[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. ]
[Alec works him open, and Henry can’t say that he’s very impatient when his mind is so utterly fixated on how it feels. The flush across his face is now being mirrored in subtle swaths along his neck and collarbone; impossible to hide the evidence of his arousal via his body, even if he can try to tamp down any embarrassing noises from his mouth and throat.
If barely.
—and not at all, really, when Alec inserts a second finger, and once more the words practically gutter out of him.]
Ah— fuck. Alec.
[That is far from a complaint; it’s white-hot encouragement, and yes, impatience flaring on cue when he crooks his fingers in him. His pupils are blown wide as he looks up at him, and it’s taking plenty of self-control not to touch himself. He knows he wouldn’t last.]
[ Oh, it's like being let in on a secret as he watches the color creep down Henry's neck, seeing all the ways he reacts to Alec fucking him with his fingers. It's good, makes him eager to see what Henry does when Alec takes him in earnest.
He's drawn a curse out of him already. He'd count that as a victory, but he's long stopped measuring victories and defeats in this encounter. He's too utterly fixated on every little movement and sound from the man beneath him. ]
That's the goal, Henry.
[ The way the corner of his mouth quirks is undone by noticeable rasp in his voice. God, he's so hard he aches. ]
[Henry still possesses the presence of mind to want to sharply quip back, but not quite the coherency to string together words he’d care to speak. Everything else takes priority in this moment, instead — his heart thudding in his chest, Alec’s fingers seated inside of him, how they move every time he writhes just a little. The hitching rasp in his voice, making him wonder what he’d sound like coming undone inside of him.
What a thought. And even if that’s close to becoming a reality, it still sends a sharp little thrill through him, though Henry’s certain he can’t possibly ache or throb anymore than he is now.
He shifts minutely again, not so much adjusting than simply feeling. Fuck. He wants him inside. Henry gives him a darkened, almost-starved look that would suggest nothing else.]
[ Forget everything else that's happened before this moment, that's the look. The one Alec wants to immortalize forever. That dark, hungry thing in Henry's eyes that practically begs for him. It draws a curse out of him, something low and sharp and heated. Fuck.
He dives back in for one more kiss, a harsh thing that hopefully somewhat distracts from the sensation of Alec withdrawing his fingers. He's been half-dressed for most of this encounter, and right now especially it feels suffocating. With his hand free, he straightens, sliding his pants and underwear down his hips in one motion, the whole hard length of him bobbing free fucking finally. Alec shifts around on the mattress to kick his pants free to join the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.
Where did that fucking bottle go-? There it is. With the soft pop of the lid, Alec slicks his hand anew, curling his digits around his length to stroke himself. Fuck. Fuck. If Henry wanted proof of just how much he wants this, this is it. ]
[He makes a low sound into his mouth, suddenly deprived of Alec’s fingers — it only adds another layer of unsated want to the growing pile, but he makes up for it by putting on something of a show for Henry to appreciate in the interim. And given his state, every single little detail is fixated upon, heightened by want and growing, impatient anticipation; of course he takes in the state of Alec’s arousal between his legs, as hard and as desperate as his own. Despite himself, Henry’s lips curl into a satisfied grin. It’s nice to know that this is hardly one-sided.
And watching him slick himself with his fingers, indulging in a few generous strokes along his length? Blissful torture. He could watch him like this forever, except he doesn’t want just to watch, he wants to touch, and feel, and he wants to put his mouth on him again— And it really is enough to drive a man crazy, just observing him in these few passing seconds, touching himself like that.
[ Said on the heels of another indulgent swipe of his fingers that threatens to rob his breath away. Yes, he thinks he'd like that too. Henry's hand wrapped around him, pulling pleasure out of him with long fingers. To say nothing of how sweet Henry might look with his lips around Alec's cock instead. ]
Hah. Shit. I'm ready.
[ So Henry better be too, though Alec is certain he never stopped being so. Fingers are one thing, Alec's whole, hard length is quite another. He's going to have to hold onto his flagging patience just a bit longer. And so with a steadying breath, a steadying hand on Henry's hip, he aligns himself and begins easing himself into Henry by slow degrees. ]
[He would like that. His steady touch, stroking Alec off until he completely comes undone. Or tasting him on his tongue, spoiling him with the warmth of his mouth — should that idea ever find a home in his head someday.
