Work Text:
James knows what it looks like when someone wants him. He's been learning the games people play with attraction, when it's hidden and when it's not, what to do with it, how to twist someone's interest into obsession, over the past year and a half. It's a useful skill. It's gotten him what he wanted more times than he can remember.
All these months, though, and he won't touch Alec. He can see attraction and interest in Alec's eyes, but he doesn't want to twist it around his fingers. He doesn't want to turn Alec into someone he can use.
A Saturday night ought to be spent out looking for the next target, someone whose name he won't remember in the morning. Instead he's in Alec's room, ostensibly studying, watching Alec from the floor. More and more Saturday nights are being spent this way, James sprawled out on Alec's rug, never quite making it out in time to get to one of the pubs.
Alec sits at the desk, reading the same page for the third time. There's no use trying to understand what's on the page. His mind is drawn to James. Always on the floor, James is, and for some reason Alec doesn't find it curious. It seems perfectly logical.
What isn't logical is that on Saturday night, it seems every Saturday night, when both of them should be out crawling through pubs, they embrace an elaborate charade of pretense. Alec wants James, wants to drop himself to the rug and caress that perfect jaw with his fingers, grasp that beautiful throat in his hands and kiss those lips that make even the worst of words sound delectable.
He shouldn't want him, not because it's wrong and against everything the nuns and priests of his forgotten childhood drilled into his psyche. Alec doesn't deserve James, doesn't merit the perfect boy.
So Alec turns his attention back to the book, trying to decipher the miasma of British history.
James turns over on his back, lifting his copy of Dante's Paradiso above his head so he can see the words. Italian moves and shifts on the pages, translation failing, words changing their meaning as James reads them, and after a few seconds James simply lets the book drop, arm falling over his face. "I can't concentrate," he says. "You're distracting me again."
"What am I doing now, James?" Alec half-turns, thin smile on his lips. "You said you didn't want to go out. Asked me to be quiet." He holds up his book. "I'm doing that, studying intensely." The lie's not a hard one.
"There's quiet, and then there's not even being able to hear your breath. Or the sound of turning pages." James pushes himself up on his elbows. "You could at least let me know you're still breathing."
"Alright, James." The sigh is audible, intentionally and rather melodramatic. Alec drops from chair to floor in a fluid motion, slamming the heavy book down next to James' elbow as he lands on his knees. "I'll breathe on you while I read. That better?"
"Ah--" James keeps himself in place, but can't stop the quick rush of breath from coming out of his mouth. "Careful, mate," he says, drawing his composure up around his shoulders as he leans back on the floor. "Breath mingling, body heat radiating at one another -- and you reading the romantic annals of English history and me with Dante. Wicked things are bound to happen."
"Is that an invitation, James?" Alec hovers, swiping his tongue out over the edge of his teeth as he draws out James' name. "What wicked things would you be thinking of?" It's the merest hint of willpower, spiraling downward as quickly as Dante's circles, that keeps Alec's hands pressed to the floor on either side of James' shoulders rather than seeking out flesh.
"Stop that," James breathes. His eyes narrow, and he can't stop watching the slide of Alec's tongue, wondering -- no. stop that. "History's waiting. Paradise is almost within my grasp--" And he tilts his head up, very much conscious of the way it makes his throat arch, and searches above his head for his lost copy of Paradiso.
"Paradise is so fleeting a concept." Alec takes the initiative offered, shifts position, now straddling James' body. It could as easily turn to friendly wrestling as anything else. He leans down, words coming out against James' throat as he stretches out his arm, his hand clutching James' wrist, guiding the searching fingers to the book's edge. "Need help grasping it?"
The warmth of Alec's breath is coming out against the pulse point in James' neck, and James wonders whether it's his pulse racing or whether Alec's breath is coming faster, where the heat is coming from. It would be easy to put both hands on Alec's shoulders and roll him aside. Easy.
But not simple, and James can't force himself to do it. His fingers tangle into Alec's, and his eyes close. Either way, simplicity's been lost. "No," he murmurs, "I think I've got my hands on it."
It isn't a good idea, being this close to James. Alec's body is reacting in all the ways it shouldn't. Like when they're fencing, and James has him at point and the blood rushes from brain to cock and tears apart his lungs on the path south.
