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Time on my hands

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Richard is testing the bed, his eyes heavy and half closed, the sounds of people on the beach and waves and traffic far below his hotel balcony. He could almost just about drift off - everyone has told him to take more naps and stock his sleep reserves whenever he can in the coming months - when there’s an unassuming knock at his door. He rolls toward the sound, slightly grumpy at having to get up, when it’s probably just the concierge seeing if he needs anything, but he’s too polite to just ignore it, especially when a second, more insistent knock pricks his ears. 

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and goes ahead to open it - this is a completely secure location, far from the Comic-Con main halls, and anyone knocking has to have cleared hotel security downstairs and Marvel security on his floor - and is tackled by a warm, sweaty burst of California sunshine in Welsh form. 

Taron is scorching hot to the touch, molding himself to Richard’s air condition-cooled body immediately, their arms crisscrossing around each other as easy as breathing. It takes Richard a few moments holding him close, getting him in the door and taking him all in, before he can articulate more than incoherent, Scots-flavored Wha? Wha? sounds, mumbled into Taron’s shoulder.

“Wha on earth? I thought I wouldn’t see you ‘til tonight? What are you...wait how did ya even get up here?”

Taron steps back to scrutinize Richard as if he’s offended by the question. “Look at me,” Taron says, gesturing his hands from his head to his feet and back up his body once more. 

Richard takes the opportunity to do just that and actually looks Taron over. A pair of sparkly blue tinted sunglasses that probably came from Elton, his fucking Rocketman ball cap, subtle as a heart attack. A soft gleam of perspiration shines on his cheeks and arms, the sweat making his thin shirt cling enticingly to his stocky body, and...

“Taron what the fuck are ya wearing?” Richard finally draws his focus to the garment on Taron’s torso, his eyes settling on the tissuey, almost transparent white cotton and puffy, sky blue font. Richard’s mouth hangs open, speechless.

“I love it! A fan gave it to me this morning with a cute little teddy bear, and a box of chocolates - “

Taron’s voice is raspy, hoarse from too many interviews. The specific sound of it pings something in Richard’s heart - fondness, worry, nostalgia already for just a few months ago, maybe. Also: chocolates.

“Oi gods ye dint eat them did ya?” Richard cuts him off with a palm flat in the center of his chest, alarm bells ringing.

Taron throws his head back heartily, his throaty laugh rough around the edges, brings his hand to settle over Richard’s and leverages their strong arms to pull himself in close again, but Richard is still concerned. Taron rolls his eyes and kindly eases Richard’s mind. “God no, ya daft? They’re in the bin in Hall H. It’s not my first day at the rodeo, mate. You going to make me beg here or what?” 

Taron yanks at him gracelessly and Richard almost trips over his feet trying to get his hips closer, his chest to Taron’s and his hands at his waist where they feel like they belong, and yes, finally, kiss the living hell out of him. 

He missed him and he misses him, even now with Taron properly in his arms, can’t have him close enough. He kisses him, sighing against his mouth, lets Taron sink into him and kiss him as long and deep as he wants, tilting him back until his sunglasses slip off his head and land with a metallic sproing on the floor.

“Aye, s’better,” Taron says softly, licking and chasing Richard’s lips when they finally come up for a bit of air.

“It’s a good start,” Richard laughs, taking a steadying breath and pressing his forehead to Taron’s. “Ah still have a lot of questions about the shirt, love. And you sound like yer losing yer voice. Do we need to go an’ find tea and elderberry?”

Taron just beams at him. Leans in and kisses his mouth again, then moves to his temple and presses his lips there, so kind and easy. Richard feels his eyes slip closed, opens them as Taron leans away in his arms and then lets him go. 

“Ok, well first, my voice is fine and I’m done giving chats. But I enjoy the doting, love.” Taron smiles, his eyes crinkling sweetly at the corners. 

Richard is so happy Taron’s here, even he is a little surprised. 

“The shirt…” Taron drags his hands over his own chest, proudly showing it, and the shirt, off. “Is’ great, and no you can’t have it. Is’ really comfortable, like light and stretchy?” 

“Yea, love, it’s a teenage girl’s shirt. I can tell by the cut, and the fabric.” Richard watches him with soft, fond eyes, hides his amusement behind his hand, which he lightly touches to his mouth as Taron talks, just getting his fill of him. 

Taron preens, brushes off his own shoulders and arms, as if they needed any punctuating. “Yea but look how good it looks on me.”

“Ah mean, yea you look quite fit to my eye but you’re bustin’ at the seams of it. Also, doesn’t leave much to the imagination in this air con, does it?” Richard presses up against him again, lightly teases his thumbs over Taron’s nipples which are indeed peaked hard and prominently on display in the now cooled sweat that was sticking the thin shirt to his skin. 

They haven’t seen each other in...well, a while, Richard suddenly realizes and stops himself before he goes any further, wrapping his hands instead around Taron’s ribcage. “Why were ya all sweaty anyway?” Richard asks, neutrally as he can but his heart is pounding. He tries to center himself, tries not to expect anything of Taron given the time and distance between them now. 

