holyposition | IC Inbox

[ They’ve got nothing but time. How spoiled he’s gotten, that this is the norm, and he has hours of free time every day that he can spend warming someone’s bed if he so chooses. As he’s already told him, they have all the time in the world right now, and it feels like Harry’s using it, the push into his hot, tight body slow enough that Tim can savor every inch before he really starts to move. The angle lets him get in deep, pulling a low, shuddering groan from him when he's fully stuffed, and a higher, mewling whine when he pulls out. The noise gets muffled against Harry in messy, urgent kisses, hands gripping in his curls to keep him there, close, pressed against him. ]

Fuck. Harry.

[ An airy, desperate plea - for more, for him to keep looking at him just like that, for him to continue holding Tim high in his esteem after he's make himself comfortable in his room and blew all his gentlemanly ideas of slow burning courtship out of the water. The truth is, he doesn't need any fancy tricks to please him, the emotional intimacy, the healing balm that he's been to Tim is more than enough. He'd made him feel good before a single hand had gone wandering.

Of course, he always responds to getting stuffed full, too. Harder thrusts make him yelp, open-mouthed moaning with no concern for volume, low and sweet and whimpering, eyes wet from stimulation before he realizes it. Tim's hands move above his head, and he makes a request, so rare when he's not called upon to do so. ]

Hold me down. Want all of you.

[ All of his weight, all of his attention, his entire body covering his own. ]

[This entire encounter is a learning experience, one Harry will no doubt write about in detail later, and one thing Harry's learned is that he really likes it when Tim grabs his hair.

Also enjoyable: the sounds Tim makes. They serve to both calm Harry's concerns (surely he can't be doing too poorly when Tim cries out like that) and to spur him on.

At the request Harry slows, taking a second to figure out what Tim means.]

Oh. Oh, yes, of course.

[At this point Tim could ask anything of him and Harry would agree to it.

He wriggles so that he can catch hold of Tim's wrists, letting his weight settle. It's difficult not to marvel at how solid Tim is beneath him while still seeming so vulnerable.

After a quick questioning glance at Tim's face, he begins moving again. It takes a moment to reestablish speed and force, but only a moment.]

[ The half-startled affirmative makes him smile, with a low, warm hum drawn out and a kiss-bruised lip caught between his teeth. Tim's fingers flex before hands close around his wrists, redistributing Harry's weight so that he can shoulder more of it. He likes that, being covered, blanketed by a warm, protective body. He nods, whispering out a yeah to encourage him.

As he works back into his pace, Tim drops his legs from his shoulders to curl around his waist, ankles on his ass, pulling him closer. Panting into Harry's open mouth now, while he holds him down and drives his cock into him like it could be the last time. (Tim already knows it won't be.) ]

Don't stop, please. Harry, please, I need-- oh, God--

[ Dragging his cock over his prostate over and over, the lewd slap of skin along with it every time. His thighs tremble, squeeze around his middle to try and wring a little more time out of it, not ready for this to end. ]

[When Tim's legs hook round his waist Harry feels like he's found the perfect way their bodies slot together. Things suddenly seem easy - he stops worrying about lasting, about doing something wrong or stupid, about hurting Tim's wrists. There is only the gradually spiraling pleasure that comes as he fucks into Tim just as hard as he can.

Harry finds himself murmuring Tim's name in between panting breaths, a quiet litany.

His hands grip Tim's wrists a little harder as the fleshy sound of their meeting bodies increases in tempo.]

Close. Tim, you must--

[A tortured groan as Harry finds himself nearing the razor edge of orgasm. He has enough time to look at Tim's sweat sheened face before his rhythm dissolves and his hips slam forward, burying his cock as deep as he can while he comes.]

[ It brings Harry just near enough to rut against his stomach, the wetness at his cockhead smearing messily over him as he pounds into Tim. Pleasures compound together, every physical sensation and the music of his own name in his ear prove overwhelming, and the tears finally fall from his eyes, happy tears of someone with so many new, deeply loving feelings that he can't contain it all.

