...and part two of the new fic
Title: Turn (In Love With The Way You Make Me Wait) [part two of two] [part one here]
Rating: NC-17; see warnings.
Warnings: established consensual D/s relationship, explicit sex, non-explicit mention of past non-con, collars, absolute trust, tiny bit of breathplay (basically, the general warnings for this series, plus a couple of things)
Word Count: 11,943 [total]; 5,277 [this part]
Disclaimers: boys are not mine, only doing this out of love. Title from Eve 6’s “Hokis”.
Summary: In which some fantasies get fulfilled. This is the missing story from the Epic James/Michael Universe of Porn and Emotional Healing, the one that I’d had half-done for literally months; for reference, it fits in between Need and Touch.
The glow from the lamps, perched peacefully on their bedside tables, wandered out into the disarrayed sheets. Poured light across wrinkled cotton and pale skin. Picked out all the highlights in unruly hair, and then met the dark line of encircling leather, and let itself be absorbed.
James licked his lips, waiting; Michael asked, softly, “You were…you were enjoying yourself, earlier, right? You liked me being more…forceful, you said,” and got another prompt nod. Confirmation. Not only about the question, but about the fact that James could hear him. Good.
“All right. Hands above your head, on the pillow. No moving, unless I give you an order. No arguing, either, when I compliment you. And tell me if anything’s worrying you, or hurting you, at all. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Interesting. “You can still talk?”
“I thought you wanted me to answer. Sir.”
“I do. I just thought-you surprised me. It’s fine. Yes, I want you to answer, if I ask you questions. If you can. If not, you can nod. As long as you let me know you’ve understood. Okay?”
“Yes, sir. Can I ask you about something, though?”
“Of course.”
“You’re not…you were right, earlier, about how many times it’s been already, and I…I don’t mind if it’s you, but can we not do the thing you sometimes like to do with me and the vibrator? Please.”
“We won’t, then. Not tonight. And thank you for asking.” He hadn’t been planning on that, anyway; he’d considered it, briefly, much earlier, and discarded the idea. But he was glad James had felt secure enough to bring it up. That meant something. It meant a lot, in fact.
“Well, you did say I should. And you kind of implied I wouldn’t be able to talk, later…”
“Yes, I did. Anything else? While we’re here?”
“Not that I can think of, no. Sir.”
“Good.” He sat there next to James, on the bed, surrounded by the crisply bright scent of impending rain and the cozy radiance of the hotel room, and looked into blue eyes, and touched one fingertip to the elegant line of that throat, landing on a near-invisible cluster of freckles just above the collar, faint as distant stars.
James looked up, back at him, and didn’t move, but just like that, the atmosphere in the room changed. Shifted. Grew hotter.
Michael trailed his finger to the left, over delicate skin, and found the next small grouping of freckles, waiting for his explorations. Let the silence build, for a minute. Watched the rise and fall of James’s chest, more rapid now, but not out of anything resembling concern.
“I do like your mouth. I was enjoying that, earlier, too. In fact, I think we should go back to that-” And then, as James started to move, “No. Stay here. I didn’t tell you to get up, did I?”
James blinked, expression somewhere between bewilderment and sudden anxiety; Michael could guess where both of those were coming from, and tapped fingers against the closest cheek, not quite a reprimand.
“Stop that. You didn’t do anything wrong; my fault for not being clear. I want you to stay on the bed. I want you like this, James.”
James needed a second, but then the eyes lit up: comprehension. Michael grinned, mostly because he couldn’t help it. Because the anxiety had vanished, from that gaze, replaced by excitement.
He got into position, too. Kneeling, over James. Who licked his lips, one more time, and then, cooperatively, opened his mouth before Michael could instruct him to do exactly that.
“Feeling eager, are you?” He didn’t give James time to answer. Just pushed forward, feeling the wet heat of those glorious lips closing around him.
In this position, James couldn’t move, much; couldn’t protest, or pull back, when Michael thrust harder, down into his throat, making James take all of him in. Fucking that beautiful mouth, feeling James struggle to accommodate him, helplessly, but clearly wanting more; Michael felt each stroke of that tongue, each moment of pressure when James tried to suck and lick and pull him in deeper. If James wanted that, he was more than happy to oblige, he decided. More forceful, then.
