universal_charm | SANCTUM IC CONTACT

Oh, okay. This was... not what he was expecting. But questioning could wait, because somewhere in him he understood. He came out of his surprise and wrapped his arms around FDR, kissing him back, not even bothering to close the door just yet. FDR needed to get taken care of first, that much was evident.

Thank god. Someone he doesn't have to prove himself to or go slow or even be considerate. He can take with Jim and that's easy. And he needs easy sometimes.

Jim's really the only reason he hasn't left this dump and moved up to district one yet. Some things are a little more important than a cool apartment. For now anyway.

The kiss returned just adds fuel to the fire, and his hands slide down to Jim's pants, tug them open. "You in the mood for a quickie?" It's a grinned question against lips.

"Shut the damn door first," he grunted, wondering where this was coming from, but he wasn't going to argue it, not yet. It was the trouble with being attracted to a man with your own face - which was no doubt incredibly narcissistic, but he didn't care.

Even as he made the demand he's reaching down to work open FDR's pants as well, mouth back on his, nipping at him before his hands dove down into his underwear, cupping him. He had said a quickie, right?

That particular problem is taken with a blind foot kicking out behind him, and he hears the door slam behind him. Not like it matters, not a lot of people on this floor and he really could care less who might walk by at the moment.

There's a groan at the hand in his pants, an encouraging jerk of cock as it's encouraged to grow a little harder in that palm. That's definitely all the answer he needs and yanks Jim's pants open, helps tug them off his hips and let gravity take them off the rest of the way as he pushes the other back toward the couch.

"Pull out your lube from whatever cushion you keep it in." He orders as he follows Jim down onto the couch and on top of him.

"Give me some credit, asshole," he growled at him, falling down with a grunt and turning himself, reaching out for the drawer in the coffee table and jerking it open and smacking the tube into the other's hand.

He bucks to give himself some leverage and sit up, jerking at FDR's pants and tugging them off, not wanting to be the only one naked from the ass down around here. He gives one cheek a sharp slap as further chastisement before he shifted back beneath him, his hands already seeking that spot around the bottom port to tease him. What? He had said quickie, no sense in drawing this out right? And for once, he wasn't questioning position (seemed like FDR needed it more than him right now).

For someone who didn't seem to care too much about his own clothing, he always seemed to notice just how much FDR kept on him. He was never able to keep his damn pants on with Jim around. And that wasn't an exaggeration. But still, he let Jim pull them down, in no mood to argue about something so trivial, but if he were in an arguing mood he would point out that it made a quickie just that much less of a quickie if they focused on clothes.

He's in the middle of undoing the lube when he feels those fingers along his back and he pauses and shivers, shoots Jim a warning look that really isn't that warning at all, and finally manages to get his hand slick with a shuddering sigh.

He slicks himself up first, then reaches down between Jim's legs, pushes two fingers into him. They do this enough he's not worried about needing to go slow, to be gentle. Jim's hardly a virgin, and definitely not a stranger to his cock.

But he at least does take the time to shift his fingers, to search for his prostate and give him a little thrill before attempting to move on to sex.

What? He just liked things being fair between them, and he liked skin on skin, thank you. Even so, his fingers continued massaging that space at the base of the last port as he was prepared by FDR, a process he was indeed no stranger too. He was loose enough for him quickly enough, though he did appreciate the fiery burst of pleasure the pressure on his prostate gave him. He shivered and groaned, his hands moving down to grip at FDR's ass.

"Come on, stop dancing and get to it," he panted, shifting himself so he could throw one of his legs over FDR's shoulder as if his verbal demand was not enough.

Dancing. They even called it the same damn thing. Some moments they really did seem too similar. But he wasn't thinking about that now. Right now he was just thinking about the hands on his ass, the muscles clenched around him, the impatient leg on his shoulder. With a hum he tilted his head to kiss a leg as he pulled his fingers out.

"Getting." He muttered with a smirk, and lined himself up, pushed himself into Jim. There was the soft groan, that first moment when flesh met flesh that always took his breath away, overwhelmed him for a brief pleasurable moment, but it passed and then he was thrusting, fast and hard, no slow work up needed. Just friction and sweat and pleasure. No thoughts.

There was something to be said for slow love making, and entirely different things to be said for going fast and rough. A lot of things, and all of them good, not that he really had the brain function available to form coherent words at the moment. Kirk was busy concentrating on thrusting back against FDR, head thrown back and groaning sharply each time FDR slid inside of him.

His fingers clutched at FDR, scraping at his back and buttocks. He wanted it harder and faster, and nothing mattered but the slide of them together, that heady rhythm that for a few brief moments consumed him.

There was no shame when he orgasmed, slumping back into his couch, gasping as he got his heart beat under control, and debated taking off his shirt because it was sticking in places.

He knew those hands, the demands in them, so well by now. And if he had the thought process to spare he would wonder what that meant about understanding Jim's sexual cues so well. Maybe it was just because he was an observant person, maybe he was getting a little too comfortable with him.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered as his vision went fuzzy around the edges, as his heart beat heavily in his chest and his stomach tightened in knots, and then Jim was making that noise, his body was doing that twitching thing, and he didn't even try to resist getting swept up in it all and riding that wave right along with Kirk.

