zetes will appear in the doorway in a minute, after he's freed himself from the nest of blankets he'd constructed on their bed in which to dream about bacon. it's quite possible he's wearing one of sebastian's shirts, judging from the way the seam of the shoulders droops low and the fact that the black sleeves have been cuffed twice. his yellow boxers are doing little to keep his now chilly legs warm. this is all your fault, sebastian.
perhaps more important than his clothing, though, is the way he cups his hands over his ears, attempting to block out the sound like it may actually be causing harm. obviously, it isn't, and sebastian already knows that zetes really has nothing against the sax tunes on a good day, but he's playing a part here!!! he's committed!!! sort of. ]
Make it stop before you give me a boner. [ zetes calls over the wailing, doing his very best—and almost immediately failing—to wear a face that conveys what a disaster that would be. clearly, saxophones are too sexy. ]
[ sebastian isn't actually obliged to combat an instaboner of his own, wrought by glimpsing zetes half dressed and wearing his shirt, but it's. kind of a near thing. so he merrily accepts every ounce of blame available, especially since he is quite capable of eliminating any chilly leg concerns with his emanating aura like unto a furnace. meanwhile, since he has not been dissuaded from his incorrigibly old-fashioned taste in music in the last four years, he remains totally daunt-free, letting the particularly saxophoney part currently warbling away continue until it reaches its end, gazing at zetes with huge dark eyes, all scandalized innocence.
lalala dum dee doo, he's just going to put on another record...... and of course he has memorized precisely where to drop the needle, because. you know, they've required this precise location a lot. ]
How about now? Any errant boners cooperatively deflating?
[ zetes has stubbornly decided to keep standing there with his hands over his ears, staring sebastian and his huge, dark, beautiful eyes down with what is almost convincing exasperation minus the upward tug of his mouth. he takes some measure of satisfaction from the quick, near imperceptible once-over sebastian gives him and his striking choice of attire. he swears he doesn't actually wear sebastian's clothes just to get a rise—ha ha get it—out of him. or y'know. not only.
he makes the mistake of freeing some of the tension on his ears when sebastian moves to change the record because he's weak; his hands drop to his sides after only the first couple beats, looking at sebastian like he's been betrayed but he's honestly completely fine with it. ]
That's not fair. [ because it's not!!! even if this song pitches him straight into the depths of love and therefore his aptitude for being annoyed is crippled tenfold. ] I was trying so hard to be all irritated.
[ the eyeroll this earns is both loving and loling, so ideally that
ameliorates any possible sting. if not, perhaps it will help that
sebastian's once-overing has morphed into like five-overing during the
course of zetes' reaction. he pats the couch cushion next to him
invitingly, abandoning entirely the Lenny Bruce biography he was reading to
the nearest piece of furniture ( which is a coffee table bearing a
completed thousand piece jigsaw puzzle under glass, naturally ). ]
As a professionally irritated person, I advise you not to waste your time.
If you were really bothered you'd be trying to silver-lining it to
death right now. Like, "well, at least this compulsory hard-on gives me a
convenient place to hang laundry."
[ ...okay maybe not that, specifically, but his point
stands!! like some other things around here! damn you and your sexy
saxophone stylings, mark sandman. meanwhile sebastian's bedroom eyes are
taking over his entire face, just casually. ]
But okay, I concede your point about unfairness. [especially since
it is not as if he himself is unaffected, like. at all. ] Want me
to make it up to you?
[ yes, any and all stings, whether real or fake, have been successfully taken care of. zetes would be a fool to try and resist the endearing qualities of sebastian eyerolls, just like he'd be a fool to resist the endearing qualities of sebastian's ever strange dick jokes. zetes' face is a contortion of amusement and pure perplexity. he drags a hand through his hair while he ponders that image, fingers leaving it in one of his not uncommon States when he's done with it. ]
You say that like I can be trusted with our laundry. [ to be fair, though, he only made their whites pink once, and it might not have even been an accident. he's since learned to give the few clothing items of sebastian's that are not actually black proper respect. besides, he always uses the good-smelling detergent. ] And anyway, maybe I'm silver-lining it in my head. You don't know.
[ this as he wanders into the room, drawn by that simple pat-pat. there are a lot of silver-linings to choose from in this situation, after all. once he gets close to the couch, he wonders if he should actually sit or just stand there in front of sebastian and look down at him with his own set of bedroom eyes, heavy and expectant. he plucks at one of his folded over sleeves like there's an actual chance that it won't be discarded in what will probably be a few minutes time. ]
I think you should, yeah. [ his smile manages to be both devilish and soft. ]
[ Sebastian laughs one of his raspy, coughy laughs, inspired by both musings about laundry and the novelty of looking up at zetes, bracketing his hips with giant hands up under the ill-fitting shirt. meaning he can skim thumbs back and forth along the waistline of hilariously incongruous yellow boxers. ]
Riiight, okay. You have a point there, skipper. I'd trust you with my life [ aND HIS hEART ], but not our laundry.
