[Mike's a little transfixed by the angle of Chuck's chin as he arches his neck, pushes his shoulders back as he arches back into him, still managing to cling onto him. The fingers on his back start to ache and prickle his skin, but he doesn't mind that at all, only adds a spike to the spark of pleasure hitting his chest and the back of his throat when he pushes forward, then pulls back.
He finds himself wanting to do several things at once. Jump onto his knees, hike Chuck's shirt up and nip up the dent from his bellybutton to the grove between his collarbones. Reach between them and wrap his hand around his cock, bringing the relief that he craves for even faster. Keep kissing him until he needs to push him away to breathe. Turn them around so that he could see him grapple and scramble to pull his weight up while Mike messed with his senses. Just thinking about it is making his boxers even more uncomfortable and damp than they already are.
But as he is, syncing the motions of his hips with the sounds coming out of Chuck's lips, replying with some of his own, he can't help but burrow his face against his neck, kiss the sandy spots here and there - he's not really looking but they're so many he's sure he's hitting some, at least - and whisper Chuck's name against it.]
[Curious how most of those scenarios seem to run through Chuck's mind, even if only for the split second before Mike leans closer and presses his lips to Chuck's skin. His shoulders tense, but he likes it, even if the muscles seem to twitch away from the soft contact. He fists his hands on the hem of the shirt, that by now is almost past Mike's shoulders, and he figures he'd rather not have it there anymore.
Through loud breaths and soft noises, he can take the needed break to try and tug it over Mike's head, or at least hope that the pulling is enough for Mike to understand what he's trying to do. Hope that Mike will let go of him for just one second, sit back, let Chuck pull the shirt off the rest of the way. He loses some of the rhythm in his motions in the process, but it only makes him roll his hips harder each time, trying to compensate for the fact they just lost each other for a moment there.]
[It doesn't help much. He knows what Chuck is trying to do, but he doesn't want to feel the cold air against him when he has Chuck slowly burning beneath his skin. That the movement of his body is turning sharper doesn't help with the idea that he wants to pull himself closer, not farther, and at the beginning he's holding Chuck just a little tighter, groaning against the corner of his jaw.
Still, he would be berating himself later if he didn't manage to do that simple favor. He pulls away, kissing the tip of his nose just a little, bringing his other knee up so he could sit back on his heels.
... his shirt really was a mess by then. With all the motion of Chuck's hands on his back, he had barely noticed it was bare.
He shivers through his smile, tugs at his shirt, wanting Chuck to sit up so the air won't seem so cold. C'mere, Chuckles.]
[Chuck doesn't need that tug, because as soon as Mike's heat slips away from his personal space, to somewhere Chuck's skin can't sense it and the cold air sweeps its way up Chuck's torso and arms, he's struggling to follow, to get up, arms reaching for shoulders and legs flailing for a little longer than Chuck's comfortable with until he manages to fold them and sit up on his knees, straddling Mike.]
Sorry. [He smiles sheepishly when his knee almost hits Mike on his side with all that struggle, and when he sits up on his knees he ends up bumping himself against Mike with a breathless groan. He quickly pulls away to tug Mike's shirt the rest of the way, throws it aside without even looking because he much prefers looking at Mike, eyes roaming down his chest and navel - thankfully hidden behind his long hair -, he licks his lips, then rests his hands over the warm skin.]
[That he can't see Chuck's eyes really does nothing for him, in the sense that he knows he's looking and running the tip of his tongue over his lips, pressing his hands to him. It's flattering, and a little surprising - they've shared so much time together in which they were almost or pretty much naked, it should've been second nature - to see Chuck so intense about Mike's own body. But then again, he understands: He wants to do the same to Chuck, wants to brush against him skin on skin, look closely at which is a freckle and which is a mole, where hair lies and doesn't, how exactly each muscle twitches at every motion. The mere weight of his hands on him makes him exhale deeply, the pressure on his lap makes him shift for comfort and discomfort at the very same time.
He wants to kiss him, but that'll interrupt his sightseeing. And his own session can wait because he wants to watch Chuck just as much, and he needs to give the programmer room for that. He leans his forehead against Chuck's, and waits patiently over the thrum of his own body telling him to tackle him back to the mattress.
The only indication of his impatience is exposed in his fingers, running up his thighs, slipping them underneath the leg of his boxers, thumb sliding over the inner crease where it meets the rest of his body and sliding back.]
