I hear you like obscure pairings
Title: Floored
Rating: M. The sexy kind of M
Characters: Deskjob (referred to as Sean Engler) and DC Cartwright.
Summary: Picking up from where Projectiles (the Valentine’s Day Challenge) left off, Sean and Andy make it back to Andy’s place. And then it gets a little bit adult after that.
The scuffling jog from the pub to Andy’s house took less than ten minutes. Some minutes could possibly have been shaved off that time if it weren’t for the fumbling kisses, and the tipsy laughter that was shushed with the exaggerated care of a drunk man pretending to be sober. And then - after a moment on Andy’s doorstep with Andy trying to get the door open, and Sean doing his best to distract Andy from getting the door open - there was a giddy tumble inside the front hall, and then a heady shuffle into the living room with jackets being pushed off shoulders and arms getting caught in sleeves until it ended in a stumbling-thump with the two of them on the floor, breathless and entangled.
“What is it with country boys and the floor?” Sean asked, shifting a shoulder on the thin carpet.
“It has a lot to do with us not wanting to get glitter in our beds,” Andy replied, pulling Sean’s shoes off with slender fingers. “Also, it wins us extra manliness points.”
Sean propped himself up on one elbow, plucking Andy’s sunglasses off. He stared at the wide blue eyes, and the scraggly moustache, and the thick lower lip. “How old are you?”
Andy shrugged, pulling his shirt off, and reaching for Sean’s belt. “Old enough, I guess.”
Sean crawled backwards, away from those pale, tempting hands. “Was that meant to be reassuring?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Because all it did was set alarm bells ringing.”
Andy sat back on his heels, and sighed. “Look, I’m a detective, alright -” he reached into his pants pocket, flashed his badge, and then threw it over a naked shoulder. It hit a coffee table somewhere behind him with a clatter, and then flopped sulkily onto the thin carpet. “-so that means I’ve gone through high school, done the uni thing, been right through the training hoops, and out here for a few years. I’m well over the age of consent, okay?”
“So… mid-twenties?”
“Early mid-twenties.”
Sean looked at Andy hard. “How early?”
Andy sighed, and hauled Sean close by his belt buckle. “Remember that talking too much thin I mentioned?”
“Yeah?”
Andy placed a fine, warm palm against the smooth side of Sean’s face. “Stop talking.”
And then Andy’s parted mouth was over Sean’s lips, and Sean’s hands were some how gripping at sides and curling fingers around narrow shoulder blades. Andy had the taste and build of a man who lived on cigarettes, and one square meal a day at most. There was a blurred, glittery moment as Sean’s shirt was pulled over his head - his chin getting caught at the top button - and then Andy was over him, a forearm over Sean’s head bracing him, the thin, lean muscles down his side taut and stretched as he held his body up, as Sean’s fingers got caught in the shallow grooves of his ribcage.
Andy was a good kisser - the right kind of hot mouth, the right press of sharp teeth dragging across Sean’s tongue. The little moustache - Sean couldn’t help but wonder if the facial hair stopped there as part of Andy’s assigned mini-me status, or whether the boy just couldn’t grow it anywhere else - was a little prickly, a little bit slick where it lay flat. But the skin above the upper lip is hardly the most sensitive piece of flesh on the body, and as much as Sean wanted to focus on the kissing and the mouth and those hot little breaths that managed to escape when their mouths broke apart for just enough time for the thinnest breezes of air to come between them… as much as he wanted that, the silky ribbons of his thought process kept getting tugged on by the smooth chest that his hands seemed addicted to caressing, the clinking feelings of a hand fumbling with his belt buckle, the rough grain of the carpet biting into his back as Andy ground against him.
And then Andy was pulling away, which was bad - that was certainly a bad thing, and Sean made the kind of protesting whine that best fit the occasion. But then his pants were being dragged down over his hips and thighs, and getting bunched and confused at the knee like all pants feel the need to do. Andy had a happy little furrow across his brow as he tugged and untangled the pants, a small scattering of glitter falling to the floor as he did. He let Sean’s socked feet fall back to the floor with twin indelicate thuds, before reaching down to work at the fly of his own jeans.
“We do rock, scissors, paper to work out who’s on top?” Sean heard himself asking. “Right?”
Andy looked down at him with a genuinely amused twist to his mouth. “Haha. No.”
“Right then,” Sean replied, staring up at the ceiling as he heard Andy tear open a condom wrapper with his teeth. His body felt tingly from a mix of the alcohol in his system, insane arousal, and the strange roughness of carpet against naked skin that hadn’t been pressed into carpet for, oh, far too long, really. And then there was Andy, looking down at him from between spread knees, with tousled hair and that bright-eyed flush. A hungry look, a wanting one, and the weight of it sat hotly against Sean’s stomach.