James gasped. Tried to breathe; couldn’t, not well. Michael pulled back, just far enough to let him have air, and then pushed in again, making James choke around his cock, messy and slick and uncontrolled, now, tears welling up in those eyes when Michael thrust all the way into his throat, trembling everywhere now. But he moaned, the sound ragged and needy and despairing, as if it’d come from someplace deep and hungry inside, when Michael paused to let him catch a vital breath of air again.
“So damn gorgeous,” Michael told him, softly, “like this. All mine. Coming apart, letting me watch you, everything, so perfect, for me,” and James squeezed his eyes shut, the tears escaping down those cheeks, but didn’t argue. Progress, maybe. At least James had remembered that rule, and wasn’t going to disagree out loud. Eventually, James might even believe him, but for now, a step forward. A small one, perhaps, but a step.
He waited, cock resting just inside those parted lips, even though his entire body was shouting at him to keep going, to take James right now, to make James moan for him, that extraordinary sound, one more time.
James opened his eyes, very slowly. Glanced up, at Michael, above him. Then back down. Then, eyes, still shut, licked the tip of Michael’s cock, very deliberately, tongue swiping through the stickiness that’d begun collecting there in anticipation.
Michael shut his eyes, too, because he had to; fought with himself, for an excruciating minute, and finally figured out how to redirect all his own desperation into control. James needed that, from him. He could do that. Really. He could.
“You like this, too, don’t you? Me on top of you, so you can’t move, so you just have to take this, to let me fuck you?” James moaned again, barely audible but completely involuntary, abandoned, wanton, the sound of absolute desire, now.
“You’d let me do anything I wanted, wouldn’t you? If I wanted to come, like this, right now, all over you?” To make the point, he slid his cock across those parted lips, pink and slack and glistening with wetness, from that mouth, from tears, from himself, already so close.
James was shaking, head to toe, eyes still closed; Michael almost requested that he open them and watch, but thought about compromises, about what James needed, and didn’t. Not yet.
“We’re not doing that, though. Well…not this time. Maybe next time.” He hadn’t expected quite so dramatic a response, but James had asked him to be more forceful, and apparently that led to interesting results. Things to remember, in the future. Definitely.
“Right now, this is about you. And me taking care of you.” When he moved, getting ready to change positions, James whimpered, as if instantly missing his presence. “Shh,” Michael said, and put a hand on his throat, lightly, no pressure at all, but knowing that James would feel the weight of it, over the collar. “You’re fine. I’m right here. I love you.” And felt the newborn apprehension ease, at the touch, at the sound of his voice.
“You really are amazing. I know you don’t think so, but you are. So I’m going to show you how much I appreciate you, all right?” James did open his eyes, at that, looking surprised; Michael couldn’t help smiling. “Still here?”
James swallowed. Winced, slightly; Michael made a mental note about how hard to push in that situation, next time. “Sorry. I-you don’t have to talk if you-”
“It’s fine. I’m wonderful. You don’t have to worry. Sir.”
Michael shook his head, said, “I fucking love you,” and then leaned down and did what he’d been planning to do and took James’s cock, achingly hard and slick at the tip with the inadvertent evidence of desire, into his own mouth.
James tried to gasp and to hold back the sound and to scream his name, all at once, and Michael licked all the way along that length, base to tip, and James shuddered, hips lifting off the bed. Perfect.
Outside, out in the night, the air changed, as well. Pressure shifts, like the sky gathering itself up for release. The morning storm, blowing back in. The promise of ozone and water in the sky. The world wanted to explode with them, too.
They didn’t do this enough, either. He knew how much James liked other things, of course, being spanked, over the bed, or the black leather of paddles warming his skin, and the sweet shock of pain and pleasure. And he liked that, too. Wanted all of it. But there were other ways to pull James over that edge, and right now he needed to get them there like this, just his hands and mouth and himself, no toys, no impersonal assistance, only the two of them, skin against skin, in bed, with the scent of imminent rain soaking into every drop of the air.
He dipped his tongue into that tantalizing slit, tasting all the moisture there. James made a noise that was practically a sob, and the hips jerked upward again. Michael pressed fingernails into the delicate inside of one pale thigh, not quite hard enough to hurt, and James shivered, but quieted at the reminder, complying.
“Good,” Michael told him, and went back to licking, stroking, caressing, every too-sensitive centimeter of skin, making James whimper and cry out for him, pausing when he felt James go abruptly rigid, hovering on the brink of the supernova. He waited, while that brightness receded enough to be just out of reach, for the moment. And then did it again.
