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It's been one long day, and Harvard feels the weight of it on his back when he finally sets his bag by his and Aiden's shared bed.
The competition hadn't gone all that bad.
Aiden would say it had gone better than that, much better, but Harvard liked to keep his expectations low enough to be pleasantly surprised. It's a long practiced skill of his, and he finds it more often than not extremely useful.
He was, however, very much capable of a strong sense of pride. And having won the tiny international circuit competition they were attending did ignite that in him.
Which is how he finds himself caging Aiden against their bed, wrists between his hands, mouth sowing scorching kisses against the column of Aiden's throat.
Aiden had come second. Again, small competition, which was mostly how they'd made it onto the podium, but Harvard held enough pride in him for the both of them. More than that, they hadn't fenced a final together in a long, long time, and the rush of adrenaline he felt with every hit was different than any other.
Such was the beauty of knowing someone, and their fencing, from the inside out. Harvard didn't think he could ever get tired of it— it made sparks fly across his skin every time he got close enough to see Aiden's smile through his mask.
"Harv— shit—"
He hums, and eases up until he's pressing sweet kisses across Aiden's jaw. "Yeah?"
"I want— you. Need you. Now."
Harvard can't help but smile, hidden in the soft spot of Aiden's neck. However juvenile it may sound, Aiden saying those words always made butterflies appear in his stomach.
Harvard was a horrible sap at heart, really.
"Where's the—"
"In my bag." Aiden gestures at the edge of the bed, and when Harvard moves to go rummage through, he's dragged back with a hand on the back of his neck. Lips crash on his, and he melts into it immediately. Helpless to it, pretty much.
Aiden whispers against his lips, mischief in his tone, "Be quick."
Harvard laughs, breathless. "You're not helping."
"I swear, Harvard Lee, if you don't—"
That's when Harvard's phone rings on his nightstand.
He tries to ignore it, he really does, and Aiden makes it easy enough to, hands pulling him ever closer, but his sense of duty calls anyway. What if it's an emergency? What if someone needs him? What if, what if, what if?
Blindly he fumbles for his phone, and he pushes away from Aiden to squint at the screen.
"It's Arune." Harvard cringes. "I did promise I'd call."
Aiden tilts his head, barely-there pout on his lips. He's debauched, spread out on the bedding like this, skin flushed pink, hair a mess. "Harv."
"Five minutes. I swear."
"Harvard Lee."
Harvard gives him an apologetic look, and Aiden rolls his eyes, just about mildly annoyed, and very much sexually frustrated, as he slips from beneath his form. Harvard twists and takes over his spot, the warmth he's left there crawling into his bones. Arune's voice crackles on the other line.
"Harvard!"
The bed dips as Aiden sits by his legs, bored look on his face. "Hi, 'rune."
"Hey-hey, heard the comp went pretty well— thought I'd offer my congratulations."
Harvard laughs. "Yeah— yeah. Kinda a miracle, honestly— I wasn't feeling too good about it."
He hears the smile in Arune's voice. "You never feel good about these things. Aiden was there though, yeah?"
"Yeah. He helps." Aiden stares up at him, green eyes flashing. Harvard narrows his gaze at him, wondering what that shine tells him, and he barely registers Arune's reply.
"Good to hear he's still his charming self."
Aiden smiles at him, and slowly crawls up to sit between his legs. The sheets make an ominous rustling noise as he does so. Harvard places a socked foot on Aiden's thigh to stop him, just far enough that he can focus back on the conversation at hand.
"I didn't see you this time around."
"Oh," Arune pauses. "Got hurt last week during practice, thought I'd sit this one out."
"Oh, shit—?"
Aiden's hand inches up his leg, suddenly, like the phantom feeling of a spider on his skin. He bats it away, as Arune makes an ehh sound over the phone. Aiden's brow furrows.
"Nothing serious, just a bad back. Still, better safe than sorry, no?"
"Uh, totally," Harvard swallows, as Aiden's hand inches closer again. "Hold on— one moment."
"Yeah, no prob—"
Harvard mutes the call at record speed, before picking up Aiden's hand. Aiden looks barely apologetic, and much too scheming.
