[Jag] Be sure (nsfw)
Mar. 21st, 2018 11:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
st_rummerIt wasn't just tequila's habit of turning Coby into a kissing bandit, and kissing Jag not only felt good, it felt like the start of something that had been a long time coming. And yeah, he's drunk, but he's not too drunk to know what he's doing and that he wants it as much as Jag does.
It maybe wasn't Coby's most graceful landing ever, but they made it to his balcony without anybody getting dropped or running into anything, including the ground. Coby was gonna count that as a win.
He put Jag down, but shifted his hold instead of letting go, and backed him against the wall, not bothering with the door or getting inside first when he could have Jag's mouth under his for a kiss they'd had to resist in air.
Fucking hell. There was something about being backed up against a wall, and Jag wasn't going to think about why that was exactly, not right now when thinking at all would prove increasingly difficult anyway, given the direction most of his blood seemed to be headed, all at once. Who cared if it was about the solidity of the wall in his back, the fact that he was trapped with nowhere to go, or the need betrayed by that move? The end result was that the giddy happiness of the flight was slammed away by a strong surge of arousal, and Jag kissed Coby with that desire, hands bunching up in his top in an attempt to get him closer.
Closer. Yeah. Closer was good. The pull of Jag's hands in his shirt, the hunger in his kiss, the heat of his body caught between Coby's and the wall holding both of them up. A very male body, growing (heh) more interested by the moment, and it hit Coby suddenly he hadn't been with a guy since he'd gotten here months and months ago. Corbie's birthday threesome didn't count. That he and Jag had shared a bed for maybe half that time without coming close acting on the desire building between them. A hand was working its way under Jag's shirt to find bare skin beneath when Coby broke the kiss, black pupils overtaking the blue of his eyes, his voice breathy and low, but insistent. "Be sure."
Jag didn't want to think, didn't want to risk getting caught in his old doubts and hang-ups. But when Coby's request finally got through to his mind (and that required a second, for how much his brain hadn't been there, but still reeling from getting to kiss someone again, and getting to kiss Coby, from everything that kiss promised), he had to. Had to pause, and meet Coby's gaze. Relax his hands on Coby's shirt, and give his request proper consideration, because he was buzzed, but he wasn't pissed. This was nothing like that other time. This was a real decision, and he nodded a little. "I'm sure. If you are."
Because the thing was, those doubts, those hang-ups, they were mostly about not asking more from Coby, not pulling him further into Jag's shite. He couldn't help but feel as if he would be getting more from this than Coby, stupid though it was. Fuck, he was sure, for himself, and the fact that Coby would ask that question only cemented that for Jag. But it felt like such a selfish thing to do.
That Coby hadn't tried anything with Jag before tonight was only because he knew how spun Jag was over Emma. The one back in London anyway, but it had to be hard with another one here. But he'd always been interested. It didn't have to be anything they thought too hard over. Just as long as they were both good with it. "Yeah," he began, reaching blindly for the door knob. "I'm sure. And I'm sure we're wearing too many clothes."
Jag chuckled, and resisted the urge to kiss Coby again, in favour of following him in, already pulling his t-shirt off. "Easy fix." For him, anyway, and now he looked at Coby's wings curiously, and dropped his shirt on a chair, instinctively at ease in the room he'd crashed in for months. "How d'you take your clothes off when they're out?"
Anael's clothes were part of manifesting himself in the mortal world, and he could dismiss them with a thought instead of having to coordinate wings and getting naked. Whatever magic gave Coby wings wasn't that generous, although he shouldn't complain. At least they didn't rip through what he was wearing every time he let them out. If there was a way to get naked while his wings were out, Coby hadn't worked it out yet. To be fair, he hadn't tried all that hard either. "I don't." He reached up to grip the neck of his t-shirt so he could pull it off, drawing his wings back into the tattoo first. It all happened smoothly enough to suggest he'd gotten a bunch of practice going from wings out to clothes off, with the extra step in the middle.
Seeing Coby barechested was no uncommon occurrence, but there was something different about it now. Wanting to touch him wasn't new either, but knowing that it was welcome, encouraged even, now that felt new, and that very masculine way of pulling off his shirt sending a thrill of arousal down Jag's spine was as well. He stepped closer, forgetting about his plan to lose more clothes (never mind his boots) in favour of running a hand up Coby's chest, watching him he'd never let himself do quite so openly. He settled his hand at the back of Coby's neck and met his gaze, suddenly having to ask, "You're not too pissed, are you?" Too pissed for proper consent, was what he meant.
Heat of Jag's palm, the feel of skin to skin, the want in his eyes, that as much or probably more than all he'd had to drink meant it took a false start – he wasn't angry – to remember Brit pissed wasn't the same as American pissed. And okay, yeah, he'd had a lot to drink. But Coby knew he wanted this, and would've if he'd been stone cold sober. Still, if Jag was asking, then he wasn't sure, and wanting to check wasn't a bad thing. For either of them. "I know what I'm doing saying I want this. I want you. Not too drunk for that."
Coby sounded like he was, too, like he did, and relief flooded Jag's lungs, only encouraging his arousal. "Good," he breathed out, and was pulling Coby into a kiss next, kissing him with how much he had been wanting to kiss him, as months of crashing with him and sleeping tangled up together, of Coby being there for him, of smoking up and drinking too much, months of friendship and repressed desire, coalesced into this moment of consent, of need, of hunger. He wrapped his arms around Coby as he kissed him, but his hands wouldn't stay still long, eager to touch every inch of Coby they could get to.
Jag's desire was a current pulling at Coby. Wanting and being wanted like this was making his head spin. Or maybe that was the way his blood was all rushing south. Whatever it was, he was riding the feeling and chasing more, hands traveling over bare skin, mouths crashing together as though kisses were oxygen and they were drowning, arms wrapping around Jag to pull him close while vaguely trying to walk them toward the bed.
