| Date: 6 January 2008
Characters: Brant Hysmith, Jack Harkness Location: outside, hotel room Link to IJ: thread #26116 |
| Previous |
 Brant let Jack have his hand back, and slid his own around to Jack's back, and left it there - fingers splayed wide, palm pressed between his shoulders.
He slowly eased out of the kiss, gradual stages that ended with a soft brush of his lips against Jack's. Then he simply tucked his face down against Jack's throat, breath warm, heart beating steadily and sank back into the warmth of the connection, arousal and feeling Jack around him. Being pet, being stroked, he let Jack have all the access to him he wanted and trusted that he'd tell him when and where and how he needed to be. He wasn't quite confident enough in himself to try to anticipate, but he was completely confident enough in Jack to know he wasn't going to be left floudering. Somehow that realization brought home just how much - and why - he loved Jack. Not nearly as profound as dying and coming back, but still something that moved Brant, deeply. |
 Brant's trust was humbling, every damn time, clear as day through the bond between them. That and the love, deep and pure and strong as love can be in the first overwhelming rush of acknowledgement, freed by the word. The words that demanded to be repeated, over and again, repeated and demonstrated until Jack had no more energy left to convey them.
"I love you," he told Brant softly, and then kissed him again, harder, fiercer, briefer, breaking from the siren lure of Brant's lips to return to his neck, his shoulder, teeth and tongue teasing patterns over skin as his hand slid lower, pulling Brant's leg to hook over his, bring them closer still. |
| Brant's breath caught in his throat at Jack's kiss, turning into a gasp when his mouth was freed again. He quickly forgot any protest as Jack's mouth moved, hot enough to almost burn, over his shoulder and neck. He growled softly, and even that growl turned into something softer and needier with the slide of Jack's hand against his leg, warm and strong and guiding.
The position, over Jack's, was just enough for him to feel a stretch, in his hip and the inside of his thigh, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Quite the contrary, it joined everything else Jack had done, was doing, to him, and the pleasurable shock of skin against skin. Everything blended together, love and arousal, flooding him with heat and need. He couldn't even react just then, except in the curl of his fingers against Jack's back, the scrape of his teeth and brush of his breath against Jack's skin, and the low, soft, shuddering sounds that escaped his throat. |
| Those sounds were going to severely try Jack's control, beautiful, sweet sounds together with the steady flow of arousal meeting and feeding and multiplying between them, growing with each heartbeat, each touch, each kiss.
Each bite, holy fuck, the feel of Brant's teeth on his neck had apparently found a place hotwired to his cock, sharp spark of arousal gathering bright and heavy in his balls. Jack groaned, low and quiet, arm brushing against Brant's thigh as he stroked back up to curve fingers around his ass. Slow, hell, he had to go slow, and he tilted his head back, trying to control his breathing and remember if he'd had enough forethought to stow the lube anywhere handy to the bed. |
| Connected to Jack, mentally entangled as well as physically, he was aware of Jack trying to stay slow, stay in control, try to think.
With Jack's hand stroking up the back of his thigh and around his ass, though, that awareness never even came close to making it to conscious though. He whimpered softly, eyes fluttering closed briefly and nuzzling, licking, and sucking and nipping the line of Jack's jaw and throat, worrying the skin gently with his teeth. He was restless with arousal, heat and tension coiled low in his stomach, balls, and cock, transferred to his hand on Jack's back and the press of his body against Jack's. He just did not want to let go, even as the knowledge that Jack was going to need to move slowly worked its way into his love and lust fogged brain. |
| Shit, no, he hadn't, and what was more, he'd probably need to find some way of replenishing his stocks. Brant squirming against him wasn't making the idea of moving away any more inviting, and Brant's mouth on his throat was making any idea pretty damn hard to hold onto for longer than the space between kisses.
Not to mention Brant's cock, hard against him, pushing against his hip, driving the possibility of thinking into distant impossibility, mind filled with heat and want and hell, he'd have to..."Brant," he whispered, and that wasn't going to work, word filled with longing and lust, soft and breathy. Jack cleared his throat, moaned, swallowed hard and tried again. "Brant. I'm gonna have to...I'll be right back." |
| Brant really, really did not want to let Jack go. He actually, quite literally, growled in response to Jack saying he needed to go. Bit down on with a bit of force, where Jack's shoulder and throat met, like he was going to hold him there with his teeth.