Taron seems to sense the shift, quirks a soft, questioning grin at Richard. Richard slides his hands from Taron’s ribs to settle at his hips and holds him there, looks down at Taron seriously, just the once, asking for permission, for everything. 

Taron smiles, brings one hand behind Richard’s head and swirls his fingers into his hair where it’s a little longer on top and a little curly from the humidity, and nods, sweetly presses his lips to Richard’s jaw. “Oh, Dickie. O'course, love.”

Richard groans, a thrill of relief going through him, kisses him again until Taron’s breathing gets quicker and rougher. He pulls Taron’s bottom lip between his teeth and makes his way down his neck to his broad chest, stopping to pull each nipple between his teeth through the soft fabric of the ridiculous shirt. 

“They told me no cars could get to me where I was. So I rode one of the little scooters,” Taron says as Richard bites his way down his body and nudges them closer to the edge of the bed, and Richard can hear his breath catching in his scratchy throat. Taron gasps when his back hits the soft mattress, grabs at Richard’s head but Richard pauses with one knee partway up and the skin of Taron’s hip still between his teeth as Taron’s explanation catches up to him.

“Ya took one of the...the wee scooters on the street? Ya rode here...lookin like ye do, on a scooter? You’re barmy, mah love.” Richard grins, urging both of them up further onto the bed but still nibbling at all the exposed skin and making his way across Taron’s belly, his teeth playing along the waistband of his shorts. 

“Ahhh, don’t worry love. No one even noticed me,” Taron says, digs his fingers into Richard’s head and tugs his hair as Richard kisses his stomach. 

“I find that very hard to believe,” Richard replies, looking up to meet Taron’s eyes, sees how soft and heavy they are, looking back at him. Taron gives him a nervous little grin but Richard doesn’t look away.

“T’was fun though! Maybe we could take them out tonight, if they’ll let us, after everything’s done,” Taron kind of breaks the gaze so Richard gets back to it, lifts the hem of the shirt and exposes his soft abdomen, nuzzles his way into the dark hair that leads down his belly. 

“Only thing Ah’m takin’ anywhere tonight after the party is you back to this bed,” Richard says, shaking his head in disbelief at pretty much Taron’s whole being for the past ten minutes since he’s arrived.

“Hmm, fair play, mate,” Taron grins, reaching to drag his fingers along Richard’s face and jaw, touching his lips until Richard grabs his fingertips between them, and sucks. Taron inhales sharply through his teeth and gently nudges Richard down.

Richard smiles up at him, lazy and sweet, before pressing his cheek right over the front of his shorts. “God T, ah missed ye.” He feels Taron’s cock showing interest, at the warmth or maybe the vibration of his voice, and turns his face to do it more in earnest, mouthing over the outside of his clothes as Taron shifts his hips underneath him. 

Richard likes to take his time with Taron. 

Get him naked and spread out under him, explore every inch of that body. It’s a good body, solid and thick and Richard can literally sink his teeth into Taron, loves to do it and feel how he responds. When they were doing this regularly...they were really something. 

They don’t have that kind of time at their leisure right now, but Richard knows Taron’s body and his own skills, has been figuring out all the ways he can make Taron feel good for damn near a year now, and, well...he quits fooling around and goes right for the zipper on Taron’s shorts, gets them open and off over his hips, gets Taron naked from the waist down faster than he can hardly catch on what’s happening.

“Oh, yeahhh doing this, alright then,” Taron sits up suddenly, getting with the program and moving his fingers to the edges of his stupid shirt to make to pull it over his head, but Richard stops him.

“Nae. Keep it on. Ah’m amused by it, fer some queer reason,” Richard says with a teasing wink and Taron surges forward to kiss him again, Richard’s hand settling under the base of his cock and balls as their lips press, then part, kissing supple and almost sweet as Richard begins a thorough jerking of Taron’s cock to get him fully hard. His free hand goes back to Taron’s chest, pinching one nipple and then the other until he can feel them both pert and throbbing at his fingertips, and Taron can’t hold up for kissing anymore, falls away from Richard’s mouth with a sad grunt and drops back against the pillows. 

Richard follows him down, lowers over Taron’s body until he can get his lips all the way down over Taron’s cock, moaning around it as Taron thickens, fills up his mouth so well.

“Aye, fuck Dickie, your fuckin' mouth...I can’t, jesus,” Taron sputters and writhes, Richard relentlessly pinching and stroking his whole chest, over and under the soft, gauzy shirt, his thumbs rucking up the bottom or his fingers dragging down the neckline, just so he can feel some of that delicious skin, feel Taron come apart as he draws him deeply into his mouth.

Richard knows a trick or two.

He also knows Taron doesn’t care that he can swallow his cockhead whole and doesn’t have a gag reflex. Taron just cares that Richard has taken the time to really know him and cares so much about making him feel good. 

It sounds like a simple thing but it gets Richard more worked up every time they do this than it did the last time, and sometimes it gets in his head, figuring it out. Figuring Taron out.

He hollows his cheeks and sucks Taron off proper, brings his hands around to get some good handfuls of Taron’s perfect ass, admiring its soft roundness where it swells below the feathery edge of Taron’s shirt, which Richard is loving more by the minute. 

