The Problem With Kit Harington Is...
Ok LJ...finished playing silly buggers now? Because if you dont start behaving...so help me, I will turn this car around!
This is a follow on to Say You Want Me. Richard and Kit on the set of Sirens.
The problem with Kit Harington is he looks good in pretty much anything.
So its not so much as a problem as it is a fucking huge quandary that has Richard trying desperately hard to remember they’re in public and he’s not allowed to rip his clothes off and fuck him on the floor of the ambulance.
He’s looking especially good right now though, dressed as a fireman, his lips still slightly swollen from Richard’s kisses, a faint blush still on his cheeks and a twinkle in his dark eyes as he looks over at Richard and winks. Honest to god, winks and Richard nearly chokes on his own tongue.
When Victor finally calls an end to the day, sighing and pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose because Richard has still been fluffing lines left, right and centre, Kit slides up to him with a smile on his face that could only be described as lecherous.
“So...” he starts and looks down, and Richard is starting to think that maybe he isn’t real, because no one should look that good trying to be sexy and blushing like a school girl.
“Fancy a few beers?” Richard asks and he’s kind of pleased with himself that his voice doesn’t crack, Kit’s eyes light up, “then maybe some whiskey, then...”
“Fuck like rabbits?” Kit asks and again, Richard nearly chokes on his own tongue again. Its funny hearing it from Kit who is blushing still, and there is a slight waver in his voice like he can’t quite believe he gets to say it out loud. Just like Richard can’t quite believe he gets to kiss Kit now.
“Who’s fucking like rabbits?” Kayvan asks and Richard ignores the flaming in his cheeks as Kit spins around to face him.
“You and your hand,” Richard replies and Kayvan laughs as well.
“Best sex I’ve ever had mate,” he replies then rubs his hands together. “So since Rich here is a complete moron, but a loveable one,” he grins ruffling Richard’s hair. Richard rolls his eyes and tries in vain to calm the curls on his head, Kit smiles at him, “we got the afternoon off, so...quick drink?” Richard has a sinking feeling this is all going to go horribly wrong when Kit answers for them.
“Sure.”
Richard spares Kit a glare as Kayvan pulls him in close and rubs his knuckles over the top of his head. Kit just smiles innocently back.
~*~
“Quick drink”, as it turns out, becomes two, then three, then Richard looses count after the sixth and the fact that Kit is slouching in his seat, his thigh pressed firmly up against Richard’s doesn’t help his brain either. The only good thing about it is that Richard can’t stare at him and watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, his lips wrapped around the bottle of beer in his hand. Although actually if he thinks about it, he would like to see that, see the way Kit’s eyes slide shut as he swallows.
“Madden,” a pork scratching hits him square in the forehead and Richard glares at Rhys. “Bloody miles away, you alright?” Rhys asks and Kit’s thigh presses even more firmly into his and his elbow digs into his ribs gently. Richard pushes back as much as he can without Kayvan and Rhys noticing and nods.
“Yeah, fine. Sounds good,” he says in answer to whatever it was Rhys had asked. Kit snorts, hand in front of his mouth and slides his eyes to Richard’s, Kayvan raises an eyebrow and runs a hand over his short hair.
“You weren’t listening, were you?” Rhys asks and Richard nods his head, ignores the way his vision swims for a second before it catches up. Kit clears his throat, practically slams his bottle down on the table.
“Right, come on mate, you’re ready for bed I think,” he says, curling his fingers into Richard’s jacket and tugging gently. There’s something in his eyes that Richard isn’t too drunk to read, something that says “play along”, Richard catches a slight wink and he realises, as the room spins, that he doesn’t really need to play along.
“I’m not drunk,” he says, going to swat away Kit’s hands and missing. Kayvan laughs.
“Whatever. Go to bed you lightweight. And I thought Scots were meant to be hardcore drinkers,” he says to Rhys who shrugs and smiles knowingly at him as Kit hauls him to his feet. Kit’s hands are warm around his wrist as he pulls one of Richard’s arms around his neck and shifts him closer. Richard leans heavily on him, feels his blood pound and his head swim and it has nothing to do with the alcohol.
The air outside is blissfully cool, hitting Richard in the face as soon as Kit stumbles them both through the door.
