Climb the Ocean
By Ephemera and Byrne

London
Part Three

Oliver paid the taxi driver as quickly as he could without being rude. He figured the man knew they were in a rush anyway--he'd seen the occasional glances the driver had given them in the mirror. It wasn't like he and Tom had been all over each other, they hadn't even kissed in the car. But they also hadn't stopped holding hands, and they were going to a rather classy hotel.

Plus they were both sort of vibrating, and their conversation had been more or less limited to "What is that building?" and "Maybe we should have gotten dessert boxed to take away?" and promises of ice cream tomorrow.

But they were there now, once again holding hands and walking at what could best be called a fairly fast clip through the lobby to the stairs. They weren't running, but there was no way they were strolling either. It wasn't until they were halfway up the stairs that Oliver started to slow down.

He was so hard he ached and what he really wanted to do was get to their room as fast as he could and start kissing Tom. Start stripping him, start feeling him, seeing his skin, exploring him. But the part of his brain that stored information was screaming at him not to go too fast. He had no doubt that they were going to have sex, and probably more than once; he just didn't want to make Tom feel attacked.

"It's just down the hall," he said, turning to the left. "It's a nice room--you'll like it. It has a closet, even." Maybe if he lightened up a little he could stop from just growling and pouncing. God, he needed Tom.

"So long as it's got a lock, a bed, and you, it may well be my favourite room of all time," Tom muttered. Tom was a step below him, and took advantage of the height difference to run a hand, squeezing gently, over his butt. That didn't make climbing the stairs any easier. It did however make him whimper and speed up again.

He managed to walk down the hall without actually dragging Tom behind him, possibly because Tom seemed to be in as much of hurry as he was, and Oliver had time to offer silent thanks that Brett didn't pop out of the woodwork. He slid his key card through the lock and opened the door, both of them going through as if they were escaping something. Or escaping to something.

"There's the bathroom," Oliver said, pointing. "And see? Closet." Then he slid one hand around Tom's waist, the other around his shoulders, and kissed him hard, pushing him back into the wall behind him.

Tom was kissing him back, taking his tongue, and pushing hungry sounds into their kiss. Tom's hands were hot, pulling Oliver closer, cradling his head, and pulling at his shirt, working up under it to find bare skin at the small of his back.

Oliver moaned at the touch, Tom's hand finally on his skin driving most thoughts out of his head. The hand he had on Tom's back dropped to his ass, pulling them tightly together, drawing an answering gasp from Tom as their erections rubbed. He plucked at the few buttons keeping Tom's overshirt closed and started to fumble with his t-shirt, pulling it free of his jeans.

"Oh God. Taste good," he said, then he kissed Tom again, slipping a hand under the white cotton to touch Tom's side, pushing the fabric up. Tom pushed into the kiss and moved under Oliver's hand, dipping and wriggling so somehow the wall was doing most of the keeping them upright, and they just clicked into place, Tom's long thigh pressing between Oliver's, bodies in contact the whole way up.

Breathing hard, Tom broke the kiss, replacing his mouth with a hand cupping Oliver's jaw, a thumb pressing against his sensitised lips. "Please?" Tom managed to tug at the back of Oliver's shirt without quite taking his hands away from his skin. "Want to see you." Only he was kissing Oliver again before anything could be done about that.

It was a little awkward, but Oliver found he could keep kissing Tom, keep pushing against him, and still manage to unbutton his own shirt. The only real drawback was that meant his hands were busy, and thus not actually touching Tom. He made quick work of the shirt. Shirt and jacket hit the floor together and he started in on Tom's, pushing the blue shirt off Tom's shoulders easily. Unfortunately--or not, depending on one's perspective--by the time he'd gotten Tom's t-shirt untucked the mouth he'd been kissing and the tongue he'd been sucking had migrated. Along his jaw and down his neck, and by then Tom's hands had joined in again, utterly derailing Oliver's efforts to get Tom's shirt off.

Hands on his sides, his stomach, his chest, palms brushing his nipples, and hot mouth on his neck, biting gently on his collarbones, flickers of tongue tasting him. Thinking really wasn't working so well, and he was having trouble remembering why he should care.