Fortunately, it didn't take him long to realize why Jack needed to leave, and he was able to let go of Jack, hands and teeth and even easing his mind back a bit, with a shuddering and shaky exhale, and move away from him. "Okay." |
| "Okay," Jack echoed, breathlessly, not moving. He wasn't entirely certain that he could move, still shuddering in reaction to the fierceness of that bite, filled with the insane desire to laugh to let out the overspill of savage delight at the strength of Brant's desire, perfect reflection of his own.
"Okay," he tried again, flat on his back, head turning to watch Brant. "Jesus, I can't move." And that did have him laughing, at his own ridiculousness and the sheer force of will it took to push up to a sitting position. |
| Brant looked back at Jack, apparently calm but there was a lot of tension in the way he was holding himself, and a glint of humor, frustrated arousal and something just a little bit wicked in his eyes.
When Jack finally managed to sit up, he rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow. "If you can't, I'll do it for you," he gasped when his cock came to rest against the blanket. He arched, tensed, in pure reflex and instinct, before he got a grip on his reactions. He bit his pillow, settled back down and stayed very carefully still. |
| Once he'd managed to rein in his instinctive reaction to the undulation of Brant's body that seemed to convey the most deliciously impure invitation Jack could remember ever receiving (not that his memory was at its greatest ever moment), Jack drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and pushed away from the bed, standing on somewhat shaky legs to cross the room to collect supplies.
"You stay right there," he cautioned, returning more quickly than he'd departed, impatient to return to the warmth of Brant's body. "Or, right here." Here being back against Jack, who was intent on taking another kiss to make up for his brief absence. |
| Brant not only stayed while Jack was gone, he stayed completely still. He was well aware that moving around would do nothing good, but would drive him absolutely insane. He bit the pillow and waited.
It thankfully turned out to be a short wait. When he felt the mattress shift with Jack's weight, he groaned. At Jack's voice he pushed up onto his elbow, moving back to his side, back into Jack's arms, back against Jack, and meeting his kiss, even as he settled into place. |
| Back into place, setting Jack's world (whichever one it happened to be) back to rights with that simple, easy movement, instinctive fit of matching bodies and Brant's kiss, sweet and sharp and fresh, hot and perfect, licking in deep to taste and tease, lips crushed against teeth and less important than maintaining that connection, physical, mental, emotional.
"You," Jack managed hoarsely between kisses, "are too damn sexy." And quite possibly dangerous, except if there was a trap, Jack had hurled himself into it, headlong and eyes open, and those were all the words he'd be able to manage for a few minutes, reverting to non-verbal communication. |
| Brant made a low sound, not quite a growl but still rough with protest and frustration when Jack pulled away to talk, and pressed back into the kiss. Wide open, slick heat and suction and the occasional scrape and sting of teeth.
Even while he pressed into that kiss, clashed into it, really, he was weaving the connection between them tighter, as instinctive as pressing his body into Jack's. His currently trembling body, from nothing more than arousal and need and, perhaps conversely, heat. |
| Easing off enough to slow down was going to need a huge amount of self-control, and a fair amount of Brant-control, but luckily Jack had about a hundred fifty years practise in self-control, and some of that had to be transferable.
In a while. Once he'd finished kissing the breath out of Brant. |
| Brant moved his hand to Jack's jaw, fingers angled to curl around the back of Jack's neck and, kissed back. Tried his level best to give back everything he was getting, didn't pull back, even to breathe.
