Squeak!

[rowanfairchild.livejournal.com]

I hope this makes it in under the wire!


Tonight it had been there. Hard run chase, takedown, arrest, a broadly approving grin. Closeness, wavelength, mingled salt-sweat humidity and victorious exhaustion, as they sat sagged for a moment in the seats of the idling GTO. Partners now, so evident as to render acknowledgment superfluous. Truly, understood. Yes?

Tonight it was there. Thin, strong, long fingered hands to wrap around him, warm and welcome, sure and knowing, and yes, oh yes... take control and let him fall away completely. Let him close his eyes and throw back his head, subject for once only to the sensations surging through his body, with no distracting reminders of who he was, and what he was doing to himself. Supple, stroking hands pulling him further and further away from the discordant racket that so often marred this for him. Background arguments, rationalizations about hygiene and necessity and propriety and humiliation -- if not in the act, than for the pathetic solitude of it. All this washed away now in an onrushing current of pleasure, thick and full, rising and swirling in to fill every space, pore, cell, synapse... yes, Ray, please... Pulsing along, a rocketing rhythm, decreasing period, point, to point, to point, harder and faster and tighter and louder and out, he was crying, calling, keening release as hot spats of come jarred him back to the rough reality of his own hands and a Hudson's Bay blanket.