[But in spite of his words he's ready for this. He lines up his cock, eyes fluttering shut as he pushes inside. He's hot, and tight, and perfect in a way he'd almost forgotten. He holds himself still above him, allowing himself time to enjoy the sensation and Connor to adjust.
It isn't long before he starts to rock his hips. He goes slow, wanting to be able to draw this part out if he can.]
[Oliver fills him in the way that a sea fills a channel, slow and steady yet unrelenting in its raw power. He gasps for the initial breach, the joining of their bodies, and then groans as he takes on Oliver's girth. His fingernails sink into the shoulders of the man who looms over him, anchoring himself while inciting the other.
For a long sacred moment they are still except for their unsteady breath, and Connor is struck numb by the urge to tell him that he loves him. He doesn't want to complicate what is meant to be a simple equation: loneliness plus desperation equals fucking.
Then comes the moment when, like eyes adjusting to the dark, his body adjusts to Oliver's presence inside of it. Then there is no more thinking because the friction deteriorates his thoughts, and no chance for words because his mouth fills with a moan.]
[Those same words are on Oliver's own lips, but though he'd said them earlier he finds himself doubting whether he should say them again now. This is supposed to be something simple. Easy. They should talk more before returning to their relationship as it was, but he lacks Connor's talent for separating sex from feelings.
It isn't easy to refrain from using those forbidden words, and he can't resist showing him instead of telling. He kisses him tenderly. Too intimately for the situation, but he can't help himself. He's filled with love for the man beneath him, and if he can't express it through words then he has to in some small way. His hands roam Connor's body, lingering over the parts he knows he enjoys, though they don't fall to his erection pressed between them.
It is not without relief, however. As close as they are his stomach brushes his cock with every movement, and his thrusts are angled so as to bring Connor as much pleasure as he can.]
[He devours Oliver's kisses, tasting himself on the other man's lips, groaning against his mouth as together they move with the force of each thrust. His hands fall from Oliver's shoulders to instead hold onto the pillow on which his head rests, and his head turns away from the onslaught of Oliver's lips to let the kisses fall hot and thick against his jaw.
The men he had slept with since ending up in the castle, they had been tools by which he might carve away his loneliness and anxieties. And it would work for a time, but even in the wild throes of lust, the haze of pleasure would dissipate to reveal to him how empty it all was. He left those men's rooms unsatisfied: what was broken in him was no less broken.
With Oliver that emptiness never invades the moment.]
Yeah...just like that...
[His words stretch on a moan. Every noise that swells in his throat and crackles at his lips, he allows to spill out uninhibited. He is not at all ashamed to take pleasure in Oliver's cock filling him, striking him in just the right way, nor is he ashamed to tug at his own cock when it becomes unbearable to leave it alone.]
[It does something to him, knowing that Connor is enjoying this so much. Connor, the man who could have anyone he wants, but who falls apart beneath him. His heart stutters at the words he moans, and he swallows, repeating what he'd just done.]
Like that?
[He watches him with a surprisingly steady gaze given the way he feels. He wants nothing more than to let himself go, fucking Connor with abandon until he spills inside him, but that wouldn't be as special. It would be over too quickly.]
[His head rolls to the other side, his damp hair mussed against the pillow, and his back arches off the bed as his skin craves Oliver's touch. His groan is a paradox, signaling his satisfaction while demanding more.]
Yeah--
[He watches Oliver with eyes half-lidded, admiring the view of him arched over his body and pouring himself into the task of pleasure.]
Harder now.
[With this demand, he draws his knees farther back so as to allow Oliver to plunge deeper inside. Connor wants to savor the night for as long as possible, but he wants to push them closer and closer to that dizzying edge, to teeter there, holding their breath for the thrill of it without plunging from it.]
[While Oliver wants nothing more than to please Connor he falters at that demand. He does thrust harder, but keeps his pace as is, not trusting himself not to finish too soon if he picks up the pace.
