"I don't believe I caught that." The teasing in Deacon's ear would perhaps be more effective if it weren't so soft as to be barely audible, as if Danse is torn between wanting more coherent pleading and wanting to let Deacon stay in that half-drowsing state a little longer. He needs rest, after all, and even if he didn't, there's nothing Danse has come to find more fascinating and endearing than that strange sleep-talking. He almost wants to just see where it will go.
But he won't turn down the invitation in those parted thighs. He slips easily into the tight hot space, slick already with precome to ease the way as the tip of him nudges against Deacon's balls and settles there for now to be warmed.
And neither will he let the pleading go unanswered, his hand curling around to grip and stroke with slow, steady firmness as his own cock leaks further from the sheer pleasure of touching Deacon's.
It's the sort of teasing that Deacon would just adore were he awake and conscious of it, but in his sleep he's more responsive to the warmth of Danse's breath on his ear than anything. He hums in response, a satisfied sound that is echoed again at the press of Danse's cockhead against his sensitive balls.
"Pass the Fancy Lads..." he murmurs, his voice trailing off into a low, growling sort of moan as Danse's fingers close around his cock. It only takes a stroke or two until he's firm and leaking over Danse's fingers, his legs twitching and flexing against Danse's.
"Oh, you'll get them." It's a damn shame that Deacon isn't conscious enough to hear the absolutely smitten chuckle underneath those words, too. Danse only wishes he had a Fancy Lad on him right now, to crumble and trail an icing-sticky finger down over Deacon's throat and collarbone and suck away the sweetness and imagine the indignant that's my trick! that would ensue if Deacon were awake.
But that doesn't mean he can't pretend, playing along with this evident dream and leaving slow sucking kisses across Deacon's neck and shoulder from behind as his hips rock between those lean thighs with needier insistence.
He pauses only briefly in his stroking--still letting his cock drag rhythmically over the stretch behind Deacon's balls, still letting the tip of it kiss them with every thrust--to lick the clear fluid from his fingers with all the same relish as he would savor a snack cake, moaning with pleasure that rumbles against Deacon's back.
Danse's mouth continues to pull soft, pleased sounds from Deacon's throat, and Deacon's thighs squeeze around the friction of his cock. Each nudge against his balls makes his cock ache for more, and with the loss of Danse's stroking hand comes a whine from deep within Deacon's chest.
"Shh!" he hisses as Danse moans, "This is a library."
Despite his sudden scolding, he doesn't seem to lead by any sort of example. One of Deacon's legs shifts back, tangling in Danse's while his body rocks against him
"...Of course. My apologies." Danse's voice drops back to a whisper, biting his lip against a smile and playing along to keep this dream-journey going. Not without effort, either, because Danse is vocal in bed at the best of times, and when Deacon squeezes his muscles unconsciously tighter around his cock, the gasp it wrings from him is sharp and still too loud for library decorum.
It's a thrilling little mental picture, the idea of pressing Deacon up against a bookshelf where a scribe could turn the corner and catch them at any moment, covering his smart mouth with a hand and burying his own in Deacon's neck again to keep them both just silent enough, fucking his thighs exactly like this because there would have been no time or lube to prep for anything deeper--
He's been holding his breath unconsciously as he loses himself in that fantasy, and he lets it out in a rush now against Deacon's shoulder, hips stuttering and hand finding Deacon's cock again to squeeze it tight and stroke with renewed vigor.
That resumed stroking causes Deacon to gasp and shudder, it’s voice cracking with a hoarse moan. His dream isn't as vivid, too disjointed and surreal to follow any plot, but it’s easy enough for his body to move reflexively with Danse's movements.
He's normally such a light sleeper, any movements or sounds disturbing him and making him jolt awake, but Danse provides a perfect sleepy environment by tiring him out, making him feel safe, and playing along with whatever seems to be going on inside his head.
