A similar smile comes to Beau's lips, curiously shy, boyish. The previously comforting, lulling fingers stray further, and he notices them fully now. Their feel, their location. It rouses a hot bubble in the middle of his chest. The one frayed at the edges and electric, the kind that comes when you're attracted and turned on and nervous.
Naturally, he asks, "What do y'mean, 'Not with someone like you'?" He can tell it isn't a bad thing. Yet he's still curious. What does someone like him mean?
It's a sinking feeling that enters Grey's stomach, a belt around his lower abdomen, a curiously bold statement by his heart, beating against his rib cage like the wings of an angered bird.
Then he smirks and it's gone, replaced by a warmer feeling around his chest as he says absolutely nothing but instead turns Beau's face lightly by those fingers upon his chin and leans up to press his lips to those smiling ones, kissing him softly.
It's pretty clear as far as answers go, he thinks.
The moment Grey's lips touch his, Beau is instantly alight. Stronger now that they're so openly, intricately linked. His core bursts like a firecracker, and the faintest, murmured moan slips out of his lips against Grey's own.
He returns the kiss, soft and curious, unsure at first, then a little hungrier. Tasting a little deeper just to be sure, feeling the scritch of Grey's beard on his chin. It's glorious. He hasn't felt so fiery in a while now.
Sure, looks here. Glances. Distantly turned on and quietly touching himself in the dark later. There's no use in being in love when living twice as long as everyone else. Only the occasional fling will do when the itch comes.
But here with Grey, a door is opened, pouring in all of Grey's wants, pouring all of his back. He sighs, shaky with excitement, eyes opening. "Don't gotta be scared of me," he whispers.
A warmth blooms lower, a raw heat, demanding attention. Grey shivers at that little groan, he can feel it to his very core, like it connects with a string inside him, joins at the edges and nudges him with every rush of a breath Beau puts on his lips.
He rolls to his side, leaning over Beau to look at him in the eyes, steady and sure, even when there's a symphony of nerves going off inside him like fireworks, responding to the want and heat that pours through the connection.
"I'm not afraid," he whispers before pinning Beau down onto the mattress with another kiss, this one deeper, lips parted, a curious tongue pressing to the soft flesh of a bottom lip. Then those lips pull it between them, sucking gently before Grey deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue inside Beau's mouth to taste him. In the meanwhile he lets his hand describe the narrow frame of him, reaching waist, pushing under his shirt, splaying fingers on his side.
Edited (.... i managed to write the whole paragraph into a one sentence. oops. ) 2017-08-17 22:58 (UTC)
He'll be undone too soon, and that's all Beau can say about that.
Grey is a gorgeous man, and though Beau usually doesn't think he's quite as good-looking, he feels way more attractive with Grey kissing him. Eats it up. Opens wide and takes Grey's mouth, tongue. The fingers make him gasp suddenly; they're cold, but not painful. Chill his hot skin, and his flesh rolls under the palm pleasantly.
All too quick, hard and trapped in the leg of his jeans, aching. He can't find any place to rub with his legs trapped between Grey's own. He grunts in frustration, instead digging his fingers into the man's shoulders and back, pulling. There's still some French in him. A level of sensual thirst, the ease of enjoying things that feel amazingly good.
He curls his fingers and bunches Grey's shirt up to the neck, but abandons trying to get it off with their lips locked. Instead, he drops a hand down between them, hooks two fingers into the hem of Grey's pants and teases, brushing the backs of his fingers against the lower slope of Grey's stomach. It feels almost like touching himself.
Grey knows that some people find him attractive. But he honestly doesn't see why. He finds himself awfully normal looking dude and in a lot of cases quite uninteresting or even unattractive. On the other hand he sees those eyes of yours, little cajun. And almost delicate features, easily smiling mouth and a sweet mouth that he doesn't get enough of.
It's the impatience and frustration that lands on a pregnant ground in him, so ready to take it up a notch. He breaks the kiss to lean up and pull off his shirt in one smooth motion. He can't even pretend that the thing that is happening in his hair is a bun, several locks having come loose and the bundle of hair swooping wildly to one side as he throws his shirt somewhere on the ground.
He pauses for a moment when those fingers glide against his skin. Head bowing forward as he pulls in a raw breath, harsh in his throat. He wants to press himself into that waiting palm and grind against it, find a home in that palm and never leave.
But given that it seems like a silly idea, he leans on top of Beau for a moment, mouth following the line of his neck to the hollow of his throat while Grey shifts, making himself room between Beau's legs. So when he moves up, sitting on his heels, he's in a perfect position to push his hands up along that golden chest, pushing the soft cotton of Beau's t-shirt up along the way, only to leave it rolled up to his chest and return down with blunt nails dragging white lines on their wake.
Grey doesn't say anything, just watches with great interest as his fingers slide under the waist of worn denim, popping open a button and sliding down the zipper before he presses the heel of his palm to the obvious bulge and rubs it down through denim and cotton.
For a moment, he falters just long enough to stare. Not in a bad way. Being unclothed is more vulnerable, and the trust from Grey is nice, but more importantly, there's a lot on Grey to look at. His fingers flutter at the edge of the man's hip, though he's quickly distracted with the sudden addition of weight, with the lips on his neck.
He's sad to see it go, but likes the way it leaves. Gladly, his legs fold open and rest up over the edges of Grey's thighs and on Grey's hips. There's strings attached from his middle to Grey's hands; all of him arches into the passing nails. He rolls his head back and groans lowly, murmuring a strange, unintelligible bit of Creole French.
