The bedroom scene missing from the end of Show You A SunsetNotes
I wasn't going to write this but I couldn't sleep so I did. It comes between the last two sections of Show You a Sunset, obviously. Apologies if it's a bit rough and ready; I'm not up to proper editing right now.
Kissing Martin again felt wonderful. Bedroom...the man had said bedroom. Douglas wrapped his arms around the other man's shoulders and tugged them both through the door.
Martin pushed against his chest, disengaging. Douglas let go, stepped back. Whatever the problem was, he wasn't going to come across too pushy tonight.
"Yes, just...sit down there." A gentle shove towards the bed. Fine. He sat down.
"Ok. Just watch."
Watch? Watch Martin undressing? Yes, he thought he could probably stand to watch that. Martin was business like, apparently more concerned with folding his clothes than with putting on a show. Still, Douglas got flashed a couple of swift, unembarrassed smiles that made him squirm and wonder when he got to touch again.
Naked, Martin climbed onto the other side of the bed, sat crosslegged, his erection neatly framed by his knees. "Now you."
Martin being assertive! Douglas rather liked that, although he was still rather aware that he might be considered to owe the man for a certain amount of recent injustices and that Martin might just be in a mood to collect. He undressed with no more fuss than Martin had, shrugging off his slight selfconsciousness. He had fifteen years on his Captain; he couldn't summon quite such rock solid arousal quite so easily. It really wasn't going to be a problem as soon as Martin let him touch him again.
Martin patted the bed in from of him. "Sit there."
Not cross legged; Douglas thought it would be neither flattering nor comfortable. He knelt instead, sat back on his heels, facing the younger man. "Like that?"
"Yes that's fine." Martin was considering him, face, then half hard cock, then back to his face again. Douglas resisted the temptation to start commenting on the situation. Martin was going somewhere with this. Give him time.
"Ok, you can start talking now."
That left Douglas rather lost for words, for once. "Any particular subject?"
"Tell me what you see. What you want to do to it."
Oh. He took a breath. "I'm guessing this isn't just a rather delightful kink of yours? Not that I mind if it is, I hasten to add. Happy to oblige."
Martin shook his head. "I don't trust you, Douglas. Last time you faked it. This time I'm going to be sure."
"Faked it? I don't think so! Without wanting to descend into too much vulgarity, I seem to recall that there was some pretty strong evidence of not-faking all over my sheets by the time we were done."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it. If you're going to have problems with this, I'm going to know about them first, not afterwards."
Douglas had rather been intending to make sure that Martin never knew about any of them at all. He didn't want understanding, tolerance or patience...right now he wanted Martin to find him irresistably sexy because God knows he wasn't scoring highly on any other count with the man tonight.
"In that case let me put your mind entirely at ease. Because you look absolutely fuckable, right now."
Martin barely twitched. "Go on."
"With pleasure." He took his time though, looking, until Martin started to blush. "Go on!"
"Where to start? At the top, I think, and work downwards. Your hair was still damp, when you arrived; you'd had a shower before leaving. You looked up at that picture and I watched the way that strands still lay dark against the back of your neck, thought of the shampoo suds running down your naked body, swirling into the curls at your groin, sliding across that tight arse that's been haunting me for months."
He smiled. "I want to see that. To watch, at first, and then to help, burying my hands in that fine hair of yours, follow the paths of the water downwards, until I'm on my knees in the shower and you're laughing down at me."
Martin's eyes were a little wider. "Go on."
"I'm not going to tell you about your eyes, because anyone can praise those, and no doubt everyone already has. But they could be the most ordinary shade imaginable and I'd still want to watch them, because that's how I can watch you thinking. I've always loved that. Even before I became quite so crazy with desire, I would watch you, trying to figure you out, and you never realised that you were worth the attention."
His eyes dropped a little further and he groaned. "God, that mouth! I was straight until the day I first kissed you, and after that it was only a matter of time. I thought I was the one in control until you stuck your tongue down my throat and I couldn't bear to ever let you have it back again. Sometimes things have felt awkward, yes, but never while you were kissing me, not for a moment. When I've done everything else that I want to do to you, I want to wrap my arms round you and kiss you until we're ready to start over again."
Martin was very still, crimson cheeked. "Go on," he muttered.
