Part Seven at long last.
Having taken a long holiday from life, I return to you with part seven. Hope you like. I've read over this too many times and am on the verge of over-editing. Let me know what you think.
I went back to previous parts and added links at the bottom to each subsequent part. So here's the link to the start: A Moment of Audacity.
Title: Impulses
Author:
bellesreves
Characters: Posner, Lockwood, Dakin, Irwin
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Everyone forsakes introspection for a bit and acts on impulse. Posner starts to catch on.
Words: ~1300
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and I'm making no money by writing about them.
The hairs on Irwin’s chest were pale and sparse. Dakin stared through them out the window, listening to the fading roar of a passing car. His breath raced in and out of him, careening out of his control even though they’d been lying still for a full minute.
The pale green sheet was tangled around his ankles. He reached to the foot of the bed and pulled so that the cool fabric covered them both. Tentatively, he straightened the hem across Irwin’s shoulders.
Fingers brushed the small of his back, and Dakin’s entire body contracted. He shivered, recalling the way Irwin’s lips never left his skin, not once the entire time they’d been clasped together on the hard, thin mattress. Irwin had wrapped his arms around Dakin’s waist and moved slowly through all of it, as though he didn’t want Dakin to break.
Dakin pulled the other man tight against him, not caring that he was clinging, only that he could feel Irwin’s thin stomach rising and falling against his own.
Irwin, still breathing quickly, too, watched the arm encircle him, felt his leg press up against Dakin’s. It’s really happening, he had to keep repeating to himself. He touched Dakin’s chin with a finger. Dakin looked up, full into his face. Irwin nearly laughed out loud when he saw his own shock and cautious awe mirrored there. Pressing his lips to Dakin’s, he murmured, “Eggs and toast.”
“What?” Dakin asked, speaking into Irwin’s mouth.
“In the morning, for breakfast.”
Posner sprang up like a frightened cat, landing on all fours on the sofa cushion farthest from Lockwood. “Why did you do that?” he demanded.
Lockwood rotated to face the thinner boy. He folded his arms lightly and looked down at his lap. “I wanted… well.” He cleared his throat. “I thought I should tell you that I like you”-Posner’s jaw dropped-“but I couldn’t think of… how.”
“You kissed me,” Posner stated blankly.
“I kissed that freckle,” Lockwood corrected, pointing. “It’s… I mean, I think it’s pretty.”
Posner’s hand flew to his cheek.
Lockwood shrugged. “It was about time to say something.” He chewed on his bottom lip, eyes dancing even in seriousness.
Posner despaired of ever regaining his voice.
Lockwood extended his thin legs down the sofa and crossed his ankles. “I hope you’re not angry,” he said, his voice low. “It just seemed like an easier way than coming up with the right words.”
“But.” Posner coughed out the word and paused, shifting his weight but not relaxing. “You’re not-” he teetered self-consciously on the edge of the word, “-homosexual. I’ve seen you with girls.” He nearly bounced on the cushions for emphasis, his voice growing frantic. “I walked in on you and Fiona’s friend at Dakin’s birthday!”
One of Lockwood’s eyes crinkled up reminiscently. “You couldn’t look me in the eyes for weeks after that,” he recalled.
Posner nodded vehemently, as though this were the only fitting reaction one might have to such a situation. “I saw you naked!”
Lockwood snorted. “You saw me naked after P.E. every day.”
“That was different.” Posner’s body was closing up, his thin limbs tangling more and more tightly against himself. “The point is, I saw you and I know you like girls.”
Lockwood licked his lips absently. “Pos, the point is, I’m not not homosexual, either.”
Posner considered this carefully. “You’re not not homosexual.”
“I don’t know what I am,” Lockwood offered. “I don’t really care. I wanted to kiss your cheek and I did.”
Silence followed. Lockwood considered each of his fingernails in turn. Finally, in a tiny, convulsive movement, Posner tipped forward onto all fours.
