noscope | RP OPEN POST )

Entry tags:

rp: open post

RP OPEN POST )

this here is an open post for badasses.

give me everything and i'll give it all back!

It's funny, the things you pick up along the way. Especially from a man that has boasted, before, on knowing every single little trick to get what he wants – and North has always fancied himself a quick study, a man with a sharp mind and, with the right intent, the open opportunity to lay waste to every single ounce of willpower, of self-control York has ever been thought to have.

The moment that had brought them together initially is emblazoned in his mind with the kind of crystal clarity that etches out every detail flawlessly. A harsh night doesn't even begin to cover the way the man had come out of a night terror that had left his entire body trembling with it, and Evan had pulled him close, wrapped his arms around him as tightly as he thought he could get away with. Coming away from that with a man that would just as readily shake himself apart for him, given the chance, as anything else is not something he'd been expecting, but you won't hear him complaining about it. Won't hear him saying a damn thing to the contrary, because he's convinced he'd gotten the better part of the deal.

"Yes, you do." It's murmured against his skin, low and warm and inviting as he licks a careful line over the length of York's cock, taking his time with it just as surely as he would anything else. ( He can't be rushed, can't be hurried. Won't be, in any case. )

Lightly, he pushes up into the pressure of the hands at the back of his neck, running over his shoulders as though it might give the other man something to hold onto – scrambling for purchase, desperate and whining, and this, he thinks, is his favorite Taylor. The one that can't bullshit his way out of or into something he wants, the one that can only beg and plead and moan as he is made to wait, voice breaking around the words slipping from the back of his throat as roughened whispers.

His thighs spread further apart, and Evan can only growl his approval. "And no, you won't. You're not getting out of his bed until I'm ready to let you, and let me assure you that I won't be for quite a while."

His mouth closes over the head of the other man's cock, and he sucks, taking him in until he nudges the back of his throat and he stops, traces the vein along the shaft with the tip of his tongue as he recedes.

"Do not, do not, do fucking not you fucking asshole-" cut off with a choke because he is not going to whimper for Evan when he's being this much of a possessive asshole. If he weren't smiling so much and clinging so hard to North's shoulders someone might think he's actually upset. Well. He is, just a little, because Evan is cheating. He's not supposed to be able to do this to him, no one is, what the hell happened to his control?

Gone forever, gone for good wherever Evan is concerned, probably because he's missed him. The transmissions he'd sent while out and about weren't the same as kicking back in the mess or sleepless nights spent sharing coffee. Sure as hell wasn't the same as clubbing and drinking and getting into trouble with him- he'd missed North like he misses his left eye.

This is probably why Evan tries do goddamn hard to drive him crazy- in the space between one breath and the next it's so easy for him to remember everything that went wrong, remember all the blood and pain and living alone. Remember dying, knowing he'd failed in his objective and that North would never get that fucking stupid joke he had thought up just for the sniper. Dying was bad enough. Leaving someone alone that seemed to need him was beyond anything he would have been able to bear.

Not whimpering, not sobbing but just. Rolling up into that mouth and back against his hands, head tipped forward and eyes squeezed shut to force those images back and away and just enjoy this as much as he can. Because he has this. That mouth on his skin, around his cock, that voice in his ear demanding his attention.

Ignore the wetness beading on his lashes as he cracks a laugh that shutters into a moan. "Will. Will so. If you don't fucking oh dear god Ev please-"

He can't answer him like this. Can't think to want to, not when he has every single bit of this man where he wants him, where he needs him. It's so easy, he thinks in some offhanded way, to bring forth every little reaction he could possibly want. York has always been liberal in that respect, yielding to every little touch, every flick of a tongue or press of fingertips against heated skin, every little taste he takes for himself to make this man just a little bit more his without even so much as leaving a bruise behind.

Though. There will always be time for those. Time and again he'll claim this body to the depths he chooses, marked and owned and just short of never being able to belong to himself again.

The thought swirling around in that fractured mind – the loss, the I missed you paired with the memories he can't just put on a shelf, can't shove away just so they'll hurt a little less even though he's gotten what he'd missed so much, they're lost on him. The nightmares, the sleepless nights spent soothing a man he can never see his life without now that he's made a place for himself in it, he's aware of those. But the thoughts behind them, the absence, none of it's been explained away, and Evan has to wait. He won't ask – he'll never pry that deeply – because Taylor has to come to him on his own time. On his own terms.

One hand slides up, over the planes of the other man's chest to curl lightly around the side of his throat. A small comfort, a silent shhh, be still passed through the motion as fingertips trace over the line of his jaw. As they catch some of the wetness that has spilled from his lashes and stains his cheeks, and he only takes him deeper. Relaxes his throat and swallows around him, slow, sweet. Yielding.

He'd never thought himself particularly easy before. Well. He wasn't exactly always playing hard to get either but he'd never been so high strung and eager for a firm, dickish hand to force him into place and let him ride out sensations at their leisure. Normally he's all about the give and take, the tricks of clever fingers and tongues and that's why he strayed on the side of women the past few years. They liked his mouth, liked his hands, didn't ask too many questions and were slightly less likely to put him in a position he didn't want to be in.

Even when he'd been with guys it'd been more about the quick rough and tumble than the manhandling and the utter possessive dominance that Evan preferred. They didn't sleep together so much as he was totally owned and frankly? It was kind of a relief. He didn't have to joke, didn't have to tease, didn't have to be quick or clever or even terribly kind.

He just had to be.

Just say or do whatever Evan wanted him to do and in return he got comfort, contact, fucking awesome orgasms and something more he really doesn't wanna put a name to. For a little while it fills up that fragmented bit of him that came with Delta being ripped away. He feels more like the man he'd been before Project Freelancer. Before North, before Carolina, before any of them. Just a little punk ass kid with too much hope and not enough ambition.

He shudders through the next pass, turning his head to kiss Evan's palm as his hips roll up, as all that teasing melts into something gentle and he can just sigh through it. With his eyes shut tight he can pretend they both work. With his heart beating so hard he can pretend he never died. With Evan so large and holding him down, holding him together, he can pretend he's not broken. Things he'll never say that he murmurs soundlessly into Evan's palm like something secret and precious because they are. All his gratitude. All his affection.

There are things he's never let himself be before; this level of possessive, this manner of I have you just as surely as you have me, and there's a reason for that. He's never trusted that side of himself, as much as he's come to realize that it's more prevalent than anything close to it. He can no more hide it than he can deny the kind of man he is, and for every sweet smile and soft touch there is an underlying firm hand, the set to his mouth that boasts I will not yield and it's only with Taylor that he can even come close to trusting himself that way.

He gives so much, so much of himself to the man before him, begging what he can in return, and Evan will always be the one to give it back to him. Every single bit of him, belonging more to him than he's ever belonged to himself. ( Though, he hasn't quite come to that realization quite yet … and if he's ever been the one to put the other man in his place, the place he wants to be in, it's a self-conscious realization. One that hasn't quite made its way to the surface. )

All Taylor has to do for him is be. Exist. And he'll give every bit of himself to him a thousand times over just to make him feel needed. Wanted. Cherished and loved where he is.

All I am belongs to you, just as you are mine in turn. How fucking true that is.

His hips roll upward, and he takes every bit of it, eyes sliding shut against the sensation of his cock thrusting deep. His throat flexes in another swallow, and he moans around the length of York's cock, slick and sweet and wanting every bit of what he's being given. ( Or, taking, as it may very well be. What he wants from this man, he will most certainly get. ) Everything that he wants to pretend he isn't – broken, weary, fractured and pulled apart, Evan gives him. He makes him whole, fixes those cracks and spiderweb fractures with the whispers of words he doesn't think he has any right to say aloud, with every pass of his lips and tongue, promises and prayers alike pressed into his skin and leaving their mark.

I love you is a thing he wants to say, I have you a thing he needs to convey – just so the other man knows just where he is, where he has to go whenever he feels the world crumbling beneath his feet.

The pad of his thumb traces over a full bottom lip, conveyance of his own that he understands. That he always has.

Evan's kind tonight despite all of his bitching and for that Taylor is grateful. Normally when he pushes or speaks out or trips over some kind of verbal insubordination he's strung out on sensation for hours before they get to this point. Maybe it was the nightmare. Maybe they're closer to actually putting words to what they are. Maybe it was how he was clinging and as desperate as he's ever been for some confirmation that this is real. It's not Detla in his ear, it's not the suit holding his skin in place while it patches him up, it's not his tools in his hand or the HUD covering his blind spot.

It's not the private war they'd been thrust into by a madman or breaking into storefronts for petty cash and food after- not screwing around on military bases beforehand. Whatever this is- it's after. It's direction. Stability. Purpose. Order.

Orders had only ever led him into pain up until they got him killed. Evan's orders always ended well. Evan never expected the impossible from him, never condemned him for not making it on the first go, never made him feel less of a man for not being good enough. He never made Taylor feel anything but worthwhile. Be it direction in bed or in the field he can and will always trust this man to guide him safely. Through the cracks of his own mind and the madness of this place, the firm hand on his hip and on his jaw helps him find his way home day after day and that's something he can't ever thank him enough for. Doesn't have the words for it, doesn't have the frame of reference for it- so he just. Acts out. Clings.

Sobs and pants into Evan's palm as he grinds up as much as he can and he knows- Evan knows and gets it he's always gotten it, they've always been on the same wavelength and he needs more than this right now. The first audible thing from him since Evan swallowed him whole and it's low and broken.

"Please." Please more. Please come up. A tense hand slides through Evan's hair and tugs him up, legs spread wide because he needs- more. Needs to be held down and claimed in the way only Evan can offer him. Needs to be told how to move and how to breathe and what to think right now just so the world will make a little more sense. "Please- sir."

Their strange little shorthand that'll tell Evan what he needs without him having to try too hard.

Evan's always doing things to make life easy on him.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

RP OPEN POST )

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject