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by Jane St Clair and Te
E-mail: janestclair15@hotmail.com and thete1@earthlink.net
March 2001
Disclaimers: If they were ours,
there'd probably be more angst.
Spoilers: None, really.
Summary: That day, in the attic,
with Warren.
Ratings Note: NC-17
Authors' Note: Te's still not sure
how this happened. One minute she was trying to encourage Jane, the next she
was somehow sucked in to her cruel, cruel web of seduction.
Jane denies that this was her doing.
Te *teases*. Jane was just *commenting*, and the next thing you know, Te's
throwing her a story-seed, and it's not her *fault*.
Acknowledgments: Te: For my Jessica,
and my sweet we... Jane: For Te, who's getting me in touch with my inner slut.
Feedback is always in style.
janestclair15@hotmail.com and thete1@earthlink.net
Scott's more naked
without clothes than anyone else in the world. Especially when he was so young,
and afraid of himself, at that age... gawky, too thin, but Warren was already
perfect and it was too late because Scott already wanted to touch. Needed to.
And he half-expected
Warren to be this vast, glossy, untouchable surface, and he was shocked by the
warmth his fingers encountered. Then more shocked by the look Warren gave him,
which was somehow so stripped down that the bare mechanics of it were visible,
like damaged clockwork. And still braver, stronger, fiercer, more beautiful
than Scott was ever going to be himself. Warren like liquid sex under his
tongue when Scott finally touched his mouth to that stark, gold collarbone.
Ohhh...
Just a kiss. Not even a
kiss, or at least not a real kiss with the open-mouth and spit-swapping thing
because it seems. Right now, this moment, with his mouth against Warren's
collarbone and the sound of his own breath loud in the huge attic, it seems both
dirty and necessary, in a way it hasn't before, and he's getting an *erection*
and his hands ache and the only thing that will soothe them is Warren's skin
but he's frozen. Here.
If he pulls back right
now, he can be. Something. A tiny tight ball of wanting deep in Warren's
personal space. Impossible for Warren not to see his erection, though. To feel
it. Utterly unwelcome ache right up until the second that Warren closes his
hand around it and just holds on. Other hand still at his side. Very serious blue
(purple-blue, and what did pure blue look like, he can hardly remember) look
trained on Scott.
That he can reach
through. Not to Warren's own still-soft cock, but up behind him to stroke the
hard-muscled place between his wings. Just softly, but the wings flex at his
first touch. Cutting off the light for split seconds. And then Scott's hand
runs up to the feathered base of one wing and strokes it and Warren's hand
tightens on him, and it feels so good it almost *hurts*.
And he can't hold back a
gasp, stop himself from pressing that space between Warren's wings a little
harder, and it's like a circuit's been completed. Something out of physics, the
natural law of whatever they're doing here, now, because Warren is so much
closer.
Heat in the tiny space between
them, making Scott's skin prickle, making him sweat, and it's *need* now. Pure
as anything he's ever felt, and all Scott wants is to touch Warren, and be
touched God, everywhere. Pushing into Warren's hand and he feels... no, it's
the act itself that makes him gasp again, mouth open and vulnerable to Warren's
first kiss.
Open-mouthed, lips to
lips. Sharing air more than anything else and his vision is going wild, redder.
Glimpses, flashes. Warren's body, Warren's hair flashing gold and red in the
sunlight through the tiny windows, Warren's hand on him, slowly beginning to
move.
Warren's fingers find
the vein on the underside of his cock and stroke it, very carefully, like a map
he'll have to follow later. Tiny breathy laugh against Scott's mouth as he
gasps, twist of a smile. The eyes half an inch from his glasses are open, but
not malicious. Only very, very wide. The pupils are huge.
Embarrassing that he can
be led around like this, but it only takes one pointed tug to draw him in
against Warren's body. Scott's erection tucks against the slight protrusion of
Warren's pelvis, and Warren's hands come around behind him to hold him there. Fingers
spread over his ass firmly enough that he'd have to struggle to get loose.
