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Clive usually wasn’t fond of drinking at the best of times. Most often, he found the taste too heady— too strong, overwhelming even. It made him feel out of control, albeit the sweet buzz of alcohol did calm whatever inhibitions he may have sober, it was still a rare occurrence nonetheless. Often times done for a formal event than any real leisure.
Despite all that, as Clive brought the heavy whiskey glass upwards, towards his lips; chasing another sip of the substance— he found perhaps he could understand why people did this.
“Thought you didn’t like drinking?” A voice muttered, the tone mixed between a statement and a question. Just slightly, slightly, confusing for his tipsy state.
“Mm,” another sip. “You know, I don’t— not the act — but I’ll say this stuff makes me feel damned great.”
Clive was suddenly alerted of the sound of laughter, presumably Maurice’s. So loud and boisterous, attractive. Endearing. He turned his head towards the sound. “What’s so funny?”
“You.”
“Wow,” Just another sip, this time the alcohol burned more as it travelled down his throat, and he found he liked it: the sense of being emboldened. “Say, Maurice, have you ever had sex?”
Instantly, Maurice began to sputter, tips of his ears turning an attractive red color. Almost pink, like the underside of a lizards belly— warm. As he began to cough, resolutely looking downwards and aimed at the ground, Clive couldn’t help but devolve into a fit of laughter that bordered giggling.
“Sorry, sorry,” more laughter, before abruptly stopping. Now suddenly serious. “Did I embarrass you?”
“Of course not.”
Clive cranked an eyebrow, not entirely sure what he was answering. Perhaps both.
“Hmm,” Clive took a gulp of his alcohol, before placing it down on the floor he was sat upon. For a long moment, he just stared at Maurice, who stared back: eyes strangely double lidded. “Hmm.” He repeated, as he leant his body forwards, changing position into that of kneeling before suddenly his hands were on the ground, too, and he was crawling towards Maurice, and Maurice was looking at him with that look, and Clive found he could not stop even if he wanted to.
Clive only stopped when he was mere centimetres away from Maurice. Breathes intermingling, bodies practically intertwined at this level of closeness. His hands found themselves out stretching, moving to press down Maurice’s legs until they were crossed, and he was no longer sitting in such a strange position. A not so abrupt sense of emboldenment twinged with bravery suddenly swelled within him and before he knew it, Clive was clamouring onto Maurice’s lap.
“Clive,” Maurice said, like a swear word, somehow obscene. Yet his hands still found themselves resting upon the small of Clive’s back, the side of his waist, as if on instinct. “What are you doing?” the accompanying: ‘what if someone walks in,’ was left silent.
Unable to help it, Clive started to laugh again, though this time stopping after a few seconds. His hands wrapped around Maurice’s shoulder in a half embrace. When he next spoke, his face was resting within the grove of Maurice’s shoulder, as he stared directly at the skin of the others neck. “Would you like to have sex with me?”
There was no response, not verbal at least. Instead his hold on Clive loosened momentarily before tightening once more. Each hand a searing point of contact, and Clive found he wanted more.
So he did exactly that, chased more. Clive pressed his lips against the skin of Maurice’s neck, kissing at it, each with a deeper insistency. “Oh, Maurice, please.” He practically whined, continuing his ministrations upon the other. “Don’t you want to?” He asked, pulling back, eyes suddenly glistening with the premise unshed tears. Perhaps he was more drunk than he thought.
“Of course I do,” Maurice said, almost squirming. “But—”
“Oh but what?” Clive asked, voice taking on a lilt of annoyance at the end.
“But,” Maurice said, hands moving downwards to loosely hold Clive’s ass. “What if someone walked in?” Despite his verbal reluctance, his body seemed to do anything but disagree. Clive hummed, and continued kissing his neck before moving to his jaw, tracing it out with every kiss and leaving behind constellations of glistening saliva as a trail. He began to kiss the corner of Maurice’s lips, who kissed back with an equal vigour.
