Kell loves being called sweet and baby. There's a level of tenderness he's not really used to. Not because there were no people willing to give it to him. Because he wouldn't let them. Kell likes to think he's quite handsome, but that's all in his head. It's what he tells himself. His body tells another story. Eyes always skirting to the side, his posture, his hands, skulking, slouched, jittery. As if he always tries to melt into the shadow, knowing too well he can't. He never could back home. Always in the spotlight, always the odd one out. A chalky thin ghost with fire for hair slinking among so many statuesque men and women with soft, lush hair, skin like the most exquisite polished wood, dark and warm and rich. Full of curves and volume, when all he has are sharp angles. No matter the words he heard, he's always seen himself this way. He knew he wasn't beautiful. Interesting, original, fascinating even, but not beautiful. Forever destined to remain an oddity. Ogled for his differences with curiosity, maybe fear, but never admiration. Almost never with warmth.
So when there are suddenly mirrors all around them, Kell can't help but shrink. When Jesper asks him to look, to see how he sees him, he cannot. He doesn't want to look, he knows what he will see, keeps his eyes fixed on Jesper. And Jesper, Jesper kisses him. Kell closes his eyes, sinking into the kiss like a drowning man, hands reaching up, fingers closing, digging into Jesper's shoulders to pull him closer. Whines a wordless protest when Jesper moves away; arms falling back to the bed, eyes flying open startled and --
He sees it. Kell stares straight up into the mirror on the ceiling, and for a moment time freezes. His breath catches, eyes going wide, fingers searching to find purchase in the sheets. He drinks in the image in the mirror. Jesper's muscular back covering most of his body, every thrust of his hips sinking him into Kell all the way in. Kell can see the soles of his own feet, so white over Jesper's gorgeously brown shoulders. He sees them jerk, toes curling, every time Jesper pushes in, hitting Kell's prostate, sending lightning through his nerves.
For that very brief moment, Kell cannot connect what he sees to what he feels. It's perfectly synchronized, but his mind refuses the connection. Then the body wins and he wheezes a half-inhale, half-moan.
"Jesper..."
The strain of his spine melts away, arched back, strained muscles relaxing. Kell's head falls to the side and when his eyes meet another mirror, another moan rips from his parched lips. The side view is even better. He can see in stark detail Jesper's hand on his cock, slowly, tortuously stroking him. He sees Jesper bury himself all the way to his balls, feels the whole glorious length and girth of him filling him in, hitting his prostate as he goes in. Feels the tight ring of his own muscles constrict, as if he tried to hold Jesper in. Because he does.
Kell can't tear his eyes away. Not even when Jesper kisses his ankle. When he pours honeyed words into his ear, calls him perfect, glorious, unique.
"Fuck me, Jesper. Take me. Ruin me. Please. Give me all. Make me come."
Kell can only whisper. He's so full it feels there's no space in him for air, only for Jesper, destroying his insides, reducing him to a mewling, desperate, delirious, shivering mess. Until he falls apart completely, with a long cry of ecstasy. He doesn't know how long he floats in the state of bliss. Weightless, satisfied, and so so happy.
"Promise me one thing, Jesper." Kell can only speak when he finally recovers any mental faculties. He's smiling, content and satiated, still giddy from the pleasure that washed over his mind and body. "Promise you'd fuck me for real next time we see each other in Nocwich."
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So when there are suddenly mirrors all around them, Kell can't help but shrink. When Jesper asks him to look, to see how he sees him, he cannot. He doesn't want to look, he knows what he will see, keeps his eyes fixed on Jesper. And Jesper, Jesper kisses him. Kell closes his eyes, sinking into the kiss like a drowning man, hands reaching up, fingers closing, digging into Jesper's shoulders to pull him closer. Whines a wordless protest when Jesper moves away; arms falling back to the bed, eyes flying open startled and --
He sees it. Kell stares straight up into the mirror on the ceiling, and for a moment time freezes. His breath catches, eyes going wide, fingers searching to find purchase in the sheets. He drinks in the image in the mirror. Jesper's muscular back covering most of his body, every thrust of his hips sinking him into Kell all the way in. Kell can see the soles of his own feet, so white over Jesper's gorgeously brown shoulders. He sees them jerk, toes curling, every time Jesper pushes in, hitting Kell's prostate, sending lightning through his nerves.
For that very brief moment, Kell cannot connect what he sees to what he feels. It's perfectly synchronized, but his mind refuses the connection. Then the body wins and he wheezes a half-inhale, half-moan.
"Jesper..."
The strain of his spine melts away, arched back, strained muscles relaxing. Kell's head falls to the side and when his eyes meet another mirror, another moan rips from his parched lips. The side view is even better. He can see in stark detail Jesper's hand on his cock, slowly, tortuously stroking him. He sees Jesper bury himself all the way to his balls, feels the whole glorious length and girth of him filling him in, hitting his prostate as he goes in. Feels the tight ring of his own muscles constrict, as if he tried to hold Jesper in. Because he does.
Kell can't tear his eyes away. Not even when Jesper kisses his ankle. When he pours honeyed words into his ear, calls him perfect, glorious, unique.
"Fuck me, Jesper. Take me. Ruin me. Please. Give me all. Make me come."
Kell can only whisper. He's so full it feels there's no space in him for air, only for Jesper, destroying his insides, reducing him to a mewling, desperate, delirious, shivering mess. Until he falls apart completely, with a long cry of ecstasy. He doesn't know how long he floats in the state of bliss. Weightless, satisfied, and so so happy.
"Promise me one thing, Jesper." Kell can only speak when he finally recovers any mental faculties. He's smiling, content and satiated, still giddy from the pleasure that washed over his mind and body. "Promise you'd fuck me for real next time we see each other in Nocwich."