calicoat | 🏴‍☠️ IC contact; Duplicity

[ Now, that's more like it.

If Jack was hoping for a break from the relentless searing eye contact, he's got it now, because Charles thinks that the dexterous fingers opening up his pants are a lot more interesting than anything else he could say at this point. None of this is planned out in his head, it's just true, and Jack ought to know that it's true. If Charles gets nothing else out of this claustrophobic place, that'll be enough.

As soon as Jack's hand reaches his cock, he moans, barely more than a huff but it comes from somewhere deep, and the hand twisted in Jack's shirt goes flat against his chest. How is he so hard already? How does Jack turn him on so much? ]

This one's a start.

[ Then Charles releases the shirt to slam one hand to the wall instead, braced with enough space between them for either one of them to look down and see their hands on each other's cocks, and maybe to keep either one of them from doing something fucking insane. But it doesn't stop him from bringing his attention back to the other man's face, as his hand twists around him, thrusting into his grip. ]

[ Breaking eye contact doesn't do all that much to make Jack feel less crazy, he's too lost in the damn sauce to take relief in anything but the searing touch of the other's hand. This feeling, of Charles looming over him and boxing him in, is starting to feel familiar, and he doesn't know if that should be a comfort or just another thing to stew over in the dead of night. If it takes three times to make it a pattern, then it's over for him after this, the memory of it he knows will be too strong to ignore.

But he doesn't speak up or push him away or even stop jerking him off for any longer than it takes to spit into his hand. If he were going to do any of that, it would have been as soon as Charles stuck his hand down his pants, not now. ]

For future reference, Charles. [ Idiot is trying to be cheeky without grunting into the space between them or rolling his hips to get closer, with no success whatsoever. ] The next time you need me, you can say so without the blustering and throwing things about the place.

[ He's not letting go, not for anything; he just makes do with a careful grip and the little pearl of precome he drags from the tip with his fingers. Letting go might mean giving Jack a chance to get the upper hand, and right now they're on exactly equal ground, looking at each other, jerking each other off, with enough space to watch and nothing else. ]

When I need anything from you, Jack...

[ He lets go of the wall so he can grab the other man's jaw instead - not to demand control, but just to make sure that Jack is looking at him, that he really hears it. Charles thrusts forward, into those long, clever fingers, and kneads the head of Jack's cock, rubbing a thumb under his chin like he's trying to coax a purr from a cat. ]

...I'll let you know however I god damn please.

[ Sorry, Jack. He's already trying his best to avoid doing something stupid around you - he can't let you tell him how to handle it. ]

[ Even if it isn't meant to be a show of dominance, that Jack lets him handle him like that, that he likes it, feels like a concession of some kind. His anger over the way this place described him feels so toothless now, with his cock twitching in Charles' hand, so close to coming that he can't focus on reciprocating properly.

It might not be a purr, but he pulls a groan from deep in Jack's throat, one he has to part his lips to let out. ]

Fuck you, Charles.

[ That too, is toothless, more inviting than indignant. ]

[ Now why the fuck does that sound hot when Jack says it.

He refuses to think about it, and lets it go right to his cock instead, making him groan and thrust harder into Jack's hand. Then, with his grip still firm on Jack's jaw, Charles presses himself in close enough that he can thrust forward and feel Jack's fingers bump against his own a second before he lets go of Jack's cock. and then drags Jack's hand away as well.

The next roll of his hips presses his cock right against Jack's, and slides them together, every thrust followed by a growl as he grinds them both against the wall. Pressure at the corner of his jaw rolls Jack's head aside enough for Charles to bury his face in his throat, hungrily sucking the skin raw.

He's absolutely not going to stop himself from coming, just like this, all over the two of them with their dicks trapped between their bodies. Let Jack clean himself up before he goes back to flirting on the network. ]

[ This is so stupid, two grown men pawing at each other like boys. If Jack were able to be in his right head about it (time to admit at least that much to himself) he'd be embarrassed, not to mention on edge about the fact that Anne or Hickey could walk through the door at any minute and bear witness to this.

He can be mad about it later, just like everything else. Charles' mouth feels too good, roughly going at his throat, to think about getting huffy again. He keeps him there, hand tangled in his long mane of unkempt hair, until he comes, the moan vibrating against the other's lips as they suck a bruise onto him, as soon as the last one's healed. It feels like he's being claimed, staked out as territory as a warning for whoever else may be looking to cross it. How Jack feels about that is another thing for him to examine later. ]

[ In his opinion, more things should be this aggressive and eager and shameless, sloppy because they're worked up and not thinking about what it looks like from the outside, or at least Charles sure as hell isn't, and if Jack is then at least it isn't stopping him. His grip shifts abruptly, moving around the back of Jack's neck instead, sliding into his hair - almost a caress, if they can be so rough.

Then he gets to taste that beautiful sound as the pulse beneath his mouth flutters wildly, and Charles only grinds closer as come spills out between them, smearing their cocks and the edge of their clothes, groaning his deep satisfaction into a rough bite.

Just a few more hard rolls of his hips with Jack gripping him like that before it's his turn to come, thrusting hard into the mess they've already made, and without an ounce of hesitation he drops his other hand to Jack's ass to jerk him forward. He just presses his face into the crook of the other's neck with a deeper moan, riding it out until he can finally slow and go still. ]

[ Well, Jack's always been too wrapped up in perceptions, hasn't he? It is, in part, the reason he does anything that he does, anything that doesn't have to do with Anne. Even his loyalty to Charles was, at one point, tied up in his obsession with his own name, the idea that it might be more noteworthy if it were uttered in the same breath as Charles Vane. Over the years, things changed, but one change is too new, too fragile to speak aloud.

He thinks too much, for this kind of shameless, reckless desire to take hold of him. He doesn't pull his dick out on a whim, he doesn't melt into the hands of another man, he doesn't beg for more or crave a touch rough enough to feel the next day, so that he can luxuriate in the memory of it. He doesn't...until Charles is involved, and then he does.

Jack stands there quietly and catches his breath, keeping his grasp tight at the back of Charles' head to keep himself steady just as much as to keep him close. Is it alright for him to have that, almost face to face in the light of day, pulse still pounding against the other's tongue? Maybe not, but he takes it anyway, just as Charles has taken his self-control. He buries his nose I'm the other's hair and just breathes, for as long as he'll let him. ]

[ Fuck.

The way he withdraws from Jack's neck is incremental at first, almost a nuzzle as his lips part, his nose brushing skin. Feels like his bones are melting, and his skin is tingling all over, and Jack's hand feels... ugh, so fucking good in his hair like that, why haven't they been doing this the whole fucking time?

His own hand shifts a bit at the back of the other's neck, not gripping anymore, but stroking so gently that he barely realizes he's doing it. If he moves his fingers just a little this way, he'd be able to feel Jack's pulse. And if he lifts his head just enough, with Jack close enough to breathe him in--

Fuck. It's like waking up from sleepwalking to find himself at the edge of a cliff. The way he moves is drugged, requiring entirely too much thought and willpower to lift his head up, and deliberately take a step back from Jack.

They're a fucking mess. Not that he gives a shit. With a heavy exhale, Charles puts his dick away and ties his pants back up. ]

We could end more arguments like that.

[ Having Charles' fingers stroking the back of his neck makes him shiver, with a greedy satisfaction that makes him want more, more, more, who cares if it's too affectionate or that he's got cum on his shirt, he could stand here and let this man press him against the wall until his legs give out, breathe in the scent of tobacco that clings to his hair, that Jack picked out--

And then it's gone. Charles pulls away and leaves him cold, and he needs a minute to collect himself out of his little fantasy and tuck himself back into his pants. He could have said something, just then. Could have whispered it, even. ]

Don't you go picking fights on purpose, now.

[ Maybe if his pride weren't always in his way. ]

[ He pushes his hair back, because he needs something to do with his hands, and also because he can still feel Jack's fingers in it. ]

I'm sure we'll manage.

[ After all, how many times have they fought over some stupid thing or another since they got here? Just because Charles is consistently the one responsible for escalation doesn't mean it's on purpose. It's a fine line. ]

I'm gonna go find something to eat.

🏴‍☠️ IC contact; Duplicity

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject