[redacted] inches

[dindjarinspornstardick]

unpreemp​:

That look in his eyes tells him he has done something right,  even if Harlan had tried rushing his agenda.   His cock lays soft and heavy over his hip and he hopes the dominant doesn’t think that means he’s uninterested (  considering the hardened peaks of his nipples,  the way his ass tenses and he releases,  he hopes not  ).   He can at least say for sure the other man likes what he sees. Baby,  Din calls him and it makes him shiver in delight.   He think the man could call him anything and he would love it.   But baby certainly does it for him.   During scenes,  he’s been called a little of everything.   Even slut has been used as a fond endearment.   But between the age difference and the fact the pet name just makes him feel small in all the right ways,  he can’t help but softly smile and nod. And then he’s finally getting permission,  he thinks,  to do what he’s been thinking about since dinner.   What he may have done beneath the table,  had his dominant been so inclined. He appreciates the kindness of the cushions because his knees just aren’t what they used to be.   He thinks he could still kneel for hours but not without something beneath him,  some kind of comfort.   Harlan wonders if he looks a little too eager setting himself up just right for Din,  obeying the sign.   He wants to look up.   Submissiveness and an eagerness to please keeps him obedient.   And with his hands behind his back,  chest arched out,  the familiar pose makes his cock twitch in interest.

Is it normal to think someone was made for kneeling in front of another? Din’s not sure. But he takes in the position of Harlan’s hands, the swell of his chest, and the way his legs are parted just so, and he thinks the man is perfect.

What attempts at testing his patience fall flat, given how excited Din feels himself. His fingers caress the swell of Harlan’s cheek, teasing at the prickling hair of his beard, and then slide to his chin to tip his head up.

Beau-ti-ful. The word is mouthed soundlessly, gently (he isn’t even sure if Harlan will know from the shape of his lips, but gods he hopes so), and Din’s fingers move up to press at Harlan’s bottom lip to part both petals open.

This’ll do, he signs, corners of his eyes crinkling in some sign of gentleness. It’d be sweet if not for the erection in his jeans, the heat in his eyes that won’t go away as he imagines Harlan’s pretty mouth wrapped around him. You can take my pants off. You can use your hands and lips to touch.

But you can’t remove my boxers until you show me you want it enough.

Din swallows. (He hopes it isn’t too restricting.)

[dindjarinspornstardick]

unpreemp​:

Better for him to concentrate on his task rather than the other man’s reaction.   Or at least,  that’s what Harlan would think if he was dealing with anyone else.   He has to pay attention in order to get his next instructions.   But Din already seems so pleased with him that the anxiety of getting dressed isn’t as …   Prevalent.   As overwhelming.   He doesn’t think it’s anxiety at all,  just anticipation.   The desire to please coupled with the hope he finds him pleasing to look at.   The way his eyes roam over his body,  however,  he thinks he has the answer to a question he may not need to ask. He can’t help but groan because Din keeps praising him,  over nothing.   Complimenting him,  like he’s being paid to do it.   Is this what he has to look forward to:  his self - deprecating thoughts being wiped away before they can truly root?   ❝ You’re the beautiful one, ❞  he somehow musters,  throat dry.   His eyes roll slightly as those rough hands touch him,  touch his skin,  make him arch and his hands grip the fabric so he can be good.   Do his best to be still. That very much goes out the window when fingers close on his nipple,  make his hips buck straight off the couch before he’s settling with a whine. What he wants,  more than to take off his pants,  is to suck Din off through his.   Get the denim wet with his tongue.   Open them just enough so he can make suck on the tip of his cock and make his boxers (  briefs?  ) translucent.   But Harlan has to earn that.   And so,  with the same showmanship (  and slowness  ) he had taken off his cardigan and shirt,  he does the same with his pants and underwear.   Or at least he tries.   It’s not as seamless,  with him having to lift his hips and push his shoulders into the back of the couch,  shimmy a little to get them over his hips and ass.   Eventually,  he’s sat before the other man completely naked. And he takes it a step further.   Reaches back to grip the couch,  spreads himself out in invitation.   All this is yours if you want it.

