Dodger doesn't have any time to react, before Hector's knee cracks against the side of his head. It takes every inch of self-control not to bite down on him, but he chokes a bit and yanks backward to catch his breath.
He isn't sure what he did, but it was too much. Something was too much. He hesitants before worming his way between Hector's legs, gently sliding his hands back the musician's wrists to uncover his face.
"Hey. You're fine." He hesitates before stealing a soft kiss. "I'm sorry. I'll go slower."
There's a terrible moment when Dodger grabs his wrists that he thinks that that monster will be the one pulling at him. He tenses easing slow only because the grip is light, hardly a grip at all.
But his expression is twisted miserably, even when Dodger kisses him.
"That's not it. That not it." He shakes his head. "Wasn't you. I just remembered something. The songbird... I'm sorry."
Under the fear now, he just feels terribly ashamed. How embarrassing.
Dodger's brow knits, and he slips his hands around Hector to hold him. He'll tangle their bodies together as much as the man will let him, to let him know he's safe.
"Don't apologize. I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't know." One of his hands finds Hector's hair, and he runs his fingers through it softly, pressing another kiss to Hector's brow. "If you need me to stop, I will."
He still feels so stupid, half-naked like this but he lets Dodger move over him, wrapping himself around too. It makes Dodger a shield, but the danger's only in his head.
It takes him a minute, a long few minutes, before he can breathe right, let alone answer. He closes his eyes a while and just feels the man's warmth.
"Was before I met you." He's not sure why he needs to make the distinction. Maybe to say that it wasn't the demons of Hell exactly, not the same thing he pulled Dodger out of the bar for way back when. "They made monsters of men. He found me. I thought he wanted a song. He..."
He moves his hands. He turns them over, palm up. There's a sharp line on one and a messy scar on the other, a show of knives, one of them twisted. He's got Hell's healing to thank for moving them at all.
"Pinned me on a table in the kitchen. He took apart my guitar. And me." His hand traces over his own chest. There's a line along his collarbone, making a T shape down his sternum and stomach. "I can't remember it all. But he called me his songbird. He wanted me to sing. I'm such a mess. I'm sorry. I don't want to punish you because I'm... stupid. Just... just give me a bit." And as if Dodger would even say no, he asks, "Can I keep holding you?"
His brow furrows a bit, and he takes one of Hector's hands to press his lips to the scar. His lips travel down, pressing soft kisses all along his wrist and his arm.
"I..." He pauses, and lets out a quiet sigh. "Whatever you need. Stay close to me, just breathe."
In the meantime he slips a hand into Hector's hair, playing with the strands idly while he watches over him.
"Lots of people have been leaving, lately... you think that man's still around?"
He gives in to the feeling of Dodger playing with his hair. It eases his breath further. He'd almost forgotten the comfort he used to seek, the reason he'd ever felt he needed Dodger at all. He wanted the man more than he did then, but he also needed him less these days.
"No," He admits softly. "He's been gone a long time." Which is a solace, but also just shows how foolish this fear is. On the other hand... "It was never really him. The monster they made of him, he was nothing like the man he was. He was so guilty after. I didn't even recognize him until he spoke."
He's quiet for a long moment. He sits there listening to Dodger's pulse.
"I forget about him sometimes, would you believe that? It just doesn't cross my mind. But I think about him, those early days. Everything's different. You. Me. I wonder if I'd recognize myself."
He turns and he reaches out. He pulls Dodger closer to him and this time it's he who goes for a kiss.
"Thank you. We had a rough start... and some part in the middle... but I'm glad you're here." A beat. "Not in Hell, just in general. With me. Does that make sense?"
"You never call me stupid for being afraid of the men who hurt me. So don't call yourself stupid for what he did to you."
Dodger leans into the kiss, and then settles into the bed. His breathing slows and he just holds him, and that last admission makes him laugh under his breath.
"Sometimes you make me wish I could love you. That we could just... it could just me us. Like in that VR thing, but... better." He hesitates, "Traveling around, singing songs together, just... us. Not worrying about anyone else."