Somehow, in the breathless burn, and the deafening roar of blood in his ears, in the determined press and push and focus on Jack, and his mind against Jack's, it shifted. Actually, it flipped. Not dramatically or instantly, but gradually turned over. He stopped being so desperate. Physical need eased off, as he realized that Jack was here, and alive. Not just knowing it, but believing it. Not even just that, but feeling it, in the taste and heat and warmth and strength. It wasn't much different, really. He was still kissing, until he was dizzy and he had to pull back to catch that breath. He was still achingly hard, skin hot and flushed, reacting physically. It was just enough to let him get him away from the edge of coming completely apart. |
| The moment when the urgency eased was distinct, gradual slide from frantic hunger into something easier, stronger deeper, breaking again with the kiss, and Jack blinked, eyes heavy, chest heaving with shallow breaths, and then laughed from sheer happiness, rippling between them in warm, joyous bursts. His hand slid from Brant's face, down his neck, to press flat against his chest, not pushing away, just pressing against warm, smooth skin, palm flat over the unsteady syncopation of heartbeat.
"I love you," Jack murmured, soft and definite, feeling too much not to spill over into words. "I love you, Christ, you're amazing." Amazing enough that Jack leaned in for another kiss, short and sweet and light, finishing with a gentle nip to Brant's lower lip, and he finally freed a hand, reaching behind him to grab the lube, holding it in plain sight. "Ready to start? Tell me to stop, any time." |
| The nip to his lower lip sent a wave of heat through Brant, making his skin feel too tight, drawing up his nipples, making his cock harden a little more.
It was the laugh that really got him though, and the love and happiness shimmering between him. He wanted to say ' I love you, too', but that felt a little cheap, somehow. Like he was just echoing, and knowing that Jack could feel it. Instead, he said, "I know you do." And let the love be what it was. There and tangible and solid and strong. A quick look at the lube, a deep breath and his eyes went back to Jack's. "I'll let you know," he promised. No point trying to lie about or hide the flutter of nerves, low in his stomach with clench of arousal. He didn't much want to, anyway. As far as he was concerned, for right now at least, they were just a part of the thing. He was okay with that. He was okay with Jack. |
| "I know you will," Jack responded, and there was no way that Brant wasn't getting kissed again for that, hand sliding across to tease fingertips over a nipple, tracing around and across, momentary fascination with the texture, the warmth, the resistance, and the sweet, soft sounds Brant could make.
He shifted back, opening the lube, and then slid one arm around Brant's shoulders to hold him close, other hand moving close to squeeze lube out onto his fingertips, steady circles of thumb against fingers to warm through. Meeting Brant's gaze, he took a slow breath, looking directly into his eyes, first hint of any discomfort. "Put your leg 'round me again, honey, let me in." |
| There was something a little deliberate in the way Brant responded to Jack's touch, now. Still responsive, still open and honest and willing, but not just accepting sensation and arousal as it came. Instead he was seeking Jack's hands, and his own response, out. His mind gradually focusing more on now instead of later.
He held Jack's eyes, kissed him lightly and, yeah, sweetly, and then slid his knee back up over Jack's, tilting himself a little further into him in the process. He couldn't hold Jack's eyes there, and tucked his chin down so his forehead was pressed against Jack's chest. As he settled, aware of just how open and exposed he was, the light contact with Jack's mind got just a little more tightly woven. He wanted this. He really, really, did. He wanted Jack. And leaning on him. |
| Every nuance, every shift in mood was so clear to read, easier with the mental link than following body language, every signal reinforced in every way, mental, physical, emotional. The tuck of Brant's head into his shoulder had Jack tightening his hold, kissing Brant's hair. "Just hold on, Brant. Hold on, relax for me, don't let me hurt you. Don't ever."
Last thing he wanted to do, to hurt Brant, and definitely not when he was aiming at pleasure. He teased a single finger down Brant's crease, skimming over warm skin, brushing lightly over his hole before repeating, steady, rhythmic movements, waiting and watching for Brant's reactions, cock hard against Brant's hip, pressed between them, but he didn't move, didn't dare move, everything waiting on Brant. |
| "I won't," he murmured, without moving, fingers curling against Jack in silent echo of the spoken promise.
