PSL: accommodated

[not_kenway]

For a week, Connor didn't get a lot of quality time with Desmond.

Desmond had work and Connor had medical appointments and when he was home, he tended to crash out under a mix of relieving stress, modern pain medication and the energy taken to heal wounds like he was recovering from.

He wasn't sleeping well, either. His nightmares were worse than ever and his sleep paralysis was still completely broken, meaning he thrashed, rolled and sometimes struck out in his sleep. Which was also the reason he didn't wear his bracers to bed, unwilling to risk Desmond's safety, should he mistakenly think Haytham was the weight on top of him.

But when he had his last medical check and bout of whatever strange healing technology this place used, he decided to surprise Desmond at work.

He arrived near the end of his shift, dressed in the jeans that Desmond had always liked on him and the loose white shirt that was technically only his on Wednesdays (but since he was wearing it for Desmond, he felt it counted). His bear claw necklace was visible, the second leather thong with the Creator coin hung low enough to remain nearly completely out of sight. The hidden blades looked like decorative, leather cuffs and he exuded quiet, competent danger as he moved through the crowd and up to the bar, waiting to see how long it took Desmond to see him.

Comments

[accommodated]

It's a big move for Connor. Desmond knows that. He smiles at him. Not knowingly, not in any way other than just that-- affection. "Yeah. You're right. We'll see what happens, then."

There's something sitting in the pit of his chest, a place where a lot of his hurt used to be, and it aches now in a good way. These days, old hurts matter less. They matter less, and Desmond finds that he can make room for other things along with it. Make room for Connor's hurts, and his joys. Make room for his own. It's a heady sort of thing that Desmond don't really know how to label. He doesn't know how to put words to something feels good, even when there are times it hurts the most.

It's not a long walk, but he does slow down a little, enough to linger with Connor's hand in his before he had to fish out keys to unlock the front door.

[not_kenway]

There's undeniable heat, simmering in Connor's gut and lower, but he's comfortable to let it be for now, just let it wait and enjoy the quiet of the late night and walking down the street with company he enjoys and no red coats chasing him.

If it was warmer, he would've worn a coat, slid their linked hands into the pocket, but the breeze is comfortable and the streets lit by night light. While Desmond gets out his keys, Connor briefly thinks he could probably pick the lock as quickly, but he'd need both hands and he's disinclined to let go.

Instead, he distracts Desmond by leaning down to whisper in his ear. "What are you going to do when we get home?"

[accommodated]

It was nice. Peaceful, even, for a moment. The night always seemed like it kind of belonged to them at times. Before Eudio stripped off the glitz and glamor, or shuttered her neons, as if this were that magic hour, and the whole city was taking a collective breath. Up until Desmond just about drops said keys, fumbling them. It's like a lightening bolt right down his spine. Damn it, and right when he thought he'd had that slow burn under control enough not to actually listen to the urge to shove Connor up against a wall and kiss him breathless, whether it would have embarrassed the guy or not. He doesn't. Only just barely.

"...you are very good at pushing all the right buttons, you know that?" he says, voice surprisingly level, taking a slow breath so he can unlock the damn door without making even more of an idiot out of himself. When he glances at Connor, that hunger is sharp. "When we get inside, I'm debating two options..."

Desmond uses the hold he has of Connor's hand to reel him in, not quite opening the door. It's a ground floor apartment, the unit itself tucked away behind some decent tree cover. You;d have to really be looking for them to see them. Standing up on his toes a little to murmur into Connor's ear this time, Desmond finds himself smirking slightly.

"Either I'm going to get you off just my hands right in the entryway, or I'm going to ride you right into wherever it is we last left the lube. Better decide how patient you want to be-- you've got about ten seconds."

[not_kenway]

Desmond tugs and Connor steps in, trapping Desmond between the unlocked door and his own bulk. He dips his head for the whisper, pleased at the rush of heat Desmond's words spark along his spine.

That first, frantic rush of lust and need aside, Connor has been up for much more than falling asleep with Desmond close by and he's really ready to change that. "I've waited two years," he murmurs back. "I'm willing to wait longer if you can. If you want to ride me. Or if you want to ride me a different way." He leans their cheeks together, hand reaching to turn the door knob.

[accommodated]

Two years-- sometimes, Desmond forgets about that, and his insides twist even thinking about it. Two weeks, and he's practically climbing the walls. Hell, just about crawling out of his own skin when he's flattened to the door, able to practically taste the heat coming off of Connor. Two years is practically an eternity. Desmond had to give Connor credit where credit was due: Connor would win any battle of wills with him.

