number1_himbo | (no subject)

A tremor runs through the other man, and Luther makes a noise deep in his throat. What part of his brain that still works comes up with the realization that he could take Alexsandr apart, that he wants to, that he wants to be taken apart in return.

He stops holding back in that moment, hands moving so that he can pull Alexsandr closer, closer still, nearly on top on him. Easily, too, his strength serving as an ace up his sleeve, as something he wants to offer up in the way he settles Alexsandr over him.

His mouth grows more urgent, now that he's so clearly allowed, communication through lips and tongue and teeth that Alexsandr is allowed too. Fucking encouraged.

- - - - -

It takes a moment, tension still going through him at the thought of giving up control in such a way, but instead of fighting it, he goes. When Luther tugs, Alexsandr slides closer, then stretches himself on top of him, settling into the place between Luther's thighs. He anchors a hand on Luther's hip, holding onto him as he rolls his own hips, pressing himself hard against Luther.

He's wide, so kriffing strong, that it makes another hot rush and a tremble run down the length of Alexsandr's body.

"Stars," he breathes, his mouth going to the edge of Luther's jaw. He tastes salt, his lips grazing stubble, and follows a path up toward Luther's ear.

- - - - -

Luther sucks in a breath, a low noise pulled from the back of his throat, at the hot weight of Alexsandr against him. It's just what he wants, or part of it, because he has every intention of showing off just how useful his strength can be.

That first slow grind of hips against his ought to put out a spray of sparks for what it does to him, and Luther drops both massive hands down to Alexsandr's hips. His fingers slide lower to grip at Alexandr's ass, an experience that blows the fantasy out of the water.

"Yeah," he gasps, turning for Alexsandr's mouth, offering him his neck, his throat. He fully palms the other man's ass and gives back that rolling pressure, aching for more.

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A life, he thinks, mouth moving across warm skin. His lips taste, his tongue flicks out, his teeth catch the lobe of Luther's ear, breathing hotly against his skin. A chance to do things like this, to fumble like he knows plenty of cadets at the Imperial Academy did. Not Alexsandr. He's had dalliances here and there, but he'd been so focused on being a good cadet, then a good officer, that he'd paid little mind to his own desires.

Until Zeb. Until now.

Shifting, Alexsandr gets a knee between Luther's thighs to press against him. As far as he knows humans from Luther's galaxy have the same general sex organs and genitals they do in his own galaxy, but it's nice to feel that suspicion confirmed against his thigh.

"Fuck," Luther breathes expressively, dragging a hand up Alexsandr's side and seeking a way to find skin, up under his shirt. He knows there's a rasp to his hands that's not entirely human, something he'd once thought would be off-putting to anyone he wanted to touch-- something he's learned isn't actually a problem. When he finally feels warm skin under his fingers, it's a victory, and he turns his head to catch Alexsandr's mouth again.

The solid thigh between his has him grinding slow and exploratory, ready to turn to shameless at the drop of a hat. He's hard, which must be the reason his head feels increasingly empty: no blood left. That's fine. He's on board with that, even if it makes him want to run his mouth and say stupid things he has no place saying.

Kissing's good for that too.

Stars, but it feels good. Luther's hands feel rough against the skin of his back and Alexsandr appreciates that. Soft hands make him think of soft people, those who haven't worked, haven't fought. It's a shame he has such thoughts, he realizes, as if having to fight makes a person better. It doesn't. It's just been the life he's always known.

It's rare, too, that Alexsandr has ever been the smaller person and he finds it oddly appealing.

He's a bad person. He finds himself suddenly wanting to warn Luther, but hasn't he already? At some point, he knows he's said more than he ought to and so Alexsandr simply kissed a line down Luther's throat and then tugs the collar of his shirt down slightly so he can mouth at his collarbone.

A rumbles comes from deep in his chest at the wet heat of a mouth against his neck, exploring further. When he eases back from the temptation of Alexsandr's tongue, it's only for a moment, stripping himself out of the soft thermal shirt he'd been wearing. It falls to the floor and his hands surge back to the other man's waist, pushing up under his shirt with purpose.

