For all Ed's effort to gently ease him into things his touch is raw and electric, lighting up his brain like a slot-machine - and he moans faintly into Ed's lips, tensing as those skimming fingers find his fly and tease it open. And when Ed palms him and sends a snap of adrenaline through his spine - his hand shockingly hot through his briefs- , he realizes just how little power and money mean here, with Ed. He stares, helplessly, barely breathing under Ed's long, focused look. Under the weight of a gaze that peels him back and leaves him trembling and keenly naked even while still dressed.
Somewhere along the way he finds his voice, finds the cheekiness to try and challenge the claim Ed's staking on him even while his pulse sharpens between his legs.
"I hate to burst your bubble," he clears his throat, swallowing, "but this had nothing to do with you."
"Then I'll have to make sure that it has everything to do with me now." It is really just logic, isn't it? Edward has a certain craving for approval and attention, no doubt. He wanted the undivided focus and as it turns out, there is a lot of focus to be gained when holding a man's erection. Not exactly a surprising twist, but nonetheless fascinating.
He feels him harden under his attention, the movements of his fingers. He knows what he's doing, of course, not having been with another man doesn't mean that he hasn't had plenty of time to experiment by himself. It certainly seems to be doing the trick.
"I want this to be for me, Oswald." So he will make sure it is.
It doesn't take much for the sureness of Ed's grip or the rasp of fabric on flesh with every shifting movement to get to him; he feels precome leaking hot, blotting his underwear, a misplaced twinge of embarrassment with it. The flush staining his neck deepens. He's never been seen like this before.
"And then what?" He presses, escaping Ed's look - any hint of judgment on his face - by closing his eyes. He breathes through the heavy ache twisting his guts. "Seeing as you seem to have given this some thought."
Ed might be waiting for him to give in, he's realizing, to squirm and needily buck his hips for more. It isn't so different, this, from any other power-game; only it's between friends, at least. More strange than fun, for the moment.
"...then we were going to have breakfast." Because whatever his tendencies toward a game built around dominance and submission may be, it's not where his mind currently is. He wants to pleasure Oswald and, yes, he wants him to experience that pleasure as something that is tied to him, but there's no big plan behind that. It almost feels like a shortcoming, now that he feels under Oswald's scrutiny, but finally he just leans in and kisses him, trying to keep it sweet instead of demanding. "I want you to want me."
It's said against his lips, while his fingers tighten around him just a little, never veering too close to painful. That can wait.
He curves a gentle hand around the side of Ed's neck.
Breakfast - not the answer he was expecting but a nice idea, one that almost normalized the idea of waking up tangled in each others' arms, warm and rested and aching with a different sort of hunger. But it could wait.
The brush of Ed's lips is all he needs for now, the way it fills the hollowness in his chest with a glowing, giddy magic he feels somehow too young and too old for. He smiles, helplessly, into the kiss, eyes still shut when Ed pulls away to talk.
"Well..." A soft stuttering breath slides out of him - the beginnings of a laugh, almost - when Ed's hand closes a little tighter around him. "I'm here, aren't I?"
He licks his lips, quiet and expectant. His lashes tremble faintly.
"You are here," he repeats in agreement, his own smile unwavering. He's not even aware that he's smiling, especially not like this. Soft, not cunning, almost a little sheepish, which isn't an attribute he'd have liked to see tied to himself. But it suits him well enough, fits the mood of the day, especially now that Oswald no longer seems that intent on suspecting a trap.
The words are taken into consideration immediately, even if for how it's just his hand that moves along him, thumb swiping over the tip, just as his tongue quickly darts out to touch Oswald's lip, right before he leans in for another kiss.
The tongue-flick is more startling than the sweep of Ed's thumb over raw nerves and he rears his head back, eyes blinking his open to the sight of Ed's smile. Thankfully, he isn't given long enough to decide whether being licked offends him or not because they're bumping noses, chins, and kissing again - a slow burn, a gentle wearing down of his defenses - and all is as it should be again. He digs his fingers lightly into Ed's skin, stroking him with his thumb.
"It's a start..." A beat. "Although I would not be opposed if you were to slip your hand in." There's a nervous flexing of muscles in his throat. "Hypothetically speaking, of course."
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Somewhere along the way he finds his voice, finds the cheekiness to try and challenge the claim Ed's staking on him even while his pulse sharpens between his legs.
"I hate to burst your bubble," he clears his throat, swallowing, "but this had nothing to do with you."
Had.
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He feels him harden under his attention, the movements of his fingers. He knows what he's doing, of course, not having been with another man doesn't mean that he hasn't had plenty of time to experiment by himself. It certainly seems to be doing the trick.
"I want this to be for me, Oswald." So he will make sure it is.
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"And then what?" He presses, escaping Ed's look - any hint of judgment on his face - by closing his eyes. He breathes through the heavy ache twisting his guts. "Seeing as you seem to have given this some thought."
Ed might be waiting for him to give in, he's realizing, to squirm and needily buck his hips for more. It isn't so different, this, from any other power-game; only it's between friends, at least. More strange than fun, for the moment.
no subject
It's said against his lips, while his fingers tighten around him just a little, never veering too close to painful. That can wait.
no subject
Breakfast - not the answer he was expecting but a nice idea, one that almost normalized the idea of waking up tangled in each others' arms, warm and rested and aching with a different sort of hunger. But it could wait.
The brush of Ed's lips is all he needs for now, the way it fills the hollowness in his chest with a glowing, giddy magic he feels somehow too young and too old for. He smiles, helplessly, into the kiss, eyes still shut when Ed pulls away to talk.
"Well..." A soft stuttering breath slides out of him - the beginnings of a laugh, almost - when Ed's hand closes a little tighter around him. "I'm here, aren't I?"
He licks his lips, quiet and expectant. His lashes tremble faintly.
"You are allowed to move, by the way."
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The words are taken into consideration immediately, even if for how it's just his hand that moves along him, thumb swiping over the tip, just as his tongue quickly darts out to touch Oswald's lip, right before he leans in for another kiss.
"The right kind of movement?"
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"It's a start..." A beat. "Although I would not be opposed if you were to slip your hand in." There's a nervous flexing of muscles in his throat. "Hypothetically speaking, of course."