He had tilted his head and hummed in pleasure, but Kieran mouthing against his collarbone was too distracting, because before Jude had even realised there was a second part of that question he had already choked out a “Yes.” Not that the second option didn’t sound equally compelling, but he could spend hours cataloguing the years’ worth of fantasies he had harboured about this before they acted on anything, and Jude wasn’t certain that he wanted to go that slowly tonight. Any slower now might be the death of him. He was half-convinced that if he let Kieran keep kissing him like this for much longer that he would just come apart here.
So as soon as he had gotten the rest of his clothes off, he ran his hands over Kieran’s shoulders and down his arms, clasping his wrists and pushing them both gently onto the unmade bed. “Let me fuck you,” Jude asked, suggested, entreated; because Kieran was warm against him and he was achingly hard already and it was steadily becoming less of a want and more of a need. Still, to give Kieran time to protest – or to convince him – or at least to see how he reacted to the idea, Jude trailed an intent path of open-mouthed kisses down Kieran’s body, sinking back on his heels to drag his tongue up the length of him and then pressing his mouth briefly to the inside of his thigh. As he moved upwards again, shifting better on top of him, he felt another rush of pleasure at the friction of it, a wild consciousness of everywhere they touched.
And he was aware that Kieran had more experience, would not be so overwhelmed. But Jude was at least familiar enough with the theory – he had read enough banned pamphlets on the subject – and had wanted this for so long, and after the last arduous month of campaigning for Minister of Magic, he couldn’t help but think having sex with Kieran would be the most effortless thing he had done in some time. So he smiled at him – teasing now, a little coy: “I imagine you’ll tell me if I go wrong.” Kieran had always made it damningly clear when he disagreed with anything Jude was doing, after all: if he could count on anyone for helpful criticism, it was undoubtedly him.
So as soon as he had gotten the rest of his clothes off, he ran his hands over Kieran’s shoulders and down his arms, clasping his wrists and pushing them both gently onto the unmade bed. “Let me fuck you,” Jude asked, suggested, entreated; because Kieran was warm against him and he was achingly hard already and it was steadily becoming less of a want and more of a need. Still, to give Kieran time to protest – or to convince him – or at least to see how he reacted to the idea, Jude trailed an intent path of open-mouthed kisses down Kieran’s body, sinking back on his heels to drag his tongue up the length of him and then pressing his mouth briefly to the inside of his thigh. As he moved upwards again, shifting better on top of him, he felt another rush of pleasure at the friction of it, a wild consciousness of everywhere they touched.
And he was aware that Kieran had more experience, would not be so overwhelmed. But Jude was at least familiar enough with the theory – he had read enough banned pamphlets on the subject – and had wanted this for so long, and after the last arduous month of campaigning for Minister of Magic, he couldn’t help but think having sex with Kieran would be the most effortless thing he had done in some time. So he smiled at him – teasing now, a little coy: “I imagine you’ll tell me if I go wrong.” Kieran had always made it damningly clear when he disagreed with anything Jude was doing, after all: if he could count on anyone for helpful criticism, it was undoubtedly him.
