FIC: Timing, by rebecca and sandersyager
Title: Timing
Fandom/Crossover/Original: CSI/Original Fic
Characters/Pairings: Warrick Brown/Stephen Bond
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Scars, deliberate, tools of the trade
Summary: This isn't the time, this isn't the place, and Stephen hates him just a little for it.
Word Count: 2791
Warnings: D/s, mild knife play
Author's Notes/Disclaimers: Co-written by blueraccoon and sandersyager for the Inappropriate Content-Strikethrough '07 Ficathon at forbiddenfic.
blueraccoon: Once upon a time, there was Stephen, and then there was a conversation with sandersyager about little black dresses of fic, and many, many, many words later, there was this alternate universe, in which Stephen and Warrick ended up together. We think it works. We hope you do too.
Not all scars are easily seen, and not all of them accidental. The one Stephen wears on his shoulder, just over a line of muscle, was placed there deliberately and it's not always a scar. Sometimes, it's a bruise, sometimes it's a healing scab. It's the same tissue attacked each time, trying to mend itself and Warrick's careful to leave marks in other places, but he always returns to this one.
Today, it's a pair of fine lines arcing, a circle stretched and broken, barely visible if you don't know it's there. Warrick knows, and it's that mark, not the scratches lining Stephen's back or the fingertip bruises on his hips or even the faint marks of the cuffs at his wrists, that draws his attention. This isn't the time, not when they're sitting on the deck with Nick and Dean, waiting for Judy, Greg and the kids to arrive, not when they have guests, but Warrick rests his hand on Stephen's shoulder anyway, pressing lightly on skin that stays tender no matter how long he goes before opening it again.
Stephen looks at him, a protest already forming on his lips and Warrick shakes his head just enough to stop him. "I think we should go inside," he says softly, stroking the side of Stephen's throat with his thumb. "Please."
This isn't the time, this isn't the place, and Stephen hates him just a little for it, even as he feels himself shiver, going liquid inside, heat rising through his body. "I--I don't think--" he says, barely audible. Nick and Dean are there, and Judy and Greg and the girls will be there soon, and he can't just--he shakes his head, trying to gather himself.
"I wasn't asking, Stephen," Warrick says, letting his voice go just a little steely. He can't remember the last time they really got to play, and lately they've been lucky to have time for sex at all, much less anything more. He's tired of waiting for the right time, and Nick and Dean won't miss them, not with bickering over the grill and keeping Killer away from the food.
"But--" Stephen glances at Nick and Dean, who are currently engaged in an intent discussion and haven't even looked over at them. "We--" He swallows. "Warrick," he whispers, half-pleading.
Warrick shifts to face Stephen, his hand firm at the back of Stephen's neck. "It's okay, Stephen," he says softly, raising his other hand to Stephen's cheek. "I could take you down right here and they wouldn't care. You would, though, so let's go inside."
"Can't we--I mean--later?" Stephen tries.
"This isn't really a debate, Stephen, but we could turn it into a fight if you want," Warrick says, thinking about the last time Stephen refused to submit. They both wore bruises for days after, but Stephen slept like a baby after spending an hour on the cross and the sex was amazing.
Stephen glares at him. "Not here," he says finally.
Warrick smiles, knowing it'll irritate the hell out of Stephen. The more he thinks about it, the more he wants Stephen to resist. He gets to his feet, keeping his hand at Stephen's neck. "Come on, then."
Stephen pulls his head away, annoyed and frustrated. He gets up, following Warrick inside the house; behind them, Dean and Nick don't even look up. Once inside, Stephen shoves a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath, trying to calm down. "You always do this," he says. "You always--" He gestures. "You couldn't just wait a few hours?"
Warrick backs him against the wall, hands on his shoulders. "No, I couldn't," he says, bending his head to kiss Stephen.
Stephen twists his head away, hands on Warrick's shoulders, pushing him back. "Well, deal with it," he says. "I'm not just rolling over for you right now. We have guests, we're about to have more, and you can just wait."
"You don't have to roll over," Warrick says, stepping back into Stephen's space. "You know I like it better when we're face to face, and we both need this, whether it's now or later. Not really your call when it happens."
