sixthiterationlogs | Just to break my own fall

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Just to break my own fall

WHO: Bodhi and Jude
WHERE: Jude's house
WHEN: After the holiday party
OPEN TO: Closed to Jude Sullivan
WARNINGS: Sappy bullshit

Bodhi's not usually quite this stupid over Jude, partly because he restrains himself, partly because even he's not this ridiculously romantic. Their banter at the party wasn't even that out of the ordinary, even if Jude taking his hand in public was a bit beyond the usual. They both fed each other's nonsense until they were completely twitterpated, and it feels fantastic, if distantly kind of foolish. Too hard to care through Jude carefully (and unnecessarily) helping him into his robe and scarves, through the snow-shimmering walk hand in hand, the cold bringing a little extra color to Jude's cheeks (and probably his, but what does he care). Impossible to think about anything else as they finally wend their way toward the house and Bodhi's hand tightens on Jude's through their gloves and looks away just to give himself a break from grinning so hard. Spending nights with Jude has ceased to be a big deal and of course his damage is still a wall between them, but he's the good kind of nervous anyway. This feels like it could almost be normal, a real, regular date with a functional person like Jude deserves. The faint swirl of soft, pretty nothingness lets him collect himself a bit as they head up the steps.

Then there's hurrying through the door as a practical matter. No reason to let the house get colder. But that's as practical as he feels like being, and as soon as the door is closed he turns, catches Jude's shoulders, and steals a kiss. A quick one. He knows they have to deal with the fire and coats and bullshit, but he's been waiting on that for what feels like a very long time.

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Jude's lips and teeth barely part to suck in a breath; for the eyes on his, for the deliberate pass of Bodhi's tongue. His fingers twitch on Bodhi's cheek, a low noise that sounds like but isn't hurt when he brushes the pad of flesh below Jude's pinky. There's a scrape of tongue to callous that rings the sensitive flesh around it with feeling. It pants his breath once before it's forced out by the introduction of Bodhi's weight.

It's welcome, for all the instinct is to loop an arm around and steady. Jude has his wits enough to hover it at the small of Bodhi's back, the only real contact a hip at the inset of his elbow. Even the curve of his fingers runs parallel to, but doesn't touch, the opposite hip.

He takes a long, careful breath, soaking up the contact where Bodhi's chest touches his own. He does want to hold him. He's always wanted that, in an abstract way, but he can live without it. What he's learned to enjoy instead is being leaned on, used as a pillow. Waking up under some fraction of Bodhi's weight. In the moment, the desire to hold is only to get more of it--but he lifts his hand instead, tangling a couple of fingers in the ends of Bodhi's hair, where it's safe and wanted and he won't ruin this by taking too much.

This is close to the line. The smooth, gentle heat of Jude's chest to his by itself is nothing but sweet, and both the hands he can feel are--okay. Good, even. All good individually. Just enough to keep him aware of the line, taken all together. He focuses individually, on the gentle brush against his hair, the sense of being as close as they can be, not acknowledging the arm behind him. If he ignores it and Jude keeps being careful--

It's fine. He finds himself saying that a lot.

Keeping busy helps. He'll move that hand in a moment--he doesn't want to do it so fast Jude feels bad about it, and just knowing he's allowed to makes it easier not to mind. Remembering what a reaction it got last time he tried, Bodhi nuzzles into Jude's hair, breathes deep, and flicks the tip of his tongue against Jude's ear again. Experimental, but the results seemed pretty good last time.

He sucks in a breath, the squirm starting at his hips. His feet plant on the floor and eventually he turns his head--doing as much to bare his ear for Bodhi's attention as he does to momentarily break away. It's not a bad feeling by any means, it's just new, another button he didn't know he had--doesn't think anyone should have, logically, but there it is. A tickle that curls him up and closes his eyes but also zips right down his spine.

"Jesus," he breathes, worked up and embarrassed, the color of both cutting a line over his cheek.

In the squirm and twist, his arm winds up laid gently against Bodhi's shoulder, on its way to where his fingers tangle in his hair. The other hand stays against his chest, fingertips turning in with his reaction, but he does nothing to push, nothing to pull.

