holyposition | IC Inbox

[ So perfectly helpful, cleaning his fingers off for him, pushing the cum into his mouth with his tongue so that he won't be deprived of the taste of him, so that a little piece of Tim will live inside of him for a while. Mark his insides, make him his. He shouldn't be thinking like that, it's too soon, he can feel his heart flutter against its eternal trap of giving everything or nothing at all - but he can't help it, when Harry talks like that, as if he's this perfect thing, worthy of his worship. He says it all as if it's fact, it's hard not to believe it. ]

You're too sweet to me. I'll get a big head.

[ The post-orgasm shiver gives way to a heavy, warm feeling. He thinks he could drift off for a while right here in Harry's lap and he wouldn't refuse him, but the bed looks more appealing, neatly made and with room to stretch out, cuddle, discover how their bodies fit.

Tim kisses Harry once more before carefully standing up from his spot in his lap, his soft cock comically dangling out of his pants. He stuffs it back into his underwear, but pulls the jeans off, folding them precisely and laying them next to his sweater. On second thought, he decides to take off his boxer-briefs too. Harry had wanted to see the rest of him, hadn't he? He does a little turn for him, too flooded with endorphins to feel self-conscious about it. ]

Can we lay down for a while?

[Deprived of his lap full of Tim, Harry has a moment to just sit there and absorb the fact that this actually happened. Getting it straight in his mind is like trying to fit some unwieldy object through a doorway.

Tim undresses, the opposite of what Harry had expected, and he can only gaze at his form with an eye both clinical and admiring. He looks perfect.]

Hm? Oh. Oh, yes, of course.

[He has to force himself up off the chair and resist the urge to cover up immediately. He makes it to the bed and lays down with a sigh, turning onto his side so he can look at Tim. He feels he could do that for hours.

When Tim settles beside him, Harry lifts a hand to push his hair back softly, then to very tentatively run over one well defined shoulder. Smooth. Perfect. His eyes flick about, eating up the sight of Tim all over again.

He chuckles nervously.]

I don't know what to say.

Have you survived the great trials of your religion?
Is it blasphemous to write you and tell you I miss you in more ways than one?
I could list the ways.

It's a beautiful day outside - it made me think of you.

I think "the trials" were tougher on you and Hawk than on me 😊

But yes, it's over. It ended with Easter.

So you're more than welcome to list them this time.

They weren't tough at all. More hard than anything. 😇

I was thinking most of your thighs this morning - would you believe I still have a bruise from last time? Right above my right hip - the grip you had on me was very mighty.

I owe you a mark in return.

Really? It's been more than a month. Sorry.

I guess that means you owe me one. Where do you want to leave it?

It's almost gone - I bruise easily. It's not worth an apology - I like it.
A nice reminder of you.

[ he doesn't, but that means they linger, and it likely didn't help that he'd worked it with his fingers some nights after. a little pain with his pleasure. ]

But I could leave a mark on the back of your thigh, just under the curve of your ass.
Bite it until it's sore. Then you won't be able to sit without thinking about me.

Do you? I'll have to test that out, you know. See how much effort it takes to leave a love bite.

Better do both thighs. So it's even.

You're welcome to test it any time you wish, sweets. I can't deny you.

But both thighs? We'll see. If it's even you might grow used to it. I can't have that.

If not your thighs then your waist or your bicep. Maybe your shoulder. Maybe I'll leave more than one.

Soon, then.

If it's even, I can't lean to one side and escape it. I'll have no choice but to think about you.

Anywhere you want.

Where are you right now?

Anywhere I want, though? That's dangerous. I could mark you up everywhere I please, then everyone would know where my mouth and hands have been.

In my room. Where should I be?

Most people aren't seeing enough of my skin to know you were there. Maybe at the gym.

[ It’s not because of vanity that Tim knows he likes what he sees, even when he’s turned away so that he can’t see his expression. It’s because of faith. Harry has been nothing but sweet and adoring towards him, seen him vulnerable and angry and now whorish, and had nothing but tenderness in response. He’s sure not changing his mind over an eyeful of his ass, which even Tim can’t be so modest as not to admit it’s a nice one.

He settles in, grinning, one arm under the pillow to prop up his head and the other around Harry’s middle, tracing lazy patterns on his back with his fingertips. ]

You can say anything. [ Softly, big doe eyes of his warm and content, the hunger faded but something needy in them, still. ] You can say...this feels good. Or you’d like to see me again, soon. Or...my chest looks like a cozy pillow.

[ Or when feelings are hard to describe, there's always yapping. ]

...I had a friend that used to sing this song. Back home. At a club. Oh, um... [ Puckering his lips, exaggerated, trying to recall the phrase. ] You would have called it a molly house, I think?

[Tim's physical presence is so vital, so strong. The muscular angles of his body, the easy warmth, the glow of good health. Harry can't focus on it too deeply or he might actually weep, and he doesn't want to do that. It's just been so long since he's seen a body that isn't actively deteriorating.

