Past-Part Fills Part 7
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Past-Part Fills Part Seven
Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part (part 22) MUST go in that part's post until it is full.
Link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill ( Read more... )
Matthew ceased thinking in actual words - English or French - at all, and let Ivan lead him to the bed, having only the barest presence of mind to strip off his shirt before hitting the mattress. This was wise, because trapped as he was, pinned between the soft whatever that Norway had his hotel duvets made of and Ivan's wonderfully warm body, it would have been awkward to undress himself.
Ivan was, frustratingly enough, still clothed, and Matthew attempted worming his fingers in between where he could to undo buttons and properly even the score. But Ivan barely let him tug the shirt off - probably because it trapped his arms behind his back, entangled in sleeves, and there, he couldn't lay hands on Matthew, on his chest, on his hips, around his back or neck to hold him and keep him there.
It wasn't as though Matthew didn't want to be held, either, because he did, he had been waiting thirty years for that, for a kiss like this that refused to be stopped even for disrobing, and the few people he'd dated in between had not felt like Ivan did. When he finally succeeded, threw the shirt on the ground and surrendered to the blissful feel of Ivan's hands, he thought maybe that was just him preferring complications and difficulties to the Easy Route of taking a lover that his brother wouldn't be completely annoyed at him for. Easy was not better, because Easy was not Ivan.
Ivan attacked his throat next, and he moaned and arched up; as surely as he'd identified the points where Ivan was most sensitive earlier, where he remembered reducing Ivan to little more than needy noises, Ivan had not forgotten the mapping of Matthew's skin and where was quickest to render him speechless. With one hand, Matthew cupped Ivan's head, held it there, burrowed his fingers in Ivan's hair - thicker and softer than it looked - and with the other, he busied himself with the fastening on Ivan's pants in a fumbling effort to pry them off his body.
This was awkward too, with Ivan distracting him, but ultimately worthwhile. The moan he heard when he finally slipped his hand in was rewarding and Ivan bucked his hips into Matthew's grip, wantonly and helplessly.
For a brief moment, he was content to feel Ivan as he moved above him - with every thrust he brushed against Matthew's clothed erection, and that was nice, that appeased him momentarily. But eventually he grew weary of that and wanted more, wanted what they had had in Lebanon - and also in Zurich, in Turku, all over Algeria - the list was endless. "C'mon," he prompted, pushing Ivan off him.
Ivan understood immediately. "Yes," he replied, and rolled off Matthew to lie beside him on the bed and cant his hips upwards to work his pants off.
Even without the head start, Matthew got his own pants and underwear off first, shimmying out of them - probably gracelessly, but he didn't care about that anymore. Naked, he straddled Ivan the second he kicked his pants off the bed and brushed as many parts of their bodies together as possible. Matthew nearly came from that alone; it was shivery good and warm and he gave himself over to the impulse to kiss the hell out of Ivan again. (Ivan, that stupid jerk who thought that for thirty years it was adequate to simply admire from afar - they could have had this when the Wall fell!)
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