He's so beautiful, Jedao thinks, lust-addled himself enough to be entranced by Gonou's face lost in pleasure rather than thinking it looks slightly silly. He rocks more gently, devouring kisses turning soft and lazy and sweet. He feels painfully hard but not necessarily urgent, all of a sudden. Gonou is still inside him and the idea of staying just like that makes him feel deliciously, wildly dirty in the very best way.
Gonou frees his hand from the fabric, reaching up to cup Jedao's cheek as they trade lazy kisses back and forth. His thumb smooths over Jedao's cheekbone, dips down over the soft scratch of his moustache, presses at the corner of his mouth as Gonou nips gently at his kiss-swollen lip.
"I don't know how I could live without you," he murmurs, and breathes through the almost overwhelming sensation of the slow rock of Jedao's weight above him, the squeeze of his body around Gonou's softening cock. He lets his hand slip down further, over the sharp angle of his jaw, mapping the lines of his throat and shoulder by touch.
Jedao tips his head up, shuddering all over as he offers his throat.
Coldly, Jedao thinks, a shred of innuendo wrapped around a heavy core of truth, a flash of memory: Gonou's smoothness when they first met and his muted surprise when Jedao declined to press on fresh wounds; Hakkai's chilly unwillingness to be known when he hadn't recognized and remembered Jedao, his careful self-contained opacity, his resentment for the glimpses Jedao had of him anyway.
"You have me," Jedao says instead, voice rough and husky.
"I do," Gonou murmurs, fingertips finding the place where the big vessel beats in Jedao's throat and resting there, softly curled. His thumb draws a line down over the gentle bumps and hollows of trachea and larynx. Bone, cartilage and blood, muscle and tendon -- or very good facsimiles, more resilient. He remembers the butter knife pulling free without any arterial fountains, remembers Jedao still speaking through a ruined throat, still standing.
It's an image he holds close in his heart, the jagged edges of it snagging on his own soft parts. The terror of loss, the shocking precious relief of seeing him stand, wounded but living. The greater relief, almost too big to hold all at once, that Jedao can be loved and not lost....
He's still moving with Jedao, slow and sweet. Carefully, he presses his lips against the offered throat, just above his thumb.
"I love you."
He remembers Sebastian, urbane and smiling and smooth as a knife between the ribs, saying it is rather fascinating, how one can somehow survive losing people one can't live without, as long as one finds new such people.
Maybe it's true. But, Gonou thinks, he only had one such survival in him. It's lucky that he won't need another.
He is alive -- they're both alive -- and they're together: Hakkai takes a deep, trembling breath, kisses his throat again, and slips his hand back to catch Jedao's hair as he bites another mark into the soft skin. His other hand is curved around his hip, drinking in every tiny twitch and flex of muscle. He loosens his grip there, and slides his fingers over and down, featherlight as he closes them around Jedao's straining cock, presses the pad of his thumb against the slick head.
He twitches and shivers and arches for every touch, but most especially for the bite, gasping and whining at the brush and grip of Gonou's hand. He feels a little bit flayed, oversensitive and overexposed, soft and wet and quivering.
He's so close, or he could be close.
"You want...?" This overwhelmed, it's hard to finish the thought.
"I want you to come on me," he murmurs against Jedao's throat, and bites another mark into it, tightening his hand enough to let Jedao fuck into his grip at his own pace.
Jedao whines high in his throat, hips jerking in tiny, tight, desperate movements. He can't move much without Gonou slipping out of him, and he doesn't want that, not yet.
"Harder," he whispers, so damn close, and he nearly has to bite his tongue on saying anything about Gonou's hands. Hakkai doesn't have new callouses. Of course, they way they heal, he wouldn't.
"Yes," Gonou gasps, agreement or encouragement, he doesn't even know which. He tightens his hand, stroking against Jedao's movements, mouthing at the bruises on his throat as an anticipatory shiver ripples down his body.
He lets his head tip back enough to find Jedao's mouth with his own a moment later, kissing him hard and rough, relishing the sting of pressure on his bitten lip, the sweet ache where Jedao's hands and mouth have left marks on his skin. He wants, fiercely possessive even with the urgency drained from it by his own release.
"Mine," he whispers into Jedao's mouth, half-drunk on that high whine, on the taste and the weight of him, the desperate speed of his jolting hips. "Jedao-shei--"
He starts to come on mine, feeling horribly seen and wonderfully bright, a crystal beacon, a struck bell. He's wanted, he's claimed, and however different Hakkai might be in some ways, Jedao is still his. He cries out, curls over like it hurts, desperate for another kiss as he twitches and comes all over Hakkai's belly and chest, trembling with it after.
He kisses Jedao through it, wrapping his arms around Jedao's shoulders and waist to hold him tight against the shivers he can feel against his own chest. He doesn't want to let go yet, doesn't want to let there be any space between them, doesn't want -- even -- to pull out, quite yet.
At last, he has to break the kiss to breathe, pressing his forehead against Jedao's.
"Welcome home," Jedao murmurs, very smugly, when he's finally got his breath back. He doesn't need to breathe, but sometimes it seems like that doesn't matter.
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"I don't know how I could live without you," he murmurs, and breathes through the almost overwhelming sensation of the slow rock of Jedao's weight above him, the squeeze of his body around Gonou's softening cock. He lets his hand slip down further, over the sharp angle of his jaw, mapping the lines of his throat and shoulder by touch.
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Coldly, Jedao thinks, a shred of innuendo wrapped around a heavy core of truth, a flash of memory: Gonou's smoothness when they first met and his muted surprise when Jedao declined to press on fresh wounds; Hakkai's chilly unwillingness to be known when he hadn't recognized and remembered Jedao, his careful self-contained opacity, his resentment for the glimpses Jedao had of him anyway.
"You have me," Jedao says instead, voice rough and husky.
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It's an image he holds close in his heart, the jagged edges of it snagging on his own soft parts. The terror of loss, the shocking precious relief of seeing him stand, wounded but living. The greater relief, almost too big to hold all at once, that Jedao can be loved and not lost....
He's still moving with Jedao, slow and sweet. Carefully, he presses his lips against the offered throat, just above his thumb.
"I love you."
He remembers Sebastian, urbane and smiling and smooth as a knife between the ribs, saying it is rather fascinating, how one can somehow survive losing people one can't live without, as long as one finds new such people.
Maybe it's true. But, Gonou thinks, he only had one such survival in him. It's lucky that he won't need another.
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"I love you," he gasps in turn, the muscles in his belly and thighs flexing faintly, uselessly amidst the tiny motions. "Keep touching me," he begs.
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CW gorey imagery again
He's so close, or he could be close.
"You want...?" This overwhelmed, it's hard to finish the thought.
Re: CW gorey imagery again
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"Harder," he whispers, so damn close, and he nearly has to bite his tongue on saying anything about Gonou's hands. Hakkai doesn't have new callouses. Of course, they way they heal, he wouldn't.
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He lets his head tip back enough to find Jedao's mouth with his own a moment later, kissing him hard and rough, relishing the sting of pressure on his bitten lip, the sweet ache where Jedao's hands and mouth have left marks on his skin. He wants, fiercely possessive even with the urgency drained from it by his own release.
"Mine," he whispers into Jedao's mouth, half-drunk on that high whine, on the taste and the weight of him, the desperate speed of his jolting hips. "Jedao-shei--"
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At last, he has to break the kiss to breathe, pressing his forehead against Jedao's.
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"I feel very welcome," he murmurs.
Very at home. He brushes another kiss against Jedao's lips, light.