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

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. ]

[ That isn't fair. This thing Jesse's doing where he's still pissed off but spins vivid sort-of compliments that get Hugh's blood running alkaline, it isn't playing the game correctly, going for the throat like that - Hugh's voice is throaty enough when he laughs, the next stroke turning almost too much, near-punishing, and then entirely too light in the same heartbeat. ]

Spend a lot of time thinking about how I fuck myself, do we? [ There's something exciting in the coarseness there; it tastes sharp, he likes it. Pinning Jesse down and working him up to this point was an excellent idea, he should do it more often. ] For reference, I do take it slow. Hours. You see, Jesse, someone with my particular mindset doesn't do anything in halves - I work myself to exhaustion down here because otherwise, I'd be up lingering and tinkering for god knows how long. I can't turn off, to put it in layman's terms; I have to shut down completely.

So when I get off, it has to be awful. Exhausting. Messy. A little painful, even - but then again, my definition of "a little painful" is different than most, you know that.

[ But Jesse's not wrong. Getting rough is pretty much the only way to shut him up, honestly. Glancing over his shoulder, all calm and collected and self-assured, Hugh shifts his weight off Jesse's arms (enough to grab, or pull, or pin) and sets his hands on his bare thighs, thumbs tracing the crease where Jesse's thighs and pelvis meet. ]

For the most part, I think about you fucking me raw.

[ So get at it, tough guy. ]

[ By the time Hugh's let his arms up, Jesse's practically aching to get his hands on the other. It's why he doesn't hesitate - Hugh gives him that last line and Jesse groans in frustration, immediately grabbing for Hugh. However he has to do it, manhandling or wrestling him down, Jesse gets Hugh off of him, gets him pinned to the ground on his stomach.

Whatever is left of what Hugh has on, Jesse yanks down, just enough, too impatient for anything else. Jesse makes sure Hugh's arms are held at the wrists over his head with one hand and briefly spits into his other hand to make the finger he presses inside Hugh possible to do. ]

M'gonna fucking ruin you. [ Jesse almost hisses against Hugh's ear, grip tight on Hugh's wrists. ] If you need lube this would be a good time to ask, sweet thing. [ And like before, it's angry, it's twisted, the way he drops that endearment, like he's calling Hugh something much, much worse. There's something about this, this in particular, being in control - Jesse's blood is practically boiling.

He'd just go without the fingers, but he doesn't want to listen to the inevitable bitching later. And besides, this gives him the chance to pay Hugh back. ]

Now th-- ha-- [ That first finger has him cutting off with a choke, forehead pressed against the cool faux-metal laminate. He smacked his head on it when Jesse flipped them, actually; the throb is slow and steady, something entirely different from the way his heart is pounding. ] That's it, does a little foreplay really get you going this hard? Or are you a little sore over not getting your face fucked?

[ Nobody's ever accused Hugh of knowing when to stop, of not biting off more than he can chew - that's never been more evident than now, when Hugh shoves up against Jesse like a dare, sneering, spitting. ]

Screw you. Shut up and get to it, lieutenant.

[ Lieutenant - fuck if that doesn't make his blood boil with anger rather than arousal. Lieutenant, like he's better, like Jesse's second rank - Jesse grits his own teeth, pressing a second finger inside Hugh sharply. He should be careful, but - he isn't. He won't be. Hugh goads him on and Jesse just falls for it, falls into it, nipping at Hugh's shoulder sharply. ]

Little sore over not getting face fucked. [ Jesse murmurs, low and heated. ] You cheated me outta that one with your lame as shit power struggle thing. [ Slower, Jesse presses his fingers inside, trying to get a rhythm - it's difficult, but Jesse isn't exactly worried about hurting the man under him. ] You're really fuckin' into this whole pain thing, huh? You're gonna bleed - you're into that, though, aren't you? Fucked up, s'fucked up.

[ He tightens his grip again, working bites and hickies along the back of Hugh's neck, his shoulders, leaving marks all over the place. It's almost possessive. He also adds a third, with another round of spit and struggle. He really should go for lube but he won't unless Hugh asks him for it. ]

[ It is almost possessive, and almost more than anything else, that does it for him - I fucking despise you but I'm the only one allowed to, like laying a claim on one another with bruises and blood, jesus fuck.

