krempuff | (no subject)

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The trouble with planning to not have plans was that, inevitably, it left Krem feeling like he ought to make plans anyway. He'd settled on making the barest plans that he could comfortably suffer while still calling the whole thing an act of relative spontaneity. They had, after all, planned the time together; they'd made sure their schedules were free of work or other obligations, had told their other friends they would be otherwise occupied, and promised each other the time. Neither of them were known for their ability to suffer idleness well, so Krem knew there would be at least one outing. Structured spontaneity. That sounded quite good.

So, he came with a small overnight bag, since they had discussed that option briefly and he liked that potential, the learning of being in Thomas's space for that long--but, more importantly, it had his running shoes in it--and with a large box full of a myriad variety of Chinese foods because he felt that a lie in was obligated to have food that they didn't really have to clean up after.

He'd texted Thomas to let him know that he was on his way after he'd picked up the food, and--grateful that there were no more animals loose in the streets--he headed there presently.

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Krem kept going. He didn't chuckle, though Thomas's enthusiastic response made his chest swell with warmth and desire. His hand kept moving slowly over him, exploring, feeling out how he felt through his jeans. He tilted and shifted his whole body a bit, until he was straddling one of Thomas's thighs. It was harder to let on how much the kissing, the touch, just being this close, affected him; saying the words felt silly.

"You can," he started, but his voice was rough, stuttering, and he had to sigh for a moment. His hips rocked a little against Thomas's thigh, even though all he was doing was rubbing between his legs. He tried again, "You can pull up my binder--my undershirt--if you want to touch me?"

Thomas shifted again, trying not to be too selfish, too greedy with the movement of his hips. He was sensitive, he knew, because he hadn't done this sort of thing in his life (that he could remember). Any touch was liable to shoot right to his groin which could be both amazing or embarrassing.

Thomas nodded and spent a second or two focusing. He wanted to touch Krem, he did, but the dumb part of him, the part of him that had scant few memories and little to know experience felt suddenly shy about not knowing how to do that.

"I do. I wanna touch you," he mumbled, licking his lips and nodding. "Do I just pull it up like a regular tee shirt? I'm sorry. I've -- "

The only shirts he'd taken off before had been his own.

"There's actually a bit of velcro, on the side, you can just--."

Krem's own voice sounded breathless to his ears. There was a tumultuous moment, a nervous flutter in his stomach, like swimming--the consideration of will I, won't I--before he briefly took his hands off of Thomas so that he could sit up and take off his shirt.

The binder cut off at his ribs, a bit rucked up from the way he'd been squirming about and from their kissing. The velcro on the side, under his arm, was still neatly smoothed, even after all the twisting about. He sat there, straddling Thomas's thigh, bold but nervous all at once, looking at Thomas softly.

He put a hand on Thomas's hip, gentle, smoothing the fabric of his shirt. "Still alright?"

Thomas nodded. That was an easy question to answer. He wasn't the one removing clothing yet and with what he knew of Krem, he figured this might have been more difficult for Krem than it would be for Thomas.

"Are you?" he asked, peering up at Krem and blinking slowly. "Should I -- show me how?"

The words were shy again but there was an undercurrent of want, of desire because this was something he wanted to do more and more with each passing moment.

"Yes," Krem breathed, and he smiled, wide and gentle. He eased Thomas up, until they were both sitting, though he didn't shift from his lap, his leg, in the slightest. It put his thigh close to Thomas's groin, and he rocked his leg gently against him as he rocked his hips against Thomas's leg as well. "Yes, I want this."

There was no hesitation in his hands, though he was slow and cautious, cradling Thomas's gently. He showed him how to peel back the velco, parting it slowly, and the way it easily slipped off once it was loosened.

Then, once it was gone, he gently let go of Thomas's fingers and twined his arms around his neck. He sat there a moment, still and silent so that Thomas could take him in before he decided where he wanted to put his hands.

For a second, all Thomas did was stare. He was racking up firsts today, firsts that he never thought he'd have and hadn't started wishing for until he'd gotten to Darrow. Now, Krem was sitting on him, hand his hands on him and Thomas couldn't form words.

