| Date: 6 January 2008
Characters: Brant Hysmith, Jack Harkness Location: outside, hotel room Link to IJ: thread #26116 |
| Previous |
 Heart pounding, breath shallow and fast, he dropped his head with a very soft snarl. It was all just instinctive reaction, primal and clear and clean, but not angry.
It took the hand on his back, the slow circles and slide of skin to draw his focus shallow enough to unlock some of the tension, his breathing to even and to be able to speak. "You're not forcing me, but I need you to move. Jack, please. I love you. Trust me, too." |
 "I do." The words were quiet but definite, punctuated by a soft kiss to Brant's back as Jack leaned in closer. "I do. Keep breathing for me, just keep breathing, relax, breathe slow for me."
It wasn't even worth mentioning to say if Brant was hurting, because Jack was pretty sure that he'd know, almost as soon as Brant did. Maybe even before. Trust. It wasn't a thing he gave lightly, but he didn't hesitate to think about why he trusted Brant. He just trusted, accepted, slid his hand around to cup Brant's cock, and moved, slow, steady push in. |
| He slowed his breathing down when Jack asked him too, having to focus on it a bit. Focusing on it calmed him down and relaxed him further, and everything got easier.
The push in wasn't instantly comfortable. Having Jack inside him was undeniably good - and felt good - but it wasn't quite comfortable. It was new. It was alien. It was intimate and invasive and connected in a way he'd never felt. It wasn't comfortable, but damn it was good. He flattened his hands, groaned softly and stayed still for a moment. Jack's hand warm around his cock, Jack's cock solid and hot inside him, feeling the other man's mind and cock and the beat of his fucking heart, through the tight connection. "My god," he murmured, sounding awed. |
| In any other circumstances, Jack would take that as an invitation to make a crack about religion and that little backwater moon over in the Horsehead Nebula where he had once been mistaken for a god, but not those circumstances.
Not when every sense he had was taken over by the all-encompassing grip and heat of Brant's body, by the slow, gradual relaxation and welcome and every breath, every heartbeat synchronised, so attuned that there was no other option. Brant breathed, he breathed. Brant groaned, and it rippled through mentally and physically until Jack was groaning in almost perfect unison. "Brant, you're...oh, fuck, honey, perfect..." And only the start, and more to come for them both, in every possible sense of the word. Heartbeat unsteady, sweat beading on his eyelashes, heat in every dry breath he took, Jack shifted balance and moved, small movements, close to shaking with the effort of control, out, in, hand mimicking each slide on Brant's cock. |
| It would have been easy to get uncomfortable again, as Jack started to move - the slide back out, push back in, all tight and hot and felt so fucking amazing but was so damn new.
But with the sheer intensity of sensation itself, the heat and weight of Jack at his back, the hand on his cock and he was busy just trying to breathe. He adjusted himself, steadied his grip and braced himself. Let Jack control the rhythm, but gradually found himself shifting back to meet him, breath shallow and ragged, pulse skipping, fingers curled. He wanted to talk, but the connection between them had gone way, way beyond Brant's ability to express. |
| Speech was the one thing that was never going to desert Jack, unless his mouth was otherwise occupied. And since he tended to talk with his mouth full, that one was debatable, too.
Granted, his voice was rough and breathy and broken with quiet moans at the building sensation, but it was his, and nothing was going to stop him using it. "Relax, love, so tight, fuck, perfect, you're fantastic, Brant, gorgeous, let me in, let me...feel so damn good, you're..." And there, the moment when tension shifted from pain and instinctive resistance to acceptance and reciprocation, the moment when Brant followed and returned, when rhythm joined them in steady increasing pace. The moment Jack paused, grinned, and shifted his hips, searching for the right angle. |
| There wasn't much doubt when Jack found the angle he was looking for.
Brant arched up, cat like and toward Jack, tightened around his cock and screamed. It wasn't a particularly loud sound, it sure as hell wasn't a pained one, but it wasn't any less a scream for that. There was no restraint, control, hesitation - nothing in his push back into Jack, instinctive and fluid and hard. |
| Beautiful, so damn beautiful, and Jack was transfixed, ignoring the need to blink because he couldn't take his eyes off of Brant, off that perfect arch of spine, off the shape and shadows of muscles flexing, off the glimpse of face he had when Brant's head tipped back.
And then Brant pushed back and Jack's own eyes closed, instinctive and irresistible, breath stolen by the force and ease of Brant's movement, dizzying rush of lust pulling tight at his balls and he couldn't, couldn't wait, eyes opening again to see the smooth, steady push of Brant's body accepting his cock. That and the sounds, raw, incredible sounds and the grip, sudden and tight, taking away any chance he might have had of being able to speak. Instead, he curled his back, slid his free hand up Brant's spine, and slowly, slowly, began to move his hand, teasingly gentle strokes over Brant's cock before his own hips began to mirror each gesture. |
| There was something there - in the tangle with Jack, the steady push into him and the light hand on his cock, in his position, hands and knees and his head down and Jack at his back - that could have sent him skidding. That could have sent him spiraling off mentally and emotionally. That could have just frustrated the hell out of him.
