Authors: Mika Fox
It's
the most exquisite sensation, the action nearly effortless thanks to the
preparation of Dominic's fingers, and Killian grabs on to his hair, crushing
their mouths together as he presses his body even closer against him. His touch
is borderline desperate, and Dominic isn't far behind. After bottoming out and
letting Killian adjust, he starts slowly thrusting into that tight heat with
deep, measured movements, groaning and breathing heavily with blissful pleasure
and exertion. Killian responds in kind, the sounds spilling from his lips like
music to Dominic's ears, moans mingling together with stream-of-consciousness
muttering of praise and cursing, and it makes Dominic groan softly against his
neck, completely gone.
He
loves this. The realization is jarring, but he knows it's true. He loves having
Killian like this, loves bringing him pleasure and making him come undone, and
it's all he can think of as he rapidly approaches the breaking point. He never
wants to stop hearing those sounds, never wants to stop feeling those hands
grip him so tightly, never wants to let go of the sensation that is feeling
Killian underneath him, being inside him, tasting the sweat of his skin and the
heat of his mouth.
When
Dominic comes, it's just as sudden as it is intense. He wishes it would last
longer, but knows that this intense sensation is much too strong for that, and
he brings his hand down between their bodies to stroke Killian at a rough pace,
desperately wanting him to come with him. He wants to feel it, wants to hear
it, wants to have all of it mingling together with his own, sweet demise, and
Killian doesn't disappoint. The strangled cry that escapes him proves as much,
and Dominic kisses him, captures the sound with his mouth and feels it fill him
up, Killian moaning against his lips as he grips his body tightly against his
own.
After
what feels like an eternity, Dominic realizes that they have stopped moving.
His lips are still pressed against Killian's, the kiss so soft in comparison to
the heat that was just there, and he sighs, never really wanting to pull away.
But he does, just an inch, and the sight of Killian's flushed,
blissed
-out expression might be the best thing he has ever
seen. It's beautiful―and it's only the realization of that that makes him
pull away further and quickly untangle their bodies. Killian doesn't object,
just lets him, and Dominic lies down on his back at his side.
Minutes
later, as they both lie there, condom disposed of and heart rates slowing down,
Dominic can't even speak. He doesn't want to move. His entire body feels
pleasantly soft and sated, and he closes his eyes as he rests his head against
the pillows, breathing deeply, slowly. He knows Killian won't let him stick
around for long, but he just wants to lie here for a little while, take in the
comforting scent of sweat and sex and
Killian
.
Just for a little while.
He
doesn't need to go, just yet.
It's the smooth
sound of fine grain on paper that makes Dominic blink awake. It takes him a
moment to realize that he doesn't actually remember falling asleep, and then
another moment to realize that he isn't in his own bed. He opens his eyes
properly, looking around to get his bearings.
This
is Killian's bed. He has become intimately familiar with its heavenly mattress
and soft sheets, currently warmed by both body heat and the rays of sun
spilling in through the nearest window. He tilts his head into the pillow,
closing his eyes for a moment. He feels pretty groggy, and he inhales deeply,
not really wanting to leave this lovely, comfortable space.
A
pleasant scent fills his nose, and he burrows his face deeper into the pillow.
It smells familiar, nice, and Dominic allows himself to just enjoy it for a
moment or two. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows it's dangerous, but
he decides that it's worth just a taste of that sweet thrill he can feel
stirring up a warm feeling in his chest.
Then
he hears that soft, papery sound again, and he pulls out of his trance. This is
a bad idea. It's a bad idea, and it most decidedly isn't worth it.
Dominic
opens his eyes again, slowly sitting up in the bed as he looks around. He
recognizes Killian's apartment―it's still as light and sunny as it was
before, so he can't have been asleep for too long, either―but he is
half-surprised to see that the bed is empty next to him. Instead, Killian is
sitting on the floor, almost in the middle of the room, fully dressed in jeans
and one of his trademark, loose-fitting tank tops. His attention is focused on
something in front of him, a large piece of paper lying flat on the floor, by
the looks of it. If he notices Dominic's movement over on the bed, he doesn't
show it.
Dominic
takes the opportunity to just watch him for a minute, taking it in. He likes
this, he decides. He likes the way Killian chews his lip while intently staring
at his work, frowning, the way his tongue peeks out by the corner of his mouth
as he concentrates, sure hands sweeping across the paper to create an image. He
likes the way those fingers are almost always stained with paint or charcoal,
smudging everywhere when Killian touches his arm or his neck, the way he
absently shifts his weight while his green eyes stay trained on his art.
Shit.
Dominic
rubs his eyes and clears his throat a little, making Killian glance up at him.
"Welcome
back," Killian says dryly, and Dominic hesitates.
"
S'going
on?" he asks sleepily, for lack of anything
else, and Killian sighs.
"You
fell asleep," he says simply.
"Yeah,
I gathered," Dominic says. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
More
importantly,
why did you let me fall asleep
in the first place?
Killian
shrugs, keeps drawing.
"I
had work to do."
Dominic
realizes that it shouldn't be such a big deal. He knows that it shouldn't
matter, but the fact that Killian not only let him sleep
in his bed
, not throwing him out, but also decided to work while
Dominic was there... It's far beyond the paradigm Dominic thought they had
established, and he's not quite sure what to do with it.
He
decides to get out of bed, for starters, gathering up his clothes and getting
mostly dressed, before making his way over to where Killian is sitting.
"What
you working on?" he asks, a little hesitantly, and Killian stiffens
slightly the closer to him Dominic gets. His hand stills for the briefest
moment as it sweeps across the paper, before he seems to decide that letting
Dominic see it is alright.