[ no one, including sebastian, knows whence emerged the habit of tacking on things like buddy, and bucko, and skipper, and whatever other stock-photo-style masculine tags a person can attach, it just happened. like the tides! or sebastian's particular brand of affection, which is weird, but demonstrably coming from a place where while he doesn't usually bother with like .......tact, it's a stilted kind of tactlessness that despite its complete lack of restraint definitely isn't casual. zetes is the only person he's comfortable addressing with any level of like he isn't talking from the other side of a barbed wire fence.
meanwhile. he eyes the sleeve-plucking, gaze heated. ]
Did you silver lining with "ooh, now I can harass Sebastian with my wardrobe, or significant parts lack thereof"?
[ he may be sliding a hand down to check whether or not zetes escaped the threat of saxophone-induced boner. what, they agree he should be compensated for his suffering! ]
[ it's some kind of miracle that zetes doesn't just turn to happy putty when sebastian laughs, when his hands find familiar purchase around zetes' waist and drag along sensitive skin knowing full well what they're capable of. zetes bracelets one wrist with his fingers, if only to track the slow movement of sebastian's hand along the waistline of his boxers. ]
'Skipper' means I'm in charge, right?
[ the quirk of an eyebrow here, playing at innocent curiosity. sebastian gave him that one!!! though in all honesty, being in charge isn't really a concept that holds much weight for him, anyway. there is the fact that sebastian is particular about how he does all things ever. but perhaps more important than that, zetes has little doubt that he can place himself in sebastian's hands and have expectations met to stunning success.
the promise of which can be found in the way the hand zetes doesn't have a tender grip on slips lower, finding what is clear evidence that zetes did not, in fact, escape the thread of a saxophone-induced boner—surprising exactly no one—with a grazing palm just light enough to tantalize. zetes breathes what's either a little laugh or a sigh of short-lived relief, chin tilted up, resigned to his fate. ]
No. [ he says simply, head lolling just enough to the side that he can look at sebastian with all the fondness one person should be allowed to radiate, still somewhat distracted by the song in the background. ] I was thinking "at least now Sebastian will notice these boxers may actually be the perfect gold finch yellow," but I like yours. Maybe I'll bump that one to the top of the list.
Edited (remembers how to words ) 2017-11-11 04:48 (UTC)
[ whatever inspires the little sigh its effect on sebastian is nigh-immediate, and just as immediately visible in blown-out pupils and unconsciously licking the seam of his upper lip. he tugs zetes closer and makes room for him between parted knees, full mouth equal parts fascinated by basically everything he chooses to be like, ever, and then unrepentantly wicked. ( as if sebastian is ever anything but, but go with it. ) ]
Hey. You wanna be in charge? You got it.
[ knowing full well zetes like, really, truly does not care. he turns his hand to take the one zetes has been resting on his wrist, and pulls it down to shape over his own light, teasing grip on the .... consequences of saxophones, which is the silliest way anyone has ever referred to an erection. this, like sebastian's unrepentant sebastianness, is just something we're going to have to endure so we can get beyond and never speak of again. his expression is only barely touched by deviousness at this point anyway; mostly he's enthralled, like always, by how much he feels for zetes, how a person he's so painfully attracted to can be just as drawn to him. how the ragged edged world they live in slid the right pieces together for just the perfect, unlikely moment that was finding each other. ]
Show me what to do, sunshine.
[ which is hilarious because giving zetes orders is not actually letting him be in charge. ]
Edited (tagging from email is a DICEY PROSPECT full of FORMATTING LIES) 2017-11-14 11:05 (UTC)
[ zetes steps closer into sebastian's space with only that little encouragement, watching that tiny glimpse of tongue with an enraptured kind of focus. it's the smallest thing, but it throws his pulse off a beat, his heart jumping to reclaim a rhythm that resembles steady. if he were anyone else, he might find that to be frustrating. but he's zetes. so he loves it.
he loves, too, how easily sebastian seems to pull the breath from him, letting him take his hand and guide it to where it suddenly, urgently needs to be. sebastian is terrible and wonderful and zetes smiles as the fingers of his free hand splay over one half of sebastian's collarbone, pressing him back against the cushions and following after, kissing him as that hand wanders up along the column of his throat. ]
Sunshine? [ his laugh is breathy against sebastian's mouth. his other hand, the one now curved tightly over top of sebastian's, guides that touch down the length of his cock—to dispense however briefly with talk of saxophones!!!—and back up slow through his boxers, hips pressing forward lightly into the contact. now a groan against sebastian's lips before zetes tilts their foreheads together instead, his eyes still closed, lashes fanning over the top of his heated cheeks. ] That's not fair either.