"God, you're beautiful." Tom's voice was hoarse and Oliver could feel it, puffs of heat on damp skin at his neck, and Tom's hands never stopped sliding and stroking and touching, stuttering over the waistband of Oliver's jeans but never quite dipping lower.

"More," he managed. "Oh God, more. Need--"

He rallied enough brain power to pull the t-shirt up and off, regretting the few seconds it took Tom's hands away from him. Then it was just skin on skin, a near complete absence of thought as they moved together. Tom was hard against him, their hips moving as restlessly as their hands and mouths. He registered the turquoise stone and kissed around it on his way to Tom's nipples, his concentration going to trying to undo Tom's belt.

Tom's hands tangled with his, and together they got the buckle, the button undone, the zip halfway before Tom's hands returned their attentions to Oliver's skin, tugging at the front of Oliver's jeans. They both stumbled a little as Tom slipped against the wall. He caught Oliver's wrists with something that sounded like a chuckle.

"Ok, this is silly - want to touch you a whole lot more before we break our necks." He punctuated his sentence with another kiss, nipping at Oliver's lower lip without letting go of his wrists. "Strip?"

Tom's eyes were hot and happy, fixed on Oliver's, as his hands went to the waistband of his own jeans

"You can still think," Oliver said with a grin. "I must be doing something wrong." He paused long enough to take one more kiss, then stepped back and undid his jeans. "Um, maybe we should..." he trailed off as Tom stripped off, getting rid of shoes, socks, jeans and trunks with rapid easy movements.

It was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.

Bed. Oliver was fairly sure there was one--a nice one at that, with sheets and comforters and pillows--but it didn't matter. Tom was gorgeous and naked and right there in front of him, hard and waiting.

Oliver hadn't realised he'd toed off his own shoes while he was watching Tom, but somehow his mind was functioning on a basic level; when he pushed his own jeans and boxers off he didn't have the embarrassment of hitting shoes, thank God. When he stepped out of all the clothes he was bent over. Perfect. He moved forward two inches or less and licked Tom's cock once from root to tip.

Tom's response was satisfactorily non-verbal - his gasp sounded unnaturally loud in the deep-pile silence of the room, and the hands on his shoulders grabbed tight for an unconscious second before turning into gentler caresses.

"Bed?" Another long breath. "Dreamed of this - of you - please?" Tom added.

Oliver rose from his crouch and nodded, not really trusting himself to speak.  Taking Tom's hand he led him to the bed, and turned to face him beside it.  Standing there, he was suddenly struck by how ludicrous their nerves were.  They had time.  They had each other.

One hand caressing Tom's face he kissed him gently as they sank onto the bed, bodies twisting and aligning easily, legs tangling.  Tom's kisses left him breathless, made his senses hyper aware; he felt every touch to his skin like it was being imprinted permanently.

"God, you're gorgeous," he breathed, stroking the long line of Tom's back.

Tom nuzzled against his shoulder in a movement that felt suspiciously like a shaking of the head, and then Tom was licking and nipping at the side of his neck, tasting him, searching for sweet spots, and thoroughly distracting him.

Tom's hand floated down his side, somehow light and burning all at once, catching on a hip bone, following the line of his butt, his thigh, then drawing up inside, just brushing the hair and scooting away.

Oliver made a noise that tried to be a growl but sounded more like a whimper. Tease.  Suddenly feeling a little more playful as well as a lot more breathless, he returned the favour.  Dipping his head to take a tightening nipple in his mouth he stroked down Tom's back and thighs, bringing his hand up to lightly play over Tom's shaft.

Hard and silky hot, the newness of everything was brought home to him with the touch, the feel of Tom's foreskin fascinating.  He let go of the nipple in his mouth so he could look down and watch as he stroked, wondering if it would feel very much different not to be circumcised.

No matter what Tom seemed to think, he *was* gorgeous, all strength and long lines, solid and real. Oliver licked at the skin closest to his mouth and set up a slow rhythm, watching his hand. Tom gasped and shifted under him, and Oliver looked up at him for a second.  "Okay?"

