Happy Birthday Lady Steph!
LJ may try to stop me- twice- from posting this, but our love knows no boundaries or server errors. I love you lots and lots and lots. And I'm so happy to be around for your birthday this year and help celebrate with this awesome comm! Click below for some physical and verbal manifestations of my love.
Random Notes of Kindness:
a "you are beautiful" at Prospect Park
in my local bookshop, the Arts/Photography section
a "smile today" in a little kitchen store, the first Italian-y thing I could find were the olive oil dispensers!
a "you are loved" next to a random Brooklyn brownstone stoop
Compromise
His back hit the wall behind him hard, but Van didn’t really care. Not when his front was covered by, attached to, consumed by Jake and his chest, mouth, hands. And hips, definitely hips. Hips that were just so unfairly narrow and perfect, that had him pinned firmly against that wall. Hips that were perfectly narrow enough for Van to wrap his legs around.
Jake barely reacted to the added weight, surprisingly, just sliding one hand to Van’s ass to help hold him up, the other hand still bracing back against the wall. It pushed them together impossible closer, and Van moaned deep in his throat as Jake’s cock slid impossibly further into him. Impossible. Perfect.
He opened his mouth to say... something, anything, but Jake was there before he could, bruising his mouth with a kiss. He had both hands buried in Jake’s hair now, tugging, claiming. Mine.
“Fuck,” Jake growled, the thrust of his hips somehow even quicker, harder, nearly slamming him back. Van loved it. He craned his neck as much as he could, running his tongue along as much skin possible, then found his mouth again. He fucking loved Jake’s body. It was shaking under the weight of them both- of them- but still held strong. Mine.
Van gripped tighter, wrapped his legs tighter, held on. He knew he was going to end up leaving bruises on Jake’s back and ass from this, but he didn’t really care. He knew he’d have bruises of his own, and cared even less. Good. “Jake-”
“No,” Jake cut him off, thrusting up even more, pressing Van’s entire spine into the wall. Van gasped into Jake’s mouth, biting down on his lip. He may have drawn blood, he wasn’t sure. He only tasted Jake. “No talking,” his voice was strained. Breaking. Beautiful. Van wanted to tell him how beautiful, but he couldn’t. Fuck.
“I need-” he tried anyway, before his brain exploded.
“No talking,” Jake punctuated his words with a particularly sharp push of his hips.
Van let out a strangled... gasp? moan? holy-God-in-heaven-fuck-me whimper? He wasn’t totally sure. Also, didn’t care. He was bursting. “Jake.”
“Van,” Jake was biting him now, at his neck, scraping a tendon. “You want to come? Do something about it. Touch yourself.”
Another fuck-me noise, and Van finally let go of Jake’s hair (one hand, though, he wasn’t going to let go completely), and slid it down Jake’s chest for a moment, shamelessly groping, before reaching his own cock and stroking it in time with their maddening pace. He just needed-
“Come for me, Van.” It was a whisper in his ear.
He did, spilling over his hand, his stomach, Jake’s. Jake followed mere seconds later with a shout, his forehead dropping to Van’s shoulder. How long they stayed that way he wasn’t sure, but Van realized Jake’s arms and legs were shaking, still holding them up.
Still not saying a word, he carefully unclasped his legs, waiting to let go of Jake's shoulders once he was sure they were both steady enough to stand on their own. Barely. He made it the two steps to his bed and collapsed onto it, sticky, sweaty, spent. Jake dropped next to him a moment later, kicking off the jeans that had been pooled at his feet. They never got around to fully removing them.
He reached out, twisting his fingertips in Jake’s damp hair. Jake turned to look at him, his lips somewhere between a smile and a smirk. “So. We have a deal?” his voice was still rough.
Van pouted, remembering what had started this whole thing. “Jake,” he whined.
“No.” Jake moved just enough to rest his head on Van’s knee, the closest body part to him. “Do we have a deal?”
He sighed, though his hand still played with Jake’s hair. “Fine. You fuck me within an inch of my life, and I promise to stop talking about stupid nonsense that I think is deep when you’re around.”
“And?” Jake prompted, not moving, even when Van tried to tug him forward.
Another sigh. “I promise to limit my political talk to just when we watch the Rachel Maddow Show.”
Jake allowed himself to be pulled, but only a few inches. “And?”
“And I promise to spend at least one full day not on Facebook.”
A few more inches. “And last one?”
“Jake,” he whined again. “This is stupid.”
“A deal’s a deal, baby,” Jake taunted. “I did my part, didn’t I?” he licked a path from Van’s hipbone to his stomach, cutting off whatever Van’s argument was going to be. Jake raised an eyebrow. “Say it.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, pouting. “I, Van Hansis, am a hipster. Okay? Happy? I’m a fucking hipster.”
“Yep.” Van’s eyes popped open in surprise to hear Jake’s voice so close. He had slid his way up Van’s body so their faces were level. “I’m happy.”
His snarky reply was cut off again by the pure, real look in Jake’s eyes. He was happy. And, despite these stupid compromises and rules, Van was too. Even though, really, he wasn’t a-
“Yes you are,” Jake’s voice was a murmur now, pitched low and fuzzy, nestled into his shoulder. “You’re a fucking hipster. But I love you anyway.”