[ not fair, but so, so far from undesirable at the moment. or any moment ever. ]
[ sebastian lets his posture easily adjust from sitting forward on the edge of the couch; his legs are long enough to keep his feet firmly planted on the floor and then some, it's just now zetes has room to brace one knee between his, if he likes. although sebastian would just as happily pull him down into his lap; he's not too particular right now.
...at least not as it pertains to that, uh. he's more than exacting elsewhere, letting zetes' hand guide his, just enjoying the feel of him in the shallow cup of his palm, simultaneously firm and pliable through the perfect shade of goldfinch yellow. ( which. it must be said sebastian hasn't noticed at all, because his priorities are all out of order!!!!!!!!1 ) ]
Oh, shit. [ sounding genuinely alarmed! ] I'm supposed to be fair, now?
[ apparently that's just too bad. he curves his free hand around the back of zetes' neck and kisses him back wet and open, a soft swipe of his tongue chasing the remnants of that groan like he can taste it and it's incomparably sweet. the touch tucked at zetes' top vertebrae slides slow down his spine all the way to the small of his back, where it curves around to stretch across a hip, sebastian's long fingers tugging at the material of his shirt. ]
[ it's truly a shame the treasured rarity of perfect gold finch yellow is lost on sebastian. zetes will definitely have to arrange his priorities properly later!!! much later.
that said, zetes is slowly forgetting the importance of these boxers, mind making the jump over into gentle exasperation over the fact that they have to exist at all, thin but not quite thin enough under the drag of their hands. the kisses, on the edge of a kind of messy sebastian seems to save exclusively for situations such as these, provide a momentary distraction, but transforming into fuel to the raging fire in a matter of seconds. ]
I'm sure I asked nicely last time. [ mumbled against sebastian's cheek as that hand spans comfortably across his hip. and speaking of last time, zetes does invite himself to sebastian's lap, bare knees digging into the cushions on either side of his hips enough to summon back an impressive collection of residuals, the memories half his and half sebastian's. and maybe he can't quite make words line up in his head as easily as he can images, but from the flicker of flushed cheeks and wandering hands and red mouths he's sure he's had to make the unfair comment here on the couch before. he definitely would have mentioned that if every sudden recollection had not smothered him with old sensation made new. his breath shakes as he straightens up, drawing back enough to peer at sebastian's in a mock accusatory fashion. curse how good you are at this every single time.
he takes back his hand from where he'd been so diligently keeping sebastian busy—he expects that to keep up, thank you!—and tugs at the collar of his sweater, hauling it over his head and tugging his hands free from the cuffed sleeves before he turns away just enough to watch it drop to the floor.
zetes is back to sebastian in a moment, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him again, smirking into it. ]
[ it's too bad sebastian's parental issues are such a raging garbage barge, because this would otherwise be the perfect place for a "please, mr. thundercloud is my father," joke. as things are he snorts and trails light fingers up zetes' ribcage instead, which is probably better. his other hand is still occupied with follow through, except left to his own devices he tugs down the waistband of perfect goldfinch yellow and yet totally inconvenient boxers enough that they're just barely clinging to anywhere resembling zetes' waist, and sebastian can get to bare skin. the curl of his palm is bigger and warmer and tighter, but his strokes are just as slow, lingering interestedly over all the places he knows make zetes shiver and get all heavy-eyed. this level of familiarity with a lover's body has never sounded particularly appealing, but like every other kind of intimacy when it's with zetes it makes his heart race. the way his brain works renders that connection infinite, a mirror looking back into itself a dozen times in spiraling heat shimmers. ]
Only when it's raining.
[ as zetes well knows, but can feel sebastian smirk back against his mouth anyway. ]
Did you say please last time?
[ maybe the couch remembers! while zetes ponders that sebastian is going to run one giant palm up the line of his spine to squeeze the back of his neck, long fingers tangling tight in his hair to encourage more kissing. ]
[ a soft gasp gets lost somewhere between their lips once skin finds skin, a sound of shocked relief at the hem of his boxers sliding low over hipbones and the sudden, whole heat of sebastian's palm. there's a shrill voice in zetes' brain demanding more speed than sebastian seems willing to offer at the moment, but the rest of him eases instinctively into the lazy pace, waiting in anticipation at the tail end of each stroke only to find sebastian's thumb grazing over sensitive spot after sensitive spot without question. and immediately, slow is good, the cadence of the song in the background matching up in a way that continues to be unfair, the mention of rain from sebastian's mouth even more so. the smoky tones of the chorus are enough to send shivers rippling over his skin alone.
a thoughtful—and somewhat indecent—mmm gets mashed against sebastian's mouth at the question. the hand mapping the arch of his back up to his neck doesn't do much for his capacity to think, but he tries to dredge up some memory of the last time while he complies with more open-mouthed kisses. the couch would probably be helpful if he were not so entangled in the here and now, but he's definitely not going to start complaining about sebastian's ability to hold him securely in the present.
and following that line of thinking, maybe what he said last time doesn't matter. ]
Please. [ he says, hands trailing down the sides of sebastian's neck, thumbs skimming over the rough beginnings of stubble. what was he saying please for again? does it matter? ] Please.
