Comfort Zone


James doesn't rise to greet him. Not in the usual, domestic way. He watches Richard push the lounge door closed, Fusker sneaking in through the jar in a sensual curve. He waits for him to toe off his shoes into the far, dark corner and to drop into the sofa.

He lifts the glass of single malt whiskey from the glass table at his side and puts it into Richard's hands, long fingers curling around the cut crystal, the weight of him settling back against James' chest and thigh.

Some nonsense on the television, sound turned down low, James asks, "Long day?"

"Weirdos and religious nutters."

"Does no one have anything serious to say?"

"Some do. Few and far between."

The conversation starts and stops within a minute, James leaning in to kiss Richard's tanned throat, arms around him, hand stroking over his chest and taut stomach, threading between the buttons of dark blue shirt, teasing warm, smooth skin.

Richard is still drinking his whiskey in slow swallows, and James matches his movements to the lazy, languorous mood, his touches gentle, feather kisses along the line of Richard's neck to his collarbone. When he sucks on the pulse point in the throat, Richard moans, the rough sound accompanying a tilt of his head, encouraging the sharp, warm contact.

James smiles to himself, nipping the skin lightly between his teeth, careful not to leave a lasting mark which won't be covered by a shirt collar.

He skims his palm over soft denim pulled tight over Richard's crotch, chuckles when his lover shifts to part his thighs slightly.

Richard takes a final drink, turns his head without swallowing and invites James to partake. They share the bitter liquid, tongues twisting in it, the dark taste mellowed just slightly. Then he settles back again, closing his eyes, letting the glass dangle from his fingers out over the sofa cushions.

Unbuttoning the top couple of buttons, pulling the linen across to reveal one shoulder to the attentions of his mouth, James unfastens Richard's fly too, sliding his hand under denim and cotton, feeling hot, hard, silky flesh rub against his palm.

Richard pushes his shoulders back into James, groans, turns his face into James' neck and bites him gently.

Resting his chin on Richard's head, he whispers, "It's okay. I'm not doing television for a week."

Richard's mouth opens slightly wider, teeth sinking a little deeper, harder, lips surrounding the marked sink, sucking, soothing.

At the bite, James' hand flexes against Richard's cock, fingers curling around it, surrounding it in a hot glove. His other hand rises, sweeps over his silky hair, fingers combing through it.

Starting a slow stroke of the hard erection sliding against his skin, James bends his mouth to Richard's crown, closes his eyes, breathes his lover in, kisses him; tells him voicelessly that he loves him.

Richard arches up, pressing almost gratefully into James' hand which tightens and moves, dragging a low moan from his throat.

Soon he's panting, quick breaths, low murmurs of nonsensical words. James wraps his free arm around him, holding him tight against him, kissing any place he can reach, jerking him off in the confined space of his jeans and underwear, the purple tip of his cock glistening as it catches the ambient light of the room.

One long groan, one shudder, and Richard comes over James' hand, coating his fingers, staining the denim. James smiles into Richard's neck, sliding his cum-slicked hand through the leg of his underwear, curving around his left hip, pulling his lover back into him.

Sated, Richard dozes in James' arms, and James closes his eyes, hard but contented to have his lover there. It's some unspecified time before he feels Richard's thumb rubbing along the inside seam of his jeans.

He doesn't move, just enjoys the sensation, gentle and rough, until the pressure follows the seam up, over his cramped balls and solid, awkwardly trapped erection. He can hear his fly being unzipped slowly, and breathes out just as slowly, not sure if he wants to open his eyes.

Richard's touch is as lazy as his own was; slow, drawing out every growl caught in the back of his throat. Clinging to Richard as his orgasm creeps tantalisingly along his cock, James opens his mouth in the dark hair, kissing, stroking wherever his hands can reach.

Unable to keep still any longer, he presses up into Richard's hand, silent plea for pace ignored. And Richard carries on at his leisure as James whimpers in his ear; whimpers becoming soft cries.

He strains for a climax just coming into reach, fingers spread on the linen shirt, head dropping back to the sofa with a dull thump, catching his breath on a long groan, following it with a sharp cry as he comes over Richard's talented, torturing hand.

Richard rests his sticky hand around James' softening cock, thumb stroking the base, settling into James, pressing a wet kiss to the hollow of his throat.

It's a long while before either of them move again. And when they do it's upstairs to a large bed where they sprawl over one another right in the centre.