bakerstreet | But we get along when I'm inside you

[ all universes ]

[ Engineering First Officer Jesse Finch hadn't been Hugh's idea at all. He'd stormed and shouted and listed off a hundred thousand reasons why "that hopped up little shit" shouldn't be Hugh's right hand, shouldn't be the one to make decisions in his absence in Engineering, his territory - Captain Kennedy had just nodded, sipped his coffee, and in that absolutely frustratingly genuine way of his, had met Hugh's eyes and told him it wasn't up for discussion.

First Officer Jesse Finch. Gunning for the top, no doubt, Hugh knew his type - talented, confident, driven. It was as if he were having his job stolen out from under him by a younger, less fashionable version of himself.

How that turned into this is anybody's guess, though. Hugh's office/workspace/junkyard/living quarters are based in a repurposed room down in Engineering (more convenient that way), littered with discarded machinery and half-finished projects, laid open books and hand-drawn blueprints tacked up all over the walls; no one will come in here unless they make too much noise, get security called, I think he's killing Finch in there, someone help. If they're quiet, the very occupied rest of Engineering will just think they're having a tense little congress over who's in charge.

So it's probably not an excellent idea for Hugh to swat an armful of coils and metal bits off one of his work tables before squaring Jesse up against it, Jesse's chest to his back as he folds the younger man over it; one hand around the back of his neck, like a dog, and the other palming him roughly through his pants. ]

Just couldn't wait, could you? [ Nevermind that it was Hugh who started it this time, drawling something insulting about Jesse's latest maintenance report - there had been a sneer, a comeback. When nobody had been in eyeshot of them, Hugh had fisted Jesse's hair and left a necklace of marks along his collarbone, walking off all kinds of self-satisfied. Now they're here (where all their illicit fucks tend to happen), like this, fighting and hissing and snapping like usual.

The dance is the same, in the end. It's just the steps that are different. ]

You are just - pathetic, you're lucky I'm taking time out of my day for this.

[ Maybe it's not an excellent idea but hey, the sound is actually what gets his blood going. It's always a fight, it's always angry, tense words and then one of them breaks, one of them gets way too close and then there's this. There's the reminder of Hugh's teeth under his shirt, stinging every time the fabric brushes against the marks in a certain way. There's the thought of later, when nobody's looking, and there's the pulse of heat low in his gut when he thinks about it, not quite forbidden and not quite wrong, just - thrilling. He's been a thrillseeker his whole damn life. Why stop now?

And so Hugh makes some shitty comment about his report, and Jesse's not having it, as always, and then suddenly, they're against the table, Jesse bent over it. He grins, fiercely, as always, allowing himself a shudder as Hugh palms at him. It wouldn't be right if he didn't fight back, and he does, squirming under the hold, inching his foot back so he can hook it around Hugh's ankle and attempt to knock him back. He's not sure he has the leverage, but he's sure as fuck going to try. ]

Pathetic, right. Like you ain't been drooling all over the chance to get your hands in my pants after earlier. [ Jesse drawls back, turning that shitty, awful grin back on Hugh as he looks at him over his shoulder the best he's able to. ] You forgot most times I got you on you back whimpering for more, asshole.

[ He practically bares his teeth, sarcastic and nasty and dripping with anger and heat. ] You got lucky enough to get me alone. I got important business to attend to, see, I got an important job to do that ain't sulking in my workspace about how the prettier, younger, more talented son of a bitch is taking over.

Well, one out of three isn't so bad. [ The first attempt to hook his ankle fails, if only because Hugh shifts forward to bite at the curve of Jesse's neck - Hugh's a biter, as it turns out, and Jesse's always going to come out of these trysts marked up. Unless he gets a gag involved, of course. ] Youth is wasted on the young, you snotty little shitheel. I have experience.

[ But the second try at hooking his ankle is going to work, Hugh busy leaning in to grind against Jesse's ass with something hot under his breath, ass like this, I bet that's how you got your little promotion in the first place; his grip slips as he loses his balance, letting go of Jesse in favor of trying to grab at the table to steady himself.

Clever son of a bitch enters into his thought process, somewhere in there. ]

[ It's really actually fine that Hugh is a biter, in Jesse's opinion. Even better, that he has shit left over to remind him of this later, even better that he can slink back to his cabin the next day and dig his fingers into the marks as he gets himself off, quiet and muffled against his pillows. This is so fucking bad, and that's why he keeps coming back for more. The bruises are just proof.