"I can't pass on without at least mentioning your chin. I can't help but adore something I see so much of. You really are the most stubborn son-of-a-bitch. Every time I think life's kicked you once too often you're up again. I've only ever been rough because I know you're unbreakable. Which isn't much on an excuse but it's true. I don't want to do anything to that chin. I just want to keep on seeing it in profile every time we fly."
He contemplated flushed neck, reddening down past Martin's collar bones. "You've got the slightest of tan lines, where your uniform collar ends. When you change into civvies you usually display another inch or so down. I suppose I got used to the idea that that was all there was. Then I saw you naked and there was the rest of it! You shaved of course, before you came over, which means I'll have to wait till tomorrow for the stubble, but while I'm waiting I want to leave marks high up on that smooth skin, not painful ones, but clear, because, as you might have already gathered, when it comes to your body I am already possessive to something of a fault."
Martin was biting his lip. "Douglas," His voice sounded almost pleading. Douglas's cock responded enthusiastically. This was actually quite a good idea of Martin's, even if it was frustrating as hell not to be able to reach out and touch. How much longer?
Douglas shifted his attention to nipples, and suddenly his mind went blank. Flat chest. They looked skewed, wrong. The shift in his mind went from Martin to male and he paused a little too long.
"That," Martin said, quietly, "is what I meant,"
Douglas closed his eyes for a moment, furious with himself. "I want you," he said to Martin. It sounded hopelessly lame even to him.
"After all that, how could I doubt it?" Those eyes were holding his, uncompromising. "At least I can be sure it's not just for my body, anyway."
Ouch. "It's not funny."
"It is, a little. Mainly because it's you, Douglas Richardson. I don't often see you quite so disconcerted. Anyway, what are you going to do?"
That sounded like he might have options. He could run with that.
"I'm going to use the rest of the night to learn all those bits of your utterly gorgeous body that still appear to have the capacity to wrong-foot me. And then, when I've identified and rhapsodised over every last virile patch of hair and masculine muscle structure..." He smiled at Martin, "Then I'm going to make you scream. If that's what you want, of course, Captain."
"You think you can do that?" Martin sounded a little sceptical, still.
"Oh yes. Count on it. I can, after all, do pretty much anything."
"Go on, then." Martin didn't move from the cross-legged position in front of him. Douglas took a deep breath, was up on his knees and forward to wrap his hands into that fine hair, pull Martin into the kiss he so badly needed to centre himself again. Yes. This. This was the taste of Martin, the way his tongue probed against Douglas's own. Douglas kissed him there, at near arm's length for a long time, feeling his own heart beat shifting to a faster pace, until it was Martin's hands clawing at his shoulders that were pulling him closer.
He moved his mouth to a rather shell-like ear. "Down," he suggested, pushed the willing man onto his back, crouched over him. Martin was grinning up at him and he couldn't resist kissing that mouth again, briefly.
"Now," he pulled back to sit atop wiry thighs. "What have we got going on here?"
"I'm a bit worried about that medical training if you don't know, Douglas. And anyway I can't believe that you don't regularly admire yourself from every possible angle."
"If you can't be helpful, be quiet. I'm concentrating." He was, as it happened. Martin naked underneath him, relaxed and co-operative- this was far too good to screw up again.
Start at the top, again. He reached forward, placed his bunched fingertips just under each jawline, drew them downwards, dipping together into the hollow at the base of the neck then spreading wide to ghost over solid shoulders and down to close gently around biceps. This shape, this hardness of muscle over skin and no hint of soft flesh in between. It felt good under his hands. No problem. Martin was silent, watching his face intently.
"Nice," he said, absently, his thoughts already with the next actions. Hands over the shoulders, bring them down to brush those problematic nipples with his palms. Slowly, round and away, and Martin was arching up a fraction to keep the contact. Douglas decided very rapidly that he wanted to do that again, a touch harder, and that was undoubtedly a gasp from below that time. Ah. He'd been coming at that particular problem all the wrong way round. He knew now how that worked. Douglas flicked a nail lightly across a single bump, had moved it away before Martin's twitched reaction. For later, definitely.
