(no subject)
Title: Black light
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Ultimate X-Men
Pairing: Chamber/Skin
Summary: Jono convinces Angelo to play a game.
Author's notes: Part of the Monotone Photograph series. In this chapter, we have some BDSM play. For god's sake, the boy comes with his own set of restraints. How can I not exploit that at some point?
Angelo bit his lip and held the handcuffs in his hand, watching Jonothon watch him with uneasy eyes. Like he’d suddenly asked too much, gone too far, pushed the limits of what Angelo could tolerate. It had not been easy in the first place to somehow find themselves both here, both somewhat content, and fucking each other’s brains out on a nightly basis. The metal was cool against his fingers, and he had too many bad things associated with them to bring himself into the game Jonothon was asking to play.
Cops had cuffs, and he had bracelets of scar tissue from them. Pinch too tight and you got a permanent reminder. Scars and red lines running up from the bracelets. No, not handcuffs. But the idea...Jono tied down so all he could do was take it, acquiesce to what Angelo wanted...so much of their relationship was Jono, Jono, beautiful pale Jono, taking them further and further. Calling the shots. Saying the words. Pushing Angelo to what he had thought had been his limits and beyond them. Like even a month ago he would have been able to accept the fact that he could tonguefuck Jono and enjoy it. Of course, the radical changes to Jono’s biochemistry made his body a cleaner place then most hospitals, but still...rimming, it wasn’t something he could have done before.
“Maybe...not the cuffs.”
Jonothon watching him with big brown eyes, skin so white. Delicate, somehow, even when he was strutting around in his leathers and Docs like he was the biggest bad ass to ever stalk out from the night of London. One day, Angelo wanted to see Jono’s London. Maybe...maybe someday. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Their life was a book full of maybe, and someday, and perhaps. Maybe one day mutants would be more accepted. Someday, they’d be able to hold hands in public, curl up on each others laps and watched the world walk by. Be in love and not have to hide. Perhaps soon they would even be able to say the words to each other. Just for now...no. Not today. Not now.
Moment teetering on something, and Angelo could feel the weight of his lover’s waiting settle onto his shoulders. Made up his mind as he put the cuffs down on the table, fingers stretching so he didn’t have to bend. Just stood, watching Jono watching him, both of them waiting.
“Get your spare set of bandages out of the closet, Jono.”
Could tell by the sudden heat burning in the Goth’s eyes that he’d chosen the right thing, said the right thing. Watched him wait for a heartbeat more, like he was considering not doing it, and Angelo could feel his lips curl, teeth baring in a snarl. Jono wanted to play. So, Angelo would do this right. Besides, the idea of ordering his sometimes aloof and feline lover was appealing.
“Now.”
Saw the widening of those eyes he loved to watch, so expressive. Like all of a sudden Jono had realized what he had really done. Given over control, at least over the next hour or so to Angelo. And that Angelo really was going to take advantage of it. That he wasn’t going to be led more then this, the hint of the handcuffs and half remembered fantasies and pictures in stroke mags that hinted at darker, deeper things...and now that Jono had let him do it, that it wasn’t going to be so easy to take back. Could feel an almost cruel for a moment smile curving his lips, skin stretching into the demonic. A goateed Lucifer, drawn from the graying pre-dawn light, and with wicked intent in mind. Oh si, si, Jono was going to learn that sometimes Angelo could be bad too. That he wasn’t always just about being the easy good natured amigo.
Felt the stuttering of thought that was Jono about to speak and raised an eyebrow.
“No talking, Jono, mi amor. Just do.”
Hesitation again for a moment, and he could see, clearer then ever that Jonothon hadn’t really been expecting this. For him to take control as easily as this. Grab it, hold it and own it. Watched him move across to the cupboard with his easy swaying movement that came from years on stage, saying look at me and marvel, because I am sex on a stick and you shall worship me thusly with his eyes. The bandages were black in his hands, held carefully in looping spirals. And Angelo wanted, Dios, yes. Angelo took them off him, feeling the slick slide across his palms of the latex. Bit his lip.
“Strip.”
It was heady, watching Jonothon’s hands hesitate at the hemline of his shirt, before bending forward to pull the shirt off and over his head. Long graceful arch of back like a cat stretching, and that strip of white skin between the bandages and the low waistband of his pants. Cotton fluttered as it fell to the floor, and Jonothon bent to unlace his boots. Angelo prowled around him, watching, letting the bandages slide through his hands before recoiling them. The soft rasp made Jonothon shiver, just a little.
Strange, to be standing fully clothed when Jono was finally naked. Except for the bandages. And as much as he’d like for them to be off too, he wasn’t willing to really risk the apartment on Jonothon’s self control. At least, not in this situation. Not the first time they tried this. Running the edge of one thumbnail down Jono’s back, it caught a little on the edges of the bandage that was wrapped around his torso as Angelo leant in. Bit a little harder then usual at the lobe of Jonothon’s ear as the Goth straightened up, leaving his boots in a heap on the floor tangled with his jeans.
“Bueno...”
Possessive hands stroked down the lines of Jonothon’s body, feeling the arch of each other’s body, grey fingers sliding down white skin and resting on the hollows of thin hips. Stroked just there, gently, feeling the arch of bone and heat radiating into the palms of his hands, Jonothon’s head falling back against his shoulder and those elegant hands holding onto his wrists.
Dug his nails into the skin under his fingertips, felt his lover bend up into it and bit down hard enough to taste the not quite copper of Jono’s not quite blood.
“This is what you want, no?”
Hesitation, he could feel it prickling at his mind. Licked the place on Jonothon’s ear that he’d just savaged enough to draw blood, felt a shudder run all the way through the other man’s body as the cool material of the bandages slid against his skin. More then easy to bring Jono’s hands together in front of him and loop the bandages in a knot that would keep them that way. Thoughts, fluttering at the edges of his own like black butterflies. Tickled, a little bit. But not enough to really distract him.
“Jono...mi amor.” It was only a few steps to the bed, turning Jonothon to face himself and kissing that scrap of cheek that was just over the edge of the bandages. Could feel the raw need that was clawing at them both from the parts of the Brit’s mind that tangled in with his own at times like this. “You never...” Never understand why. Why he was wanted, why Angelo just ached for him like earth for the sun and the rain, why there was nothing he wouldn’t do for him. Frustrated, tongue tangled with things he couldn’t say and angry that Jono just never would get it, too messed up with his own vision of himself, and his hands tightened for a moment. Hard. Fingers lengthening and winding around the strange thinness of Jonothon’s upper arms.
