it's familiar. felix has a type: irritable and barbed, thick, men who might rip his fucking throat out at any given moment. crais is several inches short of his normal type, but his normal type isn't here, and that's a thought he's not going to entertain right now because fuck that and fuck ortez. he leans away to help him with the rest of his clothes as crais works on his trousers, pulling his shirt over the back of his head and tossing it aside.
then he's bare, lean and compact, lithely flexible but strong. ten long years of service for his people, from seventeen to twenty-seven, has left him scarred in places, scattered over his body like constellations – bullet and bomb shrapnel, several searing burns from an energy weapon. a newer scar, on his shoulder, from ephemera when he stabbed him in the elevator. felix hikes his knee onto crais' chair and pries his legs apart with his thigh, hooking the hand with the gun over his shoulder.
crais' shirt is his next task, popped open at the collar. his teeth find his shoulder the second he sights skin, tongue laving over the mark and following a muscled tendon into his throat. higher, to his mouth, and felix kisses him, sharp and coaxing, always greedy.
his hand moves between them, popping the fly on crais' trousers and working his thumb down the zipper. )
Do you like having your hair pulled, or is that a no-no? ( with a little lick to his mouth, his teeth catching his bottom lip. )
no subject
it's familiar. felix has a type: irritable and barbed, thick, men who might rip his fucking throat out at any given moment. crais is several inches short of his normal type, but his normal type isn't here, and that's a thought he's not going to entertain right now because fuck that and fuck ortez. he leans away to help him with the rest of his clothes as crais works on his trousers, pulling his shirt over the back of his head and tossing it aside.
then he's bare, lean and compact, lithely flexible but strong. ten long years of service for his people, from seventeen to twenty-seven, has left him scarred in places, scattered over his body like constellations – bullet and bomb shrapnel, several searing burns from an energy weapon. a newer scar, on his shoulder, from ephemera when he stabbed him in the elevator. felix hikes his knee onto crais' chair and pries his legs apart with his thigh, hooking the hand with the gun over his shoulder.
crais' shirt is his next task, popped open at the collar. his teeth find his shoulder the second he sights skin, tongue laving over the mark and following a muscled tendon into his throat. higher, to his mouth, and felix kisses him, sharp and coaxing, always greedy.
his hand moves between them, popping the fly on crais' trousers and working his thumb down the zipper. )
Do you like having your hair pulled, or is that a no-no? ( with a little lick to his mouth, his teeth catching his bottom lip. )