amicustenebris | Duplicity

[ Oh, that's a nice sound. Carver leans into the touch thoughtlessly, chasing it. He doesn't do this anymore, this - slowness.

Except that he is, apparently.

He grins against Gold's mouth. ]

Yeah, I know. Gonna do something about it?

I suppose I ought to.

[ Before Carver does something first and then he's too empty headed to be of use to anyone else.

He ventures a touch, trailing a palm down along the man's inner thigh, trailing along the feel of warm muscular flesh somewhere beneath fabric. He would have considered this a little forward, but he's taking the man at his word that he can go on -- and testing, in a way. If this is too much, too quickly, he can trust he'll hear as much. ]

[ That's nice, too. Carver tips his head back, breathing out slow, and grins again. He doesn't mind. It feels good. A promise of other things, more to come.

He trails his fingers along Gold's arm again, nodding. He doesn't flinch. He said he wouldn't. ]

[ It has been long enough since the last time Gold did this (with intent -- and without it just being a story in a book) that he might be overthinking his process right now; in spite of the heat rising in his cheeks or the steady but slow rush of it further south, when he is focused he barely notices, and already his mind is a checklist of tasks, steps to take to look after the person he is with.

With a clear sign that he hasn't gone a step too far, he continues his advance, trailing exploring kisses from his lips, back to his jaw and down his neck again. Fingers spread wide as he flattens his palm into a slow, more pressing stroke. ]

[ Not for the first time, Carver thinks about the razor that Gold held to his neck not so long ago. The circumstances were different then, but it was still a choice.

This is, too.

Carver takes a slow breath and then lets it go, shivering a little. The warm feeling just spreads, and he likes the feel of Gold’s mouth on his throat. It feels good to be touched. He’s calm and he isn’t often, thoughts always racing - pushing, pushing, pushing against everything around him. But not right now.

Now, he’s calm, and he shifts to curl his hand against Gold’s hip. Encouraging, even as Carver arches into the touch.

It feels good. That’s enough. ]

[ Every little touch from Carver, however small, sends the message that there is some desire to reciprocate, and that throws his senses some -- it doesn't allow him to completely forget his own body, something that is far more common for him to do in situations such as this. It reminds him that there are layers of cloth separating his own skin from open air and from him.

A small shudder runs up through him.

Soon, there's just the moment, and Gold closes his eyes. There is only the scent of him, the taste -- his tongue teases the line of his collar bone, and his hand, slow and careful but an ever-present weight, presses further inward. ]

[ That's nice, the way Gold shivers. He's not one for big reactions, seems like, but Carver's good at paying attention. Sometimes - like now - he can even slow down long enough to settle into that calm place while he's doing it. Carver closes his eyes with a hiss as Gold touches him, not bothering to be coy about it.

Yeah. This is doing it for him. He feels warm, and calm, and on his way to hard. ]

[ Unknown to many, likely even Gold himself, is that his reactions are contained because he's focused. Because while he is caught in the experience of it all right now, even though what he discovers elicits an appreciative shiver, a little sound uttered against Carver's bare skin, Gold is still primarily unconcerned about anything but making certain this is worth something to the one he is with.

Encouraging whispers, coaxing fingers. All applied with one goal in mind.

Trust is a precious thing for anyone to offer, and he uses it with care. He is the last person he would choose -- his effort is a reward in itself for most, a reminder for others that they have misjudged something. ]

[ It’s strange, how hard this is hitting him. Carver shivers again, his hand curled around Gold’s hip, and takes a breath to steady himself. The warm feeling just echoes through the whole of him. He can feel it everywhere, pulsing out from his chest and settling in odd places. The very center of his palms, behind his eyes. Deep in his gut.

It’s gentle, and slow, and that -

It’s a lot, suddenly. ]

You can do more.

[ His voice comes out soft, and a little hoarse. What is it about this man that throws him off balance every goddamn time? ]

I want you to.

[ Gold is near enough now to be sitting hip to hip with him, which in itself is electric even with layers of clothing between them. His contact with other people, especially positive, is often so minimal. So he has to use caution even when his senses are demanding more. Because then he'll lose his aim and direction.

