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WHO: Rupert & Jonas
WHERE: Jeopardy 001
WHEN: The evening of that literal car crash of a day
WHAT: It's hurt/comfort but everything is German and time is fake
WARNINGS: ~~Not yet but Hentzau gonna Hentz~~ soft boy nsfw

Rupert refuses to do anything as pedestrian as die in his bed, considering he hasn't lived the life he has to earn such a boring death. But the shaking won't stop, even after polishing off a bottle of wine between them, and Rupert has a sneaking suspicion that the headache currently wringing his brain inside out isn't to do with the wine.

Still, despite all of this, Rupert refuses to see a doctor. Even as he's stumbling up the stairs towards his room, half-pulled and half-pushed by Jonas, Rupert is bloody-minded.

"I'm telling you - this, this is nothing," He insists with forced brightness between clenched teeth as he leans heavily against Jonas, staggering up the staircase. Every single bone in his body feels bruised, right to the marrow. "I could tell you stories - God! I've suffered worse, so much worse. I promise you, this will not be the death of me. There's no need for a doctor..."

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Somehow, Jonas doesn't see it coming. Even as Rupert's lips make contact with his own, his mind lags behind, struggling to interpret the movement. This isn't his first kiss, but it's certainly a kind of first kiss. Nonsensically, though he's the only other person in the room, Jonas wonders if Rupert has somehow made a mistake and placed his lips on the wrong target. And then, realizing he's in Rupert's bed, considers the possibility that he's the one who made a mistake somewhere.

All this confusion, yet he doesn't pull away. There's only a short gasp of surprise in the split second it takes to decide that he wants to be kissing Rupert, too. The pressure of the exchange increases by just a fraction, because it seems like anything more will only injure Rupert's already-bruised mouth. It's there, though. Not mere tolerance, but reciprocation.

It's sweet, that initial surprise and the tentative reply. Inexperience can be such a chore sometimes, but this - this is delicious. He savours that gentle pressure, lips sliding, gently easing the kiss into something more relaxed, more comfortable. Less of a question.

But his face really does hurt. Whatever impact he'd made with the airbag in that fateful, violent half-second was enough to make this slightly less pleasant than it should be. How very fucking ridiculous, Rupert thinks to himself as he breaks the kiss with a weary, drunken laugh.

"I may bleed on you," He warns, his wine-stained lips a breath away from Jonas's. "Which isn't the fun type of dangerous either."

Now that they've started this, Jonas doesn't want to just stop. He gives a small chase when Rupert draws far enough away to break the kiss, though he does manage to reel himself back before he looks too pathetic. Doubtless, Rupert can feel the shakiness of Jonas's breath on his lips.

"That sounds more unpleasant for you than for me," he laughs weakly. Awkward. He doesn't know why Rupert kissed him in the first place, when it's so obviously painful to do it.

Instead of trying for another, Jonas reaches out to him, skimming a hand along Rupert's side from his shoulder down to his hip in an experimental journey. Things are beginning to make more sense now. Looking back, he can't help but feel he should have noticed this earlier.

Then again, maybe it's just loneliness. Desperation.

Jonas confesses, "I don't know what I'm doing."

That hand is a good sign. Rupert holds his breath involuntarily as it explores his flank, just in case a sudden movement might scare that touch away. Only when it's resting on his hip does he allow himself to exhale, smiling and pleased by Jonas's initiative. He squirms a little, lifting his hip beneath Jonas's hand, in silent recognition of the touch.

"Then I'll try not to do anything complicated," Rupert replies with his blood-cracked grin. In all honesty, he knows he isn't good for much; lazy, exploratory kisses and soft hands sounds ideal (no matter how desperately that familiar red-blooded core of him clamours for energetic fumbling). He's hurt, he's tired, but the mind is willing...

That hand at Jonas's hair tightens a little, encouraging him to lean back in for another kiss. Between them they can surely handle a little bit of pain, a little bit of blood.

What Rupert doesn't understand is that everything about this is complicated. Human warmth. Skin on skin. The rise and fall of breath. It's too soon. It's long overdue. When one goes so long without the slightest intimacy, even the lightest touch feels charged. A magnetic pull draws Jonas closer, and though he knows that whatever he's going to get out of this can't possibly replace what he just lost, he can't refuse it.