Each thrust is quick and deliberate, bringing forth a burst of pleasure in Oliver with each one. It's almost painful to get this kind of pleasure without the speed needed to push him over. It's slowly becoming unbearable. He can only hope that Connor feels just as good as him. ]
[He breathes a laugh, and it floats flirtatiously upwards.]
I missed this too.
[This is the most blessedly ordinary thing to have happened to him since arriving at the castle. This is the closest he has come to being home. (But he shouldn't settle into such thoughts, because giving too much weight to this one night might cause it to buckle beneath them.)
As their passion burns hotter, their bodies so brittle and susceptible after the long drought, Connor makes a deliberate show of his pleasure. It is for his own relief as much as for tossing kindling to the flames that he reaches down to stroke himself again. A tug or two is not enough, so he falls into the sure and steady rhythm of Oliver's hips. For every thrust, he rewards him with a sultry moan that pops and crackles from his lips.]
[Oliver gasps, breathing growing progressively more rapid. Connor is hot and tight, and his evident enjoyment only adds to Oliver's pleasure. His moans send little jolts of pleasure that travel straight to his cock. He looks and sounds beautiful. It isn't the first time it's been Oliver's undoing, and in this moment he can only hope it won't be the last.]
I'm not going to last. [The admission is reluctant, tinged with shame. They've had quickies before, but he wishes he could make this more special than that.] I haven't... you know. It's been a while.
[He reaches up to thread his fingers in Oliver's hair, his thumb stroking along the curve of his ear, his words falling in a breathless rush.]
It's okay...it's okay Ollie-- Just a little more...
[Nor is he ready for this wave of ecstasy to come crashing down, but if Oliver is close to orgasm then he wants to catch up so that they can reach that crest together. Connor pumps himself faster, pushes himself against the rhythm of Oliver's thrusts, tries to lose himself to the force of their passions as he is struck hard and deep.]
I'm sorry. It's just so good... I don't want it to stop.
[He holds on for Connor as best he can, thrusting as deep as he can, kissing the spots that he knows Connor loves most. He gently nudges at Connor's hand, trying to replace it with his own. He wants to be the one to push him over the edge. He wants to make him forget about any other man he's been with.
It's only once he hears the telltale hitches in Connor's breath warning him that he's close that Oliver lets himself go, first moving to kiss him on his lips. His thrusts still as his orgasm overwhelms him. He gasps desperately against his lips, hand still working to push his lover over that same edge.]
[First his breath hitches and then his whole being unhitches, his insides seeming to rise in a weightless rush. His fingernails sink into Oliver's shoulder and twist in the pillow behind his head, and a groan hollows his chest as his orgasm crashes over him.
His mind empties of thought and the universe narrows to the knot of their bodies. This zenith lasts only a moment before he falls back down, drifting slowly from its dizzying heights, mind and heart filling with the old clutter once more. He doesn't want to wonder what they are now. He isn't naive enough to think that one good fuck will untangle everything.
But he's hopeless enough to care only that Oliver is warm above him, and his lips are so tender when he catches them in a languid kiss.]
[He returns the kiss softly as he comes down from his orgasm, breathing still heavy from the exertion. His softening cock is starting to feel tender, but he's reluctant to pull out from him just yet. He wants to prolong the moment, worried that as soon as this is over they'll fall back to arguing. He doesn't want to be angry anymore, but the likelihood plays unpleasantly in his mind.
He draws back from the kiss only slightly, nodding to the space between them with a mischievous grin. Both their stomachs are sticky with cum, and Connor's hair is thoroughly disheveled. He loves seeing him like this, but he has to admit he is a mess.]
[His lips settle into a lazy grin, glimmering in his afterglow. His hands are soft now on Oliver's back, no longer scratching and dragging but meandering slow paths.]
This was worth it.
