[ He quite literally swept Henry off his feet. And has kept him from getting his feet back under him ever since.
Again with the psychic bullshit. The pass of that invisible touch isn't unpleasant, and there's something to be said for a partner with near unlimited hands at their disposal. He trails off in a hum that dips so low it may as well be a purr. His grip wrenches harder in Henry's hair. ]
If you wanna touch me so bad, Henry, just fucking do it.
[For as long as Henry’s willpower remains in one piece, not yet crumbled under Alec’s everything, he will not take to being bossed around, even in ways that make his heart thud hard in his ribcage. Even when his hair is wrenched again, delightfully forceful.
He’s going to do the opposite of using his hands. The opposite of rising to the bait. It’s almost petulant how that invisible touch all but coalesces right at Alec’s crotch, stroking up and against the contour of him. Back down again.]
[ If Henry's being so terribly clever, so petulant and defiant, then why is Alec grinning like the cat that caught the canary? He breathes out a low, rolling laugh as he angles his hips into those invisible hands, relishing in the sweet heat that sparks through him.
He's got your number, Henry Creel. ]
Yet, you're doing it anyway.
[ He never specified that he needed to use his hands, now did he? ]
[Fuck. He is insufferable. The irritation that rakes against his insides should not be so interwoven with a hot, hungry need, but it is, and that’s just all the more frustrating for it.
Notably, Henry’s powers do not cease their attentions.
But also, he’s propping himself up on his shoulders and attempting to sit up. How’s Alec’s grip on his hair?]
[ He's counting the continued use of that phantom touch a victory. If he didn't think Henry would absolutely rankle at a bit of praise, he might be tempted to give it. As it is, he rocks his body along with the sensation, rewarding Henry a little for his efforts in turn.
When Henry moves to sit, Alec holds his grip for a second or two, unmoving. A very real warning that he could keep him there if he wants to - but as it stands, he doesn't want to. He relents, letting Henry ease himself up.
[He will not visibly react to that irritatingly wonderful feeling of Alec rolling his hips against him, even if his body is, once again, betraying his interest in every other feasible way. Note: the slight flushing of his pale skin across the cheekbones as he tries to sit up but remains held by the hair.
Just for a few seconds, he looks like an animal wanting to be let off its leash.
But then Alec relents, and Henry’s hands are immediately drawing up and under his shirt, greedy to feel with his own hands. Yes, it’s a concession. A small one. But pile little victories upon little victories, and maybe Alec is on the right track of getting Henry to unravel for him.
[ Oh he does note that color creeping into Henry's cheeks. As if he would ever miss those little details. One more point for him. (They're not actually keeping score.)
As strangely pleasant as the pass of Henry's powers has been, it pales in comparison to a real touch, the electric heat of skin on skin as his hands dip beneath Alec's shirt. He breathes out a pleased little sigh, straightening a little so he can pull his t-shirt off. The order can slide, since he's happy to let Henry explore. And unlike Henry, Alec's skin is far from unmarred. He has plenty of marks, scars left by blades or bullets or stray bolts of lightning. A map of his mercenary career written on his body.
(The answer, by the way, to the unasked tattoo question is twelve.) ]
[Oh, every mark is like a little secret revealed to him, tantalizing in ways that aren’t just physical. Scars and burns, old wounds healed over from who knows how many years ago. How many layers to Alec can he someday peel apart, getting him to tell the tale behind each one?
Henry’s more eager than he’d like to admit; the way his gaze rakes across him initially is more than proof of that. But the scarring temporarily pauses this growing urgency. His hands smooth up Alec’s torso, warm and present, but then he traces along the line of an old injury with his fingertip.
The gesture is strangely delicate. Like how he would handle a spider.]
Look how much of your life is carved into your skin.
[ Meanwhile, he finds Henry's sudden fascination, well, fascinating in its own right. The gentleness with which he draws long, slim fingers along an old scar sits entirely at odds with their whole encounter until now. The calm in the eye of the storm.
Those questing fingers send a shiver down his spine. He remembers that mark, a long, slender line carved into his flesh from the claws of a wraith. A soul so corrupted and angry it turned itself into a monster. Maybe there's something poetic in Henry's fixation on it now. ]
That's what happens when you live a life like mine.
[Maybe Henry would have made a good wraith if the Upside Down didn’t claim him first.
That finger trails to the very, very edge of Alec’s faded wound, stopping right where the ridge of old scar tissue smooths back into normal skin. His eyes flick up at him.]