The first intimate brush of Jack's finger made Brant jump, just a little. Not enough to make him move, really, just enough to press him more firmly into Jack, shift and tightening of muscles before they relaxed again. Not because he didn't like it, or even that he didn't expect it. Quite the contrary, he knew it was coming and it was perfectly nice and the implication did as much to add to the banked heat of his arousal as Jack pressed against his cock. It was just new. His breath caught, his heart seemed to skip a beat, but then he just settled back. The repeating, the rhythm was so easy to fall into, to predict, that he relaxeda gain fairly quickly, and made a low noise of approval, barely edged with want. "I'm okay," he mumbled, brush of breath and flutter of eyelashes against Jack, otherwise doing his best to stay downshifted and, as Jack had said, relaxed. |
| "Oh, love," Jack murmured, unstoppable smile curving his lips against Brant's hair, already high on the reactions, on Brant's trust in him, so simple, so easy, so deep. "You're a hell of a lot better than okay."
One hell of a lot better, with those sweet sounds, the tense and release of Brant's body, the slow burn of growing arousal building between them, his anticipation, Brant's, his movements, Brant's reaction, slide and rock and gentle, gentle circles of his finger as he slowed the rhythm, focusing in on that one point, no pressure, just enough to give Brant a chance to get used to the feel of that, of his fingertip circling the tight pucker of muscle, too firm to be a tease, too light to be a threat. |
| He groaned softly. Jack's cock against his hip, Jack's chest under his forehead, feel of muscle and skin under his hand, sound his own heart in his ears, warmth and slow, steady spiral of arousal and need.
The warm slick glide of Jack's finger, just enough pressure to make him feel it, make him want to push back, but not quite enough to actually make him do it. Not teasing, not really even frustrated, just ever heightening pull of want, slowly starting to edge out his nerves, or at least cover them up, and somehow Jack's care inspiring trust, increasing anticipation and making him feel loved. He sucked softly at Jack's skin, tongue dragging over and tasting, teeth scraping because like hell he was just going to lie there and wait. |
| That was pretty much one of the things Jack loved about Brant, that every damn thing he gave and offered was taken and given right back, amplified.
"Beautiful," Jack whispered, eyes closing to focus in on feeling for Brant's reactions, feeling for that moment when Brant wasn't just relaxed, but wanting. "So fucking gorgeous, Brant, you're amazing." Already amazing, so damn soon. Trusting hard in Brant's promise to speak up if he wasn't happy, Jack kissed Brant's head again, turned his hand, and pushed the first joint of his finger in, breath catching at the tight, hot clench welcoming him. |
| Jack could probably have talked Brant into coming. Literally, just talked to him like that and had him writhing and panting and needing, if he'd really put his mind to it. Not that Brant was thinking about it, or but there was just something about Jack talking to him that got him. Made his heart clench and his cock ache and his throat tight.
So he was aroused and wanting when Jack's finger just barely pressed into him. It still felt almost shocking. There was just something about it that was just foreign and strange. Wasn't painful, wasn't bad, but the sensation itself wasn't exactly something he was prepared for. There was a moment of tension, spine arching so his head was pressed down against Jack's chest, teeth clenching - holding his breath and blood rushing louder in his ears. Mind tightening around Jack's, right along with the physical clench and grip of his body - arms, legs, fingers, teeth and ass, around Jack. "Fuck," he murmured. And pressed back. Not because he thought he should, but because that was his reflex, at least for the moment. |
| "Oh, Jesus, yeah," Jack whispered back, best as he could when Brant had just stolen his breath away with that reaction. That welcome, that silent request, so fucking perfect his heart was aching with it. "Yeah, just like that, love, let me in..."
In just a little further in response to Brant's push, and then back, easing off only to return, deeper, and again, slow and steady and relentless, lips parted on soft breath, mouth drying out at how it felt, tight, hot, alive, restless shift of hips as his cock joined in on the anticipation. "Keep breathing for me, Brant, just relax, keep breathing, keep it going, you can do this." |
| Brant tightened his arm around Jack and bit him softly - just once.