After the third last-moment denial, James wasn’t trying to move, anymore, just lying collapsed into the embrace of the sheets, breath coming in broken tiny pants. Michael stopped touching him, for a minute; stopped everything, until James whispered his name, the syllables falling out unguarded and unrestrained, scraping past bitten lips.
“Please…”
“Please what? Tell me what you want.” That might be asking too much, but James did seem, rather astonishingly, to have held onto speech, or at least a few words, for now.
“Please let me-I have to-I can’t-you said I should tell you if-”
“Am I hurting you?”
“No…”
“Close, though? Do you want me to let you come? Now?”
“I don’t know…yes. Please. If you want me to. Sir.”
Michael breathed in, leaned over, kissed him, lightly. James opened his mouth, and kissed back, a little distant, dreamlike.
“You said I could-that you would be all right if I wanted to be inside you. One more time, tonight. Is that still okay?”
“Yes.”
“Then…legs apart. More than that. You can come when I say you can, all right?”
James just nodded, eyes closed, and the legs fell further open, inviting, across the bed. Michael dug fingernails into his own palm, fought for self-control, won, and hoped frantically that the minimum of prep he’d managed, fingers and lube slipping into that malleable space, would be enough.
James exhaled, as if letting go of all the tension in the world, when Michael entered him; they fit together easily, too easily, because James, despite wanting him now, was still stretched and loose and even a little sore, he thought, from earlier, and Michael almost came on the spot, when he inched forward and James gasped, clenched around him, and then turned his head and buried his face against Michael’s neck, shaking.
“James?”
A small headshake; waves of hair, damp with sweat, danced against his skin.
“James, I want you to look at me. Please.”
He could feel James wanting to resist that command, wanting to stay hidden, that deeply submissive impulse demanding shyness and subordination, but Michael wasn’t going to let that happen. James might be his, unquestionably, entirely, but the other side of that was true, too: he belonged to James, equally as much, every piece of him, everything inside that lit up when James smiled, or touched him, or said his name.
And this had to be about both of them, together. Because it was.
He could make it a little easier, though. “I am giving you an order, James. Remember? You agreed to that. Eyes on me. Now.”
He felt James breathing, in and out, warmth ghosting along his skin; he hoped that’d been enough, but he could say it again, if James needed the support of the command.
But the reminder must’ve worked, because James stopped clinging to him. Settled back down into the bed. Opened those eyes, still wet at the corners but all blue and black like the searing fire of something elemental, superheated and pure. And found Michael’s gaze with his own.
“Oh, my god,” Michael breathed, unthinkingly, not even processing the words before they spilled out, “you’re fucking beautiful, James, you have no idea,” and James bit his lip, as if holding back some sort of startled response, but then gave up on self-containment and laughed, once, small and bright and tentative and amazed, and Michael caught himself blinking, too, then, as the world blurred, momentarily, into a golden haze.
Once he could see again, he slid two fingers up, carefully, to that tantalizingly decorated throat. James didn’t move, gazing up at him trustingly, so he walked the fingers along the line of dark leather, feeling the thickness of it, the weight that told the watching nighttime world that James was his.
Curious, still checking for any change in those eyes, he tested the fit of one finger beneath the collar, finding the flutter of that pulse against his skin. It sped up, thrumming in response.
So he curled the fingers around the edges of leather, holding on. Tugged, pulling the encircling line just a tiny bit tighter. James didn’t gasp, possibly because he couldn’t, but he did go still, wholly motionless, and shut his eyes again.
Only for a split second, this time, though; Michael had been about to let go, to stop, but James did open the eyes, before he’d even made a move in that direction, and kept looking at him, black nearly devouring the sea of blue. And didn’t object.
“More?” He released his hold, briefly, trying to give James the space to answer. “Or not?”
James hesitated. The eyelashes swept down, and then back up; James was making a decision. And, before speaking, looked right at him. Unprompted. “More.”
“Are you sure?”
And that question got a somewhat larger smile. “Yes, sir.”
“You trust me with this?”
“With everything.” No hesitation, this time. No reservations. Just those wide eyes, sparkling with all-encompassing joy like the exuberance of ocean waves, coiling up with tension, waiting to burst against welcoming shores in crashing release.
“I love you,” Michael told him, one more time, and James opened his mouth to answer and Michael put fingers back into the collar and twisted, and James ran out of room to reply, or speak, or breathe.
