holyposition | IC Inbox

I told you it was better.

[ Watching as Harry listens, charmed by his open appreciation, the wonder of it. His own shock had come from the advancement in electronics that would allow him to easily carry it all over here more from the music at all, on account of not liking much of the modern stuff (Fleetwood Mac was good though - maybe later), but now that he thinks of it...Tim has no idea what they did for music in the 1840s. Sea shanties? The opera, if one were well-off?

As subtly as he can manage (which isn't very), Tim slides down from the arm of the chair and into Harry's lap, letting one arm hang loosely around his shoulders while he watches him get familiar with the device. ]

It can store hundreds of songs. You could have it on all day and not even repeat one. There's a catch, though.

Edited 2025-04-15 00:33 (UTC)

[Harry nods. He takes Tim into his lap almost absently, so enchanted with the music is he. He wraps an arm around Tim's waist and keeps him close as he listens.

Harry blinks and looks up.]

There is?

[He lets the device play whatever is next on the playlist, staring at Tim with wide hazel eyes.]

[ He regrets it as soon as the words come out of his mouth, betrayed by a deep blush that creeps down his neck, and with nowhere to hide, since Harry's looking up at him. Tim covers the bottom of his face with his hand and leaves the ipod to play, looking down and sighing through his lips before he explains. ]

Under normal circumstances, I think, you would buy new songs for it, but since there's no real currency here, I get credits I can trade for new ones every time I...um. Engage. Intimately.

Edited 2025-04-15 02:18 (UTC)

[The music distracts Harry for a moment, but then he's watching Tim carefully. The blush makes sense soon enough, and one rises in his own cheeks in return.]

I see.

[Gently, he nuzzles Tim's neck.]

Then you'll never be wanting for more music, I suspect.

Harry!

[ Tim's jaw drops, gasping at the audacity. Or is it, perhaps, lips and beard rubbing against his neck, as if he's looking for the mark left last night, right beneath his collar? It tickles enough to make him laugh and squirm in his lap. ]

What kind of boy do you take me for? You make it sound like I have men lining up down the hallway!

Nonsense, I meant only that those you have keep you very well satisfied.

[Ah. Yes. There is a mark, and that fact does things to Goodsir's libido that he wouldn't have expected. The squirming doesn't hurt, either.]

Or at least, I should hope so.

What, did Hawk tell you that?

[ It's not untrue. It's a surprise though, to hear him speculate on it at all - for Tim's entire time here, he's been trying to find a way to comfortably adapt to the lifestyle here without too much awkwardness or jealousy. He hasn't found that balance, but the closest he's gotten is acceptance without asking detailed questions. Speculating on his lovers' sex lives with other people is something he tries not to do at all.

He shifts so that he's facing Harry, straddling his hips and getting comfortable, squeezing strong thighs around him and putting his hands around the back of his neck. ]

Don't think about anyone else right now, okay? Unless it's Frank Sinatra.

No! Good Lord, Tim, that would be awfully inappropriate of us to discuss. I just assumed, as I can't imagine men not wanting to please you.

[Oh, yeah. That's a lap full of Tim alright. Harry's mouth suddenly feels dry. He loops his arms around Tim's waist after letting the iPod rest on the seat cushion.

He looks up into his face, enraptured.]

I couldn't possibly. Even if I knew who that was.

[ Harry's...praise? Flattery? Maybe it's just honest esteem. Whatever it is, it's overwhelming. It's not especially true, even, outside the two men relevant enough to mention, but he says it like he believes it, he looks at him as if he were the sort of beauty that wars get fought over.

Easily impressed, from so much time in isolation. Tim will enjoy it while he can. ]

That's the singer.

[ He leans back just enough to take his glasses off, folding them carefully and setting them on the table next to the speaker. ]

Do you want to please me, Harry?

[ Asking a question he knows the answer to, because he's sure it'll sound even better than Sinatra. ]

Edited 2025-04-15 14:39 (UTC)

[Zero hesitation, zero guile.]

Yes, Tim. Desperately so.