For a guy who lugged around guitars and heavy band equipment, he always thought that Jono should be more...well, built. Instead he looked like he was going to break. From anything. Except he was a sight more durable then he looked, gracias a Dios.
“Te quiero...” Muttered it against his skin, holding back from actually licking him again for the moment. Why didn’t he ever believe that Angelo wanted him just because of who he was? Was this what this was about? Wanted Angelo to hold him, keep him, with something stronger then just his hands. It hurt his pride, that Jono thought he’d ever let him go unless he asked and meant it. It shouldn’t but it did. He didn’t do things by halves; he didn’t like to think his lover thought that he’d let him go without fighting to keep him. Machismo, maybe, but it still hurt. “Do you really want this? Tell me, Jono.”
*I...yes, I do. Please.*
“Alright.” They’d do it Jono’s way then. Angelo pulled the Goth in against himself tighter, resisting the urge to grind the front of his jeans against Jono’s nakedness. It would hurt, more then he wanted to hurt Jono. Limits. This was all about limits. “If you want me to stop, if I do too much, you need a word, no?”
*Y-yeah.* Shuddering sigh in his arms, like Jono was too turned on to really think straight. Angelo smirked slightly, corners of his mouth turning up in a wicked grin. It was nice to think he could do that, when it was so often the other way around. Or mutual. *Uhn. I dunno...just has to be something that wouldn’t usually come up.*
“Hmmm...” Angelo rubbed the side of his cheek along the gleaming darkness of Jonothon’s hair, thinking and still touching him. Light glancing strokes of his abnormally long fingers sliding along that milk pure skin. Like smudges of ash against paper. Charcoal black bandages adding emphasis. Wrapped around his shattered ribs like a chrysalis, hiding the butterfly of flames inside. While on the one hand he understood Jono’s aversion to his own mutation, he personally thought it was kinda...beautiful. Dangerous, no question. But a tiger was dangerous too. A forest fire, raging out of control, was dangerous. Perilous beauty. Maybe he just wanted to see how close he could get without being burned. “What’s the name of that robot from the show you like? That Red Dwarf one?”
*Uh... Kryten?*
“Si. That’ll do, don’t you think?”
Soft muffled chuckle, running through his brain as Jonothon shook like he would have if he’d actually needed to breathe, had lungs to move air through and all that other assorted equipment. Body remembering what it no longer needed to do. So much of what he did was just that. Habit no longer needed, but done because it was just what he was used to doing. Ingrained memory, carved onto a body that had moved beyond its own former requirements. *Loony.* Angelo had to fight his own urge to grin back, remembering the game they were playing here. If he dropped out of character now, they’d never do this again. Jono might feel too embarrassed to ask, or he might refuse. Had to do it now. Get the mood back, get the whole thing right again.
“Hey, is that anyway to be speaking to your master?” Quick smack of his hand against one rounded buttock, making Jonothon yelp and jump a little. Felt everything move back to the little bit scary, whole big bit arousing air it had had before. Jono’s eyes were big and dark, bigger then they’d ever looked before. Like they could swallow him whole. Hungry.
Easy enough to tug on the lead of bandage that led back to what was looped around his lover’s wrists, walk him to the edge of the bed. Knowing that the same hungry ache that was pooling in his stomach was in Jono’s. You know, along with the biofire or whatever the hell it was that made him go. Pushed him down onto it, hands holding him pinned as he crawled onto the bed himself, knees to either side of Jonothon’s closed legs. So pale underneath him, except for the obsidian wrapping of the bandages. White and fair. Dropping his head a little, Angelo smiled and then lightly kissed Jonothon’s forehead. That got him a small crinkling around the eyes, which was just about the same as Jono smiling.
“No peudo vivir sin ti.” Felt the aching truth of it in the back of his throat, words he wouldn’t be able to say in English but in Spanish they just rolled off his tongue. Salt sweat skin under his tongue as he kissed the edge of Jonothon’s face, feeling the thinness of the wrists in his hands as he held them to the bed, his dick almost burning a hole through his jeans in want and the way Jono’s hips thrust upwards in a demanding motion. Obviously, he was going too slow. Ha. And he had to pretend like he knew what he was doing, that he wasn’t feeling awkward at all. Wasn’t going to give Jono a reason to regret asking for what he wanted, maybe what he needed. Not ever. He didn’t ask for much from Angelo, he could do this. He could. Really.
Please God, let him do this right.
A moment just to breathe, closing his eyes and biting again at the lobe of the Brit’s ear, feeling dark hair brush against his face. Drew back, putting his feet on the floor and standing up, leaving Jonothon on the bed, erection hard against his stomach, and bare soles of his feet hanging just above the floor. Hands above his head, still, ribbons of the bandages trailing across the sheets like wicked dark chocolate drizzled across a plate. Something fancy, expensive looking about him, lying there. Far too good to even eat.
“Hands and knees...closer to the headboard though.” There was...the headboard was just a plank of wood with a stupid little design carved out in the middle of a flower. More then enough to thread the bandages through. Tie them. Dios. Heart racing, thundering in his chest with this mix of want and need and anxiety that somewhere along the line he was going to take the wrong step and fuck this up. Easy for Jono, who just seemed to slide into everything with all the self assuredness of a slinking back alley tom. Graceful arch as he turned over onto his stomach, pale curve of his back and the perfect shape of his ass made Angelo’s dick even harder. Dropped his hand to the front of his pants for a moment and squeezed, fighting for some sort of self control. Waited for his breath to steady again before taking the few steps around to near the top of their bed, top sheet already pushed down to the bottom of the mattress. Crumpled, in soft hollows of patched cotton cloth.
Picking up the bandages, he fed the end of one trailing piece through, almost all the way. There was still enough slack for Jonothon to move, just a little bit. Tied it tight, but he knew he’d be able to get it undone after. Probably. If he couldn’t, he had a knife that he usually carried, only not in the house. Only when he went out. He might never touch a gun again, but he knew how to handle a knife. Swift and slick and deadly. Bit the curve and hollow of Jonothon’s shoulder, hard, knowing that here the flesh was solid enough to take it. Felt the shudder run through his mind that was the pulse of thought other then his own, something shimmering in front of his eyes. Bit down again harder, tasting rubber and sweat, feeling the shift of Jono’s muscles underneath against his tongue and a groan echoing through his head.