"What you have your hands on is me." It comes out more snarky than intended; Alec's breathing is hitched, despite youthful attempts to squelch and subvert it into a more controlled pattern. He leans back, pulling their entwined hands back over James' head. "Open your eyes, James," he says on a whim, the months of Saturday night promises never quite made rushing the blood back to his brain, "or you won't get a kiss."
"And does that mean if my eyes stay closed, you won't kiss me?" James asks. His free arm comes up around Alec's waist, and he grinds his hips upward, a move that will leave Alec in no doubt whatever about how much James wants him. "Suppose I ask you. Suppose I beg you, but my eyes stay closed. What then, Alec?"
The desire's unmistakable, and it siphons the blood back out of Alec's brain for the briefest of moments, enough time to return the grind in kind, letting James exactly where they're headed.
"Would you do that, James?" His free hand settles on James' face, fingers splaying across throat, thumb resting at the corner of that perfect mouth. "Beg for me?" He traces the pad over lips. Not soft like girls' lips. Harder, edging the journey. "Let me hear you, James, and then I'll decide."
"You promised. Threatened. Promised." James is teasing, now, lips curling into a smirk. "Open your eyes or you won't get a kiss..." His eyes are staying resolutely closed. "I want you to kiss me, Alec. I want your lips on mine. I want your tongue forcing its way inside and fighting with mine to see who's leading."
Such a tease. The number of hearts James has left broken in the past few months is unfathomable. He's made promise after promise that he never intended to deliver on, and right now he's safe under Alec's promise and playing with fire under Alec's body. He grinds up against Alec again. "Kiss me, Alec, please."
Alec smiles, licks his lower lip, even though James can't appreciate, or scold, since his eyes are closed. He wants the same thing. And it's not always their wishes coincide. Silence is infuriating to James. It makes him think too much, turn in on himself. So Alec doesn't say a word as he leans down and replaces thumb with lips. Not a kiss. Barely a brush. Just breathing slowly against the body under him.
"Alec," James whispers, and if his lips are moving and pressing against Alec's, it's not a kiss. Just the simple movement of jaw and the soft press of his tongue against his teeth as his lips form words, shape sounds out of air. And if his tongue lingers outside his lips, then that's fair as well. James' lips are dry, twice as much air rushing past them as normal, and he slides his tongue across his lips, across Alec's, too. But it's not a kiss.
"Open your eyes, James." Alec hush-whispers. He needs to know it's real, not imagined, not Dante and history and a moment on the floor of his room that'll be gone before the sun rises. He's been able to read James, see in those blue depths the truth even when James couldn't bring himself to say it. He allows the deeper touch, tangle of tongues outside the lips. But even that's a not a kiss. "Then you can have all of me." That is the promise the true kiss holds.
"I'm begging you to kiss me, Alec. And you won't unless my eyes are open?" James rubs his tongue over Alec's lips, breaking his own rules --but no, they're not kissing. It takes two for that. "Think on it, Alec. Suppose I never beg for you again?" His breath is warm, and he doesn't have to raise his voice above a whisper. "Alec, kiss me. Please. Let me feel your lips on mine. Give me that. Please." But his eyes are closed.
Giving in has never been Alec's strong suit. He's the one to hold out till the last possible minute. Not turn the bike into the curve until he's nearly out of it. Not come up from the dive till he's gasping for air. But, in love, and his thoughts hitch at the notion that's what this is, maybe there's a point to giving up. So he brushes James' lips with a kiss. A real kiss. Tongue sliding over the edge of parted lips, but not delving in. After all, James needs to learn the art of compromise.
James shudders hard under Alec, and his arm tightens around Alec's waist. He kisses back, lightly, but taking what's offered, and then his eyes come open.
"Alright," he breathes. "I've opened my eyes for you."
Alec immediately loses himself in James' eyes and yields what was promised. He tightens his grip on James' wrist and pushes into a deep, bruising, unrelenting kiss, one where tongue doesn't delve, doesn't lightly push through parted lips, but dives in, scouring uncharted territory. His body is pulled down in James' embrace, touching full along their lengths.
Somewhere along the line, begging for Alec's kiss became second nature to a man who begs for nothing. Begging for more than that is second nature, too, and James doesn't think about where the urge comes from. "Alec--" His teeth are sharp against Alec's lips, biting, tugging, wanting more. "Please. My eyes are open for you. Take me."
"Take you? What do you want me to do?" He suspects what the answer will be, but he's easily adapting to the plea in James' voice, the adrenaline rush it alone provides.
