Friends. Friends!? That hits Izzy in the chest so hard he visibly shifts. He doesn't have friends. Hell, Edward isn't even his fucking friend anymore. Why the fuck would Lucius want to be his friend.
Even worse, it hits hard because he wants it, too. It has been so fucking nice to relax a little bit. To have someone who understands his world, even partially, someone to talk to, someone he doesn't have to fucking explain-
It's so overwhelming. It's all so fucking much.
"Why?" More of a croak. Izzy clears his throat and pushes himself up to stand straight, not relying on the wall so much.
"Why would you ever want to be friends with me? We're nothing alike." Lying liar but it's safer. What a coward.
Lucius just gives him the most confused look, like he doesn't understand the question. At any other time, he'd have passed it off, but he's just drunk enough, and has had just enough reminders tonight, that the actual, legitimate answer to that question springs forth. Like a fucking daisy through snow, if it were more depressing.
He lets out a long, put upon groan and flops, dramatically, onto Izzy's couch. It's not a sexy fainting flop so much as just dropping himself back and letting his long limbs land wherever.
"Because I'm a lonely sad-sack who misses home, shit as it was, and you're a piece of that and I kind of like what a bitch you are." He sighs wearily.
"I'm starting to forget faces, like, I don't think I could draw them right? Even if I tried? And...and you're funny, and mean, and familiar, and it's easy."
Contrary to all evidence at the moment, he repeats:
It is easy. All this. Their little alliance against all those other fuckers out there. He knows.
Stede had asked him tonight why he couldn’t just relax. Tightly wound of his own doing, Izzy had barked back some bullshit about always being ready. Always being hard to push out the weakness.
But that isn’t at all why he was upset. The weakness is already in. A slow drip of water against stone wearing a path clear through no matter how much that stone may try.
Lonely fuckers the pair of them. Isn’t that depressing.
Izzy pushes completely off the wall now and crosses the little cabin to lower himself onto the couch beside the other. He can’t even be bothered to fix his hair, wild from how he’d similarly thrown himself down on his bed the way Lucius has now.
Can’t look over. He keeps his face forward. He’s drunk, yeah, but he knows if he looks he’ll lose his nerve.
Lucius has no such reluctance to looking at Izzy and he lets his head flop to the side as the other man takes a seat alongside him. Izzy looks as terrible as Lucius feels. But--but, what did he say?
Thoughts slow through the miasma of drink, it takes Lucius a moment to move from his own wallowing in loneliness to hear and comprehend what Izzy's said. Once he does, in his grating way, Lucius sits upright and his whole demeanor shifts. Suddenly there's a smile splitting his face in half.
"You miss me?" Lucius asks, incredulous and, frankly, does not expect an answer. (At least not an answer beyond: fuck off.) "That is literally the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
Before he can ponder that, and because Izzy made the terrible decision to get close, he sweeps Israel Hands up in an enthusiastic, drunken embrace.
Called it in one. He is a predictable creature ol’ Izzy Hands.
He struggles to get out of the hug like he’s being attacked by a giant python but really all he manages to do is pull back and bring Lucius with him.
Selfishly, he relishes the contact. It is pathetic. And now he is still being hugged but he’s managed to half drag the lad on top of him and it is disgusting how nice it feels to have the weight of another human being against him.
Izzy is only human. Alas. Being an automaton would be so much easier. Just wind him up and away he’d go without any of this terrible skin hunger or soul crushing emotion.
Izzy flails and shifts on the couch and ends up dragging him along--but Lucius isn't letting him go that easily. In fact, this has just made it easier for Lucius to pull his knees up on the couch and properly absorb the space above Izzy. He releases him, after a moment, but only uses his hands on either side of Izzy's ribs to hold himself up so he can stare, insufferably delighted, at the surly man beneath him.
"No take backs," Lucius tells him, smugly.
The posture and position is so familiar that Lucius starts to move before his drunk brain catches up. He can't remember the last time he loomed over a man like this, all but straddling him, and hesitated to lean in and crush their mouths together. He's not about to start hesitating now--
Lucius, high on victory and admissions of feelings (however banal), bends and promptly slants his mouth over Izzy's. He's not shy about it, nor is he delicate--it's open mouthed and clumsy and glad.