Shoulders dropped down, forehead pressed to his crossed wrists, knees spread and ass high up in the air, Jonothon was just gorgeous. Bello. So very pretty. Rasped hum of broken off thought skittered across the edges of his own, and he grinned, pulled his loose white shirt off over his head and felt the satin slide of gold beads against his chest as his rosary fell back on its chain to hit him. The cross dangling against his pecs was distracting, so he took it off too, letting it puddle down from his fingers onto the drawers by the bed. Circles of gold, sacred object that should stop him from doing this. Sometimes temptation was too much for faith to triumph over. Anyway, he’d like to see the saint who could have resisted Jono looking this. Perfect and vulnerable, in a way he’d never really been before.
“You can talk now.”
He could feel Jono settling in against his mind a little closer, something impossible to describe to someone who hadn’t spent a lot of time with a telepath. At least a little time in bed with them as well. Could feel the Brit looking at the thought in his head, held there in crystal detail, shudder breaking it into pieces. Enough approval and curiosity there for Angelo to actually do what he’d been thinking about. Heh. So maybe Jono didn’t really know what he was doing either. Comforting.
The palm print spread out red across the white of that perfectly shaped ass, echo of the smack still ringing in both their ears. Traced the edge of that almost stencil perfect hand shape he’d left with the edge of his fingernail, feeling how much hotter the spanked skin was compared as to what was still virgin territory. Es lindo. Dios, he was so fucking hard right now.
*Oh bloody hell...”
“’S good, mano?” Angelo asked with a dirty grin, watching a shudder ripple its way all through his lover’s body like a wave. Butt still up high and knees opened wide. He put one knee onto the bed, and Jono’s stance wavered for a moment as he kneeled next to him on the ratty mattress before it firmed back up again.
*Ngh, yeah.*
“So good.” Rubbed the pads of his fingers over the curve that of Jonothon’s ass that led into the small of his back, down again to the shadowed cleft and just ghosted a touch along there. Not even really dipping down. Felt his skin almost drag, pouch around his bones, without him meaning it to and it took a moment for him to tighten everything back up.
*Pleasepleaseplease...*
“Don’t rush me.” Feeling the right tone coming easier now, commanding but not patronizing. Masterful, right? Yeah. Waited a beat, then smacked Jono again, watching the matching hand print spring up almost like magic. Barely a pause before, he did again, open palm landing on the first red, red mark.
*FUCK*
Arch and roll of Jonothon’s hips was somewhere between do that again and god, that hurts movement, shoulders standing out in stark relief underneath the bandages. Angelo just put his hand on Jono’s calf to hold him still, long fingers stretching over the smooth muscle before his free hand landed on reddening skin again. Hadn’t said the word yet, didn’t mean stop. Breaking moans racing on quicksilver into his head and bouncing off the inside of his skull, and there wasn’t anything in them that said that this was enough. Widening his fingers and feeling skin flatten out to make his hand bigger, they both felt the difference in the slap that followed. Heard it too. Ricochet noise echoing around their crappy apartment and he hoped no one on either side could hear them. That’d...be embarrassing.
*Ah Christ! Ange!* Jono whined, hips moving in short sharp movements and fists clenched hard into the sheets, balling the cloth up in his fingers. The Hispanic paused for a moment, waiting for someone to bang on the walls or something, before remembering no one cared. And besides, Jono was a teep. Nobody was hearing the moans and gasps and soft begging words, except for him. Just for him. He landed a few more hard blows on the now almost glowing skin of Jonothon’s ass, feeling his lover rock back into the palm of his hand now instead of wriggling away from it. *Bloody hell...*
“You liked that,” Angelo muttered, knowing that Jono had but still somewhat amazed by that fact. But hell, he’d liked doing it. Making Jono squirm and moan, like some dying thing. “So bueno, gatito...” Gray hands, soothing now, slid up between the slim thighs and then over the curve of the skin they’d been tormenting. Angelo pressed his thumbs down into the centre of each rounded cheek, before resuming the settling strokes, feeling his lover shiver ever so lightly with each sweep of his long fingers. “Mio...”
*Fucking Christ, Ange, please...*
“Mmm.” Angelo hummed a noncommittal sound, still stroking the pads of his fingers lightly over the almost cherry red shade of Jonothon’s skin. Stepped off the bed and unzipped his jeans, making a soft sound of relief as the pressure of the denim over his erection eased. Dropping the pants on the floor, he then grabbed the tube of Astroglide out of the cupboard by the bed before crawling back onto it. “Turn over, amigo.” There should be enough slack in the length of bandage tying him to the headboard to let him do it. His thought was proved right as Jono did so, bandages almost, almost pulling his shoulders out of joint and fingers curling inwards towards his palms. He let out a quiet hiss into the other man’s head as his abused ass met the sheets of the bed, cock rock hard against his body and leaking shiny trails of precome over the white skin of his belly. Angelo loosened the knot a little and let more of the bandage fed through to give the Goth more slack. “That should be better, no?”
*Yeah.* Jono drew down on the bonds for a moment, biceps defining as he did so. The bandages shifted, glistening black surfaces throwing back the light from the bare bulb that illuminated the dingy bedsit. Angelo resisted the urge to lick his lips manfully, if he did say so himself. Jonothon drew his knees up and back as Angelo settled between his thighs, slicked fingers already probing at his pucker. *Ffffuck...*
“You looks so gorgeous, chico.” Hot satiny heat around his fingers as he slid them home, Jono’s back arching to thrust his hips back, trying to force him to go faster. They were both at the edge of desperate, probably more Jono then him. The feathery wisps of hair around his face were damp with sweat, sticking to his skin. And how the fuck he managed to produce any sort of body liquid, Angelo had no idea and he wasn’t going to ask. It’d probably end up being something so weird he’d give himself a bad case of the wiggins. “So fucking pretty, like this.”
*Nnnh!*
Low keening noise razoring through his thoughts like nothing else as he stroked his fingers almost viciously over the nub inside Jono’s body, the one that made him go crazy wild as he readied his lover for what was coming next. Hips moving as much as they could with his feet planted on the mattress and hands secured above his head. Didn’t take more then a thought to push more skin onto his fingers, making them wider and larger, and Jonothon’s keening took on a more urgent edge, an occasional profanity reverberating along with it just for good measure. He kissed the sharp bump of Jonothon’ hipbone, tracing his tongue along it and ignoring other parts that he was sure his lover would much rather he put his mouth on.
Withdrawing his fingers and listening to the Brit’s needy moan of loss, he hooked Jono’s legs over his shoulders as he moved up to feather a kiss across his forehead. Pushing gently forward with his hips, he felt the head of his cock nudge against the stretched hole it was so eager to get into. Waited for a moment, just kissing Jono for a moment and loving it.
