[fiction] a paradise that shakes the word (romantic)
Title: a paradise that shakes the word (romantic)
Pairing: Erica/Isaac/Jackson.
Words and Progress: 1100; Complete.
Notes: T. Basically, this is an entirely self-indulgent reaction to this gif from the new season previews. Unedited, because that's how I roll when I'm excited. Title from the Architecture in Helsinki song, Contact High.
Summary: He's not push or pull.
He manages to find them easily in the dizzying room. The sweaty bodies of a hundred half-delirious, half-drunk and/or high people clog up the space, but in the center of room, the two rut against each other and it's all Isaac can see. Breathless, they grind like everyone else but the way they do/don't slot together makes Isaac's muscles seize up and his heartbeat hitch painfully in his chest. Jackson knows the rhythm to slide against a woman that will make her shiver right on the dance floor, but Erica isn't quite a woman, is she? She is more-more energy than substance, more heat than touch.
His mind is a haze as he walks over, sliding by the crowd as if they don't exist. They might as well not. Isaac won't-can't-pay attention to anyone but Jackson and Erica, not tonight, not ever. He wants them close and heavy against him, and right now, he is powerful with the weight of his own focus.
Jackson notices him a few yards away, his eyes meeting Isaac's then sliding past each other in acknowledgment. His hands float over the curve of Erica's hips and grasp where thigh meets ass. Erica laughs and throws her head back. She leans her torso away from Jackson so he has to support her weight or drop her; he draws her hips tight against his until she's had enough and by then Isaac is hovering three bodies over.
He is so close he can taste their lust-riddled groans on his lips, as if they slipped their tongues into his mouth. Overwhelmed, Isaac takes his last few steps as Erica kisses Jackson short but not sweet, and Isaac wishes he could see her expression as she presses the length of her body into her dance partner. For a few seconds, her breasts squeeze into Jackson's chest, and as she sways, the creases of her tank top stretch along with her.
Jackson can't stop touching her. He grabs for her sides, against her ribcage, and runs his knuckles against her breasts. He kisses her. He licks her. He mouths at her neck, hungry for her pulse on his teeth.
They don't notice as Isaac presses into Erica. Not immediately-or at least, implicitly (even in a crowd, they must sense the tang of his sweat and the admittedly sad funk of his aftershave, which he regrets buying even if it was on sale). He waits behind her, hands and arms held loosely at his sides, and he curls into the air thick with her scent. Isaac is not like Jackson or Erica, who act in harsh, brittle angles. He's not push and pull, or someone who will yank the air out of Erica's lungs as he bites her jaw, or who will sink nails into the meat of Jackson's shoulder until it hurts just to steer the kiss.
No. Isaac stands so when Jackson rocks into Erica, she moves into Isaac, feeling the placket of his jeans and the dim outline of his not-yet-but-so-soon-god-soon-hard cock. He breathes into her hair as it brushes his cheek and nose. And he bends over with a small, aching smile and kisses the back of her earlobe.
"Hey," he whispers, and he's only heard over the thumping music because he's so close-God, he's so close to her. It would be perfect except that Jackson is too far, even if it's just Erica between them; Jackson is too far but Isaac can be patient. He is patient. He has been patient for these two and all he wants now is to have them.
Erica doesn't respond, but she does reach behind her and slide her fingers into one of Isaac's belt loops. She yanks it twice before moving her hand back to Jackson's waist.
Getting the message, Isaac takes a short step forward that he shouldn't be able to take, and now Erica's flush against him. He still doesn’t dance, but luckily Jackson and Erica make up for him in bounds: they purposefully grind so rough and dangerous that they need Isaac's support to keep them standing. He reaches forward, one hand on Erica’s hip, the other going farther to grip Jackson’s bicep, thumb running soft circles on the fabric of Jackson’s sleeve. Jackson doesn’t shrug him off; instead, he grinds harder into Erica and actually lets out a choked sigh of “Isaac, Jesus.”
Encouraged, Isaac kisses a wet line down the side of Erica's neck and then across her shoulder blades. His forehead presses against Jackson’s as they suck on Erica’s skin, the touch distracting them both. Isaac trembles in the wake of their promixity. They breath in near unison, shifting now and then so their noses slide up next to each other.
Erica laughs, mockingly, and says, “Don’t worry about gaying it up, boys. No one’s watching.”
Isaac feels Jackson flinch against him, getting ready to pull away, but Isaac catches the back of his neck. He holds Jackson until Jackson looks up. His eyes taunt and question Isaac simultaneously, and Isaac isn’t one to stand down-well, at least, not to Jackson.
Isaac leans down just as Jackson leans up, lips meeting somewhere in the middle. Jackson’s neck tenses under Isaac’s palm but he’s the one to lead the kiss, lips sloppily smacking against Isaac.
When Isaac groans into Jackson, Erica throws her head back against Isaac’s shoulder in an attempt to get a moderately better view. It’s not a pretty sight-with Isaac’s entire face flushed and Jackson’s tongue slamelessly licking Isaac’s-but she still cackles a “Fuck yes” that sends spikes of lust down the pillar of Isaac’s spine.
He knows he's losing his grasp on self and identity and personhood to the heat of their three bodies together and the strength of Jackson’s kiss. It should scare him. Isaac still cannot line his thoughts in any coherent matter, doesn't care what he'll do tomorrow if word get out (because it doesn't matter if you're a nobody or a somebody, word gets out), and he won't let himself believe that this will ever be easy; he's gone through too much to lose this thread of a tangible promise between the three of them, and he won't risk it by being too cautious or not cautious enough. But when Erica snipes, "We gotta find a room. Like, now," and Jackson pulls away and curls a smirk that so disgustingly excitable and confident and sweet, Isaac doesn't hesitate as he nods a surrender back.