Still, the discomfort is starting to outweigh the thrill - he's wound too tight, and even if he does like it, he knows better than to push his body's limits. Three fingers, he thinks, gasping. ]

You're still talking? [ But there's less bite, forehead against the floor, eyes pinched shut. ] Why don't you do something useful with your mouth and spit? I know you enjoy the hell out of the sadist routine, but I--fuck, I do have to work later. At least one of us should.

[ And Jesse knows better than to push too far. He'd never hear the end of it, first of all - but really, he's not looking for pain that Hugh's not looking for. Jesse sighs, but he eases up a little, slipping his fingers out and not even bothering to be polite about the extra spit. Listen, Hugh asked for a little more, so Jesse adds it, ungracefully.

Two fingers this time. Just a little easier to take. ] Still talking. [ He confirms, with a bit of a hum. He's the one in control and that gives him something so close to a high he's practically buzzing. ] And you ain't working later. Not after I'm done with you.

[ He presses forward, presses deep, just to get a reaction. His tone is dismissive as usual, but - hey. He makes sure. ] You gonna cry more, or can I fuck you without hearing you bitch?

[ Smug little shit. It almost leaves Hugh's mouth, but then Jesse says (promises!) what he does, presses deep like he does, and it's all Hugh can manage to bite down a throaty whimper, an embarrassed flush painting his face. ]

No promises. [ He's dropped his head, hidden his face so Jesse doesn't have the satisfaction of seeing him fight down pride. ] Get on with it before I change my mind, Finch.

[ It's supposed to be a snap. The fact that he's rocking back onto Jesse's fingers is another matter entirely. ]

Fuck me.

[ It's not like he can resist much longer after that noise - the whimper sends this jolt of electricity through him, makes him sigh soft. Almost impatiently, Jesse slips his fingers out of Hugh just as Hugh's rocking back, meaning to ruin and sort of shoves him forward, makes sure his head stays down. He doesn't bother with much in the way of words, not yet - both of them know it won't be long until he can't shut up. Slicking himself up, Jesse leans over Hugh and tangles his fingers into Hugh's hair, keeping him at an almost uncomfortable (but not quite) bend as he presses inside, slow but steady.

For a moment, he actually lets Hugh adjust. As much of an asshole as he can be, there's something in him that doesn't actually want to make this only good for himself. Sure, it's hatefucking - it really is, Jesse can't fucking stand the prick underneath him, but he's not looking for anything but an equal amount of pushing back. It's why he keeps coming back to this, to Hugh.

With a shudder, Jesse swallows hard, and almost tests, rocking his hips gentle once and then rougher, fingers tensing in Hugh's hair. He leans down, presses against Hugh's back, mouthing over the slowly forming bruises along Hugh's neck. ] Still thinking about changing your mind? [ He murmurs, emphasizing his words with another rougher thrust forward. ]

[ Ridiculously, about to get fucked senseless by his... whatever the hell he and Jesse are, Hugh has the wherewithal to make a noise of complaint when Jesse tangles his no doubt spit-slick, gross fingers in his hair. (That's always been a talent of his, being able to bitch even in the most dramatic circumstances.) The angle is almost-but-not-quite wrong like this, open and embarrassing, delicious in the absolute worst way; everything burns, or aches, or throbs, unarmored and open under Jesse's sure hands, and he just - feels. Like a sparking nerve, all lit up inside with sensory information he can only endure.

And oh, does he feel it when Jesse presses in. For all his grandstanding and snappishness, Hugh can't help but drawl a gritty, satisfied sigh at that, urging Jesse on. The pants still make it hard (they're not even undressed, really, fucking on the cold floor of his workshop less than thirty feet from their unaware coworkers, that shouldn't be so thrilling), but he spreads his knees another inch or two, hand slipping down to wrap around his dick. ]

That - depends, [ Hugh chokes, reflecting on just how much he needed this. When did that happen? Still, he can't help but pick at Jesse, all smug tone and shaky smirk, back arching. ] Consider this your performance review.

But we get along when I'm inside you

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