Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven - Saturday Morning
Nothing mattered. Literally nothing right now mattered any more than the next fucking second because the guy's mouth was a brand against his throat, blooming heat against his pulse point, he could feel Seven's body like, spasm behind him, beneath him, whatever. It didn't matter because he watched the guy, the like, hand wrapped around Jamie's cock squeezed and Jamie bit off a sound that was paper tearing off from deep inside as his eyes fissured shut and something black and jagged and painful-pleasurable spidered up the inside of his spine and his toes fucking curled in the sheets. Like, it didn't matter the guy's spunk was sticky-dribbling from the hair on his balls to his backside, or that Jamie's own was drying tackily to the sheets. He felt. Like, that was it, stripped wire and Jamie felt.
He shivered. Like, the shockwave of heat, of coming, of the lack of like, movement right then. His eyelids felt like lead and he watched the guy come back, which lanced hotly through Jamie in the last like flutters of desire because Seven had gone far enough out that he looked like he was coming back up from underwater. He watched. Like, he drank that shit in, and he was just this side of awake to realize that that shit was way unnecessary for a friend he was fucking out of like, convenience.
Jamie patted Seven's ass. Like, reached back, warm and heavy hand on the guy's flank. "You okay in there?" Drowsily. Like, way thick and muzzy with left over throaty from sleep, from talking absolute fucking nonsense and from the come-down. His limbs felt weighted, he could probably like, sack back out again, who the fuck cared if he was painted in the guy's come.