Jag moved with him, breaking the kiss to chuckle against his lips when he nearly tripped on Coby's feet in his hurry to get to the bed. "I'm smooth, shut up," he said, but he was all giddy joy, really, nothing in the words speaking of actual self-depreciation. He kissed Coby again, then broke that kiss to pull him towards the bed, eyes sparkling happily. "Will you bring them out again?"
"Totally smooth," Coby agreed, laughter sparkling in eyes gone dark with want, letting Jag and their combined need and momentum pull him toward the bed. The wings, Coby knew, would manifest on their own pretty soon the way things were going, but that Jag asked, that he wanted them, it sent a surge of electric heat along Coby's spine and a tightening in his chest. As they unfurled from his back, he asked, "Gonna develop a wing kink on me, Jag?" He understood. He was kinked six ways to Sunday for wings before he ever had a set of his own.
"How about a kink for making you feel good?" Jag asked with a half-smile, eyes happy, and of course he reached out to stroke a wing, fingers sliding between feathers. His gaze was on Coby's face, and he was biting gently on his bottom lip, all careful attention, wanting to see what a soft touch would do, when last time had been - decidedly different.
Getting on the bed could wait.
"That–" Coby's breath caught, a shiver running through his wings and his eyes wanting to shut for that light caress, "'s the idea. Long as i can make you feel just as good." He reached up, thumb tracing the shape of Jag's mouth, gentle tug as he pulled the lower lip free of his teeth. Then another kiss, this a slow, soft tease that echoed the feel of Jag's hands on his wings. The arousal and want was only growing, but more lazy spiral than crash of waves.
Fuck, that was beautiful, and that kiss echoed the look of shivering pleasure on Coby's face just as beautifully. Jag's heart was beating hard for the crest of emotions in his chest, and he made a soft sound into the kiss, soft and intensely vulnerable. His fingers carded through Coby's feathers a little more steadily, and he pressed close, opening up to that kiss in a way that was more than just physical.
Yeah, just like that, and Coby couldn't have said whether the thought was meant for way Jag's touches played and teased over his wings, or how Jag's restraint – how long had he been holding back? – began to melt under the kiss, their touches, the press of body to body and want to want. He wanted more of that. This wasn't the time for demands. This wasn't like before. They weren't like before. Stroke of his hand down Jag's spine, lightening to the barest graze of fingertips at the small of his back. Curl of tongue teasing his kiss open, then retreating, kiss become breath against his lips, a hair too soon, so they'll both be left wanting more. Hand at his back moving down to cup his ass, the weight and heat of his palm and curl of his fingers. Teasing advance and retreat, like the lapping of tiny waves along the shore, infinitesimally higher each time.
Oh, but this felt better than any fantasy Jag might have indulged in over the last few months. Coby was real, warm and strong against him, and those teasing touches were pulling more moans out of him, causing his fingers to press a little harder against a wing, around a feather, when they retreated. They all lit the perfect kind of fire in his lungs, for the playful ease of them, for how natural this felt, being like this, with Coby, and when Coby's lips remained just out of reach, Jag chuckled, low and warm. "Still wearing too many clothes."
Which had only been highlighted by the hand on his arse, and how much he wanted that hand to be touching skin. So it was reluctantly that he pulled his hand back from Coby's wing, the other from his waist, stroking a thumb over his hip before he stepped back to pull off his boots.
Jag was right about that, way too many clothes. That didn't stop the disappointed sound that slipped from Coby's lips as Jag pulled away. Still it gave him the chance to loosen the laces of his Chucks. Even as he toed them off, he was reaching for Jag's belt, stepping out of his shoes and up close to undo the buckle. Peeling Jag out of his clothes was way more interesting than getting out of his own.
Jag had barely pulled off his boots that Coby was there again, and he hardly minded, did he. He slid his hands up Coby's arms to his shoulders, then down his back, brushing against the wings on their way down to his arse. He didn't want to get in the way of Coby helping out of his clothes, so he kept from trying to do the same thing, when they would just get in each other's way, and instead tilted his head to kiss his friend's neck, in turns nibbling and sucking on sensitive skin.
So sensitive, everywhere Jag touched, and Coby offered himself up for Jag's exploration, a heated hum from deep in his chest. All while he slowly, methodically peeled Jag out of the rest of his clothes, pausing to touch and taste. Brush of knuckles against the bulge of Jag's cock before Coby thumbed the button open. Licking a stripe up the length of his neck as he dragged the zip down. His wings flexed and rustled, spreading out as his knees began to bend, not wanting gravity to have all the fun of drawing Jag's jeans down his legs if Coby could follow with hands and mouth.
Jag bit on his bottom lip again as Coby shifted down, distracted for a second by the flex of those gorgeous wings before the hot drag of Coby's mouth on his skin pulled his focus back to the sensations he was offering Jag. He rested a hand on Coby's wing as he stepped out of his trousers, stroked it over a few feathers (he couldn't resist) and shifted it to his shoulder to tug his friend back up. He loved Coby's mouth, but he would rather have his kiss than anything else right then. His hard-on was obvious in his cotton boxer briefs (stamped with the Inn logo), but he longed for connection more than he longed for pleasure, right then. Good thing they weren't mutually exclusive.
No resisting. Coby's wings and the rest of him were meant to be touched, kissed, whatever he and Jag wanted. He let Jag tug him back up, but he took his time with that too, retracing his path up Jag's body until they could have the kiss they both wanted. He let the heat building between them spread through him, lazily seductive, a slow burn. And when they kissed, Coby cupping Jag's face in both hands, wings wanting to curl around them, everything else fell away.
