Jedao feels stunned in the best way by Gonou's climax, hypersensitive to it, like the pleasure is overflowing through him and into Jedao along with the hot splash of come between his legs. Knowing that he's done that, made Gonou feel like that, shudder like that, moan like that, ripples all over him like electricity, like light, like deep subharmonic vibrations. It's unbearably good, and it ratchets everything in him tight, so that he's so close, so close.
"Bite me again," Jedao gasps, yearning for it, needing it, the surge of breath in his chest making the skin of his chest press closer where Gonou is crushing perfectly on top of him.
Gonou's teeth catch his throat, just above the jut of his collarbone, and he bites with controlled force, pinning Jedao with his teeth as much as with his weight.
His brain is all dazed emptiness around a spill of possessives, mine and yours jumbled together into an impressionistic muddle.
Jedao's whole body goes rigid, trying to arch underneath Gonou even though he can't, not really, not much, and that only makes it better, held down so perfectly, so certainly, he's here because Gonou wants him here, wants him, and he can't hide or run or wriggle away. The flicker of pain and the wet hot brand of Gonou's mouth sear through him, and he comes with a raw, garbled shriek, clutching Gonou's back, hips twitching, breath heaving and straining until it subsides into soft pants and sweet whimpers through the aftershocks.
Gonou curls around him, catching his breath as he shifts his weight enough off to one side that he can wrap his arms around Jedao in turn, pulling him into a tight embrace.
He tucks his head down against Jedao's throat, breath hot against his collarbone; he still feels as though words have deserted him, leaving his mind echoing, overwhelmed and vulnerable but safe here, safe with him.
Jedao makes a soft regretful noise when Gonou shifts his weight off of him, but eagerly curls up into his arms. He breathes shakily, a wave of strange, far-off emotion crashing through him in the wake of his orgasm, like the absence of thoughts and the collapsed crest of pleasure and adrenaline created a vacuum pressure differential, like air rushing out of a hull breach, like troops pouring through the empty streets of an evacuated city. He didn't think he'd get to have this again, with Gonou or with anyone, not sex or love or the simple affectionate warm of intimacy, being held, being wanted.
Thank you and I love you and You're perfect all feel unbearably tactless to say, the kind of thing he knows from Hemiola's dramas and student gossip is unbearably, humiliatingly mawkish to say right after sex, the kind of thing that would get a laugh track or a worrisome 'this was a mistake' music cue.
Jedao realizes after a moment that without Gonou to hold him down, he's shaking.
The aftermath feels more overwhelming, somehow, than sex, with the urgency of desire ebbing into the simple reality of being here afterwards, cracked-open and fragile in Jedao's arms.
He's trembling, Gonou realizes, slowly, and shifts his grip to press a splayed hand between Jedao's shoulderblades. Words still feel far beyond him, and while he can feel emotion distending his chest like a strange bubble, he can't begin to name it beyond not bad. He can, at least, still speak with a touch.
Gonou shakes his head firmly, refusing the apology, and tries with only slightly more success to pull Jedao closer into his embrace, legs tangling messily.
"Don't be," he murmurs back, and presses a kiss to the soft hollow of his collarbone. "I'm... happy."
Happy isn't the word -- it's inadequate, to start with, and it's not nearly complicated enough to cover all the things in that strange bubble of emotion -- but it's a start. It's not wrong. Jedao doesn't have anything to be sorry for.
"I'm happy," Jedao retorts, and something in him that was twisted and straining snaps at the absurdity of it, a sudden rush of ease and relief. He starts to laugh, helpless little giggles like clusters of bursting bubbles, and nuzzles his face against Gonou's shoulder.
"I'm happy," he echoes again, softer, with quiet wonder, like it's a secret. Gonou is happy, is still happy, doesn't hate him or want to run. He's holding Jedao close because he wants Jedao to stay. Because it was good, because he's happy.
Gonou's heart aches at the wonder in Jedao's tone: as if he hadn't expected to be, as if even now it's a shock that they're here together and Gonou isn't rejecting him. He presses his face into Jedao's hair, sliding his other hand up to cradle the back of Jedao's head.
"I love you," he says, soft and fierce, like a vow.
Gonou takes a shuddering breath at that, pressing his face harder into Jedao's hair, holding him tighter. It's wonderful and terrifying at the same time, opening himself up to caring so deeply that it could destroy him for the second time, when he'd been so nearly destroyed before.
He'd never be able to do it, if it weren't that he does feel safe with Jedao, on some primal level far below his usual rational justifications.
And -- as long as they're like this, he's not even overthinking it.
"You could stay here tonight," he offers, tentative. It's not much, but it's more comfortable than the engine room-- he closes his teeth against nervous justifications, and lets the offer stand as it is.