“You’re drunk,” Kit accuses as Richard sways slightly, his hand not currently playing with the hair at the back of Kit’s neck, winding into his coat and pulling them flush against each other.
“I’m not as think as you drunk I am,” Richard slurs and then laughs, because its funny, but also Kit is holding him up and he gets a light, kind of delirious feeling whenever Kit is touching him.
“Very funny Michael McIntyre. Come on,” Kit shifts him higher and Richard can’t stop himself from running his hand down his face. Kit’s eyes close briefly and Richard leans forward, presses a kiss to Kit’s mouth and Kit automatically opens up under him, let’s Richard lick into his mouth.
“Shit, you’re good at that,” Richard mutters when he pulls back and Kit laughs, licks his bottom lip.
“You’re such a smooth talker,” he replies, “Come on drunkard.”
“Not my fault,” Richard murmurs as Kit hauls him into a taxi that he managed to hail without letting go of Richard and fastens the belt across his lap. His fingers graze across the exposed skin at his hips and Richard presses them forward. Kit’s hands still, a slight tremble in them.
“Really?”
“Yes really, I needed alcohol to stop myself ravishing you then and there,” Richard replies and he’s kind of pleased with the way his voice sounds totally normal and he manages to get the words out without stumbling over them. Kit raises an eyebrow at him.
“Ravishing?”
“Shut up.”
Kit laughs and gives the driver Richard’s address, Richard glosses over how Kit knows it, he gave up a long time trying to figure out how Kit knows the things he does. Kit sits back, presses his shoulder into Richard’s.
Richard’s hand seems to have a life of its own as it lands on Kit’s thigh. Kit jumps slightly, startled, but relaxes and Richard presses his fingers into the muscles, playing along the seam of the jeans. Kit shifts lower in his seat, spreads his legs a shade wider and Richard, through the haze of too much alcohol, can see the way he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, chews on it, like he’s worried. There’s a nervousness in Kit that Richard hasn’t seen since the first day on the set of Game Of Thrones, an excited nervousness that hums around him.
“When we get home...” he says, keeping his voice low as he leans towards Kit. Kit swallows, but raises an eyebrow expectantly at him, all false bravado but Richard can see through it. “I might pass out.”
Kit barks out a laugh and looks like he’s going to kiss him, leans forward slightly, his eyes shining. But he stops himself, a flicker of a gaze lands on the driver. Richard keeps his hand on Kit’s thigh, stroking higher and Kit bites on his bottom lip again, seems to relax, sitting back into the seat as the taxi pulls up outside Richard’s hotel.
He bats Kit’s hands away when they go to help him, glaring at Kit lightly.
“I can walk, you know,” he says and Kit laughs again.
“Fine. If you fall over and ruin that pretty face, you only have yourself to blame.”
“You’re pretty,” he murmurs darkly, like an insult and Kit shakes his head and rolls his eyes. But Richard’s right, Kit is pretty, in an incredibly sexy masculine way. Those dark eyes, the scatter of stubble across his jaw, the full lips, it’s no wonder Richard finds himself plastered up against him as the lift doors close behind them. Kit moans, arching under him as Richard nips as Kit’s jaw, trying to suppress the almost overwhelming desire to strip him naked right now and mark him like he belongs to Richard.
And that thought sends a spike of arousal straight to Richard’s already very interested dick.
The lift doors ping open and Kit pushes him away and smiles at the woman who steps in. Richard glares at the back of her head, she had looked at Kit up and down, like he was hers to look at. Kit glances at him, slides his hand along the rail and wraps his fingers around Richard’s, stares straight ahead and the doors open again.
It takes entirely too long for Kit to open the room door, his fingers shaking slightly with the key card as Richard crowds in close and presses his lips to Kit’s neck. Kit groans, winds a hand into Richard’s hair as he pushes the door open and spins in Richard’s grasp, walking them both backwards into the room. Richard kicks the door shut behind them.
He’s almost at a loss at what to do now that he’s finally got Kit here, willing under his hands, he could keep kissing him for hours, and listen to the way Kit groans into his mouth. But he needs more, needs to feel Kit’s skin next to his own, yet he has no idea what the hell he’s doing. His mind feels fuzzy as Kit places his hands on his hips, fingers dancing over Richard’s belt.