[Once again Harry finds his heart hammering hard enough to shake his chest. His hands creep up Tim's back, cartographers mapping its hills and valleys.]

[ His fingers are running over soft cashmere and hard muscle underneath, his shoulders flexed to keep his arms held around Harry’s. It makes Tim squirm, in a good, anticipatory way, settling down over his hips and leaning in until their chests are nearly flush, heartbeat thudding violently, eager to burst through and join the other behind his ribs and leave Tim’s own empty. Ready to be filled up with more adoring words and needy caresses.

He holds his face with both hands, cradling him, claiming him. His eyes are warm, but there’s a spark of something hungrier in them. It’s just been waiting for the time and place. ]

I want to please you, too, Harry.

[ A plea, more than it is an admission. ]

[He's not so blind that he can't see what Tim craves. He has, after all, learned a little bit about the other men in Tim's life. Strong men who no doubt have the upper hand on all situations. Not soft intellectuals more at home in a library than out rowing or hunting.

You're not THAT soft, Harry, he thinks. In more ways than one. Indeed, Tim is consistently helping him prove that the human sex drive can bounce back quite remarkably.

He puts a hand on the back of Tim's head and gently tugs him down for a kiss. It's not nearly as polite as he means it to be - all scorching heat and slick tongue in a matter of seconds.]

[ If he needed a strong, confident, dominant man to lead the way for him, he has Hawk at home. There would be no point to this phase of exploration if he were just looking for multiples of what he already has. That's what's in his comfort zone, that's what's easiest for him to lean into his desire for, but he wants to know him more than he wants any particular attitude or act. Tim would rather Harry just be Harry, confident that whatever he is and whatever he wants, he'll like, too.

(But make no mistake, Tim is certainly not immune to a forceful hand...)

So far, Harry has been spurts of boldness, a gentle voice, grace and understanding that's in such short supply around here. He's tried so hard to be a gentleman that Tim doesn't know yet what he'll like. Here's hoping he can draw it out of him, unwrap the mystery like a Christmas gift.

His lips open to accept him immediately, moaning back into the kiss and taking a chance, pushing it further, plucking at the ribbon on the wrapping paper - but more literally, the buttons on his waistcoat. ]

Not too much?

[ The unbuttoning, the very deliberate moving around in his lap, the searing lap of his tongue from Harry's own to the soft gnawing at his earlobe. ]

[What Harry likes is still a bit of a mystery even to Harry. He's had some experiences, but all of them were brief and loveless. His fantasies are rarely considered except when he's alone, and even then they're things that are quickly examined and then put away.

He has to pull his mouth back to answer.]

Not too much.

[In fact, he lets go of Tim so he can awkwardly wriggle out of his coat, and then his vest once Tim has it undone. He's left still very much covered with his shirt and braces and trousers, but it feels scandalous.

He kisses Tim's neck.]

No, not too much at all.

[Slowly, Harry lets his hands slide to the hem of Tim's sweater and, after a moment of hesitation, slip underneath. He inhales sharply at the feel of the smooth skin of Tim's back. He hides his burning face in Tim's neck, but can't hide the way his hips twitch upward.]

Good.

[ That it's not too much. that the lips on his neck make him shiver, that he can feel Harry's cock growing thick and hard alongside his. Tim's mouth waters for it, sure in an instant of exactly what he wants.

Knowing and expressing it are different things. He's become accustomed to having someone who may as well be a mind reader. Harry’s not there yet, but Tim’s not hard to figure out. He’s reactive, shivering and gasping into every touch, nodding furiously with a half-hum, half-moan mmhmm when his hands dive beneath his sweater to stroke bare skin.

He raises his arms so he can take it off him, revealing firm muscle and blanket of hair on his chest which narrows into a fuzzy trail pointed down the front of his jeans. "dirtylaundry" certainly wasn't lying, and Harry's made the short list of people he doesn't mind knowing. All that drama will be worth it, if he keeps looking at Tim like that. ]

You too.

[ He has to stop kissing him to work at the clasps on his suspenders, to know his body the way he hopes to. Prove his affection for every inch. ]

Good Lord.

