Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven - Saturday Morning
Edging was a thing that people did, and it had like, its place but that place was most definitely not in bed with Seven right now, because Jamie's eyelids were twitching as his breathing was short, shallow gasps into the guy's mouth. But the rearrangement of like, limbs and shit - the weight of the guy's thigh heavy and hot on the outside of his own, the winch of his toes against Jamie's leg and fuck yes, the way the guy was thrusting, rapid and a little shaky, all that was like, better than okay right now. Jamie forgave him in the hazy forgetting of one moment eliding into the next, the slide of the guy's tongue over his, the sour tang to the guy's teeth and the fervent way Seven's hips clashed.
And yeah, Jamie was making a lot of noise that he was only barely conscious of participating in, spooled off and unraveling from the back of his throat as the guy's lip, fatted and blood-dark where he'd bitten him slid against his chin as Jamie mumbled like, shit he couldn't even make coherent in the current moment but tbh was probably a lot of enthusiastic participation or whatever, a low and tangled string of 'yeah' and 'fuck' and like, a lot of 'don't fucking stop' given the guy had already edged the fuck out of Jamie until the tension in his spine was corded silk ready to snap. He like, felt the guy's breath ghost his mouth, his cheek heard him say his own name, and Jamie had been like, edge-ready for five fucking minutes if the pressure, the rocking, the long sweep of palm twisting over his dick had been consistent.
Seven squeezed him and Jamie made a high, thick sound in the back of his throat as it shocked down his spine in syrupy waves of pressure and pressed his forehead into the guy's shoulder, in the absence of digging his fingers into the guy's shoulders, his ass and his hips snapped like, up as Jamie kinda stopped letting the guy lead so much as fucking his fist a little helpless. He could feel the guy starting to shake behind him, the erratic judder of the slice of his cock past Jamie's thigh and it was like, that along with the twist of his fingers that like, spiralled out like wire from his belly and fissured sharp, addictive shock that made his spine flex.
"Oh fuck, fuck," and Jamie's eyes flickered open, ink-dark and all pupil on Seven's face as the muscles in the backs of his knees, his thighs, his balls contracted all at once and he came, in thick, sticky strands that spattered his own stomach, spilled over the guy's knuckles and painted the fucking sheets as he fucking emptied with the guy's cock still jammed between his thighs and the guy's balls against his ass.