[He may be a mess, but for the present he has no inclination to get up: like Oliver, he desires only to prolong this moment, to leave himself something to cup in his hands in the way little kids hold fireflies in the summer.]
And hey...not bad for your return from involuntary celibacy.
[He looks a little hurt by the reminder he'd been unsuccessful meeting anyone else who was interested. It shouldn't matter now, but Connor had in a much shorter space of time. He can't help but feel jealous, and it doesn't do much for his self esteem either.]
[He realizes those were the wrong words to say even before the hurt look breaks over Oliver's face, and his own grin recedes into worry as the moment he had been so intent on preserving begins to crumble in his own hands.]
I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way-- [He groans and screws his eyes shut.] I'm an asshole. All I meant is...
[His hands rush to soothe Oliver, massaging from the ridges of his shoulder blades to the top of his shoulders, convincing him not to flee too hastily.]
I really did miss this. I missed you.
[Although he makes no mention of the other men he had lured into bed, implied in this plea is that sex with anybody else had not been the same and never would be the same.]
[And when Oliver relaxes, he relaxes too: his legs sag into the mattress and he lifts his arm to make room for the other man before resting his hand on his head, stroking his hair.]
What are you talking about? It was special because it was you. I'm lucky you didn't find someone else before I got here...
[Someone better, he thinks but does not say. While Connor has no trouble finding men he can sleep with, men he can fall in love with - men he can trust - are another matter. No such person can be found, because in his mind it can be only Oliver. ]
And I hope you weren't planning on kissing me more, because I might have just thrown up in my mouth a little bit.
[Not that lucky. His feelings have proven to be one sided twice in the length of time he's been with ALASTAIR. He decides against voicing that particular sentiment, instead just making a noise of distaste at the latter comment as he snuggles closer.]
[He ruffles Oliver's hair, as if aiming to make it match the mess that has become of his own hair. His body is sore from their romp together, but this is what contentment feels like: the weight of Oliver's head on his chest, rising and falling as one, and the warmth of their bare skin laid against each other.]
[There's no malice to his grumbling. Only a sleepy contentment. Connor is warm, and his scent comfortingly familiar. He has no desire to move away from him.]
[His fingers trace slowly over Oliver's shoulder and down his arm, remembering the contours of his muscles and the softness of his skin, never wanting to stop. Never wanting to lose this again, remembering how far they have come, how much he has changed because of him - and it is a heady feeling, both exhilarating and frightening in the way that plunging off a cliff is.
There are those feelings that he is supposed to clamp down, rising up in mutiny again. They love each other, and both has said as much, but that doesn't mean that they need to be in a hurry to define their relationship. That is where they become complicated, and for the present he clings to the simplicity of being in one another's arms.]
We'll go shower off, and when we're nice and clean we can come back here and pick up right where we left off.
[He chuckles lightly at the suggestion, but it's not a bad one. Lying here in this state is nice now, but it will become uncomfortable all too soon. He noses at his skin affectionately, wondering how much effort it will take to summon the willpower to move from Connor's bed.]
So, we'll have, what? Five minutes of being clean?
[Maybe even less than that. Showering with Connor tends to have an effect on him.]
[He laughs and drums his fingers playfully on Oliver's shoulder.]
Then we'll just have to rinse and repeat. Besides-- What if I just wanted to cuddle?
[He then cranes his neck to drop a wet kiss on the curve of Oliver's ear.]
Who's the sex addict now?
[Never mind that it would hardly be the first time their post-intercourse cuddling turns into a second round. How easily they settle back into this light repartee, as if it was not just a half hour ago that their words were weighted with solemnity, and not just earlier this day that only bitter broken silence stretched between them.]
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Patience.
[But in spite of his words he's ready for this. He lines up his cock, eyes fluttering shut as he pushes inside. He's hot, and tight, and perfect in a way he'd almost forgotten. He holds himself still above him, allowing himself time to enjoy the sensation and Connor to adjust.