[Mike's hands cause Chuck's attention to derail; not that it was so important, because he's still sliding his hands down Mike's torso, one thumb hovering just below the navel. The difference now is that the tips of his fingers curl a little, press and dig into the skin as he props himself up on his knees, slides up Mike's lap and rolls his hips towards that touch. The feeling shakes its way up Chuck's throat and cuts his breath short, so much so that he doesn't even make a sound in response.
Forehead still resting against Mike's, he tilts his chin up so that their noses are bumping into one another, mouth open and lip ghosting over the skin right above Mike's mouth. He takes a break in many ways right now, he doesn't know what he wants to say or do, what he knows is that he wants, he needs Mike to do that again. That, or something like it, something that will make his spine crawl and his body arch, and at the same time he longs to reach, to cause if only a fraction of these reactions on Mike too, wonders what noises he would make if Chuck just slid his fingers lower, passed the elastic band of the boxers--
He takes a deep breath. His voice is probably a little shallow, but he mutters anyway.] ... keep going.
[He grins, nuzzles beside Chuck's nose as he tilts his head up into him. His own lips part at the motion of Chuck's hips - it's only one of the most arousing things Mike has ever felt or seen, after all. His own thighs move and grind against the weight over them, just for the sake of friction, for the sudden need of it.
So he does, of course he does keep going, bites his lower lip as he focuses, eyes stuck on Chuck's face as he keeps going. He slips his fingers underneath those boxers and slides them over the outer side of Chuck's thighs, circles around the spot where those stop being thighs and start being hips [and he never really knows where that is exactly] and moves down to his knees.
Then he slides his hands higher again, over the softer expanse of his inner thighs, where there wasn't as much hair, but he could feel goosebumps under his fingers. Flicks his thumbs through the fold over his limbs to his crotch. There's not a moment of hesitation because Mike is going at it and he won't stop, knows it would be torture to do so. So he reaches his left hand for Chuck's hard-on straining against the slit of his boxers, palms it softly before wrapping his fingers around it.]
[Whatever Mike does, or however slow or fast, Chuck waits, still but impatiently so, only revealed in the way he bites the inside of his cheek and keeps moving his own hands, roaming up Mike's chest again and settling on his shoulders. Just in time too, because then Mike's so close that he can feel his nerves tingling even before he touches, before he feels the calluses when he wraps his hand around him.
Chuck's sure Mike reached for something else just then. He rolls his hips towards the touch, kneads his fingers against Mike's shoulders and clings down to them tightly, his entire body trembling as he moans loudly, a guttural undefined sound even as right now the only thing on his mind is Mike. He's sure there was something else Mike wrapped himself around, something like Chuck's restlessness, or the tension and the headache he sometimes let pile up on himself for a few too many days, and he feels Mike yanking it all out of him with just one move. It causes his shoulders to relax visibly with a noisy sigh, and he closes his eyes, letting his mind swim in the sensations.]
[He hums, breathes out in empathy, finding his own thrill on Chuck's reaction, in the expression of his face, the skin stretching and relaxing as a moan brushes over his cheek, in how his own skin prickles at the tight grip on his shoulders.
Mike enjoys this more than anything. More than the antsy antics he pulls when he teases him with touches and breaths. More than the hitch at a look before a kiss. He appreciates how Chuck's mind's usually the fastest, the most active, ready and sharp all the time.
But he really loves that he just managed to shut it down.
And that's why there's a hint of a smile on his half-lidded eyes as he keeps nuzzling across his brow, around his temple, and he starts twisting his hand, stroking with a tighter clench of his hand around the edge before he slides back down, switching maneuvers and wrapping two fingers around the head after, twitching shallowly.]
[No breath from Chuck comes without a gasp, and no gasp comes without a noise, loud, a whimper, a half-hissed curse, a broken version of Mike's name. It's all working by instinct by now, his voice and his actions, and he lets himself be driven by Mike - like so many times before, except in a whole new way. So he closes his eyes, no complaints on whether Mike should take charge this time, because obviously he should, and he does, and he will, and this is one time and one particular chasm Chuck's not so scared of jumping into.
In fact it's like he tugs Mike along, in the way he draws closer with each touch, finding a rhythm to meet Mike's, leaning his face towards his nuzzles. He has no presence of mind to do much more than that, even if just a moment ago he was planning, he wanted to reach for Mike in a similar way.]