It’ll be difficult to take the image of Harlan’s back arched, beautiful and tight and because he’d been caressed in the chest, of all things, out of his mind. But it’ll be even more difficult to forget the way he looks with his arm raised, his legs spread, his beautiful body offered out like a buffet.

And how Din wants to devour. He has to swallow, even, because he wants nothing more than to trail kisses down Harlan’s mouth, and his neck, and his chest and his nipples and his belly until he can fuck his hole with his tongue, but...

He hasn’t undressed him to spoil him. (Not yet, at least.)

Din has to wet his lips, to remind himself with a deep breath to stay calm and in control. His fingers twitch with the inaction, but he shakes his head once and signs: I want you to impress me first, baby.

And for a moment he wonders if “baby” is okay. But he pushes the uncertainty aside, straightening his posture instead, and showing Harlan the palm of his right hand. All his fingers save for his index and middle curl inward; the tips of them point to the cushions of the couch.

Kneel, legs spread, arms locked behind you, eyes down.

Cushions should be nicer on Harlan’s knees, Din thinks, and he doesn’t want to push too far. Not on the first day.

[dindjarinspornstardick]

unsluttng​:

For someone who is nonverbal,  Din guides him better than some of the dominants he has been with.   When he wants his hands somewhere,  he simply places them.   It’s easy to understand that when his nose nudges upwards,  he wants Harlan to tilt his head back so he can get to the skin of his neck.   The way they communicate is already so seamless and it only makes the older man look forward to things more. He submits easily when Din kisses him,  groaning into his mouth and clinging to his biceps.   He could drop to his knees right here,  take him into his mouth if that’s what he wanted there at the front door.   He would be more than happy to lead him back to his bedroom,  wait for instructions.   But the couch …   That is certainly good too. Harlan can’t help the way he sways forward when the other man pulls away,  hands going to grip his shirt and bring him closer until he sees the raised finger.   His attention is immediately on him and what else he’ll indicate,  breath stuttering at the familiar signal.   He can do that.   He can be good,  give him a show,  even if the thought of so much attention on him makes his heart jump into his throat. ❝ Yes,  sir, ❞ he whispers, so eager to please. Shaking hands first push back the fabric of his cardigan,  letting it catch in his elbows.   His button - up is next,  soft skin revealed as he works from the top down.   The author isn’t as young as he used to be.   He spends more time tasting new cuisine than on his walks and it shows in the softness of his body,  the way his pants shift down and his belly folds over their waist slightly. He has a light spattering of salt and pepper hair,  soft tits as he’s been told.   Everything slightly jiggles as he pushes the fabric off and he wonders if it’s sexy,  like he’s trying to be,  or just embarrassing.   Wonders if Din likes it.

If Din couldn’t take his eyes off Harlan before, it’s utterly impossible now. They’re so close, so fucking close, and Harlan has just called him sir. This and the way his shaking hands betray his excitement are enough for Din to want to rip Harlan’s clothes off himself, but this is the first time he’s going to look at him, and he wants to remember everything. He wants to remember the way his hands move, which sleeve he pulls off first, how he lifts his body to make sure his shirt can leave it...

And, gods, Din’s breath sucks a breath through his teeth when his shirt is off entirely, devouring each line and curve of him and so hard in his jeans it hurts.

Good, he signs one-handed, still settled behind Harlan’s legs. You look so much better real. Better than I imagined. Beautiful. Tongue wetting his lips, Din’s other hand caresses the man’s hip, sliding up to the underside of his belly and higher still to his chest. His thumb brushes through the dusting of hair there, moving so he can rub at a nipple with the very tip of it expeirmentally-- is Harlan sensitive, he wonders-- before he rises to his feet.

Now, stood in front of the couch, Din keeps his head dipped to look down where Harlan is seated. The line of his dick is clear through his pants, thick in his denim, but Din pays it no mind. Not now.

Instead, he signs, Your pants.

The real challenge will be resisting the urge to bite his thighs as soon as he sees them.

