"You've reached the inbox of Jeremiah Gottwald. I'm unavailable at the moment, but leave a message and I'll return your call as soon as possible. Thank you."
[Agreeing each step of the way, yet he's somehow managed to remain a thorn in McGillis's side. He almost laughs at his impossibility, but he's already swept up in the dizzying depths of his touch, reaching in with complete abandon.
It shuts him up at first, being kissed so deeply so fast, but the invasion between his thighs urges a soft sound right back out of him. Jeremiah lets himself go down, opening to the touch and reaching back, settling his hips to fit together. The hand on his shoulder squeezes, but he can't resist the urge to surge back up into that hair of his. It's not the same with gloves, the locks nearly slip right through his fingers unless he holds on properly.
Jeremiah doesn't pull, though, just holds on. McGillis backs him to the rail and he just grunts softly through his nose, a faint, dulled clunk when his spine hits metal, even through the layers of his clothes. Which, frankly, are definitely too much at this point, but he'll suffer a moment longer to keep from pulling away. Opening the floodgates is dangerous, it's never not dangerous, because Jeremiah will dive in every time the water looks good. It's exceedingly easy to end up lost.
Canting his hips slightly, Jeremiah presses back, curious as to what there is to feel through his suit. The garment is frustrating in a sense because it's hard to get the leverage he wants with no excess fabric to wrap in his fist, but the tightness offers no barrier to mapping every curve of his muscle, his bones.]
[This close, he really was a beautiful man. McGillis has devoured his fair share of nobles—sometimes for diplomatic ends, sometimes for fun—but Jeremiah has a bit of bite and that intrigues him. Even as he was being eaten, he was an active participant, pushing back and showing off his own teeth. It intrigues him and it incenses him, like cracking a whip at an irate bull.
Working his leg like a wedge, his knee grazes that sensitive groin, rubbing steady circles around the area. Moaning into their not quite kiss, McGillis does away with any pretenses and shoves his tongue into Jeremiah's mouth. And he fucks it, relentlessly, with the full power of a domineering general. Tries to choke him, tries to bend him to his will, to force his submission.
Yet he will also submit, if only in his own way. As Jeremiah seeks contact, McGillis leans into his touch. The skintight suit hides little and McGillis hides even less; he allows Jeremiah to feel out the sweep of his chest, his taut belly, the jut of his hips and the curve of his thighs. He was a well-built specimen and seems to know it, especially between his legs, especially that cock.
To which he laughs, heady, between every gasp for breath.]
Such a shame, little noble...
[An absurdly large man and in every possible way. Slowly stirring to life, McGillis presses the shape of his stiff cock to his hand.]
[The last of his usual restraint slips away when the pressure targets itself directly between his legs, McGillis's tongue once more in his mouth. Pleasure runs like a shot of lightning, so fast it's hard to tell where it started and where it reaches last. He can't help the incremental stutter of his hips, right into that firm, broad muscle.
How telling. The drugs and the missed time are still there, urging him, but it's the force of nature standing before him that's doing him in most of all, only making his want grow. Literally, no doubt he can feel that by now, no trappings in Jeremiah's standard method of dress to conceal it. For every misstep, every slight, he'll have to just show his sincerity other ways, with his body. It's in the mindful grip in his hair, his lips ravenous but letting himself be kissed more than lead it. His hands, however, only press more firmly when he feels McGillis's weight in it. It's still so hard to actually grip anything, so he doesn't stay put, instead trying to map everything he can. The firm give of muscle is so good, though different through the unfamiliar suit, wrapped around springy and tight.
This nickname really leaves something to be desired, but he'll leave it if it doesn't prod that terrible ego for a while longer. A discussion for another time. He's busy cupping the swell in McGillis's suit, now that he's been properly introduced. Stroking slow, but squeezing firm enough, feeling out as much as he can. His words come out hushed, still panting.]
That may take too long to prepare for.
[It's not going to work if he just slicks up and sticks it in, that's for sure. Jeremiah's absolutely not patient enough for that much preparation right now, not what it would take with him so out of practice. Will it even fit in his mouth?]
God. [Jeremiah sighs it, slipping out before he can stop. He grips a little firmer, carefully. Wanting. Not necessarily for his specific words, just wanting him.]
[So weak and so fast. It would have been a bit disappointing but McGillis recognizes that not every man was a sexual guru; he also recognizes that some were more sensitive than others and apparently that was the case here. For a moment, he draws back. Just a little, just enough to appreciate Jeremiah in all his stuttering glory. While he wasn't anything like soft, he can at least admire that unusually striking appearance, those crisp clothes which compliment a cocksure attitude. Running fingers through the fancy sweep of hair, which drop slowly down.]
Careful now. Wouldn't want you to lose it, long before you ever get near my mouth.
[Allowing Jeremiah a moment to catch his breath—or at least try—he angles his mouth away, bites like before but not so brutally. More of a curious nibble as he alternates between nipping and sucking the soft flesh above the jugular, where he could bleed out. All the while, he rocks into that steady grip, moaning with every squeeze and stroke. His fingers hook into his belt and unwind it without even looking, the sign of a true prodigy, then sneak beneath his layers to travel up that toned torso. And naturally, he doesn't get far before he runs into a speed bump.
Or rather he figures out what made him so heavy, not that it took a particularly brilliant mind.]
Prostheses...?
[It could have killed the mood, but to the contrary, McGillis seems fascinated. So much so that he tries to strip his coat to get at the pieces of interest.]
[It's different when McGillis's strike hits its mark so cleanly, but the stakes aren't the same either. Just as he can't hide his current weaknesses to touch, to another human's warmth, he can't hide anything else. Certainly not from someone who would take and take and take with so little regard, simply because they desire it.
He's actually grateful. Having to lay it all out spares him little time towards wringing his hands. Jeremiah's more reticent simply because he'd been enjoying himself, but. Well, the sudden, adamant curiosity bolsters him, even if it's daunting to face in turn.]
