beautifulandnew | (no subject)

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Part of me thought there might have been a possibility that 'takeout and crafts' had taken on a new meaning. Perhaps it was code now, a less hip version of 'Netflix and chill'. Much, much less hip, considering the source.

Once inside Danny's apartment, however, it quickly became pretty clear that there was no hidden meaning. There was takeout and there was crafting paraphernalia.

It's been a week and I'm no less confused now than I was then. Maybe even a bit more so right now, sitting here, neither of us having actually acknowledged what had happened. Is he expecting me to play along? Eat and drink and cut construction paper and never speak of it? Is that what he plans to do? Or has he blocked it out? Did he have more to drink that night than I realized? Because there's a whole movement and hashtag now that I would potentially have to answer to.

Maybe agreeing to come was a bad idea. I'm not sure I'm prepared to pretend to deal with takeout and crafts if all it really is is takeout and crafts. I'm not sure I'm prepared to deal with the alternative either.

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"Are appearances enough?" I ask. If so, I think I might be considered a more devout Catholic than him for all of the time I tend to spend on my knees. 'Praying'.

I make my way up the mattress to join him, leaning down to catch his lips and kissing him deeply, bringing a hand up to cup his face. "Do you need to pray before?"

Appearances definitely aren't enough but they do help, Danny thinks, lifting his head to meet Hedwig's mouth, propping himself up on an elbow. His hand mirrors Hedwig's on his face, keeping him there just in case he decides to turn around again.

"Mmm, hold on," he murmurs, pulling away so he has room to make the sign of the cross and lift the crucifix on his necklace to his lips.

I arch a brow at the display. "Amen..." Well, I did ask.

Moving across his jaw with a trail of kisses, I then focus on his ear, lips teeth and tongue at work. "Are you waiting for an invitation?" I whisper. Maybe a sign. Lightning strike or something else as equally cliche.

Oh boy... Danny's eyes slip shut, his jaw slowly dropping, crucifix falling to his chest. If Hedwig is half as good with his mouth down there as he is up here, Danny can see some major donations to the Vatican in his future.

"Nuh..." Danny has to dig deep to pull his ear away from a tongue like that. "Enough jibber-jabber," is all the warning Hedwig gets before Danny plants a hand on his chest and pushes him onto his back. He makes surprisingly quick work of the lube considering he can't see what he's doing, mouth back on Hedwig's with a level of passion that only a randy Italian can exude. He braces a hand by Hedwig's head, grabs a thigh and moans into the kiss at the first roll of his hips. He'd intended to start with more restraint for Hedwig's sake but...his Ma does always say he's been in a hurry since the day he was born.

Suddenly finding myself on my back is another strange turn on a night full of them. All of it would be much easier to explain if we were back in Darrow. It's the city playing its tricks again, Hansel. But here...?

Wincing, I wrap one arm around his shoulders, the other hand twisting at the bed sheets as I adjust to him, breath short and sharp. I try to relax, but it's difficult when every cell of my being feels like they're on fire. I return the kiss feverishly, needy, fingers pressing hard against his skin, wanting him deeper and wanting him now.

Nought to sixty in 2.9 seconds feels really good to Danny, but not everyone appreciates a luxury Lambo experience without warning.

He drops onto a forearm, bringing their chests closer, and breathes shallowly against Hedwig's neck, shifting his knees slightly so he can take more time to explore the feel of longer, more deliberate thrusts. His grip on Hedwig's thigh tightens. "Oh, man..."

Danny lifts his head, eyes closed, and follows the urge to go deeper, opening them again a while later to check for a reaction. He grazes his mouth over Hedwig's, tip of his tongue sneaking out to ghost over his lips, breath hot.

I draw back on my knee to hopefully make things slightly easier for him, at the same time tilting to allow him better access to my neck. I can't help but wonder how many rosaries he's going to burn through after this. A single sign of the cross doesn't really seem sufficient. Then again, what do I know about Catholicism other than how to pleasure a Priest?

Moaning when he pushes in further, I bite my bottom lip, back arching slightly and reveling in the feeling. Locking eyes with him, every sensation only seems to intensify. I pant against his lips, breaths paired with each new thrust of his hips, changing with his rhythm.

It feels very different with only two beers inside him. Maybe that's to blame for the startled feeling Danny gets when Hedwig looks him in the eyes. Suddenly everything feels much more real.

He moves his mouth down to Hedwig's chest, testing out different areas with teeth, tongue and lips, like he's pressing different combinations of codes to see what Hedwig likes the most. Having little experience to go on, Danny does what he likes being done to him, sucking, licking and biting both traditional and nontraditional erogenous zones, his ego making him eager to impress. If the hand roaming the arch of Hedwig's back moves to knead a pectoral muscle like it expects to find a bit more of a handfull to work with, put it down to Danny's own muscle memory kicking in.

