[ Dab, dab, dab goes the cloth in JL's hand, against his eyebrow (ouch) and his lip (fuck) and Marcel stands still against him, pressing back against the man's front - for the feeling of warmth and wet smoothness, his skin slipping up the shaft of Marcel's cock. Better be a fucking promise. He's getting needy here, yeah...
While working on his split bottom lip, JL tilts his head to the side for a moment, looking from the swelling of his mouth to his eyes while leaning in and Marcel's already ten steps ahead, knows what's coming, because they read each other like fucking books, that is - if Marcel were a big reader, though he's not. But JL he knows how to read, right? He reads him to the fucking letter and as such, he's already parted his lips a bit in fucking welcome. JL's presence and proximity like this, this close, their lips pressed together and the wound near the corner of his mouth smarting like all hell, but Marcel ignores it easily, grunting into the kiss as JL flicks his fucking tongue along the slope of it, sensing how he's taking some of the blood, some of the dirt and the shit, taking it away, and he's getting so hard at the thought alone that he has to shift from one foot to the other in an attempt not to just rub himself all over the other man's stomach. There's the taste of copper, blood, some clotting still left, sticking to his tongue as he pushes back, meeting JL halfway as is their habit.
They've got their middle ground. Theirs. Together. Co-rulers that they are gonna be eventually, fuck.
Tightening his hold around the back of JL's neck, he pulls him closer, deepening the kiss, although it's all more of an urging movement than a forceful one. You don't fucking force JL to come, to give, you wait like a good fucking boy and maybe you'll get lucky that he wants to. Such are the workings between them, always, especially naked against each other. Marcel could force him any day, no problem, the miracle is how he doesn't. Doesn't want to either. His other hand comes up, presses against the ridge of the other man's right hipbone, thumb digging in harshly, feeling him out. ]
[ The taste of blood remains as a persistent echo while Marcel pulls him closer, the kiss growing deeper and the mood changing gradually towards something hotter. He exhales slowly through the water running down his face, as Marcel presses his hand over the ridge of his hipbone, a hard grip, very insistent. It's how Marcel works, of course; you either do or you don't. Middle ground's a matter of running fast enough to make the appropriate distance and happily, they always seem to make it, the two of them. Ever since the beginning. He leans in closer, hand holding the cloth dropping down Marcel's shoulder until he simply lets go of the fabric, grabbing onto his upper arm instead. There's bruising here, too, though a lot more on his lower arm (defensive) and while Jean Louis doesn't insult him by gentling his grip, he keeps his fingers well out of the way of the worst damage. He can do that, easily. Be mindful, if nothing else.
Breaking the kiss, he draws back just enough to run both hands down Marcel's upper body, fingers pressing in over his ribs and the hard contours of muscle. Nothing broken, obviously, or the man would be at least struggling slightly for breath but he's feeling him out anyway because he fucking can. Down, all the way to his hips, then up again, pressing over his stomach, gaze once more drawn to the path of his own fingers and the skin beneath them. He licks his lips, tasting the remnants of blood. The water washes it out quickly enough.
He doesn't touch Marcel's cock, though it's mere inches away from his palms. His own cock's hardening between them as well, pressing against Marcel's thigh. Frowning, he traces one, large bruise on the side of Marcel's abdomen, fingertips ghosting over the pattern of discolouration. Then, without further ado, he bends down (past Marcel's cock, thank you, right in his face), grabs the soap and straightens up again, pouring out a generous amount onto his palm. ]
[ They never nurse each other's weaknesses. They don't fucking condone weakness in general, not in others, least of all in themselves. As JL grabs his upper arm, steering clear of the worst bruises with something that better not be indulgence, but acceptance of the status quo, the way of fucking life, Marcel breathes out harshly. It's halfway into the kiss, halfway outside of it, seeing as JL chooses that moment to disengage. He stares at the other man through the rays of water slapping him in the face, watches him slide his hands down his front, following the outline of a whole array of discolorations, some uglier than others. That's fucking nature for you. Not everyone can be a fucking beauty queen, yeah. He always took more after his mom than his Pa anyway, nothing good gonna come of that. Pa didn't think so either, you can really fucking tell now, huh.
A frown, eyes narrowing. He lets his own arms drop as soon as JL makes as if to lean away, giving him ample room to move. Bending down, the other man gets very close, fucking tease, to his cock, though he doesn't touch it, doesn't even really look at it, beyond what you can't rightly ignore because it's so God damn huge. Marcel shifts again, from foot to foot and back again, hands balling into fists at his sides, because JL looks fucking edible when he's soaping in his hands that way. His cock thinks so too, look at it go, nice little jerk...
He thinks about his Pa again. He thinks about his Pa talking about a religious household, doctrine, church, what-fucking-ever. Ridiculous shit. He thought they agreed on silence, his Pa and him, they've always been quiet together, wordless trips to the cemetery every fucking Sunday. Why the fuck would he need to start running his mouth now, just because. JL looks shadowy and glistening in the overhead LEDs. They've got other means of communication as well, but they're fucking useful, all right. No empty threats. No empty promises.
Waiting for his cue, silently, he blinks against the water, staring at the other man through the splashing onslaught of the spray. ]
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