shadows_have_offended | (no subject)

Entry tags:

harry starks,
ig

(no subject)

He has work in the morning, but it's not stopping him from going out. Besides, this is hardly going out. One of his coworkers put him up on a blind date, and so he's out for that--but the other guy was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago, so Neil doesn't think he's showing up at all. So here's Neil, standing outside of a bar, smoking and feeling a bit like an idiot for being stood up.

He should probably just go. If the guy wasn't here twenty minutes ago, or even five minutes ago, it's reasonable to say that he's not coming and Neil should just give up. He pulls out his phone and checks the texts. There's the one from his coworker, describing the guy he's supposed to be meeting, and there's the one from the guy, confirming that he has Neil's number.

Maybe he'll go to a club. Maybe he'll just go home so he can smoke in a heated room rather than shivering outside. Maybe he'll get this fucking meal and send a picture to the guy; his loss. Neil's an entirely pleasant date.

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Neil's quite pretty, with sweet little freckles on his shoulders and chest, and a shy little smile on his face, and Harry smiles with an appreciative look on his face and kisses him again.

He lets Neil take his shirt of next, and helps by shrugging out of it. Harry's quite fit himself - he's not into pumping iron, but he minds what he eats and does his exercises. Scars adorn his own chest - business risk. There's an old stab-wound, a few scars of varying age and a more recent large but fading bruise on his side - courtesy of the London police force.

Neil trails his fingers gently from spot to spot, not asking questions. Not right now, anyway. It isn't his business what put those scars there, though he thinks they make Harry rather rugged and handsome.

His fingers linger on the edges of the bruise without pressure. He leans in and kisses Harry again, still touching gently.

Harry isn't proud of the scars, nor is he ashamed of them. They're a part of what he is and who he is. There's something erotic about having Neil trace them each with his fingers, though it might just be that he's been deprived of delicate touches to his body for so long and any touch would go straight to his cock.

Rough hands trace gently the boys frame, feeling the soft skin, the slight reactions he's causing, and it's delightful.

Eventually, his hands make it to that waistband again and they tug at it.

"Are we going to stay on the couch?" Neil asks softly, a pure curiosity because he had no complaints. He shifts a little, leans back and gets up on his knees, so it's easier to get at his trousers. He bites his lip a little, watching Harry's face.

"Didn't think about that yet," he smiles easily, and puts a hand on Neil's cheek. "Just want you naked," he admits with a cheeky tug at the trousers. And with that in mind, he does start to take off the boy's trousers.

Neil smiles and breathes out soft, mirthful laughter as Harry smiles and pulls at his trousers a bit. He kneels up a little, making it easier to open them, and sliding his hands down to push them slowly off his hips. He'll have to get up properly if they want him all the way out, and he doesn't really want to move that far.

Harry practically snickers when he realizes Neil doesn't want to move far enough to get those trousers off. He likes that eagerness. He gives Neil a playful pat on the arse. "Go on, up. I said naked. You can come back after."

He's quietly thrilled about it, smiling and blushing just a little bit now. He gets o his feet and slowly peels his pants off. There's a part of him that wants to try and be sexy about it, but he's sure it will just come out goofy. So he gets out of them, and out of his briefs, because Harry asked for naked.

When he's stripped, rather than climbing right back into Harry's lap, he leans in to kiss him again, and reach down to open his trousers as well.

Harry takes a moment to enjoy the sight. It's not a show, as such, but it's lovely. And Neil is quite good-looking naked too.

He shifts to accommodate Neil on his lap again and smiles when the boy decides he doesn't want to be the only one naked. He stops him with a hand over Neil's. "Let's go to the bedroom." He prefers getting undressed there rather than getting naked here and having to walk. He likes having a young naked man walk about the flat, though.

Neil's hardly upset to be the only one naked. He smiles and steals another kiss before easing back. Rather playfully, he stretches, and makes a show out of that more than stripping was. He's half hard and ready for more, and to posture a little does make him blush a bit, but it's spectacular.

He steps back from the couch and takes a second to glance around the apartment before spotting the little hallway back to the bedroom. Easy enough to head in that direction, now he's been invited.

The playful, youthful show makes Harry smile genuinely, and he follows Neil into his bedroom. The room is pretty standard as well, except for the flowers on the side table and a few magazines on the night-stand.

Once the door is closed, he approaches Neil and kisses him again, hands roaming freely over his naked form.