“You ready, baby? Gonna fuck you so hard…”
*Get on with it, yer tosser!*
Jono was sounding frustrated, and he couldn’t really blame him. But that sort of tone didn’t belong here, not with this. He bit at the graceful bend of Jonothon’s arm, hearing the telepathic yelp just fine. Teethmarks blossomed like flowers after rain, red and raw looking.
“Say you’re sorry, mi gatito, for being disrespectful.”
Dangerous pause where Angelo waited with almost bated breath, before Jono fell back into the game.
*’M sorry.*
Bueno.
“Long as you’re…sorry.” He thrust his hips forward and pulled back on Jono’s, pushing his way inside Jonothon’s body hard. All the way in with just one shove. Jono’s back arched like a bow being pulled tight, ricocheting scream bouncing off the inside of his skull and going straight down into his spine. He panted raggedly for a moment, fighting not to come right now at the feel of his lover around his cock, and the fact that his ass was still warm from the spanking. So good. So, so good. Sex with Torres had been fun good times, he’d had had just as much fun as she had. If the moaning was anything to by, she’d had a lot. Pussy was fantástica, he loved it. Soft shapely curves of a woman’s body, tits and hips and everything so soft. Jono...Jono was just something else. This whole higher level. Heat and hard lines, so real. So there. More then anything else in his life. “Ohhh, Jono...”
*Move, Jesus, please, move!*
Almost kneeling on the bed, Jono’s ankles locked together against his shoulder blades, Angelo started to move. Didn’t matter know who was tied up or meant to be in control. What was important was that they both reached that glimmering light he could feel coming up, energy racing through his veins so fast it burned. Urging him to thrust harder, really pound Jono through the mattress. Just like he wanted. The way they both wanted. Leaned forward, hips pumping and fucking Jonothon as hard as he could in this position, getting, Dios, so deep, and landed a desperate kiss on the swathe of bandages that stretched across where the other man’s mouth should be. Blank empty space that should have a gasping, moaning mouth, but it didn’t matter. Jono was complete just how he was. By how loud Jono’s voice was in his head, he didn’t really want to think about the complaints if he’d actually been making them vocally anyway. Yow. They already had enough issues with their neighbours without adding obnoxiously loud, kinky, gay sex to it.
People got so irrational when they were jealous of other people’s sex lives.
*Ah, ah, ah, ah! Ye-eah, fuck, CHRIST, fuck me! Fucking god fuck yessss…*
Long musician’s fingers curled over into fists, grasping at nothing as the bed rocked underneath them both. The headboard banged into the wall repeatedly with soft thuds as Angelo panted in short, sharp bursts in rhythm with his movements. Breathing heavy and feeling sweat roll down his face and along the slope of his back, hips smacking hard against the inside of Jono’s thighs with the dull sound of skin on skin. Heavy and wet noises echoing. Couldn’t speak, just feel, moan, gasp, groan. Animal dumb noises, since any higher function was on vacation for the present time. Overloaded.
*JonotequieroJonoJONO*
Couldn’t say it. Just think it. So loudly, he had to be screaming it back to the telepath. Undisciplined, erratic burst of thought static, but he was being driven just out of his mind. Wanted to share it, the nearly orgasmic rush racing through his body like the best drugs, better then anything he’d ever been able to afford. Having sex with Jono was like dropping acid, but without the bad trips being anything close to included.
*SocloseohgodsosoANGELOyesfuckplease*
*TequieroteamominoviosotightgodChristsogood*
*FUCKYES*
Thoughts echoing back and forth between them, snapping like electric sparks along a cable. So close in together there was barely nothing separating one from the other. The thoughts were the same anyway, more and yes and fuck and harder. He could feel Jono’s orgasm almost before it began, crescendo of raging light that crashed down inside his head as his lover stiffened underneath, hot splash on his stomach signaling the other man’s physical release. Caught and dragged under by it, coming so hard his back arched as he threw his head back, spray of sweat turned into diamonds for an endless moment by the light that was shining overhead.
Holding on so tight to Jonothon with his mind and his hands, buried deep inside him like he would never leave as the ecstasy rolled them both in under itself. So deep under in a blaze that rivaled the fiercest forest fire. He couldn’t even see, staring blind with pleasure and hearing Jono sob, voice breaking with bliss before the world came crashing back in, breaking the endless circuit of feedback that had been looping between them. Feeding each other their orgasms, bouncing back and sending it again. Collapsing down, he caught himself before he leant in against Jono’s hollow chest, even though he wanted nothing more then to lay his head against it. The bandages wouldn’t support that kind of weight, and that thought brought reality back in even further.
He felt almost liquid, and he had to look at his arms to check that his skin wasn’t sagging. Nothing. He looked right, normal, but man oh man. That had been some good sex. Cosmic, even. Something that would rival nirvana. Jonothon still looked out of it, brown eyes dazed and hazed with sexual gratification. He slid out slowly, hating it, and got out of the way, letting Jono put his legs down before they cramped. Charley horses made Jono whine - wait, whinge. British version of whining, apparently. Slowly, he undid the knot that held the Goth’s wrists against the headboard, rubbing the thin bands of red away as he sat next to Jono on the bed.
*...bloody hell, Ange.*
“Si.”
*That was...fuck. That was…*
Jonothon rolled his head back on his neck, letting Angelo’s strong fingers work at the hard muscles in his shoulders. The gray mutant smiled slightly, massaging out the knots in Jono’s neck and shoulders as he watched him struggle to form a coherent thought to express what had just happened. Something had opened up. Something big and important. And they hadn’t meant to do it.
He wondered just what the hell Jono had done, and knew that the fledgling telepath would be wondering himself. It wasn’t like they really had anyone to talk to about this stuff. They had both decided, after watching Xavier on the television, that the bald man was exceptionally fucking freaky and just needed a long haired cat to complete his James Bond villain persona. No X-Men for them, gracias.
“Let’s just say it was fucking good.”
Crow’s laughter, raucous and cawing as Jonothon indulged in a moment of pure amusement. Didn’t happen often, so Angelo smiled too. Chuckled, and kept working away at the tenseness across the upper half of his lover’s body. It felt good just to touch Jono like this, even if it was through the bandages.
*Hnh, yeah.*
“We should get cleaned up, yeah?”
*Oh yeah. I’m sitting in the biggest bloody wet spot, you fucking arsehole.*
Despite Jonothon’s disgruntled tone, they just sat for a few moments longer. Thinking. And touching.
Feeling the last of that awesome feeling drain away, leaving them merely satiated.