[hahahahahahahahahahahalf-deacti]

[dindjarinspornstardick]

unsluttng​:

He’d been afraid that his desire and,  perhaps,  desperation would have made him clumsy.   But there’s no dropping his keys,  no mishaps.   Just the heat of Din’s body at his back as he unlocks his door and the tension,  anticipation.   He opens the door and doesn’t even know what the first step is but then the other man is closing it,  he’s reaching for him,  he’s … Kissing him.   Like he’s been waiting for all this time. The little exhale that Din makes is more than he’s heard from him all night and he whines into his mouth,  lips parting to give him access (  whatever he wants  ).   The leftovers land a bit harder than they probably should but what does it matter in the face of finally being kissed by Din.   There’s no worrying about where to put his hands because he’s lead so easily,  silently,  the other man knowing just what he wants.   It’s easy to obey and follow,  simple and endearing. Then he’s hefted up against his body and Harlan’s mind goes blank.                ❝ Din, ❞  he whimpers,  the arm not wrapped around his neck clinging to his back,  clutching his shirt.   ❝ Thought about kissing you … ❞   He’s momentarily distracted,  the need to breathe causing him to leave a series of pecks against his mouth.   ❝ The moment I slid around the booth.   Love the shape of your mouth and your hands and I want you,  I— ❞ He grinds against him,  cock soft but body needy all the same,  clenching around nothing and wanting everything.   ❝ Tell me how I can please you. ❞

The way Harlan says his name razes him from the inside out. Din shudders about this, kissing back each time their mouths meet, and even when Harlan needs time to speak all he does is press his lips to the man’s jaw to scrape his teeth over his beard, not wanting to separate even for a moment.

I want you too. Din’s nose nudges at Harlan’s chin so he can kiss the hollow of his throat and taste his skin with his tongue. I want you too, I want you too, I do.

His eyes flick to take a quick look at their surroundings, his legs starting to move, but the rub of Harlan’s body against him nearly undoes him entirely. Din realises, far too late, that holding someone close means he can’t sign, but he kisses Harlan again, tongue pressing past his lips to shut him up.

Both arms wrapped around him, Din strides forward until he can set him down on the couch, of all things. With Harlan’s back against it, Din crowds up in his space and nuzzles at his temple, at his cheek, and at the tip of Harlan’s nose before he gives him one more kiss, one more lazy curl of the tongue.

And he sighs again, low and sweet with pleasure, before lifting himself up enough to look down at Harlan’s face.

His right hand lifts, index finger lifted up to indicate Harlan listen. Then he draws a sharp ‘Z’ in the air, made so Harlan can read it the right way from where he watches him.

Take off your clothes, it demands, and with Din’s arm folded over the back of the damn couch as he looks down at him, it’s clear he intends to watch.

Slowly, he signs. Show me everything, angel.

[dindjarinspornstardick]

unsluttng​:

They’re in public.   They’re in public and yes,  Harlan had just admitted how much he wanted to put his mouth on the other man but …   In the face of being told to take him home and he could kiss him,  it doesn’t feel as inappropriate as that.   It’s just kissing,  someone else might say,  but they obviously haven’t looked at Din and his mouth. He whines,  melts as much as he can while standing.   It’s not just the hand touching the heated and sensitive skin of his neck but the man in general,  dominant and sure.   Even when he isn’t,  he’s wonderful.   It’s just been so long and he’s liked Din for a while and now,  here he is,  figuratively danging sex in front of him.                ❝ Anything you want, ❞  he says,  and not for the first time that night.   ❝ I’ll do anything to earn it.   I’ll …   I’ll tell you how much I’ve thought about you and how much I’ve thought of us together,  even without seeing your face.   I’ll tell you the things I like and the things I love and the things I’ve been too embarrassed to say,  just …   Please. ❞ Because being filled up by him is certainly at the top of his list.  At the moment,  he can’t think of anything he wants more.   He doesn’t even care which hole the other man uses,  whether he’ll gets to taste him on his tongue or leak down the back of his thighs.   He doesn’t even care if he comes,  something certainly achievable despite his older age.                 ❝ This way, ❞  he says,  pulling his hand from the back of his neck and entangling their fingers so he can lead them to his place.   The sooner,  the better.

