Accomplishment

[fey_fire]

“How the hell did they score this spot? What's their name again?”

The sounds of stage setup and an impatient/curious Times Square crowd surrounded Rory Stone, but Sam Champion had a trained broadcaster's voice and the púca had supernaturally keen hearing. Though spoken quietly, the Good Morning America weatherman's words carried clearly to Rory's ears, pulling his attention from preparations for his band's first nationally televised performance.

“They're called Breaker Street. Serptichore Records snagged them off the club circuit.” He could hear the shrug in the production assistant's tone.

“Serptichore ... so they're Rob Fellowes' new darlings, huh?” Out of the corner of his eye, Rory spotted the blond presenter taking a swallow of his coffee as he scanned the stage. “He must have called in some favors. We'll see if they're worth it.”

Thinking that was the end of the conversation, Rory focused again on tuning his guitar. A low snicker from the weatherman distracted him again. “So which one do you think Fellowes is screwing? My money's on either the lead singer or that little piece of fluff at the keyboards.”

The tall Irishman felt tension tighten his spine when the PA laughed in response. “We are talking about the Robbie Fellowes, right? Could be any of them. Or more likely all of them.”

“At the same time, no shit.”

Taking a deep breath through his nostrils, Rory forced his fingers to relax on Cliodhna's vulnerable neck. Damned if he'd damage his favorite guitar because of the snide speculations of a couple of smarmy media hacks. They'd learn. Breaker Street would give them their first lesson very soon now.

“You okay, Rory? You look tense.”

Deliberately unclenching his jaw, he gave his bassist a cheerful smile. “I'm fine, Nil. Just ...” He gave a nod to the still-growing crowd of spectators. “I've been spoiled by our club gigs, I think. They know how good we are already.”

“And this crew is about to find out.” Nil dropped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “C'mon auld boy, this is your element. They'll be eating out of your hand before they know it” Scanning the crowd, he chuckled and pointed at a couple of banners being raised among all the Hi Mom signs, one that read WE LUV U RORY and another that proclaimed BREAKER STREET 4EVER. “Besides, it looks like we have a good-sized contingent from the clubs anyway. Young Mr. Webster must have gotten the word out on the website.”

“He did.” Rory's smile relaxed into something less forced at the thought of his friend Peter. “He was sorry he couldn't make it himself, but his sister Grace threatened to bring a gang of her school friends.”

“We'll have to thank them. Must be more than a thousand people out there.” With a quick slap to his front man's back, Nil wandered back toward Kreske and his drums.

More than a thousand. More than five times the size of the largest audience Breaker Street had yet played for. Rory sighed as Nil's words forced him to confront the real source of his nerves. All those people waiting to be entertained. All that energy tugging at his consciousness, aggressive and demanding.

Doesn't matter. This is what you came for. This is what you committed to when you signed your name on that contract. This is what you wanted ... isn't it?

A sudden surge of warmth flowed from the medallion under his dark burgundy shirt. Pressing one hand to it, Rory lifted his eyes to find its source. Cait stood several rows back from the front of the crowd, bouncing lightly on her toes and grinning at him, Da and Abby beside her. Tension easing, he waved to his family, grinning himself when Cait held up a sign reading Go maire tú an lá!*

“Heads up, people!” The PA had turned all officious and businesslike, waving the band over to where Champion was now giving them the same affable smile that millions saw on their TV screens each morning. “It's almost show time. Mr. Champion will introduce you, and then he'll have a few questions for you after the song. We've got a limited amount of time, so keep it tight and to the point.”

“Rory ... Stone, right?” The weatherman scanned a card as he shook Rory's hand. “And then we have Jenny Cabriano--”

“Junie,” sighed the second guitarist, tossing her dark hair back from her face.

“Junie, of course.” Champion's eyes narrowed slightly at the correction, but his voice showed no signs of irritation. “And Nil Cameron ...” The bassist nodded. “... Dave Rackley ...” Dave grinned and bowed slightly. “ ... Sascha Brockmann ...” Unaware that the man had called her “a little bit of fluff”, Sasch flashed a bright smile. “... and Marcus – Kreske, is it?” Kreske gave a salute with his drumsticks.