It feels like treason. The exact same way he'd strayed from Ivar the moment they became official, he's cast his eyes on a greener pasture. It muddies his expression, and the ghost of a smile fades from his face.
"I'm glad I have you, Hector. I don't know how I'd manage without you."
It hits like a pang, but he doesn't argue it. He wouldn't call Dodger stupid for all that. Never.
And so, he's forced to acknowledge his hypocrisy. For now.
He listens to Dodger's confession and it actually manages to draw his smile back. He shakes his head. Dodger might might be thinking this makes him stray but...
"No you don't," He says back, warmly. Fond. "You don't want to love me. Even in that dream I longed for home. To stop and simply be. I couldn't take a life like that. Not anymore. And if you'd caught me all those years ago, a younger man..." He laughs to himself. "No, I think that would still be too much chaos for the both of us." What a disaster that would be.
He brushes some of Dodger's hair back from his face.
"We would be better friends. Far better. If we could stop messing around."
"Then I'd follow you home. And we'd... I don't know. Get some dogs, adopt a kid. I'd run a bike shop and you could just make music for yourself. We could just let the world get on without us."
It's a pointless fantasy. And a dangerous one. But he can't help wanting to reach for that glimmer of hope, the thought of finally being happy.
"You're right, y'know. You're always right."
And yet even as he says that, his hands are straying down to Hector's hips and then down to grope his ass, while Dodger tugs him into a deeper, more passionate kiss.
"You'd hate it," He says, still gentle, but making up for the lack of reason and logic in Dodger's dream. "Presuming my family just didn't exist, my town is still small and the bikes you know don't exist yet besides. A dog would be another mouth to feed who couldn't help out, and we'd never be allowed a child between the two of us. I'd stop making music to take another job and we'd need the town to support whatever we did. We'd be forbidden to love, and after all that, you would still love Fran."
They have, as he's thought many times but perhaps not said enough, very different worlds. Dodger says he's always right and he leans into the man. He wishes that were true.
He's groped, the noise he makes lost in that kiss. And always, he kisses back, because he's weak and stupid and wanting. His heart has a piece torn out for this man. Yet, he feels like he's the one who's going to have to put some distance. He's a little dazed, more than a little longing, when the kiss breaks.
Still, he says, "You love Fran. You love him, not just wishing you did. He makes you feel different. And he hasn't asked all the hardest things of you. You'll figure out yourself and then you won't need to wonder these things that you do." He kisses softer. His voice turns to a whisper in Dodger's ear. "Take me this time. Then, next time, let's try it the other way, without this. Okay?"
Of course Hector has to be realistic. And it's not as if his own world would be any better. Hector would be a liability, Dodger would have to hide him away from the world or they would hide their love to keep Hector safe. Dodger's criminal record is four inches thick and he's classified as a high-risk mutant, he'd never be allowed to adopt. And Francis...
...He isn't sure he would still love Francis. The connection isn't as strong as the one Hector has with his wife. He's moved on so easily before, who knows how long his love for Francis will last.
It sets something off, gnawing at the back of his mind, but he tries to ignore it. Because Hector is still talking and fuck, it's exactly what he needs. The reassurance and... the offer. He opens his mouth as if to speak, wavering, but there aren't really words for what he's feeling. He just cups Hector's cheek and pulls him closer, kissing him almost desperately as his other hand tugs his shirt off, tosses it aside and guides Hector's hand down toward Dodger's belt.
He looks up into Dodger's face as the man tries to think of what to say. He can see that nothing's coming, but he's made a mark, and that's good enough. He leans into Dodger's hand, goes with the pull, and kisses back, hard.
He needs no further encouragement with this guided hand, he brings the other one down to join in working the thing off, working Dodger free. He brushes his hand over the fabric of boxers, pressing, stroking, then pulling back to work his own pants off further and kick them away. He keeps kissing, staying connected in this little way until he can bring his hands back.