"I like hearing you beg, James." Alec drops his mouth to James' neck, biting at the tender flesh. It'll be a beautiful shade of purple in the morning, but James looks so good in black turtlenecks that Alec tends dutifully to the assault, teeth gnawing till he nearly draws blood.
James nearly tugs his wrist out of Alec's grasp. His body jerks hard underneath Alec's, and his breath comes out in harsh, shallow pants, but his eyes don't close. "Do you," he whispers. "Then let me beg for you."
The pain is sharp on his skin, perfect, that one hard bite showing him just how pointless all the nips and scratches from the girls he's bedded have been. "Alec. I'm begging you to take me -- have me--" Those teeth, God, James wants to tug them away from him just so they'll feel all the sharper when Alec brings them back. "Yours," he breathes, eyes still open.
"Mine." Not a question. Alec pushes himself back, up, straddling James' hips. His hands take over where his lips had been, rubbing at the darkening bruise. He smiles, feral and wanton, seeing James differently than before, the perfection of that skin crying out for corruption.
"What shall I do with you?" He shifts, fingering the top buttons of the crisp button-down, undoing each with precision and care. "Undress you? Of course." Slowly letting fingers brush flesh as each button comes out. "Then what, James?"
Temptation -- months if not years of it, and all the reasons James has had not to go this far with Alec are discarded as irrelevant. "Hurt me," he whispers. "Bruise me. Mark me. Please, Alec." He holds himself perfectly still, only tilting his head up slightly to watch the movements of Alec's fingers, exhaling softly at the feel of skin against skin.
"Hurt you. Bruise you." Buttons undone, Alec pushes the shirt's too-crisp fabric apart, sliding hands over the smooth chest, palms rubbing over James' nipples. The response is immediate, and James' imperceptible flinch urges him on. Finger and thumb collide, capturing nub of flesh, kneading it, and Alec dips his head to kiss the unclaimed nipple. "In due time, James."
It's only fair; James has kept Alec waiting long enough. He nods, breathes out. Tries to keep himself steady under Alec's touch. "I can wait," he murmurs. "Until you're ready to have me." His eyes are still open, and he wishes he could see Alec's -- wishes he could ask for that, confirmation that he's not the only one being driven past what he thought he could stand. He still has his limits. He won't ask. Yet.
Alec doesn't plan on waiting long. He's wanted this too much, calculated and gone through the whole seduction routine in his brain too many times. Without a word, the kiss turns to biting, the kneading to pinching and Alec's free hand slides between their bodies to grip James' cock through the heavy trousers, squeezing firmly.
"Alec..." James draws a hand up and cups the back of Alec's neck in his hand. "I was always yours," he breathes. "I was always -- God, Alec, stop, I can't bear it--" His hips twist, his cock jerks under Alec's hand; he tries to pull back, but he's trapped between Alec and the floor. His eyes go wide, lose their focus, but they stay open.
"If you can't bear it, James, then perhaps I should stop," Alec says, ceasing his touches and nibbles, sitting back up over James' hips. His eyes are smiling, distinct against the smirk curling his lips. He pulls his hands down over James' stomach, flat against tight muscle, and undoes the buckle of James' belt. "I wouldn't want to subject you to anything more than you can take." His words drip with sarcasm, as he has no intention of stopping. Not tonight. Not ever. James is almost his now.
If Alec were to stop now, James knows exactly what would happen. He'd dress, humiliated. He'd leave here angry. He'd find the first willing girl and take her home, and he'd fuck her, thinking about green eyes and hands much rougher than hers. And then this would start all over --James, unwilling to ask for what he wants; Alec, waiting for a plea that isn't coming. Better to plead now, James decides, and he parts his lips, intending to. "Alec -- please," he murmurs. "Don't stop." Maybe he can bear it, and maybe he can't. It doesn't matter.
The words caress Alec's ears, soothe his brain. If James had said stop and really meant it, there'd've been a bloodied, battered sailor missing morning roll call. Too many Saturday nights, teased and left wanting so much, Alec had retreated to the pubs after putting James to bed, finding the first Royal Navy uniform and fucking it into the brick wall. It wasn't James, never left him satisfied.
Alec holds the belt by its buckle and pulls the leather from the loops, smiling as James shifts to smooth its move behind his back. He doubles it over in his hand and lays it on James' chest, drawing it down over the smooth skin. "Bruised and marked. That's what you want." Raising his hand just inches, he pops the belt down, its loose ends snapping the nipple he'd earlier kissed.
