Edwin shuddered, a fine motion visible only at this close distance. “Yes,” he said, rough as sandpaper. “Yes.”
Robin moved down the bed, shifting himself around so that he had easy access to Edwin’s cock. Edwin made a noise in the back of his throat, mutely demanding, but when Robin put his hands on Edwin’s thighs to settle himself between them, they were tense. Edwin was still. His stomach heaved with his breath. He was visibly fighting, torn between want and wariness, and Robin ached for him. This was a time to be absolutely sure, for both of them.
Robin stroked his thumb in the crease at the top of Edwin’s leg, soothing over the tendons, savouring the softness of the skin there. Slowing down like this, he was aware of the heaviness of his own cock, full and needy between his legs. Edwin’s cock was straining, glistening at the tip.
Robin caught Edwin’s eye and said, deliberately, “May I use my mouth on you?”
A choked sound. “Yes. Anything. Please.”
“You’re the one who warned me about the danger of open contracts.”
“Robin.”
“Edwin,” said Robin earnestly, “I really think you need to understand this before you consent to it—”
Edwin leaned back on the pillow and laughed, that glorious silver laugh like water on rocks. His foot nudged Robin in the ribs, and Robin sucked in a breath—that was a sore spot he hadn’t realised was there, probably from where the chair had crashed into him earlier—but didn’t once consider pulling away.
“All right,” said Edwin. “Consider me warned.” He lifted himself onto elbows, looking down his body at Robin with humour that bled at the edges to wariness, and then melted altogether into an expression that took Robin’s breath away. “Thank you,” Edwin said, very soft. And let his thighs settle apart, slackening into the relaxed welcome that had been missing before.
Robin, satisfied, bent his head to taste him. He’d been anticipating this for so long that his mouth was watering. Even so, it took a little while for him to reaccustom himself to the sensations: the shape and weight of a cock on his tongue, the strain of his jaw, the salty taste of fine skin.
When he took a full half of Edwin’s length into his mouth and sucked hard, he realised that Edwin hadn’t been exaggerating at all with the word incoherent. Edwin seemed to be trying to rip up handfuls of the bedclothes like weeds. The sounds he made now were just as sweet, just as responsive—but bewildered, nearly edged with pain. A symphony of breathy vocal pants and whines as his hips tried to rise.
Robin pulled back enough to focus, and recognised in a crash of heat and wonder the vision he’d had that very first night. Edwin a painting of pleasure, laid out on pale sheets. Edwin’s face, the obscene O of his mouth—the agonised and beautiful line of his neck, like a tortured saint. Looking at him made Robin feel reverent.
He could see why Edwin would be afraid of this. Of bringing it into the light and sharing it with someone. Robin wanted Edwin not to regret his decision for a moment. They’d been through so much, had so much threatened and taken so much hurt. Edwin deserved all the pleasure that Robin could give him, and more.
He’d forgotten; he was meant to be drawing it out. Robin abandoned suction and kept to soft, wet movements: circles of his tongue, openmouthed kisses just beneath the head. Teasing dips of his tongue into the slit, which made Edwin’s legs shake. Robin pulled back entirely, light-headed with his own want. He knelt up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’m trying like hell to take it slow, I really am,” he said. “But if you do still want me to fuck you, I don’t feel you should credit me with more restraint than I actually have.”
Edwin looked questioningly at him, brow furrowed.
“I’ll be going off untouched in another few minutes if I have to keep watching you, and then I’ll be no use at all,” Robin clarified.
A smile glimmered through the wreck of Edwin’s features. “In my bag,” he said, waving a hand in that direction.
No hair oil this time, but a jar of petroleum jelly—“For chapped lips,” Edwin explained, as though Robin honestly gave a damn at that point.
More of those pained noises emerged from Edwin’s mouth as Robin carefully stretched him, slicked him, generous with the clear jelly. Robin had to stop and breathe when Edwin was clenched hot around his fingers. He had to drop shaky kisses on Edwin’s stomach, on the line of blond hair leading down from the navel. He felt nearly overwhelmed with responsibility, with tenderness, with Edwin having walked open-eyed into this room and placed his most vulnerable self in Robin’s hands.