And he doesn't even hesitate when he's got his in, breath hitching at the words - they echo in his head when he turns in the grip and knocks Hugh to the floor to straddle him, pinning his hands to the ground on either side of his head and grinding down, making sure that his ass does, in fact, come into heavy contact with Hugh's lap. He's grinning still, wolfish, eyes sharp and almost predatory. ]

I got the job 'cause I'm better'n you. [ Jesse hums, tightening his grip. ] Y'just don't know how t'handle that.

[ He's not going to kiss Hugh, not right now - usually doesn't, because that's personal, has the possibility of getting too... close. Right now, he leans down to bite his own mark against the underside of Hugh's jaw, laughing low and heavy. ] Fuck, if that don't make it sweeter when you're whining for my cock.

[ Jesse is younger, more spry, doesn't have decades of old injuries and aches to carry around, and it certainly makes it easier for him to pin Hugh, who's busy swearing and writhing underneath. That's what Hugh tells himself, he's just got a handicap here; the fact that Jesse on top of him like that, all dangerous like that, goes straight to his dick has absolutely nothing to do with it. ]

Please, stroke your ego a little harder! I'm sure it's not the only thing you stroke when you think - ah - think about me.

[ Not that Hugh isn't into it either, digging his heels into the floor to hitch up against Jesse's weight, muttering something suspiciously like fatass before attention shifts to his neck. Fuck if his hips don't hitch again, this time entirely involuntarily, something like a little whine rushing out of him at the bite and the words. ]

Like I haven't had you begging to blow me. [ Hands fisted, lip bitten, he doesn't make any effort to get Jesse away from his neck. ] Never seen someone get so into sucking cock, congratulations.

Thanks. [ Jesse drawls, soft and almost pleased at Hugh's ear. Really, he takes that as a compliment. ]

I don't think of you. [ He continues, with a soft sigh of a sound. He's in control here, and his movements are less frantic like this, more intentional. Being pinned has it's merits, and he's never unwilling to be pinned down and fucked or toyed with like that, but here - here is better. Here, he can watch Hugh's fingers dig into his palms and listen to the hitch of his breath and know he caused it. ] But it's cute that y'think I do.

[ He bites again, leaving another mark, this one angrier - and when he pulls away the skin is red, already darkening. Jesse changes his grip, pins Hugh's hands down above his head by the wrists and gets his hand down to unbutton Hugh's pants, not bothering for teasing. He doesn't ever - well. There was the one time, the time Hugh made a big show of showing off, of flaunting the recognition he got from the captain. He did better than Jesse, and Jesse repaid him by wrestling him down and tying his hands behind a chair before teasing, edging him for an hour straight. That was the only time. Good, though. Really good.

Jesse gets his hand in Hugh's pants, doesn't pull them down, just takes him in hand and strokes once, twice, roughly. ] You're way more into me than I am into you, old man. You're lucky, not me - lucky that you anybody willing to fuck you at all.

[ There was the one time, and Hugh remembers it clearly - fondly, even, rolling his hips up into Jesse's hand without hesitation. They've both had that time whens to reminisce about, Jesse edging Hugh to literal tears, Hugh managing to squirrel one of those lock and key belts on Jesse on a dare, not mentioning that the vibrator controls were cordless.

It's the little things, see.

Right now, Hugh puffs a condescending little laugh and hoods his eyes, knees pushing up just a little. As soon as he gets the opportunity, he'll flip their positions - but that's just how they both are, right for the throat. ]

I'm thirty-three, you ass. [ drawling: ] If I weren't so generous with my time, teaching you like I have, you probably still wouldn't know which hole your dick goes into. Youth these days, honestly.

The better question is why you're fucking old men you can't stand instead of someone your own age.

[ And Jesse knows it, too. Jesse knows the second Hugh's given the chance he's going to be on his back, but for now, he's fine with where he's at. ]

Mostly, I feel bad for you. [ Jesse tells him, amused. He settles into a slower sort of pace, almost leisurely, stroking all the way down to the base and back up again, thumbing under the head every so often. ] Wouldn't congratulate myself too much if I was you. You definitely ain't my first rodeo, sweet thing. [ And that, that term of endearment, something Jesse uses so often on the girls around the ship, sounds sour, sounds like an insult, here. He can be sweet and charming if he wants to be, but with Hugh - well. He doesn't want to be. Doesn't have to be.