Anticipation tended to work a treat on Jag - even beside the fact that it felt as if this had been building for months. Coby was taking his time, teasing, building up desire, and when they kissed, warmth and heat burst inside Jag's lungs with the relief of finally getting that kiss he had wanted. His hands stroked Coby's wings frankly, broadly, a match for the intensity of the kiss. When it broke, Jag let out a soft, giddy chuckle, even as he moved his hands to Coby's jeans. They needed off, and they needed off now. "Reckon maybe you'd fuck me tonight?" Jag asked, the buzz of alcohol long since mixed in with that of arousal, making him forget the self-consciousness that might have otherwise held his tongue, because this was Coby, and it really ought to be more complicated, but it felt so fucking simple. Amazingly simple.
Coby wasn't going to get in the way of Jag getting him out of his jeans. They'd get gone faster without him trying to help. His gaze found Jag's and held it. "I would love to fuck you tonight." If that was what Jag wanted. It really was just that fucking simple for Coby. Jag wanted him to fuck him. Coby wanted to fuck him. What more did they need tonight? Even as the question entered Coby's mind, the answer followed. He wanted to be able to kiss him, to see what he was feeling. Facing then. But just like they'd been doing, he was going to take his time getting Jag ready first.
Just hearing those words on Coby's lips made it all so much more real, and Jag smiled at him, bright and unrestrained, before pushing everything down Coby's hips, letting gravity do the rest of the job so he could curl his fingers around Coby's cock. Fuck, the thought of having it inside him, of Coby actually fucking him - he kissed Coby again, long and hard, as his hand moved over him in smooth, easy strokes, his other fingers sliding over his feathers again, the wings too much temptation to resist.
Somehow over the next few minutes – probably minutes, but time didn't have much meaning – Jag's boxer briefs joined the rest of their clothes, Coby and Jag made their way to the bed without tripping over themselves or anything else, and Coby'd managed to grab condom and lube from the bedside table without interrupting anything, the heat of arousal and want building between them with every touch and kiss.
"How long has it been?" he asked, the words a warm breath ghosting over hotter skin as one slick-covered finger lightly circled Jag's rim.
"Little while," Jag admitted, nerves mingling with anticipation and desire. His hips shifted slightly, but he stopped himself from pushing down on that teasing finger just yet. He bit down on his lips, looking up at the ceiling so he wouldn't be distracted by the sight of Coby, between his legs. He'd been here, what, a little over three months, and the last time Em had - best not to think about that too closely, because this wasn't the time or place to think about it, about her, about how much he still - "Bit over four months?"
He looked back at Coby and drew him into a kiss, focusing on him, on this, on everything playing between them. The way they'd been the last few months, and how much Jag wanted this, had been wanting this.
Not as long as it might have been. Not as long as it had been since Coby'd gotten fucked, if he bothered to think about it, which he wasn't right then. Long enough he was glad he'd asked. Long enough they should take their time, except for how Coby'd already been planning on enjoying the fuck out of doing just that, regardless of how long it had been or how tight Jag was. Wings draped over them, clean hand buried in Jag's hair, he tried to put all he was feeling – it was so much – into the kiss, the slip-curl-withdraw tease of his tongue finding an echo in the finger that pressed just barely into the tight ring of muscle.
Jag curled in towards Coby, and didn't try to help the sound that poured into the kiss with that first breach, feeling like all of himself was drawn closer to the other man, arms wrapped around his shoulders, one of his hands stroking the back of his fingers against a wing. His legs wanted to fold tighter to Coby, but he fought the urge and kept them spread, giving in to his other urge instead - moving his hips, pushing down on that finger. It had been a little while, but that was just cruel and admittedly usual teasing. Jag wanted more, though, and he broke the kiss to laugh, a little breathless, a lot turned on. "You bastard, get on with it."
Coby laughed too, and nipped Jag's lip as his finger worked in a little deeper, stretching and slicking the way. "We've got all night. But don't worry. I'm getting there." His own arousal shifted, a growing haze in the background, as he focused on Jag's reactions, the sounds he made into their kisses, the feel of him opening and working to take Coby's finger, then fingers, deeper, letting it all drive Coby's want higher, until everything contracted in to this, now, them, both so hard there was nothing left to think or feel or want than to bury himself deep into Jag, make physical the connection that had formed between them.
Jag's shoulders lifted off the mattress and towards Coby when he first pushed inside him, and it hurt for a moment, but not more than that, not with how thoroughly, beautifully, torturously Coby had prepped him. "Fuck," he murmured against Coby's lips, breaths mingling, foreheads together as they took a moment. "Good fuck," he added, and managed a brief hint of a breathless smile, before they started to move. Not quite in unison, but one shift of hips triggering another in a slow cascade of motions that gradually built up to more, to harder, to everything that had been growing between them. They kissed when they could, and Jag stroked Coby's wings now and then, perhaps I am developing a wing kink, breathed against his skin. He felt so hot, too hot, sweat slick and so fucking happy he never wanted this moment to end.
But of course, it had to, and it did, a hand around his cock to bring him over the edge, Coby's name a silent shout on his lips as everything went white, white like the hottest flame, white like the purest pleasure.
A low, drawn out moan was more necessary than the told you so it overrode when Jag admitted to maybe having a wing kink while giving in to that kink. And when Jag came, Coby fucked him through it, a shudder running down his spine at the almost too much clench of Jag around him, and he tried to hold on, wanting to stay in this moment, this undertow of sensation as long as possible, but it was only moments before he followed Jag to the crest and over, breath caught in his chest as he shattered. He only just managed not to collapse on top of Jag supporting himself on his forearms long enough to come back to himself. A too breathless to be anything but clumsy kiss, not wanting to lose the connection between them, and then it was habit more than anything that turned pull out-deal with condom-collapse into a sprawl beside him into a smooth action. Damn, he'd needed that. They'd needed that, maybe.
