American Dream (6)
anonymous
March 21 2009, 22:33:26 UTC
Alfred’s drunkenness makes him loose, but Ivan still moves his fingers slowly. He probes, curls, notes spots that seem particularly sensitive or soft as he watches Alfred’s face. (He’s not sure why he’s doing it, since it’s just a dream. Maybe the knowledge of what Alfred likes will give him satisfaction whenever he looks at Arthur.)
“A-ah!”
Alfred arches and writhes, his blue eyes going wide, and Ivan loses his self control. His fingers slip from Alfred’s body, and the whine that results makes Ivan swear as he fumbles at his zipper, lubes his own cock with both hands.
“You will be all right?” Ivan pants, ducking under Alfred’s clothes and putting his knees on his own broad shoulders. Ivan’s hands go to Alfred’s hips as his cock presses against Alfred’s asshole, waiting.
Alfred blinks up at Ivan. “Such kind eyes,” he murmurs, and raises a hand to touch Ivan just underneath his left eye.
It undoes Ivan, who squeezes his eyes shut and sobs as he presses forward and in.
Alfred gasps; the gasp turns into a drawn-out moan. “Ivan,” he pleads, and his fingernails rake and grasp at Ivan’s chest.
Ivan’s eyes flutter open and he catches himself on his elbows just in time, stopping his body before their heads knock together. He watches Alfred’s face, trembles and tries to keep himself under control. “Alfred,” he says. “Alfred.”
And then he starts to move, slow and easy, pressing his forehead to Alfred’s and watching that face.
Their bodies flinch and tense together as they experiment and explore. Ivan finds a patch of neck that makes Alfred writhe and beg; Alfred finds that Ivan moans louder when he pushes back and squeezes around his cock. They become so involved in these discoveries that they don’t realize when their rhythm picks up, when their burn for one another grows deeper.
Ivan only realizes they’ve reached that point when Alfred grips his yellow hair and wrenches Ivan’s head up from the dip below his Adam’s apple. “I’m - I’ve got to -” And he kisses Ivan, long and deep and messy. Their teeth click and their tongues tangle.
It’s the best kiss Ivan’s ever had.
When they break, Ivan lifts his head and pants against America’s temple, feeling his body’s slow wind towards release. “Alfred,” he whispers, and then he’s lost.
He comes hard, his hips giving a few more jerks before stiffening. Through the ebb and flow of his orgasm he hears Alfred gasp and cry his release, something warm and slippery spraying between the both of them.
They do not so much collapse against the bed as slowly relax as their bodies unwind. Alfred’s arms splay to the sides; Ivan tucks his head into Alfred’s neck and breathes there, still sheathed inside Alfred, drawing this dream out for a few more moments.
He does not laugh when Alfred starts snoring in his ear. He does not cry either, though, and he prides himself on that.
Instead he slips out of Alfred, disentangles the two of them with slow movements. He grabs the bottle of lotion and retreats once more to the bathroom; when he comes back out, he’s carrying a white towel.
He cleans Alfred’s stomach an ass. When he’s sure he’s perfectly clean, he pulls Alfred’s pants back up and zips them, buttons them, and re-threads the belt through its loops. His fingers make quick work of Alfred’s shirt and does not allow himself to mourn when pale flesh disappears under white linen. He leaves the coat unzipped.
When everything’s done he pulls the coverlet up over both of them. He hesitates, then gathers Alfred into his tight grip and kisses his forehead once, twice.
“I love you, as well,” he whispers, and does not allow his voice to tremble.
He settles Alfred back into the bed and rolls over, facing the wall. He shuts his eyes on the dream and waits to wake up. ___ “A-augh, Jesus Christ, what did I drink last night…?”
Ivan’s eyes flutter open, squinting against the bright light of the bathroom. He sees the shadow against the floor before following it and finding Alfred at the end, silhouetted against the light.
“…Alfred?”
Alfred looks up and grins. His smile is wide, and his eyes are pained, but fully aware.
“A-ah!”
Alfred arches and writhes, his blue eyes going wide, and Ivan loses his self control. His fingers slip from Alfred’s body, and the whine that results makes Ivan swear as he fumbles at his zipper, lubes his own cock with both hands.
“You will be all right?” Ivan pants, ducking under Alfred’s clothes and putting his knees on his own broad shoulders. Ivan’s hands go to Alfred’s hips as his cock presses against Alfred’s asshole, waiting.
Alfred blinks up at Ivan. “Such kind eyes,” he murmurs, and raises a hand to touch Ivan just underneath his left eye.
It undoes Ivan, who squeezes his eyes shut and sobs as he presses forward and in.
Alfred gasps; the gasp turns into a drawn-out moan. “Ivan,” he pleads, and his fingernails rake and grasp at Ivan’s chest.
Ivan’s eyes flutter open and he catches himself on his elbows just in time, stopping his body before their heads knock together. He watches Alfred’s face, trembles and tries to keep himself under control. “Alfred,” he says. “Alfred.”
And then he starts to move, slow and easy, pressing his forehead to Alfred’s and watching that face.
Their bodies flinch and tense together as they experiment and explore. Ivan finds a patch of neck that makes Alfred writhe and beg; Alfred finds that Ivan moans louder when he pushes back and squeezes around his cock. They become so involved in these discoveries that they don’t realize when their rhythm picks up, when their burn for one another grows deeper.
Ivan only realizes they’ve reached that point when Alfred grips his yellow hair and wrenches Ivan’s head up from the dip below his Adam’s apple. “I’m - I’ve got to -” And he kisses Ivan, long and deep and messy. Their teeth click and their tongues tangle.
It’s the best kiss Ivan’s ever had.
When they break, Ivan lifts his head and pants against America’s temple, feeling his body’s slow wind towards release. “Alfred,” he whispers, and then he’s lost.
He comes hard, his hips giving a few more jerks before stiffening. Through the ebb and flow of his orgasm he hears Alfred gasp and cry his release, something warm and slippery spraying between the both of them.
They do not so much collapse against the bed as slowly relax as their bodies unwind. Alfred’s arms splay to the sides; Ivan tucks his head into Alfred’s neck and breathes there, still sheathed inside Alfred, drawing this dream out for a few more moments.
He does not laugh when Alfred starts snoring in his ear. He does not cry either, though, and he prides himself on that.
Instead he slips out of Alfred, disentangles the two of them with slow movements. He grabs the bottle of lotion and retreats once more to the bathroom; when he comes back out, he’s carrying a white towel.
He cleans Alfred’s stomach an ass. When he’s sure he’s perfectly clean, he pulls Alfred’s pants back up and zips them, buttons them, and re-threads the belt through its loops. His fingers make quick work of Alfred’s shirt and does not allow himself to mourn when pale flesh disappears under white linen. He leaves the coat unzipped.
When everything’s done he pulls the coverlet up over both of them. He hesitates, then gathers Alfred into his tight grip and kisses his forehead once, twice.
“I love you, as well,” he whispers, and does not allow his voice to tremble.
He settles Alfred back into the bed and rolls over, facing the wall. He shuts his eyes on the dream and waits to wake up.
___
“A-augh, Jesus Christ, what did I drink last night…?”
Ivan’s eyes flutter open, squinting against the bright light of the bathroom. He sees the shadow against the floor before following it and finding Alfred at the end, silhouetted against the light.
“…Alfred?”
Alfred looks up and grins. His smile is wide, and his eyes are pained, but fully aware.
Ivan does not think about what he’s lost.
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