Dodger's body heats up as Hector kisses him, as they struggle their respective clothing off and let it scatter on the floor. He moves on top of the musician, taking their cocks together in his hand and stroking them as one. He has to break their kiss to catch his breath, but he leans down to nip at Hector's jaw and neck.
"Fuck.." He hisses, and his breathing breaks up into a laugh, "You're so fucking cute, y'know that?"
He pauses then, about to say something else, but his brain catches up with him. At least, the part concerned with logistics. For the sake of it, though, he keeps that husky tone when he speaks.
He groans when Dodger takes hold of him. The broken kiss means his own breath is coming heavy. He moves to let Dodger bite at him, bring a hand up to the back of Dodger's neck.
And he laughs too, despite himself and breathlessly so.
"Cute. That one's new." And it feels more real that way.
But yeah, that puts a damper on things. He pauses, glancing around the room and idly stroking Hector while he thinks.
"Hold on."
He slides down the bed, pressing a kiss to Hector's hip before he sits up and fishes his pants off the floor. Somewhere in his pockets... yep, there it is. He crawls back to him with a small bottle, settling between his legs and running a hand affectionately over the younger man's side.
He hesitates for a moment, brushing the hair from Hector's face and kissing his lips. "You sure you're okay with this?"
He makes a faint noise to the kiss at his hip and sits up a little to watch Dodger. Part of it is simply watching the motion, basic curiosity, but once he's looking he can help but admire a little. It's still strange to think about, to find a desire in him that isn't fixed on the form of a woman.
His legs part a little when Dodger returns to him. He reaches a hand up to pull the man to him, kissing, and smiling into the gesture of brushed hair. This close though, it's hard to hide his expression and the way he fights not to make a face. It's a fair question to ask, and good that Dodger is thinking to ask these things.
"Dodger," He says softly, though the plaintive undertone remains. "I'm guilty, messed up, and confused. But that's not going away, I want you, you've been working me up for what has to be an hour, and I'm really, really..." He sighs. "Please. Just make love to me. I'm pleading with you."
The moment that Hector's expression shifts, Dodger's follows; there's a moment of nerves, wondering if he really did mess up. But.. no, he's just giving the man blue balls. And fuck, he can't help grinning.
"I love hearing you beg, though." He teases, slicking his fingers and rubbing them against Hector's entrance, "We could do better, though... like 'Dodger, please fuck me'."
He isn't expecting Hector to play along with that. Hell, he's really hoping it doesn't trigger anything. And as an apology, he makes sure to kiss the man while he's pressing the first finger into him.
He rolls his eyes but he can't help grinning too. Up until Dodger has him biting his lip.
He searches for something to do with his own hands, reaching up to entangle in Dodger's hair. The kiss is met eagerly but he still needs to catch a breath after.
"Dodger," He says, and for a moment it seems he's about to scold. But, pulling Dodger down, he whispers breathy in the man's ear. "Please fuck me."
Dodger hisses with pleasure, almost moans at the sound of Hector begging in his ear. His prep ends up a little rushed, but he keeps pressing breathy, desperate kisses to Hector's lips as he adds another finger and then a third, stretching him as roughly as he dares to.
"Fuck, Hector..." He finally does moan, but it's broken up by soft laughter, "That's so fucking hot."
He has to pause for a few moments, just to simmer back down because he's so fucking turned on he's almost shaking. He takes the moment to just kiss Hector, grope his ass and savor the taste of his mouth. When he finally pushes into him it's rushed and eager, pumping his hips until he manages to bottom out and then gripping Hector's hips to keep him close, giving them both a moment to adjust.
"What do you think..." He pants, tipping his head in that way that always warns that he's up to something, "Could you handle getting fucked hard and rough?"
He knows Hector likes it softer and that's... part of why he asks. It's another check-in, another reassurance, just masked a little better.
He hears that hiss, that near moan, can feel the falter in Dodger's movements and then the way he speeds up and he winces a little, but gasps too. He can't help it; he feels rather pleased with himself for having brought on such a reaction. When Dodger moans and laughs and praises him, he grins outright. His grin is crooked being half bleary with lust, but still, proud of himself.
