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Joseph’s nervous.
He doesn’t look it- not anywhere it would matter, anyway. But Aesop can tell by the way his fingers curl stiffly around the stem of the champagne flute, sharp nails digging into the thin skin across his knuckles. He’s cradling the glass close to his chest in a way that makes it seem like he’s just trying not to let it go spilling should someone bump into him, but Aesop knows him too well to be fooled by any of it.
Knows just how well Joseph guards his heart.
Wordlessly, Aesop settles a hand on the small of Joseph’s lower back, and only when that distant gaze breaks does he murmur a comforting, albeit insufficient-
“Relax.”
He doesn’t promise that it’s going to be fine, or that the evening will go particularly well. It’s very possible they’ll make it through the exhibition without selling even a single piece, or without a contemplative gaze. They have always silently agreed to never disrespect each other with false plaintives.
It had taken so much for Joseph to agree to have his art featured in the first place. If this doesn’t go well, Aesop worries he’ll find the paints tucked back into the depths of the storage closet for the next twenty years, at least. But he can’t make other people like Joseph’s paintings. Most of all, he can’t decide what constitutes as the evening going well for Joseph.
All he can do is be there. With a hand on Joseph’s back, urging him forward and through.
It goes well.
Of course it does. Aesop doesn’t know much about traditional art, really, but he does know what makes art meaningful to him.
It’s the ability of a piece to move someone. To make them feel something. In the way that breathing life into a corpse with makeup comforts their loved ones, gives them a final memory of peace and normalcy to hold onto as an anchor amidst their grief- it is art.
And Aesop has never known anyone with the ability to evoke emotions quite like Joseph.
By the time they leave the gallery, Joseph is beaming. There’s a sparkle behind his eyes, a well subdued smile for the sake of appearances and a three thousand dollar check in his name for a piece he titled ‘Qui Vivra Verra.’ But the money hardly matters.
They bustle down the city street, Aesop following in the stride of Joseph’s eager step, dodging puddles leftover from yesterday’s storm.
They’ve barely made it in the door of their apartment, Aesop locking the door behind them when Joseph pulls down his mask and slings his arms around Aesop’s neck, pulling him into a giddy, breathless kiss.
The action suffices where Aesop’s words would fail. It’s a stand-in for an ‘I’m so proud of you,’ because that sort of declaration might choke him.
“Did you hear what they said?” Joseph asks, breathless, when he finally pulls away. His fingers are tangled in Aesop’s hair, twirling the end of his ponytail and teasing the elastic like he wants to pull it out, but knows better.
“I did,” Aesop answers, allowing himself a small smile. It’s another gift to Joseph, such an unguarded expression.
“They said it was a masterpiece. A masterpiece! That they refused to leave without it!”
“Yes,” Aesop agrees. He peels off his mask from where the straps are still hooked around his ears, tucking it away, his hands finding their way to Joseph’s waist. “Because it reminded them of their childhood home. A place they thought they’d never see again.”
“Funny thing.” Joseph’s fingers are still fidgeting with the elastic in Aesop’s hair. “Isn’t it?”
“It is.”
Aesop knows what he wants. He hardly has to guess, with the way Joseph is biting his lower lip, leaning into Aesop’s touch like a lifeline.
And, well. Aesop has to be honest. That sort of passion is exactly what enamored him to Joseph in the first place- the way he feels everything so fully, so fiercely. Whether it be joy or sorrow, grief or anger. He emotes so openly, and without hesitation. Even when he tries to suppress his pain, it’s clear there’s always something just beneath the surface.
It’s something Aesop has always struggled with himself. It also makes him an open book. One that Aesop loves to read.
“Are you going to say ‘I told you so?’”
“You’re the one who would say something like that,” Aesop counters. “Not me.”
“But you could still say it,” Joseph drawls. He’s being cheeky now. His tongue darts out over his lower lip, soothing the spot he’d been biting it earlier. Bait.
“Mmm. I could.” Where Aesop’s hands are settled on Joseph’s waist, they’ve wandered a little lower, fingers finding their way just under the hem of Joseph’s shirt in the small section that’s become untucked from his slacks. “Either way you have to live with it.”
Finally, Joseph gets brave enough to pull him back into a kiss when he realizes that Aesop is purposefully not going to do it.
This one lasts longer, and is more eager, with Joseph parting his lips into the kiss and trying to coax Aesop to do the same with teasing hints of tongue.