Ah... yes, that. [Yes, "that," like he'd ever forgotten it would come up with the next person to see or touch him without clothing. Jeremiah sighs a little through his nose, pulling his hold away so he can extract his arms out of his jacket, which he really could have removed himself, come now. He lets it fall away in a stunning display of poor etiquette, either to hang from McGillis's grip or onto the floor, and... well. It's gonna take getting through more layers than that to get to revealing his back in full.]
I don't mind, if you'd like to see it.
[He's saying this as he's already stripping his gloves off, already figuring McGillis's hands will continue their path regardless. His cravat is the next to go.]
[Cool, just use him as a coat hanger. That will definitely help with the whole "asshole noble" image.]
Do I look like a maid to you...
[McGillis grumbles, as he acts exactly like a maid and proceeds to fold that jacket and drape it over the guardrail. Fortunately for Jeremiah, McGillis prides himself upon fastidiousness, so he doesn't really mind so much. Especially with the promise of a lovely show, which has McGillis easing up a bit on that mean streak and looking a little excitable at the prospect of a prosthetic.
Kind of like patting a feral mutt on the maw. Still chancing a nasty bite, or rabies, or both, but every boy was a good boy deep down. Sometimes you just really had to dig deep.]
And I command all sorts of men, so it isn't something new.
[...you're not fooling anyone, McGillis, not with that wagging tail.]
[Your fault for getting grabby, McGillis. Should have let him deal with it himself.]
No, but thank you all the same.
[And he means it, simply as he says it. The other man's irritations towards the prim and proper clearly haven't stopped him from having manners, even if he constantly twists them when and as he sees fit. The cushion his coat forms on the railing makes a good place for him to lay down his paired gloves. Pulling the untied cravat out from his collar, he smooths it over with his hands to fold a few times, before setting it there as well.
For a second there he'd wanted to be rash and careless, but there's been a shift, like the storm inside McGillis altered course. The heat in his eyes is there, but it's deep, tempered with a strange patience. Jeremiah doesn't slow his movements, though neither was he hurried to start, working the topmost clasp on his vest apart.]
I see. [The closure pops open, and he reaches down to the second one. Perhaps the movement is a little more deliberate than usual.] ... it's not common, where I come from.
[He's not the only casualty of war who came out the other side with metal in them to keep them whole and moving. He may be the only one who was also turned into a lab rat, though that may be less evident to McGillis's eyes.]
[This wasn't just a noble by trade, he realizes, but a noble by blood. And a few things click into place for McGillis, as he was raised alongside a fussy little brat and learned all of his little proclivities. How he liked his tea and how he loved his dessert; how he would walk and talk and treat the servants; how he was waited on and doted upon and offered every advantage.
All in service to society, to the weak and the downtrodden—the very essence of noblesse oblige. To some extent, those people couldn't turn it off. They were born into privilege and bred for power and would never know how to live without either one. They never had to fight for food or fuck for money and they never had to grasp it, the idea of a bigger world beyond their own.
But with a body like that, this man must have....
There was a market for that sort of thing. Illegal parts, bought and sold, grafted onto skin and usually with horrific results. All for a fetish, all chasing a cheap high. McGillis can't imagine that Jeremiah chose that fate. He's still fascinated, of course, but it's more of a muted expression. Touching his fingers to the misshapen pieces, he keeps his thoughts to himself.
Then he bends his head, presses his mouth to a bit of metal, and kisses it as if to say it doesn't bother me at all.]
[The last clasp comes undone, and he shrugs off his vest with an easy shift of his shoulders. Folded and away it goes. Jeremiah regards his shirt, his fingers pausing at the first button for just a second before he works it open. The rest of the buttons go quickly, and once it hangs open, he shrugs the fabric off. Refreshing, really, after how overheated one can get in all those layers.
From the front, he looks utterly normal. Toned, not with the same impressive curves as McGillis, obvious even through his suit, just cut in a smoother, slender profile. Jeremiah turns to the side as he sets his shirt down, then rotates most of the way around to show. The only metal aside from the mask on his face sits along the length of his spine, diamond-shaped panels in an interlocking row of burgundy. Near the middle sit a trio of orange ports in a vertical line, at least an inch in diameter. Somewhere for something to plug into, not just for cosmetic appearance.
He can see in his periphery, at least, as McGillis reaches. There's no flinch when his hand meets him, the resistance noticeable even if he can't feel the actual touch. He's far from the first person to touch this, obviously, but in this context it doesn't feel strange for a lover, nor clinical as the scientists were. The kiss that follows isn't tangible from his lips alone, but there's the whisper of his hair, the warmth of his face sending tingles through his skin.
Jeremiah turns to look more fully over his shoulder, curious for a glimpse of those poisonous eyes. What he finds is unsurprising, but it still makes the set of his shoulders relax a little more. He hums, just a wordless acknowledgement for now, arching closer to the touch.]
[He might've been surprised by it, but he wasn't disgusted by it. Despite what McGillis may have claimed, treating sex like a transaction was abhorrent. It made him feel cheap, as though he had been thrown back into that filthy brothel—just another whore for hire as opposed to a self-made man. And Jeremiah, for any and all faults, had at least made the effort to accommodate his curiosity, even though it wasn't strictly necessary. It couldn't have possibly been the first time and it absolutely wouldn't have been fair to stare. He's still a human, not a circus freak.
But even so, he can't quite resist the urge to touch. He does try to strike a reasonable balance, though, aiming for respectful admiration. Skimming the tips of his trim nails over the grooves and understanding the purpose for those ports at once: he was part of a machine. Definitely a pilot and likely a little more than that, given the intricate nature of the circuitry and its design.
...he was an experiment.
What a troubling time for such a revelation. Rather than ruin the mood, he simply states:]
Let me look at it later.
[Not quite venomous, actually the opposite—a subtle invitation to a proper bed.]
[He traces the line of pressure as it moves, a sense for where his fingers move to. It doesn't stop feeling ordinary, maybe even a little underwhelming in the best of ways, even though he can't mistake the deliberate nature of it. It's not ordinary, and McGillis can tell.]