“Right. Like Leo said, we're a bit pressed for time.” That practiced smile took on a bare hint of regret. “I may not get to introduce each of you, depending on when they insist we cut off after your song. But we'll definitely work in a shot of your CD and a few questions for Rory here.” Beaming at them impartially, he collected his mike. “So wait for your cue and knock 'em dead!”

“Typical. Everybody wants to talk to the front man,” Kreske chuckled, giving Rory a nudge as Champion moved to his corner of the stage.

“Okay, places everybody!” The PA made herding gestures intended to get them on their marks, then headed offstage. Rory heard the director's voice in his earpiece. “Mikes live, cameras rolling, we go live in five ... four ... three ... two ... one--”

The crowd, sensing that something was about to happen, surged forward slightly. The hungry focus of all those people washed over Rory, over senses attuned to the energy of an audience. He felt it buzzing in his chest like something alive, reducing the hoots, cheers and even Champion's introduction to something heard from the other side of a wall.

“All right, people of New York and the US of A! We have a new act for you this morning, fresh from the clubs with a single from their debut CD. Playing 'Sweet Rhythm Overload', let's hear it for Breaker Street!”

A roar rolled over him, through him. Every voice, every eye, every heart with the same demand: Show us something. Give us something. You think you're up for this? Prove it – now!

He answered them with a raised hand and a beat counted in a low, lilting baritone. When his hand dropped, the first bars of the music erupted. Junie's guitar, Nil's bass, Sascha and Dave's keyboards and Kreske's downbeat, rushing forward to merge with his own notes. Their support surged into Rory, balancing the audience demand, answering it.

You want something? Here. It. IS.

Circuit closed, energy flowing, Rory turned his focus back on the crowd and launched into the first verse.

Sun's low, gotta go
Never found your way to no
Sun's down, hit the town
Searching for the magic sound

(You're feeling restless tonight, so very restless tonight)

Back beat, so sweet
Makes you wanna move your feet
Back door, on the floor
Burning for a little more

Fight it, hide it,
You know you can't deny the rhythm
Rhythm on overload
Ohh yeaaaahh, sweet rhythm on overload

Affirmation from those who had heard Breaker Street before mixed with the oh hey of realization from those who hadn't. Already people were bouncing and swaying, turning to dance with those next to them. More. They wanted more. Entreating, compelling, hypnotic. Rory moved with their motion, reached deep into his gut and gave it to them.

Tight jeans, closet queens
Making plays and making scenes
Tight moves, in the groove
Know you have it all to prove

(You got the hunger in you, can't kill the hunger in you)

Sweet eyes, sexy thighs
Selling truth and telling lies
Sweet touch, not enough
Need it just a little rough

Play it, say it
You know you won't escape the rhythm
Rhythm on overload
Ohh yeaaaahh, sweet rhythm on overload

Sam Champion's eyebrows were climbing to his hairline. Out of camera range, the PA was bopping in place and grinning like a maniac. Rory barely noticed as Junie and Nil stepped up to either side of him. Thirty fingers, eighteen strings and three hearts joined in the bridge to the final verse. Rory felt his own manic grin, saw it echoed on his friends' faces, and knew they felt the moment as he did. They owned it.

(You don't know why to fight it, don't even try to fight it)

Hot sound, getting down
Gotta feel your pulses pound
Hot lights, take a bite
Gonna take you home tonight

Drop it, cop it
You know you'll never stop the rhythm
Rhythm on overload
Ohh yeaaaahh, sweet rhythm on overload

(don't even say it baby)
Yeaaaahh, rhythm on overload
(you gotta play it baby)
Oh yeeaaahhh, sweet rhythm on overload
(you feel the yearning for it)
Yeaaaahh, rhythm on overload
(your blood is burning for it)
Oh yeeaaahhh, sweet rhythm on overload

The cheering hit its crescendo as the song came to a close and Breaker Street came forward to take their bows. All doubt, all uncertainty washed straight out of Rory in the wave of approbation from the crowd. Their approval hit him like a drug to his bloodstream, burning bright in his eyes and smile. Still applauding, looking as smug as if he'd discovered them himself, Champion started toward the six musicians for his interview. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered to Rory but the audience. They were his.

