Making Up
Title: Making Up
Fandom: Eastenders
Pairings: Christian/Syed
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Well. No one gave me Eastenders for Christmas. Neither did they give me Marc, despite him being on my list.
Spoilers: Set after the January 4th 2011 episode.
Summary: Christian adores Amy, he really does, but he's very glad when Roxy comes to pick her up.
Thanks to: My Christian/Syed partner in crime, pinkfairy727 for all her cheerleading :D
Author's Note: This was supposed to be plotless smut, but a few inklings of plottiness snuck in there. Sorry.
Making Up
Christian takes a long, slow breath as he closes the door behind Roxy. As much as he adores Amy - and he does - he is glad to hand her back to her mother, glad to have the flat back to themselves for a while.
He has a lot of making up to do to Syed. He’s clearly been forgiven for his utter stupidity last night - definitely never drinking again - but his own conscience is still nagging at him. Syed deserves better than that, and Christian intends to give it to him from now on.
Turning, he leans back against the door and smiles. Syed is standing close, within reach, so Christian reaches out and takes his hand, rubbing his thumb across the back of it tenderly. “I really am sorry,” he says softly. “I was an idiot, and I let things get out of hand, and…”
His words are cut off when Syed covers his mouth with his free hand. “And I overreacted, a little bit. As Jane pointed out to me earlier, no one is perfect. I can’t expect you to be when I’m certainly not.”
The revelation that Syed has apparently been talking to Jane about this startles Christian for a moment. Tensions between them have slowly been thawing the last few weeks, but he wouldn’t have thought it had gone that far. Whatever she’d said when they talked has, however, apparently made a difference, so he sends a mental note of thanks to his sister.
“I won’t be so understanding if it happens again, though,” Syed adds, fingers leaving his lips to cup his cheek.
Christian twists his head to kiss Syed’s palm briefly. “Trust me, it’s not going to happen again,” he says intently.
Really, really, never drinking again. Ever.
“The only guy that I want to kiss - in a kilt or not - is you.”
He tugs gently on their joined hands; Syed comes willingly, sliding close and letting Christian press a kiss to his lips. Christian puts everything he has into it - his remorse, his promises, his love.
Syed moulds against him familiarly, his lips soft and receptive as he returns the kiss. Christian wraps his arms around Syed’s back, relieved beyond words that he still gets to do this. The few hours between leaving the café and Syed coming home had been tortuous, convinced as he’d been that he’d messed things up permanently.
This is where he wants to be, where he belongs: in Syed’s arms. He only hopes that Syed truly believes that, that Christian has done enough to show him that.
He tightens his embrace, savouring the solid feel of Syed beneath his palms, the wet heat of his tongue against his own.
Syed’s fingers crumple his shirt as he pulls away, his forehead coming to rest on Christian’s. Christian stares into his eyes.
“I hate fighting with you,” Syed whispers.
Christian cannot help but smile, his heart leaping at the tender tone. “Me too,” he replies, voice husky. “Let’s never do that again, huh?”
Syed half-chuckles, and Christian can feel it ripple right through him. “Works for me.”
“There is one benefit to fighting, though,” Christian says a few moments later, fingers playing with the edge of Syed’s T-shirt.
Syed pulls back, a frown furrowing his brow. “There is? What?”
Christian grins. “Make-up sex.” He smoothes his hands across Syed’s tartan-clad arse. “This kilt has been driving me crazy all afternoon, but we had Amy here, so…” He trails off, choosing to continue the sentiment in the form of a wet kiss that starts at Syed’s mouth but trails across his cheek so he can nuzzle in that spot just under his ear, Syed’s hair and stubble tickling his skin.
Despite the fact that he knows exactly what Syed has on under the kilt, only his tiny Goddaughter’s presence has kept him fighting the urge to just throw himself at the man. Christian has always found the idea of a kilt alluring, exciting, but Syed in one… takes his breath away.
Syed hums throatily in his ear, and then he’s tugging at Christian’s shirt, pulling it free of his jeans and sliding his hands underneath to meet Christian’s skin.
There’s a tingle wherever Syed’s fingers land that goes straight to Christian’s cock. Syed knows just how to touch him to set his whole body on fire, and he’s not afraid to use that knowledge.
Pulling away from Syed’s neck breathlessly, he starts unbuttoning his own shirt, eager for more of Syed’s touch. Syed joins in from the bottom, fingers meeting in the middle to part the sides and push the shirt over his shoulders and off.
