onlythebranch | (no subject)

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rowan

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These days, Mad Sweeney lives in a fucking cemetery.

It's for the best. Spike had found him a solution just like he'd asked, one that he hopes will hold over until his luck gets bad enough that he just up and dies, and it's not the most uncomfortable place he's ever laid his head. The mausoleum is cozy enough, fixed up from when Spike lived in the damn thing, and it means every time something goes wrong, the only people around are the dead and they're not exactly in any real danger.

He doesn't tell anyone where he is. When they text, which they do -- and ain't that a weird fucking thing -- he answers, but he doesn't give out any information. He can't. They're all important in their own ways and he can't risk their lives just because he's a lonely piece of shit. He's always been lonely, he can suffer through it for a few more weeks until the luck takes care of him.

And he's resigned to it now. His death. Used to be he feared it and then he'd fled from it, then he'd gotten in over his head with Wednesday because he thought he owed a death on a battlefield. Now it's coming for him whether he likes it or not, whether it's owed or not, and he's prepared.

Doesn't mean he's not going to go out without being able to smoke and drink right up until the end. He tries not to go out when there'll be others around, but sometimes it can't be helped, and he's creeping out of a nearby corner store, the sound of the owner's curses at his back -- seems all the glass bottles of booze had shattered only seconds after Mad Sweeney paid for his -- when he catches sight of someone familiar.

Someone, he realizes, he can't fucking kill.

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Rowan has no idea what he's doing but reflexively sucks at the head of Sweeney's cock, swirling his tongue around the sensitive skin more easily now. He's playing at helpless here, and it's easy to forget that he could fight this, not when he's got Sweeney's weight bearing down on him and his cock in his mouth.

He feels about to be used and... he likes it.

He doesn't spare a moment to think about what that means but looks up at Sweeney, ready and wanting him to take more.

There's something in that look that surges through Sweeney, a rolling wave of heat that washes down his spine and heads straight for his dick and he can't help but thrust into Rowan's open and willing mouth. He's still conscious enough not to be a complete asshole. He's not about to shove himself down Rowan's throat, heedless of any choking sounds he might make, but he can't not thrust into the warm, wet heat.

"Just like that," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. Something like this, even in this state, he wants to be encouraging. There are so many ways in which he could completely fuck this up, fuck up Rowan, and he's not inclined toward that. Wherever else he goes, Sweeney wants Rowan to at least like all this shit.

Sweeney's voice sends a shiver down Rowan's spine, but there's only so much he can do about that, so much that he can think about that, when he's on his back with a man atop him and a cock in his mouth. His senses are fairly well overloaded with just the sound of Sweeney's and his own breathing echoing in his ears, as well as everything else.

Rowan moans around the dick in his mouth, sucking on the head when he can, vaguely remembering to lick at the underside with his tongue. He's not skilled but he's eager and, at the moment, completely without shame.

There's something so fucking attractive about someone who's eager, who wants to try, even if they don't have the experience to back up what they're attempting. It always makes it so much better than someone who thinks they're a fucking expert and no longer gives a shit.

Sweeney knows he can have a tendency to fall into the latter category. There have been times in his life when even sex has become boring, but this sure as fuck isn't one of those times.

Still careful not to fucking choke Rowan, he begins to thrust shallowly into his mouth. Every time he pulls back, the cool air on his slick cock makes him shiver and he pushes back into Rowan's mouth again.

Every time Sweeney pulls back, Rowan lifts his head as best he can to follow, opens his mouth to accept him back in with a grateful little noise, a groan or a moan or a keening soft exhale. His hands travel up and down Sweeney's thighs and ass, squeezing, caressing, encouraging.

He loves this. He actually loves this and wants more of it. There's something about being helpless like this but knowing that Sweeney won't take full advantage that relaxes him and arouses him.

"More," he mumbles against the head of Sweeney's cock when he pulls out.