A soft hm against his shoulder when he speaks. Gold's hand carefully feeling the shape of him while his thumb quests for the sewn lines of his trousers, seeking catches, buttons, zippers. He sits up a little, lips brushing the shell of his ear. ]

Do you have something for me?

[ Oh, the cheek on this man. Carver grins, shivering a little at the way Gold presses in close. The words against his ear.

He reaches between them to undo his own belt. Answer enough. ]

Want me to get you?

[ He’d do that, he thinks. He’d go down to his knees and not care at all. ]

...Don't worry about that for right now.

[ There's an edge in the first few syllables, some remainder of a reaction he carefully keeps under wraps, but it's nothing approaching admonishment.

But inwardly he knows if he lets Carver do that now, he'll let him do whatever he wants after. The older man is only distantly aware of how much that could undo him.

When Carver has his belt untethered, his hand follows him, only a split-second where contact is broken, and when his fingers return there are slipping under folds of cloth, in a single turn freeing him but catching him up in another way.

He pulls in a careful whisp of breath. ]

[ Carver’s breath stutters, free hand going to Gold’s arm. Not to stop him or even to slow him, just to have something to hold onto. He arches up into the touch, not bothering to be coy about it.

Yeah. Yeah, this is working for him. He’s shivering with it. Wanting in a way he hasn’t in a long time. And Gold hasn’t taken any of his clothes off. Just loosened things, and touched him so goddamn carefully. Carver wants to - he doesn’t know. Bite him for it, maybe. Or ask for me. He does neither, and takes a steadying breath. ]

[ When Carver takes hold of him, there is a pause at first, opening his eyes to take in the whole of his demeanor, ascertain that he is not being signaled to stop.

Gold strokes the full length of him, careful with his application of pressure -- not foregoing entirely, but seeming to know when to increase, for how long, where to focus the tension most. For a man who doesn't really do this much, especially not to himself, he still seems to know well enough what he is doing, following a mix of distant experience and just feeling out Carver's reactions. ]

[ It’s not like Carver was a blushing virgin before he showed up here. He got around. He didn’t let it mean anything for years because it couldn’t mean anything. He had to put his people first - always, and forever. And if there was Riley, once, that still ended.

It doesn’t matter if he thinks about it sometimes, even in the aftermath. Riley’s probably long dead, a ghost to him either way. And yet that meant something, had a weight like this does, and -

And.

Carver takes a shaky breath, then another. He rubs absent circles with his thumb against Gold’s hip just for something to do other than react, twitching and quiet, to the way Gold touches him. It’s not enough to get him off - not yet, not like this - but it’s certainly enough to work him up. More than enough. ]

[ His hips seem to quiver a little at the touch, as he shifts and draws in a breath to steady himself. And always keeping any of that pause or uncertainty out of his hands; the free one moving to briefly cover Carver's, the other keeping a steady but firm pace in its ministrations.

Was it like this before? He would be struggling to remember at any other time, reaching for some memory that had been beyond desperate fumbling, two people not in their right minds in the moment and desperate for words on the matter afterward when they were sane again and once more merely colleagues.

No. This was very different. ]

If you say yes, I am going to move. But it doesn't have to be more than this if you don't want it.

Fuck.

[ It comes out in a soft hiss, his head bowed. It shouldn't feel like this - too slow, maybe, to kill the ache with adrenaline. Nothing fumbling and rushed about this. No hand clamped over his mouth so the rotters won't hear. Carver isn't certain what he feels. Calm, in part - a rare thing, and one he's having trouble explaining. But shaky in other ways.

It's hard to focus. Gold's hands are steady, though, and it feels good. Maybe it can just feel good for a while.

He takes a breath. Holds it, then exhales. ]

Yes.

[ One thing Gold will probably never do is try to stifle him; it's one reason why he keeps talking. To connect. But sometimes, with the right person, you could tell when a little prompting would drive them a little more. (With the situation reversed, he has no idea how he would react, himself.)

But once he is given what he asks for, with a breath and perhaps a fond, thankful kiss, he does as he said he would: he moves. Those little exploring tastes travel lower, and as he carefully shifts to his knees in front of him, his lips leave a trail down his chest, and his free hand trails down along his side. ]

[ It's deliberate, just like before. Searching, Carver thinks, lets himself just exist as it happens. As Gold sinks to his knees, his hand trailing down Carver's side and skipping over scars. It's deliberate, and gentle, and it's a lot - has been since the start. There's a weight to this that Carver wasn't expecting, and isn't entirely sure how to take.