And he thrusts. Gently a
couple of times, to see how it feels, then hard once. Which makes his whole
spine arch and his head tip back so that for a second all he can do is breathe
hard at the ceiling. Bare-throated like someone asking for execution. Moment of
absolute terror as Warren's capped teeth graze his throat. Unprepared for the
tenderness of it, like the faintest kiss. Soft lips and just the faintest
suggestion of stubble against his larynx.
He's going to fall. For
a second he's sure he is. The window beside them is an invitation to gravity. Light
and vertigo. He grabs at both wings to keep himself upright, and feels Warren
arch against him for the first time in response. So he closes his fingers more
carefully around the bone-and-feather joints and massages and discovers that
every touch brings a sound out from between those perfect lips, like feathers
moving whip-fast through the air.
Those sounds, Warren's
breath. The hint of words Scott can't quite understand beyond that they're
encouraging. Moves to the side slightly, the need to mar, to *mark*, to do
anything and he's doing it, slipping his fingers with this awful, tender
intimacy between Warren's on his cock.
Warren's thumb teasing
at the moisture there, Warren's hot, smooth forehead nudging, pushing against
Scott's throat and Scott does it. Rubs the head of his cock against the soft,
finely haired feathers. Against the hot, silky flesh hidden beneath and
Warren's shuddering, moving their hands together, over and around in crazed
circles and loops that make no sense. There's this incredible building need for
more in Scott, and yes, he wants everything, every vague dirty thought from
schoolyard whispers coalescing into this mass of *want* that makes his knees
shake and he pulls his cock gently out of Warren's grip -- God, he almost can't
at the feel of those calluses on his shaft, rough and needful at once.
Finally sinking to his
knees, finding the slightly damp spot where the feathers are mussed and leaning
in to taste, tongue there.
Silky hot against his
face, wing shifting and moving and Warren moaning aloud now, Warren's hand in
his hair, on his cheek. Smell of their sex seemingly everywhere and when Scott
can taste only his own spit he moves his face to Warren's still-clothed erection
and nuzzles there, breathing deep and pushing with his cheek as he feels
Warren's hot length twitch and harden behind the fine cotton.
And maybe if it were
someone else's clothes, he'd be willing to just dive under them, but
*Warren's*. Every article of clothing as perfect as his wings and teeth. Wonderful
to just press his face into the soft weave and feel the hard flesh there
underneath it, a vague shape that must be nearly like his own, but oh,
*different*. And moving, a little, all of its own accord. Through the cotton,
he opens his mouth around it, presses at the bulge. Soaks the outer layer, and
then suddenly it's salty and warm and he realizes that Warren's got to be
leaking too.
He's aware he's being
cradled. Warren's careful, very careful, not to knock Scott's glasses loose,
but everything except the carefully positioned wrists is desperate. Fingers at
the base of his skull move him, push him in, stroke his face desperately. Tip
of a finger in his mouth beside the now-soaked cloth and the flesh inside
pressing outward.
Far too much like
reverence when Scott drops his whole body low, stares up, and unzips the
tailored trousers. His invisible eyes huge the way Warren's eyes are huge. Just
enough of an angle that he has to tilt his chin up, that instead of hitting his
mouth, it rubs along his cheek beside Warren's hand, leaving a cool, sticky
trail that Scott traces with a finger and brings almost absently to his own
lips.
He brings the finger
out, wet from his mouth, and traces the soft edges of the cock with it. Loves
the shudder he gets in response, and the wing-flare that changes the light
around him suddenly.
To make himself tall
enough, he has to bring his knees under him again, and when he pushes up, he's
fiercely aware of his own erection hanging between his legs. Nakeder this way
than he's ever been before. Cold where the light doesn't touch him.
Scott opens his mouth,
very carefully, and takes the head of Warren's cock inside. Pauses at the noise
Warren makes: a sob like he might actually burst into tears, or like he can't
breathe. Sounding very, very young. And he's just about to stop, to let go and
straighten and ask what's wrong when Warren's hands both slide down around his
skull and tilt his head upward, making a straight line of his throat and
holding him there. So that suddenly his mouth is *deep*, deeper than he could
have imagined, and his teeth aren't such a threat to the delicate skin on his
tongue, and when Warren *thrusts* convulsively, somehow he can still breathe. Scary
but not terrifying, and he's more than prepared to stay here and worship.