[The motions of his body are enough to keep him going, though, as are the sounds spilling from his mouth to make Mike understand what Chuck likes best - thumb over the head, a squeeze before a pull, the slow picking up of the pace that makes him hitch his breath sharper and sharper every time - and to keep at what he's doing. His free hand wanders, first around Chuck's leg, underneath his thigh and then upwards, slipping under his shirt and stroking his back, holding him close, and he keeps nuzzling through his hair, replying vaguely with encouragement at each and every cry. He had wanted to see Chuck, strip him and savor him, but the hold he has on Mike feels tight and sweet and Mike really can't stop giving Chuck that, a moment when he's only swamped with what he's feeling and not with what he's thinking.]
[Chuck leans his forehead against the crook of Mike's neck and shoulder. He gasps, open-mouthed, with every flick and twist of Mike's fingers, every teasing of the nerves sending a jolt to his other extremities, a white light flashing at random behind his closed eyelids. He tilts his head barely, mouths the corner of Mike's jaw just below his ear, but doesn't do anything, can't do anything but breathe loud and hot against the skin.
He's close, so close that it's all exactly like the feeling he gets when Mike's driving like a madman along the edge of a precipice, wheels barely touching the ground, Chuck looks out the window and all he sees is a cloud of dust and a wall of rock that stretches down into nothing. And he screams then too, though it's a completely different kind of scream, with an entirely different feeling behind it. The feeling twists its way down to Chuck's stomach, further down to the border of the soul, farther down to his crotch and makes his cock twitch. He begs against Mike's ear, pleasepleaseplease, though it's apparent in the way his movements are more and more erratic, even as he keeps close to Mike, even as he is beyond the point to keep his rhythm in tandem with Mike's.]
[The arch of his feet is aching badly, he's shivering hard with the strain of keeping Chuck close to him instead of reaching for him and stroke towards his own completion. But really, Chuck didn't even need to plea for him to keep going, didn't need to hold this tight for him to keep him there. Yet Mike likes it, groans at the damp heat against his neck, the deep gasps slipping against and through his skin.
There's something at the depth of his chest that tugs along with each roll of Chuck's hips, at the way his eyelashes brush his skin and how his voice shakes within every please. It makes Mike smile, rub his forehead along the slope of his shoulder - and not kiss and nuzzle because that would mean moving his ear away from Chuck's lips - as he moves his hand harder and faster. ]
[There's one move that takes him over the edge - or maybe it's all of it knitted together, feeling the pressure of Mike's fingers around him, hearing the sound of his voice and his heartbeat against his skin, the weight of the nearly unbreathable air surrounding them both. He's too sensitive right now, every minuscule shift around him amplified so that, with the right change - or any change, really, in position, pressure or speed - he's arching his back towards Mike, every muscle contracting and shivering as he comes, practically glues his mouth next to Mike's ears and lets the choked cries slip out, turned into moans halfway.
He flies just then, it feels like it. For a brief moment he travels so high he goes past clouds and reaches a place where there must be no oxygen because he can't draw a breath, not until he comes crashing down, the frantic movements of his hips slowing down while he breaks through the atmosphere, and when he opens his eyes, still gasping for air, bitten nails still digging into Mike's back, legs still locked tensely around Mike's sides, he finds he landed safely where he'd taken off from. So he locks his arms around Mike's neck, soft limbs resting over him, and he kisses the arch of Mike's ear, whispers his name slowly into it while he shakes off the remnants of the sensations.]
[Chuck's holding him tight and painfully close but he doesn't mind it. Eyes wide as he tucks his chin over Chuck's shoulder, he strokes him through his climax while paying attention to every detail he can clutch onto. It's the whisper of air against his ear, how he's so far gone he's completely lost control over Mike's touch. And it's overwhelming, really, to know just how this simple action can mean so much, can transform them into two bodies connecting so tightly and trusting each other so deeply that all the boundaries that they've created through their lives, that the world they've been born into, collapse within themselves with just a hint of proximity.
Mike's focusing on reveling in the feeling until Chuck utters his name in complete satisfaction and bliss, and then he can't help but shiver, hold Chuck just a little tighter, stroking his back slowly. He presses his lips to Chuck's, silently, as if thanking him for letting him witness such a thing.]