James gets his teeth together and sucks in a breath. The pain is good. Better than good. Enough to make him feel need all the way to the roots of his hair, down to the soles of his feet. "Please, Alec," he whispers. "More than that."
Sex is a science, not an art. It's about forming hypotheses and testing them, refining and revising the formula until it gives you the same perfect result every time. For Alec, the formula is pain. Given. Received. It doesn't matter. It's the pure adrenaline rush of hurt. He feels himself lucky to have hit on it so early. Now he has a lifetime to put the theory into practice.
"Undress for me, James. Give me access to every inch of your body and I'll give you what you seek." He lets the buckle scrape over the slightly red flesh as he sits back, kneeling up so James can move.
"And you'll be satisfied with every inch of my body?" Something about the tone of Alec's voice has James wanting to challenge it, just for the sake of having the challenge made and met. He gets to his knees, finishes stripping out of his shirt. Only comes to his feet because the fabric doesn't allow for staying on the ground while he removes it. And when he's bare, and every inch of him is Alec's, going back to his knees seems like the most natural position in the world.
"No, I won't be," Alec challenges back. He knows James hasn't played this way, finds it refreshing that he drops to his knees so easily. Born submissives are such a rarity. "But then I'll lay bare your soul, James," he whispers out as he circles James' kneeling form. He brings the doubled-over belt down across James' shoulders, thrice in rapid succession, before coming back around to face him. "And that will satisfy me greatly."
James wonders if his eyes have ever been this dark. "Do you want me to give you that?" he asks. "Or will you only feel you've gotten what you wanted if you've had me fighting you every step of the way?" Either way, this isn't going to be easy or gentle, and that much is fine. James accepts that, and he's beginning to recognize the feeling under his skin as a need -- a craving, even, for something devastating. "How do you want me to satisfy you, Alec?" Another smirk. James' smirks sometimes feel as though they have a life of their own.
"Fight me, James, or not," he says with a cast-off smile. "It really doesn't matter to me." Alec drops the belt to the rug and slowly pulls his sweater off, stretching his arms up as he pushes it over his head then tosses it to a far corner. "How do I want you to satisfy me? Shade black, blue and purple, then overlay it with scarlet. Beg till your throat's raw." He smirks. "In Latin, if you like." He toes out of his loafers and shoves the trousers down his legs, pushing them off and to the side, standing naked and running a hand through his short blond hair. "But start by putting your mouth on me, James."
Alec's words are burning their way through James' thoughts, marking a path and taking away his ability to breathe. For all the time he's spent trading favors of a sexual nature with various girls, even with a handful of boys here and there, he's never been ordered to give pleasure before.
His mouth, then. It's obvious where Alec wants James to start, and James only delays a little, pressing his lips to the patch of skin beside Alec's hip and biting gently before moving inward. James steadies Alec's cock with a hand, looks up again -- smirk all but gone from his features -- and then opens his mouth, gliding forward and offering the long, languid strokes that he'd want if he were standing in Alec's place.
"Wrong, James," Alec says too nicely, almost sweetly, in direct contradiction to the hand that lands in James' hair, tightens around the brown strands. "No hands. Put them behind your back."
The grip in his hair isn't quite enough to get James' eyes stinging, but it is enough to have him wanting more. James tightens his lips around Alec's shaft and draws his hands behind his back. There's a slight threat implied in the way his teeth rake down Alec's cock, but he ends with a soft lick near the head before pulling away entirely and murmuring, "My apologies, Alec. I'll do better in the future."
"We have all the time in the world for you to learn, James." Keeping one hand tight in James' hair, tugging a bit more insistently, Alec counterpoints the harsh touch with a single finger running down James' cheek as he talks. "Consider that the first lesson. You don't use hands unless you're told." The scrape of teeth doesn't go unnoticed, nor unappreciated. "Second lesson," his finger brushes James' lips. "Teeth are fine. Just no biting."
The whirling thoughts that are threatening to overwhelm James jolt off-track with that tug in his hair. "Yes," he whispers. "I understand." His left hand's grip tightens on his right wrist, and he leans forward again, tongue sliding out onto his lower lip, wanting more than ever.
Alec lets James briefly adjust to the fullness before thrusting his hips forward, holding tight to the head in his hands. "This is how you satisfy me, James. I fuck your mouth till I'm ready to fuck your arse." His other hand grips at the back of James' neck, keeping him steady against the increasingly less gentle thrusts.