It would have, if Jack hadn't been Jack and if he hadn't been so deeply, intensely and achingly, trusting. If he hadn't been so aroused. If Jack hadn't been so warm. If he couldn't feel Jack's reaction to him, through that mental connection. If he hadn't wanted it so much, or if he'd loved Jack less. As it was, he was just fine, thanks. He growled softly, as he found the rhythm Jack was setting and let himself slide into it. He gritted his teeth, curled his hands tighter, and just refused to ever, for one second, not meet Jack half way. Not to give back as much as he was getting. To be quite, to be still. Oh, hell no. He was completely, completely with Jack. |
| Every single thing he was giving, feeling, doing, was coming right back to him, feeding in and multiplying, love and want and growing hunger living between them, in them, connecting them, until Jack's chest grew tight with the reminder to keep breathing.
Some times, dying was definitely not a good thing. He'd never felt more alive, every sense alert, every nerve in his body aware of every signal offered up, greedy for each and every trace of sensation, sight sound touch smell, air hot and musky-thick as he dragged it into his lungs, chest heaving with the effort of holding back, of waiting, of giving everything he could to Brant and the moment. Steady, building rhythm, careful until control snapped and rhythm slipped, rough syncopationof need driving on. |
| The instant Jack's control slipped, Brant's went. If he'd ever had any control of his own to begin with.
His breath caught, and then turned into a sob, and then stopped. He was almost physically incapable of moving, completely overwhelmed and surrounded, filled with Jack and sensation and the entire knotted mess of sensation and emotion blurring the lines between them into nothing. He couldn't, couldn't hold back, couldn't hold onto the control, couldn't do anything but response and react and feel and hear the too-loud rush of his ears. Feel Jack. Climax took everything. Sight - hearing - breath. It was so overly intense, so shockingly bright and hard, the drag of Jack's hand over his cock, the weight and heat of Jack's cock inside his ass , the flex and push and pull and surge of emotion - it was everything he could do just to hold himself up. Elbows locked, teeth clamped so hard in his lower lip he'd drawn his own blood. |
| Jack felt Brant's orgasm with every sense he had, joined so closely that the physical tense and release was only the start, feeling the stop and skip of heartbeat, the ache of lungs starved of breath, tasting the bright copper of blood second-hand. Hearing those indescribable, amazing sounds that were so unique, so Brant. His only loss was the sight of Brant's face, blocked by the dip of Brant's head.
And that shake and clench, Christ, so damn tight around his cock, tearing away any last vestige of control to send him hurtling into coming, fast and hard and intense, vision hazing red, shuddering with the force of something that went beyond pleasure and close to pain with how much he was feeling, Brant's name twisted with a growling moan as Jack's fingers tightened on Brant's shoulder and Jack's world halted, frozen, poised in a timeless instant of shared perfection. |
| Jack's orgasm fed back into Brant's, drawing it out. When it became Jack's - as much as either of them could individually own anything, here - Brant didn't know. Brant didn't care.
He could feel Jack's growl as much as he felt the hand gripping his shoulder. He stayed in that moment until he couldn't, anymore, and then he kept staying, anyway. He physically started to shake, barely there but deep, with the effort of staying up. His vision blurred and eyes stung with sweat and tears. He did not want to lose the contact. Not any of it. He knew damn well he was going to have to, especially if he wanted to see Jack. He still didn't want to. "Jack." |
| The faint, distant trembling transmitted to Jack somehow, though he couldn't have defined with any certainty if it was physical or mental or something beyond. Enough that Brant's voice speaking his name reached through the heavy fog of complete, open relaxation, bringing him back to awareness of more than the hypnotic lure of deep connection in every way possible.
Enough to ease back, just enough to know the distinction between Brant and himself, to know where he ended and Brant began. Enough to know how fragile Brant is and relax his grip, gentle stroke of his hand flat over Brant's shoulder rather than lose contact entirely. "Brant," he replied softly, heartrate slowly steadying. "Oh, Brant, you are fantastic." |
| It was mostly physical. The ease back away from his mind made him want to - chase after it. Would have if he didn't almost desperately want to collapse. He took a deeper breath, timed with the hand over his back, looked up and looked around.
He was still flushed, sweat drying in his hair, lip swollen from where he bit it and after a pause, where he heard Jack but didn't quite understand him, he smiled. "And you're beautiful," he said, and meant it completely. His heart and breathing slowed with Jack's. "This is awkward." |
| Awkward wasn't so much the first word Jack would have chosen for the situation, and tension rippled through his shoulders, stilled the quiet chuckle on his lips.