Taking an excruciatingly slow pace, he crept forward, one limb at a time, until he drew even with Lockwood’s socked feet. He hesitated for a fleeting moment, and continued over the length of the sofa, not meeting Lockwood’s eyes, his knees pressing into the thick navy cushions on either side of Lockwood’s lap.
Finally, Posner stopped and raised his face. Lockwood didn’t move. He felt as though if he breathed too deeply, Posner might scare off back to the far end of the sofa. Posner leaned forward and trembled, his face a few centimeters from Lockwood’s, his eyes screwed shut nervously.
Gently, Lockwood eased his mouth onto Posner’s, crossing the space between them but letting Posner start the actual kiss, the first motion with his bottom lip against Lockwood’s. Lockwood returned it, let it stretch longer than either of them expected, his hands clasped respectfully in his lap.
When Posner pulled away, he hovered, reluctant to put his weight down on Lockwood’s lap. Lockwood took advantage of the closeness of their faces to capture Posner’s gaze in his own. He studied the overlapping hues of blue in Posner’s wide irises, the dark blond curl of his eyelashes.
“Would you mind if I kissed you again?” Posner asked formally, afraid to blink.
Lockwood shook his head once to either side. “No,” he said, gentle amusement woven into his voice.
The kiss was soft again, but still longer, and Posner felt a strange unclenching sensation in his chest as Lockwood’s warm lips moved reassuringly beneath his.
When they parted, Posner sat back on his haunches. “I thought you’d be rougher,” he voiced thoughtfully, studying Lockwood’s impassive face.
Lockwood blinked. “You nearly fell to the floor when I touched your cheek,” he pointed out. “’Course I wouldn’t be rougher.”
Posner looked wistful, uncertain. His eyes took on that sad cloudiness, and Lockwood inwardly sank.
They stared at each other for a few moments without speaking. All was silent next door; the film had ended. The nearest window creaked loudly, and both boys looked over, startled.
Lockwood studied the murky sky. “The snow’s stopped…” he started to say, looking back to Posner. He trailed off, because Posner was looking down at him, a hungry spark in his round eyes. It quickly covered over with a sodden layer of diffidence that threatened to douse it completely.
Lockwood shook his head. “David,” he said more forcefully than he’d meant. Posner looked frightened, as though he expected to be chastised for looking. Lockwood sensed his friend slipping backwards, back to the safe side of the cushions. He reached out, caught Posner’s hand, and held him there. “Listen,” he directed. “If you want me, you’ve got me.” He raised his eyebrows for emphasis, since Posner looked unconvinced.
“You’re so fucking scared,” Lockwood muttered incredulously. He pulled Posner’s limp hand and laid it flat on his stomach. Posner’s eyes focused seriously on this. His fingers spread flat.
“Wouldn’t you be scared?” he asked. “Someone you’ve always known to be stronger, prettier, and wittier than you suddenly acts like he’s at your mercy?”
Pretending to consider this, Lockwood slowly shook his head. “’S not possible,” he said dismissively. “Somebody wittier than me.”
Posner granted him a wry look. “Oh, ha, ha.”
Lockwood lifted Posner’s hand and replaced it beneath the t-shirt. Posner’s pinky fell into his navel. Tilting his head to the side, Lockwood waited.
Posner shyly mirrored him.
Lockwood reached up and laid a hand gently on Posner’s cheek. Posner glanced sideways at the hand self-consciously, but leaned into the touch. “Make a move,” Lockwood said softly.
Posner nodded solemnly. He leaned down and kissed Lockwood hard, both his hands sliding up the skin of Lockwood’s chest.
Lockwood’s fingers ran over the backs of Posner’s thighs, lingering at the firm curve of his backside. Posner panted against Lockwood’s lips and Lockwood grinned. “Have you finished already?” he teased.
In response, Posner dove to Lockwood’s stomach. Following the hem of the t-shirt with his lips, he pushed the fabric up Lockwood’s chest and over his head.
Now Lockwood was panting. For the first time that evening, he looked taken aback. “Pos,” he managed to get out.