They’re surging back together again the moment the shirt hits the floor, lips meeting in a sloppy kiss, hands roaming across skin, bodies pressed against each other from chest to thigh.
Christian pushes away from the door, edging them into the room.
The bed is really much too far from the door for his liking, but they stumble towards it, doing their best not to lose precious contact as they go. The edge of the sofa nearly derails them; all of his attention focused on Syed, Christian isn’t really watching his feet and they almost end up toppled clumsily to the floor.
They pause next to the bed when finally they reach it. Christian toes off his shoes and, with shaky fingers, starts to undo his jeans.
Syed beside him fumbles for the fastenings on the kilt; watching him, a mental image hits Christian hard in the gut and he shivers, his already hard cock jerking against its confines.
“Don’t,” he says, reaching out to stop Syed’s fingers. “Leave it on.”
Syed stares at him in confusion for a moment before comprehension dawns on his face. He nods, eyes blazing with lust, and reaches under the kilt instead to peel off his boxers.
Desire running hotly through his veins, Christian strips out of the rest of his clothes as fast as he can, tossing them away and not caring where they land. He reaches for Syed as soon as he’s done, rolling them onto the bed and kissing him hard.
The friction of the kilt against his cock is just on the edge of painful, but all it does is sent his arousal skyrocketing. He needs to regain some control or this will be over before it’s even really begun.
He twists until he lands on his back in the middle of the bed, Syed sprawled on top of him. The kiss grows frantic, sloppy, tongues tangling wildly as they lose themselves in it. Christian gathers a handful of fabric and pulls until he can get a hand under the hem of the kilt, get a hand on Syed’s skin.
Syed moans into his mouth, hips thrusting forward against Christian’s, the spark of pain-pleasure once more shooting through him.
Grasping Syed’s thighs with both hands, Christian urges him up until he is straddling him, the kilt fanning out around them. One hand drifts upwards, tips of his fingers trailing into Syed’s crack, teasing his hole.
Syed rocks back against the touch for a second before getting up on his knees and reaching across the bed, pulling open the drawer in the unit. A well-used bottle of lube lands on the bed beside him. Christian is reaching for it when a small foil packet lands on his chest.
He looks at it for a moment, an odd feeling grumbling in his belly. He hadn’t been sure if they even had any left. They’d stopped using them shortly before Christmas after a long discussion about monogamy and regular testing; he doesn’t think he can ask Syed why he has taken one out now, he doesn’t want to confirm his suspicions.
Syed pushes the drawer closed and settles himself back onto Christian’s thighs. They share a serious look for a second, and Christian knows they will be talking about this later.
Not now, though. Later will be the time for talking, and promises, and resolving of issues. Now is for reconnecting, reavowing their feelings, reinforcing the bond between them.
He reaches up, draws his fingers through the curls that frame Syed’s face. “I love you, Sy. You do know that, right?”
Syed grabs his hand, kisses his knuckles. “I do know,” he says, eyes going soft again. “And I love you too. I wouldn’t know how to stop if I wanted to.”
Christian pushes up with his free hand, sitting up and burning a tender kiss to Syed’s lips. The touch of lips reignites the want that had abated somewhat, and the chaste kiss soon turns heated.
Reaching blindly behind him, Christian grabs the bottle of lube, flicking the top open with one hand with practised ease. Syed sighs against him when he circles his hole with one slick finger, opening around it easily.
One finger soon becomes two, then three, Syed pushing back into them and whimpering into his mouth. “Please, Christian,” he mutters breathlessly when Christian angles a finger and deliberately brushes over his prostate.
Syed fumbles between them, fishing out the condom packet from the folds of his kilt and tearing it open with his teeth. Christian shudders and bites his bottom lip as he rolls it on him, pulling his fingers free and collapsing back onto the bed, arms splayed out beside him.
Their eyes lock, saying a hundred things at once more eloquently than they ever could aloud, and Syed shifts forward onto his knees, fanning the kilt out around him.
With emotions running high, Christian nearly comes on the spot when Syed lowers himself onto his cock. He takes several deep, calming breaths, and is grateful that Syed, too, seems to need a moment to compose himself before moving.
Christian is just starting to feel like he’s back in control of his own body when Syed starts to move, pushing up on his knees until just the tip of Christian’s cock is still inside before sinking back down, the kilt flapping around him as air rushes to escape its folds.