And then Andy was arranging legs, and leaning over him, and Sean was tempted to ask “So, you done this often then?” But he bit back the question - he really didn’t care. Not so long as it was just him and Andy, and the carpet as a silent witness to those hot looks and that hungry mouth.
There was a blunt press against a place that wasn’t used to it. That’s a cock, Sean’s brain supplied, and now you’re fucked. Sean laughed softly at that, a river-water sound cut short by a dull press and a hot stretch, and then Sean’s eyes were rolling to the back of his head and his head was slamming back into the floor and something that was noticeably similar to a long, low moan was escaping from between parted teeth.
Andy pressed a kiss against the exposed stretch of neck and jaw. And then pressed an open mouth against it as his hips eased forward and forward and Sean felt his body arch and struggle and adjust. Andy licked a long stripe, from collar bone to jaw and as his hips finally stilled - so close, practically hilted - Sean let out a shaky breath that he hadn’t known he was holding. Andy licked that line of skin again, and settled himself over Sean - resting on elbows and forearms, knees hard on the carpet and his feet braced against something that was lost in the gloom of the room. Possibly a couch. His next thrust was cautious and nearly gentle, and then the next one a little more confident but still considerate. And then it was firm and rhythmic and breathtaking in a way that was only partly due to the body pushing down and up against Sean’s chest and was a little more to do with nerve endings that were falling in love with the confusing fire of lust and cock and alcohol that was setting them alight.
A twinge in his own cock made Sean aware of his impatient erection. Eyes closed, feeling the pinpricking of sweat across his chest and down his arms, Sean blindly reached between the fall and press of Andy’s body and the rocking rise of his own to grab at the hot neediness that was somehow tied to that hot little core inside him. He pumped his grip on it, struggling to find an accompanying rhythm amongst the chorus or thrusts and pants and hands and mouths and those sexy bruises and the scrape of fingernails and he was biting into his bottom lip with his eyes closed and his hair damp with sweat and nearly drowning in it.
“Ahh,” Andy said. “Ngh. You look good. Like that.”
Sean laughed, high on a number of things and a single other person. “No talking” he said teasingly between thrusts that complicated the rhythm of his breathing.
“Twat,” Andy muttered, before pressing his mouth back against Sean’s own. It was a distracted kiss, the body doing too much for the mouth to contain any kind of delicate arts. But it was hot, and wet, and Sean was more than happy to do most of the work in that department - to grasp at the damp skin of Andy’s neck with one hand while the other was on his cock, working it up and down in a rhythm that sometimes managed to sync up with Andy’s thrusts, but often didn’t because it was sex, and they were both a little drunk, and Andy’s breathing was getting hard and ragged, and his thrusts were quickly becoming the same.
Sean was rocking his hips, managing to meet the hard angles of Andy’s cock as a new, frantic pace was set. Andy buried his face against the skin where neck became shoulder, his mouth open against a collarbone and his fingers gripping the soft skin at Sean’s waist - a little guiding, a little bruising, a little desperate. Sean felt his shoulder blades burn uncomfortably against that damn carpet, but the noises coming out of Andy’s throat, the hot breaths being panted against his skin and the frantic pace of a hand on his cock that was somehow his own and that slap, slap, slap of skin on skin on skin and oh Jesus it was good. All that goodness pulling him away from the asymmetrical raw spots on the inelegant curve of his shoulder blades.
And then Andy was making tight, uncontrolled noises and biting down on Sean’s shoulder with those sharp, young teeth. His cock was slamming into Sean, his hips desperate in their mindless thrusting and the press and press of that lean body above him and his own thighs trapped between them was pushing the air out of Sean’s lungs in a way that was harsh and brutal, but addictive and enticing and Sean’s back was arching of it’s own accord, spine stretching and fingers digging into the small of Andy’s back as something wet and so hot that it nearly burned spilled across his stomach, sliding across sweat and sticking against skin sparse with hair.
Andy panted against Sean’s shoulder for a long moment. Which was fine. That accounted for Sean’s conversational capacity for the moment too. And then Andy was sliding out and slipping to the side, and Sean was startled at how much air his lungs could hold when he didn’t have a twenty-something detective on top of him.
“Mnnnggh,” Andy said into the carpet. “That was. Good.”
“Yeah,” Sean replied, letting his head loll to one side, drinking Andy in. His brain was drifting into that warm and fluffy post-coital place, and his body was telling him that it was well past midnight and he should be asleep. Between the two, he was aware of several different bodily fluids drying and sticking to his skin. “How do you manly country boys clean up?”
Andy’s eyes fluttered open, and his brow furrowed in thought. “Out of tissues.” He said at last. “Shower?”
Sean set about sitting up. Glitter fell from his hair and stuck to the mess on his stomach as he did. He stared at it, enraptured, only barely registering the sounds of Andy snapping off the condom and tying the end. “Definitely shower.”