What hesitation he harbors is for Rupert's sake, and since it's Rupert who's spurring him on, Jonas doesn't hold back. His lips part against Rupert's swollen mouth and he tastes iron on his tongue. Rupert has been taking care with him, so Jonas takes care in turn, applying the softest pressure in every drag of his mouth. A gentle kiss can be just as fervent as a ravenous one, especially with all the neediness that Jonas has pent up behind it. Every time he exhales, the tremble in his breath betrays him.

This slow, gentle exploration is normally too slow, too sentimental, for Rupert's liking but here, between Rupert's pain and Jonas's tremble and the bottle of wine between them, it's forgivable. Needed, in fact. It's about as much as his hazy thoughts can handle. That gentle unevenness in Jonas's breath leaves Rupert wondering if Jonas is the one in pain, not him. It takes a moment to remember that it can't be pain - Jonas was unhurt and Rupert knows this - but it must be something else. Maybe sadness? Is he crying? Rather than break this kiss again (Jonas is so careful, so caring - it would be mean to break that gentle concentration) he gentle skirts his knuckles against Jonas's exposed cheek, expecting to feel tear tracks and finding smooth dry skin instead. And that breathy tremble still there...

Nerves, then. Or longing. Nervous longing. Two ideas that Rupert wants to chase away with kisses, to be replaced with confidence and surety. But his battered head and the wine are making him lazy; he pulls away from the kiss again, this time to sprawl on his back with both hands and a hooked leg encouraging Jonas to roll with him, to settle against him comfortably within kissing distance. Because this is his answer to nervous longing: to be open and generous, to let Jonas arrange himself in a way that suits him, without pressure or expectation. It's not backing off, it's an invitation.

It takes Jonas by surprise, but then again, he has the impression that Rupert is only going to keep surprising him. Allowing himself to be swept into the roll, he curls up against Rupert's side, one arm draped across his chest and one leg hooked around his calf.

If he wasn't so unsure about the state of Rupert's ribs, he might have kept climbing to straddle him. He may be anxious, but he's far from prudish. The very opposite. He wants to drink up everything Rupert's willing to give him. Or rather, everything he's physically capable of giving at the moment. There's no lack of enthusiasm here.

Now that they're comfortably arranged, Jonas seeks out Rupert's mouth again. He's either starting to get the hang of it or he's confident enough that Rupert's enjoying it, since he hasn't told Jonas to stop.

It's only when Rupert is laid out on his back that he realises just how much his aching body really hurts; his back is stiff to the point of agony, his neck feels like it's made of jagged glass shards. But sprawled out on his mattress properly is so much more relaxing; he melts into his pillows as Jonas settles himself half-on, half-off, and he exhales a soft, hum of contentment against Jonas's lips. Yes. Better.

And Jonas's leg, draped over his own, is perfectly situated for Rupert to nudge a thigh between Jonas's own. They're clearly in silent agreement; Rupert isn't so sure he'd survive having someone sitting on him right now, not that he's being dramatic, but a leg is fine. There's something deeply satisfying about the idea of gentle pressure and friction, as opposed to anything too sharp and energetic for his battered body.

And the kissing - the kissing is gloriously enjoyable, even with his bruised lips and aching jaw. Jonas seems to be enjoying himself too, if this reaction is anything to go by. Rupert's quite sure he bit his own tongue at some point in the crash, but it doesn't matter. Not when he has the slide and warmth of a mouth against his own; there's hunger in his kiss, despite the pain of it. Hands cup at Jonas's cheek, a hand either side, keeping him as close as possible as he seeks out more and more.

Enjoyment is a vast understatement for what Jonas is feeling. This is one of the best things that's happened to him in his life. And he realizes, even in the midst of this euphoria, how ridiculous that is. All that's happening is that he's kissing someone who barely knows him and will probably forget all about this by morning. When the darkness of his life is so omnipresent, though, this spark feels as bright as the sun.

