Rapture
Title: Rapture
Author: millionstar
Pairing: Matthew/Dominic, Non-AU
Rating: R, I guess
Here You’ll Find: Kissing, Fluff, Introspection, Long Bellamy hair, Bellamy Inner Thighs
Author’s Note: Born of a Twitter convo with the wonderful evil_angel and pwoperninjaelf - if you choose to read, thank you, and I hope you enjoy. x
I found him much the same way that I expected I would. He was nothing if not a creature of habit, so to find him propped up in bed, the latest issue of Popular Science in hand, was no surprise. The wet towels on the floor next to the bed indicated that he’d had a shower before climbing into bed.
“Hey,” he said, yawning. “Good gig?” he asked, eyes continuing to scan the magazine by the faint lamplight. He crossed his legs, shifting his position on the bed. He was wearing only a pair of cherry red boxers, the pair that he knows I love because they’re a bit too tight for him, which meant that they hugged his backside deliciously, and were criminally short.
I told him that it was, not mentioning that I’d left before the gig had ended simply because I’d missed him, and toed off my shoes. I gave him a cursory glance and noticed that the ends of his hair were damp; my fingers were itching to touch it. I went about shrugging out of my clothes as he continued to read whatever article had him so engrossed. Before I went to sleep tonight, I would no doubt hear in detail about whatever it was - he wouldn’t be able to help himself. That was fine, because I wouldn’t be able to help myself from hanging on his every word.
I laid down beside him, my eyes sweeping across his frame. My gaze had just landed upon his nipples when I heard him speaking to me.
“Dom. Dom.”
I looked at him.
“You okay?” he asked, eyebrows drawn in concern.
Reaching for his wrist, I pressed a kiss to the inside of it. I nodded. “I just want to look at you.”
He seemed flattered by the attention I was giving him, if a bit amused at my curiosity; the corners of his lips were turned up slightly and a faint blush now dotted his cheeks. I rested my head on his thigh and looked up at him. His skin was warm, and extremely soft to the touch, the sensation heightened by the fact that he’d just had a shower.
“You smell so good,” I commented, nudging his inner thigh with my nose.
“Whenever I shower, you act like it’s some rare, cosmic occurrence.”
“Dreams really do come true, I guess,” I shot back softly, pushing his boxers up his right leg as he giggled. This left his inner thigh exposed - well, as exposed as it could be while he still wore the damned things. There wasn’t an inch of this body that I didn’t already know intimately. This particular expanse of skin, incidentally, was my favorite. I inhaled deeply at the juncture of his thigh. He smelled of musk and soap and, somehow, faintly of cinnamon. I kissed him here, once, twice, three times, nibbling on his skin.
He didn’t speak while I indulged in worship of his body, but he did put one hand in my hair, slowly carding his fingers through it. Whether he did it to hold me in place, or to simply initiate contact of his own, I didn’t know. Part of me hoped it was the latter. I liked the notion that it was impossible for us to be this close and not be touching in some manner - that we decisively, actively, always burned for each other. Still, I wasn’t going to overanalyze it.
I just wanted to lose myself in him.
When I bit down, I heard him hiss, felt his hand tighten in my hair. This didn’t deter me. If anything, it spurred me on, prompting me to suck on his skin harder in an attempt to mark him. I heard him sigh when I soothed the bruise with the tip of my tongue. I pulled back and blew lightly against it, my hand sliding down his leg. I heard the magazine drop to the floor the moment I moved my attentions to his happy trail, licking the hair beneath his navel. His breath hitched when I gave the same attention to one of his nipples, the action eliciting a moan from both of us.
There was a reverence within the act of kissing his neck that turned it into the holiest of benedictions. I’d done it hundreds of times over the years, and it always served to render me the hottest of hot messes. By the time I finally reached his lips to kiss him properly I was completely, hopelessly gone, so much so that I actually whimpered when he began to kiss me back deeply. I wound my fingers into his hair, pulling the soft strands as his chinbeard scratched my lips now and then. Every kiss with Matthew was like that; I felt like I might die of want if he didn’t kiss me, and like I might die of despair when he stopped kissing me. If that isn’t a rapturous addiction, I don’t know what is.
I revel in it.
He allowed me to kiss him for what seemed like hours, even though it simply couldn’t have been. It might seem curious that we didn’t take things any farther that night, but sometimes it feels as though our connection is deeper at those times. It’s not always about physical release, sometimes it’s just as much about emotional fulfillment. We kissed, clinging to each other, until we were breathless from it, until all we could do was simply hold each other as we grew increasingly exhausted from the effort. Finally, he reached out and turned out the lamp, but not before I saw him look down, pull his boxers up, and glance at the mark on his inner thigh.
In the dark I allowed him to spoon me, sinking into the warmth and familiarity of his body. His legs tangled in my own, one of his hands on my stomach in a show of ownership as he nuzzled my hair with his nose.
“Dom?”
“Hmm?” I asked softly, yawning.
“Wanna know what I was reading when you came in?”
I grinned into the dark as he pulled me closer. “Absolutely.”