Excitement at every turn? I hope you share a few of these stories with me someday.
[ Alec keeps his eyes on Henry's face as he inspects the scar, so when odd-colored eyes flick up in his direction, their gazes meet. This little interlude has done little to quell the heat simmering just under Alec's skin, but perhaps the storm in his eyes isn't quite so wild. ]
Maybe someday.
[ He draws his hands up Henry's chest. He no longer has his magic in play, for now, but his palms are warm all the same. Slide up to his shoulders to ease his shirt away. They might as well be even. ]
[Warm and enough to light another spark — not that the flame had been even close to dying. Henry’s shirt slips down his shoulders, and he shrugs the material off, letting it crumple just behind him. The rest of his skin matches what was previously bared, smooth and pale and unmarred by any scarring, so utterly different than what the lightning storm had done to him when he was banished to another plane. Different than the wet misshapen “complexion” of a man who’d been there for years.
Even so. Compared to Alec’s scarring, they could hardly be more different.]
For now…
[For now, he slides his hand over another prominent scar, but Henry’s not as keen to linger on this one with just his fingers. Instead, he brings his mouth onto it, lips sealing across the raised edges, pressing his tongue down. Laving generously.
The sting of teeth come next. This is how you leave a love bite: in places where someone can't see!]
The velvet heat of Henry's mouth on raised skin turns his blood molten, makes the subdued light in his eyes flash brighter. Fingers curl into Henry's hair again, encouraging rather than restraining. His grip pulses tighter at the first sting of teeth, but even that seems to be a request for more rather than a request to stop.
A low little sound rumbles up out of Alec, something breathless and gravelly. Fuck. Okay, Henry can win this one. ]
[He’s already decided he doesn’t mind the grip in his hair, but feeling Alec react with an even tighter pull against his scalp is satisfying. He’ll take that win. One point for Henry. (No one’s keeping score.)
The curve of his mouth tugs upwards, utterly pleased, and when he’s nearly certain he’s left a subtle, swelling mark, Henry eases his head back as much as Alec will allow him to admire his handiwork.
Good. But not enough.
The second nearest scar gets the same treatment. His tongue slides against the smooth curve of it, followed by his lips. And then, of course, the teeth. Hard. That's how he likes it, isn't it?]
[ How strange this is. Alec can't remember the last time someone paid this much attention to his scars, if ever. Most people tended to avoid them, figuring they were personal or painful, and here is Henry, determined to make his mark on every single one.
Muscles flex under the pass of Henry's mouth, but his whole body jerks at that sudden bite. Harder than the rest. No, Alec hasn't exactly been subtle about his preferences, and that stinging pain settles on just the right side of pleasure for him. A sharp intake of breath that leaves his lungs again in a low groan.
His fingers twist into Henry's hair to pull, to tug him back sharply. Not because he didn't like it, but because he wants to return the favor, to descend on the blank canvas of Henry's skin and leave his own mark. Like for like. He dips down to find a spot along Henry's clavicle, the warm slide of his tongue heralding the sharp bite that follows soon after. ]
[Henry enjoys finding the imperfect pieces of people, those hairline fractures everyone keeps hidden beneath. The secrets. A scar hiding beneath one’s clothing is just the physical version of the same thing. He enjoys the feeling of uneven skin beneath his tongue, and the planes of muscles flexing beneath. He loves Alec’s groan, and wonders if he can incite more sounds like that from his throat.
But then Alec decides to return the favor, yanking his hair back and exposing the line of his throat again, the pale contours of his shoulders and chest. He exhales, caught off guard by it. His lips are shining from their attention given to the other man, and they part in an inhale. His attempt to speak is breathy—]
Was that too much for you to h—
[Speaking was a mistake, actually. The moment Alec’s teeth meet the line of his clavicle, his words gutter out into a noise that would be more embarrassing if not how the poignant sting of pain mixes with pleasure. Excitement. Oh, he wants more of that. Alec’s making him so, so hard with just the promise of it.]
[ Oh, yes. The noise that he pulls out of Henry with the harsh attentions of his mouth is the sweetest one yet. It doesn't tell him anything he hasn't already figured out - that Henry likes it just as rough as he does - but he zeroes in on it all the same. Like blood in the water. He doesn't leave that spot until it's red and angry beneath his lips, thrumming with the same pulse that beats insistently where their hips are slotted against one another.