All right.
[He knows he won't mind it a second time. Just as it no longer overwhelms him, it doesn't overwhelm somebody else, albeit one already with a familiar eye for these things. It's all he needs for now. Pivoting around, he stays standing close, still watching McGillis's face. He wants to draw himself in again, to see if the next time he's kissed he can kiss back a little harder and still get away with it. Thighs still tensed, eager to slot together. He wonders what the suit would feel like against bare skin if he pressed into it.]
I ought to be facing this way, anyway.
[No, it's not his move. McGillis can lead, he clearly expects it. Jeremiah could relate well enough to the insistence, even if he can't speak for the motivations of the other man for it. It's a hard approach to put down, he's finding, but the alternative seems really... nice.]
[...it's easy enough to tell that any lingering annoyance has left him. At least for the moment.
And he really needs to distract himself from said realization, so he returns to their work. Busies his hands down south, loops the loose belt with the rest of Jeremiah's discarded clothes and tucks his thumbs into the edges of his underwear. Pulls that off too and sinks onto his knees with the practiced grace of a prostitute. Idly he wonders if Jeremiah has ever patronized such places; he wonders if he prefers an intimate affair or more of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am approach. Paid for the night, gone by the morning—then again, who would even have him?
His fingers are sinfully soft as they touch Jeremiah's exposed cock, as those vivid eyes flicker up to stare.]
If there is a particular way you enjoy it, then tell me now.
[While he was still in the mood, still willing to listen.]
[Jeremiah supposes he has. Standing there, seemingly doing nothing as McGillis works the remainder of his clothes open, leaving him bared all the way down to his legs. One of his hands finally reaches for purchase beside him, gripping around the topmost bar of the railing. More rapt than anything, he watches as McGillis sinks down and takes his hard cock into his grip.
He feels... ineffective. Stagnant. It's strange without the push-pull that he's used to, the play fight of feeling someone out for the first time when tempers clash right out the gate. Jeremiah always savors that struggle, the hard-earned satisfaction of what he can gain from it. McGillis seems to want to yield nothing, not unless he offers it first.
Well, he's offering now, down to the very details. Answers come to mind, but none feel succinct, all too vague. This man could and would do a great number of things if her permitted it. He needs precision, in turn.]
A slower pace, to start.
[He couldn't be looking anywhere but those eyes, set on that handsome face just inches from his erection, framed in hair he's already itching to sink a hand right back into. He wants to say savor it, but well, that's asking a little much of someone so keen to win out on his own terms. The man really does have him minding his tongue.]
[A soft heh escapes while he watches Jeremiah from below.]
Then let us see how long you last.
[Not very, he thinks. Most men were easy enough to please; if he was already this hard then that didn't speak to any sort of significant challenge. Still, he does't seem displeased by what he holds. He has had larger, of course, but this really wasn't the time to throw that mockery out there. The slickness of his smirk should speak for itself, how his eyes twinkle at the thought.
At the very least, he doesn't delay further. With the very tip of his tongue, McGillis samples that cock, dragging along the full length. Tasting it, testing its heft. And all without shame, confident as the moment they first met. His fingers shift ever so slightly, gripping Jeremiah with firmness. Shoving his cheek against it, he regards Jeremiah with a distinct air of amusement.
And maybe a faint one of arousal. He did love to suck cock, even for its own sake—already it shows.]
[Exhaling audibly through his nose, Jeremiah settles his weight a little more solidly against the railing and watches. McGillis's hands, his tongue, are all sure and practiced to a degree that would have surprised him, had it not been prefaced by everything else. His demanding confidence, walking around as if everything is already his. Likely because it could be, if he wanted.
Jeremiah wouldn't be able to distinguish it as the honed skill of a professional, just one belonging to a learned man. And McGillis is one, that's unmistakable, but he wouldn't look for the signs, nor know them when he sees them. He only knows how it feels, subtly different as ever from a woman's touch. Even an experienced one can't always compare to this familiarity, knowing precisely how to wring the sensations right out, the slow drag of a tongue mapping him out and drawing a sigh from him.
Even if he hadn't been suffering under traces of aphrodisiac, it wouldn't have taken long to get him to this point. He could stand to be more sheepish about it, peering down at the taut skin pressed to the paler swell of McGillis's cheek. He isn't. This pushy, stubborn man has had his attention from the start, of course his body would play right into those hands, once he watched McGillis go down to his knees.]
[McGillis wanted the world and he wanted it for the greater good, much like another man Jeremiah might know.
For a time, McGillis seems content to simply tease. And he does it with effortless aplomb; swirling his tongue over the sensitive slit, working the full shaft with his fingers and outlining a thick vein with his thumb. Though it may have been unintentional, McGillis nevertheless encourages Jeremiah and stokes his enthusiasm. No less attractive than before, if less annoying.
Fleetingly McGillis contemplates a much meaner approach. Ignoring his wishes, swallowing him up and sucking away as if his traitorous life depended upon it. But ultimately he decides against it, focusing on those slower and surer licks. Drawing the spongy head into his mouth, McGillis starts to suck at a manageable speed, fondling his balls below—truly a gentleman.
Still shameless, he presses his own need to Jeremiah's foot. Like a dog seeking attention from its master or perhaps a bit of stimulation.]
[He'd asked for slower, so he offers no fuss as the other man sets his pace. McGillis paints an awfully nice picture doing so, pink tongue working him, touch deft but so precise that every one leaves him aching for a little more. Even a tease this nice is satisfying in its own way.
Then he draws the head into his mouth, and Jeremiah groans in the back of his throat, his grip on the bar tensing. Just like when they'd kissed, his mouth is scalding hot, greedy lips wrapped snug around him. The touch below nearly gets his hips shifting again, but he doesn't want to knock McGillis's angle off. Not when he's being treated so nicely.
Of course he reaches right back when the other man presses to his leg, giving a few curious nudges until he finds the right movement, stroking over his crotch. The give to his cock to the relative hardness of Jeremiah's body has him mindful but firm, shifting occasionally to rub on either side.]