Pulling back, Clive turned to speak, chest heaving. “Who gives a damn,” leaning forward, he placed another kiss upon his lips. “If anyone walks in, we simply explain that we are merely two young lads—” stopping momentarily, Clive kissed Maurice once more, a smile forming on his lips as he leaned closer, rested his head against Maurice’s forehead. “—having a jolly good time. Surely there’s no wrong in that, eh?”
“You’ll have to convince me,” Maurice responded. “and a lot of other people.”
In leu of a reply, Clive grind his ass downwards, pressing against the bulge of Maurice’s cock. Even clothed, he could tell it was big. “Please?” He asked, before moving to palm it with his hand, all whilst simultaneously kissing his jaw. Maurice gasped, eyes falling shut. “Please,” Clive murmured, before— feeling particularly brave— licking a stripe across from Maurice’s neck to his jaw. The taste of his skin, so musky and heady, was more intoxicating than any alcohol could ever be.
“Clive,” Maurice said, breathless, voice rough and indescribable and absolutely beautiful, “I don’t think I could ever say no to you.”
“I know.” Clive replied, feeling like his chest may explode at any given moment. He wasn’t entirely sure if he knew how to breathe in that moment, but when he looked into Maurice’s eyes, he remembered, and suddenly they were kissing again only this time with an intensity of a thousand suns, searing, powerful— perfect.
Clive moaned into the kiss quietly, almost a whimper as Maurice bit his lip with his teeth, pulling it back. The slight starburst of pain distracted Clive enough for him to slip in a tongue, instantly causing all form of comprehensive thought to stutter, stop, like a gear suddenly malfunctioning. All Clive could think of was ‘Maurice’, his name on his lips, his tongue on his mouth, his cock pressed against his own. Everything and everywhere all at once. It was absolutely amazing.
“Touch me,” he all but begged, and Maurice did exactly that. His hands pressed against the swell of his ass, kneading the skin through his trousers, pulling him closer until Clive wasn’t entirely sure where he began and where Maurice ended. His back arched, and he pulled away from the kiss to tip his head back. “You’re perfect.” Maurice muttered, before attaching his lips to the expanse of Clive’s neck. Kissing and sucking at the skin, leaving Clive gasping and begging for more.
“You know,” Clive gasped out, “I think all my life I was asleep, waiting,” his hand pressed against Maurice’s cock, cupping it and feeling it swell to hardness. “and you woke me up.”
Maurice moved to kiss him on the lips searingly, teeth clanging against teeth, and whispered: “And do you want this, truly?”
“Yes,” Clive choked out, suddenly overcome with a flurry of emotions. Everything felt to be too much, and he found he adored the feeling of being consumed, by Maurice, by emotion, by circumstance. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more,”
For a moment, Maurice was silent. Pausing his ministrations to level Clive with an enigma of a stare, gaze strong and almost piercing. And in that moment, Clive could do nothing but stare back with an equal intensity, both of them communicating through anything but words— as soon as the moment began, it ended, neither rushed nor prolonged but merely natural.
“Let me undress,” Clive said, slowly, words extended through an exhaled breathe. His skin almost thrummed with an energy, one foreign yet exciting. Electricity rushed throughout him, filling up every centimetre of his being, from his cock to his brain.
“Okay,” Maurice replied, hands still holding his ass. Clive wondered when the room had got to be this hot.
In a slightly dazed movement, Clive stood up, off the warm lap of Maurice and onto his own feet. The room slightly shook, and perhaps he was even more drunk than estimated, but he found he had no qualms about what he was doing. Not now, not ever, not when being with Maurice felt this good: this right.
Before he could even really process it, his fingers were fumbling at his buttons in an effort to undone them. And soon, his waist coat was on the floor, and he was now unbuttoning his dress shirt, too.
With each button that came undone, more skin was revealed to Maurice. Pale like milk, yet slightly tanned by the shadows formed by the warm light bestowed upon the room. A beautiful juxtaposition, sensual like a woman on her wedding night.
Soon enough, he was nearly done, and lewdly exposed. His entire chest was revealed to Maurice, nipples hard and a trail of goosebumps exploding across his skin from the experience of being watched, of being enjoyed. “You’re beautiful.” Maurice said, and Clive could do nothing but grin in response. It seemed the Whiskey had entirely loosened any embarrassment he would have about the situation.
