[like corry is, self-indulgent fantasies painted in romcom-technicolor, officer and a gentleman, maybe a touch of possessiveness in the idea of sweeping bob up and physically carrying him away. very primal caveman of him, enough to prompt a huffing laugh, a thumbs up to the last suggestion -- then corry's swiping over to voyeur, to bob's page, obligingly starting to tap at the request button. he'll crash the damn app if he's gotta.
cause there's still too much time before bob's in his doorway, in his room, and it's time that has new tightness around his mouth, his brow, weariness and stress and corry's pissed off at him all over again for dropping, because bronze is gonna be brutal if he doesn't have that invincible stamina back. corry hears the click, the close of the door, gladly moves forward, crowds bob up against the door and tips his head down. bad angle, uninteresting, though he's sure the cameras will linger until it's clear they're not about to rip each other's clothes off.
which -- always there, always on a low murmur in the back of corry's mind, like a sweet sort of ache, imagining just that, maybe up against the door, arms under bob's knees, bending him in half like that first night, flushed and blushing and pinned and taking corry inside him. it'll never not be like that, corry imagines, smiling at bob's hands on his shoulders, his neck, bob's big eyes scanning his face.
but, the priority:] Hey, handsome. [murmured, corry reaching up to cover one of bob's hands with his own, holding still so he can turn and press a kiss against the cup of a palm. murmuring into it:] How're you doin'? [the drawl is deeper now, and corry's eyes are bloodshot and deeply shadowed, strain and exhaustion writ all over his face. still: he kisses bob's wrist, drops his hand, slips both arms around him, tugging him closer.]
Silver treatin' you all right? [tugtug, until bob's held against his chest, a full-body, broad-shouldered, thick-armed embrace that corry insists upon, resting his chin on top of messy curls with a sigh that comes from deep in his chest.] Nobody better be fuckin' with you up there. I'll kick their ass.
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[like corry is, self-indulgent fantasies painted in romcom-technicolor, officer and a gentleman, maybe a touch of possessiveness in the idea of sweeping bob up and physically carrying him away. very primal caveman of him, enough to prompt a huffing laugh, a thumbs up to the last suggestion -- then corry's swiping over to voyeur, to bob's page, obligingly starting to tap at the request button. he'll crash the damn app if he's gotta.
cause there's still too much time before bob's in his doorway, in his room, and it's time that has new tightness around his mouth, his brow, weariness and stress and corry's pissed off at him all over again for dropping, because bronze is gonna be brutal if he doesn't have that invincible stamina back. corry hears the click, the close of the door, gladly moves forward, crowds bob up against the door and tips his head down. bad angle, uninteresting, though he's sure the cameras will linger until it's clear they're not about to rip each other's clothes off.
which -- always there, always on a low murmur in the back of corry's mind, like a sweet sort of ache, imagining just that, maybe up against the door, arms under bob's knees, bending him in half like that first night, flushed and blushing and pinned and taking corry inside him. it'll never not be like that, corry imagines, smiling at bob's hands on his shoulders, his neck, bob's big eyes scanning his face.
but, the priority:] Hey, handsome. [murmured, corry reaching up to cover one of bob's hands with his own, holding still so he can turn and press a kiss against the cup of a palm. murmuring into it:] How're you doin'? [the drawl is deeper now, and corry's eyes are bloodshot and deeply shadowed, strain and exhaustion writ all over his face. still: he kisses bob's wrist, drops his hand, slips both arms around him, tugging him closer.]
Silver treatin' you all right? [tugtug, until bob's held against his chest, a full-body, broad-shouldered, thick-armed embrace that corry insists upon, resting his chin on top of messy curls with a sigh that comes from deep in his chest.] Nobody better be fuckin' with you up there. I'll kick their ass.