35. Gravity Inevitable #3
What Bastian wants, as it turns out, after his brief display of dominance and haughty posturing, is for Briar to lay him out on the sofa, helpless, and touch him absolutely everywhere until he whimpers, arching into the slightest contact, desperate for more.
When Briar hooks their fingers around Bastian’s underwear and relieves him of them, Bastian bites down so hard on Briar’s lip that he draws blood, and mutters, ‘Sorry, sorry,’ until Briar distracts him beyond speech.
When they’re both naked, Bastian takes Briar by the hand to show them what he wants, and Briar kisses him softly along his neck, then his stomach, drawing out the long moment of anticipation before they give it to him.
‘Hey,’ Briar says, once Bastian’s head is thrown back against the cushions, his lips parted, Briar taking a break to admire him and breathe. ‘Conduct,’ they say, trying to arrange their thoughts into order, ‘when you’re with someone, if you . . . Have you ever . . . ?’
Bastian looks down at them, brow glossy with sweat, and says, ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I mean . . .’ Briar moves their hand, just to watch Bastian’s eyes roll back in his head before he composes himself, looking mildly annoyed. ‘You could . . . alter my mood with it,’ they say, ‘and you could kind of take control of my body, too. So . . . can you—’
‘Oh,’ says Bastian. ‘Yeah.’ He pauses, watching Briar’s arm like it’s the sole focus of his existence. ‘Do you actually want me to?’
Briar’s too far gone to think before they say, ‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure?’
It’s Briar’s turn to be impatient. ‘Yes.’
Bastian leans down as he guides Briar up, meeting in the middle.
He kisses them first, too gently, pulling their bodies flush together - and then he’s less gentle, more demanding, tongue and an urgent scrape of teeth; Briar is the one who yields, and is surprised by how much they like it, when it’s Bastian.
Bastian’s mouth is on Briar’s neck, Briar’s hands clenched into fists, when he finally lifts his head, presses close to the shell of Briar’s ear and whispers, with the hint of a smile in his voice, ‘You’re going to come.’
Heat rushes through Briar with such force that they say, ‘Oh, God.’ It’s completely overwhelming - being held on the precipice, gasping and desperate - and they cast aside all vestiges of embarrassment as they push Bastian back into the cushions, moving into him like they’ll die if they can’t get closer, spurred on by Bastian’s answering groan beneath them.
‘Please,’ Briar says, shamelessly chasing friction, every noise that falls from Bastian’s mouth adding to the torture, ‘Bastian, please.’
Bastian gets a fistful of their hair in his hand and hauls Briar into a shaking kiss, slow and deep, before he says, ‘Now.’
All Briar can do is hold on to Bastian, trying - and failing - not to be too loud, until their hands unclench and their heart rate finally slows from a racing gallop. They open their eyes to discover Bastian watching them, his mouth slightly agape, looking drunk on his own power.
Far too fucking pleased with himself.
Briar can remedy that.
They delight in wiping that look off his face; in reducing him to a gasping, writhing mess, hands struggling for purchase against the fabric of the sofa; in drawing it out until he’s the one begging.
It’s only when they’re entangled in almost every way possible, both shining with sweat, Bastian’s hair fanned across the cushions where it’s not wrapped around Briar’s fingers, that Briar feels a dangerous swell of emotion threatening to rise up into their throat and make them say something irrevocable and stupid.
‘I love you,’ they say, when the feeling wins, whispering it into the inches between their parted lips. Bastian closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath, exhausted and overwhelmed and achingly beautiful.
‘Don’t,’ he says. ‘Please. Not unless you really . . .’
‘I do,’ Briar says, taking up Bastian’s hand from where it’s been pinned above his head and kissing his wrist, their mouth fitting perfectly over the swell of his palm. ‘I love you, Bastian.’
Bastian blinks at them, and a single tear breaks free from under his lashes.
Briar brushes it away with their thumb before it can fall into Bastian’s hair, and then they kiss him as softly as they can manage, touch their foreheads together for a moment; they stay like that until Bastian opens his eyes, somewhat steeled, and says, ‘If you don’t move, I might actually die. ’
It’s different now, though, because Briar feels a strange sense of pride, like they’re responsible for something rare and delicate.
It changes the way they fuck Bastian, the reverence with which they handle him.
When Bastian finally comes, he buries his face in Briar’s shoulder and lets Briar hold him there, cradled, until he catches his breath - and after, when Bastian can’t resist whispering his Working in Briar’s ear again, his hand is holding Briar’s, fingers interlocked against the armrest as the world shakes apart.