"Awkward?" he asked quietly, letting his hand settle in the dip of Brant's spine. |
| "If I want to be able to touch you- yeah," he said quietly. He looked over his shoulder so he could look Jack in the eye, steady and tired. "The position, Jack. That's all." |
| Touching was definitely something Jack could get behind...or next to, in front of, whatever was easier. Letting the chuckle out, he bent to drop a gentle kiss on Brant's shoulder, licking his lips to taste the faint salt of sweat remaining. "Then we'll change it, love."
Little as he wanted to pull out, he was also well aware that no matter how careful he'd been at first, Brant was pretty definitely going to be sore, and more the longer he waited. Deep breath in, held, and then a swift, steady withdrawal, dropping back to his heels with a quiet hiss of exhalation to remove and knot the condom. |
| He didn't make a sound while Jack was pulling out. Just closed his eyes and curled his fingers into fists. It wasn't just that he was sore. It was that he just plain didn't like it. Didn't like the loss of contact, didn't like the sensation.
Still, it was fast and over in very little time. He took a second, took a breath, gave Jack a little time to start to clean up and then managed to get himself around and onto his side. "Come here." And yeah, okay, so there was a wetspot. He could not have cared less if he tried. |
| The mattress bounced a little as Brant dropped down, the roll giving Jack a clear view of his face. The dislike was still just as clear between them as the pleasure had been, shared as truly, and Jack spared half a second to drop the condom into the bin before taking the weight off aching muscles and stretching out next to Brant.
In the wet spot. Jack frankly didn't give a damn, as long as it got him back in a position where he could feel more of Brant's body against his. "Here good enough?" he asked, grinning, and then took full advantage of the fact that their new position put Brant back in easy reach for kissing. |
| He got one arm around Jack, legs stretched out and yeah, his muscles were aching and the stretch felt fucking amazing. He kissed the hollow of Jack's throat. "Yeah," he said, as he settled. "You okay?" Jack's reaction to 'awkward' hadn't been forgotten. |
| "Am now," was all Jack would say, mental effort forxcing muscles back to relaxation as his arms looped around Brant, tugging him closer and appreciating the advantages of equal height all over again. "How're you doing?"
Which was more of his concern than himself. He could pick apart his own emotional response later - or ignore them - but he wasn't willing to let any potential discomfort on Brant's part slide past him. |
| He settled against Jack, skin against skin and that exact height thing was damned handy. He closed his eyes, stretched and thought about the question, because he knew a half-assed answer wasn't going to fly. It wouldn't have been fair to Jack, either.
He rubbed Jack's back while he took stock, palm over skin and just touching and stroking. He was sore, of course, and tired and a little cold. More than that he felt a more... exposed and vulnerable than he was used to. That wasn't a great feeling, but being close to Jack went along way toward mitigating that, and he was self-aware enough to know it would pass. Mostly, he really was okay. As long as he didn't look too hard at the nature of this place, or think too hard about unspoken truths. "I'm okay," he finally said. "Little sore, a little emotional, but I'm okay." |
| Jack wrapped his arms around Brant and just held, firm and steady, cheek resting against Brant's fact, timing his breathing to match as thought gradually reasserted itself over feeling. Still joined enough to know the truth of Brant's words, enough to need to do something as well as want to.
"We can fix that, if you want to," he said carefully. And sure, there were mundane ways. Warm bath, lots of physical contact, and he was planning on enforcing those, but there was one decent side effect of carrying an excess of life energy. Sharing it. |
| Brant had no idea what Jack was thinking - no way he could. Working on the assumption that he was talking about the physical contact, a shower and some sleep, he was less than excited by the prospect. Well, all of the prospect expect the physical contact, which was damned nice.
"I'm happy where I am." He wasn't really argumentative. Yet. He was prepared to be, though. Based on what he thought Jack had in mind. |
| "No need to go anywhere," Jack assured him, with a grin. He wasn't looking forward to moving away from Brant, anyway, and if they got to that bath, they'd definitely be sharing. |
| "In that case, I can't think of a single reason that I wouldn't be willing." He almost got that out without it sounding like innuendo. Almost. |
| Almost indeed, and Jack chuckled softly. "Just...relax for me, love. If you can."
Not so much a physical relaxation as something deeper, and his hand stroked up Brant's back on the way to caressing his face, thumb tracing the high, fine line of Brant's cheekbone as Jack tilted his head, and kissed Brant. Soft, so soft, at first, gentle and almost hesitant, concentration and relaxation combined as his mind shifted, reached, fetched, dipping into the golden warmth that waited just below consciousness, waiting to flow up in a slow, comforting stream of energy, seeking and healing and feeding. |
| Jack telling him to try to relax again, and the hesitation around that word, startled Brant. It made him curious and anxious all at once, but he was determined and trusting enough to try to center and calm himself.
