It's almost scary that he does it. I ask him to, to do it again
because it feels *good*, which I didn't expect. I feel his saliva
cooling on my bare skin. It tickles and I want him to do it again.
(purely scientific reasons, of course)
He's reluctant but another kiss and my hands gusting over his nipples
convinces him. He bites me but gently, just hard enough that it
hurts and lightly enough that the pleasure is almost immediate. Oh,
fucking jesus--
I grip hard, feel absently the give of flesh under my nails. He
works at it, snapping and soothing almost in one motion, teeth here
and tongue there, and I think there's a wire from my nipple to my
dick, wishing, gasping for him to touch me. Everytime his tongue
comes down I dig deep and he twitches and I know the stickyness on my
fingertips is blood. I consider for the umpteenth time in about
thirty seconds what he whispered to me on heavy breath,
"Whatever you want."
Ok. So I'm in control--
--erk. Or not. Tongue, lips, yikes--
--so I'm maybe in control, and it feels so damn good...I want to try
something different. I just don't know how to ask or whether he
really will do it, and I don't know if I *can* ask him...I don't know
if I can ask him to do it, he *is* still my boss, and how would I
work with him without getting an instant hard-on everytime he looks
at me?
Or blushing the color of his hair?
I want to know, in a sickly savage way, whether he really would do
it. Whether he'd actually be willing to blow me. If he'd swallow.
He shifts back without a word to kissing the brain-numbingly
sensitive spot under my jaw. H, H, my dick thanks you *so* much...
Everything's a touch. My skin is cold burning and numb, feeling like
I'm made of wet sand all packed together. He squeezes my hard-on
through my jeans and all thought blown sky-fucking-high on that one,
buck my hips against his and feel his low, deep laugh. Stubble
bristle rough fingers warm touch warm body sleek muscle slight
sifting fuzz...
"H..." I groan, and it really sounds much more like a plea than
anything else.
"Mmm-hmm...?"
Well, he seems pleased with himself. He should, too.
"Uh, you, uhh, said, what, what I want, right?" I'm sweating cold
tracks down my flanks and temples right now. His scrutiny makes me
squirm which shoots my ability to speak all to hell.
"Yes."
I close my eyes, tilt my head. If I wasn't lying flat on my back I'd
be staring skyward. Chewing my lips, a nervous gesture. "Will you,
I mean, I, uh, would you...please..." I wriggle. Every movement my
dick brushes against the inside of my boxers and another spike of
pleasure jerks into my belly.
Oh, that hand moving up and down my chest is fucking distracting.
Goddamn.
"Blow me?" I ask. And it sounds fucking inelegant, but there's not
real subtle way to put it, and at the moment, well, *fuck* subtle.
He smiles into another deep, tonsil-kicking kiss. I think the hands
now fiddling with my belt, two, three fingers slipping between my hip
and waistband, oh, that's *so* a yes...
He doesn't need to say anything. Just sits back, while I struggle up
onto my elbows because I want to watch him, struggle because my blood
is *not* going to my muscles right now.
I *have* to watch him. Like it's not real. I remember waking up
after the first time and not wanting to open my eyes because I
thought it wouldn't be him.
My arms shake. He tickles my ribs and kisses me gently. "Sure."
An awkward moment.
"Lie down." He says, a hand resting on my chest.
"I wanna watch you." Okay, that sounded idiotic, Speed. Brilliant.
Porn-star.
"Um." He settles back on his haunches. We're both breathing hard.
I trace a pattern through the pale hairs on his chest. "Okay, uh,
sit back against the couch. That'll work."
I do. My sweat sticks to the vinyl sofa, squeaks and bleats. He
licks his lips. He's...
Whoa, he's, kinda...beautiful. Is this how he feels about me? Is
this what he sees when he leans over me, mumuring to me that I'm
beautiful between kisses, between his hands and mouth driving me
nuts?
Just watching him I know the feel of his lips, and the soft,
insistent way he kisses. The way no one's ever kissed me before.