Every hitch and tensing beneath him thrums through Bodhi, coils of potential energy he somehow stumbled his way into pouring in. He has to make this work for a lot of reasons, but the one creeping to the forefront is that if he doesn't manage to keep his head, he won't get to enjoy the results when Jude finally lets it all go. His positively smug satisfaction powers him along contentedly for another few seconds, just aware of Jude's hand, and when he finally does decide to move it, the motion is calm, decided, not a defense mechanism. Like it should be. He's in charge of where Jude's hands are. Damned if he's budging on that.

On his hip this time, with the same careful placement as on his shoulder, making sure Jude's fingers aren't in a position to quite grip, just rest against the edge of the narrow curve, palm flat. He does like fingers in his hair. It's just a break.

Bodhi does some squirming of his own this time, if only because he's already sort of draped himself over Jude and he needs to push up again. There's a bit of hesitation he hopes he can pass off as teasing and not uncertainty, and then he finally swings a leg firmly over, straddling Jude as he pushes himself up on his knees. His mouth finds Jude's again and he pushes--Not very hard, actually, but emphatically, tipping Jude's head back into the back of the couch and tangling tongues the moment he can.

Jude seems to understand the intent of his hand; instead of curling his fingers in, he just touches them down against skin, and at the front of Bodhi's hip his thumb makes a gentle circle--the way Bodhi sometimes does agains the back of Jude's hands. The same gentle attention he pays Bodhi's hair, he can pay to the rest of him, if Bodhi wants to allow it.

That he does, that there is allow and deny in this dynamic, is a small but powerful thing. Jude wants them both for different reasons. Denial is more conscious choice than immediate pulling away.

Bodhi is very much not pulling away, right now. Jude is already squirmed far enough out of his jeans that the hem is threatening to painfully raze his dick on the way down, and already making a low sound for the fact of Bodhi shifting over when Bodhi kisses him. It's a kiss that moves him, physically, and pushes past the boundaries they've already crossed. He lets his head tip back in a sigh and tests a gentle scrape of his teeth over Bodhi's bottom lip as the kiss evolves.

He still feels like he can take his time. He shouldn't, maybe. Jude must be getting impatient--Jude must have been impatient long ago, and this whole night is a flimsy apology for... Well, if he thinks of it like that it's like he's imagining that sex with him is something spectacular and valuable. But still. Waiting. Not having.

This is allowed. This is offered, uncertainly and consciously, and maybe he needs to stop trying to have his own fun--except that without this little bit of power he's been granted he'd be doing so much worse. He needs it. But at least he can do everything else. Jude pinned under him this way makes him feel like he could manage anything. Not that that tempts him to move Jude's hand in further or anything. Feeling invincible and testing it are different things.

He catches Jude's jaw in both hands, less concerned now with one kiss in particular (though that's very good) and more with the squirming, trapped desperation and the sweet sounds escaping.

Jude is happy to simmer under Bodhi for the rest of the night, if that's what Bodhi wants. The thrill is more than physical; it's having the decision given away, trusting Bodhi to please himself and not try for too much, not set off any of the sensitive points Jude just doesn't believe himself to have.

Then Bodhi frames his face in both hands, fingers lined with jaws, the others just-pressing to his throat, and Jude groans. He squirms with a roll of his hips, testing the weight, the grip.

If Bodhi just held him down forever Jude would take it, enjoy it. His thumb stops circling and just barely presses down, but his fingers lift, refusing to squeeze Bodhi's hip for all that arousal is tightening him up, making him want to clutch and move.

The echo of their first, shy explorations in Jude's gentle fingers makes him a little warmer. He likes that this is a difference of degree and not kind, that Jude seems to be... Well, not content, clearly more is still important, but alright with the way they're getting there.

He feels like he's made Jude wait long enough, though. In the long term and right now. The squirming and shuddering is a pretty clear indication. Bodhi pulls slowly back from his mouth and leans back a little, dropping one hand to Jude's shoulder (he does enjoy that holding down... thing), moving the other to Jude's chest and sliding down a few inches.

And then he pauses and catches Jude's eye, cocking his eyebrows in a question. He wants to be sure. (And, well, maybe he knows the answer, but he wants to hear it anyway.)