And he was theirs.


* = Congratulations!

Also, my apologies to Mr. Sam Champion. I'm sure he's not that smarmy in real life. *^_^*


Muse: Rory MacEibhir / Rory Stone
Fandom: The Grey Horse by R.A. MacAvoy
Word count: 1654

Comments

[fey-fire.livejournal.com]

Oh, Peter. Celebrating was just what Rory had in mind. Among other places.

"Mm, it went very well, thank you." Just the memory of that morning brought the heady rush of energy back to mind and body. Rory's eyes drifted shut at the sensations running under his skin. "I'd say that we definitely got their attention." Was the singer's voice a little lower than usual, a touch huskier? Entirely possible.

"As for celebrating, we decided that getting together tomorrow night would work better for everyone's schedule. You'd be welcome if you'd like to come, of course." Leaning back against the wall, Rory tried to picture Peter as he likely looked right now, lab coat and all. "We're debating between The Columns and Lucid."

He opened his eyes and stared into the night, choosing his words carefully. "But for tonight ... I wondered if you might like to get together. Just the two of us. I have a disc of the show if you'd like to watch it with me." One deliberate pause, then Rory dropped what he suspected would be the bombshell. "I also finally found that RAF uniform."

[half-whole-pw.livejournal.com]

Celebrate with the band. Get together with Rory one on one tonight and watch the--Peter's eyes went wide and he leaned a little more heavily against the counter, having to clear his throat before he squeaked his surprise at Rory's not so subtle implication. "Ah...um...er...ah..."

Yeah. So he didn't squeak, he just managed a serious of incoherent noises instead. Jesus.

Trying that again, Peter ran a hand over the back of his suddenly very hot neck and nodded. "That um...I mean. Yeah. Sure. Okay." He was at work, what else was he supposed to say to that? "I ah, I can get out of here in about an hour?"

Not that the next forty-five minutes or so would be productive. He was effectively derailed and more than a little stunned at the prospect of anything to do with spending time alone with an obviously interested Rory Stone. The more rational side of his mind warned him to not get his hopes up too high, they'd gone down a similar road before only to have Rory put on the breaks because the other man just couldn't bring himself to go there, yet.

Then again, he argued with himself, it had been months now and it was Rory who was initiating it this go-round. RAF uniform or no, Peter Webster wanted to be all over that.

[fey-fire.livejournal.com]

Rory's smile at Peter's umming and ahhing had far more than a touch of the predatory about it. Yes. This was what they both wanted. He could feel Peter's desire, even through a phone connection. The Irishman's body thrummed with his own hunger as he continued.

"An hour should be fine." It would give him plenty of time to say his farewells and get home. "My place? If that works for you, of course. And I'd be happy to pick up something for dinner if you're hungry." For food, that is.

[half-whole-pw.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, um...Gracie's at mine so..." Great, he was going to leave his sixteen year old sister alone in his apartment all night. Hopefully all night. Webster, you're a sick ticket.

"Don't worry about dinner. I had a big lunch." He was recovering some of his footing, not that his voice didn't have issues modulating itself still. Want and need and desire all balled up and rolling in the opposite direction of responsibility, the wise choice and behaving himself. "See you soon?"

[fey-fire.livejournal.com]

"See you soon." And yet Rory hesitated, gnawing lightly on his lower lip. The hunger in him wanted to ignore Peter's comment about his sister, but ... but. Pictures of Cait at Grace's age played in his mind, and he just wasn't that far gone. Not yet.

Still, he maintained his seductively soft tone of voice when he added, "I hope Grace doesn't mind my borrowing you tonight." That predator's smile curved his lips again. "I promise to put you back only a little the worse for wear."

[half-whole-pw.livejournal.com]

That got another choked pause from the med student. Doctor, it was only a formality of graduation at this point. Peter tugged at the cuffs of his lab coat and shook his head. No. Grace was not going to undermine this one. No way.

