Sleep was still not a smooth affair, not always. Sometimes he would fall asleep more easily, other times he would lie awake, with eyes open and yet unseeing, plunged into an odd headspace he couldn’t pull away from; and other times, like now, he would fall asleep, but then awaken suddenly, and not be able to gently fall into the embrace of unconsciousness again. It wasn’t a big problem, though he wasn’t happy about the pattern of disrupted sleep. He would try to sleep, and if it didn’t come, he would prop his pillow more firmly against the headboard and lean against it, and look over to the other side of the bed. Worshipfully. Endeared, Coriolanus’ hair spilled on the pillows, his stance relaxed and lax. He really didn’t look relaxed like that on many other occasions and it was a sight Sejanus cherished. He wore silk pajamas, and it felt like the natural transition, from staring away to fingering the collar of his top, and then sliding close, his scent, clean skin and roses, a delight to his senses. He buried his face in the crook of Coriolanus’ neck, his touch light, unassuming, the tip of his nose just grazing there. His body flooded with warmth, this gush of heat glowing inside of him, tingling to his fingertips, when he slid close, when the contours of his body molded to the side of Coriolanus’ body. He curled an arm over his tummy, over his waist, with languor, all touches kept unobtrusive. He took in a deep, slow breath, tracing a line to the base of Coriolanus’ neck with the tip of his nose, drawing his fragrance in greedily. He wanted to melt into him. Sometimes, when he held him like this, he was afraid to wake up the next day, eighteen again, having woken up from a self-indulgent, wonderful dream about Coryo. But this was reality. His reality, their reality.
He slid down a little, to keep his cheek flush to his collarbone, and his hand lightly pushed under the silky top, over the bare skin of his waist. He thought he could fall asleep, but it didn’t come, so instead, he pulled away a bit again, so he could watch him more comfortably, gaze drinking him in — the bridge of his strong nose, his petal lips, the tantalizing bit of his chest bared, he drew his fingers up, under his shirt, until they slid over his chest. He could feel his heartbeat, steady, a lulled pulse, so sweet. Roguishly, he pulled his hand away only to lean in and snap each button free gently, pushing tenderly at the fabric until he could take in the lovely view of Coriolanus’ chest, the sharp dip of his collarbones. His stomach felt hollow, aching suddenly, with hunger. His hand slid up in a tender caress, over his tummy, his chest, and he sidled up close, to press scattered kisses to his jaw, his cheek, over the bone at the top of his cheek, and into his hair. His breathing quickened, his heart rushing with need, his stomach twisted — he knew he didn’t want to stop there, and he didn’t. Coriolanus felt so languid, so pliable and soft, he kissed over his naked shoulder, venturing over to his throat, his kisses growing needier, his tongue darting out for a slick sweep, up over his chin, all the way till his lower lip. His eyes already black pools of need, endless, when his thigh curled over Coriolanus’ thigh, just enough for his hips to rock lazily against it, stifling a whimper with his teeth sinking into his lip. He gathered Coriolanus’ hand in his hand, it felt so limp, he held it and pulled it close to his face, kissed his wrist over and over again as he humped against his thigh like a dog, albeit more languidly, but still with a desperation that made his face feel hot. He kissed at his fingers, licked and sucked the forefinger over his tongue, almost certain Coriolanus would wake up any moment — tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, how needy, how rabid he felt and how quickly it came to it.
He climbed over Coriolanus, slotted between his thighs, leaning down to kiss his chest, rubbing himself against his groin, a full, deliberate contact, “Coryo,” he moaned, his breathing harsher, he needed, wanted him so badly it wasn’t a notion that he could even begin to grasp. Crazed, he slanted himself up a bit, reaching out to grab at the headboard, and began to thrust against Coriolanus’ groin in earnest, silk sliding on silk, skin burning for skin, but he took what he could, hand clutching over his thigh to wrap it over his hip, a slack connection. Coriolanus looked so, so gorgeous, his chest beautiful and pale, his hair tousled on the pillows, his cheeks tinged with the sweetest, faintest rosy color. He could feel the heat, prickling at his skin, making him feel clammy, his hairline felt sweaty. His breaths fell harder, little sobs and whines escaping now and again, and he could feel that Coriolanus was going to wake up — he let his full weight topple on him, ravenously taking his mouth, his soft, enticing mouth, he clenched his lips over his tongue and sucked, groaning, hands slithering up to hold at his face, to keep him in place, his head swam with pleasure.
It was a feverish dream which he could not escape from, though there was also no desire to escape. It was a cacophony of teeth and claws and burning skin. A passion play where the mind gave in to the temptations of the flesh and the air was thick and heavy with heat and want and need, where decorum and control were discarded unceremoniously. It was a feral sort of bliss and Coriolanus—whatever visage of him this one was—leapt into its ravishment with arms wide open.
Every touch, grope, and kiss seemed to pull to the surface what lied below: a lengthening of claws, a sprouting of spines, a curling of tail. This form was hungry, starving, and as Sejanus' form kept taking the pit in his stomach kept expanding. He wanted to tear him open and be torn open in turn, nuzzle and nestle amongst the warmth of organs and viscera, to be brought to fruition and completion. To enclose his lover's neck within his jaws as he feels him inside, pulsing in his core. It was all maddening and his skull felt as if it was about to burst from its seams.
Coriolanus' eyelids fluttered as the moaned word of his name traveled down into his subconscious. The heat was almost unbearable and he could feel it roiling in his abdomen and down to and between his legs. Perhaps now was the time to escape; he couldn't hold himself back for long. A spasm of his arm, a flaring of his nostrils. So close to breaking the surface. So close until—
The hand that was held limply grabbed at the back of Sejanus' head suddenly like a lunging snake and his eyes popped open as the weight of his body smothered him. The feel of that mouth upon his own made a shiver run the entire length of his body and he wriggled his tongue free from those lips before seeking out and biting down upon Sejanus'. The leg that was barely draped over Sejanus' hip tightened like a vice and he matched those desperate thrusts with his own slow drags, becoming aware of how hard he already was. It was all so achingly desperate.
He was far past the point of thinking and as his free hand swept from Sejanus' brow to his chest, mixing all those beads of sweat together, his breaths came harder. Every sharp inhale was pushed out into the furnace that was Sejanus' mouth with staggered moans. He didn't care that saliva was starting to drip down his chin, he would clamor for and savor every morsel that was dangled before him.