The Jude that Bodhi finds under him is as sleepily adoring and beyond words as he's ever been. He is the Jude that blinks away pleasant surprise after one of Bodhi's sudden kisses, but stretched out and smeared, the paint thin. His mouth is a wet bruise and it hands until he licks his lips; his eyes are dark and a little dull, absent of real thought, until they flicker to study Bodhi's face.

And the immediate answer to that question is the easiest smile Bodhi has seen on his face, soft and quick as a long, full blink. Jude nods, adjusting his posture slightly up the back of the couch. Shoulders roll, his hips slip a little more out of the trap of his pants, and he eventually finds his voice. "You can--whatever you want. Whenever."

And at the end of it, meaning too little or too much, he just says: "Bodhi."

It's not the first time he's been given that sort of unasked-for, faintly intimidating blanket permission. It probably only feels like a lot of responsibility because he's, well, himself, and to Jude it's... He won't think about it. Not when he could think about the perfectly inviting smile, the way his voice trips off those lips in that honey-rough voice.

Bodhi shifts again, weight onto his knees, holding himself up enough so he can move his hand between them without having to give up his grip on Jude's shoulder. Or go another moment without kissing him. It's a slow, lazy kiss, a little needy but leaving most of his attention for unbuttoning Jude's jeans. At least he can be sure the relief will be welcome.

The sound he makes can only be classified as a whimper; his head cants to one side as if to cut it off. His hand, not at Bodhi's hip, wants an equal say in the rules they've established, but even this is done lightly. A finger in Bodhi's sleeve, instead of around his wrist, pulling his hand in from Jude's shoulder toward his throat. He lifts and lays his head back down, still kissing, to show Bodhi how he wants his head cradled.

Bodhi might not be up for it, in most circumstances, but Jude wants to be held as much as he wants the rest. His hips shift in a restless way, disconnected from the putty Bodhi has made of his neck and shoulders.

He'll have to remember that guiding finger. It's a good idea. That'd require actually talking about it, admittedly, but they tried that once and there's the hand rule now, so maybe it isn't so bad. He does his best to follow Jude's careful instructions, though his focus is fuzzy enough that he can only hope he's muddling in the right direction as he leaves Jude's shoulder.

The other hand is a much simpler proposition. Bodhi lets his thumb trail over Jude's stomach once he has the button undone, almost out of space to tease in, and frees his cock with the lightest possible touch, gauging the reaction as best he can, torn between making it last and making it as good as he can.

It's familiar enough; not Bodhi in his lap, but someone. Most of the sex he'd had before this was in the improvised privacy of closets and cars, leaving most partners to hover over him and do as they pleased. There was a lot of pushing him into things, back then, and for all the care put into it, Bodhi has hardly bucked a trend.

His breath hisses out up close. There's nothing forced or accidental in the touch, so he doesn't say something stupid--he hardly speaks at all. With anyone else it would be done by now, time to go back to the gathering, but he knows Bodhi is sure, is doing what he wants.

The why of it doesn't really matter. Jude shifts enough to press his head back in Bodhi's hand and drop his mouth open on a pant of breath, teeth left exposed. Then his lips roll in, pinch in a bite, open again. The only things that don't feel utterly exposed today are his feet, pressed down into the pile of cushions and blankets.

Bodhi's hand is steady and light. It's not like this is the hard part, though Jude is only the second man he's been involved with. The only tricky part here is not getting it over with too quickly. A loose wrap of his fingers around the shaft, a shallow, almost lazy rise and fall of his hand--his instinct when it gets to this point is always make it good, make it impressive, keep them interested, but he's easy enough with Jude by now that the thought is simply there, not a high pressure worry over his own inadequacies. Nothing could prove that interest wasn't contingent on his performance more clearly than Jude's patience over the past few months. So he feels safe wanting to make it last, going easy and gentle for now.

A sign of impatience and he'll probably lose that nerve, but it's nice in the moment.

He's much more focused on watching Jude's face, riveted on every little shift and sharp breath. He surprises himself by wanting more noise, but he knew he was a sucker for that voice anyway. Shouldn't be shocked that he's getting a little greedy again. He keeps his eyes locked on Jude's, hungry for every reaction now.