And then he moves downward, leveraging Henry back onto his back as he languidly draws his mouth over the pale expanse of Henry's chest, letting him wonder when the next sting of pain will bloom. It happens eventually, perhaps just long enough for impatience to make the payoff all the sweeter, teeth digging in harshly to smooth skin. Alec wears his life carved onto his body. Henry can at least wear the signs of this encounter for a day or two. ]
[Alec’s mouth leaves that spot around his clavicle swollen and raw, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. It’s sure to leave a mark, a darkened shape against an otherwise pale complexion, a reminder of where his mouth’s been, something he’ll see in the mirror for the next few days as he gets dressed in the morning. And his pride should balk at that — but then again, his pride should balk at a lot of things that have happened already, but indignity is always washed away by white-hot arousal when he inevitably follows up with more sensation that leaves him uncharacteristically pliant.
Such as lowering him back onto the mattress, gliding his mouth against his chest. Alec leaves a trail that cools where he’s been, noticeable only because the rest of him feels so warm. And then, again, that blessed press and pinch of teeth.]
Ah—
[Fuck. He instinctively arches his back a little, encouraging. His hips raise, too, an attempt at friction where they’re already slotted together.]
[ Well, Alec isn't going to stop now. Not in the face of that reaction. Henry arches up into him and he knows that he's on the right track to picking Henry apart, piece by piece. It makes him indulgent, less on his guard that Henry will try and turn the tables again, so the instant those hips raise, his rock down to meet them.
There's an unkindness in that motion, as well. As with so many things about the both of them. But the roughness is welcome, perfect for a pair of people who know little else. He groans with it, open-mouthed against Henry's skin.
He angles his head, and his tongue slides over one of Henry's nipples before he takes it between his teeth, teasing. Testing. Using the press of their bodies to measure the reaction of the man beneath him. Alec is certain he knows just about as much of what Henry likes as Henry does, at this point, and so they're making new discoveries together. ]
[Alec gives his body exactly what it’s ached for since the start: friction grazing hard right between his legs. It’s a small miracle that Henry’s stubbornness belatedly manages to make him cognizant of the noises tumbling out of his throat unbidden, but he’s distantly aware that he’s going to be strung apart, little by little, at this rate. He grits down his teeth to restrict any particularly elucidating groans that would follow, a muscle jumping along his jawline.
Still. They’ve both been discovering plenty about each other in the last couple of days, haven’t they? That the two of them like it rough is no grand revelation; Henry could have told Alec that before today, should the topic ever have come up before now. (Unlikely.) But the details are new: he likes fingers fisting tightly into his hair. He likes the sharp bite of teeth. And now, he likes those teeth teasing at the bud of his nipple. And he insanely relishes in the idea of Alec being the one to do it all to him.
He doesn’t want it to stop. But he doesn’t wish for this to be one-sided in making the other writhe, as inevitable as it might be. Hands come up and around, fingers near Alec’s shoulder blades. The crescent moon sharpness of Henry’s nails dig in, and he rakes his hands straight down his back in turn.]
[ Henry can stop himself all he wants, but Alec is going to be sure to remember each and every little noise that he doesn't tamp down on. For his own part, he's really started giving up the pretense that he isn't enjoying it, and maybe that's what will really net him the win in this game where no one is actually keeping score.
Nails bite into his skin, bright points of pain that bloom over the expanse of his back. Surely he doesn't have Henry quite so worked up that he needs to hang onto something, so this must be intentional, and the intent is to give as good as he's getting. Alec, frankly, wouldn't have it any other way. Those hands rake over his skin, no doubt leaving angry marks in their wake, and the sting is good. He curls his fingers into the bedding, pulling away from Henry just enough to breathe out, ]
Haaah, fuck, Henry.
[ Funny how those words seem to sound like do that again.
Well, if this is a game of give and take, which it most certainly has been so far, he dips in to dig his teeth into Henry's skin again. He won't be satisfied until they're both bosting bruises and welts and angry red marks. ]
[Alec has the advantage of being able to lose himself a little more in every sensation without being drowned in it, without coming undone, unraveled by the other man. Henry doesn’t have the experience to do the same, and his pride can only bolster his resolve so much before it, too, flies apart at the seams.
He’ll learn this soon enough.
For now, it’s wonderful to hear those words escape Alec’s mouth, to be encouraged to do the same thing again, and he digs his nails in a second time, this time scraping from the small of his back upwards, right to his shoulder blades again. The cut across his palm, though clotting, still leaves little streaks of crimson the entire journey. An utterly visceral look that he can’t appreciate from this angle, but his imagination is more than willing to do the heavy lifting for him.]
