Logs:Command Me To Be Well

Command Me To Be Well
cn: explicit sex, depictions of rape
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Steve	2019-09-16 "I'm here."
Location <PRV> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. In the dining room, a quiet rattle has joined the soft burble of the twinned aquariums' filters. There are numerous tiny pastel eggs sitting nestled in the cagelike grip of Flicker's mechanical hand; they clatter and click against the hard plastic fingers as he shakes them lightly. A number of small colorful wooden tokens -- shaped like cherries, little grubs, fish, mice, small stalks of grain -- already sit in a plastic holder; the eggs are supposed to be joining a host of similar pieces in a little round birds nest. The rattling is, apparently, too satisfying to set them down just yet. "Those cards need shuffling." He is nodding to the slick new deck. "Have you -- played a lot of..." He trails off with a slight flush. "I promise it's not as complicated as it looks." Steve is staring down at the nest full of pastel eggs, the myriad wooden tokens, the colorful graphic dice, the (large!) player mats, the three rulebooks. "I believe you but ah...I have to admit I was expecting something more like Monopoly. With birds." But he picks up the stack of cards as instructed and begins shuffling them, the motion practiced. "I've played a lot of card games -- though generally there were only fifty-two cards. Not so many board games, other than chess and checkers." He cuts the deck and performs a textbook riffle. "I'm guessing I've probably got entirely the wrong idea about game night, then?" Flicker's eyes shift to Steve's hands as he shuffles. "Oh -- I don't think we've ever had Monopoly anywhere near Game Night." He ducks his head, tips his hand over to drop the eggs back into their nest. "We play a lot of different types -- they're not all as complicated as this. We try to mix it up enough to have something for a range of tastes. It's been a while since I've -- I used to do it every week, but." His head shakes as he starts shuffling a different set of tiles together. "At first I was just busy but I guess with all the chaos it just felt hard to -- want to jump back into life, you know? I feel like it might be about time to try, though." "Good. I've only played it twice and it was equally terrible both times." Steve's smile is quick and sharp. "Would have turned me off to the whole Capitalism business if being poor hadn't done the job already." He squares the deck and casts around for a place to set it down. "Matt's always crowing about this event of yours, so early on I figured there must be a lot of chess. I've since come to realize he's a man of somewhat more complicated tastes." He blushes suddenly. "I didn't mean like --" He laughs, shaking his head. Just settles the cards next to the dice tray. "Well. I can't promise I'll be any good at this game, or the other kinds you play, but I sure wouldn't mind dropping by Game Night. If you'd have me." "There's sometimes chess." Flicker plucks some of the tiles out of the pile and sets the rest aside. His eyes widen slightly, eyes fixing steadily on the new goal tiles he is just laying out. "Yeah. If you'd want -- I mean, I'd like that. I guess you'll have to see if you want --" His wood-grained fingers uncurl stiffly, gesturing toward the game laid out on the table. "If it's your speed. But even for people not that into games there's always good food and company and --" He shrugs a shoulder. "Maybe you'd have fun anyway. Just hanging out with people outside of work or Chimaera or. I don't actually know if you have a lot of other." His cheeks darken a shade further. "Community. Yet." "I do like good food and company." Steve braces both hands on the table and leans forward, studying the goal tiles. "I suppose I could find that a lot of places, but I just -- haven't." His broad shoulders hitch up, and do not relax quite all the way back down. "Well, no, I've found plenty, here and there. Just been hard..." He frowns. Shakes his head. "Hard to get close to folks, I suppose." Flicker has started to reach for the deck, but he stops here, letting his hand fall back to the table. His eyes lift to Steve's face. "I -- could imagine a lot of reasons for that, with your -- um, everything, but --" His other hand turns up. "Is it something in particular that's been making it harder?" Steve keeps his gaze on the game, uncomprehending though it may be. "Probably the shell -- uh, PTSD?" He swallows. "And...maybe this is a part of it, but. Well." Sucks in a deep breath. His voice comes out quavery. "Lot of folks I was close to are