Detective au boys making out for a little new years, just, kissing, not much else I wrote this fast
Colour blazed across the black sky, the stars merely glittering after images of the fireworks that shattered both the dark and silence. Their booms reverberated through the city streets, the cheers and cries of people in plazas and hanging from their window joining them in a manic joyous chorus. Gold glittered over wet cobbles, violet and flaming crimson spilled over the river winding through the city, and silver fire made the moonlight all the more brilliant.
But to the two panting figures on a nondescript rooftop, the spectacle went unnoticed. Their flushed faces were periodically illuminated, red tinging each colour lighting up their skin, dark and gold hair chromatic under the fireworks. It gleamed off damp lips, flickered in half lidded eyes, and hid the thundering of their hearts. But in the end no riot or grand scene could distract Maxim from the feeling of Veerle's mouth against his own.
His hands hot against his chest. His breath spark and smoke filled over his cheeks and tongue. His gold eyes shattered with kaleidoscopic light each time they fluttered open. He tasted like honey and a forest fire and sharp iron. From the tea he drank, the cigarette heād snuffed out on the balustrade, the split lip heād gotten from a rough hit during their freshly solved case. But Maxim didnāt focus on that, didnāt think about the perpetrator bound in a room bellow, or the authorities on their way.
He didnāt think of much at all, besides keeping Veerleās body flush against his own and maintaining his balance no matter how much his knees shook. Focusing on staying standing despite how every tug at his hair sent sparks crackling down his spine. How the weight against him threatened to send him teetering backward. Heād hardly mind collapsing to find himself under Veerle, in his awkward yet sweet care, but heād prefer something other than cold stone at his back.
But that was for later, when they were alone in bed and he wouldnāt have to worry about fabric seperating him from the warmth of Veerleās skin. For now, he kissed back with a clumsy, desperate vigour. His teeth scrapped soft lips, flesh giving easily at a light nip, a gasping whine spilling forth and letting Maxim slip his tongue inside. At some point during their relationship heād realised Veerle enjoyed that. Heād correlated the pleased keen and tightening grip with the action, and dutifully added it to the slowly building list of his partnerās likes.
Maxim may not be an expert on a craft like this, far from it if he were being honest, but some part of him never stopped wanting to learn new things. And how could he not want to know how to make Veerle happy. How could he not want more of his kisses and affections and sounds.
Once heād been desperate for anything but, but the memory was a mere shadow in moments like this.
The detective snagged a hand in his tie, yanking him impossibly closer, chest to chest, their lips sealed tight enough to muffle their moans. Maxim wrapped his arms more tightly around him, tensing at the slight shock. His heart stuttered. His nails dug into Veerleās skin through his shirt. The pressure on his throat sent heat straight through every nerve and vein and startled a noise more whine than moan from him.
The uptick of smirk could be felt against his lips. If he wasnāt so preoccupied heād have rolled his eyes, or whispered something back to Veerle to prompt a similar sound, but he was in no mood to bicker. No mood for anything but more of this. More of VR-LA melting into his chest and mouth and his soft sounds turning his blood molten.
He was sure heād suffocate if they didnāt part soon, that Veerle would steal away his breath and leave him downing of the taste of his tongue and heat of his kiss. Maxim made no move to pull away. Firm and steady as he could he remained, holding him tight, letting him tease with light tugs at his hair and tie. He knew Veerle shook too, that it was too much yet nowhere near enough for him as well. Warmth seeped through his shirt and skin as the detective shifted against his chest, held in place as he wanted yet arching in and away with small weakening jolts.
Maxim had no idea how he was still standing, how he was not suffocating, but didnāt linger on the thought. Only Veerleās lips and hands and the press of his body. There, heād linger for eternity, if it would be allowed.
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