It's a pretty nice way to be pinned down, covered over - comfortable and almost safe-feeling - but Jedao has a plan now, and he really wants it to happen. He wriggles and shoves again at Fives' shoulder, trying to find the leverage to roll them around so that Jedao is straddling Fives' lap, but he can't really do it without Fives' cooperation.
He bites at Fives' jaw again, then hooks a finger in his shirt collar, tugs it down enough that he can lick a broad messy stripe over Fives' pulse.
"If I can't get my mouth on your cock in the next twenty seconds," he hisses, panting very slightly, his tone lecherous and a little threatening at once, "I am going to be gravely disappointed, flip us over."
He's nineteen, he's wound up like a cheap watch, and he's living out a fantasy he's nursed in one way or another since he was twelve years old- Fives barely even notices Jedao's attempts to roll them, he's way too intent on the feel of him laid out beneath him, hard and hot and solid, and the taste of his skin as he mouths--possibly a bit too enthusiastically--at Jedao's neck.
There's no way he could miss that voice, though, and he goes absolutely still for a fraction of a second, breath escaping on a low, barely audible moan. "Oh fuck please," he just about chokes out as he shudders back into motion, jerky and a little uncoordinated in his almost frantic rush to lever them over. The end result, though, is what Jedao demanded, and Fives looks up at him, slack-jawed and panting, big hands wrapped tight at his hips as he arches up into the fucking perfect heat and weight of him.
Jedao smiles, sweet and sharp, rocks in Fives' lap for a moment, teasing and testing his own balance. He braces one hand against the side of Fives' face, his thumb pressing between his lips and pushing Fives' mouth farther open. At the same time, he brings his other wrist up to his own mouth, eyes locked on Fives', and strips off one white glove with his teeth.
He drops it back into his now-bare hand and presses it against Fives' open mouth to muffle his noises as Jedao pushes himself off the couch and folds smoothly down, kneeling between Fives' legs as he makes rapid work of Fives' belt, getting his pants open and drawing his dick out with deft urgency.
For a second he just lets himself look, his bare hand stroking idly, lets Fives see him looking, breath heavy, mouth watering.
Fives gasps, open-mouthed, as Jedao rocks down against his cock, heat shivering along his nerves, want pulling tight at the base of his spine. He can't do anything but open obediently for that white-gloved thumb, then close his lips hungrily around it as he watches Jedao strip his other glove off.
Christ, just the sight of his bare hand shouldn't be that provocative, but Fives moans around Jedao's thumb, his grip at Jedao's hips tightening as his own jerk up. He hasn't even started to catch his breath when Jedao slides gracefully to the floor between his knees, and the sight of that guarantees there's no way in hell he's going to any time soon. He presses one of his own hands to his mouth, holding the glove in place, muffling a ragged groan as he watches Jedao open his pants, arches helplessly up into his grip as he pulls his cock free.
He feels like he could come just from this: that too-light touch combined with the way Jedao's looking at him, like he's never wanted to get his mouth on something more.
Fives' cock is just as beautiful as the rest of him, flushed dark with blood, almost purple, curved almost up to his belly with eagerness so that Jedao has to tug it down a little just to get comfortably positioned. It feels even bigger in his hand than it did when they were rubbing against each other, and the smell from this close, salty and musky and unmistakable, makes him feel drunk in a way that the whiskey couldn't touch.
"Fuckin' gorgeous," he murmurs, sliding his eyes back up to Fives' face, shameless and hungry. "You can pull my hair, but try not to thrust too far," he instructs, because it's been a while - too long - and he doesn't want to gag before he gets re-adjusted to the task. Jedao gets both hands on him, his bare hand at the base of Fives' cock and his gloved hand over the middle of the shaft, and just goes to town, wraps his mouth around the head, no messing around, no more teasing. His eyes flutter closed and he groans a little at the taste, sucks, savors, swirls his tongue to get more of it.
Fives is nothing even close to a virgin, but what experience he's had hasn't been anything like this--frantic and furtive, in pitch black rooms or cramped (literal) closets. Always desperate, often confused and frightened and scrambling for plausible deniability: it's just because there's no girls around, mate, it's not like either of us actually like blokes, right? But this... even for as careful and quiet as they're being, there's no question that Jedao's exactly where he wants to be. No doubt that he wants this just as desperately as Fives does.