So many of his own moans and noise have been lost between their kissing. But now, as Dodger grips him, as he feels that press, there's nothing to hide it and he groans loud. More, more, more, his body is stretched and then filled. Dodger, as he recalls, is hardly small, but somehow he takes it all as he knew he would. The rush of it makes his eyes water, but it's not so much that the pain eclipses all else. He's aware of the brilliant heat inside him and of the way Dodger grips his hips and he feels crazy for that sensation alone. He can't catch his breath, and it seems, neither can Dodger.
He thinks about that question. As much as he can while his head spins that is. He asks himself honestly.
"I can handle it," He decides. He doesn't know if it's because it will be happening to him and no one else, or even if it's what he'd really like, but he's intrigued by the idea and the way the thought sends a shiver through him despite the heat.
He decides to add, just to see what would happen; "Please."
If they're being honest he'd expected another falter, another moment where Hector couldn't quite follow his pace. His head swims with the feeling of Hector's body tight around him, and he nearly comes on the spot at the sound of that please
But he catches himself, gripping into the headboard until he hears it buckling a bit, thinking about boring conversations or tax laws or anything that will cool him back down.
He lets out a low moans as he finally starts to move. One hand grips into Hector's hip and the other slips up to grip his shoulder, but his first few thrusts are slow for his own benefit as well as Hector. He works himself up steadily, lifting Hector's hips up a bit so he has just the right angle.
He wonders if he's done wrong, hearing the headboard creak above him. He's still catching his breath and in that he waits for Dodger to start, his heart racing with the thrill of his own uncertainty.
And then at last, he's gripped. His moan joins Dodger's in a faint chorus. He's surprised but grateful for the slower build-up. His arms reach up for Dodger, to touch, to lock around his neck, whatever he can do. There's no rocking his own hips back while gripping like this, but he tries to help, shifting his body whatever way he can to give what Dodger's looking for. Until another moan rings louder than the last.
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He isn't sure what he did, but it was too much. Something was too much. He hesitants before worming his way between Hector's legs, gently sliding his hands back the musician's wrists to uncover his face.
"Hey. You're fine." He hesitates before stealing a soft kiss. "I'm sorry. I'll go slower."
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But his expression is twisted miserably, even when Dodger kisses him.
"That's not it. That not it." He shakes his head. "Wasn't you. I just remembered something. The songbird... I'm sorry."
Under the fear now, he just feels terribly ashamed. How embarrassing.
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"Don't apologize. I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't know." One of his hands finds Hector's hair, and he runs his fingers through it softly, pressing another kiss to Hector's brow. "If you need me to stop, I will."
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It takes him a minute, a long few minutes, before he can breathe right, let alone answer. He closes his eyes a while and just feels the man's warmth.
"Was before I met you." He's not sure why he needs to make the distinction. Maybe to say that it wasn't the demons of Hell exactly, not the same thing he pulled Dodger out of the bar for way back when. "They made monsters of men. He found me. I thought he wanted a song. He..."
He moves his hands. He turns them over, palm up. There's a sharp line on one and a messy scar on the other, a show of knives, one of them twisted. He's got Hell's healing to thank for moving them at all.
"Pinned me on a table in the kitchen. He took apart my guitar. And me." His hand traces over his own chest. There's a line along his collarbone, making a T shape down his sternum and stomach. "I can't remember it all. But he called me his songbird. He wanted me to sing. I'm such a mess. I'm sorry. I don't want to punish you because I'm... stupid. Just... just give me a bit." And as if Dodger would even say no, he asks, "Can I keep holding you?"
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His brow furrows a bit, and he takes one of Hector's hands to press his lips to the scar. His lips travel down, pressing soft kisses all along his wrist and his arm.
"I..." He pauses, and lets out a quiet sigh. "Whatever you need. Stay close to me, just breathe."
In the meantime he slips a hand into Hector's hair, playing with the strands idly while he watches over him.
"Lots of people have been leaving, lately... you think that man's still around?"