Such focus on Hedwig's body has the effect of slowing Danny's hips into a more sensual and fluid roll. Not only is it necessary to allow him to catch his breath, it has the added benefit to drawing out the pleasure of each one, something that drags a long, gutteral moan from Danny that takes even him by surprise.

I lift my head just slightly to watch Danny's mouth move over my skin, somewhat entranced by the view. That, combined with the movement of his hips is almost too much, so I have to look away, head flopping back down to the mattress, one arm draped over my eyes.

"Danny," I moan, the sound deeper and more drawn out whenever he hits a good spot. Considering how much this place probably cost to live in, I really hope that the insane price tag includes really thick walls.

Danny drops a sweaty forehead onto the arm over Hedwig's eyes, a breathy and slightly delirious laugh escaping when he hears a particularly loud iteration of his name. He appreciates verbal encouragement as much as the next guy but he won't deny that it feels a little odd to hear it coming from such a deep voice. There was a phase when all he seemed to attract were the shriekers and wannabe porn stars.

"Shhshhshh," Danny pants, agitated when he realizes who else might be able to hear. He presses two fingers to Hedwig's lips. "I like it, I like hearing you but Pete might be next door." He drops a kiss to Hedwig's neck as if in apology, then rolls off, pulling him over with him.

"C'mon, c'mere, c'mere." He leans over to seek another kiss, a smirk on his face. "Gotta work every muscle group."

Edited 2019-11-09 01:15 (UTC)

"Oh, good. Invite him over," I blurt, unthinking, and almost completely jokingly... Almost. It would have been the neighborly thing to do, I think. I like Peter. I like most of Danny's coworkers, but Peter is a favorite. If were were to extend an invitation like that, he might actually accept. Nobody is that deep into bro-culture and not at least a bit curious and open to experimenting.

Suddenly, it's like being manhandled by a hobbit into a new position, but it's a sexy hobbit so it's fine. More than fine. Until... "Oh, God. Please do not turn sex into exercise," I murmur against his lips. "Just fuck me without counting reps."

"Okay, that's never happening," Danny shuts down immediately, joke or no joke. Peter comes over often enough uninvited and Danny still remembers far more than he wants to about their unexpected mano a mano in the shower.

"Sex is already a form of exercise, it just is," he shrugs as he finishes manoeuvring Hedwig into a straddle and coaxes him down with two hands wrapped around his neck. He softens right before another long kiss, whispering "but okay" as he slides back in and does as he's told.

I don't think either of us ever saw this happening - fantasized about it relentlessly, sure, but that's not the same - and yet here we are.

When he pushes in, I have to bite down on my lip even harder than before to keep the noise down for his sake. And he said I don't take direction well. Evidently, so does he... "Fuck." The word is quiet and breathy. Sinking down further and taking him in deeper, I'd further argue my point that sex is definitely not exercise, but I can't form the words. If it was, fewer people would bitch about doing it.

Hedwig might not think sex is exercise but he definitely has exercise - specifically ab rolling - to thank for the stamina Danny can show on his back. His stomach muscles are as tight as the grip he has on Hedwig's hips, which is hard enough to leave hand prints when he eventually lets go.

Rising to his elbows, Danny watches Hedwig through his eyelashes, gritting his teeth to keep in control, but it becomes clear from the heavier breathing and the way he's fisting his bedsheets that it's becoming more and more difficult.

Reluctantly, he relinquishes the driving seat to Hedwig, letting him dictate rhythm and roll, and it's not long before Danny's head tips back and he's echoing Hedwig's earlier sentiment, but louder, more protracted and like he can't quite believe how good it feels.

Apparently, being quiet has now just gone completely out the window. Unlike Danny, though, I'm not about to tell him to keep it down. Watching and hearing his reactions just drives me on, movements slow and measured at first, palms flat against his chest for purchase.

"Come on," I urge, knowing he can't possibly hold out for much longer and dialing up the rhythm and intensity. The sound of skin against skin is just as intoxicating as the ones coming from him. Every downward motion sends a new wave of pleasure throughout my body.

I gave up keeping a personal diary a lifetime ago, which seems like such a shame right now. 'Dear Diary, today I rode Danny Castellano to orgasm' would have made one hell of an entry starter.

Despite Hedwig's urge, Danny continues to fight it. He doesn't do it to be an ass, he does it to make this last as long as possible. Every extra moment is another connection, another movement of Hedwig's hips that sends him another notch up the track.

But every roller-coaster reaches its highest point sooner or later before it's forced to come crashing back down.

Danny's breath gets caught when the orgasm hits him, like he's in a free fall, his back arching in seeming slow motion, fists wrenching at his bedsheet until it almost tears. Time catches up suddenly and his hips begin to buck and grind erratically, hard and deep, way beyond his control. And then the hot, bittersweet tsunamis of pleasure start to rack through his body as Danny finds his voice again.

I can feel Danny's muscles beneath my hands and between my thighs twitch and tense up, moaning when his hips take over. It's impossible to keep up with a consistent rhythm that is no longer there, but it doesn't stop me from trying. The pay off is more than worth it. Waist rolling in a tight circular motion, my own legs begin to tremble as I lean back, eyes screwing shut, riding the wave to the end.

