deacon j sawyer

<LJ-cut="RP Example One/Original Male Character">
<div style="background-color: transparent;" id="332"><b><span class="localName">My character is in </span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">turquoise.</font></b>
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</font></div><div style="background-color: transparent;" id="339"><span class="localName"><font color="#008080"><font size="2"><font face="Tahoma">
</font></font></font></span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Deacon's eyes brightened as he swung open the door to reveal the dark-haired boy on the other side, stepping aside to let him enter and shutting the door behind him (he locked and deadbolted it, the memory of Alex's botched break-in still fresh in his mind). "Hmm," he exhaled a little wearily, sinking into the hug with his own arms around Jordan's shoulders. "It's cool, don't worry. I'm surprised you even made it over here without collapsing from exhaustion." He pulled away and motioned for his friend to take a seat on the ragged leather of the couch. "So, did you bring any samples or ideas for your ink that I can work with?" Deacon hadn't been scheduled to work again until Monday, so he'd recieved permission to lug home his prized Pricker tattoo machine along with all the stainless steel grips, needles, and assorted colors of ink he would need. These were stowed in a black high-density foam carrying case, which he slid across the table closer to him before unclasping the dual locks.

Silently he thanked whoever was responsible for keeping Dylan out of the apartment for the evening. While he knew his brother probably wouldn't have looked at Jordan close enough to analyze his sexuality, he knew that Dylan wouldn't have been able to ignore how the young men acted when they were in close proximity to one another. The constant hugs, kisses, wrestling matches and innuendos - to which Deacon and Jordan barely even gave a second thought after more than a decade of friendship - were something that he would rather not try to suppress just because he was too much of a pussy to explain to Dylan that his baby brother loved the cock.</font></div><b>
</b><div style="background-color: transparent;" id="342">Jordan gladly sat on the worn couch, glad to be sitting comfortably. Despite having slept for so long, he still felt exhausted and was already looking forward to an upper to get back his usual amount of energy. "I didn't bring anything, I figured you'd be able to come up with something better than I could think of anyway," Jordan smiled. The truth of the matter was that until the night before he hadn't seriously considered getting a tattoo. Sure, he'd often thought about it briefly, but with his short attention span it was often no more than a fleeting idea. 'Well thought out' definitely wasn't part of the teen's vocabulary, but then again neither was 'regret'... so either way, to him it didn't matter. He stood in front of Deacon, pulling his shirt up to reveal the pale skin above his waistband. He tugged his jeans down a little to expose his hipbones. "I'm thinking it should start around the bone and go down," he traced a diagonal line with his finger, slipping it an inch or so into the front of his pants. "See what I mean?" he asked, eyes looking intently at Deacon. </div><b>

</b><div style="background-color: transparent;" id="352"><span class="localName"></span> <font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Deacon reached into an inner pocket of the case and pulled out a thin black Sharpie. So far, most of the tattoos he'd done had been for clients who already had a good idea of what they wanted, and though that still allowed him the room to give advice on color and change any aspects of the tattoo so that it wouldn't distort while on the desired body part, this was the most freedom he'd ever been given. Jordan was literally a blank canvas, beckoning out to be filled with color and expression to match his slightly outrageous personality. "Okay," he began, tapping the tip of the marker against his lower lip as he gazed at the expanse of the other's lower stomach. He knelt on the floor in front of Jordan and just gazed at the boy's pale skin for several long, thoughtful moments before he uncapped the Sharpie and leaned in, using one hand to gently pull the skin so that it was taut enough to draw on easily. He worked so <i>carefully</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080"> - started with delicate, swooping lines that crisscrossed over Jordan's hipbones, the edges flaring out into curlicues and traced lighter. He went over the outlines - clusters of lillies, three on each side, and tiny stars like swirling pollen - again and again, painstakingly making the most important lines thicker and bolder. He paused only long enough to crook a finger and pop open the button of Jordan's fly so that he could reach lower on his stomach, where the flowers' stems dove towards one another and tiny loops or flower-spirals dotted the center of swirls where the lines branched off. He sat back on his heels to eye it carefully, sizing up each half - he was completely committed to the moment, determind to make them symmetrical, and perfect enough for his best friend to display proudly.</font></div><b>

</b><div style="background-color: transparent;" id="367"> Jordan cocked his head to one side and bit his lip, smiling at the concentrated look on Deacon's face as he took out the Sharpie and stared blankly at the younger teen's lower stomach. As much as he wanted to be a motor-mouth as usual and say everything that slipped into his head he kept quiet, unwilling to break his friend's trance.