"The hell with you," Stephen says angrily. "I'm not playing this game right now." He pushes past Warrick, intending to go back outside.
Warrick grabs Stephen around his waist and pulls him back. "Funny how it's not a game when you're begging me to spank you," he says. "It's only when I want something from you."
"You always want things at the worst possible times," Stephen snaps, tense in Warrick's hold. He pulls against Warrick's grip, trying to get free.
Warrick lets his fingers press against the bruise he knows is just above the line of Stephen's shorts. "Would you rather-" As soon as he starts to say it, as soon as the words start to slip past his filters, he knows he's going too far. Angry is one thing, deliberately hurting Stephen--outside of play--is another, and he pushes away the urge to apologize. Instead, he pushes Stephen toward the center of the room, hard enough to make him stumble. "If this is so inconvenient, safeword and end it. Tell me you don't want this."
The word trembles on Stephen's lips, but he won't--can't--say it. He grits his teeth, turning to face Warrick. "I'm going back outside," he says instead, taking two steps toward the door.
Warrick grabs him again, both of them tumbling down to the floor. He lets Stephen writhe, lets him almost break free before pinning him down, his hands tight around Stephen's wrists. "You can't do it, can you?" he asks, just a little out of breath. "You're mine, Stephen. Mine."
Stephen struggles desperately to get free, knowing there's no chance in hell. Warrick's full weight is on top of him and his hands are like iron bands around Stephen's wrists, holding him tight enough that he'll probably have marks later. "Let me go," Stephen says breathlessly, squirming and twisting, fighting with everything he's got. "Damn you, let me go!"
"Safeword," Warrick says, moving with Stephen, keeping him in place.
He can't. He falls back against the floor, panting, unable to say the one word that would bring all this to a stop. Stephen sucks in a breath, his heart pounding. "Damn you," he whispers, trying one last time to get free.
Warrick lowers his head, his lips against Stephen's ear as he settles against him. "Mine, Stephen," he whispers. "Submit, baby, it's what you want and I need you to."
Stephen whimpers, his hands relaxing in Warrick's hold. He shudders all over and goes limp as he lets himself fall, spinning down into headspace, down deep to the point where Warrick's the only thing that matters.
Stephen's beautiful like this, when he finally lets go and Warrick just looks at him for a moment, easing his fingers loose from Stephen's wrists. The office is going to have to do because he doesn't think they'd make it upstairs; poor planning on his part. Right now, though, he kisses Stephen, licking his way into Stephen's mouth and sliding his fingers into Stephen's hair.
Stephen arches under him, yielding eagerly to the kiss. He leaves his hands where they are, palms up. He wants, he wants so badly, and he forces himself to be still, not to writhe under Warrick the way he needs. Warrick will give him what he needs, he knows that, and he moans into the kiss, trembling a little with anticipation.
A subtle tension creeps back into Stephen's body and Warrick's determined to keep it building. He drags his fingers down along the side of Stephen's neck and over his chest, scraping a nail over his nipple.
"Oh!" Stephen gasps, twisting into Warrick's fingers. He lies back, breathing evenly, closing his eyes.
Warrick slides down a little, kissing a trail from Stephen's lips to his collarbone. He nips lightly at the skin there, tiny sharp bites that get soothed away with the tip of his tongue. "Still angry with me?" he asks, reaching up to rub his thumb across Stephen's bottom lip.
Stephen scrapes his teeth over Warrick's thumb, sucking it into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it, playing with it, cheeks hollowing, and doesn't bother to answer in words.
Warrick's breath catches; Stephen knows his weaknesses, even--no, especially when they're like this. He works his way down to run his tongue over one nipple then the other, grazing each with his teeth just to feel Stephen wriggle against him. With his free hand, he finds his pocket knife, wrestling it open and trying not to break the points of contact between their bodies. The blade isn't as sharp as Warrick would like, but it'll do, and get him in less trouble than grabbing the paring knife from the block on the counter.
Stephen lets Warrick's thumb slip from his mouth, sighing a little as he does. His shorts feel way too constricting, even the loose cotton, and he squirms, wanting them gone. He almost reaches for the button before remembering to keep his hands where they are, his fingers flexing against the floor.