It's nothing compared to the hand splitting open his jeans and taking him. He yelps in pleasant surprise. The touch sends a ripple of electricity through him from head to foot, making his toes curl. It's too good. He takes Grey by the hand and guides it to rub more firmly while he rolls his hips, and then he can't stand even that. His free hand shoves jeans and boxers down his thighs, and he puts himself in Grey's fingers and curls them around.
If Grey was a painter he would have thought about the scene in front of him as a portrait, murky lines of dark and light, strokes of brush deliberately made to invoke the feeling of euphoria. If he were a poet, he would have definitely come up with a flattering metaphor for the perfect arch of that back, so keenly attracting his gaze. But he is neither of those things, he's a simple man and he is likely to speak more with his actions than anything else.
Which is why he more than willingly wraps his fingers tightly around Beau's length and strokes him, pressing his thumb to the fat veins on the underside of his length. His own jeans are uncomfortably tight and he uses his free hand to pop them open, groaning with relief as the sharp angles of his hip relax and he bows forward to press his mouth to the sharp relief under Beau's rip cage, dragging his mouth down to the flat of his stomach and then back up, following the centre line of his body.
Salt and heat under his tongue, the sensation of himself stroking Beau steadily feeding right back into him through the link, Grey finds himself with stark regret for not stocking up on lube and condoms for this berry picking trip. Not that he knows if Beau is into that but oh, he fucking hopes he is.
Because he hasn't been this turned on for ages, lust and desire practically dripping off of him in waves.
The hand and fingers melt him into nothing. His insides swirl and churn, goop, sloppily washing back and forth between them like warm bath water. His mouth opens several times, yet nothing comes out. Everything is stuck in his throat, though the pinch of his brows and squeeze of his eyes is evidence enough that he's feeling everything.
The fingers of his hands map the plane of Grey's shoulders and back, feeling the tattooed skin, yet finding it amazing there is no texture. Only muscle. Only smooth flesh. One arm wraps around Grey's neck and he tugs the man to the side, tilted, using his other hand to quickly dip down past the pants and smooth his palm along the skin of the side of Grey's thigh, the hip before trying to push the pants away and off.
Get rid of them, which he lets Grey do for comfort and ease, but his hand busies itself by greedily latching onto Grey's cock and stroking, throating humming approval.
Thick and firm and hot in his hand. He's only had it one other time, long ago, fooling around with a friend as horny teenager. Thinking about porn and girls, but then putting another boy's cock hungrily in his mouth because it was so thrilling. He can only think of it now, sliding Grey over his tongue.
Struggling with getting jeans off with any modicum of grace and efficiency in a cramped space of a cabin bed is no easy feat. Grey isn't doing great before Beau wraps his fingers around him and his performance definitely doesn't improve after the extra distraction.
He groans, voice deep and throaty as friction is so readily produced, then the link looping back to him provides an idea of a mouth around his cock and it's hard to focus on anything at all after that. Just tight, hot, teasing at the edges of his release.
A brief moment, that's all it takes. He just has to steel himself, and he does. He leans back and shoves down his jeans and underwear, only to return to Beau and pull up his legs to do the same for the denim still trapping his legs as well. Then he's free to bend down to curve his hands around Beau's waist and pull him up, onto him, to straddling his lap with a murmured: "C'mere, little cajun."
He will content himself with just rocking against Beau for a moment, holding him close and dragging the blunt edges of his nails across his back while rutting their groins against one another. "The shirt. Take of the shirt," he says and his accent is at least ten degrees heavier, smeared onto the skin of Beau's throat.
Grinning stupidly, he shifts his legs and wiggles his hips to help Grey get the jeans off him. The air is chilly, but lovely on his skin exposed, hot skin, and he moans soft and low at the sensation.
The hand wrapped around Grey widens; he scoops the two of their cocks together and strokes instead, supporting himself with the other arm around Grey's neck. His hips buck when Grey's lips tease his throat, and the friction pulls a moan out of him. The accent doesn't help. It's beautiful and foreign, and he's aching the more for it.
"You--feel too nice--to bother," he gasps by an ear, lips grinning again, but he relents. Pulls away to shimmy out of the shirt and drop it on the floor with the rest of their clothes. "I got'a condom," he murmurs sheepishly, "but nothin' else." His fingers twine softly into Grey's hair, carefully plucking the band out so the hair comes down, so he can put his fingers truly in it, up near the back of the neck, against the scalp.
The feeling makes his cock throb, thumping lightly against Grey's lower stomach. He can't keep his lips off Grey's mouth. Away, but always returning to kiss, to touch.
"Lay back, mon ami," he coos. "I promise ta treat you with great Southern hospitality."
The last item of cloth is out of the way finally and Grey presses his mouth momentarily to Beau's shoulder, leaving a red mark on his way, satisfied how it looks against that golden skin. He's love to leave more of them but there are fingers in his hair and he really likes that, and talk about a condom, which makes him rush out a groan and steal the breath away from Beau's lungs with a long, heady kiss.
"I'm pretty sure they sell lube and condoms somewhere on this boat." The selection of tax-free shops is pretty random right after mountains of candy and expensive perfumes. "When we're done here, I suggest we shower, eat and purchase some to entertain each other for the rest of the way to Norway."
The idea that they only would get to do this once is tragic and he would rather not entertain it any further.
