[ 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. ]
[That was a minute ago, when he would have wanted to wipe that blood-tinged, smug look off of Alec’s face. This is a minute later, when a similar sentiment arises, but for different reasons altogether — this damnable man’s penchant to tease him.
That touch is whisper-light, after all, and Henry lets out a heated exhale through his teeth. He’s far too hard for that to be terribly satisfying, and selfishly, impatiently, he rucks his hips right Ito Alec’s hand to seek more. More friction, more touch. Damn him.]
I’m sure you… you’ll just give me something else to complain about. Don’t play coy. I said touch me.
[Henry, don’t you know the request to ask for less teasing often ends up manifesting the opposite?]
[ Given him something to complain about. Though, Alec knew he would. That's the whole point, after all.
And it's true, his insistence for less teasing only nets him more. Henry rucks his hips up to meet Alec's hand, and Alec simply pulls away. ]
What's the magic word?
[ He's testing the waters, here. He really doubts he'll be able to wring a please out of Henry fucking Creel, no matter how sweet it would be to hear. What he really wants to know is what kind of indignant response this will net him. ]
[Again, the word nails itself into his mind: insufferable. Alec is the epitome of it. And he’s right — there is no way Henry is going to beg, at least not yet. He’s not that far gone to let a please slip past his lips in incoherency.
So, the look he gives him is facetious and impatient and definitely a command.]
[ Well, he'd been half-expecting to get thrown into a wall, so this is a much more favorable reaction. It also tells him a fair bit. Henry's not so far gone as to beg for anything, but neither does he resort to force. Yet.
Alec won't push his luck.
That insufferable look stays on his face as he reaches between them again, his fingers hooking into the waistband of Henry's underwear to tug it and his pants down his hips as one unit, freeing him from the confines of the fabric. Then, without a word, he curls his fingers around Henry's length - noting with no small amount of satisfaction just how hard he is - and he takes him in one, two sure strokes from base to tip. ]
[Not quite at the tipping point of violence. Alec hasn’t frustrated him that much, though the potential is always there. Probably wise not to take his chances just yet.
Instead, he accedes — and with his clothing hastily shifted out of the way, his hand finally giving him the attention he wants, even in just a couple of strokes across his length, it’s enough to tease out another moan. He’s never been touched by someone else like this before. It dances a strange line between satisfying and not nearly enough.
His nails dig in again. Henry gnaws at his lower lip; he still tastes blood there. The look he gives Alec is of heated expectation — don’t you dare stop there.]
[ Alec is also going to commit this moment to memory — and probably many moments hereafter, but this one especially. He's already come to the conclusion that Henry looks good on his back, writhing beneath him, but something about the way he looks now is especially good. The heat in his gaze is mirrored in the way Alec looks back down at him, drinking in the sight of the color that's risen to his skin, his lower lip caught in his teeth, the streak of crimson at the corner of his mouth. Fuck.
He licks his lips, drags his thumb over the tip of Henry's cock. ]
Now who's impatient.
[ It's not a question, really. His eyes flick over to the small bottle of oil he'd grabbed from the kitchen cabinet on their way in here — normally used for cooking, but, well, take what you can get. In his haste to storm in the room and kiss Henry breathless, he left it on the desk. ]
[The view from below isn’t so bad, either. His eyes darkened with heat, eagerness, the way Alec licks his lips — even through the growing haze of impatience (yes, he is getting more impatient, he’s been impatient from the start) he can appreciate every little detail, try to brand it into his memory as much as he can.
The head of his cock is already starting to slick a little. Alec will catch some of it on his thumb as he brushes it against that sensitive area, making Henry swallow hard. Distracted, his brain actually struggles to parse his meaning, and it takes an effort to rip his gaze away from the man’s face to follow his eyes to the desk.
—Ah.
For something so small, he doesn’t have to reach out to bid his powers to bring it closer. It lifts, floats over, and hovers delicately in the space between them.]
[ Well, that sure is handy. He reaches up to pluck the bottle from where it hovers. ]
It is. I'm improvising, here.
[ But hey, at least he's considerate enough not to make Henry take it raw. (Though perhaps after this, he would do well to make sure he's more appropriately prepared. Somehow, he can't imagine this is the last time this is going to happen.)
Alec pops open the bottle's lid, tipping a bit of the contents onto his fingers and working it around with his thumb. Lest Henry get too much more impatient, soon enough he curls slicked digits around Henry again, taking him in another series of long strokes. Better, now, with the oil to grease the way. ]
[There’s an acerbic remark to be made here about thieving oil away from the kitchen to use in the bedroom, but he can’t bother to say it. Doesn’t care enough to. He finds he has absolutely nothing to complain about — Alec doesn’t take his sweet time slicking his own fingers, nor wrapping them around his length again, stroking him off in earnest.
That, of course, feels even better than the last time. Slick, and warm, and steady. His hands release their hard grip around Alec’s shoulders and fall down to pull at the sheets at either side of him, his bleeding lips parting halfway in a ragged exhale. If he wants to see him writhe beneath him, this is yet one more instance, Henry's eyes focused on nothing in particular, hazy with feeling.