dead now. Most not in the war, thank God, but for me it was -- awful sudden." "I'm sorry. That's --" Flicker starts to reach out when Steve's voice wavers, but drops his hand back to the table. "Losing people you love isn't ever easy. I can't imagine dealing with that when it's -- kind of your whole world, too. Not just losing them but -- having nobody who knew them to talk about it with." He hesitates, fingers tracing against the grains of wood in the table. "Does it help? To talk about it?" "It wasn't the best of worlds," Steve admits with a short, harsh laugh. "Neither is this." He looks up at Flicker, eyes brimming. Looks down again. "Don't know. Haven't done a lot of talking about it. If I do..." Shakes his head. "Not sure I'm strong enough," comes out quiet. For a moment it seems like he might leave it at that, but then his shoulders tighten. "Howard Stark. Was my lover." Flicker's breath catches for a quick second when Steve looks up. In the next instant he's across the table, pulling a chair up closer to Steve so that he can drop into it. Rest his hand on the other man's back, rub slowly. He doesn't reply at first, and when he does it's quiet. "That has to be a lot you've been carrying, too. I don't think there's a timetable for this kind of thing. But also you don't -- have to. Be strong -- all on your own. Sometimes when it's too much you're allowed to fall apart some. Let your friends give you some of our strong." Steve does not flinch this time when Flicker blinks across the room. "God, he was an ass, but I loved him so. At the time, I believed he loved me, too, however flippant he was about it." His hands grip the edge of the table hard, but relax visibly at Flicker's touch. "After, I tried to tell myself it was just a fling that happened to hold his attention for a while. That it wouldn't have outlasted the war by long anyway. That he didn't suffer decades of this, never speaking of it for fear of tarnishing my legacy. That he could remember me with fondness instead of agony." One tear slides down his cheek. Then another. And another. He produces a plain white handkerchief from his back pocket to dry them. "Wish I could believe it." The sudden tension beneath Flicker's hand feels like a choked-back sob, and he leans toward the other man, shaking visibly. "I've known some people to hide a lot of love under some very --" Flicker can't help a fleeting glance toward the closed kitchen door, the sounds of clinking dishes and running water coming from behind it, "-- cavalier exteriors." He curls his arm more securely around Steve, drawing the other man nearer when he starts to lean toward him. Just holding Steve close, squeezing at his shoulder. "Things are kind of different now. Really -- really far from perfect but. I don't know what he might have gone through after losing you. Worrying about what people might think. But it... doesn't have to be the same for you, probably." Steve's laughter seems to startle him, though the tears keep coming. "I take your point, but as far as I could tell, he was nothing like Luci. Sometimes I wonder..." He mops his face again, leaning into Flicker's embrace. "...if I might have grown to loathe him, had he not offered comfort I so desperately needed, in the face of such unspeakable horrors, or if we had ever gotten more than just...frantic stolen moments between missions." The shaking eases, but his breathing does not even out with it. "But that's all we had, and now he's gone and I miss him so much. I miss them all so much." "I'm sorry. I can't even imagine." Flicker doesn't let go. His breathing has -- not quite to the same degree -- sped up, grown slightly less steady; it has none of the ragged quality of Steve's but falls nearly in time with it. Nearly in time with it for a short while, at least, before Flicker's own breathing -- gradually -- eases back into a steadier rhythm. "I don't know what might or might not have happened if -- not for war. But I do know living through that must have been it's own kind of horrific and I'm -- I'm glad. That you had that comfort." Steve turns his face against Flicker's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to --" He struggles for a word that doesn't present itself, though the sobbing finally stops and with it his breathing comes easier. "After the horrors you've been through, the last thing I wanted to do was make you worry about me." He straightens a little, just enough to raise his bloodshot eyes and meet Flicker's gaze. "You deserve comfort too." Flicker's hand continues to rub at Steve's back. Kneading gently between his shoulders. "It's okay. I can't just live in my head all the