Jag turned into Coby instinctively when he collapsed beside him, wanting the continued touch, not willing to give up on it now, not when it felt so long coming. He nuzzled Coby's shoulder, slid a hand on his back, underneath his wing, and sort of burrowed underneath it himself, tangling a leg with Coby's. Should he be panicking now? He wasn't sure, but he didn't want to be. This felt natural, in a way he couldn't quite explain, and didn't particularly want to. He didn't want to think, when he'd been doing too much of it, for too long.
Coby wasn't thinking – how could he be expected to think after that – and had no reason to panic. Then again, he didn't feel like Jag had any reason to either, if he'd known the way Jag's thoughts were going. His wing curved around Jag, draped over him like a blanket and holding him close. Hot sex, and it had been hot, was great, but this was part of it too, the blissed out, loose limbed, sated, curled together just being. It didn't require words or thought, warmth and touch and connection being something deeper than that.
Jag would happily have dozed off like this, but as the post-orgasmic haze wore off, the need to go use the bathroom made itself known. He nosed at Coby's shoulder again, then kissed it, and forced himself to move. "Be right back."
Once he was done, he had a long drink of water from the tap, then padded back into the bedroom to check on the smoke detector, and unhook it. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes and collapsed back on the bed, wordlessly offering one to Coby. It was entirely possible he was hoping the cherry would help him keep not thinking, because that resolution was fading away fast.
While Jag was gone, Coby tucked his wings back into whatever magical space they stayed in when they weren't visible and rolled onto his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. He took the offered cigarette, not bothering to find a lighter when he had Jag right there to do it for him, and pulled Jag closer as he took a drag. He watched the smoke rise after, and pressed a kiss to Jag's shoulder because he could, it was the easiest part to reach, and he wanted to.
Jag turned his head towards him instinctively at that, caught Coby's gaze, and then leaned in for a kiss, something almost tentative about the gesture, oddly tentative considering the fact that they were starkers, in bed, and that he still ached in all the right places from what they had just shared.
Nothing tentative in the way Coby met that kiss, slow and easy, and maybe gentle even, but sure. But Jag tentative like that and after what they'd just had was telling. "You're thinking too much," Coby murmured against his lips before kissing again, lips and nose and forehead, almost like a blessing (if that was something he did, which he didn't, at all).
Jag opened his eyes again after those kisses, gave Coby a small smile. "Yeah, it's this thing I do." He didn't use to, as much. He thought he'd changed after Val. If nothing else, that fucking curse had forced him to take stock of the people he'd hurt. While he was cursed, yes, but also before. He held Coby's gaze for a beat longer, then averted his own as he took another drag from his cigarette, and reached for the Madonna Inn ashtray on the bedside table. He set it between them on the bed, and rolled onto his side to face Coby, propping his head up on his hand as he tapped his cigarette.
"Do you..." No, not that way around. Jag trailed off, then tried again, forcing himself to put it simply, directly. Honestly. "I'd like to do this again."
"Good." Coby met Jag's eyes, wanting him to see the truth in what he said and the affection behind it. "One night stands can be fun, but you aren't one. Not to me."
Relief and warmth packed Jag's chest tight, and the warmth wasn't from their lit cigarettes. Or, well, not just. He smiled at Coby, still tentative, but wanting to believe it. They'd both sobered up some, after all; it might very well be true, and not just alcohol speaking, on Coby's part. "You neither."
He might not have been entirely sober, but Coby wasn't as drunk as he had been, and buzzed or not, what he told Jag was true. They'd passed beyond the random hook up stage a long time ago. Holding his cigarette out of the way, Coby leaned over to kiss him again, to give a kiss with the reassurance Jag's thinking too much needed to know, free hand carding through Jag's hair a quiet intimacy and familiarity. "Maybe I should fuck you harder next time, or just suck your brains out through your cock, something to drive all those thoughts out of your head for awhile."
That surprised a laugh out of Jag, and he kissed Coby again, briefly, but happily. "Please. Please. Either of those things. Better, both. Give them your best shot." He moved his hand back from Coby's hip, where it had rested as they kissed, and took another drag, eyes twinkling happily now.
"Both is good." Coby winked, tucked a hand under his head, and lifted his cigarette pausing just before his lips. "Both. But later."
Fuck. Jag really, really wanted to trust the elation in his lungs, rather than some of the not so nice thoughts swirling through his mind. "Definitely later," he confirmed, smirking over at Coby. "I mean, there's always morning." But the fact that they were also talking about later later, about not a one night stand, that was where the elation came from.
Morning was good. It was also later. And of course there would be later later, as long as Jag wanted it. For now, though, this was good. This was really good. "Careful, Firebug. I might start calling you Hangover Cure." Because he was definitely going to be feeling tonight tomorrow morning. "In the morning, then. But now, finish our smokes and go to sleep. Sounds like the end of a good night."
"Drink three pints of water," Jag advised Coby, but he sounded almost distracted. He was too focused on Coby being Coby, somehow. On how easy it all seemed for him. It called to something inside Jag, the part of him that could probably never be like that, but that desperately wanted to. He took another drag off his cigarette, blew the smoke to the side, then leaned over to kiss him again, slow and good. "Sounds like a good plan," he murmured against his lips, before pulling back to take another drag.
Drinking water would probably be smart, but it also meant moving. And the endorphins of morning orgasms would be way more fun. "Sleep," soft kiss, "and then sex," slow kiss, "is always a good plan," lazy, lingering kiss that faded into breath. "Sleep. I'm not going anywhere."
