He feels serene, like he’s acheived some level of enlightenment while bracketed here between Jack’s legs. Eliot’s world shrinks to just this room, this space made by their bodies and the weight of Jack’s cock in his mouth, the pleasant ache in his jaw. Here, he’s like something divine, some luminous creature of infinite compassion.
Jack is quiet, much like the first time, but Eliot can still read his body enough to tease him. He rucks up Jack’s shirt and plants a palm firm on his belly, to feel his breath hitch. When he draws off to keep Jack on the edge, Eliot meets his gaze with a smirk and finds his eyes black and his mouth slack with need. It’s the most beautiful thing Eliot’s ever seen.
He stays put afterwards. Eliot’s own arousal barely registers, he’s too focused on savoring the mingled pride and comfort as he rests his head on Jack’s leg. The feel of careful fingers in his hair is almost too much—it elicits an emotion in Eliot that he can’t name. It’s not the sense-dulling heaviness of submission, but something vast and light and fragile. If he keeps thinking about it he fears it’ll slip away.
So he smiles, and closes his eyes.
Jack asks to reciprocate, and it’s not surprising at all. He’s so curious and hungry for new experiences, and it’s unbearably charming, but Eliot can’t imagine moving from this spot. He demurs with a vague idea that there’ll be another time, even though he’s half sure Jack won’t want to do any more fact-finding experiments if he starts seeing the musician.
For the moment, while it still lingers, he savors Jack’s lazy tenderness, and imagines being able to receive this affection whenever he wants. Being the kind of person who deserves it. Eliot’s struck by the thought that people don’t touch him like this, either. He doesn’t think he’d want it from anyone else.
The question comes as a sudden shock, like ice dropped down the back of his shirt. Eliot blinks, feeling the stinging threat of tears, and scrubs his eyes with the back of his hand. He sits back sharply on his heels, fumbling for a response.
“Shit,” he says, his voice rough. “Fuck, I…” he can’t answer, not immediately. He feels a sudden guilt about this whole morning, like he’s taken advantage or let show just how much Jack has him entangled.
“I should,” Eliot clears his throat. “I should let them know, I guess, I-” he looks up at Jack, hands balled up in fists on his knees. “Was this okay? I know I just sprung it on you but…”
He does need to get to work. He needs to get his shit together, but before that he needs to make sure Jack’s all right. “I don’t know if you want to…depending on how it goes for you with-with Jacob, maybe you won’t want to keep doing this?” Eliot winces, but gives Jack a reassuring smile. “I’m fine either way.”
That feels like swallowing glass.
“But I liked this,” Eliot adds, “as long as you did, and…I should let you get on with your day.” He wants to apologize, for being like this, but he’s made enough of a mess of the morning already.
no subject
Jack is quiet, much like the first time, but Eliot can still read his body enough to tease him. He rucks up Jack’s shirt and plants a palm firm on his belly, to feel his breath hitch. When he draws off to keep Jack on the edge, Eliot meets his gaze with a smirk and finds his eyes black and his mouth slack with need. It’s the most beautiful thing Eliot’s ever seen.
He stays put afterwards. Eliot’s own arousal barely registers, he’s too focused on savoring the mingled pride and comfort as he rests his head on Jack’s leg. The feel of careful fingers in his hair is almost too much—it elicits an emotion in Eliot that he can’t name. It’s not the sense-dulling heaviness of submission, but something vast and light and fragile. If he keeps thinking about it he fears it’ll slip away.
So he smiles, and closes his eyes.
Jack asks to reciprocate, and it’s not surprising at all. He’s so curious and hungry for new experiences, and it’s unbearably charming, but Eliot can’t imagine moving from this spot. He demurs with a vague idea that there’ll be another time, even though he’s half sure Jack won’t want to do any more fact-finding experiments if he starts seeing the musician.
For the moment, while it still lingers, he savors Jack’s lazy tenderness, and imagines being able to receive this affection whenever he wants. Being the kind of person who deserves it. Eliot’s struck by the thought that people don’t touch him like this, either. He doesn’t think he’d want it from anyone else.
The question comes as a sudden shock, like ice dropped down the back of his shirt. Eliot blinks, feeling the stinging threat of tears, and scrubs his eyes with the back of his hand. He sits back sharply on his heels, fumbling for a response.
“Shit,” he says, his voice rough. “Fuck, I…” he can’t answer, not immediately. He feels a sudden guilt about this whole morning, like he’s taken advantage or let show just how much Jack has him entangled.
“I should,” Eliot clears his throat. “I should let them know, I guess, I-” he looks up at Jack, hands balled up in fists on his knees. “Was this okay? I know I just sprung it on you but…”
He does need to get to work. He needs to get his shit together, but before that he needs to make sure Jack’s all right. “I don’t know if you want to…depending on how it goes for you with-with Jacob, maybe you won’t want to keep doing this?” Eliot winces, but gives Jack a reassuring smile. “I’m fine either way.”
That feels like swallowing glass.
“But I liked this,” Eliot adds, “as long as you did, and…I should let you get on with your day.” He wants to apologize, for being like this, but he’s made enough of a mess of the morning already.