Daniel drives into him and Louis' thoughts all fall to technicolor fragments, sensation rather than shape, the deep ache of yes, and finally more impression than substance.
The sound Louis makes is a low, ragged groan. His hands clutch at Daniel's hips, encouraging and impatient, begging more and deeper with the dig of nails and flex of thighs around his hips. Begs until Daniel can simply give him nothing else, settled in so deep, and Louis' hands scrape up his back, his shoulders, cradle him, cup his face with one palm.
A brief, clear impression in Louis' head: Daniel's eyes, all the ways Louis remembers them. Across a stained table in a small apartment bathed in yellow light, looking up at him on a muted gray sofa, watching him across a gleaming table in the filtered light of the atrium —
Blue, Louis remembers. He remembers.
"Yeah," echoes back, delayed. Shades of relief in the way Louis breathes it out, leaning up to kiss Daniel's mouth. "Yeah, like this."
Feeling refracting, reflected back, see how badly Louis wanted him, see how much better this is than anything he'd dreamed about. The thing behind it, the overwhelming feeling that has no name but has shape and sensation and is all for Daniel. Louis thumb runs along his cheek, the corner of his mouth along cheekbone and back again, and again, and again as Louis tells him, "I was waiting for you."
Fifty years. Fifty years, waiting and not knowing he was waiting.
"Go slow," has nothing to do at all with gentleness or care. It's only the clinging, deep-set urge to make this last. Maybe some fear that Louis doesn't get this again, that this is all and he needs to hang on as long as he can before it is over.
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The sound Louis makes is a low, ragged groan. His hands clutch at Daniel's hips, encouraging and impatient, begging more and deeper with the dig of nails and flex of thighs around his hips. Begs until Daniel can simply give him nothing else, settled in so deep, and Louis' hands scrape up his back, his shoulders, cradle him, cup his face with one palm.
A brief, clear impression in Louis' head: Daniel's eyes, all the ways Louis remembers them. Across a stained table in a small apartment bathed in yellow light, looking up at him on a muted gray sofa, watching him across a gleaming table in the filtered light of the atrium —
Blue, Louis remembers. He remembers.
"Yeah," echoes back, delayed. Shades of relief in the way Louis breathes it out, leaning up to kiss Daniel's mouth. "Yeah, like this."
Feeling refracting, reflected back, see how badly Louis wanted him, see how much better this is than anything he'd dreamed about. The thing behind it, the overwhelming feeling that has no name but has shape and sensation and is all for Daniel. Louis thumb runs along his cheek, the corner of his mouth along cheekbone and back again, and again, and again as Louis tells him, "I was waiting for you."
Fifty years. Fifty years, waiting and not knowing he was waiting.
"Go slow," has nothing to do at all with gentleness or care. It's only the clinging, deep-set urge to make this last. Maybe some fear that Louis doesn't get this again, that this is all and he needs to hang on as long as he can before it is over.