He doesn't have to be told twice, he reaches out to twine his fingers into Jedao's hair the way he's wanted to from the start, mussing it even further. He can't believe he gets to watch this: Jedao's hands on him, one bare and one gloved, the way his lips stretch almost obscenely around him when he finally leans down to take him into his mouth. And then he doesn't care, because jesus it's almost too much. Hot and wet and tight and perfect and the hand not twisted maybe too tight into Jedao's hair is shoving that abandoned glove between this teeth, pressing over his lips to stifle the noises he can't help but make as he struggles to keep his hips still with only indifferent success.
He squeezes with his bare hand, less a reproach or a warning than a gesture toward helping Fives restrain himself a little further, although Jedao doesn't really expect this to last long. He lingers, though, laving the head with the flat of his tongue, using the tip to trace the sensitive edge where Fives' foreskin has pulled back, flicking over the rich salty-bitter leak of precum over and over. He won't be able to do anything fancy once he gets much more of it in his mouth, and he loves it, relishes every detail.
He strokes a few times with his gloved hand, struck by the heat through the thin fabric, then moves that hand when he's got the rhythm of his breathing set, grips Fives' thigh as he slides his mouth carefully farther down. He looks up to watch Fives' face again as he moves. His mouth remembers how to do it, how to be careful and considerate with his teeth, not automatically but with a deep affectionate recognition that he would almost compare to coming home, if it didn't feel more comfortable than this house has in years. He keeps going until his mouth is stuffed full and his jaw makes the first faint grumbles of a lovely familiar ache and the head of Fives' cock is just nudging against the back of his throat, like the knock of a hopeful guest.
Which is about halfway down. Keeping his grip steady, Jedao slides back up a little, sucks at the head so he doesn't drool, then back down, settling into a quick, easy rhythm.
He lets out a shuddering gasp at the squeeze, more grateful than anything. He'd just as soon not completely humiliate himself, and even with that quelling grip he's sure this is going to be embarrassingly quick. He can't look away, can't see anything but the almost rapturous look on Jedao's face as he works him with his mouth, can't feel anything but slick, wet heat, pressure and friction.
He wants to babble endearments, pleas and promises, but he's saved that particular humiliation by the need to keep quiet, and instead he sucks in great, open-mouthed breaths, his chest heaving as his hips twitch restlessly. The urge to thrust up into that perfect mouth, to push deeper, to take, is almost overwhelming, but he just splays his thighs wider, tugs ungently at Jedao's hair, and drops Jedao's glove--spit-damp and somewhat mangled--on the cushion next to him so he can reach out and trace the line of Jedao's lips with his thumb, feel where his cock slips past them.
"Fuck," he gasps, voice ragged, silence forgotten as his whole body tenses and releases in rhythm with the slide of Jedao's mouth along his shaft. He wants it to last, he wants it to last forever, jesus, just wet heat and friction and that look on Jedao's face, but he can feel the tension in his spine, the heat in his belly, coiling to the breaking point, and he knows it's not going to. "Fuck, Jedao... your fucking... fucking mouth." He tugs urgently on his hair in warning, trying to urge him up and away, and then he's not thinking of anything but the heat-lightning of release unspooling up his spine and thrumming along his nerves, and he just barely has the presence of mind to shove the side of his fist into his mouth and bite down hard as he comes.
He might lose a few hairs to Fives' gentlemanly - if not particularly discreet - attempts to pull him off, but Jedao draws in a quick breath through his nose and then pushes farther down instead in response, until his lips meet his own thumb and forefinger. It's not the most graceful or complete deep throating he's ever managed, but Fives' dick slides past the back of his throat with only a small flicker of an urge to hack and cough before he quells it.
His body tries to swallow around the obstruction, and he lets himself sit in the discomfort of it and find the pleasure in it, rough and carnal and winking at dizziness for the way he's been holding his breath, if not for long enough yet to have real effects. Most of Fives' come slips down his throat without Jedao even having to swallow, without the risk of anything dribbling out onto the couch or his uniform. When Fives is mostly through it, shuddering and starting to unclench his jaw, Jedao lets himself slip back up, throat convulsing a little as he goes, and licks up the last few drops with contented, smug flicks of his tongue in between fast shallow sips of air.
It takes Fives completely by surprise when Jedao ignores his urging and just slides farther down, and the sudden tightness around the head of his cock, the almost flickering pressure as Jedao's throat tries to work around the obstruction, startles a punched out, broken whine from him. It's mostly muffled by his fist, and he's too far gone just then to worry about if it was loud enough for someone else in the house to hear.
