Yasiel closed the door to the suite with a loud sigh and leaned against the wall to start toeing off his shoes. It felt ridiculous that a day spent sitting in a quiet room drained him, but it did. He’d spent his shift in a state of quiet tension, thoughts swapping between expecting some new fresh fuckery to kick off and puzzling over what to request for gifts. Christmas, like most family fun holidays, remained complicated for him. There was no tradition he knew of that wasn’t shrouded in unpleasant memory, and if presented with the option he wouldn’t mind skipping from end of October straight to January. Penelope had been right that it was a chance to make new traditions and memories, but…
The fact that it came at the cost of being locked away in hellish captivity threatened to sour the whole experience before it even began. He wished it wasn’t taking place in the tower. He wished they could all be at home—real home, in Boston. In his condo, which would probably look like a department store seasonal aisle had thrown up on it if Ford had his way. And Yasiel would let him, too, if it made him happy.
Shoeless, Yasiel padded after Ford and slipped his arms around the other man from behind before he could get too far away. “Hey.” He pressed into Ford’s back, face turning into the familiar space between his vampire’s neck and shoulder before taking a deep, grounding breath. Ford smelled of familiar soap and skin, and Yasiel found himself sighing again as he exhaled—though this time with much less angst.
“What do you want to do tonight?” he asked, well aware of what might be on the agenda. After purposefully winding Ford up he’d not mentioned a single thing about it during their shift, keeping busy with rereading the same Grey’s Anatomy book Theo had found long ago and scribbling down half-formed thoughts about presents. Nor had he during their brief trip to the kitchen afterwards to find Yasiel dinner. But now, alone he was willing to entertain certain uncouth ideas again.
Ford had spent the entirety of his shift and before in a perpetual state of playfully frustrated waiting. Like a dog that had been baited with the world's shiniest, most wonderful stick only for someone to promptly sit on it for a few hours, the tantalizing glow still teasing, but unreachable. He should have known better to expect that something might happen when he finally joined Yasiel for their clinic shift, that tiny voice in the back of his mind reminding him that this had been the man who had been ready, able, and willing to take him on the stairs in full view of everyone and anyone that first time. But it was the clinic, and Yasiel was working. And Ford spent several hours thinking of all the cruel and unusual things he wanted to do to that fucking book every time his gaze wandered in the direction of his stunning witch studying it in earnest, as if he'd never read it before. From his own experience Ford knew that the illustrations were actually pretty fascinating, but not that good.
Okay, maybe they were, but still.
At first, poking away at the christmas gift list on his tablet had been a necessary distraction, something to pretend he was working on every time he thought he felt that lovely warm gaze on him. There were a few names he'd already completed earlier that day, Yasiel's being one, but that pent-up, feisty streak came in handy for a few of them. Almost everyone was getting something, a few things that some people probably would prefer to do without that made him snort out loud a handful of times, but t'was the season, after all.
By the time they were heading back to the room, Ford's mind was torn in a few different directions. One, how would Yasiel's gift actually work and would they let him have it, would some of the gifts he'd picked up for others actually count as trying to gift to himself, and just how long it was going to take to get his witch out of those clothes to do....something.
He was warring with the idea of dragging Yasiel to the bathroom, the bed, the couch, the floor, or the wall when he heard those footsteps come up behind him. It was almost like he could feel the proximity of those arms before they touched him, already faintly leaning back to be enveloped as he thoughtfully clicked his tongue. Like his body wasn't reveling in the touch. Like when words left him it didn't feel like a concealed sigh of joyful, pleased relief.
"I really need to finish my letter of complaint to Santa," he teased, sliding his hands over Yasiel's to hold him in place, worming his way backwards to steer and gently but firmly pin Yasiel between his back and the closed door. "I'm five pages in and I still don't know if I really captured the essence of just how naughty you are."
“Naughty?” Yasiel repeated, grinning into Ford’s neck. He’d gone easily to the door, amused by Ford’s griping. He continued to lean into the vampire instead of the solid wood behind him, arms tightening even as Ford held his hands in place. “I’ve been the picture of innocence all day, I’ll have you know.”
