It’s like tasting Charles’ heart beating, his thighs clenching tight around Erik’s shoulders, and his own cock is dripping onto the covers, hard and begging for a touch he doesn’t want just yet. He reaches up to tangle his hand with Charles’, and their fingers catch and lock together as the human cries out aloud, unable to hold it in; Erik’s tongue strokes the long line of the vein along the underside, traces the join where Charles’ foreskin meets the rest of him, and ignores it when Charles tries to pull him away, sucks harder through the sudden flood as Charles comes, shaking and panting - “Erik! Oh, oh - ” - and keeps licking at the dribbling aftershocks until Charles really is too sensitive and pulls him away more forcefully, up to his mouth for a kiss.
“Erik,” and his mouth must taste bitterly of Charles’ come, but the kiss is no less fervent for it, sloppy and wet as the other man regains a little of the control stripped from him by his orgasm. “What do you want?” Charles asks, between kisses, his breath still unsteady, and when Erik guides his hand to his own cock where it’s desperate for attention Charles is happy to oblige, the first stroke shocking an embarrassingly loud moan from Erik that only gets louder when Charles pushes him over onto his back and shuffles backward on the bed to return the favour.
XXV
Charles sticks their share of the photographs they took to the refrigerator door, which is apparently the traditional spot; it makes getting the milk out in the morning a longer affair, because Erik always pauses to trace a finger over the laughter on Charles’ face, the smugness on Raven’s. His favourite photo is the one where Raven has pretended to swoon across their laps and Charles is grinning into Erik’s neck, face half-hidden but luminous nonetheless.
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timeasmymeasure
FILL: Everyday Love in Stockholm 131/?
Date: 2012-01-25 11:46 pm (UTC)“Erik,” and his mouth must taste bitterly of Charles’ come, but the kiss is no less fervent for it, sloppy and wet as the other man regains a little of the control stripped from him by his orgasm. “What do you want?” Charles asks, between kisses, his breath still unsteady, and when Erik guides his hand to his own cock where it’s desperate for attention Charles is happy to oblige, the first stroke shocking an embarrassingly loud moan from Erik that only gets louder when Charles pushes him over onto his back and shuffles backward on the bed to return the favour.
Charles sticks their share of the photographs they took to the refrigerator door, which is apparently the traditional spot; it makes getting the milk out in the morning a longer affair, because Erik always pauses to trace a finger over the laughter on Charles’ face, the smugness on Raven’s. His favourite photo is the one where Raven has pretended to swoon across their laps and Charles is grinning into Erik’s neck, face half-hidden but luminous nonetheless.