He's a mess, hair rucked up, uniform shirt open and in disarray, his pants obviously tented, his mouth still wet and lips slightly swollen. Jedao's own eyes are half-lidded, glittering, captivated by Fives' eyes, but his mouth, and he moans, low and soft at the answer. The more eyes the better. He likes, he thinks, the idea of being watched. Certainly it's a less precipitous drop than the idea of being touched while he - of using Fives - he pokes at the idea like a kid with a loose tooth, how much does that hurt, what happens if I -
He presses his hand against the front of his pants again, seeking relief instead of restraint, moans again but grits his teeth against the edge of no, not yet, not quite that catches in his chest, and then collapses slightly back against the pillows, panting. He likes the idea, maybe if he could pretend he was pretending? If Fives were watching on the Roci's cameras, if Jedao didn't have anything to do with it, just because Fives wanted to see - Jedao's hips twitch involuntarily at the thought, and it's true, he wants, he just said -
- and Jedao likes to ride every scrap of momentum he has as far as it will take him -
"You're too close," he pants, softly, squeezing his eyes shut. Too much like sex, intimate and inclusive, not enough like proper voyeurism - "Maybe. Stand by the door?"
Fives can't help but flick his gaze down as Jedao presses his hand to his groin... to his cock, beneath the tented fabric of his trousers. It makes his breath catch and shudder, but he looks back up at Jedao's face immediately, half drawn by the sound of his moan, half by the worry that watching too obviously will upset Jedao.
He's not sure what to make of Jedao's reaction, though, of the way he collapses, the way he's panting, his hips twitching. He looks wrecked in the best possible way, in a way Fives hadn't really expected he'd get to see; it's breathtaking, and he bites hard at his lip... and harder still when Jedao finally answers.
"Kriff," he rasps, tasting blood as he scrambles off the bed. He almost stumbles over his own feet as he backs towards the door and presses his shoulders against it. "Is this... is it okay? If I'm here?" he asks, breathless.
"Yeah," he breathes, but doesn't open his eyes. It's easier - Fives went to the door, Fives is at the door. He could leave any second - could be gone, if he wants to be gone, already. Jedao swallows, fingertips finding the bits of gold trim along his waistband that trigger the nanoseals to part, then gets frustrated with the details and just shoves his pants and underwear down to his thighs.
"Maybe don't talk," he suggests, rough-voiced, because sounds would be okay, he thinks, but anything he's supposed to acknowledge feels dicey.
He tries to bite back a groan at the sight of it, of Jedao almost naked and hard for him. Because of him. He shifts restlessly, breathing shallow, heart hammering, and acknowledges Jedao's request with a grunt. No talking. He can do no talking.
Jedao tugs one glove off with his teeth, roughly enough to redden the skin below for a moment, the scrap of black falling into the mess of the sheets. He grips himself tightly at first, hissing between his teeth, just to steady himself, then strokes more carefully. He still feels not-quite not-always at home in his own body; he's jerked off far more in the two months since he started kissing Fives than in the previous five, and that frequently fast enough not to think about.
But Fives is watching.
Hey you, he thinks, hand dragging slowly up and down, feeling tentative and vaguely ridiculous at once, at his cock or maybe just himself in general - hey, remember this?
Fives hisses in a slow breath as Jedao bares one long-fingered hand. It's so rare to see Jedao's hands, pale and vulnerable-seeming, and he knows it's significant even if he's not sure of the details. He's just sure that seeing Jedao like this, bare hand wrapping around his cock, hard and red and kriffing gorgeous, makes him feel like his skin is too small and tight, or like all the air has been sucked from the room.
He groans again as Jedao strokes himself, barely even notices the way he's pressing the heel of his hand to his own growing erection. He's too focused on Jedao, on how kriffing gorgeous he is with his head tipped back and his hand wrapped around himself; how much Fives wishes it was him with his hand around Jedao's cock, that he could lean down to taste and smell. He doesn't care about the wet mess in his pants, doesn't care about anything but watching Jedao, thinking about how Jedao knows he's there, how he wants him there. Force, he might come in his pants again.
All of his bare skin feels either chilly or too hot, the hair on his arms raised as if in the ambient electricity of an incipient thunder storm. He spreads his legs a little wider, makes sure not to obscure Fives' view as he digs his heals into the bed, jerking himself faster, less desperate than simply hungry and less cautious, like wolfing down a meal after verifying that no one present will take him to task for using the wrong fork. His legs twitch every once in awhile as he relearns his own callouses, as he shudders through the escalating sensation, his mouth falling open as his breath ratchets faster too.