time." He sounds a little wry. "I worry about the people I love no matter what's happening. I honestly worry a little less if I can actually -- offer some help. I don't mind if --" His breath catches as Steve looks up, his eyes widening as his hand very slowly drops. Then lifts again, halfway toward Steve's face. He pulls it back sharply with a sudden flush of red in his cheeks. "Steve --" There's a faint tremor in his voice. In the next moment he's leaning in, completing the motion he'd only just aborted, his hand gentle where he reaches to cup Steve's face but the press of his mouth fierce. Steve watches Flicker's hand, mesmerized. Blinks as he pulls back. Starts to reply almost the same time the other man speaks his name, but if he meant to do more than groan into the abrupt kiss he does not succeed. One of his arms wind around Flicker, the other hand rising to trace rough fingertips along his jaw. "Flicker --" he gasps, pulling away for breath but not pulling away entirely, "-- oh!" His recently won calm deserts him all at once and he pulls the smaller man to him, hands roaming jerkily over his clothes. Flicker draws in a unsteady breath against Steve's mouth. His eyes flutter closed, his hand skimming down to the back of Steve's neck. "Oh -- please --" It's just a soft breath between hungry kisses. Flicker is easily tractable in Steve's hands; he shifts from his chair half into the other man's lap, body pressing up into the touch. Steve lifts Flicker up easily, settling him more snugly, straddling his lap. His kisses roam lower, down over his neck, his fingers going to the collar of Flicker's polo shirt, unbuttoning it more deftly than really seems probable given their chaotic fumbling so far. "Yes, I -- what..." He kisses Flicker's chest through the open collar of the shirt. "We don't have to, but -- ?" His cheeks burn hot as he looks up, the game on the table beside them forgotten. "Do you want me to -- oh..." His question dissolves into a quiet moan as his one of his hands slips beneath Flicker's shirt. At the 'we don't have to' Flicker's breathing hitches, his hand shifting to Steve's shoulder and the slightest ripple of tension in his posture as he starts to pull back. He doesn't get far -- at the very next half-formed question, at the hand that slips against his skin, he melts back into Steve with a shiver. A series of kisses dotted with increasing fervor to the other man's neck. "Pleaseyes." Not whispered or breathy this time but immediate, vehement, an unfettered need lending the words a raw edge. His mechanical hand braces itself against the backrest of the chair; his other pushes up at Steve's shirt, palm skimming over the other man's broad chest. "I want you." Steve arches into the touch, the kiss he returns for it urgent and deep. His arms wind around Flicker's waist, lifting the smaller man effortlessly as he stands and settling him on the edge of the dining table. If he registers at all that they're making a mess of the many piles of Wingspan pieces, he gives no hint. "You have me," is surprisingly gentle, as are the hands tugging at Flicker's shirt, inexpertly attempting to remove it without upsetting the harness for the prosthetic arm beneath it. "I'm here." "Oh!" Flicker's breath quickens when Steve lifts him to the table. In the brief span here between kisses he tugs further at Steve's t-shirt, at first clumsy with the motion until he gives up and the shirt just vanishes, reappearing a few feet away to fall in a crumpled heap on the floor. He's somewhat more hesitant with his own clothing, slow and a little uncertain as he helps Steve peel off the polo shirt together with the undershirt beneath. His eyes have locked, wide and a bit more apprehensive, on Steve's face as the shirts come off to leave the soft cuff and harness criss-crossing his chest and upper back. He releases his clothes to join the other shirt in a growing pile. His mechanical fingers curl against the table, his other hand reaching more tentatively to wrap around Steve's waist. "You're here." Probably this wasn't intended as a question, but something anxious and hopeful in his tone leaves it not wholly definitive. Steve blinks and looks down, momentarily uncomprehending, when his shirt just. Vanishes. His hands follow Flicker's lead, aiding with the removal of the other man's clothing before they stroke down -- still gentle but not at all hesitant -- over his chest, scars and harness and all. His eyes trace the lines on Flicker's skin with something like curiosity but no hint of revulsion, the feverish intensity in them unabated as his hands slide back around Flicker to pull their bodies