Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven - Saturday Morning
He felt underwater as much as he sounded, like the air had been pressed out of his lungs with a thousand pounds of pressure per square inch and his spine had been flattened into powdered plaster. He felt himself trembling, full-body quivers that seemed to start from his toes and work their way up in waves as he came down from his vision shocked white and his mouth unhinged against Jamie’s salt-slick throat. Thankfully he’d had the wherewithal, somehow, to loosen the grip of his hand and slide it free from the base of Jamie’s cock so that he didn’t hurt the guy as he softened within Seven’s clinging-sticky fingers and palm.
“Holy shit,” he mumbled, equally thick-tongued and bleary as he nosed up the line of Jamie’s throat and into the damp strands of hair behind his ear. He groped blindly for the sheets where they were tangled over both of their thighs and attempted to wipe his hand mostly clean of the guy’s spunk, backs of his knuckles and fingers and then palm. “That was hot as shit.”
The words were broken up with a yawn, because he could have passed out right then, just like that, yeah. His leg ached a little from the sudden release of tension where he’d slung it tight over Jamie’s and where the guy’s toes and heel had dug into the meat of his calf. The hand that was still pressed to Jamie’s chest had softened in the press of his fingertips against the guy’s pectoral, stroking lightly, literally mindless because he wouldn’t have even realized he was doing it unless it’d been pointed out. It wasn’t overly tender, just - grounding, like, okay, this is where I am in the world, this is how I start to figure out which way is up. “Ask me again in like, eight more hours.”