thisfaceismine | (no subject)

He certainly knows what he's doing. Philip has thought that more than once tonight already, but every so often Freddie does something that reminds him and he doesn't even know what it is now, if it's the way Freddie laughs or the hitch of his legs higher or the way he speaks or jerks himself off in time, stroking with every single one of Philip's thrusts, but whatever it is, he's aware all over again of the fact that he's found himself someone rather experienced tonight and it's paying off.

Which isn't to say it's all Philip needs. He's found great satisfaction with people who have never had sex before, with people for whom it's been some time, for they often carry with them a need to please, but there are nights when all he wants is someone who can talk like this, someone who knows what to do, who knows what the other person wants without even having to ask and Freddie has more than fulfilled that role this evening.

"Look at you," he breathes, unable to do anything but look, his gaze raking over Freddie's body, over his face, the flex and shift of muscles in his chest and his shoulder as he strokes his own cock. Philip's hips are still rolling, thrusting into him harder, and if Freddie's encouragement is anything to go by, what he's doing is exactly what he wants. "Christ, just look at you." It's fucking glorious.

Philip's staring down at him, sweat-damp hair hanging over his eyes, cheeks glistening. It's hardly the first time someone's looked at him like that, definitely not the first time someone's done so while actively fucking him. But it gets to him every time, fills him up like a drug, fills him like the best cock he's ever had.

And it doesn't hurt that Philip is so hot. Hot and older and clearly capable of fucking Freddie into next week if he so much as asks for it. He's panting now, chasing every breath as Philip pounds into him, occasionally stopping his own strokes just to grip tight, to hold himself back from coming to soon. As overwhelmingly good as this is, he doesn't want it over just yet, doesn't want to come too soon.

"Like it?" he finally manages, the words rough and breathless as he shoves his hips back again, grunting sharply at how deep Philip is inside him. "Like what you see?"

He wonders if Philip likes it enough to want this again, if the next time could possibly feel even half as good.

Before Philip can even respond, he's groaning again, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he arches, muscles clamping down hard around Philip's cock, as he pulses in his own palm. He can't stop it now, doesn't even try to, just lets the wave crash over him, coming in streaks across his stomach and chest, working himself through it with stilted, rough strokes.

"Shit," Philip breathes, caught somewhere between the sheer pleasure of watching Freddie come and the blood rushing through him, pounding through his veins, hurtling him closer to his own release. He'd meant what he'd said earlier, though, he'd wanted to watch Freddie as he comes and it's certainly not a disappointment, the way his body arches, the expression on his face, and Philip continues to thrust into him, dragging him through it, dragging himself closer toward his own orgasm, feeling the tight pulse of Freddie's muscles around his cock.

It's moments like these he most detests condoms and how regularly they're used now. He'd like nothing more than to come inside Freddie, to leave him feeling it in more ways than one.

And it's with this thought, the idea of fucking Freddie without a condom, that makes Philip come finally with a hoarse shout, his hips driving forward once more, burying himself inside Freddie, wave and wave of pleasure rolling over him until he has to brace himself hard against the back of the couch or risk collapsing on top of Freddie.

Philip doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down, fucking in hard as Freddie falls over the edge, fucking him through his orgasm, hitting his prostate over and over even as Freddie comes all over his fingers.

"Shit, shit," Freddie breathes, blinking his eyes open as Philip's thrusts turn more erratic, hips rolling in deep and then still as his face contorts and then relaxes into pleasure. Still riding his own wave, Freddie bites his lip and bears down, doing what he can to push Philip through his orgasm, nearly wishing he could see the evidence of it, feel Philip's come leak down his thighs.

Not for the first time, he wonders what else Philip might be into. If he'd let Freddie get him off with his mouth, if he'd come all over Freddie's skin, get him filthy in a way so few of the men Freddie's been with ever have.

He's nearly laughing then as he reaches to curl his hand loosely around Philip's wrist where it's braced against the couch, lifting the other to graze down the side of Philip's sweat-slick jaw. "Love it when a man knows what he's doing," he says with a grin, clenching his muscles once as he lets out a low, stilted sort of moan. "Christ, that was a good fuck."