Only. One hand's fingers
reach out and sink themselves into the wings again, pulling them in a little
closer. Letting Warren feel that while Scott's other hand slides around to the
base of his spine and strokes down from there.
Hot and cold and needful
and Warren, perfect Warren in his mouth. No tease, no snide, hurtful words. No
pride as he thrusts deep into Scott's mouth, moaning and gasping, eyes huge,
searching for Scott's own and *thrusting*. Slick, hard heat pressing down on
his tongue, just the right size for his mouth, and the sudden desperate
knowledge that this is what he's made for.
This, right here, and
nothing else, Warren pushing into him again and again, dripping pre-come all
over his tongue for Scott to lick and taste, brushing at the back of his throat
just barely soft enough not to make Scott cough.
Warren's fingers digging
a rough massage against the back of his skull, demanding this and Scott's
flushing hot, helpless drool ribboning down the side of his chin and he has to
stop *that*, such a mess, so right and he swallows just as Warren thrusts and
suddenly Warren sinks in that last inch and Scott's nose is buried in Warren's
musk and Scott's hands grip too hard for a heartbeat and his eyes are wide and
this. This is being fucked.
Being *taken* and Scott
groans helpless, feels as though he's *geysering* pre-come and Warren thrusts
harder now, faster, and it hurts and it's wonderful and it's over too soon as
Warren gushes hot down his throat, hands gripping hard enough to leave bruises,
groin flush against Scott's face, sobbing out an unnameable sound before
slumping, near-collapsing, slipping still hard from Scott's wet mouth.
A moment, breathing,
Scott's eyes wet and he can feel it all again, his own need painful now and he
thinks he might beg but Warren finally does fall to his knees, wrap Scott in
arms and wings and kisses him very hard.
Just that pressure
against him is almost enough. Mostly-naked Warren-body against his own profound
nakedness, his mouth forced farther open than he would have believed it would
go, and he can almost believe that Warren's looking for his own taste in
Scott's mouth.
Then Warren settles a
bit, onto his knees with the wings safely behind him, and pulls Scott into his
lap. Sitting cross-wise with his back against an arm that's more substantial
than he thought it would be, and his shoulder against Warren's shoulder, and
he's surprised, because this is actually *tender*, and it's the last thing he
expected. Safe angle to keep kissing while Warren grips him, hard, just behind
the head of his cock, and starts stroking. Not fast, but tight, making every
callus count. Eyes closed, kissing wet into Scott's mouth and holding him
around the shoulders.
He's grateful for that
support when he comes. Not instantaneous, but like something being *pulled* out
of him by every deliberate stroke along his length. The noises he's making in
his throat make him sound like a kid, or an animal, or like he's crying, and
there are even more tears on his face, now. Too wired not to let his body twist
while Warren continues to stroke him right up until he goes soft. And even
then, Warren's hand stays there, protective between his legs, rolling his balls
slowly in the palm of one hand.
Scott breathes in
convulsively, and relaxes. Is struck, suddenly, by the radiance around them,
just behind his head. By Warren's hands, one on his balls and the other
cradling his face. By the raw, naked eyes staring at him. Waiting.
Doesn't know what to do
or say but everything's been pulled out of him, fear and shame and everything
but the need for Warren, for more, not urgent so much as pervasive. Scott
nudges against Warren's leg to encourage him to stretch out in a V, holding eye
contact and forgetting to breathe, too much to gasp and lose this touch, this
connection he can't even begin to understand.
Finally shifts back
between Warrens legs, back to chest, soft cock nudging against the base of his
spine, arms wrapped around his chest and Scott can almost, almost relax.
"Was that. Was that
OK?"
Warren responds by
bending his head, and gently mouthing and kissing the juncture of throat and
shoulder, slowly and thoroughly.
The sun is warm, the
dust bright soft sparkles in the pleasantly musky air, and Scott eases. Lets
his head fall to Warren's shoulder and closes his eyes.
End.