The seconds tick by in that dichotomously bright and shadowy refuge, in the literal sense, as I vaguely notice the mechanical clicking of what must be a clock hidden somewhere in the room. Except for the barely perceptible tremors that shiver through his body and the hitched gasps of his breathing, he is motionless within my arms, muscles locked stiffly in place. I have his head cradled in one hand, pressing his cheek to my neck, while the other is holding firmly to his lower back. I ease the pressure there and begin to rub gently along the curve of his spine in long, measured passes, slowly up and then gradually back down. It seems to have the opposite effect of what I intend and he tenses even further, but I persist in the continuous petting.
"Everything won't be alright," I murmur in an effort to soothe, a gesture I am far from accustomed to, and the awkwardness is palpable in my tone but I forge on, "It never is, but right now… it is as close to alright as it can be."
"No, it isn't."
The obstinance I hear in that simple, soft contradiction brings a pleased bend to my lips and some relief to my trepidation. "It is. No one is trying to kill you right at this moment…" I pause briefly, "that we know of. This building is still standing. There are no catastrophic threats to the planet…" I hesitate again, and then add, "that we are aware of."
"You're horrible at comforting people, Tseng."
His words are quiet but steady, and I feel bolstered in my attempt, even if it is horrible and lacking any sort of finesse. "You have someone who is excellent at following instructions and willing to do anything you want, at your command and in your bedroom."
"Anything except leave me alone."
"You don't actually want me to leave you alone." There is no uncertainty in my voice.
"What I want and what I know I should want are two very different things."
"They don't have to be. You're being stubborn."
His breath blows out against the collar of my suit in a sigh, and he responds listlessly, "Pot, meet kettle."
"Why are you punishing yourself?"
"I'm not. My reasons are valid."
"And the sky will fall if you allow yourself physical release? A little comfort and warmth from a lover's body? Like that nonsense in horror films, your enemies will suddenly gain the upper hand if you're deflowered?"
"…You plan to 'deflower' me?" he finally asks with obvious amusement and I relax further. "What of your claim that I'm not 'inexperienced' or that you think I was lying when I said I had never been with another man?"
"I have been readjusting my assumptions about you."
"Yes, breaking down and sobbing in your arms right when you were going to-" he cuts off what he is going to say and finishes with, "has no doubt readjusted many of the views you had of me."
"I wouldn't call this breaking down and you definitely weren't sobbing," I declare forcefully.
"Regardless, I am sor-"
Before he can complete his sentence, I use my hold on his head to roughly push his face down against my chest and he makes muffled, indignant noises into the heavy fabric there. As he struggles to free himself, I growl out, "Stop apologizing," and then allow him to come up for air.
"Stop yanking me around like a doll," he snaps back.
"If you learn to behave yourself, maybe I will." His efforts of resistance when he tries to pull away causes him to writhe against me and I am suddenly and vividly reminded that he is almost entirely nude, only that flimsy blue shirt covering his arms and back. He appears to notice as well, and quickly goes still in my now confining embrace.
"This is a highly compromising position and not fair in the least. You're fully clothed!" His voice is cross and he orders sharply, "Let me go!"
I tighten my grip on him. "I can easily remedy the clothing situation."
"You will have to let me go to do that."
"Not if you help."
"What exactly is this?! Why have you suddenly become some… some horny teenager with only sex on your mind?" he questions loudly with frustration.
"Because I think you need it. Now, where was I before you interrupted?"
He begins muttering under his breath, but I catch several usages of 'fucking' and 'bastard' along with 'pig-headed', and then he tilts his head until his mouth is at my neck. I smirk at the move, but it is short-lived as a pained grunt is forced from my throat when he latches onto the sensitive skin there and bites down hard. It is now my turn to go still and not react as I instinctively want to, which is with violence, an urge I am only able to resist due to my stunned disbelief.
"Reeve?" I address him in a deceptively placid tone.
He opens his mouth carefully to release me, and then asks cautiously, "Yes?"
"If you are going to do anything like that in the future, warn me or I won't be accountable for my actions," I instruct sternly with clipped words.
"…And then after I warn you, you wouldn't mind if I did it again?"
"Some pain, if I am expecting it, is not… unpleasurable."
"That's good to know," he replies cheekily, the grin in his voice evident, and I squeeze my arms tighter around him until he makes an involuntary sound of protest.
"You get off on playing with fire, don't you?" I adjust my stance slightly and slide my thigh between his, satisfaction arcing through me when he gasps is response. "Mild-mannered executive with a taste for danger," I remark lazily and roll my hips against his, brushing my leg firmly along his growing erection, "and a masochistic streak a mile wide."
"Maybe I just like playing with your fire," he exhales the words out in a sigh, scarcely audible.
"Hmm…" I trail the hand I have resting in his hair down his neck, and then across his back to encircle his shoulders in my arm while I drop my other hand lower, coming up from below the hem of his shirt. I caress my palm over his ass leisurely, questing with my touch, travelling and examining his firm bare skin, the silky softness that I discover, with curious fingertips. When I have temporarily had my fill of the fondling, I grab one taut buttock roughly and pull him harder against my thigh, bending my knee enough to angle in for a closer fit, and he moans fetchingly at the contact. "Your responsiveness is… succulent," I pitch my voice low and enunciate the syllables on the last word, but return to a normal timber to ask seriously, "Do you still have objections? Right now, at this moment, or may I continue?"
"I…" He clears his throat. "You…" Slumping against me suddenly, most of the tension flowing from his body like water, he murmurs in defeat, "Do what you want with me."
I stiffen at the unexpected victory. "Are you certain?"
"Yes, do whatever you want to! Anything!" he pleads hoarsely with raw shades containing a dizzying multitude of desperation and longing.