Fives is watching, unblinking; breath catching with each pulse of Jedao's hips, watch twitch of his legs or tremor across the drawn-tight muscles of his abdomen. He wants to touch so desperately it's almost an ache, but he's also so grateful for just this that he feels lightheaded with relief and gratitude and, Force, arousal. He's not sure he's ever gotten this hard this fast in his life, and it's all just from watching Jedao work himself, and from knowing that he's doing it, at least in part, for him.
He wants to tell him he's beautiful, wants to tell him how desperately he wants to taste him and touch him, how he can almost imagine it's his hand on Jedao, how he can smell him from here, and it makes his mouth water. He doesn't say any of it. Doesn't do anything but bite almost desperately at his bottom lip to keep himself silent and grind against the hell of his hand as he watches. And fantasizes. And wishes.
The sounds have changed; his had is wet with his own precome, sliding more smoothly than when he began. Jedao is starting to lose the ability to distinguish between the lingering smell of Fives' first orgasm and the scents of his own body mingling with it, but he can still feel the warmth and the divot of Fives' vacated spot on the bed, can still feel his roughly-kissed lips tingle when he bites them, can remember the perfect weight of Fives on top of him. He can remember the noises Fives made - some of them periodically escaping him again, across the room, although Jedao is barely sensible enough to tell one kind of echo from the other.
"Fives," he breathes, his back bending slightly as his hips drive up into the circle of his fist, harsher and more forceful, want crystallizing into urgent need.
There's no way to describe the noise that escapes him when Jedao says his name as anything but a whimper; pure want and desperation as he watches Jedao fuck up into his fist, the head of his cock purple and wet and beautiful every time it pushes through his fingers. Jedao wants him. He's thinking about him while he does this. While his body stretches out on the bed they share, taut and beautiful, and it would be so easy to just take two long steps across the room and be there.
So easy, and absolutely impossible, and Fives trembles with the effort of holding back, of letting Jedao have this... letting him share this, without pushing him too far and violating his trust. And he wants to shove his hand down his pants as the next best thing, pump his own cock in time with Jedao's strokes, but he's sure that would be too much too... and hopes the hand he has on himself through his jeans isn't.
It's a beautiful fucking noise; it crackles through Jedao's brain like the aftershock of some blistering exotic weapon, a veil of light and white noise and rippling momentary transformation, an echo of an imposition of a world where the ordinary laws of reality don't apply. Jedao comes before the sound Fives makes has fully faded from the air; the raw desire hits him like a concussive blast, a wave of force that would have knocked him flat if he weren't already on his back.
He bites down on the glove of his other hand, muffling himself less out of any need for secrecy or self-control than the ravenous hope that he'll hear another noise like that one, if he makes certain not to drown it out. Come stripes his fingers, scrawls a mess over his stomach and thighs and drips in the black creases of his shoved-down pants.
He has memories of this, or moments barely distinguishable from it. Of Jedao's face contorted in ecstasy, his body trembling with the force of his release, the scent of it thick in his nostrils. He has them, but none of them are his, they all being to someone else; to his alt, older and so broken and beyond desperate for what connection and comfort Jedao could offer; to a boy he'd never been, frightened but eager, half his life spent lusting after a fantasy, who'd turned out to be every last kriffing thing he'd wanted.
But this, this is finally for him, months of wanting and worry and resignation, fear and confusion and building desperation, and this time he gets to be the one here. He gets to hear Jedao call out his name, watch him spill, hot and thick and beautiful, across his belly and thighs.
He could probably stay quiet right now if his life depended on it, but it doesn't and he doesn't even try. He whines again, high and desperate, and bucks against the heel of his hand, then follows it with a deep groan and panting breaths as he opens his mouth to try and taste Jedao on the air. It's so much more than he thought he'd ever get and so much less than he wants.
His eyes open, barely, watching Fives through thin slits as his strokes slow and then leave off, as he arches a little more, arms raising above his head, a long deliberate stretch.
"Go on, if you want to," he murmurs, not quite a whisper, quiet with Jedao's caution, like his own fears are something lulled to sleep by pleasure, a baying animal he can creep past if only he doesn't disturb it.
