shadows_have_offended | [for Harry | post Mardi Gras party]

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[for Harry | post Mardi Gras party]

They had to take a taxi back from the party because it was far enough outside of town that walking wasn't necessarily advisable, but that was alright. Neil sticks himself close to Harry in the back of the cab, the way he had after both of their dates, and radiates a subtle, soft affection that comes over him when he's alone with Harry.

Probably, he shouldn't be so easily enamored with people. Probably, someday, it will hurt him. He is, after all, playing a risky game with the casual encounters he has with Elliot and Benjamin, all while letting Harry dote just a little bit of romance at him. But it's terribly nice to be adored, even if he's sure it won't last. Maybe that's self-defeating. At least it's honest.

They arrive at Neil's building and, as always, Harry pays for the taxi. Neil certainly can't complain about that. He worries, occasionally, about the amount that Harry seems willing to pay on him--food and drinks, taxi rides, those sorts of things. But he also can't quite find it in himself to say that he's capable of paying his own way.

Inside the building, inside his apartment, Neil relaxes even more than he'd been at the pool side. He kicks off his shoes, having not put his socks back on after having them in the pool, and strips off his sweater he'd been wearing as well. It lifts his t-shirt briefly, revealing a strip of skin just about his jeans.

"Do you want something to drink?"

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The compliment makes him blush all over again, but he can't deny it when Harry says it with such a sweet tone and gentle touch. And then any other thought is gone, chased away by the slow, steady press of his cock inside. Neil groans and leans his head forward, against the wall, breathing through the stretch of it. It feels spectacular. He presses his hips back slowly, aching to meet him and take it all in.

When their thighs and hips touch, he whimpers softly.

Harry's careful at first. He knows the boy isn't a novice, but he doesn't want to cause discomfort. It's encouraging to feel him press back, wanting more, and Harry gives it. Once he's carefully inside he starts a steady pace, slow at first, hoping to draw out needy moans and whimpers he's beginning to quite love.

It’s a slow, languishing pace that pulls all kinds of noise out of Neil. He can feel every inch, every push and pull on his body, every hot breath and considerate, heavy touch, and they all make him a noisy, easy mess, practically begging for more of it before too long. It builds steadily, even if Harry started out slow, and not before too long, Neil feels free to move a little more freely, sitting back and riding Harry from that kneeling pose.

“Fuck,” he sighs, “you feel so good.”

Harry, encouraged by the moans and whimpers, keeps his steady and slow pace until his own patience is tested. It's not helped by Neil, who is pushing back, asking for more, nor the way he looks on his knees.

He puts his rough hand on Neil's soft and smooth shoulder and guides him up until the boy's back is against his chest. With a kiss to his neck and a second hand wrapped around his waist, he holds him in place as he encourages him to ride him like that.

To be held like that, such a knowing touch, feels as good as anything else they’re doing. The gentleness and the intimacy of it; Neil leans back a little, lettung Harry carry a little of his weight as he rides him. It’s a hungry movement, that sway of their hips, and though they’ve gained speed it isn’t a sort of hurried, boyish desperation that Neil gets with Benji or Ellie.

He sighs a curse, and another, until it’s a soft, needy mantra of fuck falling from his mouth. He curls a lazy hand around his cock, and lets the motion of being taken lead the motion of fucking into the ring of his fingers.

Harry's a lot less vocal, but he breathes and groans and holds Neil so he can let himself go, which he does and it's a beautiful sight. "That's it," he encourages and shifts to allow Neil a better angle still. "God, you're beautiful like this," he breathes and kisses his neck again.

It hardly matters that Harry's quieter; there's something comforting in the stoicism, the heavy breathing, the soft brush of words when they happen. And Neil melts to the compliments. He doesn't often feel very attractive, but he certainly does when a man is kissing his neck and going deep in him.

"Harry," he sighs, tilting his head back and to the side to expose his neck more. "Oh, Harry."