But then Deacon kneeled in front of him, and Jordan couldn't help the reddish tinge that stained his cheeks as certain thoughts made their way into his head. For a few minutes he was in heaven. He had his best friend's full attention and his hands on his skin. If only he didn't need the excuse of a tattoo to be in this perfect situation, he'd be completely fulfilled. He held his shirt up the whole time, wishing he could run his hands through the blond head of hair instead, and then run them down his back and under his shirt... <i>Calm down, he's not even tattooing you yet and you're getting hot,</i> he reminded himself and bit his lip harder to concentrate on that instead. He ran a list of turn off in his mind to keep his thoughts off touching Deacon. <i>Bad teeth, bad breath, body odors, scat, lesbians having sex, greasy hair...</i></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;" id="369"><span class="localName"></span> <font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Deacon spent nearly five minutes shuffling around on his knees in front of the couch, evaluating his preliminary outlines at different angles and distances. He had only done a client's outline freehand like this once before, and that was because it had been a tiny set of wings with very fine feathers - if he had tried to go the usual route of transfering the stencil onto thermal paper and applying it to the skin with water, most of the detail would have been lost. In this case he didn't want to waste time sketching it out and trying to just visually gauge what size or at which angles it should be; a friend like Jordan deserved this permanent piece of art to come straight from the source. "Do you, uh - wanna take a look and tell me what you think?" He pushed himself off the floor and perched on the edge of the couch, eyeing Jordan apprehensively as he awaited a reaction. "Be honest, seriously - I can change any part of it, I just want to make sure you're gonna be happy with it."</font></div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="370"><span class="remoteName0"><b class="screenname">
</b></span> It took a few seconds for Jordan to snap out of his staring spell and realize that Deacon was talking to him. "Hmm? Oh," he glanced down for the first time to see what exactly his friend had been working so hard on. "Holy shit, Deac, this looks awesome!" He grinned, eyes wide with a look of boyish wonder. He pulled a wallet-sized mirror out of his left back pocket --a mirror with many, many uses-- and put it out at arms length so he could properly see how the tattoo would be placed. He was impressed at how quickly his friend had come up with the drawing and had no trouble materializing it almost immediately. "You're amazing, I dunno how you pull this shit off," he shook his head in amazement and put the mirror back. "I love it," he grinned, "nothing to change."</div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="376"><span class="localName"><b>
</b></span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Deacon had been chewing on his lower lip as the younger boy examined his handiwork, absently scratching at the back of his neck a couple times and trying to be patient. When the response came back as such a positive one, the corners of his lips curved upwards into a somewhat shy grin - a rare occurance, to say the least. "Yeah? Okay, awesome," he stood up and gestured to the length of the couch. "I need you to lay down. You should probably take your shirt off, and pull your waistband down so it doesn't get in my way?" Satisfied that <i>Jordan</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080"> was satisfied, Deacon became all business. He hooked his foot around an adjustable stool and dragged it over to the couch before turning back to the case and unpacking everything he needed. He plugged the power supply into the wall, hooked it and the tattoo 'gun' part of the machine itself up to the footswitch, and set a small ink cup in the tray.</font></div><b>

</b><div style="background-color: transparent;" id="379">Jordan pulled off his shirt and hung it over the back of the couch. "I could just take them off completely if you want," he joked, pulling his pants further down his hips. He lay down on the couch and tried to think of a lame joke he could say to cover up how anxious he was. He wasn't even worried about getting tattooed, he was no stranger to pain and actually looked forward to what he expected wouldn't be too unpleasant an experience. What he was nervous about was keeping his body from showing what he felt despite himself. He already had a hard time keeping his hands off Deacon as it was, and keeping his hands off him while his friend's hands were <i>on</i> him would just be that much harder. </div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="382"><span class="localName"><font color="#008080"><font size="2"><font face="Tahoma">