Then it was all down to the press and retreat and slowly deepening slide push into him, and opening him up. Jack's voice, steady and low and coaching and relaxing, just as rhythmic as Jack's heart and more steady than his own breathing. He wasn't hurting, he wasn't even uncomfortable - not yet, anyway. There was just focus on not tightening up, and going breath to breath and word to word to stay there. He'd never been more aware of his own body and breathing before. It was. Hugely intimate and open, enough for even Brant to feel the threat of it, but he wasn't thinking about that. Not yet. He was just breathing, rough and unsteady, listening to Jack's voice, believing him without really having to consciously hear him, and working with him. |
| Slow, so slow, the whole of time was slowing down for Jack, if there'd even been any time in that place. Everything eased down treacle slow, thick and sweet and Brant with him, against him, trusting him, the enormity of that first time shimmering between them, every moment as new to Jack as to Brant simply because it was new to Brant.
Still just one, still easing through, slow and steady until his finger was in deep, twisting and curving, drawing back, seeking, stroking, almost holding his breath in anticipation of Brant's reaction. "That's it, fuck, so tight, love, so perfect, you're perfect, doing so well, keep going for me, trust me, let me..." |
| He kept trusting Jack, kept letting him, kept going and working and focusing and trying to stay relaxed, but with the slow sink of Jack's finger into him, it got harder and when Jack's finger crooked and stroked and pulled back and curved and found, there was nothing in the world that was going to keep him relaxed.
He tightened around Jack, jerked in toward him, teeth clamping down on Jack's shoulder with a sudden, rough and wordless cry. He literally went dizzy, his vision flared to white, his nails bit into the skin at Jack's back and the surprise and sudden, breath-taking intensity of sensation flared between them, all pleasure and want and need and somewhere, even while he was gasping, panting and shaking, there was the realization that yeah. This was good. This was so good, already. And it was just going to get better. |
| Better, hell, it was already perfect. Jack stilled his hand when Brant tensed, tightened, nails and teeth scoring into his skin and those were marks he'd be wearing for a few days (as long as he didn't die). Marks he'd be happy to wear, arm automatically tightening around Brant's shoulders when the young man practically burrowed into him.
Falling silent until the spasm passed, Jack rode out the rush of hunger that spiked sharp, picking up with slow movements again when Brant finally relaxed. Without that mental connection, he'd have laughed in joy when Brant reacted, but with it, he didn't have enough air, lungs emptied, breath shallow as every single action and reaction fed back and amplified on each other. "You're good, Brant, you're good, you're okay, stay with me, love, keep with it, gonna make you feel so good, just stay with me." |
| Brant came down again, stages timed to the rise and fall of Jack's voice.
He relaxed his hand on Jack's back and smoothed his thumb across the scratches. Let go of Jack's shoulder to press his lips against the marks he'd left there with a sudden, rough, rush of unsteady breath and the suggestion of apology. He knew what was there now, understood very well what the appeal was, even through the intimacy. He shifted with a sound that was closer to a whimper than a moan and mouthed Jack's skin almost delicately. Shoulder and side of his neck, hot and soft and wet. Found Jack's rhythm and rocked into it. Slow and easy, back into Jack's hand, forward to slide against the silky heat of Jack. "You're amazing," he murmured. As near as he could come for turning thought and feeling into spoken words, and it didn't even scratch the surface of the shaky heat, the want, and the bright, unreserved love. |
| Oh, Christ, Brant's mouth was going to undo him at that rate, the delicate scrape of teeth and slide of lips against flesh still tender from earlier biting, and Jack abandoned words to produce something between a groan and a growl.
Any hint of an apology would have received short shrift, but what he got instead was Brant's soft words and that simple, open, trusting give of Brant surrendering to his lead, following his rhythm, deepening and strengthening desire, arousal buzzing hot through his veins, pumping hard in his chest. "Look who's talking," he managed, pull and slide of Brant's ass around his fingers more temptation than he could resist indefinitely. Love flowed around, above, below, through them, connecting them, surrounding them with each kiss, each word, each unstoppable undulation of bodies. "Can you take more, Brant, ready for more, don't let me hurt you, just tell me when you're ready, doing so damn well." |
| Falling into the rhythm, the push and pull and slide and grip and press into him, the possessiveness inherit on what was happening between them, was easy.