He doesn't hate Hugh half as much as he puts on, but it makes for a better fuck. ] Oh, the things I hear about you, though. I could write novels. [ He punctuates that with a slight pick up in pace, with a nip at Hugh's neck, trailing down to where his neck and shoulder meet. That's his favorite place to bite, to leave marks. ]

Well, why don't you share your findings? [ But it's a little breathier than he intended, particularly when he feels that thumb. He's still smug as ever, naturally, but there's no denying the way he's steadily fucking into Jesse's fist. ] You know how I love talking about myself.

[ That nip, though. That's a good spot on him, always gets reactions; the noise he makes when he feels Jesse's teeth is quiet, but far from dignified. As if trying to save face, he turns to fit his mouth against Jesse's ear, voice low, conspiratorial. ]

Or we could talk about you. Might boost your ego a little bit, pretending you're hot shit like you are.

[ Jesse laughs, actually - smug and under his breath, pressed against Hugh's skin. He knows he's doing a good job, see, because Hugh's rocking his hips up into each stroke. He knows, because Hugh makes that noise, and Jesse's started to catalog them, so he can play them back later. ]

I don't gotta pretend. But I ain't gonna tell you that y'can't flatter me. [ Jesse tells him, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along Hugh's neck. ] You wanna tell me I ain't any good when I got you making noises like that? What about this, huh? [ He punctuates one of Hugh's thrusts into his fist with a rougher stroke, amused. ]

I don't need you to tell me you're fucking aching for it, I can tell.

[ And fuck if he isn't. It's that fucking mouth, for all Hugh generally tends to hate whatever outrageous bullshit comes out of it; on his skin or stringing together thoughts that edge between infuriating and delightfully dirty, it's always that mouth that gets him.

The hand doesn't hurt either, and the abruptness of that stroke has a sharp fuck tumbling from between gritted teeth. He rolls it into an exasperated (hard) sigh instead, like he's bored, like Jesse's burning time. ]

Yes, congratulations, you know how to jerk me off. [ Deliberately, and not without difficulty, he stills underneath Jesse, eyebrows raised. His eyes are hot and his breaths are coming in slow little open-mouthed pants, sure, but he tries his damdnest to keep everything else impassive, unimpressed. ] Now, are we going to do anything about it? Because really, you're jerking yourself off here more than you are me, and it's getting a little unbearable.

[ Uh huh. As if Jesse doesn't know Hugh is being spiteful. Jesse knows Hugh's burning up, and it makes him less angry when Hugh bitches about it. It just makes him smug, makes him feel like he's won, and if he was unbearable before, he's worse now. He takes his hand off of Hugh and settles back, lifting his hands in a surrender gesture, with an infuriatingly amused look. ]

M'sorry, I forgot you're edgy. Bored, huh? Why don't you do something about it, instead of having me do all your work for you, like usual?

[ He's goading, being a little shit on purpose. Maybe there's a part of him (there's absolutely a huge part of him) that wants Hugh to knock him around a little, and he can't have that if he's pinned Hugh to the floor. So he doesn't touch, and watches instead, thoroughly unimpressed. ]

[ He could be less predictable. Hugh could do literally anything other than pounce on Jesse the moment he's let up, could do something unexpected rather than a teeth-rattling tackle to the ground, could figure out some stunning new development as he straddles Jesse's chest, clumsily pinning the man's arms down with his legs.

He doesn't, though. Sometimes the expectation makes things even better. ]

Cocky little shit! [ But now he's on top, so pay attention: one hand knots in Jesse's hair, tugging his head up at an angle that's undoubtedly rough on his neck - the other palms idly across the front of his pants, still in disarray from earlier, as he tugs his work clothes out of the way. ] That mouth is going to get you killed one of these days, Finch. But we both know there's one thing you enjoy doing with it even more than spinning ridiculous bullshit, isn't there?

[ He's legitimately never seen someone so into giving blowjobs, it's incredible - he's incredible, even if Hugh would rather die explosively than say as much. Fingers in Jesse's hair, weight briefly shifting onto his chest - no teeth, Finch comes out under his breath - he braces himself and leans down, rocking the bulge in his standard issue hot pink Protogonos underwear against Jesse's face. ]

Ask.

