Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven Friday night
“There’s a scary thought,” he said, leaning into the press of Jamie’s fingers now where they cupped against the hinge of his jaw. His hands had remained in place where they were curled around Jamie’s hips, only his thumbs moving up to slide beneath the hem of the guy’s shirt and brushing over the skin above the waist of his jeans. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Jamie had surprised him, genuinely, by stepping across what Seven would have figured was a gulley that ran wide and deep between their thing that resolutely wasn’t a Thing and Jamie’s family with so little apparent thought. And it wasn’t like that had been something that he, Seven, had had any inclination to push at, yeah? But again, he wasn’t about to shine a light into any of those corners for closer scrutiny. He was warm and sedate under the guy sat astride his lap and the press of a half-open mouth against his own was way more aligned with what he’d expected, teeth pressing hard enough behind lips that there was a distant echo of the whirlwind that usually kicked up between them.
The kiss tasted sticky-sweet where Jamie’s tongue slid against Seven’s and licked over the back of his teeth, and Seven opened his mouth a little more against the deliberate distraction from the conversation. His breath felt hot where his nose pressed against Jamie’s cheekbone, and he craned his neck to give just a little bit more push-back into the guy’s assault on his mouth. Jamie’s other hand had appeared in a matching frame on the other side of his neck and his fingers curling into the damp strands at Seven’s nape, tugging, hard, meant that he let out a sharp and sibilant hiss between the slide of their mouths. All breath, and when the guy pulled back for a second, Seven dug his thumbs into the slanted lips of Jamie’s hips where they jutted against his jeans and narrowed his eyes up at the guy.
“Fuckin’ brat,” he muttered, half annoyed and half chuckling as he licked over the wet swell of his own bottom lip. He saw the glimmer of heat in Jamie’s eyes but he also saw the way his eyelids drooped a little, felt the squeeze of the guy’s knees against him but also the way that Jamie listed just a little to one side, holding more weight off his bad knee than on. Seven let his head fall back against the couch cushion behind him again, sinking slowly, and let his eyes fall shut for a moment while he made a quiet humming noise meant to indicate contemplation of the options as presented. “I don’t want to talk, Jamie.”
He smiled around the words, soft at the corners. It was as much for Jamie’s benefit as it was the truth, maybe even a little more. Yeah, Seven wasn’t made of fucking stone. Jamie in his lap was never gonna be a bad thing, yeah? So it’s not like the interest wasn’t there, heat pooling in his belly and under the crotch of his sweats, but it didn’t demand as loudly as the exhaustion that read in the way that Jamie’s muscles unwound against him. And he knew that they’d surpassed Jamie’s maximum velocity of nakedly honest conversation for the night, maybe for the month.
“Not gonna lie,” he said, eyes opening again so he could look at the guy with a somnolent smile on his flushed lips. “The bed option is pretty fucking appealing. I could crash.”