Asking, or realizing that he had to talk, was harder. Not because he was shy, not because he didn't trust Jack, not because he was embarrassed or ashamed, but just simply because he kept getting lost in sensation and emotion and the tangle of emotion between them. Jack's prompting was enough to pull him out, far enough to gasp and shudder again, pulling back to meet Jack's eyes. His pupils were blown with lust, eyes dark and brilliantly blue, skin flushed. "Yeah, I'm ready. Please." And three words was about the extent of it. He dropped his head back down, felt Jack breathing, listened to his heart and tried to keep remembering how to breathe. |
| Most beautiful sight Jack could remember ever seeing, that expression on Brant's face, almost glazed, eyes bright and dark at once, lips shaping words like he'd forgotten what language was. Jack wouldn't blame him if he had, returning a nod to Brant's words, a gentle squeeze to his shoulders, hand stroking slow at Brant's upper arm as he pulled his finger out of Brant entirely, teeth gritted against the loss, and felt around for that precious packet of lube.
More lube, no such thing as too much, or at least a hell of a long way before they reached it, and Jack returned his hand to Brant's ass, thumb resting across a cheek as he pressed two fingers in, twisted close together, slow deepening movements as he eased Brant further open. |
| It still didn't hurt, but it was uncomfortable. He could feel the pressure, was aware of the stretch and just how big Jack's hands were. He hadn't noticed that before, but he sure was now.
He went quiet, went a little more still. Arousal was still there, but he was having to work a little harder not to flinch away as Jack's fingers worked their way deeper into his body. Worked him open. He huffed air out his nose, refusing to tighten up at all, even his hands on Jack's back. "Jack," he said, softly. He wasn't flinching away, he wasn't looking for a stop, and he didn't need it slowed down. He was just looking for the reassurance, and, more importantly, adding some verbal contact to the mental and physical. |
| Brant might not be tensing, but the effort going into not doing so was palpable, the stillness both mental and physical, the hint of need in his voice that wasn't sexual. Jack slowed, not stopping, just slowing, and relaxed his grip on Brant's shoulders, still firm but not tight.
"You're okay, Brant," he murmured. "You doing great, it's fine, you're fine, just think what it was like first time with one, it's the same again, you can do this, I know you can do this." But if Brant didn't believe it, that was what mattered. Not the impatient demands of his cock, aching to feel that hot tightness and welcome. "Doesn't have to be now, you just let me know, only as far as you want, love." |
| He was already wrapped around Jack, physically. Leg over Jack's, arm around him, face against his shoulder as much as his ass around Jack's fingers. Jack was holding him much the same way.
Mentally was there, too. Weave and tangle of emotion and sensation, not quite coherent or focused enough for thought. Love and arousal and tug and pull, solid presence and warm grip and connection. He still wanted more. He believed, absolutely, that he could have more. Part of that was just simple awareness and knowledge of mechanics, and that sex happened all the time. Part of it was the more practical experience of having already been on the other end of this with Jack. Part of it was sheer arrogance and the certainty that he could sure as hell do anything that - well, not anything that Jack could do, but this thing that people who wanted it less, cared less, and were way less intelligent, with partners who were way, way less desirable, could do. It was still intimidating as hell, and he was still not completely comfortable. He did tense up, just briefly enough to really grip Jack's fingers, and really feel it. He made a low sound, half-groan and half-growl, and pressed back as he relaxed again. "Oh, you better believe I can, and if you stop I will be really annoyed," he murmured. |
| Jack cursed under his breath - what was left of it - at that sudden tight clench around his fingers. The sensation travelled straight to his cock, drawing his balls up tight, and he shifted, thigh pushing up between Brant's legs, needing the closer contact.
Needing more. "I'm not stopping," he promised, and he wasn't, no way in hell he was stopping, hadn't stopped at all until Brant squeezed in around his fingers. And to prove it, he drew back, curved his fingers, and very deliberately stroked. |
| Brant whimpered at the solid, heated contact of Jack's thigh between his, against his cock and behind his balls. There was no way in hell he could not rock into that, and he didn't even try.
