Fic: Friday Night, Late (R)
Title: Friday Night, Late
Pairing: Shatnoy
Rating: R
Disclaimer: liiiiiiiiiies!
Summary: Leonard arrives at Bill's apartment, rained on. They have sex. Wow, what a plot.
Leonard comes to him, solemn and slow, when they've argued, he and his wife in their marriage like an eggshell splintering. He is soaking wet, tonight, pale blue shirt soaked dark to his skin, mouth downturned and tight with too much not-saying. Bill is alone in his poorly-lit apartment, the small rooms growing larger as darkness falls. Leonard's face is downcast, but his heart thrills to the sight of it all the same.
His mouth tastes of whisky and the rain. His lips are cold, but the press of his tongue is hot and fierce against Bill's; his shirt is seeping a damp patch into Bill's sweater. Bill manhandles him down the short hallway without any great difficulty; shoves him down onto the nearest couch and straddles his damp-denimed thighs. Leonard rocks up, hums into the tangling of their mouths. Bill threads his fingers through the fine hair plastered to Leonard's forehead, stroking it back with a gentleness that sets the tips of his fingers tingling. Leonard is cold, but the heat of their bodies burns through the chill like the morning sun through mist.
The retention of Leonard's soaking clothes is illogical. Bill thinks this, breathes it warm and soft into Leonard's ear until Leonard shivers and licks at Bill's jaw, and then sets himself to unfastening Leonard's buttons. His own sweater, still mostly dry, is easily shucked, but Leonard's clings to his wet-shine skin as Bill peels it away; crumples into a sopping ball when he discards it. He ducks his head to lick the chill from Leonard's clavicle, the hollow of his neck, the bone-hard point of his shoulder. Leonard makes a tight sound, caught in the back of his throat.
The shift of their bodies together is a familiar escalation, this slow spread of sparks between their thighs. Bill's jeans, though, are very much in the way, and Leonard's are repulsively sodden; and so, reluctantly, he pulls himself to his feet, one hand still braced on Leonard's shoulder as he unbuttons himself, kicking the offending garments to the floor. Leonard's require more attention, both of his hands fumbling at the buttons and tugging the wet fabric down his legs, but Bill is loath to break off contact completely, so he leans forward to lick back into Leonard's mouth, sucking on his lower lip as he battles with buttons and boots. Leonard is breathless, and his beautiful hands wander everywhere.
Their nakedness sliding together draws a groan from them both, a rasping sound that hitches as he sets to rocking. Leonard whimpers, head tilting back against the cushions, and Bill leans down to lick at his jaw, at his ear. The rhythm comes to them easily, the grind of their groins setting breath ratcheting as fingers fumble and grip, Leonard's digging into Bill's shoulderblades hard enough to bruise. The rhythm of their kiss follows it, echoes it, a hot dark clinging that resonates deep in the jaw. "Oh," pants Leonard, "oh - fuck - " and Bill wraps a hand in answer around them both.
And then there is nothing but this feedback loop of heat, slickness and shivers and the heel of his hand's fierce friction. The kiss becomes sloppy, more tongue and less coordination, until Leonard pulls away with a frustrated groan and thrusts up hard into Bill's fist. Bill rasps out " - fuck!" with his mouth pressed to the hollow of Leonard's throat; arches over him, shudders and clenches and comes. His hand moves spasmodically, spreading his own sticky heat, until Leonard cries out, back pulling tight before the movements of his hips go liquid. Bill melts down onto him then, rubs their mouths together and presses against him, and clings.
"I see we've made a mess," says Leonard, when he can speak. Bill laughs a little, detaching himself with an effort.
"Not a problem," he says, and pulls himself to his feet. Leonard raises a questioning eyebrow. Bill only smiles in answer; sinks to his knees and sets his hands on Leonard's thighs. Leonard barely has time to widen his eyes before Bill's tongue is lapping at his abdomen, licking their stickying whiteness from his skin. Leonard's fingers twist gently in Bill's hair as Bill takes the spent cock in his mouth, lapping and sucking and soothing until he is clean. When Bill pulls himself to his feet again, Leonard's eyes have gone black. Bill smirks.
"You slut," Leonard laughs, pulling Bill back into his arms. Bill goes willingly, wrapping himself in Leonard's warmth; kissing his ear and his throat and the curve of his smile. Smiles are hard-earned, on nights like this one, and Bill knows better than to take such a reward for granted.
He is warmed now, though, laughing and dry and uncoiled, and Bill kisses him until he stops laughing and returns the kisses properly; until Leonard lifts him and lays him on his back on the rug. Bill raises his hips, wraps his legs around Leonard's waist. "Again?" he laughs back, eyebrow raised in inquiry.
"Again," says Leonard, "and again, if I say so. Hmm?"
"Mmm," Bill agrees, and pulls him down by the hair.
Bill isn't so speedy when the mess encompasses most of the room. Fortunately, one can always buy another coffee table. Unlike Leonards, they actually do grow on trees.
