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your breath against my fingertips

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Patience has never been Eddy’s strong suit.
Whether it came to learning new techniques on the violin, standing in line at cafes, or as is the case right now: waiting for Brett to decide they’ve had enough time at this party. It’s a birthday party for an old friend from uni, and while Eddy can appreciate the chilled-out atmosphere and the beer in the single-story house, he doesn’t appreciate the tension that stretches under his skin at every teasing smile Brett keeps throwing his way from across the floor.
He knows how Eddy’s feeling; He must be feeling the same- it’s been a little more than a week since they had any time to themselves, after all. But Brett looks as carefree as he always does, an easy smile for every new person that introduces themselves to him, teeth glinting in the dim light, hair falling in a casual swoop of inky black over his forehead. There’s no hint of discomfort in his demeanour, and it irks Eddy. His shirt feels too tight, and he keeps adjusting his collar hoping to cool down.

They’d been busy this past month, a new flood of ideas and a recent vacancy in the twoset team pushing them to work longer hours and take lesser breaks, often crashing so late at night it could be considered morning. So it made sense that the most physical they’d gotten was a singular make-out session against the office desk a week ago, and a quickie in the shower a few days before that.
Of course, their work has never felt like work, not in the way Eddy had imagined in the sense of the word since he was a child- his father rushing off hurriedly, pulling up his socks in one hand and shoving rice into his mouth with the other, worry pinching the skin around his eyes, his mother’s mouth twisting in displeasure when she received her monthly paycheck.

For Eddy, even when his eyes burn from squinting at his laptop screen for too long, or his neck hurts from practicing a passage repeatedly, there’s an underlying joy that’s so immense that it's worth everything.
That doesn’t mean he can’t get petulant about work keeping him from fucking Brett, of course. Or Brett fucking him. Really, they’ve done both and he’s not very picky at this point.

His fingers tighten against his thighs, the rough material of his jeans chafing heated skin. Brett turns his way again, from his perch on the couch, in the midst of conversing with a group of acquaintances, and Eddy tries his hardest to convey his horniness through eye contact but if Brett has telepathically received his message, his only response is to twist his mouth in yet another teasing smirk. Eddy puffs out a frustrated breath, feeling light-headed. The beer and the fruity cocktail he’d had earlier is not helping with his control, so he dusts off his hands and makes his way to the restroom. A cold splash of water should sober him up.

He’s inside for at least five minutes, the cold of the granite sink leeching into his fingers as he spends an inordinate amount of time smoothing out the locks of his unruly hair. Rivulets of residual water dampen the collar of his shirt, but he pays it no mind.
“Get it together, Chen,” he hisses at his tired-looking reflection.
The moment he leaves the room, he comes to the very sudden but expected realisation that those five minutes of calming himself down were absolutely useless.

Brett leans against the wall opposite, hands in his pockets. The picture of ease.

His mouth curls around a small smile and he’s limned from the scant light from the living room, like a ghostly outline of a man, intent on weakening Eddy’s knees. Eddy wishes he’d used the mouthwash he’d seen on the bathroom counter.
The hallway is filled with the sound of partygoers- chatter and the clinking of glasses, the occasional bout of laughter- but empty of the people themselves. Streaks of blue and red flash at the end of the hallway, scattered reflections of the cheap party lights someone had brought as a joke.

“Hey,” Brett says. He sounds like he’s going to laugh. Eddy scowls.
“You suck,” Eddy retorts, arms crossed, rocking back onto his heels. “Why can’t we just leave?”
Brett spares a glance at the end of the hallway where the light comes from, then steps forward, fingers pinching Eddy’s shirt where it’s tucked into his jeans. Eddy stills.
“Maybe I just want you to wait for it,” Brett says, eyes on the skin that peeks out from Eddy’s collar, his voice soft, with that undertone that he always uses when he’s planning a prank on him. There’s a note of breathy hunger beneath the calm, and it’s enough to make him want to sink his teeth into Brett, hear him groan only to steal the sound with his mouth.

