dreadinquisitor | Fade Rift IC: Inbox

He gave into it completely willingly, moaning deeply as he let Maxwell overwhelm him, giving in as he let his body press close - the hard heat of his groin pressing forward, rolling his hips to seek Maxwell's, to seek more--

"--wanted you so much, for so long," he admitted in a heated whisper, groaned against Maxwell's lips, the first admission like opening a floodgate.

Blunt fingernails dragged against Gavin's stomach, Maxwell's fist curling in the fabric of his shirt. Pulling it upward.

More skin. Quickly. He needed to feel it against his, to taste it.

"You have me," he murmured against Gavin's mouth, the words muffled by kisses, but the press of his hips clear. "...Do... please...."

Creators, but that voice went straight south, taking his blood right with it. It was a call to action, of sorts, for fingers than had been hesitating, but they did no longer. He gripped Maxwell tight and then immediately moved for his belt, his breath like a pant on his lips when he had any control over them at all, when they weren't completely consumed by Maxwell's lips, his mouth, his taste--

He'd imagined it, of course he had. Both before, and since. But none his daydreams, of the sweats that had roused him in the night, could compare. None could stand against the feel of Gavin moving against him, bodies already straining despite the barriers between them. Of the taste of his lips, the smell of him....

Of just - him. Real and warm, and there, wanting him back.

He jerked Gavin's shirt up, mouth pulling away just long enough to work it over his head before returning again and pressing hard.

"Sweet Maker...."

It didn't matter that the air had a snowy chill to it where it seeped into the tower through broken stones, beat back only by the flickering candles around them. Gavin's blood ran hot enough to be a furnace in its own right, his skin the same deep tan even under his shirt, proof that the colour was less the sun than it was simply him. His fingers fumbled, too excited, as he finally managed to pull Maxwell's belt free.

"Does he usually involve himself in these sorts of affairs?" Gavin asked breathlessly, almost laughing if he wasn't so incredibly, incredibly aroused.

His mouth was already moving, roaming along Gavin's jaw and working his way lower, wondering if the taste of him changed.... It took a moment for the joke to sink in.

"If he does, he can stay right out of this one," he chuckled roughly, lips warm and firm against Gavin's collarbone, breath a heated pant. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," he replied immediately, finally getting to the cord at Maxwell's groin and pulling the laces loose with deft, if nervous fingers. He didn't let them get all the way inside, however, pulling back to go for Maxwell's shirt instead, leaving his trousers half open as he tugged it up and over his head.

"Because I am pretty sure I would lose a fight with a god, but damn I would try--"

Gavin's touch moved away just as the pressure was lessening - just as it was increasing - and Maxwell groaned, hips following as far as they could, pressing hungrily against his thigh. The fabric of his shirt moved between them, cut them off and his lips were left bereft.

The groan melted into a rumble, something like a curse. What might have been a plea.

"Gavin-- you... a god's got nothing on you."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Gavin teased happily, surging forward for a kiss as deep as he could make it, pressing himself hard against him - skin to skin.

A dragon could burst through the door, right now, and he wouldn't even notice.

His hands returned to their fumbling work on Maxwell's trousers, fingers edging under the waistband to tug it sharply down.

His fingertips bit into Gavin's hips, reaching for him even as Gavin was returning to his trousers.

"I hope so," he breathed, arching in pleasure, and to help, wanting those hands more than he could ever recall wanting anything. He nipped at Gavin's lower lip and his hands relaxed their grip enough to press between them, fumbling at the strings between Gavin's thighs. "Oh, I hope so."

Even that brushing touch was enough to make him moan with need - weeks of anticipation built so high that he felt like he was on a hair trigger. His breath came out in a breathy, shallow pant, his fingers finally pulling the trousers down to Maxwell's knees, before pulling up again to slip beneath underclothes, to tease hard heat as he sought it out - and then found it.

He cursed, lowly, kissing Maxwell hard. "-- been driving me absolutely crazy--"

He liked to think himself as a fairly well disciplined man; or a well versed one at least, but Gavin's fingers wrapped around his cock and he might have been a silly boy again, rolling about in his first uncertain tumble. All eagerness and passion if not technique.

His hips jerked. He gasped another fast plea to the Maker.

"Gavin." He lifted a hand, fisted it in the man's hair. "Give me... give me a moment..."

Just long enough - just enough spare blood for his brain - to rip through the knot holding Gavin's trousers closed. To push inside and mold his palm over the answering heat beyond the leather.

