[he breaks from Nick's neck, a sweet wet sound as his lips leave skin. his arm around his waist flexes, hand gripping into an open canvas, bringing Nick in as close as he can be as he looks at him to search his eyes. everything, i want you. he's trying to hold himself back, and already he's left marks on skin as if to say i've been here. he isn't trying to make a claim, but a memory, something to be touched, something that he could snap a photo of and wouldn't even need a face to know who it was.]
I want you, too.
[he doesn't say for how long. with a whispered 'hold on' and a grunt and strength that hides beneath his clothes in lean muscle, he scoots the both of them backwards enough - one smooth movement, somehow - that his back is now against one of the many chest of drawers that hold spare sheets that no one has touched in years. his arm is finally free from holding himself up and he can spare it the tingling that runs along his nerves.
he sighs, leans his head against the hardwood. his back is thanking him, too. he takes his free hand to place it over Nick's, reassuring. he wets his lips, cheeks flush.]
We can go slow.
[Nick is momentarily released from his grasp as he lifts his shirt up and off of himself in one swift motion, because that's what he wants, and he'd do anything for him. his hair becomes a little disheveled, but he doesn't fix it. the partial undressing of himself was quick, but his hands are slow to bring up Nick's shirt, taking it up in gentle movements bit by bit, hands working along the skin beneath it as he does so.]
[ does he want to go slow? not particularly, but even nick can recognise that the frenetic desire to grab, snatch, take is as much about nerves and the half-expected belief that if he lets up for even half a second, that august will change his mind or the moment will be lost. that if they take a breather, they'll overthink the moment too much and backpedal before they've gone too far.
nick doesn't want to go back, but he takes a moment to slowly exhale all the same. if nothing else it gives him the chance to look at august--and nick thinks he might never want to tear his eyes away after this. hair messy, lips wet, pupils big and black as he looks back at nick - nick almost wants to photograph him, immortalise it forever in more than just memory. ]
Do you want slow?
[ the muscles in his stomach flex underneath august's hand, and he resists the urge to just tear his shirt off in a matching move. instead nick curls a hand loosely around august's bicep, squeezing idly before he slides forward in his lap. not much, just enough that he can grind down just a fraction. just a little more pressure, paired with a slow, satisfied smile. ]
[torn between being swallowed and swallowing everything that Nick is, he struggles to answer. words become lost on his tongue, hands hovering along his chest. he's searching him again, hoping he can peer deep enough to see what Nick is thinking; buzzed and horny on his lap. he's better than any drug, and he wants to taste every part of him.
a soft groan escapes him and his eyes flutter closed for half a second when Nick grinds down against him, hips instinctively rolling up to met his. no, he doesn't want to go slow. but this is special - should be special, shouldn't just be some fuck that he takes however he wants. right? his silence is enough of an answer.
when he lifts Nick's shirt off, it's all he can do not to keep going, to switch their positions and take him as he desires. mouth parts and his throat opens, closes, he loves — 'i love' — ]
Nick. [he breathes out, thick with affection.] You know I won't be able to stop.
[maybe he's using that to his advantage. his free hands glide down Nick's sides and grip at his hips, purely to manipulate them to create more of that sweet pressure with a slow and tantalizing rhythm. god, that's good. he hates that they're only half undressed.]
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I want you, too.
[he doesn't say for how long. with a whispered 'hold on' and a grunt and strength that hides beneath his clothes in lean muscle, he scoots the both of them backwards enough - one smooth movement, somehow - that his back is now against one of the many chest of drawers that hold spare sheets that no one has touched in years. his arm is finally free from holding himself up and he can spare it the tingling that runs along his nerves.
he sighs, leans his head against the hardwood. his back is thanking him, too. he takes his free hand to place it over Nick's, reassuring. he wets his lips, cheeks flush.]
We can go slow.
[Nick is momentarily released from his grasp as he lifts his shirt up and off of himself in one swift motion, because that's what he wants, and he'd do anything for him. his hair becomes a little disheveled, but he doesn't fix it. the partial undressing of himself was quick, but his hands are slow to bring up Nick's shirt, taking it up in gentle movements bit by bit, hands working along the skin beneath it as he does so.]
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nick doesn't want to go back, but he takes a moment to slowly exhale all the same. if nothing else it gives him the chance to look at august--and nick thinks he might never want to tear his eyes away after this. hair messy, lips wet, pupils big and black as he looks back at nick - nick almost wants to photograph him, immortalise it forever in more than just memory. ]
Do you want slow?
[ the muscles in his stomach flex underneath august's hand, and he resists the urge to just tear his shirt off in a matching move. instead nick curls a hand loosely around august's bicep, squeezing idly before he slides forward in his lap. not much, just enough that he can grind down just a fraction. just a little more pressure, paired with a slow, satisfied smile. ]
I don't think I do.
no subject
a soft groan escapes him and his eyes flutter closed for half a second when Nick grinds down against him, hips instinctively rolling up to met his. no, he doesn't want to go slow. but this is special - should be special, shouldn't just be some fuck that he takes however he wants. right? his silence is enough of an answer.
when he lifts Nick's shirt off, it's all he can do not to keep going, to switch their positions and take him as he desires. mouth parts and his throat opens, closes, he loves — 'i love' — ]
Nick. [he breathes out, thick with affection.] You know I won't be able to stop.
[maybe he's using that to his advantage. his free hands glide down Nick's sides and grip at his hips, purely to manipulate them to create more of that sweet pressure with a slow and tantalizing rhythm. god, that's good. he hates that they're only half undressed.]