Yes, is all that Din has to sign. It is the only thing that matters that isn’t Harlan taking him home.

He’s never been to a loft before. The thought is fleeting, however, compared to the way his skin seems to tingle with anticipation once they make it through the threshold. It’s inconsequential. It’s silly. It’s not nearly as important as shutting the door behind him (he’s not sure if Harlan told him to; he doesn’t care), catching the side of Harlan’s face with one hand, and kissing him like he wanted.

“Hhaa...”

It’s not quite a sound, not as much as it is a shuddering little sigh, but Din nips at Harlan’s lip and strokes the side of his neck as his other hand reaches down.

And maybe it’s brash of him to remove the bag of takeaway from Harlan’s hand-- it lands, pseudo-gentle on the floor-- but he wants Harlan’s fingers free. Din catches his wrist, guides his arm up over his shoulder, and with another breath his hands catch Harlan’s hips just so he can lift him and make up for what minuscule difference in height they have.

He doesn’t even pin the man against the wall. Instead, fingers burying in grey hair and curling, he holds Harlan to him and relishes the simplicity of being able to lift his gods damned partner.

[urhighnessbitch]

You don’t mind if I take my day out on you, right? Fuck all the anger and frustration into you? Bruise you and make you feel used? No, of course not, that’s what toys are there for after all

[carnalsuggestions]

there’s something about the way you whimper when i’ve got my fingers curled inside you that makes me want to utterly ruin you.

[unpreemp]

Her room smells like nothing but her and sex and she’s at least past the point where she’s just whining about it.   She’s experiencing a moment of clarity that she knows will go away with the next wave.   With a blanket wrapped around her shoulders,  leaving the tops bare,  her hair an unruly nest and the toy stuffed inside her deep enough to give her some comfort,  Gaea suddenly remembers her guest. She never knows when the Mandalorian will come.   He takes advantage of her open door policy on his terms and as a bounty hunter,  she can’t fault him.   She’s never not greeted him at the docks and she wonders if anyone was there,  if they led him to the room that’s become his (  theirs,  when she’s with him  ). She’s not thinking about her state,  not completely in her right mind.  All she knows is that she wants to hear his voice.   Which is exactly why she sits in front of her console,  types in the code to his room and pings him.   Even if she can’t see him,  hearing him would be more than enough …                ❝ Mando? ❞

@dindjarinspornstardick​

[dindjarinspornstardick]

At the sound of Gaea’s voice in the intercom system of his room, the Mandalorian’s hand moves away from his vibroknife as he stops cleaning it. There’s something different in her voice, something he can only pinpoint as distress, and while he’d chalked up her absence from the landing bay as a she just doesn’t have time today, that all situation, the strain he hears now makes his worry dial up to 11.

So the Mandalorian puts the knife down entirely, and the rag stained with red is set aside on the same table as he makes his way to the console in the room to mess with it as well.

“Gaea.” Her transmission is coming from her room, it seems. “Are you okay?”

The Mandalorian doesn’t comment on having noticed her absence. All he really cares about is her well-being, in the end.

[dindjarinspornstardick]

unsluttng​:

It’s difficult to give the waiter the appropriate amount of attention when Din is touching him under the table.   It’s not even anything risque but it’s more than he’s gotten all this time,  more than enough.   A hint of what’s to come,  he thinks,  because …   He said he wants him. The stranger assigned to them has his back turned when nails get involved and Harlan shudders,  eyes falling closed as he goes to grip and palm Din’s own thigh for stability.   He’s pretty sure he says you’re welcome but it comes out so stuttered it may as well be gibberish. Handles of his own bag in hand,  paper crinkling,  he steps into Din’s own space,  hand on the other man’s hip.   ❝ I walked here, ❞  he said.   ❝ My loft actually isn’t that far. ❞   Loft,  office and home:  a space that has to be all three.   And he doesn’t mind sharing it with his companion,  not even a little.                ❝ I want you to come inside, ❞  he says,  blunt and earnest.   ❝ If that’s what you want.   I just …   I don’t know what you intend and I know we want each other but I’d at least like to kiss you,  a lot,  and suck your cock,  if you’d let me. ❞ Everything on the table.   He’s still flustered,  signs slightly stilted.   It’s been a long time since he has wanted and been wanted in return.   And Din is just …   Checking a lot of the boxes he’s had since he was so much younger.                ❝ We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. ❞

Din’s brows raise in surprise when Harlan admits his home is close-by, but that surprise turns into a swift punch to the gut as he admits that he wants him in that home.

