Memories, Daniel thinks blearily, are silly. He doesn't know why he needs memories, not now, not any more. He seems to be doing just fine without them. Compared to this, where everything's sharp and new, like spring, where the texture of Rupert's pants is soft on his palm and the hint of his hard-on like a stone under moss, where his mouth buzzes and tingles as he moves it over the hollow of Rupert's cheek and his ear boils and sings between Rupert's lips, memories are horrible. They're thick and musty, sour as rotten wine, clogged with dust and dead flies
( ... )
"We-" Rupert says again, meaning to add should be looking for memory spells. But his throat constricts when Daniel's hand skims again over his cock and the bare skin at his waist, and the rest of the sentence turns to a long, low noise. With fingers that can still feel the textures of Daniel's skin, Rupert unknots his tie, opens his shirt, and he makes another noise, higher, when Daniel presses his face to his chest, tongue swirling through the hair there
( ... )
Rupert stumbles and Daniel wraps his arm around his waist, guiding him past the crates of rabbits into the back room, not letting go, pausing to slide a finger through Rupert's belt-loops and kiss the side of his chest. There's probably a word for this, in one of the thousand languages he doesn't know, for how he knows how to walk, how to kiss and touch and make Rupert shiver with just his fingernails.
Something below amnesia, apparently. Nesia, maybe? Daniel is about to ask when they reach the door and he twists, nudging it open with his hip, wrapping both arms around Rupert and pulling him inside. Into the dusty, dim room, and the question dies without being spoken because he opens his mouth, grasps Rupert's head in both his hands, and kisses him. He knows there are different emphases to kisses and, what's more, he knows that this is most serious kiss he's ever given
( ... )
The strangely rich smell of cement and dust stirs something in Rupert's mind, a feeling that hints of memory, like the shadow of a fish gliding among reeds. And then it's gone, slick as a fish, and Rupert leans down into Daniel's clutching body, rolling his hips and groaning as Daniel responds with an upward jerk. "I know how you know that," he says, moving some more, rubbing his cock against the bulge of Daniel's. Under zipper and cloth there's naked skin, so tender over the hard swell of flesh. Skin that burns like his own for bareness, for unhindered touch, for a hand or a mouth or something, anything, and picturing it, Rupert shivers and noses the neck of Daniel's t-shirt aside, nips hard at this new bit of him. "Know how I know it, too. Want to touch all of you. See you
( ... )
The weight of Rupert's body, weight and texture of skin and bone and muscle, it's almost too much and Daniel has to suck in breath after breath, his eyes squeezed shut, until he calms down enough to speak. All the sensations, the touch and the sound of Rupert's voice, all of it swirls together, familiar but novel, and he can't make sense of anything.
Anything except the literal, bare facts: Weight and the sighs of the mat and the scent along Rupert's hairline that's half-sweet and half-savoury, herbs and kelp.
"Maybe it's better, then," Daniel says, pulling Rupert's shirt up, stroking his palm in wide arcs over his back. Such tight skin, worn-down and softened. "Not remembering, I mean
( ... )
The sound of fuck in that soft boyish voice makes Rupert's spine go hot and tight, and he kisses Daniel hard, sucking at his mouth as though he can taste the word there, bittersweet and slippery. He rolls his hips in a slow arc, tongue thrusting between Daniel's lips in the same rhythms, then pushes sharply and feels Daniel quiver, feels his mouth open in a gasp. "You want to fuck?" he says, one hand looping down Daniel's side, stroking and pinching and scratching a little with his nails. "I want everything. To kiss and lick and stroke and rub. Suck you, taste you." Later, he'll think about who hurt Daniel; now, he can make him feel good, drown that unremembered pain with pleasure
( ... )
Rupert wants him to wait. Through tornadoes that rock and shiver, impulses for more that keep spinning faster to the sound of Rupert's voice, Daniel understands that much. He's dizzy and exhausted already and in the sudden stillness, he thinks he might boil away.
If he didn't understand before, the crackling grip of Rupert's hold on his wrists would be enough to tell him. Daniel pushes up again, just to see, meeting challenge with challenge, and hears Rupert chuckle just before biting harder. Stilling him again in a sharp, spreading wave of need.