It's the angle, the whimpers, the soft body against his. It drives Harry to hold him tighter, to guide him, to push in deeper. His kisses become a little rougher, teeth scraping perfect skin.

Neil whimpers happily with the new force and pace, the scrape of teeth and the very slight itch of stubble—Harry’s clean shaven but as of that morning, so there’s enough there to get the slightest rasp. He strokes himself urgently now, reaching for that final pleasure. Everything has a slightly desperate edge to it now, and he loves when it gets like that.

“Gonna make me come,” he murmurs, not nonsensically, but with fair warning. He’s not quite there but he will be soon if they keep up just like this.

It's dirty words like that, that drive Harry to that same place of erratic pleasure. He groans and bucks his hips. He's not entirely in control anymore, but it's a safe loss. He trusts Neil and besides, he's giving in to pleasure, not anger.

He leaves Neil to take care of himself and puts one hand on the boy's cheek, and turns his face to kiss him. While wrapped in that kiss, the hand possessively settles on his neck, fingers over his throat.

To be turned and held just like that sinks heat rapidly in him. He kisses Harry back and takes his free hand off the wall so he can grab at him, fingers tight against his scalp, then the back of his neck. It's easy to make it a heady kiss, especially when Harry's fingers are so gently holding onto his throat that way.

His cock twitches in his hand, and he keeps moving enthusiastically even as he makes a mess, coming across his knuckles.

"Don't stop. God, don't stop."

Harry has no intention of stopping, not when Neil tightens around him as he comes, driving Harry over the edge as well.

The gentle hold over Neil's throat gets harder as he pushes in those final erratic times before he comes. He loosens his grip only when he comes down for that delicious high. "God, kid," he says breathlessly and kisses his neck. "You're something special."

It isn't something he's known that he was interested in or got off on, but there it is. He's done a bit of silly things like that, mostly with bites and scraping nails. But when Harry closes his fingers on him as he comes, Neil lets out a brief, happy whimper, clenching all over again as he feels the rapid, hot pump of come inside him.

When they relax and start to slump, Neil giggles a little bit.

"I don't know about that," he breathes, not wanting to move but definitely trying to get off his knees. "But I am awfully fun."

It suits Neil's humility that he should say that, but Harry won't allow it. That's talk for rent boys, not for Neil. "Don't put yourself down like that," he chides quietly and fondly, as he kisses Neil's temple.

"Take my word for it, yeah?"

Neil hardly thinks it's putting down. He thinks he's alright looking enough, with his sharp cheekbones and easy smile, but he's hardly handsome, or special. Still, he won't argue.

With some great effort, his legs trembling a little bit, he eases off Harry's softening cock. He's a thorough mess and ought to clean up, but the prospect of moving from bed to bathroom and back sounds like too much.

Instead, he smiles at Harry and cups his cheek. "You'll stay the night?"

Harry rather likes Neil a mess. But he would like to get cleaned up before bed himself.

He smiles at the offer. "I'd like that." He says. "Shower?" he suggests with a hand through Neil's hair. "You're a mess," he jokes easily.

“If I have to,” Neil teases back. He gets up slowly, legs a little wobbly still, and after some great effort of concentration he moves toward the bathroom. A little blush marks his cheeks; he is a mess, and can feel it.

Harry watches him, enjoying the simple pleasure of seeing the boy unsteady and lazy.

He's aware he's getting attached. He rather likes that.

In the bathroom, Neil runs the water hot and leans against the cool tile until Harry joins him. He smiles at him. Neil has been trying, in these past months, to remind himself that romance tends to go disastrously for him. Charlie, then Todd (such as it was), and then Gabriel in Darrow. Each time, he makes a mess of it, one way or another. So he’s given it up—or so he tells himself.

There’s something about Harry, how he looks at him, that makes him consider. It isn’t the smitten, fawning look that Ellie or Benji give him, nor the strict hunger that some men have eaten him up with. No, Neil just feels...wanted.

How very silly of him, to want to be wanted.

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[for Harry | post Mardi Gras party]

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