He digs his fingertips hard into Taron’s glute muscles, feels the strength in Taron’s thighs as he tries to push up into Richard’s mouth, to thrust into the steady, wet heat Richard is giving him. Richard inches his hands in closer, pushes just in between Taron’s ass cheeks and squeezes and spreads them, feels Taron buck up and grind down into that sensation and opens his throat for him on the next thrust, letting Taron have if it he wants. Richard won’t have to talk that much anyway.

“Fuck, Dickie, that’s so good...you’re so good to me. Fuck, yea, make me come Dickie,” Taron babbles a bit and Richard smiles around his cock, knows he’s getting closer. He grips his ass hard and pulls back off him, flicks his tongue under the head of Taron’s dick and Taron throws his head back and yelps. 

“Ah wish we had more time right now,” Richard mumbles in between lavishing wet kisses on Taron’s pulsing cock and working one hand into his own pants to get them down over his hips. “Want to fuck you in tha' shirt,” Richard growls, finally getting his hand around himself and pulling, dragging his foreskin over his own cockhead and leaning back down to take Taron in his mouth again, making sure he’s spit-slick and dripping.

Taron groans and lifts his head off the pillows to try to get all this, puffs his cheeks in frustration as he takes in the sight of Richard with his hand on his own cock. “When have you got to leave?” Taron manages, breathy and desperate sounding and Richard purses his lips around Taron again and sucks, curls his tongue along a particularly sensitive spot. “We might could have time?” Taron’s voice cracks.

Richard shakes his head, lips loosely circling Taron’s cock, then softly letting it out. “Not for the way I want tae do it.”

Taron whines, reedy and desperately loud, drops his head back again, pulling at whatever he can grab of Richard, his hands, his hair, his shirt, ripping it smoothly over his shoulders and grinning when it comes off in his hand. Richard bites his bottom lip at him, a little impressed and maybe, fuck, definitely, a little in love. 

“Get on top of me, c’mere c’mere,” Taron urges him, roving his hands greedily over Richard’s bare chest and digging his fingers into the spaces between his ribs, pulling. Richard does, scrambles up the bed and kicks his pants off the rest of the way, gets on top of Taron just like he wants and grips both their cocks together in his hand, Taron bringing his hand to wrap around too, threading their fingers together. Richard watches him reach his other hand up for the headboard, trying to hold onto something, anything, and he loves seeing Taron like this, stretched out and needy and he wants to give him everything.

Richard holds himself over Taron and strokes their cocks against each other, his saliva and their collected precome mixing into a slippery mess and a luxurious fuck for both of them. Taron drags his lips all over Richard’s face, mouth hanging open for Richard to take, to kiss, to fuck. Richard wants to do them all. 

“You’re so good mah love, so perfect like this,” Richard drawls in his ear and Taron bites into Richard’s bare shoulder, a spot so preferred by Taron’s teeth during filming that Richard had a bruise for weeks. He loved it, hopes he leaves a new one today.

“Fuck, Dickie, no one...no one like you. Gonna come so hard, please, don’t stop don’t stop,” Taron murmurs into his collarbone and Richard squeezes, roughs up the drag of his hand over both of their cocks and his thumb over their heads, dragging more moisture from both of their tips and smiling into Taron’s skin.

“Not goin to stop, no way. Goin to get this one off, goin to clean us up…” Richard goes on, breath growing erratic and Taron’s turning more into guttural grunts for air, his hips thrusting in wild circles for the friction he needs, Richard making sure he’s getting it from every direction. “You’re coming with me, we’re goin to this thing. Ah want you near me, T.”

“Yeah Dickie, yeah, I’m coming, I’ll...oh god keep going, love it, love you,” Taron says all at once, senselessly fucking himself against Richard as they slide slickly between their clasped hands. Richard’s breath catches, stalls in his chest. He has to swallow and clear his throat to keep going, twisting his wrist and palm over their cocks. 

“We go to the thing, and then the party. And then we’re comin' back here and ah want you to fuck me until I forget my fuckin' name, T,” Richard barely gets it out, his last breath before his orgasm forces all the air from his lungs, Taron’s teeth sinking into his shoulder again so hard Richard would yell if he weren’t entirely occupied with coming, with Taron shaking and coming underneath him, his stomach and Taron’s flimsy shirt so soaked with come and wet, their hands slip from their dicks and Richard falls forward all the way onto Taron. 

His slack mouth lands on Taron’s cheek, his lips catching Taron’s when they can, kissing thick and lazy until they can both breathe again.

“Dickie…” Taron finally exhales, barely a gravelly whisper left in his voice.

“T.” Richard curls the fingers of his slightly cleaner hand under Taron’s chin, brushes lightly over his neck, his tender throat, his jaw.

Taron’s slow grin pushes at his fingertips, Richard pressing his thumb against the seam of his lips, knowing Taron will nip at it. A warm feeling floods his chest when Taron does. Taron holds his thumb between his teeth a moment, lets it go with a puckered kiss. “I think I’m gonna need to borrow a shirt.”