Jude's concerns are a branch off the same limb as Bodhi's: don't push, don't unbalance him, don't act like a teenager. For all that it feels like it's been a year since anyone climbed in his lap like this, Jude had been fine with that. There were a thousand other concerns, a thousand moments and choices that somehow put him in this exact spot.

That Bodhi isn't kissing him anymore is indication enough of what he wants, and without permission to reach for him, he wants to give at least that much.

It's easy enough to give, any concentration that would help him stay quiet divided between rolling his hips enough to sate the desire and let Bodhi know he wanted it, and not closing his hands too tightly on any part of Bodhi in reach. At some point the hand on his hip doesn't hold at all, but just pets in idle time with Bodhi's strokes, trying to vent the energy while Jude's breath catches and huffs and whines with every touch.

His eyes are on Jude's, but he's riveted on the soft slide of Jude's fingers against his hip. The world seems reduced to just a few data points--Jude's eyes, the sounds he makes, the hot, hard weight of him in Bodhi's hand, and that little point of contact that just keeps Bodhi grounded, sweetly delicate amid all the intensity.

Bodhi leans back a little more, not wanting to widen the gap between them but too eager for a slightly different view. He could drown in Jude's eyes gladly, but the louder he whines, the more Bodhi wants. His gaze slides luxuriously down Jude's chest, settles on his hand and Jude's dick for just a moment, drinks in the increasingly desperate jerking and tensing, and then he's back with his eyes on Jude, grinning delightedly. On anyone else it'd be at least a little wicked, but Bodhi just looks innocently pleased.

Which is not to say he isn't going to ride this intoxicating power trip all the harder. He'd have this last forever if he could, but his own self control is slipping. He tightens his grip and speeds up. Now he just wants to make Jude crazy.

It's impossible not to smile back, difficult as it is to shape his mouth around biting teeth and hissing breath; it's a lopsided effort, quick and opening back up around a groan when Bodhi leans into the task and starts stripping his dick in earnest. There's a hit at the end of each stroke, like a coin dropping onto his stomach, over and over; the force of which pushes through him entirely and sinks down his spine.

And that's on top of seeing Bodhi in some kind of element, pleased with himself and utterly focused. It's that keen expression for a beloved subject turned on its head, turned up, passing between Jude's face and the precome glazing his dick and the curl of Bodhi's hand. Every push into that grip is a shuddering effort, his body made weak with pleasure, worked up from the moment they got in the door until there's nothing he can do but ride this out.

For Bodhi's sake, he does try to make it last; subsuming breaths, holding them back, blowing them out when holding them would push him over the edge. It takes minutes, instead of seconds, but eventually Jude's mouth drops, his expression closes into something wounded and there's a wordless babble of half-sounds cut off by teeth on his bottom lip. The hand at Bodhi's hip finds folds of fabric to grip, pulling at Bodhi's pants, and Jude feels something of the hot spurt on his stomach, a point of sensation on his twitching abdomen as he comes down from the high.

Bodhi leans back farther still as he watches his fingers pump and Jude's cheeks bloom with color and the little tremors that pass along the pale, delicate curve of muscle above the hip. He leaves his hand cupping Jude's head, but the points of contact are reduced and his eyes are busier than the rest of him when it ends, when neither of them can extend the moment anymore.

Bodhi only finally lets out a soft, wavering groan after Jude does, swallowing hard at the sight of that little spatter against Jude's belly. It's always the small things. He breathes deep, just once, to center himself, and slides his hand up Jude's belly and chest (just a little messily) to tangle in his hair and kiss him hard and hungry. Quick, though, because he's found a place where he's having trouble holding his tongue. "Baby, how is everything you do this good?" A little out of line with his usual nonsense, but it escapes him before he can catch it.

He's too well in the thick of it to notice where Bodhi's hand might have been before it winds up in his hair; and then he's being kissed in a way he didn't know how badly he wanted before today--tugged into it, like something vital and tempting to the point of thoughtless consumption.

Jude eases out a breath when Bodhi pulls back, a smear of a person left under him, smiling at the joke of it. "I didn't really do anything."