"I - I can touch you?" he asked, looking for permission this time, this first time. Thomas hadn't done this kind of touching before and while he wasn't exactly sure where to touch and what would feel good, he knew he wanted to try. If he did it wrong, he hoped Krem would tell him, at least, and nudge him towards better touches and pleasures.

"If you'd like to," Krem murmured, still bold enough to say so at the moment, maybe more so because of the way that Thomas was looking at him. There was a small, cautious sort of worry, the nervousness that came with the unknown.

He picked up Thomas's hands again, this time to bring them up to his mouth, and he kissed his fingertips gently, lingering softly on each one. After he'd kissed each finger and both of his thumbs, he slid Thomas's hands down. Down his chin and neck and to the swell of his chest--the firmness of muscle, but the softness that remained of his femininity.

At first, Thomas's touch was soft, barely there. He didn't want to touch the wrong place, to press against an area that Krem didn't want to be touched. Krem's guidance and his patience were enough to stop Thomas from being overly nervous and amazingly concerned about doing the wrong thing.

He swallowed and looked up at Krem as his hands moved, fingers feathering over the muscles now. They were hard and ropy, lean and long and Thomas found himself wondering how long it had taken Krem to become like this, so well defined and incredible to touch.

A laugh fell from his lips and he looked momentarily abashed before saying, "I'm not laughing at you, Fluffy, I promise. I just never though I'd be in this position right now and you feel -- you feel good."

Krem smiled, laughing a little as well. The nickname raced through him, a thrill. With his shirt off, all the dimples and freckles in his skin were visible, all the stretch marks and the mostly faded bruises. Even if he felt he'd let himself go in the months in Darrow, there was no sign of it. He was still narrow in the waist and hip and broad in the shoulders.

"It's okay," Krem said, petting Thomas's hair back from his forehead, leaning in to start kissing across his face. "Take your time. We've got plenty of it. There's no rush."

He left Thomas's hands to roam however they'd like, one of his own hands cupping the back of Thomas's neck gently while the other sank back down between his legs again. This time, he ran his thumb gently along the fly.

Thomas shivered and he knew it was from a combination of his hands on Krem's chest and Krem's finger against his pants, against his fly. His breathing came out raggedly and he shook his head at himself, laughing again.

"Keep going," he murmured, giving permission even if Krem hadn't asked for it. His hands roamed down towards Krem's hips, wanting to touch all the skin that he could see. His fingers passed over fading bruises, skimmed dimples and moles before moving back up towards Krem's chest.

He knew what he wanted to touch and what he wanted to touch was right there in front of him. He'd avoided Krem's breasts up until now but no more. He finally reached to touch the soft, soft skin and shivered again.

The tentative, almost nervous touches, exploratory touches sparked fires under Krem's skin. He leaned into each and every one. Thomas's fingers tripped and tracked across his torso, down his sides and stomach, back up his ribs to his breasts.

As Thomas touched and explored, Krem let himself be equal parts bold and nervous again, kissing at Thomas's jaw and neck, opening Thomas's fly with a cautious deliberation. The noise of his fly sinking down seemed to fill all the space between their breathing. He shivered, even though he felt overly warm.

He slipped his hand into the front of Thomas's jeans. The angle was a bit odd, his wrist tilted too much to do much more than feel the warmth and the shape under his palm and fingers, but it made him sigh ecstatically against Thomas's skin.

Thomas was pretty sure he was going to pass out before this was all over. This was touching of another kind, something different, something that he'd only done to himself and very infrequently at that.

Thomas's hips skipped and arched, pressing forward of their own volition and Thomas's touch got a little firmer in direct reaction to that. Instead of skimming, he squeezed, cupped and held Krem's breasts in his hands, trying to make a memory that not even WICKED's intervention would make him forget.

His touch, a touch that had been tentative, grew bolder, grew stronger. His fingers didn't fumble so much (though there was still some) and he traced the soft curves and muscles with his fingers reverently.