"The cylinder fits in the circular slot-" gasps Deacon with a disjointed sort of urgency, hips starting to rut into Danse's hand a bit.
"I...what?" Danse has been on a roll, ready and willing to keep up this strange half-asleep improv fantasy, but this shakes him out of it with bafflement. There's a cylinder fitting somewhere, to be sure, and it throbs all the harder with heavy, desperate need at that rough groan as Deacon fucks into his fist, but Danse has abruptly run out of words to respond to this latest incoherent plea.
Words would likely have eluded him anyway, as close as he's drawing to the edge, and he shudders as he curves his entire body around Deacon's to tangle their legs tighter, mattress thumping faintly and rhythmically against the wall as his thrusts push Deacon's cock deeper into his grip with their momentum.
Deacon flinches suddenly, groggy but awake, his cock throbbing in Danse's hand as their movement grows with momentum. His head rolls back against where Danse is tucked behind him, a hand lazily reaching up to push up his sleep mask and glance down over them.
He can feel Danse's hard cock slide between his thighs, tapping at his balls, huffs in aroused amusement over the predicament he's found himself in, and then turns his head over his shoulder. The sweat on Danse's brow catches the light from the window and just seems to illuminate his most striking features. Deacon hums, eyelids heavy and sleep still crusted to their corners, but he doesn't miss a beat in churning his hips properly now, thighs squeezing while he murmurs huskily to his lover; "Kiss me, gorgeous."
Danse feels the shift in movement and tension immediately as Deacon wakes, but his own motion is momentarily paused, arrested by the way his heart still (always) skips a beat when he gets to look into those beautiful hubflower-blue eyes. The second's hesitation is only for that, and there's no sheepishness in the smile that Deacon's gaze triggers in him. It's been made more than clear enough before that this might as well be waffles and tarberry jam served on a tray in bed for all Deacon minds waking up to it, and Danse intends to keep reminding him why.
"Flatterer," he purrs, surging in to obey without any further ado, capturing Deacon's lips and sucking at the lower one and plunging his tongue between them in time with another passionately forceful pump of his hips and fist.
His muscles are trembling now as Deacon puts more deliberate pressure on his cock, giving him exactly what he needs as pleasure surges all the higher for that brief delay, but he's not going to let himself come without dragging Deacon with him, and he'll hold himself back as long as he has to.
The humored sound from Deacon's lips at Danse's reply is short-lived as Danse kisses him heatedly, replaced by a moan that rumbles deep in his chest. He can feel the way Danse's cock throbs between his thighs and his own echoes it in Danse's hand. Instinct takes over with a carnal need, hips thrusting to fuck himself into Danse's fist, abs tightening and a hand grasping firmly at Danse's thigh.
"Fuck," he whines against Danse's lips, feeling wound and ready to snap at any moment. His other hand clutches at Danse's where it's held at his waist, squeezing it as he starts to breath more heavily, face still pressed against Danse's. He can barely hold out another second, and his voice cracks with a moan as he spills into Danse's hand and over his own stomach.
"That's it, that's it--" His voice takes over without thought, all but begging Deacon to come for him, and his growl of satisfaction is almost feral as he feels that hot pulse over his hand. The strain of ecstasy in Deacon's voice makes his nerves sing, a spike of heat that sends him tumbling over the edge with one last slam of his hips as he paints Deacon's cock and balls and inner thighs with his release.
It takes longer to catch his breath than it might, when he's trying to do it between kisses that taper gradually from messy still-urgent desire to slow and sweet and languorous, but finally he leaves off doing that with a last nuzzle to Deacon's cheekbone.
The feeling of Danse's orgasm against him prolongs his own pleasure and leaves him twitching in Danse's arms, muscles jumping as he whines into every kiss, meeting them with equal urgency. As they slow, and Deacon's body turns more to face Danse, he sighs happily against the nuzzle to his cheek and pets a hand through his hair.