Do you like that?
[Because Henry equally likes the bite marks Alec is going to sear into his skin, the throbbing sting and pinch; the shape of his mouth undoubtedly marked into him for days to come. He arches into him again, greedy.]
[ Oh, he's going to feel that in the morning. Hell, he's feeling it now, the sting, the heat of scored skin exposed to the open air of the room, the extra bite as the path of Henry's nails crosses with the marks he'd left there the first time. Henry gets a noise in the affirmative, all breath and gravel and want, reverberating against his chest. Yes, he likes that very much.
Henry arches up to meet him again, too warm skin against too warm skin. Alec's hand snaps up to catch him by the jaw, and he leans in for a messy, heated kiss that's more teeth and force than anything else. It ends with a bite to Henry's lower lip that is just sharp enough to break skin, blood welling in the corner of his lips. Alec drags his tongue over it almost greedily. Well, now he's not the only one with blood smeared on his face. ]
[His lip will be red, swollen, and glistening by the time they’re done — and as Alec presses down hard once more, it’ll be bleeding, too. Henry can taste the coppery tang as blood draws from the fresh break in his skin, dragged across his mouth by the other’s tongue. The whole sensation has him digging his nails in deeper, as though he were hooking into Alec’s back, arrested by the stinging pain and all it entails, the warmth of it, the look of it.
Caught by the jaw, Henry still tries to turn his head away— not out of disapproval, despite the growling noise he makes—but just to see. Blood painting Alec’s lips would be a wonderful sight, a strangely intimate one if he wears a smile to pair with it, and regardless if Henry’s allowed to angle his head to appreciate the view, he will force out a very important sentiment between their somewhat violent kiss:]
When are you going to really touch me? Alec.
[His pupils would be blown wide and searching, a little wild, if Alec takes note. That has been enough to set his heart really thudding in his chest; enough where he will relent just enough to ask and not care about pride getting in the way.]
[ Henry doesn't have to crane that much to look, because Alec pulls back to let him see a swath of red painted inelegantly across his lips, though the look on his face is less a smile and more a smirk. As Alec is wont to do. His tongue darts out to lick his lips clean, or as clean as he can manage. He definitely misses a spot, and doesn't seem to notice or care.
He's too enraptured by the look on Henry's face, that wild darkness to odd-colored eyes. The way he seems to have tipped Henry over the edge, just a bit, so that he forgets pride altogether and asks for what he wants. ]
Weren't you bitching about me being in a hurry just a minute ago? Henry.
[ Though, the only heat to be found in that accusation is the heat of want. He would love nothing more than to see how fast Henry flies apart under his fingers. He slips a hand between them, fingers dipping beneath Henry's waistband to give the barest whisper of a touch long his length. That absolutely insufferably smug look blooms on his face as he seeks to tease. ]
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I'm giving myself the perfect amount of credit.
[ He quite literally swept Henry off his feet. And has kept him from getting his feet back under him ever since.
Again with the psychic bullshit. The pass of that invisible touch isn't unpleasant, and there's something to be said for a partner with near unlimited hands at their disposal. He trails off in a hum that dips so low it may as well be a purr. His grip wrenches harder in Henry's hair. ]
If you wanna touch me so bad, Henry, just fucking do it.
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He’s going to do the opposite of using his hands. The opposite of rising to the bait. It’s almost petulant how that invisible touch all but coalesces right at Alec’s crotch, stroking up and against the contour of him. Back down again.]
Don’t pretend to know what I want.
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He's got your number, Henry Creel. ]
Yet, you're doing it anyway.
[ He never specified that he needed to use his hands, now did he? ]
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Notably, Henry’s powers do not cease their attentions.
But also, he’s propping himself up on his shoulders and attempting to sit up. How’s Alec’s grip on his hair?]
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When Henry moves to sit, Alec holds his grip for a second or two, unmoving. A very real warning that he could keep him there if he wants to - but as it stands, he doesn't want to. He relents, letting Henry ease himself up.
What's he up to? ]
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Just for a few seconds, he looks like an animal wanting to be let off its leash.
But then Alec relents, and Henry’s hands are immediately drawing up and under his shirt, greedy to feel with his own hands. Yes, it’s a concession. A small one. But pile little victories upon little victories, and maybe Alec is on the right track of getting Henry to unravel for him.