Clive finished the last button, and loosely folded his dress shirt up before placing it on the nearest chair. “You too,” he said, whilst beginning to undo the buckle of his trousers. Maurice’s mouth fell lax, before he suddenly blushed— the tips of his ears turning that warm color once more. And he too, began to undress, though at a much quicker pace than Clive, whose movements were still slowed by the alcohol and the joy of being drunk.
Once Clive had got his trousers off, he soon followed suit with his undergarments. As soon as they were off, and his cock was exposed, he found he couldn’t wait for Maurice to undress even more. The other was still in his trousers when Clive strode over and gripped his face within his hands in a searing kiss of high intensity. He tried to convey the words he could not verbalise within that one kiss, and smiled against Maurice’s lips when he kissed back, hands moving to grip Clive’s waist. “Take me,” he breathed out. “Take me like i’m a girl you've just married, and I’ll take you back in equal parts.”
Maurice kissed Clive back with an even greater vigour, as he too tried to communicate his feelings through that kiss. And Clive opened his mouth and allowed his tongue to greet his own once more, the kiss slow and intense and incredibly lewd. Their spit intermingling like scents of flowers on a summer day, Maurice digging his hands into his hair and leaving them to merely rest there. The intimacy overwhelming. They only parted when they could kiss for no longer, pulling away with heaving breathe. “Make me forget,” Clive all but begged. “Make me forget everyone but you.”
“I love you,” Maurice panted, kissing him chastely, and Clive responded equally so. Maurice’s eyes darkened, somehow, and his eyes took on the look of being double lidded. “Get on the bed,”
And who was Clive to do anything but what he asked?
As they both comparatively tumbled onto the bed, Clive felt something akin to contentment. He realised he hadn’t actually looked at Maurice yet— not like that, and so he did so. His gaze raked downwards, drifting from his handsome face, across his tanned torso— which Clive longed to run his hands down— and eventually, to his erect cock.
He gulped. “Say, Maurice, how the hell am I gonna take that in me?”
“Do you not want to?”
Clive reached down and gripped it in his hand, it felt heavy and thick. He could just barely wrap around the girth. “I never said that,” Clive responded, before giving it an experimental squeeze and delighting in the groan Maurice let out.
“Then let’s see,” Maurice said in response before launching onto Clive and pinning him onto the bed. Clive spreading his legs subconsciously, allowing Maurice to fit in between them. It felt perfect, like their bodies, their limbs, were all puzzle pieces in a greater puzzle that was incomplete all his life before he met Maurice.
Maurice placed kiss upon kiss on his skin, marking him with invisibility— so incredibly intimate, making Clive feel a deep, queer, sense of vulnerability. He gasped as Maurice’s hand found and gripped his cock, already hard and leaking. The pressure amazing, he couldn’t help but buck upwards and chase more of the touch. Wanting to be consumed by Maurice, and perhaps he already was from the moment their eyes first locked.
Gasping, Clive’s eyes fluttered shut as Maurice began to thumb his slit, spreading a bead of precome around his head. His mouth fell open. It was a queer feeling, one of intense pleasure. By now his cock was fully hard, almost throbbing despite being already touched. “Maurice, please,” he begged, not entirely sure what he even meant, but Maurice began to kiss his shoulders, licking at the skin. And soon enough his hand moved from his cock, to trail across the skin behind it. So sensitive, Clive couldn’t help but whine out. He could only hope everyone was asleep at this time of night. Maurice’s finger continued until he reached his hole, pressing lightly against the entrance.
It felt strange, entirely so. Unlike anything he’s ever experienced before, Clive was only able to assume this must be what it’s like for a woman— to some degree, that is. He gulped.
“How are we going to do this?” Maurice asked, circling his hole. It still felt strange.
“Like you would to a girl, I suppose.” Clive responded, not entirely sure why his drunken state had such an affinity for comparing oneself to that of a girl. Sober it would make him completely uncomfortable, but drunk it made him feel anything but.