“Horizontal,” Richard mutters into Kit’s mouth and Kit pulls them both down onto the large bed. Kit is hot under him, mouth insistent, skin burning under Richard’s hands and its almost too much. “Wait,” he pushes himself up and Kit frowns. “Water.”
He doesn’t know when he became Mr Caveman who grunted single words but Kit smiles, bites at his bottom lip.
“I’ll get it. You’ll probably fall over and break something...probably yourself,” Kit pushes himself upright and Richard wraps his hand around his wrist, pulls him close and kisses him once before he lets him go. Richard lies back against the pillows, cocks his head to the side as he watches Kit walk to the bathroom. His head spins, feels heavy yet light and he can’t help but shut his eyes, listening to Kit running the tap in the bathroom.
He wakes up to the quiet murmur of the TV, throwing a flickering light across the ceiling. He groans and stretches and his back pops pleasingly. There’s a small chuckle from the sofa and his eyes land on Kit, legs curled up on the seat next to him, t-shirt stretched over his arms, across his chest as he clutches a mug in his hands.
“Shit,” Richard says and Kit laughs again.
“You did warn me you’d pass out,” he replies quietly as Richard swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. He sways slightly, head pounding softly behind his eyes.
“I did. Sorry,” he takes a step towards the sofa, “what time is it?”
“4.30.” Kit uncurls a leg in invitation and Richard sits, settles back against him and groans again. Kit laughs gently, his hand landing on Richard’s chest, the other holding the mug out in front of him. Richard takes it, swallows a mouthful of tea and Kit’s hand curls into his t-shirt. “What the fuck are you watching?” as boo's from the speakers fill the room.
“Jeremy Kyle,” Kit answers like its the most obvious thing in the world. Richard groans again.
“Why?”
“Its the only thing that drowned out your snoring,” Kit answers, tugging gently on Richard’s t-shirt. Richard puts the mug on the floor in front of the sofa, turns awkwardly and hovers over Kit, his arms shaking as he holds himself up. There’s a smile lingering on Kit’s face as he stares up at Richard.
He kisses Kit then, kisses down his jawline, teeth scraping lighting and Kit gasps, arches upwards. Kit’s skin tastes like sleep, warm under his lips, and his hands run up Richard’s back under his t-shirt, nails scratching lightly, and then they still.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Kit says, voice soft and unsure, there’s a tremble in his body and Richard lifts his head, stares down at him.
“Oh and you think I do?” he asks and Kit smiles again, cups his face in his hands and kisses him hard, pushes his tongue into Richard’s mouth. Richard groans, presses his hips down as Kit winds a leg around him and pulls him closer, his fingers dipping below the waistband of Richard’s boxers.
“How did I get undressed?” Richard asks suddenly, pulling away and looking down at Kit. Kit frowns.
“Is that really important right now?” he asks, shifting under Richard. Richard catches his breath as Kit’s crotch grinds up against his and his hands press harder into Richard’s back.
“I just want to know if you took advantage of me in my drunken state or not?” Richard says and Kit laughs.
“Well I didn’t date rape you if that’s what you mean.”
“Good, cos I want to be awake for that kind of thing,” Kit raises an eyebrow at him, pushing his t-shirt higher, his fingers splaying out over Richard’s shoulders.
“Doesn’t that negate the whole point of date rape?” he asks, pulling himself up and pressing his lips to Richard’s jawline.
“Can we shut up now?” Richard groans, letting himself down onto Kit’s body.
“Yes,” Kit manages to get out before Richard stops his words with his mouth, pressing them both down into the sofa.
Kit pulls with his leg again, pulls Richard closer and they both groan.
“I think,” Richard gasps, “I think there should be less clothing,” Kit's answer is swallowed as Richard kisses him again, running a hand up his stomach under his t-shirt. Kit's muscles twitch under his palm. He pulls away, kneels between Kit's thighs. Kit's chest is heaving, mouth wide, lips slick with their saliva and his eyes are heavy and lidded as he looks up at Richard. Richard can honestly say he's never seen anything more debauched in his whole entire life and he wonders how he managed without being able to have this. Because he is allowed this now, its not just in his secret tawdry fantasies, grunting in shame in he shower, and blushing on the inside every time Kit looks at him.