After awhile at this angle, Philip's knees are going to ache, but he can't bring himself to move just yet, not when he can still feel Freddie's muscles still clenching tight around his cock. He'll have to move soon enough, have to rid himself of the condom and possibly get something with which they can clean up, but he doesn't care to just yet.

"Shit, that was enjoyable," he says on an exhale, almost a laugh, and then, ever so reluctantly, he eases himself free of Freddie's ass. Careful not to hurt him, Philip all but collapses on the couch beside Freddie, divesting himself of the condom and leaning to the side to toss it into the small trashcan under the table.

And while he may not be one to plan for the future, he can certainly see himself doing that again. He gets different things from different people, as close to an emotional connection as he gets with Fiona and Coop, some of the best sex he's had with Neil and now Freddie. This could easily become a habit.

"We abandoned the throne," he points out with a smirk.

Freddie isn't too eager for Philip to slide out right away, but he doesn't fight it any either, just bites back a quiet, disappointed sort of groan as Philip eases back, slow and slick with lube still. It feels immediately empty though it's a bit of a relief as well and he reaches down instinctively, grinning at how stretched he still is before sliding his hand up to the swell of his balls and then the mess he's made over his stomach.

Collecting a bit of it on his fingers, he reaches up then, catching Philip's eyes again before smearing it lightly across his jaw, teasing just below Philip's bottom lip.

"That was all you, mate," he says with a grin, his legs sliding down to rest over Philip's thighs now as the low afterglow slides over him, his muscles pleasantly worn and sated. "Was all set to ride you, though I can't say I regret how this turned out." He cocks his head then, smirk still unwavering. "Maybe next time I can blow you in it though. How's that sound?"

It's not often Freddie cares much about a next time, but it's also not often he finds someone who can fuck as well as Philip. There'll be a next time if he has any say in it.

Philip grins, both at the sensation of Freddie's wet fingers gliding across his skin and the suggestion of a next time. His tongue flicks out against his lower lip, tasting Freddie there, and he gives an exaggerated stretch, as if he needs time to consider his options when he knows he'd like nothing more than a repeat performance of this.

He glides one hand over Freddie's leg, up toward his thigh, feeling the heat of his skin, the way his muscles shift and jump. Whatever connection they have may be superficial, linked entirely to sex, Philip has yet to decide, but even that is entirely worth keeping.

"Think it sounds like something we might be able to arrange," he says, his voice low, and he doesn't know how it's possible, his body itself refuses to respond right now, but he can still feel a low stirring of arousal at the thought of more time with Freddie. "The things I can think to do with you..."

Philip's hand smooths up his thigh and over his hip, the touch warm and firm. Freddie stretches out a bit further, arches his back as he slides his sticky fingers down the side of Philip's neck and over his shoulder. Those eyes are still dark and locked on him and Freddie finds himself wanting to bask in it, wanting to keep them here, on him, at least for the night.

He bites his lip at Philip's promise, shifting just a bit more so he can push up onto his elbow. There's a thin layer of quickly cooling sweat all down his chest and belly and his cock is already starting to soften between his thighs. The ache in his arse is just as he likes it, pleasantly sore in that way that means he'll definitely be feeling it tomorrow and he cocks his head as he looks at Philip, biting his bottom lip briefly.

"What sorts of things are those?" he asks, squeezing Philip's thighs gently with his own, encouraging. "Not the candlelit dinner for two sorts of things, are they?"

"Not unless that's something you really want," Philip answers with a low laugh, watching the way Freddie bites his lower lip, shifting as he feels his muscles tense briefly. He has absolutely no problem treating the people he's fucking well, has no qualms taking them out for a meal if that's what they want, no issue being seen with them.

It's taken a bit of an adjustment in Darrow, given the way things were done in the thirties, but Philip thinks he's come a long way from groping Ianto under the shadows of a table. No one here is going to try to hurt him for such a thing and if they were, he'd be able to fight back without being called any number of derogatory terms.