None of this is faked. Every time Rowan moves with him or moans, it comes from somewhere real and that makes Sweeney appreciate it all the more. He's been with people who don't necessarily care, who are only in the moment because they think they ought to be, and while he's gotten better over the years at not letting those situations get too far, sometimes it's not always easy to tell. Sometimes a person seemed engaged and then suddenly loses interest.

That sure as fuck isn't the case here. It makes Sweeney groan again, especially when Rowan asks for more, and he braces himself carefully against the floor and then lets himself go. Bit by bit. He's still careful not to hurt him, not to do anything that Rowan doesn't want, but he's less careful in general. He's sliding in and out of his mouth, heat building in his balls, in the base of his spine, spreading out through his groin.

"Fuck," he grits out. "You're so fucking good."

Now there's truly nothing that Rowan can do but lie back and take what Sweeney gives him. He tries to do what he can, the little extras like pushing up with his tongue against his cock, hands settling against Sweeney's ass to encourage and hold on. But for the most part, all he can do is accept and be used.

It's not lost on him that Sweeney's not going as hard as he could be, not as wild as he could be. And Rowan's grateful for that, even if a part of him wishes the other man would go wild. But this is more than enough to satisfy him, to overwhelm his senses.

He moans at the little praise, eyes flicking up to try to catch Sweeney's. They're watering a little, but he's not backing out of this.

There's sweat beading on his forehead, between his shoulder blades, across his chest, and Sweeney groans again, knowing he's close. Close enough that he opens his mouth to warn Rowan, even if the only thing that spills out of him at first is another low, throaty moan.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he breathes. "I'm gonna come, I'm-"

If Rowan needs to pull back, Sweeney won't be bothered. He'll be just as happy coming on his chest as he will be in his mouth, but he needs to give the option.

Were Rowan thinking rationally, he would realize that this is probably not the best position to be in when Sweeney comes. He's craning his neck to get the most of his cock into his mouth, focused on licking and relaxing his throat and jaw. He's already making barely there choking noises, but in the encouraging way, the wanting way.

But he wants this more than he can thinking smartly. He wants Sweeney to do whatever he wants to him. And if that's come in his mouth...

Then Rowan's going to moan around Sweeney's cock, flick his eyes up to try and catch his gaze. He's not going to move away at all.

Rowan doesn't pull back and when he looks up, when their gazes lock, that's all the permission Sweeney's body needs. He feels like his brain is playing catch up, like he's lost somewhere, running behind, and then there's fire in his belly, coursing out of him as he comes.

A shuddering moan is dragged out of him, his fingers clenching for purchase on the stone floor and finding none. He's trying hard to pay attention, trying to make sure he doesn't fucking choke Rowan by accident, but all those thoughts are so distant. His hips roll forward, rolling himself deeper into Rowan's mouth as he comes, feeling as if he's being wrung out.

It's impossible for Rowan not to choke a little at first, Sweeney's cum hitting the back of his throat because of how deep he is. But Rowan swallows reflexively, around Sweeney's cock, swallowing down his cum as eagerly as he has taken on every other aspect of this night. He coughs a little and finally pulls back when Sweeney allows it, gasping for breath.

He licks at his swollen lips to be sure he has every last drop and gazes up at the other man.

"Shit," he mumbles.

Sweeney knows he needs to move, needs to roll off before his bad luck takes hold and he really does choke Rowan somehow, but the way Rowan just fucking swallows, how eager he seems, the sight of him licking his lips makes the strength go out of Sweeney's legs. For second he thinks he needs to close his eyes.

He's still bracing himself hard on one hand, breathing heavily, and when he finally opens his eyes again, he can't help but crack a grin.

"Gettin' pretty damn good at sucking cock," he says and it's both a compliment and a bit of a joke. Something to bring the air back into the room so he can finally roll to the side and collapse on the back.

Rowan manages a huff of a laugh, one that catches in his throat and makes him cough in a strained way. His throat is a touch sore, he notices, and his jaw and neck hurts from the somewhat awkward angle he's been in. But on the whole he feels very, very good.

"That wasn't sucking, that was--" Well, it was what it was. Rowan stays where he is, sprawled on his back beside Sweeney.

"That was good."

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