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That night finds them on the couch, the solid bulk of Ezra’s frame underneath Joel’s, hand carding through his hair, lips slanted soft and pliant and wanting against his own. The gold on his ring finger glints in the firelight, but he’s oblivious to everything but the taste of him, concentrated nips and sucks at his collarbone, the heady musk of him, the stretch of warm skin where his t-shirt rides up. He slides his palms up his torso, skimming scars and sparse hairs, circling his navel with one reverent thumb.
“Husband,” Ezra whispers, drawing the word out until it tickles against Joel’s neck. It makes him shiver, makes the tips of his ears red and his chest hot, a name he couldn’t fairly claim even when it was a legal truth. It’s enough to tighten his throat and blur his vision, and then he’s pressing his lips to Ezra’s like a brand, like a bruise, suddenly desperate to have nothing between them. He tastes like coffee, rich and chocolatey and warm. Ezra pulls his t-shirt over his head and watches, amused, as Joel stands and rushes through the buttons on his shirt, the clasp of his belt, all trembling hands and over-eager fumbling because he’s nervous like the first time. Ezra follows and stills him with a hand to the center of his chest.
Joel ducks his head and huffs a laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’m…m’just…”
“I know, cher.”
Ezra wraps his arm around his shoulders, presses the long line of his body to Joel’s, and they sway on their feet to the soft hum of static on the stereo, the actual music having long since stopped playing. It’s been almost two years of this, two years of them, a kind of life Joel hadn’t dared dream for himself. He lets his arms loop Ezra’s waist, skin on skin, heat building between them until their kisses grow frantic, until the subtle grind of his hips isn’t enough to relieve the ache.
“Want to be inside you, songbird,” Ezra rasps at the tender hollow of Joel’s throat, the words going straight to his cock, and that’s all it takes. He growls low in his chest, an animal sound of want. The rest of their clothes scatter. The door is locked, curtains drawn against the howling wind and snow. They have nowhere to be, no one to answer to for hours, and a honeymoon of sorts to get to.
Ezra sits back on the couch, lounges, looks up at his partner with heavy-lidded eyes and pupils blown wide. The couch creaks lightly under their combined weight, but it holds them, Joel straddling Ezra’s lap. He opens easily to his own touch, fingers spit-slicked and patient and prodding, soon to be replaced by the stretch of Ezra’s cock. He takes him in at a measured slide, seats himself and has to pause to catch his breath, focused on the burning weight of another body inside, foreign but familiar. He rocks forward, then back, rolls his hips to find the right angle, all while Ezra watches and waits and traces the line of his jaw with the pad of his thumb.
A rhythm settles, an easy give and take. Ezra’s hand on his hip, guiding his movements, a delicious grind, slow and deliberate and so, so close. Skin stuck to skin, sweat pooling in the dimpled crevices of Joel’s back where it faces the fire. Baby, he drawls, a breathless whisper, and kisses him with quiet fervor, tongues and teeth sliding in a tender, practiced scrap.
Ezra takes control, reaching between them to run a hand over the firm heft of Joel’s cock, but he’s too sensitive, too full, so swollen it hurts. He entwines their fingers and brings his hand to his lips instead, kisses along his knuckles, the tips of his fingers, the center of his palm. He draws the first two digits into his mouth, flicks his tongue between them, sucks hard. Ezra makes a choked groaning sound in the back of his throat and bucks underneath him. Joel curls forward, arms crossed behind Ezra’s neck, forehead to forehead, supping from each other. Slow and tender until it’s not, until Ezra hits that spot inside just right, the key to his lock.
They rock in tandem, Joel moaning softly into the crook of Ezra’s neck as he drives up into him. Joel’s cock pulses a heartbeat, slicked in precome and pressed between their bodies with just enough friction as a coil of bright hot pleasure winds low in his gut, the pressure inside building to a crescendo.
“Ez…Ezra…baby m’close, ah–”
But his warning goes unheeded, and Joel is at the mercy of Ezra’s skilled tongue, curling and licking into his mouth, his jaw slack. Ezra catches his cries, shares in them as Joel clenches around him, as the coil snaps and a molten heat races up his spine, cock throbbing and releasing against his belly. He cradles Ezra’s face in his hands, an anchor guiding him home, grinds sloppily against him until he’s wrung out, a quivering, lovestruck mess. He presses a kiss to his temple just under the white-blonde thatch of hair, rocks his hips until they start to ache along with his knees, the couch springs echoing his pain.
“Up, cher,” Ezra whispers when it’s clear Joel is too tired, too fuckin’ old to keep going that way. He stands on shaky legs and wanders over to the record player where the needle has reached the end of its groove, a soft snick as he flicks off the switch and puts the cover down. Now the room is quiet, just the crackling fire and their mingled breathing.