It is lovely, and for the briefest moment Izzy sinks into the kiss with a soft, breathy moan. Too taken by surprise to stop himself. Too drunk and too hungry for any single fucking scrap.
Lucius kisses earnestly and without reservation. The sort of kiss that makes a person feel seen and the rest of the world drop away.
That is until the part of Izzy’s wankered brain that does the processing catches up with a very loud HANG ON A MINUTE-
-and the next thing Izzy knows he’s slapped Lucius’ face off him with a loud, open palmed wallop.
Lucius is moving on muscle memory, utterly and entirely, and it is absolutely wonderful--right up until he gets cracked across the face by a leather-clad hand. His vision swims a moment, more at the sudden whipcrack spin of his head than pain from the blow, and Lucius blinks dumbly.
Cad?
What--and that's about when his drunken mind catches up. Lucius is as shocked by himself as Izzy is and gives the man beneath him a startled, mystified look.
"Oh my god--" he pushes himself up to the full height his arms allow, still looming over Izzt, and gapes. His expression is multilayered but, notably, lacks anything like remorse. "Uh--I...take it back?"
Lucius is not sure what's happening but, really, consent can't be made clearer than when he's being garotted by his own shirt and hauled back down. He goes cheerfully--or rather urgently--meeting Izzy's mouth as he arches up as he hauls Lucius down. Their mouths clash, the angle is still odd, and Lucius rectifies it by shifting so he's not just alongside Izzy but straddling his thighs.
Now he can hold himself upright, now his hands don't have to be planted on the boring couch. He immediately draws both over Izzy's chest and to his shoulders. One finds his hair, then, wanders until it's buried, and the other ends up bracing his jaw. Drunken Lucius thinks it's a great idea to pull Izzy into alignment, a tug this way on his hair, and press that way with his beard, and suddenly kissing is both easier and filthier.
He licks his way into Izzy's mouth like the man had demanded it. He had, hadn't he? Growled and threatened him not to back off--oh, and that growl? What a lovely threat, best thing rasped at him all day, no notes.
Here they are talking about mending a very fragile friendship in it's infancy only to pitch head first into actions that will undoubtedly make it messy and complicated. It is stupid. It is reckless. But oh how it makes him feel alive.
Lucius yields to the request immediately and Izzy is so glad, pulling him close and letting himself be manipulated into a more comfortable position, ripe for the picking. And he wants to be picked. Just once, where someone would choose him.
Izzy kisses how he fights, aggressive and unyielding. He fucks the same way, too, if only because he has never been allowed another option. Maybe here.
He softens the kiss just a hair, taking Lucius' bottom lip between his teeth and running his tongue over as if tasting him for the first time. He wants more. And so he sinks into it again, one hand steady in the man's shirt front, the other finding it's way into soft brown hair where it curls with claim.
Lucius is discovering that making out with Israel Hands is something of an ordeal--this isn't so much pleasantly falling into one another, which is Lucius's general preference, as it is combat with fewer moving parts. One steps forward and the other is forced to retreat only to flip the arrangement with every movement. It's fascinating and his drunken mind falls into the pattern of it with more gusto than he should probably employ.
Izzy takes his lip between teeth and sinks forward, Lucius presses him back and runs a tongue along his own. Izzy's fingers curl in his hair and tug him this way, Lucius's hand at his jaw pushes him that. It's a game, framed around teeth and tongue and open mouthed kisses, and Lucius, once he gets the rythym of it, thinks he could get quite good at it.
Unfortunately, the enthusiasm with which he's engaged means that he's not quite remembered to breathe.
He has to break their kiss to gasp down a deep breath, heart racing like he's been running. He can practically taste the salt on Izzy's skin. Izzy smells of leather, of alcohol, and--
Spice, musk, orange, and lavender. He is. but now is such a bullshit time to call him on it. Kiss stung, with a noise of complaint as their connection breaks, and looking up at Lucius with a mix of feral hunger, drunken want, and disbelief. Are you kidding?
"And if I were?"
Why are they talking about this, why have they stopped kissing. Fuck, he hopes Lucius hasn't come to his senses already. He hopes he doesn't either.
