do it, baby, it's okay, 세상을 가진 것 마냥
May. 20th, 2021 01:27 amEverything about this is new. It isn't, because they've discussed it and they've tested things and it's far from the first time they've had sex, but it is. Last time they tried this kind of thing, it was a whim, their instincts and desires uncoiling and furling around each other. This time, J has planned.
He still intends to follow his gut. It was right before, more trustworthy than the anxious voices that still whisper at the back of his head at times. He'll follow S's cues, too. But he has ideas. He has things in mind. He has a couple ties draped on top of the dresser for easy access, one that belongs to S and one that he picked up very deliberately when they finally went out to buy him clothes of his own. Given that he highly doubts he'll be ready to look for work soon — and he very much knows he won't be going back to school — he really doesn't need one. Except, as far as he's concerned, he absolutely does.
It's been a strange time, settling in here. He's seen the city only in brief glimpses, on outings he kept as short as he could. It's good to get out and he's glad he has, but there's only so much he can handle at any given time of all that light and sound and all those people. They don't know him, and there's some relief at fading into a crowd, but there's uncertainty too, those same little voices he still can't silence. They're quieter now and he's steadier — sleeping better, too, and eating more — but they don't leave for long. Sometimes they seem convinced people can look at him and tell what he is. It's better then to be here in this apartment, away from things that might make him panic.
Better to be here in their bedroom, where the whole point — at least for tonight — is that he's in absolute control.
That means that he's insisted on getting things ready in here on his own, sent S off to take care of making sure their food is ready to heat up later, minimal effort for when they're exhausted, and to ensure the towels are in the bathroom. That, at least, is a lesson he learned last time. He's put out water, too, a pair of glasses on the dresser, behind the ties where he hopefully won't knock them down. Putting aside clothes seemed like a step too far, but he knows where their comfier clothing is, warm, soft things they can bundle into later, and he's stripped the bed to just a top sheet, so it's easier to get rid of the mess afterward.
It helps, having all these little tasks to do. He's not anxious, which is something, but he is a little nervous. It's the good kind of nervous, he's pretty sure, the rush and thrill that used to come for him before he played for someone, bright anticipation curling through him. Arousal, too, at the very fact of what lies ahead of them. With all he has in mind, he hasn't let himself get too worked up yet, but it's impossible to ignore that he's excited to see what will happen this time. He was only half joking, telling S he wouldn't stop thinking about this. Finding the right time when they can be ready to do this without it causing problems the next day has meant waiting a little while, and it's been in the back of his head on and off all the while. With so much build-up, however passive, he can only hope he does well. Somehow, though, he's not worried. He doubts either of them is going to step away from this disappointed.
Looking over the room, he's satisfied that everything is where it should be. There isn't much he'll need, but at least he knows where it all is and that the rest of the apartment is in order. He's probably spent more time double-checking and second-guessing than he has actually readying anything. It's only as he starts down the hallway to retrieve S that he realizes he hasn't actually thought of how to start. He doesn't usually need to. More often than not, they just get carried away and it tumbles on from there.
As it turns out, it's simple enough to make a decision. Walking over to S, he reaches for him, hands moving to curl in his shirt as he pulls him close for a kiss, slow and lingering. He smiles as he draws back, though only enough to kiss S's jaw next. "Ready?"
He still intends to follow his gut. It was right before, more trustworthy than the anxious voices that still whisper at the back of his head at times. He'll follow S's cues, too. But he has ideas. He has things in mind. He has a couple ties draped on top of the dresser for easy access, one that belongs to S and one that he picked up very deliberately when they finally went out to buy him clothes of his own. Given that he highly doubts he'll be ready to look for work soon — and he very much knows he won't be going back to school — he really doesn't need one. Except, as far as he's concerned, he absolutely does.
It's been a strange time, settling in here. He's seen the city only in brief glimpses, on outings he kept as short as he could. It's good to get out and he's glad he has, but there's only so much he can handle at any given time of all that light and sound and all those people. They don't know him, and there's some relief at fading into a crowd, but there's uncertainty too, those same little voices he still can't silence. They're quieter now and he's steadier — sleeping better, too, and eating more — but they don't leave for long. Sometimes they seem convinced people can look at him and tell what he is. It's better then to be here in this apartment, away from things that might make him panic.
Better to be here in their bedroom, where the whole point — at least for tonight — is that he's in absolute control.
That means that he's insisted on getting things ready in here on his own, sent S off to take care of making sure their food is ready to heat up later, minimal effort for when they're exhausted, and to ensure the towels are in the bathroom. That, at least, is a lesson he learned last time. He's put out water, too, a pair of glasses on the dresser, behind the ties where he hopefully won't knock them down. Putting aside clothes seemed like a step too far, but he knows where their comfier clothing is, warm, soft things they can bundle into later, and he's stripped the bed to just a top sheet, so it's easier to get rid of the mess afterward.
It helps, having all these little tasks to do. He's not anxious, which is something, but he is a little nervous. It's the good kind of nervous, he's pretty sure, the rush and thrill that used to come for him before he played for someone, bright anticipation curling through him. Arousal, too, at the very fact of what lies ahead of them. With all he has in mind, he hasn't let himself get too worked up yet, but it's impossible to ignore that he's excited to see what will happen this time. He was only half joking, telling S he wouldn't stop thinking about this. Finding the right time when they can be ready to do this without it causing problems the next day has meant waiting a little while, and it's been in the back of his head on and off all the while. With so much build-up, however passive, he can only hope he does well. Somehow, though, he's not worried. He doubts either of them is going to step away from this disappointed.
Looking over the room, he's satisfied that everything is where it should be. There isn't much he'll need, but at least he knows where it all is and that the rest of the apartment is in order. He's probably spent more time double-checking and second-guessing than he has actually readying anything. It's only as he starts down the hallway to retrieve S that he realizes he hasn't actually thought of how to start. He doesn't usually need to. More often than not, they just get carried away and it tumbles on from there.
As it turns out, it's simple enough to make a decision. Walking over to S, he reaches for him, hands moving to curl in his shirt as he pulls him close for a kiss, slow and lingering. He smiles as he draws back, though only enough to kiss S's jaw next. "Ready?"
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