i ended up smashing the two of them together! tw: alexander’s got some internalized homophobia regarding bottoming. they work it out.
Victor’s hair is short but thick and dense; he reaches his wide hands across Alexander’s jaw like he doesn’t think he’ll find his fraying edges, languid and longing over a body of water. They kiss like they’ve never done it before in their lives, overly cautious and with their eyes cracked open. Alexander can barely breathe. He thinks he’s the one choking himself, rather than by Victor’s generous hands. Suffocating on his tongue because he’s hiding it from Victor.
Victor’s height over Alexander is not some triumph to laud over, as he enjoys the inch or so difference that helps lead Alexander back on his desk, but Alexander thinks of it as a triumph, that he has found himself beneath the hands of a builder, running down against the buttons of his jacket to open them up. It doesn’t hit him where he is or who he is with until Victor runs his fingers over the small tent in his trousers.
“God.” It’s just one touch. It’s still like nothing he’s experienced before. He feels thirty years younger, fumbling where he thought he’d be confident. Back then, he wasn’t laying back on desks. Even now, he keeps his arms close to Victor, while they both look down at the slow work of Alexander’s coat and Victor’s open suit.
Alexander kisses Victor’s collarbone as his shirt opens up. He lingers against his body, hand against his shoulder. His other hand stalls on his hip, and he wonders how far he has crawled out of his own skin. As he lingers against him, he closes his eyes.
He wants many things, all stirring in his mind like murky water coursing to become a river, with shapes and figures beneath the surface, swept through the stream. Victor helps him out of his coat and Alexander insistently removes Victor’s off his shoulders. It is a moment of vulnerable passion and he will not let himself be made weak.
Victor pushes his hands away and leaves Alexander with a rush of indignant loss. But, he is then turned around, the desk digging into his stomach, and led down. Alexander braces himself on the wooden surface.
“Enough,” he says. Victor’s hand is careful down his spine, and stops.
alexander saburov/victor kain, desk masturbation & frottage
Victor’s hair is short but thick and dense; he reaches his wide hands across Alexander’s jaw like he doesn’t think he’ll find his fraying edges, languid and longing over a body of water. They kiss like they’ve never done it before in their lives, overly cautious and with their eyes cracked open.
Alexander can barely breathe. He thinks he’s the one choking himself, rather than by Victor’s generous hands. Suffocating on his tongue because he’s hiding it from Victor.
Victor’s height over Alexander is not some triumph to laud over, as he enjoys the inch or so difference that helps lead Alexander back on his desk, but Alexander thinks of it as a triumph, that he has found himself beneath the hands of a builder, running down against the buttons of his jacket to open them up. It doesn’t hit him where he is or who he is with until Victor runs his fingers over the small tent in his trousers.
“God.” It’s just one touch. It’s still like nothing he’s experienced before. He feels thirty years younger, fumbling where he thought he’d be confident. Back then, he wasn’t laying back on desks. Even now, he keeps his arms close to Victor, while they both look down at the slow work of Alexander’s coat and Victor’s open suit.
Alexander kisses Victor’s collarbone as his shirt opens up. He lingers against his body, hand against his shoulder. His other hand stalls on his hip, and he wonders how far he has crawled out of his own skin. As he lingers against him, he closes his eyes.
He wants many things, all stirring in his mind like murky water coursing to become a river, with shapes and figures beneath the surface, swept through the stream. Victor helps him out of his coat and Alexander insistently removes Victor’s off his shoulders. It is a moment of vulnerable passion and he will not let himself be made weak.
Victor pushes his hands away and leaves Alexander with a rush of indignant loss. But, he is then turned around, the desk digging into his stomach, and led down. Alexander braces himself on the wooden surface.
“Enough,” he says. Victor’s hand is careful down his spine, and stops.