[ Jesse's almost glad that he doesn't. He's expecting it, and he hits the floor with a satisfying thud, losing his breath for a second as Hugh straddles him. He catches it a second later with a heavy drag of air into his lungs, but by that point, he's pinned, arms stuck in place with fingers rough in his hair.

Jesse moans, short and breathy, at the fingers that yank his head at that uncomfortable angle. That hurts a little, sure, but the sensation of being pulled into it, Hugh's fingers in his hair tangled tight and his arms pinned - it outweighs it. Gets his heart thudding in his chest, the adrenaline racing up his spine. Because yeah, yeah, he likes blowjobs, vastly prefers giving them to getting them. There's something about it that gets his blood to boil. But he won't, not easy, not without a fight.

No teeth. He makes no promises. And he won't ask, either.

Instead of asking, instead of talking back, Jesse slides his tongue out and licks along the length pressed against his face, whatever he can reach. The whole time, he keeps his eyes on Hugh's, expression smug and heated. ]

No - my god, Finch, contain your wanton cocklust for a few seconds, this is getting ridiculous.

[ Genuinely incensed here! More times than he can (or would like to) count, Jesse's suckered him in with things like this - interrupted his ego trips and completely thrown him off with a look, a murmur, a lick. It's difficult (way, way too difficult) to shift out of Jesse's reach just now, but Hugh does, the hand in Jesse's hair loosening its grip. ]

If you're going to act like a dog, I'm going to have to start treating you like one. [ He skims from Jesse's hair to his jaw, thumb dragging at his bottom lip, like insistent, like open. He palms himself through his underwear with the other, and the sad part is, he doesn't even have to overact that much to sigh at the contact. ] Honestly. If you want something, you ask politely.

[ It makes him laugh, low and raspy, like he's already been sucking Hugh off for hours. He's always amused by their power struggles, half because Hugh's a drama queen, and half because he thinks it makes Hugh angrier. And he's eager, sure, but not that eager, and that even lessens when Hugh lets go of his hair. They can fuck, or they can sit here, because Jesse's not nearly hard enough to want to beg. He watches Hugh, and when Hugh runs his thumb along Jesse's bottom lip, Jesse opens his mouth easily, panting out hot little breaths against Hugh's skin. ]

You're the one that wants your cock in my mouth. [ Jesse hums low, shifting under Hugh. ] Don't you think it oughta be you asking politely? [ He even sets his head back down against the floor if Hugh will allow it, smirking. ] I ain't asking you for shit. You know how to take it - or do I gotta fucking step by step direct you on how to make me suck you off?

[ Fuck, that laugh. Fuck, that mouth, and not just because Hugh immediately slides his fingers behind Jesse's molars, pressing down possessively on his tongue - because the shit coming out of it is equal parts filthy and incredibly frustrating, which seems to be turning into his favorite kind of sex, coincidentally. ]

You are such a little shit, Jesse. [ The way he says Jesse's name is intentionally awful - sibilant, affectionate. Like they're lovers. Like they don't spend most of their time together trying to piss one another off. ] I'm getting it out of you no matter what. This can go two ways, second-in-command: the easy way, or the hard way.

[ With a nasty twist to his smile, he pushes deeper, looking to gag Jesse outright. ]

And the hard way is very, very hard.

[ But he pulls back to give Jesse some room to talk, wet middle and ring fingers sliding into his own mouth. ]

[ He looks to gag Jesse and he manages it, getting Jesse to choke on his fingers, eyes immediately watering. It earns Hugh a look, something half heated and half annoyed as he shifts under Hugh's grasp. For a second, he pauses to just watch, distracted, biting at his bottom lip slightly, and then he remembers he's supposed to answer. ]

I don't ever do shit the easy way. [ Jesse drawls finally, mouth open in that same pant as before. He shifts his hips experimentally, shifts his weight under Hugh, testing how much he can move to throw Hugh off. He doesn't, but he's experimenting. ] Maybe if you quit fucking around you could actually fuck me afore you die of old age.

[ Jesse shifts up, and Hugh shifts down - way down, briefly settling his full weight on Jesse's chest. It only lasts a few seconds, but it's a clear enough warning, he thinks. ]

Alright.

