Progression by xxuc_love; PG-13
Title: Progression
Author: Kaden. (xxuc_love)
Fandom and Pairing: Googleslash; Larry/Sergey.
Rating: PG-13
Prompt:6, Fluff (word: intimate)
Warnings: none.
Notes: For pomegranate_red, so she has something to read when she comes home. <33. Unbeta'd, also.
Summary: Every day you may make progress.
Progression.
All progress is based upon a universal innate desire on the part of every organism to live beyond its income.
It starts as an itching in his fingers, then progresses into a full-blown wildfire as Larry’s hands fly among the keys, fingertips rough like sandpaper striking the L’s and S’s in the shape of hearts and flowers, and there’s a smile on his face that progresses into an angry frown as he gets more and more confused.
And it shouldn’t be like that; he knows this. Things like this should be easy, because he’s in his element now, his eyes burning like coals into the flat screen of the monitor and his fingers punching the black squares one by one, knocking each of them cold. And it continues into a punching match; before his knows it, the keyboard is falling to the floor and he has key-shaped bruises lining his palms.
He leaves the mess, flops on his bed and dreams in pixels, with him and Sergey swimming among the computer’s airwaves.
**
It starts as a giggle, and quickly progresses into a laughing fit that lasts for days, and Sergey wouldn’t ask for it any other way. They are filling each others empty palms with their fingers, lacing and grabbing and holding each other close, and laughing until he has to hold his sides steady to keep the aching contained.
This is what it should be like, he thinks. They bond through work, they love their work, and it’s how they met and how they keep going, but this has nothing to do with any of that. He made a joke about something seemingly useless, and now has Larry’s head on his shoulder; he’s laughing intimately into his neck so hard he’s drooling. Sergey doesn’t care, because this shirt is old. And maybe, because he loves him too much to shove him off.
**
It starts as a breath and progresses to a moan when Sergey’s fingers dip below Larry’s hips. It’s accidental, he thinks, though the looks in Sergey’s eyes seem to say otherwise. They’re sharp and focused; the way they look when solving a software problem or a particularly confusing question. Like the way he looked at Larry across a room, that he didn’t fully realize until now.
He’s in a safe position, lying on his side, his back against the wall and Sergey’s hands on his thighs, holding him up and pressing into the reddened skin, leaving white finger marks when he lets go.
Larry sucks in a breath and releases a moan, and Sergey smiles as his body curves against the bed.
**
It starts as a friendship, and progresses to much more over a significantly small amount of time. Heavy breathing escalates over the whirring of the computer in the corner; the monitor catches flashes of activity in the dark. Sergey’s arms creep over the bare skin of Larry’s back, fingers clasping and bringing them closer, so they breathe together.
And when it’s over, they stay in that same position; Sergey’s head brushing against Larry’s cheek and whispering goodnight. They are used to progression, and if the outcome is anything like what they have become used to, it will be worth every second.
[End.]
Author: Kaden. (xxuc_love)
Fandom and Pairing: Googleslash; Larry/Sergey.
Rating: PG-13
Prompt:6, Fluff (word: intimate)
Warnings: none.
Notes: For pomegranate_red, so she has something to read when she comes home. <33. Unbeta'd, also.
Summary: Every day you may make progress.
Progression.
All progress is based upon a universal innate desire on the part of every organism to live beyond its income.
It starts as an itching in his fingers, then progresses into a full-blown wildfire as Larry’s hands fly among the keys, fingertips rough like sandpaper striking the L’s and S’s in the shape of hearts and flowers, and there’s a smile on his face that progresses into an angry frown as he gets more and more confused.
And it shouldn’t be like that; he knows this. Things like this should be easy, because he’s in his element now, his eyes burning like coals into the flat screen of the monitor and his fingers punching the black squares one by one, knocking each of them cold. And it continues into a punching match; before his knows it, the keyboard is falling to the floor and he has key-shaped bruises lining his palms.
He leaves the mess, flops on his bed and dreams in pixels, with him and Sergey swimming among the computer’s airwaves.
**
It starts as a giggle, and quickly progresses into a laughing fit that lasts for days, and Sergey wouldn’t ask for it any other way. They are filling each others empty palms with their fingers, lacing and grabbing and holding each other close, and laughing until he has to hold his sides steady to keep the aching contained.
This is what it should be like, he thinks. They bond through work, they love their work, and it’s how they met and how they keep going, but this has nothing to do with any of that. He made a joke about something seemingly useless, and now has Larry’s head on his shoulder; he’s laughing intimately into his neck so hard he’s drooling. Sergey doesn’t care, because this shirt is old. And maybe, because he loves him too much to shove him off.
**
It starts as a breath and progresses to a moan when Sergey’s fingers dip below Larry’s hips. It’s accidental, he thinks, though the looks in Sergey’s eyes seem to say otherwise. They’re sharp and focused; the way they look when solving a software problem or a particularly confusing question. Like the way he looked at Larry across a room, that he didn’t fully realize until now.
He’s in a safe position, lying on his side, his back against the wall and Sergey’s hands on his thighs, holding him up and pressing into the reddened skin, leaving white finger marks when he lets go.
Larry sucks in a breath and releases a moan, and Sergey smiles as his body curves against the bed.
**
It starts as a friendship, and progresses to much more over a significantly small amount of time. Heavy breathing escalates over the whirring of the computer in the corner; the monitor catches flashes of activity in the dark. Sergey’s arms creep over the bare skin of Larry’s back, fingers clasping and bringing them closer, so they breathe together.
And when it’s over, they stay in that same position; Sergey’s head brushing against Larry’s cheek and whispering goodnight. They are used to progression, and if the outcome is anything like what they have become used to, it will be worth every second.
[End.]