Krem's mind was swarming with questions. He wanted to have Thomas talk him through the touch, tell him how to touch, where to touch, but the words were out of him entirely, incapable of translating the questions tripping around his head into words on his tongue. Thomas's hands, growing more and more bold and focusing steadily, only strove to break the connection between Krem's mind and his tongue, until all he could do was let out a breathless, laughing little noise of pleasure.

His hips stuttered to meet Thomas's, pinning his hand for a moment. He longed, desperately, that Thomas could feel just how much this affected him as well; that it was as obvious to Thomas as it was to him, without having to ask Thomas to touch him as well.

"Feels good." He let out another whispering laugh at the words, unsure if he was speaking for himself and Thomas's touch, or asking Thomas if he agreed, or both.

"It does," Thomas exhaled, blinking up and focusing back on Krem's face. He smiled once he could see straight, once his vision was tipping over and blowing up right in front of his eyes.

He licked his lips again and then leaned forward, pressed those same lips against Krem's chest and nuzzled his nose against the skin there. He wondered if he could use his mouth in other places, wondered if that was stepping over a line or if it was even wanted.

"Keep going?" he asked quietly, quizzically.

Thomas's lips, even more than his hands, were a static sort of electricity, a needful sensation that jolted from Krem's skin where they brushed--soft and gentle and led by his nuzzling, lightly dampened from his tongue, and so, so warm--and down, down, straight between his legs.

He shifted his hand a little, too nervous to touch skin but able to feel all the warmth of him as he whimpered softly in his throat. His back arched, pressing his chest closer to Thomas's mouth as his thighs trembled slightly.

"Oh, Maker." The words came out a ragged, messy sort of thing, barely a whisper, barely a breath. He moved his hand along Thomas as best he could inside his jeans, squeezed his fingers on him, tried to find a good angle that would feel nice for him the whole way through. His other hand buried in Thomas's hair, guiding his head gently until a nipple slipped against Thomas's lips and he let out a shuddering, desirous whine. "Maker, Thomas..."

With Krem's guidance, Thomas's mouth slipped against and then over one of Krem's nipples, tongue flicking out gently and then slightly firmer. It was a different taste, a different sensation and Thomas meant to keep doing it because he wanted to hear Krem's voice like that again.

His body betrayed him though. He hadn't really been paying that much attention to himself and he should have been before Krem's fingers, the touch and press and stroking, even through his boxers was too much for him.

He moaned against Krem's chest and then smothered a shout against a patch of skin right above Krem's nipple. His hips bucked against Krem's hand and that was when Thomas knew what was happening.

He couldn't stop it, the combination of Krem's fingers, his voice, the fact that Krem was on his lap without a shirt and the friction of fabric against his cock made it impossible to stop from coming against his boxers.

For several seconds, he pressed his forehead against Krem's chest, breathing hard before letting out an embarrassed sound and saying, "Oh god. Oh god, I'm sorry."

Krem was a mess of sensations for a moment. Thomas's breath, the hot slick of his mouth, the very edge of his teeth; the tension of his thigh, his stomach, so close to Krem's own skin; and then there was the feel of him, the faint twitch under his palm and then, suddenly, not so faint. Krem inhaled, letting out a faint sound behind Thomas's shout pressed into his skin. He stroked him through it, as best he could.

The first drip of apology, the cant of Thomas's shoulders toward shame, pulled Krem's mouth down into a frown. "What are you apologizing for? Hey."

Krem slipped his hand from Thomas's hair along his jaw to cup his face, as he had been early. He tilted his chin up gently, so he wasn't buried into his chest, and smoothed his thumb across Thomas's cheekbone.

"...you wanted that, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, shuddering out that last vestiges of the orgasm before the blush settled in, darkening his cheeks and neck. He grimaced and shook his head again which he knew looked contradictory but it was hard to form words when there was still an undercurrent of pleasure thrumming through him.

"I wanted that, I did," he said, sounding less shattered finally. "I just didn't want to..."

He gestured down at his pants, wet and sticky, before looking back up. "I don't know a lot about this but I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to make a mess like that."

Krem breathed out a laugh that was mostly a sigh of relief. He eased his hand gently and slowly out of Thomas's jeans, twining both arms around Thomas's neck so that he could lean in and kiss him slowly, deeply. They had all the time in the world, for the moment. For now, he wanted to kiss Thomas.