Rating: M. The sexy kind of M
Characters: Deskjob (referred to as Sean Engler) and DC Cartwright.
Summary: Picking up from where Projectiles (the Valentine’s Day Challenge) left off, Sean and Andy make it back to Andy’s place. And then it gets a little bit adult after that.
The scuffling jog from the pub to Andy’s house took less than ten minutes. Some minutes could possibly have been shaved off that time if it weren’t for the fumbling kisses, and the tipsy laughter that was shushed with the exaggerated care of a drunk man pretending to be sober. And then - after a moment on Andy’s doorstep with Andy trying to get the door open, and Sean doing his best to distract Andy from getting the door open - there was a giddy tumble inside the front hall, and then a heady shuffle into the living room with jackets being pushed off shoulders and arms getting caught in sleeves until it ended in a stumbling-thump with the two of them on the floor, breathless and entangled.
“What is it with country boys and the floor?” Sean asked, shifting a shoulder on the thin carpet.
“It has a lot to do with us not wanting to get glitter in our beds,” Andy replied, pulling Sean’s shoes off with slender fingers. “Also, it wins us extra manliness points.”
Sean propped himself up on one elbow, plucking Andy’s sunglasses off. He stared at the wide blue eyes, and the scraggly moustache, and the thick lower lip. “How old are you?”
Andy shrugged, pulling his shirt off, and reaching for Sean’s belt. “Old enough, I guess.”
Sean crawled backwards, away from those pale, tempting hands. “Was that meant to be reassuring?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Because all it did was set alarm bells ringing.”
Andy sat back on his heels, and sighed. “Look, I’m a detective, alright -” he reached into his pants pocket, flashed his badge, and then threw it over a naked shoulder. It hit a coffee table somewhere behind him with a clatter, and then flopped sulkily onto the thin carpet. “-so that means I’ve gone through high school, done the uni thing, been right through the training hoops, and out here for a few years. I’m well over the age of consent, okay?”
“So… mid-twenties?”
“Early mid-twenties.”
Sean looked at Andy hard. “How early?”
Andy sighed, and hauled Sean close by his belt buckle. “Remember that talking too much thin I mentioned?”
“Yeah?”
Andy placed a fine, warm palm against the smooth side of Sean’s face. “Stop talking.”
And then Andy’s parted mouth was over Sean’s lips, and Sean’s hands were some how gripping at sides and curling fingers around narrow shoulder blades. Andy had the taste and build of a man who lived on cigarettes, and one square meal a day at most. There was a blurred, glittery moment as Sean’s shirt was pulled over his head - his chin getting caught at the top button - and then Andy was over him, a forearm over Sean’s head bracing him, the thin, lean muscles down his side taut and stretched as he held his body up, as Sean’s fingers got caught in the shallow grooves of his ribcage.
Andy was a good kisser - the right kind of hot mouth, the right press of sharp teeth dragging across Sean’s tongue. The little moustache - Sean couldn’t help but wonder if the facial hair stopped there as part of Andy’s assigned mini-me status, or whether the boy just couldn’t grow it anywhere else - was a little prickly, a little bit slick where it lay flat. But the skin above the upper lip is hardly the most sensitive piece of flesh on the body, and as much as Sean wanted to focus on the kissing and the mouth and those hot little breaths that managed to escape when their mouths broke apart for just enough time for the thinnest breezes of air to come between them… as much as he wanted that, the silky ribbons of his thought process kept getting tugged on by the smooth chest that his hands seemed addicted to caressing, the clinking feelings of a hand fumbling with his belt buckle, the rough grain of the carpet biting into his back as Andy ground against him.
And then Andy was pulling away, which was bad - that was certainly a bad thing, and Sean made the kind of protesting whine that best fit the occasion. But then his pants were being dragged down over his hips and thighs, and getting bunched and confused at the knee like all pants feel the need to do. Andy had a happy little furrow across his brow as he tugged and untangled the pants, a small scattering of glitter falling to the floor as he did. He let Sean’s socked feet fall back to the floor with twin indelicate thuds, before reaching down to work at the fly of his own jeans.
“We do rock, scissors, paper to work out who’s on top?” Sean heard himself asking. “Right?”
Andy looked down at him with a genuinely amused twist to his mouth. “Haha. No.”
“Right then,” Sean replied, staring up at the ceiling as he heard Andy tear open a condom wrapper with his teeth. His body felt tingly from a mix of the alcohol in his system, insane arousal, and the strange roughness of carpet against naked skin that hadn’t been pressed into carpet for, oh, far too long, really. And then there was Andy, looking down at him from between spread knees, with tousled hair and that bright-eyed flush. A hungry look, a wanting one, and the weight of it sat hotly against Sean’s stomach.
