#It's a little embarrassing how often she's been on my mind alongside my f/o from that game

[wayfinderships]

Good morning gamers I am thinking about 🪽 someone save me please-

[sheepsandcattle]

Chapter 24

“Curly. What the fuck?” Oscar chucks his cards onto the coffee table and crosses his arms over his chest, sulking. “You’re cheating, man. How are you winning every fucking time? Shit’s rigged.”

“Mate, spend a fortnight in the countryside with my dad and you’ll be sick at Blackjack too. Dead serious.”

Jules shoves his money over the table with force, but he’s laughing. Oscar hands over half as much money but tops it off with an eight-ball. Curly takes his winnings with a smug grin and crams the lot into the pocket of his hoodie as Jules re-packs the deck.

“No wonder you’re both skint if you play like this all the time,” Curly remarks as he pulls his phone from his pocket, buzzing for the dozenth time in the past hour.

He feels Oscar scowl at his words and raises his head again, cracking a smile at the older man. It’s good to see him having a laugh again - although the face he’s currently pulling shows otherwise. Oscar was clean for nearly four days last week, says he’s going to try again starting Monday, “probably.”

He pulls himself from his thoughts as he flips open his phone. His chest and neck burn up as he reads the message.

18:07 - got you alone yet?

So that’s a thing they do now. It seems so daft - like it could mean nothing, really - but Curly knows; can tell, ‘cause it always stars off so vague - so innocent until it isn’t.

It doesn’t usually start until later into the night (when he’s pretty sure Jordan’s in bed already and letting his mind wander) and they don’t talk about it – God they don’t acknowledge it at all when they’re actually together. He’s pretty sure J’s trying not to embarrass him -protecting his honour or something- and for a short while he was glad for it but, just recently, all’s he wants is for the guy to make the move that he’s too nervous to initiate. Heavy make-outs are mint, don’t get him wrong - but sometimes they go on for so bloody long; the banter between kisses becoming hushed conversations before sleep, whilst he wishes he had the guts to make the next move and Jordan stays well behaved.

All because Curly was daft enough to have said, “I don’t think I’m up for more than this,” on the night of their first kiss when Jordan’s hand slipped beneath his top.

Realistically, he knows Jordan is just waiting for the ‘okay’. Shame he’s too bloody awkward to give it.

“Curly!”

“Hm?” His head shoots up and he snaps his phone shut, leaving a half-written response waiting to be sent.

“We’re going out,” Jules repeats as he sets the deck of cards on the table, now packed back up in their battered box. “To Rooney’s. Coming?”

They must be having a laugh. Listening to some bloke kiss Morrissey’s arse until he’s too high to hear him? As if.

“Actually, I’m off out n’all,” he announces as he stands, phone already open again as he makes his swift exit to his bedroom.

18:09 - you will in 20. see you then.

***

The pizza box on the table only holds one slice now, cold and half-eaten as they lay across the couch; Curly on his back with his head turned towards the TV and Jordan stretched along his side. He’s propped up on one elbow as the fingertips of his other hand trace over Curls’ stomach, who tries to keep his eyes on the screen, but J doesn’t half make it difficult for him. He can’t help but glance down every so often at the shapes the man draws.

On the back of his hand is an inked image of a coiled snake that Curly recalls being Jordan’s own work. Yesterday, Jordan had told him, “I’m thinking about taking some classes. Maybe an internship,” over the phone; one of the last things he’d said before they hung up to ‘sleep,’ only for Jordan to text him around fifteen minutes later about how he couldn’t sleep because he was too busy thinking about…

Curly wonders if Jordan can feel his stomach twist before he gets the chance to push the thought to the back of his head. He feels the man’s eyes on the same strip of skin that he touches, but Curly doesn’t dare follow them now. He turns his head back toward the screen, willing away the images Jordan had engrained into his head the night before and replacing them with images of O-Ren Ishii instead as she says, “you didn’t think it was gonna be that easy, did you?”

But Jordan’s left hand is still moving, and every so often, his pinky finger skims along the waistline of his trousers -the plaid ones that he liked so much before- and Curly find himself turning to meet his eyes, his chin jutting up as if to say, ‘go on then.’ 

Jordan’s lips are on his without the need for clarification, leg between Curly’s thighs and tongue between his teeth. This they’re familiar with; kissing and nothing more. Jordan was quick to accept the line Curly had drawn, too bloody patient for their own good.

Tonight though, he’s still wired from last night’s conversation, still trying and failing to shake the mental images, and now Jordan’s hand is feeling over his chest, and the outside of his thigh is pressed to the inside of Curly’s. He doesn’t even think about it before he’s lifting his hips, fingers tangled in the man’s hair to keep his tongue pressed alongside Jordan’s as he presses himself against him.

Something happens in his throat, forcing him to swallow at the feeling he didn’t realise would be so pivotal in this, and when he abandons the kiss, Jordan nips his lower lip, dragging it out a little before he releases it and draws back to catch his eyes.