He did pull back after just a few kisses, because Thomas deserved to be reassured. "It happens, there's nothing wrong," he said, voice calm and adoring, lips brushing against his. A flush whispered up the back of his neck, and he gently slid off Thomas's lap.

"Come on. You'll put on some fresh shorts, and we'll lie in bed this time." He gave him a smile that he hoped was charming, maybe cheeky, but mostly he just felt flushed and a little shy for trying to be so bold. "I can be the pillow? I'm not quite all muscle, like this, even. You can put your head on my chest."

The words and the kiss went a long way to ease the embarrassment that has flooded through Thomas's body after he'd made a complete and total fool of himself and a mess of his pants. He still wasn't really thrilled with his self control but there was nothing he could do about it now.

Thomas spent a few moments just looking at Krem standing before him and he flushed again because it was beautiful and he liked looking and even if he'd just come, it was still pleasurable to see something like this so close up.

"Okay," Thomas said, nodding and standing up. It felt awkward and gross considering the current state of his shorts but it wasn't that long a walk to the bedroom. "Okay, let's do that."

Krem smiled at Thomas encouragingly. His lingering gaze stirred up his flush again, made him lick his lips a little. He gave Thomas another kiss, turning him toward the bedroom and giving him a gentle push at the small of his back.

"Go get settled. I'll put the food away and be right there." He needed a moment to find his center again, at any rate, to calm the hot roll in his belly that hadn't died down with Thomas's orgasm but was still waiting for his own.

Once the food was all put away, he grabbed them each a bottle of water, too, and then headed toward the bedroom after where Thomas had disappeared to. His whole body was still ringing and excited, his fingers thrilling at the idea of touch. He set the water bottles down on the end of the bed.

Thomas carefully walked back to his bedroom and dug out a bare of shorts. He disappeared into the bathroom, tugging off his pants and shorts and tossing them into a pile of dirty clothes that had slowly grown.

He really needed to do laundry. He cleaned himself up quickly enough before sliding on his clean shorts. He tossed the long sleeved shirt away too, pulling on a tank top before finally padding out into the bedroom.

He was propped up against his pillows when Krem finally arrived and he couldn't help but stare for a few seconds because he was, again, struck by the realization that all of this had happened and wasn't some dream.

"Hi."

"Hi," Krem said back softly. With Thomas stripped down to his shorts and an undershirt, Krem let his eyes skate slowly, consumptively, over his body. He took in the long, wiry muscles of his arms and the thick muscles of his thighs, how rangy he was, still just a growing thing but getting to that settled sort of way that young men got. Very handsome. Krem smiled softly when his eyes came back up to Thomas's face.

He took off his jeans, leaving him only in his own shorts. His own short stature made his muscles look thicker than they were, he thought; if he'd been as tall as Thomas or Noah, he would have been leaner, more elegant. But his thighs and his arms still would have been thick. He wasn't displeased with his body. But he was aware of all the little differences.

He climbed up onto the bed and sprawled beside him, also against the pillows. "This is alright?"

"This is fine," Thomas said, moving closer to Krem when he'd gotten settled. He took a second (or maybe longer) to look him over, see skin he hadn't seen since they'd gone swimming together all those months ago. They'd both been different, their relationship different so Thomas felt like he was seeing Krem with new eyes.

"It's really fine," he murmured, nodding and reaching over to trace one single finger down Krem's thigh towards his knee. He circled around the muscles there, the bones that he could feel before moving back up his thigh and tapping gently.

Krem hummed contentedly, settling back a little more into the pillows. He looped an arm around Thomas, pulling him in just a little closer, so that he could run his own fingers across his shoulder blades with the same slow tracing speed that Thomas was using.

"So I take it looking's going well," he murmured against Thomas's hair, chuckling softly. As much as they joked about it, he just hoped that it wouldn't go back to only looking after this. The very idea of it made his chest ache.

Thomas's fingers were tapping and sliding back up his thigh, and Krem let out a shuddering, soft little sigh, shifting his hips just a little before he settled.