James moans in counterpoint to Alec's movements, all impulse to delay gone. He's determined to be good at this, not to let the urge to choke run away with him, and the easiest thing to do seems to be give Alec everything he wants. James ignores his need for breath; it doesn't seem half as important as his newfound need to please.
There's little talent to James' sucking, but the technique's not too bad, Alec finds himself critiquing as he inches his cock past the instinctive gag reflex. There's time to perfect that, time to train James to be as perfect in bed as he is in the classroom. "Better, James," he hisses out at a particular swish of tongue. "You could become excellent at this."
More teeth, then, not quite biting, and James lets himself take a breath the next time he's able. He hasn't forgotten his own erection; all this has him wondering how Alec's mouth would feel on him, how Alec's hands would feel gliding over his skin and drawing out his pleasure. His turn will come later; for now, he lets his eyes narrow as he redoubles his efforts. They haven't closed yet. His eyes are open for Alec, and he intends to keep them that way.
Alec is close, edging quickly to wanting to stop, puts his hands on James' flesh, scratch and claw as he buries his cock inside that beautiful body. "James, it's time for you to satisfy me in another way," he says slowly, sliding his hands to either side of James' head, stilling his movement altogether. He pulls back, his cock slipping from James' lips, and he tilts James' head up. "I want you to go to my dresser," he smiles at the eyes staring intently at him, "top drawer. Condom. Lubricant." There's no doubt in his mind that James will do exactly as he says. "Then lie down on the bed."
James nods. He has a momentary flash of desire to crawl, and gets to his feet immediately, brushing that impulse aside. The top drawer, then, the condom, the lubricant, and James takes both to the bed. Lie down. On his back? Stomach? The few times he's done this, the other man's been on all fours, so James takes to his stomach; he has no illusions about who's going to get fucked here.
"On your back, James." Alec sighs, shakes his head slowly as he walks to the bed. "I want to watch your face when I fuck you."
"And if I'd put myself on my back to start with, you'd be having me roll over all the same," James says. But he rolls over, looking up at Alec, glad he'll have the chance to look into Alec's eyes for this.
"No, I wouldn't've," Alec says very calmly, very seriously. He settles himself on the bed, spreading James legs around him. "I can't imagine not wanting to look in your eyes, sink myself in seablue eddys." He pulls a pillow down and tucks it under James' hips. "Unless it's a quick-and-dirty fuck in a blind alley on a moonless night."
The image gets James grinning. "Alec..." He reaches up, not certain whether he's allowed to touch him or not, but willing to take the risk. His nails dig into Alec's shoulder. "I want you. Take me. Please."
The scrape of nails sets Alec on edge, has him almost willing to give up his initial plan of driving James insane before fucking him. He steels himself and picks up the lube. He shifts James on the pillow, positions his legs exactly where he wants them, bent at the knee, then uncaps the tube and squeezes out a thick sixpence dollop on his fingers. "Patience, James. It's a virtue you could use."
"Patience rarely gets a man what he wants." In this case, though, he's seeing otherwise, and so he settles back into the bed, lacing his fingers behind his neck, making himself as vulnerable as he can. For Alec.
"In this case, patience will take you farther than you can imagine." He runs an unlubed finger around the edge of tight ring, teasing at pushing through, then slips in two well-oiled fingers. "It'll get you me, James."
James' eyes almost close. He lets his jaw open, arches his neck. He knows his body can take this -- has seen others take more than this -- but there's a first time for everything, and a first time is supposed to be painful. It reminds you of what you're losing, and what you're gaining. James tilts his head back up and looks at Alec. "At your pace, then," he whispers. Even if it kills me.
James is tight, impossibly so, and Alec doesn't even try to swallow the smirk at thinking he's the first. He nudges forward, agonizingly slow, allowing James to savor every moment of his disintegration, curling fingers in on themselves and then scissoring out. He places his other hand on James' stomach, starts rubbing in small circles. "It's a perfect pace. Slow. Steady." Fingers move in rhythm to his words. "You wouldn't want it to be over that quickly."
"No," James agrees, and his chest feels tight. On one hand, Alec's taking impeccable care of him; on the other, this is torture. The combination is both heady and devastating, and James blinks faster than he needs to in order to counter the sting behind his eyelids.