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Ultimate X-Men
Pairing: Chamber/Skin
Summary: Jono convinces Angelo to play a game.
Author's notes: Part of the Monotone Photograph series. In this chapter, we have some BDSM play. For god's sake, the boy comes with his own set of restraints. How can I not exploit that at some point?
Angelo bit his lip and held the handcuffs in his hand, watching Jonothon watch him with uneasy eyes. Like he’d suddenly asked too much, gone too far, pushed the limits of what Angelo could tolerate. It had not been easy in the first place to somehow find themselves both here, both somewhat content, and fucking each other’s brains out on a nightly basis. The metal was cool against his fingers, and he had too many bad things associated with them to bring himself into the game Jonothon was asking to play.
Cops had cuffs, and he had bracelets of scar tissue from them. Pinch too tight and you got a permanent reminder. Scars and red lines running up from the bracelets. No, not handcuffs. But the idea...Jono tied down so all he could do was take it, acquiesce to what Angelo wanted...so much of their relationship was Jono, Jono, beautiful pale Jono, taking them further and further. Calling the shots. Saying the words. Pushing Angelo to what he had thought had been his limits and beyond them. Like even a month ago he would have been able to accept the fact that he could tonguefuck Jono and enjoy it. Of course, the radical changes to Jono’s biochemistry made his body a cleaner place then most hospitals, but still...rimming, it wasn’t something he could have done before.
“Maybe...not the cuffs.”
Jonothon watching him with big brown eyes, skin so white. Delicate, somehow, even when he was strutting around in his leathers and Docs like he was the biggest bad ass to ever stalk out from the night of London. One day, Angelo wanted to see Jono’s London. Maybe...maybe someday. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Their life was a book full of maybe, and someday, and perhaps. Maybe one day mutants would be more accepted. Someday, they’d be able to hold hands in public, curl up on each others laps and watched the world walk by. Be in love and not have to hide. Perhaps soon they would even be able to say the words to each other. Just for now...no. Not today. Not now.
Moment teetering on something, and Angelo could feel the weight of his lover’s waiting settle onto his shoulders. Made up his mind as he put the cuffs down on the table, fingers stretching so he didn’t have to bend. Just stood, watching Jono watching him, both of them waiting.
“Get your spare set of bandages out of the closet, Jono.”
Could tell by the sudden heat burning in the Goth’s eyes that he’d chosen the right thing, said the right thing. Watched him wait for a heartbeat more, like he was considering not doing it, and Angelo could feel his lips curl, teeth baring in a snarl. Jono wanted to play. So, Angelo would do this right. Besides, the idea of ordering his sometimes aloof and feline lover was appealing.
“Now.”
Saw the widening of those eyes he loved to watch, so expressive. Like all of a sudden Jono had realized what he had really done. Given over control, at least over the next hour or so to Angelo. And that Angelo really was going to take advantage of it. That he wasn’t going to be led more then this, the hint of the handcuffs and half remembered fantasies and pictures in stroke mags that hinted at darker, deeper things...and now that Jono had let him do it, that it wasn’t going to be so easy to take back. Could feel an almost cruel for a moment smile curving his lips, skin stretching into the demonic. A goateed Lucifer, drawn from the graying pre-dawn light, and with wicked intent in mind. Oh si, si, Jono was going to learn that sometimes Angelo could be bad too. That he wasn’t always just about being the easy good natured amigo.
Felt the stuttering of thought that was Jono about to speak and raised an eyebrow.
“No talking, Jono, mi amor. Just do.”
Hesitation again for a moment, and he could see, clearer then ever that Jonothon hadn’t really been expecting this. For him to take control as easily as this. Grab it, hold it and own it. Watched him move across to the cupboard with his easy swaying movement that came from years on stage, saying look at me and marvel, because I am sex on a stick and you shall worship me thusly with his eyes. The bandages were black in his hands, held carefully in looping spirals. And Angelo wanted, Dios, yes. Angelo took them off him, feeling the slick slide across his palms of the latex. Bit his lip.
“Strip.”
It was heady, watching Jonothon’s hands hesitate at the hemline of his shirt, before bending forward to pull the shirt off and over his head. Long graceful arch of back like a cat stretching, and that strip of white skin between the bandages and the low waistband of his pants. Cotton fluttered as it fell to the floor, and Jonothon bent to unlace his boots. Angelo prowled around him, watching, letting the bandages slide through his hands before recoiling them. The soft rasp made Jonothon shiver, just a little.
Strange, to be standing fully clothed when Jono was finally naked. Except for the bandages. And as much as he’d like for them to be off too, he wasn’t willing to really risk the apartment on Jonothon’s self control. At least, not in this situation. Not the first time they tried this. Running the edge of one thumbnail down Jono’s back, it caught a little on the edges of the bandage that was wrapped around his torso as Angelo leant in. Bit a little harder then usual at the lobe of Jonothon’s ear as the Goth straightened up, leaving his boots in a heap on the floor tangled with his jeans.
“Bueno...”
Possessive hands stroked down the lines of Jonothon’s body, feeling the arch of each other’s body, grey fingers sliding down white skin and resting on the hollows of thin hips. Stroked just there, gently, feeling the arch of bone and heat radiating into the palms of his hands, Jonothon’s head falling back against his shoulder and those elegant hands holding onto his wrists.
Dug his nails into the skin under his fingertips, felt his lover bend up into it and bit down hard enough to taste the not quite copper of Jono’s not quite blood.
“This is what you want, no?”
Hesitation, he could feel it prickling at his mind. Licked the place on Jonothon’s ear that he’d just savaged enough to draw blood, felt a shudder run all the way through the other man’s body as the cool material of the bandages slid against his skin. More then easy to bring Jono’s hands together in front of him and loop the bandages in a knot that would keep them that way. Thoughts, fluttering at the edges of his own like black butterflies. Tickled, a little bit. But not enough to really distract him.
“Jono...mi amor.” It was only a few steps to the bed, turning Jonothon to face himself and kissing that scrap of cheek that was just over the edge of the bandages. Could feel the raw need that was clawing at them both from the parts of the Brit’s mind that tangled in with his own at times like this. “You never...” Never understand why. Why he was wanted, why Angelo just ached for him like earth for the sun and the rain, why there was nothing he wouldn’t do for him. Frustrated, tongue tangled with things he couldn’t say and angry that Jono just never would get it, too messed up with his own vision of himself, and his hands tightened for a moment. Hard. Fingers lengthening and winding around the strange thinness of Jonothon’s upper arms.