“Rich?” Kit's hand is almost tentative on his waistband, fingers curling in, knuckles pressing into Richard's stomach and Richard shakes himself, pulls his t-shirt over his head. Kit reaches up, runs his hands over his chest, his thumbnail scraping gently over Richard's nipple. Richard nearly bites through his lip, who the hell knew those were so sensitive? Kit purses his lips, mutters “huh” under his breath and does it to the other one.
Richard manages to get his hands in Kit's t-shirt and tugs on it, grinds out “off” and Kit pushes himself up enough to pull it over his head, sending his dark curls in all different directions. It lands on the floor with Richards.
And then its skin on skin and Richard thinks he may pass out from the heat of Kit, from the feel of him, from the way his fingers run up Richard's spine, his mouth trailing kisses and nips along Richard's shoulder.
Richard grinds his hips down and Kits hand leaves his back. Richard just about has enough brain cells left to get out a confused “what?”
Kit laughs, kisses him once.
“I have an idea,” he says and its the same time he used when he thought it would be really good to put jelly in Alfie's boots, and that really didn't turn out so well, and Richard raises an eyebrow, “you'll like it,” Kit assures him and pushes Richard's boxers down his thighs and wraps his hand around his dick.
He's right. God is he right. Kit's hand is warm and solid around him and Richard loses the rest of his brain cells. But then Kit's wriggling under him and Richard is using all his strength to keep himself from crushing him that he doesn't realise what he's doing until he feels Kit's dick slip into Kit's hand next to Richard's, the skin smooth as Kit strokes them both.
“Fuck,” he manages to get his eyes open, when did he close them, and looks down at Kit. He's looking between them, a look of concentration on his face that would be comical if it wasn't so fucking sexy, and the look is only broken when his eyes flutter closed every time his hand twists. Richard suddenly has the urge to look into them, to see what they will look like when Kit comes.
“Look at me,” Kit's eyes snap upwards and Richard thrusts his dick into Kit's hand. Kit squeezes once, his eyes still on Richard, and Richard is almost embarrassed to say that's all it takes to make him come, hard, over Kit's hand and stomach. Almost embarrassed, because honestly, its Kit, and he looks like sin right now so Richard can't really be blamed.
Kits hand is still moving, still twisting around them both and Richard reaches between them and entwines their fingers together, strokes him once, twice and then Kit is coming too, eyes still staring straight at Richard. They go darker, get wider as he bites down on his bottom lips, and he grunts and Richard makes a promise to himself to get them somewhere where they don’t have to be quiet next time, because he's pretty sure Kit would make the best noises.
Richard kind of gives up holding himself and flops down onto Kit, burying his head in Kits neck. Kit smells of sex, of sweat and Richard and Richard pulls the delicate skin between his teeth. Kit strains upwards, winds his fingers into Richard's hair.
Richard could easily get used to this scent on him
“You're right, I did like that,” he says and Kit huffs out a laugh, breath hot against Richard's neck.
“Good, cos I fully intend to do that again,” he replies quietly, his voice already sleepy. A cry of uproar explodes from the TV and Richard nearly jumps off the sofa. Kit laughs.
“Why the fuck were you watching Jeremy Kyle?” Richard groans reaching down to pick up the discarded remote. Kit shifts under him, tangling their legs together further, and Richard would think about getting up and showering if it wasn't a naked Kit Harington under him. The TV dies as Richard presses the power button, heaving a sigh of relief at the silence in the room.
“You were asleep,” Kit says in explanation and Richard frowns.
“So it was me or Jeremy?” Kit nods.
“Jeremy won. You have to admit, there is something about him. Maybe its the way he shouts at people...makes me unf...” Kit grunts as Richard pokes him hard between the ribs.
“Next time, you wake me,” Richard demands, standing up and pulling Kit with him. Kit grins, winds his hand into the hair at the back of Richard's neck and pulls him in for a kiss.
“Next time I will,” he mutters against Richard's mouth and Richard's stomach flips at the thought that they'll get a next time.
Richard manages to check the time on his phone as Kit pulls him into bed. Its five in the morning and Richard has a hangover building behind his eyes, Kit's hot body is wrapped around his own and he knows it'll only make the hangover worse, but he can't really find it in him to care, even though he's only got another few hours of sleep before he has to be back on set.
Kit shifts, tightens his grip on Richard. Richard strains his aching eyes to the side and looks at him.
Yeah, Kit does look good in everything, but Richard has to admit he looks the best in nothing but Richard's bite marks and the artificial orange glow of the street lights through the poor excuse for blinds.