"Bold if you to assume I wasn't already thinking of riding you a different way." Desmond was already breathless, bodily dragging Connor over the threshold after elbowing the door open by hooking fingers right into the hem of those incredibly sexy jeans. Shuts it behind the other with his free hand all so Desmond could trap him against the door. He may not have Connor's bulk, but if he wants you to stay put, you stay put.

Desmond pulls Connor into a kiss that's as much desperation as it is affectionate.

[not_kenway]

Being manhandled is... sexy. Only because he can see Desmond while he does it, see the fight and want in his gaze and feel it in his hands. He's trapped and it feels good to be wanted like this, and he tries to put that into the kiss, all that pent up want and reciprocation.

He wants. He wants whatever Desmond will give him, share with him, demand of him. For now, he wants to get his hands down on Desmond's butt, squeezing and lifting him up into the kiss.

[accommodated]

Desmond drops his keys to the floor the second Connor squeezes his ass, a slight gasp against the man's mouth followed by a soft groan. He drops them, the damned thing no longer important, so he can keep Connor anchored to that door by a hand on one hip (squeezing lightly), and the other decidedly wanting up the man's shirt (that he owns definitely more often than on Wednesday, but the joke will never not be funny). Carefully tracing the wound that'd been there, just not too carefully.

There is nothing hotter to Desmond than Connor wanting. And he'd give, too. After he's done testing a little bit, mostly to sooth his own paranoia about possibly hurting him. Gives him a good excuse to work at licking his way into Connor's mouth to taste that want, too, drink him down as if it'd be the last time either of them would ever get the chance to.

[not_kenway]

It will take time for Connor's strength to rebuild, where he can easily lift Desmond's weight without needing support against the wall. He can manage now, leaning against the door and pulling Desmond up against him, up onto his toes and pushing a thigh between Desmond's legs to hold him there.

The next kiss is hungry and slower, teeth on Desmond's lip and tugging softly before letting go to gasp a breath. The scar itself feels nothing but the skin around the edges is sensitive and has him arching his body and pushing his leg up further.

[accommodated]

And, oh, for that glorious moment, Connor's thigh between his, kissing him slow and hungry like that, Desmond could forget about the rest of the world. Damn well does when it hitches up further, groaning soft and low in the back of his throat. The friction is a good slice of heaven. Bit over dramatic? Maybe, but he'd like to see anyone else argue with him right now. They'd lose, he'd make sure of it.

Desmond leans into it with a slow, pronounced roll of his hips, making sure his mouth doesn't stray too far from Connor's. Calloused fingertips continue to trace that sensitive skin, too. He needs to feel Connor keep arching like that, needs to hear the man's breath in his ear, the heat of his body. Enough that he peels his hand away from that hip to every so slowly walk fingers over to the button to Connor's fly.

"I ever tell you how good it is that your the first and last thing I usually see every day?" The question is murmured against Connor's mouth after another quick kiss, Desmond's dark eyes half-lidded and watching closely.

Dexterous fingers know exactly hot to pop that button open without needing his other hand.

"It's a wonder I get anything done other than you these days."

[not_kenway]

If Desmond were wearing less, Connor would probably heft him up by the grip he has, put his legs around his waist. If Connor were stronger, more recovered, he could just carry Desmond back through the apartment, to the bedroom.

Neither of these is true, so Connor just half opens his eyes when Desmond speaks, tasting the words on his breath with parted lips and fairly sure that no response is required or even wanted in answer. No, Desmond has never said that specifically, but he's expressed enough sentiments that are similar that it's a given.

Connor nuzzles another soft kiss to the corner of Desmond's lips, then to the top of the scar over his mouth, and then shifts to slot their mouths together for a slow kiss. He feels like he should have something clever to say in return, but he doesn't and he doesn't want to break the kiss to try.

[accommodated]

There would be time for all of that later, when Connor's got more of his strength. Sure, landing square back in the hospital or whatever because you were trying to pick up your partner after some heavy making out would be a funny story to tell. In practice, however? Not so much fun. And no-- no, no real answer was needed.

That slow, heater kiss is all the answer Desmond actually needs.

His second hand joins the first, working Connor's fly open. He'll move them both in a bit. Right now? Bit busy stepping back enough so that getting a hand down the front of those pants is doable, palming Connor slowly, teasingly. Doesn't break that kiss for anything, either.

[not_kenway]

Tearing healing muscle by picking up your large, heavily muscled partner for sexy times was not how Connor wanted to end this night.

Connor makes a low sound, unhappy to have to let Desmond down at all, but he loosened his grip on Desmond's butt to let him shuffle back a little. He doesn't regret the decision when Desmond's hand slips into his clothing, skin rough in all the right, familiar ways. He groans into the kiss, teeth softly catching Desmond's lip and then licking the pinched flesh, hips pushing up into the grip.