"What are you doing?"
"Sucking you off?"
"I— what do you think you're doing?"
Aiden tilts his head, in that gorgeous way of his that made Harvard weak at the knees. His hair, which Harvard has the urge to wrap around his hand and pull— to stick some sense into him, or to guide him to pleasure— falls in graceful waves, as if practiced.
It is a practiced pose, because Aiden knows he can get anything he wants with it. Harvard is well trained against Aiden's tricks, but even he is human.
Aiden smiles, pink lips over white teeth. "I want to suck you off. Can't I?"
"Fucking— now?"
"I've been waiting all day." Harvard raises an eyebrow, pointedly, and Aiden raises one back. "What? You're hot when you win. Would've gotten on my knees there, but, you know, didn't think you would've appreciated it quite as much as I'd have."
Harvard decides to pointedly ignore that image as it springs into his mind. "And you think now's the time for it?"
"Your dick seems to think so."
Harvard tries, best he can, to readjust his position without drawing too much attention to the growing hard-on he's sporting. Again, he's only human.
Nonetheless: traitor.
"No." Aiden bats his eyelashes— not overly purposeful, but still intentionally enough that he draws attention straight to his pretty green eyes, and Harvard would really like to see those stare up at him from between his legs. No, he tells himself, and, "No, Aiden."
"No because you don't want to, or no because you want to but you're a little too prim and proper to let me do the dirty work of convincing you?"
Harvard groans, cursing whatever higher power made this man his best friend.
Aiden clicks his tongue. "Let's say, if you happen to get hard—"
"I won't—"
"If you do, I can just help out. Yeah?"
"That won't happen." Aiden raises an unconvinced eyebrow. Harvard points a finger at him. "It won't."
Aiden shrugs, moving back to sit on his heels, smirk playing on his mouth. "Then there's no issue."
Harvard stares at him, speechless, before Aiden nods at the phone, lost among the sheets. "Should probably pick that up."
Harvard all but scrambles to hit unmute, barely offering Aiden a warning glance. "Hey, sorry— sorry, yeah."
"No worries, I imagine you guys are unpacking— probably been a pretty hard day."
Aiden snorts. Harvard swats his shoulder.
"This competition hall is horrible— an insane amount of stairs, honestly."
Aiden gives him one last look, as he slides off the bed and makes his way to their bags, picking through them. Harvard watches him, weary, as he does so.
"No shit, it's the one with, like, four-hundred flights in it?"
Aiden straightens, tinkering with a travel-sized bottle of lube between his fingers. There's a thoughtful look on his face as he reaches over, shirt riding up his stomach, revealing a delicious strip of skin, and sets it on their nightstand. Well, Harvard's nightstand. Motherfucker.
Harvard swallows. "That's the one."
"God, we did a round-robin style thing there once— me, and the team, and it was…"
Arune chatters on about his team, which Harvard was usually more than happy to hear about— no, really. They routinely updated each other about their respective drill routines and team results, and this was supposedly no different.
Harvard watches as Aiden, slowly, too slowly, undoes each button of his shirt. Collarbone to navel, bit by bit, as each strip of skin is revealed, Harvard feels more undone himself.
It doesn't help when Aiden shuffles out of his jeans, too. Stupidly tight jeans, which left nothing to the imagination and yet still garnered an imperceptible, tiny gasp out of Harvard when dismissed.
Aiden was beautiful, and he knew this, and this made him very, very dangerous. To many people, but especially to Harvard, who, by virtue of being in love with him, would do anything for him, would find a way to give him anything he wanted.
Aiden looks over his shoulder, gaze electric, all of that attention set right on him.
He's made up of long, gracious legs, bare, interrupted by short, tight black briefs that define his ass— and the planes of his stomach, smattered with fine blonde hair, and the curves of his arms and chest, framed in the golden lighting of their bedside lamps. Harvard knows how every inch of him tastes under his tongue, feels under his hands, looks like when splattered with sweat and love-bites and cum— he'd spent years wondering through glances, and then years learning through practice.