Jedao doesn't have to tell him twice, Fives is scrabbling almost frantically at the still awkwardly unfamiliar fly of his jeans before Jedao's even finished speaking, pulling himself out with a hiss of pleasure-pain as dried come pulls at sensitive skin and hair. He doesn't take his eyes off Jedao for a moment, can't think of anything but how kriffing gorgeous he looks lying there, rumpled and sated and spattered in his own come. Except maybe how he'd look even better if it was Fives' come.
He has himself in an almost brutally tight grip, hips jerking into each stroke as he imagines it's Jedao's hand on him or Jedao's body beneath him. Every breath is a rasping moan and he feels almost lightheaded, like he can't quite catch his breath as his second orgasm in less than an hour builds under his skin like seismic waves, trembling along his nerves and sending jolting shocks through his muscles that set them to twitching.
"J-Jed'ika!" It's another high, keening whine as the building pressure suddenly breaks and he comes, all over his hand and belly, his open jeans, even his shoes and the floor. His hand's shaking as he strokes himself through it, and he's not sure just how long his trembling legs are going to hold him up, but he doesn't once take his eyes off Jedao as he finally slows his strokes and slumps back against the wall.
His mouth is slightly open, just breathing in as he watches, rapt, licking his lips momentarily, tasting Fives on the air, remembering exactly what he tasted like during the flood, the same body under years more of pain and loneliness. But this - his Fives, straining toward him, calling his name. Jedao feels like his mind is empty, a blasted-out building with the wind skittering through, and nothing left to fuss about. He can just watch, just be.
He wriggles out of his pants after a few seconds, swipes himself clean and tosses them to a corner to deal with later, and imagines - what if he walked across the room right now, what if he pressed himself back into Fives' arms, against his chest, what if Jedao kissed him back down - he aches wanting it, and knows just as surely that he wouldn't be able to go through with it for long enough. He sits on the edge of the bed instead, tries to tap in his usual shamelessness for nudity. As long as he stays where he is, it mostly works.
"You're so beautiful," he says softly, all awestruck-truth, letting himself know it all over again.
Fives slumps against the wall, his bare, sweat-damp chest heaving with his panting breaths and his racing heart as he watches Jedao with a slightly unfocused gaze. He makes a quiet, almost hurt noise when Jedao strips off his pants, the desire to touch a nearly overwhelming ache, but keeps himself pressed to the door. He wants to explore every centimeter of that beautifully bared skin, memorize it with his hands and his lips, not as something from an only mostly-remembered dream of a life that never happened.
He huffs a laugh, breathless and a little cracked, at even the idea that he might be anything like beautiful, though it's not because he thinks he's un attractive. It's just that he's a mass of muscles and scars that probably lends itself more to impressive or imposing, possibly handsome... not beautiful. That's a word he associates with grace and delicacy and... elegance.
"You've fired your brains, or maybe your taste, out your dick when you came, Jed'ika," he teases, fond and warm and still a little bit shaky as he smiles at him. He has no intention of moving for as long as he can have this: Jedao sitting there, bare and gorgeous and looking at him like he hung the kriffing stars.
"I know what I like," Jedao insists warmly, a little bit too earnest to be smug. Muscles and scars and the shine off Fives' skin are quite a lot of what he likes.
He can't quite muster a laugh this time, just lets out a slow, shaky breath and stares dopily at Jedao, looking something like a massively overgrown, lovestruck teenager.
"... thank you," he finally murmurs, and about the same time finally musters the presence of mind to wipe his hand off on the leg of his thoroughly soiled jeans. He's a sticky, disgusting mess, and he should probably shower sooner rather than later, but he's having a hard time caring.
It's filthy, in a way that Jedao finds one part mouthwatering and two parts comical, although the fact that he already came is probably influencing those proportions.
Fives looks so happy. He looks - safe. He doesn't look like Jedao hurt him, even though Jedao knows how much he wanted more than he got.
"I really want you to come on my skin next time."
His stomach drops, but not until a good two or three seconds after the words leave his mouth, not until he hears them played back, and he breathes through it. He does want that. He desperately does, and good things come to -
He's too much of a mess to actually pull his pants back up, and pushing them down would probably be too much for Jedao to handle, so he just stays where he is, looking vaguely ridiculous but giving absolutely no fucks about it. He'll stand here covered in his own cooling come for as long as Jedao is comfortable enough to let him look at him, to be with him, like this.
... and then he has to go and say that, and Fives can't quite bite back a groan, or do a damn thing about the way his cock twitches in a valiant attempt to harden again. Because Force, the things just the idea of it does to him, and he's looking decidedly less dopily infatuated and shifting a little towards predatory at the thought of it.