[The kiss is the thing to definitely pull him down to Earth like an anchor, like Mike's tugging at a string of a balloon, and though he responds by reflex at first, after a few seconds he tilts his head to the side, lets his mouth part so that their lips can fit together in what seems to Chuck to be a perfect way. He imagines, like he does sometimes, a little box where he likes to picture himself sitting when he's feeling particularly scared or insecure, except right now the little box has no room for those feelings, because it's the two of them sitting in there, and Chuck is amazed at how everything outside seems so tiny in comparison, and inside, the small box seems to be the size of the universe.
With that one thought, he smiles into the kiss, though it's only a curl of the corner of his lips, one hand moving up until his fingers are getting lost into Mike's hair, the other trailing down Mike's chest and stomach, shifting it around halfway so that his fingers are resting downwards over Mike's navel before he keeps going, and presses the palm to the front of Mike's boxers.]
[He ends up smiling back, somehow, by pure instinct, maybe, at the way Chuck fits their mouths together and tangles his fingers in his hair.
--But then there's Chuck's hand sliding downwards and he can't help but groan into his lips and sit a bit higher, shifting his feet, moving his hips into his touch, his mind chanting a yesyesyesyesyes. He's been resisting any kind of touch and brush, so he wouldn't lose control and focus on Chuck for a while, and now that he's been touched he's struggling not too move too fast, body twitching rapidly, craving for fast release, until he pulls back with a deep breath through his teeth, and it takes all his strength not to move as fast as he drives again.
It's safe to say he's never been this aroused in his whole life, but right now, he wants Chuck to set the pace. He owes him that, at the very least.]
[Chuck's focus changes with the shift and rock of Mike's hips. He crawls out of Mike's lap so he can move more freely, still rubbing and pressing his hand between Mike's legs, a little distracted for the short moment it takes him to crawl around Mike so that he's kneeling almost behind him - he figures it'll be easier for the both of them to move like that. Then he licks his lips, cups his hard-on tighter, his other hand snaking around Mike's side and resting there, just above his hipbone.
So he might be enjoying teasing Mike a little too much, but it's not purposeful (mostly), and it's not like it'll last for long. His thumb is already hooking over the waistband of Mike's underwear and tugging it down just a bit, eager but, considering all things, very patient.]
[The moment Chuck pulls back, he's almost reaching for him to pull him closer again, to where he should belong, warming his skin and making his nerve endings tingle. Still, he lets him move, take this new position, which he doesn't understand at first - he wouldn't understand any at the time - but that he quickly adapts himself to. Falling back and pulling his legs sideways, feet numb but thankful for the release. He quickly presses his shoulder against Chuck, attaches his mouth to his neck, and he doesn't even notice that he had half a mind to wipe his hand on his boxers before he reaches for his shirt, gripping tight.
He had decided Chuck was going to take his time, that it was going to be his part of the show. But it's a bit torturous, when he's this impatient, when he's really at the point where he needs Chuck badly. He wraps his hand around Chuck's wrist, body quivering, hips writhing with tight restrain.] Chuck...
[Chuck finds himself getting far too distracted by the way Mike's shoulder digs against his chest, wanting to close his eyes when he feels his breath skimming over the skin but not doing so, just in case he might miss something, something important. The tug at his wrist snaps him out of it, though, and he turns his head slightly towards Mike.]
-- right. Sorry. [He clears his throat when he feels his voice come too hoarse and spent, as his fingers quickly slide upwards, hand trailing over the hem, then tugging the fabric farther down and past Mike's erection, finally wrapping around him with one slow but firm stroke.]
[He still manages to shake his head and give a hum of encouragement for a second before it turns into a hiss, or a sigh, or something in between. It's automatic, even, how he reacts to his touch, how fast he wants his hips to jerk into his fingers, but he manages to keep that at bay for two immediate thrusts. He brushes his thumb along his wrist, follows his arm and that's where Mike finds the whole problem with this position. He can't touch Chuck as easily as he can touch him.
He still does, though, with a tilt of his head and an arch of his neck, mouthing the skin underneath his jaw, hand fumbling between them before he manages to pull his shoulder back just a little to wrap his arm around Chuck's waist, touching the small of his back. It's almost a casual position, though, and that's probably why it suddenly clicks. It's them, after all, so it made nothing but sense.]
[Chuck doesn't find the same problem in this position, because like this he can not only touch Mike but he can also see all of him, every reaction, regardless of how small, that just a twist of his wrist can draw out of him. He sighs, tilts his head towards Mike's lips, and lets the hand on his back guide him closer until he's arching to press to Mike's side.