He does as prompted and lays back, but there's a wall right there and he only kind of sprawls backwards. It doesn't really matter because it's far enough that he can watch Beau on top of him while he brings one hand between them and wraps his hand around them both, squeezing them together as he strokes them with steady, long strides. There's a little bit of a fantasy that he entertains for a brief moment about his golden-skinned cajun riding his cock just like this.
"You've been pretty damn generous this far," he murmurs with an actual smile, voice softer with growing affection.
The eager thirst makes Beau laugh gently, not unpleased. His grin is maybe a little wicked. "Easy, cowboy," he teases between some hitched breaths. "We're not--even started--and you're already thinkin'--'bout tha next time."
Carefully, he cups his own hand around Grey's, strokes the two of them together, then lets go as Grey reclines back. Beau takes his time. They have a lot of time. He kisses Grey hungrily at first, slow and wanting, then drops his lips to the swell of one of Grey's pectorals. Tastes one of the nipples just to tease. Kisses each rib on the way down, each mildly defined muscle, the sharp V of Grey's hip.
He bites, gently, a little red mark in return there while his fist pumps the cock he's taking his sweet time getting to. Kisses the head of that. Too softly. Allows Grey to feel his hot breath, then his tongue, licking from base to tip. His eyes look up from under his lashes, his lips smiling at the corners.
Then he takes Grey's cock upright and pops the head of it between his wet lips, suckling softly. Clean, mildly salty, hot. He squeezes the base with his fist, then lets loose fingers pump up to meet his lips.
Maybe Grey was a little too eager to think of a next time. The idea that this would be just a one time thing seems truly unpleasant. But if that's how it ends up being, then that's how it is.
As Beau starts moving downward, he let's go of their joint grip a little regretfully but it's a short lived disappointment when anticipation starts to stack up. His fingers thread into soft brown hair and fist there firmly even if he doesn't limit Beau's movements by his grip.
"I guess you have that effect on me," Grey says with a voice that seems to drum up from the depths of a deep deep well, a low chest rumble, heavy with his native accent.
He goes silent when that mouth reaches his cock, heavy against Beau's palm and twisting with interest. His jaw slack and mouth watering, Grey watches him while his chest rises and falls with deep breaths. He anticipates every breath and lick and kiss with a small shudder and finally when he's enveloped between wet lips he lets out a groan, brows furrowing as he mutters: "Voi helvetti..."
Head lolling back against the wall behind him, Grey draws in a slow breath, releasing it just as slowly as fingers start to work him up. Shit, it feels so good he's not really sure if he can hold back very long. But oh, he will try, because he doesn't want this to end...
Next time isn't a bad thing. As Beau scusk the life right out of Grey's cock, he thinks next time isn't a bad thing at all.
It's perfect. Just thick enough to be filling, just long enough to give him something to work with. A lot of guys--and maybe girls--think it's about how far down the throat it can go, but that isn't ever it. Going down the throat is nothing. It's how it's worked.
Using the hand and the mouth together. Working one up to meet the other. Playing with the head, the most sensitive spot just underneath, running a tongue over the slit on top. Beau's lips are grinning the longer he goes, not fast, but easy, carefully. He pulls the moans out of the pit of Grey's stomach, and he stays painfully hard just from hearing them.
But he doesn't want Grey to finish yet, so he offers some quick, firm strokes of consolidation before pulling away, teeth flashing wolfishly in the dark, breath labored, lips red and jaw delightfully sore. He leans over Grey's knee and calf to scratch at the floor for his pants, fiddling around until he can find the wallet slid down in one of the pockets. The reflective packet crinkles when he pulls it out, and he rips it in two with his teeth on the edge, then offers it across to Grey.
"It's lubricated," he reassures, "but I dunno how much that's gonna help."
It's definitely not about the depth. Grey's been circumcised, which means he's lost some sensation in his cock and the most sensitive spot definitely is around the head, exactly where Beau is giving him attention. The frown on his face looks almost painful for a moment as he brushes his fingers through Beau's hair and groans deep within his chest, trying his best not to thrust into that inviting mouth. Oh, hell, he wants to but that's not exactly kosher, is it now?
Tilting his head to look down at Beau, Grey brings one of his hands to his face, ghosting his fingertips over a cheek that is stretched over his cock, looking into those pretty, pretty eyes. He could come like this without a single problem involved.
But then the moment is gone and he waits for Beau to fish out the condom before gripping his hair with both hands and gently pulling him up to kiss his mouth, sucking on his lips for a long moment, just enjoying the taste of him and the sweet feel of his slick mouth against his own. Then he pulls back, taking the condom and smirks a little bit.
"You sure you want to do this?" he asks quietly while putting the condom on the bed beside them, then reaches down to drag his bag a little closer to the bed before fishing out his water bottle. It's not going to be a big thing to cast a little spell to transform the substance inside to something with a little thicker consistency. They're in the middle of the ocean and already doing something that will lend its help to bring the magic about.
The kiss, strangely, seems entirely more intimate now than having a man's cock between his lips. A rolling, twirling rush of heat and nervousness tingles his chest, but he keeps kissing and tasting Grey regardless, one hand pressed into the bed beside Grey's waist and the other hopelessly giving his own cock a heavy squeeze at the base to try to ward off the ache.
"Can't think of a reason why I wouldn't," he says breathlessly, situating himself across Grey's thighs and on Grey's lap without sitting completely down on the knees. "Unless it's tha fact I'll prolly be comin' everywhere the second I sit on it." He rubs one of his palms up along his neck and around the back through his hair almost sheepishly. "Just when I think I'm fine, tha link just shoots what you got back in me."