Lucius doesn't even bother to hide his delight, grinning as he dives back in to claim Izzy's mouth again. He's still breathless, head swimming a bit, but that doesn't matter. Not only had their silly little prank worked but Izzy was wearing one of the packets. He could figure out which one later.
For right now, Lucius's eagerness is back in force. He has not considered the consequences of this series of actions, and he's not likely to. No, all he's considering at the moment is how to get his hands up under Izzy's leather vest and billowing shirt.
Izzy who relaxes with the platitude and welcomes Lucius back to his lips with a soft noise of pleasure.
Buttoned up as tightly as he is, the only way under the vest is to open in. The fastenings are tight but few, garment well tailored and molded to his body through years of wear.
One of his hands goes right back into Lucius' hair. The other, gloved, finds his hip and squeezes before roaming up his side. Izzy should feel guilty about this, he is sure, but he just doesn't give a single fuck, and the dizzy slide of warm flesh under his hand is all consuming. Naturally, he reaches the same conclusion as his partner. There are too many clothes in the way. It needs to be rectified immediately.
"Take this off," he murmurs through the kiss, tugging at Lucius' shirt.
Lucius's clothes are absolutely not molded to his body and, thus, very easy to shuck. He's working the tight fastenings down the front of Izzy's vest when Izzy demands he lose the shirt. Fair. It will only take a moment, but it does require he pull away and sit up. His weight shifts to rest on Izzy's thighs and, somehow, his drunken balance does not betray him. Izzy's gloved hand against his side probably has something to do with that and, were he not wholly focused on stripping, he would appreciate it.
Lucius shrugs off his bolero and casts it aside, free to fall wherever in a heap on the floor. Then, without pause, pops the top button on his Tommy Bahama shirt, reaches behind his head, and hauls the whole thing off in one long pull. It is cast aside just like his bolero, thrown somewhere behind him without regret.
He's flushed, already, from drink and kissing, he's still wearing a ghost of his previous smile, and now he's shirtless. This has progressed nicely. He takes advantage of his temporary withdrawal and devotes both hands to Izzy's vest. His fingers are nimble, even with clothing that is entirely unfamiliar, and he has the thing loose with only a few seconds of attentive effort.
"Your turn."
Edited (I want dialogue, don't judge me.) 2022-08-05 17:49 (UTC)
Izzy laughs, a rare thing, paired with an even rarer smile as he appreciates Lucius over him. It is a nice vision, and certainly better than anything he's seen in recent memory.
Freed of his buttons, Izzy quickly undoes his cuffs and loosens his collar. The tie stays, but the rest is wriggled out of about as elegantly as you can expect from a drunk on his back. Not amazing and maybe requiring a little bit of help to hork the bulk over his head seeing as he's laying on a lot of it, but we get there in the end. It fucks his hair up, but a small price to pay and it was already fucked up before. Who's counting, not Izzy.
Maybe Izzy.
It's neither here nor there because they're both shirtless now and he's feeling confident about it. Scars and ink on display for Lucius to take however he'd like. He's doing the same with perfect, unblemished skin. Not a silver hair in sight. Thinking Lucius pure is absurd, but he is whole and warm and interested. Izzy couldn't ask for more, really, blessed with this vision of young top him.
"You're beautiful," he breathes. Effeminate perhaps but handsome doesn't quite measure up.
Lucius is drinking in the sight of Israel Hands without his shirt. All the hard edges and silver scars bedecked in silver and dark grey chest hair. He is entirely ready to just mouth along the man's collarbone and tug that little silk cravat--but--
A surprised and pleased laugh bubbles out of Lucius and he smiles, curiously, down at Izzy. He--he called him beautiful?
Lucius is absolutely vain, that's a key facet of who he is, and this certainly isn't the first time he's been called beautiful but--well--he hadn't expected it at all. Izzy is his friend--they're making out and, well, stripping--there's--he finds him beautiful?
"Flatterer," Lucius accuses fondly and bends to place a quick kiss on Izzy's mouth before moving along and finally sating his curiosity and tasting Izzy's skin. He's too tipsy to think up compliments, not for someone as complex as Izzy is, so he doesn't try. Instead, he trails open mouthed kisses along his jaw. Teeth, tongue, and lips drag at the slight stubble of a day old shave--Izzy tastes like salt and leather and the slight tang of that cologne.
