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Every time they kiss, it gets harder and harder to stop.
It was easy enough, the first time—
Or, well. It wasn’t exactly easy. Charles could’ve gone on forever like that, kissing Edwin; lost in his lips and their moving and the soft, surprised noises he was making. But he hadn’t wanted to put him out with too much right off the bat. Edwin had started to look proper overwhelmed before long: all big, shocked eyes and heaving breaths, a little trembly ‘round the edges.
Now, though.
Now, the air’s heavy between them, and the light of the office is dim in a way that makes it all feel sort of hazy, really; sort of holy. The weight of Edwin in Charles’s lap, there on the sofa, is enough to make him a bit dizzy. Enough to have something humming, low and wanting, down in his belly—in his hands—in his thighs.
And Edwin—
Bloody hell, but he’s gorgeous. All the time, but especially now, when he’s all—soft and loose and loved, yeah, that’s the word: loved. His coat and jumper are off, and the top few buttons of his shirt are undone; his lashes are low over his eyes; and his lips are parted and moving against Charles’s.
They’re barely even kissing anymore, honestly. It’s more like they’re just breathin’—breathin’ in each others’ space. Their lips drag together every so often, drinkin’ each other up; as much of each other as they can get.
Charles has got his hands up under Edwin’s shirt—and it’s the most he’s ever felt, Edwin’s skin soft and warm under his palms, his fingers tucked neat into the dips of Edwin’s waist. He’s dizzy with that, too, gasping and phasing a bit through the back of the sofa as Edwin’s curling over him. He wants to pull Edwin closer. Wants to hold him close as he can; wrap both arms around him; reach up ‘til he can feel the staccatoed backs of Edwin’s ribs. He settles for just stroking his thumbs up and down Edwin’s waist, though, ‘cause it feels sort of dangerous to be reaching for so much at once.
Edwin makes a little gasp—a pale, damp sound, right there in Charles’s mouth—and falls against Charles’s chest. His hands slip warm ‘round Charles’s neck. His fingertips scratch down Charles’s nape.
“Charles,” he breaths.
Charles just about shivers out of his skin, from how sweet Edwin sounds. From how low and husky his voice has gone.
“Charles.”
Another kiss. Charles wants to pull him down ‘til they burn up in each other.
“Yeah,” he says back. He means to say more than that—but then he’s opening his eyes, and Edwin’s looking back at him, and there’s something so solid there it’s pinning him in place.
“Charles,” Edwin says, and around a slow, thorough snog that leaves Charles heaving, “I want—“
Charles slides a hand down, tracing each little knob of Edwin’s spine—marking how they move, how they shift under the warm skin; how there’s those dimples on either side, there at the base of them, right where they slip under Edwin’s waistband.
“Yeah?” Charles says, tentatively cupping Edwin’s arse through his pants.
Edwin shudders, makes a rough little noise, and rolls forward at the hips.
The friction lights something up in Charles proper—makes him shiver and rock up a bit himself, from how good it feels—but he’s a bit stuck on Edwin, all told: on how his eyes shutter closed, and his mouth falls open, and he sighs like he’s never been so relaxed in all his bloody life. How his thumbs and fingers dig into the meat of Charles’s shoulders as he keeps on moving.
“Yes,” he whispers.
Charles means to say something else—he’s not sure what, exactly; he’d have thought up the words when he got there—but when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a shivery little moan he doesn’t much expect, and it’s swallowed right up by Edwin’s kissing. He means to say something else—but instead he’s grabbing harder onto Edwin, and Edwin’s spreading his thighs so they fit even snugger together, and they’re both panting as they stumble their way towards a rhythm.
Charles shakily presses his hand into the warped column of Edwin’s spine, and Edwin mouths a low, relieved moan against his jaw.
It’s nothing like neat. Nothing like the careful, thought-out first time Charles had sort of had it in his head that Edwin would be wanting. It’s just the pair of them, snogging on the sofa and getting off rubbing against each other with both their kits still on—but bloody hell, it’s perfect.