Collide (R)
Title: Collide
Author: mandasauraus
Rating: R
Word count: 781
Warnings: Swearing, sexual situations, homo-ness
Genre: PWP, lol
Summary: They're tangled together now, smiling into their kisses. And that's the way it should always be.
Notes: For my friend Becky's birthday :D
There’s panting.
“God, you’re such a dick, Justin.”
There’s a rustle of cloth, a stifled moan.
“You love my dick, stop acting like you don’t love this--”
Rusty springs are creaking as two bodies grind together. There are hands everywhere, anywhere they can reach.
“I’d love it a lot more if it wasn’t attached to such a cocktease-- uhn!” The last part is a hiss, followed by a low whine at the back of a throat. Neither body is quite sure which of them it came from, yet neither body seem to care in the slightest.
There are whispers, ghosting over skin much like their hands. It’s dark in the room, the two barely illuminated by the pale glow of the crescent moon hanging overhead. They’re lucky they’re at his house, instead of the other’s; Sarah would be creeping by the door, listening in; she‘s eight, what does she know? His neighbors would be banging against the walls, shouting obscenities and roiling cat-calls at their chaos. His father would definitely pull out his tool box if either of them were caught dead in this situation.
They can’t be bothered to care as copper skin arches against a pale touch, off the bed to follow the hand that’s trailing down his torso.
“God damn, you’re beautiful, gorgeous, where the fuck have you been all my life, God, I could just look at you forever--” These are the words mumbled against the taut skin of his throat just before a mouth closes over the pulse point and sucks once, twice, before biting down. The noise the smaller of the two makes is strangled, caught in his throat as deft hands work to pull his partner’s shirt over his head, as slim hips wriggle his pants down to his knees.
It isn’t long before both of them are naked. Their pace slows as they study each other, as if they’ve never seen the other before though they have; many times, in many places. White hands move across the broad planes of the other’s chest, circling flat, brown nipples and smirking at their owner’s reaction. The boy below him-- because that is what he is, truly, just a boy, not even old enough to drink --moans and tries to pull away from the touch. Pale hands let him have his way as they continue to trace the divots of his flat stomach, stopping to trail at the coarse hair by his waist line.
With a whimper, tanned hips attempt to rock up into the hands above him, but they are stopped by the body perched a top his thighs. They are not touching as intimately as he would like; as intimately as they were.
“Justin, Justin, please. Please? Baby, touch-- touch me.”
Justin loves to see him lose control.
He rolls them over so that the other body is above him now, grinding down against his stomach. They each let out little sighs before letting their instincts guide them.
They’re not touching in the way they usually do; that which they want the most is ignored as they grind together, rocking against each other. Their chests are heaving, harsh breathing and low moans filling the air as one finds friction against a flat stomach; the other against the curve of a tempting entrance, never once breeching, simply tracing.
They whisper words of love that neither of them is entirely sure the other means, but they let it happen because they’re all the other has and, well, they sort of like it that way. These intimate moments are only for them, just for them.
“God, love you, love you--” Interrupted by a sharp gasp as the heat coils in his stomach, Justin places his hands at his partner’s moving hips, “So fucking in love with you, Andrew. I do, I do, I do--” Neither of them are sure what he’s babbling about, murmuring against Andrew’s soft lips as they collide. Despite their frenzied movements, their kisses are always soft, almost chaste. Their tongues mingle together and Andrew smiles at the taste he finds. Justin smiles, too, if only because he’s made the other happy.
Together, smiling, kissing softly, pushing against each other, they reach a high that neither have ever felt with anyone else before.
Justin runs a hand down Andrew’s spine, the other cradling his head, fingers itch at the hair that’s slowly growing back. Andrew does the same, fitting one hand into the curve of Justin’s jaw and running the other one through his thick, dark hair as they pant into each other’s mouths and, finally, they break.
They’re tangled together now, smiling into their kisses.
And that’s the way it should always be.