He even gets so desperate as to tug on Aesop’s ponytail, which earns him a stifled groan, Aesop’s hands reflexively squeezing around Joseph’s waist as a surge of pleasure shoots down his spine.
They’re past the point of playing fair, then.
With the leverage of his grip, Aesop bullies Joseph into the doorframe, pushing him up against the door until he’s got nowhere to go. The motion draws a startled intake of breath from Joseph- through the nose, because Aesop is making sure his mouth is otherwise occupied.
He doesn’t need words to communicate what he wants, of course- he hooks a leg around Aesop’s hip, hands clawing at Aesop’s shoulders, his pointed nails digging right through the cable knit worn to stave off the early spring chill.
At that, Aesop pulls away, his own sharp inhale breaking their heated kiss from its course.
“You’re very handsy tonight,” Aesop states the obvious breathlessly, and Joseph flushes in turn, like hearing it spoken means he’s been caught in the act.
“Is that a problem?” Joseph challenges, his pupils blown so big that Aesop can hardly see the blue of his irises.
“Are you going to make it a problem?”
What kind of night is it going to be?
What kind of night do you want to have?
For a fragile moment, Joseph remains completely still, before the gradual pressure of his nails return, digging steadily into Aesop’s shoulder blades through his sweater.
Right then.
Aesop allows it for just a little longer- because he and Joseph could not exist without their indulgences in each other. There is hardly a time when Joseph denies his strange requests, and Aesop does his best to honor Joseph’s in return.
Their lips connect in another hasty kiss, a mess of tongue and teeth until Aesop takes the lead, steering them into something slower, deeper, much to Joseph’s displeasure which takes the form of a muffled whine.
There’s nothing he can do but take what Aesop is willing to give, because otherwise he’ll get nothing at all and he knows it. Aesop kisses him long and hard until they’re so breathless that the gasp rattles his whole body as Joseph throws his head back against the door when they finally part.
It’s the perfect opportunity for Aesop to slot himself in the exposed crook of Joseph’s neck, kissing and kissing, and kissing and biting, biting and sucking until Joseph’s hips are rolling unabashedly against his own.
When Aesop pulls away to admire his handiwork, he also takes stock of where they’re at.
“Are we going to make it to the bedroom?” he asks, voice low. “Or am I going to fuck you right here before we’ve even taken our shoes off?”
“Shoes off.” Joseph’s laugh is rich and heady. “Definitely shoes off.”
From there, they toe their shoes off quickly, awkwardly, too concerned with losing themselves in each other and shedding layers to really mind the way they’re doing it.
There’s a time for being orderly. There’s a time when Joseph is particular about the toes of his boots lining up with the rest, and when Aesop folds his clothes neatly to avoid creasing them. They are both, as individuals, generally neat.
Together, they make a wonderful mess.
Something about love. Something about the way it makes one bend, or even break.
Joseph starts dragging them toward the bedroom, and Aesop nearly trips over the pile of shoes they’ve left in the vestibule, barely managing to hang his keys on the hook between being grabbed this way and that. Each time they stumble or bump into something, Joseph laughs cheekily against his lips, only adding fuel to the fire.
When they finally make it to the bedroom, Aesop shuts the door with his hip, not wanting to take the brunt of his attention from Joseph, even for a second. It’s rare that his lover gets to be in a mood like this- so carefree, so giddy. As a rule, Joseph’s disposition is a somber one, even on his happier days. So Aesop indulges the good mood accordingly.
He gets his hands up under Joseph’s shirt again, teasing his fingers higher and higher. It’s a button up, so it’s not going to come off by lifting it up over Joseph’s head, but the touch is just enough of a taste that Joseph relents in his grip on Aesop’s shoulder- with just one hand- and starts fumbling with the placket, trying to work the buttons free.
There’s a few seconds of fruitless struggling, Joseph refusing to remove his other hand from where it’s gripping onto Aesop for what seems like dear life, and Aesop lets out a low hum of amusement, pulling away from their kiss just enough to utter-
“Need some help?”
“Yes,” Joseph replies, breathless and perhaps a tad annoyed.
But Aesop takes the answer in stride, knowing how stubborn Joseph can be when it comes to asking for anything. Still, that doesn’t mean he’s going to rush it in the way Joseph seems so intent on doing.
Gingerly, Aesop starts the drawn out process of undoing Joseph’s shirt button by button. He connects their lips again, licking into Joseph’s mouth to keep him placated, at least for the time being. But the eager force of Joseph’s movements shows his desperation enough- his hiccupy breaths, the flutter of his heart beneath Aesop’s fingers.
