He shifts up on his knees, far enough that Arthur can deal with tugging down his pants while Jedao's own arms are still halfway trapped. He's not ashamed of anything but Arthur is still fully clothed, no matter how much Jedao can feel anyway. He feels almost unbearably exposed, and Arthur is looking at him, looking at him like that, touching him and not looking away. His attention feels like pins and needles over Jedao's skin, warm and tingling, and a pink flush crawls down his bare chest.
"Yes," he gasps instantly, like the word escaped him, bolting from his mouth. He wants Arthur's hands, he always does but right now more than ever, wants Arthur to touch him so desperately - and he knows Arthur wants to hear it -
"Please," he adds, hoarse and wide-eyed and utterly sincere, and this time the raw word is half-dragged out him.
The way Jedao practically begs him to touch him makes Arthur's pants feel painfully tight but he smiles, broad and soft and hungry, and he braces one hand around Jedao's thighs, digging his fingers into the opposite cheek so he can bring a hand around and wrap it, slowly and deliberately so Jedao can savour the sight of his long pianist's fingers fisting around his cock, and he gives it a long, gentle pull so he can rub the pad of his thumb over the head of it all.
Arthur's fucking smile makes his mouth go a little dry, and then Jedao is whining and whimpering, back arching into it a little, eyes riveted to the site. He gasps when Arthur rubs his thumb over the tip, hips jerking and twitching as he leaks precome under Arthur's touch.
It's not going to be a particularly glamorous handjob - Arthur is actually very poorly practiced on the matter, at least on another person - but it's slow and methodical, dragging the noises out of Jedao as he strokes his fingers up and down, sliding fingertips along the thick pulse point on its underside, bringing the hand supporting Jedao's arse in to tease the ghost of sensation between his cheeks, as he leans up to suck on Jedao's nipple again.
The slow, deliberate attention feels like a delicious tease; practiced or not Jedao is absolutely fixated on Arthur's fingers, quivering and groaning every time one of Arthur's guitar callouses catches him just so.
The noise he makes when Arthur teases his crack is almost inhuman, a wrenched-out wrecked noise of longing. He wants to be taken, he wants to be had, he wants to be Arthur's.
He wants to kiss him again, but Arthur's mouth is already on his chest again, shocking overwhelming sensation. Jedao writhes as little as he can, rolling his hips and trembling in Arthur's grip.
His hips jerk automatically with Jedao's shameless cry under his hands, groaning against his chest. It's an awkward angle to try and tease his hole but with a slight shift that practically traps Jedao's cock between them he manages it, circling it with one finger as he takes Jedao's length fully and starts stroking him in earnest.
Jedao finally squirms and tugs off his shirt the rest of the way so that he can brace his forearms on the arm of the couch, balancing to help Arthur access anything he wants, and so that he can move a little faster, rocking and panting and fucking into Arthur's hand. He wants to keep his eyes open, but it just gets harder and harder, and soon he's right on the edge, caught between Arthur's two hands, trapped in with pleasure even with his shirt fallen on the floor, moaning deep and loud and hungry.
"Christ, Jedao..." His voice is rough, wanting and desperate as he just watches Jedao unravel on top of him, watches his flushed, trembling form in ways he hadn't even dared dream of, and a part of him wants to stop so Jedao stays as open for him as he is right now.
"I've got you," he mumbles, leaning up to press another hungry kiss into his mouth as he twists his wrist just so, to bring his boyfriend fully undone.
Jedao half shouts, mercifully muffled by the kiss, his whole body going rigid as he comes messily over Arthur's hand and vest. He sways afterward, on the verge of collapsing, his usually constantly-churning mind whited out, with just the words I've got you stamped across it, like a single set of footprints in fresh snow.
Somehow in the moment he hadn't anticipated where the mess would be aimed, but he stays the course until Jedao finishes and goes limp in his lap. His own erection is still painfully hard but he ignores it, wiping his hand vaguely on a clean patch of vest so he can help Jedao lower onto the couch.
And when he's got Jedao settled, he leans in and gives him another long, luxurious kiss, gentle and warm as he brings his clean left hand up to wrap around the back of his neck and trail through the short hair at his nape.
His pants are still caught around his thighs, and it takes a moment before he has the coordination to shimmy out of them as Arthur nudges him back onto the couch. He kisses Arthur slowly, lazily, as shamelessly steamy as he is shamelessly naked.
Between kisses, he catches Arthur's right hand, haphazardly wiped but still damp and smeared with traces of come in a few spots. Jedao sits back enough to meet Arthur's eyes with a wicked, glittering look as Jedao brings Arthur's hand to his mouth. His tongue flicks out to lick his own mess from the lines of Arthur's palm and between Arthur's fingers, before he wraps his lips around each digit, sliding down as he sucks each one completely clean.
Arthur isn't expecting his hand to be caught, and almost pulls away until it's brought back into his line of sight, and his eyes go wide when Jedao brings it to his mouth and licks him clean, and Arthur whimpers at the touch, of the absurd intimacy of Jedao's tongue tracing between his long fingers, and Jedao will be be able to see how there's only a fractional sliver of amber-brown left around his fully blown pupils.