He shifts the grip, holds his hand around Mike just a little tighter, slides it up to the tip and presses his palm to it, making use of the precum there to slide back down more easily, slowly setting up a pace and waiting for Mike to catch up, the fingers of his other hand burying into Mike's side, dragging down to his hip.]
[He's close, he's embarrassingly close, or would be if he paid any mind to it. To him, reacting this easily to Chuck only would strike him as natural later, when he is realizing he'll be fantasizing about Chuck in his mind's eye from then on, about his touch and his mouth and the breathy sighs he'd release, at the roll of his hips and his voice as he snickers when he's horny.
Mike's lips easily find Chuck's, although he's only pressing them close, breathing in Chuck's air and breathing out to share his own. Flushed and revved and completely mindless, he rolls his hips faster, egging Chuck on, to switch gears, to press harder, and chest heaving before his stomach clenches, before he moves his hips forward with the tension of his thighs. When his palm brushes over the head there's a spark of pleasure spiking through his spine, and he lets out a small cry, laughing a little in surprise at the suddenness of it all.]
[Chuck doesn't want to close his eyes, doesn't want to look away from Mike, wants to burn this image behind his eyelids. But he does, slides them close, kissing Mike with a little more mind to it than him, nibbling at the lower lip and -eventually, he can't help himself - opening his eyes again to watch Mike, as he gasps and cries against Chuck's skin, so eagerly rocking his hips to meet Chuck's hand. He too isn't aware that this image will take over his dreams later, will have him wake up in a couple of hours, sweaty and breathless, Mike's moans still ringing in his ears and the feel of his body ghosting over his akin, and a hard-on that'll be too uncomfortable for him to ignore.
It's almost instinctive the way he jerks Mike off, so dexterous he is that he doesn't even need to think about it to know what he has to do, how he has to move to get him to come. He changes his pace for a moment, slowing down and picking it back up with varied pressure, and he can tell Mike's close too, which is why he leans his head back, bites his lip as he locks his eyes on Mike's face with a soft hum.]
[He feels like he has melted, feels like he's very far away from everything, that the only person who can hear the sharp breaths he's taking is Chuck, because all he's focused on is the feel of his hand around him, how his forearm is locked against his back and his fingers clutch around his hip, and every motion is taking him just a little further, or a little closer, or a lot tighter.
When Chuck pulls back, he barely responds, only looks back, and it's enough. It's enough for the hand on his back to raise higher, to clutch at him tighter, move a little faster, until his muscles seize, his breath catches, air stopping in his own lungs, the wrong fuel for that kind of engine, for that kind of surge, heat and nuclear and electrical all at once, or just the moisture of Chuck's breath and his gaze through his hair. It hits him and takes him high, his name broken in his throat as he lets one last exhale, raking through his and making him quiver.]
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He finds himself wanting to do several things at once. Jump onto his knees, hike Chuck's shirt up and nip up the dent from his bellybutton to the grove between his collarbones. Reach between them and wrap his hand around his cock, bringing the relief that he craves for even faster. Keep kissing him until he needs to push him away to breathe. Turn them around so that he could see him grapple and scramble to pull his weight up while Mike messed with his senses. Just thinking about it is making his boxers even more uncomfortable and damp than they already are.
But as he is, syncing the motions of his hips with the sounds coming out of Chuck's lips, replying with some of his own, he can't help but burrow his face against his neck, kiss the sandy spots here and there - he's not really looking but they're so many he's sure he's hitting some, at least - and whisper Chuck's name against it.]
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Through loud breaths and soft noises, he can take the needed break to try and tug it over Mike's head, or at least hope that the pulling is enough for Mike to understand what he's trying to do. Hope that Mike will let go of him for just one second, sit back, let Chuck pull the shirt off the rest of the way. He loses some of the rhythm in his motions in the process, but it only makes him roll his hips harder each time, trying to compensate for the fact they just lost each other for a moment there.]
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Still, he would be berating himself later if he didn't manage to do that simple favor. He pulls away, kissing the tip of his nose just a little, bringing his other knee up so he could sit back on his heels.
... his shirt really was a mess by then. With all the motion of Chuck's hands on his back, he had barely noticed it was bare.
He shivers through his smile, tugs at his shirt, wanting Chuck to sit up so the air won't seem so cold. C'mere, Chuckles.]
