Between the sudden lower register and the Antivan, not to mention the forcefulness with which he's pushed back, Benedict is immediately back at full mast. There's a sort of glimmer in his eyes, fascination and mischief, and it is a happy look on the whole: fucking finally, he's thinking, and for once it's not even with a total stranger.
"Look who's the big man now," he says with a languid, goading smile, resting back as he allows Josias to attend to his clothing. Still holding his cigarette, he takes from a puff on it and blows it smugly in Josias' direction. Oh yeah? I'm not afraid of you.
Josias gives a considering sound, making quick work of Benedict's laces and skinning his trousers off. It says something for their encounters that he wasn't already naked - Benedict always in a rush and likely not entirely invested in the first place. His preferences had been clear from the start. Josias, as he was, hadn't been able to meet them, but he'd wanted to play anyway. Perhaps he'd only really succeeded in leaving them both unsatisfied.
"You've always been the puppy, puppy," he says, reaching to pluck the cigarette from Benedict's fingers. He takes a drag, then stubs it out on the bedpost, flicks it somewhere amongst the mess on the floor. Benedict should recognise that one word, the only piece of Antivan he's demonstrated knowledge of. Perhaps he'll even remember as Josias does, that first flirtation, pretty and arrogant and thinking he'd found himself a lost lamb to tease.
"But no one sees me," he says, as he sets a knee between Benedict's thighs, a promise of pressure to his cock that only strays closer as Josias settles over him, tangling a fist in his hair to drag him into another kiss. "So I can hardly fault you for the misunderstanding, can I?"
It's a way to pass the time, Benedict would have answered before, naturally omitting the important factor that sometimes someone just wants attention: to be cared about, to be told he's doing a good job. If not with a voice, then with someone's cock, however fleetingly.
He gasps in dismay when his cigarette is pilfered, but then laughs with genuine delight at how Josias uses it, in tandem with what he understands of the words: he understands enough to get the basic gist-- he's a puppy-- and something about seeing and understanding. Sure.
"Belissim--" he is in the middle of saying when he's muted by the kiss, and presses hungrily up against Josias. Whoever the fuck this is, he's a fan.
There it is. The hunger. That was what Josias wanted, needed right now. To have someone's entire focus, mind and bodily desire hooked to him and him alone. It's only a taste, of course, but he's greedy for it, kissing Benedict like he could drink from him, fingers tightening in his hair, holding himself aloft enough that Benedict has to arch up off the bed for it.
His own arousal had gone cold with the memory of the mud, but it lights again now. The warm flush of it rolls through him like a wave that, strong enough, might wash that undone past away.
He draws back, sudden, releasing Benedict back to the bedsheets. "Shirt off," he says, Trade for the instruction, impatient as he looks over the mess of the bed and floor for the oil they'd used earlier. "Sbrigati."
Another little expulsion of air, surprised, when the warmth of Josias is taken away so quickly, but Benedict rapidly understands the necessity of it. He's in the business of being cheeky, however, so he goes about unlacing his high-necked tunic in a most unhurried manner, periodically glancing up to Josias to see if he has any thoughts on the matter.
Once he does finally slip it off, it's apparent that he's accrued a few gruesome scars in his time: one at his belly where a sword was plunged through, and a poorly-healed slash across his neck, white and jagged against the tan of his skin.
Unfortunately for Benedict, most of the display is missed while Josias flicks aside pillows and items of clothing on the floor. He finds the jar of oil quickly enough to catch the tail end though, expecting the other man to be naked already but only just peeling the tunic off.
"Are you trying to tease me?" he asks, amusement clear in his tone even if Benedict doesn't understand the words. Climbing back onto the bed, Josias spreads a palm broad on Benedict's stomach, fingertips against the edge of that scar. This is the first Josias has seen him fully naked, and he takes a moment, appreciative, sliding his fingers up the long centre line of him, belly and sternum, to his neck. "You've been doing that for months already."
He leans in to suck a kiss to the thin skin below Benedict's ear, fingers tracing the same route back down, down, wrapping slowly around his cock. "I'd offer to show you a real tease, but I'm afraid I don't have the patience today," he murmurs low as he settles his grip, gives a pull, slow.
For all the airs he puts on, Benedict has a hard time keeping still in moments like this, especially given such prompting. He arches toward Josias' hand, squirming with a pleased little sound at the feeling of the mouth in the curve of his jaw. He angles his head toward Josias', looking to meet him with another kiss, if he allows it.
The kiss is allowed. Encouraged, even, Josias taking a moment to indulge in it again, any little shift and reaction he tugs out of Benedict with the slow work of his hand. He doesn't linger with it too long, though. Wouldn't want matters to come to a conclusion too soon.
"Up," is Trade again, as he withdraws. "On your knees."
