Work Text:
RE-SIZING
“I should go.”
How many times had he heard him say these exact words? “Yeah?” A kiss placed between his shoulder-blades. “You got plans?”
“Yeah, big plans.”
He was smiling, no, grinning: Christian could tell by his voice, by the way he pushed his backside into him, teasing.
Placing a firm hand on Syed's left hip he leaned in, burying his face in the mess of hair. He told himself not to: not to feel like this, not to be so bloody happy about the fact of having Syed in his bed. He couldn't say he'd never thought it would ever happen again since that would have essentially meant giving up on him, leaving him with no lifeline, so no he'd never allowed himself to believe it was over. At the same time he'd trained himself not to picture this since that would have meant seeing him every day and living – having to live - with the knowledge that every night he undressed and went to bed with someone else; seeing him every day and having to fight to control the fluttering in belly, in heart, in groin whenever Syed looked at him a certain way, which he did all the time – unable, it seemed, to stop himself.
Syed didn't mean to – he knew that – but he made things so hard, in the way he'd stare at Christian whenever he thought he could get away with it. Even in the simplest, most innocuous of exchanges Syed looked at him as though the images running through his mind were absolutely filthy and god help him he couldn't help reacting to that.
“You coming back?”
And this was it – the question, the crux...
He could tell that Syed hadn't expected it by the way he tensed then stilled for a long, long moment. “I-I don't know. Christian...” A plea: 'please don't spoil this, please don't make this so hard for me'. And he knew he shouldn't let him off the hook, knew that he mustn't let him leave with nothing concrete decided, but knew too that he would, knew that he wasn't going to spoil any of this - for either of them.
So in lieu of a verbal response he turned him gently onto his back. “You look nuts, do you know that?” Hand in his hair, mussing it, pulling it up and then down, over his eyes, which made him laugh and Syed give a playful protesting kick. “The mad man in the attic!”
“You're just jealous because you've got none!” Knee upraised and hard against Christian's belly, arms stretched above his head looking exposed, debauched, delicious.
“I want you.”
Serious now, tossing his head to move his hair so Christian had a clear view of his face. “I know. I want you.”
Christian kissed him, slow and dirty, moving carefully until he was stretched out on top, hands reaching to grip both wrists, moving so that they were palm to palm, then as the kiss deepened their fingers entwined until it was almost painful, the kiss become as desperate as their, by now, white-knuckled grip.
He was dying: dying of love, dying of want...
For the first time ever he felt that he understood why some men gave in to the urge to kill their lovers - and themselves - the desire to preserve that one perfect moment almost overwhelming, the desire to keep him here, protect him so huge, so persistent that it threatened to override all sense, certainly all sense of self-preservation.
He didn't even know how to say it, how to tell him just how much, but he had a feeling that Syed didn't need him to...
**
They'd showered together, not playful the way they'd been in the past, every moment now fraught and heavy with the weight of all that wasn't being said...
He dried him, starting from his feet and ending with a vigorous towelling of his hair, the still wet strands pushed away from his face, tucked behind his ear until he looked like the Syed he didn't know, the Syed who, face bare, was ironically more obscured from his view, his heart...
“”Got a pair of boxers for you.”
This surprised him, touched him, Christian could see that, but he saw the anxiety too, the anxiety about what Christian must be thinking, what his expectations must be and yeah, the knowledge of Christian's pain too. “You didn't have to.”
“Put them on,” is all he said, handing him the boxers – white CK because he loved the contrast it made against the gold of his skin, loved seeing the outline of his cock, the way the material hugged the contours of his arse. He watched him step into them, eyes never leaving Christian's, then pull them up, adjusting himself with a teasing smile. “Nice?”
“Oh is that a question, or a statement?”
He rolled his eyes. “A question.”
Syed pouted, then laughed, coming forward to bestow a 'thank you' kiss on his cheek. “Don't suppose you've got a clean shirt and jeans too, have you?”
“And how would it look, you coming back with a whole new wardrobe on your back?”
That had been the wrong to say.
Immediately the mood dropped with the suddenness and import of a lead balloon crashing to earth. Shit.
“Best get dressed.”
He turned away, seeking his clothes and Christian let him, reaching for the towel which he wrapped carefully around his waist, cursing his big, big mouth. No he shouldn't have to walk on eggshells around him, but that's what he'd decided to do, just for the day, and wouldn't you know he hadn't even been able to stick to that!
He watched him in silence, noting the fact that Syed was deliberate in his movements, clearly annoyed, but strangely reluctant it seemed to get dressed - and leave. This was his cue, unless, of course, he was a completely fucking blind and obtuse idiot!
Moving slowly forward he stood at his lover's back, letting Syed feel him there, make the next move if he chose. When Syed stilled his hands in the act of fastening his belt then rocked back just enough to make contact with his skin Christian took this as permission and wrapped gentle arms around him, pulled him in close and held him. “Come back soon,” he urged in a soft whisper.
“Yes,” he promised.
And that was all he needed; the knowledge that he'd said it, promised it, made it real, said it out loud where the air could catch his words and forever bear witness. He knew that Syed said a lot of it deep inside, able to live with himself because he knew that he said it – inside. Getting him to say it out loud now was as much of a triumph as it had always been.
He'd hold on to this, knowing as he did that the moment Syed stepped beyond that door he would no longer be his.
He'd hold on to these past few hours, the memory of his eyes, his helpless, 'love you, love you...' as Christian's fingers brought him to the brink...
And wait, wait as long as it might take until Syed was his in word – and deed...