Roadporn! I mean, roadtrip! Rail...thing!
Keep in mind that this is ~Keri porn~ and will be a massive disappointment as we know my porn-writing skills are a myth or, apparently, not. Ahem. *glance* 290 words of minimalist drunken giddy!porn. I shall slap an R on it.
Ambrose decided they'd had too much wine with dinner, bumping together and laughing on their way back to their tiny bedroom. They could have gone to the lounge to watch the desert flash by in the night but...
Turn-down service had been and gone, a tiny ladder leading to an upper berth they both knew would go unused. Ambrose slung an arm around Wyatt's neck and hauled him in for a sloppy kiss before they managed to get the door closed, laughing against Wyatt's mouth as they thwacked around the cramped quarters. They managed to tumble into the berth, each bumping their heads (Ambrose on the upper berth, Wyatt on the wall as he fell back) but soon settled limbs in a mutually agreeable manner and they let the clacking and rocking of the train set the pace.
Wyatt muttered encouragement as his hands slid up the back of Ambrose's shirt. He received a grunt in response as clothes were moved away in a quest for skin, warm and firm and needy and Ambrose gasped and managed to press himself imperceptibly closer.
"Gods," he hissed and thrust forward, reveling in the confluence of rhythm and friction. Wyatt shushed him but he'd have nothing of it, brain fizzling between alcohol and sensation and the knowledge that they were still hurtling onward. Ambrose came with a keening wail that Wyatt drowned by yanking him down into another hard kiss, only to follow with a snarl and a shudder.
They clung tight together for several miles of track, folded up in the small space allotted them. In time they arranged themselves so they could both look out the window, still touching, still kissing, still elated to not be alone in a world that kept getting fantastically bigger.
Ambrose decided they'd had too much wine with dinner, bumping together and laughing on their way back to their tiny bedroom. They could have gone to the lounge to watch the desert flash by in the night but...
Turn-down service had been and gone, a tiny ladder leading to an upper berth they both knew would go unused. Ambrose slung an arm around Wyatt's neck and hauled him in for a sloppy kiss before they managed to get the door closed, laughing against Wyatt's mouth as they thwacked around the cramped quarters. They managed to tumble into the berth, each bumping their heads (Ambrose on the upper berth, Wyatt on the wall as he fell back) but soon settled limbs in a mutually agreeable manner and they let the clacking and rocking of the train set the pace.
Wyatt muttered encouragement as his hands slid up the back of Ambrose's shirt. He received a grunt in response as clothes were moved away in a quest for skin, warm and firm and needy and Ambrose gasped and managed to press himself imperceptibly closer.
"Gods," he hissed and thrust forward, reveling in the confluence of rhythm and friction. Wyatt shushed him but he'd have nothing of it, brain fizzling between alcohol and sensation and the knowledge that they were still hurtling onward. Ambrose came with a keening wail that Wyatt drowned by yanking him down into another hard kiss, only to follow with a snarl and a shudder.
They clung tight together for several miles of track, folded up in the small space allotted them. In time they arranged themselves so they could both look out the window, still touching, still kissing, still elated to not be alone in a world that kept getting fantastically bigger.