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But he won't turn down the invitation in those parted thighs. He slips easily into the tight hot space, slick already with precome to ease the way as the tip of him nudges against Deacon's balls and settles there for now to be warmed.
And neither will he let the pleading go unanswered, his hand curling around to grip and stroke with slow, steady firmness as his own cock leaks further from the sheer pleasure of touching Deacon's.
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"Pass the Fancy Lads..." he murmurs, his voice trailing off into a low, growling sort of moan as Danse's fingers close around his cock. It only takes a stroke or two until he's firm and leaking over Danse's fingers, his legs twitching and flexing against Danse's.
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But that doesn't mean he can't pretend, playing along with this evident dream and leaving slow sucking kisses across Deacon's neck and shoulder from behind as his hips rock between those lean thighs with needier insistence.
He pauses only briefly in his stroking--still letting his cock drag rhythmically over the stretch behind Deacon's balls, still letting the tip of it kiss them with every thrust--to lick the clear fluid from his fingers with all the same relish as he would savor a snack cake, moaning with pleasure that rumbles against Deacon's back.
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"Shh!" he hisses as Danse moans, "This is a library."
Despite his sudden scolding, he doesn't seem to lead by any sort of example. One of Deacon's legs shifts back, tangling in Danse's while his body rocks against him
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It's a thrilling little mental picture, the idea of pressing Deacon up against a bookshelf where a scribe could turn the corner and catch them at any moment, covering his smart mouth with a hand and burying his own in Deacon's neck again to keep them both just silent enough, fucking his thighs exactly like this because there would have been no time or lube to prep for anything deeper--
He's been holding his breath unconsciously as he loses himself in that fantasy, and he lets it out in a rush now against Deacon's shoulder, hips stuttering and hand finding Deacon's cock again to squeeze it tight and stroke with renewed vigor.
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He's normally such a light sleeper, any movements or sounds disturbing him and making him jolt awake, but Danse provides a perfect sleepy environment by tiring him out, making him feel safe, and playing along with whatever seems to be going on inside his head.
"The cylinder fits in the circular slot-" gasps Deacon with a disjointed sort of urgency, hips starting to rut into Danse's hand a bit.
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Words would likely have eluded him anyway, as close as he's drawing to the edge, and he shudders as he curves his entire body around Deacon's to tangle their legs tighter, mattress thumping faintly and rhythmically against the wall as his thrusts push Deacon's cock deeper into his grip with their momentum.
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He can feel Danse's hard cock slide between his thighs, tapping at his balls, huffs in aroused amusement over the predicament he's found himself in, and then turns his head over his shoulder. The sweat on Danse's brow catches the light from the window and just seems to illuminate his most striking features. Deacon hums, eyelids heavy and sleep still crusted to their corners, but he doesn't miss a beat in churning his hips properly now, thighs squeezing while he murmurs huskily to his lover; "Kiss me, gorgeous."
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"Flatterer," he purrs, surging in to obey without any further ado, capturing Deacon's lips and sucking at the lower one and plunging his tongue between them in time with another passionately forceful pump of his hips and fist.
His muscles are trembling now as Deacon puts more deliberate pressure on his cock, giving him exactly what he needs as pleasure surges all the higher for that brief delay, but he's not going to let himself come without dragging Deacon with him, and he'll hold himself back as long as he has to.
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"Fuck," he whines against Danse's lips, feeling wound and ready to snap at any moment. His other hand clutches at Danse's where it's held at his waist, squeezing it as he starts to breath more heavily, face still pressed against Danse's. He can barely hold out another second, and his voice cracks with a moan as he spills into Danse's hand and over his own stomach.
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It takes longer to catch his breath than it might, when he's trying to do it between kisses that taper gradually from messy still-urgent desire to slow and sweet and languorous, but finally he leaves off doing that with a last nuzzle to Deacon's cheekbone.
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"Mmh," he hums, "Good morning to you, too."