"Dangerous words," I mutter, but I am merely stalling, inexplicably unsure now of how I should proceed, a dilemma that is becoming maddeningly more common the more I am alone with this unpredictable man.
Did this rollercoaster really take off less than thirty hours ago?
When he makes a sound that is almost a whimper and grinds himself on my leg, I dismiss my confused hesitation with an internal snarl and accommodate him, rocking forward to meet his thrusts, but only briefly before I firmly grasp his hip and halt his feverish movements. He plainly whines at the denial, and it is only with a short, vicious battle for control that I am able to keep from caving to his wordless appeal. I manage to grit out gruffly, "You will regret rubbing against my suit like that when you wind up with friction burns down there. Be still."
"Please," he whispers and nuzzles my neck, which causes me to tense momentarily in remembrance of his previous surprise attack. Given the stinging of the wound, I suspect he may have actually drawn blood.
"Don't bite me right now. I need to concentrate."
"Concentrate?" he inquires absently and nibbles on my throat, making my jaw to clench in annoyance.
"Just be quiet and don't bite," I demand tersely while I glide my hand from his hip to reach down between our bodies and then wrap my fingers securely around his penis in a solid grip. I am not quite certain what to call the noise he utters in reaction, but I chuckle huskily at it and ask teasingly, "Doesn't this feel better?"
I think the stifled, choking cry is an affirmation. I give a tentative stroke to his length that causes him to buck forward into my touch, and I study the feel of him with open curiosity. Observing the anticipated similarities with my own and the fact that I am now convinced that there is no softer skin on the human body, even though it encases such hardness, I run my hand over him in light, exploratory caresses.
"Tseng," he groans in an unusually deep bass, stretching my name out in a way I have never heard before, turning it into a prayer, a curse, and a plea, all at once.
"What?" My voice is deeper still, that of a stranger to my ears, and I halt my investigation to encircle him gently.
"I doubt I could…" he trails off and then rallies his resolve to continue urgently, "rip your throat out with my teeth, but I just might give it the old college try if you don't stop playing around."
"Now who's impatient?"
"I am!"
"Correct," I respond with approval and reward him with a firm stroke to his straining flesh, contact no longer tenuous but strong and unyielding, and he moans adorably for me. My eyes narrow at the awkwardness of the angle, though, and I tell him, "Turn around." He mutters something inarticulate and attempts to move within my grasp. I tighten my hand warningly, drawing a pleased groan from low in his throat, and then release him, provoking a whimper. "Turn around," I demand again in a harsher tone.
He thumps his forehead down onto my shoulder and a violent shudder twists through his entire frame, and when he speaks, his voice is tormented, "I'm really at the end of my rope here. I can't take any more of this teasing."
"Then pay attention and do as I say," I snap and grab his biceps to bodily twirl him around.
He stumbles during the quick involuntary repositioning of his person, an oath tumbling from his lips, his coordination apparently and understandably flown away, but I pull him to me securely before he can fall. Any complaint he has for the aggressive treatment seems to be swiftly forgotten and he presses himself back into me, molding his body to mine. A startled, undignified groan is dragged from my mouth when I find the proof of my unnoticed arousal suddenly pushing insistently between the cleft of his ass.
"You are happy to be here," he breathes with evident shock.
That he is still surprised by this, after everything that has transpired, coils anger low in my abdomen, mixing with my desire in a way that is not wholly disagreeable. "Of course I am!" I snarl and wrap a forearm along his stomach, bracing him and then grinding myself ardently against his backside.
He cries out in response and arches his back, straining his neck in a graceful line in order to press his lips to my jaw, kissing there with an open-mouthed, haphazard intensity that is all the more enticing for the messiness, the apparent loss of his control. I want to keep rocking into him, let his heat and passion and abandon engulf me until I reach completion, but my devotion to duty somehow manages to reassert itself, nearly against my will, and I slow my movements to the reverberation of his incoherent protest in my ear.
This isn't about me. This is for him.
"Hush," I murmur appeasingly and bring the arm not holding him up from my side, unclenching my hand from the fist it had curled into of its own volition and enfolding his cock decisively with a firm grip. His teeth scrape my jawline as he moans gutturally and this time there is no hesitance, no exploration, and no teasing in my touch, the position being of such similarity to pleasuring myself that I am able to almost immediately settle comfortably into a skilled rhythm. His head moves away from my own, for which I am grateful, preferring not to be bitten at this point in time, and the sound and volume of his pleasure increases in direct proportion with the speed of my strokes. The forceful thrusts of his hips driving him back against my erection is a sweet torture, but one that I ignore, focusing completely on the man I am handling intimately.
I don't want the moment to end. I want this uncomplicated, instinctual act of physical indulgence to stretch into eternity, but that is an impossible petition, the futility of which is poignantly demonstrated by the way his voice chokes up suddenly, breaking off mid-cry, and the erratic stuttering that overwhelms his animalistic lunges. Stilling my hand, I simply cradle his penis with my palm as he throbs with his release, soaking in the sensation of the spasms quivering through his body where he is pressed against my own. I angle my head to push my cheek firmly to his, closing my eyes and listening raptly to his harsh breathing, striving to clearly feel, hear, and even smell to the best of my ability, as I inhale deeply to catch the slightly bitter, musky scent lingering in the air.
I memorize every detail about the conclusion to this encounter while my heart sinks silently to the floor.
(A/N: …I really wish I was better at describing my daydreams… And dear Gods, forcing myself to use the word 'penis' drives home how infrequently you see it in fiction and how jarring the occurrence is. XD I think the avoidance is silly, though, and I was able to keep myself from editing it out multiple times by the skin of my teeth. I apologize if it detracts from the mood.)
