la petite mort

The slow kisses, the hot touches, all of it was making Evan feel… adored almost. Worshiped. Like he was something that could be held onto and that just… it made no sense and it was the most beautiful of things. His mouth was turning dry already, his eyes closing as Pierce’s mouth started to wander over his flesh and their hips started to rotate together. Soft noises, short moans and quiet purrs, were already breaking forth. Evan had never been quiet and he would never start. Especially not with the slow burn Pierce was giving him. 

There was something about the possessiveness of a mark that Evan had always liked - when he had a say in people giving it. The slight pain of vessels bursting and blood rushing to the surface of his skin, of looking in the mirror later and knowing that someone wanted you to know you were theirs, of being claimed for someone without having to give anything up. Not that he was terribly happy to have that claim be quite so literal in some cases, but that was a different. That had been the loudest of the sounds Evan had let out, a breathless moan, eyes flagging and fingers flexing on Pierce’s upper arms. 

When Pierce pulled away, Evan had the fleeting thought that he was done, he was going to get up now that he was marked, which really made no sense. This was Pierce. He stared up at him and his teeth came down on his lip, squeezing just a bit tighter on the man’s arms. Mother of fuck, the look on his face. It was beautiful like Evan had never seen, had never thought he would. To feel that fucking wanted and know it wasn’t just as a thing, as a toy, as something you could play with. Even before the smirk had faded, but after? Fuck. 

Evan is sun-kissed and his skin is bared to him, and Pierce's Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows; he sees the rise and fall of Evan's chest, the inflation of his stomach as his lungs absorb oxygen. The other man is alive and shown and it makes Pierce's entire body surge with want, already fueled by Evan's little noises--the catches of breath, the moans and the purrs and the way Evan holds onto his biceps like he can't quite let go. He thinks it'd be cliche to call him beautiful; he thinks it'd be a drastic mistake and something beyond the precarious balance they've created, but Pierce thinks he already tipped the scales the moment he decided Andrea Bocelli was something to be heard. Still, he doesn't say it. Instead, his eyes rake over Evan's flesh and he knows he wants to litter it with bite marks and sucks. He wants the marks to stay for a while coming. And he hopes Evan can see in the way Pierce looks at him just how worthy he is of Pierce wanting to know every inch of him.

His fingers curve into little claw-like positions, and then he slowly slides them up from the hem of Evan's pants, dragging his nails up with pressure that makes it seem as though they're barely there. He lets the edge of his fingertips feel the skin beneath, slides his nails up Evan's torso and over his nipples, digs his teeth into his lower lip for a moment before letting them go. His thumbs touch his collarbones--Pierce quite likes Evan's collarbones--and then with a bit of a spinning feeling in his head (because he can't believe he's allowed to do this), he leans down and presses a kiss to the hollow between the bone. In the silence suddenly left by the song's absence, the sound of Pierce's lips is almost obscene. But then they lift over his teeth and he's dragging them down, scraping against Evan's skin, letting flat palms slide along the span of flesh they'd traveled up moments earlier. He finds the edge of a pectoral muscle with a fingertip, turns his head to press his mouth there and suck and bite and darken the spot, and his index finger rubs absent and quiet over a dark bud.

He has a vague memory of what they did the night he got drunk. Pierce said something about marking. He certainly hadn't been lying about it.

He re-creates Evan's body in his mind with the aid of his lips, touching his mouth to every little inch of space he can; kissing his sides and his stomach and leaving a mark every so often in an imitation of landmarks to find his way. And once that's over, he's licking up the center of his stomach, starting with the tip of his tongue against the very top of Evan's pants before the flat of it touches up the slightest trace of hair leading down. He kisses right above Evan's belly-button, digs a thumb into what's exposed of the other man's hip, and then lets out a shaky breath of amazement against the heated flesh. It comes out almost as a laugh--there's a note of disbelief to it--and then he can't help himself.

"I forgot we were supposed to have sex in the kitchen and make all the plates fall out of their shelves."

