torch, flambeau@strangeplaces.net
June 4-5, 2005

Disclaimer: other people's people. Vaguely inspired by a line in a sex scene in a CSI story. Title from that nice Mr. Cohen. Thanks to Merry.

Call soft enough

John moved from dreams to partial awareness when the bed dipped under a second body, and he uncurled himself sleepily into a gentler curve so Rodney could settle behind him, front to back, and wrap an arm around him and go to sleep. He felt Rodney breathe against the back of his neck, warm and steady, and then soft little kisses along his hairline and on the first solid bump of his spine. Rodney pressed closer, and oh. Not about to go to sleep, then.

Opening his eyes was too much trouble; saying that he was asleep seemed like too much trouble, too. John kept breathing in the same slow rhythm as Rodney's fingers trailed down across his chest, so soft he could barely tell they were there, and one fingertip began to circle his nipple. The touch was very light and very steady, and John could feel the change in pressure every time he drew a breath, every time he let it out.

Around and around, slowly getting closer and closer, and only when the gentle circling motion changed into an equally gentle flickering touch back and forth did John realize his nipple had hardened into a tight point, and that soft flicker sent a ripple of heated chills through his body. He had to work for his next breath, sucking the air in.

The little kisses on the back of his neck made a pattern, a brush of lips, a graze of teeth, the soft wet line of Rodney's tongue tracing bone and muscle. That recurring graze of teeth came always in the same place, a careful bite just where the muscle sloped down into his shoulder, and Rodney's finger was still brushing slowly across John's nipple, and John felt as though those two points on his body burned like signal flares in the darkness of the room, in the darkness behind his eyelids.

A long time later, Rodney stopped teasing John's nipple, and instead shifted back a little to make room for his hand to stroke up and down John's back, thumb sliding along the groove of his spine, palm pressed flat and fingers splayed out to cover as much skin as possible. John almost started drowsing again, except his skin was humming, alive with tension and anticipation wherever Rodney touched.

With every stroke down, Rodney's hand came lower and lower, thumb dipping down past the tailbone, stroking softly where the flesh curved in and dipped. By the time the smooth stroke of Rodney's hand went all the way down over John's ass and up again, John could feel himself breathing, as if the air was hotter when he drew it in, rasping through him, leaving his mouth dry and his chest aching. He still felt heavy with sleep, but even heavier with desire, almost smothering under the weight of it.

Rodney kissed the back of his neck again, then brushed his mouth over the skin, slightly chapped lips catching and dragging, making all the fine hairs stand on end. A shift in weight, Rodney pressing closer for a moment, hard and hot, and then away again, making space between them, pushing John's leg up and tipping his body forward, and John missed the warmth of Rodney against him for all of a second until he heard the snap of a plastic lid.

One slick fingertip, circling, a light but firm touch moving slowly on sensitive skin, and shivery chills spread from that touch, up John's spine and down the backs of his thighs. Another flare going off, a bright urgent fire in the darkness, and John squirmed without moving a muscle. That slow touch went on and on, building a spiral of want, and then it slowed even more, stopped, became a single point of barely-there pressure that John would have pushed back against if the soft silent darkness hadn't covered him and held him down.

The pressure grew, moment by endless moment, fraction by tiny fraction, and John melted, not sure any more of the boundaries between the darkness and his own dissolving body except for where Rodney was touching him, slick finger sliding into him so terribly slowly. He knew there had to be an end to that motion, that sensation, it couldn't just go on and on and on, but it did, until he realized it wasn't a slide in any more, it was out, and then in, and again, and again. Gentle, almost leisurely movement, just a single finger in and out, at a steady pace that became the rhythm his body was beating to, overriding heartbeat and breath.

John hadn't been aware of moving, but his neck was bent, his knee sliding forward on the sheet, legs spreading wider. Air rasped in his throat, not quite sound.

In the dark, existing in that single sensation, he was out of time. John spiraled in and out of the moment, his body heavy and relaxed and yielding, with perfect tension building in a crackling wave across his skin, in a thrum of power deep in his bones. He was so deep inside the experience of touch, he couldn't even gasp at the sudden cool glide of more lube and two fingers, easing in gently at the same steady pace, as if they had years to lie here in the dark, legs tangled together, Rodney's breath on John's shoulder, in and out, in and out, on and on and on.

John could feel a sound in his throat, couldn't hear it. It had to be the same sound the rest of his body was making, a deep growl like an engine in low gear, going slow, slow and deliberate and inexorable. The sheet felt damp against his face with sweat and rushed breaths. On and on and on, no harder than before, no faster, and John tried to spread his legs even more, but there was no movement in him, only sensation. When the sensation stopped, it felt like falling.

But Rodney's hand on his hip caught him, a firm and easy grip, and pulled him back a little, holding him steady as Rodney shifted closer. The hand on his hip slid down and he felt a new steady pressure, just hard enough. John couldn't breathe as Rodney's cock pushed into him, blunt and thick and so slick with lube there was barely any friction, almost a single unbroken movement in and deeper and right there, filling him completely, until he could feel Rodney's body pressed wholly against his and his against Rodney's, feet all tangled, thighs aligned, hips as close as they could be, ass stretched around Rodney's cock, Rodney's belly and chest warm and scratchy against his back, Rodney's mouth against his shoulder. John panted, breath by breath, every one a new effort. Rodney's hand on John's hip held them both still, joined together, just breathing.

The first movement was tiny, no more than a shift in weight, a slight push deeper and a just as slight easing back, and it sent a deep tremor through John's body, shivering him inside and out. He gasped for air, and his lips were tingling, his elbows, the skin between his toes.

John had told Rodney once that he liked it fast and hard, that he didn't mind if things got a little rough, even, and Rodney had listened to him, and nodded, and smiled a little smile that John hadn't understood. But he did now.

When the next movement came, he was ready for it, and breathed out on a choked cry because there it was again, the steady rhythm, the gentle, even pace. Rodney set the pace, and John couldn't tell if his own muscles worked any more or if it was only Rodney's hand that kept up the motion, if that was Rodney working his cock into John's ass or if that was John rocking back and forth on Rodney's cock. All he knew was how it felt, the same soft motion over and over and it just kept on building, the charge building up behind his eyelids, in his calves, just under his shoulderblades, something inside him struggling to break free. Whimpers broke from between his clenched teeth.

Rodney's hand on John's hip didn't move, curved in the same light grip, and John thought maybe Rodney's fingers would sink through his skin and graft themselves onto the bone. He could feel it building and he was helpless, broken open and fucked so tenderly. The sweetness of it was suffocating him, he was heavy and stupid and desperate with it, and didn't think he could stand for it to end—

Every movement was the same, but the next one was the one that made his breath stutter and change, and the one after that set off the first tremors, his hips jerking in a completely different rhythm, and John sank his teeth into his own wrist to keep from screaming the words that echoed through his body as he came, shaking and struggling for air.

He didn't think he would ever move again. He was limp, melting against the sheets and against Rodney, who was still pressed tight against John's back, who was still hard inside John, and starting to rock gently again, in and out. John licked at the teethmarks in his wrist, and Rodney brushed his hand up along John's ribs, around his shoulder and down along his arm, until Rodney's thumb rubbed over those teethmarks, not soothing at all, making them hurt a little more.

"Next time," Rodney breathed in John's ear, fucking him a little harder. John drew a deep breath and pushed back, felt the deep, steady rhythm raise echoes of pleasure through his body, pressed his lips together, and didn't make a sound.

* * *

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