[ his fingers twist into the collar of sebastian's shirt. he pulls back just enough to find sebastian's eyes again, red mouth quirking upwards after he pulls in a few long, fumbly breaths. ]
Pleeeeease, can we take this off now?
[ they are far past the point of needing shirts, ok!!! ]
[ Sebastian’s laugh is more a helplessly smitten huff of breath than real sound, expressive brows pointing out with no words needed that taking off his shirt means a pause in his highly invested strokes, but if needs must—
He hauls it over his head one handed and may or may not drape it over the back of the couch; may because fuck checking where it landed, he has a lazy handjob to get back to. And giving all those pleases whatever they want, even if he didn’t so much have specificities in mind either so much as hearing it just gets him hot. Because of course it does; it can’t possibly have been a surprise to discover he likes the gentle control of what sensation Zetes experiences when his day to day means he can exert control over so little of his environment itself. ]
Happy now?
[ ah, but two can play at this game of asking a question that has an extremely obvious answer. In this case the answer is probably (physically) Sebastian’s ludicrously good chest and (emotionally) familiar pendant hanging down to rest next to his heart. He palms his way up from Zetes’ hips to the chest he finds ludicrously good himself, just to feel the shock of heat reflected back in his own nerve endings. ]
You’re so fucking pretty.
[ He manages to convey more to Zetes in his entirety rather than, say, just his dick, which he could also be addressing due to his eyeline dropping there as his hand finds purchase again. The other reverses its previous path down from the back of his neck to cup his ass, hazel eyes gone dark gold with desire. He has to really concentrate to stay level headed in these moments, when it’s so easy for the smallest snaking tendrils of Zetes’ arousal to wrap his in bright green lines curling around his bones like latticework, but there’s familiarity in that, too, and half of what makes it so good is that he can feel how much pleasure Zetes takes in that it’s Sebastian touching him. The contention that sex is better between two people who love each other writ large and literal.
Naturally this heightens some of Sebastian’s more immediate and therefore more carnal sensibilities, because. Again. Of course it does. Turns out being absurdly in love with the person attached to all these erogenous zones is an enormous turn on. ]
Want me to fuck you?
[ this spoken as a genuinely interested inquiry; sure, that sounds amazing to Sebastian right now, possibly right here on this couch, but he also only cares so much what they actually do, as long as it means he gets to stay wrapped up in all the shades of warmth that halo Zetes like corona radiata. ]
[ zetes will forgive him the few seconds it takes for his shirt to find somewhere more useful to be, a) because zetes knew what he was asking for and b) he's repaid for any minimal hurt with plains of bare skin to touch. one hand lingers at sebastian's neck but the other follows the chain of that pendant down over sebastian's chest, fingers sliding through soft hair on the way. the path skids to the right once his traced over the pendant, thumb seeking to rub back and forth once over a nipple. ]
So happy. [ zetes says between kisses, failing to sound teasing at all because he is just. ridiculously happy. somehow he forgets to sound anything but sincere.
and then he's just a vehicle for breathless sound that could be giddy chuckles, riding a high of sebastian brand compliments and the eager return of his hand and its slow, diligent strokes. sebastian's head dips just a little as he returns to that aching pace and zetes presses a kiss to the bridge of his nose, knowing, from previous experience, that every climb of sensation and spark of adoration bounces back at sebastian. and that knowledge gives him reason enough to lose himself wholly in the up and down of sebastian hand for a moment, clutching sebastian but doing nothing else, pushing aside any lingering fear of selfishness. there's a time for everything, and now he needs sebastian to appreciate exactly the kind of effect he can have, zetes' heart stuttering in his chest at the precise swipe of one practiced thumb.
zetes tumbles out of his daze enough to huff, amused, at the question, the hand at sebastian's neck sliding up to touch his cheek, hoping to bring sebastian's gaze back to his. ]
Do I want you to fuck me? [ curious and contemplative, the emphasis here on fuck as his brow quirks and his lashes flutter. ]
Yeah. Yeah, if you wouldn't mind, babe. [ and he can't help the way his eyes go starry under low lids. ] That sounds awfully nice.