He shifts a little restlessly, mouth suddenly dry, and has to lick his lips before he can answer. "Then... then next time that's what we'll plan on, cyar'ika," he finally manages, and he doesn't even care that his voice cracks a little at the start.
"You can take your pants off," Jedao tells him, after a few more seconds, because the way he's shifting, just a little awkwardly - "Not that you don't have wonderful kneecaps, but they aren't going to fry my composure when your cock's already out."
His laugh positively rumbles out of him, low and warm and inexpressibly pleased at Jedao's teasing.
"I don't know, Jed'ika, I've been told my knees are pretty irresistible." He hasn't, of course, but that's beside the point, and he's already toeing out of his boots so he can push his jeans the rest of the way down and step out of them. "Force, I'm a mess," he adds, and the way he's grinning makes it clear he couldn't really care less.
His mouth goes a little bit dry. He lets himself swallow, tries simultaneously to ignore and listen to the falling-away-feeling in his stomach, which is a weird combination.
"...too soon to say yes. But not too soon to ask." That's important; he's glad Fives can ask. He'll be able to say yes sooner than ask himself.
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He presses his hand against the front of his pants again, seeking relief instead of restraint, moans again but grits his teeth against the edge of no, not yet, not quite that catches in his chest, and then collapses slightly back against the pillows, panting. He likes the idea, maybe if he could pretend he was pretending? If Fives were watching on the Roci's cameras, if Jedao didn't have anything to do with it, just because Fives wanted to see - Jedao's hips twitch involuntarily at the thought, and it's true, he wants, he just said -
- and Jedao likes to ride every scrap of momentum he has as far as it will take him -
"You're too close," he pants, softly, squeezing his eyes shut. Too much like sex, intimate and inclusive, not enough like proper voyeurism - "Maybe. Stand by the door?"
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He's not sure what to make of Jedao's reaction, though, of the way he collapses, the way he's panting, his hips twitching. He looks wrecked in the best possible way, in a way Fives hadn't really expected he'd get to see; it's breathtaking, and he bites hard at his lip... and harder still when Jedao finally answers.
"Kriff," he rasps, tasting blood as he scrambles off the bed. He almost stumbles over his own feet as he backs towards the door and presses his shoulders against it. "Is this... is it okay? If I'm here?" he asks, breathless.
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"Maybe don't talk," he suggests, rough-voiced, because sounds would be okay, he thinks, but anything he's supposed to acknowledge feels dicey.
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But Fives is watching.
Hey you, he thinks, hand dragging slowly up and down, feeling tentative and vaguely ridiculous at once, at his cock or maybe just himself in general - hey, remember this?
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He groans again as Jedao strokes himself, barely even notices the way he's pressing the heel of his hand to his own growing erection. He's too focused on Jedao, on how kriffing gorgeous he is with his head tipped back and his hand wrapped around himself; how much Fives wishes it was him with his hand around Jedao's cock, that he could lean down to taste and smell. He doesn't care about the wet mess in his pants, doesn't care about anything but watching Jedao, thinking about how Jedao knows he's there, how he wants him there. Force, he might come in his pants again.
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All of his bare skin feels either chilly or too hot, the hair on his arms raised as if in the ambient electricity of an incipient thunder storm. He spreads his legs a little wider, makes sure not to obscure Fives' view as he digs his heals into the bed, jerking himself faster, less desperate than simply hungry and less cautious, like wolfing down a meal after verifying that no one present will take him to task for using the wrong fork. His legs twitch every once in awhile as he relearns his own callouses, as he shudders through the escalating sensation, his mouth falling open as his breath ratchets faster too.
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He wants to tell him he's beautiful, wants to tell him how desperately he wants to taste him and touch him, how he can almost imagine it's his hand on Jedao, how he can smell him from here, and it makes his mouth water. He doesn't say any of it. Doesn't do anything but bite almost desperately at his bottom lip to keep himself silent and grind against the hell of his hand as he watches. And fantasizes. And wishes.
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"Fives," he breathes, his back bending slightly as his hips drive up into the circle of his fist, harsher and more forceful, want crystallizing into urgent need.
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So easy, and absolutely impossible, and Fives trembles with the effort of holding back, of letting Jedao have this... letting him share this, without pushing him too far and violating his trust. And he wants to shove his hand down his pants as the next best thing, pump his own cock in time with Jedao's strokes, but he's sure that would be too much too... and hopes the hand he has on himself through his jeans isn't.