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"No," He admits softly. "He's been gone a long time." Which is a solace, but also just shows how foolish this fear is. On the other hand... "It was never really him. The monster they made of him, he was nothing like the man he was. He was so guilty after. I didn't even recognize him until he spoke."
He's quiet for a long moment. He sits there listening to Dodger's pulse.
"I forget about him sometimes, would you believe that? It just doesn't cross my mind. But I think about him, those early days. Everything's different. You. Me. I wonder if I'd recognize myself."
He turns and he reaches out. He pulls Dodger closer to him and this time it's he who goes for a kiss.
"Thank you. We had a rough start... and some part in the middle... but I'm glad you're here." A beat. "Not in Hell, just in general. With me. Does that make sense?"
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Dodger leans into the kiss, and then settles into the bed. His breathing slows and he just holds him, and that last admission makes him laugh under his breath.
"Sometimes you make me wish I could love you. That we could just... it could just me us. Like in that VR thing, but... better." He hesitates, "Traveling around, singing songs together, just... us. Not worrying about anyone else."
It feels like treason. The exact same way he'd strayed from Ivar the moment they became official, he's cast his eyes on a greener pasture. It muddies his expression, and the ghost of a smile fades from his face.
"I'm glad I have you, Hector. I don't know how I'd manage without you."
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And so, he's forced to acknowledge his hypocrisy. For now.
He listens to Dodger's confession and it actually manages to draw his smile back. He shakes his head. Dodger might might be thinking this makes him stray but...
"No you don't," He says back, warmly. Fond. "You don't want to love me. Even in that dream I longed for home. To stop and simply be. I couldn't take a life like that. Not anymore. And if you'd caught me all those years ago, a younger man..." He laughs to himself. "No, I think that would still be too much chaos for the both of us." What a disaster that would be.
He brushes some of Dodger's hair back from his face.
"We would be better friends. Far better. If we could stop messing around."
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It's a pointless fantasy. And a dangerous one. But he can't help wanting to reach for that glimmer of hope, the thought of finally being happy.
"You're right, y'know. You're always right."
And yet even as he says that, his hands are straying down to Hector's hips and then down to grope his ass, while Dodger tugs him into a deeper, more passionate kiss.
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They have, as he's thought many times but perhaps not said enough, very different worlds. Dodger says he's always right and he leans into the man. He wishes that were true.
He's groped, the noise he makes lost in that kiss. And always, he kisses back, because he's weak and stupid and wanting. His heart has a piece torn out for this man. Yet, he feels like he's the one who's going to have to put some distance. He's a little dazed, more than a little longing, when the kiss breaks.
Still, he says, "You love Fran. You love him, not just wishing you did. He makes you feel different. And he hasn't asked all the hardest things of you. You'll figure out yourself and then you won't need to wonder these things that you do." He kisses softer. His voice turns to a whisper in Dodger's ear. "Take me this time. Then, next time, let's try it the other way, without this. Okay?"
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...He isn't sure he would still love Francis. The connection isn't as strong as the one Hector has with his wife. He's moved on so easily before, who knows how long his love for Francis will last.
It sets something off, gnawing at the back of his mind, but he tries to ignore it. Because Hector is still talking and fuck, it's exactly what he needs. The reassurance and... the offer. He opens his mouth as if to speak, wavering, but there aren't really words for what he's feeling. He just cups Hector's cheek and pulls him closer, kissing him almost desperately as his other hand tugs his shirt off, tosses it aside and guides Hector's hand down toward Dodger's belt.
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He needs no further encouragement with this guided hand, he brings the other one down to join in working the thing off, working Dodger free. He brushes his hand over the fabric of boxers, pressing, stroking, then pulling back to work his own pants off further and kick them away. He keeps kissing, staying connected in this little way until he can bring his hands back.
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"Fuck.." He hisses, and his breathing breaks up into a laugh, "You're so fucking cute, y'know that?"
He pauses then, about to say something else, but his brain catches up with him. At least, the part concerned with logistics. For the sake of it, though, he keeps that husky tone when he speaks.
"You got lube anywhere?"