Rupert's leg comes dangerously close to discovering just how excited this is making him. A fresh wave of shameful heat flushes Jonas's skin, though there's no need for it. Arousing him is clearly what Rupert wants. It's just that his level of excitement is probably disproportionate to the cause.

This kiss. This simple, inconceivable kiss.

His lips part to give passage, allowing Rupert's tongue to venture as deep as it pleases. His own tongue greets it in a shy caress. His hand takes the opportunity to explore, too, in a wandering caress over Rupert's chest. There's a remarkable firmness to its curves, muscles so much more pronounced in their sculpture than Jonas's. Rupert's features are so beautiful, Jonas hadn't expected him to also be strong.

That shy flicker of a tongue against his is expected but still sweet - not that Rupert usually cares for shy sweetness - and Rupert greets it lewdly with his own. A little of his reservedness begins to slip away with every press of his lips, every pleased exhale; his kisses are increasingly greedy and confident, expert and wicked, knowing that perhaps he might rub (hah) a little of his fearlessness off on Jonas with every kiss.

And that hand - that hand is promising, just like that exploratory touch to his hip had been. Delighted, Rupert takes it, briefly covering the back of Jonas's hand with his own, squeezing it roughly, before taking it and moving it beneath his tee and up against his pec, pressing it flat against his left nipple. Because if you're going to feel someone up, then better it be skin on skin. That's the first lesson, right there.

Rupert will hear no objection from Jonas, who actually appreciates the guidance. He's fumbling blindly with these boundaries. He doesn't know if his ignorance stems from lack of experience or culture divide or heteronormative expectations, but none of it matters as long as Rupert can be patient and show him what to do.

This is a night of many firsts, and now: Jonas's first intimate encounter with another man's nipple. Does it work the same as a girl's, he wonders, as his palm slides uncertainly over Rupert's bare skin.

He has a much nicer chest than Jonas. He's going to be disappointed by what's waiting for him, if he starts working his way under Jonas's clothes in return.

As his hand toys with that nipple, rubbing it as slowly and softly as he's approached everything else, Jonas allows the kiss to grow more risque, too. Every lewd jab of Rupert's tongue only encourages him to submit further, hums of pleased assent escaping his throat without his even realizing it.

Jonas's toying gentleness is inspirational with every soft tweak provoking a fresh electric jolt of pleasure; he's always been particularly sensitive to hands, mouths, teeth applied there. Rupert makes a mental note to mention that later. But for now, gone is Rupert's care for Jonas being the one to explore because yes, yes he does want to work his way beneath Jonas's shirt. His hands fall from cupping the other boy's cheeks to deftly sweep up under the fabric of his shirt, exploring soft skin and muscle and ridges of bone as he palms his way up Jonas's back.

"I think we should take this off, don't you agree?" He murmurs against Jonas's lips, his hands nudging the shirt upwards as he explores. And God, he'd like to do the same with his own t-shirt, but he knows sitting up now is going to hurt. Still...

"Help me with mine?"

It's impossible to refuse. Rupert makes it so easy, somehow, to go along with what he suggests and to give him whatever he wants. Jonas can't tell if it's something about Rupert's nature or his own stupid response to Rupert's prettiness. He considers himself more obstinate than obsequious, by far, but Jonas wants so badly to please him.

He draws back to peel off his shirt. Jonas is unsurprisingly all skin and bones, and he doesn't linger there long enough for Rupert to take too close a look. Instead he leans over and gingerly gathers up Rupert's t-shirt, mindful of his bruises and potentially broken ribs.

Even with the injuries, there's a lot to admire once the shirt is discarded. Jonas skims a hand over Rupert's abs before settling back in beside him. His freckled cheeks are furiously red but there's no hesitation as he dives into another kiss.

It hurts, sitting forward enough to get his shirt over his head; even with both of them taking every care in the world, every muscle in his torso cries out in pain as he struggles free of his clothing. Not that he shows it, other than a pale grimace; Rupert bears the pain with a fighter's disregard. Because this is worth it: the press of skin on skin, the expanse of unexplored flesh to enjoy. Jonas may think he's skin and bones but Rupert takes him in with an admiring glance; he's never met an upper-body he didn't immediately want to kiss all over, and Jonas is no different.