And that he wants to kiss him.

And gods, his jeans get the slightest bit uncomfortable as Harlan admits, honest as ever, that he wants his mouth on his cock.

Din doesn’t think about the pick-up truck he’s got parked. He’ll pay whatever tickets he gets when it’s relevant. Right now, all that matters is telling Harlan: Take me there and you can kiss me.

But now Din thinks about Harlan kissing him, about the eagerness the man already displays edging into desperation. He thinks of Harlan’s cheeks flushed pink and his lips kiss-swollen, and how he might thank him for that (I would be more than happy to be whatever you need me to be), or how he might even beg if Din went the route of delayed gratification.

It’s a good image. Harlan’s already flustered...

So the hand on his back slides up, finding the nape of Harlan’s neck like punctuation, and Din signs, You’ll have to earn my cock, though.

The idea makes his heart race, but once again a part of him wonders if that’s the right move. Harlan clearly wants him, and Din wants him too, and maybe they should just build on that... but he wants to watch Harlan, first. To know him. To see what waiting does to him.

Din’s fingers squeeze around the back of Harlan’s neck.

If you’re really good, I’ll even cum in you.

[unpreemp]

He keeps glancing over at Din because he doesn’t know what to say.   Because the other man hasn’t said anything. He tried to be nonchalant,  when he brought up his heat.   It’s natural and he tried to talk about it like he would with a patient (  and not the alpha who he wants to spend it with  ).   Suppressants,  at his age,  would do more harm than good.   Asking the Mandalorian is asking for trouble,  rejection,  a broken heart. A heat shelter seemed like the right idea.   Aldo is more than sure he would be able to find an alpha willing to help him.   It seemed the best solution …   Until he smelled the other man’s scent after he made it. Upset or not,  the truck is still parked across the street from the clinic.   He shouldn’t hesitate.   He should just go.   Instead,  with one hand on the handle,  he licks his lips before looking Din square in the face.   ❝ Promise you won’t leave without me. ❞

@dindjarinspornstardick​

[dindjarinspornstardick]

Din’s knuckles have been white around the steering wheel practically the entire drive. He’s a step below trembling with jealousy, and he hates that he is like nothing else-- his brain can’t parse through the alpha instinct, and truly, all he feels is sick.

Din knows that he has no claim, knows that these shelters exist for the whole point of safety, and he knows that this is a better course of action than Aldo going to some stranger, gods forbid. But Aldo has been with him over the past few months, has been travelling with him, has been by his side, and with the closed space of the truck cab, it’s him that Aldo smells like most. Aldo is pack, now. His pack. His scent is all over him and he hasn’t even touched him yet.

It doesn’t make sense (it makes perfect sense). Aldo shouldn’t want to find a shelter when he has him (shelters are indiscriminate and safe and good). In this, Din’s only barely able to keep himself together, his patience stretched thin like a rubber band. His throat is dry, his jaw stiff. His rage builds somewhere inside him. Aldo is on the onset of heat, and he’s about to leave his truck, and...

Despite the rational part of him demanding he just say goodbye and keep his promise like a friend should, the turn of his head in Aldo’s direction comes with a gaze sharp like the knife he keeps in his boot.

And Din’s hand signs no farewell, no platitude, no comfort, but a blunt: You should be going to me.

The animal in his head doesn’t even have the decency to be ashamed about it.

[amour-suggestions]

everything. your laughter, your lips, your voice, your hands. it’s everything.