together again. "I am. So are you." He holds Flicker's gaze for a moment more, then falls to kissing him again, hands rubbing slow, firm circles down his back. Flicker exhales shakily, relaxing back into the caresses when Steve pulls him closer again. "Thank you. I mean -- this is -- you are --"He slides his hand over the other man's chest, a quiet moan hitched in his throat as his fingertips run hungrily over firm muscle. He lowers his head, trailing kisses against the side of Steve's neck, against his collarbone. Mostly kisses, anyway -- a little less defined as he continues, one spilling into the next spilling into hungry scrapes of teeth, lips closing on skin to suck harder. His hand drops too, his fingers curling into the waistband of the other man's jeans. Kind of tugging, more exploratory than insistent. Steve's smile at Flicker's words is almost shy. "I'm not very experienced, but -- oh!" His head rolls back with a soft sigh of pleasure when the kisses turn aggressive. His grip starts to tighten against Flicker's back, but he catches himself and drops both hands to the other man's belt. Follows it around, fingers playing over the buckle without undoing it. "Please, let me --" His cheeks flush and his breathing quickens. "-- make you feel good." Flicker's body presses more firmly against Steve's at that tighter grip. He buries his face against Steve's neck with a small whimper and a fiercer nip. His fingers curl hard around the denim, his hips rolling forward against Steve with a sudden urgency. He is already starting to nod before the other man has finished speaking, quick and eager -- though when he does pull back he looks a bit flushed, a bit dazed. "You are. Making me... this feels amazing." He nods again -- sinks back into a fierce kiss, fumbling at the fastenings of Steve's jeans -- catches himself just enough to pull back with a blush, with a supplicating look tipped up toward the larger man. "I just want you to, too. Please. Can you -- can we --" Here though his words just melt into another kiss. Flicker's urgency is infectious, and Steve returns his kiss even more fervently than before. "Oh, you needn't worry about that, I feel --" The rest of his words falter and dissolve into a breathy gasp when the other man starts on his jeans. "Yes. I'll do my best to outdo amazing." This time he leans into Flicker's kiss hard, slowly pushing him back, one hand braced between his shoulders to ease him down to the tabletop while his other hand undoes his lover's fly. He kisses down Flicker's neck, down his chest, lips playing lightly over the scars, down his abdomen, his rapid breaths caressing soft skin, then carefully takes his cock into his mouth. The gaming boards get pushed askew as Steve pushes Flicker to the table. Flicker's breathing speeds; his eyes are wide and wondering as he tracks Steve's slow path down his body. He isn't watching all that long before his head thumps back against the table, eyes fluttering closed at the light trail of kisses. "Amazing," he echoes softly, "you're..." This ends in a shudder, a moan, a sudden rattling skitter as a jerky twitch of his hand against the table upends the nest full of tiny egg tokens. He claps his hand to his mouth after this, somewhat ineffectually stifling the noises that accompany the reflexive upward press of his hips. Once past the first flush of caution, Steve moves confidently and enthusiastically. Flicker's reactions only spur him on, his tongue swiping even while his head bobs. Gaze trained up along the line of his lover's body, he moans as Flicker arches, pushing in deeper. His breathing ragged and shallow now, Steve's hands skim lightly along Flicker's sides, sliding under and cradling his hips. Flicker's mechanical fingers scrabble roughly against the table. His other moves to rest against the back of Steve's neck, fingertips playing lightly in the short blonde hair. He tilts his head up enough to look down, meet Steve's gaze, his own face flushed and pupils slightly wider. His attempt to prop himself up on his right arm doesn't last long before it slips straight and he drops back against the table again. It's about all the warning that comes before his hand clamps tighter on Steve's neck. His breath comes sharp and ragged, a sudden erratic spasm coming right as he does. "Oh," is the first thing out of his mouth and right after that, his grip easing abruptly, "-- I'm sorry, I didn't --" spills right into, "Steve, that was more than amazing." Steve clasps Flicker's hips tight, swallowing hard as his lover spasms in his arms. Settling Flicker back down, he lets go and kisses his way back up, stopping just short of