"Neither am I," Jag confirmed, quietly, and begged another soft, lazy kiss from Coby.
It maybe wasn't Coby's most graceful landing ever, but they made it to his balcony without anybody getting dropped or running into anything, including the ground. Coby was gonna count that as a win.
He put Jag down, but shifted his hold instead of letting go, and backed him against the wall, not bothering with the door or getting inside first when he could have Jag's mouth under his for a kiss they'd had to resist in air.
Fucking hell. There was something about being backed up against a wall, and Jag wasn't going to think about why that was exactly, not right now when thinking at all would prove increasingly difficult anyway, given the direction most of his blood seemed to be headed, all at once. Who cared if it was about the solidity of the wall in his back, the fact that he was trapped with nowhere to go, or the need betrayed by that move? The end result was that the giddy happiness of the flight was slammed away by a strong surge of arousal, and Jag kissed Coby with that desire, hands bunching up in his top in an attempt to get him closer.
Closer. Yeah. Closer was good. The pull of Jag's hands in his shirt, the hunger in his kiss, the heat of his body caught between Coby's and the wall holding both of them up. A very male body, growing (heh) more interested by the moment, and it hit Coby suddenly he hadn't been with a guy since he'd gotten here months and months ago. Corbie's birthday threesome didn't count. That he and Jag had shared a bed for maybe half that time without coming close acting on the desire building between them. A hand was working its way under Jag's shirt to find bare skin beneath when Coby broke the kiss, black pupils overtaking the blue of his eyes, his voice breathy and low, but insistent. "Be sure."
Jag didn't want to think, didn't want to risk getting caught in his old doubts and hang-ups. But when Coby's request finally got through to his mind (and that required a second, for how much his brain hadn't been there, but still reeling from getting to kiss someone again, and getting to kiss Coby, from everything that kiss promised), he had to. Had to pause, and meet Coby's gaze. Relax his hands on Coby's shirt, and give his request proper consideration, because he was buzzed, but he wasn't pissed. This was nothing like that other time. This was a real decision, and he nodded a little. "I'm sure. If you are."
Because the thing was, those doubts, those hang-ups, they were mostly about not asking more from Coby, not pulling him further into Jag's shite. He couldn't help but feel as if he would be getting more from this than Coby, stupid though it was. Fuck, he was sure, for himself, and the fact that Coby would ask that question only cemented that for Jag. But it felt like such a selfish thing to do.
That Coby hadn't tried anything with Jag before tonight was only because he knew how spun Jag was over Emma. The one back in London anyway, but it had to be hard with another one here. But he'd always been interested. It didn't have to be anything they thought too hard over. Just as long as they were both good with it. "Yeah," he began, reaching blindly for the door knob. "I'm sure. And I'm sure we're wearing too many clothes."
Jag chuckled, and resisted the urge to kiss Coby again, in favour of following him in, already pulling his t-shirt off. "Easy fix." For him, anyway, and now he looked at Coby's wings curiously, and dropped his shirt on a chair, instinctively at ease in the room he'd crashed in for months. "How d'you take your clothes off when they're out?"
Anael's clothes were part of manifesting himself in the mortal world, and he could dismiss them with a thought instead of having to coordinate wings and getting naked. Whatever magic gave Coby wings wasn't that generous, although he shouldn't complain. At least they didn't rip through what he was wearing every time he let them out. If there was a way to get naked while his wings were out, Coby hadn't worked it out yet. To be fair, he hadn't tried all that hard either. "I don't." He reached up to grip the neck of his t-shirt so he could pull it off, drawing his wings back into the tattoo first. It all happened smoothly enough to suggest he'd gotten a bunch of practice going from wings out to clothes off, with the extra step in the middle.
Seeing Coby barechested was no uncommon occurrence, but there was something different about it now. Wanting to touch him wasn't new either, but knowing that it was welcome, encouraged even, now that felt new, and that very masculine way of pulling off his shirt sending a thrill of arousal down Jag's spine was as well. He stepped closer, forgetting about his plan to lose more clothes (never mind his boots) in favour of running a hand up Coby's chest, watching him he'd never let himself do quite so openly. He settled his hand at the back of Coby's neck and met his gaze, suddenly having to ask, "You're not too pissed, are you?" Too pissed for proper consent, was what he meant.
Heat of Jag's palm, the feel of skin to skin, the want in his eyes, that as much or probably more than all he'd had to drink meant it took a false start – he wasn't angry – to remember Brit pissed wasn't the same as American pissed. And okay, yeah, he'd had a lot to drink. But Coby knew he wanted this, and would've if he'd been stone cold sober. Still, if Jag was asking, then he wasn't sure, and wanting to check wasn't a bad thing. For either of them. "I know what I'm doing saying I want this. I want you. Not too drunk for that."
Coby sounded like he was, too, like he did, and relief flooded Jag's lungs, only encouraging his arousal. "Good," he breathed out, and was pulling Coby into a kiss next, kissing him with how much he had been wanting to kiss him, as months of crashing with him and sleeping tangled up together, of Coby being there for him, of smoking up and drinking too much, months of friendship and repressed desire, coalesced into this moment of consent, of need, of hunger. He wrapped his arms around Coby as he kissed him, but his hands wouldn't stay still long, eager to touch every inch of Coby they could get to.
Jag's desire was a current pulling at Coby. Wanting and being wanted like this was making his head spin. Or maybe that was the way his blood was all rushing south. Whatever it was, he was riding the feeling and chasing more, hands traveling over bare skin, mouths crashing together as though kisses were oxygen and they were drowning, arms wrapping around Jag to pull him close while vaguely trying to walk them toward the bed.
