again barely a minute later. A dribble of watery fluid drips from his palm and onto the concrete floor. Magnus itches to taste it.

A number of long breaths later, Lucas adjusts his foggy glasses. "Good work. Keep up the uh, manual arts-and-craftings. Got a talent, with your hands."

Magnus grins, a retort on his lips, but with the way Lucas is slipping to his knees in front of his seat, he's not sure he'll be getting much more work done at all.