[ And then, completely out of nowhere, he'll just be turning around in his squirmy seat here, careful to keep Jesse's hands weighed down one way or another. It's actually fairly miraculous that he manages this without losing his balance, but either way, it ends with Hugh fussing with Jesse's pants, nonchalantly jerking the material aside (and breaking the zipper, entirely out of spite). ]

I've always wanted to hear you cry, so this is - [ Giving an abrupt, rough pump of Jesse's cock, the other hand snaking down to grip possessively at the inside of his thigh. ] - fine with me, really. Maybe you'll prove yourself worth the effort.

[ He doesn't mean for it to, but a rough fuck slips out of his mouth when Hugh gets his hand on Jesse. That kicks his senses into overdrive, and his skin heats up, tingles as he suddenly wants more. More of that. The hand on his thigh makes it even worse, that possessive undertone. Jesse closes his eyes briefly, just to try and get himself under control. He won't let Hugh see him unravel, or he'll never hear the end of it.

So instead, he opens his eyes again and stares up at Hugh for a moment. ] Gonna have to put some effort in yourself. You sure you can handle it? [ Like he isn't already trying to arch up into the hold Hugh has on him. Hear him cry, jesus. That of all things gets him interested. ]

Am I, really?

[ He punctuates that with a twist of his wrist, a moment to lean over and drip drool onto Jesse's cock to slick the way, and then another, smoother stroke. And another.

And another.

It isn't long before he's humming absently, like he's tending a garden instead of deliberately working Jesse up to the point of going fucking nuts from want, his free hand making the occasional concentration-breaking sweep over his hip, tickling over his stomach, pressing finger-shaped bruises into his thighs, playing with his balls. For once, he won't indulge any arguing Jesse might try to kick up, either. ]

Come on, Finch. Sing a little.

[ No, he might... actually not have to try that hard, really.

Hugh practically plays with him, and Jesse is insistent on not making noise, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, mouth firmly shut. He can't help the quiet little grunts that he makes - especially when he feels Hugh's breath close, especially when he leaves bruises. If he wasn't fully hard before, he is now, and Hugh's got him where he probably wants him, ready to just roll over and take it.

Well. Not quite. Jesse never does that for Hugh. But the approximation, surely. ]

Clever. [ Jesse mutters, squirming under Hugh's grip, breaths coming harsh. A particular angle of one of Hugh's strokes gets Jesse to let out a sharp gasp of a noise that he immediately hates himself for. ] So we both know how to jerk each other off, what a s-- nnh, surprise.

[ Good stroke, then! He'll just be keeping that up, adding a sweet roll to his wrist, letting Jesse squirm however he wants. It isn't often that he gets Jesse so completely at his mercy, so he's going to enjoy it. ]

You sound like you're enjoying yourself. Is this how you do it at night, when you're alone? [ Slower, firmer, the fingers of his free hand tangling idly in the dark curls at the base of his cock: ] Or like this, maybe? Or--

[ He leans in, lips closing around Jesse for just a second - then he pulls off, the way made slick enough that he can stroke Jesse off with two hands, base to tip, thumb grazing over the head in a random pattern that seems entirely focused on keeping Jesse off his game. ]

Well, you know best. You tell me.

Sh -- shit. [ Jesse bites out, because yeah, Hugh has him off his game. He keeps changing it up, and each touch feels good, each touch makes his breath hotter and harsher - but it's never enough to get there and Jesse knows it won't be.

So he goes another route, arching his hips just a little. ] Mm, no. No, I don't got time to tease myself. [ He breathes out, impatiently moving again. He's getting tired of being pinned like this - he wants to touch, wants to grind Hugh into the goddamn mattress, the table, the wall, something. ]

What about you, m'not anything special. But you, you gotta take it slow, huh? You're a diva about it, you fuck into your hand real steady. [ He loses his words for a second when Hugh strokes him, rolls his wrist - takes advantage of the slick. Jesse has to catch his breath. ] Bet you press your fingers into the bruises you got, huh? Give yourself more. Get all fucked up on the ache. You even use lube when you fuck yourself on your fingers? You got that pain thing, you get off hardest when m'fucking you hard enough to bruise, when I got my fingers 'round your throat, I seen it.

[ He kind of loses track of where he's going, seeing as he's picturing it. That's a mental image. ]

But we get along when I'm inside you

Jesse Finch ♦ OC

FLIES OFF INTO THE SUN

FOLLOWS

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

NECROMANCY

(no subject)

(no subject)