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Sorry. [He smiles sheepishly when his knee almost hits Mike on his side with all that struggle, and when he sits up on his knees he ends up bumping himself against Mike with a breathless groan. He quickly pulls away to tug Mike's shirt the rest of the way, throws it aside without even looking because he much prefers looking at Mike, eyes roaming down his chest and navel - thankfully hidden behind his long hair -, he licks his lips, then rests his hands over the warm skin.]
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He wants to kiss him, but that'll interrupt his sightseeing. And his own session can wait because he wants to watch Chuck just as much, and he needs to give the programmer room for that. He leans his forehead against Chuck's, and waits patiently over the thrum of his own body telling him to tackle him back to the mattress.
The only indication of his impatience is exposed in his fingers, running up his thighs, slipping them underneath the leg of his boxers, thumb sliding over the inner crease where it meets the rest of his body and sliding back.]
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Forehead still resting against Mike's, he tilts his chin up so that their noses are bumping into one another, mouth open and lip ghosting over the skin right above Mike's mouth. He takes a break in many ways right now, he doesn't know what he wants to say or do, what he knows is that he wants, he needs Mike to do that again. That, or something like it, something that will make his spine crawl and his body arch, and at the same time he longs to reach, to cause if only a fraction of these reactions on Mike too, wonders what noises he would make if Chuck just slid his fingers lower, passed the elastic band of the boxers--
He takes a deep breath. His voice is probably a little shallow, but he mutters anyway.] ... keep going.
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So he does, of course he does keep going, bites his lower lip as he focuses, eyes stuck on Chuck's face as he keeps going. He slips his fingers underneath those boxers and slides them over the outer side of Chuck's thighs, circles around the spot where those stop being thighs and start being hips [and he never really knows where that is exactly] and moves down to his knees.
Then he slides his hands higher again, over the softer expanse of his inner thighs, where there wasn't as much hair, but he could feel goosebumps under his fingers. Flicks his thumbs through the fold over his limbs to his crotch. There's not a moment of hesitation because Mike is going at it and he won't stop, knows it would be torture to do so. So he reaches his left hand for Chuck's hard-on straining against the slit of his boxers, palms it softly before wrapping his fingers around it.]
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Chuck's sure Mike reached for something else just then. He rolls his hips towards the touch, kneads his fingers against Mike's shoulders and clings down to them tightly, his entire body trembling as he moans loudly, a guttural undefined sound even as right now the only thing on his mind is Mike. He's sure there was something else Mike wrapped himself around, something like Chuck's restlessness, or the tension and the headache he sometimes let pile up on himself for a few too many days, and he feels Mike yanking it all out of him with just one move. It causes his shoulders to relax visibly with a noisy sigh, and he closes his eyes, letting his mind swim in the sensations.]
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Mike enjoys this more than anything. More than the antsy antics he pulls when he teases him with touches and breaths. More than the hitch at a look before a kiss. He appreciates how Chuck's mind's usually the fastest, the most active, ready and sharp all the time.
But he really loves that he just managed to shut it down.
And that's why there's a hint of a smile on his half-lidded eyes as he keeps nuzzling across his brow, around his temple, and he starts twisting his hand, stroking with a tighter clench of his hand around the edge before he slides back down, switching maneuvers and wrapping two fingers around the head after, twitching shallowly.]
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In fact it's like he tugs Mike along, in the way he draws closer with each touch, finding a rhythm to meet Mike's, leaning his face towards his nuzzles. He has no presence of mind to do much more than that, even if just a moment ago he was planning, he wanted to reach for Mike in a similar way.]
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He's close, so close that it's all exactly like the feeling he gets when Mike's driving like a madman along the edge of a precipice, wheels barely touching the ground, Chuck looks out the window and all he sees is a cloud of dust and a wall of rock that stretches down into nothing. And he screams then too, though it's a completely different kind of scream, with an entirely different feeling behind it. The feeling twists its way down to Chuck's stomach, further down to the border of the soul, farther down to his crotch and makes his cock twitch. He begs against Mike's ear, pleasepleaseplease, though it's apparent in the way his movements are more and more erratic, even as he keeps close to Mike, even as he is beyond the point to keep his rhythm in tandem with Mike's.]