He crawls up until he can kiss Evan's mouth again, tongue slipping between his lips and lick the inside of his mouth, his hips rolling against the other man's once more. And then he pulls back to lift his polo shirt over his head next, fingers taking one of Evan's hands within, pressing his palm over the steady thrum of his heart with a bit of a crooked grin on his face.

The fact that he’s singing him this song - one in his parent’s and his grandparent’s language and about taking someone with you - isn’t going to make him feel any less strange about how good he feels. 

Evan’s tongue slips up and into the other man’s mouth, a small, soft noise sneaking out as he sucks softly at his tongue. He had done a lot of running today, but ti was already pretty clear to him that he wasn’t done burning energy. Even id they stopped now, Pierce would either need a cold shower or he would need a hot one and a long time alone in the shower with his hand. Pierce didn’t seem like he was going to make him take that route, though. 

The last words Pierce sings shiver down Evan’s spine, his body shifting and writhing under him slightly because, shit, there’s really nothing so hot as someone you kind of adore singing to you in a raspy voice, looking like they want you, like you’re the only thing in the world and the look on Pierce’s face makes him think that for a moment, there’s nothing outside of here. 

There're too many layers between them, but more than frustrating it's a heady feeling; it gives the illusion of the vaguest innocence when Pierce knows it's anything but. His teeth drag along Evan's lip before he pulls away, and he licks up the corner of his mouth before once more moving to nibble at a jawline he needs to map out with his lips. He wants to explore--he wants to know what Evan's body looks, tastes, feels, sounds, smells like--he wants to document every reaction, every stray movement, every tiny noise that slips from between a mouth that smiles back at him. His heart hammers a steady beat in his chest as he kisses the side of Evan's neck, and he rolls his hips against the other man's once more, slides the shape of his cock against Evan's and lets out a quiet groan against sun-kissed skin he abuses with lips and teeth.

His thumbs continue to draw soothing circles over his hipbones, and his kisses trail until he reaches the space of flesh right above Evan's shirt collar, and it's here where he sucks and bites and laves enough to leave a mark. A quiet reminder. One that Evan can look at in the mirror and touch to remember the feel of Pierce's mouth there.

Uncurling his fingers from around his hips, Pierce pulls back, looks down at the mark with eyes that've grown darker and lips turned pink from kissing. It sends a heady sort of rush through him--from his brain right down to his toes--and his lips tilt into a crooked smirk as he moves up until he's kneeling. The cocky expression fades fast, though, and soon all that's left is a look of observation and silent wonder; Pierce's gaze is heated and full of want and fondness and a need to decipher everything of the man beneath him. His fingers slide from Evan's thighs up to the hem of his shirt, barely pushing the fabric up as the tips of them slide the slowest inches up his stomach.

His knees are on either side of Evan's legs, his one hand still stuck in his hair, the other free as it trails down his side and curls possessively around his hip. He rubs his tongue against the other man's--attempts to coax him back and into his own mouth so he can suck around the invading muscle--and his cargo pants tighten as hot breaths pass from his lips into the space between them.

He breaks the kiss for a split-second, presses their foreheads together and slides his hand out of Evan's hair so he can brush his knuckles down the side of his face and over his chin, and then he grins crooked and unabashed and Pierce-esque sneaky down at him as he sings the first line of the last chorus. His voice is almost raspy, but it's definitely an octave down.

And then he kisses him again, hot and heavy and real, his lips parting as his hand closes over the space where Evan's heart beats alive in his chest.

“How’d I end up back at the hotel? And where’d this padlock tattoo on my wrist come from?”

*Evan stands stubbornly where he’s been, leaning on the wall and his arms staying crossed. A smile played on his lips as he watched him, leaning down into the kiss and humming softly. His arms unwind finally and touch Pierce’s arms gently, running along them. He laughs softly when Pierce speaks.* 

[Finally exerting enough effort to stand from his position on the floor, Pierce propels himself upward, feet landing flat on the ground and knees bent as his upper body is a vague sort of crouched. He stands up straight and makes his way over to Evan, and he kisses him appropriately, crooked mouth to pliant lips and a hand landing almost possessive on his hip.]