(no subject)
Title: Golden
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Bill/Tom
Summary: On a beach in the Maldives, no camera watches him as closely.
AN: For my new friend billerinaa who wanted something romantic. Unbetad.
Tom smiles when Bill wriggles, not wanting to admit that he has sand in his arsecrack again. It’s not that Tom would mock him, it’s just that Tom rarely gets sand in his arsecrack. As Tom has come close to pointing out, if Bill could stop moving for a few minutes, he might not dig his own ass into the sand so much. And, of course, there’s Tom’s extra layer of protection; shorts beneath shorts to keep the sand from working under tighter elastic. That, and it inhibits Bill’s frequent pantsing attempts.
Tom doesn’t point it out, because it would just irritate Bill and it wouldn’t stop him fidgeting anyway.
Tom knows nothing will stop Bill fidgeting.
*
Tom watches Bill in the water, how the droplets of pure clarity hit him and turn to prisms, magnifying the wave of his inexplicably smooth skin. The sun suits Bill, makes him happier than a much brighter spotlight, makes him laugh and turn in the bright rays, smiling up at the sun with tightly closed eyes. This is his favourite place in the world and, because Bill’s there, it’s Tom’s favourite, too.
There’s a dark persona about Bill, something pseudo-gothic that he likes, he embraces, he plays up for the fans. But Bill should never be kept in the dark; he should always smile in a glow that does him justice.
Tom wants to touch Bill, but he’s too nervous to. There’s the photographer he knows will be around today (and only today; that’s the pay off. One day you sacrifice your privacy and every other day you can rest without fearing them.) And if he touches Bill, he’ll have to kiss Bill. And, because Bill looks so perfectly content, so warm and flawless and… bright, that Tom thinks his fingers might catch fire if he so much as tried.
Nothing will distract Tom from watching, though. Not even someone watching them.
*
Tom passed Bill the joint and their fingers touched. He traded it for Bill’s regular cigarette and let it linger on his lips a second longer than necessary when taking a drag. The cigarette had only been lit for a short while, but Bill’s lips had held it and Tom knew what he was doing. The same way Bill held the joint in his mouth too long, they both knew what was going on. Too close to pretend they didn’t want to, too conscious of the intrusion to let it happen, they were kissing.
Bill held his breath, closing his eyes as the pot worked into his blood, warming him more than the swirling water up to his middle. They exhaled simultaneously, but Bill was the one who smiled first. Tom raised an eyebrow, acknowledging the kiss they definitely didn’t just share.
A few more drags later saw another subtle exchange of the cylinders, (complete with another innocent brush of hands) and the more interesting cigarette passed back into Tom’s possession with a jolt that ran from his fingertips to his gut. Bill climbed over him and their feet touched under the water.
Funnily enough, the next hit of pot didn’t get as far into him as half of an almost kiss.
Nothing could make him as high as the briefest of his brother’s attentions.
*
Bill’s eyelashes flutter open and he looks down himself. His mouth falls open, almost as if he is surprised. Tom is looking down, too, between them, down the flat plane of Bill’s body and the more toned landscape of his own. They look down toward the point at which they’re joined, where Tom is buried deep inside his brother, his hips pressed hard against Bill’s backside.
Bill’s fingers are tight around Tom’s upper arms, nails digging in as Tom moves, drawing back so, so slowly. Bill’s legs are spread wide, accommodating Tom’s welcome figure, and his back arches delightfully as he throws his head back into the pillows.
The island is dark, even quieter than usual, but their room glows and this is the comfort they find with each other. They’re quiet because the world is quiet, and they say quite enough to each other in the light. Tom’s muscles tense as he moves and Bill is gasping, gripping him, pulling at his arms as he rides Tom’s thrusts.
The curtains are open; their cries are unchecked. Nobody is watching them, but Bill wouldn’t care if they did. Other opinions would be irrelevant at this moment because Tom is smothering him in delicious sensation. Tom is inside him and around him, touching every inch of skin he can reach, running his long fingers over Bill’s thighs and wrapping those long limbs around his back. They’re wound together, fucking each other in perfect mutuality and so conclusively making love that it brings arousal to Bill’s very heart.
His hand finds the back of Tom’s neck, the other hand pushing himself away from the bed so he sits half-up, close enough to kiss his brother, close enough that their breaths are powerful and indistinct. Their bodies move together, rolling like the waves below their window, and Bill is so full of love that he thinks, not for the first time, it will never be any better than this. Tom’s breath is hitching, his hand tensing against Bill’s sweating back and Bill smiles against his mouth because he knows, once more, once again, that Tom will remain inside.
