( the terrible results of text and phone conversations. )

[oxfffffford]

[ Oh, how Oxford loves moments like these, when there's no need to play stupid love-hate moves to try and get the other to yield, when it's just fun and raw. Of course, there's a certain enjoyment to be had out of fighting each other - that's probably why they do it so often - but sometimes the game is just as much fun to play without the

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[siliconfen]

[he doesn't bother to kick the door but leans heavily against instead, pulling Oxford with him and using the combined weight of both of them falling against it to slam it shut. Keeping his back rammed against the cool, solid oak he wraps his arms tightly around Oxford's torso and draws him close on top of him with an insistent little noise of desperation. He breath is fast and heavy in between kisses as he quickly tugs at the back of Oxford's shirt before working his hands up the flat of his back with more impatience than tenderness]

[oxfffffford]

[ Oxford grins into the kiss a little, smugly, delighted by the edge of desperation in all of Cambridge's actions. He obligingly presses his hips against Cambridge's, the hands on his back sending a small, approving shiver running up his spine. His mouth slips away from Cambridge's lips eventually, pressing against his jaw, the hollow of his neck, the movements slow, exact. ]

[whatapunt]

[ the movement of Oxford's hips makes him groan with delight but Oxford's careful and slow movements are more than a little infuriating - Cambridge exhales shortly in frustration and has to bite back a sharp comment that he knew would probably tip this whole encounter the wrong way. Oxford's measured kisses are maddeningly arousing but Cambridge is beside himself with impatience as they move down his neck. The hands on Oxford's back, previously flat and attentive, turned impatient as he pointedly raked his short nails along the curved length of Oxford's spine. ]

[oxfffffford]

Patience, my dear boy, patience... [ He mutter this close to Cambridge's ear, his hand once against hovering near the other man's abdomen. His fingers slide under Cambridge's shirt, his palm moving across the expanse of skin. He knows how much Cambridge hates it when he moves slow, when he savours every agonising moment, but god knows he likes to appreciate the finer things in life - Cambridge is certainly one of these. The finest, perhaps, as far as Oxford is concerned. ]