The next part was going to be easy, but he drew it out anyway, for pure pleasure. His fingers rippled slowly down the protruding ribcage, cupped under the bones and smoothed across a deliciously flat stomach. The feel of light fur under his fingertips as he brushed across the navel startled him for a second, until he translated it to hair, and masculine, and Martin's. Who did look rather as if he were about to purr.
Hands back to rest lightly around the waist. Everything left was below it, of course.
"You don't have to..." Martin sounded a little worried.
"I'm just getting to the good bits. Shush."
Douglas shifted his weight backwards; they were in danger of getting tangled up. He wanted a clear head, just for a few moments.
Hands straight down the flat hips; odd shape but the feel of hard bone under the skin was still a turn on. Martin's shape; consign it to sensory memory. Trace a pattern down the side of muscled thighs, until his fingers touched his own skin where he sat across then and made him start. Not the right time to realise how acutely sensitised all this was making him; he pushed the awarenesss of his own screaming arousal out of his perception, for now. He was concentrating.
Martin's legs were tight together, of course; trapped between his knees. The insides of those thighs would have to wait. Douglas ran his hands up the rock hard fronts, instead, watching the sparse light hairs push flat against the grain, spring back. His fingers reached the short tangle of pubic hair, pushed through, came to rest with the sides of his overlapping thumbs pushed up against the hard base of Martin's cock, and he twisted them inwards until the sides of his forefingers made a tight triangle with his thumbs around the hot flesh. He glanced up; Martin had his head back, eyes closed.
Good lord. Control. It was raw with the stuff. Just this; not even a fingertip on the silky smooth sides and he could feel what he might do. It hadn't been like this last time. He hadn't take the time to feel; just to act, to enjoy, to try to please. He'd been playing. He wasn't playing now.
Briefly he imagined his fingers sliding over the wet tip. Licked his lips. Moved back another few inches, hands still tight around Martin's groin, bent down and slid his tongue over instead, curled it round. The soft warmth, almost familiar taste and the sound of the catch of breath in Martin's throat reached him simultaneously, merged into a single sharp moment. Bloody hell. That certainly hadn't been like that last time. He'd always been rather sceptical of the claims for tantric sex but he was beginning to think that maybe they were onto something.
Bottom and top done; he dipped lower, dragged his tongue up through the coarse hair and the long underside to the head. Martin bucked against his restraining hands. Control.
"Douglas..." the voice was quiet, breathy. If he listened he'd be lost.
"Not now. Maneuvuring." He knew how to silence a pilot.
The last thing to test, for this equipment. He parted his lips, went down. This time the perceptions all stayed separate, all demanding.
God, this is undignified/it's quite big, isn't it/very solid/very peculiar/he's arching up again/oh, nice sound, Martin/there's a technique to this and I don't have it/my jaw aches already/I bet he's bloody good at it though/so I shall have to get better/fine, I'll get better later/principle established
And up. He unlocked his hands, drew his fingers around the damp protuberance and down to cup the balls straining up against the cock. Another very satisfying gasp from the test subject. Martin had balls; it seemed minor, after the rest. Not going to be an issue. But ticklish; that would be remembered.
Finished? Not quite. He rocked back onto his heels, floundered upwards, trying to ignore the way most of his body seemed to be concentrated in his groin and his ankles had half gone to sleep.
There was a whimper in Martin's throat, but it mostly stayed there while he rolled as far as his side. "I don't think I can..."
To be fair, if Martin's cock was anything like as hard as Douglas's by now (he shifted off that train of thought fast) lying on his front might be seriously uncomfortable. The mattress was pretty firm.
"Elbows and knees?"
"Check." Martin moved, crouching low on the bare sheets. Douglas knelt up behind him, forced himself to focus again on Martin, not himself.
Top, again. Hair in every direction and Douglas had been entirely truthful about wanting to watch that shower. Head hanging low between his forearms, the curve of his neck showing the line of vertebrae clear. Douglas reached forward to run a fingertip down them and his cock came into sudden collision with Martin's back. They both jolted apart at the touch.
"Sorry." Douglas shifted sideways and forwards, knees in line with Martin's. He could reach, now, without risking unintended contact. Shoulder blades arched either side of the harsh outline of Martin's spine. Gorgeous; he sketched their shape with the back of his thumbs. Nothing about this upper back that stirred anything but a desire to caress the bones under the muscle and skin. He'd always had something of a thing for skinny. Another thing he was supposed to feel bad about, these days.