"Nothing
in particular," he nearly mumbles. Dominic notices now that he's got
something in his mouth, a hard candy, no doubt. He deliberates for a second, before
sitting down on the floor, on Killian's left, but facing him. He eyes the piece
he's working on; it's a coal drawing, Killian's fingers already dusted with
shades of black and gray along with the paint from before, and it depicts what
looks like a pair of hands. Underneath the paper are several more sheets, blank
and unused, unlike the scattered drawings spread out on the floor around them
like fallen autumn leaves. Dominic picks up the nearest one. He sees the way
Killian tenses up for a moment, out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't
stop him.
Each
drawing looks more like a sketch, with sharp, rough edges and an element of
improvisation, each depicting seemingly random things, like eyes and buildings
and even a lake. Judging from the way Killian's hand moves in swift, habitual
patterns across the paper in front of him, they were all drawn quickly, with
focus on efficiency rather than perfection. Dominic decides he likes that.
Somehow, he's not the least bit surprised by the style of the drawings, light
gray smudges blending together perfectly with black strokes so thick that he
can even see coal dust trailing around the edges from the hard pressure applied
to create them.
It's
just like Killian. Dominic can't quite explain how, but he has learned that
once you know what to look for, each piece of art carries a certain,
indeliberate
mark of its creator, like a fingerprint, and
Killian's work is no different. It's just like him.
"These
are really good," Dominic says absently, almost to himself, but he means
it. Maybe it's because Killian drew them, but something about the abstract
interpretation of such concrete motifs is appealing to his eye, and he keeps
staring for a little while longer.
Killian
makes a noise that sounds like a cross between annoyance and gratitude. If
Dominic didn't know any better, he'd say it almost sounded self-conscious.
"Just
drafts," Killian says. "Just needed to get it out of my system."
Dominic
looks up at him. Killian's attention is still focused on his work, the drawn hands
taking shape on the paper's surface, relaxed and resting, their fingers loosely
curled against the palms. It's a great drawing, but Dominic finds himself
watching Killian instead. He's just more interesting, more fascinating to
watch.
Dominic
suddenly wants nothing more than to lean in and kiss him, to trail his mouth
along his throat before finding his lips and covering them with his own.
He
puts the paper in his hand down on the floor, gently, before abruptly standing
up. Killian barely reacts, and it's only when Dominic shuffles off to get his
bag and then comes back to sit down, that he seems to notice.
"What
are you doing?" he asks, sounding more confused than curious, and Dominic
folds his legs underneath him as he retakes his previous spot, albeit a few
incher further away. He gets his camera out of his bag and turns it on.
"You're
working," he says lightly. "Figured I should get some done,
too."
It's
the truth; there's something about the atmosphere right now that makes him calm
and pleasantly focused, and working while Killian does feels familiar and
natural―they did it for the better part of two weeks, after all, before
significantly cutting down their time at the art building, for whatever reason.
This is the same.
It
doesn't matter that it feels so much more intimate and personal.
Killian
doesn't argue. He just goes back to what he was doing, getting up on his knees
and leaning against the floor with one hand to seemingly get a better birds-eye
view of the big sheet of paper in front of him. Meanwhile, Dominic goes through
the photos on his camera, deleting the ones he immediately sees aren't any
good, and he only glances up when a shadow falls over his face. He's met with
the sight of Killian blocking the sunlight from the window, but instead of
being annoyed by it, Dominic ends up just staring.
The
backlighting frames Killian perfectly, not that he seems to notice, his
attention completely focused on his drawing. Dominic absently fiddles with his
camera, his fingers knowing exactly where to go.
The
snap of the shutter takes Killian by surprise just as much as it does Dominic.
He looks up, while Dominic immediately looks down, pretending to be preoccupied
with the camera's flash setting. Killian isn't buying it, though.
"The
fuck was that?" he asks. He sounds softly accusing, but more confused,
than anything, and Dominic lifts one shoulder in a shrug.
"What
was what?" he says, and Killian straightens where he sits, making Dominic
meet his gaze.
"Did
you just take my picture?" he asks, eyes slightly narrowed. Dominic
figures that there's no use in lying.
"Force
of habit," he says with a smile he hopes comes off as a little teasing, as
though he totally meant to take a photo, on purpose. The fact that it just sort
of happened due to some photographer instinct isn't something Killian needs to
know.
Killian
frowns, as though contemplating Dominic's words, before he settles down again
and returns his attention to his work.
"Fucking
weirdo," he mutters, and as he looks away, Dominic smiles for real.
"If
you say so," he says, looking back down, and he swears that Killian huffs
the smallest laugh in return.
♦
Hours later,
after staying at Killian's for another little while and then heading off to
work a shift at the store, Dominic slumps in the couch of his apartment as he
balances his laptop on his knees. He's honestly exhausted, but he needs to
transfer the photos he took today onto his computer―it's a compulsion
born from paranoia, ever since that incident a year ago where a freak accident
he can barely remember the specifics of destroyed his camera's memory card.
Luckily, he had another, but he ended up losing all the photos he had taken,
and he has since then made sure to back up his work as soon as possible.
The photos
are on his laptop in a matter of moments, and he clicks through them lazily,
cursing the fact that it tends to take sitting through a hundred bad ones to
find just one nugget amongst the dirt. He learned that on his first paid
assignment, nearly two years ago, when he ended up taking way too few photos of
some club's outing, and all of them were mediocre at best. Since then, he has
made a habit of taking pictures of everything within a context, no matter how
small or irrelevant it may seem. He especially avoids poses, prefers taking
candid shots; the unplanned ones are always the best, the most real and honest.