For a nightmarish moment he thinks of what lurks beneath that soft skin and he has to close his eyes momentarily. But he reopens them and finds a smile.]

All of those things are true.

[At that Harry's eyebrows lift. His cheeks turn faintly pink. ]

I am familiar with such places, yes. A place for, ah. Well. I am familiar.

[As good as a confession, really, to having been to such an establishment.]

Go on.

[ Harry's closes his eyes, and he wonders where his head goes, but he doesn't try. Tim just leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead, and keeps talking, pulling his focus back. ]

Hawk used to take me there. The only place other than our apartments where we could even hint at knowing each other beyond just colleagues. I got to know one of the employees, Frankie. He sang dressed as a woman, with a woman who was dressed as a man. He's a really nice guy, he gave me some advice I should have paid better attention to.

[ or maybe he's just fine the way he is. The Cozy Corner feels a world away now, along with all the petty dramas he was upset about back then. ]

Anyway. He loves this song. Guess I'm feeling nostalgic.

We had people who did that in my time. It's strangely comforting to know that the... tradition? Continues. People really don't change, do they? Just the trappings.

[He drags clever fingers over Tim's collarbones.]

What is the name of this song? I'm sorry I don't know any of them. Yet. I shall, I think, eventually.

I'm so very curious about it all. I think there must be music from so many places, too. Other countries.

[ Tim hums, looking thoughtful. It’s only here that he’s been able to put his sexuality and others like it into any kind of historical context, thinking of it before as just his sin, his burden to overcome. But Harry hails from a hundred years before him, and a hundred years before that there were other men sneaking around in the dark, looking at each other with the loving expressions that they both wear now, weighing the dangers against the pleasures and choosing the latter. It is a comfort. God makes some people this way, and always has. It’s no sin to admit to it. ]

I guess not. That is kind of comforting.
[ Also comforting, snuggling in closer to bury his head into the crook of his neck. He can smell a little more sweat on his skin now than when he arrived, but that pleases him. ]

This one’s called Land of Love. You can borrow this, if you want to get familiar. I brought the charger and the ear buds, they’re in the bag. It’s got more modern stuff on it, too.

[ Fingers trailing lower, feather-light over the curve of his ass. Simply learning the shape of him. ]

I’ll try my best to answer anything you want to know.

[Cuddling is so new. He tenses for a second but relaxes the next, cautiously draping an arm over Tim's waist.

He can smell Tim's hair and it is soothing. He kisses the top of his head softly, enjoying having him so close. Slowly, he lets his ankle hook over Tim's calf.]

'Land of Love.' I like that. Very much.

You wouldn't mind? And the library, perhaps it has more devices like this or the ah, radio?

[He goes quiet, keeping Tim close but not quite daring to run his hands over his body like he wants to. When he does speak again his voice is even softer than usual.]

I don't understand why you allow me this... this closeness. And please, no flattery, I don't require it. I just... I just don't understand. But I'm ever so grateful.

[The arm around Tim's waist tightens a little.]

It's difficult to remember how much good there is in the human heart. I believed it so easily, once. But I've been poisoned, Tim.

[He laughs, suddenly aware of what he's just said.]

Ah. Yes. But I think you understand my meaning. You remind me of the good, is what I mean to say.

You're free to it whenever you want.

[ No flattery, when every other word from his mouth is to sing Tim's praises. He can't help but chuckle at it. ]

Is it flattery just to tell you that I like it? I like you, and I like this.

[ ’I’ve been poisoned.’ It hurts his heart to hear him speak like that, this kind, gentle man, who hasn’t had an unkind word for anyone in the entire time he’s known him. Tim’s instinct is to argue, to convince him that he knows better, but deep down, he knows it’s not so different from what he confessed to Koby during the wolf games. Under dire circumstances, he’d become the worst version of himself, darkened his soul with things that can’t be washed away. It had only been a month. What if he’d endured the horrors for as long as Harry had? His spirit would have been chipped away until there was nothing left. ]

Poisoning is a good word for it. Because it’s not really you, it didn’t come from you. Your environment changed you. Made you do terrible things. But you can recover.

[ Tim pulls apart from him, just a bit, enough to pull the blankets over them. Keep his crisis of faith, his selfishness, his imperfections warm inside of him where they belong. If the illusion of his perfection gives Harry comfort, he’ll maintain it. ]

If I can help you do that, I’ll have done more good here than bad.

You are too kind. And no, I suppose it isn't. Thank you.

[The blankets help. He no longer feels as exposed, and his body gives up more tension. He pulls Tim back to him and he props himself up enough to kiss him lightly.

He wouldn't bat an eye at Tim's supposed imperfections, that's the truth of the matter.]

I wonder.

[He leans down and kisses Tim once more, one hand cradling his face. He means for it to be soft, sweet, but in a very short amount of time he's licking his way into Tim's mouth. He feels feverish with not lust but desire, something bigger than just wanting Tim's body.