If he hadn't just come, he'd be aching again already. He's daydreamed about Arthur's fingers in his mouth so many times, but he never could have imagined Arthur's face looking like this. As his mouth pulls off the last joint of Arthur's thumb with a soft pop, he drops his hand to where Arthur's pants are straining, and runs a terribly light finger along the line of his zipper.
"May I...?" he echoes, eyes almost as dark, grinning as he wets his lips with one more tiny flick of his tongue.
So distracted by Jedao's mouth as he is, he almost misses the hand approaching his crotch until the light press makes him gasp, a stuttered out "God--" which isn't technically an answer but his hips bucking into that joke of pressure might be.
Jedao beams at him, any attempted smugness drowned in sheer eager delight. He grabs a mismatched throw pillow from the couch as he half-slithers, half-collapses down to the floor.
He gets his hands under Arthur's thighs and moves him to the edge of the couch, pushes his knees apart so Jedao can get between them. Jedao is trim but stronger than he looks, a result of years of repressed emotions funneled into exercise. He doesn't bother getting Arthur's pants off, just undoes the button and pulls down the zipper, gently - almost reverently - sliding his hands in to pull Arthur's cock out of his underwear.
Arthur is trembling with desire, and the sheer sight of Jedao getting on his knees for him makes his breathing hitch as he swallows thickly. And he doesn't resist the way Jedao drags him into place, just shifts with it so he stays upright.
There's a distinct damp patch on his underwear as Jedao frees him, and he covers his mouth with one hand to muffle the intensity of his moan at the sensation of those short, strong fingers around his length as his hips tremble with the force it takes not to fuck his hand already.
"You can pull my hair if you need to," Jedao tells him, almost tenderly enough to hide that what he means is I want you to pull my hair.
But Arthur has had years of Jedao's careful deployment of offers and theoretically neutral information. "We still have a coupon to that Mexican place, if you're hungry," means I want quesadillas; "No need to wait up for me," means I want a little time alone.
"No need to hold back for my sake," he adds softly, in the same low inviting register, as he leans forward to swallow Arthur's cock, sliding halfway down in the first smooth motion.
"Fuck-!" And his hands fly down immediately to grab fistfuls of Jedao's hair in a white-knuckled grip, and he doesn't know if he's trying to push him off or pull him down harder as his hips jump without conscious input to thrust into Jedao's mouth.
"God, Jedao-" his voice is a breathy keen, panting desperately as he tries to maintain what little composure he has left. "I-I'm- I'm close, I'm- fuck me--"
Jedao moans, only about 20% on purpose, his eyes sliding shut as thought evaporates. There's only the sensation, the sunlight-bright sting across his scalp and the perfect insistent weight of Arthur on his tongue, the roughness at the back of his throat. His eyes water, stinging a little at the corners where he cried himself out earlier, but it's overwhelming in the very best way. He breathes through his nose, sinking back into the simple moment of being in his body, flushed and naked and here. He gets his hands out of the way, stroking them down Arthur's thighs through his pants, encouraging him to thrust again. He pulls back but only enough to swallow Arthur down again, further this time.
Arthur has never been a quiet person. Everything he does has an element of noise to it, thoughtless vocalisations, humming when he's working on his music or grunting with even the most minor exertions or muttering aimlessly to himself when he thinks he's alone.
Jedao will be delighted to know all of that extends to having his mind and dick blown, guttural half-groans that stutter around his haggard breathing, pale face flushed as he keens, half-formed curses dying in his throat as his spine arches almost painfully, hips finding their rhythm with Jedao's hands to guide him, and he'll hear Arthur's vocals shift, tighter and more desperate as he finds his peak, holding himself desperately on the edge to make this moment last.
Jedao feels a little bit high, limited oxygen combining with the simple deep relaxation of not having to think. He lets his shoulders and throat go slack, gazing up at Arthur with lazy, half-lidded eyes, enjoying the sight, losing himself in the raw sensation as Arthur fucks his mouth, just watching him hurtling toward the breaking point. Jedao doesn't do anything fancy to harry it along. He just sucks steadily, riding the growing wave of Arthur's pleasure for as long as it can go before it crests.
And that ends up being his tipping point - Arthur shifts his head to glance down at the scene, and makes eye contact with Jedao, and the sight of him so relaxed and wanting, taking Arthur fully in his mouth--
Arthur's eyes screw shut, and the hand that releases Jedao to clap over his mouth does nothing to muffle his hoarse, vibrant yell as he thrusts into Jedao and comes in his throat, hips all but leaving the couch completely with the force of his orgasm, until his thrusts stutter and settle as he flops heavily into the couch, breathing hard as his grip goes slack in Jedao's hair.
Jedao can't beam at him properly with his mouth full, but it's there in the corners of his eyes as he takes it, only slowly pulling off when Arthur is panting and falling back. He tucks Arthur back into his pants with a silly, loving little pat before he climbs back up on the couch, leaning in to nuzzle and kiss lazily at Arthur's neck, not sure yet if kissing him on the mouth again right now would be welcome.