“Never done it with a girl,” his fingers continued circling, giving an experimental push. Clive’s breathe hitched. “All I know is the stuff the lads would say back at school, and even than I’m not sure they were telling the truth.”
Clive clicks his tongue in agreement, breathe still coming up short. If he were doing this with anyone but Maurice, he’d be overwhelmed— but who is he kidding, there is no one but Maurice. “What type of stuff?” He asks, forcing away memories of his own school life, of what it felt like to finally break and be broken.
“Dirty stuff,” Maurice’s says, retracting the finger. He leans down, kissing Clive’s chest gently. Continues downwards until he reaches his waist, and kisses the skin there, too. “Stuff that would make a nun faint, a priest too, at that.”
His mouth felt dry, shivers breaking out across his skin and running up his spine like a wildfire spreading. “Like?”
“Like,” Maurice replies. Hands ghosting around his skin, holding him at the waist and almost forcing him still. “How they would open up a lady with just their tongues,” as if summoned, he began to lick at Clive’s skin, drawing out gasp upon gasp as he continued downwards towards his groin, still kissing, still teasing. “They said it was amazing. I never quite sure the appeal, but now, I think I do.”
Clive makes a sound similar to a choked out whine, words entirely failing him in that moment. He feels sick, with anticipation, with apprehension. So many feelings ruddying together, becoming indistinguishable within his mind. And soon he finds he is filled with a need, one that courses through his veins like ice and making him shiver and shake. He finds he needed it— everything. “Please, Maurice, make me sin. I want you to corrupt me.”
Even to Clive, the words sounded daunting. As if he’s about to cross a precipice, fall into an abyss, that he knows there’s no way back out of and yet despite this, Clive finds himself licking his lips, and couldn’t help but smile when Maurice looks up with wide eyes.
His mouth falls open. “Clive,” the name all but a swear word, combined with so many meanings at once. And before he can register it, Maurice’s lips are upon his skin once more. Only this time with a greater vigour, a needier insistency, and soon enough Clive is spreading his legs, and Maurice is burrowing his head between the now opened space, too.
Clive all but moans in anticipation as Maurice’s mouth ghosts above his hole, foreboding. “Do it,” he begs, “do it now,” and Maurice complies, kissing the entrance before turning to lick it.
Clive just manages to snap his mouth shut in time to prevent a whine from escaping, having to move to bite his fist in an effort to be quieter. It’s damned delightful. His back arches, and feels as though it’s about to break in half when Maurice’s pushes a tongue past his rim, and into Clive.
The pleasure was instantaneous, and utterly devoured Clive, leading all and any thought to an abrupt halt. His back further arched, and spots of black danced across his vision when his eyes opened on instinct.
Maurice continued what he was doing— whatever that even was— and pushed his tongue further in. The intrusion was terrifying, and made all the hairs on Clive stand on edge. Yet he found himself pushing his ass downwards, trying to get Maurices tongue further in him. He was absolutely breathless from the pure ecstasy just so little was making him feel.
Maurice’s hands pushed his waist down, forcing him into stillness as he continued plundering Clive. Fucking his tongue in and out at an excruciatingly gentle pace, forcibly loosening his hole, which Clive never imagined to be possible until now. It had him panting and nearly silent from the intense waves of pleasure pulsating through him, making his cock achingly hard. Hard enough he could near cry from it, so much so that he did exactly that.
“Oh,” he gasped out, breathe hitching repeatedly. It felt so good, how did it feel so good? “Oh, Gods, Maurice.” It seemed he couldn’t even come up with a comprehensible sentence, perhaps for the first time in his life.
His hand tangles itself into the thick of Maurices blonde hair, gripping as though it’d a lifeline that could disappear at any moment. As Maurice continued to lick into him, loosening him up, he finds that his eyes nearly roll back into his skull from just how amazing it feels.