Still, the memory of sensation never satisfies him as much as the real thing can, and Aiden is real, blood and flesh, one short stride away from him.
And then coming towards the bed.
And then crawling across the sheets to him.
And now sitting between his legs, head cocked to the side, green eyes pinning him to the bed in the semi-dark.
Harvard swallows. He is definitely hard, and Aiden definitely knows, because that stupid smirk spreads across his lips again.
Aiden points at his crotch, ridiculous, and mouths, For me?
Harvard almost forgets he's on call, and almost goes to respond out loud— he's not entirely sure what he's going to say, and so he's glad when Arune reminds him he is, very much, still on the phone with one of his oldest friends.
"— so, yeah, you know, those stairs are a pain in the ass."
Harvard knows this, given that he'd carried both his and Aiden's bags up and down them multiple times. Aiden had claimed boyfriend status, as if Harvard wouldn't have done it for him anyway.
Harvard hums into the phone. "Not really looking forward to coming back here in September, honestly."
Harvard watches, willingly helpless, as Aiden runs his hands up his thighs, inching ever closer; soft enough to be teasing, but slow enough to make him feel every kiss of those fingertips on his skin.
"You got summoned?"
He swallows, as Aiden slowly leans down to press open-mouthed, messy kisses against his inner thigh. The shorts he's wearing ride up just enough for Aiden to kiss right up to the juncture of his leg and hip, and he shivers with the warmth of Aiden's tongue drawing lines of spit across his skin.
"Uh, yes— yes. First eight—" Aiden bites down, lightly, and Harvard has to shut his mouth to avoid a whimper falling out. He feels Aiden smile against his thigh as he kisses the bruise away. "First eight are admitted by default."
"Ah, that makes sense. You know who's up with you?"
Aiden sits back just enough for his fingers to dip below the waistline of his shorts, and Harvard swears he dies a bit inside at the sound he lets out. It's quiet enough that it goes unnoticed to anyone other than Aiden, who merely drops a kiss to his happy trail, nose poking his stomach.
"Yeah— uh, it's, I think— Hillstrom's there, and—" Aiden's fingers wrap around his length, and Harvard moves the phone so he can press the back of his wrist to his mouth. Aiden gives him a grand total of two seconds to adjust before tugging his shorts down fully, and wrapping his lips around the head of his cock.
Harvard has to bite down harder. The sight of Aiden— with his soft, pretty hair, and his pink cheeks— looking up at him from between his legs, mouth full, lips wrapped around him, has never, and would never, cease to have this effect on him.
Once he manages to get his heart-rate under control, he sets his phone to his ear again, and tentatively places a hand in Aiden's hair. Not pushing, or pulling, and only barely twined through his hair. Just as a reminder.
Arune's voice cuts through the static in his mind, and over the phone. "Harvard?"
"Yeah— yeah, sorry, had to check. Hameed's with us too. And Berré— fourth place."
"Surprising he'd sit that low."
"Yeah. Aiden threw him from the running."
He feels Aiden smirk, the shape of his lips curving over velvet skin. Aiden had been a bit more vicious than necessary in that bout— Harvard had just about managed to catch it in its last period after ending his own semi-final. Aiden wasn't technically more trained than Marcel, but tiredness worked on people in different ways, and so did long-standing stashes of spite. And with spite, Aiden could pull off pretty much anything.
He almost chokes as Aiden swallows around him, redoubling his efforts. The slick sounds of his work aren't exactly quiet, and he tightens his hold on Aiden's hair just enough to have him pause. It thrills him that Aiden listens without so much as a word spoken from him.
Slowly, Harvard pushes him down, down, down, until Aiden's nose pokes his abdomen.
The strain shows in his shoulders, how he rejects the need for air for just a moment more, then another, then another. Harvard knows he can take it, and so he strokes his hair with a shaky hand and bites his tongue as Arune keeps speaking to him over the phone.
Holy fuck.
"No shit, really? Has he still got that stupid petty dispute with him?"
Aiden makes a noise of protest, letting up for air just to send Harvard a look that says murder. Petty dispute was to Aiden a heartbreaking display of his own cowardice, or so he said.