The moment the shirt falls from Joseph’s torso, he’s back to clinging, wrapping his arms around Aesop’s neck and then he bites down on Aesop’s lower lip. Not so hard that it bleeds, but it comes close to it, and Aesop gasps, grip sinking firmly into Joseph’s waist to push him away for a breath and then, hold him there.
“Christ,” Aesop murmurs, acutely aware of the throbbing in his lip, burning red hot. “You’re being impatient.”
“Nonsense,” Joseph argues, his chest heaving, his eyes alight with a mischief that tells Aesop he knows exactly what he’s doing. “You like being bitten.”
“You’re trying to goad me into going faster,” Aesop deadpans. His eyes dart downward to where Joseph’s fingers are twisting into his belt loops, and then looks back up pointedly. “We have all night, Joseph.”
“Are you saying that my being eager is a bad thing?”
“No,” Aesop sighs, leaning in to press a kiss against Joseph’s forehead. Those clever fingers dip below the waistband of his pants, and a lightbulb goes off in his head.
“You just need me to make you go slower. That’s all.”
Joseph casts an inquisitive look at him, the edge of his smirk still fighting not to be seen. But Aesop has captured his attention with the statement, and intrigued, he does not fight as Aesop guides him into a more languid kiss. Though when he tries to escalate by squeezing at Aesop’s erection over the fabric of his boxers, Aesop shudders, pulling away and giving him a little nudge backward.
“Go lay down on the bed. Hands above your head.”
The pieces click visibly together, something behind Joseph’s eyes shifting in understanding and he puts on a pout, withdrawing his hands and hesitating just a moment before he starts shuffling toward the bed as told.
“I see. You are going to be mean to me,” he laments, reclining on the bed and shifting to get comfortable against the pillows before he raises his hands slowly, watching like a hawk as Aesop rounds the bedside to dig through their nightstand.
“No. I’ll be nice,” Aesop says, emerging with the silk ties in hand. “As long as you’re good.”
Approaching the bed, Aesop takes Joseph wrists gently in hand- Joseph, who makes a last ditch effort to twist free, and is quickly thwarted- and secures them to the headboard. The knots are practiced. Not so tight that Joseph will lose circulation in his hands, but not so loose that he can slip free either.
“There,” Aesop murmurs, cupping Joseph’s cheek and rubbing his thumb against it affectionately. “Now. Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to touch me.”
“I am.” Aesop taps his cheek for emphasis.
“I want you to touch my cock, Aesop.”
“We’re not there yet, Joseph. Think of something else. Something that comes first.”
For a moment, Joseph looks hopeless. His eyes are blown wide and glassy, shining with vulnerability as he leans into the hand cradling his face. He takes a shaky breath in before releasing it, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he does so.
“I want you to take your clothes off.”
“Good boy.”
A full body shudders runs through Joseph as the tension of the moment is broken with the praise, and he does not complain when the touch leaves him as Aesop withdraws to do exactly that.
He situates himself on the edge of the bed, just against the outside of Joseph’s thigh. It’s the only point of contact between them as Aesop begins methodically undressing himself, layer by layer.
First, his sweater, then his socks, Joseph’s gaze following every movement with rapt attention. When Aesop’s hands find their way to the fly of his pants, he takes his time popping the button and relishing in the way the zipper teeth click when separated.
Joseph is staring so openly at Aesop’s groin now that he must not realize he’s being watched. Appreciated.
He’s so unguarded, want and desire written plain across his features, that when he finally snaps his gaze up to meet Aesop’s own, a burn of embarrassment flames brightly across his cheeks.
It’s cute. He’s cute.
Aesop works off his pants, leaving him in only his briefs, which do nothing to hide the half erection he’s sporting. Then, he shifts, leaning over Joseph properly to finish undressing him.
Joseph, eager to please, cooperates by lifting his hips, his slacks joining Aesop’s own in a pile on the floor. But where Aesop has left a last shred of dignity for himself, he does not allow Joseph the same luxury, and pulls his briefs off as well.
Now freed, Joseph’s dick strains upward, red and weeping for attention. But Aesop ignores it in favor of shifting up the bed, hovering over Joseph on all fours before leaning down and capturing him in a kiss again.
Though restrained, Joseph makes his desire for closeness apparent by other means. He hooks a leg over Aesop’s hip, pulling him in, and when he arches his back, it grants him just enough leverage to grind his cock against the soft plane of Aesop’s stomach.