Jag moved with him, breaking the kiss to chuckle against his lips when he nearly tripped on Coby's feet in his hurry to get to the bed. "I'm smooth, shut up," he said, but he was all giddy joy, really, nothing in the words speaking of actual self-depreciation. He kissed Coby again, then broke that kiss to pull him towards the bed, eyes sparkling happily. "Will you bring them out again?"
"Totally smooth," Coby agreed, laughter sparkling in eyes gone dark with want, letting Jag and their combined need and momentum pull him toward the bed. The wings, Coby knew, would manifest on their own pretty soon the way things were going, but that Jag asked, that he wanted them, it sent a surge of electric heat along Coby's spine and a tightening in his chest. As they unfurled from his back, he asked, "Gonna develop a wing kink on me, Jag?" He understood. He was kinked six ways to Sunday for wings before he ever had a set of his own.
"How about a kink for making you feel good?" Jag asked with a half-smile, eyes happy, and of course he reached out to stroke a wing, fingers sliding between feathers. His gaze was on Coby's face, and he was biting gently on his bottom lip, all careful attention, wanting to see what a soft touch would do, when last time had been - decidedly different.
Getting on the bed could wait.
"That–" Coby's breath caught, a shiver running through his wings and his eyes wanting to shut for that light caress, "'s the idea. Long as i can make you feel just as good." He reached up, thumb tracing the shape of Jag's mouth, gentle tug as he pulled the lower lip free of his teeth. Then another kiss, this a slow, soft tease that echoed the feel of Jag's hands on his wings. The arousal and want was only growing, but more lazy spiral than crash of waves.
Fuck, that was beautiful, and that kiss echoed the look of shivering pleasure on Coby's face just as beautifully. Jag's heart was beating hard for the crest of emotions in his chest, and he made a soft sound into the kiss, soft and intensely vulnerable. His fingers carded through Coby's feathers a little more steadily, and he pressed close, opening up to that kiss in a way that was more than just physical.
Yeah, just like that, and Coby couldn't have said whether the thought was meant for way Jag's touches played and teased over his wings, or how Jag's restraint – how long had he been holding back? – began to melt under the kiss, their touches, the press of body to body and want to want. He wanted more of that. This wasn't the time for demands. This wasn't like before. They weren't like before. Stroke of his hand down Jag's spine, lightening to the barest graze of fingertips at the small of his back. Curl of tongue teasing his kiss open, then retreating, kiss become breath against his lips, a hair too soon, so they'll both be left wanting more. Hand at his back moving down to cup his ass, the weight and heat of his palm and curl of his fingers. Teasing advance and retreat, like the lapping of tiny waves along the shore, infinitesimally higher each time.
Oh, but this felt better than any fantasy Jag might have indulged in over the last few months. Coby was real, warm and strong against him, and those teasing touches were pulling more moans out of him, causing his fingers to press a little harder against a wing, around a feather, when they retreated. They all lit the perfect kind of fire in his lungs, for the playful ease of them, for how natural this felt, being like this, with Coby, and when Coby's lips remained just out of reach, Jag chuckled, low and warm. "Still wearing too many clothes."
Which had only been highlighted by the hand on his arse, and how much he wanted that hand to be touching skin. So it was reluctantly that he pulled his hand back from Coby's wing, the other from his waist, stroking a thumb over his hip before he stepped back to pull off his boots.
Jag was right about that, way too many clothes. That didn't stop the disappointed sound that slipped from Coby's lips as Jag pulled away. Still it gave him the chance to loosen the laces of his Chucks. Even as he toed them off, he was reaching for Jag's belt, stepping out of his shoes and up close to undo the buckle. Peeling Jag out of his clothes was way more interesting than getting out of his own.
Jag had barely pulled off his boots that Coby was there again, and he hardly minded, did he. He slid his hands up Coby's arms to his shoulders, then down his back, brushing against the wings on their way down to his arse. He didn't want to get in the way of Coby helping out of his clothes, so he kept from trying to do the same thing, when they would just get in each other's way, and instead tilted his head to kiss his friend's neck, in turns nibbling and sucking on sensitive skin.
So sensitive, everywhere Jag touched, and Coby offered himself up for Jag's exploration, a heated hum from deep in his chest. All while he slowly, methodically peeled Jag out of the rest of his clothes, pausing to touch and taste. Brush of knuckles against the bulge of Jag's cock before Coby thumbed the button open. Licking a stripe up the length of his neck as he dragged the zip down. His wings flexed and rustled, spreading out as his knees began to bend, not wanting gravity to have all the fun of drawing Jag's jeans down his legs if Coby could follow with hands and mouth.
Jag bit on his bottom lip again as Coby shifted down, distracted for a second by the flex of those gorgeous wings before the hot drag of Coby's mouth on his skin pulled his focus back to the sensations he was offering Jag. He rested a hand on Coby's wing as he stepped out of his trousers, stroked it over a few feathers (he couldn't resist) and shifted it to his shoulder to tug his friend back up. He loved Coby's mouth, but he would rather have his kiss than anything else right then. His hard-on was obvious in his cotton boxer briefs (stamped with the Inn logo), but he longed for connection more than he longed for pleasure, right then. Good thing they weren't mutually exclusive.
No resisting. Coby's wings and the rest of him were meant to be touched, kissed, whatever he and Jag wanted. He let Jag tug him back up, but he took his time with that too, retracing his path up Jag's body until they could have the kiss they both wanted. He let the heat building between them spread through him, lazily seductive, a slow burn. And when they kissed, Coby cupping Jag's face in both hands, wings wanting to curl around them, everything else fell away.
