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Homme

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He watched the younger man fumble with the square little bits of metal from the bed. He knew the other could feel the amused weight of his gaze, for a flush was rising, slowly, warming his cheeks as he struggled with uncooperative fingers.

"Come here."

The man ducked his head. "No, I don't think so."

"Than I will have to come to you," Hani said, rising from the nest of strewn about sheets. He stood next to the other man, his bronzed skin a sharp contrast to the stark whites and blacks of the other's clothes, half done up as they were; the gap exposing his ribs was only slightly less pale.

He reached out, took hold of one slender wrist and turned it toward him, till the blue veins under thin, thin skin were facing him; took unsmudged linen between thumb and forefinger and freed the smooth metal of the cufflinks from unresisting fingers, fed them through the crisp edges of the button hole, turned so they glinted dully in the light from the window.

"Practice, my dear."

The man laughed, almost silently, a smirk playing round his lips. "Like you're any better when it comes to your own."

"Ah, but that is why I have you." His fingers released the other's wrist, trailed down the bare skin of the other's chest before he caught the bottom edges of the shirt, slid button after button into place, a fragile and useless barrier between them.

Paused, at the next to last button, and pressed finger tips against the hollow of that pale throat, where they stayed as shirt tails were tucked in to dark trousers. Stayed, until they dropped to take over the job of sliding belt through loops, of tightening it, of doing it up and resting against the flat planes of cloth covered stomach. The younger man caught impassive eyes with his own, blue and cool and bright as the sky over Amman. They stood, motionless for a long moment; then those eyes dropped, dropped as his head dropped to press a kiss, the barest brush of lips, to that tanned shoulder.

"Another time," he said, lips brushing skin; half assurance, half question. Hani broke away, his hands trailing off clothed sides, and retrieved his own shirt from where it lay, carefully hanging off the back of a colorless chair. Gathered cufflinks of his own and a dark length of silk from where it coiled round a bed post. It lay over his white clad arm like some strange, sinister snake as he held out his hand. The other turned his palm up, and was rewarded with cufflinks, heavy and gold.

He bit his lip as he slid them through Hani's cuffs, concentrating until both gleamed from Hani's wrists. "Very good," Hani said, deliberate and amused, and when the other would have flushed and snapped back something cutting, Hani draped the tie round his neck, loose, his fingers making quick work of a Windsor. He slide the knot up, up, tugged, ever so slightly.

The man swallowed.

"Another time," Hani agreed, and turned away.