And Van couldn’t really argue with that.
I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOUUUU! (I said that like Buddy the Elf in my head, if that matters)
Random Notes of Kindness:
a "you are beautiful" at Prospect Park
in my local bookshop, the Arts/Photography section
a "smile today" in a little kitchen store, the first Italian-y thing I could find were the olive oil dispensers!
a "you are loved" next to a random Brooklyn brownstone stoop
Compromise
His back hit the wall behind him hard, but Van didn’t really care. Not when his front was covered by, attached to, consumed by Jake and his chest, mouth, hands. And hips, definitely hips. Hips that were just so unfairly narrow and perfect, that had him pinned firmly against that wall. Hips that were perfectly narrow enough for Van to wrap his legs around.
Jake barely reacted to the added weight, surprisingly, just sliding one hand to Van’s ass to help hold him up, the other hand still bracing back against the wall. It pushed them together impossible closer, and Van moaned deep in his throat as Jake’s cock slid impossibly further into him. Impossible. Perfect.
He opened his mouth to say... something, anything, but Jake was there before he could, bruising his mouth with a kiss. He had both hands buried in Jake’s hair now, tugging, claiming. Mine.
“Fuck,” Jake growled, the thrust of his hips somehow even quicker, harder, nearly slamming him back. Van loved it. He craned his neck as much as he could, running his tongue along as much skin possible, then found his mouth again. He fucking loved Jake’s body. It was shaking under the weight of them both- of them- but still held strong. Mine.
Van gripped tighter, wrapped his legs tighter, held on. He knew he was going to end up leaving bruises on Jake’s back and ass from this, but he didn’t really care. He knew he’d have bruises of his own, and cared even less. Good. “Jake-”
“No,” Jake cut him off, thrusting up even more, pressing Van’s entire spine into the wall. Van gasped into Jake’s mouth, biting down on his lip. He may have drawn blood, he wasn’t sure. He only tasted Jake. “No talking,” his voice was strained. Breaking. Beautiful. Van wanted to tell him how beautiful, but he couldn’t. Fuck.
“I need-” he tried anyway, before his brain exploded.
“No talking,” Jake punctuated his words with a particularly sharp push of his hips.
Van let out a strangled... gasp? moan? holy-God-in-heaven-fuck-me whimper? He wasn’t totally sure. Also, didn’t care. He was bursting. “Jake.”
“Van,” Jake was biting him now, at his neck, scraping a tendon. “You want to come? Do something about it. Touch yourself.”
Another fuck-me noise, and Van finally let go of Jake’s hair (one hand, though, he wasn’t going to let go completely), and slid it down Jake’s chest for a moment, shamelessly groping, before reaching his own cock and stroking it in time with their maddening pace. He just needed-
“Come for me, Van.” It was a whisper in his ear.
He did, spilling over his hand, his stomach, Jake’s. Jake followed mere seconds later with a shout, his forehead dropping to Van’s shoulder. How long they stayed that way he wasn’t sure, but Van realized Jake’s arms and legs were shaking, still holding them up.
Still not saying a word, he carefully unclasped his legs, waiting to let go of Jake's shoulders once he was sure they were both steady enough to stand on their own. Barely. He made it the two steps to his bed and collapsed onto it, sticky, sweaty, spent. Jake dropped next to him a moment later, kicking off the jeans that had been pooled at his feet. They never got around to fully removing them.
He reached out, twisting his fingertips in Jake’s damp hair. Jake turned to look at him, his lips somewhere between a smile and a smirk. “So. We have a deal?” his voice was still rough.
Van pouted, remembering what had started this whole thing. “Jake,” he whined.
“No.” Jake moved just enough to rest his head on Van’s knee, the closest body part to him. “Do we have a deal?”
He sighed, though his hand still played with Jake’s hair. “Fine. You fuck me within an inch of my life, and I promise to stop talking about stupid nonsense that I think is deep when you’re around.”
“And?” Jake prompted, not moving, even when Van tried to tug him forward.
Another sigh. “I promise to limit my political talk to just when we watch the Rachel Maddow Show.”
Jake allowed himself to be pulled, but only a few inches. “And?”
“And I promise to spend at least one full day not on Facebook.”
A few more inches. “And last one?”
“Jake,” he whined again. “This is stupid.”
“A deal’s a deal, baby,” Jake taunted. “I did my part, didn’t I?” he licked a path from Van’s hipbone to his stomach, cutting off whatever Van’s argument was going to be. Jake raised an eyebrow. “Say it.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, pouting. “I, Van Hansis, am a hipster. Okay? Happy? I’m a fucking hipster.”
“Yep.” Van’s eyes popped open in surprise to hear Jake’s voice so close. He had slid his way up Van’s body so their faces were level. “I’m happy.”
His snarky reply was cut off again by the pure, real look in Jake’s eyes. He was happy. And, despite these stupid compromises and rules, Van was too. Even though, really, he wasn’t a-
“Yes you are,” Jake’s voice was a murmur now, pitched low and fuzzy, nestled into his shoulder. “You’re a fucking hipster. But I love you anyway.”
And Van couldn’t really argue with that.
I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOUUUU! (I said that like Buddy the Elf in my head, if that matters)