His eyes fall to the bottle of water. He knows using magic over the water on water while they're already connected is just going to light him on fire again. His fist gives his cock another squeeze at the base in anticipation, and he bites his lips together with his teeth.
"We'll go slow," Grey promises, then presses a soft kiss onto the corner of Beau's lips. He draws in a breath, long and steady, sloshing the water against the edges of the bottle with his other hand, the other he uses to pull Beau close, flush against his chest, rocking up against his groin, rutting their bodies together to provide that tantalising friction that lights everything up with sparks of pleasure.
His mouth falls against Beau's shoulder and words spill from his mouth on his native tongue, rough around the edges, every R rolling softly as he describes the water in the bottle, asserting his power over it, demanding a change. Finnish magic is all about words and oral delivery. He feels the rocking of the ferry, the sea undulating against it, wild and deep and ancient. It's magic rolls through him. A god damn sky rocket of power to bring about a small change, like using a bazooka to shoot a fly off the sky. But the consistency of the substance in the bottle changes, moving slower now, sticking to the edges.
Grey groans softly, biting down on Beau's shoulder as he feels the magic roll through him, bleeding into the arousal with a sharp edge.
The press of their bodies ignites a need deep in the bottom of his stomach. "I might wanna go fast," he groans, sliding his hands up to curl them over Grey's shoulders. He's gonna need to hold on for this, he thinks.
A little murmur starts up in his throat, hummed against his closed lips. He doesn't watch. He doesn't have to watch. He can feel every movement, hear every foreign word tickling the shell of his ear from below. It makes him antsy. He rocks and rolls his hips, head thrown back between his shoulders. The magic begins in his groin, boiling, bubbling, stuck and rising. It bursts suddenly up through him, a wash of all the water Grey uses to cast, and he moans thick and heavy in the dark room, unable to help himself.
He thinks he might come. He thinks he may have already come. One of his hands has shot down between them to grip the base of his cock like it might keep him from finishing over nothing but the sheer linking of their magic. "I'm gonna come," he whines, hoarse, when Grey is finished. "God," in a heady, throaty French accent. He's not sure if he can let go, but does anyway, smoothing the hand back up to join the other on Grey's shoulders. "I'm okay," he finally reassures. "Keep--goin'," afraid Grey may decide to stop, leaving him raw and open and aching.
"Whose being impatient now?" Grey asks, amusement lingering in his tone of voice that has gone at least an octave lower, chest-deep, raw. He's not unaffected by the rush of the feedback from Beau, though. Quite the contrary, so ready to hear those moans again, to feel that second hand lust bubble through him.
Mouth following the line of a scruffy neck, Grey screws open the bottle while rolling the lobe of Beau's ear between his teeth. He pours a healthy serving of the impromptu magicked lube onto his palm and screws the bottle close again. It goes onto the bed as he shifts his own legs open a little, opening those on top of his for his exploring fingers.
It takes a little bit of angling and adjusting to get his hands were they need to be but by the time he's ghosting his mouth over the fuzz of hair on Beau's jaw, he slides two fingertips against the cleft of his ass, lower, searching, circling, teasing. He licks into Beau's mouth as he presses one finger inside him, slow and sure.
With Grey's legs, Beau's open without hesitation or resistance, and he arches readily to make it easier. He wants to let go of his cock but frets it might be the end of him if he does, so for a few moments longer, he holds on like it's a lifeline.
Grey's mouth gets most of his breathy moaning, and Grey's shoulders get most of the fingernails of his free hand. His eyes squeeze shut, brows pulled tightly together. A hunger in him makes him push back against the fingers.
Reluctantly, he lets go of his own cock and reaches down between them for Grey's, running his fingers along the length of it from tip to base. Fuck the condom, is what the heavy pit in his chest screams. It's too good. He can't wait.
Grey wasn't wrong.
Shifting forward, he presses his waist against Grey's chest, his cock taut and stretching along Grey's sternum, giving him room to put Grey behind him. He sits back on Grey's lap, letting Grey's cock rest on his ass. "Jus' go," he pleads, reaching back, taking Grey's hand, rubbing the slick, gooey lube on Grey himself.
There's something awfully desperate in the way they burn for each other. In almost any other circumstance Grey would have insisted to finish the prepping, to make sure that he's not going to hurt Beau. But he's caught up in the pull of the raw need that seems to swim between them.
He rests heavy and ready against the cleft of Beau's ass and shudders as he hears the plea in Beau's voice, pulling a surprised moan out of him as clever fingers reach down to spread the lube on him.
"Are you--" he starts, but then stops himself to instead smear his mouth on Beau's throat while lifting him up with that arm around his waist, easy as breathing as his other hand guides himself to press against the ring of puckered muscles at his entrance.
"I want you to tell me if it hurts," Grey mutters, finally shaken by the ongoing events between them, feeling like Beau is wearing thin his control over himself by applying so much heat and passion into it. It's like fucking a nymph and holy fuck Grey absolutely loves it.
It takes a bit of doing to get himself past the first resistance, and he tries to be gentle about it. As much as it's possible, really.
His slick hand helps Grey stay straight, guiding, and he sits back without too much hesitation or reluctance. Grey goes in much easier than if they had nothing at all but spit. The solid, full burn draws a wavering moan out of him. His back arches for the angle, his head drops down between his shoulders again. Grey doesn't even have to move for him to moan, soft and airy.
Tapping with his heels, he urges Grey's knees up so the angle is better, so there's room for maneuvering. When he looks back down, he regrets it. Grey is cool but flushed and wanting, hair a mess. He drops his forehead right on the crest of Grey's own, then laughs breathlessly, delighted. "Go in, cheri," he coaxes.
Adds, after he catches his breath, "I'm gonna be all o'er ya in two minutes anyway." The fingers of one hand tangle gently into the hair at the back of Grey's neck; the others desperately grip the base of his own cock to try to keep him from exploding even more prematurely.
Later Grey will be quite shocked to realise that he completely forgot the god damn condom. But for now Beau has arrested his focus completely, hammered it down with those little breathy moans and curving lips that he can't get enough of. Case in point, he reaches up with one hand and tangles it in Beau's hair, pulling him down to lick that cheri right off his mouth.
The kiss is urgent and impatient, stretching out the inevitable. Grey moves to pull his feet up onto the mattress, knees bending up. His shifting pushes him further inside the velvet heat that is Beau and he gives a soft groan, helping Beau to sit down further with his hand on that angled hip.
There's a whispered curse word on his lips, all the Rs of it rolling like his life dependent on it. So tight, so incredibly tight...
He doesn't stop before Beau is seated on his lap, before he bottoms out. Grey watches the pleasure twist Beau's features and the decision is made in a heartbeat. He doesn't mind fucking another one out of him, twice is better than once anyway...
He circles one arm around Beau's waist an holds him steady as he pulls his feet further under him and once he finds his balance, he rocks up, then forward, pressing Beau down into the mattress under him. Rough hands grab at Beau's wrists and push them up above his head, pinning them down to the mattress as Grey starts to move, rocking into him slowly at first but picking up the pace quickly.
"Then come," he says softly against Beau's mouth, voice gone so low it's practically purring out of his throat. "I don't mind fucking you through a few."
There's something different about the climax this time around.
The angle is perfect when he's thrown over, and despite wanting to use his hands on himself, having them pinned hits an ache in the bottom of his groin. His back arches. The steady thump of the head of his cock against his own stomach as he rocks is a delightful pain.
He doesn't need his hands to finish, or Grey's hands either. Just a long and drawn-out Fuuuuck through his teeth.
It happens like a drop of water falls onto his surface and ripples him into a thousand ringlets. Smashing a warm, water-egg over him and letting everything run down off the sides. Briefly, he thinks he's melting, but it feels too good to care. Grey integrates him spiritually into that deep sea of self. Literally fucked out of body, and when he comes back, he lets out a sharp, pleasant gasp followed by a satisfied hum.
"Thank God," he whispers hoarsely, having come straight up his chest to his neck. "I have died an' been resurrected." His legs wrap over Grey's lower back, locking together at the feet. He flashes the man a lopsided grin.
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Naturally, he asks, "What do y'mean, 'Not with someone like you'?" He can tell it isn't a bad thing. Yet he's still curious. What does someone like him mean?
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Then he smirks and it's gone, replaced by a warmer feeling around his chest as he says absolutely nothing but instead turns Beau's face lightly by those fingers upon his chin and leans up to press his lips to those smiling ones, kissing him softly.
It's pretty clear as far as answers go, he thinks.
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He returns the kiss, soft and curious, unsure at first, then a little hungrier. Tasting a little deeper just to be sure, feeling the scritch of Grey's beard on his chin. It's glorious. He hasn't felt so fiery in a while now.
Sure, looks here. Glances. Distantly turned on and quietly touching himself in the dark later. There's no use in being in love when living twice as long as everyone else. Only the occasional fling will do when the itch comes.
But here with Grey, a door is opened, pouring in all of Grey's wants, pouring all of his back. He sighs, shaky with excitement, eyes opening. "Don't gotta be scared of me," he whispers.
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He rolls to his side, leaning over Beau to look at him in the eyes, steady and sure, even when there's a symphony of nerves going off inside him like fireworks, responding to the want and heat that pours through the connection.
"I'm not afraid," he whispers before pinning Beau down onto the mattress with another kiss, this one deeper, lips parted, a curious tongue pressing to the soft flesh of a bottom lip. Then those lips pull it between them, sucking gently before Grey deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue inside Beau's mouth to taste him. In the meanwhile he lets his hand describe the narrow frame of him, reaching waist, pushing under his shirt, splaying fingers on his side.
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Grey is a gorgeous man, and though Beau usually doesn't think he's quite as good-looking, he feels way more attractive with Grey kissing him. Eats it up. Opens wide and takes Grey's mouth, tongue. The fingers make him gasp suddenly; they're cold, but not painful. Chill his hot skin, and his flesh rolls under the palm pleasantly.
All too quick, hard and trapped in the leg of his jeans, aching. He can't find any place to rub with his legs trapped between Grey's own. He grunts in frustration, instead digging his fingers into the man's shoulders and back, pulling. There's still some French in him. A level of sensual thirst, the ease of enjoying things that feel amazingly good.
He curls his fingers and bunches Grey's shirt up to the neck, but abandons trying to get it off with their lips locked. Instead, he drops a hand down between them, hooks two fingers into the hem of Grey's pants and teases, brushing the backs of his fingers against the lower slope of Grey's stomach. It feels almost like touching himself.
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It's the impatience and frustration that lands on a pregnant ground in him, so ready to take it up a notch. He breaks the kiss to lean up and pull off his shirt in one smooth motion. He can't even pretend that the thing that is happening in his hair is a bun, several locks having come loose and the bundle of hair swooping wildly to one side as he throws his shirt somewhere on the ground.