"But what other sorts of things?" he asks musingly, flashing a brief, sated grin. "I'm already thinking about how much I'd like to fuck your mouth. Or fuck you with my tongue, until you're begging for my cock again. I'd say both of those sound like they might be fun."

It's not that Freddie dislikes candlelit dinners, really. But it's not something he'd readily choose himself if he's honest. There are other ways to pass the time and he'd rather spend a night lounging on a couch nursing a beer or a glass of cheap wine than hunched over a table of overpriced food. And anyway, he's never tasted a wine worth more than thirty-five quid.

Philip's response is rather interesting though and Freddie can't help but wonder what this might be. It doesn't feel like Philip's about to ask him on a date, but there's clearly the expectation of more. And it's an expectation Freddie very much hopes to become reality. But are they friends?

Then again, does it even matter?

With a grin, he pushes up on his elbows a bit, relaxing back as he tips his head. "Both a good start," Freddie admits, dropping his gaze down to Philip's chest for a moment. Next time you should come on me," he decides, shifting to balance his weight on one arm then as he reaches out to graze his fingers along the jut of Philip's collarbone. "All down my neck chest. After you fuck my mouth, of course."

Were it physically possible, Philip suspects he'd be near to hard all over again just based on this bit of conversation. As it is, the corner of his mouth hitches into a grin and his fingers tighten briefly, pressing into Freddie's skin before his grip relaxes and he leans back against the couch cushions, looking rather pleased with himself, Freddie, and the situation as a whole.

He'd been with men before in the thirties who had clearly hated themselves, who'd wanted to be degraded as a punishment for what they thought was an abomination of their own sexual preferences. Philip has never gone in for that, has never seen anything to be ashamed of, but he'd certainly taken advantage of men who wanted to be fucked in that manner. But it isn't like that with Freddie. Not in the slightest.

And Philip likes that much more.

"Get you all dirty," he murmurs. "Yes, that'd be something."

Philip's grip on him tightens for only a moment before he flashes a wider grin and sits back. With a groan, Freddie pulls his legs back and then rolls so he can sit upright on the sofa, his arse pleasantly sore as he shifts against the cushions.

Resting a hand atop Philip's thigh he settles back, nestling easily against Philip's arm as he brushes his fingertips along the hair of Philip's thigh, up and back down again. It'd be something alright, he thinks, tipping his head back a with a grin as he pictures it. He'd be on his knees or on his back, mouth sore and bruised, Philip hovering over him, stroking himself off, sweaty and gorgeous.

He turns his head then to grin over at Philip. "Should give you my number," he decides, his voice cool and lazy, like he doesn't care whether or not Philip agrees. "'Case you've any need to use that throne again."

"I'd tell you to put it in my phone, but damned if I know where it is right now," Philip admits with a laugh, casting a glance out toward the rest of the room. His trousers and jacket are both on the floor and it's inevitably in one of those pockets, but both are much too far away for him to have enough strength to reach at the moment. "We'll find it before you go anywhere."

Because that's certainly an offer he's not going to turn down. Darrow isn't like the rest of the world he's grown used to. Even in the thirties, when things such as this had to be kept to the shadows, there had been a grander scale available to him. He could move easily between Dublin and Swords and Malahide without much effort, not to mention finding his way to London or anywhere in France with relative ease. More people, more space, it all led to more opportunity.

Darrow doesn't have that, so he's going to take what's offered to him.

Philip's the type of liar Freddie knows well, the type that's easily missed if only because one can never be quite sure what is truth and what isn't. The type who makes lying into a constant artform of second-guessing one's own instint. He's exactly the type of liar as Christopher, exactly the type of liar as Freddie himself.

Which means, of course, there's no telling if Philip is only saying what he is at the moment to prolong the lie and make it more believable or if he does have every intent of getting Freddie's number before he leaves.

Either way, Freddie tells himself he doesn't care. It's a small enough city; if Freddie's meant to meet up with Philip again, he has no doubt it'll happen. If not...

Well, he'll just not think about the if not.

"Fancy a fag?" he asks then, still watching his own fingers trail over Philip's leg before tipping his head to grin at him.

