Daniel knows now where words come from. Noise that sparks up from need and sensation, from the deep, blazing joy of Rupert inside him, moving around him, from the swirls of air that freeze and glow with each shake and the dense pressure of Rupert. Words come from all this, from alchemy that mixes spells of sound with the squeaking mat and his fingers scrabbling and Rupert's teeth scraping over his skin. Words shiver below sense, hovering, then crash like cymbals into language.
"God, god. You're -- you're in me, you're here and there and so -- so -- deep. So good, you're --"
Rupert's arm locks around Daniel's waist, holds him here, almost floating -- if heavy, hot things spinning between dimensions can float -- and he's so tall that he can reach Daniel's ear, suck on his earrings and hiss encouragement and endearments straight to Daniel's spine. That spine must be a silver wire, something heated and twisting fast, far past melting, gone into something else. Daniel reaches back, stretches and wrenches, and grabs Rupert's hip, palm
( ... )
"Won't stop," Rupert says, hips snapping forward again like his whole body's just an extension of his cock, like it exists to push him deeper and harder into Daniel, into this tormenting and perfect sweetness. "Not stopping. Want - want this - to go on - forever." If this could stretch out into eternity, into infinite slowness like an event horizon, then this could be the only thing he ever did, center and definition of his forgotten life. It's all solid and true, the taut expanse of Daniel's skin, the taste of his sweat, the stuttering rhythms of his body and the urgency of Rupert's own as it channels down into blind sensation, into liquidity and movement. What could any memory be, compared to this, but a limp, dusty, unnecessary thing
( ... )
Now it feels like Rupert's surrounding him, one hand gliding up and down Daniel's chest, molding and kneading it while the other tugs so rapidly on Daniel's cock that he can see his skin, flame-edged and tight, about to pull inside out. Rupert, inside him, outside, hoisting and pushing, and Daniel's back keeps bowing farther backward, his head rolling against Rupert's shoulder, his vision gone smeared and bright
( ... )
Coming, Daniel's coming, cock pulsing and coating Rupert's hand with blood-warm stickiness, hole spasming around Rupert's cock as Daniel's whole body jerks. Jerks, half-convulses, shaking Rupert until his bones feel loose in his skin, until he's pulled thin and fragile around torrenting need. Come, come, Daniel's saying, voice slick and sucking, urging Rupert on as he clutches and thrusts, hipbones bruising more with each slap against Daniel's arse, as his nerves flare from red-hot to white. Can't hold the rhythm anymore, can only shove and shove and shove, can only talon his fingers around Daniel's trembling shoulders, drag his open mouth across Daniel's back. Come, Daniel's saying, and Rupert's body finally breaks, finally floods scalding as he roars and shudders and holds tight to Daniel.
This is it, orgasm, completion, coming, this unbearable shatter into blank ecstasy and then the broken stillness afterwards, heavy and twitching over Daniel's prone body, gasping with raw newborn lungs. Coming is the best word for it, because
( ... )
Daniel's eyelids are heavier than anything, his arms numb and tingly, and his legs about a thousand miles away. He's glad that Rupert can move a little better, help him move.
"Hmm?" he asks, because he can hear Rupert's voice, hoarse and slightly wet around the edges, but it takes him another couple clutching, faltering heartbeats before he understands. He opens his eyes and sees Rupert peering at him. "Oh. Ohhh." Daniel smiles, his cheeks stretching and aching, and then nods. "I'm really good. You're kind of..."
Sucking the inside of his cheek, wriggling another half-inch closer -- he sticks to the mat and his skin peels away with a gulp -- Daniel rubs his head on Rupert's forearm and tries to search for the words. He's overbrimming with feelings, both thick and rapid, physical and not, but the words are stuck somewhere down in the middle of it all. Like honey, or sap, sticky-thick and sweet feelings that trap language. But then Rupert draws his knuckles down Daniel's arm, lightly as a whisper, tickling and breezy, and Daniel
( ... )
"Whole," Rupert says. "That's it exactly." Touching Daniel, moving inside him, he was more than himself. And he still is, swirling his tongue over Daniel's salty skin (Daniel tastes sexier than before, wilder, and also more indescribably himself) and doodling circles and curves on Daniel's back. They breathe in at the same time, chests pressing together, and Rupert thinks of twins in the womb, their bodies accommodating one another without effort. Everywhere they touch-and there's a lot of it, legs scissored together and arms looped under necks and around waists-Rupert can almost feel the permeability, the exchange of chemicals and low organic electricity. "I think you've described it just right
( ... )
The bruise is definitely worrisome; Daniel wonders if any of the others have traces of their lives on them. Beyond driver's licenses and necklaces, that is, *really* on them. Rupert has a strange tattoo on one bicep that Daniel still hasn't got a good look at, but it's probably as meaningless as the one Daniel himself sports on *his* arm. The bruise is like the scars, like the ones Rupert has as well, traces of violence that will fade eventually but are still visible now. Like they contain entire unspeakable histories, chains and relationships he doesn't know now, maybe never did. All that history, absent and unremembered, but still present right there on his skin. Their skin.
