e felt Charlie’s fingers curl in his hair, surprisingly firm. He grunted, though he wasn’t sure if it sounded as approving as he felt; he didn’t much care. He was doing his damnedest to show his approval with his mouth and his hand, and other parts still showed it without giving him much choice in the matter.
The first time, he barely heard it. The second, he heard it a little louder over the throbbing of his pulse in his ears – and then he felt it, the tug of his fingers tangled in his hair. He grunted, easing away. His heart was hammering, and his breath was coming too fast to speak. He didn’t think, then, except to wipe his mouth off, and then the other man was running a fingertip along his mouth, tilting his head up.
He blinked, mouth open, drawing in another shuddering breath as he met Charlie’s blue eyes.
He found himself pulled to his feet, and felt a wash of relief and frustration all at once. Come here, he was saying, a hundred miles away from that nonchalant drawl; no, he wanted to argue, petulant, I wasn’t halfway done getting you off. Weren’t you enjoying it? This qalqa’s been mine since before you knew what a man…
Charlie was pressing a kiss to his lips, fingers curling against his scalp, and it silenced his protests. He gasped in his throat, feeling his other hand at the buttons of his trousers. He slid one hand round Charlie’s hip, guided him round.
He eased back against the bed, his head emptying out again. He wanted it like a cool hand on a feverish forehead. Every button seemed one too many. His hand slid up to Charlie’s back as he felt the mattress against his. His other was in a tangle of dark hair, trembling.
His mouth opened and nothing came out. There was a sudden tightness in his throat.
Please, he thought, please let me have this. “Please,” he moaned. Clock the Circle, please don’t hang yourself on this, you mung raen.
All the same, some part of him froze. His hand moved to Charlie’s wrist, almost as if to – it paused, running fingertips over the fine bones, the long fingers. He wanted those long fingers on him just as badly as he’d wanted to touch the other man. He didn’t want to sully the yes he’d wrested from all his shame, from all his pain, for better or worse. For worse, maybe, but by the gods, if he was going to make this mistake in the first place, he was going to make it with both feet over the line.
“Please,” he gasped again, wondering if it was a prayer. And he laughed suddenly, moving to help Charlie with his trousers. He let his hand rest on his back again, leaving him to it.
He traced his finger round the shell of his ear, just as warm as the rest of him. He felt the cool metal of his earring; he let his fingertip linger on it, then moved down the lobe. He brushed a lock of hair from his cheek where it’d been plastered there in sweat. “Only if you kiss me again. You’re very – mm – good at it,” he slurred, then laughed again, bastly-bright.