This is a follow on to Say You Want Me. Richard and Kit on the set of Sirens.
The problem with Kit Harington is he looks good in pretty much anything.
So its not so much as a problem as it is a fucking huge quandary that has Richard trying desperately hard to remember they’re in public and he’s not allowed to rip his clothes off and fuck him on the floor of the ambulance.
He’s looking especially good right now though, dressed as a fireman, his lips still slightly swollen from Richard’s kisses, a faint blush still on his cheeks and a twinkle in his dark eyes as he looks over at Richard and winks. Honest to god, winks and Richard nearly chokes on his own tongue.
When Victor finally calls an end to the day, sighing and pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose because Richard has still been fluffing lines left, right and centre, Kit slides up to him with a smile on his face that could only be described as lecherous.
“So...” he starts and looks down, and Richard is starting to think that maybe he isn’t real, because no one should look that good trying to be sexy and blushing like a school girl.
“Fancy a few beers?” Richard asks and he’s kind of pleased with himself that his voice doesn’t crack, Kit’s eyes light up, “then maybe some whiskey, then...”
“Fuck like rabbits?” Kit asks and again, Richard nearly chokes on his own tongue again. Its funny hearing it from Kit who is blushing still, and there is a slight waver in his voice like he can’t quite believe he gets to say it out loud. Just like Richard can’t quite believe he gets to kiss Kit now.
“Who’s fucking like rabbits?” Kayvan asks and Richard ignores the flaming in his cheeks as Kit spins around to face him.
“You and your hand,” Richard replies and Kayvan laughs as well.
“Best sex I’ve ever had mate,” he replies then rubs his hands together. “So since Rich here is a complete moron, but a loveable one,” he grins ruffling Richard’s hair. Richard rolls his eyes and tries in vain to calm the curls on his head, Kit smiles at him, “we got the afternoon off, so...quick drink?” Richard has a sinking feeling this is all going to go horribly wrong when Kit answers for them.
“Sure.”
Richard spares Kit a glare as Kayvan pulls him in close and rubs his knuckles over the top of his head. Kit just smiles innocently back.
~*~
“Quick drink”, as it turns out, becomes two, then three, then Richard looses count after the sixth and the fact that Kit is slouching in his seat, his thigh pressed firmly up against Richard’s doesn’t help his brain either. The only good thing about it is that Richard can’t stare at him and watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, his lips wrapped around the bottle of beer in his hand. Although actually if he thinks about it, he would like to see that, see the way Kit’s eyes slide shut as he swallows.
“Madden,” a pork scratching hits him square in the forehead and Richard glares at Rhys. “Bloody miles away, you alright?” Rhys asks and Kit’s thigh presses even more firmly into his and his elbow digs into his ribs gently. Richard pushes back as much as he can without Kayvan and Rhys noticing and nods.
“Yeah, fine. Sounds good,” he says in answer to whatever it was Rhys had asked. Kit snorts, hand in front of his mouth and slides his eyes to Richard’s, Kayvan raises an eyebrow and runs a hand over his short hair.
“You weren’t listening, were you?” Rhys asks and Richard nods his head, ignores the way his vision swims for a second before it catches up. Kit clears his throat, practically slams his bottle down on the table.
“Right, come on mate, you’re ready for bed I think,” he says, curling his fingers into Richard’s jacket and tugging gently. There’s something in his eyes that Richard isn’t too drunk to read, something that says “play along”, Richard catches a slight wink and he realises, as the room spins, that he doesn’t really need to play along.
“I’m not drunk,” he says, going to swat away Kit’s hands and missing. Kayvan laughs.
“Whatever. Go to bed you lightweight. And I thought Scots were meant to be hardcore drinkers,” he says to Rhys who shrugs and smiles knowingly at him as Kit hauls him to his feet. Kit’s hands are warm around his wrist as he pulls one of Richard’s arms around his neck and shifts him closer. Richard leans heavily on him, feels his blood pound and his head swim and it has nothing to do with the alcohol.
The air outside is blissfully cool, hitting Richard in the face as soon as Kit stumbles them both through the door.
“You’re drunk,” Kit accuses as Richard sways slightly, his hand not currently playing with the hair at the back of Kit’s neck, winding into his coat and pulling them flush against each other.