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There's something at the depth of his chest that tugs along with each roll of Chuck's hips, at the way his eyelashes brush his skin and how his voice shakes within every please. It makes Mike smile, rub his forehead along the slope of his shoulder - and not kiss and nuzzle because that would mean moving his ear away from Chuck's lips - as he moves his hand harder and faster. ]
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He flies just then, it feels like it. For a brief moment he travels so high he goes past clouds and reaches a place where there must be no oxygen because he can't draw a breath, not until he comes crashing down, the frantic movements of his hips slowing down while he breaks through the atmosphere, and when he opens his eyes, still gasping for air, bitten nails still digging into Mike's back, legs still locked tensely around Mike's sides, he finds he landed safely where he'd taken off from. So he locks his arms around Mike's neck, soft limbs resting over him, and he kisses the arch of Mike's ear, whispers his name slowly into it while he shakes off the remnants of the sensations.]
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Mike's focusing on reveling in the feeling until Chuck utters his name in complete satisfaction and bliss, and then he can't help but shiver, hold Chuck just a little tighter, stroking his back slowly. He presses his lips to Chuck's, silently, as if thanking him for letting him witness such a thing.]
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With that one thought, he smiles into the kiss, though it's only a curl of the corner of his lips, one hand moving up until his fingers are getting lost into Mike's hair, the other trailing down Mike's chest and stomach, shifting it around halfway so that his fingers are resting downwards over Mike's navel before he keeps going, and presses the palm to the front of Mike's boxers.]
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--But then there's Chuck's hand sliding downwards and he can't help but groan into his lips and sit a bit higher, shifting his feet, moving his hips into his touch, his mind chanting a yesyesyesyesyes. He's been resisting any kind of touch and brush, so he wouldn't lose control and focus on Chuck for a while, and now that he's been touched he's struggling not too move too fast, body twitching rapidly, craving for fast release, until he pulls back with a deep breath through his teeth, and it takes all his strength not to move as fast as he drives again.
It's safe to say he's never been this aroused in his whole life, but right now, he wants Chuck to set the pace. He owes him that, at the very least.]
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So he might be enjoying teasing Mike a little too much, but it's not purposeful (mostly), and it's not like it'll last for long. His thumb is already hooking over the waistband of Mike's underwear and tugging it down just a bit, eager but, considering all things, very patient.]
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He had decided Chuck was going to take his time, that it was going to be his part of the show. But it's a bit torturous, when he's this impatient, when he's really at the point where he needs Chuck badly. He wraps his hand around Chuck's wrist, body quivering, hips writhing with tight restrain.] Chuck...
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-- right. Sorry. [He clears his throat when he feels his voice come too hoarse and spent, as his fingers quickly slide upwards, hand trailing over the hem, then tugging the fabric farther down and past Mike's erection, finally wrapping around him with one slow but firm stroke.]
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He still does, though, with a tilt of his head and an arch of his neck, mouthing the skin underneath his jaw, hand fumbling between them before he manages to pull his shoulder back just a little to wrap his arm around Chuck's waist, touching the small of his back. It's almost a casual position, though, and that's probably why it suddenly clicks. It's them, after all, so it made nothing but sense.]
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He shifts the grip, holds his hand around Mike just a little tighter, slides it up to the tip and presses his palm to it, making use of the precum there to slide back down more easily, slowly setting up a pace and waiting for Mike to catch up, the fingers of his other hand burying into Mike's side, dragging down to his hip.]
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Mike's lips easily find Chuck's, although he's only pressing them close, breathing in Chuck's air and breathing out to share his own. Flushed and revved and completely mindless, he rolls his hips faster, egging Chuck on, to switch gears, to press harder, and chest heaving before his stomach clenches, before he moves his hips forward with the tension of his thighs. When his palm brushes over the head there's a spark of pleasure spiking through his spine, and he lets out a small cry, laughing a little in surprise at the suddenness of it all.]
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It's almost instinctive the way he jerks Mike off, so dexterous he is that he doesn't even need to think about it to know what he has to do, how he has to move to get him to come. He changes his pace for a moment, slowing down and picking it back up with varied pressure, and he can tell Mike's close too, which is why he leans his head back, bites his lip as he locks his eyes on Mike's face with a soft hum.]
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When Chuck pulls back, he barely responds, only looks back, and it's enough. It's enough for the hand on his back to raise higher, to clutch at him tighter, move a little faster, until his muscles seize, his breath catches, air stopping in his own lungs, the wrong fuel for that kind of engine, for that kind of surge, heat and nuclear and electrical all at once, or just the moisture of Chuck's breath and his gaze through his hair. It hits him and takes him high, his name broken in his throat as he lets one last exhale, raking through his and making him quiver.]
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