lips, blushing fiercely, still breathing heavily. "No, it's -- you did great." He's still hard where his hips press against Flicker's, but keeps still. Reaches up to caresses Flicker's cheek with the backs of his knuckles, his own smile coming slow but sincere. "You were breathtaking -- are breathtaking." Steve might stop short but Flicker kisses him readily, curling his arm around the other man's back. He rubs his cheek lightly back against Steve's knuckles. Rolls his hips up in one slow and more deliberate motion. "I want to -- I mean, do you want to f..." He breaks off, eyes lowering, and close together as they are the brief tremble that runs through him his easy to feel. He rests his head against Steve's shoulder, briefly hiding his expression against the other man's neck. The bright desire in his eyes is still just as clear when he looks back up. Swallows hard, tries again softly. "...I want you inside me." Steve's eyes slide shut as Flicker presses against him. His jaw tightens, but cannot keep in his quiet whimper of need. He loses the battle to keep still, his hips grinding into Flicker's. He clasps the other man closer when that tremor runs through him, tucking his head into the hollow of Steve's neck and, for a moment, just holding him again. "I -- do want that," he admits, meeting Flicker's gaze, blush deepening. "But if you're not used to that, it can hurt. Especially without -- supplies." His fingertips brush gently over Flicker's lips. "You could suck me." He fails to sound casual making this suggestion, his frame quivering faintly with the intensity of his desire. He sits back onto his heels, straddling Flicker and gathering him into a sitting position. "Or just. Touch me." The last two words come out with the unsteady quality of a plea as he undoes the button and zipper of his (presently too tight) jeans, loosing a relieved breath as his erection comes free. Flicker's hips rise to press back against Steve's, another shiver running through him. His touch roams down Steve's body nearly as soon as that first answer is out, working clumsily at his jeans. He doesn't manage more than the top button before he drops his hand to the table, displacing a few pastel eggs that roll away to click against some others, send them rolling to the floor. His brows are slowly creasing as Steve talks, his breaths starting to return to a more regular rhythm. "But -- if you want --" He doesn't resist being moved. The confusion hasn't left his expression, though, not even as his hand drops -- hesitant -- to skim uncertain fingers down the length of Steve's cock. "I don't care about the," is followed by a furious blush. "I mean I am used to that now, it always hurt when --" He shakes his head. Briefly presses his face back to Steve's shoulder. "This is different though." It's only a little bit muffled. He breathes in deeply against Steve's skin. "This time I want you." Steve lifts his eyebrows, nonplussed initially at Flicker's explanation and very, very distracted by his touch. But then his eyes go wide with realization. "Oh, Flicker...I..." He wraps an arm around the smaller man's shoulders and holds him close again. "This is different," he agrees, kneading Flicker's back. "It doesn't have to hurt." He brushes his fingers along Flicker's jawline. "If you want me this instant, pain or no pain -- so be it. But as much as I want to take you right now --" Another wave of tension passes through him on a shaky exhalation. He touches his forehead to Flicker's. "-- I'd still rather do it properly." The breath that hitches in Flicker's chest when Steve's arm curls around him is a little raw, a little sharp. He relaxes into the embrace, not trying to hide his face this time but just nuzzling gently against his lover's neck. He tips his head up slightly at the touch to his jaw. He shivers at something in Steve's words, but doesn't immediately speak once the other man finishes. Just breathes, soaking in the gentle touch; it's maybe something of an afterthought that his fingers are still tracing slow and light against Steve's skin. After a pause he leans in, his mouth soft against Steve's. "I do. Want you. Right now. Everything has kind of hurt lately but you -- this -- this feels. Good." This time he only has a slight hesitation before he asks, shyly: "Can you say that again? About... wanting. To -- take. Me." The residual tightness in Steve's shoulders bleeds away with the gentle kiss. "I'm sorry there's been so much hurt," he murmurs. "But I'm glad there's some good, too." His cheeks flush at the request, but still he shifts his weight forward, cupping Flicker's cheek in one hand and gazing into his eyes