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[thirtythird]

@ wlawford
room 023; bunk 025 (with loki odinson)
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[thirtythird]

[Luxurious, to move slowly like this. Opulent, to take the time to simply enjoy the lips pressing against his and the warmth of skin teasing up against skin, of holding in place and being held in return.

The impulse to speak is irrepressible, but the soft little "darling" is lost in an entirely pleased sound immediately swallowed into the kiss. It sparks, for some reason, a happy little laugh, bubbling into soft reverberations between their bodies as Lawford shifts to begin helping divest of his own shirt properly.]

[ettersberg]

[ it does feel luxurious, like an indulgence, to go slow, to take their time, not to fumble but to move deliberately, with purpose and intention. (the fumbling on the planet had been intentional as well, of course, but in a very different way. it had been joyful, too, but in a different way. no less wonderful for it, but less languid than this.)

william laughs and thomas finds himself smiling in return, a small and soft thing, held safely between them, between their lips, before that, too, is lost in another kiss. between the two of them, it does not take long to divest william of his shirt and then thomas is free to explore naked skin, to let his fingers linger. ]

[thirtythird]

[There are other items to shed, of course, but William lets his fingers curl contentedly into Thomas's hair again instead, simply enjoying kissing and being kissed. The next shift is simply to tug them down onto the bed--to enjoy the warmth and weight of being pressed together, almost heedless of the continued restriction of their remaining clothes.

There's time. There's time to simply learn this piece of this man before leaning all the others.]

[ettersberg]

[ they tangle on the bed, curled together with their legs intertwining and william's fingers in his hair, their lips meeting again and again in a series of kisses, some lingering, some short. thomas finds himself dragging in a breath sharply at just the right pressure in the right spot, once or twice, but there's no urgency despite it, just this: kissing and being kissed, proximity, the back and forth of pleasure and certainty and comfort. ]

[thirtythird]

[Their accommodations here are wonderfully comfortable. The food is sating and the bits of work that keep the mind occupied are sufficient. But this? This is true luxury.

His movement in intimate moments has... decreased in elegance, perhaps, but there's something entirely comfortable all the same about squirming to tug them around and press the other man into the bed. It's a bit of a different leverage position, but hopefully the eagerness of his hand fumbling down into Thomas's trousers is enjoyable all the same.]

[ettersberg]

[ thomas nightingale, with his bespoke suits and handmade leather shoes and walking cane, his carefully parted hair and his posh manner of speaking, might seem like the kind of man who seeks elegance in all things —but the truth is that at the core of him, he cares for solidity and workmanship and things working, finds joy in rugby and a good boxing match, in magic and, yes, in this: in the meeting of two bodies, fumbling and eager and full of desire.

elegance doesn't need to factor into it.

(his own movements are more elegant, perhaps, but it is unthinking, not elegance for its own sake but the kind that comes from functionality and competence.)

william presses him into the bed and thomas goes all too willingly, pliant and feeling weightless with it, and then william's hand sinks into his trousers and thomas's shoulders come off the bed for a moment, breath punched from his lungs, a wordless ah and a verbalised please a moment later, his legs spreading even if it pulls his trousers taut. ]

[thirtythird]

[Wonderful. These little shivering moments, these delicious soft sounds, these familiar and brand new sensations are all entirely wonderful. More wonderful still that the fabrics and muscles and scents are all so distinctly Thomas.

The sounds on William's own lips are largely incoherent, more of a contented purring than actual words in the space between lingering kisses. The curl of his fingers around the other man isn't terribly urgent, pressure light and movement slowing toward something slightly lazy.

They've done frenzy. Now, perhaps, they can try savoring.]

[ettersberg]

[ the unhurried pace of this is wonderful and terrible at once-- wonderful because there is no rush and they can savour this, each other, because they are both old enough that hurried encounters on the ground really ought to be a thing of the past, especially thomas. terrible, too, because thomas finds himself hard already, a low ache almost that he cannot help but be aware of.

he does nothing to speed things up.

(perhaps part of it is simply that he's always been-- obliging, more than not, in these matters. perhaps part of it is that he likes the ache of it, sweet as it is. perhaps it's that william kisses him and then kisses him again, lingering, and all thoughts of doing something about it leave his mind in favour of kissing back and gripping william's shoulders tight, fingers digging in.) ]

[thirtythird]

[Being clung to is terribly lovely. In a moment like this, it feels somehow more--not the desperation of clutching in a fumble but the wonderful tension of holding onto a moment, of enjoying and being enjoyed, of wanting to keep the dizzying sensation building together.

William can't help a little laugh, breathless and pleased, as he briefly pulls his lips away, fingers continuing their lazy pace.]

God, look at you.

[There's a gentle awe to the words. It's not just that Thomas is a delight to drink in, or that he looks all the more delicious when he's in this state of beginning to come undone. William can't quite put his finger on the thought, but he knows with absolute certainty that he needs to absorb every millimetre of the other man's face, every sensation and sound, every last drop of this moment.]

[ettersberg]

[ there's a gentle awe to the words and thomas finds himself caught up on it, still for a moment beneath william and caught in the moment. if he didn't need to breathe, perhaps he could stay like this forever, willingly trapped in william's gaze. there's a weight to it, but it is not oppressive in the least.

thomas finds himself smiling back, as unguarded as he'll ever be. ]

Will you-- [ a beat. he reaches up to curve a hand over william's cheek. ] I'd like you inside me.

[ there's still no real urgency, but-- oh, he wants that connection. that proximity. almost primly: ] Please.

[thirtythird]

[Wonderful. The entire moment is so entirely wonderful. The genuine smile, the gentle request, the warm touch at his cheek--each is a precious gift in its own right, and in combination it briefly knocks the wind from him.

He does have to untangle to accomplish the request, but that gives him a moment to catch at Thomas's chin for a firmer kiss.]

Since you asked so nicely.

[Everything's immediately cooler as he rolls back onto his side. Managing his own pants well enough is no trouble, but he'll need an assist with the other man's.]

[ettersberg]

[ for a long moment, thomas is still, catching his breath after that kiss and watching william take off his own trousers, revealing more and more skin. for a long moment, he only watches-- then he's reminded of the fact that he, too, is still wearing trousers by their atypical tightness and moves to undo them, push them down his hips.

ordinarily, he would fold them carefully. right now, he only manages to ensure that they're not entirely a crumpled pile of cloth by the side of the bed; it's very nearly impossible to take his eyes off william. ]

[thirtythird]

[Being watched is its own small thrill. Being studied and memorized, held under the warm weight of a fascinated gaze, curls almost as warm in his chest as touching and being touched.

Everything aches pleasantly as he frees himself and tosses his own clothes into a heedless pile. Everything feels soothed and joyful as he pulls himself back into Thomas's space, tugging gently to settle hips and legs with the same unhurried pace.]