The little pat gets a huff of laughter that tugs Arthur's dazed smile wider, and when Jedao cuddles into him he rolls gently towards him, lifting a hand to tilt his chin up and kiss him on the lips, chaste and sweet and utterly adoring.
Then his grin widens, and his next kiss has a bit of teeth because he can't close his mouth properly for it. "Happy birthday, Jedao."
There's a part of his brain that wants to pivot to panic at the first excuse; Arthur doesn't actually want him, this was a nice birthday gesture that just got...extremely out of hand somehow. Tomorrow, not-birthday, it'll be over.
Jedao has spent enough time trying to process his shit that he is at least aware that this voice isn't a rational interpretation of events. It doesn't match Arthur's actions; it doesn't match his character. And his brain is still bathed in enough endorphins that even the automatic adrenaline kick of reflexive fear is relatively low volume. He mentally closes the door again on the babble of anxiety, picturing it as an overzealous door-to-door salesman. Yes, I know you're trying to help, but no thank you.
"I love you," Jedao murmurs, and his voice comes out distinctly raspier than normal.
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"Yes," he gasps instantly, like the word escaped him, bolting from his mouth. He wants Arthur's hands, he always does but right now more than ever, wants Arthur to touch him so desperately - and he knows Arthur wants to hear it -
"Please," he adds, hoarse and wide-eyed and utterly sincere, and this time the raw word is half-dragged out him.
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The noise he makes when Arthur teases his crack is almost inhuman, a wrenched-out wrecked noise of longing. He wants to be taken, he wants to be had, he wants to be Arthur's.
He wants to kiss him again, but Arthur's mouth is already on his chest again, shocking overwhelming sensation. Jedao writhes as little as he can, rolling his hips and trembling in Arthur's grip.
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"I've got you," he mumbles, leaning up to press another hungry kiss into his mouth as he twists his wrist just so, to bring his boyfriend fully undone.
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And when he's got Jedao settled, he leans in and gives him another long, luxurious kiss, gentle and warm as he brings his clean left hand up to wrap around the back of his neck and trail through the short hair at his nape.
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Between kisses, he catches Arthur's right hand, haphazardly wiped but still damp and smeared with traces of come in a few spots. Jedao sits back enough to meet Arthur's eyes with a wicked, glittering look as Jedao brings Arthur's hand to his mouth. His tongue flicks out to lick his own mess from the lines of Arthur's palm and between Arthur's fingers, before he wraps his lips around each digit, sliding down as he sucks each one completely clean.
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"May I...?" he echoes, eyes almost as dark, grinning as he wets his lips with one more tiny flick of his tongue.
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So he tries a bit harder. "Yes, f-fuck, please."
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He gets his hands under Arthur's thighs and moves him to the edge of the couch, pushes his knees apart so Jedao can get between them. Jedao is trim but stronger than he looks, a result of years of repressed emotions funneled into exercise. He doesn't bother getting Arthur's pants off, just undoes the button and pulls down the zipper, gently - almost reverently - sliding his hands in to pull Arthur's cock out of his underwear.
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There's a distinct damp patch on his underwear as Jedao frees him, and he covers his mouth with one hand to muffle the intensity of his moan at the sensation of those short, strong fingers around his length as his hips tremble with the force it takes not to fuck his hand already.
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But Arthur has had years of Jedao's careful deployment of offers and theoretically neutral information. "We still have a coupon to that Mexican place, if you're hungry," means I want quesadillas; "No need to wait up for me," means I want a little time alone.
"No need to hold back for my sake," he adds softly, in the same low inviting register, as he leans forward to swallow Arthur's cock, sliding halfway down in the first smooth motion.
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"God, Jedao-" his voice is a breathy keen, panting desperately as he tries to maintain what little composure he has left. "I-I'm- I'm close, I'm- fuck me--"
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Jedao will be delighted to know all of that extends to having his mind and dick blown, guttural half-groans that stutter around his haggard breathing, pale face flushed as he keens, half-formed curses dying in his throat as his spine arches almost painfully, hips finding their rhythm with Jedao's hands to guide him, and he'll hear Arthur's vocals shift, tighter and more desperate as he finds his peak, holding himself desperately on the edge to make this moment last.
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Arthur's eyes screw shut, and the hand that releases Jedao to clap over his mouth does nothing to muffle his hoarse, vibrant yell as he thrusts into Jedao and comes in his throat, hips all but leaving the couch completely with the force of his orgasm, until his thrusts stutter and settle as he flops heavily into the couch, breathing hard as his grip goes slack in Jedao's hair.
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Then his grin widens, and his next kiss has a bit of teeth because he can't close his mouth properly for it. "Happy birthday, Jedao."
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Jedao has spent enough time trying to process his shit that he is at least aware that this voice isn't a rational interpretation of events. It doesn't match Arthur's actions; it doesn't match his character. And his brain is still bathed in enough endorphins that even the automatic adrenaline kick of reflexive fear is relatively low volume. He mentally closes the door again on the babble of anxiety, picturing it as an overzealous door-to-door salesman. Yes, I know you're trying to help, but no thank you.
"I love you," Jedao murmurs, and his voice comes out distinctly raspier than normal.
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