Anticipation tended to work a treat on Jag - even beside the fact that it felt as if this had been building for months. Coby was taking his time, teasing, building up desire, and when they kissed, warmth and heat burst inside Jag's lungs with the relief of finally getting that kiss he had wanted. His hands stroked Coby's wings frankly, broadly, a match for the intensity of the kiss. When it broke, Jag let out a soft, giddy chuckle, even as he moved his hands to Coby's jeans. They needed off, and they needed off now. "Reckon maybe you'd fuck me tonight?" Jag asked, the buzz of alcohol long since mixed in with that of arousal, making him forget the self-consciousness that might have otherwise held his tongue, because this was Coby, and it really ought to be more complicated, but it felt so fucking simple. Amazingly simple.
Coby wasn't going to get in the way of Jag getting him out of his jeans. They'd get gone faster without him trying to help. His gaze found Jag's and held it. "I would love to fuck you tonight." If that was what Jag wanted. It really was just that fucking simple for Coby. Jag wanted him to fuck him. Coby wanted to fuck him. What more did they need tonight? Even as the question entered Coby's mind, the answer followed. He wanted to be able to kiss him, to see what he was feeling. Facing then. But just like they'd been doing, he was going to take his time getting Jag ready first.
Just hearing those words on Coby's lips made it all so much more real, and Jag smiled at him, bright and unrestrained, before pushing everything down Coby's hips, letting gravity do the rest of the job so he could curl his fingers around Coby's cock. Fuck, the thought of having it inside him, of Coby actually fucking him - he kissed Coby again, long and hard, as his hand moved over him in smooth, easy strokes, his other fingers sliding over his feathers again, the wings too much temptation to resist.
Somehow over the next few minutes – probably minutes, but time didn't have much meaning – Jag's boxer briefs joined the rest of their clothes, Coby and Jag made their way to the bed without tripping over themselves or anything else, and Coby'd managed to grab condom and lube from the bedside table without interrupting anything, the heat of arousal and want building between them with every touch and kiss.
"How long has it been?" he asked, the words a warm breath ghosting over hotter skin as one slick-covered finger lightly circled Jag's rim.
"Little while," Jag admitted, nerves mingling with anticipation and desire. His hips shifted slightly, but he stopped himself from pushing down on that teasing finger just yet. He bit down on his lips, looking up at the ceiling so he wouldn't be distracted by the sight of Coby, between his legs. He'd been here, what, a little over three months, and the last time Em had - best not to think about that too closely, because this wasn't the time or place to think about it, about her, about how much he still - "Bit over four months?"
He looked back at Coby and drew him into a kiss, focusing on him, on this, on everything playing between them. The way they'd been the last few months, and how much Jag wanted this, had been wanting this.
Not as long as it might have been. Not as long as it had been since Coby'd gotten fucked, if he bothered to think about it, which he wasn't right then. Long enough he was glad he'd asked. Long enough they should take their time, except for how Coby'd already been planning on enjoying the fuck out of doing just that, regardless of how long it had been or how tight Jag was. Wings draped over them, clean hand buried in Jag's hair, he tried to put all he was feeling – it was so much – into the kiss, the slip-curl-withdraw tease of his tongue finding an echo in the finger that pressed just barely into the tight ring of muscle.
Jag curled in towards Coby, and didn't try to help the sound that poured into the kiss with that first breach, feeling like all of himself was drawn closer to the other man, arms wrapped around his shoulders, one of his hands stroking the back of his fingers against a wing. His legs wanted to fold tighter to Coby, but he fought the urge and kept them spread, giving in to his other urge instead - moving his hips, pushing down on that finger. It had been a little while, but that was just cruel and admittedly usual teasing. Jag wanted more, though, and he broke the kiss to laugh, a little breathless, a lot turned on. "You bastard, get on with it."
Coby laughed too, and nipped Jag's lip as his finger worked in a little deeper, stretching and slicking the way. "We've got all night. But don't worry. I'm getting there." His own arousal shifted, a growing haze in the background, as he focused on Jag's reactions, the sounds he made into their kisses, the feel of him opening and working to take Coby's finger, then fingers, deeper, letting it all drive Coby's want higher, until everything contracted in to this, now, them, both so hard there was nothing left to think or feel or want than to bury himself deep into Jag, make physical the connection that had formed between them.
Jag's shoulders lifted off the mattress and towards Coby when he first pushed inside him, and it hurt for a moment, but not more than that, not with how thoroughly, beautifully, torturously Coby had prepped him. "Fuck," he murmured against Coby's lips, breaths mingling, foreheads together as they took a moment. "Good fuck," he added, and managed a brief hint of a breathless smile, before they started to move. Not quite in unison, but one shift of hips triggering another in a slow cascade of motions that gradually built up to more, to harder, to everything that had been growing between them. They kissed when they could, and Jag stroked Coby's wings now and then, perhaps I am developing a wing kink, breathed against his skin. He felt so hot, too hot, sweat slick and so fucking happy he never wanted this moment to end.
But of course, it had to, and it did, a hand around his cock to bring him over the edge, Coby's name a silent shout on his lips as everything went white, white like the hottest flame, white like the purest pleasure.
A low, drawn out moan was more necessary than the told you so it overrode when Jag admitted to maybe having a wing kink while giving in to that kink. And when Jag came, Coby fucked him through it, a shudder running down his spine at the almost too much clench of Jag around him, and he tried to hold on, wanting to stay in this moment, this undertow of sensation as long as possible, but it was only moments before he followed Jag to the crest and over, breath caught in his chest as he shattered. He only just managed not to collapse on top of Jag supporting himself on his forearms long enough to come back to himself. A too breathless to be anything but clumsy kiss, not wanting to lose the connection between them, and then it was habit more than anything that turned pull out-deal with condom-collapse into a sprawl beside him into a smooth action. Damn, he'd needed that. They'd needed that, maybe.