"Stay still, baby," Warrick says. He kisses Stephen again before kneeling up, resting one hand at Stephen's hip to hold his shorts in place. He slips the pocket knife under the button, refusing to feel bad because he hates this particular pair on Stephen anyway, and slices it off.
"Warrick!" Stephen stays still, but a spark of indignation breaks through the subspace. "My clothes!"
"I'll buy you another pair," Warrick murmurs, dropping his head to lick a thin stripe from Stephen's bellybutton down to his fly. He tugs the zipper free, guiding Stephen to lift his hips just enough to get his shorts and underwear off, and he wonders if he should worry about anyone walking in. The office really would have been a better choice, but it's their house.
Stephen shivers a little, the air-conditioning making his skin prickle. He's hard as steel and he can't help but arch his hips a little, hoping for contact.
After sleeping together for six years, Warrick should be used to the sight of Stephen naked and hard. In some ways, he is. He knows the sorts of cause and effect his actions will have, and he doesn't hesitate to drag the flat of the blade along the inside of Stephen's thigh and along the underside of his cock. Knowing what will happen doesn't stop it all from pulsing through him, though, or from sparking a little pride and a thought of I do this to him.
Stephen makes a choked, desperate sound, freezing still instantly. His breath comes quick and harsh in his throat and he bites his lip, fighting not to tremble, to stay still. "Warrick," he whispers shakily. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, forcing himself to try and relax.
Warrick follows the path of the knife with his tongue, holding the blade away and not trusting Stephen to be able to keep control of his tremors. A tiny part of his mind considers what could happen if he had a razor instead, but that's for later, for another time and he lifts his mouth away slowly.
"Please," Stephen begs, trying his best not to move. "Warrick, please, I need--" He shuts his mouth, knowing it's not for him to ask, knowing Warrick will give him what he needs. "Please," he begs again, unable to keep quiet, but managing not to ask more than that.
"I know," Warrick says softly, drawing the knife over Stephen's stomach. The faint pressure isn't enough to really scratch, let alone cut, but he leaves faint red lines behind as he works his way up Stephen's torso. He tosses the knife aside when he reaches the hollow of his throat and stretches out over Stephen again, brushing a kiss against his lips.
Stephen leans up into the kiss, flicking his tongue over Warrick's lips. He wants, badly, to reach up for Warrick, to hold him and run his hands through Warrick's hair, but he leaves his arms where they are.
"We have to move," Warrick finally says after running through a check list of where the nearest lube might be. There are other ways this could end, but only one that he really wants, and that means they get up from the floor, Stephen a bit unsteady and clinging to Warrick. Warrick pulls Stephen into his office and closes the door behind them, futile since they started in front of the big bay windows, and they settle together on the couch.
Stephen wraps himself around Warrick, pressing kisses to his face, his throat, rubbing his cheek against Warrick's neck. He squirms in Warrick's lap, desperate for him. "Please," he says into Warrick's collarbone. "Please, Warrick."
"Patience," Warrick says, stroking Stephen's back with one hand and fumbling in the end table with the other. His fingers snag on what he needs and he flips open the little bottle. "I need..." He shifts Stephen just enough to get his own shorts open and his cock free, slicking it generously before pulling Stephen forward again.
It's going to burn, and that's exactly how he wants it. Stephen grips Warrick's shoulders, sliding down on him, maybe a little faster than he should. His head falls back and he gasps, trembling, sweat breaking out over his skin. "Oh," he manages. "Oh, God..."
Stephen's hair brushes over his arms and it's one more sensation that makes Warrick moan. He's tense with the effort of not moving, not thrusting, not doing anything but waiting for Stephen to relax.
He takes a breath, then another, his body adjusting as it always does. He relaxes his grip on Warrick's shoulders, thighs tensing as he starts to move.
Warrick tilts his head against Stephen's shoulder, trying to breathe, trying to focus. Every tiny movement from Stephen, every small sound, makes it harder and harder for him to stay still. "Stephen, baby, please," he whispers, flicking his tongue out along the side of Stephen's throat.
Stephen shivers and his hands flex on Warrick's shoulders. "Fuck me," he says raggedly. "Warrick...fuck me."