[dindjarinspornstardick]

unsluttng​:

For a moment,  Harlan isn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry.   Laugh,  because,  well,  it’s funny.   Here Din has the power to get to tell him to do something and it’s to ask for the check.   Cry,  because they haven’t finished and yet it seems he wants to leave and … And maybe he doesn’t feel the connection.   That it died just that quickly.   He doesn’t have the courage to ask what he did.   His hands lift,  flutter,  clench into fists before he purses his lips and just …   Wonders. And then,  not for the first time,  Din blindsides him again.   And he does laugh,  relieved and bewildered and …   Hot.   Being told pointblank that he’s wanted hasn’t happened in a long time.   Having a younger,  attractive man be impatient to get him alone,  never.   And to look at him like that,  with his eyes so … Harlan’s hand is lifting to gesture for their waiter,  mouth curling up into a soft smile before smoothing into something more distant as he looks at the server.   He hopes he still manages to sound as put together as he usually is,  even as he clings to Din’s hand under the table,  lays it on his thigh this time.   He wants him too.   He hopes he can feel that in how he holds his fingers.

What nerves he might have had are eased with the sweet sound of Harlan’s laughter, and Din finds himself wholly infatuated-- charmed, truly, and then burned clean through as his hand is guided under the table to rest on Harlan’s thigh. Shit.

It feels like permission. Feels like Harlan won’t object if Din’s hand slips in a little further, feeling the shape of his thigh as he takes in a breath.

He doesn’t turn to look down at it. He doesn’t want to be obvious, and he is waiting for someone to come back. But with the consent to touch granted, his palm smooths a path down towards Harlan’s knee before his wrist twists, scraping the blunt ends of his fingernails back up the way his hand had come before squeezing.

Din does kiss Harlan’s temple, then, nose brushing lightly against warm skin with a sigh before he pulls his head back.

Thank you, he signs with his other hand. The other seems resolute in staying on Harlan’s thigh for as long as they have to deal with paying the bill, and is reluctant enough to leave when it’s time to put the food away.

But once he can touch Harlan again-- when they’re heading out of the restaurant with the takeaway-- he doesn’t hesitate putting a hand on the small of the man’s back to lead him along.

What did you take here? he asks. Your own car? Something else?

[dindjarinspornstardick]

unsluttng​:

The meal was delicious and is momentarily forgotten,  the author’s attention solely on the man beside him.   Once more,  Din proves that he cannot fit into a single box,  that he is neither the inexperienced and young dominant nor the one who has all the answers.   What he is is intoxicating,  from his expressive face to the way his hands move to how …   How easily he makes Harlan want him. Especially when his mouth shapes the single word.                ❝ You’re absolutely right. ❞   It’s a bit more breathless than his other statements,  eyes glancing between his signing hands and his face.   He’s never been with someone who is mute though he has …   Well,  he should just tell him.   ❝ I’m very intimate with hand signals as well.   But don’t worry,  I’ll …   I’ll want to have my focus on you anyway. ❞ He had been joking,  when he had told Din to be careful because they’re in public.   He’s familiar with public scenes,  moments between people who can’t keep their hands to themselves.   He’s older now,  more in control,  but his willingness to please a partner hasn’t dimished at all.                ❝ Oh yes,  please, ❞  he sighs,  leaning in in anticipation.   ❝ I would love one. ❞

Harlan’s eager disposition is a sharp thrill in Din’s chest, making his heart jump and his stomach twist. He nods, though, and signs, Ask for our check and takeout containers.

A part of him wonders if he’s being presumptuous, or if he’s pushing too hard, or if it might be selfish of him when this is Harlan’s favourite restaurant, but he tells himself that he’s here to learn. That if he makes a mistake, it’s all right. That-- as distressing as it might be to see Harlan’s dreamy expression shatter from his own stupidity-- it’s better to make mistakes now when he’s new to it, instead of later on.

Din isn’t used to asking for things or demanding them. And yet.

We can reheat these later. I want you now.

He punctuates the last sentence with a sharp motion for his last sign, but as much as he wants to look steely and strong and unaffected, the slight drag of his teeth over his lip and the brief furrow in his brow gives him away.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but Din’s eyes are warm with the most silent please.

