𝑚𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑛 𝑎𝑢

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𝑚𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑛 𝑎𝑢

ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ
ᴘᴏʟᴀʀᴏɪᴅs ᴏғ ᴍᴇ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴɪɢʜᴛsᴛᴀɴᴅ
ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ
ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴇɴ I'ᴍ ᴛᴏᴏ sʜʏ ᴛᴏ sʜᴏᴡ ᴍʏ sᴋɪɴ

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➤ 𝑤ℎ𝑦 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟?

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( continued from here. )

Careful not to make a mess of the bus seat. You've already soaked through your underwear.

[ and he will absolutely get his hands on the fabric, his mouth, anything to make koby squirm and shift and make all those precious noises he so loves to hear. it's been a long time since they saw one another last, after all.

he manages to get up and unlock the front door, tugging his own underwear up and the tight fit of koby's shirt around his broad chest. he should go cool off a little, will the fire in his blood down, but instead he waits - because the moment koby walks in the door?

he'll be shoved up against it and kissed hard, ruthless, unable to help the absolute way he craves him. ]

[kobes]

[Koby nearly replies, nearly insists that this isn't true -- but it is, it's true, the rumble and rattle of the bus as it crawls it's way from the base to the apartment Quentin calls home when he's in town. He's so wet he doesn't dare uncross his legs the entire time, one knee over the other, thighs pressed together hard like that'll somehow alleviate the throbbing, aching emptiness prompted by the photos Quentin had sent, by their long absence. Much of Koby's shyness has faded after over a month of phone calls that inevitably ended in him whimpering Quentin's name and riding his own fingers until he came sobbing.

But still, it's been a while since they saw one another, and there's the faintest spark of worry -- what if that electric, mind-numbing chemistry is somehow gone, beaten into exhaustion by the time and distance?

That worry vanishes immediately, the minute Koby gets the door open, gets inside, one hand fumbling with his jacket, the other reaching out immediately, instinctively, hungry for the heat of Quentin pressing him up against the door, shutting it with a low thud. Koby barely notices, he's too busy trying to get his hands all over Quentin, feel everything he's only been able to look at for weeks, reacquaint his hands with the shape of him. And of course -- kiss him, kiss him hard, hungry, tongue and teeth and a deep, needy moan that tears it's way out of Koby's throat, muffled against Quentin's mouth.]

I missed you. [It's unnecessary, mumbled as Koby shrugs off his coat, fumbles with his belt, all while trying to touch Quentin as much as possible, his face, his hair, his shoulders, the contours of his muscles beneath the too-tight shirt. He shifts, nudging his thigh up between Quentin's, shuddering out a sigh at how hard he is, even while Koby's unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, soaked and desperate for relief.] I missed you, I can't -- go that long again, I don't think I can bear it.

[He grabs for one of Quentin's hands, tugs it up to press against the wet heat between his legs, breathing against his mouth:] See? Look what you did.