For now—]
Take off your shirt.
finally a use for this icon
As strangely pleasant as the pass of Henry's powers has been, it pales in comparison to a real touch, the electric heat of skin on skin as his hands dip beneath Alec's shirt. He breathes out a pleased little sigh, straightening a little so he can pull his t-shirt off. The order can slide, since he's happy to let Henry explore. And unlike Henry, Alec's skin is far from unmarred. He has plenty of marks, scars left by blades or bullets or stray bolts of lightning. A map of his mercenary career written on his body.
(The answer, by the way, to the unasked tattoo question is twelve.) ]
s i r
Henry’s more eager than he’d like to admit; the way his gaze rakes across him initially is more than proof of that. But the scarring temporarily pauses this growing urgency. His hands smooth up Alec’s torso, warm and present, but then he traces along the line of an old injury with his fingertip.
The gesture is strangely delicate. Like how he would handle a spider.]
Look how much of your life is carved into your skin.
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Those questing fingers send a shiver down his spine. He remembers that mark, a long, slender line carved into his flesh from the claws of a wraith. A soul so corrupted and angry it turned itself into a monster. Maybe there's something poetic in Henry's fixation on it now. ]
That's what happens when you live a life like mine.
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That finger trails to the very, very edge of Alec’s faded wound, stopping right where the ridge of old scar tissue smooths back into normal skin. His eyes flick up at him.]
Excitement at every turn? I hope you share a few of these stories with me someday.
[Just not… you know. This afternoon.]
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Maybe someday.
[ He draws his hands up Henry's chest. He no longer has his magic in play, for now, but his palms are warm all the same. Slide up to his shoulders to ease his shirt away. They might as well be even. ]
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wetmisshapen “complexion” of a man who’d been there for years.Even so. Compared to Alec’s scarring, they could hardly be more different.]
For now…
[For now, he slides his hand over another prominent scar, but Henry’s not as keen to linger on this one with just his fingers. Instead, he brings his mouth onto it, lips sealing across the raised edges, pressing his tongue down. Laving generously.
The sting of teeth come next. This is how you leave a love bite: in places where someone can't see!]
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The velvet heat of Henry's mouth on raised skin turns his blood molten, makes the subdued light in his eyes flash brighter. Fingers curl into Henry's hair again, encouraging rather than restraining. His grip pulses tighter at the first sting of teeth, but even that seems to be a request for more rather than a request to stop.
A low little sound rumbles up out of Alec, something breathless and gravelly. Fuck. Okay, Henry can win this one. ]
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The curve of his mouth tugs upwards, utterly pleased, and when he’s nearly certain he’s left a subtle, swelling mark, Henry eases his head back as much as Alec will allow him to admire his handiwork.
Good. But not enough.
The second nearest scar gets the same treatment. His tongue slides against the smooth curve of it, followed by his lips. And then, of course, the teeth. Hard. That's how he likes it, isn't it?]
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Muscles flex under the pass of Henry's mouth, but his whole body jerks at that sudden bite. Harder than the rest. No, Alec hasn't exactly been subtle about his preferences, and that stinging pain settles on just the right side of pleasure for him. A sharp intake of breath that leaves his lungs again in a low groan.
His fingers twist into Henry's hair to pull, to tug him back sharply. Not because he didn't like it, but because he wants to return the favor, to descend on the blank canvas of Henry's skin and leave his own mark. Like for like. He dips down to find a spot along Henry's clavicle, the warm slide of his tongue heralding the sharp bite that follows soon after. ]
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But then Alec decides to return the favor, yanking his hair back and exposing the line of his throat again, the pale contours of his shoulders and chest. He exhales, caught off guard by it. His lips are shining from their attention given to the other man, and they part in an inhale. His attempt to speak is breathy—]
Was that too much for you to h—
[Speaking was a mistake, actually. The moment Alec’s teeth meet the line of his clavicle, his words gutter out into a noise that would be more embarrassing if not how the poignant sting of pain mixes with pleasure. Excitement. Oh, he wants more of that. Alec’s making him so, so hard with just the promise of it.]
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And then he moves downward, leveraging Henry back onto his back as he languidly draws his mouth over the pale expanse of Henry's chest, letting him wonder when the next sting of pain will bloom. It happens eventually, perhaps just long enough for impatience to make the payoff all the sweeter, teeth digging in harshly to smooth skin. Alec wears his life carved onto his body. Henry can at least wear the signs of this encounter for a day or two. ]
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Such as lowering him back onto the mattress, gliding his mouth against his chest. Alec leaves a trail that cools where he’s been, noticeable only because the rest of him feels so warm. And then, again, that blessed press and pinch of teeth.]