Posner was moving downward again, kissing haphazardly, drunk on skin. Lockwood whimpered as the thinner boy sucked at his hip.
Part Eight
I went back to previous parts and added links at the bottom to each subsequent part. So here's the link to the start: A Moment of Audacity.
Title: Impulses
Author:
bellesreves
Characters: Posner, Lockwood, Dakin, Irwin
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Everyone forsakes introspection for a bit and acts on impulse. Posner starts to catch on.
Words: ~1300
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and I'm making no money by writing about them.
The hairs on Irwin’s chest were pale and sparse. Dakin stared through them out the window, listening to the fading roar of a passing car. His breath raced in and out of him, careening out of his control even though they’d been lying still for a full minute.
The pale green sheet was tangled around his ankles. He reached to the foot of the bed and pulled so that the cool fabric covered them both. Tentatively, he straightened the hem across Irwin’s shoulders.
Fingers brushed the small of his back, and Dakin’s entire body contracted. He shivered, recalling the way Irwin’s lips never left his skin, not once the entire time they’d been clasped together on the hard, thin mattress. Irwin had wrapped his arms around Dakin’s waist and moved slowly through all of it, as though he didn’t want Dakin to break.
Dakin pulled the other man tight against him, not caring that he was clinging, only that he could feel Irwin’s thin stomach rising and falling against his own.
Irwin, still breathing quickly, too, watched the arm encircle him, felt his leg press up against Dakin’s. It’s really happening, he had to keep repeating to himself. He touched Dakin’s chin with a finger. Dakin looked up, full into his face. Irwin nearly laughed out loud when he saw his own shock and cautious awe mirrored there. Pressing his lips to Dakin’s, he murmured, “Eggs and toast.”
“What?” Dakin asked, speaking into Irwin’s mouth.
“In the morning, for breakfast.”
Posner sprang up like a frightened cat, landing on all fours on the sofa cushion farthest from Lockwood. “Why did you do that?” he demanded.
Lockwood rotated to face the thinner boy. He folded his arms lightly and looked down at his lap. “I wanted… well.” He cleared his throat. “I thought I should tell you that I like you”-Posner’s jaw dropped-“but I couldn’t think of… how.”
“You kissed me,” Posner stated blankly.
“I kissed that freckle,” Lockwood corrected, pointing. “It’s… I mean, I think it’s pretty.”
Posner’s hand flew to his cheek.
Lockwood shrugged. “It was about time to say something.” He chewed on his bottom lip, eyes dancing even in seriousness.
Posner despaired of ever regaining his voice.
Lockwood extended his thin legs down the sofa and crossed his ankles. “I hope you’re not angry,” he said, his voice low. “It just seemed like an easier way than coming up with the right words.”
“But.” Posner coughed out the word and paused, shifting his weight but not relaxing. “You’re not-” he teetered self-consciously on the edge of the word, “-homosexual. I’ve seen you with girls.” He nearly bounced on the cushions for emphasis, his voice growing frantic. “I walked in on you and Fiona’s friend at Dakin’s birthday!”
One of Lockwood’s eyes crinkled up reminiscently. “You couldn’t look me in the eyes for weeks after that,” he recalled.
Posner nodded vehemently, as though this were the only fitting reaction one might have to such a situation. “I saw you naked!”
Lockwood snorted. “You saw me naked after P.E. every day.”
“That was different.” Posner’s body was closing up, his thin limbs tangling more and more tightly against himself. “The point is, I saw you and I know you like girls.”
Lockwood licked his lips absently. “Pos, the point is, I’m not not homosexual, either.”
Posner considered this carefully. “You’re not not homosexual.”
“I don’t know what I am,” Lockwood offered. “I don’t really care. I wanted to kiss your cheek and I did.”
Silence followed. Lockwood considered each of his fingernails in turn. Finally, in a tiny, convulsive movement, Posner tipped forward onto all fours.
Taking an excruciatingly slow pace, he crept forward, one limb at a time, until he drew even with Lockwood’s socked feet. He hesitated for a fleeting moment, and continued over the length of the sofa, not meeting Lockwood’s eyes, his knees pressing into the thick navy cushions on either side of Lockwood’s lap.