"When've I ever?" Izzy answers with a purr, tipping his face to give Lucius better access whichever direction he wants to go. He's reactive under the motion, arching up as he tries to press them together as much as possible.
He doesn't need a compliment back, the action is enough. More than plenty for the starving faithful. Fucking hell, he would let Lucius do just about anything in this moment.
Absently, Izzy decides the likes the sound of Lucius' laugh when it isn't directed at his defeat. He'd like to hear it more often. He likes how soft the man's skin is. Likes the weight of him pressing down. Solid and anchoring but just as reactive. The sort of feeling that lingers once it's all over. How dangerous it is to dwell. To commit every touch and kiss and sound to drunken memory.
This is just a fantastic way to end the day, gold stars all around. He can feel Izzy's pulse under his lips and teeth, feels it jump as he bites down just a touch as he travels down. Izzy's collarbone cuts a stark line and then his pecs--Lucius has never once entertained the idea of biting Izzy Hands's tits but, right this moment, he can't even prevent himself.
Were he fully sober he would have paused, remembered general decorum, and not just gone around biting down on the meat of another man's chest without permission. But he's not and he doesn't ask, just does it, and chases that firm nip with his tongue and a sucking kiss.
It pulls from Izzy a sharp gasp, back arching up, mouth open with pleasure-pain. Nipple pebbling under the attention.
Joke’s on you, Lucius. You don’t have to ask. He’s into this shit, and his hand smooths by reflex down the back of the lad’s head as if to reassure. As if to ask for more.
“Ffh-“ it’s shuddery, coursing through his veins like fire, even dizzier as the blood in his body redirects to his cock. Hips grinding up for hungry contact.
Lucius takes cues well and, frankly, he wants to keep going already so it's no huge chore to indulge. Izzy's shuddery sound is a lovely little thing and it goes straight down Lucius's spine. When Izzy grinds up, he meets nothing but air as Lucius scooches back just a touch.
No, Lucius wants more of that desperate little fluttery noise Izzy makes and a little bit of denial seems a good way to make that happen.
Just a little bit of denial, though, because Lucius is having a grand old time and he's not about to deny himself. He starts biting down firmly along Izzy's pec, once, twice, a third time. He bites harder than he ought to, caught up in the moment, and moves along until he can catch Izzy's nipple with his mouth.
It works, and Lucius gets that fluttering noise of desperation again, punctuated with gasps and growls for the biting.
Denial is a cruel game but it only makes Izzy want it- this- whatever happens- more. Predictable. It somehow manages to make Lucius even more endearing. He cards his fingers over the others scalp, short, neat nails digging just that little bit. His other hand grips Lucius’ shoulder tightly and for a moment he curses that glove in the way. Lucius has seen, he knows, he could just-
Oh fuck it, Izzy tugs the thing off with his teeth and tosses it to join the rest of their clothes in the heap. Eager to touch and roam, sucking a hard shiver as Lucius goes to work on his nipple. What a wholly vulnerable feeling but incredibly sexy.
Izzy makes the most astounding sounds, just a symphony of rasping, debauched man, and Lucius is absolutely here for every one of them. He repeats his treatment of Izzy's tit on the other side, sucking hard on abused flesh until there's the faint rise of a bruise. He keeps arched as he goes, just so Izzy has naught to grind against, but that comes at the cost of Lucius having nothing to grind against either.
By the time he's indulged to his heart's content, Lucius is tenting his stupid swim trunks and he knows Izzy is straining against his leathers. He never expected this to happen and would have laughed in the face of anyone who suggested it even an hour ago, but here they are and Lucius, with swollen lips pulled into a grin, peers up Izzy's chest at his throat, at his face.
"What would you like?" Lucius asks, the first words in a long while. He knows what he'd do given his druthers, but Izzy's the one pinned to the couch.
What would he like. What a question. No one ever asks him that. Now, presented with the opportunity, he doesn’t have the sobriety to think about it.
Which may be a blessing because, were he sober, this wouldn’t be happening at all. It is almost certain.
This lack of sobriety is a blessing two fold, actually, because he doesn’t have to think at all. Seeing Lucius above him, wearing the lad’s marks on his chest, teetering on the edge of monstrous starvation, Izzy knows exactly what he’d like.