The heel of his hand smoothed up Jack's spine, heading for his hair. When Jack pulled his fingers back, and pushed back with that sliding stroke the whimper became a whine became a snarl and he moved, shifted, curled his fingers around the back of Jack's neck and lifted his head to catch his mouth in a hot kiss, pushing, biting and demanding. |
| Another level, another notch of tension, everything shifting and tightening and heating with that sound, that kiss, hot and wet and deep and messy and Jack didn't give a flying fuck for anything that wasn't Brant, control snapping under the pressure of need as his fingers pushed further, deeper, stretching and turning and dragging over Brant's prostate again and again, purposeful determined stimulation.
Words, hell, he didn't have any words left, but what he did have was overpowering, overwhelming want focused in tight on Brant, fed and fed back through the mental touch, clashing and slipping deeper, closer, meshing more completely than he'd dared let himself for years, decades, for-fucking-ever. |
| There was absolutely no way for Brant to catch his breath. Not between Jack's mouth and hands and mind and thigh. Not with the slide of his cock against Jack's skin, the bite and kiss and gasp and thrust of the kiss. Most certainly not with the way Jack's fingers were moving inside him, stroking and dragging over his prostate again and again. No way in hell with the deeper push of Jack's mind into his.
He wanted to. Do something. He wanted to do anything. Push or pull or roll or ask - he didn't know what he wanted, he just knew he did. With intensity and focus that was Jack's and his own and that set him on fucking fire, and made him damned near helpless. He couldn't even breathe. He could barely move. He was just absolutely gone, so open he was aching with it, and still, somehow, managing to meet Jack. Oh, it wasn't graceful and perfect and experienced, but he wasn't backing away, wasn't guarded, wasn't holding a damn thing in reserve. He finally, (finally!), slid his hand around to Jack's shoulder, heel of his hand against the front and pushed. Not away, because it wasn't just his hand that was pushing, it was his whole body. Staying with Jack and just. Back and over and lit up with Jack's want and his own need. |
| Jack didn't give a damn for graceful or experienced, but he was pretty sure that it was perfect. Perfect heat and urgency building and twisting tight, perfect grip and release of Brant's ass around his fingers, perfect slide and meet and dance of the kiss they shared, took, gave. Perfect sounds, sweet Christ, he had to get a grip on himself. Rather than just the grip he had on Brant, skin slipsliding under his fingers, slick with sweat, mirrored on his own skin, hair sticking to his forehead in damp, uneven spikes.
"So...fuck, Brant," he gasped, and gave in to the push, rolling and holding tight to bring them both together until he was on his back with a living, breathing blanket of hot Brant sprawled over him. "Brant, honey, love, shit, tell me you're doing okay, tell me you want more, please..." |
| He was sure - sure - that it couldn't literally be as hot as it felt. Heated skin, slick slide of sweat, teeth sliding and biting and so fucking hot it felt like he was burning up from the inside out, and searing the air until he couldn't breathe.
He bit sharply at Jack's throat, tongue dragging across skin, tasting salt, sucking and then nipping again. Shaking with arousal and lust and want and need and god, hot. Just completely held and lost. He whimpered, then he growled. "Jack, where is the god damn condom?" Well, it wasn't exactly a pretty declaration, but it was articulate and intelligible. He'd be proud of that. Later. |
| The bite shot straight to Jack's groin, balls pulling up tight, cock already aching hard and he hadn't thought he could feel any more urgency, but hell, it was there, wildfire bright licking strong and growing.
And then the words, thank any god in existence, thank fuck, not pretty, no, but perfect and exactly what he needed to hear. Except that meant he had to think, and thinking wasn't the easiest activity when most of his blood had deserted his brain to fly south. "It's..." Shit, where was it? Not in his pants, please, not in his pants, he must have left some..."Bedside cabinet, over to your right, just..." and that meant he had to let go, slide his fingers out with a hiss at the sudden contrast in temperature. "I'll get it." Give him a few moments to get back hold of some of his self control, because he was going to need it. "Just...roll over for me love, hands and knees." |
| He protested the loss of Jack's fingers with a soft groan and even softer snarl, but he moved.