Yet: his hand resumes pawing at Bodhi's side, but slower, with less coordination than before. Jude isn't one to ruin a moment by pushing it past what it wants to be--rather by letting it sit and missing his chance. But patience is the game with Bodhi, and however small it seems from the outside, the payoff is worth it. Even when it's a carefully made cup of tea, instead of a hand on his dick.

Bodhi is, for a long moment, perfectly content. He vaulted over the last barriers keeping him away from Jude. Even if that won't last, it's a triumph. For the last bit there he was almost the person he should be, nothing dark and insurmountable pushing at the boundaries of his mind, no creeping sensations where only sweetness should be.

It can't last, but he feels more up to warding off his own demons than usual, pushes the worries away. He hasn't slowed down to do anything as dull as thinking ahead since he dragged Jude to the couch, and he's not going to start now. He's refusing to think about things rather than actually being comfortable, but it's a step toward staying calm and composed. He keeps his attention locked on Jude, still a bit of his weight pinning him down, kissing a lazy line up his jaw to nuzzle against his throat.

Keep the attention on Jude and hope to kiss him asleep before any actual decisions have to be made. That's the plan not to admit he has.

It's a plan Jude isn't privvy to, and might not entirely agree with besides. The kissing is good, somehow even better in the wake of everything--he's been reduced to his most basic parts, in a way. Skin, tongue, lips a little numb from the prolongued attention. Sleep is certainly on the horizon, after the fullest meal he's had since arriving and sliding along the fuzzy warmth of coming in someone else's hand; but it isn't so close that he succumbs under Bodhi's mouth.

Lifting his chin, he nudges them face to face, head turned slightly against the back of the couch. The hand not petting idly at his hip smooths over Bodhi's hair, pushing it away from his face.

"What about you?"

Bodhi tries not to let himself freeze. His sense of security was definitely a mistake. The choice was coming, and there's always still a way he can ruin everything. Make Jude feel rejected and he'll poison the whole night. Try and tough out what he'd rather avoid and Jude will probably know and be upset. He's smart like that. Kriff, he didn't want to talk about it. They'd been doing so well.

He's quiet too long, catches himself trying not to meet Jude's eyes. Of course he's found a last minute way to fuck things up.

He has to say something. What escapes him is the truth. "I... I don't know if that's a great idea..." The worst thing is it's not like he thinks Jude will suddenly do something to trigger an episode. Not after all the care they've taken. He's not even sure how much his hesitation has to do with the usual malfunctions. They're certainly making it worse, making a loss of control and a sense of exposure seem scarier, but he's never been confident this way.

It isn't something to push; even Jude knows that. He's waved people away in the past, too keyed up, too bad a smell in the air or a twitch behind his eye that he didn't want to see the other side of. But it isn't something to let go of with a shrug and a nod, either.

"If you want to try anyway, whenever, I don't mind." Eventually the petting hand stays at his hip, resting and not squeezing. "But if you don't, that's alright too."

It's less that something different than that something must be different, but Jude feels largely the same. Things are how they are; sometimes they change, and they stay that kind of same awhile longer. His current mood doesn't much allow for any extreme feeling, on what they do with the rest of the firelight.

Jude's mildness and care don't erase his worries like sometimes happens, but they lessen. It's not fair to hold back on Jude, not fair to refuse that vulnerability. He doesn't have to be confident. Kriff, he'd still rather not, but he recognizes in that the reluctance to upset a status quo he can live with, not a real positive desire. It's a risk. He hates risks. Some things are worth those.

"If... if you want to try, I..." He hopes he doesn't sound too reluctant. He is, but that's not the point. The easy way is to just curl up around Jude and drift off, and it's a hell of a temptation.

"First try's never perfect," he murmurs, the inevitable squeeze at Bodhi's hip not a real grip, not a hold, but just calling attention down and to that side. Jude lets go, patting the couch next to him, starting to turn a bit toward one side. He imagines it must be easier, with a little bit of distance. "We can just see how it goes, it's okay."

There's a yawn under his voice, stifled, expressed in a bit of a stretch as he moves. "Just sit, next to me or--" Jude bites his lip, not so fuzzy as to blindly make the offer. "Would it be better if I used my mouth?"

Just to break my own fall

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