Warrick doesn't answer him, at least not in words. He wraps his arm around Stephen's waist, finally allowed to thrust, and it's not as hard or as fast as he'd like, but it's good. "So good," he murmurs, wrapping his hand around Stephen's erection between them.
Stephen whines, trembling. "Please," he begs. "Warrick, please..."
"Not yet," Warrick says, sliding his other hand up to fist in Stephen's hair, pulling his head down for a thorough kiss.
He's on the razor edge and he can't fall over yet. Stephen moans into the kiss, moving against Warrick as best he can. It's good, it's perfect, and he wants it to last forever at the same time he's desperate to come. He bites Warrick's lower lip, licking the sting away.
Warrick kisses Stephen again, a little aggressive, a little rough, his fingers tightening in Stephen's hair and around his cock. "Come," he says, feeling his own orgasm building.
Stephen cries out, orgasm ripping through him. He digs his fingers into Warrick's shoulders, panting, shaking and wrung out. "Oh, God," he says breathlessly, slumping against Warrick. "Oh..."
Stephen's skin is sweat slick and salty, and Warrick doesn't bite this time, not really. He marks Stephen, certainly, with a hard sucking kiss against his throat and his fingers digging deep into Stephen's skin as he comes with a low groan.
For a few moments, there's no sound in the room except the two of them trying to catch their breath, although Stephen thinks his heart is beating loudly enough for Warrick to hear it. He sighs and twists up for a kiss, recognizing that he desperately needs a shower. But that can wait until he thinks his bones have solidified again.
Finally, Stephen stretches and purrs, settling against Warrick. "I need a shower," he says after a moment. "And clothes."
Warrick nods. He has no idea how much time has passed, only that he and Stephen are both sticky and sweaty and a shower sounds like the best idea ever. Moving, however, doesn't. "Clothes would be good," he manages to say, running his hands down Stephen's back.
"Mmhmm." Stephen nuzzles into Warrick's neck. "C'mon." He summons up his energy from somewhere and manages to sit up.
"Bad timing or not, you have to admit this wasn't my worst idea ever," Warrick says as they get up from the couch.
"No, it wasn't," Stephen says, leaning into Warrick before climbing the spiral stairs to the second floor.
Fandom/Crossover/Original: CSI/Original Fic
Characters/Pairings: Warrick Brown/Stephen Bond
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Scars, deliberate, tools of the trade
Summary: This isn't the time, this isn't the place, and Stephen hates him just a little for it.
Word Count: 2791
Warnings: D/s, mild knife play
Author's Notes/Disclaimers: Co-written by blueraccoon and sandersyager for the Inappropriate Content-Strikethrough '07 Ficathon at forbiddenfic.
blueraccoon: Once upon a time, there was Stephen, and then there was a conversation with sandersyager about little black dresses of fic, and many, many, many words later, there was this alternate universe, in which Stephen and Warrick ended up together. We think it works. We hope you do too.
Not all scars are easily seen, and not all of them accidental. The one Stephen wears on his shoulder, just over a line of muscle, was placed there deliberately and it's not always a scar. Sometimes, it's a bruise, sometimes it's a healing scab. It's the same tissue attacked each time, trying to mend itself and Warrick's careful to leave marks in other places, but he always returns to this one.
Today, it's a pair of fine lines arcing, a circle stretched and broken, barely visible if you don't know it's there. Warrick knows, and it's that mark, not the scratches lining Stephen's back or the fingertip bruises on his hips or even the faint marks of the cuffs at his wrists, that draws his attention. This isn't the time, not when they're sitting on the deck with Nick and Dean, waiting for Judy, Greg and the kids to arrive, not when they have guests, but Warrick rests his hand on Stephen's shoulder anyway, pressing lightly on skin that stays tender no matter how long he goes before opening it again.
Stephen looks at him, a protest already forming on his lips and Warrick shakes his head just enough to stop him. "I think we should go inside," he says softly, stroking the side of Stephen's throat with his thumb. "Please."
This isn't the time, this isn't the place, and Stephen hates him just a little for it, even as he feels himself shiver, going liquid inside, heat rising through his body. "I--I don't think--" he says, barely audible. Nick and Dean are there, and Judy and Greg and the girls will be there soon, and he can't just--he shakes his head, trying to gather himself.