He turned slightly toward Jack's palm and, at the brush of his thumb across his cheek, his eyes drifted closed. He kept his breathing steady, even as his heart seemed to skip a beat. The kiss wasn't a surprise. It was completely expected, soft and warm and Jack. Soft and gentle and - the hesitation got to him. He didn't quite have time to figure that out, to do more than return the kiss with warmth and affection. Then there was warmth and light and energy through the kiss, sinking into him, deeper than anything he'd ever felt. He couldn't help but startle, physically and mentally. Made a low sound that was equal parts confusion and questioning and appreciation. He slid his fingers into Jack's hair, curled carefully and held on. He did not understand, but he was still trying his damndest to stay calm and not question too much. |
| Brant's trust in him was humbling, awesome in the true sense of the word, and Jack couldn't help smiling into the kiss at the confused acceptance fed back to him. Above all, through everything else, trust and love and willingness, and he couldn't do anything but meet that and match it.
Warm golden glow, incandescent, sparkling like eons-old champagne, like the first spark that starts the birth of a star, held and treasured and shared until he felt the ease, the slowing, the moment to let go and pull back, closing off that link and breaking the kiss for a deep breath, eyes still closed, hand still caressing Brant's face. |
| Brant slid his fingers from Jack's hair as the kiss broke, reached around to brush hair away from Jack's forehead. All the love, trust and acceptance in the world couldn't stop him asking, "What the hell was that?"
Not that he hadn't noticed that he felt better. Far from it. Not the point. |
| "Side effect of the not dying thing," Jack explained, letting his hand slide down to rest on Brant's chest. "It's kind of...an excess of life energy, something like that. Kind of corny, but the only way to share it is by kissing."
Though given the grin on his face at any reason to kiss Brant, he wouldn't be surprised if Brant thought that he was bullshitting again. |
| "You sure?" he asked, with a grin. "Because I'm pretty sure your ass is magic, too." Yeah, he was being crude and yeah he was playing and snarking, and oh fuck was he ever bewildered by everything he'd seen and learned today, but he was still light and warm and smiling and loving to the point of being almost sappy, and definitely giddy. "Oh, and this makes me high on life, right?" Because one bad joke just wasn't enough. |
| "Better believe it, kid." Jack was too happy himself to even care about the bad jokes, and well, his ass was pretty good, so he wasn't even going to question that one.
Drawing back, just far enough to look into Brant's eyes, he smiled, wide and joyous, living purely in the moment, no thought to past or future. No point, when now was so good. "You are fucking amazing, Brant. Amazing." Considering everything Brant had been through - shooting him, washing blood out of his hair, first time sex and that energy share, he'd be expecting to deal with a freaking out mess, with anyone else. Not with Brant. Sure, the man didn't exactly take it in his stride, but he was definitely fucking amazing. |
| Brant laughed, the sound soft and legitimately bright and loving and happy for the look in Jack's eyes. He also lifted his eyebrow.
"You come back from death and can pour your energy into other people - not to mention the magic ass - and I'm amazing?" |
| "That's none of my doing. Well, the ass..." Jack grinned, but he was serious. The coming back from death, the life energy - something that had been given to him. He wouldn't choose it, but it was there. But to take in and go through all that Brant had dealt with in one day and come out at the end of it laughing and loving? "Yeah. You're amazing, and I love you." |
| He stroked Jack's cheek and shook his head. "I love you, too, and okay - I'm amazing." He was drawing a line between the two but he wasn't going to make a big deal of it. Because he was and more than a little unsure of how to handle that. Funny how his brain had filed 'I love you' with 'shoot Jack in the head' for things he wasn't quite sure how to deal with. |
| Love was the one thing Jack knew he could deal with. Was comfortable with. And sure, at some point in the future it was going to get really fucking complicated, and hurt like a bitch, but not now.
Now was the warmth of Brant's body curled into his and the slow lassitude that followed really good sex. "Think you're amazing enough to move this under the blankets?" |
| The thought that maybe, someday, he'd be that confident in love - that even if it was going to hurt you could get up again and go on - tried to assert itself.
With implications. Just a little. He ignored it. "I think I can manage that." He nipped Jack's shoulder softly, and untangled himself so he could get the blankets down and under them. |
| Jack laughed softly at the scrape of teeth on his shoulder, and rolled away just far enough to slide under the blankets, wrapping himself around Brant again as soon as possible.
Still not sure if he could sleep, but even if not, he was perfectly happy simply to lie there in peace, holding onto Brant, and watching his sleep. Hearing him sleep. There was an odd intimacy to the level of trust when someone actually fell asleep in his arms, something deeper than sex, something more personal. Something he'd never, never take for granted. Something that made his heart ache a little. "Now that's amazing." |