It isn't long before he starts to rock his hips. He goes slow, wanting to be able to draw this part out if he can.]
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For a long sacred moment they are still except for their unsteady breath, and Connor is struck numb by the urge to tell him that he loves him. He doesn't want to complicate what is meant to be a simple equation: loneliness plus desperation equals fucking.
Then comes the moment when, like eyes adjusting to the dark, his body adjusts to Oliver's presence inside of it. Then there is no more thinking because the friction deteriorates his thoughts, and no chance for words because his mouth fills with a moan.]
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It isn't easy to refrain from using those forbidden words, and he can't resist showing him instead of telling. He kisses him tenderly. Too intimately for the situation, but he can't help himself. He's filled with love for the man beneath him, and if he can't express it through words then he has to in some small way. His hands roam Connor's body, lingering over the parts he knows he enjoys, though they don't fall to his erection pressed between them.
It is not without relief, however. As close as they are his stomach brushes his cock with every movement, and his thrusts are angled so as to bring Connor as much pleasure as he can.]
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The men he had slept with since ending up in the castle, they had been tools by which he might carve away his loneliness and anxieties. And it would work for a time, but even in the wild throes of lust, the haze of pleasure would dissipate to reveal to him how empty it all was. He left those men's rooms unsatisfied: what was broken in him was no less broken.
With Oliver that emptiness never invades the moment.]
Yeah...just like that...
[His words stretch on a moan. Every noise that swells in his throat and crackles at his lips, he allows to spill out uninhibited. He is not at all ashamed to take pleasure in Oliver's cock filling him, striking him in just the right way, nor is he ashamed to tug at his own cock when it becomes unbearable to leave it alone.]
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Like that?
[He watches him with a surprisingly steady gaze given the way he feels. He wants nothing more than to let himself go, fucking Connor with abandon until he spills inside him, but that wouldn't be as special. It would be over too quickly.]
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Yeah--
[He watches Oliver with eyes half-lidded, admiring the view of him arched over his body and pouring himself into the task of pleasure.]
Harder now.
[With this demand, he draws his knees farther back so as to allow Oliver to plunge deeper inside. Connor wants to savor the night for as long as possible, but he wants to push them closer and closer to that dizzying edge, to teeter there, holding their breath for the thrill of it without plunging from it.]
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Each thrust is quick and deliberate, bringing forth a burst of pleasure in Oliver with each one. It's almost painful to get this kind of pleasure without the speed needed to push him over. It's slowly becoming unbearable. He can only hope that Connor feels just as good as him. ]
You look so hot like this. I missed it so much.
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I missed this too.
[This is the most blessedly ordinary thing to have happened to him since arriving at the castle. This is the closest he has come to being home. (But he shouldn't settle into such thoughts, because giving too much weight to this one night might cause it to buckle beneath them.)
As their passion burns hotter, their bodies so brittle and susceptible after the long drought, Connor makes a deliberate show of his pleasure. It is for his own relief as much as for tossing kindling to the flames that he reaches down to stroke himself again. A tug or two is not enough, so he falls into the sure and steady rhythm of Oliver's hips. For every thrust, he rewards him with a sultry moan that pops and crackles from his lips.]
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I'm not going to last. [The admission is reluctant, tinged with shame. They've had quickies before, but he wishes he could make this more special than that.] I haven't... you know. It's been a while.
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It's okay...it's okay Ollie-- Just a little more...
[Nor is he ready for this wave of ecstasy to come crashing down, but if Oliver is close to orgasm then he wants to catch up so that they can reach that crest together. Connor pumps himself faster, pushes himself against the rhythm of Oliver's thrusts, tries to lose himself to the force of their passions as he is struck hard and deep.]
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[He holds on for Connor as best he can, thrusting as deep as he can, kissing the spots that he knows Connor loves most. He gently nudges at Connor's hand, trying to replace it with his own. He wants to be the one to push him over the edge. He wants to make him forget about any other man he's been with.