The thought that he's going to go down on me almost makes me cum
right there, which would've negated the whole process.
"It's okay, Speed."
Because I'm shaking with anticipation. And he's always there, his
touch, his presence stable, comforting.
He undoes my belt. Everytime his skin touches mine I whimper--
jello in a balloon
--squirm, yelp, gasp.
H undoes my jeans, sucking on my lip, his tongue swiping mine. I
close my eyes and tilt my head back, back. Sweat down my temples and
in my hair, the warm sticky wet tongue slipping down my neck, throat,
chest, belly.
I'm panting, digging my fingers into the carpet.
Hands, mouth, tongue. The soft coarse touch of his hair on my
chest.
"Easy, Speed." He mumbles into my belly.
I grunt.
He strokes my dick with one hand, the other gripping my upper arm
hard. Feels so fucking *good*, sweet *jesus*, oh, *god*...
Mouth. Warm. Wet. Warm.
"--nhg-ratio..." I growl. His grip loosens and he sucks me
awkwardly, but who gives a flying *fuck* about technique, it doesn't
*matter*, hell *no*, no fucking *way*--
I can't even seperate out what he's doing. I know one hand is still
in my jeans, stroking behind my balls, and I *know* his mouth is on
my dick, but--
who fucking cares what he's doing.
--exactly. I can barely breathe straight solid breaths. I can't,
ragged gasping gulping, I tense up and feel like my brain comes
draining out my ears and come oh fucking *GOD*--
The roar of blood in my ears dies down and I start to notice that my
fingers are still knuckle deep in carpet and my eyes are squeezed
shut.
Coughing.
When I open my eyes I see his back, his neck, sweat-tangled hair.
His shoulders jerk as he coughs again and spits on the carpet. He
looks up at me, an almost rueful grin tweaking his lips. A kiss, and
I loop my arms lazily around his torso. His hair falls in his face,
and his eyes are soft blue. He looks happy, relaxed. I could almost
imagine him as the child he must've (was he?) been once.
I feel my body shaking as adrenaline, as lust, leaves it. What do I
say, if anything? It warrants something. I just don't know what,
because it's way outside the range of my experience. H knows the
rules here, how exactly I'm not sure I wanna know, but he does.
I swallow hard, trying to work up some modicum of courage, some word
to say that doesn't sound as moronic as "wow".
"Whoa." Step up the ladder.
He slumps beside me, one arm tossed over my shoulders, the other
around my ribs. "Been a while since I've done that."
He licks his lips, slowly, frowning in consideration. He usually
gets that look when he has some theory he wants to test about how a
crime happened.
(Feel special, huh Speed?)
Tentative again, and no just because my pants are still open, I reach
up, touch his face, kiss him. Slower now, softer, tasting what must
be my come in his mouth. Salty, thick against how he usually tastes,
coffee and something sweet like cinnamon. A little nauseating,
because jesus, it's pretty close to giving myself a blowjob. Not
sure if I could get used to it if I had to. Not sure if I want to.
The taste is new, strange, unnerving.
It's a weird, ego-boost power-trip thing, that he actually *blew
me*. Sucked me off. Swallowed too, apparently. It's also a pretty
damn big indicator that he really, *really* likes me.
And what's sad, or scary, or something nerve-wracking is that I'm not
sure I could do it to him. I just don't know.
"H, I...H...wow. Jesus."
He laughs softly, brushes a hand through my hair. "What, you've
never gotten a blowjob before?"
It's a little...*dirty*...to hear him say it.
(dumb Speed. he tells you about people having electrical burns on
their scrotum and you don't think it's "dirty")
Yes, but this isn't *work*. Far from it.
"Well, yeah, but, but, uh, but not from you."
This makes him laugh out loud and tug me to him. "Oh, Speed.
Speed."
Just...nice. To lean against his body, his warmth. Not gonna get
over it anytime soon. It felt fantastic the first night, the first
morning, and it still does. The muzzyness of orgasm helps, too. And
it's him. It's H.
