[ That long, uncertain span of seconds that passes is almost unbearable for Reggie, he almost doesn't even care what Derek says as long as he gives him an answer, because-- this kind of wishy-washy are you sure and we don't have to crap is really not Reggie's style, even if right now it's hard to avoid. He tries to be decent, of course, but there's a difference between sensitive and suffocating.
But then an answer does come, and it fills Reggie with so much relief. He doesn't want to lose this -- or end it --either. They're friends, yes, and that's important, but it's also hard for him to imagine their friendship without this. Everything that's been a part of it and helped define what they are from the very start. So-- ]
God-- y-yeah, like th--
[ He falls back easily, panting and drinking in every touch, giving back with his mouth and tongue and hands (even the injured one, which may not be injured deep, but still leaves streaks of blood in its wake). Every responsive arc and twist of his body beneath Derek's is desperate, and hungry, eager for whatever’s in store and to be distracted with rough, familiar pleasure until the thought of having to sleep alone tonight is drowned out completely.
Reggie lifts his hips compliantly, opening his legs, but then-- no-- he knows exactly what Derek means by "this," or at least, he thinks he does. His eyebrows raise and his lips part, heart racing alarmingly, and he doesn't waste another second before he's sitting up enough to pull his shirt off. ]
It doesn't have to be the--
[ Though he stops himself from finishing that thought, just in case it causes Derek to change his mind, and instead just swallows and nods eagerly. He hopes it's still unspoken, though, that this doesn't really have to be it, and that in fact it won't be, but whether it is or it isn't, now his mind and body are obsessed with the idea of what he imagines Derek's implying. What else can it be? ]
I'll owe you. You can stay here all night and just... and-- I don't wanna sleep until I'm done owing you. [ He's breathing too hard to speak or even think too coherently, taking a break to pull to pull Derek into an aggressive, hungry kiss. ] If this really is the last time we're doing this then I wanna feel you for days. Keep going until my mouth and my ass are too bruised and friggin'-- covered in jizz for you to screw anymore.
[ He's trying to be sexy, believe it or not, but look: his frame of reference here is mostly porn. Reggie does this thing, with Nick and Derek especially, where his brain shifts into a sort of automatic state, too clouded with lust and want to think straight, and he just starts talking and reacting almost mindlessly-- agreeing, or asking, or begging, his body responding obediently and eagerly to nearly anything asked of it in a relieved (though temporary) rejection of the part of him that tries so desperately to cling to some level of pride and dignity and control. ]
I swear, if you let me fuck you even once that's all it'll take, but-- fuck, Derek. Please.
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But then an answer does come, and it fills Reggie with so much relief. He doesn't want to lose this -- or end it --either. They're friends, yes, and that's important, but it's also hard for him to imagine their friendship without this. Everything that's been a part of it and helped define what they are from the very start. So-- ]
God-- y-yeah, like th--
[ He falls back easily, panting and drinking in every touch, giving back with his mouth and tongue and hands (even the injured one, which may not be injured deep, but still leaves streaks of blood in its wake). Every responsive arc and twist of his body beneath Derek's is desperate, and hungry, eager for whatever’s in store and to be distracted with rough, familiar pleasure until the thought of having to sleep alone tonight is drowned out completely.
Reggie lifts his hips compliantly, opening his legs, but then-- no-- he knows exactly what Derek means by "this," or at least, he thinks he does. His eyebrows raise and his lips part, heart racing alarmingly, and he doesn't waste another second before he's sitting up enough to pull his shirt off. ]
It doesn't have to be the--
[ Though he stops himself from finishing that thought, just in case it causes Derek to change his mind, and instead just swallows and nods eagerly. He hopes it's still unspoken, though, that this doesn't really have to be it, and that in fact it won't be, but whether it is or it isn't, now his mind and body are obsessed with the idea of what he imagines Derek's implying. What else can it be? ]
I'll owe you. You can stay here all night and just... and-- I don't wanna sleep until I'm done owing you. [ He's breathing too hard to speak or even think too coherently, taking a break to pull to pull Derek into an aggressive, hungry kiss. ] If this really is the last time we're doing this then I wanna feel you for days. Keep going until my mouth and my ass are too bruised and friggin'-- covered in jizz for you to screw anymore.
[ He's trying to be sexy, believe it or not, but look: his frame of reference here is mostly porn. Reggie does this thing, with Nick and Derek especially, where his brain shifts into a sort of automatic state, too clouded with lust and want to think straight, and he just starts talking and reacting almost mindlessly-- agreeing, or asking, or begging, his body responding obediently and eagerly to nearly anything asked of it in a relieved (though temporary) rejection of the part of him that tries so desperately to cling to some level of pride and dignity and control. ]
I swear, if you let me fuck you even once that's all it'll take, but-- fuck, Derek. Please.