Chapter Text
Slow
Xavier liked to move slow.
You guessed it made sense. After all, why should he rush? He did enough of that when you were working. When you weren’t, and it was just him and you and the rest of eternity…
Well, why should he rush? Why shouldn’t he burrow in next to you in bed, wrap his arm around you, nuzzle his nose into that spot behind your ear? It’d make you squirm, and he’d shush you in that lazy way of his, the way that made you hear his smile, even when you couldn’t see it.
You wouldn’t rush. You’d lie together, rest, until somewhere in that haze between sleep and waking you’d feel his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thighs. So slow, so subtle, you could almost believe he wasn’t doing it on purpose. But he was, that fucker, he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how it made your blood rush, the way it drew your heartbeat between your thighs.
And you’d call him on it, try to find enough breath to scold, but you couldn’t because his fingers were trailing your stomach now, his lips brushing your earlobe. Just enough sensation to set you alight, but absolutely no guarantee of more.
For Xavier, there would always be time for more. Why not linger, when the moments were endless? Why not see what sounds he could wring from you? Why not hum in your ear as you gasped, whined, said his name in a way that wasn’t just his name, but a plea for more?
“So impatient,” he’d murmur, his fingers tracing the line of your pants. “Are you in a hurry? There’s no need to rush.”
Wasn’t there? You were different than he was. Your breaths were numbered. Someday you would say his name for a final time. So you’d add to the count (“Xavier”), press your palm to the back of his hand, push him down to where you needed him most.
He’d sigh, pull you closer as his fingers slipped against you. You could feel that he was hard, couldn’t help but grind against him as his hand started to play, started to circle and pulse. But Xavier never saw the need to rush, never pushed his hips back. He simply let his fingers move, let the callouses from decades of battle drag against you, slow, slow, slow, drawing you up by degrees, like water slowly warming, enveloping you until you were pulled entirely under.
“Shhhh,” he’d breathe as you trembled against him. “I’ve got you. Just feel it.” And you did. You’d feel his breath and his hands, his shoulders and the way the sheets clenched between your fingers. And you’d feel it, too, the way he’d relax when you did. “It’s okay,” he’d say, as you reached back, ready to return the favor. “There’s no rush. Just lie here with me, okay?”
And you would. You’d let the seconds pass. Minutes. Hours. Because with Xavier there was no need to rush. His timing was different than yours. But when it was just the two of you cocooned together, time came to a standstill, and you both were perfectly aligned.
Sleepy
You loved it when Xavier napped. Rainy afternoon, nothing to do, you’d always know where to find him. Tucked into bed, covers pulled up past his cheeks, all loose and unguarded in a way he never was when he was awake.
The sight of him would be too compelling to refuse. You had no choice, really, but to strip down to your underwear and crawl in next to him. The sheets would be cool on your side of the bed, but they’d grow warm as you nestled your body up next to his. Soft, too, like his t-shirt, like his hair, like the sound he’d make as you spooned yourself around him. Not quite awake, not quite asleep, fully content.
Sometimes you’d both settle like that. His slumber would draw you in, make your eyes heavy, make your muscles release, until you’d surrender into the kind of nap that’d have you waking hours later, all dazed and sated.
But other times your wakefulness would make him stir. He’d shift, roll over to get an arm around your waist. Face to face, breaths mingling, thigh shifting in between your legs. “I was having such a nice nap,” he’d say. The slightest admonishment - why did you wake me? - but you knew it was all for show.
Because if he really wanted to be sleeping, his hand wouldn’t be traveling lower, palming at your ass and pulling you closer. He wouldn’t be looping his other arm under your neck, pulling you in, chest to chest, heart to heart, his lips ghosting over yours. And he definitely wouldn’t shudder when you rolled your hips against his, wouldn’t clutch you tighter as your lips parted, welcoming his tongue inside.
You’d both move in tandem, a languid rocking, the sound of the rain broken only by soft gasps and the rustling of sheets. In time he’d find himself on top of you, and in time you’d find him inside of you, moving in that same slow, sweet rhythm. You’d rise together, and fall back down into the comforting warmth of each other.
“So sleepy,” he’d murmur after the both of you finished. “Can I stay right here?”
He could. Because that’s what you were hoping for. You wanted it, the kind of rest that only came when you were fully surrounded: inside, outside, all around. Settled in space, settled in time, settled with the person who warmed the spaces that used to be cold. You’d pull him close, settle his head against the crook of your neck, and hold him as he fell back asleep.
And you? You wouldn’t be far behind.
Switchy Xavier
“Get on your knees.”
You weren’t serious when you said it, but the way Xavier’s eyes widened made you wonder if you should have been.
He’d been apologizing in that way of his. Those big eyes all guileless, head tilted, voice soft, the picture of sincerity. Yeah, right. You knew it was bullshit. He could play the role of “penitent boyfriend” as well as he could play any other. You’d fallen for it before and vowed you wouldn’t again.
His crime was small - a key ingredient for a recipe you were planning to make pilfered from your fridge. You weren’t mad about it, but his faux apology had you rolling your eyes.
You were focused on the meal prep in front of you, only half acknowledging Xavier’s presence in the kitchen. So you sounded pretty casual when you said “Get on your knees and apologize and maybe I’ll believe you.”
“My… huh?” His response made you look over. He looked… not how you expected. A small tightening around his eyes. His shoulders lifting towards his ears, just a little. Not the relaxed posture of someone receiving a joke. His response spoke of tension.
All of a sudden your meal became a lot less interesting.
“I said, get on your knees.” It wasn’t a command, not quite. It was more of an offering.
Xavier’s hand tapped the side of his leg once, and then he swallowed. “Will you forgive me if it do it?”
“Maybe,” you said. Your voice sounded a little tight. That’s when you realized you were getting caught up in the game.
“Alright. If you insist.” But it was clear your insistence wasn’t necessary. Xavier seemed more than willing to drop to the floor. He sat back on his heels, gripped his thighs with his hands, and looked up at you. His eyes looked darker from this angle. “I am very, very sorry,” he said. His voice was lower than it had been before.
You watched the way he knelt there. His fingers pressing into his pants. The way his chest rose and fell. The hint of a flush on his cheeks. His face looked open in a way it usually didn’t, like looking up at you allowed for an honesty he couldn’t usually access.
You wondered if his heart was beating harder. Yours was, rising with the tension that started to fill your chest. You felt almost out of control of your hand as you reached out, traced the edge of your thumb along Xavier’s bottom lip. He shivered at the touch. “Are you?” you asked. “Sorry?”
“I am.” His tone was solemn, but his eyes weren’t dark enough to extinguish a glint of playfulness. His lip bobbed against you as he spoke. You shifted your index finger to pinch him between it and your thumb. His eyes fell closed at the small gesture, a small “hah” gusting out of his throat.
You froze for a moment. This was a shift in your usual dynamic, an impulse with no forethought. But with the way he was reacting, you couldn’t help but want to see where the impulse led. “How are you going to make it up to me?”
He opened his eyes slowly, his gaze feeling almost lewd combined with the visual of his lip caught in your grip. “However you decide.”
However you decide. You let go of his lip, tried to think of an answer. The power of it was overwhelming. But the person you turned to when you were overwhelmed was there in front of you, smiling up all slow and sweet. “I have a few suggestions,” he said. “If you’d like to hear them.”
“Sure.” Your stomach fluttered as his smile transformed into a smirk. “But,” you added, “you have to stay on your knees.”
“Of course.” His expression melted back to one of adoring innocence. “You’re in charge.”
You were, you realized, and for a moment you felt yourself surge with the possibilities.