[ his breath catches when the cool air sweeps against sensitive skin, stops entirely for a moment when ward casually palms up his length.
despite his best efforts to keep his eyes on ward's face, he finds himself watching his hand. the feeling's one thing, but the sight of it's distracting in its own way — bigger than fitz's own, rougher, starkly different to the sensations he's used to.
his gaze skips back up to ward's when he throws out the idle compliment. the positive response is more about ward's approval than anything to do with the size of his dick, which is completely embarrassing, but his punchy response gets derailed by the question. ]
Um— [ how the fuck does he like it. ] I think I'm up for all kinds. You know, just it in general.
[ it should be a phenomenally humiliating thing to say, but somehow the fact that ward's straddling him and asking him lewd questions in the first place negates any insecurity on that front. ]
[ ward doesn't laugh, but his lips twitch, and he squeezes gently. ]
Yeah?
[ but he still reaches for one of fitz' hands and pulls it in to his lap. ]
Touch yourself.
[ because that's what he wants to know. maybe it's innate perfectionism. but he wants to know exactly how fast, how tight, how much to stroke to bring fitz off, and this is a faster way to find out than experimenting. ]
[ though he's not just planning to sit and watch, still touching fitz' skin restlessly with one hand, twining the fingers of the other together. ]
[ oh. there's an element of performance here that cracks his confidence, but the command and the way ward draws his hand down for him helps counter it, making it easier to just follow his lead. there's still some hesitation as fitz takes himself in hand, dick kicking at the familiar contact, and he's slow to start — slower than he'd be normally, though ward hasn't really got the context to know that.
his stomach tenses as he rolls his shoulders up slightly, getting some leverage off the ground and improving his reach. he can feel one elbow sinking into the dirt, can feel the ground pressing into the bare skin of his lower back now his shirt's been pulled up. the tactile mix is good, though he wonders vaguely how they'll get clean without a proper shower in the morning.
fitz has a hard time looking at ward, initially. instead he focuses on himself, starts jerking in smooth pulls, hand flexing each time he pushes back towards the base of his cock. it doesn't normally take much, and he'd have thought it'd be the opposite now — but he's distracted, overstimulated, and he casts an uncertain look towards ward just as his breath begins to pick up. ]
[ ward makes no move to touch himself, just watches the movement of fitz' hand intently. he thumbs at the bones of fitz' wrist, drags light fingers over his thigh idly. looks up from the hypnotic movement of fitz' dick sliding over his palm just in time to catch his gaze, and touches his wrist gently. ]
Stop.
[ because it's hot, watching him jerk off, but the point was to watch the way he used his hand — and then mimic it, replace it with his own.he doesn't want fitz to take himself past the point of no return. ]
[ still, he doesn't really give him any time to catch his breath, either. one hand takes over with the same thorough movement, and the other catches a hold of him so he can pull forward into another kiss. ]
[ he stops the second ward speaks, abrupt, and doesn't get the chance to wonder what's next before ward makes it clear. ward's hand is on his cock again, picking up where he'd left off. it's better. the different size, different texture; even just the idea of a hand on him that isn't his own.
he's dragged into another kiss before he can catch his breath, and between that and the heady feeling of ward's hand, there's a desperation to the way he meets ward's mouth. slow and deep, broken with a light nip of ward's lip before fitz presses their foreheads together and pants against him, lungs burning.
his thighs flex under ward's weight as he tries to roll his hips up into his hand. he ends up grabbing at the back of ward's shoulders to let him take his weight, too, and with his other hand he reaches down to settle his fingers over ward's; constricting only on impulse and excitement, otherwise just feeling the slide of his hand. ]
[ ward strokes him off maybe a little slower than fitz had been going, but just as firm and tight, with the same flex of his hand. it stutters for a moment when fitz' hand joins his, but resumes the easy movement when he realizes fitz isn't trying to stop or guide him. ]
[ and then there's just this, stroking and kissing. ward's intense awareness of his environment totally broken for once, with the whole world narrowed down to fitz's reactions, the little tics of his body and the harsh rhythm of his breath. ward wants to touch himself to it, feeling the way even the smallest noises from fitz pull arousal taut below his abdomen. ]
[ ward isn't a sadist, he never liked the things his brother made him do. he likes orders, and pain. and he doesn't have the curiosity a scientist might. but he does enjoy flexing his power over other people, a little friendly competition, so he tangles their fingers together before fitz can come and pulls their entwined hands away, just to see what he'll do. ]
Ah— [ the sound's out before he can stop it, surprised and needy and maybe just a shade offended. fitz catches it quickly before it can register as a more coherent complaint, lips still parted against ward's.
