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.
Arthur's response is a flicker of his eyes widening, and then he lifts a hand to grip Jedao's jaw and kiss him deeper, only pulling back when he needs the breath and only just enough to do so, so his lips practically shape the whispered words against Jedao's mouth.
Jedao shivers into it, leaning easily into Arthur's hand, all his limbs loose and easy. He's not nearly hard again yet, but - he thinks maybe he could be, between how deliciously sensitized his lips feel, and the stark erotic contrast of being completely naked, half in Arthur's lap, while Arthur is still clothed.
"Now what?" Jedao asks, looking hopeful and a little dazed, his hair still mussed from Arthur pulling it.
"Well-" it comes out as a soft grunt as he pushes himself to sit upright, but not moving out from under Jedao. "I should probably put this to soak sooner rather than later." He plucks idly at his utterly filthy vest, but makes no actual effort to take it off.
He wraps his arm around Jedao, though, pulling him in to cuddle against his neck. "But right now, I think I'd just like to savour the moment with you."
"I do." With another press of a kiss to Jedao's forehead.
But the question makes him blink, faltering with a slightly choked, "Oh-, e-er--"
It's kind of funny, how thinking about the domesticity of it sets off a blush that leaves his face very nearly darker than when he was literally being sucked off.
But he gives Jedao a little squeeze, and he's still smiling in that crooked little way Jedao knows is truly sincere. "We might be a little bit crowded in mine, what with the single mattress?"
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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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"I love you too."
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"Now what?" Jedao asks, looking hopeful and a little dazed, his hair still mussed from Arthur pulling it.
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He wraps his arm around Jedao, though, pulling him in to cuddle against his neck. "But right now, I think I'd just like to savour the moment with you."
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"I meant, like...do you want to sleep in the same bed tonight?"
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But the question makes him blink, faltering with a slightly choked, "Oh-, e-er--"
It's kind of funny, how thinking about the domesticity of it sets off a blush that leaves his face very nearly darker than when he was literally being sucked off.
But he gives Jedao a little squeeze, and he's still smiling in that crooked little way Jedao knows is truly sincere. "We might be a little bit crowded in mine, what with the single mattress?"
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