This is fun, this is something he knows how to do without thinking about it, this is what he wants. No memories, of bruises and scars and politeness, just weight and the dare that flows between them with each touch and click of the clock. A dare that doubles, then triples, and Daniel keeps very still as long as he can, until Rupert looks up, checking his face, and Daniel twists his arms, freeing his wrists, and wrenches his hips, and they roll in a cloud of dust until Daniel crouches over
( ... )
So many contrasts. Daniel's bruised face and the eager pleasure in his expression, his compliant words and hungry, clutching body, the way he pushed Rupert down and then pulled him on top again. So much complexity, and Rupert wishes he could do everything at once. Hold Daniel still and explore him, test out every response; fuck him hard and fast, satisfy the craving he can feel as Daniel arches and his thighs spread wider; just look until he understands how all Daniel's bones and muscles fit together, how his skin folds and stretches, how the hollow of his throat jumps with every pulse
( ... )
Rupert's mouth vibrates over Daniel's stomach, swooping down one thigh, lifting and moving, bringing up new skin. Everything's new, this is the newest thing of all, warm breath making wet kisses feel cold, then hot, and he only stays still because if he moves, Rupert might stop. But his legs twitch and his fingers curl uselessly against the mat, and slowly, through a haze of want and sensation, Daniel realizes that Rupert's still half-dressed
( ... )
For a second Rupert imagines it's in his own head, that now, that hiss of insistent breath, hardly louder than the rush of air sucked in tight gulps or the whispered squeaking of the mat under their bodies. His body wants now even as his mind holds him back, makes him gnaw Daniel's shoulder, yank Daniel's hips higher and move lightly, their cocks brushing in a slow tease
( ... )
Of course there's lube. He had lube that Randy made fun of in front of everyone. Daniel's still nodding as he gets -- clumsily, in several stages -- to his feet, bracing one hand on Rupert's shoulder. "I'll get it. You, you stay here --"
But Rupert's tottering upwards himself, and the floor past the mat is shockingly cold, making them dance from foot to foot and grab hands as they dash into the store. Lube from his jacket and Daniel juggles it for a moment before he realizes that he really doesn't have any pockets to stow it in, and then he pulls Rupert into the other back room
( ... )
Standing like this, both naked, clinging together, about to fuck, Rupert realizes for the first time how small Daniel is. He saw it before, but now he feels it, the narrowness of Daniel's bones and the spareness of the flesh over them, his thin skin that shows blue forks and twinings of veins. Daniel's head doesn't even reach Rupert's chin; his grinding cock pushes against Rupert's thigh. "Christ," Rupert says, cupping his hands over Daniel's buttocks. They fit in his hands, and he digs his fingers into firm muscle and pulls Daniel fractionally closer. "So - want you so much." With cool air and the embarrassment of dashing around naked, Rupert's cock had gone a bit soft, but now he's hard again. Ready to enter this little body, ready to feel what it's like, fucking Daniel
( ... )
It's so much, moist heat and sucking that opens a deep aching channel inside him and wrenches his cock harder. Daniel pushes back against Rupert's mouth and drops his head, forehead scraping the mat, eyes straining to see. Of course he *can't* see anything, just a mass of dark shapes that are his knees and cock and behind them, Rupert. Massive and dark, unseeable.
Not invisible, though. Rupert is there, just fragmented into the other four senses. The grasp of his hands on Daniel's waist, pulling him at the same time they're holding him still, the taste of his mouth smeared around Daniel's lips, picked up again by Daniel's tongue, the smell of him, all laundry and clean sweat and something darker, sharper, that somehow reminds Daniel of lake weeds and snow in fields. The sounds Rupert is making, sweet encouraging grunts and swirling wet tongue, sounds that hit Daniel's ears and travel through his veins
( ... )
It feels just like Rupert thought it would, and exponentially, shatteringly better. Daniel's hole clenches and loosens spasmodically around his finger, and somehow the feeling washes down Rupert's body, tightens his balls and makes his cock impossibly, painfully hard. "You're so hot inside, Daniel." He draws his finger back until the tip is barely inside, then plunges in again, fast, and Daniel's spine bows and he pushes back, muttering. "More, here, I'll give you more." A second slippery finger, and Daniel makes a noise like need and relief. "Does this feel good?" Rupert asks, although he knows, although Daniel keeps shuddering and panting and spluttering pleas for more, deeper, more. "You like this, like my touching you inside." At every movement of Rupert's hand, every twist and spread of his fingers, ripples travel out along Daniel's skin. Rupert feels the tremor of it under his lips as he kisses Daniel's back, under his free hand that strokes Daniel's belly, dips lower, molds the space around his cock without touching it
( ... )
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Something below amnesia, apparently. Nesia, maybe? Daniel is about to ask when they reach the door and he twists, nudging it open with his hip, wrapping both arms around Rupert and pulling him inside. Into the dusty, dim room, and the question dies without being spoken because he opens his mouth, grasps Rupert's head in both his hands, and kisses him. He knows there are different emphases to kisses and, what's more, he knows that this is most serious kiss he's ever given ( ... )
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Anything except the literal, bare facts: Weight and the sighs of the mat and the scent along Rupert's hairline that's half-sweet and half-savoury, herbs and kelp.
"Maybe it's better, then," Daniel says, pulling Rupert's shirt up, stroking his palm in wide arcs over his back. Such tight skin, worn-down and softened. "Not remembering, I mean ( ... )
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If he didn't understand before, the crackling grip of Rupert's hold on his wrists would be enough to tell him. Daniel pushes up again, just to see, meeting challenge with challenge, and hears Rupert chuckle just before biting harder. Stilling him again in a sharp, spreading wave of need.
This is fun, this is something he knows how to do without thinking about it, this is what he wants. No memories, of bruises and scars and politeness, just weight and the dare that flows between them with each touch and click of the clock. A dare that doubles, then triples, and Daniel keeps very still as long as he can, until Rupert looks up, checking his face, and Daniel twists his arms, freeing his wrists, and wrenches his hips, and they roll in a cloud of dust until Daniel crouches over ( ... )
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But Rupert's tottering upwards himself, and the floor past the mat is shockingly cold, making them dance from foot to foot and grab hands as they dash into the store. Lube from his jacket and Daniel juggles it for a moment before he realizes that he really doesn't have any pockets to stow it in, and then he pulls Rupert into the other back room ( ... )
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Not invisible, though. Rupert is there, just fragmented into the other four senses. The grasp of his hands on Daniel's waist, pulling him at the same time they're holding him still, the taste of his mouth smeared around Daniel's lips, picked up again by Daniel's tongue, the smell of him, all laundry and clean sweat and something darker, sharper, that somehow reminds Daniel of lake weeds and snow in fields. The sounds Rupert is making, sweet encouraging grunts and swirling wet tongue, sounds that hit Daniel's ears and travel through his veins ( ... )
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