[ said as though he were talking about a delightful cup of tea in a novelty mug or the prospect of buying his favorite laundry detergent with a half price coupon except. nothing he can think of off the top of his head actually compares. ]
[ Ah, such is the power Zetes wields that Sebastian, for a moment, is moved to stop fondling the ass he’s very fond(ling) of, in favor of placing his much bigger hand over the one tracing down his chest, and it’s all such a warm, consumptive shock he can’t breathe. All those memories in the pendant, heated ones like this laid over top and around the simpler, gentler quiet kind: Sebastian can’t sense them, but he can sense what Zetes feels in response, along with, you know, the frank appreciation of his chest, one complementing the other like apples and cinnamon. The kiss to the bridge of his nose definitively qualifies as the latter, the low noise he makes in response possibly returned giddiness, possibly far more autonomic than even laughter. Nothing feels like Zetes letting go, trusting that everything glittering out of him and soaking into Sebastian’s skin is all the reciprocation anyone could ask for.
And then some. So he’s not exactly bored watching the slow steady pendulum of his own grip; he knows what Zetes likes by now, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being at least tinily thrilled when he can feel he’s getting something especially right. Honestly, there might be some danger of not even remembering he asked a question, despite mild mounting need to know the answer, but then there’s that touch to his cheek. Their shared language, the way they center each other. Of course Zetes has all his attention immediately.
Uh. Not that he didn’t before, it’s just more in a vein of actually exchanging words now; speaking of, if you wouldn’t mind gets this face only Zetes can induce, which is painfully charmed and painfully turned on and painfully an emotion that can only be expressed as jesus jumping fuck, or whatever blasphemy Sebastian is employing today. ]
You’re an atrocity.
[ did you know that sentence and I love you so damn much have the same number of syllables? Because they do. ]
A fucking pretty atrocity. [ go on... ] Full of wiles.
[Is Zetes laughing loudly at this? Hopefully yes, because Sebastian wants the fact that he is about to stand up and more or less throw him over his shoulder to be a little bit of a surprise, at least. When they make it to the bedroom Sebastian pretty much just drops him onto the bed - carefully, but definitely still a drop - and pounces, pinning Zetes down with infinitely conscientious weight on his wrists. ]
So, if you had to make a guess - life or death, no take backsies - would you say I mind?
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[ how serious is he.
more than you'd think tbh ]
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trust me, i know what turns you on by now.
compromises and saxophones.
[ how serious is he. more than you'd think tbh!!! ]
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zetes will appear in the doorway in a minute, after he's freed himself from the nest of blankets he'd constructed on their bed in which to dream about bacon. it's quite possible he's wearing one of sebastian's shirts, judging from the way the seam of the shoulders droops low and the fact that the black sleeves have been cuffed twice. his yellow boxers are doing little to keep his now chilly legs warm. this is all your fault, sebastian.
perhaps more important than his clothing, though, is the way he cups his hands over his ears, attempting to block out the sound like it may actually be causing harm. obviously, it isn't, and sebastian already knows that zetes really has nothing against the sax tunes on a good day, but he's playing a part here!!! he's committed!!! sort of. ]
Make it stop before you give me a boner. [ zetes calls over the wailing, doing his very best—and almost immediately failing—to wear a face that conveys what a disaster that would be. clearly, saxophones are too sexy. ]
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lalala dum dee doo, he's just going to put on another record...... and of course he has memorized precisely where to drop the needle, because. you know, they've required this precise location a lot. ]
How about now? Any errant boners cooperatively deflating?
[ smooch. ]
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he makes the mistake of freeing some of the tension on his ears when sebastian moves to change the record because he's weak; his hands drop to his sides after only the first couple beats, looking at sebastian like he's been betrayed but he's honestly completely fine with it. ]
That's not fair. [ because it's not!!! even if this song pitches him straight into the depths of love and therefore his aptitude for being annoyed is crippled tenfold. ] I was trying so hard to be all irritated.
[ no, there are no boners deflating now. ]
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[ the eyeroll this earns is both loving and loling, so ideally that ameliorates any possible sting. if not, perhaps it will help that sebastian's once-overing has morphed into like five-overing during the course of zetes' reaction. he pats the couch cushion next to him invitingly, abandoning entirely the Lenny Bruce biography he was reading to the nearest piece of furniture ( which is a coffee table bearing a completed thousand piece jigsaw puzzle under glass, naturally ). ]
As a professionally irritated person, I advise you not to waste your time. If you were really bothered you'd be trying to silver-lining it to death right now. Like, "well, at least this compulsory hard-on gives me a convenient place to hang laundry."