"I wasn't asking, Stephen," Warrick says, letting his voice go just a little steely. He can't remember the last time they really got to play, and lately they've been lucky to have time for sex at all, much less anything more. He's tired of waiting for the right time, and Nick and Dean won't miss them, not with bickering over the grill and keeping Killer away from the food.
"But--" Stephen glances at Nick and Dean, who are currently engaged in an intent discussion and haven't even looked over at them. "We--" He swallows. "Warrick," he whispers, half-pleading.
Warrick shifts to face Stephen, his hand firm at the back of Stephen's neck. "It's okay, Stephen," he says softly, raising his other hand to Stephen's cheek. "I could take you down right here and they wouldn't care. You would, though, so let's go inside."
"Can't we--I mean--later?" Stephen tries.
"This isn't really a debate, Stephen, but we could turn it into a fight if you want," Warrick says, thinking about the last time Stephen refused to submit. They both wore bruises for days after, but Stephen slept like a baby after spending an hour on the cross and the sex was amazing.
Stephen glares at him. "Not here," he says finally.
Warrick smiles, knowing it'll irritate the hell out of Stephen. The more he thinks about it, the more he wants Stephen to resist. He gets to his feet, keeping his hand at Stephen's neck. "Come on, then."
Stephen pulls his head away, annoyed and frustrated. He gets up, following Warrick inside the house; behind them, Dean and Nick don't even look up. Once inside, Stephen shoves a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath, trying to calm down. "You always do this," he says. "You always--" He gestures. "You couldn't just wait a few hours?"
Warrick backs him against the wall, hands on his shoulders. "No, I couldn't," he says, bending his head to kiss Stephen.
Stephen twists his head away, hands on Warrick's shoulders, pushing him back. "Well, deal with it," he says. "I'm not just rolling over for you right now. We have guests, we're about to have more, and you can just wait."
"You don't have to roll over," Warrick says, stepping back into Stephen's space. "You know I like it better when we're face to face, and we both need this, whether it's now or later. Not really your call when it happens."
"The hell with you," Stephen says angrily. "I'm not playing this game right now." He pushes past Warrick, intending to go back outside.
Warrick grabs Stephen around his waist and pulls him back. "Funny how it's not a game when you're begging me to spank you," he says. "It's only when I want something from you."
"You always want things at the worst possible times," Stephen snaps, tense in Warrick's hold. He pulls against Warrick's grip, trying to get free.
Warrick lets his fingers press against the bruise he knows is just above the line of Stephen's shorts. "Would you rather-" As soon as he starts to say it, as soon as the words start to slip past his filters, he knows he's going too far. Angry is one thing, deliberately hurting Stephen--outside of play--is another, and he pushes away the urge to apologize. Instead, he pushes Stephen toward the center of the room, hard enough to make him stumble. "If this is so inconvenient, safeword and end it. Tell me you don't want this."
The word trembles on Stephen's lips, but he won't--can't--say it. He grits his teeth, turning to face Warrick. "I'm going back outside," he says instead, taking two steps toward the door.
Warrick grabs him again, both of them tumbling down to the floor. He lets Stephen writhe, lets him almost break free before pinning him down, his hands tight around Stephen's wrists. "You can't do it, can you?" he asks, just a little out of breath. "You're mine, Stephen. Mine."
Stephen struggles desperately to get free, knowing there's no chance in hell. Warrick's full weight is on top of him and his hands are like iron bands around Stephen's wrists, holding him tight enough that he'll probably have marks later. "Let me go," Stephen says breathlessly, squirming and twisting, fighting with everything he's got. "Damn you, let me go!"
"Safeword," Warrick says, moving with Stephen, keeping him in place.
He can't. He falls back against the floor, panting, unable to say the one word that would bring all this to a stop. Stephen sucks in a breath, his heart pounding. "Damn you," he whispers, trying one last time to get free.
Warrick lowers his head, his lips against Stephen's ear as he settles against him. "Mine, Stephen," he whispers. "Submit, baby, it's what you want and I need you to."
Stephen whimpers, his hands relaxing in Warrick's hold. He shudders all over and goes limp as he lets himself fall, spinning down into headspace, down deep to the point where Warrick's the only thing that matters.
