Logs:Pay Attention

Pay Attention
cn: mild sexual content, some working through internalized ablism
Dramatis Personae Matt, Ryan	2024-04-07 "I don't want to run the bases. I want you." (a while after whisking Matt away.)
Location <PAR> Hôtel d'Évreux - Le Marais
This is the penthouse suite of an 18th century hôtel particulier, beautifully restored in old Marais style and now an eco-friendly luxury B&B (Air and otherwise). Despite being in the heart of the bustling Marais district, the building is set entre cour et jardin, affording guests some privacy and quiet in the lovely courtyard and gardens within the establishment's venerable walls. The suite's antique furnishings harmonize with thoughtfully designed modern comforts. There is a charming salon, a full kitchen for guests who wish to prepare their own meals, a capacious bathroom with a large recessed tub in mosaic tile, an airy bedroom with a super-king sized bed. Double doors open from the bedroom out onto an expansive rooftop terrace with stunning views of the Seine and various monuments and landmarks, including, of course, the iconic Eiffel Tower. Predictably, Ryan chose this apartment for its aesthetics and not for its accessibility. After a long day of adventure, he is, maybe, sorely regretting this decision. There is, at the least, an elevator tucked into this renovated building, but. It's been quite a trek over uneven cobblestone streets that are probably not quite as charming to Ryan as they were when he arrived. Several short stairs to even get into the building, a few more to get into and then out of the courtyard, and by the time they have in fact made it to the elevator he is sinking back against the wall, arms visibly shaking where he grips at his crutches. This doesn't seem to put a damper on his enthusiasm, because pain or no pain he is letting one of those crutches thunk against the handrail so that he can drag Matt closer by the front of his shirt, press his lips hungrily to the older man. In the soft whimper in his throat there's a decidedly not soft flood of feeling, slightly tipsy, slightly high, intensely achey, but a cloying desire that outshines both the intoxicants and the pain. At the front of the elevator there's another man determinedly ignoring whatever else is happening behind him -- a solid chunk of a man with vacant brown eyes, with long dark brown tied up in a bun and patch of beard that somehow manages to look sadder for how neatly its been trimmed. Quiet and impassive enough despite the faint flush the empathic echoes have put into his cheeks, Ryan's current bodyguard is watching the numbers tick up with no outward sign of impatience. Still, the very moment the elevator doors have opened onto the penthouse the speedster is out in a lightning flash -- his sweeping check of the apartment is no doubt meticulous, but at superspeed he is back at the elevator door long before Ryan in his complete lack of haste has bothered moving away from the wall. Matt seems no worse for the exertions of the day, though even with his vast experience in substance use he is not quite Ryan's match for tolerance and so not the most steady on his own fully functioning feet. Not that he would likely have resisted anyway, but it's easy enough to haul him over--he braces one hand against the elevator wall and pins Ryan back against it. He physically trembles under the flood of desire, his own crashing back harsh and possessive when he groans against Ryan's lips. It's hard to say if he'd even noticed the bodyguard leaving them, but he does give a small start when the man returns. Maybe that also jars him into the realization they are still making out in the elevator, because he's trying to coax Ryan out now. This is a clumsy process less due to inebriation and more his reluctance to actually get out of the way so Ryan can resume his other crutch. He finally manages it, pushing off of the wall and backing into the apartment. "No itinerary, hmm?" This is determinedly gentle and teasing, though he must know his voice would betray the desperate clawing need that made it so hard for him to pull away. "Entirely serendipitous, that boat depositing us rive gauche just at the right time." "Serendipity nothing, I'm just that powerful. Whole damn universe bends itself to my desires." Right now Ryan's desires are flooding thick enough to have their own heady gravity. He fumbles his crutch back up, though as he exits the elevator he's leaning as much on Matt as on his actual assistive devices. His bodyguard is quick to trade places with them and get into the elevator, although the elevator doors are rudely much slower than the speedster himself to close. Ryan half-stumbles to the bedroom; he's lost his crutch again along the way, forgotten against the kitchen counter where he stopped for another hungry kiss. "Goddamn," it's kind of murmured against the side of Matt's neck, "I think you're better drugs than drugs." His other crutch clatters to the floor; he's dropping only slightly more intentionally to the bed. For someone so experienced with assistive ambulation, Matt hinders their progress as much as helps it with hands that refuse to stay put for the support he's trying to offer. At least he has the presence of mind to drop down beside and not onto Ryan, though he's immediately rolling up onto his elbows to pin the other man to the mattress. "Mm, that gets rather circular when you're involved, but I do so like to hear my praises sung." There is indeed a fierce bright pleasure there even before his next kiss, rough and slow and sensuous. His fingers find their way into Ryan's hair again as he presses his lips just below Ryan's (conveniently) (generously) open