“Maybe…” Brett continues, fingers trailing, slowly, deliberately, up his arm, and each muscle tightens in anticipation. There’s a layered smell that tickles Eddy’s nostrils: a mix of alcohol, lingering aftershave and something entirely Brett under it all, and it comforts him. Brett finally rests his fingers over Eddy’s bicep, curled around the sleeve delicately as though it were the neck of his violin. “I want you to beg for it.”

His fingers press in, and Eddy hisses.
“Brett,” he pants, eyes darting to the side. Anyone could walk into this hallway right now- and notice his embarrassingly obvious hard-on. “Please, Brett, don’t tease me right now. It’s been too long.”
When Brett’s eyes fall to Eddy’s crotch, his smug grin is all too visible even as he bites his lip.
“I’ll beg. I’ll beg all you want,” Eddy pleads. “Let’s go home.” Brett seems to consider the offer, hand shifting to twist the collar of Eddy’s shirt absently, and Eddy closes his eyes, hoping, praying, willing his early semi away.

He’s always been drawn to Brett, from the time they were kids. As deskies, as business co-owners, as best friends - and now as partners, they’ve always found their balance, their push-and-pull dynamic. When he was younger, he’d often envied Brett for his extrovertedness, annoyed at him for the influence he had over Eddy, over the way he couldn’t stop giving more and more of himself to Brett so easily, unwittingly.

He was too young to understand that Brett gave himself to Eddy too, just not in the same way. Brett gave bits of his treasured control to Eddy, always soft, so soft for him despite being rough around the edges, leaning his weight onto broader shoulders, allowing, wanting the closeness and vulnerability he never shared with anyone else.
Brett leans against him now, forehead braced against Eddy’s overheated chest, humming softly. He looks up suddenly, contemplative.
His fingers slide up Eddy’s collarbones until they press into his pulse point.
Eddy’s breath hitches.
“What are you doing?” he whispers, eyes wide, goosebumps rising against his skin. “Brett?”

Brett’s gaze is steady. His tongue wets his bottom lip. “Didn’t you say you would beg all I want?”

Eddy whimpers, and that’s really all the confirmation Brett needs.
The wallpaper isn’t peeling yet, but it's dull, an old pattern, and will possibly be replaced soon anyway, so Brett pays it no mind as he places his palm flat on Eddy’s chest and shoves him none too gently against the wall. There’s a soft thud and a sharp intake of breath that no one hears but the two of them. He’d only had two beers and a shot, but Brett feels it burning through his veins now, technicolor bursting at the corner of his vision, as he takes in the sight of Eddy braced against the wall, white shirt almost glowing in the semi-darkness, all warm and soft and wanting. For him.
So perhaps it is more than the alcohol he’s intoxicated by.

It has been more than a week since he’d really touched Eddy, tasted him, felt him on his skin, under it, inside him. Having had Eddy in this way only for a few months, he hadn’t expected to miss it so deeply, so soon, but here he is.
“Anyone could see us right now,” Eddy breathes, half his face in shadow, pupils blown wide, sounding entirely too enamoured by the idea. His hair is on the good side of messy already, and Brett promises to wreck it- wreck him- beyond decency. His left hand comes up to grip Eddy’s belt, tugging once, holding intentionally. His thumb brushes the Gucci emblem as he leans up, heart racing. He can taste Eddy’s breath.

“I guess you’d better not draw any attention to us then.”

Their kiss tastes like beer and sour fruit, a hint of the chapstick Eddy prefers, and sweet relief- and he can’t have enough of it, opening, letting himself feel the curve of Eddy’s mouth. There’s a sweetness like honey spreading through his limbs, leaving Brett almost woozy with sensation, skin igniting against skin.

Eddy sighs against Brett’s lips, palms resting against his neck, bending to reach him properly.
Eddy’s thumb feathers over Brett’s violin hickey and he closes his eyes, soft, at odds with the urgency that spreads in his gut. Brett sinks his teeth into Eddy’s bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, and Eddy gasps and thuds his head back.
“Brett,” he begins, loath to stop what they’re doing. “Anyone could-”
“Let them,” he says, shrugging.

