15 March 2001
X-Men
Scott/Warren

That day, in the attic, with Warren.

Disclaimers: If they were ours, there'd probably be more angst.

Authors' Note: Te's still not sure how this happened. One minute she was trying to encourage Jane, the next she was somehow sucked in to her cruel, cruel web of seduction.

Jane denies that this was her doing. Te teases. Jane was just commenting, and the next thing you know, Te's throwing her a story-seed, and it's not her fault.

Acknowledgments: Te: For my Jessica, and my sweet we...
Jane: For Te, who's getting me in touch with my inner slut.
 
 

Naked
by Janete

Scott's more naked without clothes than anyone else in the world. Especially when he was so young, and afraid of himself, at that age... gawky, too thin, but Warren was already perfect and it was too late because Scott already wanted to touch. Needed to.

And he half-expected Warren to be this vast, glossy, untouchable surface, and he was shocked by the warmth his fingers encountered. Then more shocked by the look Warren gave him, which was somehow so stripped down that the bare mechanics of it were visible, like damaged clockwork. And still braver, stronger, fiercer, more beautiful than Scott was ever going to be himself. Warren like liquid sex under his tongue when Scott finally touched his mouth to that stark, gold collarbone.

Ohhh...

Just a kiss. Not even a kiss, or at least not a real kiss with the open-mouth and spit-swapping thing because it seems. Right now, this moment, with his mouth against Warren's collarbone and the sound of his own breath loud in the huge attic, it seems both dirty and necessary, in a way it hasn't before, and he's getting an erection and his hands ache and the only thing that will soothe them is Warren's skin but he's frozen. Here.
 

If he pulls back right now, he can be. Something. A tiny tight ball of wanting deep in Warren's personal space. Impossible for Warren not to see his erection, though. To feel it. Utterly unwelcome ache right up until the second that Warren closes his hand around it and just holds on. Other hand still at his side. Very serious blue (purple-blue, and what did pure blue look like, he can hardly remember) look trained on Scott.

That he can reach through. Not to Warren's own still-soft cock, but up behind him to stroke the hard-muscled place between his wings. Just softly, but the wings flex at his first touch. Cutting off the light for split seconds. And then Scott's hand runs up to the feathered base of one wing and strokes it and Warren's hand tightens on him, and it feels so good it almost hurts.

And he can't hold back a gasp, stop himself from pressing that space between Warren's wings a little harder, and it's like a circuit's been completed. Something out of physics, the natural law of whatever they're doing here, now, because Warren is so much closer.

Heat in the tiny space between them, making Scott's skin prickle, making him sweat, and it's need now. Pure as anything he's ever felt, and all Scott wants is to touch Warren, and be touched God, everywhere. Pushing into Warren's hand and he feels... no, it's the act itself that makes him gasp again, mouth open and vulnerable to Warren's first kiss.

Open-mouthed, lips to lips. Sharing air more than anything else and his vision is going wild, redder. Glimpses, flashes. Warren's body, Warren's hair flashing gold and red in the sunlight through the tiny windows, Warren's hand on him, slowly beginning to move.

Warren's fingers find the vein on the underside of his cock and stroke it, very carefully, like a map he'll have to follow later. Tiny breathy laugh against Scott's mouth as he gasps, twist of a smile. The eyes half an inch from his glasses are open, but not malicious. Only very, very wide. The pupils are huge.

Embarrassing that he can be led around like this, but it only takes one pointed tug to draw him in against Warren's body. Scott's erection tucks against the slight protrusion of Warren's pelvis, and Warren's hands come around behind him to hold him there. Fingers spread over his ass firmly enough that he'd have to struggle to get loose.

And he thrusts. Gently a couple of times, to see how it feels, then hard once. Which makes his whole spine arch and his head tip back so that for a second all he can do is breathe hard at the ceiling. Bare-throated like someone asking for execution. Moment of absolute terror as Warren's capped teeth graze his throat. Unprepared for the tenderness of it, like the faintest kiss. Soft lips and just the faintest suggestion of stubble against his larynx.

He's going to fall. For a second he's sure he is. The window beside them is an invitation to gravity. Light and vertigo. He grabs at both wings to keep himself upright, and feels Warren arch against him for the first time in response. So he closes his fingers more carefully around the bone-and-feather joints and massages and discovers that every touch brings a sound out from between those perfect lips, like feathers moving whip-fast through the air.

Those sounds, Warren's breath. The hint of words Scott can't quite understand beyond that they're encouraging. Moves to the side slightly, the need to mar, to mark, to do anything and he's doing it, slipping his fingers with this awful, tender intimacy between Warren's on his cock.

Warren's thumb teasing at the moisture there, Warren's hot, smooth forehead nudging, pushing against Scott's throat and Scott does it. Rubs the head of his cock against the soft, finely haired feathers. Against the hot, silky flesh hidden beneath and Warren's shuddering, moving their hands together, over and around in crazed circles and loops that make no sense. There's this incredible building need for more in Scott, and yes, he wants everything, every vague dirty thought from schoolyard whispers coalescing into this mass of want that makes his knees shake and he pulls his cock gently out of Warren's grip -- God, he almost can't at the feel of those calluses on his shaft, rough and needful at once.

Finally sinking to his knees, finding the slightly damp spot where the feathers are mussed and leaning in to taste, tongue there.

Silky hot against his face, wing shifting and moving and Warren moaning aloud now, Warren's hand in his hair, on his cheek. Smell of their sex seemingly everywhere and when Scott can taste only his own spit he moves his face to Warren's still-clothed erection and nuzzles there, breathing deep and pushing with his cheek as he feels Warren's hot length twitch and harden behind the fine cotton.