He doesn't pull away completely, though. He has several visions of how this could go, all of them built in fine detail over the months, their encounters and long boring afternoons in the Diplomacy office, where observing the fall of Benedict's hair and the shape of his shoulders seemed more productive than pretending to do the books. His hands keep Benedict steady as he moves up onto his knees, draw him in to rest his back against Josias' chest. His arm snares around his middle to keep him there, hand tipping upright, offering the jar of oil.
"Open it," he says, a little muffled, dragging open-mouthed kisses down the column of Benedict's neck. "No spills."
The occasional little hum into Josias' mouth as Benedict enjoys the attention, and his smile can be felt in the curve of his lips as the order is given. He complies, of course, and can't help but to feel a little pang of yearning as he's pressed back against Josias; he's never been held like this before, and even in a context like this one, he finds he would like to stay here.
He takes the oil with a little smile, angling his head back with a wiggle of his shoulder. "What happens if I do?"
"I'd have to leave to find another," is the dreadfully practical answer, tone of obviously threaded through. He thinks that Benedict is perhaps a little too playful for his own good, clearly inclined to teases but without the experience to know when the consequences may not just be his partner's increasing attention. He has Josias' attention, fully, and Josias demonstrates as much with a roll of his hips, letting Benedict feel how hard he is, if he wasn't already aware.
It takes the wind out of Bene's sails, a bit, and he huffs a little sigh, but rolls his eyes and takes the jar to open it-- carefully, as is sensible to do-- and hand it to Josias.
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first post hey cw for FUCKIN'
"Look who's the big man now," he says with a languid, goading smile, resting back as he allows Josias to attend to his clothing. Still holding his cigarette, he takes from a puff on it and blows it smugly in Josias' direction. Oh yeah? I'm not afraid of you.
christ
"You've always been the puppy, puppy," he says, reaching to pluck the cigarette from Benedict's fingers. He takes a drag, then stubs it out on the bedpost, flicks it somewhere amongst the mess on the floor. Benedict should recognise that one word, the only piece of Antivan he's demonstrated knowledge of. Perhaps he'll even remember as Josias does, that first flirtation, pretty and arrogant and thinking he'd found himself a lost lamb to tease.
"But no one sees me," he says, as he sets a knee between Benedict's thighs, a promise of pressure to his cock that only strays closer as Josias settles over him, tangling a fist in his hair to drag him into another kiss. "So I can hardly fault you for the misunderstanding, can I?"
aren't you glad I'm here
He gasps in dismay when his cigarette is pilfered, but then laughs with genuine delight at how Josias uses it, in tandem with what he understands of the words: he understands enough to get the basic gist-- he's a puppy-- and something about seeing and understanding. Sure.
"Belissim--" he is in the middle of saying when he's muted by the kiss, and presses hungrily up against Josias. Whoever the fuck this is, he's a fan.
yes this is exactly how to break an inbox in
His own arousal had gone cold with the memory of the mud, but it lights again now. The warm flush of it rolls through him like a wave that, strong enough, might wash that undone past away.
He draws back, sudden, releasing Benedict back to the bedsheets. "Shirt off," he says, Trade for the instruction, impatient as he looks over the mess of the bed and floor for the oil they'd used earlier. "Sbrigati."
no subject
Once he does finally slip it off, it's apparent that he's accrued a few gruesome scars in his time: one at his belly where a sword was plunged through, and a poorly-healed slash across his neck, white and jagged against the tan of his skin.
no subject
"Are you trying to tease me?" he asks, amusement clear in his tone even if Benedict doesn't understand the words. Climbing back onto the bed, Josias spreads a palm broad on Benedict's stomach, fingertips against the edge of that scar. This is the first Josias has seen him fully naked, and he takes a moment, appreciative, sliding his fingers up the long centre line of him, belly and sternum, to his neck. "You've been doing that for months already."
He leans in to suck a kiss to the thin skin below Benedict's ear, fingers tracing the same route back down, down, wrapping slowly around his cock. "I'd offer to show you a real tease, but I'm afraid I don't have the patience today," he murmurs low as he settles his grip, gives a pull, slow.
no subject
no subject
"Up," is Trade again, as he withdraws. "On your knees."
He doesn't pull away completely, though. He has several visions of how this could go, all of them built in fine detail over the months, their encounters and long boring afternoons in the Diplomacy office, where observing the fall of Benedict's hair and the shape of his shoulders seemed more productive than pretending to do the books. His hands keep Benedict steady as he moves up onto his knees, draw him in to rest his back against Josias' chest. His arm snares around his middle to keep him there, hand tipping upright, offering the jar of oil.
"Open it," he says, a little muffled, dragging open-mouthed kisses down the column of Benedict's neck. "No spills."
no subject
He takes the oil with a little smile, angling his head back with a wiggle of his shoulder. "What happens if I do?"
no subject
"I think you'd prefer me to stay, hm?"
no subject