One thing’s for certain, his inexperience means Alec’s worked him up quickly. His cock’s achingly stiff under every measure of his attentions.]
[ There it is. He's been waiting for a moment where the fight goes out of Henry in favor of heat and sensation. It's an exceptionally good look on him, the way his lips part, fingers grasping at the sheets. Alec licks his lips again, simply watching.
Fuck, Henry is so hard beneath his hand, and Alec has to wonder if he's going to last. Stubbornness counts for a lot certainly, but will even Henry's obstinance be enough while Alec works him open?
Because Alec has, like, a single solitary ounce of consideration, he'll at least ask first. ]
[Stubbornness will have to be what he solely relies on. Henry doesn’t have much else at his disposal right now, not after his pride has become so tenuous that it might as well be transient, having flown from the room sometime around the time Alec started touching him in earnest. His reply to the question is almost delayed, as though his mind needs to pierce through the haze to draw out an answer.
He swallows, throat bobbing. Thanks for being nice enough to ask, Alec.]
Yes. Do it.
[The words by themselves might be a command, but their delivery is a little too breathy to qualify. His eyes are fixed on Alec from below, flushed and bleeding lips still parted.]
[ The way Henry's looking at him, never mind that breathless command, threatens to set him ablaze on the spot — and here Alec thought he was the one with power over the elements. He doesn't even try to resist the urge to kiss those swollen, parted lips, dipping in for one more searing kiss.
After a bit, he draws away, Henry's blood fresh on his lips, and scoops up the bottle he'd set aside somewhere to coat his fingers anew. His touch drifts along the curve of Henry's rear, seeking out his entrance, and once he finds it, he begins the process of working one slicked digit inside. All the while he watches, eyes on Henry's face, his expression. His tongue darts out to swipe across his lips again, bringing the taste of copper back into his mouth. ]
[Alec dips down for another kiss, and it’s almost a distraction at this point — a welcome one, of course, paired with that scintillating sight of blood smeared across his lips when he pulls away, but the anticipation’s already running high. The impatience grows parallel with it. He can’t touch him fast enough.
He’s fastened his look on his face again, still flush and a little heady with want, but his gaze rolls back up to the ceiling once Alec’s touch glides along his backside, finding his entrance. That, despite the anticipation, is a keenly surprising sensation; not entirely unpleasant, but it’s foreign, and new, and of course Henry’s tight — clenched around him in response.
He hisses out something that sounds like an expletive under his breath—rare for him—but certainly not in a way that suggests Alec should stop. But he'll need the time to adjust.]
[ At least Alec is ready for the way things shift, as the newness catches Henry utterly off-guard. The tight clench of muscles around his finger, the soft curse. All things he expects.
All things he's sure Henry wouldn't necessarily want Alec to talk him through. He knows an unspoken cue to wait when he sees one, and so wait he does. He rests his free hand on Henry's hip, a steadying gesture. A silent assurance.
[Later, he’ll appreciate Alec’s willingness to hold his tongue, in case anything else sounds too patronizing to Henry in this moment. But that’s later — right now, his fingers pull at the sheets, he writhes just a little beneath him. Sucks in air through his teeth, still gnawing at a bleeding lip.
His chest heaves with the exhale, mind focused on the sensation of him at his entrance, acclimating with shifting hips, even as Alec’s hand remains steadying. Eventually, though, his gaze wanders back to the man’s face as he relaxes just enough to let him in deeper.
On the tail-end of another breath:]
What are you waiting for.
[Translation: he’s ready, but he’d never couch the words in anything genteel.]
[ Said mildly, in a way that sits entirely at odds with the heat in his gaze as he watches Henry writhe around on the sheets. It's a good thing at least one of them is possessed of some measure of patience, because Henry looks entirely too good to resist.
Now that he's been given the okay to continue — in so many words — he begins the steady process of working Henry open, letting him adjust and loosen around him enough for another finger. Henry's impatience is sure to spark again before too long, and when that gaze is turned on him again, he tempers it by curling his fingers just so. ]
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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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That touch is whisper-light, after all, and Henry lets out a heated exhale through his teeth. He’s far too hard for that to be terribly satisfying, and selfishly, impatiently, he rucks his hips right Ito Alec’s hand to seek more. More friction, more touch. Damn him.]
I’m sure you… you’ll just give me something else to complain about. Don’t play coy. I said touch me.
[Henry, don’t you know the request to ask for less teasing often ends up manifesting the opposite?]
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[ Given him something to complain about. Though, Alec knew he would. That's the whole point, after all.
And it's true, his insistence for less teasing only nets him more. Henry rucks his hips up to meet Alec's hand, and Alec simply pulls away. ]
What's the magic word?
[ He's testing the waters, here. He really doubts he'll be able to wring a please out of Henry fucking Creel, no matter how sweet it would be to hear. What he really wants to know is what kind of indignant response this will net him. ]
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So, the look he gives him is facetious and impatient and definitely a command.]
Now.
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Alec won't push his luck.