For a guy who lugged around guitars and heavy band equipment, he always thought that Jono should be more...well, built. Instead he looked like he was going to break. From anything. Except he was a sight more durable then he looked, gracias a Dios.
“Te quiero...” Muttered it against his skin, holding back from actually licking him again for the moment. Why didn’t he ever believe that Angelo wanted him just because of who he was? Was this what this was about? Wanted Angelo to hold him, keep him, with something stronger then just his hands. It hurt his pride, that Jono thought he’d ever let him go unless he asked and meant it. It shouldn’t but it did. He didn’t do things by halves; he didn’t like to think his lover thought that he’d let him go without fighting to keep him. Machismo, maybe, but it still hurt. “Do you really want this? Tell me, Jono.”
*I...yes, I do. Please.*
“Alright.” They’d do it Jono’s way then. Angelo pulled the Goth in against himself tighter, resisting the urge to grind the front of his jeans against Jono’s nakedness. It would hurt, more then he wanted to hurt Jono. Limits. This was all about limits. “If you want me to stop, if I do too much, you need a word, no?”
*Y-yeah.* Shuddering sigh in his arms, like Jono was too turned on to really think straight. Angelo smirked slightly, corners of his mouth turning up in a wicked grin. It was nice to think he could do that, when it was so often the other way around. Or mutual. *Uhn. I dunno...just has to be something that wouldn’t usually come up.*
“Hmmm...” Angelo rubbed the side of his cheek along the gleaming darkness of Jonothon’s hair, thinking and still touching him. Light glancing strokes of his abnormally long fingers sliding along that milk pure skin. Like smudges of ash against paper. Charcoal black bandages adding emphasis. Wrapped around his shattered ribs like a chrysalis, hiding the butterfly of flames inside. While on the one hand he understood Jono’s aversion to his own mutation, he personally thought it was kinda...beautiful. Dangerous, no question. But a tiger was dangerous too. A forest fire, raging out of control, was dangerous. Perilous beauty. Maybe he just wanted to see how close he could get without being burned. “What’s the name of that robot from the show you like? That Red Dwarf one?”
*Uh... Kryten?*
“Si. That’ll do, don’t you think?”
Soft muffled chuckle, running through his brain as Jonothon shook like he would have if he’d actually needed to breathe, had lungs to move air through and all that other assorted equipment. Body remembering what it no longer needed to do. So much of what he did was just that. Habit no longer needed, but done because it was just what he was used to doing. Ingrained memory, carved onto a body that had moved beyond its own former requirements. *Loony.* Angelo had to fight his own urge to grin back, remembering the game they were playing here. If he dropped out of character now, they’d never do this again. Jono might feel too embarrassed to ask, or he might refuse. Had to do it now. Get the mood back, get the whole thing right again.
“Hey, is that anyway to be speaking to your master?” Quick smack of his hand against one rounded buttock, making Jonothon yelp and jump a little. Felt everything move back to the little bit scary, whole big bit arousing air it had had before. Jono’s eyes were big and dark, bigger then they’d ever looked before. Like they could swallow him whole. Hungry.
Easy enough to tug on the lead of bandage that led back to what was looped around his lover’s wrists, walk him to the edge of the bed. Knowing that the same hungry ache that was pooling in his stomach was in Jono’s. You know, along with the biofire or whatever the hell it was that made him go. Pushed him down onto it, hands holding him pinned as he crawled onto the bed himself, knees to either side of Jonothon’s closed legs. So pale underneath him, except for the obsidian wrapping of the bandages. White and fair. Dropping his head a little, Angelo smiled and then lightly kissed Jonothon’s forehead. That got him a small crinkling around the eyes, which was just about the same as Jono smiling.
“No peudo vivir sin ti.” Felt the aching truth of it in the back of his throat, words he wouldn’t be able to say in English but in Spanish they just rolled off his tongue. Salt sweat skin under his tongue as he kissed the edge of Jonothon’s face, feeling the thinness of the wrists in his hands as he held them to the bed, his dick almost burning a hole through his jeans in want and the way Jono’s hips thrust upwards in a demanding motion. Obviously, he was going too slow. Ha. And he had to pretend like he knew what he was doing, that he wasn’t feeling awkward at all. Wasn’t going to give Jono a reason to regret asking for what he wanted, maybe what he needed. Not ever. He didn’t ask for much from Angelo, he could do this. He could. Really.
Please God, let him do this right.
A moment just to breathe, closing his eyes and biting again at the lobe of the Brit’s ear, feeling dark hair brush against his face. Drew back, putting his feet on the floor and standing up, leaving Jonothon on the bed, erection hard against his stomach, and bare soles of his feet hanging just above the floor. Hands above his head, still, ribbons of the bandages trailing across the sheets like wicked dark chocolate drizzled across a plate. Something fancy, expensive looking about him, lying there. Far too good to even eat.
“Hands and knees...closer to the headboard though.” There was...the headboard was just a plank of wood with a stupid little design carved out in the middle of a flower. More then enough to thread the bandages through. Tie them. Dios. Heart racing, thundering in his chest with this mix of want and need and anxiety that somewhere along the line he was going to take the wrong step and fuck this up. Easy for Jono, who just seemed to slide into everything with all the self assuredness of a slinking back alley tom. Graceful arch as he turned over onto his stomach, pale curve of his back and the perfect shape of his ass made Angelo’s dick even harder. Dropped his hand to the front of his pants for a moment and squeezed, fighting for some sort of self control. Waited for his breath to steady again before taking the few steps around to near the top of their bed, top sheet already pushed down to the bottom of the mattress. Crumpled, in soft hollows of patched cotton cloth.
Picking up the bandages, he fed the end of one trailing piece through, almost all the way. There was still enough slack for Jonothon to move, just a little bit. Tied it tight, but he knew he’d be able to get it undone after. Probably. If he couldn’t, he had a knife that he usually carried, only not in the house. Only when he went out. He might never touch a gun again, but he knew how to handle a knife. Swift and slick and deadly. Bit the curve and hollow of Jonothon’s shoulder, hard, knowing that here the flesh was solid enough to take it. Felt the shudder run through his mind that was the pulse of thought other then his own, something shimmering in front of his eyes. Bit down again harder, tasting rubber and sweat, feeling the shift of Jono’s muscles underneath against his tongue and a groan echoing through his head.