there's a gentle tug against ward's hand, but it isn't for the sake of getting their hands back on him. instead fitz pushes back towards ward, where he's straining against the tight fabric of his boxers. he wants it — wants to feel more of ward, wants to drag his boxers down and touch hot, sensitive skin — but there's some punch in it, too, the very pointed desire to bring ward to the same edge and leave him hanging.
not that he's all control. fitz is still tense with the desire to thrust up, and his grip on ward's back tightens, fingers pressing into muscle. ]
[ ward lets him, underwear joining the restriction of his pants. reciprocity is always the hardest part of intimacy, when someone else touches him and he just wants to go to pieces for them. but that's a weakness he doesn't give in to, pulling his own lip between his teeth as Fitz gets a hand on him. remembering who he is — who he is to fitz. grant ward, action hero. ]
Tighter.
[ the instruction's grit. but then he regrets that a moment later, adds a slightly pained: ]
[ He hears with your mouth and gives Ward a quick look, only for his brain to catch up a beat later. His hand, probably. He means get his hand wet. Said hand goes still on Ward's cock in the meantime, grip relaxing slightly in uncertainty, then he follows instructions and lifts his hand to his lips.
There's a sexy way to do this. Fitz is well aware of it, even if he has no idea how to achieve it. Slow's the first step, helps the moisture stick to his palm. He wonders if the salty taste of skin's all him, whether or not any of it's from the brief contact with Ward's cock; then realizes it's a dumb thing to wonder when he's got better things to be doing, and breathes hot air onto his hand before reaching back between them. ]
Better?
[ Direct and interested, not insecure. The angle's awkward, in some ways more difficult than what he's used to, easier in others. Fitz squeezes gently and pushes a slow stroke down, hesitant to try anything rougher until he's gotten feedback. ]
[ the pitch of ward's voice has dropped low in enjoyment, his eyes falling closed as his hips rock forward, pushing him into fitz' tight fist. it glides easily over the tight, hot skin. ]
That feels great.
[ he adds for reenforcement, just short of praise. he curves down, wanting to get at Fitz' mouth after the tempting flash of pink tongue working, but he still wants to leave room for fitz to keep jerking him off. the kiss, therefore, is a little strained, tugging at fitz' slower lip before just panting sloppily into his mouth.. ]
[ He can hear Ward's breath as much as he can feel it, and he uses it to help set a rhythm as he begins to stroke. The less controlled Ward's breathing, the bolder he gets, though he stops shy of rough — tries to imagine what he likes, build the pressure without crossing over into pain, even if it's harder to gauge when his hand's on someone else.
Fitz gives up his grip on Ward's back, hand sliding around and over his ribs as he lays back against the dirt. More space to maneuver, for one, and it's easier to take in the view this way. He twists his fist gently on the next stroke up, thumb skirting over the tip.
He's close enough that it hurts, a dull ache building in the wake of tactile distractions. But he doesn't touch himself, even now that he's got another hand free — just stubbornly keeps his focus on Ward, eyes tracing up from his stomach to his face, studying his body's reaction. ]
[ Fitz thumbs sat a slick drop of precome, and Ward's eyes close, his panting suddenly rapid, short of breath. ]
I'm —
[ He tries to force himself steady again, but Fitz' grip is good and firm, pulling the pleasure out of him. His fingers clench where they're pressed hard into the dirt, gritting under his fingernails as his whole body arcs over Fitz'. He thrusts like he's fucking, muscles rippling. There's a flicker of movement in his adonis belt, and he has to gasp a better warning. ]
I'm gonna come.