Slouching forward, my head hangs and shoulders rise and fall as I try to catch my breath. My hips keep moving, not quite ready to stop. It's a slow rise and fall as my body winds down, tongue moving to lick dry lips. There's no knowing when, if ever, I might find myself in this position again, so I savor it.

When the head rush starts to clear, Danny sits half upright and hooks an arm low around Hedwig's waist to keep their hips locked tight together. Fucking is great but Danny finds pelvic grinding through the orgasm deeply satisfying in a whole other way.

Pushing himself up the rest of the way, Danny tucks a crooked finger under Hedwig's chin to lift his head, his own tongue reaching Hedwig's lips first and swiping feather-light across them as his panting begins to subside.

Lifting a hand to the back of his neck, I scrub my fingers back and forth through his hair, kissing him gently.

"That was much better than working on The House that Castellano Built would have been," I insist. Although, watching paint dry would have been better than that, so I'm not sure how great a compliment that is.

"Can't argue with that," Danny replies, post-sex come-down making him surprisingly agreeable given how seriously he takes his craft projects. He rubs his hands along Hedwig's thighs, massaging the muscles he can still feel vibrating below the surface, and rests his forehead into the crook of his neck.

He notices reddening thumb prints on the front of Hedwig's hips and brings his hands back up, fitting them perfectly over the marks left on his skin. Danny hadn't realised just how tight he'd been gripping them. Just like he hadn't realised how hard he'd been biting last time. With Hedwig, it's like he has permission to really let go and listen to his body. Just like in jazz class when he was seven. Or when he's listening to The Boss.

Danny flops down on the bed with a groan of satisfaction, arms outstretched, head rolling to the side. It's a positively religious sight.

Because there's no point in trying to resist temptation after what we've done, I run my hands up the full length of his abs and chest, fingers splayed. Moving back down again, I go slower, fingers tracing the chiseled lines and dips of his physique. If I spend an extended amount of time on The V when I get there, who can blame me?

Exhaling a breath, I finally slide off of him, laying down on my side with my head propped up on one hand. I use the other to stroke the inside of Danny's forearm, fingertips just barely ghosting across his skin.

"Now what?" I ask. Not the clean up, the scavenger hunt for discarded clothing or how to get out of the building without running into Peter if he did happen to hear something. Longterm, I mean. Are things going to be weird now? Different? Once the haze of lust clears do things go back to normal? Or as normal as can be expected for Danny.

Danny raises his head, curious as to what's holding so much of Hedwig's attention down there. Especially as he's still sitting on the most obvious answer.

Unable to tell, he drops back down and shuts his eyes when Hedwig alights. The question isn't exactly a surprise one but Danny had been hoping it wouldn't come up so soon.

"Now we pray," he murmurs. "Dear God, I know, I know, no sex before marriage, but You're never gonna win that argument with me. I'm sorry, I'm just, I tried marriage, Man, and we both know how that turned out. Anyway, thank You for giving us these moments on earth to enjoy such intense and erotic-- this is Hedwig, by the way. Yeah, that Hedwig. He's still a heathen, so you probably won't recognise him." He sighs. "Okay, listen, thanks for not smiting me. Thanks for joining us in a very satisfying sexual union. I feel very fulfilled right now. I think we both feel very--"

Danny's eyes pop open at Hedwig.

"You, y'know," he whistles jauntily, brows wiggling, "at the end, right? For real? No faking?"

My hand stops for a moment when he actually starts praying. Splayed out naked, still wearing a used condom, after lying with...definitely not a woman. How is it possible to be racked with so much Catholic guilt, but zero shame? What was the point? It seems unnecessarily exhausting.

Smiling, my fingers begin moving once again. "You didn't pay. I have no obligation to stroke your ego by faking." Or stroke anything else for that matter. I did what I wanted to, because I wanted. And all reactions were genuine. "Can you ask him why he put the prostate where he did, just to have his friends go and make sodomy a sin."

"Sh--Hedwig!" That's just what Danny needs, the good Lord hearing about Hedwig's wanton side business. "He didn't mean pay," he reassures the ceiling, "don't listen to him, okay. I'll check back in later, amen."

If Hedwig's going to start talking about sodomy, then Danny definitely doesn't want the spiritual phone line to remain open between him and the heavens.

He pinches his eyes, then drops the hand to his chest, his other twitching minutely as Hedwig tickles his skin.

"What's the prostate got to do with it?"

Do all Catholics suffer from Stockholm syndrome? Does he always pray after sex? If so, how many woman has that stopped from coming back for seconds? His good looks can only get him so far.

"Spoken like someone who's never climaxed by having their stimulated." The only thing he's had up there is the metaphorical rod that typically keeps him so rigid and surly. "It doesn't matter. You know praying isn't an answer to my question. Don't act dumb."