"...she has my number, she knows I'll answer." He would. No question about that. He might make dumb choices and this might be the dumbest yet, but he wasn't going to ignore his baby sister if she needed him. He could never be that selfish.

[fey-fire.livejournal.com]

Of course he'd answer. Peter held his family in as much importance as Rory held his ... no matter how awkward or impossible they became. Rory's smile shifted from hungry to something gentler, more affectionate.

"Then I'll see you at my place as soon as you can get there," he said. Warm. His body, his voice, his smile ... everything felt warm. "I'll be waiting, a chara."

[half-whole-pw.livejournal.com]

A pleasant shiver ran down Peter's spine as he ended the call. Whatever had gotten into Rory was very welcome as far as he was concerned. Change of heart, being amped up due to his career launch, whatever it was...it was good.

He did manage to finish the task his friend interrupted before signing out and gathering his things to go...not home. He tossed his bag and his coat into the Jeep and took the drive into Queens as fast as city traffic would allow. If he had taken the time to change into street clothes and primp a little before leaving the hospital grounds, so be it.

Arriving in Woodside, Peter spent more time than he wanted looking for parking before finally taking the liberty (and bit of a risk) and parallel parking his Jeep quite snug against a certain motorcycle. He didn't touch the shiny beast but there wasn't room to run your hand between the Jeep's passenger door and the bike's gas tank either.

By the time he was buzzing Rory's apartment, Peter was actually feeling pretty relaxed about the prospect of getting more than friendly with the lanky musician. It wasn't as if his attraction to the man were a secret. And it wasn't as if this were the first time they'd attempted a little one on one either.

[fey-fire.livejournal.com]

After collecting his copy of the recording and bidding the rest of the band goodnight, Rory still got home in plenty of time for a shower. With what he had planned for the evening-- not to mention the night --greeting Peter with hours-old performance sweat on his body just was not acceptable. He dried off, pulled on faded jeans and a dark green henley and ran a brush through his hair.

Fortunately he only had about ten minutes of fidget time before his young friend buzzed his intercom. "Come on up, Peter." Pressing the button to let the other man in, Rory felt a buzz of a very different kind percolating through his body.

By the time Peter made it up to the seventh floor, Rory's restlessness had pushed him out into the hall to lean by his open door. Eager? Maybe just a little.

[half-whole-pw.livejournal.com]

Peter had not been expecting to find the man in the hallway waiting for him. When he stepped out of the elevator, he had been running fingers through his dark hair in an attempt to get it to lay just right but...seeing Rory leaning against the wall looking like something a damned bit more inviting than Peter's expected, surprise turned into a grin and he walked over to and then leaned next to, the much taller man.

Looking up and attempting casual cool, "So, I ah hear there's this rock star living in this building. Ever run into him anywhere?"

[fey-fire.livejournal.com]

Rory grinned right back at Peter's attitude, his mischievous dimples and the warm lust he could feel simmering under the younger man's pose of nonchalance. He restrained himself from greeting his friend with a hot and hungry kiss right there in the hallway, a small and very temporary test of his self control.

"Oh yes, now and again." Answering mischief sparkled in his deep brown eyes. "A hot guy like you might want to watch himself. You know what they say about rock stars."

Pushing off the wall, he stepped through his doorway. "But if you're feeling brave ..." His smile turned downright welcoming. "... then come on in."

[half-whole-pw.livejournal.com]

Brave, maybe not so much. Eager and into the man teasing him, absolutely. "Hot? I think all that fan appreciation melted your brain. I'm the cute and earnest one, remember?" Not that he wasn't also the flattered and smug one, being called hot by the current object of his desire.

Peter trailed Rory into the apartment, smiling at the mood music and quirking his eyebrows over it at the same time. Someone was serious, wasn't he? Peter let his hand pass over the small of the other's back, fingers walking up that long length of spine. "What do they say about rock stars, that they're mad, bad and dangerous to know?"

[fey-fire.livejournal.com]

Rory had just turned to shut the door behind them when he felt those inquisitive fingers trailing up his back, sending a fresh wave of heat over his skin. Drawing a deep, slow breath, the singer summoned just enough willpower to keep him from pushing Peter up against that door and pinning him there with his body. Hungry as he was for this, for Peter, he still didn't want to rush things. Take some time, savor the moment ... and the person. Yes.