Ah—
[Fuck. He instinctively arches his back a little, encouraging. His hips raise, too, an attempt at friction where they’re already slotted together.]
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There's an unkindness in that motion, as well. As with so many things about the both of them. But the roughness is welcome, perfect for a pair of people who know little else. He groans with it, open-mouthed against Henry's skin.
He angles his head, and his tongue slides over one of Henry's nipples before he takes it between his teeth, teasing. Testing. Using the press of their bodies to measure the reaction of the man beneath him. Alec is certain he knows just about as much of what Henry likes as Henry does, at this point, and so they're making new discoveries together. ]
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Still. They’ve both been discovering plenty about each other in the last couple of days, haven’t they? That the two of them like it rough is no grand revelation; Henry could have told Alec that before today, should the topic ever have come up before now. (Unlikely.) But the details are new: he likes fingers fisting tightly into his hair. He likes the sharp bite of teeth. And now, he likes those teeth teasing at the bud of his nipple. And he insanely relishes in the idea of Alec being the one to do it all to him.
He doesn’t want it to stop. But he doesn’t wish for this to be one-sided in making the other writhe, as inevitable as it might be. Hands come up and around, fingers near Alec’s shoulder blades. The crescent moon sharpness of Henry’s nails dig in, and he rakes his hands straight down his back in turn.]
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Nails bite into his skin, bright points of pain that bloom over the expanse of his back. Surely he doesn't have Henry quite so worked up that he needs to hang onto something, so this must be intentional, and the intent is to give as good as he's getting. Alec, frankly, wouldn't have it any other way. Those hands rake over his skin, no doubt leaving angry marks in their wake, and the sting is good. He curls his fingers into the bedding, pulling away from Henry just enough to breathe out, ]
Haaah, fuck, Henry.
[ Funny how those words seem to sound like do that again.
Well, if this is a game of give and take, which it most certainly has been so far, he dips in to dig his teeth into Henry's skin again. He won't be satisfied until they're both bosting bruises and welts and angry red marks. ]
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He’ll learn this soon enough.
For now, it’s wonderful to hear those words escape Alec’s mouth, to be encouraged to do the same thing again, and he digs his nails in a second time, this time scraping from the small of his back upwards, right to his shoulder blades again. The cut across his palm, though clotting, still leaves little streaks of crimson the entire journey. An utterly visceral look that he can’t appreciate from this angle, but his imagination is more than willing to do the heavy lifting for him.]
Do you like that?
[Because Henry equally likes the bite marks Alec is going to sear into his skin, the throbbing sting and pinch; the shape of his mouth undoubtedly marked into him for days to come. He arches into him again, greedy.]
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Henry arches up to meet him again, too warm skin against too warm skin. Alec's hand snaps up to catch him by the jaw, and he leans in for a messy, heated kiss that's more teeth and force than anything else. It ends with a bite to Henry's lower lip that is just sharp enough to break skin, blood welling in the corner of his lips. Alec drags his tongue over it almost greedily. Well, now he's not the only one with blood smeared on his face. ]
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Caught by the jaw, Henry still tries to turn his head away— not out of disapproval, despite the growling noise he makes—but just to see. Blood painting Alec’s lips would be a wonderful sight, a strangely intimate one if he wears a smile to pair with it, and regardless if Henry’s allowed to angle his head to appreciate the view, he will force out a very important sentiment between their somewhat violent kiss:]
When are you going to really touch me? Alec.
[His pupils would be blown wide and searching, a little wild, if Alec takes note. That has been enough to set his heart really thudding in his chest; enough where he will relent just enough to ask and not care about pride getting in the way.]
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He's too enraptured by the look on Henry's face, that wild darkness to odd-colored eyes. The way he seems to have tipped Henry over the edge, just a bit, so that he forgets pride altogether and asks for what he wants. ]
Weren't you bitching about me being in a hurry just a minute ago? Henry.
[ Though, the only heat to be found in that accusation is the heat of want. He would love nothing more than to see how fast Henry flies apart under his fingers. He slips a hand between them, fingers dipping beneath Henry's waistband to give the barest whisper of a touch long his length. That absolutely insufferably smug look blooms on his face as he seeks to tease. ]
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