thisfaceismine | (no subject)

Entry tags:

philip

(no subject)

[continued from here]

Philip manages to open the door to his flat in record time and soon enough they're on the other side of it. Anticipation rockets up Freddie's spine as he crowds in closer, his hands slipping up under Philips shirt, wasting no time at all in loosening the buckle of his belt and getting to the fastening of his trousers just beneath. He growls into the rough press of Philip's lips, licking past the seam, hungry for more already, every nerve in his body buzzing with want.

"Doesn't sound like too bad a job to me," he admits as he pulls back, panting slightly and then biting his lip as he loosens Philips pants enough to get his hand inside the fabric, fingers curling over the swell of his cock through his underpants as he steps in closer, close enough to breath against the curve of Philip's jaw. "Think I might even work hard at something like that. I've always been told I should do what I love. And I love fucking."

He gives Philip a good squeeze then, tracing the length of Philip as well as he's able before pressing his lips to Philip's jaw and breathing against him. "What d'you say, then? Think you can get it up for the Prince?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Tell me all the things you want me to do to you," Philip manages to grind out, the words panted and breathless. There's sweat dripping between his shoulder blades, rolling down the middle of his back, beading at his hairline and in the heat of the room, of the night, of everything they've done, his hair has curled, ridding him of some of that pulled together look he usually carries.

He has no idea if Freddie is going to be able to form words right now, but in truth he won't be all that surprised if he manages it. Thus far Freddie has surprised him more than once and Philip loves to be surprised, so long as that surprise doesn't end in his death or something equally unappealing. People who can do something unexpected, though, people who don't follow the same narrow and boring path as most, those are the ones he wants.

His hand slides off Freddie's hip, up his back, over his shoulder and then into his hair. His fingers form a fist, twisting in those pale blond strands and he doesn't pull hard, but there's a bite in the way he suddenly tightens his grip. When it's asked for, when someone likes it, Philip is more than happy to hurt them, knowing full well pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin and they often cross over onto one another. He's never cared much for being hurt himself, but doling it out, causing pain, it makes his pleasure spike and even just this, his hand in Freddie's hair, it causes the heat in his groin to flare as he fucks him harder.

"Shit," Freddie breathes, arching as Philip slides a hand up his back and over his shoulder, those hips still snapping forward, fucking in deep with a slap of skin on skin. It's easily the best fuck he's had since he got here, maybe even since months before that.

The best he's had since--

He lets out another strangled moan as Philip's fingers curl into the strands of his hair and tug, pulling his head back. White-hot pleasure sears down his spine and he shoves back against Philip, taking him deeper. It isn't often Freddie lets someone hurt him, even in the heat of the moment. He doesn't trust anyone enough to let it happen. But Philip's proven he knows what he's doing and, right now, Freddie isn't certain there's a single thing he'd ever deny him.

"I want-- God, I want you to bend me over every fucking surface," he starts, still rocking back, muscles aching already. "Fuck me against every wall. Want to eat your arse," he admits on a pleasure-filled laugh that quickly melts into a moan. "Want to make you come down my throat."

This isn't just a picture painted for the sake of Philip's pleasure, these are things he's going to remember, moments he's intent on having. He can see it, Freddie shoved over the edge of the counter in his kitchen, fucked up against the wall in the shower, back pressed to the apartment door, his legs around Philip's waist. He's going to make every last bit of that happen eventually, but for now, for this moment, this is more than enough. There's already pleasure ripping through him, spiking at every word Freddie says.

He can feel Freddie's arm moving, stroking his cock, he can feel the way his body moves and responds, muscles tightening around his dick and he knows this isn't going to last forever, not with the way they've built one another up all evening, and Philip's head falls forward as his hips snap and he can hear the sound of skin against skin, loud in the otherwise empty apartment. Whatever his neighbours can or can't hear, he doesn't give a fuck.

"I'll hold you... to all that," he groans, gasping between words. The hand he has on Freddie's hip slides down, hooking around his waist, pulling him up and off the bed. With Freddie's body flush against his, it changes the angle and his hips roll up now as he reaches down, sliding his hand over Freddie's helping him stroke himself.

Edited 2016-09-26 03:03 (UTC)

There isn't a bit of Freddie that's uncertain of that. Not now. Not when Philip is buried balls deep inside him, not when he'd been so insistent on getting Freddie's number and getting him in his bed. It might all go to shit in a week or two, Philip could very well bored of him or find a nice woman with perfect hand a perfect smile to run off and marry and make babies with, but right now, right here, he's Freddie's. And every word is a promise.

Philip shifts against him, one large hand hooking around Freddie's hip to pull him up, legs spread wide with Philip fucking in harder, rolling in deep enough that his cock hits just that perfect angle every time. Gasping, Freddie clutches at the sheets beneath him with one hand, the other tangling with Philip's fingers when Philip reaches down, both of them working in tandem over Freddie's cock, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. It's all he can do to keep moving his hips back for more, all he can do to remember to even keep breathing as Philip fucks into him.

"Fuck," he groans, turning his head against the mattress to hide his face as the wave crests. "Fuck, fuck-- oh fuck-- Philip."

It crashes over him, body clenching tight around the length inside him as his cock pulses and spills over Philip's fingers as well as his own, making a mess of the sheets beneath him. He tries to keep moving, tries to keep encouraging Philip to fuck into him, to use him, to let go inside him as that hand works over him, pumping him dry with every delicious stroke.