Turning back to his friend, Rory all but purred at the gleam in those hazel eyes. "I don't know about mad, bad and dangerous," he murmured, reaching over to cup his hands over muscular shoulders, "but you never can be sure just what they'll get up to." His fingers started a gentle kneading as he lowered his head to finally give that kiss of greeting. He started gentle and relaxed, then abruptly sucked Peter's full lower lip between his own, tracing it with his tongue and scraping it lightly with his teeth.

When his mouth finally released its captive, he gave the younger man an easy, sexy smile. "Would you like to watch the recording now, or would you rather--?" Rory swayed a bit to the the music to illustrate. Whether they slow-danced, snuggled on the couch or headed straight back to his bedroom, he didn't intend to take his hands off Peter any more than necessary.

[half-whole-pw.livejournal.com]

After a kiss like that there was precious little else Peter wanted to do than ...well, watching anything on t.v. was not on his list of things to do with Rory Stone, no.

"Mm...yeah. No." He shook his head and looked up at the singer, running the tip of his tongue over the bottom lip Rory had been abusing. "This is good though." Peter wrapped an arm around Rory's waist and gave his side a solid squeeze. Slow music, crowding each other's personal space, building seductive teases into heated tension--far more preferable than playing at being a fanboy.

Peter ran the palm of his other hand down the length of Rory's arm and up to his shoulder, not quite mirroring the other man's posture. Fingers didn't massage and knead but they did wander along the collar of that green Henley and skim just below the fabric's edge to touch soft, warm skin. "What do you feel like 'getting up to'?"

[fey-fire.livejournal.com]

"Oh," Rory breathed, "all sorts of things." His eyes followed Peter's tongue as it once again flickered across his lower lip. "You're right, though. The vid will still be there later." Fingers running warm over his collarbone, a palm stroking the small of his back ... he started to imagine all the ways those hands and that mouth might be occupied tonight. Along with his own.

The singer hadn't done this with someone of his own gender for a while, but he well remembered the dynamics. The power play, the bit of push-pull about who was in charge here, contributed its own kind of heat and tension to the moment. Sometimes it was overtly testosterone-laden and sometimes so subtle as to barely be noticed. Sometimes it was decided in minutes, and at others deliberately prolonged, passed back and forth between the two. He licked his own lips as he anticipated finding out how things would happen with Peter Webster.

He shifted the arm Peter had just stroked to his friend's waist, more closely mirroring their positions and bringing them just a little closer. His other hand smoothed across firm shoulder to find the nape of the younger man's neck, fingers slipping into soft dark hair before gently rubbing the skin underneath. Rory bent for another kiss, this one starting with a delicate nip of Peter's upper lip before settling into light, almost taunting caresses with lips and tongue. You want more? it seemed to ask.

"I'll tell you one thing," he breathed against the corner of Peter's mouth before lifting his head just enough to look him in the eyes. "Whatever we 'get up to', there will be no second thoughts, no cold feet, and no regrets."

[half-whole-pw.livejournal.com]

Peter was used to switching, liked to in fact. Sometimes it was nice to be the guided and other times he preferred to take the lead. With Rory, he wasn't sure that asserting himself was the wisest choice despite his friend's promise of not stalling or back peddling again. Let him set the pace and tone here, he was the one reeling from turns in life's events. Peter had been on an even keel long enough to appreciate that.

He definitely wanted more. More kissing, more caressing, even more conversation so long as there was more...Rory. His hand moved from slender hip to slide beneath the hem of the man's shirt to rub back and forth against his skin directly. Dip fingers into the waistband of his jeans only to withdraw again. "Anything you want, rock star."

Peter smirked, nipped and nuzzled at Rory's chin. Get used to the yes treatment now, buddy. He was playing, teasing, trying to see if there were any buttons to press.

[fey-fire.livejournal.com]

Rory made a small, husky sound of approval when Peter's hand started wandering the bare skin of his back, and another when his fingers teased at entering unexplored territory. Every touch of skin against skin fed the need inside him, made the fire burn a little higher. Peter's playful acquiescence, however, earned him another nip to that delectably swollen lower lip of his.

