“Jesus,” The prayer fell from his lips unbidden and unwanted even as his head fell back slightly, unable to bear gazing down at the lewd sight Jack had made of himself. Firm hands kept his thighs spread wide, which was perhaps the only thing keeping Stephen steady at the moment as he fought to keep himself silent against the sensations – marvelling, momentarily, at how much easier it was to resist a sound against pain than it was to deny his voice against pleasure.
He could not tell from where the tremble in his hand stemmed as he brought it up to sift through the captain’s hair, catching at the nape of his neck with more uncertainty than he had known in ages. He did not know whether he wanted Jack to stay exactly where he was, or if he wanted to pull him back and regain some semblance of control over himself and the situation.Â
In the end, the decision was made for him by some fiendish trick of the tongue. One moment he was caught in the midst of debate – the next, he was gripping Jack firmly and canting his hips up in unspoken demand without any conscious decision on his part. It was all he could do, in that moment, not to set a rhythm right then and make use of what was being offered to him.Â
Slowly, reluctantly, he eased his grip and urged Jack off, unwilling to risk obstructing his breathing – though some wild part of him wanted to sink into this completely, he could not bring himself to dare. Instead, he regained his grip on the man’s hair and tilted his head back, sinking down off the chair and onto the floor with him, legs straddling either side of Jack’s hips as he bowed his head to kiss him soundly – demanding his focus somewhere a bit less scintillating, if only to keep his control somewhere he felt he was steady enough to be a contributing party rather than an overwhelmed one.Â
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