He runs his hands over my bare skin, soft. Like he just likes to
touch me.
Twisting in his arms, I kiss him, still tasting salty near-
sourness. "You like this?" I ask. And I mean, the taste of cum,
but he doesn't take it that way.
"I like making you happy, yes. I like making you feel good."
Why? Comes an unbidden, sudden thought, and thank *god* it doesn't
get out of my mouth. But why does he like it? Why do I like giving
him pleasure?
(rhetorical questions.)
"I meant, uh, the...taste." Squirm a little saying it. Kind of
stupid. And I wonder why I never asked my occassional girlfriends
this.
"Oh." A brief pause, while he massages my upper arms. "Um...hmm.
It's...not really a question of liking it...exactly. It's not like
it tastes *good* ever. That I know of."
How much *does* he know? And do I really want to know that?
"Oh." I feel my ears heat up.
He holds me, for a long time, and I relax, almost dozing with his
arms around me.
"Speed." I feel it more than hear it, warm breath against my
cheek. "Speed? It's kinda late. You wanna go to bed?"
Shit. I don't even...I look at my watch. He's right. It's late and
we have to work tomorrow. And I have to deal with Calleigh, and
evidence, and everything. So I might as well--what? Enjoy the time
with him. Enjoy time *alone* with him.
"Yeah. Ok."
It doesn't feel so awkward now to undress in front of him, knowing
he's watching me. It doesn't feel so novel to bed in *his* bed, with
him. It's nice, too, this difference from my own apartment. His is
so much...so much Horatio. I don't know exactly what that means but
it is. Cool sheets and warm skin and knowing he'll be there when I
wake up, because he'll be the one who wakes me.
I curl as close as I can to him, one arm over his chest.
Almost like home.
Murmur when he brushes a ticklish spot.
The dark in the room, hafted with orange light, burrows into me,
slow, even breathing out to match Horatio's, compulsion or instinct
or just. Being.
And I won't mind dreaming, won't mind waking up.
Because he'll be there when I do.
because it feels *good*, which I didn't expect. I feel his saliva
cooling on my bare skin. It tickles and I want him to do it again.
(purely scientific reasons, of course)
He's reluctant but another kiss and my hands gusting over his nipples
convinces him. He bites me but gently, just hard enough that it
hurts and lightly enough that the pleasure is almost immediate. Oh,
fucking jesus--
I grip hard, feel absently the give of flesh under my nails. He
works at it, snapping and soothing almost in one motion, teeth here
and tongue there, and I think there's a wire from my nipple to my
dick, wishing, gasping for him to touch me. Everytime his tongue
comes down I dig deep and he twitches and I know the stickyness on my
fingertips is blood. I consider for the umpteenth time in about
thirty seconds what he whispered to me on heavy breath,
"Whatever you want."
Ok. So I'm in control--
--erk. Or not. Tongue, lips, yikes--
--so I'm maybe in control, and it feels so damn good...I want to try
something different. I just don't know how to ask or whether he
really will do it, and I don't know if I *can* ask him...I don't know
if I can ask him to do it, he *is* still my boss, and how would I
work with him without getting an instant hard-on everytime he looks
at me?
Or blushing the color of his hair?
I want to know, in a sickly savage way, whether he really would do
it. Whether he'd actually be willing to blow me. If he'd swallow.
He shifts back without a word to kissing the brain-numbingly
sensitive spot under my jaw. H, H, my dick thanks you *so* much...
Everything's a touch. My skin is cold burning and numb, feeling like
I'm made of wet sand all packed together. He squeezes my hard-on
through my jeans and all thought blown sky-fucking-high on that one,
buck my hips against his and feel his low, deep laugh. Stubble
bristle rough fingers warm touch warm body sleek muscle slight
sifting fuzz...
"H..." I groan, and it really sounds much more like a plea than
anything else.
"Mmm-hmm...?"
Well, he seems pleased with himself. He should, too.
