It’s the most perfect filet mignon ever made — thick slices of bacon with such visible streak of fat around a perfect circle of steak that practically bleeds under perfect browning. Xavier is proud beyond measure and in some kind of culinary heaven. It’s good, very good, yes, Gaspard fully agrees with that.
But it throws their collective sanity into question when Xavier is slouched against the table moaning like a woman over a steak. Worse, maybe, is that it’s getting to him.
He knows it’s at least partially fake, but the way Xavier’s eyelashes flutter and his eyes roll heavenward with every bite he takes isn’t fake at all. He wants to push their plates away and kiss him stupid in that moment, but it would only make things worse.
Because, yes, Xavier would let him do all that and just in the heat of the moment he’d say, “Wait, stop.”
There would be a little smile, “Monday.”
He chokes on a swallow of wine and wishes it was something a bit stronger.
“Am I making this hard for you?” Xavier teases. The double entendre is not even subtle, but it does make him laugh.
“I’m sorry,” he offers. “It will be worth it, I promise.”
Gaspard trusts him, but it’s the third day and when Xavier moans around a bite of food he’s not so sure he will last the next five days.
Jeudi
“I don’t trust you,” Xavier says, answering the question before Gaspard can ask it.
There’s probably only a little bit of truth in that, though, because as he turns on the water, Xavier presses in close.
“Can’t I touch you?” he pleads, when Gaspard tries to pull away.
It’s lovely torture to feel his skin sliding against him under the hot water of the shower, but it’s still torture. He can feel Xavier’s hardness pressing against the back of his thigh. He can’t resist turning around and pulling Xavier in close.
A kiss quiets anything else Xavier might say.
It’s hard and needy. He wants him more every passing day and the anticipation is growing into something of an obsession. Even knowing he won’t get off, Gaspard can’t keep his hands off Xavier’s body. He touches him because he can’t touch himself, with hard, insistent strokes that make Xavier sob and bite at his shoulder.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Xavier begs him.
His over-stimulated cock aches with every word, with every pounding drop of water, with every twitch of the muscles in Xavier’s flat stomach.
They share a deep kiss, after, and Xavier thanks him, tells him he loves him, and is full of reassurances.
“Now I have to get out of here,” he teases. “I hate cold showers.”
The one he runs is cold enough to hurt.
Vendredi
He dreams about the sex he’s not having and wakes up hard and sweating. Xavier shifts in his sleep and turns to kiss his skin before he’s really awake.
“Don’t,” he says.
Gaspard doesn’t answer. Beneath the sheets, Xavier moves his hand against himself. They both wake up hard more often then not. Part of him wants to see, wants to see Xavier draw the skin of his cock up over the head again and again with his beautiful hands. But it’s painful enough just to imagine it.
“I love you,” Xavier says, his breath warm on Gaspard’s skin. “I want you.”
“Then have me,” Gaspard whispers, letting his need speak for him.
Xavier shakes his head sleepily.
“No, sorry, no,” and Gaspard can hear the sincerity in his voice. It isn’t easy for either of them, he supposes, but the greater burden is clearly on his own shoulders. His hands are shaking as he brushes them over Xavier’s arms. He can feel the strain of muscles as they twitch in the same motion again and again.
“We have to wait,” Xavier says. “Have to.”
His voice is rough and deep with sex, it makes Gaspard shiver just to hear.
“Oh god, it will be so perfect,” he says, lost in whatever secret fantasy he has planned this time. “God, yes, yes.”
Gaspard lays in bed with him, aching with more needs than he could ever hope to articulate.
Re: Days in a week (2/3)
It’s the most perfect filet mignon ever made — thick slices of bacon with such visible streak of fat around a perfect circle of steak that practically bleeds under perfect browning. Xavier is proud beyond measure and in some kind of culinary heaven. It’s good, very good, yes, Gaspard fully agrees with that.
But it throws their collective sanity into question when Xavier is slouched against the table moaning like a woman over a steak. Worse, maybe, is that it’s getting to him.
He knows it’s at least partially fake, but the way Xavier’s eyelashes flutter and his eyes roll heavenward with every bite he takes isn’t fake at all. He wants to push their plates away and kiss him stupid in that moment, but it would only make things worse.
Because, yes, Xavier would let him do all that and just in the heat of the moment he’d say, “Wait, stop.”
There would be a little smile, “Monday.”
He chokes on a swallow of wine and wishes it was something a bit stronger.
“Am I making this hard for you?” Xavier teases. The double entendre is not even subtle, but it does make him laugh.
“I’m sorry,” he offers. “It will be worth it, I promise.”
Gaspard trusts him, but it’s the third day and when Xavier moans around a bite of food he’s not so sure he will last the next five days.
Jeudi
“I don’t trust you,” Xavier says, answering the question before Gaspard can ask it.
There’s probably only a little bit of truth in that, though, because as he turns on the water, Xavier presses in close.
“Can’t I touch you?” he pleads, when Gaspard tries to pull away.
It’s lovely torture to feel his skin sliding against him under the hot water of the shower, but it’s still torture. He can feel Xavier’s hardness pressing against the back of his thigh. He can’t resist turning around and pulling Xavier in close.
A kiss quiets anything else Xavier might say.
It’s hard and needy. He wants him more every passing day and the anticipation is growing into something of an obsession. Even knowing he won’t get off, Gaspard can’t keep his hands off Xavier’s body. He touches him because he can’t touch himself, with hard, insistent strokes that make Xavier sob and bite at his shoulder.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Xavier begs him.
His over-stimulated cock aches with every word, with every pounding drop of water, with every twitch of the muscles in Xavier’s flat stomach.
They share a deep kiss, after, and Xavier thanks him, tells him he loves him, and is full of reassurances.
“Now I have to get out of here,” he teases. “I hate cold showers.”
The one he runs is cold enough to hurt.
Vendredi
He dreams about the sex he’s not having and wakes up hard and sweating. Xavier shifts in his sleep and turns to kiss his skin before he’s really awake.
“Don’t,” he says.
Gaspard doesn’t answer. Beneath the sheets, Xavier moves his hand against himself. They both wake up hard more often then not. Part of him wants to see, wants to see Xavier draw the skin of his cock up over the head again and again with his beautiful hands. But it’s painful enough just to imagine it.
“I love you,” Xavier says, his breath warm on Gaspard’s skin. “I want you.”
“Then have me,” Gaspard whispers, letting his need speak for him.
Xavier shakes his head sleepily.
“No, sorry, no,” and Gaspard can hear the sincerity in his voice. It isn’t easy for either of them, he supposes, but the greater burden is clearly on his own shoulders. His hands are shaking as he brushes them over Xavier’s arms. He can feel the strain of muscles as they twitch in the same motion again and again.
“We have to wait,” Xavier says. “Have to.”
His voice is rough and deep with sex, it makes Gaspard shiver just to hear.
“Oh god, it will be so perfect,” he says, lost in whatever secret fantasy he has planned this time. “God, yes, yes.”
Gaspard lays in bed with him, aching with more needs than he could ever hope to articulate.