Rache (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tohearthesound) wrote2011-08-28 02:08 am
tohearthesound) wrote2011-08-28 02:08 am
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for Matt
Two flights up and turn left; halfway down the hall is room 122. Rache unlocks the door and holds it open.
The furnishings inside are simple--bed, nightstand, and dresser. There's an armchair with a footstool near the window, books heaped on the floor beside it. Some of them should be familiar; the atlas with the countries of the multiverse, and the Complete Shakespeare.
"After you."
The furnishings inside are simple--bed, nightstand, and dresser. There's an armchair with a footstool near the window, books heaped on the floor beside it. Some of them should be familiar; the atlas with the countries of the multiverse, and the Complete Shakespeare.
"After you."
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(He's a longtime bookworm, albeit not in the traditional sense. He can dig it.)
"Ah," he says, of the Shakespeare.
"Did you ever get to the end of Julius Caesar?"
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Although I'd have thought they would call the play something else, since he dies halfway through."
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And crossing to him. And insinuating himself in such a way as to be able to kiss his jaw without disrupting the Guinness.
(He has a spell going, but if it wears out while they're together he won't exactly cry about it.)
Conversational, "But it is about him, even after he dies."
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Rache takes quick sip of beer before stealing another kiss, tongue flicking against the seam of Matt's lips.
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And to add, "I don't know ... Brutus wasn't the one bestriding the narrow world like a colossus, as far as I recall."
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The process repeats--another drink, another kiss--although the kiss lasts a bit longer this time.
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(He also tries to swipe his drink for a sip when they break apart.)
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Grace and aplomb, apparently, do not prevent him from pressing a kiss to Matt's throat, when his mouth is otherwise occupied.
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As things stand, he's all right but highly distracted.
He slides his free arm around Rache's waist and pulls himself close, keeping his Guinness-occupied arm clear.
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He leans into Matt, mouthing lightly just above his collarbone.
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He knows it'll have to come off, but he's all right taking his time. This Guinness is really good.
Also really good: Rache's mouth.
"Mmm ... did you want to finish this?"
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Rache would hate to ruin Matt's shirt. Really. So he doesn't do too much tugging at the collar.
Instead, he might be nuzzling at the curve where Matt's neck and shoulder meet.
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"Really?"
He lifts his head slightly, breath warm against Matt's ear. "And what would be fair?"
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And tries to gulp down the last of the beer before Rache can do anything else nefarious.
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But after that, all bets are off.
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And look at the glass.
And look at the nightstand.
And ultimately drop the glass as gently as possible onto the ground-- though gravity is more or less an equal-opportunity force of nature, and so it makes an unseemly noise.
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Rache sounds positively mournful.
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Especially with all the beer gone.
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Kisses, for example.
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Matt is really incredibly happy with kisses. His tongue may help to convey some of this.
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He's dangerous in ways he might not want to cop to, but it's a fact he's dangerous, and it's an additional fact that Matt has an ever-lengthening history of making dubious sex-partner-related decisions.
He remembers thinking this is me. He's still not sure if he was wrong.
All of this is to say that he tilts his head and reaches for Rache's shoulder, swaying deeper into their kiss.
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Even Matt.
By which we mean that Rache slides his free hand into Matt's hair and kisses back until the need for breath makes him stop.
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And laughs, faint and like a gasp. By now, one of his hands is at Rache's arm and the other one is poised at the back of his neck. His fingers brush curiously at the ends of Rache's hair. (Or beginnings, he supposes. Now is not the time to get semantic.)
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He arches his neck into the touch with a faint, encouraging sound.
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He groans softly at the increase in pressure.
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"'S nice."
In case that wasn't clear.
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He's careful, however, not to pull away from Matt's hand.
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Forget the douchebag sorcerers and sleepless nights. This is worth it every time.
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As it is, he shivers slightly, nails scratching over the nape of Matt's neck.
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He murmurs again against Rache's neck; the hand at his neck drifts down towards his shoulders, and the one around Rache's waist beginning to slide sneakily in search of his shirt hem.
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Of course, given their proximity to one another, this isn't entirely a bad thing.
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He finds the skin under the fabric and runs his hand up Rache's side, tilting his head in search of a spot on Rache's neck he hasn't kissed.
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Somewhat fuzzily, Rache wonders why he is even still wearing the shirt in question.
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This may explain why now he's going for his buttons.
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His fingers fumble, pause, and slip outside the shirt.
Buttons 1
Matt 0
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"Do you need some help?" he muses, voice rough.
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Buttons 1
Matt 1
"Got it."
His hands slide up Rache's chest, shifting the fabric aside.
He smiles somewhat wryly at Rache.
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He leans across the narrow gap to kiss the corner of Matt's mouth.