[ His mouth falls open like he's shocked at the fact, and he groans again, the noise a desperate dragging thing. ]
[ He doesn't want to stop. He wants more of this, Ward arched above him and thrusting, the edge of mindless desperation in a voice that's usually so controlled.
He has to force his thoughts to the way Ward had drawn their hands away, left him hanging; mimic that. Fitz's hand abruptly stops, pressure gone all at once as he loosens his grip and draws his hand back. Not far — it's still between them, sticky with sweat and saliva and precome, just enough distance between his palm and Ward's cock to let the cool air in. ]
Yeah?
[ One word, and it comes out a little more taunting than he actually means it to, falling back on old habit. It makes him sound more confident than he really is, and the fact that his gaze is level as he watches Ward's expression is more because he's mesmerized than calm.
He did this. It's a heady enough sensation for him to forget how desperately he wants to get back to jacking one or preferably both of them, and his own breathing's slow and deep in the short silence that follows the rejoinder. ]
[ Ward's eyes fly open, his mouth slack for a totally different reason. Disbelief is visible in his arousal-dark eyes. ]
Fuck.
[ It's bitten out. He can feel the clench in his balls but he's not quite there, needs — a touch, a squeeze, something. He drips a long string of pre onto Fitz' wrist and thrusts again. He could probably rub himself to completion if he tried, but he doesn't try very hard. ]
Please.
[ It costs him to say it, but he's desperate enough that pride has fallen by the wayside. Fitz could ask him anything right now and he'd answer it honestly. But Fitz just looks at him, placid and steady with his own pupils blown wide, in control of the situation, and Ward feels a hard lurch in his chest. ]
[ Ward's unraveled and begging, and it's on the edge of something that Fitz isn't quite sure he likes, too much take without any give.
He doesn't react right away. There's a noticeable pause after the urgent remarks, like he's content to just consider Ward from this angle; and even though he only drags it out a few more seconds, odds are it feels much longer. When Fitz does give, it's as much about his own creeping sense of discomfort as Ward's desperation — a desire to even out the balance before he crosses a line.
The movement's unhurried as he takes Ward back in hand, and the rhythm he settles into is slow, more measured and less frantic. He starts to stroke Ward off in smooth, long motions, wrist twisting again slightly on each slide up. ]
[ He's about to beg again, as though he thinks maybe Fitz didn't hear him properly the first time, but then there's a hand on him again, and maybe it's the fact of the denial or just the relief, but he loses it, comes overwhelmingly hard. The noise he makes is almost a rough sob as he just pulses over Fitz' knuckles and down onto his bare skin. ]
[ Ward collapses onto an elbow, heaving, trying to push his face into Fitz' shoulder to hide his expression as he rides out the electric high and then the comedown. He's trembling finely, feeling an unexpected swoop of vulnerability. ]
Fuck.
[ Reality is washing slowly back like the tide coming in, and he presses his teeth into Fitz's skin as he nips back up his neck towards his mouth, wanting to stave it hazily off. ]
[ Fitz is still hard, but the edge is gone, taken by his concentration on Ward. Then Ward collapses over him, and he can feel his breath hot on his neck, ragged as the sounds he's making; Ward's come is hot on his stomach, cool as the air catches the wetness of it — all of it together makes his dick kick, accented by the teeth at his neck.
He turns his head to meet Ward, and that's unhurried, too. He's less patient with the kiss, one hand sliding over Ward's shoulder and settling at the nape of his neck as Fitz pushes for something deep and slow.
His other hand lets go of Ward as soon as he's finished, one more gentle sweep before he's running his fingers over the taught muscles of his stomach. His hand's a mess, and it leaves a short, damp trail on Ward's skin. ]
[ Ward makes a pleased, low noise into the kiss, but despite how unhurried it is, it reminds him that the whole point of this was to turn Fitz to putty in his hands and not — the other way around. Actually, he's kind of embarrassed. ]
I'm going to make you come now.
[ With a woman he'd go down now, but he's not sure — maybe that's too. Intimate. Something. He scrapes his mouth over Fitz' rough jaw instead, whispers dirty things while he reaches for him with the hand that hasn't been scrabbling in the dirt. ]
I've jerked off thinking about what you'd sound like. If we had lube I'd let you fuck me.