He kissed what skin he could reach outside of the arm straps of Ford’s tank, which was a lot when he tried; multiple bursts of noisy little pecks peppered all over his neck and shoulder before Ford could protest and tell him he was a devil. He finished it up with one last loud, sucking kiss to the vampire’s neck. It was silly and overly affectionate, but no one was watching (including Ford, technically) and he could be as terrible at romance as he liked.
“I think I’ll need a review of my crimes. So I can tell you if they’re based in reality or not.”
That was how sexy justice worked, obviously. He glanced down towards the deadbolt and tilted his chin up, causing it to lock with an audible click. Sexy justice also shouldn’t be disturbed.
"Well, gee, let's see," Ford started, tilting his head to the side as if in thought when really he just wanted to give Yasiel as much access as possible, as if his toes weren't already curling from all the delightful attention.
"Irresponsible theoretical pet ownership," he started in a mild sing-song, raising one hand high enough so that those long, ring-adorned fingers could begin counting off points. "Bouncy house discrimination. Spending an afternoon being entirely too couthed. Baiting your wonderful, sweet, innocent vampire boyfriend for hours in those fucking scrubs. Pretending like Gray's Anatomy is more interesting on the hundredth fucking read, like you didn't know exactly what you were doing, you ass." A mild, playful huff, and he glanced pointedly over his shoulder. "We've been in this room alone for a whole thirty seconds, and not a single article of clothing has been so much as nibbled at." A pause, a click of his tongue, and then "though, I do like what your mouth is already doing, so we can put a hold on that one for now until I can get my fangs on those scrubs."
And, as if his intent wasn't clear enough, his head tilted back a little further to judge the distance between where Yasiel's head was now and where it could end up if he was lifted, and what he could hold onto while his legs were wrapped around Ford's head. What would the new door look like, if they got one? And, hell, a room full of all new surfaces to break in.
All of Ford's points were echoed by a hum and accompanying kiss to the side of the vampire’s neck, trailing higher and higher towards Ford's ear. “I was studying,” Yasiel protested at a rumble. “And thinking of presents. Because it's Christmas.”
And he had to think of exactly how to word his request for Morgan to receive fake silver powder without it coming back to him. Important things, really. With any luck the fussy witch would lose all of his hair in the spell blowback, or maybe the ability to speak. They could all only hope.
“Plus, I can't very well derobe you like this, can I?” He dipped his head to bite at the thin fabric of Ford's tank, pulling it up with his teeth lamely before dropping it again. “Or maybe you've got something you want to tell me about the little game I proposed earlier?”
Yasiel's chin rested on Ford’s shoulder again, fingers tapping idly on the vampire's middle. He was in no rush to move things along. If Ford wanted to stand there and rile himself up Yasiel was happy to oblige, safe and lazy in his place between door and love.
"You were working on your gift list by staring at a book on human anatomy," Ford reiterated, not entirely believing it, but the idea of getting present ideas that way tickled something in him. How did a doctor who wasn't used to the holidays figure out gifts? Especially when you didn’t have access to the internet, or those giant catalogues that showed up in the mail, which….now, that Ford was thinking about it, probably hadn’t actually been a thing for a long time.
And then he was distracted again, because those were teeth tickling his back in a way that strangely made his own faintly ache to join in. The sound that came out of him was halfway between a snort and a giggle that he refused to be embarrassed about. And-oh yeah, the game. That was a predicament. Was there a good way to get Yasiel's clothes off and answers out of him without them both being too distracted to do one or the other? Probably. Did Ford have the self-control to juggle? Sure. Hours ago. But now he was riled and frisky.
"Hm," he replied, just as Yasiel had hummed at him only seconds before, pretending to consider that last question as his own hands slipped backwards, easily finding the hem of those scrub pants, making it obvious that he could derobe Yasiel if he wanted. Or at least half of him. One good tug, and he knew from experience that they’d be on the floor with no hope of getting folded until Ford let him go. "I do, but I think we should handle all of these terrible offenses against me in the order they were inflicted."
“Certainly,” Yasiel nodded, toes curling against the floor. “If that’s how you feel.”
Ford raised the hem of his own tanktop, pulling it over his head in a smooth motion while turning around, pressing into Yasiel as he tossed the garment in the direction of the computer desk. He inhaled, mostly to fill his lungs with the scent of the man, but also for effect, insinuating that he intended to continue just as soon as he was properly situated. “Properly situated” meant one leg slipping between the witch's, an arm wrapped around his middle, the other bracing over Yasiel's shoulder and against the door as if it weren’t already locked. As if the good doctor would try to escape anyway.
