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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.

Alec could stop even now, roll off the bed, take a minute or ten to get himself back under control, come right back and lay down for sleep. He could. He doesn't want to.

"Are you ever going to sleep after this?" he asks, laughing, but he's already switching their positions again, already rolling onto his own back and pulling Lark with him into another kiss.

"Are you saying that not fucking you is equivalent to an espresso?" he laughs, rolling with him, silently cursing and praising Alec at the same time because fucking Alec and not finishing is much, much harder than being fucked and not finishing.

"Are you saying it's not?" he grins, and just for good measure here is where his hand dips below Lark's waistline; here is where he strips his hand just once up the length of him, then works on pushing down both their sleep pants at least far enough to give them both room to work.

"You're really going to torture me like this?" He groans, fighting the urge to roll against Alec's hand, pacifying the urge by biting Alec's shoulder. "You don't want to fuck me instead?"

"Nope," he replies, cheerfully, his voice rough with the effort of forming sentences rather than just using his mouth and hands and body to get what he wants.

"You asked, and I'm a helper. If it's too hard -" His hand brushes again, but just a touch. "- I'd settle for your mouth."

"Settle for? What are you saying?" He thinks about it for a few seconds though, decides no, he has the self-control for this.

"Oh nothing," he teases, stretching back towards the nightstand without having to look, digging in the drawer one handed.

"Just that if you think you can't handle us both..." He trails off with a shrug, warming the lube in his hand, not offering it but not not. Lark is not the only one that knows how to dangle a challenge before his husband.

He can't hear a challenge and not take it, can he? He smirks and reaches up, snaps open the lube, pours a good amount in Alec's palm. "Go ahead."

Alec can handle sex without lube, as long as they're both mindful of it - or he just accepts that he doesn't care, which occasionally he does. But it's much, much nicer with it, and Alec grins slow and delighted when Lark does that.

He reaches down between them again, first for himself - he likes the cool slick shock - and then for Lark when his hand and the remainder there have warmed again. He works with his teeth and his tongue along Lark's collarbone while he does so, and finally murmurs, "Whenever you are, darling."

"You are way, way too pleased with yourself," he mumbles fondly, pressing slowly into him, stopping when he needs to seize control of himself again.

"Any reason -" He doesn't quite hitch, doesn't quite not, while he digs his fingers into Lark's skin and pulls him in as much as Lark pushes, while he does his best to relax.

"I shouldn't be?" he finishes, shamelessly unrepentant, leaning up to kiss Lark, and then again.

"You're going to find a way to cheat," he knows Alec will, just like he knows if he keeps breathing carefully he can win this challenge. Breathe carefully, measuring it out as he rocks slowly out, then roughly in. "But I don't know what it is yet."

"MMmmmmmm -" Alec groans long, low with how good that feels, his hands smoothing up Lark's thighs to rest at his hips. He lets Lark watch him relax back into the pillows like he has every intention of staying there, of letting Lark have him without any fight or protest; lets his neck stretch back long, lets his eyes fall half closed.

"What makes you think I need to cheat?" Cats with canary feathers on their fur aren't this happy.

"You're cheating now," he complains, pausing again, shivering slightly with the effort. There's no way he'll win this if he doesn't stroke Alec too, so he does, with one slightly-lube-slicked hand.

It makes him laugh - "I'm not!" - but then Lark's hand is on him and his mouth drops open and his nails dig in unbidden. He's not the one that has set the challenge for himself to keep control, though, so he's free to twitch up into the pressure.

Free to tighten down on Lark inside him, pulling his lower lip through his teeth with another encouraging moan.

Propped up on one elbow like this, and without the distraction of being able to fuck him with abandon, Lark is left feeling Alec's muscles squeezing him, feeling Alec in his palm, watching the way his expression shifts.

"Cheater," he accuses again but in a whisper, kissing below his ear, working his hand desperately to try to get Alec off before he loses his mind.

"Yes."

And he is a cheater, it must be said, because sometimes he forgets to let himself show his enjoyment. Not tonight. Tonight he makes sure Lark sees every slight drop open of his mouth when he catches the right spot, lets him see his eyes drop closed, squeeze, snap open again with a grin when Lark's hand squeezes just right.

Makes sure there's a shudder and a rasp in his voice when he moans, "Harder -"

"Dammit-" The problem is always that as strong as Lark's self-control is--and it is, and it's only grown since he met Alec--he was never in mortal danger if he showed an expression out of line. He was never going to be killed if he enjoyed a joke, or fucked someone.

So he does fuck Alec harder, testing himself and knowing he's losing this game. "Love you-" he rasps, not entirely on purpose. His self-control is slipping and he doubles down on it. "Bastard-"

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