This, between the two of them, is recent. Not the feeling of it, in his chest, fluttering and burning with the constant affection and need, no- but this. The kissing and the touching and mutual staring; Lazy mornings pulling each other apart in bed, and evenings laughing together on the couch, legs tangled. This is recent. And it doesn’t feel nearly long enough.

They haven’t told anyone; It didn’t feel like it was important at the time. But it would be important to tell their friends they’re dating before they found the two of them making out against a wall, wouldn’t it?
He catches the flush in Eddy’s cheeks and reconsiders. Maybe they could do more than just make out… who cares what their friends see? In fact, the very thought of it has him more keyed up than before.
Eddy’s breathing hard when Brett reaches for his shirt, untucks a portion of it from beneath the waistband of his jeans and slides his hand onto warm skin. Every nerve ending on his palm seems to have doubled.

“Fuck,” Eddy breathes before he’s leaning forward and kissing Brett again. This kiss isn’t slow by any means; It’s torrid, unyielding, one’s lip between the other’s teeth, sliding, seeking, and Brett is breathless and sporting a semi already. He can feel the weight of Eddy’s own arousal at his hip, and it sparks him into a different kind of action, tugging harshly where his hand is buried in Eddy's hair.

Eddy makes a small noise of disapproval when Brett’s mouth leaves his, gripping Eddy’s wrists and setting his hands palms-flat against the wall.
He stops when Brett strokes the heated skin of his stomach under his shirt, deliberate. His stomach muscles clench, breath stuttering.
“Shhh,” Brett maintains eye contact as he presses into the soft dip of his waist, the answering gasp fluttering over his ear. Eddy shivers the way he does when something tickles him.

Something he’s come to discover in the recent blissful months, is that Eddy is very responsive to his every touch. It’s a wonder he hadn’t figured it out earlier. Eddy shudders when the other’s fingers fan over his stomach and back, mapping out the sensitive spots that seem to be everywhere. Brett grips his thigh with the other hand, squeezing, stroking lightly, and feels his friend’s body tighten against his own.
Eddy chokes out an expletive and Brett bites his ear, murmurs “Quiet” sharply against it.
He whimpers at that, throwing his head back against the wall, exposing the long line of his neck, unblemished today, devoid of marks. Someone hasn’t been practicing enough.

When he traces over Eddy’s nipples, he whines through gritted teeth, hips jerking forward, seeking friction.
It’s been a while, a longer break than they’ve ever had before since this started, and Eddy’s already so on edge, so he wonders…
“How long do you think you’ll last?” He whispers the question into Eddy’s neck, watches the goosebumps rise there at the words. Another thing he’s learned: Eddy loves it when he talks. The hand on Eddy’s thigh moves higher, higher, traces over the bulge in his jeans, then squeezes it, eliciting a moan from him. It’s loud, and at this rate, they’ll be found before Brett can really get him where he wants to go. “Think you can stay quiet for me?”

Brett didn’t think a week of minimal touch would get him this horny, skin tight over his bones, blood thrumming in his ears, but maybe it isn’t the long week at all, maybe it’s just the effect Eddy has on him, maybe it’s the thought of pressing chest-to-thigh against his best friend in this dark hallway, moments away from discovery. Maybe it’s the sound of half-drunk laughter that flits closer and farther from their vicinity, threatening exposure; Maybe it's the idea of someone- anyone- finding them lost in each other, too needy to wait any longer.

Brett remembers when Eddy was an acne-ridden, lanky frame of bone and skin in dimensions not made for him, bunny teeth out of place in the sharp angles of his face. Remembers thinking God, he’s so awkward, how’s he ever going to get a girlfriend?
Eddy's still awkward and acne-ridden every now and then, bunny teeth still in effect every time he smiles, but the very things he'd found unbecoming are now beauty spots, and there's muscle now where Brett's fingers had once found bone, like he's finally grown into his body, eyelashes pretty against sharp cheekbones- besides, he doesn’t need a girlfriend when he has Brett, does he?