After what feels like hours, though likely only minutes, Maurice stops his ministrations and breathes heavily against Clive’s loosened hole. It’s such a queer feeling, leaving him gasping for air, like he’s having an out of body experience— his world suddenly tilted on its axis with a new found revelation. One that he found himself not even being able to put a word on or ever have the ability to hope to verbalise.
So instead, he moved to cup Maurice’s face in between his hands and made them gage eye contact. He gulped, before speaking, in such a candid way that it rendered Maurice speechless.
“I love you,” he whispered, and perhaps it was not the meaning of the words but instead the way he spoke them. The way he chest heaved from the sheer intimacy, and he found that he needed to give himself up to Maurice. Because this might be the closest they ever were to get, or could get, in this lifetime.
“I love you, Durham.” Maurice replied. The name making Clive’s face heat up, before suddenly he was filled with want once again. Only this time it was even needier, stronger in its insistency. And arousal was suddenly filling him up, making his cock even harder, his hole practically throbbing from lack of touch. He needed Maurice, God, how he needed him so badly in that single moment. There was no one else, would never be.
“Than get on with it.”
And just like that, it was as though a switch had been pushed, pulling everything back into place as it had been mere moments before. This time things were even more heated, somehow. The overwhelming vulnerability of that moment shared between them muddling with lust and forming into a concoction of arousal that they were both intoxicated on, perhaps would always be.
Maurice moved so he was further up, positioned practically on top of Clive, who leaned down and quickly kissed him before next speaking. “What way?”
“How so?” Clive asked, arms drifting upwards to rest on his shoulders.
“I mean,” Maurice responded, turning to kneel as he began to deftly unbuckle the belt holding up his trousers. Right as he freed his cock, he continued. “Do you want to face me, or not?”
Oh.
Oh.
“Facing you, of course.” Clive murmured, before leaning up into a half sitting position. He gripped Maurice’s cock in his hand and gave it an experimental tug, watching how it filled so easily to hardness within his grip. “It’s pretty.”
“I’ll show you pretty,” Maurice all but replies, and suddenly his lips are on Clive’s once more before he pulls back, leaving Clive utterly breathless. As he aligns his cock with Clive’s practically begging hole, Clive finds he can do nothing but stare in awe, in appreciation of the man before him. All this love he has for Maurice, that he will never be able to admit to anyone but him.
Clive laughed, bordering giggling as he spread his legs in an effort to accommodate Maurice. “Do it,” he said; a disguised plea, and Maurice did exactly that.
Slowly, Maurice begins to push in and Clive’s breathe left himself entirely. His cock is large enough that it still stretches Clive wide open despite the preparation they had done. Feels like he’s going to split in half. He gasps for breathe, hips stilling from just how intense it feels. It takes an effort to keep his legs spread, and his thighs burn from the position. Maurice does it so slowly that he can feel every individual detail of the others cock, how large it it, how it drags deliciously against his walls, how he has a large singular vein that runs down it like a river. He gulps, tries heaving in a breathe whilst he’s at it.
By now Maurice has to be nearly done, but when he looks downwards he realises with an abject horror that he’s barely halfway in. Clive is certain he’ll die. His own cock lies pathetically against his stomach, hard and leaking. Pleading to be touched, yet he can’t find it in himself to do so. Not until Maurice comes, only than will Clive follow.
His back arches, pleasure running down him like a live wire. It’s become a struggle to breathe, and he finds himself desperately gripping the sheets for purchase. Clive imagines how scandalous it would be for someone to walk in this very moment, wonders how much time in prison he would get. In that moment he’s never been more thankful for alcohol and the way it numbs his fears, allows him to bathe in the ecstasy of the moment; in Maurice, his Maurice.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he gasps out, head spinning. Maurice is nearly done, with each long second his cock disappears further into Clive; who cannot for the life of him find it in himself to look away.
Maurice merely grunts in response, finally bottoming out and it’s as though Clive cannot breathe anymore. He swears he can feel Maurice in his throat, can practically taste him from just how deep inside he is. It’s a jarring and oddly terrifying experience, but than Maurice’s hand is cupping his face and suddenly he can breathe again; as if summoned, a lone tear forms in the corner of his eye before dropping and trailing down his face. Maurice wipes it off with his thumb, so gently, and Clive’s breathe hiccups; stuttering like a broken gear.