[Interesting, McGillis thinks through the haze. Was it really self-restraint, some proper sense of decorum, or something else that held those hips at bay? Unintentionally, it sparks a bit of that competitive nature, as McGillis was a man of considerable pride—even and especially with sex. If Jeremiah wasn't shuddering and sighing, then he wasn't trying hard enough. Even though at this stage they were both past hard, as McGillis' eyes briefly slide shut from the attention. Not for too long, though, then they flicker back up, pupils blown and pitch black.
And he was slipping, slowly but surely. Not with technique, but into that heady space where he couldn't care about anything or anyone. Just his partner, just himself, orbiting around their needs and attending to them as if he couldn't live otherwise. Something like submission, maybe, as his hips bid for further friction and he opens wider for Jeremiah. Draws that swollen cock deeper into his mouth, halfway to the root, tonguing at its underside and groaning at the taste. Looking at him now, it was difficult to argue that was still just a favor. Still a reluctant task.
Although no longer angry, heat has risen to his face. It colors his cheeks as he starts to suck in the rest, filling that sassy mouth with cock.]
[He isn't left waiting for long. McGillis's lips slide further down, wrapping him in heat and punching a groan right out of Jeremiah's mouth. He feels heavenly, cradling him so sweet, like the space he makes to take him down is shaped just for him.
Never let him say McGillis didn't know how to make a guy feel special. It's more than just consideration he sees when he opens his eyes. Jeremiah could drown in his pupils, gazing at the flush risen to the surface. Those lips, cruel and charming, pressed hungrily into his skin, dragging as he sucks down the length of his shaft. No one truly reticent would stay sealed to him so tight.
Jeremiah pushes a little harder in between McGillis's thighs in turn, lifting his foot to cup the bulge from underneath, rubbing right up into him. It's not a hard balance with both hands on the railing, but inevitably, his hips start to shift the more he ruts his leg into the other man. Panting harder through parted lips, he looks down and nudges forward, slow and careful, his weight pressed into McGillis's hand holding him at the root.
Jeremiah feels dizzy just looking at his face, the expanse of his body just as tensed with want.]
[McGillis was starting to strongly suspect that this man could handle a lot worse than some tipsiness, although that was another conversation for another time. Ideally a time that did not involve a foot between his thighs and a cock on his tongue, even if Jeremiah didn't seem to have much of a sense for appropriate timing. As demonstrated by that inappropriate question.
Consent was, of course, critical. He had demonstrated as much during their first meeting and he was demonstrating as much now, after reasonable negotiation. But it should've went without saying and thus without asking—yes, of course you can. Not that he can manage that much, just huffing around that submerged cock and threatening it with the slightest scrape of teeth.
And then, because evidently his partner learned best through demonstration, McGillis gobbles up Jeremiah the rest of the way. His cock slides down his throat, so slick and so soft, bulging against the delicate flesh and trapped by that thick column of muscle. McGillis doesn't even choke, doesn't so much as flinch, just letting Jeremiah see how a professional conducts himself.
Just letting him come to the realization, all on his own: you couldn't pay for cocksucking this good.]
[No sound makes its way out of his open mouth at first, but Jeremiah's wide eye says enough. It's deep, so deep, and he doesn't even budge once he's resting with him stuffed to the hilt. Like it's not even hard for him. It clearly isn't.
But Jeremiah also doesn't know who he's truly dealing with, either.
Groaning loud this time, he finally shifts himself to free up a hand, planting both feet back into the floor, nudging his shin between McGillis's thighs. He ends up seeking the back of his neck, sliding up to the hairline but not pushing, just cradles the dip at the base of McGillis's skull for stability as he tries not to melt into the scalding column of his throat. It's slow at first, for the urgency seeping into his core, dragging his hips back, choking on his inhale at the sight of those last couple inches pulling out. Sure enough, he sinks right back into that impossible heat as easy as the first time.
He's mindful but intent as he moves, startled into attentiveness by unfamiliarity. It doesn't stop him from trying, giving another slow push. This time, his eyes catch the bulge in McGillis's throat shifting with him, and Jeremiah shakes with the force of his gasp.]
[This man was going to beg his way into that bed and the very notion fills McGillis with a perverse glee.
For a moment, though, the situation turns a bit precarious; McGillis may have had the manners of a noble, but he was raised by the streets. He fought for his food and fucked for his money. And as a street rat, he tended to react rather poorly to any stray touch to the back of his neck, to the raised spines of his own brutal surgery. At least he was aware enough to realize that Jeremiah meant nothing by it, so there was no reason for any sort of altercation. But regardless, he does hesitate—likely long enough to communicate that this was definitely a no-no place.
The moment passes and McGillis finds himself distracted by that questing leg, all but humping it now to alleviate tension. McGillis withdraws for a few seconds, panting each time, coating Jeremiah's cock with saliva and gasping for air and returning for another round. As effortlessly as the rest of this encounter, he deepthroats Jeremiah and gives him the full experience of a proper prostitute. No longer abiding a slower pace, but then again, that was the point. He swallows like he was born to it and sucks until he wheezes, until he works himself into a full frenzy.
And when he finds the space to speak, it is only to incite Jeremiah further.]
Fuck my mouth—
[Permission granted. He wants to, needs to, has to feel that cock full force.]
[The pause is brief, enough like a falter to his otherwise impeccable rhythm that Jeremiah heeds, his touch receding as quickly as it came. Mindfully, he settles his hand to the crown instead, breathing still rapid as his fingertips bury themselves in his hair, just enough to steady himself.
He's pushing harder with his leg now, more free to let his hips shift with it, still hanging on with every intent to reciprocate and yet chasing the opportunity to give anything in turn. As if a man like McGillis would ever come in his, well, suit over something like this, as if he could provide even a fraction of what that nasty mouth and slick throat were doing to him. The wait was worth it for this, watching him slip his mouth right off, his cock and McGillis's lips both streaked with spit, then diving back with that same ease as before. Tension has already built itself heavy in his thighs, his hips, the pit of his stomach. When the pace ticks up, he knows it's not slowing back down, and he won't have any choice but to be carried along with the tide.