They kiss until he’s rutting, writhing, half like an animal, panting against Aesop’s pout but still, apparently unwilling to voice his wants within the game that they’re playing. Stubborn as ever.
Aesop wants to see the dam break. Better yet, be the final crack in its facade.
He lifts his head, lowering it this time into the crook of Joseph’s neck. Joseph, who throws his head back freely to encourage the new course of action. He moans, softly at first, and then more openly as the tender kisses against his jugular grow fiercer, and wetter, still thrusting against Aesop’s stomach in desperation. He is caught in the middle, and that’s exactly where Aesop wants him.
When Aesop sinks his teeth in- hard, not hard enough to bleed, but hard enough to bruise- it’s revenge. It’s justice. And it draws a lovely yelp from the back of Joseph’s throat as he keens, melting into bliss.
And then breaking.
“Please,” he gasps. “Please just get on with it.”
Aesop pulls away to study his expression closely. The crease of his brow, the flush of his cheeks. It’s not often that Joseph begs.
“Be more specific.”
“Fuck me.”
“You know what I’m going to say,” Aesop chides. He takes Joseph’s chin in hand again, cradling, and lets his thumb fall against Joseph’s lower lip. “What comes first?”
Quick and clever, Joseph’s eyes spark.
“I want you to open me up.”
“Mm,” Aesop hums, satisfied, a lick of pleasure running through him as Joseph draws his thumb past the pout of his lips, and starts to suck on it. “You sound like a slut.”
The involuntary inhale Joseph takes is oh-so worth it- his hips buck upward, and he becomes more pliant, parting his lips to receive Aesop’s pointer and middle finger next.
The spit’s not enough, of course. Not for the full breadth of the task, at least. But it is enough to make Joseph squirm when Aesop withdraws his hand and presses the two slick digits between Joseph’s legs, teasing his entrance.
Unfortunately, he has to pull away just enough to fumble through their nightstand again for the lube, and the loss of contact is practically a tragedy on Joseph’s behalf.
Joseph lets out a pathetic, half smothered whine which Aesop politely does not comment on. Instead, he returns with the lube, uncapping it and squeezing it into his palm to warm it up.
From there, it’s easy- the way Joseph parts his legs, offering himself up makes it easy. Aesop circles the rim of his ass, acclimating him to the touch before he starts to ease a finger inside.
“S’okay?” Aesop asks, mostly out of habit. Joseph’s typically loud enough about the things he doesn’t like, but he’s also in that state of mind where he’s desperate to take whatever he can get, and Aesop has to walk that fine line.
But Joseph nods, eagerly, his face twisted away as he pants against the crook of his arm, like smothering himself in his bicep will do anything to hide his blush.
“Don’t just nod. Say it.”
“Uh-huh,” Joseph gulps, swallowing thickly. “It’s okay. Good.”
There’s little resistance as Aesop works him open. One finger becomes two, and even when Joseph becomes adjusted to that, Aesop still prods and presses, trying to find that spot. To make him feel good.
He knows he’s found it when Joseph’s breath catches in his throat, and he tenses, jolting ever so slightly both into and away from the touch. Like it’s too much and not enough all at once.
Aesop places his free hand on Joseph’s hip to hold him there. To make him take it. Because there’s only so much wiggling he can do between the way his hands are bound above his head, and the way Aesop is pinning him to the sheets.
He tries to hold his moans in, but touch after touch, press after press of Aesop singling out his prostate has the moans flowing freely from his mouth, eyes pinched shut in pleasure.
“If you keep-“ he warns, voice wobbly, wavering. “Doing that, I’m going to-“
“Without me touching your cock?”
“Yes-“
“Whore.”
Aesop doubles his efforts.
He watches the way Joseph’s adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, choking around another moan. Moan after moan, rising in pitch, like he might shatter at any moment.
Using a leg to pin Joseph down instead, Aesop places his free hand around Joseph’s throat. His eyes fly open, all black with the thinnest hint of blue around the edges, and when Aesop squeezes, he’s done for.
Joseph comes in a silent moan, back arching, stiffening, spilling cum across his stomach in bursts, his eyes never leaving Aesop’s face.
Even when it’s over, even when Aesop’s grip relents and the breath returns to his lungs and leaves his chest heaving, his watery gaze follows Aesop’s own. Winded and worn, he relaxes back into the pillows, and Aesop strokes his throat a few tender times before reaching up to brush the hair from his face.
“Had enough?”