“How does it feel?” Maurice asks, breathe ghosting across Clive’s skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. His voice is deep, and washes over Clive like a balm. Somehow soothing everything. Making the slight pain he feels in his ass pleasurable; a strange juxtaposition between instinct and feeling.
“Exceptional,” Clive gasped out, hoping that word alone could communicate just how amazing it somehow felt. No wonder it was illegal, if it felt this good surely everyone would want to do it given the opportunity. “It feels utterly exceptional.” Just for good measure, he draws up enough strength to squeeze around Maurice’s cock— feels it pulse and jolt inside him. Delights in the sound of Maurice’s accompanying groan. In how his hips snap forward before suddenly stopping, making Clive all but nearly whine: a part of him wanting to force Maurice into continuing, somehow.
“Good,” Maurice breathes out, still painfully unmoving. His hands move to rest upon Clive’s knees, a delightful deadweight for the time being. “Tell me if it hurts, alright?” He finishes, punctuating the sentence by chastely kissing Clive. Who tilts his head upwards and kisses back, too.
When he pulls back, Clive takes note of the way he practically trembles inside him; how a light sheen of sweat covers his features so beautifully, reminding Clive that Maurice is just as affected as him, if not more.
Clive opens his mouth to speak, and instead whines as Maurice chooses that exact moment to begin to move inside of him. Slowly, he drags his cock out, until all that is left inside of Clive is the head. It leaves him gasping for breathe, mouth seemingly permanently stuck open in a constant show of pleasure. He cannot close it, fearing if he did he may never be able to get it back open to breathe. Clive’s back arches further and Maurice forcefully spreads his legs, giving himself better access before pushing back in, and Clive’s mind goes blissfully blank.
“Oh,” he all but whimpered as Maurice continued pushing in, slow enough to have him yearning but fast enough to feel somewhat satiated, alleviating the near maddening need for more. In a way, it felt like torture.
Clive’s body was utterly strung out, as if it was being tested to its limit. Eyes falling shut, he felt entirely disoriented.
Maurice bottomed out once more and suddenly Clive’s eyes were wide open again, and he was just barely able to cover his mouth with his hands as a loud whine was threatened to be ripped out from somewhere deep inside him. Hand just barely able to stifle the sound quick enough. This time, Maurice had somehow touched a part of him he never knew even existed— something that had his back nearly breaking from just how hard he arched it; his toes curling and fingers practically spasming from where they desperately clenched at the bed sheets.
For a long moment, Clive feels akin to dead. Only able to hear the rush of blood in his ears, feel the overwhelming ecstasy of that one action alone wrack through his body like an unshakeable shudder.
It’s only when he’s somewhat recovered— sound and sensation slowly coming back to him, does he recognise the sound of Maurice grunting and feel how he’s still fucking into Clive’s limp body. The realisation has him choking back a whine, cock painfully hard. Enough so that Clive starts to cry, at first slowly, before it turns to a full blown sobbing.
Clive is just so incredibly vulnerable and so, so sensitive in that very moment. He hates how much he loves it, fears that he will never feel this much pleasure, this much happiness, ever again. The fact he’s doing this drunk is merely a testament to that.
He furiously wipes his face, scrubbing the tears off and looks away from Maurice, who has slowed down his thrusts to a more languid tempo. Through his peripheral he can see Maurice’s hand outstretch, perhaps to wipe the tears away, but he’s stopped by the cold grip of Clive’s own hand mid air. “Don’t stop,” he pleads, voice ragged and bare, caught between the desire to show his emotions and the instinct to hide them entirely. After all, what you do not show cannot be hurt.
Clive is still panting, face blotched with tears, when Maurice fucks back into him once more. Only it’s gentle this time, caring in a way Clive was oblivious to all before he met Maurice.
A swell of emotion blooms within his chest, loud and boisterous in its intensity, like blood roaring past his ears. He moves to hold Maurice’s hand, and kisses it slowly, slipping out his tongue to lick at the skin.