Tom sort of swallowed a "fuck" as Oliver's hand continued to move. "Yes - ok - so more than ok - good - better - best."

Tom moved against him, rolling his hips into Oliver's hand whilst looking for kisses. His hand on Oliver's waist was biting a little now, and in the close, tight space between them the backs of his fingers were brushing against Oliver's cock.

"Christ."  Oliver moved, his mouth sealing over Tom's as his hand tightened. "Feel so good."

And he did--felt perfect in his hand and along his body.  But sparks were settling along his spine and he needed more; he could feel five weeks of wanting building up in him, and he let go of Tom long enough to roll him onto his back and press him into the bed, their pricks sliding together. "Need you," he said hoarsely.

Tom gasped and closed his eyes for a long moment as they found that perfect point of contact, and then, eyes wide and fixed intently on Oliver's, he answered.  "You've got me;  whatever you want, need. Yours. Tell me."

"Mine?"  The word rang in his ears.  He kissed Tom again, desperately fucking his mouth, hands skimming over Tom's chest and shoulders.  He had no idea what he wanted, what specific thing he needed.  He just needed Tom. But that was wrong, or became wrong, because suddenly he knew.  "Take me? God, will you?  Need you so much, want you in me."

Tom froze under him, and then reached up to pull Oliver in, hands and kisses desperate.

"Fuck. Yes. Please. God - yes," was growled around the kisses.

Tom's fingers drew hot lines down his back, resting on his buttocks, riding the small motions Oliver couldn't resist. Tom bit his lip, as though pulling himself up.  "Lube? Fuck - I don't know where they put my bag ..."

Oliver laughed somehow.  "Maybe I should have been a Boy Scout.  Put some in the table."  And it was even the one closest to them, though not by design. Oliver reached over, managing to straddle Tom in the process, and fished out the tube.

His eyes locked on Janet's gift as he pushed the drawer closed.  "And I think we have more, as well.  Raspberry."

"What?"  Tom's obvious confusion turned irrepressibly into another happy sound. "Forget it - don't care - just come here, love."  Tom's hands were warm on his waist, guiding him back to sit straddling his hips.

He relieved Oliver of the lube, and once he had hold of his hand, sucked each finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the pads, before planting a final ticklish kiss on Oliver's palm. "Like this?"

"God, yes," Oliver breathed, the sensations going straight to his balls.  He wiggled a little, getting a gasp as Tom's eyes widened.  "Like that?  Fuck me."

Tom's hands were suddenly gone, but the sound of his accented voice muttering a quiet litany of 'god yes want yes' made his skin prickle. When Tom's hands came back to Oliver's skin, the fingers were cold for a second, making him jump, before they stroked down his crease, slick and warming fast.

Oliver shuddered, leaning down to kiss Tom's neck as strong, clever fingers teased him.  "Oh fuck.  God, please, Tom--"  He gasped when Tom finally breached him, his hips pushing back instinctively.

"Oh yeah.  Like that."  Every nerve in his body was snapping, signals crossing and sending messages that didn't make much sense to his brain.  Or maybe he really did feel that good.  Tom under him, in him, two fingers now, maybe three, the smell of his skin and hair...

"Oh God, there!" Oliver couldn't keep the cry in, couldn't stop himself from moving back, hard, taking Tom's fingers deeper into himself.

Tom's words had lost all shape, just sounds and happiness and pleasure, and something wicked and joyful bubbling up as Tom crooked his fingers - something - just there - again - please.

Oliver was pretty sure he'd started to babble--he was hearing a lot of 'yes' and 'oh God', and it seemed to be his voice.  If it was, it seemed to be working.  Tom was still kissing him, and when Oliver could focus he found happy eyes meeting his--Tom was enjoying this as much as he was.

"More?" Tom asked softly, then there was a burn, a familiar ache as another slick finger entered him.  *That* was three, and that was a year without having this.