But for now, there’s no room in his mind for anything other than the sensation of Alec’s grounding hand on his hip, and the head of his cock teasing at his entrance until it’s not teasing anymore, instead slowly, so slowly, easing in.
“Easing”, though, is a relative, because there’s certainly a difference between Alec’s fingers and his cock. Though he’s courteous enough to take his time, Henry feels simultaneously excited—heart thrashing in his chest—and overwhelmingly full. He’s not even all the way in; fuck, he’s so warm.
Just like with his fingers, Alec will have to give him just a moment to get used to the sensation, though his slow approach should be more than enough to do so. Henry grasps at the sheets again, hisses out sharply through his teeth. His muscles clench around him, probably not doing the other man’s patience any favors, as he tries to reconcile feeling good with also feeling overly full. He squirms as much as he can beneath his touch, lifting a leg up at the knee, trying to feel him out at this angle.]
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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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If barely.
—and not at all, really, when Alec inserts a second finger, and once more the words practically gutter out of him.]
Ah— fuck. Alec.
[That is far from a complaint; it’s white-hot encouragement, and yes, impatience flaring on cue when he crooks his fingers in him. His pupils are blown wide as he looks up at him, and it’s taking plenty of self-control not to touch himself. He knows he wouldn’t last.]
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He's drawn a curse out of him already. He'd count that as a victory, but he's long stopped measuring victories and defeats in this encounter. He's too utterly fixated on every little movement and sound from the man beneath him. ]
That's the goal, Henry.
[ The way the corner of his mouth quirks is undone by noticeable rasp in his voice. God, he's so hard he aches. ]
You'd better tell me when.
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What a thought. And even if that’s close to becoming a reality, it still sends a sharp little thrill through him, though Henry’s certain he can’t possibly ache or throb anymore than he is now.
He shifts minutely again, not so much adjusting than simply feeling. Fuck. He wants him inside. Henry gives him a darkened, almost-starved look that would suggest nothing else.]
I am ready — show me how much you want this, too.
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He dives back in for one more kiss, a harsh thing that hopefully somewhat distracts from the sensation of Alec withdrawing his fingers. He's been half-dressed for most of this encounter, and right now especially it feels suffocating. With his hand free, he straightens, sliding his pants and underwear down his hips in one motion, the whole hard length of him bobbing free fucking finally. Alec shifts around on the mattress to kick his pants free to join the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.
Where did that fucking bottle go-? There it is. With the soft pop of the lid, Alec slicks his hand anew, curling his digits around his length to stroke himself. Fuck. Fuck. If Henry wanted proof of just how much he wants this, this is it. ]
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And watching him slick himself with his fingers, indulging in a few generous strokes along his length? Blissful torture. He could watch him like this forever, except he doesn’t want just to watch, he wants to touch, and feel, and he wants to put his mouth on him again— And it really is enough to drive a man crazy, just observing him in these few passing seconds, touching himself like that.
Greedily-]
You need to let me touch you like that sometime.
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[ Said on the heels of another indulgent swipe of his fingers that threatens to rob his breath away. Yes, he thinks he'd like that too. Henry's hand wrapped around him, pulling pleasure out of him with long fingers. To say nothing of how sweet Henry might look with his lips around Alec's cock instead. ]
Hah. Shit. I'm ready.
[ So Henry better be too, though Alec is certain he never stopped being so. Fingers are one thing, Alec's whole, hard length is quite another. He's going to have to hold onto his flagging patience just a bit longer. And so with a steadying breath, a steadying hand on Henry's hip, he aligns himself and begins easing himself into Henry by slow degrees. ]
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But for now, there’s no room in his mind for anything other than the sensation of Alec’s grounding hand on his hip, and the head of his cock teasing at his entrance until it’s not teasing anymore, instead slowly, so slowly, easing in.
“Easing”, though, is a relative, because there’s certainly a difference between Alec’s fingers and his cock. Though he’s courteous enough to take his time, Henry feels simultaneously excited—heart thrashing in his chest—and overwhelmingly full. He’s not even all the way in; fuck, he’s so warm.
Just like with his fingers, Alec will have to give him just a moment to get used to the sensation, though his slow approach should be more than enough to do so. Henry grasps at the sheets again, hisses out sharply through his teeth. His muscles clench around him, probably not doing the other man’s patience any favors, as he tries to reconcile feeling good with also feeling overly full. He squirms as much as he can beneath his touch, lifting a leg up at the knee, trying to feel him out at this angle.]
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