"Well, if you're going to get up for that, you might as well get my telephone, too," Philip says with a grin. "And then we won't forget. I think it's in my jacket pocket." And his jacket is crumpled on the floor a few feet from Freddie's jeans.

Too far for Philip to want to go right now, but if Freddie is going to get up for his cigarettes, then he's welcome to the telephone as well. Not to mention the fact that Philip thinks he'd rather like to watch Freddie walk naked across the room and rifle through the articles of clothing left on the floor. He's really rather incredible, Philip had meant every word of it, and he does enjoy being able to take that in.

"Get them both, see what watching you does for me," he murmurs, leaning back in close to Freddie, their lips nearly grazing as he speaks. "Maybe I'll be able to take you to the bedroom yet this evening."

Philip's lips are just a breath away from Freddie's as he speaks and Freddie doesn't move at all for a moment, soaking in that nearness, in how every word sends warmth all through him. "Think I'll be a bit insulted if you can't get it up again tonight," he says, his voice all tease as he pushes up to his feet, fingers lingering atop Philip's thigh until the last possible moment before he walks the few feet over to grab Philip's jacket up off the floor. As promised, he finds Philip's phone in one pocket and then checks an inner pocket for the pack of cigarettes, grinning when he finds it and making no effort to hide that he's bumming one. It's not like he carries them himself, after all.

Well aware Philip's still watching intently, Freddie struts a bit, grinning to himself as he wanders back the table by the armchair, the one from which Philip had earlier retrieved the lube and condoms. "You've a light in here?" he asks, already opening the drawer as he glances over his shoulder at Philip.

Sure enough, he finds a lighter near the back of the drawer, palming it in his other hand as he wanders over to stand before Philip. He offers the fag he's pulled to Philip, holding it out between thumb and forefinger and arching an eyebrow, lips still quirked in a grin.

He's going to forget all about the cigarettes and the telephone in just a moment at this rate, though he knows already he very much wants to call Freddie over here again and again. Reaching up, he takes the cigarette from Freddie, pressing it between his lips, then takes his telephone and tosses it onto the cushion beside him, never once taking his gaze off Freddie's.

It's easy now, with both his hands free, to anchor them back at Freddie's hips and tug. It may be another few minutes before either of them will be capable of much, but that doesn't mean Philip doesn't want to enjoy the warmth of his body while he has the chance.

"Come here," he says, as if Freddie is terribly far away. "And light it for me."

The mobile's tossed aside for now, bouncing lightly on the cushion of the sofa as Philip leans in to take the cigarette from Freddie's fingers, holding it between his lips. Warm hands settle on Freddie's hips then and he grins as he lets Philip tug him in a little closer.

The positioning puts Philip's face at about level with Freddie's chest and he smirks down at him as he flicks the tab of the lighter and sets the tip aflame. Still grinning, Freddie runs the fingers of his other hand through Philip's hair, tugging it back playfully away from his forehead before skimming his thumb along Philip's temple as he fiddles with the lighter in his other hand.

"You make much of a habit of this?" he asks, no judgement at all in his tone. "Taking boys back to your flat for a nice fuck."

Philip takes a deep drag from the cigarette, letting his head move with the touch of Freddie's hand, the tug on his hair, and he grins as he blows out smoke, then offers the cigarette back to Freddie.

"Boys, girls," he answers with a slow, lazy shrug, fingertips grazing along Freddie's hips before his hands fall away and he nods for Freddie to join him on the couch again. This isn't over, he's suddenly very certain of that, but he's rather looking forward to discovering just what else they can manage to get up to tonight. "Whoever might be interested and is interesting in return."

He may be what some would consider quite sexually active, but he's still discerning. Philip won't take just anyone home. There has to be something about them that draws him and in terms of wanting to see someone again, it has to be more than that. It's easy for him to find someone to spend the night with, he's never wanting for company, but he doesn't like being bored. And Freddie certainly hasn't been boring.

Freddie stares at the purse of Philip's lips around the end of the cigarette, the slight hollow of his cheeks as he breathes in and the plume of smoke when he exhales. Grinning, Freddie skims his fingers down the side of Philip's neck as the cigarette's passed back to him and he tucks it between his lips.