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Even worse, it hits hard because he wants it, too. It has been so fucking nice to relax a little bit. To have someone who understands his world, even partially, someone to talk to, someone he doesn't have to fucking explain-
It's so overwhelming. It's all so fucking much.
"Why?" More of a croak. Izzy clears his throat and pushes himself up to stand straight, not relying on the wall so much.
"Why would you ever want to be friends with me? We're nothing alike." Lying liar but it's safer. What a coward.
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He lets out a long, put upon groan and flops, dramatically, onto Izzy's couch. It's not a sexy fainting flop so much as just dropping himself back and letting his long limbs land wherever.
"Because I'm a lonely sad-sack who misses home, shit as it was, and you're a piece of that and I kind of like what a bitch you are." He sighs wearily.
"I'm starting to forget faces, like, I don't think I could draw them right? Even if I tried? And...and you're funny, and mean, and familiar, and it's easy."
Contrary to all evidence at the moment, he repeats:
"This is easy. I like it."
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Stede had asked him tonight why he couldn’t just relax. Tightly wound of his own doing, Izzy had barked back some bullshit about always being ready. Always being hard to push out the weakness.
But that isn’t at all why he was upset. The weakness is already in. A slow drip of water against stone wearing a path clear through no matter how much that stone may try.
Lonely fuckers the pair of them. Isn’t that depressing.
Izzy pushes completely off the wall now and crosses the little cabin to lower himself onto the couch beside the other. He can’t even be bothered to fix his hair, wild from how he’d similarly thrown himself down on his bed the way Lucius has now.
Can’t look over. He keeps his face forward. He’s drunk, yeah, but he knows if he looks he’ll lose his nerve.
“I miss you, too.”
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Thoughts slow through the miasma of drink, it takes Lucius a moment to move from his own wallowing in loneliness to hear and comprehend what Izzy's said. Once he does, in his grating way, Lucius sits upright and his whole demeanor shifts. Suddenly there's a smile splitting his face in half.
"You miss me?" Lucius asks, incredulous and, frankly, does not expect an answer. (At least not an answer beyond: fuck off.) "That is literally the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
Before he can ponder that, and because Izzy made the terrible decision to get close, he sweeps Israel Hands up in an enthusiastic, drunken embrace.
no subject
Called it in one. He is a predictable creature ol’ Izzy Hands.
He struggles to get out of the hug like he’s being attacked by a giant python but really all he manages to do is pull back and bring Lucius with him.
Selfishly, he relishes the contact. It is pathetic. And now he is still being hugged but he’s managed to half drag the lad on top of him and it is disgusting how nice it feels to have the weight of another human being against him.
Izzy is only human. Alas. Being an automaton would be so much easier. Just wind him up and away he’d go without any of this terrible skin hunger or soul crushing emotion.
“I take it back!”
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"No take backs," Lucius tells him, smugly.
The posture and position is so familiar that Lucius starts to move before his drunk brain catches up. He can't remember the last time he loomed over a man like this, all but straddling him, and hesitated to lean in and crush their mouths together. He's not about to start hesitating now--
Lucius, high on victory and admissions of feelings (however banal), bends and promptly slants his mouth over Izzy's. He's not shy about it, nor is he delicate--it's open mouthed and clumsy and glad.
no subject
Lucius kisses earnestly and without reservation. The sort of kiss that makes a person feel seen and the rest of the world drop away.
That is until the part of Izzy’s wankered brain that does the processing catches up with a very loud HANG ON A MINUTE-
-and the next thing Izzy knows he’s slapped Lucius’ face off him with a loud, open palmed wallop.
“You cad!”
no subject
Cad?
What--and that's about when his drunken mind catches up. Lucius is as shocked by himself as Izzy is and gives the man beneath him a startled, mystified look.
"Oh my god--" he pushes himself up to the full height his arms allow, still looming over Izzt, and gapes. His expression is multilayered but, notably, lacks anything like remorse. "Uh--I...take it back?"
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Izzy looks a bit like a scandalised housewife, sure, but he reaches up in straight contraction to the smack and grabs Lucius by the collar.
He can regret this tomorrow. It’s Sober Tomorrow Izzy’s problem now.