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He bites down on the glove of his other hand, muffling himself less out of any need for secrecy or self-control than the ravenous hope that he'll hear another noise like that one, if he makes certain not to drown it out. Come stripes his fingers, scrawls a mess over his stomach and thighs and drips in the black creases of his shoved-down pants.
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But this, this is finally for him, months of wanting and worry and resignation, fear and confusion and building desperation, and this time he gets to be the one here. He gets to hear Jedao call out his name, watch him spill, hot and thick and beautiful, across his belly and thighs.
He could probably stay quiet right now if his life depended on it, but it doesn't and he doesn't even try. He whines again, high and desperate, and bucks against the heel of his hand, then follows it with a deep groan and panting breaths as he opens his mouth to try and taste Jedao on the air. It's so much more than he thought he'd ever get and so much less than he wants.
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"Go on, if you want to," he murmurs, not quite a whisper, quiet with Jedao's caution, like his own fears are something lulled to sleep by pleasure, a baying animal he can creep past if only he doesn't disturb it.
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He has himself in an almost brutally tight grip, hips jerking into each stroke as he imagines it's Jedao's hand on him or Jedao's body beneath him. Every breath is a rasping moan and he feels almost lightheaded, like he can't quite catch his breath as his second orgasm in less than an hour builds under his skin like seismic waves, trembling along his nerves and sending jolting shocks through his muscles that set them to twitching.
"J-Jed'ika!" It's another high, keening whine as the building pressure suddenly breaks and he comes, all over his hand and belly, his open jeans, even his shoes and the floor. His hand's shaking as he strokes himself through it, and he's not sure just how long his trembling legs are going to hold him up, but he doesn't once take his eyes off Jedao as he finally slows his strokes and slumps back against the wall.
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He wriggles out of his pants after a few seconds, swipes himself clean and tosses them to a corner to deal with later, and imagines - what if he walked across the room right now, what if he pressed himself back into Fives' arms, against his chest, what if Jedao kissed him back down - he aches wanting it, and knows just as surely that he wouldn't be able to go through with it for long enough. He sits on the edge of the bed instead, tries to tap in his usual shamelessness for nudity. As long as he stays where he is, it mostly works.
"You're so beautiful," he says softly, all awestruck-truth, letting himself know it all over again.
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He huffs a laugh, breathless and a little cracked, at even the idea that he might be anything like beautiful, though it's not because he thinks he's un attractive. It's just that he's a mass of muscles and scars that probably lends itself more to impressive or imposing, possibly handsome... not beautiful. That's a word he associates with grace and delicacy and... elegance.
"You've fired your brains, or maybe your taste, out your dick when you came, Jed'ika," he teases, fond and warm and still a little bit shaky as he smiles at him. He has no intention of moving for as long as he can have this: Jedao sitting there, bare and gorgeous and looking at him like he hung the kriffing stars.
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"... thank you," he finally murmurs, and about the same time finally musters the presence of mind to wipe his hand off on the leg of his thoroughly soiled jeans. He's a sticky, disgusting mess, and he should probably shower sooner rather than later, but he's having a hard time caring.
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Fives looks so happy. He looks - safe. He doesn't look like Jedao hurt him, even though Jedao knows how much he wanted more than he got.
"I really want you to come on my skin next time."
His stomach drops, but not until a good two or three seconds after the words leave his mouth, not until he hears them played back, and he breathes through it. He does want that. He desperately does, and good things come to -
- to those who listen, and those who push.
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... and then he has to go and say that, and Fives can't quite bite back a groan, or do a damn thing about the way his cock twitches in a valiant attempt to harden again. Because Force, the things just the idea of it does to him, and he's looking decidedly less dopily infatuated and shifting a little towards predatory at the thought of it.
He shifts a little restlessly, mouth suddenly dry, and has to lick his lips before he can answer. "Then... then next time that's what we'll plan on, cyar'ika," he finally manages, and he doesn't even care that his voice cracks a little at the start.
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"I don't know, Jed'ika, I've been told my knees are pretty irresistible." He hasn't, of course, but that's beside the point, and he's already toeing out of his boots so he can push his jeans the rest of the way down and step out of them. "Force, I'm a mess," he adds, and the way he's grinning makes it clear he couldn't really care less.
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"...too soon to say yes. But not too soon to ask." That's important; he's glad Fives can ask. He'll be able to say yes sooner than ask himself.
Breathe. Breathe.
"Come here and kiss me, before you go?"
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