That insufferable look stays on his face as he reaches between them again, his fingers hooking into the waistband of Henry's underwear to tug it and his pants down his hips as one unit, freeing him from the confines of the fabric. Then, without a word, he curls his fingers around Henry's length - noting with no small amount of satisfaction just how hard he is - and he takes him in one, two sure strokes from base to tip. ]
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Instead, he accedes — and with his clothing hastily shifted out of the way, his hand finally giving him the attention he wants, even in just a couple of strokes across his length, it’s enough to tease out another moan. He’s never been touched by someone else like this before. It dances a strange line between satisfying and not nearly enough.
His nails dig in again. Henry gnaws at his lower lip; he still tastes blood there. The look he gives Alec is of heated expectation — don’t you dare stop there.]
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He licks his lips, drags his thumb over the tip of Henry's cock. ]
Now who's impatient.
[ It's not a question, really. His eyes flick over to the small bottle of oil he'd grabbed from the kitchen cabinet on their way in here — normally used for cooking, but, well, take what you can get. In his haste to storm in the room and kiss Henry breathless, he left it on the desk. ]
I'll be needing that.
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The head of his cock is already starting to slick a little. Alec will catch some of it on his thumb as he brushes it against that sensitive area, making Henry swallow hard. Distracted, his brain actually struggles to parse his meaning, and it takes an effort to rip his gaze away from the man’s face to follow his eyes to the desk.
—Ah.
For something so small, he doesn’t have to reach out to bid his powers to bring it closer. It lifts, floats over, and hovers delicately in the space between them.]
...Is this from the kitchen?
[How very spur of the moment.]
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It is. I'm improvising, here.
[ But hey, at least he's considerate enough not to make Henry take it raw. (Though perhaps after this, he would do well to make sure he's more appropriately prepared. Somehow, he can't imagine this is the last time this is going to happen.)
Alec pops open the bottle's lid, tipping a bit of the contents onto his fingers and working it around with his thumb. Lest Henry get too much more impatient, soon enough he curls slicked digits around Henry again, taking him in another series of long strokes. Better, now, with the oil to grease the way. ]
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That, of course, feels even better than the last time. Slick, and warm, and steady. His hands release their hard grip around Alec’s shoulders and fall down to pull at the sheets at either side of him, his bleeding lips parting halfway in a ragged exhale. If he wants to see him writhe beneath him, this is yet one more instance, Henry's eyes focused on nothing in particular, hazy with feeling.
One thing’s for certain, his inexperience means Alec’s worked him up quickly. His cock’s achingly stiff under every measure of his attentions.]
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Fuck, Henry is so hard beneath his hand, and Alec has to wonder if he's going to last. Stubbornness counts for a lot certainly, but will even Henry's obstinance be enough while Alec works him open?
Because Alec has, like, a single solitary ounce of consideration, he'll at least ask first. ]
You good for me to prep you?
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He swallows, throat bobbing. Thanks for being nice enough to ask, Alec.]
Yes. Do it.
[The words by themselves might be a command, but their delivery is a little too breathy to qualify. His eyes are fixed on Alec from below, flushed and bleeding lips still parted.]
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After a bit, he draws away, Henry's blood fresh on his lips, and scoops up the bottle he'd set aside somewhere to coat his fingers anew. His touch drifts along the curve of Henry's rear, seeking out his entrance, and once he finds it, he begins the process of working one slicked digit inside. All the while he watches, eyes on Henry's face, his expression. His tongue darts out to swipe across his lips again, bringing the taste of copper back into his mouth. ]
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He’s fastened his look on his face again, still flush and a little heady with want, but his gaze rolls back up to the ceiling once Alec’s touch glides along his backside, finding his entrance. That, despite the anticipation, is a keenly surprising sensation; not entirely unpleasant, but it’s foreign, and new, and of course Henry’s tight — clenched around him in response.
He hisses out something that sounds like an expletive under his breath—rare for him—but certainly not in a way that suggests Alec should stop. But he'll need the time to adjust.]
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All things he's sure Henry wouldn't necessarily want Alec to talk him through. He knows an unspoken cue to wait when he sees one, and so wait he does. He rests his free hand on Henry's hip, a steadying gesture. A silent assurance.
Tell me when. ]
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His chest heaves with the exhale, mind focused on the sensation of him at his entrance, acclimating with shifting hips, even as Alec’s hand remains steadying. Eventually, though, his gaze wanders back to the man’s face as he relaxes just enough to let him in deeper.
On the tail-end of another breath:]
What are you waiting for.
[Translation: he’s ready, but he’d never couch the words in anything genteel.]
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[ Said mildly, in a way that sits entirely at odds with the heat in his gaze as he watches Henry writhe around on the sheets. It's a good thing at least one of them is possessed of some measure of patience, because Henry looks entirely too good to resist.
Now that he's been given the okay to continue — in so many words — he begins the steady process of working Henry open, letting him adjust and loosen around him enough for another finger. Henry's impatience is sure to spark again before too long, and when that gaze is turned on him again, he tempers it by curling his fingers just so. ]
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