Home is Where the Heart Is.	   Home is Where the Heart Is. by
Spikesgirl58  
 

He walked through the apartment with an economy of movement. Sixteen hours
on a plane, packed into a cramped seat sandwiched between a young mother
and an overweight business man had sapped nearly every ounce of resistance
that he possessed. Through sheer effort of will, he'd made his report to
the Old Man and dragged himself home. Once inside the door, he could feel
the stress start to slide from his shoulders as snow slid from a
sun-warmed roof. Sanctuary, peace, and a welcomed chance to let his guard
down wormed their way into his consciousness as he dropped his suitcase
and headed directly for the bedroom. 

Cracking open the bedroom door, he smiled at the lump that was curled up
in the middle of the bed. Knowing that his partner would be asleep at this
late hour, he'd showered at headquarter, changed quickly into the extra
suit hanging in his locker and high tailed it home. Now all that remained
to strip off and crawl into the beckoning warmth of those bed clothes. 

Ah, bliss, pure and absolute bliss, he thought as he slid in between the
sheets and settled down beside the bed's occupant. The familiar scent of
his partner filled his nose as he snuggled closer, draping his arm over a
trim waist. 

"Your feet are freezing," the lump protested, a pillow muffling the words.


"Yes, it's cold outside." 

"You just get in?" 

"A couple hours ago." 

"Success?" 

"Depends upon whose side you're on, I suspect. UNCLEone, THRUSH, zero." 

"Good to know. Waverly will be happy." 

"Nothing makes Waverly happy." 

"He needs to get laid." 

"Speaking of such..." 

"Aren't you exhausted?" 

"Too much so to sleep, but it's also nice to just lay here and know there
won't be anyone shooting at me for the next few hours if you're too
tired." 

"I could fix that if you'd like." Fingers caught his hair, still damp from
his earlier shower. "I have something that will put you right to sleep...
eventually." A tongue found his earlobe and flicked it, then sucked it in.
A hand trailed up his side, stroking, checking, and searching for
non-existent injuries. It paused on his chest, found a nipple and squeezed
it hard... just the way he liked it. 

He sighed, arching into the touch and the lips abandoned his ear, moving
down his neck in a series of light nips and sucking kisses. He'd be a
marked man tomorrow, but that didn't bother him. His partner knew enough
to keep the marks below the collar line, easily concealed from prying
eyes. 

His hand caught a handful of soft hair as he held the mouth closer,
encouragingly, his breath catching as the lips, tongue and teeth
obligated. As a much younger man, he'd never really understood the
attraction of foreplay. It always seemed to just keep him from his main
objection, but now, he welcomed it, begged for it, desperate to feel the
touch of his partner's hands and mouth upon him long before desiring the
pain/pleasure of penetration. What he once welcomed was now more of the
beginning of the end. Until then, his world was stopped, held in perfect
balance by just one man. 

The mouth, the hands, they never stopped, but continued to move, exploring
his body just as his own hands roamed. Achingly familiar planes and
valleys tickled his fingertips until it became too much and he needed more
and his fingers gripped and clung, anxiously for the firm, hard body
beneath the soft skin. 

So close, he thought, too close and he used those same hands to drag his
partner back up before that talented mouth could find his penis, those
fingers, some place even more pleasant to tempt. 

Mouths met, each of them groaning as tongues wrestled for dominance, both
demanding, both prepared to acquiesce. Insistent and very wet, their
tongues tangoed with one another until he dipped his head back in
surrender. Instantly, his partner was at his throat again, abusing the
tender flesh there. 

Then, by unspoken words, they both knew it was time and the mouth fell
away to lick it way down his chest, stomach. The feeling of whiskers
against his abdomen, his thighs, and finally his penis made him groan, a
catching needful thing full of the feelings he couldn't quite express when
he was sane and sated. 

Moist warmth enveloped him and he sighed, as a hand held him pinned to the
bed. There was a whisper of breath against his pubic bone, ticking its way
through the coarse hair. Again, he moaned and was rewarded by a finger,
already slick and wet, tracing it way back, rubbing his perineum. Then
that moment of delicious pressure as it slid into him, soon joined by a
second and then a third, working him, preparing him for what was to come.
He smiled at the thought. He was to come, eventually, but not for awhile
yet... he hoped. 

That mouth, those fingers worked their magic on him and then suddenly they
were gone, leaving him gasping at the loss, a protesting whine cut off as
the fingers were replaced by something even more desired. He pressed back
eagerly, not willing to wait any longer. The momentarily pain blasted
through him, freezing him for a breath and then two until his body
realized what was being asked of it and relaxed. Then that first
delightful thrust and another... too sweet, too wonderful to last as long
as he'd liked. He fought it, held back as long as he could, but
eventually, his mind lost its control and need took over, ripping the
climax from him even as the man in his arms moaned his way through his own
release. 

Panting, he remained still, legs cramped, but unwilling to move and lose
the sense of connectivity he had with his partner. 

"I need to clean up." 

"Why? The sheets aren't going to get any dirtier than they already are."
He used the corner of a sheet to wipe the semen off his stomach and his
hand, knowing his partner was doing the same. 

"You have a point." 

"I always have a point, at times, even two." He felt the comfortable
familiarity of a much loved body press against his and he smiled. Home was
definitely where the heart was and his heart was anywhere his partner was.
 


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