Excellent Rhythm
"You see Cain," Ambrose's voice is low and husky. Cain's hands are on the fastens of his coat, tugging them apart. "Everything in life is a dance," He gasps a little as Cain nips at his neck, hands dipping under his shirt. "Fighting is a dance," Ambrose's hands rake through Cain's short hair and down his back in a fluid motion. His teeth find Cain's ear and nibble gently. "This is a dance," His voice is getting a little huskier, a little harder to understand as Cain practically rips the layers of clothing off their bodies.
“Everyone has individual dances, separate rhythms-” Cain kisses him deeply. It's not to shut him up and it wouldn't work anyway. Ambrose continues to speak between desperate kisses. His words are captured by Cain's mouth. His voice, his nonsense speeches about everything, have become as much a part of sex as anything else. “You can't teach rhythm,” He mumbles against Cain's neck as he wraps his legs around Cain's waist. “It's not something you can learn. Sometimes though, you can loose your rhythm, have your balance upset.” His words are becoming strained, each one is a little harder to get out then the last.
Only when they join together does Ambrose pause in his speech. As Cain enters him he throws his head back against the pillows and groans loudly, tightening his grip on Cain's shoulders. As Cain finds a steady pace Ambrose's words start to flow again. They become unintelligible as his thoughts are overrun with a mantra of CainCainCain.
Ambrose's words stopped again and Cain knew he was close to the edge. The pressure building in the pit of Ambrose's stomach becomes too much. He muffles his scream against Cain's neck as he comes. Cain follows quickly, collapsing against Ambrose's chest.
Ambrose curls against him, staying as close as possible. “I like that dance,” Cain murmurs into his shoulder after a while.
“Hmm,” Ambrose nestles closer, “You have excellent rhythm.”
~~~~~~~~ Back to Tin Man ~~~~~~~~