Jedao strokes a thumb over the tension in Gonou's jaw.
"I want to," he murmurs, offering the bare honesty of it as a gift, another kind of both being naked with each other. "I want to stay, and hold you until I fall asleep, and then wake up and kiss you again."
"...I want you to," Gonou says softly. "I don't sleep well alone, and I like having you here."
He's not as romantic as Jedao, much less dexterous with words, but it's still true: Jedao's presence soothes him. He wants Jedao here in his space, unlike anyone else he knows.
"I wouldn't have said yes to sleeping on the couch of just anyone with a sound system."
He turns his head out of Jedao's hair to brush a kiss against what turns out to be his eyebrow, then leans back just enough to meet his eyes, with a tiny, soft smile.
"Yes," Jedao says, huffing fondly, because he already said he wanted to - but that's different from hearing yes. "Yes, I will. And when my cabin is back I'm luring you home with more birdsong and my private shower and also real lube." He drops a soft, quick kiss on Gonou's mouth.
I want to could have been a yes, but it also left open the possibility of but. Gonou relaxes against him at the explicit agreement, smile widening as Jedao pulls back from the kiss.
"I will let you lure me," he promises, and shifts, with a faint nose-wrinkling expression of discomfort; speaking of showers, Jedao's come is starting to grow tacky on his stomach. "I do have a basin and some washcloths in here," he adds, which is at least something; he'd checked when he changed earlier today, and he even got the water jug back full. And it means neither of them has to go to a shared public shower. Or, even, leave the room, until tomorrow morning.
"Let me take care of you," Gonou says, catching Jedao's hand as it makes its way past his wrist. "And then I'll let you take care of me."
He untangles himself with reluctance, and steals a kiss on Jedao's knuckles as he gets up from the bed. The wardrobe is only a few steps away; he feels a little prickling self-consciousness even to walk so far naked, but he also likes the idea of Jedao seeing him. He's not exactly showing off -- just pulling out the ceramic bowl, washcloths and plastic water jug -- but being naked around someone is a different kind of intimacy when they're not touching, and one that he finds oddly thrilling.
Jedao isn't at all surprised by the answer; he stays sprawled in the bed, making no effort whatsoever to clean anything, or cover himself with sheets, or even to smooth down his sweat-plastered hair. Gonou made a mess of him, and now he's Gonou's mess to deal with how he likes, which he rather things they're both enjoying.
He enjoys the view, too, shamelessly: Gonou's long legs and his cute butt, previously only admired through jeans; the way the muscles move in his back; the shape of his hips where Jedao rested his hands, that he would know now in the dark. When Gonou turns back to see him watching, he winks.
At the wink, Gonou smiles at him, easy and genuine and sunlight-bright, like he hasn't smiled in -- months, maybe more than a year; he is happy, and even if his fears and doubts find a way to sneak back in the next time he's alone, having this joy is worth it all.
He sits down on the bed next to Jedao, enjoying the view in turn with a long look down Jedao's body -- sweaty, hair in disarray, the long lean lines of his torso elegant even through the patchwork of scars marring his skin, the mess they'd left smeared over his stomach and thighs. He glances back up to Jedao's face, after the look, letting Jedao see the pleased heat in his gaze before he hands over the ceramic bowl with matter-of-fact practicality.
"Here, hold this," he says, unscrews the lid on his water jug, and hefts it to fill the bowl.
"Yes, sir," Jedao says cheekily, his own face warming again at the renewed desire in Gonou's gaze.
He holds it steady even as he sprawls back a little, looking at the ceiling instead, just for a second to breathe through it, the intensity of self-consciousness even as he likes Gonou looking at him, when he's never liked looking at himself.
"Tell me it was good for you?" he asks, knowing it's silly, but wanting to hear it anyway, a counterpoint to the stupid little rills of nervousness that keep brushing against him.
"Even better than I imagined," Gonou says -- he has imagined it, since the first moment they realized they both wanted each other. And it's true: really being with Jedao is easier, frees him of the second-thinking and guilt that plagues him when he's alone. All he has to do is look to know it's all right.
He dips his washcloth into the bowl, wrings it out, and begins to clean Jedao's chest first, gentle and thorough.
He glances to Jedao's face again as the washcloth passes over the one nipple he has, and adds with the slightest flicker of insecurity, "Was it for you?"
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"Bite me again," Jedao gasps, yearning for it, needing it, the surge of breath in his chest making the skin of his chest press closer where Gonou is crushing perfectly on top of him.
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His brain is all dazed emptiness around a spill of possessives, mine and yours jumbled together into an impressionistic muddle.
