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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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.

Besides the occasional swear, Neil’s reduced to a lot of quiet, needy breathing. He blushes, listening to Harry suck him, because it’s a deliciously, delightfully filthy noise and half of why Neil doesn’t want to be too noisy over everything.

His hands find their way to Harry’s hair, threading through and disrupting the severe coif. It’s easy to grab him and rock his hips just a little.

It's been a while since anyone grabbed his head like that. Boys around him tended to be a lot more passive in London. It might have something to do with the way Harry deals with arguments and the hard hand with which he runs his business. He doesn't think they feared him, but they knew to be careful.

Neil doesn't know anything about Harry's past. He just knows what he wants and right now that's Harry's mouth. Harry finds he likes that feeling; that need as his hair is grabbed, that want when the kid rocks his hips. He'd smile, but his mouth is busy. Instead he looks up at the kid, eyes dark and he opens up, taking the boy in deeper.

Harry looks up at him, dark and hungry, and Neil's breath stutters for a second. He squirms, bites his lip. He knows if he comes, he could get it up again, but also it'd be terribly embarrassing if he did.

"Harry," he sighs, breathless, panting as Harry takes him down again. He squirms a bit more. "Oh, Harry."

It's honey to his ears and he hums, pleased that his effort is paying off in such a pretty way. He adds a bit of teeth, a bit of force, a little edge just to hear the kid squirm even more.

He's still getting used to the idea of force, though he's increasingly familiar with things quick and dirty. There's a part of him that wants to let Harry have his way and just suck him off, which seems to be an intention here.

More than that, though, he wants other things. His fingers clutch at Harry's hair on a particularly delicious stroke of his mouth, and he gasps, "Fuck me."

Part of Harry just wants to turn him over and do what he's asked, but he prides himself on control and so he doesn't. Instead he moves up and kisses Neil and puts a hand through the boy's hair. "You're beautiful," he says, voice hoarse and low. "Want to turn over for me?"

The kiss wasn’t strictly necessary, but Neil appreciates it. He blushes, just a little, and nods. When Harry’s given him the room to do it, he turns and puts his head and shoulders down on the bed, hips raised, legs slightly spread. After everything Harry’s done he’s sensitive and gently vibrating with need.

It's not a matter of necessary, it's just that Harry likes it. Likewise, he likes the view he's given when Neil turns over and drapes himself over the bed sheets.

He slicks his fingers on his mouth (he could go out to the kitchen, but he's too eager) and pushes in one with gentle determination.

Neil is keyed up, but he's relaxed. There's no shift for a bedside table, no click of lube being opened, and Neil's face flushes exponentially. It's hardly the first time he's done something that demanded a quicker, filthier sort of preparation, but normally that was because he was messing around in a bathroom or something.

He nuzzles his face against the sheets, letting himself open up to it, those spit-slick fingers deft and confident, and gentle.

Harry has no intention of hurting Neil, and he's gentle throughout, preparing him, while making sure his fingers are and remain slick enough.

He finds freckles on his back and kisses them, but he doesn't stop moving his fingers, scissoring and opening him up.

Neil shivers and shakes, blushing feverishly every time Harry re-slicks his fingers with spit. He's glad to have his face down, to be able to smother the needy embarrassment of it. His cock twitches between his legs. He shifts a little bit, so he can spit in his hand and reach back to stroke Harry languidly.