"When I remember," Daniel starts to say as he opens his eyes, then bites his lip when he finds Rupert still looking at him, regarding and seeing him and tries to pull his thoughts into words he can say. "Thinking about scars. Yours, mine. And the bruise. When I remember, will I also remember this part? Like, it won't go away
( ... )
The mat is cold under Rupert's back and presses uncomfortably into places he's just realizing are sore. "I hope so," he says, and circles Daniel's legs with his own, locking Daniel against him as if that will ward off forgetting. "I wouldn't want to forget you. Not for anything." If the price of his memories is the loss of this, he's not sure he'd willingly pay. Right now he's got a treasure in hand, pure heavy gold, and he'd be a fool to exchange it for something unknown, for a lucky dip that'll probably come up worthless plastic trinkets and ten pence worth of candies
( ... )
The tickets tremble and Daniel has to squint and lean in close, because it's all a blur. The printing on the tickets is small and stark, and they're shaped like gravestones, and for a moment he feels colder than ever. Despite the cardigan he zipped up to his chin, despite the reassuring warmth of Rupert's body against his, he shivers and has been shivering since they left the gym.
But he's shaking into warmth now, plucking the ticket with his name on it, and holding it up to his face. He's blushing, looking up at Rupert, watching that smile spread like light across Rupert's face until his eyes disappear and he leans down, brushing his smile against Daniel's forehead. The ticket crumples over Daniel's hand as they push together, and he feels warmBruised, and sore, and very stinky, but warm
( ... )
Rupert's seen Daniel smile a few times, now, but not like this. This is a complete smile, vivid in his mouth and the set of his head and his eyebrows that curve like baroque punctuation marks for happiness. This is the platonic essence of a smile. Rupert's own smile widens as he looks, and he's a lucky man if he gets to see that smile--inspire it--every day.
Carefully, he tucks the envelope into the deepest of his jacket pockets and then touches Daniel's face, needing to feel that delight in his own skin. "I suppose we are. That must be why . . . I don't remember you, but ever since I kissed you, I . . . You feel right." He kisses Daniel again, hugs him tight, and Rupert's laughing for no reason, foolish and amazed. "Now I do want my memories back
( ... )
Rupert's hand is warm, gentle, the touch like aloe, and Daniel leans his head into it. He blinks once, and when his eyes open, he's looking up at Giles and he is Oz and the forgetfulness is washing away in great lacy swathes like the bubbles left behind by waves on the beach
( ... )
"God, god. You're -- you're in me, you're here and there and so -- so -- deep. So good, you're --"
Rupert's arm locks around Daniel's waist, holds him here, almost floating -- if heavy, hot things spinning between dimensions can float -- and he's so tall that he can reach Daniel's ear, suck on his earrings and hiss encouragement and endearments straight to Daniel's spine. That spine must be a silver wire, something heated and twisting fast, far past melting, gone into something else. Daniel reaches back, stretches and wrenches, and grabs Rupert's hip, palm ( ... )
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This is it, orgasm, completion, coming, this unbearable shatter into blank ecstasy and then the broken stillness afterwards, heavy and twitching over Daniel's prone body, gasping with raw newborn lungs. Coming is the best word for it, because ( ... )
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"Hmm?" he asks, because he can hear Rupert's voice, hoarse and slightly wet around the edges, but it takes him another couple clutching, faltering heartbeats before he understands. He opens his eyes and sees Rupert peering at him. "Oh. Ohhh." Daniel smiles, his cheeks stretching and aching, and then nods. "I'm really good. You're kind of..."
Sucking the inside of his cheek, wriggling another half-inch closer -- he sticks to the mat and his skin peels away with a gulp -- Daniel rubs his head on Rupert's forearm and tries to search for the words. He's overbrimming with feelings, both thick and rapid, physical and not, but the words are stuck somewhere down in the middle of it all. Like honey, or sap, sticky-thick and sweet feelings that trap language. But then Rupert draws his knuckles down Daniel's arm, lightly as a whisper, tickling and breezy, and Daniel ( ... )
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"When I remember," Daniel starts to say as he opens his eyes, then bites his lip when he finds Rupert still looking at him, regarding and seeing him and tries to pull his thoughts into words he can say. "Thinking about scars. Yours, mine. And the bruise. When I remember, will I also remember this part? Like, it won't go away ( ... )
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But he's shaking into warmth now, plucking the ticket with his name on it, and holding it up to his face. He's blushing, looking up at Rupert, watching that smile spread like light across Rupert's face until his eyes disappear and he leans down, brushing his smile against Daniel's forehead. The ticket crumples over Daniel's hand as they push together, and he feels warmBruised, and sore, and very stinky, but warm ( ... )
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Carefully, he tucks the envelope into the deepest of his jacket pockets and then touches Daniel's face, needing to feel that delight in his own skin. "I suppose we are. That must be why . . . I don't remember you, but ever since I kissed you, I . . . You feel right." He kisses Daniel again, hugs him tight, and Rupert's laughing for no reason, foolish and amazed. "Now I do want my memories back ( ... )
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