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He tucks his head down against Jedao's throat, breath hot against his collarbone; he still feels as though words have deserted him, leaving his mind echoing, overwhelmed and vulnerable but safe here, safe with him.
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Thank you and I love you and You're perfect all feel unbearably tactless to say, the kind of thing he knows from Hemiola's dramas and student gossip is unbearably, humiliatingly mawkish to say right after sex, the kind of thing that would get a laugh track or a worrisome 'this was a mistake' music cue.
Jedao realizes after a moment that without Gonou to hold him down, he's shaking.
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He's trembling, Gonou realizes, slowly, and shifts his grip to press a splayed hand between Jedao's shoulderblades. Words still feel far beyond him, and while he can feel emotion distending his chest like a strange bubble, he can't begin to name it beyond not bad. He can, at least, still speak with a touch.
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"Sorry," he whispers, grateful that they're too closely entangled to look Gonou in the eye.
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"Don't be," he murmurs back, and presses a kiss to the soft hollow of his collarbone. "I'm... happy."
Happy isn't the word -- it's inadequate, to start with, and it's not nearly complicated enough to cover all the things in that strange bubble of emotion -- but it's a start. It's not wrong. Jedao doesn't have anything to be sorry for.
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"I'm happy," he echoes again, softer, with quiet wonder, like it's a secret. Gonou is happy, is still happy, doesn't hate him or want to run. He's holding Jedao close because he wants Jedao to stay. Because it was good, because he's happy.
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"I love you," he says, soft and fierce, like a vow.
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"I love you so much," Jedao replies, just as fiercely, clinging on tight to Gonou's back.
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He'd never be able to do it, if it weren't that he does feel safe with Jedao, on some primal level far below his usual rational justifications.
And -- as long as they're like this, he's not even overthinking it.
"You could stay here tonight," he offers, tentative. It's not much, but it's more comfortable than the engine room-- he closes his teeth against nervous justifications, and lets the offer stand as it is.
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"I want to," he murmurs, offering the bare honesty of it as a gift, another kind of both being naked with each other. "I want to stay, and hold you until I fall asleep, and then wake up and kiss you again."
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He's not as romantic as Jedao, much less dexterous with words, but it's still true: Jedao's presence soothes him. He wants Jedao here in his space, unlike anyone else he knows.
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He turns his head out of Jedao's hair to brush a kiss against what turns out to be his eyebrow, then leans back just enough to meet his eyes, with a tiny, soft smile.
"Please?"
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"I will let you lure me," he promises, and shifts, with a faint nose-wrinkling expression of discomfort; speaking of showers, Jedao's come is starting to grow tacky on his stomach. "I do have a basin and some washcloths in here," he adds, which is at least something; he'd checked when he changed earlier today, and he even got the water jug back full. And it means neither of them has to go to a shared public shower. Or, even, leave the room, until tomorrow morning.
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"Should I get them? Or should I stay right here and let you take care of me?"
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He untangles himself with reluctance, and steals a kiss on Jedao's knuckles as he gets up from the bed. The wardrobe is only a few steps away; he feels a little prickling self-consciousness even to walk so far naked, but he also likes the idea of Jedao seeing him. He's not exactly showing off -- just pulling out the ceramic bowl, washcloths and plastic water jug -- but being naked around someone is a different kind of intimacy when they're not touching, and one that he finds oddly thrilling.
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He enjoys the view, too, shamelessly: Gonou's long legs and his cute butt, previously only admired through jeans; the way the muscles move in his back; the shape of his hips where Jedao rested his hands, that he would know now in the dark. When Gonou turns back to see him watching, he winks.
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He sits down on the bed next to Jedao, enjoying the view in turn with a long look down Jedao's body -- sweaty, hair in disarray, the long lean lines of his torso elegant even through the patchwork of scars marring his skin, the mess they'd left smeared over his stomach and thighs. He glances back up to Jedao's face, after the look, letting Jedao see the pleased heat in his gaze before he hands over the ceramic bowl with matter-of-fact practicality.
"Here, hold this," he says, unscrews the lid on his water jug, and hefts it to fill the bowl.
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He holds it steady even as he sprawls back a little, looking at the ceiling instead, just for a second to breathe through it, the intensity of self-consciousness even as he likes Gonou looking at him, when he's never liked looking at himself.
"Tell me it was good for you?" he asks, knowing it's silly, but wanting to hear it anyway, a counterpoint to the stupid little rills of nervousness that keep brushing against him.
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He dips his washcloth into the bowl, wrings it out, and begins to clean Jedao's chest first, gentle and thorough.
He glances to Jedao's face again as the washcloth passes over the one nipple he has, and adds with the slightest flicker of insecurity, "Was it for you?"
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"It was wonderful for me," he promises.
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CW: brief weird gore fantasies
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