"One," he began. "There's nothing wrong with a good bouncy house. It's like jumping on a marshmallow. It's fun." A kiss, playfully chaste given their positioning, and then his voice curled out into the air again. "Two, ponies are not pets. And neither one of us are really into the whole...high maintenance roommate thing. We're plants and fish people. Plus I don't think we really want to deal with strange neighing coming from the closet while I'm railing you into the wall. Three, our fish babies are precious, accepting sweeties who would never feel jealous if we adopted-'' There was a pause before a playful frown appeared, fine white teeth making an appearance as he gently nibbled his own lower lip. "Was the fish thing before or after the pony thing? I don't actually remember."
Yasiel’s grin was wide and bright as Ford carried on. His arms had looped about the vampire’s neck the moment he’d started speaking, all pretense of looking contrite out the window once he’d been kissed. It was embarrassing how easily Ford managed to hold his attention—anyone’s really, but his especially. Even ranting about plants and fish had Yasiel watching that handsome face closely, gaze tracing the bold lines around Ford’s eyes, the slope of his nose, and that delicious yappy mouth. Ford could have been talking about anything and Yasiel probably would have been content to stand there, pinned against a door, looking and feeling warm and dopey as he zeroed in on flashes of porcelain.
At least, until he realised Ford was asking him a question. “What?” he asked, tearing his eyes away from Ford’s mouth finally. “I don’t—” What does it matter? he wanted to say, because he was boring and practical and prone to ruining fun. But he didn’t, instead puffing his cheeks out and shrugging because no, it didn’t matter, but in all of his staring hopeless at Ford he’d already forgotten the question.
“Was there anything else?” There was, and they both knew it, but the longer they were pressed close together the shorter Yasiel’s resolve to be coy became. He scratched his nails into the nape of Ford’s neck gently and shifted his weight from foot to foot, socked toes brushing Ford’s bare ones impatiently. “Something about being too couth? And Christmas presents? And teeth?”
Yasiel smiled, deliberately showing off his own pearly whites. “No fangs in the scrubs, though. It’s my only pair. You’d be very sad if I never got to wear them again.”
"I'll make sure someone gets you a couple pairs for Christmas," Ford promised, because he knew that at least one person was likely going to ask him what Yasiel might actually want or need. And maybe that was yet another thing that was just as much a gift for him, but if he didn't admit it out loud maybe it wouldn't count against the rules.
"Christmas presents," Ford replied, his eyes narrowing in pleasure as those fingers worked, but not closing, not giving in just yet. "Then teeth, and then the couth-itude." And, he had to admit, he was impressed that his brain was functioning enough to actually make that much sense in the moment. "And rules are in there somewhere." After presents.
"Did you want to talk about what I was going to ask for? Or what you want? I was thinking we'd keep this all as a surprise, but after you mentioned...things this morning I wasn't sure if maybe it was something we should talk about first." Again, impressed with his functioning brain, but it was easier with a solid topic to focus on, and one he knew was important. "I mean, if they do it at all." There was also Yasiel's fear of some sort of payment in return for whatever they asked for, which Ford didn't really think was out of the realm of possibility, but that genuinely didn't matter to him at the moment.
When Yasiel had mentioned presents, he was thinking of presents that were present. Not anything to do with the looming list he had to submit over the next two days. “What do you mean, things I said this morning?” It was a last ditch attempt to refocus the conversation on something sexy, though he already knew it wouldn’t work.
His shoulders sagged, mouth pulling to the side as he accepted the reality of their topic. “I don’t know what to get anyone,” he admitted. “Not when it’s…like this. Or ask for, even.”
Yasiel couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d have to pay for it all somehow. And if someone had requested something big for him that carried a price tag? He’d feel strangely. Just as it felt strange to have this conversation between a rock and a hard place. But maybe that had been the point? Get him distracted and penned in so he couldn’t escape. He exhaled loudly through his nose and pointedly did not look at Ford’s mouth. “So maybe you ought to give me some ideas.”
Ford was glad for their positioning, and to have the use of his eyes, watching the mood shift in his witch before his own brain parked all of the filthy ideas it had, though left the engine purring in the meantime.