"You blush most handsomely," Rupert teases warmly between kisses. He can practically feel the heat rolling off Jonas's cheeks as he cups a cheek, fingers edging into Jonas's golden hair. It's a good look and Rupert's almost jealous. He hasn't blushed in years.

Of course, that only makes Jonas blush even more. He finds it a much less charming trait in himself, even though he's already confessed to his inexperience. It would just be nice if he could at least pretend to be suave.

He would also like to be able to return the compliment, but every word that comes to mind feels clumsy. He lets his kisses do the talking, and if Rupert's looking close enough, he might even catch a fleeting smile. Everything about this is so far from the life he's been living, he briefly forgets who he is and what he's done. The world doesn't exist outside of this bed.

And that is exactly what Rupert's chasing - that ephemeral smile, brief as it is. Because Rupert wants the visitors to his bed to be more than just happy - he wants them to gorge themselves on it, to relentlessly enjoy themselves and be thoroughly distracted from whatever foolishness that goes on outside these walls.

The leg sandwiched so warmly between Jonas's moves a fraction in a gentle reminder, nudging upwards as a hand falls on to each of Jonas's thighs - pulling him against his leg, encouraging him to move against him. And wherever he catches a glimpse of Jonas's fleeting smile he chases it down with a grinning kiss; every moan, every pleased little noise, every reflexive twitch of pleasure is answered with urging murmurs - more sounds than words - and encouraging kisses.

Jonas is helpless, instantly rendered stupid by the drag against Rupert's leg. His breath shivers as a jolt of electric heat climbs his spine, and with the encouragement, he chases it. Trapped beneath too many layers of clothing, his long-neglected cock throbs in answer to this unexpected attention, but he doesn't have a thought to spare for the strangeness of the moment. It's not important now, that Rupert is a man and Jonas hasn't even considered how this works between men. All that matters is that he's been given the option and he's taking it.

He melts a little bit more with every murmur and every kiss, taking them as permission to make a total fool of himself. With each rut up against Rupert's body, the sounds escaping past his lips become less dignified, until he's practically mewling with need.

The noises from Jonas are unbearably hot and Rupert's only to happy to lift, to nudge, to press with his thigh with great purpose now that he knows Jonas has the right idea. He has some hazy, half-formed notion of Jonas rubbing himself off on his leg, frantic and needy as he is, and Rupert's hands slide a little further round to hold fast at Jonas's arse through his pants. Encouraging him to grind, to fuck himself against Rupert's thigh however he wants.

Rupert's hard in his own pants but moving - to take them off, or peel them away and free his cock - or bearing Jonas's weight in his lap for mutual grinding both sound potentially painful. So he works around it, happy to ignore his own erection for now in favour of this mindless grinding and breathless kissing, with Rupert matching those frantic noises from Jonas with deeper groans of his own. He wants to say something filthy, something to let Jonas know exactly how wanton he sounds, but Rupert has a sneaking suspicion the other boy just might self-immolate via blushing if he tries it. Better to not and to focus on just this for now.

As long as Rupert keeps spurring him on, that's enough assurance for Jonas that what he's doing is right. If it weren't for his injuries, Jonas might have even attempted something bolder. Maybe it's a good thing, though, that they're limited to this. It's already overwhelming, even though he's pumping against Rupert's leg with the gentlest thrusts he can manage. The smallest degree of stimulation is still more than he's had in ages, and it's better to be careful than to be greedy, or else he might hurt Rupert and put a premature end to this experience.

...Not that it isn't at risk of a premature end, anyway.

But slowing down is out of the question. Unless Rupert shoves him away, he doesn't think he can will himself to stop. It feels so good. Not just rubbing himself off, but Rupert's mouth on his mouth, and the wordless exchanges between them, and the rising heat of another body's friction against his body. Rupert could probably have driven him equally wild by doing nothing more than whispering in his ear and running fingers through his hair. Only maybe not as fast.

Jonas lets out a soft cry of alarm as he trips and finds himself stumbling over his peak much too soon. With an abrupt shudder, he bursts and spends himself, soaking his boxers with a sticky warmth that's immediately followed up by shame. His lips break away from Rupert's and he hisses, mortified, "Shit."