“I’m not as think as you drunk I am,” Richard slurs and then laughs, because its funny, but also Kit is holding him up and he gets a light, kind of delirious feeling whenever Kit is touching him.
“Very funny Michael McIntyre. Come on,” Kit shifts him higher and Richard can’t stop himself from running his hand down his face. Kit’s eyes close briefly and Richard leans forward, presses a kiss to Kit’s mouth and Kit automatically opens up under him, let’s Richard lick into his mouth.
“Shit, you’re good at that,” Richard mutters when he pulls back and Kit laughs, licks his bottom lip.
“You’re such a smooth talker,” he replies, “Come on drunkard.”
“Not my fault,” Richard murmurs as Kit hauls him into a taxi that he managed to hail without letting go of Richard and fastens the belt across his lap. His fingers graze across the exposed skin at his hips and Richard presses them forward. Kit’s hands still, a slight tremble in them.
“Really?”
“Yes really, I needed alcohol to stop myself ravishing you then and there,” Richard replies and he’s kind of pleased with the way his voice sounds totally normal and he manages to get the words out without stumbling over them. Kit raises an eyebrow at him.
“Ravishing?”
“Shut up.”
Kit laughs and gives the driver Richard’s address, Richard glosses over how Kit knows it, he gave up a long time trying to figure out how Kit knows the things he does. Kit sits back, presses his shoulder into Richard’s.
Richard’s hand seems to have a life of its own as it lands on Kit’s thigh. Kit jumps slightly, startled, but relaxes and Richard presses his fingers into the muscles, playing along the seam of the jeans. Kit shifts lower in his seat, spreads his legs a shade wider and Richard, through the haze of too much alcohol, can see the way he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, chews on it, like he’s worried. There’s a nervousness in Kit that Richard hasn’t seen since the first day on the set of Game Of Thrones, an excited nervousness that hums around him.
“When we get home...” he says, keeping his voice low as he leans towards Kit. Kit swallows, but raises an eyebrow expectantly at him, all false bravado but Richard can see through it. “I might pass out.”
Kit barks out a laugh and looks like he’s going to kiss him, leans forward slightly, his eyes shining. But he stops himself, a flicker of a gaze lands on the driver. Richard keeps his hand on Kit’s thigh, stroking higher and Kit bites on his bottom lip again, seems to relax, sitting back into the seat as the taxi pulls up outside Richard’s hotel.
He bats Kit’s hands away when they go to help him, glaring at Kit lightly.
“I can walk, you know,” he says and Kit laughs again.
“Fine. If you fall over and ruin that pretty face, you only have yourself to blame.”
“You’re pretty,” he murmurs darkly, like an insult and Kit shakes his head and rolls his eyes. But Richard’s right, Kit is pretty, in an incredibly sexy masculine way. Those dark eyes, the scatter of stubble across his jaw, the full lips, it’s no wonder Richard finds himself plastered up against him as the lift doors close behind them. Kit moans, arching under him as Richard nips as Kit’s jaw, trying to suppress the almost overwhelming desire to strip him naked right now and mark him like he belongs to Richard.
And that thought sends a spike of arousal straight to Richard’s already very interested dick.
The lift doors ping open and Kit pushes him away and smiles at the woman who steps in. Richard glares at the back of her head, she had looked at Kit up and down, like he was hers to look at. Kit glances at him, slides his hand along the rail and wraps his fingers around Richard’s, stares straight ahead and the doors open again.
It takes entirely too long for Kit to open the room door, his fingers shaking slightly with the key card as Richard crowds in close and presses his lips to Kit’s neck. Kit groans, winds a hand into Richard’s hair as he pushes the door open and spins in Richard’s grasp, walking them both backwards into the room. Richard kicks the door shut behind them.
He’s almost at a loss at what to do now that he’s finally got Kit here, willing under his hands, he could keep kissing him for hours, and listen to the way Kit groans into his mouth. But he needs more, needs to feel Kit’s skin next to his own, yet he has no idea what the hell he’s doing. His mind feels fuzzy as Kit places his hands on his hips, fingers dancing over Richard’s belt.
“Horizontal,” Richard mutters into Kit’s mouth and Kit pulls them both down onto the large bed. Kit is hot under him, mouth insistent, skin burning under Richard’s hands and its almost too much. “Wait,” he pushes himself up and Kit frowns. “Water.”