collar. "And I should love to make you sing them louder." His words rumble low and dark and ravenous, chased by another hard kiss. Ryan's body rolls up against Matt's, his kiss just as hungry. There's a noticeable waver now, though, in the empathic feedback that surrounds them -- just a flutter of uncertainty at first, but it's swiftly blossoming into a spike of -- probably panic from the brief clenching taste of it, but quite abruptly it's shunted hard aside with a far more deliberate flex of power than what has been spilling over from Ryan until now. There's a different flutter altogether, a shiver of violin music that comes at the edge of hearing but certainly not of feel, heavy-laden with passion. "'zat loud enough, yet?" Matt's breath catches at that fleeting glimpse of panic, which is probably initially a function of Ryan's power, but the shuddering breath he lets out after speaks an intense spike of lust that is definitely all him. "Oh gods--" he moans into the crook of Ryan's shoulder, delirious with pleasure that might have overwhelmed him if the empathic flood hadn't changed tacks just then. The deliberate barrage is plenty overwhelming in its own way--but at least it's a different way. He's breathing hard as he shifts his weight onto one arm, though he hasn't rolled off of Ryan. "Yellow," he manages, if only just barely, the word reluctant and worried and still brimming with arousal. "Yell..." Ryan echoes in a brief tipsy confusion, and then with an uncertain frown, "... oh." He's taking slower breaths now, deliberate, and the cloying empathic press eases off. "Did I -- do you not -- should I -- is this too --" There's no flickers of feeling coming through in his voice, now, carefully reined in, but his expression has shifted solidly into worry before he schools this too. He drops his head back against the bed and takes a moment before trying again, calmer. "What d'you need?" Matt relaxes fractionally, his hand smoothing slow and conciliatory over Ryan's chest. "I want you," comes bright and eager and immediate. "I need to know how--what...ways. I can take you." His uncharacteristic struggle with wording isn't entirely substance-induced, helped along by the lust that still rolls through him in heady waves. "I'm very sadistic. And very dominant." This is largely matter-of-fact, though there's a hint of a boast in it, too. "I don't want to hurt you by accident." His fingertips play lightly over the buttons on Ryan's shirt, belying the maddening desire behind his words. "I need control." "Shit," Ryan's voice is breathy, soft-tinged with laughter, but Matt can still feel the tight edge of control that isn't letting anything further spill into his words. "I really gotta update that fucking song." He's rubbing a hand over his face. Looking up at the ceiling and not Matt. "God, you got no idea how much I want to give it to you." He's swallowing, pushing himself partway up on an elbow. "I just -- I haven't done this since. I don't even know how this is gonna work anymore." "No idea?" Matt arches one eyebrow, though he sounds more titillated than skeptical. "You just about made me come with your want, and that was before you were even trying. I can tell, you know." This is gentle and affectionate, which does nothing to mask the hum of desire continuing steadily beneath. "You are absurdly creative and I, as you pointed out, am better than drugs. You are perfectly capable of pleasing me without figuring anything out whatsoever, but we can figure out how to make this work. I'm pretty sure that's not just the megalomania talking because I did do a little homework." His fingers trace idly along Ryan's jawline to tip his chin up. "I don't want to run the bases. I want you." Ryan's eyes close. His breathing is shaky as Matt's fingers run along his chin, and very -- very cautiously, the tight grip he has been keeping on his empathy is easing. "I am pretty damn good at this, aren't I?" When he opens his eyes again his smile is easy, his tone cocky, but there's a heavy flush of shame that is choking at the desire still there. He's marshalling it, or trying to, not with the heavy redirection of his powers but just a slow breath and a soft kiss. "You are a goddamn megalomaniac but you're also hot as hell. If you want me, then maybe --" This trails off as he pushes himself up carefully. He takes a moment to settle his legs back properly on the floor. "You gonna have to just lie there a while and think hard 'bout all the things you want to do to me." The shame hasn't receded when he speaks again but it's considerably quieter, whispering low under a much headier mix of playful desire. He's dragging his fallen crutch closer reaching down carefully to pick it up. "Gonna take me a minute these days to wrestle this fucking beater into a good enough shape for you to wreck." Matt returns the kiss, gentle and studiously quiet. His fingers are scrunching tight into the sheets, then relax again in short order with a slow breath of his own, nearly inaudible though it rumbles harsh with the intensity of his hunger. At Ryan's words he lapses back into a smile, pleased and languid and just a touch fey. "You are so damnably good at this--even better than you are at doubting yourself, and that's saying something." He stretches out to--well, he can't really fill this particular bed, but he's making a luxuriant show of it anyway. "Oh, darling, I'm already thinking quite hard." Probably the eyebrow waggle was not actually necessary to signal what exactly he thinks is hard here, even if the empathic content has not changed much. He rolls up onto both elbows and props his chin up in one hand. "I might have to sing about it."