He somehow manages a breathy laugh that's not too unsteady. "Yeah. You could— you could say that."
Aiden gives him a displeased look, eyes stormy. Harvard opens his mouth to whisper an apology, but Aiden gives him a smile and redoubles his efforts— his tongue swirls, licks over the head of his cock, then down, down, drawing a line of wetness against his skin. When he rises back up to take him into his mouth again, Harvard's entirely unprepared, and just barely manages to move the phone away as he moans— broken and needy.
"You think the two of you'll be in town any time soon?"
He brings the phone back to his ear, just a slight sluggish nature to his limbs. "Yeah— yeah, what were you thinking?"
"Maybe a dinner? Or we could do lunch. There's this really nice place by the city center, I think you two might like it, actually—"
Aiden does something with his tongue, and Harvard chokes on air. He recovers just quick enough to verbalize his, actual, very real interest in planning lunch. "Really—?"
"Yeah, it's really very tiny, but intimate, not stifling, and perfect for—"
Aiden looks up at him, pretty and perfect and still moving under his hands, and Harvard really, really, can't do this.
Aiden hollows out his cheeks.
Holy fuck.
"Hey, sorry, um, Coach's on the other line, give me a moment—"
"No worr—"
Harvard hits mute and throws his phone— well, somewhere, he's quite unsure where— and wraps both hands in Aiden's hair, easing him up and down, warmth engulfing his core. His mind grows a bit fuzzy around the edges, chasing release with every twitch of his hips. Aiden's fingers dig into his skin, holding him to the bed, keeping him from bucking into his mouth, and Harvard can't help the choked out sounds that leave him— undignified as they are, Aiden knows how to drag them out of him at every turn.
The very visual of Aiden moving up and down his cock, hair bobbing between his hands, the expanse of his body at his hands, is enough to make him feel slightly faint. His orgasm builds quicker than he anticipates, a tight coiling in his gut that he can't help but chase, endlessly, into Aiden's soft mouth.
"Aiden— Aiden, Aiden—"
Aiden doesn't stop, and, if anything, moves faster, pushing him over the edge in just a few more moments. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Harvard isn't exactly sure what the timescale is here, as he groans and spills down Aiden's throat.
Aiden swallows around him, and Harvard shivers, oversensitive and spent, making an almost wounded noise. Aiden smirks around him, hollowing his cheeks one last time, just to be a bit of a dick, and pulls off. He even goes so far as patting Harvard's knee as he tugs his shorts back up, before letting his hands wander back up Harvard's body, as if at his mercy.
He kind of is.
The coarse hair of his crotch sticks to his skin with saliva, and Harvard cringes as Aiden drags a hand through it, soft and barely-there.
Aiden leans in, pecking him on the lips. Harvard can taste himself, salty and twangy on the soft skin of Aiden's tongue, and he chases after that taste with an embarrassing lack of restraint. Aiden smiles, giggles spilling into his mouth, and pushes him off with a hand to his chest.
Harvard barely contains a, rather pathetic, whine.
"Better pick up, babe."
"You're disgusting."
He says it with no real heat, and Aiden shrugs, one finger picking up a bit of moisture and stickiness in the corner of his mouth, placing it on his tongue. He looks completely unbothered.
Harvard stares at him, and Aiden raises an eyebrow, as if he doesn't know exactly how gorgeous he looks.
Harvard doesn't really think he's disgusting. Even the disgusting bits of him— he wants. He wants so bad he aches with it, could one day die from just wanting every part of Aiden. And Aiden, knowing this, merely winks his way.
Harvard sits up and places a kiss to the side of Aiden's chest, which sits at his eye level. It'll have to be enough for now.
He leans back and finds his phone halfway under his pillow. He unmutes the call.
"Hey, sorry."
"Eh, when Coach calls, Coach calls."
Harvard scratches the back of his neck. "Yup."
Aiden mouths, Now that's an idea, and Harvard swats him until, with another silent laugh, he falls over and spreads out on the bedsheets next to him.