He had half let go - the words making him back up immediately, convinced he'd done something wrong - and then Maxwell's hand found him and his whole body shuddered, curling in closer as his cock throbbed hotly in the man's fingers.

"Maxwell--" He panted, that word alone a plea, and he renewed his grip with fierce attention.

He cut him off with his lips, moving hungrily against his. Wanting the taste of him again, wanting the taste of his own name in that hard pant.

That might have been enough, that alone, if not for the curl and flex of Gavin's fingers, drawing a helpless roll of his hips in answer. Earning him a heated stroke, Maxwell's fist rubbing along the length of Gavin's cock.

Gavin was making it difficult, probably, by the way he pushed and pressed up against him, trapping their hands in his need to be closer, making the angles hard even as he began to give a tight stroke in return - too rushed, probably, all finesse long since fled. It was ridiculous, the effect that so little a touch had on him, when so many other had done so much more, but it was like every touch set his skin on fire--

"--need you," he moaned against him, "So badly, Maxwell--"

Difficult, yes, but not worse. Gavin's obvious hunger only fed his own. Knowing he wanted as desperately as he did.... His heart strained against his ribs; he fought to catch a breath.

Desperately tried to get closer, deeper. Hotter. More.

His thigh pressed tightly against Gavin's, their hips locked together. He thrust once, gently, testing - then again, as the delicious friction sent pleasure racing through him.

It was far from elegant, but creators it did its work - the heated thrust making Gavin rut against him automatically, hips scrambling to find that heat again, to feel them pressed up against each other.

His fingers released, but only so he could grasp for them both at once, so he could hold Maxwell's cock tight and close against his own as his hips pushed against him, as he stroked with an increasing urgency.

Pressed so tight, skin-to-skin, tangled and thrusting, Maxwell wasn't entirely certain where each of them ended and the other began. And it was perfect.

Fingers bumping against Gavin's, chasing him stroke for stroke; his other hand cupped his backside and lifted, angling him up so they could fit even closer with every buck and roll of their hips.

"We should slow down," Gavin panted, but his words did not match his actions at all, chasing that pleasure just as hard and fast as he had been before he spoke - perhaps more so. "Creators, Maxwell, you--"

But whatever Maxwell was, it was lost in the moan that came next, in the desperate wordless plea against his lips.

Gavin might have asked him to slay a dragon, for as easy the request was. With his heart pounding, his skin burning - everything in him urging him on, just a little further, just a little....

He groaned into the kiss, fingers flexing and kneading into Gavin's skin, into the muscle beneath. He couldn't stop immediately, hips thrusting again, but it was slower, shallower.

The man wanting to give, even as the body was desperate to take.

"Alright," he whispered breathlessly. "...Alright. I'm sorry."

So perhaps Gavin didn't want as much, as the same as he did, that was alright. He could adjust.

It made it easier, that much was true, though he was so close that his body wanted to race ahead without him, his heart pounding its frustration against his ribcage.

"What in all of Thedas are you sorry for?" he asked in a groan, leaning in to take a still-heated kiss, even as he carefully withdrew his hand. "Lie back."

"I thought--" The words, the thought, died against Gavin's lips. Kissing him back, catching at him as he pulled away, his heart lurching in the space before Gavin spoke again.

A moan hummed against Gavin's lips, relief and pleasure twisting together. Another kiss, and then another, and finally he withdrew, laying back against the blankets with a pant.

"I want you to enjoy it, just as much."

"Yeah, I would just like to enjoy it a little longer," Gavin teased, wetting his lips as he shifted himself up onto Maxwell's hips, allowing himself a minute to breathe, though his cock lay heavily against him. "If it were up to only you, I'd be done and out for the night already."

He leaned down, pressing a firm kiss to Maxwell's lips before pressing another to his jaw, to his throat--

He laughed, a sound thicker, rougher, than usual, muscles of his throat shifting beneath Gavin's lips.

"'Only you, he says,'" he joked arms lifting to wrap around him, palms sliding up the length of his back, fingers curling as they dragged down again and griped at his hips. "With that mouth--"

With those hands, and those legs, squeezing around him. With that heat, burning against his hip....

"Never mind. Take whatever vengeance you see fit."

"I plan to," Gavin replied easily, grinning as his lips traced down Maxwell's collar bone. Lingering, tasting. He was going to take his time, now, if only because one wrong move and he was going to lose everything instantly.

His hands slid down Maxwell's thighs as he traced his way lower with his lips, his tongue darting out to taste as he did so, making a clear - if meandering - trail down south.

Fade Rift IC: Inbox

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