</font></font></font></span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">"If you get naked, the artist cannot guarentee the tattoo would get finished," he said with a wink. "Store policy, you know." Deacon settled himself on the stool next to the slender form stretched out on his couch, moving the footswitch so that it rested in front of him on the floor. He pulled an unused disposable razor and an alcohol swab from his case, gently shaving away the few fine hairs that trailed from the elastic of Jordan's boxers, before putting it aside and using the swab to remove most of the ink left from the Sharpie. He was left with a light grey residue that would enable him to follow the design while still being able to tell what areas he had already done, and with a final glance around at his impromptu work area he deemed everything in order. "Ready?" He asked of Jordan, knowing full well that they both were. Deacon dipped the needle into the tiny cup of black ink he'd poured out and lightly stepped on the switch for a few seconds, before moving back to what he now considered his canvas. His tanned hands contrasted against the pale, flawless skin of the other's stomach when he once more used his left hand to tauten the boy's flesh, stepped on the footswitch and touched needle to flesh in one slow, smooth motion as he followed a curved line just above the sharp angle of Jordan's hipbone.</font></div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="386"><span class="remoteName0"><b>
</b></span>Jordan nodded, a small smile on his lips as he watched Deacon get to work. He bit his lip in anticipation as he felt his friend's hand on his skin and watched the machine get close, but relaxed once he felt the first line of ink cut into his skin. He rested his hands on his upper stomach to prevent himself from fidgeting, and closed his eyes to concentrate on the sensations the gun gave him. He opened them again, Deacon's blue eyes on his hips. Jordan's gaze traveled down his friend's soft face until it met his lips. He thought about kissing him, wondering how badly he'd react or if he'd give into it and kiss back. <i>Stop it, you're obsessing,</i> he scolded himself, forcing his eyes away from Deacon. He was glad he'd forgotten to take the tabs of ecstasy he'd brought along, thinking he'd probably have enjoyed the tattooing experience way too much. He tried to think of something to say, a conversation topic to keep his mind off his friend, but the more he tried to think, the more his thoughts went back to him and the hotter the room felt.</div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="387"><span class="localName"><b>
</b></span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Deacon felt a stillness manifest itself in the fingers that tenderly plied at the other's flesh, in the fingers that gripped steel and made the machine an extension of himself. That stillness filtered its way up his arms and settled in his chest, rooting him solidly in place and creating a thread of focus between himself and his work that had almost become a second nature. He pulled away only to dip the whirring needle in more ink as he used a wad of paper towel to firmly wipe away the excess ink that had splattered over Jordan's white skin like tiny pinpricks. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips and his gaze flickered to his best friend's features. He didn't seem to mind the pain - not that Deacon had expected him to - and almost looked as if he were in another place at the moment. <i>Well</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">, he reminded himself, <i>you certainly know what that's like.</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080"> Scooting his stool closer and leaning lightly on Jordan's thighs, he went back to work.</font></div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="391"><span class="remoteName0"><b>
</b></span>The slight pressure of Deacon leaning on his thighs on top of the needle in his skin quickened Jordan's pulse. He had to think of something to say to get his mind off it all or the blood his heart was pumping so hard would all end up in one place. <i>Something about the shop? No, asked about that yesterday...</i> (thump thump) <i>Talk about last night, anything about last night... shit I can barely remember. Dancing? </i>(thump thump) <i>Dylan, say something about Dylan... quick!</i> "So where's your brother, anyway?" <i>Shit, too late...</i> Jordan bit his lip, willing the blood to rush back to the rest of his body but not quite succeeding. <i>Just keep talking...</i> "Erm... he coming back any time soon?"</div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="392"><span class="localName"><b>
</b></span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Deacon's tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth - a habit when he was concentrating particularly hard, but one he'd yet to realize - as he finished off one cluster of lillies and began working his way down the stems, still pausing only to add more ink to the machine and wipe the excess. For Deacon, that was the worst part of getting tattooed. The needle soothed him, like a thousand gentle electric shocks lulling him into a blissful stupor - only to be rudely interrupted by the somewhat forceful wiping over the tender, raw skin that was required to keep the area clean of blood and ink. "Hmm?" He asked after the questions finally registered, now at the very bottom of the stems where the swirls and loops intertwined. "Dyl? Nah, he's off with his ga- friends. His friends. Gonna be gone until tomorrow night, I think."