ukan | IC CONTACT

"Like you'd think of anyone but me," he scoffs, and kisses him just to prove he can without losing his head.

"Mm," Alec agrees but then he's being kissed, and he knows exactly what kind of challenge that is.

He's shifted himself back up beside Lark by this point, and here is where he presses himself inch by inch, bit by bit up against Lark's side, sliding one arm around him to hold him close. Here is where he rubs one foot along his leg until he can slide it between them, and cinch them closer still, all in the same slow breath.

"I'm going to regret starting this, aren't I?" he murmurs against Alec's mouth, already running his fingers down Alec's back with a gentle hint his nails might do more.

It's the kind of threat that makes Alec smile, although he's usually amused by threats of all stripes. Just now he shrugs, and presses his knee slowly higher along the inside of Lark's thigh.

"I keep waiting for you to admit it," he teases. "But you insist that you never have."

"I have to keep practicing," he insists, kissing Alec's jaw, urging him to lift his head a bit so Lark can kiss his throat. "Remember that time at the opera? When we tried this at intermission and I gave in, caved like a boy at prom... we missed the whole second act... those expensive tickets, such a shame..."

"Didn't I win those tickets," he returns, relenting and opening up access to his neck only after making Lark linger a moment or three in front of his decision to do so. "Playing poker?" he continues with a low but encouraging sound in his throat.

"You know I still don't know why prom matters," he reminds him, sliding one hand in between them, down at the same pace as he snugs that knee finally right between Lark's legs where he wants it.

He hisses through his teeth and for a few seconds his grip on Alec's hip is bruising as he fights for and regains control of himself.

"I'd take you to prom but," kissing his collarbone now. "I'd stand out and probably get arrested. Maybe the Admiral will throw one."

Lark hisses. Alec grins. There has never been any shortage of evidence for how much each of them wants the other, how strongly and enthusiastically Lark responds to his touch, but it feels good all the same to know that he has that kind of effect. That someone wants him this much.

It makes him take his time rubbing ever so slightly back and forth right where he was when Lark's grip first went tight, eyes half closed as he focuses on Lark's breath against his skin.

"Or maybe he'll throw another Halloween party," he suggests, knowing exactly what he's doing.

The thought of it shakes his control again, because the memory of that night--the whole of it, not just the heels and the fishnets--has a safe space in his mind.

"October's so far away though," he mumbles, kissing his way back up Alec's neck. If he tries to kiss any lower he'll really end up struggling for control; best to regroup.

God help him, if Pagan calls him right now he'll scream (he'll love the challenge).

When Lark gets close enough Alec tips his head just enough to steal a quick kiss head on, mouths his way down his jaw to the space just below his ear himself.

"There's always my birthday, but costumes are more fun."

He presses just a little more firmly with his leg, fingers toying with the top edge of Lark's pants but not trying to remove them, not moving any lower towards the point of friction Alec is teasing at right now.

His head is tipped back to the headboard now, not unlike the way he often relaxes when Alec's mouth is much lower than this, and his pants are much less present. "And what kind of costume would that be?"

Control. Control. He won't let himself grind any closer, won't let himself shudder with want. Control the moment, ride the tension.

"What kind of costume would you want?" he practically purrs without lifting his head back, careful not to allow even the slightest scrape of his teeth even when they touch Lark's skin. His fingers trail idly along the thin skin just below Lark's navel, suggestive, but only that.

He's not playing as dirty as he can. Yet. Not even when he rolls his own hips where Lark won't.

"Not a bunny," he says a little quick, like he's thought about this before between meetings at work. His careful, controlled kisses turn greedier when Alec moves his hips and he pulls back a little, chuckling. Control.

"Are you going to let me get you off, or are you going to just run off when I'm miserable?"

Alec raises his eyebrows at both the quick answer and the question. Mischief flickers through his answering smile, when he has to do something or show his own interest in that mental image with how close they're pressed together.

So he switches tactics abruptly, pulling his leg back and throwing it over his lover entirely, rolling Lark onto his back and himself on top, squarely straddling him. From here he tangles up their hands, pushing Lark's to the bed on either side of his head, and smirks.

"What's my opening bid?"