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” Drunk Tonight Izzy growls and drags him back down for another go.
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Now he can hold himself upright, now his hands don't have to be planted on the boring couch. He immediately draws both over Izzy's chest and to his shoulders. One finds his hair, then, wanders until it's buried, and the other ends up bracing his jaw. Drunken Lucius thinks it's a great idea to pull Izzy into alignment, a tug this way on his hair, and press that way with his beard, and suddenly kissing is both easier and filthier.
He licks his way into Izzy's mouth like the man had demanded it. He had, hadn't he? Growled and threatened him not to back off--oh, and that growl? What a lovely threat, best thing rasped at him all day, no notes.
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Here they are talking about mending a very fragile friendship in it's infancy only to pitch head first into actions that will undoubtedly make it messy and complicated. It is stupid. It is reckless. But oh how it makes him feel alive.
Lucius yields to the request immediately and Izzy is so glad, pulling him close and letting himself be manipulated into a more comfortable position, ripe for the picking. And he wants to be picked. Just once, where someone would choose him.
Izzy kisses how he fights, aggressive and unyielding. He fucks the same way, too, if only because he has never been allowed another option. Maybe here.
He softens the kiss just a hair, taking Lucius' bottom lip between his teeth and running his tongue over as if tasting him for the first time. He wants more. And so he sinks into it again, one hand steady in the man's shirt front, the other finding it's way into soft brown hair where it curls with claim.
no subject
Izzy takes his lip between teeth and sinks forward, Lucius presses him back and runs a tongue along his own. Izzy's fingers curl in his hair and tug him this way, Lucius's hand at his jaw pushes him that. It's a game, framed around teeth and tongue and open mouthed kisses, and Lucius, once he gets the rythym of it, thinks he could get quite good at it.
Unfortunately, the enthusiasm with which he's engaged means that he's not quite remembered to breathe.
He has to break their kiss to gasp down a deep breath, heart racing like he's been running. He can practically taste the salt on Izzy's skin. Izzy smells of leather, of alcohol, and--
"Are you wearing cologne?"
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"And if I were?"
Why are they talking about this, why have they stopped kissing. Fuck, he hopes Lucius hasn't come to his senses already. He hopes he doesn't either.
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Lucius doesn't even bother to hide his delight, grinning as he dives back in to claim Izzy's mouth again. He's still breathless, head swimming a bit, but that doesn't matter. Not only had their silly little prank worked but Izzy was wearing one of the packets. He could figure out which one later.
For right now, Lucius's eagerness is back in force. He has not considered the consequences of this series of actions, and he's not likely to. No, all he's considering at the moment is how to get his hands up under Izzy's leather vest and billowing shirt.
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Buttoned up as tightly as he is, the only way under the vest is to open in. The fastenings are tight but few, garment well tailored and molded to his body through years of wear.
One of his hands goes right back into Lucius' hair. The other, gloved, finds his hip and squeezes before roaming up his side. Izzy should feel guilty about this, he is sure, but he just doesn't give a single fuck, and the dizzy slide of warm flesh under his hand is all consuming. Naturally, he reaches the same conclusion as his partner. There are too many clothes in the way. It needs to be rectified immediately.
"Take this off," he murmurs through the kiss, tugging at Lucius' shirt.
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Lucius shrugs off his bolero and casts it aside, free to fall wherever in a heap on the floor. Then, without pause, pops the top button on his Tommy Bahama shirt, reaches behind his head, and hauls the whole thing off in one long pull. It is cast aside just like his bolero, thrown somewhere behind him without regret.
He's flushed, already, from drink and kissing, he's still wearing a ghost of his previous smile, and now he's shirtless. This has progressed nicely. He takes advantage of his temporary withdrawal and devotes both hands to Izzy's vest. His fingers are nimble, even with clothing that is entirely unfamiliar, and he has the thing loose with only a few seconds of attentive effort.
"Your turn."
no subject
Freed of his buttons, Izzy quickly undoes his cuffs and loosens his collar. The tie stays, but the rest is wriggled out of about as elegantly as you can expect from a drunk on his back. Not amazing and maybe requiring a little bit of help to hork the bulk over his head seeing as he's laying on a lot of it, but we get there in the end. It fucks his hair up, but a small price to pay and it was already fucked up before. Who's counting, not Izzy.
