Sensibility [9/?]
anonymous
July 15 2009, 03:53:45 UTC
Matt had his back turned to the table, apparently having trouble with the lube cap, but he was giving Francis a tempting view of his ass and thighs. He practically ached to touch that soft, unblemished skin again, but Matt remained out of range until he moved to return the bottle to the table.
“Why are you-hey!” Matt jerked back at the unexpected sensation of Francis squeezing his ass.
“I could not help myself.” Francis shrugged as way of apology. “Why am I what, mon cheri?”
“I was going to ask why you were staring at me like that, but now I know you were checking out my ass.”
“That, among other things. I did not lie when I said you were beautiful.”
“I didn’t think you were,” Matt said offhandedly, but he was blushing.
Francis was about to drop some flattering remark, but he found it rather difficult to come up with a coherent sentence when he felt two of Matt’s fingers enter him. Francis tried to find purchase on the table, but he missed the edge, hands sliding along the surface with an inelegant squeak. Matt twisted his wrist sharply, curling his fingers and--oh, oh, oh. He arched, gasping, begging, he wasn’t sure, couldn’t gather any thoughts beyond Matt, Matt, Matt.
“Scoot back just a bit.” Matt stopped moving his fingers.
“Q-quoi?” No, no, don’t stop!
“I-I can’t…there’s not enough…I can’t fit on the table, so you need to-“ Oh. Of course. Yes.
Matt retracted his fingers and Francis moved back, allowing Matt to clamber up awkwardly onto the top of the table, trying to find an arrangement where neither of them was in danger of falling off. Once settled, Matt placed his hands on either side of Francis’s hips to steady himself and leaned forward, lips parted slightly in an invitation for a kiss, for something deep and burning and hard enough to bruise. Francis obliged, feeling Matt press into him slowly as he did so.
“Why are you-hey!” Matt jerked back at the unexpected sensation of Francis squeezing his ass.
“I could not help myself.” Francis shrugged as way of apology. “Why am I what, mon cheri?”
“I was going to ask why you were staring at me like that, but now I know you were checking out my ass.”
“That, among other things. I did not lie when I said you were beautiful.”
“I didn’t think you were,” Matt said offhandedly, but he was blushing.
Francis was about to drop some flattering remark, but he found it rather difficult to come up with a coherent sentence when he felt two of Matt’s fingers enter him. Francis tried to find purchase on the table, but he missed the edge, hands sliding along the surface with an inelegant squeak. Matt twisted his wrist sharply, curling his fingers and--oh, oh, oh. He arched, gasping, begging, he wasn’t sure, couldn’t gather any thoughts beyond Matt, Matt, Matt.
“Scoot back just a bit.” Matt stopped moving his fingers.
“Q-quoi?” No, no, don’t stop!
“I-I can’t…there’s not enough…I can’t fit on the table, so you need to-“ Oh. Of course. Yes.
Matt retracted his fingers and Francis moved back, allowing Matt to clamber up awkwardly onto the top of the table, trying to find an arrangement where neither of them was in danger of falling off. Once settled, Matt placed his hands on either side of Francis’s hips to steady himself and leaned forward, lips parted slightly in an invitation for a kiss, for something deep and burning and hard enough to bruise. Francis obliged, feeling Matt press into him slowly as he did so.
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