intently. His next kiss is rougher, bearing Flicker down to the table again. "I want to take you," he repeats, low, into Flicker's ear, "right now." His hands slide down to fumble urgently at what remains of their clothing, but the press of his lips to his lover's neck is tender and unhurried. Flicker meets the kiss with a renewed urgency, deep and hard as Steve pushes him back to the table. The quiet words by his ear draw a longer moan from him, an involuntary arch of his body up against Steve's. "Oh -- oh, please, yes. I want that. I want you." He uses his legs to help shuck the rest of their clothing to the floor, then curls them up around Steve's hips. His head rolls back, neck bared to the kisses. His hand curls more firmly, strokes more surely. "I want to make you feel amazing, too. Take me, please." Steve's breaths come ragged and deep, responding to Flicker's touch. His own hand smooths up Flicker's side as the other man arches beneath him. "Gladly," the word is quiet, a little shaky. He spits in his palm and takes over from Flicker, lining himself up -- this takes a little experimentation on his part. "Keep breathing," he whispers breathlessly just before he presses forward, "and bear down." He buries his face harder against his lover's neck, stifling a cry of delight. His movement is slow and even, stilling at any sign of Flicker's distress. Flicker looks down the length of their bodies, his eyes bright as he wraps his arm around Steve. Despite Steve's instruction, despite his quick nod of assent, he does stop breathing, for a moment, at that first push. His teeth sink against his lip, his fingers clenching hard against Steve's shoulderblade as his entire body tenses beneath the larger man's. His eyes squeeze shut, a small whimper escaping him. But he's relaxing again in short order, breathing slow and deep as he opens his eyes again. "Don't stop." He presses down slowly, and though his grip on Steve doesn't actually let up, this time it comes with a soft moan instead. Steve goes still when Flicker tenses beneath him, though his kisses do not cease. "Take your time," he only barely manages to get the words out. He does not need to be told twice to continue, though he starts slowly. "Oh, gosh --" His moan comes in tandem with Flicker's this time. "You feel -- so wonderful." He grips the edge of the table, his eyes fluttering shut as he finds a rhythm, thrusting deeper. Flicker's face presses to Steve's shoulder, his breaths coming more quickly again. His grip slowly eases, hand running up over the other man's back. His legs curl up a little tighter around Steve; he drops kisses wherever he can reach; to his lover's neck, shoulder, the side of his jaw, heated and indiscriminate as he starts to find a pace with Steve, his body rocking down into the thrusts. Steve's head rolls back, his lips parting silently as their movements begin syncing up. "Oh, Flicker --" He shifts again to rest more of his weight on his lover, his pace growing faster, his breathing already rapid and shallow. Cradling Flicker's head in the palm of his free hand, he presses a fierce kiss to the other man's lips. Flicker kneads at Steve's back, pushing down harder even as Steve bears down against him more. His eyes are bright, his fingers digging into skin, but despite whatever ripples of tension flutter through his body his kisses only get hungrier, tiny breathless moans spilling out between them. If Steve is bothered at all by the tight grip of Flicker's hand, he does not let on. There's little coherence to the soft noises that escape him now -- save for an occasional "yes" -- his breathing desperate and his cheeks flushed. He thrusts faster and harder into Flicker, meeting his kisses with fevered intensity, his free hand caressing and clutching at his lover's body by turns. But even consumed with pleasure, there is a certain deliberate care in how he moves, always with an eye toward his unnatural strength. His eyes grow damp with unshed tears, and Flicker can almost certainly feel the sudden tension singing through his powerful frame. As Steve's thrusts grow harder, faster, Flicker's own motions grow more erratic, losing the rhythm he had fallen into with the other man's body. There is a definite edge of pain in his ragged gasping breaths, but the half-formed words he manages between them -- please, yes, more -- are only encouragement. The tension bleeds out of him, the press of his body softer, now, more pliable in Steve's hands. His head drops back against Steve's palm, a trickle of tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes as they press briefly shut again. His legs wrap tighter as though