This is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, one of the best fucks he's ever had. It isn't just that Freddie is enthusiastic and knows what he's doing, but that they move so well together, their bodies arching and shifting, neither of them feeling the need to second guess or wonder. There are plenty of people who know what they're doing and tend to be awful at the end of it, simply because the connection, whatever one wants to call it, isn't there. And Philip isn't the type to get hung up on one person, he isn't interested in monogamy or being devoted to someone, but he understands connection when it happens and knows he'd be a fool to deny such things exist.

He also just knows they can exist with multiple people at the same time.

This, though, is amazing, and he isn't thinking about anyone else in the moment. He's only thinking about Freddie, the way it feels when he comes again, his cock pulsing in Philip's hands, the sudden slick of his come all over his fingers, the spasming of his muscles and the way it feels as if his body is somehow drawing Philip deeper, dragging him inside, and he goes without question. There's nothing sweet about this, his hips are all but pounding forward, his grip on Freddie's hip hard and tight, and when he comes it's sudden and violent, ripped through him, spilling out of him with a strangled sort of moan and a force that nearly sends him collapsing onto Freddie's back.

Gasping, Freddie nearly falls forward, catching his weight on both hands, one still clean, the other now covered in his own come as Philip pounds into him, skin slapping hard against skin and cock shoved in so deep, so hard, Freddie's nearly choking on him.

"Oh my God," he breathes when he feels Philip start to come, a moan ripped from his throat as he nearly folds over Freddie's back. Drained as he is, Freddie still manages to clench around him, rolling his hips to milk Philip's cock for all that it's worth before he has to give in, muscles aching and arse unbelievably, amazingly sore. He groans into the mattress below him, a sound that melts into a low, sated sort of laugh before he turns his head to look back at Philip.

"Christ, you are the best fuck in this whole town," he says, groaning as he attempts, and fails, to move his legs, heart still pounding as the sweat on his skin begins to cool in all the places Philip isn't still touching him.

It's not as if he's aware enough to really think in that moment, but later he'll understand just how good Freddie is at what he does. How good they are together. There have been few people in Philip's life who have truly satisfied him, though he's not bothered to compare most of the time, it's only that when it does happen, it's deeply memorable. Sex is always good, he can always make it good, but there's quite the leap between good and incredible.

And this was incredible.

"Christ," he breathes when he feels like he can finally speak again. It's an effort, but he pulls back, rolls away, carefully rids himself of the condom before allowing himself to finally collapse on his back in the bed. It's warm in the room and they're both sticky with sweat, with come, but he doesn't care. He isn't moving again until morning and if Freddie wants to sleep exactly where he is, Philip doesn't mind that either. He simply grins at the compliment, passes one hand over his forehead to wipe sweat from his eyes and turns his head to face Freddie.

"Just wait," he says and that's all. A promise. Just wait.

Freddie groans, a mix of disappointment and relief as Philip pulls out of him, leaving him empty and wonderfully sore. His hole is throbbing and, as Freddie rolls onto his side to watch Philip toss the used condom into the bin, the ache is sweet enough that Freddie swears he can still feel Philip inside him. With any luck, he'll be feeling that phantom cock inside him for days.

He stretches his legs out then and tilts his hips to change the angle of his back as he props his head on his hands to grin over at Philip. Philip's covered in sweat, dark strands of his hair plastered to his forehead and the sides of his face and Freddie soaks it all in, every muscle in his body humming pleasantly.

"I'm absolutely holding you to that," he says, his own promise before he leans. It's nearly a sweet kiss when their lips meet, nearly chaste after everything else, Freddie's face nearly perpendicular to Philip's and he licks past the seam of his lips before pulling back to drop his head down onto the mattress. "Later, though. Need a rest, fucking hell."

Even without being profiled extensively by Agent Reid, Philip understands he experiences emotions in a different manner than most people. He knows the technical terms of what he's like, what they would call him if they were to get him into an institution and study him. It doesn't bother him, nor does he see anything particularly wrong with it. It's only ever been a benefit to him, from allowing him to leave home, to care for himself, to being able to make money where many others wouldn't be able to.

This applies to how he feels about others, too. He doesn't know that he's ever loved someone by the regular standards one would apply to the emotion. People have to be of some use to him for him to even like them, but he's made his connections over the years and they've all manifested in different ways. He's under no illusions, has no interest in monogamy or finding one person alone to fulfill his needs, but he looks at Freddie now, long and lean and pale, and he feels a flare of possessiveness.

Freddie's his now. At least in part. It's likely as close to affection as Philip gets most days.

"Sleep," he says. "Don't steal anything when you wake up."

Freddie lets out a snort at that, his gaze lingering on Philip's face for a moment or two. Stealing is the absolute last thing on Freddie's mind at the moment, but there's something in Philip's tone he finds amusing, something that's almost casually condescending. It calms the unwelcome coil of warmth in his belly, stops it from becoming something it has no business being as Freddie stretches out further and lets his eyes slip shut.

"Nicking your wallet for sure," he says, his tone sleepy and not in the least bit serious.

In truth, if he has his way, he'll wake up early enough to spend a few minutes with Philip's cock in his mouth before he has to leave. They've exchanged numbers, at least, and Freddie certainly has every intention of checking in here and there. He's not certain what this might be, but Philip is absolutely the best fuck he's had since his arrival here and Freddie's not keen to let that go anytime soon.

And, for now, he won't let himself think of anything else.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only