He leans into the kiss, wrapping his arms slowly around Harry's shoulders and smiling against it. The way Harry touches him, he leans into every single one, pressing in closer. He runs his hands down Harry's chest, tracing those scars and bruises once more, until his fingers land on Harry's waistband again.

He's deft, at opening his trousers and pushing them down. At this moment, he just wants to be able to touch and see all of him, and it's a breathless moment when he does wrap a hand around Harry's cock.

Neil's forward and a bit bold and Harry loves it. He utters a short but guttural sound as Neil's hand wraps around him. It's been too bloody long. He kisses him more deeply and slowly but surely moves them to the bed.

He shuffles backward, not giving up the kiss until he hits the edge of the bed. He only turns away from the kiss for a moment, so he can get up on the edge of the bed, kneeling right there and stroking him slowly.

"I want to suck your cock," he murmurs, eyes soft and expression slightly needy.

Harry doesn't know if the kid's doing it on purpose, but every look Neil gives him, every move he makes and every word that comes out of his mouth goes straight to his cock. He can't resist those eyes and he kisses him again, but he pulls back because he definitely wants Neil to suck his cock. He sits down (he doesn't trust his knees standing at the moment) and smiles. "Go on, then."

Harry sits and Neil contemplates sliding off the bed, kneeling on the floor between Harry feet; in the end, he lays down on the bed, sort of curled toward him as he leaned. He licks, strokes him, working from Harry's balls to the tip, sucking it into his mouth with hungry abandon.

Curled as he lies, Harry gets a nice view of Neil, and he takes the opportunity to touch him as the kid works on him with unreserved thirst. He throws his head back at a particular move. "Christ, kid," he says, breathless. He'll have to tell him to slow down if he k.eeps this up, but for now, he indulges

Neil moans softly around him. He’s grateful for the practice he’s had at this, having come a long way since the boy who only barely knew what to do with someone else’s cock. He plays with him a bit, stroking what isn’t in his mouth and gently squeezing his balls before trying to take more, trying to take it all. He’s still not good at that, but he enjoys trying. Especially with the way Harry breathes raggedly and touches him.

Neil clearly wants more than he can take, but he keeps trying and it's hot to see him putting in the effort. Harry's hand strays to the boy's hair, and he strokes it. "Easy, kid, no rush," he says, as much for Neil as for himself.

There’s no rush, but Neil is needy and enthusiastic. He eases off, catching his breath in ragged pants and stroking him languidly. His cock throbs between his legs, a desperate sort of lack of attention. He twosts a little so he can rub against the blankets, looking up at Harry briefly before putting his mouth back to work.

Neil puts his mouth back to work and, well, he's not saying 'no' to that. And it's perfect, the way he takes him in his mouth, the way he writhes against the sheets, his body eager for touch. Harry touches him, gently but encouragingly. He groans as it quickly becomes a little too much.

He initiates another break by lifting Neil's chin and moving him up a little. "It's been a while, yeah?" he says with a lopsided smile, asking a little understanding. "And I'd like to do a bit more than just this. Sit back against the pillows," he says quietly, a gentle demand.

Lips bruised and wet, eyes dark with want and a little glassy, Neil smiles proudly when Harry has to stop him. It puts a bead of vicious pride in his belly, even if it’s just because Harry hasn’t had someone’s mouth on him in a while.

He kisses him sweetly, aware there’s precome smeared on his lips, and then he moves to the head of the bed. He lets his thighs lull open, reaching down to play with himself briefly.

Last man who insulted Harry by telling him was a cock-loving bugger had needed several stitches and spent a few weeks in hospital. The truth of the matter was irrelevant at the time - but Harry did indeed. Especially when attached to such a pretty picture - so full of want and need and lust.

He moved up on the bed and swatted the hand away playfully before he got down between the boy's knees. He gave the shaft a teasing lick, but then just went down on him, humming in pleasure as he did.

Neil moves his hand away, putting both of them onto the pillows behind him. He watches Harry raptly as he works at him, that tease and then the hot, wet heat of his mouth. By some miracle, Neil's hips don't jump; he groans, this soft, pitifully needy noise as he tips his head back.

"Shit," he breathes, biting his lip and digging his heels into the mattress a little.

It's good to know this sort of thing doesn't really age. He feels the tension in Neil's legs, and the writhing of his body under his touch, and it feels good to be the cause of it. He takes in what he can, uses his hand on the rest of him, and a thumb to kneed his balls lightly.

Darrow may be a shithole, but this was infinitely better than what he had to look forward to in jail.