Searching For Something So Undefined

by speccygeekgrrl

Summary:

Jim's used to falling asleep to the sound of Oluwande's steady sleeping breaths, but it seems like he's holding his breath now, and that makes the dark of their room seem claustrophobic instead of comforting. Something's up, and (goddammit) they're going to talk it through. (And then some.)

Notes:

Prompt was "late nights", and it's about time I wrote some outright smut for these two!

Also this is my 300th AO3 work, so congrats Jim and Oluwande for taking this milestone position in my fic roster!

Doesn't fit anywhere in canon, I guess just assume Jim came back instead of going on their revenge mission?

Title from "The River of Dreams" by Billy Joel.

It's nice to share space with someone who can be trusted, Jim thinks, just before they lean over to put out the light between their bed and Oluwande's. It's nice to have someone so steady close by to ground them in the the insanity that is life aboard the Revenge. It's nice to shut their eyes in the darkness and listen to Oluwande's breath slow into sleep, the lullaby that sends Jim into slumber every night... except... it doesn't slow. In fact, it seems like Oluwande might be holding his breath, and that makes the dark of their room feel claustrophobic rather than comforting.

"Hey, Oluwande," Jim whispers, not sure what they mean to say, only that they have to say something.

"Yeah, Jim?" There's something in his voice, something tired in a way that has nothing to do with bodies, something sad in a way that doesn't need to mourn. It strikes Jim in the heart like a true-thrown dagger.

"You okay?" Fucking stupid, but maybe the 'talk it through' thing Captain Bonnet keeps pushing has something to it. 

"I'm alright," Oluwande says, and Jim hears him turn over, his voice a bit stifled when he adds, "it's nothing," meaning obviously it's something.

"Oluwande..." There's music in his name, when Jim lets themself say it with the concern he deserves. "You can tell me, you know?"

"I really cannot," Oluwande says. "I really, really cannot tell you, of anyone." That hurts, cuts Jim deep, until they hear Oluwande take a deep breath to steel his nerves and add, "Defeats the purpose, doesn't it? Asking the person you're into how to cope with being into them."

"Oh," Jim says, and those blades stabbing through them turn to ice and then to embers, burning in their chest, a flare of pain that doesn't ease until they slip out of their bed and over to Oluwande's, feeling for him in the dark before perching next to what they think is his hip. "I'm the wrong person to ask about that stuff," they say, "I don't cope, with anything, you know that."

"I know that," Oluwande agrees, and stops breathing again when Jim's hands flutter over him— chest, shoulder, bearded cheek, establishing the shape of him before they lean down to cover his mouth with their own. He makes a soft sound, bitten off before it can reach their lips, and Jim goes just a bit feral when they lick into his mouth to try to chase that sound out and into their own where it belongs. 

Jim doesn't go around kissing many folks lately— that impulsive clutch at Lucius notwithstanding— because they've wanted this kiss, the plushness of Oluwande's lip between their teeth, the lingering taste of the rum ration they'd been passing between them before dousing the light under his tongue, the moan that he doesn't try to stifle when Jim's hands go seeking again— shoulder, neck, the softness of his tits and the pebbled hardness of his nipples tipping them, sensitive between Jim's fingers.

This is the way Jim copes with the strange feelings they have for their dearest friend: throwing themself body and soul at him, giving in to the wanting that doesn't wane at all in the close, perfect dark of the space that's theirs to share. They map Oluwande's body out with hands that don't tremble like this when they hold a knife, only when it's tender flesh they're touching, until Oluwande catches their hands in his own and draws them up to lay a kiss in each palm.

"Jim," he says, voice shredded with desire, "do you wanna maybe sleep here tonight?"

"Mi corazon, sleep is not what I want to do here tonight, right now anyways." They catch his face between both hands and kiss him again, like they've thought of doing god only knows how many times before. The warmth of his round face and the wooly tickle of his beard against their chin are so much better than any of those myriad imaginary kisses. "Unless that's all you want," they add, breathed against his lips.

"I— really?— I didn't want to, to ask too much, but you're— into me? Like that?"

"I'm so into you like that," Jim confirms, "and you can't ask too much, Olu, I swear, so ask, please."