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And he laughs too, despite himself and breathlessly so.
"Cute. That one's new." And it feels more real that way.
His smile slips then. He glances about the room.
"Uh... unless... you've left some before..."
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But yeah, that puts a damper on things. He pauses, glancing around the room and idly stroking Hector while he thinks.
"Hold on."
He slides down the bed, pressing a kiss to Hector's hip before he sits up and fishes his pants off the floor. Somewhere in his pockets... yep, there it is. He crawls back to him with a small bottle, settling between his legs and running a hand affectionately over the younger man's side.
He hesitates for a moment, brushing the hair from Hector's face and kissing his lips. "You sure you're okay with this?"
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His legs part a little when Dodger returns to him. He reaches a hand up to pull the man to him, kissing, and smiling into the gesture of brushed hair. This close though, it's hard to hide his expression and the way he fights not to make a face. It's a fair question to ask, and good that Dodger is thinking to ask these things.
"Dodger," He says softly, though the plaintive undertone remains. "I'm guilty, messed up, and confused. But that's not going away, I want you, you've been working me up for what has to be an hour, and I'm really, really..." He sighs. "Please. Just make love to me. I'm pleading with you."
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"I love hearing you beg, though." He teases, slicking his fingers and rubbing them against Hector's entrance, "We could do better, though... like 'Dodger, please fuck me'."
He isn't expecting Hector to play along with that. Hell, he's really hoping it doesn't trigger anything. And as an apology, he makes sure to kiss the man while he's pressing the first finger into him.
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He searches for something to do with his own hands, reaching up to entangle in Dodger's hair. The kiss is met eagerly but he still needs to catch a breath after.
"Dodger," He says, and for a moment it seems he's about to scold. But, pulling Dodger down, he whispers breathy in the man's ear. "Please fuck me."
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"Fuck, Hector..." He finally does moan, but it's broken up by soft laughter, "That's so fucking hot."
He has to pause for a few moments, just to simmer back down because he's so fucking turned on he's almost shaking. He takes the moment to just kiss Hector, grope his ass and savor the taste of his mouth. When he finally pushes into him it's rushed and eager, pumping his hips until he manages to bottom out and then gripping Hector's hips to keep him close, giving them both a moment to adjust.
"What do you think..." He pants, tipping his head in that way that always warns that he's up to something, "Could you handle getting fucked hard and rough?"
He knows Hector likes it softer and that's... part of why he asks. It's another check-in, another reassurance, just masked a little better.
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So many of his own moans and noise have been lost between their kissing. But now, as Dodger grips him, as he feels that press, there's nothing to hide it and he groans loud. More, more, more, his body is stretched and then filled. Dodger, as he recalls, is hardly small, but somehow he takes it all as he knew he would. The rush of it makes his eyes water, but it's not so much that the pain eclipses all else. He's aware of the brilliant heat inside him and of the way Dodger grips his hips and he feels crazy for that sensation alone. He can't catch his breath, and it seems, neither can Dodger.
He thinks about that question. As much as he can while his head spins that is. He asks himself honestly.
"I can handle it," He decides. He doesn't know if it's because it will be happening to him and no one else, or even if it's what he'd really like, but he's intrigued by the idea and the way the thought sends a shiver through him despite the heat.
He decides to add, just to see what would happen; "Please."
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But he catches himself, gripping into the headboard until he hears it buckling a bit, thinking about boring conversations or tax laws or anything that will cool him back down.
He lets out a low moans as he finally starts to move. One hand grips into Hector's hip and the other slips up to grip his shoulder, but his first few thrusts are slow for his own benefit as well as Hector. He works himself up steadily, lifting Hector's hips up a bit so he has just the right angle.
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And then at last, he's gripped. His moan joins Dodger's in a faint chorus. He's surprised but grateful for the slower build-up. His arms reach up for Dodger, to touch, to lock around his neck, whatever he can do. There's no rocking his own hips back while gripping like this, but he tries to help, shifting his body whatever way he can to give what Dodger's looking for. Until another moan rings louder than the last.