He repeats the movement, over, and over, and over. Slow, and steady, and frustrating beyond belief. Good, unbelievably good, but just not quite enough.
Desperately, Christian grips him by the hips, pushing him to move faster, snapping his hips up in counterpoint. Syed groans and picks up his pace, grunting at the exertion with every thrust. His hair is sticking damply to his neck and sweat plasters his T-shirt to him, but to Christian, he has never looked better.
Now that slow and controlled has been abandoned, their coupling quickly grows frenetic as they chase release. Christian feels that tightening in the pit of his stomach that warns him he is getting close, knows he is far beyond the point of pulling back. He scrabbles at the folds of the kilt, bunching the front up around Syed’s waist so he can get a hand to Syed’s cock.
He squeezes lightly, stroking in time with the frenzied pace of their bodies. Syed mutters something unintelligible and drops forward, catching his weight on his hands where they come to rest on Christian’s chest.
His thumbs brush Christian’s nipples, and that is really more than Christian can take. Arching off the sheets with a cry, he hurtles headlong into ecstasy, fireworks going off behind his eyelids. He’s dimly aware of Syed following him over the edge a few moments later, warm splatters hitting his chest, followed swiftly by Syed’s boneless form.
He wonders, when he regains full awareness some time later, if he has dozed off briefly; despite Syed’s soft weight on top of him, he’s chilly in the cooling air of the flat. He smoothes Syed’s hair back from his forehead, rousing him from his dazed-looking state.
They separate slowly, Syed rolling onto his side beside him. Christian pulls the condom off carefully, fishing for a tissue to wrap it in. He will get up and put it in the bin, but not just right this moment. His limbs are still a little too liquid to risk attempting to stand.
Syed is picking at his sweat-damp, come-stained T-shirt. “I think that maybe I’m going to have to change,” he murmurs, grinning.
Christian shifts to face him, taking in every detail of Syed’s smiling face and pressing it close to his heart, thrilling to know that he can still do that; he hasn’t wrecked anything, he can still put a smile on Syed’s face.
“No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t ever change. You’re perfect just as you are.”
The End
Comments and con-crit are, as always, adored &hearts
Fandom: Eastenders
Pairings: Christian/Syed
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Well. No one gave me Eastenders for Christmas. Neither did they give me Marc, despite him being on my list.
Spoilers: Set after the January 4th 2011 episode.
Summary: Christian adores Amy, he really does, but he's very glad when Roxy comes to pick her up.
Thanks to: My Christian/Syed partner in crime, pinkfairy727 for all her cheerleading :D
Author's Note: This was supposed to be plotless smut, but a few inklings of plottiness snuck in there. Sorry.
Making Up
Christian takes a long, slow breath as he closes the door behind Roxy. As much as he adores Amy - and he does - he is glad to hand her back to her mother, glad to have the flat back to themselves for a while.
He has a lot of making up to do to Syed. He’s clearly been forgiven for his utter stupidity last night - definitely never drinking again - but his own conscience is still nagging at him. Syed deserves better than that, and Christian intends to give it to him from now on.
Turning, he leans back against the door and smiles. Syed is standing close, within reach, so Christian reaches out and takes his hand, rubbing his thumb across the back of it tenderly. “I really am sorry,” he says softly. “I was an idiot, and I let things get out of hand, and…”
His words are cut off when Syed covers his mouth with his free hand. “And I overreacted, a little bit. As Jane pointed out to me earlier, no one is perfect. I can’t expect you to be when I’m certainly not.”
The revelation that Syed has apparently been talking to Jane about this startles Christian for a moment. Tensions between them have slowly been thawing the last few weeks, but he wouldn’t have thought it had gone that far. Whatever she’d said when they talked has, however, apparently made a difference, so he sends a mental note of thanks to his sister.
“I won’t be so understanding if it happens again, though,” Syed adds, fingers leaving his lips to cup his cheek.
Christian twists his head to kiss Syed’s palm briefly. “Trust me, it’s not going to happen again,” he says intently.
Really, really, never drinking again. Ever.
“The only guy that I want to kiss - in a kilt or not - is you.”
He tugs gently on their joined hands; Syed comes willingly, sliding close and letting Christian press a kiss to his lips. Christian puts everything he has into it - his remorse, his promises, his love.