It feels like he spends forever curled down over Jedao, shuddering and gasping through what he's pretty sure is the most amazing orgasm of his life, fingers of his free hand carding jerkily through Jedao's hair. When he finally comes out the other side it's with a shuddering jerk as he goes from blissed out to over-stimulated like flipping a switch, and when he tugs at Jedao's hair this time it's with a different kind of urgency. "Too much," he rasps, finally pulling his fist from his mouth. "Ah, christ, too much."
Jedao lets himself be pulled away, grinning up at Fives with a bright, slightly wild expression, licking his lips for deliberate effect. He spends a moment to grab his fallen glove and slip it into a pocket, then gingerly - even fondly - tucks Fives back into his pants and zips him up neatly. It's one thing, somehow, to have a mostly-clothed orgasm in an ordinarily public room, but quite another, Jedao feels instinctually, to lead Fives around the house with his bits hanging out, whether everyone else is asleep or no.
Jedao pushes back onto his heels and presses one finger - bare - to Fives' lips in the universal reminder for silence, then disappears for a moment as he moves back toward the kitchen, collects his flask and his cap and Fives' suit jacket, then double-checks that they didn't disturb anything obvious on the counter.
And then he's back, moving with languid ease despite visibly straining against his own trousers, until he deftly finds a way to hold the jacket that hides his erection while seeming entirely natural. "Think you can walk yet?" he asks quietly, amused but mostly just smugly pleased.
Fives slumps back against the cushions, jaw slack and drawing in deep, ragged breaths as he comes back to himself. His breath hitches a little and his cock makes a valiant effort to twitch when Jedao licks his lips, and again when he tucks him neatly back into his slacks and zips him up again, but for the moment he's too fucked out to do more than sit there and bask and try to recover his wits.
He's too slow in his effort to nip at Jedao's finger when it's pressed briefly to his lips, but he does manage to sit forward, obediently silent as he watches him--watches his ass--disappear back into the kitchen. The view's possibly even better when he returns, and Fives licks his own lips at the way Jedao's tenting his trousers. He's disappointed when Jedao juggles his jacket into a position that hides his erection, but he sees the necessity of it, and he consoles himself by surging--maybe a little unsteadily--to his feet and reeling Jedao in for a deep, searching kiss, moaning quietly against Jedao's lips when he tastes himself there.
Jedao half catches him, then immediately moves with Fives, leans up to kiss him back, slick and hungry and slow. He brings up his free hand to run his fingers through Fives' short hair, messing it up slightly in return - and then, unable to help himself, smoothing it back out.
Eventually - deeply reluctantly - he pulls away.
"Let's take this somewhere with a bed and door before we get carried away again."
It's just as well Jedao's exercising some control and discretion, because Fives is, in fact, well on his way to getting 'carried away' again. He's not hard again yet--even at nineteen that's going to take him a bit longer--but it's so easy to get lost in the slick glide of their tongues together, the taste of whisky and come in Jedao's mouth, the feel of his body, hard and hot, pressed up against him. It would be so easy for Fives to just slip to his knees right here, pull Jedao free of his trousers and blow him with all the artless, unpracticed enthusiasm he can muster.
He pulls back a little at the reminder of where they are. "Yeah, that-" He nips at Jedao's jaw helplessly, completely incapable of resisting the impulse. "That would be good." Really good, given Uncle Miki's well known insomniac tendencies. And for all that Fives is absolutely certain Uncle Miki already knows about him, and that he'd never use him against his mother no matter how heated their personal rivalry gets on occasion, he'd just as soon the man not wander in on him sucking his son's dick like a lollipop in the middle of his damn living room. The idea is beyond horrifying... but also not enough to keep him from diving in for another eager, sloppy kiss.
"You're incorrigible," he mutters, because Fives is, and it's infectious. Jedao rocks against his hip and kisses him back, and then again, entranced by Fives' artless, overflowing desire. He gets a hand in Fives' hair again, then grips tight, hauls him back enough for Jedao to breathe, to - not think, exactly. To focus. To will.
"Bed. Lock. Naked."
Priorities.
He steps deftly out of Fives' embrace and heads for the stairs with one searing look back over his shoulder.
"So I've been told." He grins brightly at Jedao, teeth flashing in the dimness for a moment before his mouth drops open on a gasp at the press of Jedao's erection into his hip. And then it's lips and teeth and tongues again and, yeah, it would be so easy to just completely forget himself.
The hand in his hair just pulls another strangled moan out of him, and Fives looks at Jedao with lust-blown eyes as he's hauled back, lips red and swollen. When Jedao pulls away and turns to leave he's left standing there, dazed and a little overcome, because... jesus, naked. With a locked door. And a reasonable expectation of being left alone. He'd still more than half expected something quick and dirty in the bathroom, just enough clothes moved out of the way to make things work, and the prospect of Jedao laid out for him, naked, on a bed, is... overwhelming.
It's that look back over his shoulder that has Fives jerking into motion, with none of Jedao's confidence or languid grace. He almost scrambles to catch up, then makes himself slow down, suddenly worried he'll come off as a clumsy, over-eager puppy with no clue what he's doing and turn Jedao off.
Jedao wants to kiss him again, wipe that sudden nervousness away, wants to cup his cheek and croon out compliments - but he's got momentum going now, so he just winks, climbs the stairs with an unconscious memory for skipping the creaky one and trusts Fives to follow. He makes the journey as quick and quiet as is practical; the sooner they're there, the sooner he can give in.
Inside his old bedroom, he crowds Fives immediately against the door, reaching past him blind to turn the lock as he nuzzles Fives' neck, nips at the soft place just behind the hinge of his jaw. His other hand slides between them, plucking deftly at Fives' shirt buttons.
"Fucking irresistible," he mutters into Fives' skin, licking up a drop of fresh sweat. "It's ridiculous."
After so many years spent trailing around after Shiro, Fives is as familiar with the house as Jedao, and follows nimbly up the stairs, skipping the same creaking step, right on his heels by the time they reach the door. Not a guest room tonight, for all the times Fives has slept in this very bed, and all the times he's jerked off in it, while thinking about its former occupant.
He presses his shoulders back into the door at Jedao's urging, tipping his head back and to the side to give Jedao access to his neck. Gasps and jerks a little at the prick of teeth against tender skin, and when he drops his hands to Jedao's hips and pulls him close it's clear he's hardening again already.
"No, I'm-" He shifts, bites at his lips to keep himself quiet as he feels how hard and fucking perfect Jedao is against him- "I'm pretty sure that's you," he finally manages to rasp, awkward but earnest, before he slides one hand up to the nape of Jedao's neck, squeezes gently, and tips his head down for another sloppy, eager kiss.
He groans softly when Fives pulls his hips in, rocks in sharp, urgent little motions. He get his bare hand inside Fives' open shirt and gropes shamelessly, fingers splayed over Fives' absurd pectoral, palm rubbing against the delightful little peak of his nipple.
"No you," he counters between kisses, tone deliberately petulant to the point of playful silliness, grinning every time he catches Fives' eyes, before darting in for more kisses. The socially responsible part of his brain - for certain particular values of responsible - suggests that he really ought to teach Fives a little technique while they're here, but he shoves it off. He likes the sloppiness right now, the lewd messy brashness of it, the unmistakable palpable want, the total lack of repression or calculation.
Fives can't help but grin right back, eager and artless and so ridiculously pleased. He can't quite seem to get straight whether he wants to laugh at the silliness or groan at the way Jedao rocks into him, though the drag of Jedao's palm across his nipple and the totally unexpected shock of arousal it sends singing along his nerves puts him firmly in the groaning camp.
When he slides his hand from Jedao's neck to the first brightly polished button of his uniform jacket it's shaking just a little, and he breaks the kiss to nuzzle and mouth at Jedao's jaw instead for a moment. "C-can I?" he asks, trying not to sound as nervous as he feels, but this is entirely new territory, and he has no idea at all what the... the etiquette is, or if there's any at all.
"Jesus, you're sweet," he murmurs, smiling a little bit haplessly now, without any idea what else he might have expected. He feels suddenly, piercingly, that Fives is far too nice for him, feels brittle and bitter and weathered, feels certain he's going to tear Fives up, sooner or later.
But it might as well be later. Jedao isn't capable of crushing him right now.
Fives feels like sweet is probably not what you want to be called at a time like this, but he consoles himself with the fact that it was preceded by irresistible and that Jedao said yes. It takes him a couple tries to work the first button free of the heavy fabric, but his fingers seem to remember their nimbleness after that, and he presses a smile to Jedao's lips with the next kiss as he works his way down. Of course, there's still a fucking dress shirt under the jacket, with even more and smaller buttons, but it's a start.
He uses the time to get his breath back, to take any concerns he's having and set them aside. When Fives glowers slightly at the next set of buttons, Jedao slides his own hand up and into one of Fives, his fingers traveling up from Fives' wrist over his palm and then interlacing with his fingers, a delicate sensual touch, a reassurance in the shape of holding close.
"Not that I don't love this, because really I do -" and he shivers, for just a moment, at the idea of Fives' careful attention struggling over the shirt buttons, his strong quick touch flickering through the fabric and the delicious pressure of being exposed by someone else's hands. "But I really need to put this away properly anyway, you wouldn't believe what the damn thing costs. I could show off for you?"
Fives' eyes slip half shut at the touch, and a shiver runs down his spine. He's almost not sure what to do with it, it's too... tender, sweet. The kind of thing he's already learned to never expect for himself. Not in a world where he has to hide what--who--he wants so completely.
It makes him think back to the way Jedao had pressed his lips to his knuckles earlier, in the dim quiet of the kitchen. How he'd called him beautiful. Impulsively, he presses his lips to the back of Jedao's hand, looking down at him through a sweep of dark lashes as he speaks.
His grip spasms at the question, going almost bruise tight for a moment as a shudder runs down Fives' spine, as his hips jerk helplessly forward and he sucks in a sharp, shuddering breath. "Oh jesus... yes," he manages to make himself answer, and licks his lips.
Jedao squeezes Fives' hand back a moment later, presses forward to kiss him fast and fiercely, then moves away, lets his arm draw out as he steps back, lets his fingertips be the last touch to lift. He shrugs out of the jacket and hangs it in the garment bag hooked onto his bookshelf. There's a stark contrast, suddenly, between Jedao as he is, mussed and mostly dressed, stubble coming in after the long day of ceremonies, the garment bag and the military-issue duffle, three pieces of a present that doesn't quite fit smoothly with his past, with pulpy paperback mysteries and judo trophies. He hasn't put any of his current things into the dresser; he lives here almost as if it were a real guest room, as though it would be improper for him to leave any particular mark on it anymore.
He sits on the edge of the little desk, one leg propped up, bent and hitched, one leg trailing and resting on the floor. He grins at Fives, conspiratorial more than burlesque, and his fingers fly down the buttons of the dress shirt, well practiced, not bothering to draw it out. He rips the shirt off almost viciously, if the motion weren't so precise, like ripping off a bandage. He's thin underneath, not skeletal enough for his ribs to be obvious but the bottom edge of his rib cage as a whole is, and his scars scrawl out a more active service record than his branch and rank would nominally suggest.
He bends to unlace his dress shoes, and probably there is a way to make that lascivious and probably he could figure it out if he tried to, but he doesn't, really, and the show transmutes into a different tenor when he drops Fives' gaze for the simple fiddly human task of picking apart his knots and peeling off his dress socks. It becomes more tender, somehow, watching him undress instead of strip, watching something that small and personal that would normally happen only alone. By ignoring Fives, the act becomes private in a way that nudity, for a soldier, isn't necessarily. By becoming private, letting Fives watch becomes intimate.
He settles back on his perch but doesn't revive the sly grin or the teasing gaze, closing his eyes instead as he thumbs his belt buckle and pulls it from its loops, lets Fives watch him without the challenge of watching back. He hisses and bites his lip in relief when he finally gets his pants open, ripples his spine and hips in a small undulation to slide them down his hips past the desk's edge. He steps out of them and steps off the desk, eyes on his task when he does open them, gets the shirt and pants arrayed on their own hanger in the garment bag, zips it all closed.
He's still in his underwear - stretched obscenely, with an obvious wet spot - when he crouches by his duffle bag and fetches the K-Y he picked up on his third day out of the hospital, because he's a goddamn adult and his body is his own again. Nevermind the girly magazine tucked neatly in same compartment, or the fact that he hasn't cracked the seal on the tube yet. He decided to have it, and he has it, and that's what matters.
He tugs the covers down and sprawls into the bed, staring up at the ceiling now, working his underwear slowly down his legs and then kicking them away in his first real moment of carelessness, finally exposing his cock, surging upward. He clutches at his own sheets for a second, but doesn't touch himself, getting a squirt of the jelly on his fingers instead and twisting his hips so he can stretch himself. His eyes meet Fives' again for the first time since he lost his shirt, suddenly dark and glinting and hungrily searching Fives out as he presses the first finger inside, groaning softly.
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He bites at Fives' jaw again, then hooks a finger in his shirt collar, tugs it down enough that he can lick a broad messy stripe over Fives' pulse.