[ ...okay maybe not that, specifically, but his point stands!! like some other things around here! damn you and your sexy saxophone stylings, mark sandman. meanwhile sebastian's bedroom eyes are taking over his entire face, just casually. ]
But okay, I concede your point about unfairness. [especially since it is not as if he himself is unaffected, like. at all. ] Want me to make it up to you?
[ that sound is crackling wickedness, yes. ]
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You say that like I can be trusted with our laundry. [ to be fair, though, he only made their whites pink once, and it might not have even been an accident. he's since learned to give the few clothing items of sebastian's that are not actually black proper respect. besides, he always uses the good-smelling detergent. ] And anyway, maybe I'm silver-lining it in my head. You don't know.
[ this as he wanders into the room, drawn by that simple pat-pat. there are a lot of silver-linings to choose from in this situation, after all. once he gets close to the couch, he wonders if he should actually sit or just stand there in front of sebastian and look down at him with his own set of bedroom eyes, heavy and expectant. he plucks at one of his folded over sleeves like there's an actual chance that it won't be discarded in what will probably be a few minutes time. ]
I think you should, yeah. [ his smile manages to be both devilish and soft. ]
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Riiight, okay. You have a point there, skipper. I'd trust you with my life [ aND HIS hEART ], but not our laundry.
[ no one, including sebastian, knows whence emerged the habit of tacking on things like buddy, and bucko, and skipper, and whatever other stock-photo-style masculine tags a person can attach, it just happened. like the tides! or sebastian's particular brand of affection, which is weird, but demonstrably coming from a place where while he doesn't usually bother with like .......tact, it's a stilted kind of tactlessness that despite its complete lack of restraint definitely isn't casual. zetes is the only person he's comfortable addressing with any level of like he isn't talking from the other side of a barbed wire fence.
meanwhile. he eyes the sleeve-plucking, gaze heated. ]
Did you silver lining with "ooh, now I can harass Sebastian with my wardrobe, or significant parts lack thereof"?
[ he may be sliding a hand down to check whether or not zetes escaped the threat of saxophone-induced boner. what, they agree he should be compensated for his suffering! ]
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'Skipper' means I'm in charge, right?
[ the quirk of an eyebrow here, playing at innocent curiosity. sebastian gave him that one!!! though in all honesty, being in charge isn't really a concept that holds much weight for him, anyway. there is the fact that sebastian is particular about how he does all things ever. but perhaps more important than that, zetes has little doubt that he can place himself in sebastian's hands and have expectations met to stunning success.
the promise of which can be found in the way the hand zetes doesn't have a tender grip on slips lower, finding what is clear evidence that zetes did not, in fact, escape the thread of a saxophone-induced boner—surprising exactly no one—with a grazing palm just light enough to tantalize. zetes breathes what's either a little laugh or a sigh of short-lived relief, chin tilted up, resigned to his fate. ]
No. [ he says simply, head lolling just enough to the side that he can look at sebastian with all the fondness one person should be allowed to radiate, still somewhat distracted by the song in the background. ] I was thinking "at least now Sebastian will notice these boxers may actually be the perfect gold finch yellow," but I like yours. Maybe I'll bump that one to the top of the list.
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[ whatever inspires the little sigh its effect on sebastian is nigh-immediate, and just as immediately visible in blown-out pupils and unconsciously licking the seam of his upper lip. he tugs zetes closer and makes room for him between parted knees, full mouth equal parts fascinated by basically everything he chooses to be like, ever, and then unrepentantly wicked. ( as if sebastian is ever anything but, but go with it. ) ]
Hey. You wanna be in charge? You got it.
[ knowing full well zetes like, really, truly does not care. he turns his hand to take the one zetes has been resting on his wrist, and pulls it down to shape over his own light, teasing grip on the .... consequences of saxophones, which is the silliest way anyone has ever referred to an erection. this, like sebastian's unrepentant sebastianness, is just something we're going to have to endure so we can get beyond and never speak of again. his expression is only barely touched by deviousness at this point anyway; mostly he's enthralled, like always, by how much he feels for zetes, how a person he's so painfully attracted to can be just as drawn to him. how the ragged edged world they live in slid the right pieces together for just the perfect, unlikely moment that was finding each other. ]
Show me what to do, sunshine.
[ which is hilarious because giving zetes orders is not actually letting him be in charge. ]
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he loves, too, how easily sebastian seems to pull the breath from him, letting him take his hand and guide it to where it suddenly, urgently needs to be. sebastian is terrible and wonderful and zetes smiles as the fingers of his free hand splay over one half of sebastian's collarbone, pressing him back against the cushions and following after, kissing him as that hand wanders up along the column of his throat. ]
Sunshine? [ his laugh is breathy against sebastian's mouth. his other hand, the one now curved tightly over top of sebastian's, guides that touch down the length of his cock—to dispense however briefly with talk of saxophones!!!—and back up slow through his boxers, hips pressing forward lightly into the contact. now a groan against sebastian's lips before zetes tilts their foreheads together instead, his eyes still closed, lashes fanning over the top of his heated cheeks. ] That's not fair either.