"Uh, you, uhh, said, what, what I want, right?" I'm sweating cold
tracks down my flanks and temples right now. His scrutiny makes me
squirm which shoots my ability to speak all to hell.
"Yes."
I close my eyes, tilt my head. If I wasn't lying flat on my back I'd
be staring skyward. Chewing my lips, a nervous gesture. "Will you,
I mean, I, uh, would you...please..." I wriggle. Every movement my
dick brushes against the inside of my boxers and another spike of
pleasure jerks into my belly.
Oh, that hand moving up and down my chest is fucking distracting.
Goddamn.
"Blow me?" I ask. And it sounds fucking inelegant, but there's not
real subtle way to put it, and at the moment, well, *fuck* subtle.
He smiles into another deep, tonsil-kicking kiss. I think the hands
now fiddling with my belt, two, three fingers slipping between my hip
and waistband, oh, that's *so* a yes...
He doesn't need to say anything. Just sits back, while I struggle up
onto my elbows because I want to watch him, struggle because my blood
is *not* going to my muscles right now.
I *have* to watch him. Like it's not real. I remember waking up
after the first time and not wanting to open my eyes because I
thought it wouldn't be him.
My arms shake. He tickles my ribs and kisses me gently. "Sure."
An awkward moment.
"Lie down." He says, a hand resting on my chest.
"I wanna watch you." Okay, that sounded idiotic, Speed. Brilliant.
Porn-star.
"Um." He settles back on his haunches. We're both breathing hard.
I trace a pattern through the pale hairs on his chest. "Okay, uh,
sit back against the couch. That'll work."
I do. My sweat sticks to the vinyl sofa, squeaks and bleats. He
licks his lips. He's...
Whoa, he's, kinda...beautiful. Is this how he feels about me? Is
this what he sees when he leans over me, mumuring to me that I'm
beautiful between kisses, between his hands and mouth driving me
nuts?
Just watching him I know the feel of his lips, and the soft,
insistent way he kisses. The way no one's ever kissed me before.
The thought that he's going to go down on me almost makes me cum
right there, which would've negated the whole process.
"It's okay, Speed."
Because I'm shaking with anticipation. And he's always there, his
touch, his presence stable, comforting.
He undoes my belt. Everytime his skin touches mine I whimper--
jello in a balloon
--squirm, yelp, gasp.
H undoes my jeans, sucking on my lip, his tongue swiping mine. I
close my eyes and tilt my head back, back. Sweat down my temples and
in my hair, the warm sticky wet tongue slipping down my neck, throat,
chest, belly.
I'm panting, digging my fingers into the carpet.
Hands, mouth, tongue. The soft coarse touch of his hair on my
chest.
"Easy, Speed." He mumbles into my belly.
I grunt.
He strokes my dick with one hand, the other gripping my upper arm
hard. Feels so fucking *good*, sweet *jesus*, oh, *god*...
Mouth. Warm. Wet. Warm.
"--nhg-ratio..." I growl. His grip loosens and he sucks me
awkwardly, but who gives a flying *fuck* about technique, it doesn't
*matter*, hell *no*, no fucking *way*--
I can't even seperate out what he's doing. I know one hand is still
in my jeans, stroking behind my balls, and I *know* his mouth is on
my dick, but--
who fucking cares what he's doing.
--exactly. I can barely breathe straight solid breaths. I can't,
ragged gasping gulping, I tense up and feel like my brain comes
draining out my ears and come oh fucking *GOD*--
The roar of blood in my ears dies down and I start to notice that my
fingers are still knuckle deep in carpet and my eyes are squeezed
shut.
Coughing.
When I open my eyes I see his back, his neck, sweat-tangled hair.
His shoulders jerk as he coughs again and spits on the carpet. He
looks up at me, an almost rueful grin tweaking his lips. A kiss, and
I loop my arms lazily around his torso. His hair falls in his face,
and his eyes are soft blue. He looks happy, relaxed. I could almost
imagine him as the child he must've (was he?) been once.