He's already thumbing the curve of Alexsandr's right pectoral when it occurs to him that he did just get shirtless without thinking about it, when such a concept would have been impossible before Darrow and the wonderful, impossible people he's known here.

It only serves to fuel his hunger, everything he'd been holding back as he'd come to know Alexsandr. He wants to lift Alexsandr off the couch, carry him upstairs, and then press him back into the bed. Right now, he continues to seek out warm skin and hard muscle under his hands.

Alexsandr has always been a man of rather broad tastes, from fellow humans to one particular Lasat, and most species between, so it doesn't occur to him that there might be any reason Luther wouldn't want to remove his clothing. His skin feels different, looks different, and it means absolutely nothing to Alexsandr, except now there's more to touch.

His hands drag down, palms moving over rough skin, over Luther's nipples, then to either side of his waist as his own hips keep rolling. He feels like an idiot teenager and he rather likes that.

"Your family isn't going to walk in on us, are they?" he asks in a break of a kiss.

"Not if they want to live to see tomorrow," Luther mutters against Alexsandr's mouth, grinning despite issuing a threat of bodily harm to his own siblings, perhaps because it's such a silly, normal threat to make. His skin buzzes where warm hands drag over him and he's pretty sure they'll both be happier without pants.

Still, Alexsandr has a point.

"Better safe than sorry," he adds, "so, uh. My room's upstairs."

Luther stands, just enough manhandling to pick Alexsandr up with him, hands hooked under his thighs and holding him so easily as he starts toward the stairs. Yes! cheers his lizard brain as he leans in to capture the other man's mouth once more.

Oh.

It's unfair to think of Zeb while he's with Luther and yet, for the briefest of moments, a thought flickers into Alexsandr's mind that Zeb would have been able to do this to him, too. Not many would be able to lift him and Alexsandr revels in it, arms wrapped around Luther's shoulders, legs around his waist.

"Better safe than sorry," he agrees, nipping at Luther's lower lip before his tongue slides out again, exploring his mouth.

Luther usually works very hard to sublimate his caveman qualities into something... less seeming like the actions of an ape-man. Eating large quantities of barbeque and finding any excuse to lift small cars has been the road to success in the past, but this--

He groans low in his chest when Alexsandr wraps around him, almost a growl at the bright-sharp feel of teeth against his mouth.

So he doesn't put the other man down, instead carrying him to the stairs-- pausing a moment to press Alexsander against a doorframe and pant harshly against his lips-- and then up, right into Luther's room where he can press him into his bed and start trying to get the both of them naked.

He feels as if his skin has caught fire. Every nerve ending is tingling, his cock is throbbing, trapped in his trousers, and Alexsandr drops easily into the bed where he starts to open Luther's pants. His fingers work the button, then the zipper, then he's shoving the material down over Luther's thighs, trying to get at more of him.

"You are... magnificent," he says, his gaze hungry as he looks down the length of Luther's body, then up again.

Luther doesn't exactly stop-- his shirt off and hitting the floor, his jeans easing down his hips-- but his breath catches and he smiles, a little shyly.

Magnificent.

"You think so, huh?"

Then he does stop undressing just long enough to catch Alexsandr's face in both hand and kiss him with an eager, open mouth. He manages to keep at it while he shimmies off the jeans, cock springing up against the grey fabrics of his brief. His hands go to the hem of Alexsandr's shirt, tugging. "I want to see you too," he tells Alexsandr, eyes dark and cheeks a little red.

How could he not think so? Luther is broad and strong, skin rough and textured beneath Alexsandr’s fingers as he draws them down Luther’s chest. He can recall the last time he was this bloody horny and that feeling has been accompanied by irritation and fear. This is better.

He returns the kiss eagerly, then pulls back when Luther tugs at his shirt, pulling it over his head to discard somewhere on the floor. During his time at the Academy and after, Alexsandr had worked hard on his physique, maintaining a solid mass of muscle, not for good looks, but to be strong. To be able to fight. A bonus is simply that people seem to enjoy looking at him, too, and he’s not ashamed by the scars that mark him.

He’s a soldier, after all. A rebel.