Alec pulls out his fingers, applies more lube, squishing it over his hand. Three fingers invade James' body this time, overlapped on one another going in, but separating as they push in as deeply as possible. His other hand, briefly moved away from James' flesh, returns to its absent spiraling, this time higher, in the center of James' chest, fingertips pressing against the rapidly increasing heartbeat.
"Alec, please--" James only cuts off the words when speaking becomes too much effort. His breathing's coming up shallow, and he clenches his fingers together hard. After a moment, he can breathe again, and with the breath comes the need to beg. "Please," he whispers. Begging for its own sake. It's unfamiliar, and he doesn't know if he can stop.
"Please what, James?" He's careful to avoid the prostate as he rubs his fingers in and out of James' body for a slow mental count to 500. "Please fuck you?" He speaks softly, sounding so much more mature than his years. "Hard or easy? Fast or slow?" He pushes his fingers back in roughly, deliberately seeking out what he'd earlier avoided. "Like this? Or do you want my cock, James? Beg for me."
"Please," James gets out, all gasping, naked desperation -- the slow burn, the stretch, and now this, Alec's fingers pressing against that spot and sending sparks up James' spine -- "Alec, please, hard, your cock in me, please fuck me, Alec, please..." He's nearly arching off the bed; it's only the last faded shreds of his willpower that keeps him flat on his back.
Alec stills his hands, pulls out his fingers slowly, and even more slowly rolls the condom over his cock and squeezes out a small squiggle of lube over the latex, looks at James trying not to writhe and smiles, then adds another squiggle and slicks it down, long, languorous strokes over an already hardened shaft. He leans over, slides his tongue out against his teeth, through barely parted lips and touches just the tip of James' cock, breathing out as he lingers. "Yes, James. I'll fuck you."
There's nothing in the wealth of James' past encounters to prepare him for this -- the urge for pain, the urge to beg, needing to have Alec inside him, how empty he feels now. He grabs hold of what he can -- Alec and how much he's enjoyed seeing James beg -- and lets that carry him. "Alec, please, I want it so badly -- please take me. Please fuck me." The words are low, but hardly even; his voice trembles over them.
The desire is there to be gentle, first time and all, but it's overwhelmed by a need to possess, so Alec pulls James' hips up and pushes his cock in, slow but forceful, a compromise of sorts between what his body wants and what his brain understands. And there's just enough pain to give it the edge Alec needs. "Can you take all of me, James? Everything I want to give you?" He wraps a fist firmly around James' swollen cock, his grip tight enough to make the intention clear even to James' pleasure-addled brain.
"Yes," James whispers. His eyes would roll back in his head from the pleasure if he'd let them. The burn is unfamiliar, pain and pleasure combined, and James needs it. He'd debase himself, get to his knees on the floor, beg until tears rolled down his cheeks if Alec stopped now. The hand around his cock is too warm, too tight, but James thrusts his hips up, offering proof of his devotion. "Yes -- Alec -- please." Another soft hiss of breath, then: "Yours."
Alec isn't stopping, and before James can fully adjust to the burn, the pressure, he makes a solid thrust forward, pushing through the unrelenting tightness, seating himself fully inside James with a panted-out breath. "Fuck, James, you're so damn tight." He draws his hand up James' cock as he pulls back. "No one's ever had this before." Fact, not question. The next thrust is more brutal. Alec isn't holding back. He can't anymore.
James bites down on his lower lip, grunting and trying to contain the sounds, pressing his head back into the pillows to keep himself from reaching up for Alec. It hurts -- more than he expected, more than he's seen in the men he's fucked -- but that feels right, somehow. Alec looks unbelievable above him -- cruel and determined and focused, and James tastes blood as Alec keeps thrusting into him.
"That's good, James." It comes out more patronizing than Alec really intends, but he can't let James think he cares. Can he? This is about lust and desire, not other words that don't need to be, can't be, spoken between them. He jerks his hand off the cock and locks both hands then on James' waist, fingers splaying down across hips, and his thrusting becomes wilder, intensely controlled and deliberate hard forward motions, his fingers clutching and nails digging into flesh under them. "Perfect," he hisses out as the orgasm coils inside him, tightens his belly, insisting on attention.
"Alec," James whispers, lips bloodstained, fingers white behind his neck. He winces as he gets his hands apart and reaches down to cover Alec's hands with his own, gripping tight. "Yours," he whispers. "My eyes are still open for you. Please, Alec."