And maybe if it were someone else's clothes, he'd be willing to just dive under them, but Warren's. Every article of clothing as perfect as his wings and teeth. Wonderful to just press his face into the soft weave and feel the hard flesh there underneath it, a vague shape that must be nearly like his own, but oh, different. And moving, a little, all of its own accord. Through the cotton, he opens his mouth around it, presses at the bulge. Soaks the outer layer, and then suddenly it's salty and warm and he realizes that Warren's got to be leaking too.

He's aware he's being cradled. Warren's careful, very careful, not to knock Scott's glasses loose, but everything except the carefully positioned wrists is desperate. Fingers at the base of his skull move him, push him in, stroke his face desperately. Tip of a finger in his mouth beside the now-soaked cloth and the flesh inside pressing outward.

Far too much like reverence when Scott drops his whole body low, stares up, and unzips the tailored trousers. His invisible eyes huge the way Warren's eyes are huge. Just enough of an angle that he has to tilt his chin up, that instead of hitting his mouth, it rubs along his cheek beside Warren's hand, leaving a cool, sticky trail that Scott traces with a finger and brings almost absently to his own lips.

He brings the finger out, wet from his mouth, and traces the soft edges of the cock with it. Loves the shudder he gets in response, and the wing-flare that changes the light around him suddenly.

To make himself tall enough, he has to bring his knees under him again, and when he pushes up, he's fiercely aware of his own erection hanging between his legs. Nakeder this way than he's ever been before. Cold where the light doesn't touch him.

Scott opens his mouth, very carefully, and takes the head of Warren's cock inside. Pauses at the noise Warren makes: a sob like he might actually burst into tears, or like he can't breathe. Sounding very, very young. And he's just about to stop, to let go and straighten and ask what's wrong when Warren's hands both slide down around his skull and tilt his head upward, making a straight line of his throat and holding him there. So that suddenly his mouth is deep, deeper than he could have imagined, and his teeth aren't such a threat to the delicate skin on his tongue, and when Warren thrusts convulsively, somehow he can still breathe. Scary but not terrifying, and he's more than prepared to stay here and worship.

Only. One hand's fingers reach out and sink themselves into the wings again, pulling them in a little closer. Letting Warren feel that while Scott's other hand slides around to the base of his spine and strokes down from there.

Hot and cold and needful and Warren, perfect Warren in his mouth. No tease, no snide, hurtful words. No pride as he thrusts deep into Scott's mouth, moaning and gasping, eyes huge, searching for Scott's own and thrusting. Slick, hard heat pressing down on his tongue, just the right size for his mouth, and the sudden desperate knowledge that this is what he's made for.

This, right here, and nothing else, Warren pushing into him again and again, dripping pre-come all over his tongue for Scott to lick and taste, brushing at the back of his throat just barely soft enough not to make Scott cough.

Warren's fingers digging a rough massage against the back of his skull, demanding this and Scott's flushing hot, helpless drool ribboning down the side of his chin and he has to stop that, such a mess, so right and he swallows just as Warren thrusts and suddenly Warren sinks in that last inch and Scott's nose is buried in Warren's musk and Scott's hands grip too hard for a heartbeat and his eyes are wide and this. This is being fucked.

Being taken and Scott groans helpless, feels as though he's geysering pre-come and Warren thrusts harder now, faster, and it hurts and it's wonderful and it's over too soon as Warren gushes hot down his throat, hands gripping hard enough to leave bruises, groin flush against Scott's face, sobbing out an unnameable sound before slumping, near-collapsing, slipping still hard from Scott's wet mouth.

A moment, breathing, Scott's eyes wet and he can feel it all again, his own need painful now and he thinks he might beg but Warren finally does fall to his knees, wrap Scott in arms and wings and kisses him very hard.

Just that pressure against him is almost enough. Mostly-naked Warren-body against his own profound nakedness, his mouth forced farther open than he would have believed it would go, and he can almost believe that Warren's looking for his own taste in Scott's mouth.

Then Warren settles a bit, onto his knees with the wings safely behind him, and pulls Scott into his lap. Sitting cross-wise with his back against an arm that's more substantial than he thought it would be, and his shoulder against Warren's shoulder, and he's surprised, because this is actually tender, and it's the last thing he expected. Safe angle to keep kissing while Warren grips him, hard, just behind the head of his cock, and starts stroking. Not fast, but tight, making every callus count. Eyes closed, kissing wet into Scott's mouth and holding him around the shoulders.

He's grateful for that support when he comes. Not instantaneous, but like something being pulled out of him by every deliberate stroke along his length. The noises he's making in his throat make him sound like a kid, or an animal, or like he's crying, and there are even more tears on his face, now. Too wired not to let his body twist while Warren continues to stroke him right up until he goes soft. And even then, Warren's hand stays there, protective between his legs, rolling his balls slowly in the palm of one hand.

Scott breathes in convulsively, and relaxes. Is struck, suddenly, by the radiance around them, just behind his head. By Warren's hands, one on his balls and the other cradling his face. By the raw, naked eyes staring at him. Waiting.

Doesn't know what to do or say but everything's been pulled out of him, fear and shame and everything but the need for Warren, for more, not urgent so much as pervasive. Scott nudges against Warren's leg to encourage him to stretch out in a V, holding eye contact and forgetting to breathe, too much to gasp and lose this touch, this connection he can't even begin to understand.

Finally shifts back between Warrens legs, back to chest, soft cock nudging against the base of his spine, arms wrapped around his chest and Scott can almost, almost relax.

"Was that. Was that OK?"

Warren responds by bending his head, and gently mouthing and kissing the juncture of throat and shoulder, slowly and thoroughly.

The sun is warm, the dust bright soft sparkles in the pleasantly musky air, and Scott eases. Lets his head fall to Warren's shoulder and closes his eyes.

janete
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