Rupert catches his own breath as Jonas shudders into his restrained orgasm, holding him firmly in place against his leg with breathless anticipation. He loves this, watching that familiar curling squirm knowing only too well how deliciously oversensitive it is to come when trapped in one's own clothes. But what he doesn't love is that expression that follows, the quiet disgrace he can read in Jonas's hiss of dismay. No, no shame allowed, not here, never in Rupert's bed. He finally breathes again and reaches out to smooth a hand over Jonas's red cheek, pulling Jonas's gaze around to meet his own.

"Look at me."

Rupert smiles broadly, eyes heavy-lidded with his own deep sense of smug satisfaction. He's still hard in his own trousers but has absolutely no inclination to do anything about it, not when there's so much delight to be taken in Jonas's pleasure, brief as it was.

"That was hot, as they say nowadays."

Rupert is either teasing him or being unreasonably kind. Jonas finds it impossible to imagine that this is anything other than a disappointment for him, smile or no.

Fumbling for excuses, he blurts, "It's been a long time." And then, when that doesn't feel like enough, he adds insistently, "I'm not a virgin." Which he realizes, once he's said it, probably only makes him look more like a virgin.

"Oh, stop that," He admonishes lightly. "Do you think I care?"

About how long it's been or whether he's a virgin or not - or the real excuse Jonas is trying to make here. Rupert knows the value in taking little bits of pleasure here and there, wherever one can, to make the day a little more bearable. The hand cupping Jonas's cheek moves to warmly thread through Jonas's hair once, ending on what might be an amused hair-ruffle.

"You'll want to take off your things," He advises matter-of-factly, knowing how uncomfortable it is to do anything - even sleeping - in a state like Jonas's. Just one of those little Rupert von Hentzau life lessons.

"Help yourself to something of mine if you like."

It's a good thing Rupert pushes him to do it, because Jonas would have absolutely remained right where he is and woken up with several regrets in the morning. He draws back and reluctantly frees himself from Rupert's arms to sit at the edge of the bed, back turned to him. At least like this, he can indulge in his embarrassment a little longer without making Rupert feel bad about it.

He wriggles out of his pants and uses his boxers as a rag to wipe up the mess remaining on his skin before discarding both these things on the floor. Then he looks at the dresser, considers the journey, and glances back to Rupert.

"I haven't taken care of you yet."

Rupert could have easily guessed exactly what Jonas was about to say - it's an obvious question, and something that Rupert would have pointed out if the roles were reversed. It's natural to want to check, of course, but that's the beauty of exchanges like these - it doesn't matter if they're a little bit lopsided, because Rupert knows that the rewards go beyond who-made-who-spend-where-and-when. Especially considering just how beaten up Rupert feels. He isn't sure he has the abdominal muscles to spare right now.

"You don't need to," He replies off-handedly, reaching out to brush a knuckle against the small of Jonas's back. A small touch of reassurance. "I'm quite all right."

Which Rupert immediately regrets saying because, God, turning down sex, even when wounded? Who is he? What has this world done to him? He visibly relents.

"Maybe in the morning. You can help me out of these trousers for now."

Though he does his best not to show it, Jonas is awfully relieved when Rupert turns him down. He's embarrassed himself plenty for one night, and if he's going to disappoint Rupert right now, he'd rather do it with a lack of opportunity than a lack of skill.

It does feel strange, though, to leave the exchange so one-sided. In the morning - or whenever Rupert's feeling up to it - Jonas intends to repay him.

For now, he does as Rupert asks and turns to undress him. Gingerly unfastening and gently tugging until Rupert's trousers slide right off, Jonas begins the task while trying not to stare but ends it with an appreciative sweep of his eyes. He really has no idea how he managed to land himself in this bed. It could be anyone else here with Rupert right now.

He doesn't want to put anything on. He's never slept nude before, but it seems to him that this should be the first time, if Rupert doesn't object. Settling beside him again, Jonas murmurs, "This is nice."

In case his feelings were in question.

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leatherboots - 2019-10-11 13:40 (UTC) - Expand

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