[The words slip out unbidden, almost comically earnest. But Tim is like some shining dream, sitting there with the body of a young god and a smile bright enough to shame the sun.

He can feel Tim's hands fumbling with buttons and has to reconcile himself with the fact that he's going to have to undress. It's a daunting prospect for several reasons, not the least of which is that Harry's positive that the reality of his flesh will be a disappointment.

But, on the other hand... he's harder than he's ever been in his life. So he ignores decorum and embarrassment both, helping Tim get his braces down and his shirt undone and then pulled over his head and tossed aside.

Harry is pale, still thin in a way that speaks of ill health, with thick dark hair spreading over his chest and down his belly. He doesn't give Tim a chance to look, pulling the younger man as close to him possible as he kisses him again and again. His hands move over Tim's back and chest and arms greedily before they dare to drop to his thighs and squeeze.]

[ He doesn't get much of a chance to look at him, but he feels as much as he can. He's thin, which is no surprise, barely a month out from his years trapped in the ice. Not his usual type, sure - but he likes it because it'a Harry, sweet Harry, who's been nothing but honest and vulnerable with him. The body that brought him here, the body that feels so divine pressed to his now. Tim wants him as he is.

Fingers rake through the thick hair on his chest, scratching lightly at his skin, going from the softness of his fingertips to the scrape of his nails to see what he reacts to, still exploring, desperate to know what he wants and give it to him. Tim's a pleaser, and Harry deserves to be pleased.

A soft, encouraging sound rumbles into Harry's mouth from his, as soon as he's got his hands on his thighs, but Tim has his sights set elsewhere. One more long, indulgent lick into the other man's mouth, before he readjusts to kiss further down, his neck and his collarbone, sliding down his body until he can bury his nose in that hair and breathe deep. It makes him suddenly extremely regretful of his choice to wear constricting jeans, riled up now by the scent of warm skin, lilac cologne, and Harry.

His hands spread to cover as much as possible, leave no piece of him untouched. The last people to touch him had done so with ill-intent, to butcher him, desecrate his corpse and take pieces of him for themselves. Tim can't undo that. But he can lay his hands on him lovingly instead, with pleasure instead of pain, a vital spark of life instead of prolonging a slow death. ]

You smell good.

[ Muffled into his chest between wet kisses, before he trails down further, falling down to his knees on the carpet before him. ]

[It's a body that he's spent a long time ignoring. Starving it, freezing it, exhausting it - survival meant going to sleep pretending it was okay, that you didn't notice, until everything was just a haze you worked through. His time in the manor hasn't fixed everything - the long, ugly scars on his forearms aren't going anywhere - but at least he isn't hurting all the time.

Tim is drawing pleasure from him, and it's both confusing and intoxicating. He reacts to everything like it's brand new, murmuring at the brush of fingers, groaning at the scrape of nails. His own hands find purchase in Tim's hair when the other moves to press his face to Harry's chest.]

Thank you. It's--

[He isn't expecting Tim to slip off of him, and he looks at him with perfect confusion as he settles on the floor.]

Tim? What are you doing? Are you alright?

I--

[ Tim looks up at him from between his legs in alarm, a startled deer having stepped on too loud a twig. He doesn't hear it as a real question, because it seems, to him, quite obvious what his intentions are down here. He tenses, fearful that he's gone too far. ]

Sorry, I thought - I wanted to - um, use my mouth on you. [ Cheek resting on his inner thigh, tongue darting over his lips. ] Is that too much?

[Use my mouth on you. Harry has to grip the seat cushion for a second.]

Oh. I. No. No, that's...

[Jesus how do you reply to that?!

He clears his throat.]

That would be lovely, thank you.

[Harry closes his eyes, embarrassed by his own existence for a moment.

He opens them again and reaches over to run his fingers through Tim's hair. He smiles.]

My apologies, Tim. I'm not very good at this. But... yes. Yes, please.

[But first he has to lean forward and kiss him again, wanting to reassure Tim that he's interested. As if the fact that his cock is straining at his pants wasn't clue enough.]