He doesn’t know when he became Mr Caveman who grunted single words but Kit smiles, bites at his bottom lip.
“I’ll get it. You’ll probably fall over and break something...probably yourself,” Kit pushes himself upright and Richard wraps his hand around his wrist, pulls him close and kisses him once before he lets him go. Richard lies back against the pillows, cocks his head to the side as he watches Kit walk to the bathroom. His head spins, feels heavy yet light and he can’t help but shut his eyes, listening to Kit running the tap in the bathroom.
He wakes up to the quiet murmur of the TV, throwing a flickering light across the ceiling. He groans and stretches and his back pops pleasingly. There’s a small chuckle from the sofa and his eyes land on Kit, legs curled up on the seat next to him, t-shirt stretched over his arms, across his chest as he clutches a mug in his hands.
“Shit,” Richard says and Kit laughs again.
“You did warn me you’d pass out,” he replies quietly as Richard swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. He sways slightly, head pounding softly behind his eyes.
“I did. Sorry,” he takes a step towards the sofa, “what time is it?”
“4.30.” Kit uncurls a leg in invitation and Richard sits, settles back against him and groans again. Kit laughs gently, his hand landing on Richard’s chest, the other holding the mug out in front of him. Richard takes it, swallows a mouthful of tea and Kit’s hand curls into his t-shirt. “What the fuck are you watching?” as boo's from the speakers fill the room.
“Jeremy Kyle,” Kit answers like its the most obvious thing in the world. Richard groans again.
“Why?”
“Its the only thing that drowned out your snoring,” Kit answers, tugging gently on Richard’s t-shirt. Richard puts the mug on the floor in front of the sofa, turns awkwardly and hovers over Kit, his arms shaking as he holds himself up. There’s a smile lingering on Kit’s face as he stares up at Richard.
He kisses Kit then, kisses down his jawline, teeth scraping lighting and Kit gasps, arches upwards. Kit’s skin tastes like sleep, warm under his lips, and his hands run up Richard’s back under his t-shirt, nails scratching lightly, and then they still.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Kit says, voice soft and unsure, there’s a tremble in his body and Richard lifts his head, stares down at him.
“Oh and you think I do?” he asks and Kit smiles again, cups his face in his hands and kisses him hard, pushes his tongue into Richard’s mouth. Richard groans, presses his hips down as Kit winds a leg around him and pulls him closer, his fingers dipping below the waistband of Richard’s boxers.
“How did I get undressed?” Richard asks suddenly, pulling away and looking down at Kit. Kit frowns.
“Is that really important right now?” he asks, shifting under Richard. Richard catches his breath as Kit’s crotch grinds up against his and his hands press harder into Richard’s back.
“I just want to know if you took advantage of me in my drunken state or not?” Richard says and Kit laughs.
“Well I didn’t date rape you if that’s what you mean.”
“Good, cos I want to be awake for that kind of thing,” Kit raises an eyebrow at him, pushing his t-shirt higher, his fingers splaying out over Richard’s shoulders.
“Doesn’t that negate the whole point of date rape?” he asks, pulling himself up and pressing his lips to Richard’s jawline.
“Can we shut up now?” Richard groans, letting himself down onto Kit’s body.
“Yes,” Kit manages to get out before Richard stops his words with his mouth, pressing them both down into the sofa.
Kit pulls with his leg again, pulls Richard closer and they both groan.
“I think,” Richard gasps, “I think there should be less clothing,” Kit's answer is swallowed as Richard kisses him again, running a hand up his stomach under his t-shirt. Kit's muscles twitch under his palm. He pulls away, kneels between Kit's thighs. Kit's chest is heaving, mouth wide, lips slick with their saliva and his eyes are heavy and lidded as he looks up at Richard. Richard can honestly say he's never seen anything more debauched in his whole entire life and he wonders how he managed without being able to have this. Because he is allowed this now, its not just in his secret tawdry fantasies, grunting in shame in he shower, and blushing on the inside every time Kit looks at him.
“Rich?” Kit's hand is almost tentative on his waistband, fingers curling in, knuckles pressing into Richard's stomach and Richard shakes himself, pulls his t-shirt over his head. Kit reaches up, runs his hands over his chest, his thumbnail scraping gently over Richard's nipple. Richard nearly bites through his lip, who the hell knew those were so sensitive? Kit purses his lips, mutters “huh” under his breath and does it to the other one.