He turns and finds Ezra watching him, slowly stroking himself with that half-grin in the firelight, eyes soft with a love Joel still doesn’t know if he deserves. The sight is enough to make him forget his creaky knees, makes him ache in a different way. Ezra lies down on his side, stretches a languid, lithe stretch, and pats the cushion with an inviting smirk. Joel goes to him; always does, always will, he supposes.
He eases himself down, pulls Ezra against him until they’re side by side on the narrow couch, Ezra tucked between him and the back cushions. Ezra’s length presses keenly against Joel’s thigh but there’s no rush, no urgency, just the warmth of his body on one side and the fire at his back. Joel explores, drawing his hand along the scarred plane of Ezra’s chest, his stomach, the hard muscle of a thigh, the knob of a hip, the wiry curls between his legs. Lets his mouth touch what it can reach, drags his tongue along the tendon at his neck, savors the taste of him, the feel of him, his, his, his.
Husband, he thinks, still wrapped in a fog of pleasure and disbelief.
His hand wraps Ezra’s silken length, watches with fascination as his eyes flutter shut, mouth dropping open in a quiet groan. One hand works his cock, the other cups the back of his head, threading his fingers through his dark, damp locks.
“Eyes on me,” he murmurs, nuzzling his cheek, pressing feather-light kisses to the tip of his nose, the ridge of an eyebrow, the half-hidden dimple under his scruff.
Ezra drags his eyes open, arches a curious brow, groans again as Joel’s grip tightens and loosens, strokes and teases. Thumb to the tip, circling, circling, watching Ezra’s nose crinkle and lips purse and pout at the sensation. He enjoys this, enjoys watching him as he loses the careful mask he wears, loves the little sounds and the broken French that spills from his lips that Joel doesn't have to know to understand. Amour, amour, amour.
“There he is,” he murmurs when Ezra bucks against him, urging him along, whining softly when Joel draws back. He cups his sac, touches with the pads of his fingers deeper between his legs until he squirms and arches, seeking more. Joel chuckles and Ezra huffs an impatient breath against his lips that he answers with a sharp nip soothed by a soft tongue, a warning to behave.
Stroking and stroking and holding off when he’s close, watching for the tells he’s become attuned to in their years together. The hitch in his breath, the furrow in his brow, his stomach tensing, muscles rippling against Joel’s side, the swelling throb of his cock against his palm.
“What do you want, baby?” Joel rumbles, latching onto the freckle just behind Ezra’s ear, suckling at that spot that makes him shiver. Ezra gapes, seems to have lost his words, and Joel can’t help but feel a little smug at that, the man who never shuts up can’t form a full sentence when he’s cradled in his arms and thrusting helplessly into Joel’s tight fist.
“Like…this,” he moans. “Just–just like…oh, Joel, cher, please–”
“I gotcha,” he whispers, pulling back to watch as his hand finds a steady, firm stroke, tugging the foreskin up over his weeping, glistening head, swirling around then back down, pressing in at the root of him. He tugs at the hair at Ezra’s nape, gently tipping his head back, holding him in place. “Eyes open, sweet boy. Wanna see you.”
A throaty whimper at the endearment, but Ezra obeys, his eyes two dark pools of want trained on Joel as he brings him closer to the edge. Four, five more rough strokes and then he’s impossibly hard, impossibly swollen in his hand before his cock jerks and throbs and his warm seed spurts through the clutch of Joel’s fingers, smears into the thatch of hair on his stomach. He works him through it, greedy for every last sigh, every shudder, every pearly drop.
He coaxes Ezra down from his high, caresses his back, strokes his hair, presses him deeper into the cushions until their spend is mingled, painted on their stomachs in a sticky, slippery mess. When the sweat cooling on his skin becomes too much for the fire to counter, Joel reaches down, blindly swipes a piece of clothing off the floor to wipe them down, then pulls a throw off the back of the couch and spreads it over them.
“This okay?” Joel murmurs, nuzzling the lobe of Ezra’s ear. He’s not sure if he’s asking about the sex or the sleeping arrangements or the bands on their fingers.
His voice is a low, sleepy-soft thrum at Joel’s throat. “Mmmm. I cannot fathom a more fitting consummation than this, songbird.”
“...so that’s a ‘yes’, right?”
Ezra tilts his chin up and smiles, kisses him long and languid and deep, and Joel has his answer.
~*~
Later, he’ll wake up chilled, the fire burned to embers, the throw puddled on the floor. Ezra’s face is relaxed and soft in sleep, lips parted slightly. Even in the dark, Joel can see the glint of the ring on his hand and it makes that feral kernel in his chest swell with pride and fear and so, so much love. His lower back will regret this, his knees already do, but he pulls the throw up over them and curls into Ezra’s warmth. He twines their fingers, a shared fist with matching rings tucked between them, and decides to stay a little longer.