[ Control's lost quickly as soon as Ward speaks, says things like come and fuck me. Fitz's best attempt to say something in response isn't good enough, and instead there's just a sharp breath as soon as Ward's hand is on him.
He thrusts up into it as much as he can, his own grip going tight on the back of Ward's neck. Between Ward's voice and his touch, it wouldn't take long to get him close — it's made easier by the insinuation of actually fucking, imagination quickly filling in the gaps as he closes his eyes. ]
Fuck.
[ Strained and quiet, somewhere between appreciative and defeated, head tipping back against the dirt as his back arcs. The please is impossible to miss even if he avoids the word. He doesn't really want to end this with crying, which might be on the table of Ward stops again. ]
[ Ward fists just the head of his dick, tugging the skin there up and over the head and then back down again, slow and teasing when he knows Fitz probably wants hard and fast. But he doesn't pull away, just teases it out more and more. ]
Close?
[ He's right up against Fitz's ear now, breathes hot air there, refusing to let him forget whose hand is getting him off. ]
You're gonna come all over my abs.
[ And then when he feeler Fitz tense up he jacks him properly, heedless of the overstimulation, so tight he can feel the pulse of it in his palm. ]
God— [ It's too much, the vibration of Ward's voice and his grip, too tight on sensitive skin. Whatever curse he's trying to get out is interrupted when he comes, hard, fingers digging into the meat at Ward's shoulder as his muscles go taut.
He realizes he's holding his breath a second later, resumes in short, heavy pants. His eyes are still closed, and he hasn't really got the energy or focus or anything to look at Ward just yet, just tries to catch his breath as the tension flickers out.
It's still only a few seconds before he does, though, and he briefly meets Ward's gaze before lifting his shoulders slightly to look between them. Ward's right, of course; he's made a mess of his abs, though it only seems fair after— ]
Jesus fuck.
[ He's got Ward's come on his stomach, and there's a hazy sort of disbelief in his voice. There's a vague edge of humor, too, well aware that his reaction's possibly a little embarrassing and telling. Kind of late for pretense. ]
[ Ward feels good, like he's getting Fitz' afterglow instead of his own, and he presses a too-soft kiss to Fitz' mouth before rolling away into the grass. It's not that he doesn't want to be close after sex (or not only that) but he needs to stretch, lifting his arms up over his head and hearing his back pop before he relaxes again with a contented sigh.
After a moment he lifts his hips and tugs his pants back up. Glances over at Fitz, and then curls a little closer again, rolling onto his side. He slides a hand through the mess on Fitz' stomach and tilts his head, watching his expression curiously, like he's planning to take his cues from whatever Fitz does next. ]
We're gonna have to clean up. Somehow.
[ Doing this in the great outdoors felt good, private and public all at once, but it does mean there aren't any convenient showers nearby, and he feels sticky with sweat as well as the come sliding in rivulets over his skin from where it was sprayed, catching in the trail of hair below his navel. ]
[ Shock's a strong word, but whatever he's feeling, it's close. Now that the adrenaline's easing off into a pleasant buzz, the reality of the situation's starting to trickle back in, brought into stark relief by Ward's observation.
They're on a mission. In the middle of nowhere. It occurs to him that they need to wash, then he thinks he's definitely not bathing in a creek somewhere, then he realizes it's a very stupid train of thought and stops it entirely.
Calm down, basically. One hand settles over Ward's, thumb idly stroking over the back of his knuckles like an absent tether, a reminder that this didn't just happen — it's ongoing. ]
Sterile wipes. If we're careful, they should get the job done.
[ Ward turns his hand palm up, lets Fitz' fingers tangle a little with his. ]
Great, yeah.
[ He still doesn't move straight away. He isn't used to lying around after a fuck, but he also doesn't want to spook Fitz, and it feels good to just relax like they're the only guys on Earth while the reality is still settling in. ]
[ Quick and confident, almost as if it's a silly thing to ask. It's half bravado, though it's a pretty easy sell at this point — he's finding it difficult to feel self-conscious after that.
Fitz is still watching their hands, thoughtful, but he turns his head to look at Ward after a beat of silence. ]
Are you?