“No,” Joseph croaks. “I still want you.”
Aesop leans down, kissing him gently.
“Anything you want.”
He kicks off his boxers with far less grace, but Joseph is both so eager and so fucked out already, that he doesn’t comment on it. It’s easy enough for Aesop to ignore his own arousal in such moments where the focus isn’t on him, but now, after the incredibly erotic display of Joseph cumming all over himself, Aesop can’t deny how badly his own cock is aching.
He fumbles for the lube, dispensing more into his palm and then, slicking his length up. Settling between Joseph’s thighs, he takes a moment to like himself up, casting a glance up at Joseph for assent.
Winded as he is, Joseph still manages an eager nod, giving Aesop a little nudge of encouragement.
It isn't going to take much, Aesop realizes as he starts to press inside. Just watching Joseph was enough to get him halfway there, but that’s probably for the best anyway, because one orgasm is usually enough for Joseph as it is.
He whimpers at the sensitivity, a shudder running through him and Aesop reaches out to pet soothingly along his side.
“You're okay,” he murmurs. “Breathe. You’re doing so well.”
Aesop leans down again to connect their lips, swallowing a wordless mumble of excitement from Joseph as he does so. He takes his time sliding in, and when they finally connect, it draws a heady groan from the man below him.
“Aesop-“
“I know,” Aesop says, this time, a touch breathless. “I know.”
Carefully, Aesop withdraws halfway and then, presses back inside. He works to find a rhythm that feels good for the both of them, eventually settling into something just on the right side of too much and not enough.
Joseph grunts and whimpers with every thrust aimed particularly well, the abuse on his prostate no doubt overwhelming. He can’t even cling onto Aesop properly, his fingers balled into fists where they’re bound at the headboard, so he settles for second best by locking his ankles together behind Aesop’s waist.
The unspoken question gets its unspoken answer.
Aesop nods, hastily, his bangs now sticking to his forehead with the sweat that’s beading at his temples, running down the back of his neck. Leaning in, he catches Joseph in a kiss again. Or something that passes as a kiss, but is really just a mess of lips and tongue and spit and unrestrained moans and hiccups, and whispered praises of “you feel so good,” and “good boy,” and whatever else Aesop’s pleasure-addled mind can string together.
His hands grip bruisingly on Joseph’s hips for leverage, and his thrusts speed up, bringing them both closer to the edge.
He can feel his own release building, a coil winding tightly at the pit of his gut. And Joseph, who starts to squirm more violently, can’t be far behind.
To see it through, Aesop takes Joseph’s cock in hand, finally granting him the touch he’s been denied, and it pulls a full body moan from him.
Suddenly, Joseph is panting, twisting, turning, shaking his head and his eyes welled with unshed tears.
“It’s too much-! I can’t-“
“You can,” Aesop encourages. “You can, Joseph. Come for me.”
There is nothing Joseph can do but obey.
He comes a second time, clenching down on Aesop’s cock and choking around a sound he’ll be embarrassed by later. His cock twitches in Aesop’s hand, throbbing, though little is left to join the release already on his stomach.
The sensation alone drives Aesop over the edge. His hips stutter, a mostly muffled groan escaping him as he buries his face in Joseph’s neck and bites down for a final time, filling him with release.
They’re left to cool.
The moment he has the coordination to do so, Aesop reaches up to untie the bindings, and Joseph uses his newfound freedom to cling.
He wraps his arms around Aesop, heaving a sigh, and only when it becomes unbearable does he finally unlock his legs and allow Aesop to pull out. The cum drips from his ass, onto the sheets. But the satisfaction is well worth doing laundry later.
A shower would be nice. But Aesop tables his need to scrub off the sweat in favor of pulling Joseph close, settling into a more proper embrace. The man is surely too tired to do much of anything besides be held, and that comes second to nothing.
“I’m very proud of you,” Aesop murmurs. Words of affirmation- critical to Joseph in moments like these. “I know today was scary.”
“Mmh,” Joseph acknowledges. He’s tucked his head under Aesop’s chin, and slung an arm over his midsection. “Less scary with you there.”
“Good.”
Aesop knows that Joseph is already halfway to sleep- they both know it. So he starts a soothing rhythm of rubbing Joseph’s back, up and down, thumbing the notches in his spine. That usually does the trick.
“I love you,” Joseph says, blearily.
“I love you, too,” Aesop replies. “You can go to sleep, okay? I’ll clean up.”
“Mkay.”
And he’s out like a light.