Ficlet
Did this for otherpervert's birthday. No title, just a short, little thing. (still working on my velvet couch offering. whee)
The smoothness of Xander’s skin fascinated Oz. It was surprising to him the first time he touched it, rubbing circles on Xander’s back after he choked on a wave while they were body surfing one day. He’d always expected it to be thicker, sun chafed and wind roughed.
Then he got caught up in the spare splattering of freckles on Xander’s shoulders. Coppery brown splashes against skin that easily tanned. The pale beige of sand clinging like powdered sugar wouldn’t taste like that but he wanted to lick anyway.
He didn’t, not then.
He was now though, licking a stripe up Xander’s spine, listening to him moan softly, tasting salt and bitter and Xander, smelling leftover traces of some drugstore botanical blend of soap. His hands moved restlessly up Xander’s sides, feeling the heat and slipping in the sweat.
It was hot in the back of the van - the way Oz liked it. It encouraged the removal of clothes. Lulled them into sleepy, gentle movements. Calmed Xander down but didn’t stop his mouth. God, it didn’t stop his mouth.
The mouth that was moaning and panting Oz’s name like some desperate prayer as Oz entered him. Sucked at his fingers when Oz stroked his cheek. Xander cried out, teeth clamping onto Oz’s fingers, pulling an answering cry out of him.
“Please, Oz, please.”
Oz moved, slow and languid, drinking up Xander’s begs. Letting them pour over him as he thrust. He managed to drag Xander up onto his knees, one hand on a sweaty hip, the other wrapping around Xander’s cock. Xander banged a fist on the carpeted floor; the hard sound of it a jarring counterpoint to the soft gasp from his mouth.
Making Xander lose it was always a goal. Keeping himself from joining in that was not. It happened anyway. Stammered pleas and the feel of Xander rocking and pushing under him were close to maddening. And then Xander reared up, pressing his smooth, sweaty back to Oz’s chest and there was no way on earth to stop his hips from pistoning. Thrusting up into Xander hard, over and over until everything in Oz’s brain shut down. Fuzzed out white as nails of electric bliss took over.
Then it was back to slow. Back to touching and petting Xander’s over-heated skin, sealing themselves together with sweat and come. No noise but gentle breathing and the sounds of the waves outside the van.
The smoothness of Xander’s skin fascinated Oz. It was surprising to him the first time he touched it, rubbing circles on Xander’s back after he choked on a wave while they were body surfing one day. He’d always expected it to be thicker, sun chafed and wind roughed.
Then he got caught up in the spare splattering of freckles on Xander’s shoulders. Coppery brown splashes against skin that easily tanned. The pale beige of sand clinging like powdered sugar wouldn’t taste like that but he wanted to lick anyway.
He didn’t, not then.
He was now though, licking a stripe up Xander’s spine, listening to him moan softly, tasting salt and bitter and Xander, smelling leftover traces of some drugstore botanical blend of soap. His hands moved restlessly up Xander’s sides, feeling the heat and slipping in the sweat.
It was hot in the back of the van - the way Oz liked it. It encouraged the removal of clothes. Lulled them into sleepy, gentle movements. Calmed Xander down but didn’t stop his mouth. God, it didn’t stop his mouth.
The mouth that was moaning and panting Oz’s name like some desperate prayer as Oz entered him. Sucked at his fingers when Oz stroked his cheek. Xander cried out, teeth clamping onto Oz’s fingers, pulling an answering cry out of him.
“Please, Oz, please.”
Oz moved, slow and languid, drinking up Xander’s begs. Letting them pour over him as he thrust. He managed to drag Xander up onto his knees, one hand on a sweaty hip, the other wrapping around Xander’s cock. Xander banged a fist on the carpeted floor; the hard sound of it a jarring counterpoint to the soft gasp from his mouth.
Making Xander lose it was always a goal. Keeping himself from joining in that was not. It happened anyway. Stammered pleas and the feel of Xander rocking and pushing under him were close to maddening. And then Xander reared up, pressing his smooth, sweaty back to Oz’s chest and there was no way on earth to stop his hips from pistoning. Thrusting up into Xander hard, over and over until everything in Oz’s brain shut down. Fuzzed out white as nails of electric bliss took over.
Then it was back to slow. Back to touching and petting Xander’s over-heated skin, sealing themselves together with sweat and come. No noise but gentle breathing and the sounds of the waves outside the van.