"Could you get the light, if we're gonna do this? Because I want to see you." Oluwande laughs, a little nervously, and adds, "I thought if this was gonna happen it wouldn't be in the middle of the night..."

Honestly, for all they're a trained assassin, Jim doesn't know if they'd have had the courage to cross the distance between their beds in the light. Some things feel easier when you can't see what you're doing, but when they strike a match and light the lamp, they have to wonder what precious expressions on Oluwande's dear face they missed already, when he's looking at them like a revelation from God now, awe and wonder and a touch of fear that mirrors what Jim's feeling at the sight of him.

"Come here," Oluwande says, sitting up and waving them close again. Jim grins sharp and straddles his lap, slim thighs bracketing thick ones. "Fucking hell," he breathes, his hands starting at their knees and sliding up their thighs, under the shirt they wear to bed, until his fingertips find where they're splayed open soft and wet for him and Jim makes a sound of their own, a sharp little gasp like they've been struck, and puts a hand on his cock as if in self-defense. "God, Jim, you're—"

It's definitely self-defense to kiss him before he can finish that sentence, because if he says beautiful Jim might scream in the bad way, and with Oluwande's blunt, calloused, careful fingers feeling them out so tenderly the last thing they want is for him to stop. "This good?" they ask when the kiss breaks on a rush of drawn breath as they squeeze Oluwande's prick from base to tip. He nods frantically, fingertips slipping through their folds in a slightly more eloquent response. "Good. Good," Jim sighs, their hips canting toward him. "Go inside?" 

"Yeah, yes, here..." He presses one finger in where Jim is slick and yielding, and Jim hisses through their teeth at how it feels, not just to have someone else touch them like that, but to have Oluwande touch them like that, his strong sure hands and his deliciously thick fingers doing more to fill the aching need inside Jim than they've ever felt before. "God, you're molten in here, because of me?"

"All you," Jim agrees, their hand moving tight and tense around the girth of Oluwande's cockstand. "This all for me?"

"Gonna be all over you in a minute if you keep doing that," Oluwande says, voice just as tight and tense as Jim's grip on him, "sorry, but— you're fucking gorgeous and I've wanted you so long, Jim." 

"Then give me another finger before you make a mess," Jim says, and reaches down to rub themself just above where Oluwande pushes a second finger in, pleasure spiking through them in an unprecedented, almost unbelievable way. Jim's fingers around Oluwande's cock tighten as the same time their body tightens around his fingers, and the only way Jim keeps from screaming into the night is by biting Oluwande's shoulder, the sting of their teeth and the stifled shout making him whine from the back of his throat and spill all over Jim's fingers, his own belly, and the hem of Jim's nightshirt.

Neither one really wants to withdraw first, but Oluwande is the responsible one, as usual, sliding his fingers out of Jim as gently as he can before looking down at the slick shine of them in the lamplight. "Would it be totally weird if I licked them?"

"Yes," Jim says, "do it anyways," watching with wide unblinking eyes as Oluwande puts the tips of his fingers between his lips and sucks the taste of them off his own skin. "Fuck," they breathe at the sight of his lashes fluttering, the look of overwhelming satisfaction on his beloved face. 

"Sorry about your shirt," Oluwande says, and inhales sharply when Jim pulls it off and wipes the rest of the mess off the both of them before pitching it aside. He reaches up to tease one peaked nipple, only fair since they played with his before, and says, "Oh god, I am gonna spend so much time with my mouth on these if you let me."

"Fine by me," Jim says, "but yours are nicer," cupping Oluwande's chest playfully as they lean down to kiss his lips. "You still want me to sleep here?"

"I don't want you anywhere but right here," Oluwande says, and wraps his arms around them, pulling them down into the narrow bunk mostly atop him, until they're nearly nose-to-nose grinning at each other like the lovestruck fools they are. "Get the light, queride," he murmurs.

Jim settles with their head on his chest once they've killed the lamp, closing their eyes and letting the gentle rise and fall of his breath lull them into sleep, so much closer than the usual lullaby his breathing makes from across the room.

Notes:

Gosh these two are cute! If you liked the story, drop a kudos or a comment, I live for feedback!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 29 of OFMD Prompt Fills