Shields Broken (2)salmon_pinkAugust 16 2014, 20:02:26 UTC
He panics, flailing backwards, landing in a heap across the wooden floor. Heels scuffing as he awkwardly hauls himself up, legs wobbly beneath him, half-tripping so his shoulders hit the wall behind him. Making enough clatter to draw Silver straight to him, and he’s desperately trying to yank his clothes back into order when the large shadow falls over him.
“Jimbo, what’re you -” Silver goes very still, cyborg eye whirring as it darts across Jim’s body.
Jim tries awkwardly to cover himself, but he knows it’s too late, there’s no hiding what he’s been doing. One hand clutching the waistband of his undone breeches, the other holding his shirt bunched down in an attempt to hide his aching erection.
“Sorry, lad, didn’t realise you were needing privacy.”
Silver’s voice is quiet. Not judgemental, not angry or disgusted, and he turns away without another glance. As if that’s simply the end of it, no need to discuss or even acknowledge the moment further, just another way he’s happy to make things easier for Jim where he can.
Taking care of Jim, always taking care of him, in a way no man ever really has.
“Wait!” Jim doesn’t know where the word comes from, bubbling up from his chest before he can stop it. Silver pauses, not looking back but with his head inclined, and Jim has no idea what he’s doing but he doesn’t want Silver to go.
He doesn’t want to be alone again.
“Please, just -” His voice sounds hoarse and helpless, and he’s not even sure what he’s asking. He’s still holding his shirt stretched down to cover his lap, the collar gaping over his chest, and he knows he’s flushed and sweating and his hair is a dishevelled mess. He has nothing to offer Silver, doesn’t know why the man even tolerates his presence half the time, and Jim feels lost and young and, in that moment, like he has nothing to lose. “You don’t have to -”
The words die on his lips, hesitant and unsure, and Jim wants to curl into a ball and hates that even through this humiliation he’s still hard.
Silver doesn’t move for a long moment, and when he finally does it’s achingly slow. Turning to Jim, not looking him in the eye until his huge body is looming over him, and the hold is dark enough that Jim can’t make out the expression on Silver’s face.
“Just so we’re clear, lad,” he murmurs, and Jim feels himself shiver at something in his tone. Silver takes a step forward, his eye flashing red in the dim light, and Jim feels himself unconsciously press back against the wall. “You’re asking me to stay?”
Jim can’t find the words, can only nod silently, feeling his cock twitch beneath his shirt from the prickle of warning that slides along his spine.
Silver exhales slowly. “Don’t worry, Jim,” he says, and he’s so close now, and Jim feels small and trapped and like all the blood in his body is rushing between his legs. “I’ll keep watch, won’t let you be disturbed.”
Jim swallows thickly, thinking maybe Silver’s misunderstood what Jim’s asking. Not that Jim himself really understands what he’s asking, beyond knowing that Silver’s closeness is making his head spin, his cock leak. But Silver’s good eye is looking at him with a hunger that Jim’s never seen before, and he realises Silver knows exactly what Jim wants from him.
He nods again, because it’s the only thing he trusts himself to do, and Silver’s watching him, not breaking eye contact, not even blinking, when Jim slips his hand under his stretched-out shirt and begins to stroke.
It’s instantly so much better than before, so much sharper, so much more real. Nerves sparking and skittering with pleasure, and Jim can’t keep his gaze up, but he knows Silver’s still watching him. Hand sliding, wetter now, moisture beading at the tip of his cock and gathering on Jim’s fingers.
So much better, yet not enough, because Jim’s hands feel so small for this. Nothing like Silver’s hand, big and thick and meaty, and Jim feels a whine build in his throat that he refuses to give voice to. He lets go of the waistband of his breeches, wraps his other hand around himself, and two hands makes his eyes squeeze shut, head thudding back against the wall.
“Jimbo, what’re you -” Silver goes very still, cyborg eye whirring as it darts across Jim’s body.
Jim tries awkwardly to cover himself, but he knows it’s too late, there’s no hiding what he’s been doing. One hand clutching the waistband of his undone breeches, the other holding his shirt bunched down in an attempt to hide his aching erection.
“Sorry, lad, didn’t realise you were needing privacy.”
Silver’s voice is quiet. Not judgemental, not angry or disgusted, and he turns away without another glance. As if that’s simply the end of it, no need to discuss or even acknowledge the moment further, just another way he’s happy to make things easier for Jim where he can.
Taking care of Jim, always taking care of him, in a way no man ever really has.
“Wait!” Jim doesn’t know where the word comes from, bubbling up from his chest before he can stop it. Silver pauses, not looking back but with his head inclined, and Jim has no idea what he’s doing but he doesn’t want Silver to go.
He doesn’t want to be alone again.
“Please, just -” His voice sounds hoarse and helpless, and he’s not even sure what he’s asking. He’s still holding his shirt stretched down to cover his lap, the collar gaping over his chest, and he knows he’s flushed and sweating and his hair is a dishevelled mess. He has nothing to offer Silver, doesn’t know why the man even tolerates his presence half the time, and Jim feels lost and young and, in that moment, like he has nothing to lose. “You don’t have to -”
The words die on his lips, hesitant and unsure, and Jim wants to curl into a ball and hates that even through this humiliation he’s still hard.
Silver doesn’t move for a long moment, and when he finally does it’s achingly slow. Turning to Jim, not looking him in the eye until his huge body is looming over him, and the hold is dark enough that Jim can’t make out the expression on Silver’s face.
“Just so we’re clear, lad,” he murmurs, and Jim feels himself shiver at something in his tone. Silver takes a step forward, his eye flashing red in the dim light, and Jim feels himself unconsciously press back against the wall. “You’re asking me to stay?”
Jim can’t find the words, can only nod silently, feeling his cock twitch beneath his shirt from the prickle of warning that slides along his spine.
Silver exhales slowly. “Don’t worry, Jim,” he says, and he’s so close now, and Jim feels small and trapped and like all the blood in his body is rushing between his legs. “I’ll keep watch, won’t let you be disturbed.”
Jim swallows thickly, thinking maybe Silver’s misunderstood what Jim’s asking. Not that Jim himself really understands what he’s asking, beyond knowing that Silver’s closeness is making his head spin, his cock leak. But Silver’s good eye is looking at him with a hunger that Jim’s never seen before, and he realises Silver knows exactly what Jim wants from him.
He nods again, because it’s the only thing he trusts himself to do, and Silver’s watching him, not breaking eye contact, not even blinking, when Jim slips his hand under his stretched-out shirt and begins to stroke.
It’s instantly so much better than before, so much sharper, so much more real. Nerves sparking and skittering with pleasure, and Jim can’t keep his gaze up, but he knows Silver’s still watching him. Hand sliding, wetter now, moisture beading at the tip of his cock and gathering on Jim’s fingers.
So much better, yet not enough, because Jim’s hands feel so small for this. Nothing like Silver’s hand, big and thick and meaty, and Jim feels a whine build in his throat that he refuses to give voice to. He lets go of the waistband of his breeches, wraps his other hand around himself, and two hands makes his eyes squeeze shut, head thudding back against the wall.
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