"No," he said, his tone soft velvet over a mere hint of steel. "No 'rock star', Peter. And no pliant, eager to please fan either, not from you." Rory's words were firm, but his hands continued to stroke and caress. "If I'd wanted that, I would have called one of the phone numbers that got slipped into my pockets after the performance. I didn't."

His lips curved into another slow, heated smile as his hand wandered from his friend's back toward his hip. "This should be as much about what you want as what I want, a chara." Maybe three inches of air remained between their bodies. Plenty of room for Rory to slip that wayward hand between them, ease open the shirt button just above Peter's waistband and slide two fingers inside to explore the sensitive skin of his stomach.

[half-whole-pw.livejournal.com]

Peter's smirk morphed into something far more sincere at hearing Rory say he'd wanted him over any number of meaningless strangers. Not that Peter had any illusions of this being the start of something more than what it was but it meant Rory attached a deeper meaning to their friendship and his own personal wants. Peter certainly didn't mind helping him scratch whatever itch he had.

"You know," Peter arched his back and pressed their bodies closer, Rory's hand caught against his stomach and between them both, "what I want."

His hand slid further along Rory's back, over shapely muscle and his thumb found the straight line of the taller man's spine, running firmly along that gentle dip and following it from the small of his back to just between his shoulder blades. If Rory wanted something more aggressive than a simpering fan, he could have that.

[fey-fire.livejournal.com]

"Yes." He did know. He felt the cravings from his friend mirroring his own. Heat. Touch. Skin. More. Rory snarled softly at Peter's increased boldness, both in pressing up against him and sliding that inquisitive hand up his back. A sudden mischievous gleam entered the púca's eyes as he added, "But maybe I should make sure that I've got it right."

One arm wrapped around his friend's shoulders, he dipped his head to bring his mouth, not to Peter's lips this time, but to his throat. He sucked and nibbled at the cords of muscle stretching down to his shoulder, lapped at his warmly throbbing pulse. "Is this what you want, a chara?" he hissed softly in Peter's ear.

"Or maybe this?" The close fit of their bodies did not prevent Rory from sliding his hand slowly up his young friend's chest, popping open buttons on the way up. Nor did it keep him from letting that hand enjoy stroking the skin it was slowly exposing, fingers spread wide to learn the other man's contours, ears and fey sensitivity poised to drink in reactions and find sensitive spots.

By the time he'd undone the last button, the mischief in Rory's eyes had turned wicked. "Or just possibly ... this." Hands dropping to the hem of his own shirt, Rory shifted back slightly, just far enough for him to whisk the henley up and off. Tossing the shirt he cared not where, his eyes watched for Peter's reaction even as his hands reached out for him again.

[half-whole-pw.livejournal.com]

Peter moaned, groaned, arched and bucked under Rory's various nips, nibbles and caresses. There was no resistance from the younger, shorter man but there was plenty of wordless pleading for more as he dug fingers into Rory's back, tipped his head to one side to offer more access to a neck that wanted further attention.

His heart beat faster with every shirt button popped and breath quickened as wandering fingers covered more ground. "Yeah..." This was what he wanted. This and maybe that as Rory brushed over Peter's nipple with a maddeningly slow stroke of a thumb pad.

Peter blinked when Rory backed up and dropped his hands, frowned until he saw what the other man was doing. His own shirt hanging open, Peter moved to pull the bare-chested singer back to him. Skin to skin. Now.

Their height difference was Peter's momentary boon. He could press his chest against Rory's torso and still press open-mouthed kisses along the upper portion of the man's chest. Dip his head and worry a hardening nipple with the tip of a very warm tongue.

[fey-fire.livejournal.com]

It was Rory's turn to arch and groan, pressing himself into the hot demands of Peter's mouth. "Ahhyesss," he moaned softly at the sensations triggered by that seeking tongue flicking across his nipple, sweet tingles that increased the tighter the velvety nub became. Threading his fingers through his friend's thick hair, Rory silently urged Peter's mouth to do more, harder, anything and everything it wanted to do to him. For him. With him.