It's no wonder Hawk warned him not to fall in love with Tim. It would be so very, very easy to do.]

Edited 2025-04-17 23:22 (UTC)

[ Harry doesn't want flattery, so Tim doesn't give it. He keeps his thoughts to himself, about how he's starting to look more alive and more healthy than he did a month ago. It's not something he can take credit for, but there's something to be said about the healing power of such deep affection. Not Tim's, but his own, the motivation to be strong for someone, worthy of them. It's something he understands well, the way he throws himself into his experimental affairs with his whole being or not at all.

It would be so very easy to give his all to Harry. He'd accept it wholeheartedly. And then what cruel ending would this place concoct for them?

And yet. He accepts the kiss with open arms, softly keening into it, settling onto his back as Harry leans over him, holds him, makes him feel so intensely loved. Arms snake around his back to urge him on top of him, as if he's learned nothing at all. ]

[It's warm under the covers, and the afternoon light is mellow. It feels safe. Which is maybe why instead of rolling back to his side Harry shifts the opposite way. One leg slips between Tim's, the other at the outside, as he rolls on top.

Harry's hands cup Tim's face as he kisses him, passionate without the immediate desperation from earlier. He pulls away only to kiss down the length of Tim's neck, his hands slipping to run over the impressive expanse of Tim's chest.

It's warm. It's safe. And he's never had the chance to explore someone like this, to marvel at the feeling of bare skin on skin and the taste of someone's sweat.

He squirms lower, mouth finding one of Tim's nipples. His tongue drags over it before he sucks at it, then again when his mouth relaxes. Harry places one ear to Tim's chest, hearing his heartbeat.]

Is this alright?

[More curious than nervous, although the nerves remain.]

[ For Tim’s part, it’s not the partial cover that’s making him feel safe here, because it’s not the nudity that’s making him feel vulnerable. Harry's expressed enough appreciation for his body that he can’t delude himself into disbelieving him, but the choice to put himself in such a state at all is an emotional one, moreso than a physical urge or even a lustful one. Already he’s confessed that he doesn’t like to do this, and never fully enjoys himself, without some strong emotional underpinning, and here he is now splayed out beneath him for round two, an opportunity to be slower and softer and even more emotional, with the initial neediness gotten out of the way.

It feels like a door’s being wedged open and made impossible to close again. And this time, the choice is fully his.

He sighs softly, affectionately, into the kiss, and spreads his legs a little to accommodate him. Tim wraps his arms around him, runs his fingers down his spine, feeling each knobby bump too easily still, every one a reminder of how miraculous it is that Harry is here with him at all. ]

Ah-!

[ A sharp gasp and jerk of his hips, cock twitching against Harry with renewed interest, is probably all the answer he needs. But still, Tim tries, heart racing beneath the other man's cheek. ]

Yeah, it's good.

[Harry wants to tell Tim that he'll always be safe with him. He wants to with all his heart, but he can't. The last time he thought that to be true it wasn't, and he'd done nothing but stand helplessly to one side while the person he'd thought to protect was pushed away to face danger alone.

He wants Tim to feel safe and loved. He can provide that now, he thinks. He just can't promise 'always' even if he's made up his mind to try anyway.

Tim is remarkably reactive, and at first Harry's sure he's hurt him somehow. But no, no. It's good. He looks up quickly to gauge Tim's expression just in case his body wants one thing while his brain wants another, sees no conflict, and returns to his careful exploration of Tim's well muscled chest.]

I've never done this.

[Offered up as a shy apology, 'this' encompassing so much. Hands creep over Tim's torso followed by lips.

Pectoralis major. Serratis anterior. Rectus abdominis. External oblique. He mentally names every muscle beneath his mouth, even though he doesn't want to.

Harry lifts his head and thinks about moving lower. Tries to picture taking Tim into his mouth. The thought makes him feel overwhelmed and so he squirms back up to kiss Tim's mouth again instead.

Softly, he bumps his forehead to Tim's.]

Still alright?

[He hates to ask, certain it will get annoying, but he can't not.]

[ Tim’s body and his brain are perfectly aligned, wanting and comfortable. The heat never truly left his skin, going from fooling around in the leather armchair to snuggling up and sharing that warmth here in bed, but it’s visible again, lighting up his body, freckled pink on firm muscle with a dark trail of hair. Every kiss is an affirmation to soothe his fears, every lap of tongue something to squirm about with anticipation. Sometimes, he’s been self-conscious about how reactive he can be, how his voice goes high and his eyes well up, far from any stoic masculine ideal.

But Harry looks at him like he put the sun in the sky all on his own, like some perfect, sacred thing. The shame doesn’t come. ]

Still good. Don’t worry. We’ve got all day.

[ With a pleased smile on his face, he cups Harry’s cheek, rolling his body underneath him in a slow grind, half-hard already with all the attention. ]

I’m sure whatever filthy things you’re thinking about doing to me will be wonderful.

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