Stephen's beautiful like this, when he finally lets go and Warrick just looks at him for a moment, easing his fingers loose from Stephen's wrists. The office is going to have to do because he doesn't think they'd make it upstairs; poor planning on his part. Right now, though, he kisses Stephen, licking his way into Stephen's mouth and sliding his fingers into Stephen's hair.
Stephen arches under him, yielding eagerly to the kiss. He leaves his hands where they are, palms up. He wants, he wants so badly, and he forces himself to be still, not to writhe under Warrick the way he needs. Warrick will give him what he needs, he knows that, and he moans into the kiss, trembling a little with anticipation.
A subtle tension creeps back into Stephen's body and Warrick's determined to keep it building. He drags his fingers down along the side of Stephen's neck and over his chest, scraping a nail over his nipple.
"Oh!" Stephen gasps, twisting into Warrick's fingers. He lies back, breathing evenly, closing his eyes.
Warrick slides down a little, kissing a trail from Stephen's lips to his collarbone. He nips lightly at the skin there, tiny sharp bites that get soothed away with the tip of his tongue. "Still angry with me?" he asks, reaching up to rub his thumb across Stephen's bottom lip.
Stephen scrapes his teeth over Warrick's thumb, sucking it into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it, playing with it, cheeks hollowing, and doesn't bother to answer in words.
Warrick's breath catches; Stephen knows his weaknesses, even--no, especially when they're like this. He works his way down to run his tongue over one nipple then the other, grazing each with his teeth just to feel Stephen wriggle against him. With his free hand, he finds his pocket knife, wrestling it open and trying not to break the points of contact between their bodies. The blade isn't as sharp as Warrick would like, but it'll do, and get him in less trouble than grabbing the paring knife from the block on the counter.
Stephen lets Warrick's thumb slip from his mouth, sighing a little as he does. His shorts feel way too constricting, even the loose cotton, and he squirms, wanting them gone. He almost reaches for the button before remembering to keep his hands where they are, his fingers flexing against the floor.
"Stay still, baby," Warrick says. He kisses Stephen again before kneeling up, resting one hand at Stephen's hip to hold his shorts in place. He slips the pocket knife under the button, refusing to feel bad because he hates this particular pair on Stephen anyway, and slices it off.
"Warrick!" Stephen stays still, but a spark of indignation breaks through the subspace. "My clothes!"
"I'll buy you another pair," Warrick murmurs, dropping his head to lick a thin stripe from Stephen's bellybutton down to his fly. He tugs the zipper free, guiding Stephen to lift his hips just enough to get his shorts and underwear off, and he wonders if he should worry about anyone walking in. The office really would have been a better choice, but it's their house.
Stephen shivers a little, the air-conditioning making his skin prickle. He's hard as steel and he can't help but arch his hips a little, hoping for contact.
After sleeping together for six years, Warrick should be used to the sight of Stephen naked and hard. In some ways, he is. He knows the sorts of cause and effect his actions will have, and he doesn't hesitate to drag the flat of the blade along the inside of Stephen's thigh and along the underside of his cock. Knowing what will happen doesn't stop it all from pulsing through him, though, or from sparking a little pride and a thought of I do this to him.
Stephen makes a choked, desperate sound, freezing still instantly. His breath comes quick and harsh in his throat and he bites his lip, fighting not to tremble, to stay still. "Warrick," he whispers shakily. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, forcing himself to try and relax.
Warrick follows the path of the knife with his tongue, holding the blade away and not trusting Stephen to be able to keep control of his tremors. A tiny part of his mind considers what could happen if he had a razor instead, but that's for later, for another time and he lifts his mouth away slowly.
"Please," Stephen begs, trying his best not to move. "Warrick, please, I need--" He shuts his mouth, knowing it's not for him to ask, knowing Warrick will give him what he needs. "Please," he begs again, unable to keep quiet, but managing not to ask more than that.
"I know," Warrick says softly, drawing the knife over Stephen's stomach. The faint pressure isn't enough to really scratch, let alone cut, but he leaves faint red lines behind as he works his way up Stephen's torso. He tosses the knife aside when he reaches the hollow of his throat and stretches out over Stephen again, brushing a kiss against his lips.