“Durham, tell me, what do you want?”
“You,” Clive responds, eyes flickering upwards to level Maurice with a stare. “I want every part of you, now, continue, or I might just die.”
Wordless, Maurice resumes his thrusts— faster, this time, leaving Clive gasping for breathe and practically hitting each groan and whine out of him. Whilst he does this, they hold hands, sweaty and disgusting, yet Clive finds it to be the closest to something he may never experience again: total intimacy. Candid and romantic and entirely overpowering. The feeling unshakeable, like a scent that lingers.
By now, Clive is close. His cock practically weeps for release, red and throbbing. Hard against his stomach, and he can tell Maurice is close, too. Through the way his thrusts are sloppier, how he holds his hand tighter as if Clive could disappear before his very eyes. Any moment now, one of them will come. So Clive does what one in love would do, and squeezes as tight as he can around the others cock, before whispering: “If i could marry you and be your bride, I would. But I can’t, so instead claim me, make me forever yours in a way no one else can.”
With a gasp, Maurice comes, hips stuttering to a still— movement halting jerkily. His cock spasms into Clive, as he spills into him, and when Maurice goes to pull out, Clive lifts his hips up and brings him back in. Milks him for all he has, feels the come fill him up. It’s filthy, disgusting, and perhaps the most thrilling thing ever.
It’s only when Maurice has his eyes scrunched shut, mouth hung open and practically shivering from the pleasure of his release, does Clive seek his own. He gives Maurice’s hand a small squeeze before bringing it downwards, intertwined with his own, towards his cock. Wraps their hands around it, so easily, one on top of another, and jolts upwards into the touch. The touch is near maddening, has him biting his lip hard enough it must draw blood. Than, he begins to drag their hands upwards, fucking in and out of their hands. By now Maurice seems to be coming somewhat back, and takes slight control of helping Clive out. The drag is only slightly uncomfortable, but in a way that makes it better. Makes it real.
He’s so close, the pleasure near electric, and when Maurice grabs the back of his head and brings him into a searing, closed mouth, kiss— he comes with a shudder. His mouth hangs open, seemingly stuck in that position, and his body practically spasms. Clive fears he may never be able to get it to work again, and whilst he experiences what can only be comparable to bliss— Maurice’s runs a hand through his sweat soaked hair, still kissing him, still gripping his cock and helping him through it. He spurts come all over Maurice’s hand, and takes note of how Maurice is still impaled in him, how he can feel that come leaks out of his hole obscenely.
For a long, drawn out moment, Clive does not inhibit his body. It’s as though his mind has floated elsewhere, and all he can think of is that comforting musky scent of Maurice, warm and heady. All he can hear is the sound of their breathes intermingled together, taking over his brain like a ever present buzz, not entirely dissimilar to the way birds on a summer day harmonise.
Slowly, his eyes open. Maurice is half collapsed over him, blonde hair wet with sweat and stuck to his forehead. Clive can only assume he looks the same, if not more of a mess. His breathe still comes in quick and short, chest rising up and down in short progression.
He feels naked— physically and psychologically, like he has laid his entire soul bare for Maurice, who had done the same back.
(Clive thinks one day, when he finally dies and is placed on an autopsy table, they’ll cut open his chest and find all that will be there is the sound of Maurice’s laughter.)
After a while, both of them gain some composure. Maurice looks upwards at the same time Clive chooses, too. As soon as they gain eye contact, they both begin to laugh.
“Shhh,” Clive gasps out in between laughter. “Be quiet.”
“I’m trying to!” Maurice says, and Clive hisses when he moves and the cock inside him shifts position.
“Get off of me old man,” he says, making no actual move to push Maurice off him. Instead, he leans upwards and kisses Maurice. Keeping it chaste for a brief moment before deepening it, tilting his head to give better access.
Maurice smiles against the kiss. “You think you’re all that.”
Grinning, Clive cannot find it in himself to disagree. Because if he’s able to be with Maurice, to be worthy of his love, then perhaps he really is deserving of that title.