Finally, Posner stopped and raised his face. Lockwood didn’t move. He felt as though if he breathed too deeply, Posner might scare off back to the far end of the sofa. Posner leaned forward and trembled, his face a few centimeters from Lockwood’s, his eyes screwed shut nervously.
Gently, Lockwood eased his mouth onto Posner’s, crossing the space between them but letting Posner start the actual kiss, the first motion with his bottom lip against Lockwood’s. Lockwood returned it, let it stretch longer than either of them expected, his hands clasped respectfully in his lap.
When Posner pulled away, he hovered, reluctant to put his weight down on Lockwood’s lap. Lockwood took advantage of the closeness of their faces to capture Posner’s gaze in his own. He studied the overlapping hues of blue in Posner’s wide irises, the dark blond curl of his eyelashes.
“Would you mind if I kissed you again?” Posner asked formally, afraid to blink.
Lockwood shook his head once to either side. “No,” he said, gentle amusement woven into his voice.
The kiss was soft again, but still longer, and Posner felt a strange unclenching sensation in his chest as Lockwood’s warm lips moved reassuringly beneath his.
When they parted, Posner sat back on his haunches. “I thought you’d be rougher,” he voiced thoughtfully, studying Lockwood’s impassive face.
Lockwood blinked. “You nearly fell to the floor when I touched your cheek,” he pointed out. “’Course I wouldn’t be rougher.”
Posner looked wistful, uncertain. His eyes took on that sad cloudiness, and Lockwood inwardly sank.
They stared at each other for a few moments without speaking. All was silent next door; the film had ended. The nearest window creaked loudly, and both boys looked over, startled.
Lockwood studied the murky sky. “The snow’s stopped…” he started to say, looking back to Posner. He trailed off, because Posner was looking down at him, a hungry spark in his round eyes. It quickly covered over with a sodden layer of diffidence that threatened to douse it completely.
Lockwood shook his head. “David,” he said more forcefully than he’d meant. Posner looked frightened, as though he expected to be chastised for looking. Lockwood sensed his friend slipping backwards, back to the safe side of the cushions. He reached out, caught Posner’s hand, and held him there. “Listen,” he directed. “If you want me, you’ve got me.” He raised his eyebrows for emphasis, since Posner looked unconvinced.
“You’re so fucking scared,” Lockwood muttered incredulously. He pulled Posner’s limp hand and laid it flat on his stomach. Posner’s eyes focused seriously on this. His fingers spread flat.
“Wouldn’t you be scared?” he asked. “Someone you’ve always known to be stronger, prettier, and wittier than you suddenly acts like he’s at your mercy?”
Pretending to consider this, Lockwood slowly shook his head. “’S not possible,” he said dismissively. “Somebody wittier than me.”
Posner granted him a wry look. “Oh, ha, ha.”
Lockwood lifted Posner’s hand and replaced it beneath the t-shirt. Posner’s pinky fell into his navel. Tilting his head to the side, Lockwood waited.
Posner shyly mirrored him.
Lockwood reached up and laid a hand gently on Posner’s cheek. Posner glanced sideways at the hand self-consciously, but leaned into the touch. “Make a move,” Lockwood said softly.
Posner nodded solemnly. He leaned down and kissed Lockwood hard, both his hands sliding up the skin of Lockwood’s chest.
Lockwood’s fingers ran over the backs of Posner’s thighs, lingering at the firm curve of his backside. Posner panted against Lockwood’s lips and Lockwood grinned. “Have you finished already?” he teased.
In response, Posner dove to Lockwood’s stomach. Following the hem of the t-shirt with his lips, he pushed the fabric up Lockwood’s chest and over his head.
Now Lockwood was panting. For the first time that evening, he looked taken aback. “Pos,” he managed to get out.
Posner was moving downward again, kissing haphazardly, drunk on skin. Lockwood whimpered as the thinner boy sucked at his hip.
Part Eight