McGillis speaks, and when he shoves his mouth back down Jeremiah swears he sees as much as feels his cock pulsing in his throat.
So he draws back, tightens his fingers around the railing, around those blonde locks, and complies. Jeremiah's not fast, not careless yet, but he's stopped holding back as he humps into his mouth. It makes the pleasure sink that much brighter into his nerves, forcing every exhale out of his mouth a little louder, a little harsher. Someone could hear the obscene slurp of McGillis's mouth, his own rasping sounds, but it's pleasure too good to stifle. As if the picture they'd paint should someone walk around this or that corner wouldn't be more damning.
He's not thinking about it, driving his hips faster to a luxurious groan, still trapped watching the swell down the column of his neck, knowing he can't last.]
[Choke me, choke me, McGillis commands, without uttering another salacious word. And of course the good general gets what he wants, because he fucks hard for his food, as he always has and always would. While he wasn't likely to get off on Jeremiah's merit, he nevertheless appreciates the effort—appreciates it so much that he starts to touch himself through the suit—and it was obvious enough that he was still painfully hard from the whole affair. Much like Jeremiah, throbbing away in his mouth, ready to burst at any moment. Poor little put upon noble.
So he will make it good for the man. In fact, he will make it downright great, so amazing that he will have this exchange to compare to every other in this damnable world. Even half-shut, his eyes seem to taunt him; even robbed of the ability to speak, he goads Jeremiah towards climax. He continues to show off, shamelessly so, that he could and would continue to suck cock as it pleases him. He won't halt and he won't hesitate and he will shrug off every criticism because he was going to change the world. And he would start by ridding the hangar of that thing.
Or at least moving it someplace he could no longer see it. Small steps, really.
For now, though, McGillis will sit there and suffer. And he will suffer oh so sweetly, because he really wasn't kidding: he loves to suck cock and he loves to please men who think they are above his charms. Because nobody really was and that was part of the problem; just ask the friend he betrayed for the sake of that beautiful world. For now, though, enjoy the show.]
[Every time Jeremiah pushes a little harder, it doesn't make a difference, McGillis just takes and takes and takes. He's already lost himself in it, rutting harsh into the rigid passage of his throat harder than he feels safe to but searing so good across his nerves that he can't stop. He's right, Jeremiah very well could be ruined for anybody else. It won't be a surprise or an injustice, not when he can concede McGillis to be the best he's had.
He'll earn his victory, too. The satisfaction in his face, red from exertion and staring up with toxic eyes, they speak every inch to his wants. His wants to please to be pleased in turn, to get what he wants but have it given to him the way he wants it, too. And Jeremiah will walk away sated but bested, with a sweet memory to haunt him.]
I'm close.
[Jeremiah couldn't care less as he rides the high of the moment, for this brief time, while it's his. He's watching McGillis, carefully gripping his hair with both hands now, fucking in earnest to get the rest of the way there, fucking him like he's buried somewhere else. Moaning breathlessly on every thrust, his chest heaves with the force of his ragged pants, spine curling inward as his muscles begin to go taut.]
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It shuts him up at first, being kissed so deeply so fast, but the invasion between his thighs urges a soft sound right back out of him. Jeremiah lets himself go down, opening to the touch and reaching back, settling his hips to fit together. The hand on his shoulder squeezes, but he can't resist the urge to surge back up into that hair of his. It's not the same with gloves, the locks nearly slip right through his fingers unless he holds on properly.
Jeremiah doesn't pull, though, just holds on. McGillis backs him to the rail and he just grunts softly through his nose, a faint, dulled clunk when his spine hits metal, even through the layers of his clothes. Which, frankly, are definitely too much at this point, but he'll suffer a moment longer to keep from pulling away. Opening the floodgates is dangerous, it's never not dangerous, because Jeremiah will dive in every time the water looks good. It's exceedingly easy to end up lost.
Canting his hips slightly, Jeremiah presses back, curious as to what there is to feel through his suit. The garment is frustrating in a sense because it's hard to get the leverage he wants with no excess fabric to wrap in his fist, but the tightness offers no barrier to mapping every curve of his muscle, his bones.]
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Working his leg like a wedge, his knee grazes that sensitive groin, rubbing steady circles around the area. Moaning into their not quite kiss, McGillis does away with any pretenses and shoves his tongue into Jeremiah's mouth. And he fucks it, relentlessly, with the full power of a domineering general. Tries to choke him, tries to bend him to his will, to force his submission.
Yet he will also submit, if only in his own way. As Jeremiah seeks contact, McGillis leans into his touch. The skintight suit hides little and McGillis hides even less; he allows Jeremiah to feel out the sweep of his chest, his taut belly, the jut of his hips and the curve of his thighs. He was a well-built specimen and seems to know it, especially between his legs, especially that cock.
To which he laughs, heady, between every gasp for breath.]
Such a shame, little noble...
[An absurdly large man and in every possible way. Slowly stirring to life, McGillis presses the shape of his stiff cock to his hand.]
I really would like to fuck you.
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How telling. The drugs and the missed time are still there, urging him, but it's the force of nature standing before him that's doing him in most of all, only making his want grow. Literally, no doubt he can feel that by now, no trappings in Jeremiah's standard method of dress to conceal it. For every misstep, every slight, he'll have to just show his sincerity other ways, with his body. It's in the mindful grip in his hair, his lips ravenous but letting himself be kissed more than lead it. His hands, however, only press more firmly when he feels McGillis's weight in it. It's still so hard to actually grip anything, so he doesn't stay put, instead trying to map everything he can. The firm give of muscle is so good, though different through the unfamiliar suit, wrapped around springy and tight.
This nickname really leaves something to be desired, but he'll leave it if it doesn't prod that terrible ego for a while longer. A discussion for another time. He's busy cupping the swell in McGillis's suit, now that he's been properly introduced. Stroking slow, but squeezing firm enough, feeling out as much as he can. His words come out hushed, still panting.]