"I'd love to help," he replied, letting his hand smooth over Yasiel's back through the material of his scrubs. "There's nothing in the rules that says we can't collab," he started calmly, easily, as if his cool could counteract the discomfort the subject was clearly causing. He didn't move, and didn't give Yasiel any more room to either, instead shifting into a faint lean as the witch had done with him only a moment earlier.
"And I meant what you said on the network. The price. And what you said to me about how much space we have that we're not really using. That wasn't an accident, and it wasn't about ponies, right? It kind of felt like you knew what I was going to ask for, but I don't know if you were trying to tell me you were unsure about it."
Yasiel made a rumbling noise at the touch to his back and hooked his arms higher on Ford’s shoulders, allowing himself to lean into both vampire and pleasant touch. He was being managed and he knew it, but he’d allow it. Ford was amazing at it by now, and if the subject hadn’t been tiptoeing around Yasiel having to state something he wanted for himself there would have been nary a grumble.
But it was, and it always made him feel all uncomfortable and strangle-y on the inside, as if he were courting potentially explosive backlash by doing so. His lips pressed together and he did grumble, wordless noises of disgruntlement as he thought about what Ford had said.
“I don’t know what you were going to ask for,” he shrugged. “But I was talking about, you know…” Another shrug, as if Ford could fill in the blanks himself. His fingers twisted together behind Ford’s head, expression shifting more and more in the direction as if he’d just eaten something sour.
“Some kind of sun window,” Yasiel finally huffed. “Or a balcony. That kind of space.”
Ford's grin was instantaneous and wide, leaning forward to kiss that grimacing mouth once, and then again. If he'd had a heartbeat it would have flipped at just how close he'd gotten to being right on the money, and in lieu of that his hips wiggled a little in gleeful pride. Yes. Yes!
"I think how I worded it on my list was Remodel the whole room to something we both want, like you should have done when you got rid of his, you jackasses, and give my man a fucking enclosed balcony so he can lounge like a sun baby while I lurk in here with the curtains closed like a weirdo. Maybe not word-for-word, but it’s close. I’ll show you later." He waggled his brows in time with another swagger of his hips then added. "Remind me to point out that I want to keep all of our actual shit as it is. And not to get rid of the throw pillows. I like those. And I don't want new ones. It sounds silly but I feel like these ones are ours and should fucking stay. And-" he added, just in case Yasiel wanted to interject. "-if you're worried about whatever price it might be, let's mitigate. We can both ask for the same thing so if there is a cost it immediately cuts it in half, right? I want this for both of us. I want this to really be our space. Not my closet. Our closet."
A faint pause, then a scoff, suddenly feeling a little awkward in a way that he couldn’t really describe. One of those old, familiar loops but in kind of a nice way. Like a cork unpopping to a satisfying surge of excited, happy bubbles. "Honestly, I don't even think I like that closet all that much anymore. It's loud. It’s…kind of obnoxious. I think I was just used to spaces being showy rather than comfortable. I mean, look at our fucking couch. I like it for what it is and what it does. It’s big enough for us to have everybody, and I want that again, but something…us. I want to know what that looks like. It’s…practice. For later. When we’re home.”
Home. He wasn’t sure he’d ever called it that before, even in his own head. But that’s what it would be, right? The first real one he’d had in decades, if all of their planning and talking ended up a reality. And suddenly he felt choked in a good way, mouth clamping shut because anything else he said was in danger of coming out an unintelligible squeak.
Ford’s torrential word outbursts had become a normal facet of life. Sometimes Yasiel knew when they were coming, sometimes he didn’t. The one washing over him currently came as a surprise. There was wiggling, exclaiming, rambling, and then a sudden full stop. Yasiel waited in the silence that came after, watching Ford’s face carefully and sifting through everything that he’d heard in the past twenty or so seconds.
Ford had figured out what he’d wanted before Yasiel had—whatever being a sun baby meant. He wanted their suite to be a home for both of them. Something he’d always insisted on, that Yasiel was too shy to truly claim. And he thought of their life afterwards as home: the place they’d both be. Yasiel felt himself break into a smile again, filled with sun baby glow, and he leaned forward to press his forehead into Ford’s.
