InsaneJournal

Graphic Number 4: "Without Words"
Title: Without Words
Author: vamphile
Timeline: Season Four.
Rating: NC-17
Author's notes: Thank you xie_xie_xie
Graphic: 4 by qafmaniac




I’m still seeing lights behind my eyes, even as he drapes an arm over my waist and lays his head on my shoulder. This would usually be the time when I’d wish he were the silent type but I’ve actually missed his post-coital chat almost as much as I’ve missed my cock in his ass. I bite my tongue, literally, it’s that difficult right now not to tell him something that I’ll regret tomorrow, or the moment it’s out of my mouth.

I guess he senses it because he’s demanding that I admit just how great it was. I try to deny it but that lasts for less time than it would take me to regret telling him I love him. So I admit that it was phenomenal, and it was.

When we started it was, hot, but then it’s always hot but it was more than that. It was urgent. We talked a lot while he was in LA, but it’s hard to fuck someone from three thousand miles. Phone sex and raunchy emails can only get you so far. All I wanted was to touch him, to taste him, to feel everything about him that I missed.

There are an awful lot of things that I missed about him. His hair, his smile, the sounds he makes when he’s adjusting to the feel of me inside him, the sounds he makes when he’s sucking me off, the sounds he makes when I’m sucking him off, the way his skin feels when I glide my hand down his back, the way his thighs fall open for me, the way his hands tangle in my hair, the way my hands feel in his hair, the way his hair feels against my thighs, the look on his face just before he comes, the look on his face while he’s coming, the look on his face right after he comes, the way his breathing changes as he calms down, and the way his breathing changes as he gets excited again.

I missed the low whisper of his voice when he’s still floating and doesn’t want to break the mood. I’ve missed the demanding tone when I’m not moving exactly the way he wants at exactly the pace he wants it. I’ve missed the pleading tone when he gives up trying to demand anything. I’ve missed his smile. I’ve missed him.

He knows I’ve missed him. I told him I missed him. He admits he loved LA and still admits that he missed me. We’re good together, we’re better together than we are apart, at least, I’m better with him than I am without him. That makes me think about things that shouldn’t be said again so I press him back into the mattress with the weight of my body. I kiss him, stealing his breath and clearing my head. I kiss down his torso and feel his legs spread under me while his hands rest on either side of my face, not guiding or directing, just touching. When I have him in my mouth his body bows and he practically wraps his legs around my head.

I move my hands under his ass, lifting him up, spreading his cheeks and sucking his balls at the same time. His legs fall open and he plants his feet on the mattress so that he can lift his hips, moving himself towards my mouth.

My thumb slides inside him while his cock glides against my lips. I feel him in the back of my throat. I hear him grunt my name. His body is damp with sweat, and we should both be closer to finished than just starting but it never works like that with us. He’s close. I pull my mouth back and taste the pre-come. I feel him jerk under me and I pull off completely. I want to be inside him when he comes. I’ve never wanted anything more. He seems to get it because he’s rolling under me. He reaches back to hand me a condom. I’m inside him in one swift thrust.

He groans, his hand on my hip asking me to wait. When his body starts to rock, tightening around me I pull back until I’ve almost pulled out. His hand finds my hip again, trying to get me to stay. I pull out completely and he drops his hand, letting me know that he’s okay with letting me run this particular fuck. I move to slam into him but end up going more slowly than planned. Suddenly I can’t fuck him hard. There’s something about the way he moves, the way he trusts me that makes me want to see his face. I roll him over and put his ankles on my shoulders. I may be willing to give up fucking him that hard, but I need to be as deep inside him as possible. I need as much of me touching as much of him as I can get.

His arms reach for mine while I bend him in half, kissing him. Stealing his breath the way he does mine every time he gives me that look, the one that’s just so fucking satisfied to be here with my cock up his ass.

He’s clutching at my biceps while I keep fucking him. I was going to tease him, to make him wait, to make him beg, but I can’t. I can’t and it has nothing to do with him. It’s about that urgency thing again. It’s about missing him. It’s about what it feels like to have him back, in my bed, in my loft. To have him where I can do more than just fuck him, where I can actually watch him stare contemplatively at a computer screen for hours. Where I can run a hand through his hair while he stares at the monitor as if it is somehow responsible for his inability to transfer what he sees in his head to the world.

I am too grateful to have him where I can kiss him to hold off his orgasm, or my own.

I stiffen and he’s right there with me, biting my bottom lip, digging his fingers into my arms, moaning and then going limp, his body pliant, his smile satisfied. I collapse on top of him, my head on his shoulder, my body sprawled over his.

He loved LA. He has no idea what he’s going to do now. He’s complicated, and moody, and downright bitchy but he’s here, and he’s mine, and it would complicate things to say it, but I love him.

I run a hand through his hair and watch as he smiles like that means the same thing.