He shivers, shifting to put a hand on Gold's shoulder instead. Squeezing gently, watching - eyes bright - to see what he does next. Knowing, already, that he'll let Gold do it. ]

[ Gold's eyes open briefly to meet his, and his hands stop what they are doing to open his trousers further and give himself a little more access. There is maintained contact still -- a lingering kiss over his abdomen, a reminder that more is coming as he settles between his legs.

There's a flicker of an instant where he thinks of the moment they met on the street. A misunderstanding giving way to two very unsatisfied egos, and this -- well this definitely isn't where either of them imagined winding up, he supposes. But it does give Gold one victory, in his eyes. Appearances did wind up deceiving, as they always do.

Another kiss, dipping suggestively lower, and then he is taking him in hand again, first one, then both, feeling and gently working every contour of his length and chasing away any flagging that might have occurred in their absence. When his lips appear there, followed by a lash of his tongue, it is without any real warning or preamble. ]

[ It's gentle, again. Every move telegraphed. Carver will think about that later, try to pull it apart and search for the meaning within it. What it means that another person looked at him and decided to go this slow, to take such care to ensure there's no pain. Like that time before, with the razor. And then Gold goes lower, and those thoughts are just gone.

Carver bows his head with a hiss, his hand on Gold's shoulder. Just holding, for now. Breathing with it, that flash of warm pleasure.

It feels good - uncomplicated, and good. And he lets himself react, to want it. He holds very still, and it -

It's just good. ]

[ Again, no signals to stop, so further he advances, his hands handling the heft of him, a mixture of a gentle hold and massage, working everything his lips will not reach while his mouth worries about careful manipulation. He could not say whether this is something he is good at or not -- he just has some general idea what would be the most sensitive and what wouldn't, what would feel good, what should be handled with care.

There's no room really to hope he is doing well or worry he is not. But to feel the hand on his shoulder, to feel every tensing muscle, every shiver -- all enough to force a rush through him as well, and he moans. ]

[ He can feel it when Gold moans, the vibration of it, and - yeah. Yeah, all right. That's doing it for him. Carver bites back a groan, head bowed, and his hand resting on Gold's shoulder. Shivering, now. It's been a long time since anyone's done this for him and there's the same weird intensity to the moment that nearly everything he does with Gold has.

Not for the first time, he thinks of the razor. Of baring his throat and telling himself it didn't involve trust. That it was just a moment, a test like all the others, and he'd survive it just the same.

Survival's the only thing that really matters these days. If you're alive, then you can fight. If you can fight, then you can do anything.

But this is different. Stranger, somehow. He's not certain it's something that can be won.

Carver shivers again, holding as still as he can, and reaches out to run his fingers through Gold's hair. He's aching, fighting to hold still, and it just -

Feels good. Not much does these days. ]

[ He couldn't have explained it if prompted, how every little movement, that shudder, the hand in his hair affects him. He doesn't have a fixation on any specific part of a man or woman, even if he can seem that way, just as anyone else might be. But being wanted? Being seen as something erotic in his own right? Once it clicks, he feels it -- any attempt to move on without voicing his pleasure would have failed.

For a moment he shudders, the sound that rumbles up his throat not quite a moan, something perhaps a little helpless.

It redoubles his efforts. His tongue moves over him in heavier strokes; his hands have more purpose, learning him with as much intent as coaxing him. ]

Fuck.

[ It comes out soft, just like before. He can feel everything like this. That sound Gold makes, the way he shudders in turn. The way that he works Carver - no surprise that it's thorough. That Gold commits to this the way he's committed to everything in front of him. Not like a soldier - not like one of Carver's people - but with an intensity that Carver understands, even admires.

It hits harder than it has any right to.

Carver shivers again, swallowing hard, and trails his fingers through Gold's hair. Rubbing at his head - always, always gentle. ]

You keep - hah - you keep doing that, I'm gonna come.

[ A soft warning. He'd like that, he thinks. And he'd like returning the favor. ]

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