[dindjarinspornstardick]

unsluttng​:

Oh,  he’s adorable.   Pointing to himself,  like somehow he must have been talking to someone else.   Yes, you,  he mouths,  delighted and grinning.   Din has already shown him so many facets of his personality:  the dry humor,  the flirt,  a hint of the dominant.   Harlan finds that he likes them all and him.                ❝ Well, ❞  he says,  hands free to at least sign that single word before he rubs his thumb at the corner of the other man’s mouth.   Wings can be messy and there’s lingering spots of sauce on both of them,  he’s sure.   He pops the same thumb into his mouth before continuing:  ❝ Definitely before we part at least. ❞ And he doesn’t want to think about that.   Wants to believe it’ll be a long while before it happens.   But Din is also a father and they’re working on his timetable. Angel,  he calls him.   And Harlan erupts into a blush like he hasn’t since he was a young man,  since the first time he let someone do what they wanted with him and they called him a slut like it was an endearment.   ❝ Yes,  Din, ❞  he murmurs,  fidgeting,  affected.   ❝ I’d like to look at you as much as I can. ❞

This is a potent fucking image, he thinks, with Harlan’s warm cheeks and his little shifts. With his lower voice, with the way he sounds more real when he admits what he wants. Harlan’s confidence is admirable and attractive, but this is addicting in a dangerous way.

Petnames, Din files away in his mind, work nicely.

So he praises him for his honesty, signing out, Good.

And if his lips form the word in shape without sound, that’s entirely for Harlan’s benefit.

It’ll be easier to command you when you look at me, he signs, shoulders rising slightly as he inhales, and when your focus is on me.

They dip when he breathes out next. Do you want a command now?

This is as much a genuine question as it is an attempt to slip a little further into the dynamic. Din’s gaze is unwavering, though, as he takes in Harlan’s face and commits it to memory. He knows they aren’t anywhere private, knows he can’t tell Harlan to do anything too racy... but something about the possibility of being listened to even here in a restaurant booth makes his stomach flip.

He doesn’t think about how much he wants to kiss Harlan’s cheeks, either.

[shisasan]

[dindjarinspornstardick]

unsluttng​:

It’s something of an overload.   Harlan gives of himself freely.   He volunteers,  compliments easily;  it’s second nature for him to do what he can to make people feel at least comfortable if not to put a smile on their face.   But to be complimented in return?   That’s new territory.   Which is why his smile fades into something a little mystified.                ❝ Flatterer, ❞  he says,  the word sound clumsy.   He feels clumsy,  almost knocking over his glass of water before he’s able to pick it up and drink from it.   When he told Din what he liked,  he hadn’t been prepared for it to be used against him so quickly.                ❝ Don’t look too hard or long;  you may get tired of what you see, ❞  he jests,  composed once more.   ❝ As for me,  have I told you yet how handsome you are?   I wish I was better at art so I could sketch you. ❞   The sigh isn’t completely just drama.   He truly wishes he had the skill.   ❝ I’ll have to settle for a picture to put into my phone instead …   If that’s all right with you. ❞

The reactions to the praise are delightful. Din fancies them-- takes note of the way Harlan’s fingers wrap around his glass, the way his voice had faltered because Din had done something he liked. It’s good. It’s all good.

But then Harlan talks of pictures, and with both his brows raising in surprise, Din points to himself as if there’s anyone else Harlan could be speaking to.

Of course it’s him. Being ‘handsome’ is inconsequential to him, but the thought of Harlan wanting a memory of him in his phone... that makes his heart jump a little, and the look in his eyes softens before he nods in agreement.

Now? he asks. The time doesn’t make much of a difference to him; he doesn’t seem to mind that he’s in the middle of eating at all.

Din sucks the sauce off his fingers before wiping them with one of the paper napkins on the table, and with clean hands signs a curious, Are you going to look at me while we’re apart, angel?

He wonders, faintly, how this pet name will be received. With Harlan’s bright, bright eyes, though, he thinks ‘angel’ might be fitting.