Oliver waited a couple of moments for the burn to fade, for his body to relax, then he pushed back again and squeezed.  He gave Tom a grin that was meant to be slightly evil but it faded into a moan rather quickly.  "God, Tom.  Hurry."  The desperation in his voice was real.  If Tom didn't hurry and take him he'd...well, he'd still feel really good, but it wasn't what either of them wanted.

The hand that had been circling on his back vanished, and Tom pushed up into their kiss harder still, adding his own voice to the desperate sounds and lifting them towards sitting.

His fingers curled inside again, making Oliver shake. "Ready?"

"Been ready for so long," Oliver whispered.

He knew that when Tom's fingers slid away he'd feel empty, knew he'd be feeling so much more in mere seconds--but he still hated the loss.  Then Tom was lining himself up, and Oliver sank back, felt himself being stretched and filled.  Taken.

"Oh, God.  Good."   He looked down into Tom's eyes, pupils dilated with passion and knew he never wanted to forget that look.

He could feel the tremors in Tom's muscles, trying to hold still, most likely. The bitten lip kept the breathing from forming actual words, but those eyes said everything.

Oliver could feel the tension in his spine, in his legs; everything was building, hunger, need, passion.  He rocked his hips and gasped, the head of Tom's cock brushing over his prostate.  "Please?  Need--God, Tom, fuck me!"

And then he was. Tom's hands firm on his hips, holding him still, Tom moving, ploughing in to him with long strokes, a shuddering out breath and a look of pure wonder, and then shorter, faster, harder, more.

Tom's face, Tom's voice, Tom's cries forming into his name.

Oliver braced himself, hands on Tom's shoulders, pushing them back into the bed, and met him with each thrust, hips lifting and falling to take Tom as fast and deep as he could. The slide and pressure was making his head spin, narrowing everything down to one fine point.  He knew he was calling out; Tom's name, begging for more, for harder.  God, he was so close.

He rested his head on Tom's shoulder and dropped one of his hands to his lap, wrapping his fingers around his prick.  "Shit.  Gonna come soon--God, Tom, so good."

He could *feel* Tom's moan shuddering right through both of them, and Tom's hands slid up his sides to squeeze his nipples as Tom drove up into him.

"Oh fuck!  Again!"  Tom did it again, the squeeze, the thrust, and Oliver was gone, his back arching with the sensations.  Tom flicked a finger nail over his left nipple, the thrust of his hips driving his prick in again and again until Oliver was running on pure sensation, utterly lost.

"God. Beautiful." Tom had found words to accompany each movement, half growls. "Yes, God, so good, so close."

A long shudder wracked Oliver's body and he tightened his one armed grip on Tom's shoulder.  "Oh God, now.  Now, Tom--oh God--"

Another quick pull on his shaft and he was coming, his prick throbbing in his hand as he shot, his entire body tightening around Tom's cock.

Tom bowed up into him, words lost again in other sounds, in heat inside him. Tom's face pressed into his chest, his arms wrapped around Oliver so tight, Tom's breathing hitching and panting against his skin.

"Oh God."  Oliver thought he might be repeating himself, the two words over and over, but it didn't seem to matter at all.  He held onto Tom, felt his heartbeat, slid against the sweat slicked skin.  Perfect.

"Tom.  God, so good."  He pressed kisses to the top of Tom's head until he looked up, then kissed his eyes, his forehead, his mouth, as they caught their breath and eased back onto the bed, rolling to the side.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"God - no, Oliver." Tom's tone was indescribable, but the look on his face was tender, happy, exactly what he'd hoped. Tom's thumb brushed Oliver's cheekbone again. "Thank *you*.  God - you're amazing."

The soft words drifted over them, and Oliver held him closer, nuzzling skin and floating on the warmth of them together.  "We are amazing," he whispered.  "Together."

Tom's arms rearranged them just slightly, but it was enough to make Oliver more content and comfortable than he could remember being.  He knew he was starting to drift off to sleep, knew they should clean up or something, but the lure of a nap was strong.

He must have been closer to sleep than he thought, halfway to dreams, because when Tom brushed his thumb over Oliver's cheek he could have sworn he heard a very soft, "Together."


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