There's something about their hands being entwined that always gets a reaction, even if he hides it. It's not even sexual; it's more intimate. So he feels Alec's hands, feels their rings clink together, and has to breathe carefully.

Even if he hides it with a smirk. "I offer to make you come, and you want me to bribe you for the honor? What kind of fucked up logic is that?"

"Don't talk to me about fucking up," he admonishes, rocking forward sharply and back slowly to make his point, eyes bright and heavy with something that makes his pulse speed up just enough to be noticeable. That it's his favorite rhythm when they're legitimately fucking is a bonus for him just now.

"The bribe is for you having a say in the ending."

Edited 2021-05-31 04:09 (UTC)

A low, low moan he tries to bite back--and then doesn't because there's no point. Alec can feel exactly how interested he is right now.

"I promise to leave your socks alone for a month. Even if I'm annoyed." Tipping his head up to kiss him eagerly, though he's aghast at himself for slipping up. He wasn't kidding when he said he needs to practice more control.

Alec occasionally grows wistful at how his body isn't what it was ten years ago; Lark does the same when he realizes how excited he is to give in to every craving he has for Alec.

Alec knows very well how ready Lark would be if he only gave him the slightest excuse; he steadies himself palm to palm, and grinds forward again, twitching with interest himself.

He kisses Lark back, swallowing down that sound, and nips at his mouth when he pulls back just enough to say, "Boots too?" as if he's really considering it, although he lets his voice go a bit breathless this time.

He is almost ready to crack, but he knows that velvety undertone and he knows exactly how fast Alec can climb off of him and leave him cold. So he knows better than to agree, and instead utters a sound that's almost a thoughtful hum, but really has more to do with what Alec's hips are doing.

"No, I need to test those boots. Can't have them on your feet if," a sharp inhale as he moves up against Alec. "They can't even stop my teeth. For your own good, Malcriado, you'll thank me later."

If it's their hands catching each other up for Lark, it's that name for Alec - and similarly, it's not just tied to sex or lust. Lark could mutter it in a crowded room and Alec would hear it, Alec would know it was for him, would know it is him.

But it applies here too and he tightens his grip abruptly to keep from shuddering himself.

"Boots too?" he asks again, shaking his head as if Lark didn't understand the question, and this time when he rolls his hips down into Lark it's heavily enough that there's a brief pinch of pain for them both as well.

The groan this time isn't wholly pleasant, isn't wholly pained. "Boots, too," he whispers, but quickly adds, "For two weeks."

He could press for more. Even if he didn't know Lark specifically, he knows instinctively when he has the advantage, knows when to use it and when to save it.

"Three weeks," he says, transferring both of Lark's hands to his left one to free up one of his own. And, without waiting, tipping his weight forward just a bit more so he can rut more readily against the resistance of Lark's body, "Tell me what you want."

Three weeks is a middle ground, and he'd fight if Alec asked for the whole month. He should fight three weeks, too; it's a compromise but Lark likes to win. It's just that a significant portion of his blood has left his head for the time being.

"Three weeks," he agrees, and turns his head to kiss Alec's wrist. "I want you to finish." But not himself. Practice. All this tension, this pent-up greed, can be turned to work later. To say nothing of the way this will translate to aggression.

Alec understands Lark's need to test himself, to withhold what he wants most from himself, on a rational level; he's seen it in practice, seen what it can do for Lark and for his pack. But he'll never understand it on a personal level now that he has the option. He'll never look at something he desperately wants, something he can have, and turn it down just to hold on to that feeling even a moment longer. He's had too much denial in his life to find any motivation or solace in it ever again.

So he's not surprised by the answer, and he never forces the issue when Lark is insisting on this arrangement being one sided. He kisses him instead, letting go of his hands entirely as he lets himself fall into a steadier rhythm, pressing into Lark like there's not a stitch of clothing between them and nothing to discuss.

"Then do it," he pants, relaxing so he's no longer holding Lark down, but merely stretching his body out along Lark's.

"Tell me how you want it," because if Lark is holding onto control on his end, he finds just as much pleasure in surrendering a fraction of it to Alec. It's a balance he's only recently discovered; recently enough that it makes him feel as if he's balanced somewhere breathtaking and precarious.

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