He pauses for a moment when those fingers glide against his skin. Head bowing forward as he pulls in a raw breath, harsh in his throat. He wants to press himself into that waiting palm and grind against it, find a home in that palm and never leave.
But given that it seems like a silly idea, he leans on top of Beau for a moment, mouth following the line of his neck to the hollow of his throat while Grey shifts, making himself room between Beau's legs. So when he moves up, sitting on his heels, he's in a perfect position to push his hands up along that golden chest, pushing the soft cotton of Beau's t-shirt up along the way, only to leave it rolled up to his chest and return down with blunt nails dragging white lines on their wake.
Grey doesn't say anything, just watches with great interest as his fingers slide under the waist of worn denim, popping open a button and sliding down the zipper before he presses the heel of his palm to the obvious bulge and rubs it down through denim and cotton.
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He's sad to see it go, but likes the way it leaves. Gladly, his legs fold open and rest up over the edges of Grey's thighs and on Grey's hips. There's strings attached from his middle to Grey's hands; all of him arches into the passing nails. He rolls his head back and groans lowly, murmuring a strange, unintelligible bit of Creole French.
It's nothing compared to the hand splitting open his jeans and taking him. He yelps in pleasant surprise. The touch sends a ripple of electricity through him from head to foot, making his toes curl. It's too good. He takes Grey by the hand and guides it to rub more firmly while he rolls his hips, and then he can't stand even that. His free hand shoves jeans and boxers down his thighs, and he puts himself in Grey's fingers and curls them around.
The first stroke makes him moan.
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Which is why he more than willingly wraps his fingers tightly around Beau's length and strokes him, pressing his thumb to the fat veins on the underside of his length. His own jeans are uncomfortably tight and he uses his free hand to pop them open, groaning with relief as the sharp angles of his hip relax and he bows forward to press his mouth to the sharp relief under Beau's rip cage, dragging his mouth down to the flat of his stomach and then back up, following the centre line of his body.
Salt and heat under his tongue, the sensation of himself stroking Beau steadily feeding right back into him through the link, Grey finds himself with stark regret for not stocking up on lube and condoms for this berry picking trip. Not that he knows if Beau is into that but oh, he fucking hopes he is.
Because he hasn't been this turned on for ages, lust and desire practically dripping off of him in waves.
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The fingers of his hands map the plane of Grey's shoulders and back, feeling the tattooed skin, yet finding it amazing there is no texture. Only muscle. Only smooth flesh. One arm wraps around Grey's neck and he tugs the man to the side, tilted, using his other hand to quickly dip down past the pants and smooth his palm along the skin of the side of Grey's thigh, the hip before trying to push the pants away and off.
Get rid of them, which he lets Grey do for comfort and ease, but his hand busies itself by greedily latching onto Grey's cock and stroking, throating humming approval.
Thick and firm and hot in his hand. He's only had it one other time, long ago, fooling around with a friend as horny teenager. Thinking about porn and girls, but then putting another boy's cock hungrily in his mouth because it was so thrilling. He can only think of it now, sliding Grey over his tongue.
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He groans, voice deep and throaty as friction is so readily produced, then the link looping back to him provides an idea of a mouth around his cock and it's hard to focus on anything at all after that. Just tight, hot, teasing at the edges of his release.
A brief moment, that's all it takes. He just has to steel himself, and he does. He leans back and shoves down his jeans and underwear, only to return to Beau and pull up his legs to do the same for the denim still trapping his legs as well. Then he's free to bend down to curve his hands around Beau's waist and pull him up, onto him, to straddling his lap with a murmured: "C'mere, little cajun."
He will content himself with just rocking against Beau for a moment, holding him close and dragging the blunt edges of his nails across his back while rutting their groins against one another. "The shirt. Take of the shirt," he says and his accent is at least ten degrees heavier, smeared onto the skin of Beau's throat.
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The hand wrapped around Grey widens; he scoops the two of their cocks together and strokes instead, supporting himself with the other arm around Grey's neck. His hips buck when Grey's lips tease his throat, and the friction pulls a moan out of him. The accent doesn't help. It's beautiful and foreign, and he's aching the more for it.
"You--feel too nice--to bother," he gasps by an ear, lips grinning again, but he relents. Pulls away to shimmy out of the shirt and drop it on the floor with the rest of their clothes. "I got'a condom," he murmurs sheepishly, "but nothin' else." His fingers twine softly into Grey's hair, carefully plucking the band out so the hair comes down, so he can put his fingers truly in it, up near the back of the neck, against the scalp.
The feeling makes his cock throb, thumping lightly against Grey's lower stomach. He can't keep his lips off Grey's mouth. Away, but always returning to kiss, to touch.
"Lay back, mon ami," he coos. "I promise ta treat you with great Southern hospitality."
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"I'm pretty sure they sell lube and condoms somewhere on this boat." The selection of tax-free shops is pretty random right after mountains of candy and expensive perfumes. "When we're done here, I suggest we shower, eat and purchase some to entertain each other for the rest of the way to Norway."
The idea that they only would get to do this once is tragic and he would rather not entertain it any further.
He does as prompted and lays back, but there's a wall right there and he only kind of sprawls backwards. It doesn't really matter because it's far enough that he can watch Beau on top of him while he brings one hand between them and wraps his hand around them both, squeezing them together as he strokes them with steady, long strides. There's a little bit of a fantasy that he entertains for a brief moment about his golden-skinned cajun riding his cock just like this.