</font></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;" id="395">Jordan nodded at the answer --not that Deacon would notice-- and closed his eyes again. <i>He hasn't noticed... yet anyway</i>, he tried to remember what he had previously done when his shirt had still been on him to keep his mind off the situation. <i>A list...</i> he thought about what he could add to it. <i>Tan skin, tattoos, piercings, blond hair, the way his tongue sticks out when he's concentrating...</i> <i>shit, turn offs, not turn ons!</i> Jordan reminded himself as the needle traveled lower on his skin. His concentration was seriously lacking, and everything he thought about reminded him of some other time when he and Deacon had been strung out and dangerously close. <i>Why do I always end up with a hard on whenever I'm around him? Because he's fucking gorgeous, </i>he answered himself unable to keep a grin from spreading on his lips.</div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="396">
<span class="localName0"></span></div><div style="background-color: transparent;" id="431"> <font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">After deciding that he would wait and switch to a thinner needle for the fine details that lingered, Deacon placed his machine on some toweling on the coffee table so that he could take a short break. He'd been so intent on the ink unfurling across Jordan's stomach that he'd forgotten to breathe a few times and felt a little lightheaded - though he couldn't shake the feeling that something other than just his level of concentration was to blame. "Shit," he murmered under his breath when he finally turned his attention on the whole of Jordan rather than just the ink, the tip of his index finger slowly dragging over the raw skin that stretched over the boy's hipbone, tracing an arc so as to avoid the ink. "You look... <i>really fucking good</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080"> with a little artwork." He caught sight of Jordan's flushed cheeks and the faint sheen of sweat that shone like a halo along his hairline. <i>Not that he doesn't all the time, already. </i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">He turned back to the table momentarily, uncapping the bottle of ebony ink and squeezing a little more into the ink cup. "I'm sorry, I didn't even ask if you wanted me to wear gloves. I mean, you know I'm obsessive about sterilization and shit, so it's not like there's any -" As he turned back to Jordan with an apologetic slant to his eyebrows, Deacon's voice caught in his throat. It wasn't the voice in the back of his head reminding him just how good Jordan looked with no shirt on, or the fact that his pants had been wriggled low enough almost to the point of being obscene - okay, not <i>only</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080"> that. As Deacon couldn't help but let his eyes drift over the length of his best friend's body, it suddenly became very difficult not to notice what was straining desperately against the zipper of the other's jeans. </font></div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="435"><span class="remoteName0"><b>
</b></span>Jordan had been so caught up in his thoughts along with the feel of getting tattooed that it felt like a brutal awakening when Deacon turned off the machine and began talking. He barely registered what was being said to him as his friend's finger tracing the sensitive skin surrounding the work in progress made a shudder coarse through him. He tried to pay more attention when Deacon started talking about gloves, and was patiently waiting for him to finish so he could tell him it was fine, he didn't mind when he heard the sentence end abruptly. He didn't need to look in the direction Deacon's eyes were pointing to figure out what had caught his best friend's attention. "Shit, Deac, at least <i>try</i> and pretend you didn't notice, I've been dying of embarrassment for the past ten minutes. And I warned you it would happen," Jordan's face reddened as he spoke, accentuating the blue in his eyes. He took the shirt hanging over the back of the couch and pulled it over him before covering his face with his hands, suddenly very self-conscious. Sure, he'd often fantasized about being half-naked and hard in Deacon's presence, but the scenario he'd pictured was entirely different.</div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="436"><span class="localName"><font color="#008080"><font size="2"><font face="Tahoma">