He breathes his name back to him, Tim-Harry, Tim-Harry, a call and response like some gospel song. ]

I am, I--

[ With the gasp of a drowning man, he comes, squirming and pulling Harry as close as he can so he can make his mess between them. His body tightens around him, clenching to milk every drop of him while he's still inside. A piece of him that Tim can carry around for a while, a bit of filth shared between them.

Panting and slicked with a thin sheen of sweat alongside his own spend, he relaxes, his body sinking heavy into the mattress. As soon as his hands are free, he wraps them around Harry, holding him close, not quite ready to give up this warmth, this beautiful, intimate moment. ]

[Reality intrudes, relief flooding every muscle and tendon. Harry finds himself squished against Tim in what he assumes must be an uncomfortable way. His hands have moved seemingly without his conscious direction, allowing Tim free movement. He hides his face in the crook of Tim's neck, just trying to exist in this perfect loving moment.

And to catch his breath.

Eventually he stirs and moves, pulling out and away just to flop onto his back beside Tim. Harry stares at the ceiling. It looks the same as ever, indifferent to what has clearly been a life altering event.

He turns his head to look at Tim. Harry lifts a hand to cup his smooth cheek.]

You are one of God's most precious creations, Mr. Laughlin.

[ It’s not uncomfortable at all, it’s perfect, stuck between a warm body and a soft mattress, boxed in safely on either side. They can calm themselves from that blissful high together, breath slowing in unison as Tim strokes the back of his head, realizing that he quite likes the way his curls feel in his hand. He doesn’t have to say anything but the occasional long, relaxed sigh, as he feels the post-orgasm tiredness creep up on him.

He whines a little when the other man pulls out and away from him, and follows him the short distance like a magnet, tucking his head against Harry’s shoulder and throwing an arm around him, tracing lazy patterns against his sweat-damp chest hair. ]

Not so bad yourself, Mister Goodsir.

[ With a teasing grin, looking truly ridiculous smiling so wide while he’s wiping the streaks from his eyes, but so fully in the moment still that he doesn’t care. Tim pulls the covers back up, as the sweat on their bodies begins to cool, holding onto it for longer. ]

That was really special for me. [ Quiet, but painfully earnest, wide eyes a world of fondness. ] I feel good about this.

[ It’s not the first time he’s said that here in Saltburnt. But it may be the first time he’s done so without an asterisk. ]

[That little whine ensures that Harry is going to keep Tim cuddled tight - how could he deny him when he sounds so sad?

He snorts laughter and turns enough to kiss Tim's forehead, content then to just lay there while Tim gets them cocooned in the blankets. The second he is settled Harry takes him in his arms. He listens, attention entirely on Tim in spite of feeling warm and sleepy.]

That was the most intimate series of events in my life, Tim. [He's really not capable of lying about it.] I've yet to accept that it really happened.

[He strokes Tim's hair back from his face, his gaze faintly awed. His admission is soft, awkward in its quiet enthusiasm.]

I feel good about you.

[ He may have met his match, as earnestness goes. It’s a more raw and vulnerable admission than any Tim has ever made, and he feels the weight of it immediately. It’s a responsibility not to do anything to hurt this loving, sensitive man, and it’s a real hope, that this could be something real. Looking into his eyes, he just knows. Harry won’t cast him aside when he becomes inconvenient (as he will, as he always does) or waffle in his affections. He strikes true, and Tim believes every word. ]

The mess will prove it the second we get up. [ With a little giggle, already feeling it, the stickiness on the backs of his thighs. He can ignore it for a while longer. ] Let’s not, though. I could fall asleep right here.

[ Letting his eyes flutter closed against Harry’s collarbone, as if to prove it. ]

[Harry laughs softly and goes faintly pink.]

I am sorry, I should have asked... I'm afraid that when my crisis is upon me I am not really thinking of consequences.

[But he's not moving, content to be exactly where he is. His own eyelids feel incredibly heavy, so he allows them to fall shut. Just to rest his eyes, of course. He's not sleeping.

Which of course means he falls into a doze almost immediately. It's been a long time since he's slept beside anyone, and his slumber is thankfully dreamless.]

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