“Yes, home. Where we’ll both be.” He nudged his mouth forward to steal a kiss, and then another. “I thought about that today,” he whispered. “What it would be like if you lived with me in Boston. How many decorations you’d have put up by now.”
The unsaid answer was so many. “I’d love that, if you asked for it. I don’t want to waste a chance to get you something you want though, love. Is there something?”
Ford thought about it for a moment, wanting to tell Yasiel that maybe they should stick with what he'd said earlier, to both ask for the same thing so it might minimize the damage, whatever that would be. And he did want that, even if it wouldn't do much more than make Yasiel feel a little better about it.
But this was an opportunity he might never get again.
"I...." he started, shifting a little. "There's...this scrap book album. It's actually Bess's. A lot of stuff from when she toured before she moved in with us. It had some stuff from when I was a kid, and I think maybe she kept up with it. I...haven't looked at it in a while," he admitted. Honestly, he hadn't looked at it at all except for making sure it was intact and in good condition when he'd inherited it after her death, still a little too sore from losing his last connection to life to really hold it for more than a few minutes. "It's one of the things I've got stored away somewhere safe in case my life went tits up. There's this envelope in it that has copies of some of the old pictures she put in there. We could maybe put some up in the new room, with Ysabel."
He opened his mouth, then grunted, like something in his gut had cramped. "Maybe not the original. If something happens to it I'd fucking die, but...a copy? They could probably do that, right? And then when we get out of here I can go snatch the real one and show you."
“Yes,” Yasiel agreed immediately with a minute nod. “A copy. I know exactly how I’ll word it.”
Relief came down like a heavy blanket, making his shoulders sag and lean into the half embrace Ford had him in already. Knowing that he could ask for something Ford absolutely wanted and needed was a huge worry lifted, considering all he’d been able to wring out of his brain for possibilities so far involved guitar strings and craft supplies.
And as grumbly as he’d been about getting into the conversation, it had been surprisingly easy once he’d asked for something. Yasiel tucked that experience away for later and edged forward, pressing himself further against Ford, intruding leg and all. “So that’s Christmas sorted,” he mumbled against Ford’s shoulder. “I like the idea of the room being ours. I know you say it is, but…”
There was a stark lack of anything moody or made of wicker. “Thank you.”
Ford tried not to think too hard about the fact that neither of them had even second-guessed whether or not the ones who had them here would even know what he was talking about. After everything it was easy to assume they just knew everything. The idea that someone had already gotten their hands on the album, or would, was a detail he forced himself not to linger on. It was easier to direct his attention to that wonderful scent, the warmth around him, the points they were connected, and, if he mentally squinted, the fact that he was fairly certain he could pinpoint a few tantalizing bits of very familiar anatomy tucked against him, bringing that toothy, horny little gremlin in his head wiggling back to awareness. It was patient for the moment, basking in all of that fond, wonderful gooeyness, but it was a fine reminder that teasing the pants off of his beautiful, naughty witch had been the whole point of their positioning in the first place.
"Thank you. And you're welcome. We're gonna have so many ugly picture frames," he said with a laugh that clearly indicated he firmly believed it was actually going to be amazing, instead of pointing out that Christmas wasn't actually all that sorted. They had friends, and plans and lists, but that could wait until later.
For now, he tilted his head down, nuzzling against Yasiel's neck where he could reach, the hand that was wrapped around the witch sneaking a little lower to playfully goose him. "Now, what was this about a sexy vampire hunt?"
The surprise touch had Yasiel rising up onto his toes with a soft noise followed by laughter. There was nowhere to really dance or squirm away, no room to maneuver in their current position. Not unless he wanted to climb over Ford, but only the first part of that plan sounded appealing. He tightened his arms around Ford’s neck and lifted his feet to wrap them about the vampire’s waist. Closer felt better, anyway.
“I don’t know if I need to do any hunting, I got one right here,” he said slyly. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth before his smirk returned, clearly pleased to finally be discussing a potential stalking situation. “But I thought it might be fun to play the same game as before—reversed.”
"Smooth," Ford cooed, the sound cutting off into a peal of soft laughter, his arms moving to hold Yasiel in place, stepping forward to give the witch more of the wall to lean on. His fingers itched to get at that waistband, to reduce the layers between them like he'd been aching to do all day. He knew if he let go, Yasiel would stay as he was, propped up safely with those strong thighs, and both of his own hands could work. Soon.
"Hunting me down using magic?" he asked with genuine interest. The answer to whether or not he'd play was already a solid yes, but he didn't have the same kind of trickery at his disposal that Yasiel did. If the witch could just track him down that wouldn't be much of a hunt, would it? Unless it was a matter of just staying ahead of the man. Moving. Trapping. Luring. “How does that work?”
“Mhmm.” Letting Ford support his weight more fully, Yasiel had increased use of his hands. He ran them over Ford’s face and into his hair and leaned back against the door to get more of a solid look at his vampire. “The same way it did the last time. I look for you, and I find you.” Grinning, he tugged playfully at the hair between his fingers. “And then when I get both of my hands on you I have my way with you.”
And despite his rather compromising position at the moment, Yasiel already had several ideas on what he’d like to do with a caught, bound vampire at his disposal.
“I think it won’t be as easy as you’re thinking it would be. This is a big place and I’m one witch. I was assuming we’d probably have the same sort of rules as before, too.” He pushed through Ford’s hair again, brows lifting briefly. “No woods. I’ll dress warm. Maybe a walk on the beach after, weather willing.”
"Hmmm...." Ford mused, thoughtfully chewing on his lower lip, as if all of that didn't sound absolutely phenomenal as it was. And it felt good to know that Yasiel was still planning on adhering to the rules meant for his own safety, despite what was probably a little nip at some part of the witch's ego. In his gut he knew that Yasiel could take care of himself, but that need to know the man was doing his best to be safe was likely never going to go away.
So, what about traps? Or…distractions, rather, as he didn’t think he would, or could, go the same route Yasiel had. Nothing that would hold Yasiel in place, or potentially land him in the dark. Nothing that could turn a playful hunt for a vampire into a worrying one for a lost witch. Knowing he could get Yasiel into certain spots and leave traces of himself would be nice. Or clues, like a scavenger hunt. Or jokes. Limericks. Sappy notes of encouragement. Poems. Doodles. Snacks. Fresh clothes in case any of the ones he wore got wet or dirty or-
What was a good middle ground between sexy and sappy when the man you loved was hunting you down with the intent to fuck you senseless and then go on a romantic walk by moonlight afterwards? It occurred to him that most of Yasiel’s traps had been just as much about who Ford was as what he was, taking advantage of his enthusiasm, his playfulness, his impulsiveness, his neediness. He was going to have to be tricky as hell to even try to do the same thing in return, and despite Yasiel’s assurances, he knew he was woefully outmatched by his talented, tactical, brilliant love.
And that was the thing, the appeal. He didn’t need to win, he didn’t even want to win. They just needed to have fun, and that he could most definitely do.
"Am I...allowed to know how you'll be tracking me? Other than just…you know, magic," he asked, all playful innocence. “Mechanics. Limits. So I can prepare like you did. I mean, you know basically all of what I can do. Fair’s fair."
“I don’t think I can track you like you’re thinking, my love.” Yasiel thumbed the corner of Ford’s mouth fondly. “There’s no spell I know that will lead me straight to you. But I think, if I use this,” he held up the hand with Ford’s ring on it, “it’ll give me something of an idea of where you’ve been. A bit like your nose did for me.”
The ring was still Ford’s. It had come with him to the tower and had a history. That held power. Power he could use to trot about town looking for his vampire. Yasiel wasn’t even sure he needed the ring’s guidance—he probably only needed to listen for the sound of Ford humming the Mission Impossible theme under his breath as he tried to hide.
“I’ll give you the same head start. And then I’ll come.” The corners of his own mouth twitched now, resisting the joke. Low hanging fruit and all. “I don’t care if you want to climb all over the ceiling, but I’d prefer if we stayed off of actual roofs. And I’m alright if you want to try to run, as long as you’re alright with me using magic to stop you.”
"I love when you use magic to try and stop me," Ford pointed out with a sly little smirk, one hand finally moving to leisurely work on divesting Yasiel of his scrub pants as much as he could. He knew the correction wouldn't be missed, a promise that tomorrow was definitely going to be interesting to say the least.
And he'd have to prepare. Somewhere away from Yasiel, sneaky and secret and...not tonight. Tonight he had other plans.
"I'd never ask you to climb onto a roof without me," he promised, then clicked his tongue, his eyes scanning upwards to that spot he'd been scoping out moments before. "Do we have any strong opinions about doorframes I should know about?”
A singular eyebrow rose up as soon as Yasiel heard the word try, telling Ford all he needed to know about what he thought of that. His mouth opened to say something cocky in advance, but closed up again when Ford started trying to undress him while he was still wrapped around his middle.
“Why don’t you let me down and you can take them off?” he asked, laughing and bracing his hands on Ford’s bare shoulders. In the meantime he did nothing to help Ford along in his quest to strip him, watching with growing amusement. “And I don’t know what you mean about doorframes? I’d prefer if you didn’t lurk above them and scare the shit out of me when I walk in a room, but you do you—and why are you taking my clothes off? I thought I was undressing you with my teeth?”
"Where's the fun in that?" Ford countered stubbornly despite knowing full well that Yasiel's point was a solid one if they wanted to keep those scrubs in one piece. Which he did, and Yasiel knew. "And you're still going to do all that with the teeth, but after I drag you into bed. Which won't be until after the most thorough case of beard burn I've ever given those inner thighs in retaliation for you couthing it up the past few hours. Hence, the doorframe," he clarified, letting his gaze drag purposefully up to that ledge of wood he knew from past experience was sturdy enough to be held onto even through the most spectacular orgasms. He wasn't going to mention the references that were newly re-available if needed, or how much he was looking forward to laving those tender spots later with his tongue to soothe and heal them. He doubted Yasiel wanted to be stuck uncomfortably chafed during his hunt tomorrow, as entertaining as the unlikely mental image was of his witch explaining to some innocent, concerned bystander that he was fine, just temporarily hobbled by amazing oral and on his way to make a certain vampire pay for it.
Moot anyway if Ford couldn't get those pants off. Or mostly off. Wriggling half of them down one leg seemed like it would be good enough, but even that was going to be a problem as things were. But he liked being wrapped up, the sensation of trapping and being grappled at the same time. Knowing that if he moved, Yasiel would be with him. But no, reality was a fun-stealing bitch sometimes. The fact that he couldn't do everything his way, as impractical as it was, made him grumble playfully.
A small sigh of concession later and he rolled his eyes, tapping a hand against Yasiel's thigh through the fabric. "Fine, one leg down."
Yasiel’s playful mood took an abrupt turn at Ford’s description of events to occur. His smile turned to something more shy, cheeks colouring as he clearly followed along via mental images. Right there, by the door? Yasiel could see himself: writhing on the wall, face turned into his arm to muffle any noise and keep passerbys from hearing any hint at what debauchery was happening just on the other side of the wood. His face flushed harder. It was still a new, different way of feeling when he let Ford take control of situations, and his stomach often flipped with excitement and nervous anticipation as it had the first time he’d said the words make me. He licked his lips, still for a moment in the face of Ford’s request as he considered pushing his luck. Ford already seemed to be well into his pretend punishment—as was Yasiel—and being defiant now wouldn’t change much.
“Not even gonna say please?” he snorted, but his foot was already sinking towards the floor.
As the fabric came down he shivered pleasantly at the prickle of newly-exposed skin, arms tightening around his lover on instinct. He chased Ford’s mouth with his own, sighing contentedly when they met and letting himself be coaxed completely out of his scrub bottoms. There was a brief, reluctant pause as he felt the hem of his shirt come up and leaned back to allow Ford to peel that off, too. Now he was the lesser clothed one, thighs tight around Ford’s middle and arms looped about him tight enough to keep him close. Within kissing range.
“Enjoy this,” Yasiel rumbled against Ford’s mouth, and shifted his hips against him greedily. There was every indication Yasiel would too, but it served as a thrilling reminder: tonight he’d be pliant and wanton, squirming under Ford’s mouth and fingers; tomorrow he’d be capturing Ford as his prize.
"I'll say please tomorrow," Ford promised with a sweet smile in between kisses, letting both hands roam before hefting Yasiel back up again, humming happily at that delicious heat, skin against skin above his waistband.
He knew that the while you can was implied with those last two words and did nothing to hide the grin that caused. A wonderful threat for the future that he was already looking forward to. He would enjoy this, just as he knew that he was going to enjoy paying for it in the best way tomorrow.