He wants to say ‘okay,’ or, ‘please,’ or, ‘yes, I realise what I did and yes I want to do it some more,’ but he can’t for the life of him find the nerve to articulate it, so he just pulls him back in again, drags his tongue over Jordan’s lips and moves his hips up against him again.

Jordan must understand, because he’s groaning then, in a way that could be half-exaggerated before he mumbles, “you have no idea,” into his mouth and is grinding back, angling and pressing against him in a way that’s even better than before.

One of his hands has wondered over the man’s spine and he feels his lower back flex as he rolls against him. Curly’s not sure if it’s the sensation or the concept of it all, but the same arousal that’s got his breath catching in his throat also has his lips falling part-open, Jordan licking into his mouth until he trails over Curly’s jaw instead.

He whispers something against his neck, but Curly can’t hear it so much as he feels it, too distracted as Jordan curls a hand behind his knee and pulls his leg up to hook over his hip as heavy breaths fall between the mystery words.

Their groins are pressed together still, but only for a moment before Jordan pulls back once again, and Curly nearly chases his lips, but then his eyes follow where Jordan’s gaze has landed. His top is bunched up above his chest and Jordan’s hand is dragging over his trousers now, over that plaid pattern that he’s taken such a liking to.

He watches Jordan’s hand as his fingers wander over the front, where the zipper breaks the pattern that’s already stretched tightly over—

He’s not used to seeing himself like this; not in comparison to his bedroom; pitch black save from the light from his shit Toshiba, headphones in as the presence of his flatmates at the other side of his door loom over him, and covered by his sheets from the waist, down, because it’s all just a bit embarrassing, ain’t it?

Jordan’s fingers splay over him and he looks up for the ‘okay,’ which Curly gives him in the form of a nod, followed by a shuddered breath when the palm presses against him and Jordan moves to return his mouth to Curly’s, who gasps at the feeling of the man rubbing him through the fabric, just for a short while before his fingers catch his fly and he pulls.

They fall back into it again, the kissing, and Curly forgets to be embarrassed, just for a few seconds and only every so often, just long enough to push himself up into Jordan’s hand. The man manages to pull the article away and suddenly Curly’s stuttered breaths are becoming muffled wines as a hand slides into his underwear, where a warm palm is wrapping around his length and stroking. 

“F--” is just about all he manages as Jordan touches him. He lets his head fall back, panting up at the ceiling as the man’s mouth trails over his body, moving from one tattoo to the next like he’s just now piecing it all together; what he’s been missing.

He’s not sure at which point Jordan gets rid of his boxers, but by the time Curly’s screwed his head back on, they’re gone too and there’s that laugh - that short puff of breath he lets out whenever he catches himself being vulnerable; when he can’t quite bring himself back from it. Jordan drags a hand over his face, mouth parted loosely and leaving Curly with uneven breaths as the other hand lingers just close enough to have his hips fighting to twitch against his better judgment. Jordan mutters, “Jesus,” as he shakes his head. Shakes himself out of it.

“What?” Curly’s not concerned really, not with that faint smile that Jordan’s still wearing when Curly’s braves a glance between them.

Jordan shifts backwards on his knees, nudging Curly’s leg until he’s forced to lower his foot to the ground. He leans over his lower half now, one arm hooked beneath the leg still bent at his side. He attaches his mouth to Curly’s hip, follows the bone to where his thigh ends and the pale skin fades into a hollow.

It’s daft to feel this kind of suspense, he reckons, trying to calm himself as he lets his head rest back again, eyes shutting and breath shuddering at the first hint of Jordan’s mouth on him. His hand winds around the forearm that Jordan has rested over his waist as the man wraps his fingers around the base and slides his lips over the head.

“Jesus,” he whispers before he can catch himself, Jordan’s mouth vibrating so slightly as he hums around him –‘I told you so’- but enough to pull a gasp from Curly. He’s shuddering again as Jordan sucks the head, licking over him before he’s sliding down, mouth hot and tongue smooth over his length and he holds it – stays there as his free hand slips between his legs, a little further back where he cups, rubs, has Curly moaning, no idea when he even opened his mouth again.

He’s usually quiet when he’s alone but, as his fingers grip Jordan’s hair, feels his head move in his lap, the groans that fall from him make it even better somehow.

Curly hears Jordan catch his breath every so often when he draws back to suck on the head and the erratic intakes are just about the best sounds he’s ever heard – that is until Jordan pulls off entirely, hisses, “fuck, Curly,” against him, the words chased by what he swears is a moan. His mouth trails down, over the base of his cock, replacing the hand that moves from his balls to stroke his length instead.

He feels a little helpless, fumbling for words but only breathing instead, only a whispered, “yeah, shit,” escaping him this time.

Jordan breathes heavily now, only sucking when he isn’t blowing hot puffs of air against his skin. It’s like Curly’s brain finally retunes itself as he uses one elbow to push himself up, losing his own breath as he sees the scene that’s been playing out right under his fucking nose this whole time.