they might pull their bodies closer together yet, hold them there through that surge of tension. When he does open his eyes again -- to watch his lover's face, drink in his expression -- he can't manage more than a very soft and softly awed, "-- Oh." At the clamp of Flicker's legs around him, the tightness in Steve abruptly eases -- only to tense up again almost at once, though somehow very differently. The shift in his motion when Flicker relaxes is subtle, his strokes coming shorter and faster. He gasps, eyes going wide, his pace turning frenzied just before he goes momentarily still. Then he shudders hard, lips parting though he holds back the cry, tears finally spilling over when he squeezes his eyes shut, his climax a pulse of warmth inside Flicker, then another, and another. He looks as if he wants to say something but can't quite manage it. Instead resettles himself -- awkwardly -- to keep the bulk of his considerable weight on the table rather than Flicker. The passionate kiss that follows this, his hands slipping beneath to gather his lover close, is anything but awkward. Subtle it may be, but the shuddering gasping response it draws out of Flicker is anything but. Expression transfixed, body yielding where the other man's weight drives him down against the table. Around them there's a quiet but persistent rattling, the plastic dish of wooden tokens jostled and spilling its contents out to scatter behind Flicker's head. The grip of his legs, his arm curled around Steve's back, might be futilely trying to draw the other man deeper or might simply be holding on, cleaving fast to the his lover's stronger frame to ride out the waves that break him with each thrust. Somewhere around the time Steve goes still, Flicker has once more forgotten to breathe, watching with rapt absorption until that release comes. It's only when Steve gathers him in, kisses him once again, that he lets out a shaky breath, turning his face up to meet that passion ardently. Steve's breathing evens out quickly, and his tears cease as well, but he continues kissing Flicker, if in a more leisurely way. When he finally pulls back his cheeks are flushed again. "I -- that was --" Shakes his head. "I don't have words that would do it justice, but...it was beautiful." Hesitates. Blushes harder. "You are beautiful." Flicker's breathing doesn't immediately, shaky and uneven through the deep kisses. Steadying as he presses his face to Steve's chest, presses kisses to his neck, slowly and reluctantly letting his legs relax their hold. His blush rises in tandem with Steve's, and he can't help -- doesn't try to help -- the fresh tears that have stung his eyes. "I think you outdid amazing." He chases the kisses with another, soft and gentle. "I knew that it would be -- I mean, people always say -- sex feels good. I had -- had no idea it would feel..." He blinks, pulls in a breath. His eyes lower diffidently, blush deepening and the end to this sentence laid down careful and delicate into the space between them, "...holy." --- It's dark enough now that the lanterns have been turned on in the garden. Soft light spills across the grass from the open curtains of the dining room windows. Lucien is studiously avoiding looking in that direction, his attention turned instead to the Scrabble board in front of him -- judging by the numbers printed neatly on the LED writing board beside the game, this is not the first round they have played. He's been studying the board quite some time -- then his tiles -- then the board. Eventually, slow and deliberate, he sets his letters carefully down, turning sacre into sacred with the first D he places. Building down from there -- D-E-L-I-R-I-U connects neatly with an M already sitting on the board, buried innocuously in the middle of the word clamant. He does not bother tallying his points. Just sits back, fingers wrapping around his teacup to lift it for a long sip, his vivid eyes fixed steadily across the table. Sitting across from his brother, reclining with his bare feet propped up on another chair, Matt has been toying idly with his letters, his own teacup cradled against his chest. He studies the changed board, a faint smile curving his lips. His fingers play lightly down the line of his own tiles, rearranging them once, then again. Unhurried, he takes a sip of his tea. At last, plucking up three of them, he transforms rapt into rapture, adding the terminal 'e' to the front of 'mote'. Bright green eyes tick fractionally toward the dining room window, though he does not turn far enough to actually look inside, and one side of his smile twists up further, just ever so slightly smug.