Pintel tastes like salt water and sea breeze and just a trace of cheap rum drunken so long ago. He has a taste. Ten aching years of emptiness have left Ragetti with only the faintest memory of what feeling is like. He is as one awakened from a long sleep rediscovering what it is to live. The palest scent and the subtlest sound are as sharp and vivid as the noon sun. Now Pintel's taste, his touch, his smell, simply *him* pressing down on Ragetti hard and heavy and hot is so intense it almost hurts. Their mouths meld together in a frantic dance, giving, taking, needing.
Pintel's hand slides under Ragetti's shirt; his calloused palms move eagerly over his chest, warming his skin. Thick thumbs tease his nipples and a strangled moan flies from his lips into Pintel"s.
"Take this thing off."
Pintel"s voice is hungry and hot on his skin. He doesn't wait for Ragetti to comply, but begins to take the shirt off himself. Ragetti lifts himself up on his elbows and shifts his arms to allow Pintel to pull off the cloth. Pintel"s hands swiftly move to Ragetti"s belt. Ragetti pushes Pintel's shirt and jacket off his shoulders.
"C'mon, Pinters, you too."
With a grumble, Pintel stops working on Ragetti's half open breeches, yanks off his own garments, and throws them away, not caring where they land. Both their breeches are off in a flurry of movement. As soon as the last trouser leg is kicked off, Pintel falls atop Ragetti again.
A current as strong as the white fury of a lightning bolt crashes through Ragetti's veins. The shock of bare skin on bare skin is so loud that he has to bite back a scream. Pintel's mouth is on his throat; he feasts on it like a starved man, drawing a ragged groan from Ragetti. His warm tongue feels like the caress of the incoming waves of the sea on his skin. Ragetti rubs his legs against Pintel's, craving more contact, more skin. As he shifts his hips his hardness suddenly touches Pintel's and the flame that burns in his belly suddenly flares through his body. Pain and pleasure mix on his tongue as Pintel bites down harder than intended and his groan rumbles through him. They thrust frantically, desperately against each other and though every whisper of skin on skin is ecstasy unimaginable it is not enough. Ragetti grips Pintel's back so hard that raised, red furrows form under his fingernails. He wraps his legs around Pintel's to bring himself closer, closer. The hairs of Pintel's beard tickle his collarbone but they are as tiny, bright sparks in a bonfire. Ten years of maddening thirst, ten years of agonizing hunger, not for drink or food but for this passion, this heat that burns within them and consumes them like wildfire. They move faster; so close now, so good and it's been too long and Pintel's mouth is on his ear and he's murmuring a rapid litany 'love you love you love you' and now he *is* screaming as the fire in his blood explodes.
Ragetti falls back, eyes closed, too warm and happy to give heed to anything for a long while. Lingering traces of pleasure thrum through him in gentle waves.
Warm lips touch his good eye.
"Oi, Rags, don't fall asleep on me."
"Not asleep," he murmurs, opening his eyes. "Jus' enjoying the quiet, ye know. Been a while since last I done that."
Pintel chuckles softly. "Aye, that it 'as."
He lifts himself off Ragetti and lies at his side, his head resting on his shoulder. He idly caresses his lover's chest.
"I'd almost forgotten what it felt like," Ragetti says softly.
Pintel contemplates this for a moment.
"Me too," he says, just as quietly.
"But it felt different this time. I don' know, sorta new."
"I know what ye mean, Rags. We're living again, rediscovering everything."
Pintel kisses the soft skin next to his face; Ragetti feels his lips curve in a smile on his neck.
"Yer warm now." His wandering hand lingers at Ragetti's hip. "I missed that."
The calm that had enveloped Ragetti rapidly dissolves with each new teasing touch. Shifting onto his side, he grabs the back of Pintel's head and pulls him up to meet his mouth. This kiss is slower, but no less fervent. He savors Pintel's robust flavor as if it were fine wine, yet this is far more sweet and intoxicating. It is a taste that he had been addicted to and would soon be addicted to again.
They separate only so that they can breathe.
"I missed this," Ragetti says breathlessly. "I missed you, yer taste, yer touch, being with you and not feeling cold bones under me 'ands." His hand moves from Pintel's head to his chest and rests over the spot where his heart lies. Pintel's heartbeat is strong and sure under his hand. "This." There is a small tremble in his voice.
Pintel frowns. "Wot's wrong?"
"Nuthing." He doesn't look at Pintel, but instead concentrates on the steady thump under his fingers.
Pintel's larger hand closes over his.
"Rags, look at me."
Ragetti reluctantly lifts his gaze to Pintel's.
"It's not going ter stop beating, not anytime soon."
"I know, Pinters, it's just--"
"Just nothing. My heart's going to keep on beating and so is yers and we are going to keep on living and feeling, savvy?"
Ragetti smiles, somewhat sheepishly.
"Good." He brushes their lips together in a quick kiss. "I don't want ye to be doubting that."
Ragetti looks at his hand encased between Pintel's hand and body. Pintel's warmth penetrates his skin and travels up his arm into his being, calming and comforting him. Every beat of that precious heart is a promise to him, a promise that they will never have to suffer such deprivation again, that the love between them will always be there, unshaken by any other adversary life throws at them.
His smile broadens into a happy grin and he turns his hand over so that he is holding Pintel's.
"Don't worry, Pinters. I won't."
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