Pairing: Shatnoy
Rating: R
Disclaimer: liiiiiiiiiies!
Summary: Leonard arrives at Bill's apartment, rained on. They have sex. Wow, what a plot.
Leonard comes to him, solemn and slow, when they've argued, he and his wife in their marriage like an eggshell splintering. He is soaking wet, tonight, pale blue shirt soaked dark to his skin, mouth downturned and tight with too much not-saying. Bill is alone in his poorly-lit apartment, the small rooms growing larger as darkness falls. Leonard's face is downcast, but his heart thrills to the sight of it all the same.
His mouth tastes of whisky and the rain. His lips are cold, but the press of his tongue is hot and fierce against Bill's; his shirt is seeping a damp patch into Bill's sweater. Bill manhandles him down the short hallway without any great difficulty; shoves him down onto the nearest couch and straddles his damp-denimed thighs. Leonard rocks up, hums into the tangling of their mouths. Bill threads his fingers through the fine hair plastered to Leonard's forehead, stroking it back with a gentleness that sets the tips of his fingers tingling. Leonard is cold, but the heat of their bodies burns through the chill like the morning sun through mist.
The retention of Leonard's soaking clothes is illogical. Bill thinks this, breathes it warm and soft into Leonard's ear until Leonard shivers and licks at Bill's jaw, and then sets himself to unfastening Leonard's buttons. His own sweater, still mostly dry, is easily shucked, but Leonard's clings to his wet-shine skin as Bill peels it away; crumples into a sopping ball when he discards it. He ducks his head to lick the chill from Leonard's clavicle, the hollow of his neck, the bone-hard point of his shoulder. Leonard makes a tight sound, caught in the back of his throat.
The shift of their bodies together is a familiar escalation, this slow spread of sparks between their thighs. Bill's jeans, though, are very much in the way, and Leonard's are repulsively sodden; and so, reluctantly, he pulls himself to his feet, one hand still braced on Leonard's shoulder as he unbuttons himself, kicking the offending garments to the floor. Leonard's require more attention, both of his hands fumbling at the buttons and tugging the wet fabric down his legs, but Bill is loath to break off contact completely, so he leans forward to lick back into Leonard's mouth, sucking on his lower lip as he battles with buttons and boots. Leonard is breathless, and his beautiful hands wander everywhere.
Their nakedness sliding together draws a groan from them both, a rasping sound that hitches as he sets to rocking. Leonard whimpers, head tilting back against the cushions, and Bill leans down to lick at his jaw, at his ear. The rhythm comes to them easily, the grind of their groins setting breath ratcheting as fingers fumble and grip, Leonard's digging into Bill's shoulderblades hard enough to bruise. The rhythm of their kiss follows it, echoes it, a hot dark clinging that resonates deep in the jaw. "Oh," pants Leonard, "oh - fuck - " and Bill wraps a hand in answer around them both.
And then there is nothing but this feedback loop of heat, slickness and shivers and the heel of his hand's fierce friction. The kiss becomes sloppy, more tongue and less coordination, until Leonard pulls away with a frustrated groan and thrusts up hard into Bill's fist. Bill rasps out " - fuck!" with his mouth pressed to the hollow of Leonard's throat; arches over him, shudders and clenches and comes. His hand moves spasmodically, spreading his own sticky heat, until Leonard cries out, back pulling tight before the movements of his hips go liquid. Bill melts down onto him then, rubs their mouths together and presses against him, and clings.
"I see we've made a mess," says Leonard, when he can speak. Bill laughs a little, detaching himself with an effort.
"Not a problem," he says, and pulls himself to his feet. Leonard raises a questioning eyebrow. Bill only smiles in answer; sinks to his knees and sets his hands on Leonard's thighs. Leonard barely has time to widen his eyes before Bill's tongue is lapping at his abdomen, licking their stickying whiteness from his skin. Leonard's fingers twist gently in Bill's hair as Bill takes the spent cock in his mouth, lapping and sucking and soothing until he is clean. When Bill pulls himself to his feet again, Leonard's eyes have gone black. Bill smirks.
"You slut," Leonard laughs, pulling Bill back into his arms. Bill goes willingly, wrapping himself in Leonard's warmth; kissing his ear and his throat and the curve of his smile. Smiles are hard-earned, on nights like this one, and Bill knows better than to take such a reward for granted.
He is warmed now, though, laughing and dry and uncoiled, and Bill kisses him until he stops laughing and returns the kisses properly; until Leonard lifts him and lays him on his back on the rug. Bill raises his hips, wraps his legs around Leonard's waist. "Again?" he laughs back, eyebrow raised in inquiry.
"Again," says Leonard, "and again, if I say so. Hmm?"
"Mmm," Bill agrees, and pulls him down by the hair.
Bill isn't so speedy when the mess encompasses most of the room. Fortunately, one can always buy another coffee table. Unlike Leonards, they actually do grow on trees.