He doesn’t really think about it when he removes his hand from Eddy’s crotch and places it against the base of Eddy’s neck instead. His thumb and forefinger rest under both ends of his jaw. Presses lightly. There’s no pressure yet, but the implication is unmistakable.

Eddy’s eyes spring open, astonished, exhaling shakily, irises almost entirely swallowed black by his pupils as he stares at Brett. His heart races, pulse throbbing against Brett’s fingertips. This is new for them, and the burning heat that’s spreading from his belly to his toes doesn’t mean he’s going to push them both into uncharted territory they’re not ready for. He taps his thumb against Eddy’s jaw in a question.
They’re familiar with communicating through touch- they have been for years, so his question isn’t all that hard to comprehend: Is this okay?
Eddy swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing against Brett’s palm hard as rock. He holds his gaze, drops his head in a singular nod.

Brett’s breath leaves him in a gust. He could run a mile without stopping right now. He could probably manage fifty pushups in a row. His heartbeat picks up to match Eddy’s, and he can feel it in his belly, in his fingers, in his dick, two metronomes in slight disharmony, erratic and loud inside their heads.
The music is still louder, so Brett slots his fingers back into place and presses in harder than he had earlier, short fingernails scraping damp, warm skin. Eddy’s hand comes up to rest on Brett’s against his throat, weightless, trembling slightly- just to feel the tendons in the back of Brett’s palm as he grips his neck tighter.
It’s erotic, it’s intense, much more intense than Brett could have imagined, feeling the shuddering intake of every uneven breath Eddy takes, the exact tempo of his heart as it pumps blood to his organs.

One organ in particular, as it presses heavier into Brett’s side, insistent, seeking attention. He wonders if Eddy could come like this.
Fuck. Tingles run up his spine, some commingling of curiosity and excitement, and Brett shudders, wanting nothing more than to test that theory.

Wanting Eddy on his knees for him, skin marked and flushed, eyes wide and begging, choking, tears at the corners of his eyes- but he’ll take Eddy anywhere, anyhow. Especially like this, with his back against the wall, with Brett’s hand wrapped around his throat, so desperate for him he’d come untouched. Just the very thought of it is enough to make him lightheaded.
He’s growing desperate too, the front of his pants tightening by the minute, breath catching in his throat, burning up. He smooths his left hand over Eddy’s neglected nipples again, this time thumbing at one aggressively. He’s rewarded with a soft groan, Eddy muffling the sound by biting on the knuckle of his previously unoccupied hand. A new song- one with a more upbeat tune- fills the house, a loud cacophony of cheers echoing down the hallway. There’s no way of knowing who might be close to walking down here for a quick bathroom break. Brett wonders in some far-off corner of his mind that isn’t immediately occupied with the man flush against him, what passers-by would think of their position. There’s isn’t anything too incriminating after all, they’re pressed up against a wall, fully clothed, hands (mostly) in sight. Still, the thought awakens a thrill in his bones that makes him press forward, leaning his weight into Eddy.

He strokes his thumb beneath the sharp jawline he’s watched attentively so many times in his lifespan. He’s mouthed at that jawline before, bitten it until it reddened, but not too hard lest it bruise. Eddy looks like he’s ready for more, chest moving rapidly under his palm, arching his neck in invitation so Brett strokes once more in warning.

Brett’s no saint. He’s read more about this than he’d care to admit, but he’s so glad now that he did. As hot as this is, there’s no way Brett would try any of it without knowing what he was doing. But he knows, so he blinks at Eddy, slow and purposeful, conveying his intention, before he digs his fingers into Eddy’s throat once more, harder, longer; The first real threat of cutting off his air supply, feeling Eddy’s instinct to push him off in the tightening muscles around his throat. Eddy’s fingers tighten around Brett’s on his throat, and Brett pulls off, loosening his hold.
Eddy sputters and gasps, coughs once, twice, but his neck flushes darker, sensitive skin pinkening. He looks entirely too excited at the prospect of coming so close to choking at his best friend’s hand.
“Again,” he gasps, pressing Brett’s fingers under his own, against his throat. “Please.”

And really, how can he resist that? Brett leans up, presses his mouth to his boyfriend’s ear, whispers: “You’re going to come like this, aren’t you?” and doesn’t wait for an answer, palm closing around Eddy’s windpipe, feeling the slight spasming of his neck muscles as his mouth opens soundlessly, eyes wide and wild. His eyelashes flutter prettily.
There’s something heady about having Eddy trust him so much, so openly, ready for Brett to shamelessly bring him to the brink in a party, his literal breath in Brett’s palm. Giving up control, so vulnerable and needy and wanting. All for him. He can’t deny the burst of possessive pleasure he derives from his, moving his hips against Eddy’s in an effort to relieve some of the mounting pressure in his gut.

When he loosens his fingers, Eddy gasps for breath again, gulping in air, a rasping cough pulled from his throat, saliva in the corner of his mouth. Brett leans upward, mouth pressing against Eddy’s, refusing a reprieve, swallowing his sounds with a groan of his own. It’s slobbery and violent, a mess of tongue, muttered “Fuck”s and biting teeth, but it matches the searing intensity in his chest just right. He’s dizzy with arousal, chest heavy with affection, aching for more, wants to taste Eddy’s in the back of his throat, but this isn’t the time for that. They don’t have time for that.
Instead, he tips onto his toes, weight fully pressed into Eddy now, practically shoving him into the soon-to-be-chipped wallpaper, noses along, and bites the side of Eddy’s neck where his violin rests. He licks the prick of pain away and repeats, sucking where his skin is already pink from Brett’s fingers. God, he marks so easily, sensitive and so eager.

The smell of him envelops Brett, a blend of laundry detergent, sweat, and something citrusy like ginger lemon tea, intrinsically Eddy; His mouth waters, throat drying. Eddy’s hand grips his shoulder like a lifeline, clinging onto him for support, probably cutting off circulation, but Brett’s too occupied to care.

Eddy jerks in his hold, eyes teary, moving to press one thigh between Brett’s, the swell of his cock urgent and demanding, his request too obvious by half. He almost smiles.
“I’m not touching you yet,” Brett says, fingers deceptively light against Eddy’s chest and throat, words calm and controlled, even as his heart pounds harder than the bass that he can feel through the floor. A kiss is pressed against Eddy’s sweaty temple, then his forehead, trailing softly over his cheek, traces the line from beneath his ear to his collar, tasting salt and Eddy. Eddy’s eyes widen a little belatedly as he realises what he means, exhaling in a near-whimper. This time Brett smiles, wide and with teeth, bites Eddy’s chest through his shirt and revels in the full-body shudder it induces, the muffled moan that vibrates in his own chest.

Eddy pushes, straining to reach him and Brett obliges, tipping his head up for the kiss. Eddy kisses rougher than usual, desperation in every swipe of his tongue. His hand comes up, thumb brushing open Brett’s mouth, holding as he sucks Brett’s lower lip into his mouth.
“Fuck, I wish I had you in our bed right now,” Brett pants, and Eddy nods furiously, hips subconsciously following the rhythm set by the pop song blaring through the living room speakers. Brett lets him, lightly sliding his knee over Eddy's crotch. He wants Eddy to come right now, with just the sound of Brett’s voice and his hands on his skin. “But I’m glad we’re here. You look so hot, baby. What do you think would happen if someone walked up to us right now?”

Eddy’s answering moan goes right to his groin, muscles in his arms and thighs seizing up as he strokes leisurely up and down Eddy’s chest and stomach, dipping behind his waist to press him closer to Brett. Brett shifts his hand, closing over Eddy’s mouth, red and wet and panting, and he takes the hint, biting his mouth closed, heaving a pained exhale through his nose. He loves hearing how responsive Eddy is when he gets his hands on him, but this is hardly the situation to make the best use of it.
He chokes Eddy again, longer this time, feeling his chest rise against Brett’s palm as he pinches Eddy's nipple simultaneously. Eddy arches against him, trembling, sweating, and properly drooling now, the side of his chin wet and shiny.