[ The question could easily be defensive, more of that stubborn insistence on keeping the field level. It isn't. It's just simple and honest, and it sounds more curious than concerned. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
despite his best efforts to keep his eyes on ward's face, he finds himself watching his hand. the feeling's one thing, but the sight of it's distracting in its own way — bigger than fitz's own, rougher, starkly different to the sensations he's used to.
his gaze skips back up to ward's when he throws out the idle compliment. the positive response is more about ward's approval than anything to do with the size of his dick, which is completely embarrassing, but his punchy response gets derailed by the question. ]
Um— [ how the fuck does he like it. ] I think I'm up for all kinds. You know, just it in general.
[ it should be a phenomenally humiliating thing to say, but somehow the fact that ward's straddling him and asking him lewd questions in the first place negates any insecurity on that front. ]
no subject
Yeah?
[ but he still reaches for one of fitz' hands and pulls it in to his lap. ]
Touch yourself.
[ because that's what he wants to know. maybe it's innate perfectionism. but he wants to know exactly how fast, how tight, how much to stroke to bring fitz off, and this is a faster way to find out than experimenting. ]
[ though he's not just planning to sit and watch, still touching fitz' skin restlessly with one hand, twining the fingers of the other together. ]
no subject
his stomach tenses as he rolls his shoulders up slightly, getting some leverage off the ground and improving his reach. he can feel one elbow sinking into the dirt, can feel the ground pressing into the bare skin of his lower back now his shirt's been pulled up. the tactile mix is good, though he wonders vaguely how they'll get clean without a proper shower in the morning.
fitz has a hard time looking at ward, initially. instead he focuses on himself, starts jerking in smooth pulls, hand flexing each time he pushes back towards the base of his cock. it doesn't normally take much, and he'd have thought it'd be the opposite now — but he's distracted, overstimulated, and he casts an uncertain look towards ward just as his breath begins to pick up. ]
no subject
Stop.
[ because it's hot, watching him jerk off, but the point was to watch the way he used his hand — and then mimic it, replace it with his own.he doesn't want fitz to take himself past the point of no return. ]
[ still, he doesn't really give him any time to catch his breath, either. one hand takes over with the same thorough movement, and the other catches a hold of him so he can pull forward into another kiss. ]
no subject
he's dragged into another kiss before he can catch his breath, and between that and the heady feeling of ward's hand, there's a desperation to the way he meets ward's mouth. slow and deep, broken with a light nip of ward's lip before fitz presses their foreheads together and pants against him, lungs burning.
his thighs flex under ward's weight as he tries to roll his hips up into his hand. he ends up grabbing at the back of ward's shoulders to let him take his weight, too, and with his other hand he reaches down to settle his fingers over ward's; constricting only on impulse and excitement, otherwise just feeling the slide of his hand. ]
no subject
[ and then there's just this, stroking and kissing. ward's intense awareness of his environment totally broken for once, with the whole world narrowed down to fitz's reactions, the little tics of his body and the harsh rhythm of his breath. ward wants to touch himself to it, feeling the way even the smallest noises from fitz pull arousal taut below his abdomen. ]
[ ward isn't a sadist, he never liked the things his brother made him do. he likes orders, and pain. and he doesn't have the curiosity a scientist might. but he does enjoy flexing his power over other people, a little friendly competition, so he tangles their fingers together before fitz can come and pulls their entwined hands away, just to see what he'll do. ]
no subject
there's a gentle tug against ward's hand, but it isn't for the sake of getting their hands back on him. instead fitz pushes back towards ward, where he's straining against the tight fabric of his boxers. he wants it — wants to feel more of ward, wants to drag his boxers down and touch hot, sensitive skin — but there's some punch in it, too, the very pointed desire to bring ward to the same edge and leave him hanging.
not that he's all control. fitz is still tense with the desire to thrust up, and his grip on ward's back tightens, fingers pressing into muscle. ]
no subject
Tighter.
