holyposition | IC Inbox

Habit. [Repeated with that same awe. He feels a little faint, contemplating it.

His hand finds Tim's cock and strokes it with a steady enough hand, less urgently before. Harry hums softly, the sort of absent noise a person makes when puzzling something out.]

What, ah. What ideas would those be?

[He shifts a little bit so he can actually see Tim, emboldened by the implication that Tim will return even if Harry fucks it up.]

[ For as open as he’s been up to now, Tim doesn’t have the easiest time putting words to his desires. The men that he’s been with the longest just know, somehow, they’ve become attuned to each other in ways that transcend words, or in Hawk’s case, he saw right through Tim from the start and it just so happened that their preferences compliment each other completely. He’s always been more comfortable in submission, in worship, trusting an authority figure to take care of him, doing what they say and receiving his divine reward.

For once, the imbalance in experience tilts in his direction. He gets the impression that Harry’s a pleaser, just like he is, so he’ll need a little nudge. ]

I liked the way you felt in my mouth. [ Getting hard in his hand, rocking his hips in tune with the languid pace. ] I bet you'd feel better inside me. Would you want me like this?

[ Whining underneath him, ankles on his shoulders. He can picture it, and it makes him ache. ]

Or from behind?

[ A new view, the lewd smack of thighs on ass. ]

I could get back on your lap, too.

[Harry's brain shorts out for a full minute at those mental images. While he processes, he keeps stroking Tim's cock.]

I.

How do you usually...?

[Harry exhales slowly. He's not going to let his nerves best him.]

My apologies, Tim. I am not trying to be, ah, indecisive with my affections.

[He pauses to kiss Tim's mouth gently.] I want you very badly. But I don't want you the way I've had... well.

You are terribly special to me, is all I mean to say.

[His hand stills and he looks Tim in the eye.]

I want to see your face, when you spend. I would like that very much. So if I'm to... to do that, then yes, just like this.

Please, tell me what you want, Tim.

[ The pause makes him squirm, half impatiently begging for more than just a hand, half uncertainty, that he's said too much, that he'll be wanton and whorish to him, off-putting - but he kisses him so sweetly that he has to laugh. It's a light, airy, gentle thing. ]

You're special to me too, you know. Like this sounds perfect.

[ Kissing him again, and wrapping his legs around the back of his thighs, loosely, in case he needs to get up. ]

Do you have...um.

[ Lube, vaseline, something. Harry doesn't have a wealth of experience, but he knows the human body, he hopes he doesn't have to spell it out. ]

[He looks at Tim blankly for a second, then laughs, ducking his head.]

Ah. Yes. The, the manor has provided... well. Yes. [But he kisses Tim again before he reluctantly slips away from him. He has to sit up and reach for the heavy wooden nightstand. The manor has apparently seen fit to stock every bedroom with Astroglide, and although he'd never expected to use it, Harry had read the label and then returned it to where he'd found it.

Still sitting up, covers pooled around his waist, he rereads the label again because his nerves have returned. His eyes flick to Tim, laying there all smooth skin and warm affection.

Stop it, Harry, he thinks, and takes a slow breath.]

Are you comfortable?

[ Tim looks up at him with nothing less than adoration, the thin sheen of sweat and disorderly state of his hair no issue to him when all his focus is on this lovely man. This lovely, attentive, gentle man, the type of person Tim would love if he knew what was good for him. ]

I am.

[ He rubs his ankle against Harry's leg, little affectionate gestures to make him comfortable, too. ]

Don't be nervous. I want you, Harry.

[Harry scoffs softly.] Tim, I'm afraid 'nervous' has been my constant state of being for my entire life. Please don't think it any fault of yours.

[Still he applies lube to his fingers, eyebrows lifting as he rubs them together to feel the texture. Finding it satisfactory (and oh, even here technology has made minute changes to things) he shifts back. His gaze has changed very subtly as he studies Tim's body - it's still beautiful to him, but now it is in fact a human body to be rearranged and, in a way, examined.]

Draw your legs up, please.

[ He lets out an amused huff, and punctuates it with a cheeky bite to his lips before doing exactly what he's told. Tim spreads his legs and shoves his hands under his knees, drawing them up to his chest and exposing him. It makes him feel nervous now, every part of him vulnerable under Harry's gaze, his hands. ]

Is that good?

Very good.

[He pauses to lean over and brush his lips over Tim's.] Lovely as ever.

[Harry shuffles his body a bit so that he can get between Tim's legs, weirdly more at ease now that he can focus on cause and effect. Warm, slick fingers slip over Tim's hole while Harry's gaze stays more or less on Tim's face to gauge his reaction.

Gently (of course) and slowly he presses a single digit in only when he's quite sure Tim is relaxed somewhat.]

You're doing marvellously, Tim.

[ Tim leans up into it, making sure to leave him with a good smack of his lips before he has to turn his attention elsewhere. After a deep breath in, and a long breath out, it's easy enough to relax. He's hardly new to this, even if it's not always this soft, this slow.

The intrusion prompts a soft gasp, and Tim's face flushes. His eyes are hungry, looking Harry up and down, searching his expression. wanting to see the digits disappearing inside him. He clenches around his finger, purposely, an invitation to come in deeper. ]

[Tim is clearly in no distress - seems, if anything, a little impatient. Harry's not to be rushed though, and so takes his time before introducing the second finger. Then eyes downcast to watch his hand he feels unerringly for Tim's prostate.

Sometimes it pays to have an intimate working knowledge of the human body, even if it does leave him looking a little like he's reading something particularly engaging.

His other hand moves to stroke Tim's cock a few times as well.]

[ Patience is not his strong suit, but despite the squirming and shifting, he likes being made to wait. It's not just about anticipation, but not being in control, having to prioritize someone else's pace, their needs over his own. There's comfort in not having to be the one thinking.

There's a sharp gasp when Harry finds what he's looking for, a jerk of his leg before Tim relaxes again. ]

Yeah. That's-- that's good.

[ Shifting downwards in rhythm, trying to fuck himself on Harry's fingers. Tim's breathing gets lighter, quicker, his body stretching to accommodate as it's done so many times before, but never with Harry. That makes it more special, makes him more eager. ]

[Harry is an extremely warm and generous person, but there is something in him that allows for distance when dealing with bodies. This is nothing like surgery of course, and Tim's expression and the sounds he makes are doing wonders for Harry's interest, but just that sliver of coolness lets him continue without feeling nervous. He finger fucks Tim, paying special attention to whatever makes him spasm involuntarily, until he himself is achingly hard. He wasn't sure he would be, so soon after the last time.

With real regret Harry pulls his fingers out and then shifts again, settling properly between Tim's legs again.]

You're doing very well.

[Softly, softly. At this rate Tim might be forgiven for thinking Harry's never raised his voice in his life.

He takes hold of his cock and lines himself up carefully before slowly - slowly! - pressing forward and in.]

[ So softly. Barely above a whisper. It's different from the demanding, gravelly voices that usually echo above him while he's splayed out like this. They put him at ease with the promise of letting go, putting him into a place where he doesn't need to think, only feel. But he finds with Harry that he wants to think, wants to discover, show him what he's been missing instead of the other way around. A new feeling, surrounded by something warm and needy which allows him to block out everything else. Just Tim and Harry.

He's leaking against his belly again by the time he pulls his fingers from him, making him whine in a completely undignified fashion, but self-consciousness has gone out the window by now. Tim lifts his legs up higher to hook them over Harry’s shoulders, heels digging impatiently into his shoulderblades to urge him nearer, all of his most sinful and sensitive places on full display, exercising flexibility that he prays is tempting enough to get on with it before he has to beg.

But Harry is so soft, so sweet. He doesn't keep him waiting, he pushes in nice and slow to sharp gasps as Tim adjusts to the hot sting of the stretch, a satisfying sort of pain that he knows will fade. ]

Kiss me.

[ Between pants as he adjusts, needy for his affection, needy for his cock. A more demanding man than all his forgiveness would have you believe. ]

Edited 2025-04-22 19:15 (UTC)

[Much of Harry's caution and gentleness is simply because he doesn't want to cause Tim any discomfort if he can help it. But there is a portion of it that is in fact pure selfishness; this is the first time in his life that he's felt he can engage intimately with someone. Tim might not be taking his actual virginity, but he's the first person that Harry's had the luxury of taking his time with and he's not going to waste it.

If he's learned nothing else, it's that you can't afford to miss opportunities when presented to you.

Pressed flush, Tim's legs up on his shoulders (and the flexibility is indeed noted, in the part of his brain not being fried by lust), Harry does as he's bid. He leans down and kisses Tim hard before he lets his hips roll. Tentative at first, a little unsure if he's doing it right, but having Tim's heels digging into him and seeing him panting below him, swiftly eclipses the performance anxiety.

Harry has no secret techniques, no fancy moves to pull to impress. There is only the animal instinct to fuck Tim into the mattress. The only rational thought Harry hangs onto is that he shouldn't go too hard or too fast for fear of coming before Tim does.

He can't resist leaning down to kiss and lick at Tim's neck, feeling his pulse under his lips. He groans and shifts, propping himself up so he can fuck Tim a little harder in spite of his best intentions.]

[ 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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