His other hand wandered the expanse of the younger man's back, only to find his shirt still entirely too in the way. One arm at a time, he coaxed Peter to release him only long enough to slip sleeves down and the shirt off entirely. With a soft growl of triumph, he traced sculpted muscles, comparing their firmness with the harder outcroppings of his shoulder blades. And all the while Peter's hungry mouth did things that sent streams of heat flowing down his body to pool in his groin.

Much as he enjoyed those devouring attentions, Rory's own mouth wanted something to do, to taste. Gently he lifted Peter's head from his chest until it was at the right angle for another kiss, this one beginning with a slow laving of the other man's lips, followed by an eager thrust of tongue against tongue. The hand on Peter's back slipped down and further down to find the tautness of his jean-clad ass and grip, pressing their lower bodies tight together. He ground his own groin shamelessly against his friend, the circles of his hips and the sway of their bodies matching the music in a hot, libidinous slow dance.

[half-whole-pw.livejournal.com]

Peter arched and stretched, standing on tip toe in an effort to find some equal footing in this kiss. His tongue tangled and dueled with Rory's until he could convince the other to retreat and give Peter a chance to explore the depths of his mouth instead. He was passing familiar with the warm, wet recesses but having the opportunity to reacquaint himself with Rory's taste and the textures found there...Peter moaned and gripped the other man tightly.

Firm bodies pressed together and created a heat that even the completely human male couldn't ignore. The grinding of hips began to make Peter wish they'd removed more than shirts, jeans becoming uncomfortably tight as he strained against rough denim and added to the friction as he met each of Rory's movements with countering actions of his own.

This was shaping up to be something fast, and hot and furious. Peter wasn't going to back down any more that Rory was and when he moved his eager hands down the length of the other's back once more, he slipped them into the back of Rory's jeans, not over them. Another groan, pleased and almost satisfied as fingers dug into bare, soft flesh and not more fabric--Rory was wearing far less than young Webster, it would seem.

Perfect.

[fey-fire.livejournal.com]

Another low moan, this one Rory's, muffled by Peter's mouth as he let the younger man's tongue roam where it pleased. And his hands ... the flexing of Rory's hips took on an added dimension, back to enjoy the attentions of his friend's strong fingers, forward to rub up against his hard body. He had no compunctions about showing Peter how hard and ready he was. Though their first time might be fast and hot, they'd have times later to indulge in slow, languid teasing.

He'd make very sure of that.

For now a thought slowly sank in through the heat, the realization that stretched up on his toes was probably not the most comfortable of foreplay positions for the shorter man. Following on its heels was a second thought, that if Peter wanted to keep upping the ante, he knew just how to oblige him. Easing back from their kiss, he met Peter's gaze with dark brown eyes glittering with open lust. "About time we do something about the height difference." The velvety-rich baritone that hours ago had sung about sweet eyes, sexy thighs and feeling your pulses pound became even more hypnotic one on one. "Come with me."

He stepped back, his right hand slipping once more around Peter's waist to his stomach, this time sliding down past the the waistband of the younger man's jeans. But in taking hold of the fabric, his fingers somehow found themselves inside Peter's shorts as well, investigating the soft skin and coarse hair of his groin before seeking lower to caress a strongly pounding pulse indeed.

Rory began walking backward down the hall toward his bedroom, not bothering or needing to look behind him, leading the other man by his grip on his jeans. Grinning wickedly, he kept his free hand on Peter's muscular shoulder to make sure he couldn't retaliate-- yet --while his fingers tauntingly stroked whatever they could find. Hot throbbing want in its purest form surged between the two men from every point of contact.

He watched Peter's reactions all the way down the hall, into the room and over to the spacious bed. Taking a seat, Rory spread his thighs and tugged Peter back to him, wrapping his free arm snugly around his waist. "You feel good, a chara," he purred, angling his head to nibble and suck at whatever of Peter's chest and abdomen were in convenient reach. "And taste even better." His lips found a nipple while his fingers busied themselves undoing his friend's fly and easing jeans and shorts down far enough to free the hard length of his erection.