He thinks ‘what a waste,’ as he takes in what he’s been missing out on; Jordan’s mouth working over him, one hand stroking Curly as the other disappears somewhere underneath himself. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put the pieces together: Jordan’s gaze, fixed on him now, along with the rough breaths -near-moans- that escape him.

He’s groaning as he touches himself, mouth pressed to wherever it can reach, warm breaths chasing his tongue. Curly would pipe up, but ‘fit’ is the only word that comes to mind and he’s not sure it holds enough weight.

As he pulls away, his eyes leave Curly’s in favour of watching his hand work, pumping his dick a little faster now and Curly fails to swallow his moan again this time. He tugs his hair a little because he really fucking wants to kiss him. Jordan defies the gesture though, eyes sliding shut as his mouth returns to the head of his cock and he hollows his cheeks as he sucks the tip.

Curly’s insides feel hot and twisted, an ache swelling over his spine.

“J,” he whines - doesn’t mean to whine; means to whisper. “Shit J, so close.” He can’t bring himself to lay back again now, watching the muscles of Jordan’s shoulder shift as the hand hidden beneath him strokes over his own dick.

Curly’s in the process of pulling his lower lip into his mouth to silence himself, but a gasp of “keep going,” halts the action before he even has the sense to stop himself.

J must pulls his hand from himself, because it slides over his stomach then, over his chest and neck until Jordan’s thumb’s pressed to his lips, palm splayed over his cheek.

Yeah, Jordan’s definitely done this before.

As Curly’s lips part, the man pulls away from his dick, pumping with his other hand just to get another glimpse of him, eyes half-lidded and chest heaving as he sucks Jordan’s thumb into his mouth. He’s just about conscious enough to find himself closing his eyes under the man’s gaze.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous. Fuck,” Jordan rasps, presumably still watching him because Curly’s squirming from his hand alone now. “Wanna see you come.” Of course, he’s not shy of dirty talk. Curls should have fucking known that but it takes him off guard and his neck grows hotter.

Jordan’s mouth is back on him then, smoother than ever as he sinks straight to the base, holds the length of Curly’s cock in his throat, then pulls back up again to get a steady rhythm. And Curly can fucking hear it. It’s wet and messy and fucking hot as the man swallows around him, using his hand to squeeze the base below the heat of his lips.

Curly’s meant to warn him, he thinks, but Jordan hums like he’s trying to say something before pressing his tongue to the head, rubbing over it just fucking right, lips still tight around him. It aches along the pit of his stomach and between his legs until Curly’s coming in waves as his hips stutter and his fingers tighten on the back of Jordan’s head, mouth slack as the man’s thumb smears over his chin.

Jordan stays there, sucking lightly now as Curly swallows down wines, hips twitching until his lips slide away. As he eases off, Jordan’s hand remains, just barely moving as Curly’s hips settle back down onto the couch and his breaths begin to even out.

J crawls back over him and his lips are prying Curly’s apart in a messy kiss, dominated by tongues as he moans into his mouth.

“Curls,” he shudders, his hand taking Curly’s and guiding.

Fuck knows why he’s taken aback by the feel of Jordan hard under his palm, but he feels his stomach twist pleasantly at the thought of it as he pushes himself to straighten up. He slips his hands beneath Jordan’s boxers and wraps his fingers around his length, pulling a long groan from the man.

J’s big on watching, he finds, as the man withdraws from the half-kiss in favour of watching Curly’s face, then his hand and then back again. He doesn’t know how long Jordan was touching himself for, but he’s worked up already, low moans escaping him as Curly’s thumb rolls over the slit of his cock.

He says, “that’s it,” within another groan and his hand’s in Curly’s hair now, tugging his head back a little like, even with the roles reversed, he’s guiding where this goes. He comes over Curly’s wrist with his mouth on his jaw.

When they break, Jordan’s hand remains in the curls at the back of his head, arm resting on Curly’s shoulder as he tugs his fingers through the strands.

They watch on-screen Uma Thurman staggering and wheezing in the snow, but he can’t hear her breaths over his own or Jordan’s. He doesn’t realise that he’s watching the screen to avoid eye contact, doesn’t realise that he’s suddenly self-conscious until both of J’s hands are on his jaw and turning his head back to face him.

He doesn’t say anything, eyes lingering on Curly’s for a long while, darting but never leaving until they drift over his face. His lower lip’s already wet when he darts his tongue over it before dragging it between his teeth.

“You’ve definitely done that before.” He doesn’t know what else to say.

Jordan chuckles, nods. “You haven’t.” His voice rasps in its half-whisper.

And that’s not a secret - hence how patient J’s been. Hence how content he always is to lead - guide. Still though, Curly wants to know, “is it that obvious?”

“Only by the look on your face.”

Curly’s baffled. Not two minutes ago he got his first blowy and now he’s creasing at Jordan while Uma Thurman gets her head kicked in on the telly.