"If I can't get my mouth on your cock in the next twenty seconds," he hisses, panting very slightly, his tone lecherous and a little threatening at once, "I am going to be gravely disappointed, flip us over."
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There's no way he could miss that voice, though, and he goes absolutely still for a fraction of a second, breath escaping on a low, barely audible moan. "Oh fuck please," he just about chokes out as he shudders back into motion, jerky and a little uncoordinated in his almost frantic rush to lever them over. The end result, though, is what Jedao demanded, and Fives looks up at him, slack-jawed and panting, big hands wrapped tight at his hips as he arches up into the fucking perfect heat and weight of him.
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He drops it back into his now-bare hand and presses it against Fives' open mouth to muffle his noises as Jedao pushes himself off the couch and folds smoothly down, kneeling between Fives' legs as he makes rapid work of Fives' belt, getting his pants open and drawing his dick out with deft urgency.
For a second he just lets himself look, his bare hand stroking idly, lets Fives see him looking, breath heavy, mouth watering.
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Christ, just the sight of his bare hand shouldn't be that provocative, but Fives moans around Jedao's thumb, his grip at Jedao's hips tightening as his own jerk up. He hasn't even started to catch his breath when Jedao slides gracefully to the floor between his knees, and the sight of that guarantees there's no way in hell he's going to any time soon. He presses one of his own hands to his mouth, holding the glove in place, muffling a ragged groan as he watches Jedao open his pants, arches helplessly up into his grip as he pulls his cock free.
He feels like he could come just from this: that too-light touch combined with the way Jedao's looking at him, like he's never wanted to get his mouth on something more.
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"Fuckin' gorgeous," he murmurs, sliding his eyes back up to Fives' face, shameless and hungry. "You can pull my hair, but try not to thrust too far," he instructs, because it's been a while - too long - and he doesn't want to gag before he gets re-adjusted to the task. Jedao gets both hands on him, his bare hand at the base of Fives' cock and his gloved hand over the middle of the shaft, and just goes to town, wraps his mouth around the head, no messing around, no more teasing. His eyes flutter closed and he groans a little at the taste, sucks, savors, swirls his tongue to get more of it.
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He doesn't have to be told twice, he reaches out to twine his fingers into Jedao's hair the way he's wanted to from the start, mussing it even further. He can't believe he gets to watch this: Jedao's hands on him, one bare and one gloved, the way his lips stretch almost obscenely around him when he finally leans down to take him into his mouth. And then he doesn't care, because jesus it's almost too much. Hot and wet and tight and perfect and the hand not twisted maybe too tight into Jedao's hair is shoving that abandoned glove between this teeth, pressing over his lips to stifle the noises he can't help but make as he struggles to keep his hips still with only indifferent success.
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He strokes a few times with his gloved hand, struck by the heat through the thin fabric, then moves that hand when he's got the rhythm of his breathing set, grips Fives' thigh as he slides his mouth carefully farther down. He looks up to watch Fives' face again as he moves. His mouth remembers how to do it, how to be careful and considerate with his teeth, not automatically but with a deep affectionate recognition that he would almost compare to coming home, if it didn't feel more comfortable than this house has in years. He keeps going until his mouth is stuffed full and his jaw makes the first faint grumbles of a lovely familiar ache and the head of Fives' cock is just nudging against the back of his throat, like the knock of a hopeful guest.
Which is about halfway down. Keeping his grip steady, Jedao slides back up a little, sucks at the head so he doesn't drool, then back down, settling into a quick, easy rhythm.
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He wants to babble endearments, pleas and promises, but he's saved that particular humiliation by the need to keep quiet, and instead he sucks in great, open-mouthed breaths, his chest heaving as his hips twitch restlessly. The urge to thrust up into that perfect mouth, to push deeper, to take, is almost overwhelming, but he just splays his thighs wider, tugs ungently at Jedao's hair, and drops Jedao's glove--spit-damp and somewhat mangled--on the cushion next to him so he can reach out and trace the line of Jedao's lips with his thumb, feel where his cock slips past them.
"Fuck," he gasps, voice ragged, silence forgotten as his whole body tenses and releases in rhythm with the slide of Jedao's mouth along his shaft. He wants it to last, he wants it to last forever, jesus, just wet heat and friction and that look on Jedao's face, but he can feel the tension in his spine, the heat in his belly, coiling to the breaking point, and he knows it's not going to. "Fuck, Jedao... your fucking... fucking mouth." He tugs urgently on his hair in warning, trying to urge him up and away, and then he's not thinking of anything but the heat-lightning of release unspooling up his spine and thrumming along his nerves, and he just barely has the presence of mind to shove the side of his fist into his mouth and bite down hard as he comes.