Jag turned into Coby instinctively when he collapsed beside him, wanting the continued touch, not willing to give up on it now, not when it felt so long coming. He nuzzled Coby's shoulder, slid a hand on his back, underneath his wing, and sort of burrowed underneath it himself, tangling a leg with Coby's. Should he be panicking now? He wasn't sure, but he didn't want to be. This felt natural, in a way he couldn't quite explain, and didn't particularly want to. He didn't want to think, when he'd been doing too much of it, for too long.
Coby wasn't thinking – how could he be expected to think after that – and had no reason to panic. Then again, he didn't feel like Jag had any reason to either, if he'd known the way Jag's thoughts were going. His wing curved around Jag, draped over him like a blanket and holding him close. Hot sex, and it had been hot, was great, but this was part of it too, the blissed out, loose limbed, sated, curled together just being. It didn't require words or thought, warmth and touch and connection being something deeper than that.
Jag would happily have dozed off like this, but as the post-orgasmic haze wore off, the need to go use the bathroom made itself known. He nosed at Coby's shoulder again, then kissed it, and forced himself to move. "Be right back."
Once he was done, he had a long drink of water from the tap, then padded back into the bedroom to check on the smoke detector, and unhook it. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes and collapsed back on the bed, wordlessly offering one to Coby. It was entirely possible he was hoping the cherry would help him keep not thinking, because that resolution was fading away fast.
While Jag was gone, Coby tucked his wings back into whatever magical space they stayed in when they weren't visible and rolled onto his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. He took the offered cigarette, not bothering to find a lighter when he had Jag right there to do it for him, and pulled Jag closer as he took a drag. He watched the smoke rise after, and pressed a kiss to Jag's shoulder because he could, it was the easiest part to reach, and he wanted to.
Jag turned his head towards him instinctively at that, caught Coby's gaze, and then leaned in for a kiss, something almost tentative about the gesture, oddly tentative considering the fact that they were starkers, in bed, and that he still ached in all the right places from what they had just shared.
Nothing tentative in the way Coby met that kiss, slow and easy, and maybe gentle even, but sure. But Jag tentative like that and after what they'd just had was telling. "You're thinking too much," Coby murmured against his lips before kissing again, lips and nose and forehead, almost like a blessing (if that was something he did, which he didn't, at all).
Jag opened his eyes again after those kisses, gave Coby a small smile. "Yeah, it's this thing I do." He didn't use to, as much. He thought he'd changed after Val. If nothing else, that fucking curse had forced him to take stock of the people he'd hurt. While he was cursed, yes, but also before. He held Coby's gaze for a beat longer, then averted his own as he took another drag from his cigarette, and reached for the Madonna Inn ashtray on the bedside table. He set it between them on the bed, and rolled onto his side to face Coby, propping his head up on his hand as he tapped his cigarette.
"Do you..." No, not that way around. Jag trailed off, then tried again, forcing himself to put it simply, directly. Honestly. "I'd like to do this again."
"Good." Coby met Jag's eyes, wanting him to see the truth in what he said and the affection behind it. "One night stands can be fun, but you aren't one. Not to me."
Relief and warmth packed Jag's chest tight, and the warmth wasn't from their lit cigarettes. Or, well, not just. He smiled at Coby, still tentative, but wanting to believe it. They'd both sobered up some, after all; it might very well be true, and not just alcohol speaking, on Coby's part. "You neither."
He might not have been entirely sober, but Coby wasn't as drunk as he had been, and buzzed or not, what he told Jag was true. They'd passed beyond the random hook up stage a long time ago. Holding his cigarette out of the way, Coby leaned over to kiss him again, to give a kiss with the reassurance Jag's thinking too much needed to know, free hand carding through Jag's hair a quiet intimacy and familiarity. "Maybe I should fuck you harder next time, or just suck your brains out through your cock, something to drive all those thoughts out of your head for awhile."
That surprised a laugh out of Jag, and he kissed Coby again, briefly, but happily. "Please. Please. Either of those things. Better, both. Give them your best shot." He moved his hand back from Coby's hip, where it had rested as they kissed, and took another drag, eyes twinkling happily now.
"Both is good." Coby winked, tucked a hand under his head, and lifted his cigarette pausing just before his lips. "Both. But later."
Fuck. Jag really, really wanted to trust the elation in his lungs, rather than some of the not so nice thoughts swirling through his mind. "Definitely later," he confirmed, smirking over at Coby. "I mean, there's always morning." But the fact that they were also talking about later later, about not a one night stand, that was where the elation came from.
Morning was good. It was also later. And of course there would be later later, as long as Jag wanted it. For now, though, this was good. This was really good. "Careful, Firebug. I might start calling you Hangover Cure." Because he was definitely going to be feeling tonight tomorrow morning. "In the morning, then. But now, finish our smokes and go to sleep. Sounds like the end of a good night."
"Drink three pints of water," Jag advised Coby, but he sounded almost distracted. He was too focused on Coby being Coby, somehow. On how easy it all seemed for him. It called to something inside Jag, the part of him that could probably never be like that, but that desperately wanted to. He took another drag off his cigarette, blew the smoke to the side, then leaned over to kiss him again, slow and good. "Sounds like a good plan," he murmured against his lips, before pulling back to take another drag.
Drinking water would probably be smart, but it also meant moving. And the endorphins of morning orgasms would be way more fun. "Sleep," soft kiss, "and then sex," slow kiss, "is always a good plan," lazy, lingering kiss that faded into breath. "Sleep. I'm not going anywhere."
"Neither am I," Jag confirmed, quietly, and begged another soft, lazy kiss from Coby.