Syed moulds against him familiarly, his lips soft and receptive as he returns the kiss. Christian wraps his arms around Syed’s back, relieved beyond words that he still gets to do this. The few hours between leaving the café and Syed coming home had been tortuous, convinced as he’d been that he’d messed things up permanently.
This is where he wants to be, where he belongs: in Syed’s arms. He only hopes that Syed truly believes that, that Christian has done enough to show him that.
He tightens his embrace, savouring the solid feel of Syed beneath his palms, the wet heat of his tongue against his own.
Syed’s fingers crumple his shirt as he pulls away, his forehead coming to rest on Christian’s. Christian stares into his eyes.
“I hate fighting with you,” Syed whispers.
Christian cannot help but smile, his heart leaping at the tender tone. “Me too,” he replies, voice husky. “Let’s never do that again, huh?”
Syed half-chuckles, and Christian can feel it ripple right through him. “Works for me.”
“There is one benefit to fighting, though,” Christian says a few moments later, fingers playing with the edge of Syed’s T-shirt.
Syed pulls back, a frown furrowing his brow. “There is? What?”
Christian grins. “Make-up sex.” He smoothes his hands across Syed’s tartan-clad arse. “This kilt has been driving me crazy all afternoon, but we had Amy here, so…” He trails off, choosing to continue the sentiment in the form of a wet kiss that starts at Syed’s mouth but trails across his cheek so he can nuzzle in that spot just under his ear, Syed’s hair and stubble tickling his skin.
Despite the fact that he knows exactly what Syed has on under the kilt, only his tiny Goddaughter’s presence has kept him fighting the urge to just throw himself at the man. Christian has always found the idea of a kilt alluring, exciting, but Syed in one… takes his breath away.
Syed hums throatily in his ear, and then he’s tugging at Christian’s shirt, pulling it free of his jeans and sliding his hands underneath to meet Christian’s skin.
There’s a tingle wherever Syed’s fingers land that goes straight to Christian’s cock. Syed knows just how to touch him to set his whole body on fire, and he’s not afraid to use that knowledge.
Pulling away from Syed’s neck breathlessly, he starts unbuttoning his own shirt, eager for more of Syed’s touch. Syed joins in from the bottom, fingers meeting in the middle to part the sides and push the shirt over his shoulders and off.
They’re surging back together again the moment the shirt hits the floor, lips meeting in a sloppy kiss, hands roaming across skin, bodies pressed against each other from chest to thigh.
Christian pushes away from the door, edging them into the room.
The bed is really much too far from the door for his liking, but they stumble towards it, doing their best not to lose precious contact as they go. The edge of the sofa nearly derails them; all of his attention focused on Syed, Christian isn’t really watching his feet and they almost end up toppled clumsily to the floor.
They pause next to the bed when finally they reach it. Christian toes off his shoes and, with shaky fingers, starts to undo his jeans.
Syed beside him fumbles for the fastenings on the kilt; watching him, a mental image hits Christian hard in the gut and he shivers, his already hard cock jerking against its confines.
“Don’t,” he says, reaching out to stop Syed’s fingers. “Leave it on.”
Syed stares at him in confusion for a moment before comprehension dawns on his face. He nods, eyes blazing with lust, and reaches under the kilt instead to peel off his boxers.
Desire running hotly through his veins, Christian strips out of the rest of his clothes as fast as he can, tossing them away and not caring where they land. He reaches for Syed as soon as he’s done, rolling them onto the bed and kissing him hard.
The friction of the kilt against his cock is just on the edge of painful, but all it does is sent his arousal skyrocketing. He needs to regain some control or this will be over before it’s even really begun.
He twists until he lands on his back in the middle of the bed, Syed sprawled on top of him. The kiss grows frantic, sloppy, tongues tangling wildly as they lose themselves in it. Christian gathers a handful of fabric and pulls until he can get a hand under the hem of the kilt, get a hand on Syed’s skin.
Syed moans into his mouth, hips thrusting forward against Christian’s, the spark of pain-pleasure once more shooting through him.
Grasping Syed’s thighs with both hands, Christian urges him up until he is straddling him, the kilt fanning out around them. One hand drifts upwards, tips of his fingers trailing into Syed’s crack, teasing his hole.
Syed rocks back against the touch for a second before getting up on his knees and reaching across the bed, pulling open the drawer in the unit. A well-used bottle of lube lands on the bed beside him. Christian is reaching for it when a small foil packet lands on his chest.
