A/N: for zephtastic as part of an extended glasses!kink comment-porning -- god, I hate FFN's truncating of links, this is why I prefer Archive of Our Own -- inspired by all sorts of hot images of Chris Pine in geeky glasses, but especially this one:
http:(BACKSLASH)(BACKSLASH)i314(DOT)photobucket(DOT)com(BACKSLASH)albums(BACKSLASH)ll425(BACKSLASH)zephtastic(BACKSLASH)00001qxf(DOT)jpg
***
"Look up," Leonard breathes into the cusp of Jim's ear and Jim shudders, a whole body tremor, but his head shakes back and forth in negation like a pendulum. He's broken out into a sweat. Leonard follows the trail of it with his tongue up Jim's curved neck and into the soft hairs of his nape that ripple up into gooseflesh. "Come on," he says, letting his voice drop into a syrupy drawl.
"Why're you so fixated on this?" Jim says, frustration rasping harsh in the back of his throat, that high little catch as Leonard drags his nails up Jim's belly. He pinches a rosy nipple between thumb and forefinger and twists just a little, warningly. Jim sucks in a breath and does that graceless half-jerk, half-writhe—forward, backward—into Leonard's cruel fingers as if torn between begging for more or begging for mercy. Leonard doesn't answer, clearly understood in each wordless pull and pinch, his other hand carding through the coarse hairs in Jim's groin, hard palm around the base. Long fingers cup Jim's balls and tug at them, but he's careful not to touch the hard cock that lays heavy and wanting and unsatisfied against Leonard's wrist.
Jim makes a sharp, broken sound and breathes harder, nostrils flaring. Leonard licks the sharp point of his shoulder, feeling the heat from Jim's flushed skin, the writhe of muscles under Leonard's roving tongue.
Jim's being mulish, Leonard knows; god bless Jim Kirk, equal parts charm and donkey-headed stubbornness, and the only way to break through the barrier is to catch him off guard. Accordingly Leonard pushes him against the sink, knocking his knees apart with his own, and slots his cock neatly into the groove of Jim's ass.
Jim snaps his head up then, eyes wide, and electricity sparks between them as their gazes lock in the mirror.
Leonard holds nothing back, letting Jim have the full blast of his hunger. Leonard's not the one who always needs sex nownownow but Jim has no idea how he looks with his glasses on, the glasses he hates and wears as little as possible and never ever wears outside his quarters. Vain boy; eyes too sensitive for surgery, yet if his eyes are too tired for contacts he'll go without any corrective eyewear whatsoever, preferring to squint and give himself a migraine.
But there's something to the thick frames and the even thicker coke-bottle lenses, and the crooked charm of its barely hanging on for dear life on the bridge of Jim's nose, that makes Leonard want to bend Jim over the nearest surface and run his hands and tongue all over Jim's quivering body and make him come so hard he passes out.
"Don't take them off," Leonard orders as Jim lifts a hand to his face. Jim glares at him then, wide blue eyes and every thick eyelash doubly magnified in the lenses and framed in dull black plastic.
Before Jim can protest, let fly with another of those flippant remarks he seems to have in endless supply, Leonard pulls him away from the sink and pushes him onto his back on the floor. Jim's hand catches on the shelf as he goes, sending bottles of contact solution and eye drops flying. The contact case and its lids fall into the toilet but Jim doesn't even notice, chewing on an already reddened and swollen lip and staring narrow-eyed up at Leonard, long limbs splayed in invitation on the tiles.
The glasses hang even more crookedly on Jim's face, now more on Jim's upper lip than his nose proper, and his breath fogs up the lenses in quickening rhythm as they fuck on the floor. Jim's leg is locked behind Leonard's waist, one slung over his shoulder, both hands on Leonard's ass as if holding onto a lifeline.
There's a contact stuck to Jim's cheek like a tear, Leonard notes distantly, as he comes.