“Are you gonna come for me, Eddy?” he drops the hand at Eddy’s waist to his leg, groping up from the underside of his knee, kneading the seizing muscles, up until the juncture of where his thigh meets his groin, pushes in just to be cruel.
Eddy shakes under his hands and Brett is positively drunk on the feeling of eliciting such pliancy from him; Eddy is putty in his hands, one nudge away from the brink and it pushes him toward his own in a dizzying feedback loop of pleasure. “Are you going to come for me in front of all these people?”

They’re hardly on display in front of the crowd, but the mere suggestion and the background chatter from nearby are enough for what they’re feeling, imagination filling the gaps, eyes locked, charged tension fusing with the excitement at the prospect of someone walking in on them. Is it twisted, that he finds his knees growing weak at the image of them tangled together for all to see? He decides it doesn’t matter, as long as Eddy is also into it. And he seems to be if his shaky breaths and twitching erection are any indication. 

His neck is reddened, imprints of fingertips blooming into existence, an angry pink line across his throat. It’s barely visible in the scant lighting but it’s so hot, the air leaves Brett’s throat in a groan, muffling the sound in Eddy’s chest. Breathing in the citrusy smell that always clings to Eddy isn’t helping him clear his head, so he just goes with it, painfully hard, and probably leaking from the tip already.

Eddy’s close, so close, he can tell: it’s in the way his breath hitches in his throat, the slack jaw, the trembling in his legs. Brett grabs Eddy’s thigh, hitches it up his hip, clutches it against him, feeling the throbbing in between their bodies. He squeezes the base of Eddy’s throat, drags his fingernails down his legs, travels up to slip his fingers under his waistband. He sucks against the marks he's made on Eddy's neck, an imitation of what he's done before, on other parts of his boyfriend's body.
“Come for me, baby,” he breathes, admiring the portrait Eddy makes- disheveled hair, puffy lips, reddened skin, party lights illuminating cheekbones- cutting off his air again, just as he squeezes his thigh, close to where hsi cock tents his pants.

The effect is instantaneous: Eddy spasms, mouth opening wordlessly, throat closing around nothing, and there’s a pained relief visible in the furrow of his brows. 

Brett has to bite down on the meat of his palm to keep from groaning far too loudly, as he holds him up, Eddy's knees quaking. He lets go of Eddy’s throat as he floats down from his high, coughing and panting harshly, eyes closed, a slow smile spreading across his face. He laughs breathlessly, after what could be seconds or minutes or hours, pulling Brett in for a slow kiss, dropping his leg back to the floor. It must be numb.

“What the fuck was that?”
He sounds exhilarated. Brett shakes his head, laughing as well, kisses him again, a quick peck. They stand, foreheads pressed together, and though Brett is alarmingly hard, he focuses on breathing. There’s a giddy feeling ricocheting in his chest, the kind he always feels when they’re pressed this close together, sharing the same breath. He kind of wishes they could cuddle under their soft sheets back home right now. After getting him off, of course.

The universe seems to have rewarded them with good timing, because just as Brett slips his hand out from under Eddy’s shirt, smoothing out the creases on the outside, a couple of drunk girls walk by them, giggling loudly about absolutely nothing. Eddy stands still until the door to the bathroom slams shut. Then they both collapse into laughter, half-delirious and disbelieving of what they’d just done in public. Well, as public as it would ever get anyway.

“Can we go home now?” Eddy asks, fondness tangible in every word.

Brett grumbles, gesturing inelegantly to the front of his pants, which are very evidently tented. There’s no way they can walk back to the car like this without someone noticing.
“Want me to do something about that?” Eddy breathes, eyes bright, biting his lip through a teasing smile. As if on cue, the two girls stumble out of the bathroom, still drunk-giggling.
Brett sighs, winds slender fingers with Eddy’s, dragging him into the bathroom as Eddy peppers happy, light kisses across his face with the biggest puppy smile, like he isn’t about to suck Brett off in a friend’s bathroom. Brett rolls his eyes, huffing out a laugh.

“Well, I suppose it’s only right you return the favour.”