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His body tries to swallow around the obstruction, and he lets himself sit in the discomfort of it and find the pleasure in it, rough and carnal and winking at dizziness for the way he's been holding his breath, if not for long enough yet to have real effects. Most of Fives' come slips down his throat without Jedao even having to swallow, without the risk of anything dribbling out onto the couch or his uniform. When Fives is mostly through it, shuddering and starting to unclench his jaw, Jedao lets himself slip back up, throat convulsing a little as he goes, and licks up the last few drops with contented, smug flicks of his tongue in between fast shallow sips of air.
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It feels like he spends forever curled down over Jedao, shuddering and gasping through what he's pretty sure is the most amazing orgasm of his life, fingers of his free hand carding jerkily through Jedao's hair. When he finally comes out the other side it's with a shuddering jerk as he goes from blissed out to over-stimulated like flipping a switch, and when he tugs at Jedao's hair this time it's with a different kind of urgency. "Too much," he rasps, finally pulling his fist from his mouth. "Ah, christ, too much."
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Jedao pushes back onto his heels and presses one finger - bare - to Fives' lips in the universal reminder for silence, then disappears for a moment as he moves back toward the kitchen, collects his flask and his cap and Fives' suit jacket, then double-checks that they didn't disturb anything obvious on the counter.
And then he's back, moving with languid ease despite visibly straining against his own trousers, until he deftly finds a way to hold the jacket that hides his erection while seeming entirely natural. "Think you can walk yet?" he asks quietly, amused but mostly just smugly pleased.
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He's too slow in his effort to nip at Jedao's finger when it's pressed briefly to his lips, but he does manage to sit forward, obediently silent as he watches him--watches his ass--disappear back into the kitchen. The view's possibly even better when he returns, and Fives licks his own lips at the way Jedao's tenting his trousers. He's disappointed when Jedao juggles his jacket into a position that hides his erection, but he sees the necessity of it, and he consoles himself by surging--maybe a little unsteadily--to his feet and reeling Jedao in for a deep, searching kiss, moaning quietly against Jedao's lips when he tastes himself there.
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Eventually - deeply reluctantly - he pulls away.
"Let's take this somewhere with a bed and door before we get carried away again."
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He pulls back a little at the reminder of where they are. "Yeah, that-" He nips at Jedao's jaw helplessly, completely incapable of resisting the impulse. "That would be good." Really good, given Uncle Miki's well known insomniac tendencies. And for all that Fives is absolutely certain Uncle Miki already knows about him, and that he'd never use him against his mother no matter how heated their personal rivalry gets on occasion, he'd just as soon the man not wander in on him sucking his son's dick like a lollipop in the middle of his damn living room. The idea is beyond horrifying... but also not enough to keep him from diving in for another eager, sloppy kiss.
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"Bed. Lock. Naked."
Priorities.
He steps deftly out of Fives' embrace and heads for the stairs with one searing look back over his shoulder.
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The hand in his hair just pulls another strangled moan out of him, and Fives looks at Jedao with lust-blown eyes as he's hauled back, lips red and swollen. When Jedao pulls away and turns to leave he's left standing there, dazed and a little overcome, because... jesus, naked. With a locked door. And a reasonable expectation of being left alone. He'd still more than half expected something quick and dirty in the bathroom, just enough clothes moved out of the way to make things work, and the prospect of Jedao laid out for him, naked, on a bed, is... overwhelming.
It's that look back over his shoulder that has Fives jerking into motion, with none of Jedao's confidence or languid grace. He almost scrambles to catch up, then makes himself slow down, suddenly worried he'll come off as a clumsy, over-eager puppy with no clue what he's doing and turn Jedao off.
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Inside his old bedroom, he crowds Fives immediately against the door, reaching past him blind to turn the lock as he nuzzles Fives' neck, nips at the soft place just behind the hinge of his jaw. His other hand slides between them, plucking deftly at Fives' shirt buttons.
"Fucking irresistible," he mutters into Fives' skin, licking up a drop of fresh sweat. "It's ridiculous."
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He presses his shoulders back into the door at Jedao's urging, tipping his head back and to the side to give Jedao access to his neck. Gasps and jerks a little at the prick of teeth against tender skin, and when he drops his hands to Jedao's hips and pulls him close it's clear he's hardening again already.