No shame in fast. Fast and hard and satisfying. Definitely no shame in that. But regardless of the kind of sex they had, he always had to catch his breath afterwards, and he didn't hesitate to rest his head on Jim's shoulder as the world settled around him again.

"Nnnng. Fuck." He muttered, kissing the man's neck in thanks before shifting so they could both managed to lay on the couch without having to deal with body weight.

He grunted when the other laid his weight on top of him, but it was a grunt made from familiarity rather than any sort of discomfort. His hand rose with that same familiarity, stroking FDR's hair lazily, shivering when his neck got kissed.

He turned his head to look at him, keeping in close against him to enjoy the warmth of his companion. Maybe a part of him should have been concerned at how easily they slid into the most comfortable positions on the couch.

"So, not that I didn't enjoy that, but what's wrong?" he asked him, arching a brow. Because they both knew he knew something was up, but those blue eyes had genuine concern in them - or as much as he willing to show.

And back to reality. There's a slow sigh, and a crack of an eye that unconsciously fell closed when that hand carded through his hair.

"Friend just texted. Wants me to move in with her for an undetermined amount of time." And he's sure Jim can understand just how unsettling that conversation was.

Ah. Well, good explanation. He continued to pet his hair, pursing his lips as he thought on that for a moment.

"Well, first question, have you had sex with her?" he asked, because this was very important. It could mean the difference between running for the hills and getting an upgrade in the living space.

There's a huff of a laugh. Because that's a ridiculous question. "Yeah."

Of course. He would have been more worried if he hadn't.

"So, second question - do you like her enough to even want to?" He asked him, turning on his side so his hand cupped the back of FDRs head as he pet him. "Or I guess - why does she even want you to move in? Because if she's asking this after one time with no real reason other than you slept together, run for the hills." Really, he should know this rule.

Okay, he should probably explain things a little more fully. But sometimes it takes a moment for the brain to kickstart after sex.

"It's not exactly like that. She's asking me because she needs help. She actually said she needed help. And her boyfriend ran off and won't do it. And how can you say no to a woman who's asking for help?"

That doesn't make him feel any better about it. He doesn't sleep with people. Trust issues. And now he's moving in for a bit. "Til the damn clones melt."

"Oh," he said and nodded thoughtfully. Well, that was different, wasn't it? It wasn't in their nature to leave someone in the lurch, was it? It went against them on some core level despite their playboy and cavalier attitudes.

"Well, seems to me you should. I mean, you say it like she's not one to ask for help, and if she's a friend asking for help," he shrugged, because they both knew they couldn't rightly refuse.

"Id offer to move in to make you feel better, but I think that's taking liberties," he chuckled.

"Yeah." It's a resigned sigh. He's already come to that conclusion himself, but he still doesn't like it. There are just so very many ways for this to go really bad. "Just...needed a moment to remind myself its not the chains tightening."

"Can you watch the dog? Not sure it's safe to take him."

He nodded and despite himself his hand reached up and his fingers twisted the ring he kept on his chain beneath his shirt.

"Well, keep to a separate room, and if you need to get some, well, there's always me," he reminded him, dropping his hand. "And sure. Do you want him to just come over here? He won't be alone all day that way."

His eyes lazily followed that action, and he remembered that night after busting his hand and the conversation that followed. Yeah. That was the kind of pain he was trying to avoid.

With a thankful hum he leaned in and kissed Jim. "Always you." He was starting to depend on that, as dangerous as that might be.

"Yeah, lets do that. Not like you work or anything anyway."

Even as he kissed him, he punched the others chest. "Ass," he huffed. "I've actually gotten jobs, you know. And a commission to build something."

He sat up and stripped off his shirt, letting it drop and turned to FDR. He reached down, grabbing his shirt and tugging him to get up.

"Come on," he said, his destination clearly the bedroom.

He chuckled and rubbed casually at his chest before forcing himself up with Jim's incessant pulling.

"You know. It defeats the purpose of a quickie if you do a second round. And I've got to pack." But none of that stopped him from following.

"It's not like you're moving to another city," he rolled his eyes, turning to strip the other of his shirt before taking his hand and drawing him down to the bed and sliding on top of him.

"Besides, now I won't be right across the hall. Might as well enjoy easy access while you have it, right?" He grinned, nipping at him, not admitting that a part of him was... upset, maybe, that FDR wouldn't be across the hall anymore.

He snorted as he settled comfortably in the bed, let his hands slide up to rest on bare hips. "Only until the clones melt. Hob says a week is all they lasted last time. Shouldn't be gone too long."

And why did it sound like he was promising he would return? That wasn't even close to necessary. But the man did have his dog. Not that...okay maybe he did like his old pathetic dog.

Obviously this whole thing was getting to him. "Oh, just shut up and do it already."

"Yeah," he said to the first part, not wanting to think to hard on that either. Zev would be gone, and that poked at his heart more than he wanted it to as well.

He leaned down and kissed him deep, his hands running up and down his sides, thumbs rolling over his nipples and then slid behind him to wander down his spine and rub at that fifth port spot once more.

"Who said this had to be a quickie?" He hummed, pressing his hips down flush to FDRs, slowly grinding against him.

167 Late Evening

bigvessel - 2014-12-26 23:14 (UTC) - Expand

Re: 167 Late Evening

universal_charm - 2014-12-28 21:45 (UTC) - Expand