Shoulders dropped down, forehead pressed to his crossed wrists, knees spread and ass high up in the air, Jonothon was just gorgeous. Bello. So very pretty. Rasped hum of broken off thought skittered across the edges of his own, and he grinned, pulled his loose white shirt off over his head and felt the satin slide of gold beads against his chest as his rosary fell back on its chain to hit him. The cross dangling against his pecs was distracting, so he took it off too, letting it puddle down from his fingers onto the drawers by the bed. Circles of gold, sacred object that should stop him from doing this. Sometimes temptation was too much for faith to triumph over. Anyway, he’d like to see the saint who could have resisted Jono looking this. Perfect and vulnerable, in a way he’d never really been before.
“You can talk now.”
He could feel Jono settling in against his mind a little closer, something impossible to describe to someone who hadn’t spent a lot of time with a telepath. At least a little time in bed with them as well. Could feel the Brit looking at the thought in his head, held there in crystal detail, shudder breaking it into pieces. Enough approval and curiosity there for Angelo to actually do what he’d been thinking about. Heh. So maybe Jono didn’t really know what he was doing either. Comforting.
The palm print spread out red across the white of that perfectly shaped ass, echo of the smack still ringing in both their ears. Traced the edge of that almost stencil perfect hand shape he’d left with the edge of his fingernail, feeling how much hotter the spanked skin was compared as to what was still virgin territory. Es lindo. Dios, he was so fucking hard right now.
*Oh bloody hell...”
“’S good, mano?” Angelo asked with a dirty grin, watching a shudder ripple its way all through his lover’s body like a wave. Butt still up high and knees opened wide. He put one knee onto the bed, and Jono’s stance wavered for a moment as he kneeled next to him on the ratty mattress before it firmed back up again.
*Ngh, yeah.*
“So good.” Rubbed the pads of his fingers over the curve that of Jonothon’s ass that led into the small of his back, down again to the shadowed cleft and just ghosted a touch along there. Not even really dipping down. Felt his skin almost drag, pouch around his bones, without him meaning it to and it took a moment for him to tighten everything back up.
*Pleasepleaseplease...*
“Don’t rush me.” Feeling the right tone coming easier now, commanding but not patronizing. Masterful, right? Yeah. Waited a beat, then smacked Jono again, watching the matching hand print spring up almost like magic. Barely a pause before, he did again, open palm landing on the first red, red mark.
*FUCK*
Arch and roll of Jonothon’s hips was somewhere between do that again and god, that hurts movement, shoulders standing out in stark relief underneath the bandages. Angelo just put his hand on Jono’s calf to hold him still, long fingers stretching over the smooth muscle before his free hand landed on reddening skin again. Hadn’t said the word yet, didn’t mean stop. Breaking moans racing on quicksilver into his head and bouncing off the inside of his skull, and there wasn’t anything in them that said that this was enough. Widening his fingers and feeling skin flatten out to make his hand bigger, they both felt the difference in the slap that followed. Heard it too. Ricochet noise echoing around their crappy apartment and he hoped no one on either side could hear them. That’d...be embarrassing.
*Ah Christ! Ange!* Jono whined, hips moving in short sharp movements and fists clenched hard into the sheets, balling the cloth up in his fingers. The Hispanic paused for a moment, waiting for someone to bang on the walls or something, before remembering no one cared. And besides, Jono was a teep. Nobody was hearing the moans and gasps and soft begging words, except for him. Just for him. He landed a few more hard blows on the now almost glowing skin of Jonothon’s ass, feeling his lover rock back into the palm of his hand now instead of wriggling away from it. *Bloody hell...*
“You liked that,” Angelo muttered, knowing that Jono had but still somewhat amazed by that fact. But hell, he’d liked doing it. Making Jono squirm and moan, like some dying thing. “So bueno, gatito...” Gray hands, soothing now, slid up between the slim thighs and then over the curve of the skin they’d been tormenting. Angelo pressed his thumbs down into the centre of each rounded cheek, before resuming the settling strokes, feeling his lover shiver ever so lightly with each sweep of his long fingers. “Mio...”
*Fucking Christ, Ange, please...*
“Mmm.” Angelo hummed a noncommittal sound, still stroking the pads of his fingers lightly over the almost cherry red shade of Jonothon’s skin. Stepped off the bed and unzipped his jeans, making a soft sound of relief as the pressure of the denim over his erection eased. Dropping the pants on the floor, he then grabbed the tube of Astroglide out of the cupboard by the bed before crawling back onto it. “Turn over, amigo.” There should be enough slack in the length of bandage tying him to the headboard to let him do it. His thought was proved right as Jono did so, bandages almost, almost pulling his shoulders out of joint and fingers curling inwards towards his palms. He let out a quiet hiss into the other man’s head as his abused ass met the sheets of the bed, cock rock hard against his body and leaking shiny trails of precome over the white skin of his belly. Angelo loosened the knot a little and let more of the bandage fed through to give the Goth more slack. “That should be better, no?”
*Yeah.* Jono drew down on the bonds for a moment, biceps defining as he did so. The bandages shifted, glistening black surfaces throwing back the light from the bare bulb that illuminated the dingy bedsit. Angelo resisted the urge to lick his lips manfully, if he did say so himself. Jonothon drew his knees up and back as Angelo settled between his thighs, slicked fingers already probing at his pucker. *Ffffuck...*
“You looks so gorgeous, chico.” Hot satiny heat around his fingers as he slid them home, Jono’s back arching to thrust his hips back, trying to force him to go faster. They were both at the edge of desperate, probably more Jono then him. The feathery wisps of hair around his face were damp with sweat, sticking to his skin. And how the fuck he managed to produce any sort of body liquid, Angelo had no idea and he wasn’t going to ask. It’d probably end up being something so weird he’d give himself a bad case of the wiggins. “So fucking pretty, like this.”
*Nnnh!*
Low keening noise razoring through his thoughts like nothing else as he stroked his fingers almost viciously over the nub inside Jono’s body, the one that made him go crazy wild as he readied his lover for what was coming next. Hips moving as much as they could with his feet planted on the mattress and hands secured above his head. Didn’t take more then a thought to push more skin onto his fingers, making them wider and larger, and Jonothon’s keening took on a more urgent edge, an occasional profanity reverberating along with it just for good measure. He kissed the sharp bump of Jonothon’ hipbone, tracing his tongue along it and ignoring other parts that he was sure his lover would much rather he put his mouth on.
Withdrawing his fingers and listening to the Brit’s needy moan of loss, he hooked Jono’s legs over his shoulders as he moved up to feather a kiss across his forehead. Pushing gently forward with his hips, he felt the head of his cock nudge against the stretched hole it was so eager to get into. Waited for a moment, just kissing Jono for a moment and loving it.