It's only once he hears the telltale hitches in Connor's breath warning him that he's close that Oliver lets himself go, first moving to kiss him on his lips. His thrusts still as his orgasm overwhelms him. He gasps desperately against his lips, hand still working to push his lover over that same edge.]
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His mind empties of thought and the universe narrows to the knot of their bodies. This zenith lasts only a moment before he falls back down, drifting slowly from its dizzying heights, mind and heart filling with the old clutter once more. He doesn't want to wonder what they are now. He isn't naive enough to think that one good fuck will untangle everything.
But he's hopeless enough to care only that Oliver is warm above him, and his lips are so tender when he catches them in a languid kiss.]
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He draws back from the kiss only slightly, nodding to the space between them with a mischievous grin. Both their stomachs are sticky with cum, and Connor's hair is thoroughly disheveled. He loves seeing him like this, but he has to admit he is a mess.]
So much for your shower.
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This was worth it.
[He may be a mess, but for the present he has no inclination to get up: like Oliver, he desires only to prolong this moment, to leave himself something to cup in his hands in the way little kids hold fireflies in the summer.]
And hey...not bad for your return from involuntary celibacy.
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It wasn't involuntary.
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I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way-- [He groans and screws his eyes shut.] I'm an asshole. All I meant is...
[His hands rush to soothe Oliver, massaging from the ridges of his shoulder blades to the top of his shoulders, convincing him not to flee too hastily.]
I really did miss this. I missed you.
[Although he makes no mention of the other men he had lured into bed, implied in this plea is that sex with anybody else had not been the same and never would be the same.]
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I missed you too.
[He rests his head on the other man's chest, feeling almost sad it's over. He's already picking fights before they've even cleaned up.]
I'm sorry it wasn't more special.
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What are you talking about? It was special because it was you. I'm lucky you didn't find someone else before I got here...
[Someone better, he thinks but does not say. While Connor has no trouble finding men he can sleep with, men he can fall in love with - men he can trust - are another matter. No such person can be found, because in his mind it can be only Oliver. ]
And I hope you weren't planning on kissing me more, because I might have just thrown up in my mouth a little bit.
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Gross.
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[He ruffles Oliver's hair, as if aiming to make it match the mess that has become of his own hair. His body is sore from their romp together, but this is what contentment feels like: the weight of Oliver's head on his chest, rising and falling as one, and the warmth of their bare skin laid against each other.]
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[There's no malice to his grumbling. Only a sleepy contentment. Connor is warm, and his scent comfortingly familiar. He has no desire to move away from him.]
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[His fingers trace slowly over Oliver's shoulder and down his arm, remembering the contours of his muscles and the softness of his skin, never wanting to stop. Never wanting to lose this again, remembering how far they have come, how much he has changed because of him - and it is a heady feeling, both exhilarating and frightening in the way that plunging off a cliff is.
There are those feelings that he is supposed to clamp down, rising up in mutiny again. They love each other, and both has said as much, but that doesn't mean that they need to be in a hurry to define their relationship. That is where they become complicated, and for the present he clings to the simplicity of being in one another's arms.]
We'll go shower off, and when we're nice and clean we can come back here and pick up right where we left off.
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So, we'll have, what? Five minutes of being clean?
[Maybe even less than that. Showering with Connor tends to have an effect on him.]
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Then we'll just have to rinse and repeat. Besides-- What if I just wanted to cuddle?
[He then cranes his neck to drop a wet kiss on the curve of Oliver's ear.]
Who's the sex addict now?
[Never mind that it would hardly be the first time their post-intercourse cuddling turns into a second round. How easily they settle back into this light repartee, as if it was not just a half hour ago that their words were weighted with solemnity, and not just earlier this day that only bitter broken silence stretched between them.]
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[Never mind that's it's Oliver's fault fault cuddling turns to more just as often. His hands are starting to wander even now.]
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