[ not fair, but so, so far from undesirable at the moment. or any moment ever. ]
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...at least not as it pertains to that, uh. he's more than exacting elsewhere, letting zetes' hand guide his, just enjoying the feel of him in the shallow cup of his palm, simultaneously firm and pliable through the perfect shade of goldfinch yellow. ( which. it must be said sebastian hasn't noticed at all, because his priorities are all out of order!!!!!!!!1 ) ]
Oh, shit. [ sounding genuinely alarmed! ] I'm supposed to be fair, now?
[ apparently that's just too bad. he curves his free hand around the back of zetes' neck and kisses him back wet and open, a soft swipe of his tongue chasing the remnants of that groan like he can taste it and it's incomparably sweet. the touch tucked at zetes' top vertebrae slides slow down his spine all the way to the small of his back, where it curves around to stretch across a hip, sebastian's long fingers tugging at the material of his shirt. ]
Take this off. [ a beat-- ] Sunshine.
[ oh, well. ]
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that said, zetes is slowly forgetting the importance of these boxers, mind making the jump over into gentle exasperation over the fact that they have to exist at all, thin but not quite thin enough under the drag of their hands. the kisses, on the edge of a kind of messy sebastian seems to save exclusively for situations such as these, provide a momentary distraction, but transforming into fuel to the raging fire in a matter of seconds. ]
I'm sure I asked nicely last time. [ mumbled against sebastian's cheek as that hand spans comfortably across his hip. and speaking of last time, zetes does invite himself to sebastian's lap, bare knees digging into the cushions on either side of his hips enough to summon back an impressive collection of residuals, the memories half his and half sebastian's. and maybe he can't quite make words line up in his head as easily as he can images, but from the flicker of flushed cheeks and wandering hands and red mouths he's sure he's had to make the unfair comment here on the couch before. he definitely would have mentioned that if every sudden recollection had not smothered him with old sensation made new. his breath shakes as he straightens up, drawing back enough to peer at sebastian's in a mock accusatory fashion. curse how good you are at this every single time.
he takes back his hand from where he'd been so diligently keeping sebastian busy—he expects that to keep up, thank you!—and tugs at the collar of his sweater, hauling it over his head and tugging his hands free from the cuffed sleeves before he turns away just enough to watch it drop to the floor.
zetes is back to sebastian in a moment, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him again, smirking into it. ]
Happy now, Mr. Thundercloud?
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Only when it's raining.
[ as zetes well knows, but can feel sebastian smirk back against his mouth anyway. ]
Did you say please last time?
[ maybe the couch remembers! while zetes ponders that sebastian is going to run one giant palm up the line of his spine to squeeze the back of his neck, long fingers tangling tight in his hair to encourage more kissing. ]
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a thoughtful—and somewhat indecent—mmm gets mashed against sebastian's mouth at the question. the hand mapping the arch of his back up to his neck doesn't do much for his capacity to think, but he tries to dredge up some memory of the last time while he complies with more open-mouthed kisses. the couch would probably be helpful if he were not so entangled in the here and now, but he's definitely not going to start complaining about sebastian's ability to hold him securely in the present.
and following that line of thinking, maybe what he said last time doesn't matter. ]
Please. [ he says, hands trailing down the sides of sebastian's neck, thumbs skimming over the rough beginnings of stubble. what was he saying please for again? does it matter? ] Please.
[ his fingers twist into the collar of sebastian's shirt. he pulls back just enough to find sebastian's eyes again, red mouth quirking upwards after he pulls in a few long, fumbly breaths. ]
Pleeeeease, can we take this off now?
[ they are far past the point of needing shirts, ok!!! ]
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He hauls it over his head one handed and may or may not drape it over the back of the couch; may because fuck checking where it landed, he has a lazy handjob to get back to. And giving all those pleases whatever they want, even if he didn’t so much have specificities in mind either so much as hearing it just gets him hot. Because of course it does; it can’t possibly have been a surprise to discover he likes the gentle control of what sensation Zetes experiences when his day to day means he can exert control over so little of his environment itself. ]
Happy now?
[ ah, but two can play at this game of asking a question that has an extremely obvious answer. In this case the answer is probably (physically) Sebastian’s ludicrously good chest and (emotionally) familiar pendant hanging down to rest next to his heart. He palms his way up from Zetes’ hips to the chest he finds ludicrously good himself, just to feel the shock of heat reflected back in his own nerve endings. ]
You’re so fucking pretty.