“Mine, James. I want you to know that. To feel that. When you’re wearing this-” Another tug, a bit tighter; James had begun moving, again, beneath him, not holding obediently still anymore, uncoordinated shuddering spasms that Michael could feel all around him.
“-and even when you aren’t, every time you think about it, every time you think you aren’t good enough or aren’t amazing or anything else, I want you to remember how this feels. So you know I want you. Always.”
James was trying to look at him, but couldn’t seem to focus, eyes abruptly very far away, someplace weightless and luminous and beyond awareness of anything except Michael’s voice, Michael’s hands, the tether that kept him present through all the craving, glimmering lifelines in the agonizingly ecstatic darkness, quivering on the exquisite edge of bliss and unable to tumble over on his own.
Michael, watching, found himself breathless as well. Breathless, and astounded, and unable to form any thoughts at all, except one. Except the knowledge of how unbelievably, wonderfully, undeservedly lucky he was: James wanted him. Trusted him, Michael, to hold onto those lifelines, to be his anchor, to bring him home.
And he could do that, for James. Could unravel him, bit by bit, when James needed to fall apart. Could hold onto him, in the face of all the endless radiance, and bring him back home. He always would.
And he was so damn grateful that he could be the one James recognized as home.
So he whispered, “I love you, and I know you need to come, so I want you to come for me, now,” and stroked his free hand across James’s aching cock, and felt James collapse into incoherence, the event horizon, the luminous fall of a singularity, space and time utterly forgotten. The gravitational pull caught him, too, enraptured, and dragged him over the brink, into sheer incandescent silence.
He could hear James breathing, after, in the stillness. Little uneven gulps of air, reassurance that he’d done everything well enough, that he’d let go and timed their release the way he’d frantically planned to, the way he’d hoped he had, even through the all the falling-star explosions. That James was here, with him, and they were both all right.
After he rediscovered his own voice, he did say, softly, “James?” and felt one more tremor run through the solid weight beneath him. Still conscious, at least mostly. Still hearing him.
“Okay. You’re okay. And I’m here. I’m holding onto you. You can relax. You don’t need to talk. Or open your eyes. Just breathe, for me, all right?”
James didn’t move, or even nod, but a little bit of the shakiness seemed to fade, in the next few inhales. Michael waited until he thought James might be able to move, and then eased himself out-which earned another twitch, a final small convulsion, instinctive reaction to renewed stimulation-and rolled over, onto his back, and gathered James up into his arms, and held him there, hands rubbing along all the scattered freckles, not hard, just trying to reaffirm the words with every other sensation, too.
“I love you. And you were-that was-that was incredible. You’re perfect. And you were so good, for me. You should know that, but if you don’t, I’ll tell you anyway. You always are.”
Out in the night, a hint of returning wind rattled the window, wistfully, as if trying to come in and help; of course even the weather cared enough to check in on James, Michael thought, and kissed the top of the fluffy-haired head, because that was the spot he could reach and he didn’t want to ask James to move.
James sighed, and curled up more closely into his hold, as if seeking comfort; Michael kissed him again. “Better?” This time he felt James nod, and the wind, having done its job, departed.
James turned his head. Pressed his lips against Michael’s shoulder, somewhere between a question and a kiss.
“I’m fine, too. I’m happy. You can take as long as you need. I’ll keep holding you, okay?”
One last nod; but then James surprised him. Of course; James could always surprise him. “You…”
“You’re-wait, you can-me what?” Not exactly eloquent, but he’d not been expecting the return of that endearingly fuzzy-textured voice any time soon, and he didn’t have any mental reserves left for sophisticated dialogue, in between all the fatigue and the lingering afterglow. “James? What about me?”
“You said you were happy…”
“I am. You don’t need to talk, you know. Not if you don’t feel up to it, yet.”
“I know…wanted to tell you, though. Me too. Happy.”
Michael laughed. Moved to kiss that spot again, and found James looking up at him, clearly with the same intent, so their lips met, instead, soft and undemanding and almost innocent in all the gentleness. “I love you. Please just relax, though, all right? For now.”
“Love you. I’m fine. Tired, though…”
“Then rest. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”
“Yes, sir…” James put his head back down on Michael’s shoulder. Started to say something else, shook his head, and then just settled into place there, while the heavy peacefulness of the aftermath, the lull of the moments before the approaching storm, drifted in to surround them.