"Ah, so you find me interesting," he says on a quick exhale, his grin widening as he takes Philip's invitation and drops down onto the cushions beside him, lazily draping his left leg over Philip's right and leaning into him. "But you barely even know me, wouldn't you say? For all you know, sex is all I'm good for."

He hands the cigarette back then, tipping his head against Philip's shoulder to grin up at him. "Though, still might be worth it, yeah. I've been told I'm a fairly good fuck."

"I'm a good judge of character," Philip answers simply and that's the truth. It might prove that Freddie isn't of any particular use to him the way Coop has turned out to be, but that isn't the only reason Philip likes to keep people around. Sometimes he just likes to watch, to see how a person works, what makes them tick, and there's no use pretending all people are equally as interesting. That simply isn't true. More people are boring than aren't. Most people are vacant and insipid and terribly dull.

Freddie isn't. Philip doesn't need to know him well to know that.

His hand drops to Freddie's thigh, fingers curling over warm skin, and there are times when he's presented with such a smooth, unblemished expanse of skin that he just wants to leave marks all over. Somehow he doubts Freddie would mind much. Blowing smoke into the air, he tips his head back, then looks over at Freddie, appraising.

"No," he says, agreeing with himself. "You are a good fuck, but that isn't it. We'll find out what it is."

Philip drops a hand to Freddie's thigh, fingers curling just a bit as Freddie rests his arm lightly over Philip's, tracing fingertips along the veins at the back of Philip's hand. It's still a bit too soon for him to get hard again, though he can feel the familiar warmth settling between his thighs, and not all from the fucking he's gotten already.

"Mmm, a hidden talent," he says with a smirk, taking in the lines and shadows of Philip's profile once more. It's a nice face, one of the nicest he's seen here and that's saying something about this town, he's found.

The accent is almost nicer.

"But what about you?" he asks with a tip of his head, gaze lingering once more on the red of Philip's lips, the dark of his stubble. "Know you're good at fucking, obviously. But what else? Is it hard to find work when all the technology's changed? What is it you do anyway? Lawyer? Business tycoon? Painter?"

"I work for Todd Chad," he admits with a smirk, taking another drag from the cigarette before holding it back out to Freddie, offering it to him to take straight to his mouth from Philip's fingers if he wants. "Part of his personal security team. Mostly that means I stand around and occasionally make it known I carry a pistol. Nothing more. It's terribly boring, but it pays incredibly well."

And it's legitimate work, which leaves him open to taking other jobs without making it obvious he's doing anything illegal. It keeps his income looking legal, too, which is important. Philip does not want to end up in prison in a city where he can't even leave.

"It's more or less what I did in Ireland," he says. "I tended to offer my security services wherever they were most needed and to whoever paid the best."

Smirking, Freddie leans in to take the proffered cigarette with his lips, taking a quick puff before plucking it away so he can speak easier. He's still rested against Philip, fingertips of his other hand still grazing over Philip's arm.

"Does that make you a rent-a-cop or a bodyguard?" he asks, just to be cheeky. "Because one's a lot more glamorous than the other, I'd say."

He cocks his head then though, brow furrowing as the name catches up to him. "Todd Chad. Why's that awful name sound so familiar? He a celebrity here? D'you just follow him around and keep him from being shot?"

"Most of the time it makes me very bored," Philip answers with a soft breath of laughter. The term rent-a-cop isn't one he's heard before, but the implication is rather clear and he imagines it's meant as an insult for men who couldn't become actual police officers. Philip, though, has never once fallen into such a category. He's not interested in law enforcement, because often the men who require his services aren't on what most would consider the right side of the law.

That's not something Philip has ever had a problem with. He's willing to do things most men aren't.

"He's a celebrity here," he agrees. "For the most part I keep close to him and do nothing. There are other security teams that take care of his fans. I'm simply there for... extreme cases." His fingers slide down, between Freddie's thighs, purposely seeking the more sensitive skin there as he leans over and plucks the cigarette from his fingers again. "There's been no extreme cases yet, which is why I'm mostly just bored."