[ He manages to convey more to Zetes in his entirety rather than, say, just his dick, which he could also be addressing due to his eyeline dropping there as his hand finds purchase again. The other reverses its previous path down from the back of his neck to cup his ass, hazel eyes gone dark gold with desire. He has to really concentrate to stay level headed in these moments, when it’s so easy for the smallest snaking tendrils of Zetes’ arousal to wrap his in bright green lines curling around his bones like latticework, but there’s familiarity in that, too, and half of what makes it so good is that he can feel how much pleasure Zetes takes in that it’s Sebastian touching him. The contention that sex is better between two people who love each other writ large and literal.
Naturally this heightens some of Sebastian’s more immediate and therefore more carnal sensibilities, because. Again. Of course it does. Turns out being absurdly in love with the person attached to all these erogenous zones is an enormous turn on. ]
Want me to fuck you?
[ this spoken as a genuinely interested inquiry; sure, that sounds amazing to Sebastian right now, possibly right here on this couch, but he also only cares so much what they actually do, as long as it means he gets to stay wrapped up in all the shades of warmth that halo Zetes like corona radiata. ]
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So happy. [ zetes says between kisses, failing to sound teasing at all because he is just. ridiculously happy. somehow he forgets to sound anything but sincere.
and then he's just a vehicle for breathless sound that could be giddy chuckles, riding a high of sebastian brand compliments and the eager return of his hand and its slow, diligent strokes. sebastian's head dips just a little as he returns to that aching pace and zetes presses a kiss to the bridge of his nose, knowing, from previous experience, that every climb of sensation and spark of adoration bounces back at sebastian. and that knowledge gives him reason enough to lose himself wholly in the up and down of sebastian hand for a moment, clutching sebastian but doing nothing else, pushing aside any lingering fear of selfishness. there's a time for everything, and now he needs sebastian to appreciate exactly the kind of effect he can have, zetes' heart stuttering in his chest at the precise swipe of one practiced thumb.
zetes tumbles out of his daze enough to huff, amused, at the question, the hand at sebastian's neck sliding up to touch his cheek, hoping to bring sebastian's gaze back to his. ]
Do I want you to fuck me? [ curious and contemplative, the emphasis here on fuck as his brow quirks and his lashes flutter. ]
Yeah. Yeah, if you wouldn't mind, babe. [ and he can't help the way his eyes go starry under low lids. ] That sounds awfully nice.
[ said as though he were talking about a delightful cup of tea in a novelty mug or the prospect of buying his favorite laundry detergent with a half price coupon except. nothing he can think of off the top of his head actually compares. ]
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[ Ah, such is the power Zetes wields that Sebastian, for a moment, is moved to stop fondling the ass he’s very fond(ling) of, in favor of placing his much bigger hand over the one tracing down his chest, and it’s all such a warm, consumptive shock he can’t breathe. All those memories in the pendant, heated ones like this laid over top and around the simpler, gentler quiet kind: Sebastian can’t sense them, but he can sense what Zetes feels in response, along with, you know, the frank appreciation of his chest, one complementing the other like apples and cinnamon. The kiss to the bridge of his nose definitively qualifies as the latter, the low noise he makes in response possibly returned giddiness, possibly far more autonomic than even laughter. Nothing feels like Zetes letting go, trusting that everything glittering out of him and soaking into Sebastian’s skin is all the reciprocation anyone could ask for.
And then some. So he’s not exactly bored watching the slow steady pendulum of his own grip; he knows what Zetes likes by now, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being at least tinily thrilled when he can feel he’s getting something especially right. Honestly, there might be some danger of not even remembering he asked a question, despite mild mounting need to know the answer, but then there’s that touch to his cheek. Their shared language, the way they center each other. Of course Zetes has all his attention immediately.
Uh. Not that he didn’t before, it’s just more in a vein of actually exchanging words now; speaking of, if you wouldn’t mind gets this face only Zetes can induce, which is painfully charmed and painfully turned on and painfully an emotion that can only be expressed as jesus jumping fuck, or whatever blasphemy Sebastian is employing today. ]
You’re an atrocity.
[ did you know that sentence and I love you so damn much have the same number of syllables? Because they do. ]
A fucking pretty atrocity. [ go on... ] Full of wiles.
[Is Zetes laughing loudly at this? Hopefully yes, because Sebastian wants the fact that he is about to stand up and more or less throw him over his shoulder to be a little bit of a surprise, at least. When they make it to the bedroom Sebastian pretty much just drops him onto the bed - carefully, but definitely still a drop - and pounces, pinning Zetes down with infinitely conscientious weight on his wrists. ]
So, if you had to make a guess - life or death, no take backsies - would you say I mind?
[ no. ]