I feel my body shaking as adrenaline, as lust, leaves it. What do I
say, if anything? It warrants something. I just don't know what,
because it's way outside the range of my experience. H knows the
rules here, how exactly I'm not sure I wanna know, but he does.
I swallow hard, trying to work up some modicum of courage, some word
to say that doesn't sound as moronic as "wow".
"Whoa." Step up the ladder.
He slumps beside me, one arm tossed over my shoulders, the other
around my ribs. "Been a while since I've done that."
He licks his lips, slowly, frowning in consideration. He usually
gets that look when he has some theory he wants to test about how a
crime happened.
(Feel special, huh Speed?)
Tentative again, and no just because my pants are still open, I reach
up, touch his face, kiss him. Slower now, softer, tasting what must
be my come in his mouth. Salty, thick against how he usually tastes,
coffee and something sweet like cinnamon. A little nauseating,
because jesus, it's pretty close to giving myself a blowjob. Not
sure if I could get used to it if I had to. Not sure if I want to.
The taste is new, strange, unnerving.
It's a weird, ego-boost power-trip thing, that he actually *blew
me*. Sucked me off. Swallowed too, apparently. It's also a pretty
damn big indicator that he really, *really* likes me.
And what's sad, or scary, or something nerve-wracking is that I'm not
sure I could do it to him. I just don't know.
"H, I...H...wow. Jesus."
He laughs softly, brushes a hand through my hair. "What, you've
never gotten a blowjob before?"
It's a little...*dirty*...to hear him say it.
(dumb Speed. he tells you about people having electrical burns on
their scrotum and you don't think it's "dirty")
Yes, but this isn't *work*. Far from it.
"Well, yeah, but, but, uh, but not from you."
This makes him laugh out loud and tug me to him. "Oh, Speed.
Speed."
Just...nice. To lean against his body, his warmth. Not gonna get
over it anytime soon. It felt fantastic the first night, the first
morning, and it still does. The muzzyness of orgasm helps, too. And
it's him. It's H.
He runs his hands over my bare skin, soft. Like he just likes to
touch me.
Twisting in his arms, I kiss him, still tasting salty near-
sourness. "You like this?" I ask. And I mean, the taste of cum,
but he doesn't take it that way.
"I like making you happy, yes. I like making you feel good."
Why? Comes an unbidden, sudden thought, and thank *god* it doesn't
get out of my mouth. But why does he like it? Why do I like giving
him pleasure?
(rhetorical questions.)
"I meant, uh, the...taste." Squirm a little saying it. Kind of
stupid. And I wonder why I never asked my occassional girlfriends
this.
"Oh." A brief pause, while he massages my upper arms. "Um...hmm.
It's...not really a question of liking it...exactly. It's not like
it tastes *good* ever. That I know of."
How much *does* he know? And do I really want to know that?
"Oh." I feel my ears heat up.
He holds me, for a long time, and I relax, almost dozing with his
arms around me.
"Speed." I feel it more than hear it, warm breath against my
cheek. "Speed? It's kinda late. You wanna go to bed?"
Shit. I don't even...I look at my watch. He's right. It's late and
we have to work tomorrow. And I have to deal with Calleigh, and
evidence, and everything. So I might as well--what? Enjoy the time
with him. Enjoy time *alone* with him.
"Yeah. Ok."
It doesn't feel so awkward now to undress in front of him, knowing
he's watching me. It doesn't feel so novel to bed in *his* bed, with
him. It's nice, too, this difference from my own apartment. His is
so much...so much Horatio. I don't know exactly what that means but
it is. Cool sheets and warm skin and knowing he'll be there when I
wake up, because he'll be the one who wakes me.
I curl as close as I can to him, one arm over his chest.
Almost like home.
Murmur when he brushes a ticklish spot.
The dark in the room, hafted with orange light, burrows into me,
slow, even breathing out to match Horatio's, compulsion or instinct
or just. Being.
And I won't mind dreaming, won't mind waking up.
Because he'll be there when I do.