[ He can't help but laugh, snorting and giggling into Harry's thigh. The absolute silliness of it at least breaks the tension immediately, puts him at ease again. Tim raises himself into the kiss, reaches up to pluck at one of his nipples to tease, experiment, learn a little more about him with each motion. ]

You're perfect. And it will be lovely.

[ But soon, it's time to work at his trousers. Tim nimbly works at the buttons, smiling up at him bright as the sun, and with a stare just as hot, running his palm up the hard line ready to escape. ]

Let's get these off.

[Harry is self aware enough to recognise that the situation is funny, so he doesn't take offense. He just laughs softly along with Tim, still smiling into the kiss until his nipple is tweaked. At that he shudders and makes a low, desperate sort of noise back in his throat. Everything about this encounter is forcing him to reconsider what he thought was possible with a man.

Harry nods, shivering again under Tim's hands. He licks his lips and casts a quick glance around, half expecting to see the shadows of men. He looks back and then moves quickly to lift his ass off the chair and pull his pants down.

Absolutely no erectile dysfunction here, and he's supremely grateful for it. His dick is stiff and throbbing almost painfully. Uncut, perfectly average if perhaps a little thick, he's too aroused to worry if it measures up. Harry reaches again for Tim's hair, pushing it back, eyes searching his face.]

[ Tim's perfectly happy with what he's uncovered, in fact, he's practically beaming when they meet eyes again, eyes dark with desire and mouth wide, smiling. Not a doubt clouding his features or an insecurity closing him off. He looks up at Harry, rubbing his thighs with both hands, making sure he's still enthusiastic as he pulls his socks off, finishing the job, and topping it off with a kiss on his inner thigh, just beyond his knee. And another, further up, and another, a slow, teasing line towards his cock. Lips close on the pale skin only inches from his cock, and he sucks some of it in, determined to leave a little mark of his own that only Harry will see.

He moans into his thigh, not caring if he takes some hair into his mouth as he goes, and detaches with a lewd pop. Meeting his eyes again, Tim laps his tongue over the red mark, and then pauses, just for a moment. Deciding whether to protect Harry's perception of him as a virtuous man with decorum, or submit to his own base, filthy instincts.

It's never much of a debate, in the end. He reaches up, fingers sliding through the other's treasure trail, and holds his palm open slightly cupped. ]

Spit.

[It's through an incredible feat of will that Harry does not say something stupid like 'goodness gracious' as Tim gently mauls his thigh. His dick twitches, but he keeps his mouth shut. There is something so insanely erotic about just the look of Tim's beautiful lips against pale skin and dark hair.

And when he looks up, his tongue dragging over the mark he's made... Harry legitimately can't breathe for a moment.

He's too overwhelmed to hesitate or ask questions. He spits in Tim's palm. His hands itch to touch him but he keeps them off for the moment.]

Thank you.

[ Softly, as if he's handed him a cup of tea. Tim keeps his face pressed low on his belly, kissing down the trail of hair and into his pubes, closing his eyes to focus on the sensation of it, the pleasant scratch and the musky smell that makes his own cock leak in his pants. One handed, he unbuttons himself and takes it out, giving him room to breathe but not touching himself otherwise, too focused on Harry.

He wraps his spit-slick hand around his base and pumps, tighter and wetter around the head, where he pushes back the foreskin as if he's unwrapping another gift, eyes sparkling with excitement, flush warming him down to his chest. His eyes don't leave Harry's for a second when he leans towards his cock, his glistening tongue out and eager. Tim takes a few slow licks, savoring the taste with a low, indulgent moan.

He's been thinking about this for days. Stretching around him, tasting his pre and his spit mixed with Tim's, whether he'd be demanding or put him in control. If he kept indulging him and flirting back, he knew he'd find himself right here, sooner or later. Perhaps he was never meant to burn slow, but to be consumed, intensely and immediately or not at all. ]

You can touch me, if you want.

[ Before opening his mouth wide to invite him in properly, suckling at the head with hollowed cheeks and sinking onto him deeper. ]

Edited 2025-04-16 03:25 (UTC)

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cw: suicide mention

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