Richard manages to get his hands in Kit's t-shirt and tugs on it, grinds out “off” and Kit pushes himself up enough to pull it over his head, sending his dark curls in all different directions. It lands on the floor with Richards.
And then its skin on skin and Richard thinks he may pass out from the heat of Kit, from the feel of him, from the way his fingers run up Richard's spine, his mouth trailing kisses and nips along Richard's shoulder.
Richard grinds his hips down and Kits hand leaves his back. Richard just about has enough brain cells left to get out a confused “what?”
Kit laughs, kisses him once.
“I have an idea,” he says and its the same time he used when he thought it would be really good to put jelly in Alfie's boots, and that really didn't turn out so well, and Richard raises an eyebrow, “you'll like it,” Kit assures him and pushes Richard's boxers down his thighs and wraps his hand around his dick.
He's right. God is he right. Kit's hand is warm and solid around him and Richard loses the rest of his brain cells. But then Kit's wriggling under him and Richard is using all his strength to keep himself from crushing him that he doesn't realise what he's doing until he feels Kit's dick slip into Kit's hand next to Richard's, the skin smooth as Kit strokes them both.
“Fuck,” he manages to get his eyes open, when did he close them, and looks down at Kit. He's looking between them, a look of concentration on his face that would be comical if it wasn't so fucking sexy, and the look is only broken when his eyes flutter closed every time his hand twists. Richard suddenly has the urge to look into them, to see what they will look like when Kit comes.
“Look at me,” Kit's eyes snap upwards and Richard thrusts his dick into Kit's hand. Kit squeezes once, his eyes still on Richard, and Richard is almost embarrassed to say that's all it takes to make him come, hard, over Kit's hand and stomach. Almost embarrassed, because honestly, its Kit, and he looks like sin right now so Richard can't really be blamed.
Kits hand is still moving, still twisting around them both and Richard reaches between them and entwines their fingers together, strokes him once, twice and then Kit is coming too, eyes still staring straight at Richard. They go darker, get wider as he bites down on his bottom lips, and he grunts and Richard makes a promise to himself to get them somewhere where they don’t have to be quiet next time, because he's pretty sure Kit would make the best noises.
Richard kind of gives up holding himself and flops down onto Kit, burying his head in Kits neck. Kit smells of sex, of sweat and Richard and Richard pulls the delicate skin between his teeth. Kit strains upwards, winds his fingers into Richard's hair.
Richard could easily get used to this scent on him
“You're right, I did like that,” he says and Kit huffs out a laugh, breath hot against Richard's neck.
“Good, cos I fully intend to do that again,” he replies quietly, his voice already sleepy. A cry of uproar explodes from the TV and Richard nearly jumps off the sofa. Kit laughs.
“Why the fuck were you watching Jeremy Kyle?” Richard groans reaching down to pick up the discarded remote. Kit shifts under him, tangling their legs together further, and Richard would think about getting up and showering if it wasn't a naked Kit Harington under him. The TV dies as Richard presses the power button, heaving a sigh of relief at the silence in the room.
“You were asleep,” Kit says in explanation and Richard frowns.
“So it was me or Jeremy?” Kit nods.
“Jeremy won. You have to admit, there is something about him. Maybe its the way he shouts at people...makes me unf...” Kit grunts as Richard pokes him hard between the ribs.
“Next time, you wake me,” Richard demands, standing up and pulling Kit with him. Kit grins, winds his hand into the hair at the back of Richard's neck and pulls him in for a kiss.
“Next time I will,” he mutters against Richard's mouth and Richard's stomach flips at the thought that they'll get a next time.
Richard manages to check the time on his phone as Kit pulls him into bed. Its five in the morning and Richard has a hangover building behind his eyes, Kit's hot body is wrapped around his own and he knows it'll only make the hangover worse, but he can't really find it in him to care, even though he's only got another few hours of sleep before he has to be back on set.
Kit shifts, tightens his grip on Richard. Richard strains his aching eyes to the side and looks at him.
Yeah, Kit does look good in everything, but Richard has to admit he looks the best in nothing but Richard's bite marks and the artificial orange glow of the street lights through the poor excuse for blinds.