sunburned | (no subject)

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laurence,
timeloop

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And this is bloody intolerable. By his count, it's been fourteen nights, which means fourteen days. Fourteen weddings and fourteen chances for Anahuarque to turn to him with that particular look in her eye. Some of the nights have been easier than others - sometimes, he's risen to the occasion and others, he hasn't. For her part, Anahuarque seems genuinely kind. There's something particularly hard in the way she leans in to him, her hair loose around her shoulders, and touches his face.

His arm bothers him and he drinks a lot.

He's not sure when exactly it happens. It's as though something entirely snaps inside his head. Tonight is one of the nights when it does not go well, when he takes time to please her in other ways and then lies beside her, open-eyed, until her breathing levels and slows.

Drunk as he is, there's only one place that he can go.

He walks in without knocking.

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Shifting his grip, Granby rested his forehead against Laurence's shoulder. He had only one goal in mind - though his head was full of the thoughts of other things, other things that he wished to be doing to Laurence right in that moment.

His own hips jerk, his rhythm turned erratic, hand tightening as it strokes.

Granby's attentions paid off sooner rather than later. Laurence came with a violent shudder and a barely strangled oath that spoke of just how long it had been since his last time in such a position. It had been very long indeed and, though, he somehow remained sitting upright, he felt positively boneless.

He can't help the feeling of triumph. The huff of laughter against Laurence's skin, followed by a kiss and a nip to the side of Laurence's neck.

"Thank you," he mumbles, still rocking forward, unable to halt.

While politeness insisted that Laurence answer, he wasn't entirely certain if 'you're welcome' was the correct response in such a situation, particularly with Granby's continued, persistent motion. It was distracting and confusing and a few other things that Laurence did not care to examine in detail.

Somehow, through sheer force of will, he manages to force himself still. He's still crowded into Laurence's space, mouth against his skin, sticky hand against his hip. He drags in a shaky breath.

"Jesus, Will...I..."

Laurence finally chose that moment to look down, glancing quickly at the rumpled, soiled tableau before looking back up, his face burning red. He did not know what to say. He did not know what to do. He did not know what Granby wanted. He only knew that he would not go until he did.

He wants to ask for it and knows that he won't. He squeezes Laurence's hip and then moves his hand, rucking up his shirt to curl his fingers around his cock, fisting quickly with very little grace.

He knows that he ought to move away, knows that this is pushing Laurence one step further than he should.

But he can't.

"John," Laurence finally managed to say, unable to look fully at what he was doing, trying to focus only on his face instead. But he didn't know how to finish. He knew that he had a question -many of them, in fact- but did not know how to ask it.

Hearing his name said like that was enough to send a shudder through him, and he won't last long now, he can't. His mouth finds Laurence's, taking a desperate kiss.

"Will, I..."

He returned the kiss, still feeling rather out of control and confused, despite the fact that Granby now seemed to be almost completely focused on himself and required little help from him. Yet he still had to say something. "What do you want me to do?"

He swallows, breathing hard, too desperate to be anything other than utterly uncouth.

"Just..." He loses the word into a ragged moan. "Touch me, Will. Please."

Laurence looked at him uncertainly, hesitation plain on his face, but he did say he would help. He did say he would do near anything. His hand moved slowly from Granby's arm to his hip, pausing there for a moment, unsure.

He's past the time for words, can barely do more than tremble. He uncurls his fingers, hand grazing against Will's wrist.

"If you'd rather, I..."
It comes out weak and stuttering.

Laurence's hand slipped lower, his breath drew in sharply, but he did what had been asked of him, feeling like a fool when the half-anticipated moment of revulsion never arrived. He had often glimpsed other mids assisting one another in such a way and, though he had never participated, he had understood it to be natural as a boy. A way of breaking the monotony, no better or worse than touching one's self.

He was a fool, to overthink so.

It doesn't, can't, won't take much. Laurence's hand curls around him, his fingers warm and surprisingly sure and it's enough to finish Granby entirely, come making a dreadful mess of his rumpled shirt.

He can't articulate thanks, manages only a strangled moan.

Once again, the final moment did not elicit the disgust that he had been certain would follow. It was a somewhat disturbing notion, as a part of Laurence that he had been absolutely sure of had proven false. His hands slowly withdrew from Granby and he sat still, trying to collect both his mind and his appearance.

There'sno words, not for the longest times. He sits there, slumped like a child's toy discarded, his good hand resting against his thigh. Hot colour burns in his cheeks. Belated, he manages to look up, watching Laurence's profile for a long moment.

"Will..."

Laurence stilled, running the back of his hand over his eyes before turning to look at Granby, nominally under control once more. Yet another bit of strangeness had to be faced. He wondered if all such encounters ended so. Only silence and distance and none of the comfortable closeness that followed being with a woman. He felt sorry for Granby if they did.

"Yes?"

"I..." His face is burning and, more than anything, he wants to reach out and pull Laurence into his arms again but he doesn't know if he has any right. He suspects not. "I...had no right to ask that of you and..I doubt I shall ever be able to convey how grateful I am."

He chews his lip for a moment, an uncharacteristic moment of doubt.

"Do you think I could sleep here for a while? If we're to end up right where we started, anyway?" He drags himself straighter and finds, in the ruins, a flicker of dignity. "I'd rather not be alone."

"Of course," he answered, restored to some semblance of his old self and able once more to think like a rational man, or at least to answer simple questions like one. It was not much, but it was a start. "There are extra blankets and I can set up a bed for myself on the floor."

It happens so quickly that he's all but powerless to stop it - a flicker of hurt passes across flushed features.

"The floor is it?" he says, aware that he's already asked far too much of a man like Willaim Laurence.

The fleeting glimpse of emotion was noted by Laurence, but he didn't know exactly what to do about it. Apologize? Explain? Say nothing. "Unless you would prefer it. I thought it polite, under the circumstances."

"I would prefer to have you near me," says Granby, too tired and worn to pretend or hide anything, especially from Laurence.

"Oh."

He had shared beds with other men many times before, it was a common enough occurrence both in the military and in civilian life. Spare beds were often a luxury and when tired any space to rest was often deemed good. But he had never done so after engaging in such a practice with his bedfellow. After some hesitation he nodded and went to fetch an extra blanket, just in case.

"I know," he says, quietly, pulling himself up against a pillow, legs crossed Indian-style as he watches Laurence move around the room, "that I am asking a lot. Too much. And, if this is ever over, I'll explain myself as fully as I'm able, I swear."

He sighs miserably, letting his head drop.

"My thanks, Will. I'll...I can't conceive of ever being able to thank you as much as you deserve."

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geniusofdisaster - 2012-08-02 15:09 (UTC) - Expand

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