“You ready, baby? Gonna fuck you so hard…”
*Get on with it, yer tosser!*
Jono was sounding frustrated, and he couldn’t really blame him. But that sort of tone didn’t belong here, not with this. He bit at the graceful bend of Jonothon’s arm, hearing the telepathic yelp just fine. Teethmarks blossomed like flowers after rain, red and raw looking.
“Say you’re sorry, mi gatito, for being disrespectful.”
Dangerous pause where Angelo waited with almost bated breath, before Jono fell back into the game.
*’M sorry.*
Bueno.
“Long as you’re…sorry.” He thrust his hips forward and pulled back on Jono’s, pushing his way inside Jonothon’s body hard. All the way in with just one shove. Jono’s back arched like a bow being pulled tight, ricocheting scream bouncing off the inside of his skull and going straight down into his spine. He panted raggedly for a moment, fighting not to come right now at the feel of his lover around his cock, and the fact that his ass was still warm from the spanking. So good. So, so good. Sex with Torres had been fun good times, he’d had had just as much fun as she had. If the moaning was anything to by, she’d had a lot. Pussy was fantástica, he loved it. Soft shapely curves of a woman’s body, tits and hips and everything so soft. Jono...Jono was just something else. This whole higher level. Heat and hard lines, so real. So there. More then anything else in his life. “Ohhh, Jono...”
*Move, Jesus, please, move!*
Almost kneeling on the bed, Jono’s ankles locked together against his shoulder blades, Angelo started to move. Didn’t matter know who was tied up or meant to be in control. What was important was that they both reached that glimmering light he could feel coming up, energy racing through his veins so fast it burned. Urging him to thrust harder, really pound Jono through the mattress. Just like he wanted. The way they both wanted. Leaned forward, hips pumping and fucking Jonothon as hard as he could in this position, getting, Dios, so deep, and landed a desperate kiss on the swathe of bandages that stretched across where the other man’s mouth should be. Blank empty space that should have a gasping, moaning mouth, but it didn’t matter. Jono was complete just how he was. By how loud Jono’s voice was in his head, he didn’t really want to think about the complaints if he’d actually been making them vocally anyway. Yow. They already had enough issues with their neighbours without adding obnoxiously loud, kinky, gay sex to it.
People got so irrational when they were jealous of other people’s sex lives.
*Ah, ah, ah, ah! Ye-eah, fuck, CHRIST, fuck me! Fucking god fuck yessss…*
Long musician’s fingers curled over into fists, grasping at nothing as the bed rocked underneath them both. The headboard banged into the wall repeatedly with soft thuds as Angelo panted in short, sharp bursts in rhythm with his movements. Breathing heavy and feeling sweat roll down his face and along the slope of his back, hips smacking hard against the inside of Jono’s thighs with the dull sound of skin on skin. Heavy and wet noises echoing. Couldn’t speak, just feel, moan, gasp, groan. Animal dumb noises, since any higher function was on vacation for the present time. Overloaded.
*JonotequieroJonoJONO*
Couldn’t say it. Just think it. So loudly, he had to be screaming it back to the telepath. Undisciplined, erratic burst of thought static, but he was being driven just out of his mind. Wanted to share it, the nearly orgasmic rush racing through his body like the best drugs, better then anything he’d ever been able to afford. Having sex with Jono was like dropping acid, but without the bad trips being anything close to included.
*SocloseohgodsosoANGELOyesfuckplease*
*TequieroteamominoviosotightgodChristsogood*
*FUCKYES*
Thoughts echoing back and forth between them, snapping like electric sparks along a cable. So close in together there was barely nothing separating one from the other. The thoughts were the same anyway, more and yes and fuck and harder. He could feel Jono’s orgasm almost before it began, crescendo of raging light that crashed down inside his head as his lover stiffened underneath, hot splash on his stomach signaling the other man’s physical release. Caught and dragged under by it, coming so hard his back arched as he threw his head back, spray of sweat turned into diamonds for an endless moment by the light that was shining overhead.
Holding on so tight to Jonothon with his mind and his hands, buried deep inside him like he would never leave as the ecstasy rolled them both in under itself. So deep under in a blaze that rivaled the fiercest forest fire. He couldn’t even see, staring blind with pleasure and hearing Jono sob, voice breaking with bliss before the world came crashing back in, breaking the endless circuit of feedback that had been looping between them. Feeding each other their orgasms, bouncing back and sending it again. Collapsing down, he caught himself before he leant in against Jono’s hollow chest, even though he wanted nothing more then to lay his head against it. The bandages wouldn’t support that kind of weight, and that thought brought reality back in even further.
He felt almost liquid, and he had to look at his arms to check that his skin wasn’t sagging. Nothing. He looked right, normal, but man oh man. That had been some good sex. Cosmic, even. Something that would rival nirvana. Jonothon still looked out of it, brown eyes dazed and hazed with sexual gratification. He slid out slowly, hating it, and got out of the way, letting Jono put his legs down before they cramped. Charley horses made Jono whine - wait, whinge. British version of whining, apparently. Slowly, he undid the knot that held the Goth’s wrists against the headboard, rubbing the thin bands of red away as he sat next to Jono on the bed.
*...bloody hell, Ange.*
“Si.”
*That was...fuck. That was…*
Jonothon rolled his head back on his neck, letting Angelo’s strong fingers work at the hard muscles in his shoulders. The gray mutant smiled slightly, massaging out the knots in Jono’s neck and shoulders as he watched him struggle to form a coherent thought to express what had just happened. Something had opened up. Something big and important. And they hadn’t meant to do it.
He wondered just what the hell Jono had done, and knew that the fledgling telepath would be wondering himself. It wasn’t like they really had anyone to talk to about this stuff. They had both decided, after watching Xavier on the television, that the bald man was exceptionally fucking freaky and just needed a long haired cat to complete his James Bond villain persona. No X-Men for them, gracias.
“Let’s just say it was fucking good.”
Crow’s laughter, raucous and cawing as Jonothon indulged in a moment of pure amusement. Didn’t happen often, so Angelo smiled too. Chuckled, and kept working away at the tenseness across the upper half of his lover’s body. It felt good just to touch Jono like this, even if it was through the bandages.
*Hnh, yeah.*
“We should get cleaned up, yeah?”
*Oh yeah. I’m sitting in the biggest bloody wet spot, you fucking arsehole.*
Despite Jonothon’s disgruntled tone, they just sat for a few moments longer. Thinking. And touching.
Feeling the last of that awesome feeling drain away, leaving them merely satiated.