And They Were Roommates || DNF

7

The two still had yet to pull apart in realization of what they were doing -- rather, the kissing alone had started lacking the efficiency in feeding their lust starved hunger. George's hands snaked across every inch of Clay's upper body; his fingers raked through Clay's hair, they cupped his face, ran down his jaw, slid down the nape of his neck to the base of his collarbones, past his pecks to his stomach. The blonde was so much larger than George so each touch felt like butterfly kisses, but his brain was clouded over with delusion so, despite the lightness of George's touch and the coldness of his hands, every graze against his skin burned. Something about the kindling left Clay itching to be immersed completely in George's embers but his clothes were acting like something of a hindrance. George clearly thought so as well-- slipping his hands under Clay's shirt to meet bare skin that warmed his cold hands, smiling against Clay's lips when he jumped from the sensation, goosebumps already arising on his abdomen.

A sudden dizziness hit George due to his oxygen-deprived lungs, he moved to pull away so he could catch his breath but Clay caught his bottom lip between his teeth, biting it gently to try to prevent George from ending the kiss but to no avail. The loss of sensation earned a groan from the blonde, letting his head down to the crease of George's neck, attaching his lips on the sensitive stretch of skin -- very clearly feeling the vibration of the low moan that arose from George's throat. Not once had George seen Clay like this before, so desperate and needy as he gripped at Clay's skin panting, trying to lean into Clay and push back on the bed without stumbling clumsily and ruining the moment but Clay was far too stubborn to give him the space to do it.

He left one hand to rest on Clay's waist, letting the other explore its way past his abs to his upper chest, pushing him back gently. Thankfully this time Clay budged, taking a step backward every time George took one forward until his legs were pressed against the side of the bed forcing him to lose stability, detach himself off of George's neck, and flopped down to a sitting position on the mattress. George stood looking down at the younger boy, his hands forcibly having to be relocated from outside of Clay's shirt to his broad shoulders.

In the short time it took for the pair to struggle their way from the middle of the room to the bed, Clay had managed to suck a good amount of hickeys onto George's pale skin, the marks changing like an afternoon sunset -- fading from pink to red to purple, the sight of his work made the blonde go slightly woozy. He raised his hands between their bodies, bringing his callused finger to run over the sensitive marks, George was generous enough to give him a moment to admire his work all while making the conscious effort to hide just how much the Clays touch was affecting him.

When George's generosity started wearing thin, he tried brushing Clay's hand off of him but the blonde looked up at him quickly -- his pupils blown out, looking almost dazed before moving back to his neck almost as with a look of apperception. Slowly he pressed his palm flush against George's neck, his thumb stretched across George's adam's apple until his palm was completely covering his windpipe. Clay's pointer finger was pressed up against the base of George's jawline while the other four digging into the darkening marks, "you know," he murmured. "I think these marks might be the solution."

George's breath caught in his throat, he felt like he knew what Clay was implying by the notion but he needed confirmation. "Solution to what?" he asked, his voice shakier than he would have liked it to sound.

Pushing harshly against one of the marks, pleased when he heard George let out a yelp of pain mixed with arousal, he reiterated, "your constant flirting."

George shuttered, right on the nose. In a weird way, it felt like Clays was making good on his promise, Clay had warned George that if he didn't stop, he would make him stop. Even now, with Clay's hand wrapped around Georges throat, it felt like deja vu despite the altercation they had only days prior. It was less shocking now, but even the hot arousal that pooled at the bottom of Google's stomach was the same as the original altercation, Clay was ending the squabble where it started.