Maybe Izzy.
It's neither here nor there because they're both shirtless now and he's feeling confident about it. Scars and ink on display for Lucius to take however he'd like. He's doing the same with perfect, unblemished skin. Not a silver hair in sight. Thinking Lucius pure is absurd, but he is whole and warm and interested. Izzy couldn't ask for more, really, blessed with this vision of young top him.
"You're beautiful," he breathes. Effeminate perhaps but handsome doesn't quite measure up.
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A surprised and pleased laugh bubbles out of Lucius and he smiles, curiously, down at Izzy. He--he called him beautiful?
Lucius is absolutely vain, that's a key facet of who he is, and this certainly isn't the first time he's been called beautiful but--well--he hadn't expected it at all. Izzy is his friend--they're making out and, well, stripping--there's--he finds him beautiful?
"Flatterer," Lucius accuses fondly and bends to place a quick kiss on Izzy's mouth before moving along and finally sating his curiosity and tasting Izzy's skin. He's too tipsy to think up compliments, not for someone as complex as Izzy is, so he doesn't try. Instead, he trails open mouthed kisses along his jaw. Teeth, tongue, and lips drag at the slight stubble of a day old shave--Izzy tastes like salt and leather and the slight tang of that cologne.
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He doesn't need a compliment back, the action is enough. More than plenty for the starving faithful. Fucking hell, he would let Lucius do just about anything in this moment.
Absently, Izzy decides the likes the sound of Lucius' laugh when it isn't directed at his defeat. He'd like to hear it more often. He likes how soft the man's skin is. Likes the weight of him pressing down. Solid and anchoring but just as reactive. The sort of feeling that lingers once it's all over. How dangerous it is to dwell. To commit every touch and kiss and sound to drunken memory.
no subject
Were he fully sober he would have paused, remembered general decorum, and not just gone around biting down on the meat of another man's chest without permission. But he's not and he doesn't ask, just does it, and chases that firm nip with his tongue and a sucking kiss.
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Joke’s on you, Lucius. You don’t have to ask. He’s into this shit, and his hand smooths by reflex down the back of the lad’s head as if to reassure. As if to ask for more.
“Ffh-“ it’s shuddery, coursing through his veins like fire, even dizzier as the blood in his body redirects to his cock. Hips grinding up for hungry contact.
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No, Lucius wants more of that desperate little fluttery noise Izzy makes and a little bit of denial seems a good way to make that happen.
Just a little bit of denial, though, because Lucius is having a grand old time and he's not about to deny himself. He starts biting down firmly along Izzy's pec, once, twice, a third time. He bites harder than he ought to, caught up in the moment, and moves along until he can catch Izzy's nipple with his mouth.
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Denial is a cruel game but it only makes Izzy want it- this- whatever happens- more. Predictable. It somehow manages to make Lucius even more endearing. He cards his fingers over the others scalp, short, neat nails digging just that little bit. His other hand grips Lucius’ shoulder tightly and for a moment he curses that glove in the way. Lucius has seen, he knows, he could just-
Oh fuck it, Izzy tugs the thing off with his teeth and tosses it to join the rest of their clothes in the heap. Eager to touch and roam, sucking a hard shiver as Lucius goes to work on his nipple. What a wholly vulnerable feeling but incredibly sexy.
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By the time he's indulged to his heart's content, Lucius is tenting his stupid swim trunks and he knows Izzy is straining against his leathers. He never expected this to happen and would have laughed in the face of anyone who suggested it even an hour ago, but here they are and Lucius, with swollen lips pulled into a grin, peers up Izzy's chest at his throat, at his face.
"What would you like?" Lucius asks, the first words in a long while. He knows what he'd do given his druthers, but Izzy's the one pinned to the couch.
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Which may be a blessing because, were he sober, this wouldn’t be happening at all. It is almost certain.
This lack of sobriety is a blessing two fold, actually, because he doesn’t have to think at all. Seeing Lucius above him, wearing the lad’s marks on his chest, teetering on the edge of monstrous starvation, Izzy knows exactly what he’d like.
He swallows. And never without a challenge:
“Can you fuck?”
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Fuck off stalkers we’re 🍆💦 over here
LMAO.
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