Nothing will ever compare.
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Bill/Tom
Summary: On a beach in the Maldives, no camera watches him as closely.
AN: For my new friend billerinaa who wanted something romantic. Unbetad.
Tom smiles when Bill wriggles, not wanting to admit that he has sand in his arsecrack again. It’s not that Tom would mock him, it’s just that Tom rarely gets sand in his arsecrack. As Tom has come close to pointing out, if Bill could stop moving for a few minutes, he might not dig his own ass into the sand so much. And, of course, there’s Tom’s extra layer of protection; shorts beneath shorts to keep the sand from working under tighter elastic. That, and it inhibits Bill’s frequent pantsing attempts.
Tom doesn’t point it out, because it would just irritate Bill and it wouldn’t stop him fidgeting anyway.
Tom knows nothing will stop Bill fidgeting.
*
Tom watches Bill in the water, how the droplets of pure clarity hit him and turn to prisms, magnifying the wave of his inexplicably smooth skin. The sun suits Bill, makes him happier than a much brighter spotlight, makes him laugh and turn in the bright rays, smiling up at the sun with tightly closed eyes. This is his favourite place in the world and, because Bill’s there, it’s Tom’s favourite, too.
There’s a dark persona about Bill, something pseudo-gothic that he likes, he embraces, he plays up for the fans. But Bill should never be kept in the dark; he should always smile in a glow that does him justice.
Tom wants to touch Bill, but he’s too nervous to. There’s the photographer he knows will be around today (and only today; that’s the pay off. One day you sacrifice your privacy and every other day you can rest without fearing them.) And if he touches Bill, he’ll have to kiss Bill. And, because Bill looks so perfectly content, so warm and flawless and… bright, that Tom thinks his fingers might catch fire if he so much as tried.
Nothing will distract Tom from watching, though. Not even someone watching them.
*
Tom passed Bill the joint and their fingers touched. He traded it for Bill’s regular cigarette and let it linger on his lips a second longer than necessary when taking a drag. The cigarette had only been lit for a short while, but Bill’s lips had held it and Tom knew what he was doing. The same way Bill held the joint in his mouth too long, they both knew what was going on. Too close to pretend they didn’t want to, too conscious of the intrusion to let it happen, they were kissing.
Bill held his breath, closing his eyes as the pot worked into his blood, warming him more than the swirling water up to his middle. They exhaled simultaneously, but Bill was the one who smiled first. Tom raised an eyebrow, acknowledging the kiss they definitely didn’t just share.
A few more drags later saw another subtle exchange of the cylinders, (complete with another innocent brush of hands) and the more interesting cigarette passed back into Tom’s possession with a jolt that ran from his fingertips to his gut. Bill climbed over him and their feet touched under the water.
Funnily enough, the next hit of pot didn’t get as far into him as half of an almost kiss.
Nothing could make him as high as the briefest of his brother’s attentions.
*
Bill’s eyelashes flutter open and he looks down himself. His mouth falls open, almost as if he is surprised. Tom is looking down, too, between them, down the flat plane of Bill’s body and the more toned landscape of his own. They look down toward the point at which they’re joined, where Tom is buried deep inside his brother, his hips pressed hard against Bill’s backside.
Bill’s fingers are tight around Tom’s upper arms, nails digging in as Tom moves, drawing back so, so slowly. Bill’s legs are spread wide, accommodating Tom’s welcome figure, and his back arches delightfully as he throws his head back into the pillows.
The island is dark, even quieter than usual, but their room glows and this is the comfort they find with each other. They’re quiet because the world is quiet, and they say quite enough to each other in the light. Tom’s muscles tense as he moves and Bill is gasping, gripping him, pulling at his arms as he rides Tom’s thrusts.
The curtains are open; their cries are unchecked. Nobody is watching them, but Bill wouldn’t care if they did. Other opinions would be irrelevant at this moment because Tom is smothering him in delicious sensation. Tom is inside him and around him, touching every inch of skin he can reach, running his long fingers over Bill’s thighs and wrapping those long limbs around his back. They’re wound together, fucking each other in perfect mutuality and so conclusively making love that it brings arousal to Bill’s very heart.
His hand finds the back of Tom’s neck, the other hand pushing himself away from the bed so he sits half-up, close enough to kiss his brother, close enough that their breaths are powerful and indistinct. Their bodies move together, rolling like the waves below their window, and Bill is so full of love that he thinks, not for the first time, it will never be any better than this. Tom’s breath is hitching, his hand tensing against Bill’s sweating back and Bill smiles against his mouth because he knows, once more, once again, that Tom will remain inside.
Nothing will ever compare.