"No, I'm-" He shifts, bites at his lips to keep himself quiet as he feels how hard and fucking perfect Jedao is against him- "I'm pretty sure that's you," he finally manages to rasp, awkward but earnest, before he slides one hand up to the nape of Jedao's neck, squeezes gently, and tips his head down for another sloppy, eager kiss.
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"No you," he counters between kisses, tone deliberately petulant to the point of playful silliness, grinning every time he catches Fives' eyes, before darting in for more kisses. The socially responsible part of his brain - for certain particular values of responsible - suggests that he really ought to teach Fives a little technique while they're here, but he shoves it off. He likes the sloppiness right now, the lewd messy brashness of it, the unmistakable palpable want, the total lack of repression or calculation.
Maybe later.
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When he slides his hand from Jedao's neck to the first brightly polished button of his uniform jacket it's shaking just a little, and he breaks the kiss to nuzzle and mouth at Jedao's jaw instead for a moment. "C-can I?" he asks, trying not to sound as nervous as he feels, but this is entirely new territory, and he has no idea at all what the... the etiquette is, or if there's any at all.
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But it might as well be later. Jedao isn't capable of crushing him right now.
"Yeah, go on."
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"Not that I don't love this, because really I do -" and he shivers, for just a moment, at the idea of Fives' careful attention struggling over the shirt buttons, his strong quick touch flickering through the fabric and the delicious pressure of being exposed by someone else's hands. "But I really need to put this away properly anyway, you wouldn't believe what the damn thing costs. I could show off for you?"
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It makes him think back to the way Jedao had pressed his lips to his knuckles earlier, in the dim quiet of the kitchen. How he'd called him beautiful. Impulsively, he presses his lips to the back of Jedao's hand, looking down at him through a sweep of dark lashes as he speaks.
His grip spasms at the question, going almost bruise tight for a moment as a shudder runs down Fives' spine, as his hips jerk helplessly forward and he sucks in a sharp, shuddering breath. "Oh jesus... yes," he manages to make himself answer, and licks his lips.
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He sits on the edge of the little desk, one leg propped up, bent and hitched, one leg trailing and resting on the floor. He grins at Fives, conspiratorial more than burlesque, and his fingers fly down the buttons of the dress shirt, well practiced, not bothering to draw it out. He rips the shirt off almost viciously, if the motion weren't so precise, like ripping off a bandage. He's thin underneath, not skeletal enough for his ribs to be obvious but the bottom edge of his rib cage as a whole is, and his scars scrawl out a more active service record than his branch and rank would nominally suggest.
He bends to unlace his dress shoes, and probably there is a way to make that lascivious and probably he could figure it out if he tried to, but he doesn't, really, and the show transmutes into a different tenor when he drops Fives' gaze for the simple fiddly human task of picking apart his knots and peeling off his dress socks. It becomes more tender, somehow, watching him undress instead of strip, watching something that small and personal that would normally happen only alone. By ignoring Fives, the act becomes private in a way that nudity, for a soldier, isn't necessarily. By becoming private, letting Fives watch becomes intimate.
He settles back on his perch but doesn't revive the sly grin or the teasing gaze, closing his eyes instead as he thumbs his belt buckle and pulls it from its loops, lets Fives watch him without the challenge of watching back. He hisses and bites his lip in relief when he finally gets his pants open, ripples his spine and hips in a small undulation to slide them down his hips past the desk's edge. He steps out of them and steps off the desk, eyes on his task when he does open them, gets the shirt and pants arrayed on their own hanger in the garment bag, zips it all closed.
He's still in his underwear - stretched obscenely, with an obvious wet spot - when he crouches by his duffle bag and fetches the K-Y he picked up on his third day out of the hospital, because he's a goddamn adult and his body is his own again. Nevermind the girly magazine tucked neatly in same compartment, or the fact that he hasn't cracked the seal on the tube yet. He decided to have it, and he has it, and that's what matters.
He tugs the covers down and sprawls into the bed, staring up at the ceiling now, working his underwear slowly down his legs and then kicking them away in his first real moment of carelessness, finally exposing his cock, surging upward. He clutches at his own sheets for a second, but doesn't touch himself, getting a squirt of the jelly on his fingers instead and twisting his hips so he can stretch himself. His eyes meet Fives' again for the first time since he lost his shirt, suddenly dark and glinting and hungrily searching Fives out as he presses the first finger inside, groaning softly.
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