He ran the flat of his palm down the spine, all the way to where it disappeared at the small of Martin's back. That was smooth, virtually hairless. Flat hips, familar now from the other side. He pulled his hands round to push the buttocks together from each side. Muscle, softer than the rest of the man, harder than an arse had any right to be... he corrected himself. Wrong scale. Harder than the equivalent female version. This was Martin. This was what he was learning. His hands continued moving, kneading and Martin made desperately encouraging noises that made him want to scrap the whole review process and cut to the chase at last.
Not yet. He'd said he'd do every bit of this and he damn well would even if the wait killed them both. Up again to the small of the back, bring the fingers down on either side of the cleft, tugging them apart. That particular orifice didn't come in very many variations. It looked familiar enough.
Douglas had over the years been in enough comfortable long term relationships to consider other people's anuses an interesting, if rather occasional and extremely careful, source of sexual pleasure. No-one had ever been particularly insistent on reciprocating and he certainly wouldn't ask, but he'd been mildly curious. Until five weeks ago, that was, when he'd found out pretty much all he might ever have wanted to know in about ten minutes flat, lying on his back and trying to talk up the pleasure and down the discomfort. He'd asked for it; nagged for it, back when he'd thought this was all just a different set of gymnastic exercises. That one would be revisited slowly, with due caution. Some other day.
This way round was a little different. More familiar. He pressed the tip of his thumb very gently to the centre.
"Fuck!" Martin's voice sounded for the first time truly uncontrolled. For a second Douglas imagined what it would be like to do that now, no more delay, just fingers and lube and then the both of them screaming through it... Not a hope. Not tonight. This had gone on too long already, too intense; he knew his own body, knew what sort of hair trigger he was on. Right now he couldn't guarantee to get a condom on without rendering the whole exercise redundant and he was absolutely sure that Martin would never let him live that one down. Instead he pulled back, climbed off the bed.
"Strictly," he said, still playing at a casual that neither of them could possibly believe, "there are still fingers and toes and so on. But unless you have anything unusual risk factors to declare I think they might safely be included in the general walkround inspection."
He barely remembered how to finish that sentence. Martin had rolled back over, and God the man looked almost undone already. Flushed and wide-eyed, limbs sprawling as if he couldn't hold them together any more, lips red and wet, cock oozing. Douglas's smile was euphoric. "Ready to go?"
"Douglas! Get here and let me touch you!"
"Sure?" he was already sliding back onto the bed beside Martin, "Because we could do some more looking and talking about it, if you'd prefer. Just to be certain." One hand pinched a swollen nipple gently and Martin gasped, open mouthed, grabbed at his cock and that was so blissful that Douglas forgot all the rest of his planned gentle mental and physical teasing and just went straight for those irresistably open lips with everything his own mouth could give it.
Martin rolled him over, got on top without loosening his grip or withdrawing his tongue, started to thrust downwards against his imprisoned erection. Friction, more heat and friction and Martin; too late for Douglas's flailing hands to do more than catch tight against the man's hips and dig his fingers in as his groin exploded and he panted orgasm against the mouth pressing down on his, rode out the waves. When he could breathe again it was because Martin had pulled his head back with something that might just about be described as a scream. A small one. And had rolled to one side and become still.
Ow. God, everything hurt; stiff or sore or swollen. Had they just had sex in about thirty seconds? Or did the foreplay count? Douglas couldn't bring himself to care. He did however feel vaguely concerned about the silence of his partner.
"You as well, huh?"
"Performance precisely as promised, I believe."
"Yes." Martin rolled up onto his side, still breathing heavily. "How does that work? Even when you cannot possibly, possibly win because you are not even the right bloody sexual orientation, you still do. We're going to do that again later and this time you will be the one screaming."
"Care to lay a small wager on that? I believe there are at least three hobnobs left."
"Yes. Yes, all right then. You're on. But this time I get to touch and you can lie there and take it."
"Like a man, " Douglas promised, with absolute sincerity. "But I won't scream."
"Sorry Martin, but I really won't. I like hobnobs."
He greeted the small splutter of frustration with a widened smile and closed his eyes, utterly exhausted and for the first time in very long while entirely content.
Notes: the story picks up again at Mrs Richardson