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[ each twist of freddie's hand is echoed down his spine, coiling in the pit of his stomach. his breath trembles on its way in and out of his mouth. ]

I could, but none would be any kinder than the first.

[ he wants to touch, but he wants freddie to not stop what he's doing more. the most he dares is to tilt his head slightly and expose his throat for freddie's mouth. he pushes his hips into the next upwards stroke, pressing his toes into the kitchen floor. there's a pricking sensation in one, but the thought of the glass he probably stepped on is distant and the pain is background noise.

if freddie ever has concerns about losing his touch, cassidy will readily help dispel them for him. ]

The bird was easier to manage, if you ask me.

[ his speech is still coherent, but it's fraying at the edges and the syllables run into and over each other, his accent more pronounced than usual. ]

[Who'd have thought a pirate would stay so well behaved. Not that Freddie would have brooked anything different - it still makes him smile as Cassidy's breath makes ragged waves in his hair.]

Did I say kind?

[Quite apart from kind not being sexy either (Freddie clamps down on his kindess, shows it in small quiet ways and hides it in brash noisy ones), he can't stand to think of anyone being kind to him. It feels like pity, or like a lie, and Freddie has a way of stripping things down to the honesty at their bones, brutal or not.

He's not being particularly kind now, leaning his cheek against Cassidy's shoulder and letting the little tremors of muscles aching to give tell him exactly how close he is.

And then stopping, keeping a grip too tight to be thrust against, as close to the edge as he can take it without letting Cass spill over.

A pause. Drawn out.

And his wrist twists again, judges how many strokes it can allow and - pauses.

Cassidy should have some names for him, soon.]

[ staying well behaved, for the moment, serves his interests. his interests being anything to keep the pressure and the friction where he wants it. as the coil winds tighter and tighter, his fists squeeze harder over the counter and his noises become more frequent, until he's right on the edge-

and walks straight into a brick wall. ]

Christ.

[ he gasps and bangs the heel of his palm into the countertop. an odd twist of pleasure and frustration racks his spine, shaking down to his toes. he's just as unprepared for it the second time, and he cries out in protest, and the slightest bit of pain. ]

You damned, rutting bastard. [ he sucks in a breath. ] I ought to give you a bloody end, you blasted scoundrel.

[ the urge to touch- this time to throttle freddie- grows stronger, nearly boiling over, but he keeps the lid on it just a little longer. instead he bites his lip and tries to move his hips, anything to bring the friction back. ]

That's better. Christ was a bit full on.

[Freddie's voice is tight with his own concentration, a fucking feat considering the way his focus is still swimming side to side with every shift of his head, like he's standing on a tilting deck. Cassidy's shoulder grounds him for a while, until that's heaving too and he has to lift his chin, looking up to see Cassidy's lips narrowing with something on that knife-edge between pleasure and pain, then forming into the expected curses.

He could keep this up for hours, but he doubts Cassidy's restraint would hold so long. And his wrist's a little achy by now, so...]

Shame about the bloody end, though. I was going to give you a happy one.

[Still is, although it's an agonising moment more before he starts to jerk Cassidy off again, slick, smooth movements. It won't take long. His voice is soft, giving permission-]

Come on.

[ hours of this and cassidy likely would've lost his mind. just a few minutes of it has him in the incoherent state freddie wanted. any retorts he would've normally given are beyond his reach, and he's only able to swear, slipping them between panting breaths and moans.

and then there's freddie's name, uttered like a curse and a prayer, with mixed relief and exasperation as his hand moves again. it's not a title or a nickname or his full name, it's the one reserved for serious moments or moments where he forgets himself, forgets to say anything but the one thing in his head: just freddie.

he doesn't know if it counts as touching, but he's past the point of caring when his back arches and he drops his head to freddie's shoulder. it hits him like a wave, the violent kind, the kind that hurt as they crash into you and over you and through you, and the real pleasure is the relief you feel when it's over- and his teeth find freddie's skin, but it does little to silence the sound he makes as he comes.

the aftershocks haven't even subsided before his hands are on freddie, sliding over his ribs and up, on either side of his spine. one curls into his hair and pulls, forcing his head back so he can meet his eye. his voice is low and rough as sand when he says, ]

If you ever do that again, I'll lay you open.

[ but the threat is somewhat undercut by his shortness of breath, and by the way he kisses freddie immediately after. ]

[If Freddie's the wave that sends Csssidy stumbling, then he's very still about it. Barely flinching at the drag of teeth across his shoulder (though his own teeth are pressed tight together, a neat white row, in response). Still and cool as Cass comes against his hand, striping his skin sticky.

He draws in a slow breath that follows the path of Cassidy's hands where they run up across his ribs, and lets his head tip pliantly in response to the drag of fingers in his hair.

His eyes are open through that brief, hard kiss, blinking slightly when there's enough space between them again to let light floor back in.]

That sounds nice. You can try.

[And then, as before, a hand pressed flat to Cassidy's chest. Freddie wipes his palm clean there with unusual delicacy before pressing harder - pushing Cassidy back far enough for him to free himself from his spot on the countertop. The smile he gives him is bland and noncommital.]

Not tonight, though. I'm not really in the mood.

[ the push has him stumbling back a few steps, only because he's too loose-limbed to offer much resistance. he only ensures freddie doesn't slip on his way down, keeping one hand on his waist, the other hovering around his elbow. he makes no comment about the mess that's been transferred to his chest, and reaches for a dish towel to clean himself off.

the ground feels uneven all of a sudden, though it may just be from the blood rushing around his body, trying to find equilibrium again. more likely it has to do with freddie's stillness and the smile he can't read, but he'd just as soon blame it on what was, truthfully, a fantastic handjob. the piece of glass he's sure is stuck in his sole smarts worse than a moment ago.

he doesn't step aside just yet, tossing the towel back on the counter. ]

No? And just what do you be in the mood for?

[ two fingers hook in the waist of freddie's jeans at the point where the brief trail of fine, blond hair disappears. ]

Do you not wish me to return the favour?

[ he already had a mind to, with his hand or on his knees. ]

[Cassidy's mind is a predictable thing - though, so would almost anyone's be, given what's just gone before. Except, perhaps, Freddie's, who's far more given to contrary. If nothing else, it should keep Cassidy on his (splintered) toes.

He stops, once he's down from the counter, long enough to check his footing and that the joints of his knees won't remember how much he's drunk tonight and slip out from underneath him immediately. Long enough for Cassidy to catch two fingers under the waist of his jeans. Freddie glances down at that, carefully locking his own hand around Cassidy's wrist.]

I've had you. You having me isn't on offer anymore.

[ never has cassidy met a person more contrary than freddie. rejection, even partial rejection, isn't something to which he's overly accustomed. then again, sleeping in the same person's bed nearly every night isn't something to which he's overly accustomed either. he sniffs, looking from their hands to freddie's face. ] As you will.

[ but he doesn't move to take his hand back. ]

What of returning to bed? [ or, going to bed, in freddie's case, as he was never there to start. ] Be that on offer?

[ there's a pause. he lifts his eyebrows, glancing at the ceiling. ]

Or, we could smash more furniture.

[ he can only hope freddie recognizes it for the facetious comment it is, and not a serious suggestion. ]

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