Pairing: Erica/Isaac/Jackson.
Words and Progress: 1100; Complete.
Notes: T. Basically, this is an entirely self-indulgent reaction to this gif from the new season previews. Unedited, because that's how I roll when I'm excited. Title from the Architecture in Helsinki song, Contact High.
Summary: He's not push or pull.
He manages to find them easily in the dizzying room. The sweaty bodies of a hundred half-delirious, half-drunk and/or high people clog up the space, but in the center of room, the two rut against each other and it's all Isaac can see. Breathless, they grind like everyone else but the way they do/don't slot together makes Isaac's muscles seize up and his heartbeat hitch painfully in his chest. Jackson knows the rhythm to slide against a woman that will make her shiver right on the dance floor, but Erica isn't quite a woman, is she? She is more-more energy than substance, more heat than touch.
His mind is a haze as he walks over, sliding by the crowd as if they don't exist. They might as well not. Isaac won't-can't-pay attention to anyone but Jackson and Erica, not tonight, not ever. He wants them close and heavy against him, and right now, he is powerful with the weight of his own focus.
Jackson notices him a few yards away, his eyes meeting Isaac's then sliding past each other in acknowledgment. His hands float over the curve of Erica's hips and grasp where thigh meets ass. Erica laughs and throws her head back. She leans her torso away from Jackson so he has to support her weight or drop her; he draws her hips tight against his until she's had enough and by then Isaac is hovering three bodies over.
He is so close he can taste their lust-riddled groans on his lips, as if they slipped their tongues into his mouth. Overwhelmed, Isaac takes his last few steps as Erica kisses Jackson short but not sweet, and Isaac wishes he could see her expression as she presses the length of her body into her dance partner. For a few seconds, her breasts squeeze into Jackson's chest, and as she sways, the creases of her tank top stretch along with her.
Jackson can't stop touching her. He grabs for her sides, against her ribcage, and runs his knuckles against her breasts. He kisses her. He licks her. He mouths at her neck, hungry for her pulse on his teeth.
They don't notice as Isaac presses into Erica. Not immediately-or at least, implicitly (even in a crowd, they must sense the tang of his sweat and the admittedly sad funk of his aftershave, which he regrets buying even if it was on sale). He waits behind her, hands and arms held loosely at his sides, and he curls into the air thick with her scent. Isaac is not like Jackson or Erica, who act in harsh, brittle angles. He's not push and pull, or someone who will yank the air out of Erica's lungs as he bites her jaw, or who will sink nails into the meat of Jackson's shoulder until it hurts just to steer the kiss.
No. Isaac stands so when Jackson rocks into Erica, she moves into Isaac, feeling the placket of his jeans and the dim outline of his not-yet-but-so-soon-god-soon-hard cock. He breathes into her hair as it brushes his cheek and nose. And he bends over with a small, aching smile and kisses the back of her earlobe.
"Hey," he whispers, and he's only heard over the thumping music because he's so close-God, he's so close to her. It would be perfect except that Jackson is too far, even if it's just Erica between them; Jackson is too far but Isaac can be patient. He is patient. He has been patient for these two and all he wants now is to have them.
Erica doesn't respond, but she does reach behind her and slide her fingers into one of Isaac's belt loops. She yanks it twice before moving her hand back to Jackson's waist.
Getting the message, Isaac takes a short step forward that he shouldn't be able to take, and now Erica's flush against him. He still doesn’t dance, but luckily Jackson and Erica make up for him in bounds: they purposefully grind so rough and dangerous that they need Isaac's support to keep them standing. He reaches forward, one hand on Erica’s hip, the other going farther to grip Jackson’s bicep, thumb running soft circles on the fabric of Jackson’s sleeve. Jackson doesn’t shrug him off; instead, he grinds harder into Erica and actually lets out a choked sigh of “Isaac, Jesus.”
Encouraged, Isaac kisses a wet line down the side of Erica's neck and then across her shoulder blades. His forehead presses against Jackson’s as they suck on Erica’s skin, the touch distracting them both. Isaac trembles in the wake of their promixity. They breath in near unison, shifting now and then so their noses slide up next to each other.
Erica laughs, mockingly, and says, “Don’t worry about gaying it up, boys. No one’s watching.”
Isaac feels Jackson flinch against him, getting ready to pull away, but Isaac catches the back of his neck. He holds Jackson until Jackson looks up. His eyes taunt and question Isaac simultaneously, and Isaac isn’t one to stand down-well, at least, not to Jackson.
Isaac leans down just as Jackson leans up, lips meeting somewhere in the middle. Jackson’s neck tenses under Isaac’s palm but he’s the one to lead the kiss, lips sloppily smacking against Isaac.
When Isaac groans into Jackson, Erica throws her head back against Isaac’s shoulder in an attempt to get a moderately better view. It’s not a pretty sight-with Isaac’s entire face flushed and Jackson’s tongue slamelessly licking Isaac’s-but she still cackles a “Fuck yes” that sends spikes of lust down the pillar of Isaac’s spine.
He knows he's losing his grasp on self and identity and personhood to the heat of their three bodies together and the strength of Jackson’s kiss. It should scare him. Isaac still cannot line his thoughts in any coherent matter, doesn't care what he'll do tomorrow if word get out (because it doesn't matter if you're a nobody or a somebody, word gets out), and he won't let himself believe that this will ever be easy; he's gone through too much to lose this thread of a tangible promise between the three of them, and he won't risk it by being too cautious or not cautious enough. But when Erica snipes, "We gotta find a room. Like, now," and Jackson pulls away and curls a smirk that so disgustingly excitable and confident and sweet, Isaac doesn't hesitate as he nods a surrender back.