"Yes, they are, James. And you'll never close them again." That shared admission, the clutching touch, they set match to the fuse and Alec burns bright, locking eyes with James, pounding into him twice, maybe more, a count lost in the necessity of release, and then he comes, swearing he's clawed straight through James' skin as he spills himself out. "Mine. Just. Mine."
James has never come without so much as a touch against his cock before. The taste of blood, the look in Alec's eyes, the sensation of things having changed irrevocably, and his hands tighten on Alec's fingers. The sting of sweat -- from his palms or Alec's, he's not certain -- is harsh against the scratches on his hips, and he moans, jerking underneath Alec and coming hard. He keeps his eyes open through it, though his vision goes dim.
When he's regained enough sense to realize he's still in a room with a body, not just a body, but James, under him, Alec breathes out, settles back, inching his cock out of that perfectly compliant body. He frees a hand, tugging it from James' grasp, and swipes up James' jerking cock, finger and thumb collecting the white streams. He raises it slowly to his lips, gaze still locked on James' eyes, and slicks his tongue out over it, slowly pulling the finger into his mouth and sucking it clean. "You taste," he repeats the process with his thumb, "like chilled vodka, James," he licks a stray droplet off a third finger, then lips, "splashed off fresh-cut lemons."
"It's a little-known distillery of Scots origin," James murmurs. "You have me wondering why we didn't do this before." He reaches up, rests a hand on Alec's shoulder. "We should have done this before."
"Hmmm. Always with the pithy retorts, James. Can't just take a compliment." Alec stretches his neck, shrugs his shoulder up against James' hand. "We haven't done this before because neither of us would admit we wanted it." Cocky smile returns. "Done it now. And plan on doing it again."
James stretches, letting his eyes narrow, just barely avoiding closing them. "And will I be begging you for it every time, Alec?" he asks, smirking.
"Of course, James," he says nonchalantly. "I'll always want to hear you beg."
The smirk stays firmly fixed in place, and James slides a hand over his stomach, dragging his fingertips through the cooling trails of his come. "Then you'll have it." His expression grows a little hard, then. "But only you, Alec. And it isn't a detail I want you sharing over drinks."
"Only me, James." His smile slides into a reprimanding smirk. "No one else gets this part of you. Ever."
James isn't quite sure what he's agreeing to with that, but he can't imagine wanting to give this to anyone else. It's easy enough to nod. "No one else," he murmurs. "Yours, Alec."
Alec knows exactly what James is agreeing to, or what he plans to hold James to. Mine is emphatic. It means one possesses the other. And Alec possesses James now, body and most likely mind. There's an awkward silence that doesn't come in blind alleys with strangers, and Alec shifts out of it, moving off the bed to take care of the mundane necessities, peeling off the condom and dropping it into the waste bin. "Want a shower, James?" he tosses out with a undisguised leer. "Or another round?"
"Alec. Have you ever known me not to select excess when it's offered?" James smiles. "I want both, of course. But we can start with the shower."
Alec laughs. "No, of course not. James Bond would never take one choice when two are offered." He lays on sarcastic condescension. "He's a bit of a greedy bastard." Doesn't add that it takes one to know one. "Well, Mr. Trevelyan wants your arse in the shower. Now."
"Yes, Sir," James snaps back, sarcasm and smirk twined together comfortably, and he slides to his feet, running an unconscious hand down his body, over streaks of come and scratches that are already starting to bruise. "Lead on, Sir."
"Try for a bit more sincerity, James," Alec snarks back, covering the intense rush of arousal at the respectful address, even though he knows it's thrown out with the patented Bond attitude. "Or when we get out of the shower, I'll use your brilliant garnet ascots to tie you to the bed while I sit in front of the fire and wank off reading your Dante."
Smirk and sincerity are the best of both worlds, James decides, and he lets his voice lower into the proper respectful tone, forces his eyes to lose their teasing glint, as he asks, "Is that a promise, Sir?"
Stepping back toward James, Alec leans over, whispers against his ear. "Not only is that a promise, James, but if you're a good boy," he lays his hand over the bruised hip, "I'll find a better use for those ascots, one that'll leave you with bruises that'll last for weeks."
"Then I'm fortunate to have such an inventive--" James stops himself before giving Alec a title, playing with Sir more, perhaps, or lover or partner or whatever came to mind first. "Thank you," he finishes, resting a hand over Alec's and pressing it into his bruises. "I'd like that."