[ the instruction's grit. but then he regrets that a moment later, adds a slightly pained: ]
Get it wet first, with your mouth.
no subject
There's a sexy way to do this. Fitz is well aware of it, even if he has no idea how to achieve it. Slow's the first step, helps the moisture stick to his palm. He wonders if the salty taste of skin's all him, whether or not any of it's from the brief contact with Ward's cock; then realizes it's a dumb thing to wonder when he's got better things to be doing, and breathes hot air onto his hand before reaching back between them. ]
Better?
[ Direct and interested, not insecure. The angle's awkward, in some ways more difficult than what he's used to, easier in others. Fitz squeezes gently and pushes a slow stroke down, hesitant to try anything rougher until he's gotten feedback. ]
no subject
[ the pitch of ward's voice has dropped low in enjoyment, his eyes falling closed as his hips rock forward, pushing him into fitz' tight fist. it glides easily over the tight, hot skin. ]
That feels great.
[ he adds for reenforcement, just short of praise. he curves down, wanting to get at Fitz' mouth after the tempting flash of pink tongue working, but he still wants to leave room for fitz to keep jerking him off. the kiss, therefore, is a little strained, tugging at fitz' slower lip before just panting sloppily into his mouth.. ]
no subject
Fitz gives up his grip on Ward's back, hand sliding around and over his ribs as he lays back against the dirt. More space to maneuver, for one, and it's easier to take in the view this way. He twists his fist gently on the next stroke up, thumb skirting over the tip.
He's close enough that it hurts, a dull ache building in the wake of tactile distractions. But he doesn't touch himself, even now that he's got another hand free — just stubbornly keeps his focus on Ward, eyes tracing up from his stomach to his face, studying his body's reaction. ]
no subject
I'm —
[ He tries to force himself steady again, but Fitz' grip is good and firm, pulling the pleasure out of him. His fingers clench where they're pressed hard into the dirt, gritting under his fingernails as his whole body arcs over Fitz'. He thrusts like he's fucking, muscles rippling. There's a flicker of movement in his adonis belt, and he has to gasp a better warning. ]
I'm gonna come.
[ His mouth falls open like he's shocked at the fact, and he groans again, the noise a desperate dragging thing. ]
no subject
He has to force his thoughts to the way Ward had drawn their hands away, left him hanging; mimic that. Fitz's hand abruptly stops, pressure gone all at once as he loosens his grip and draws his hand back. Not far — it's still between them, sticky with sweat and saliva and precome, just enough distance between his palm and Ward's cock to let the cool air in. ]
Yeah?
[ One word, and it comes out a little more taunting than he actually means it to, falling back on old habit. It makes him sound more confident than he really is, and the fact that his gaze is level as he watches Ward's expression is more because he's mesmerized than calm.
He did this. It's a heady enough sensation for him to forget how desperately he wants to get back to jacking one or preferably both of them, and his own breathing's slow and deep in the short silence that follows the rejoinder. ]
no subject
Fuck.
[ It's bitten out. He can feel the clench in his balls but he's not quite there, needs — a touch, a squeeze, something. He drips a long string of pre onto Fitz' wrist and thrusts again. He could probably rub himself to completion if he tried, but he doesn't try very hard. ]
Please.
[ It costs him to say it, but he's desperate enough that pride has fallen by the wayside. Fitz could ask him anything right now and he'd answer it honestly. But Fitz just looks at him, placid and steady with his own pupils blown wide, in control of the situation, and Ward feels a hard lurch in his chest. ]
Fitz, come on.
no subject
He doesn't react right away. There's a noticeable pause after the urgent remarks, like he's content to just consider Ward from this angle; and even though he only drags it out a few more seconds, odds are it feels much longer. When Fitz does give, it's as much about his own creeping sense of discomfort as Ward's desperation — a desire to even out the balance before he crosses a line.
The movement's unhurried as he takes Ward back in hand, and the rhythm he settles into is slow, more measured and less frantic. He starts to stroke Ward off in smooth, long motions, wrist twisting again slightly on each slide up. ]
no subject
[ Ward collapses onto an elbow, heaving, trying to push his face into Fitz' shoulder to hide his expression as he rides out the electric high and then the comedown. He's trembling finely, feeling an unexpected swoop of vulnerability. ]
Fuck.