"You've been pretty damn generous this far," he murmurs with an actual smile, voice softer with growing affection.
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Carefully, he cups his own hand around Grey's, strokes the two of them together, then lets go as Grey reclines back. Beau takes his time. They have a lot of time. He kisses Grey hungrily at first, slow and wanting, then drops his lips to the swell of one of Grey's pectorals. Tastes one of the nipples just to tease. Kisses each rib on the way down, each mildly defined muscle, the sharp V of Grey's hip.
He bites, gently, a little red mark in return there while his fist pumps the cock he's taking his sweet time getting to. Kisses the head of that. Too softly. Allows Grey to feel his hot breath, then his tongue, licking from base to tip. His eyes look up from under his lashes, his lips smiling at the corners.
Then he takes Grey's cock upright and pops the head of it between his wet lips, suckling softly. Clean, mildly salty, hot. He squeezes the base with his fist, then lets loose fingers pump up to meet his lips.
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As Beau starts moving downward, he let's go of their joint grip a little regretfully but it's a short lived disappointment when anticipation starts to stack up. His fingers thread into soft brown hair and fist there firmly even if he doesn't limit Beau's movements by his grip.
"I guess you have that effect on me," Grey says with a voice that seems to drum up from the depths of a deep deep well, a low chest rumble, heavy with his native accent.
He goes silent when that mouth reaches his cock, heavy against Beau's palm and twisting with interest. His jaw slack and mouth watering, Grey watches him while his chest rises and falls with deep breaths. He anticipates every breath and lick and kiss with a small shudder and finally when he's enveloped between wet lips he lets out a groan, brows furrowing as he mutters: "Voi helvetti..."
Head lolling back against the wall behind him, Grey draws in a slow breath, releasing it just as slowly as fingers start to work him up. Shit, it feels so good he's not really sure if he can hold back very long. But oh, he will try, because he doesn't want this to end...
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It's perfect. Just thick enough to be filling, just long enough to give him something to work with. A lot of guys--and maybe girls--think it's about how far down the throat it can go, but that isn't ever it. Going down the throat is nothing. It's how it's worked.
Using the hand and the mouth together. Working one up to meet the other. Playing with the head, the most sensitive spot just underneath, running a tongue over the slit on top. Beau's lips are grinning the longer he goes, not fast, but easy, carefully. He pulls the moans out of the pit of Grey's stomach, and he stays painfully hard just from hearing them.
But he doesn't want Grey to finish yet, so he offers some quick, firm strokes of consolidation before pulling away, teeth flashing wolfishly in the dark, breath labored, lips red and jaw delightfully sore. He leans over Grey's knee and calf to scratch at the floor for his pants, fiddling around until he can find the wallet slid down in one of the pockets. The reflective packet crinkles when he pulls it out, and he rips it in two with his teeth on the edge, then offers it across to Grey.
"It's lubricated," he reassures, "but I dunno how much that's gonna help."
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Tilting his head to look down at Beau, Grey brings one of his hands to his face, ghosting his fingertips over a cheek that is stretched over his cock, looking into those pretty, pretty eyes. He could come like this without a single problem involved.
But then the moment is gone and he waits for Beau to fish out the condom before gripping his hair with both hands and gently pulling him up to kiss his mouth, sucking on his lips for a long moment, just enjoying the taste of him and the sweet feel of his slick mouth against his own. Then he pulls back, taking the condom and smirks a little bit.
"You sure you want to do this?" he asks quietly while putting the condom on the bed beside them, then reaches down to drag his bag a little closer to the bed before fishing out his water bottle. It's not going to be a big thing to cast a little spell to transform the substance inside to something with a little thicker consistency. They're in the middle of the ocean and already doing something that will lend its help to bring the magic about.
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"Can't think of a reason why I wouldn't," he says breathlessly, situating himself across Grey's thighs and on Grey's lap without sitting completely down on the knees. "Unless it's tha fact I'll prolly be comin' everywhere the second I sit on it." He rubs one of his palms up along his neck and around the back through his hair almost sheepishly. "Just when I think I'm fine, tha link just shoots what you got back in me."
His eyes fall to the bottle of water. He knows using magic over the water on water while they're already connected is just going to light him on fire again. His fist gives his cock another squeeze at the base in anticipation, and he bites his lips together with his teeth.
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His mouth falls against Beau's shoulder and words spill from his mouth on his native tongue, rough around the edges, every R rolling softly as he describes the water in the bottle, asserting his power over it, demanding a change. Finnish magic is all about words and oral delivery. He feels the rocking of the ferry, the sea undulating against it, wild and deep and ancient. It's magic rolls through him. A god damn sky rocket of power to bring about a small change, like using a bazooka to shoot a fly off the sky. But the consistency of the substance in the bottle changes, moving slower now, sticking to the edges.
Grey groans softly, biting down on Beau's shoulder as he feels the magic roll through him, bleeding into the arousal with a sharp edge.
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A little murmur starts up in his throat, hummed against his closed lips. He doesn't watch. He doesn't have to watch. He can feel every movement, hear every foreign word tickling the shell of his ear from below. It makes him antsy. He rocks and rolls his hips, head thrown back between his shoulders. The magic begins in his groin, boiling, bubbling, stuck and rising. It bursts suddenly up through him, a wash of all the water Grey uses to cast, and he moans thick and heavy in the dark room, unable to help himself.
He thinks he might come. He thinks he may have already come. One of his hands has shot down between them to grip the base of his cock like it might keep him from finishing over nothing but the sheer linking of their magic. "I'm gonna come," he whines, hoarse, when Grey is finished. "God," in a heady, throaty French accent. He's not sure if he can let go, but does anyway, smoothing the hand back up to join the other on Grey's shoulders. "I'm okay," he finally reassures. "Keep--goin'," afraid Grey may decide to stop, leaving him raw and open and aching.
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Mouth following the line of a scruffy neck, Grey screws open the bottle while rolling the lobe of Beau's ear between his teeth. He pours a healthy serving of the impromptu magicked lube onto his palm and screws the bottle close again. It goes onto the bed as he shifts his own legs open a little, opening those on top of his for his exploring fingers.
It takes a little bit of angling and adjusting to get his hands were they need to be but by the time he's ghosting his mouth over the fuzz of hair on Beau's jaw, he slides two fingertips against the cleft of his ass, lower, searching, circling, teasing. He licks into Beau's mouth as he presses one finger inside him, slow and sure.
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With Grey's legs, Beau's open without hesitation or resistance, and he arches readily to make it easier. He wants to let go of his cock but frets it might be the end of him if he does, so for a few moments longer, he holds on like it's a lifeline.
Grey's mouth gets most of his breathy moaning, and Grey's shoulders get most of the fingernails of his free hand. His eyes squeeze shut, brows pulled tightly together. A hunger in him makes him push back against the fingers.
Reluctantly, he lets go of his own cock and reaches down between them for Grey's, running his fingers along the length of it from tip to base. Fuck the condom, is what the heavy pit in his chest screams. It's too good. He can't wait.
Grey wasn't wrong.
Shifting forward, he presses his waist against Grey's chest, his cock taut and stretching along Grey's sternum, giving him room to put Grey behind him. He sits back on Grey's lap, letting Grey's cock rest on his ass. "Jus' go," he pleads, reaching back, taking Grey's hand, rubbing the slick, gooey lube on Grey himself.
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He rests heavy and ready against the cleft of Beau's ass and shudders as he hears the plea in Beau's voice, pulling a surprised moan out of him as clever fingers reach down to spread the lube on him.
"Are you--" he starts, but then stops himself to instead smear his mouth on Beau's throat while lifting him up with that arm around his waist, easy as breathing as his other hand guides himself to press against the ring of puckered muscles at his entrance.
"I want you to tell me if it hurts," Grey mutters, finally shaken by the ongoing events between them, feeling like Beau is wearing thin his control over himself by applying so much heat and passion into it. It's like fucking a nymph and holy fuck Grey absolutely loves it.
It takes a bit of doing to get himself past the first resistance, and he tries to be gentle about it. As much as it's possible, really.
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His slick hand helps Grey stay straight, guiding, and he sits back without too much hesitation or reluctance. Grey goes in much easier than if they had nothing at all but spit. The solid, full burn draws a wavering moan out of him. His back arches for the angle, his head drops down between his shoulders again. Grey doesn't even have to move for him to moan, soft and airy.
Tapping with his heels, he urges Grey's knees up so the angle is better, so there's room for maneuvering. When he looks back down, he regrets it. Grey is cool but flushed and wanting, hair a mess. He drops his forehead right on the crest of Grey's own, then laughs breathlessly, delighted. "Go in, cheri," he coaxes.
Adds, after he catches his breath, "I'm gonna be all o'er ya in two minutes anyway." The fingers of one hand tangle gently into the hair at the back of Grey's neck; the others desperately grip the base of his own cock to try to keep him from exploding even more prematurely.
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The kiss is urgent and impatient, stretching out the inevitable. Grey moves to pull his feet up onto the mattress, knees bending up. His shifting pushes him further inside the velvet heat that is Beau and he gives a soft groan, helping Beau to sit down further with his hand on that angled hip.
There's a whispered curse word on his lips, all the Rs of it rolling like his life dependent on it. So tight, so incredibly tight...
He doesn't stop before Beau is seated on his lap, before he bottoms out. Grey watches the pleasure twist Beau's features and the decision is made in a heartbeat. He doesn't mind fucking another one out of him, twice is better than once anyway...
He circles one arm around Beau's waist an holds him steady as he pulls his feet further under him and once he finds his balance, he rocks up, then forward, pressing Beau down into the mattress under him. Rough hands grab at Beau's wrists and push them up above his head, pinning them down to the mattress as Grey starts to move, rocking into him slowly at first but picking up the pace quickly.
"Then come," he says softly against Beau's mouth, voice gone so low it's practically purring out of his throat. "I don't mind fucking you through a few."
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The angle is perfect when he's thrown over, and despite wanting to use his hands on himself, having them pinned hits an ache in the bottom of his groin. His back arches. The steady thump of the head of his cock against his own stomach as he rocks is a delightful pain.
He doesn't need his hands to finish, or Grey's hands either. Just a long and drawn-out Fuuuuck through his teeth.
It happens like a drop of water falls onto his surface and ripples him into a thousand ringlets. Smashing a warm, water-egg over him and letting everything run down off the sides. Briefly, he thinks he's melting, but it feels too good to care. Grey integrates him spiritually into that deep sea of self. Literally fucked out of body, and when he comes back, he lets out a sharp, pleasant gasp followed by a satisfied hum.
"Thank God," he whispers hoarsely, having come straight up his chest to his neck. "I have died an' been resurrected." His legs wrap over Grey's lower back, locking together at the feet. He flashes the man a lopsided grin.
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