That may take too long to prepare for.
[It's not going to work if he just slicks up and sticks it in, that's for sure. Jeremiah's absolutely not patient enough for that much preparation right now, not what it would take with him so out of practice. Will it even fit in his mouth?]
God. [Jeremiah sighs it, slipping out before he can stop. He grips a little firmer, carefully. Wanting. Not necessarily for his specific words, just wanting him.]
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Careful now. Wouldn't want you to lose it, long before you ever get near my mouth.
[Allowing Jeremiah a moment to catch his breath—or at least try—he angles his mouth away, bites like before but not so brutally. More of a curious nibble as he alternates between nipping and sucking the soft flesh above the jugular, where he could bleed out. All the while, he rocks into that steady grip, moaning with every squeeze and stroke. His fingers hook into his belt and unwind it without even looking, the sign of a true prodigy, then sneak beneath his layers to travel up that toned torso. And naturally, he doesn't get far before he runs into a speed bump.
Or rather he figures out what made him so heavy, not that it took a particularly brilliant mind.]
Prostheses...?
[It could have killed the mood, but to the contrary, McGillis seems fascinated. So much so that he tries to strip his coat to get at the pieces of interest.]
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He's actually grateful. Having to lay it all out spares him little time towards wringing his hands. Jeremiah's more reticent simply because he'd been enjoying himself, but. Well, the sudden, adamant curiosity bolsters him, even if it's daunting to face in turn.]
Ah... yes, that. [Yes, "that," like he'd ever forgotten it would come up with the next person to see or touch him without clothing. Jeremiah sighs a little through his nose, pulling his hold away so he can extract his arms out of his jacket, which he really could have removed himself, come now. He lets it fall away in a stunning display of poor etiquette, either to hang from McGillis's grip or onto the floor, and... well. It's gonna take getting through more layers than that to get to revealing his back in full.]
I don't mind, if you'd like to see it.
[He's saying this as he's already stripping his gloves off, already figuring McGillis's hands will continue their path regardless. His cravat is the next to go.]
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Do I look like a maid to you...
[McGillis grumbles, as he acts exactly like a maid and proceeds to fold that jacket and drape it over the guardrail. Fortunately for Jeremiah, McGillis prides himself upon fastidiousness, so he doesn't really mind so much. Especially with the promise of a lovely show, which has McGillis easing up a bit on that mean streak and looking a little excitable at the prospect of a prosthetic.
Kind of like patting a feral mutt on the maw. Still chancing a nasty bite, or rabies, or both, but every boy was a good boy deep down. Sometimes you just really had to dig deep.]
And I command all sorts of men, so it isn't something new.
[...you're not fooling anyone, McGillis, not with that wagging tail.]
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No, but thank you all the same.
[And he means it, simply as he says it. The other man's irritations towards the prim and proper clearly haven't stopped him from having manners, even if he constantly twists them when and as he sees fit. The cushion his coat forms on the railing makes a good place for him to lay down his paired gloves. Pulling the untied cravat out from his collar, he smooths it over with his hands to fold a few times, before setting it there as well.
For a second there he'd wanted to be rash and careless, but there's been a shift, like the storm inside McGillis altered course. The heat in his eyes is there, but it's deep, tempered with a strange patience. Jeremiah doesn't slow his movements, though neither was he hurried to start, working the topmost clasp on his vest apart.]
I see. [The closure pops open, and he reaches down to the second one. Perhaps the movement is a little more deliberate than usual.] ... it's not common, where I come from.
[He's not the only casualty of war who came out the other side with metal in them to keep them whole and moving. He may be the only one who was also turned into a lab rat, though that may be less evident to McGillis's eyes.]
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All in service to society, to the weak and the downtrodden—the very essence of noblesse oblige. To some extent, those people couldn't turn it off. They were born into privilege and bred for power and would never know how to live without either one. They never had to fight for food or fuck for money and they never had to grasp it, the idea of a bigger world beyond their own.
But with a body like that, this man must have....
There was a market for that sort of thing. Illegal parts, bought and sold, grafted onto skin and usually with horrific results. All for a fetish, all chasing a cheap high. McGillis can't imagine that Jeremiah chose that fate. He's still fascinated, of course, but it's more of a muted expression. Touching his fingers to the misshapen pieces, he keeps his thoughts to himself.
Then he bends his head, presses his mouth to a bit of metal, and kisses it as if to say it doesn't bother me at all.]
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From the front, he looks utterly normal. Toned, not with the same impressive curves as McGillis, obvious even through his suit, just cut in a smoother, slender profile. Jeremiah turns to the side as he sets his shirt down, then rotates most of the way around to show. The only metal aside from the mask on his face sits along the length of his spine, diamond-shaped panels in an interlocking row of burgundy. Near the middle sit a trio of orange ports in a vertical line, at least an inch in diameter. Somewhere for something to plug into, not just for cosmetic appearance.
He can see in his periphery, at least, as McGillis reaches. There's no flinch when his hand meets him, the resistance noticeable even if he can't feel the actual touch. He's far from the first person to touch this, obviously, but in this context it doesn't feel strange for a lover, nor clinical as the scientists were. The kiss that follows isn't tangible from his lips alone, but there's the whisper of his hair, the warmth of his face sending tingles through his skin.
Jeremiah turns to look more fully over his shoulder, curious for a glimpse of those poisonous eyes. What he finds is unsurprising, but it still makes the set of his shoulders relax a little more. He hums, just a wordless acknowledgement for now, arching closer to the touch.]
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But even so, he can't quite resist the urge to touch. He does try to strike a reasonable balance, though, aiming for respectful admiration. Skimming the tips of his trim nails over the grooves and understanding the purpose for those ports at once: he was part of a machine. Definitely a pilot and likely a little more than that, given the intricate nature of the circuitry and its design.
...he was an experiment.
What a troubling time for such a revelation. Rather than ruin the mood, he simply states:]
Let me look at it later.