[ Reality is washing slowly back like the tide coming in, and he presses his teeth into Fitz's skin as he nips back up his neck towards his mouth, wanting to stave it hazily off. ]
no subject
He turns his head to meet Ward, and that's unhurried, too. He's less patient with the kiss, one hand sliding over Ward's shoulder and settling at the nape of his neck as Fitz pushes for something deep and slow.
His other hand lets go of Ward as soon as he's finished, one more gentle sweep before he's running his fingers over the taught muscles of his stomach. His hand's a mess, and it leaves a short, damp trail on Ward's skin. ]
no subject
I'm going to make you come now.
[ With a woman he'd go down now, but he's not sure — maybe that's too. Intimate. Something. He scrapes his mouth over Fitz' rough jaw instead, whispers dirty things while he reaches for him with the hand that hasn't been scrabbling in the dirt. ]
I've jerked off thinking about what you'd sound like. If we had lube I'd let you fuck me.
no subject
He thrusts up into it as much as he can, his own grip going tight on the back of Ward's neck. Between Ward's voice and his touch, it wouldn't take long to get him close — it's made easier by the insinuation of actually fucking, imagination quickly filling in the gaps as he closes his eyes. ]
Fuck.
[ Strained and quiet, somewhere between appreciative and defeated, head tipping back against the dirt as his back arcs. The please is impossible to miss even if he avoids the word. He doesn't really want to end this with crying, which might be on the table of Ward stops again. ]
no subject
Close?
[ He's right up against Fitz's ear now, breathes hot air there, refusing to let him forget whose hand is getting him off. ]
You're gonna come all over my abs.
[ And then when he feeler Fitz tense up he jacks him properly, heedless of the overstimulation, so tight he can feel the pulse of it in his palm. ]
no subject
He realizes he's holding his breath a second later, resumes in short, heavy pants. His eyes are still closed, and he hasn't really got the energy or focus or anything to look at Ward just yet, just tries to catch his breath as the tension flickers out.
It's still only a few seconds before he does, though, and he briefly meets Ward's gaze before lifting his shoulders slightly to look between them. Ward's right, of course; he's made a mess of his abs, though it only seems fair after— ]
Jesus fuck.
[ He's got Ward's come on his stomach, and there's a hazy sort of disbelief in his voice. There's a vague edge of humor, too, well aware that his reaction's possibly a little embarrassing and telling. Kind of late for pretense. ]
no subject
After a moment he lifts his hips and tugs his pants back up. Glances over at Fitz, and then curls a little closer again, rolling onto his side. He slides a hand through the mess on Fitz' stomach and tilts his head, watching his expression curiously, like he's planning to take his cues from whatever Fitz does next. ]
We're gonna have to clean up. Somehow.
[ Doing this in the great outdoors felt good, private and public all at once, but it does mean there aren't any convenient showers nearby, and he feels sticky with sweat as well as the come sliding in rivulets over his skin from where it was sprayed, catching in the trail of hair below his navel. ]
no subject
They're on a mission. In the middle of nowhere. It occurs to him that they need to wash, then he thinks he's definitely not bathing in a creek somewhere, then he realizes it's a very stupid train of thought and stops it entirely.
Calm down, basically. One hand settles over Ward's, thumb idly stroking over the back of his knuckles like an absent tether, a reminder that this didn't just happen — it's ongoing. ]
Sterile wipes. If we're careful, they should get the job done.
[ Good luck with the clothes, though. ]
no subject
Great, yeah.
[ He still doesn't move straight away. He isn't used to lying around after a fuck, but he also doesn't want to spook Fitz, and it feels good to just relax like they're the only guys on Earth while the reality is still settling in. ]
You okay?
no subject
[ Quick and confident, almost as if it's a silly thing to ask. It's half bravado, though it's a pretty easy sell at this point — he's finding it difficult to feel self-conscious after that.
Fitz is still watching their hands, thoughtful, but he turns his head to look at Ward after a beat of silence. ]
Are you?
[ The question could easily be defensive, more of that stubborn insistence on keeping the field level. It isn't. It's just simple and honest, and it sounds more curious than concerned. ]
(no subject)
nothing like coming back to clean-up a month later eh
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)