If James was looking to be desired, he was certainly going to get it here. From the very first moment Fisher had seen James, he'd taken a notice to how well sculpted he was. Of course their relationship went through a rough opening, what with the ghost mother and being slammed into walls, but Fisher had never denied that James was incredibly beautiful. And he had kept on noticing it ever since, against his better judgement.
As James pushed his boxers down, Fisher had a moment much like the one his companion had had earlier. Should he stop this now, while there was still a chance? Could he even stop it at this point? His dick was saying no, and his head was saying no, so obviously his libido (or The Democrats, as he called it) was the majority of the House. The vast majority.
He pulled away from James long enough to slide his underwear completely off, exposing himself fully to another person for the first time in almost a decade. It felt liberating. Liberating, and scary as shit. What if he wasn't very attractive? What if James was laughing at him, secretly? He knew they were retarded thoughts, but insecurity was like the John Hancock to his mental congress. So to disctract himself (and James, just in case), he went back down to James and kissed his shoulder, keeping himself propped up on his palms.
Fisher had to admit, James didn't seem like the type to do anything he didn't want to, especially when it came to sex. So Fisher closed his eyes, letting himself get carried away in the surprising gentleness of James' touch. The strokes began getting faster, moving more easily. He didn't know if he was going to last very long at this rate.
"You better be careful, little boy," he purred into James' ear as James kissed across Fisher's shoulder. "You keep doing this to me, I'm going to come all over you."