Work Text:
“Is this good?” Paulie asked, kissing the back of Iceburg’s neck. Iceburg, tonight, was pliant and flat on his stomach, arm curled beneath the pillow nesting his head.
“Very.”
“Good. I’m going to kiss you down here,” Paulie said, fingers curving into the lower dip of Iceburg’s back, what bit of it revealed by his plunging slip.
“Mmm, that’s good,” Iceburg sighed, Paulie roving over the length of his spine to shuddering reception.
“Sorry I’m poking you.”
“No, it’s nice,” Iceburg said, of Paulie full and thick against the curve of his ass.
“I’m gonna try to behave it.”
That sure sounded sweet. Paulie was never want of ways to tickle Iceburg’s ego like that.
“We can stop here,” Iceburg said.
“No, I want this,” Paulie said with earnest.
See, the dress was planned, the foreplay was planned, Paulie warm and heavy over the edges of Iceburg’s body was well and wanted. It was only the parts that could come after that weren’t, this time.
“You’re a different breed, huh?” Paulie said. “Got too tired for this stuff too early.”
“It’s annoying how spot on you actually are,” Iceburg said, bumping the back of his hand on Paulie’s cheek. “I’ve always joked that I was older than my age. But I never thought it was wrong in some way.”
“It’s not. It’s sexy.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Dunno. I, um, you always ask for exactly what you want. I like it.”
And you always say exactly what you think, Iceburg said, I also like that.
Pillow talk oft went like this, and their bedroom explorations also oft went like this, easy and fun despite the difference in their rhythms. Though it brought Iceburg looming worry at first, because Paulie was so young and so full of a vigor that Iceburg just wasn’t made with.
See, if Iceburg were once shaped from stone he would believe it, with how modestly he reacted to any loving touch, or how the ways of his manhood scarcely ever moved towards another. Even younger he was the same, and the whirlwind affairs that seemed to sweep his peers off their feet had deftly eluded him.
There were a couple exceptions, all of them starting warmish enough and none lasting more than a year, bar one, and then that connection eventually fizzled out when the partner complained of Iceburg not having more to give. Iceburg was a peculiar sort and that was just the nature of him, always correcting itself after a period of change.
From all of those past attachments Iceburg knew, at least, that he liked the closeness, found that he even wanted it, but not so badly as to be sore for another chance all over again. Such was his love life, until Paulie, with the internal chemistries that brought him here having eluded him more than anything.
Though stone, Iceburg was never deprived the pleasure of looking, enough so to recognize he had particularities in taste, with Paulie being right within his range. Eventually he found that he lingered on Paulie more than others. And even later found that Paulie had somehow taken the shape of everything he could desire.
“Those boxers are really barely doing anything for you,” Iceburg said, of Paulie angry and imposing beneath them.
“I can, um, get off by myself,” Paulie said, bunting his head against Iceburg’s neck.
“Later. I like it right now.”
“You’re killing me. Alright.”
It was worse so once they had sorted their intentions with each other and became a sort of attachment, that quickly became shared clothes and shared beds and shared skin. Though the feeling was not new Iceburg concluded that he’d never felt anything quite like this, the eagerness of it, sun-warmed and hot to the touch, so full of possibility.
Many a day would find them with Paulie rustling off Iceburg’s belt straps and pushing him into the desk, or Iceburg straddling Paulie’s hips and tempting the limits of just how much Paulie could be bidden to his command. Whatever Iceburg could ask for, the other could give it seamlessly.
But then that old nature of Iceburg’s resurfaced, and they started having just as many days where Iceburg could barely respond to Paulie’s desires, despite how good they’ve been having it. Neither of them were prudes in this regard (though it took a bit of coaxing to eventually get Paulie out of his head) but sometimes Iceburg was just like that, built like that, some great god having loved him into existence and it was like that.
And Paulie was like, does that mean you’re off-limits? And Iceburg said no. And Iceburg found that even if there was no road to sex Paulie still wanted to touch and touch and touch and touch without ever getting tired of it. And suddenly all those little peculiarities became just another fact of Iceburg’s person that someone could love.
“You like this?” Paulie asked, rutting his nails on the peaks of Iceburg’s nipples covered by what bit of fabric from his slip.
“Little bit.” This particular thing had never been that nice for him, but Paulie had cultivated all the right affections that matched well with Iceburg’s make.
“I’ll give you a break here. How about this?” Paulie was pressed up chest-to-back against Iceburg, and cupping what swells of Iceburg’s chest he could get his hands on.
“Ah, very much,” Iceburg said, tucking himself against the curl of the body wrapped around him.
“I want a mirror over there, so I can still see you when you’re turned away from me.”
A bit of color rose to Iceburg’s cheeks. For most of his life he’d thought himself the type who could never be swayed by little admissions like that.
As if to prove his own confidence he flipped over and settled above the sweet warmth of Paulie’s lap and chest, assuming the lead and appreciating the way their stomachs curved against each other. He was aware, and was sure that Paulie was aware, of the front of his dress hanging low and loose off his shoulders. Another of the tricks he liked to use to flaunt the graces of his manhood, to ardent reception.
“You haven’t gone down one bit,” Iceburg said.
“How am I supposed to?” Paulie said, hand tangled in the fabric covering Iceburg’s ass. “You don’t make it easy.”
“It’s not easy resisting you either,” and he said this into the bow of Paulie’s lips.
How could all this have been so hazy before? There was someone out there who could set aside his own pleasures for the other, and be just as obsessed with that.
“You should wear something nice, too,” Iceburg said.
Paulie made a sound at the suggestion, but not one of refusal.
“You…you got anything that’ll fit?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Paulie. Yours is a moderate build.”
“You know that’s not what I mean!"
Iceburg laughed. “If you like any of mine enough we’ll get you your own.”
“I’ll rip it though,” he said with earnest.
“Then we’re not drawing it up all the way.”
“You make them look so good,” and when Paulie said this it was muffled into the crook of Iceburg’s neck. “Pick me something that won’t look bad.”
“It’s more the carriage that makes it. Bigness of personality.”
“Sure. You’re like, ten times that.”
Well, now I’ll really make this harder for you, Iceburg said.
Paulie, sweet Paulie, is the way that foxes would find the sunlit arms of stone statues to sleep in, or curl up in the shade on the cold bridges of marble feet. And there is no other place that Iceburg would like to be.