He looks at it for a moment, an odd feeling grumbling in his belly. He hadn’t been sure if they even had any left. They’d stopped using them shortly before Christmas after a long discussion about monogamy and regular testing; he doesn’t think he can ask Syed why he has taken one out now, he doesn’t want to confirm his suspicions.
Syed pushes the drawer closed and settles himself back onto Christian’s thighs. They share a serious look for a second, and Christian knows they will be talking about this later.
Not now, though. Later will be the time for talking, and promises, and resolving of issues. Now is for reconnecting, reavowing their feelings, reinforcing the bond between them.
He reaches up, draws his fingers through the curls that frame Syed’s face. “I love you, Sy. You do know that, right?”
Syed grabs his hand, kisses his knuckles. “I do know,” he says, eyes going soft again. “And I love you too. I wouldn’t know how to stop if I wanted to.”
Christian pushes up with his free hand, sitting up and burning a tender kiss to Syed’s lips. The touch of lips reignites the want that had abated somewhat, and the chaste kiss soon turns heated.
Reaching blindly behind him, Christian grabs the bottle of lube, flicking the top open with one hand with practised ease. Syed sighs against him when he circles his hole with one slick finger, opening around it easily.
One finger soon becomes two, then three, Syed pushing back into them and whimpering into his mouth. “Please, Christian,” he mutters breathlessly when Christian angles a finger and deliberately brushes over his prostate.
Syed fumbles between them, fishing out the condom packet from the folds of his kilt and tearing it open with his teeth. Christian shudders and bites his bottom lip as he rolls it on him, pulling his fingers free and collapsing back onto the bed, arms splayed out beside him.
Their eyes lock, saying a hundred things at once more eloquently than they ever could aloud, and Syed shifts forward onto his knees, fanning the kilt out around him.
With emotions running high, Christian nearly comes on the spot when Syed lowers himself onto his cock. He takes several deep, calming breaths, and is grateful that Syed, too, seems to need a moment to compose himself before moving.
Christian is just starting to feel like he’s back in control of his own body when Syed starts to move, pushing up on his knees until just the tip of Christian’s cock is still inside before sinking back down, the kilt flapping around him as air rushes to escape its folds.
He repeats the movement, over, and over, and over. Slow, and steady, and frustrating beyond belief. Good, unbelievably good, but just not quite enough.
Desperately, Christian grips him by the hips, pushing him to move faster, snapping his hips up in counterpoint. Syed groans and picks up his pace, grunting at the exertion with every thrust. His hair is sticking damply to his neck and sweat plasters his T-shirt to him, but to Christian, he has never looked better.
Now that slow and controlled has been abandoned, their coupling quickly grows frenetic as they chase release. Christian feels that tightening in the pit of his stomach that warns him he is getting close, knows he is far beyond the point of pulling back. He scrabbles at the folds of the kilt, bunching the front up around Syed’s waist so he can get a hand to Syed’s cock.
He squeezes lightly, stroking in time with the frenzied pace of their bodies. Syed mutters something unintelligible and drops forward, catching his weight on his hands where they come to rest on Christian’s chest.
His thumbs brush Christian’s nipples, and that is really more than Christian can take. Arching off the sheets with a cry, he hurtles headlong into ecstasy, fireworks going off behind his eyelids. He’s dimly aware of Syed following him over the edge a few moments later, warm splatters hitting his chest, followed swiftly by Syed’s boneless form.
He wonders, when he regains full awareness some time later, if he has dozed off briefly; despite Syed’s soft weight on top of him, he’s chilly in the cooling air of the flat. He smoothes Syed’s hair back from his forehead, rousing him from his dazed-looking state.
They separate slowly, Syed rolling onto his side beside him. Christian pulls the condom off carefully, fishing for a tissue to wrap it in. He will get up and put it in the bin, but not just right this moment. His limbs are still a little too liquid to risk attempting to stand.
Syed is picking at his sweat-damp, come-stained T-shirt. “I think that maybe I’m going to have to change,” he murmurs, grinning.
Christian shifts to face him, taking in every detail of Syed’s smiling face and pressing it close to his heart, thrilling to know that he can still do that; he hasn’t wrecked anything, he can still put a smile on Syed’s face.
“No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t ever change. You’re perfect just as you are.”
The End
Comments and con-crit are, as always, adored &hearts