He didn't want to leave Jack, even to roll over. He didn't want to give up the contact and security of all that skin to skin contact. He didn't let himself hesitate - he didn't even let himself think about hesitating - because it wouldn't end well. He rolled off Jack, left instead of right so he could get to the condom, and onto his stomach. He stopped there, just long enough for a deep breath and to suppress the returning edge of nerves, then pushed up onto all fours, head down, fingers curled, knees apart, and kept right on breathing, and right on not thinking about anything but Jack. |
| Jack wasn't planning on giving up contact - no chance, no way, no how, even if Brant was rolling in the opposite direction to the one he needed to go in. Especially not after that snarl, hell, sounds like that were directly hotwired to his cock judging by the reaction they got, pulling desire taut in his stomach, spreading slow flames through him, veins carrying liquid heat instead of blood.
For a few seconds, he followed Brant, draped himself over his back, murmuring reassurance and love (no need to voice the ragged, aching desire, that one was thick enough in the air to taste it, to feel the weight of it pressing against skin) and then forced himself away, hand trailing down Brant's spine until he was out of reach, shortest possible amount of time before he was tearing the foil. Breath hissed sharp through his teeth as he rolled the condom on, and shifted back, pausing to turn Brant's head up for a deep, fierce kiss before moving, down and away and out of kissing distance but close enough for so much more. "Gorgeous," he breathed, slow and rough, uneven and broken for short breaths. "So fucking gorgeous, Brant, you have no idea..." His hands found homes on Brant's hips, fingers curving to cup hipbones as his thumbs stroked smooth over the firm curves of Brant's ass. |
| Brant barely had time to feel the chill of air against his exposed skin before Jack was back, chest against his back, heat and weight and press. Metaphorical as well as literal, making him gasp.
His fingers curled in the blanket, and his spine arched up into Jack. He followed Jack's guidence into the kiss, met it open and warm and willing, slick heat and a barely there sharp edge of his teeth. Jack moving down, hands on his hips, thumbs stroking and there was no denying that he was urgently, desperately, aroused. There was no denying, either, the flutter of nerves, awareness and anticipation right there, at the front of his mind and the pit of his stomach, all wound around the flare and drive of need. It just made him want to move. "Jack. Please." |
| "Shhh," Jack responded, automatic need to reach out, touch and ease that quiet whimper into warmth, into pleasure, into a need stronger and less desperate. "Shh, love, it's okay, you're doing great, you're...oh, fuck, please..."
The echo was voiced before Jack realised, need and control warring with each other as he forced a hand away from the smooth heat of Brant's hip to collect the remnants of lube, almost holding his breath as he slicked it on, cool hiss of gel through thin rubber and every damn scrap of lube in the sachet squeezed out. "Breathe for me, Brant, relax, keep breathing, just...ahh..." Words faded into intense concentration and fierce self discipline as his cock pressed, gentle but firm, against Brant's ass, gritting his teeth against the sudden, overwhelming tight heat that gripped his head, kicking the mental connection a step closer, further entwined, more open. |
| Jack's voice - not just listening to it, but hearing it - kept Brant steady while Jack moved behind him, shifted and adjusted his position. Kept him breathing, kept him at least mostly calm.
The fade into silence, the feel of Jack's mind and cock pressing into him at the same time and there was no way he could possibly have any defense left. Trusting Jack, believing in him, he'd had damn little in the way of defense,to begin with. What he had, instinct, self-preservation - whatever was there fell apart under and around Jack. Heat, and threat and pressure and then one moment of bright, sharp pain that made everything flare white. Made him flinch physically, and fall back into Jack mentally at the same time, with a soft, barely there sound of something between distress and surprise. Left him fighting his physical response to tense up around Jack, pushing back into it instead. |
| The pain was shared as distinctly and fully as the need had been, and Jack froze, leaning back as Brant pushed back, not willing to trust him on that one. Not pushing forwards, not rushing.
"Brant," he said, soft and certain, grip easing to smooth his left hand flat across Brant's back, steady, even circles, another focus. "Brant, listen to me. I'm not gonna hurt you. And I'm not gonna force you." Though, hell, it wasn't easy to speak when his head was pounding with each heavy heartbeat, breath catching shallow in an attempt to regain control. "I can get you through this, or we can stop, plenty of other options, your choice, love, I'm never gonna force you." |
| Next |