Stephen leans up into the kiss, flicking his tongue over Warrick's lips. He wants, badly, to reach up for Warrick, to hold him and run his hands through Warrick's hair, but he leaves his arms where they are.
"We have to move," Warrick finally says after running through a check list of where the nearest lube might be. There are other ways this could end, but only one that he really wants, and that means they get up from the floor, Stephen a bit unsteady and clinging to Warrick. Warrick pulls Stephen into his office and closes the door behind them, futile since they started in front of the big bay windows, and they settle together on the couch.
Stephen wraps himself around Warrick, pressing kisses to his face, his throat, rubbing his cheek against Warrick's neck. He squirms in Warrick's lap, desperate for him. "Please," he says into Warrick's collarbone. "Please, Warrick."
"Patience," Warrick says, stroking Stephen's back with one hand and fumbling in the end table with the other. His fingers snag on what he needs and he flips open the little bottle. "I need..." He shifts Stephen just enough to get his own shorts open and his cock free, slicking it generously before pulling Stephen forward again.
It's going to burn, and that's exactly how he wants it. Stephen grips Warrick's shoulders, sliding down on him, maybe a little faster than he should. His head falls back and he gasps, trembling, sweat breaking out over his skin. "Oh," he manages. "Oh, God..."
Stephen's hair brushes over his arms and it's one more sensation that makes Warrick moan. He's tense with the effort of not moving, not thrusting, not doing anything but waiting for Stephen to relax.
He takes a breath, then another, his body adjusting as it always does. He relaxes his grip on Warrick's shoulders, thighs tensing as he starts to move.
Warrick tilts his head against Stephen's shoulder, trying to breathe, trying to focus. Every tiny movement from Stephen, every small sound, makes it harder and harder for him to stay still. "Stephen, baby, please," he whispers, flicking his tongue out along the side of Stephen's throat.
Stephen shivers and his hands flex on Warrick's shoulders. "Fuck me," he says raggedly. "Warrick...fuck me."
Warrick doesn't answer him, at least not in words. He wraps his arm around Stephen's waist, finally allowed to thrust, and it's not as hard or as fast as he'd like, but it's good. "So good," he murmurs, wrapping his hand around Stephen's erection between them.
Stephen whines, trembling. "Please," he begs. "Warrick, please..."
"Not yet," Warrick says, sliding his other hand up to fist in Stephen's hair, pulling his head down for a thorough kiss.
He's on the razor edge and he can't fall over yet. Stephen moans into the kiss, moving against Warrick as best he can. It's good, it's perfect, and he wants it to last forever at the same time he's desperate to come. He bites Warrick's lower lip, licking the sting away.
Warrick kisses Stephen again, a little aggressive, a little rough, his fingers tightening in Stephen's hair and around his cock. "Come," he says, feeling his own orgasm building.
Stephen cries out, orgasm ripping through him. He digs his fingers into Warrick's shoulders, panting, shaking and wrung out. "Oh, God," he says breathlessly, slumping against Warrick. "Oh..."
Stephen's skin is sweat slick and salty, and Warrick doesn't bite this time, not really. He marks Stephen, certainly, with a hard sucking kiss against his throat and his fingers digging deep into Stephen's skin as he comes with a low groan.
For a few moments, there's no sound in the room except the two of them trying to catch their breath, although Stephen thinks his heart is beating loudly enough for Warrick to hear it. He sighs and twists up for a kiss, recognizing that he desperately needs a shower. But that can wait until he thinks his bones have solidified again.
Finally, Stephen stretches and purrs, settling against Warrick. "I need a shower," he says after a moment. "And clothes."
Warrick nods. He has no idea how much time has passed, only that he and Stephen are both sticky and sweaty and a shower sounds like the best idea ever. Moving, however, doesn't. "Clothes would be good," he manages to say, running his hands down Stephen's back.
"Mmhmm." Stephen nuzzles into Warrick's neck. "C'mon." He summons up his energy from somewhere and manages to sit up.
"Bad timing or not, you have to admit this wasn't my worst idea ever," Warrick says as they get up from the couch.
"No, it wasn't," Stephen says, leaning into Warrick before climbing the spiral stairs to the second floor.