And then Andy was arranging legs, and leaning over him, and Sean was tempted to ask “So, you done this often then?” But he bit back the question - he really didn’t care. Not so long as it was just him and Andy, and the carpet as a silent witness to those hot looks and that hungry mouth.
There was a blunt press against a place that wasn’t used to it. That’s a cock, Sean’s brain supplied, and now you’re fucked. Sean laughed softly at that, a river-water sound cut short by a dull press and a hot stretch, and then Sean’s eyes were rolling to the back of his head and his head was slamming back into the floor and something that was noticeably similar to a long, low moan was escaping from between parted teeth.
Andy pressed a kiss against the exposed stretch of neck and jaw. And then pressed an open mouth against it as his hips eased forward and forward and Sean felt his body arch and struggle and adjust. Andy licked a long stripe, from collar bone to jaw and as his hips finally stilled - so close, practically hilted - Sean let out a shaky breath that he hadn’t known he was holding. Andy licked that line of skin again, and settled himself over Sean - resting on elbows and forearms, knees hard on the carpet and his feet braced against something that was lost in the gloom of the room. Possibly a couch. His next thrust was cautious and nearly gentle, and then the next one a little more confident but still considerate. And then it was firm and rhythmic and breathtaking in a way that was only partly due to the body pushing down and up against Sean’s chest and was a little more to do with nerve endings that were falling in love with the confusing fire of lust and cock and alcohol that was setting them alight.
A twinge in his own cock made Sean aware of his impatient erection. Eyes closed, feeling the pinpricking of sweat across his chest and down his arms, Sean blindly reached between the fall and press of Andy’s body and the rocking rise of his own to grab at the hot neediness that was somehow tied to that hot little core inside him. He pumped his grip on it, struggling to find an accompanying rhythm amongst the chorus or thrusts and pants and hands and mouths and those sexy bruises and the scrape of fingernails and he was biting into his bottom lip with his eyes closed and his hair damp with sweat and nearly drowning in it.
“Ahh,” Andy said. “Ngh. You look good. Like that.”
Sean laughed, high on a number of things and a single other person. “No talking” he said teasingly between thrusts that complicated the rhythm of his breathing.
“Twat,” Andy muttered, before pressing his mouth back against Sean’s own. It was a distracted kiss, the body doing too much for the mouth to contain any kind of delicate arts. But it was hot, and wet, and Sean was more than happy to do most of the work in that department - to grasp at the damp skin of Andy’s neck with one hand while the other was on his cock, working it up and down in a rhythm that sometimes managed to sync up with Andy’s thrusts, but often didn’t because it was sex, and they were both a little drunk, and Andy’s breathing was getting hard and ragged, and his thrusts were quickly becoming the same.
Sean was rocking his hips, managing to meet the hard angles of Andy’s cock as a new, frantic pace was set. Andy buried his face against the skin where neck became shoulder, his mouth open against a collarbone and his fingers gripping the soft skin at Sean’s waist - a little guiding, a little bruising, a little desperate. Sean felt his shoulder blades burn uncomfortably against that damn carpet, but the noises coming out of Andy’s throat, the hot breaths being panted against his skin and the frantic pace of a hand on his cock that was somehow his own and that slap, slap, slap of skin on skin on skin and oh Jesus it was good. All that goodness pulling him away from the asymmetrical raw spots on the inelegant curve of his shoulder blades.
And then Andy was making tight, uncontrolled noises and biting down on Sean’s shoulder with those sharp, young teeth. His cock was slamming into Sean, his hips desperate in their mindless thrusting and the press and press of that lean body above him and his own thighs trapped between them was pushing the air out of Sean’s lungs in a way that was harsh and brutal, but addictive and enticing and Sean’s back was arching of it’s own accord, spine stretching and fingers digging into the small of Andy’s back as something wet and so hot that it nearly burned spilled across his stomach, sliding across sweat and sticking against skin sparse with hair.
Andy panted against Sean’s shoulder for a long moment. Which was fine. That accounted for Sean’s conversational capacity for the moment too. And then Andy was sliding out and slipping to the side, and Sean was startled at how much air his lungs could hold when he didn’t have a twenty-something detective on top of him.
“Mnnnggh,” Andy said into the carpet. “That was. Good.”
“Yeah,” Sean replied, letting his head loll to one side, drinking Andy in. His brain was drifting into that warm and fluffy post-coital place, and his body was telling him that it was well past midnight and he should be asleep. Between the two, he was aware of several different bodily fluids drying and sticking to his skin. “How do you manly country boys clean up?”
Andy’s eyes fluttered open, and his brow furrowed in thought. “Out of tissues.” He said at last. “Shower?”
Sean set about sitting up. Glitter fell from his hair and stuck to the mess on his stomach as he did. He stared at it, enraptured, only barely registering the sounds of Andy snapping off the condom and tying the end. “Definitely shower.”