[ nick doesn't need to be told twice — doesn't need to be asked at all, actually. august stutters out can you and nick is already moving, dropping the grip on august's hip so that he can drag a wet tongue across his palm. not much, nothing showy or tantalising like he might usually put on just to see august's pupils dilate as he watches, just wet enough that he can push a hand down into his waistband, wrap his fingers around august's cock. ]
I want you here all the time.
[ he's whispering now, like they're at some risk of being heard, like he's sharing secrets--in a way he is, he can't help but let the thoughts that he's been holding so close to his chest tumble out. not when he has august like this, loose and messy in his arms, sleepy and drunk and still slurring praise out for nick between moans.
how can he not tell him everything? or at least as much as nick can possibly risk exposing, without spilling it all out. nick strokes the hard length of him, a slower pace at first, but quickly building as he keeps whispering. ]
Everything is always better when you're around. I don't ever want a break from you. Anytime you want me, I'll be there. Any time.
[the minor interruption sets him back, but it's not enough of a hiccup to set him off course entirely. he's stuck on almost, and knows Nick's hand will bring him where he needs to be. August can't believe he's so weak for him, but yes he can because here he is sloshed in his bed and arms, trying to fuck his hand. they both know it's all he can manage, horny and hot with his mind blurry with drink.
Nicks words sound like a confession, making his heart swell in ways he didn't think he'd ever get to feel. it's the constant reassurance that gets him there, like he's exactly where he's supposed to be. he has nothing to worry about right now, and it's not long before his thrusts become desperate and he can't keep his focus on kissing him or his hands just on one spot of Nick's body.
there's not enough of him there to touch. he's kissing him again, which turns into biting his lower lip, which then turns into a choked out moan and finally he's digging his fingers into his hip — rough enough to bruise — while he rides out his orgasm, spilling into Nick's hand and making a mess of his clothes (and himself). it's — a lot. not that he even realizes it, or knows what's happening after he comes. he's leaning himself completely against Nick's body, pressing their foreheads together, eyes shut and mind blank. all that's left are his shallow whiskey-filled breaths against his face. he loves him, he loves,]
[ nick doesn't let him go right away, still stroking him through his orgasm with long, lazy pumps, until august has all but collapsed in his arms and his cock is softening in nick's palm. even then he entertains the thought of falling asleep exactly like this, august still cupped in hand, but there's self-indulgence and then there's impracticality, so he's gentle and careful as he slides his hand back out of august's underwear.
...he's less gentle and careful when he wipes his palm on the back of august's shirt, but fuck it, it's fine. nick will get him a clean shirt in the morning, after they've showered all this mess away and maybe had a repeat performance or two. he's more concerned with winding both his arms back around august's body now that he has them both free, listening to the pants still coming out of him, feeling his forehead sweaty and warm against his own. ]
Yeah.
[ nick doesn't know what he's agreeing to but he knows that he does, with complete certainty. his eyes close too, and it's maybe the first time where he thinks that this could be enough and really believes it. he doesn't kiss august, just exhales in tandem with him, wonders if their hearts are thudding away in rhythm with each other too. ]
[is all he can manage. a drunk August is one easily manipulated, and here they are half above the covers with his arms loose and heavy around Nick's body. he's agreeing with him and his brows furrow -- did he say the whole thing? did Nick just say yeah in response? -- but his voice is a distant whisper and sleep is swallowing up whatever parts of him are left awake. he can't fight it, cant argue or ask any more questions.
he's out within a few minutes, forehead still pressed against his, the soft exhales of Nick matching his breathing soothing him into a kind dreamland. a kind one is an empty one, and there's nothing waiting for him there in his subconscious tonight. he wakes much later - probably in the early afternoon, to bend Nick over and fuck him into the bed before falling asleep (again). he fills another appetite that day, regular food isn't on the menu.]
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I want you here all the time.
[ he's whispering now, like they're at some risk of being heard, like he's sharing secrets--in a way he is, he can't help but let the thoughts that he's been holding so close to his chest tumble out. not when he has august like this, loose and messy in his arms, sleepy and drunk and still slurring praise out for nick between moans.
how can he not tell him everything? or at least as much as nick can possibly risk exposing, without spilling it all out. nick strokes the hard length of him, a slower pace at first, but quickly building as he keeps whispering. ]
Everything is always better when you're around. I don't ever want a break from you. Anytime you want me, I'll be there. Any time.
no subject
Nicks words sound like a confession, making his heart swell in ways he didn't think he'd ever get to feel. it's the constant reassurance that gets him there, like he's exactly where he's supposed to be. he has nothing to worry about right now, and it's not long before his thrusts become desperate and he can't keep his focus on kissing him or his hands just on one spot of Nick's body.
there's not enough of him there to touch. he's kissing him again, which turns into biting his lower lip, which then turns into a choked out moan and finally he's digging his fingers into his hip — rough enough to bruise — while he rides out his orgasm, spilling into Nick's hand and making a mess of his clothes (and himself). it's — a lot. not that he even realizes it, or knows what's happening after he comes. he's leaning himself completely against Nick's body, pressing their foreheads together, eyes shut and mind blank. all that's left are his shallow whiskey-filled breaths against his face. he loves him, he loves,]
— You.
no subject
...he's less gentle and careful when he wipes his palm on the back of august's shirt, but fuck it, it's fine. nick will get him a clean shirt in the morning, after they've showered all this mess away and maybe had a repeat performance or two. he's more concerned with winding both his arms back around august's body now that he has them both free, listening to the pants still coming out of him, feeling his forehead sweaty and warm against his own. ]
Yeah.
[ nick doesn't know what he's agreeing to but he knows that he does, with complete certainty. his eyes close too, and it's maybe the first time where he thinks that this could be enough and really believes it. he doesn't kiss august, just exhales in tandem with him, wonders if their hearts are thudding away in rhythm with each other too. ]
Go to sleep, I've got you.
🎀
[is all he can manage. a drunk August is one easily manipulated, and here they are half above the covers with his arms loose and heavy around Nick's body. he's agreeing with him and his brows furrow -- did he say the whole thing? did Nick just say yeah in response? -- but his voice is a distant whisper and sleep is swallowing up whatever parts of him are left awake. he can't fight it, cant argue or ask any more questions.
he's out within a few minutes, forehead still pressed against his, the soft exhales of Nick matching his breathing soothing him into a kind dreamland. a kind one is an empty one, and there's nothing waiting for him there in his subconscious tonight. he wakes much later - probably in the early afternoon, to bend Nick over and fuck him into the bed before falling asleep (again). he fills another appetite that day, regular food isn't on the menu.]