[Not quite venomous, actually the opposite—a subtle invitation to a proper bed.]
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All right.
[He knows he won't mind it a second time. Just as it no longer overwhelms him, it doesn't overwhelm somebody else, albeit one already with a familiar eye for these things. It's all he needs for now. Pivoting around, he stays standing close, still watching McGillis's face. He wants to draw himself in again, to see if the next time he's kissed he can kiss back a little harder and still get away with it. Thighs still tensed, eager to slot together. He wonders what the suit would feel like against bare skin if he pressed into it.]
I ought to be facing this way, anyway.
[No, it's not his move. McGillis can lead, he clearly expects it. Jeremiah could relate well enough to the insistence, even if he can't speak for the motivations of the other man for it. It's a hard approach to put down, he's finding, but the alternative seems really... nice.]
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So now you wish to be polite?
[...it's easy enough to tell that any lingering annoyance has left him. At least for the moment.
And he really needs to distract himself from said realization, so he returns to their work. Busies his hands down south, loops the loose belt with the rest of Jeremiah's discarded clothes and tucks his thumbs into the edges of his underwear. Pulls that off too and sinks onto his knees with the practiced grace of a prostitute. Idly he wonders if Jeremiah has ever patronized such places; he wonders if he prefers an intimate affair or more of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am approach. Paid for the night, gone by the morning—then again, who would even have him?
His fingers are sinfully soft as they touch Jeremiah's exposed cock, as those vivid eyes flicker up to stare.]
If there is a particular way you enjoy it, then tell me now.
[While he was still in the mood, still willing to listen.]
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He feels... ineffective. Stagnant. It's strange without the push-pull that he's used to, the play fight of feeling someone out for the first time when tempers clash right out the gate. Jeremiah always savors that struggle, the hard-earned satisfaction of what he can gain from it. McGillis seems to want to yield nothing, not unless he offers it first.
Well, he's offering now, down to the very details. Answers come to mind, but none feel succinct, all too vague. This man could and would do a great number of things if her permitted it. He needs precision, in turn.]
A slower pace, to start.
[He couldn't be looking anywhere but those eyes, set on that handsome face just inches from his erection, framed in hair he's already itching to sink a hand right back into. He wants to say savor it, but well, that's asking a little much of someone so keen to win out on his own terms. The man really does have him minding his tongue.]
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Then let us see how long you last.
[Not very, he thinks. Most men were easy enough to please; if he was already this hard then that didn't speak to any sort of significant challenge. Still, he does't seem displeased by what he holds. He has had larger, of course, but this really wasn't the time to throw that mockery out there. The slickness of his smirk should speak for itself, how his eyes twinkle at the thought.
At the very least, he doesn't delay further. With the very tip of his tongue, McGillis samples that cock, dragging along the full length. Tasting it, testing its heft. And all without shame, confident as the moment they first met. His fingers shift ever so slightly, gripping Jeremiah with firmness. Shoving his cheek against it, he regards Jeremiah with a distinct air of amusement.
And maybe a faint one of arousal. He did love to suck cock, even for its own sake—already it shows.]
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Jeremiah wouldn't be able to distinguish it as the honed skill of a professional, just one belonging to a learned man. And McGillis is one, that's unmistakable, but he wouldn't look for the signs, nor know them when he sees them. He only knows how it feels, subtly different as ever from a woman's touch. Even an experienced one can't always compare to this familiarity, knowing precisely how to wring the sensations right out, the slow drag of a tongue mapping him out and drawing a sigh from him.
Even if he hadn't been suffering under traces of aphrodisiac, it wouldn't have taken long to get him to this point. He could stand to be more sheepish about it, peering down at the taut skin pressed to the paler swell of McGillis's cheek. He isn't. This pushy, stubborn man has had his attention from the start, of course his body would play right into those hands, once he watched McGillis go down to his knees.]
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For a time, McGillis seems content to simply tease. And he does it with effortless aplomb; swirling his tongue over the sensitive slit, working the full shaft with his fingers and outlining a thick vein with his thumb. Though it may have been unintentional, McGillis nevertheless encourages Jeremiah and stokes his enthusiasm. No less attractive than before, if less annoying.
Fleetingly McGillis contemplates a much meaner approach. Ignoring his wishes, swallowing him up and sucking away as if his traitorous life depended upon it. But ultimately he decides against it, focusing on those slower and surer licks. Drawing the spongy head into his mouth, McGillis starts to suck at a manageable speed, fondling his balls below—truly a gentleman.
Still shameless, he presses his own need to Jeremiah's foot. Like a dog seeking attention from its master or perhaps a bit of stimulation.]
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Then he draws the head into his mouth, and Jeremiah groans in the back of his throat, his grip on the bar tensing. Just like when they'd kissed, his mouth is scalding hot, greedy lips wrapped snug around him. The touch below nearly gets his hips shifting again, but he doesn't want to knock McGillis's angle off. Not when he's being treated so nicely.
Of course he reaches right back when the other man presses to his leg, giving a few curious nudges until he finds the right movement, stroking over his crotch. The give to his cock to the relative hardness of Jeremiah's body has him mindful but firm, shifting occasionally to rub on either side.]
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And he was slipping, slowly but surely. Not with technique, but into that heady space where he couldn't care about anything or anyone. Just his partner, just himself, orbiting around their needs and attending to them as if he couldn't live otherwise. Something like submission, maybe, as his hips bid for further friction and he opens wider for Jeremiah. Draws that swollen cock deeper into his mouth, halfway to the root, tonguing at its underside and groaning at the taste. Looking at him now, it was difficult to argue that was still just a favor. Still a reluctant task.
Although no longer angry, heat has risen to his face. It colors his cheeks as he starts to suck in the rest, filling that sassy mouth with cock.]
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Never let him say McGillis didn't know how to make a guy feel special. It's more than just consideration he sees when he opens his eyes. Jeremiah could drown in his pupils, gazing at the flush risen to the surface. Those lips, cruel and charming, pressed hungrily into his skin, dragging as he sucks down the length of his shaft. No one truly reticent would stay sealed to him so tight.