They ended up staying like that for longer than Michael’d meant to; he did want to get them into the shower, and James, who had to be exhausted, should probably eat something. But the calmness was seductive, and the bed was comfortably affectionate, and James needed to be held.
That thought provoked a few others, though, wandering in like the rainclouds, overhead. Potentially as ominous, too.
“James?”
“Mmm…”
“Feel up to talking, yet?”
“I love you.”
“Love you. I have to ask you something. And I know you’re going to tell me I’m being stupid, but I want you to answer me anyway.”
“All right…”
“I haven’t-you’ve never felt like you had to do anything, with me, that you didn’t want to do, right? Or that’s made you uncomfortable?”
“You do remember that night about three weeks ago when you made me drink three of your martinis, in under an hour, to prove that I appreciated your bartending skills…”
“I’m surprised you remember that night. And you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do.” James wriggled around, in his arms. Set one hand on Michael’s chest, as a cushion, and then propped his chin on it, and studied Michael’s face. “I’m not going to tell you you’re being stupid, because I know why you’re asking. It is a stupid question, though. We both know the answer already. And I could tell you that answer again right now, but I assume, since you did ask, you want me to actually at least pretend to think about it.”
“Yes, please.”
“Fine, then.” James did go quiet, momentarily, eyes not leaving Michael’s but a little pensive, obviously flipping through various memories, as requested. Michael waited; he was ninety-nine percent certain that he did know the answer, but there was that spiky nagging one percent of doubt, and he’d had to ask, to find out for sure.
A minute of contemplative silence went past. And then another.
Outside, the rain crashed into existence, with a sky-splitting burst of thunder. Michael flinched, mentally cursed his sudden idiotic skittishness, and tightened his arms a little more securely around James, who didn’t appear to have noticed the tactless interruptions of the weather.
A few more seconds, all of them noisily rain-filled, passed.
Michael stared at the blue eyes. Willed James to speak up. Tried to glance surreptitiously at the clock. It sat there just out of his line of sight, and mocked him with plastic imperturbability.
James was still being quiet. Too quiet; oh, god, there must be something, there had to be something, he couldn’t imagine what, too many possibilities out of everything they’d done up to now, but one of those possibilities had to be something painful, because otherwise James would’ve reassured him by now, would have said that everything was fine, and Michael’s heart had apparently decided that now would be a great time to not work properly anymore, because it felt numb, because it was one unspoken sentence away from being broken.
“James?” he got out, through lips that didn’t seem to want to belong to him any longer.
“Hmm?” James said, all wide-eyed innocence, “oh, sorry, were you still waiting for an answer, because I couldn’t come up with anything, of course not, I’m sorry, did I forget to tell you?”
“Oh you fucking evil tiny bastard,” Michael said, and then remembered how to breathe, and think, and stay alive.
James had started laughing, now. “Oh, come on, you entirely deserved that. For asking me that, and for thinking I would actually need to think about it. Of course there isn’t anything; you know that. I’m sorry, though; I suppose that was kind of mean to you. I didn’t really scare you, that badly, did I?”
“Yes!”
“Oh. Really? Oh…I am sorry, then. More sorry. I love you, and everything’s been fantastic, and no, I’ve never felt like I’ve had to say yes to anything that I didn’t want; I’ve never not been happy, with you, and I have said something, and I know you know this, the one or two times when I did feel less than sure about anything. Like with the blindfolds. Or tonight when I asked you not to use the vibrator. And you’ve always listened. So we’re good. We’re wonderful. Does that make you feel any better?”
“…yes. Yes. Thank you.”
“Also, was that a height-related insult? Because that’s just uncalled for.”
“You’re my fucking evil tiny bastard and I love you.”
“I love you, too. And I’m sorry again. I really was thinking about it, at least for a while; I wasn’t actively trying to make you worry. Well, not until I saw you attempting to have a staring contest with the clock. Then I thought, if you were going to be timing my answer, I should get to have some fun with you. I didn’t think you’d be that concerned.”
“Of course I am. I know-I mean, you-you said you could talk about it, now. Those things. But I’m never not going to be concerned.”
“Never…Can I ask you something, this time?”
“Of course. Though I’m reserving the right to give you a heart attack in return. Revenge, James. It isn’t fun.”
“Well, you can try. But I did want to know…I was thinking…I’ve never asked you this, and I probably should, though I have apologized for it, or I think I have. Have I? Because if not, then I will.”
“You realize I have absolutely no idea what you’ve just said.”
“Oh…sorry.” James nibbled on that lower lip; it was turning red, with all the abuse. Michael sighed. Freed a hand, reluctantly, and used it to poke him in the ribs. “Stop that. Just ask me whatever it is. I’ll answer you, I promise. As long as you manage to come up with a sentence that makes normal-person sense, this time.”
“No promises about the making-sense part…I was just wondering, do you ever mind? Me, I mean. All this. The things that…that make you angry, when I tell you. Me needing…a lot of reassurance, sometimes. I know you never expected-when we started all of this it was just sex, and I know you say you love me, but you never asked for any of this, you didn’t know about all my-so do you ever get, um, tired of-that?”
That final word was an obvious substitution; Michael heard the shorter word, the pronoun that James didn’t say, and for a second found himself literally shaking with rage, the white heat of it bursting through his bones and making his hands tighten themselves into fists, unbidden, with the need to do something, to find someone, that person, and commit some sort of violent and terminal act.
But James was looking at him, those spectacular eyes tentative and open and sincerely questioning, and Michael ordered his homicidally-inclined heart to calm the hell down and put both hands on James’s face, cupping those tear-marked cheeks with his palms, running his thumbs along starburst patterns of familiar freckles.
“No. I don’t. I told you once that I would always be there for you. Forever, James. I meant that. And of course I wish things were different-I wish you had never had to-I hate even knowing that someone hurt you, ever. I’d, I don’t know, invent fucking time travel and go back and fix everything for you, if I could-” James almost laughed, at that, and some of the hesitance, in the seawater eyes, dissolved.
“-and I can’t do that, but I can do this, I can listen to you if you want to tell me things, even if they make me angry, and I can hold you if you want that and I can reassure you for fucking ever if you need me to. And I’m not ever going to get tired of you, or of being here for you, if you say it’s helping even a little bit, I can do all of that, for as long as you need. And I don’t just say I love you. I do love you. You-I thought you knew that. Know that. You should know that.”
“I do.” James was smiling, and maybe crying, or not quite crying; there was a noticeable gleam in those eyes that wasn’t from the bedside lamps, but the shininess hadn’t spilled over, yet. Michael brushed one thumbtip along wet eyelashes, carefully.
“Do you?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I just had to know. Because maybe you were-I don’t know, resenting me, or not liking all the neediness, or something, you can feel both, you know, even if you love me you might-and you got your stupid question of the night, so I should get to ask mine, right?”
“You should never have to ask that one. And you don’t ever have to apologize for those things, either. Someone should. To you. But not you.”
“Well, you shouldn’t’ve needed to ask yours, either. But you did, and I did, and I love you. And you love me. So…sort of even, then? Except for the part where you called me tiny.”
“You are.”
“I am not. Only when I stand next to you.”
“Or any other normal human being. I like that you’re tiny. I can hold you. Like this.”
“Mmm…I think you’ve called me abnormal twice now, and I should want to punch you in the face, but I’m very comfortable now.”
“The first one was about your sentences, not your stature. Though the adjective still applies. You said comfortable; you are feeling all right, really?”
“Am I…you realize I’m feeling wonderful, after all of this. Tired, but wonderful.”
“I meant-you know I didn’t just mean that.”
“I know. And yes. Still wonderful. And thank you.” James tipped his head up; they lay there face to face, noses practically touching, arms around each other in the disaster they’d made of the bed, surrounded by the blissful drumbeats of the rain against the glass. James smiled, meeting his eyes; after a second, Michael found himself smiling, too.
“Can I…I think I should probably take this…” He trailed fingers along the leather; it’d warmed up along the way, basking in the heat of their skin, the intimacy, the euphoria, and it greeted the touch gladly, knowing as vividly as they did how well the night’d gone. “…off of you, now.”
James grinned. “For now.”
“For now?”
“You didn’t think, when I said you could put it on me, that I only meant this once, did you? Because I’m pretty sure we both appreciated the result.”
“Have I already told you that you’re amazing? Because you are.”
“I don’t know, I think you’re pretty amazing, yourself. You definitely have some enjoyable fantasies about me.”
“James,” Michael said, helplessly, honestly, “you are all of my fantasies,” and James laughed, the sound echoed, playfully, by the rain.
“So that’s perfect, then, because-”
“Oh, come on, no comments, please, I did mean it, and yes, I know it was a terrible line-”
“-you’re all of mine, too.”