Jeremiah pushes a little harder in between McGillis's thighs in turn, lifting his foot to cup the bulge from underneath, rubbing right up into him. It's not a hard balance with both hands on the railing, but inevitably, his hips start to shift the more he ruts his leg into the other man. Panting harder through parted lips, he looks down and nudges forward, slow and careful, his weight pressed into McGillis's hand holding him at the root.
Jeremiah feels dizzy just looking at his face, the expanse of his body just as tensed with want.]
May I?
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Consent was, of course, critical. He had demonstrated as much during their first meeting and he was demonstrating as much now, after reasonable negotiation. But it should've went without saying and thus without asking—yes, of course you can. Not that he can manage that much, just huffing around that submerged cock and threatening it with the slightest scrape of teeth.
And then, because evidently his partner learned best through demonstration, McGillis gobbles up Jeremiah the rest of the way. His cock slides down his throat, so slick and so soft, bulging against the delicate flesh and trapped by that thick column of muscle. McGillis doesn't even choke, doesn't so much as flinch, just letting Jeremiah see how a professional conducts himself.
Just letting him come to the realization, all on his own: you couldn't pay for cocksucking this good.]
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But Jeremiah also doesn't know who he's truly dealing with, either.
Groaning loud this time, he finally shifts himself to free up a hand, planting both feet back into the floor, nudging his shin between McGillis's thighs. He ends up seeking the back of his neck, sliding up to the hairline but not pushing, just cradles the dip at the base of McGillis's skull for stability as he tries not to melt into the scalding column of his throat. It's slow at first, for the urgency seeping into his core, dragging his hips back, choking on his inhale at the sight of those last couple inches pulling out. Sure enough, he sinks right back into that impossible heat as easy as the first time.
He's mindful but intent as he moves, startled into attentiveness by unfamiliarity. It doesn't stop him from trying, giving another slow push. This time, his eyes catch the bulge in McGillis's throat shifting with him, and Jeremiah shakes with the force of his gasp.]
Shit... McGillis...
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For a moment, though, the situation turns a bit precarious; McGillis may have had the manners of a noble, but he was raised by the streets. He fought for his food and fucked for his money. And as a street rat, he tended to react rather poorly to any stray touch to the back of his neck, to the raised spines of his own brutal surgery. At least he was aware enough to realize that Jeremiah meant nothing by it, so there was no reason for any sort of altercation. But regardless, he does hesitate—likely long enough to communicate that this was definitely a no-no place.
The moment passes and McGillis finds himself distracted by that questing leg, all but humping it now to alleviate tension. McGillis withdraws for a few seconds, panting each time, coating Jeremiah's cock with saliva and gasping for air and returning for another round. As effortlessly as the rest of this encounter, he deepthroats Jeremiah and gives him the full experience of a proper prostitute. No longer abiding a slower pace, but then again, that was the point. He swallows like he was born to it and sucks until he wheezes, until he works himself into a full frenzy.
And when he finds the space to speak, it is only to incite Jeremiah further.]
Fuck my mouth—
[Permission granted. He wants to, needs to, has to feel that cock full force.]
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He's pushing harder with his leg now, more free to let his hips shift with it, still hanging on with every intent to reciprocate and yet chasing the opportunity to give anything in turn. As if a man like McGillis would ever come in his, well, suit over something like this, as if he could provide even a fraction of what that nasty mouth and slick throat were doing to him. The wait was worth it for this, watching him slip his mouth right off, his cock and McGillis's lips both streaked with spit, then diving back with that same ease as before. Tension has already built itself heavy in his thighs, his hips, the pit of his stomach. When the pace ticks up, he knows it's not slowing back down, and he won't have any choice but to be carried along with the tide.
McGillis speaks, and when he shoves his mouth back down Jeremiah swears he sees as much as feels his cock pulsing in his throat.
So he draws back, tightens his fingers around the railing, around those blonde locks, and complies. Jeremiah's not fast, not careless yet, but he's stopped holding back as he humps into his mouth. It makes the pleasure sink that much brighter into his nerves, forcing every exhale out of his mouth a little louder, a little harsher. Someone could hear the obscene slurp of McGillis's mouth, his own rasping sounds, but it's pleasure too good to stifle. As if the picture they'd paint should someone walk around this or that corner wouldn't be more damning.
He's not thinking about it, driving his hips faster to a luxurious groan, still trapped watching the swell down the column of his neck, knowing he can't last.]
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So he will make it good for the man. In fact, he will make it downright great, so amazing that he will have this exchange to compare to every other in this damnable world. Even half-shut, his eyes seem to taunt him; even robbed of the ability to speak, he goads Jeremiah towards climax. He continues to show off, shamelessly so, that he could and would continue to suck cock as it pleases him. He won't halt and he won't hesitate and he will shrug off every criticism because he was going to change the world. And he would start by ridding the hangar of that thing.
Or at least moving it someplace he could no longer see it. Small steps, really.
For now, though, McGillis will sit there and suffer. And he will suffer oh so sweetly, because he really wasn't kidding: he loves to suck cock and he loves to please men who think they are above his charms. Because nobody really was and that was part of the problem; just ask the friend he betrayed for the sake of that beautiful world. For now, though, enjoy the show.]
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He'll earn his victory, too. The satisfaction in his face, red from exertion and staring up with toxic eyes, they speak every inch to his wants. His wants to please to be pleased in turn, to get what he wants but have it given to him the way he wants it, too. And Jeremiah will walk away sated but bested, with a sweet memory to haunt him.]
I'm close.
[Jeremiah couldn't care less as he rides the high of the moment, for this brief time, while it's his. He's watching McGillis, carefully gripping his hair with both hands now, fucking in earnest to get the rest of the way there, fucking him like he's buried somewhere else. Moaning breathlessly on every thrust, his chest heaves with the force of his ragged pants, spine curling inward as his muscles begin to go taut.]
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