</font></font></font></span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Deacon quickly averted his eyes and ducked his head, shamed at having been caught staring so unabashedly. He snuck a glimpse at Jordan's face, fully expecting to be teased for the shameless amount of attention he'd directed in that area - <i>just perfect, I was the one who made it out to be no big deal, now I'm practically drooling</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080"> - and caught off guard by a flush of embarassment that mirrored his own on the other's smooth features. "Hey," he protested, slipping off the adjustable stool and moving to sit lightly on the edge of the couch next to Jordan's waist. His inky fingers closed on the boy's slender wrists and he gently tugged those hands away from that perfectly pale face. "<i>Hey.</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080"> Why are you wigging out? Jord, it's not a huge deal - well, I mean, it's not exactly a <i>little</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080"> deal either, from the looks of it." Deacon cracked a grin, nudging the boy's ribs with his knee and still holding his wrists. "Seriously. I'm sorry if my staring grossed you out, but come on. I'm a horny teenaged gay dude, what was I supposed to do?" He fell silent for a minute or so, pale blue eyes intently searching out Jordan's. "And you know, the tattoo really <i>is</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080"> coming along great. You picked the best place to get it done, I don't know why I didn't get my hips inked ages ago. It's pretty hot stuff."</font></div><b>
</b><div style="background-color: transparent;" id="438">Jordan reluctantly let his friend pull his hands away from his face, a worried frown giving his features a serious look that he was only rarely seen with. He noticed the hint of red tingeing Deacon's cheeks, and immediately understood that his reaction hadn't been a bad one. This brought his characteristic smile back, and he couldn't help but take advantage of what his friend said. "Horny, huh? I know a few very effective remedies for that, I can help you out if you want," he said seriously. Suggestive comments and random touching were pretty standard between the two friends, but Jordan had never made such a direct proposition before without immediately pointing out that he was joking, either by saying so or laughing. He let the statement hang in the air between the two boys and bit his lip, wondering if Deacon would interpret it as just another meaningless comment or if he would take it as seriously as it was meant. </div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;" id="444"><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Slowly Deacon lowered the boy's arms so that they were no longer suspended over his bare chest. His palms remained pressed atop Jordan's wrists for a moment, smudges of ink diluted with sweat leaving translucent trails over the dark-haired teen's sternum and in the spaces between his ribs. "Well, Jordie. Correct me if I'm entirely mistaken, but..." Deacon leaned even closer with one dark hand braced against the leather armrest next to Jordan's ear, voice lowering to a just-between-us volume. "But it looks like I'm not the not the only one who may need some <i>helping out</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">." His slightly parted lips were uncharacteristically absent of the usual self-satisfied smirk as he regarded those deep blue eyes carefully. A pointed glance and tilt of the head were the only indications that the offer hadn't caused him to forget what had began the conversation in the first place.</font></div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="513"><span class="remoteName0"><b>
</b></span>Jordan stared into Deacon's eyes, mouth half-open as he tried to gage whether or not his friend was seriously suggesting the same thing he was, or if he was joking with a serious look on his face because he thought that's what Jordan was doing and so on. On top of attempting to interpret the exact meaning behind the words, he was trying desperately hard to wrap his mind around how many milliseconds it would take his lips to reach the ones hovering a few inches above him. <i>Just kiss him!</i> the impulsive side of his brain screamed, and before the rational, less confident part of Jordan could kick in, he'd closed his eyes and lifted his head up just enough for his mouth to come in contact with Deacon's. It was over almost as soon as it started. In a second's time the younger teen had sat up and begun apologizing profusely, backing away from his friend. He'd learned, after a few bad experiences, that backing away was sometimes a good precaution and he'd taken to applying it automatically. Once he'd moved to the opposite end of the couch he put his head in his hands. "I'm an idiot, I'm so sorry, Deac, I didn't mean to..."</div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="540"><span class="localName"><b>
</b></span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Deacon patiently watched the internal struggle going on behind his best friend's eyes, waiting it out to be sure that whatever impulse he decided to act upon, it wouldn't be because of what he assumed Deacon wanted. By the time Jordan's eyes had fluttered shut and the tendons in his neck and shoulders were tightening with the effort of raising his head, Deacon could see the kiss coming from a mile away. He nudged his mouth against the younger boy's in response, but even then it was over before he'd even closed his eyes. It only took enough time for him to blink indignantly before Jordan had wriggled out from under him and struggled to the other end of the sofa - yeah, like <i>that</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080"> was really going to do anything. "Jesus. Do you always have to be such a drama queen?" He spoke the words with a gentle smirk - ah, there it was - as he sank into the leather and casually scooted down until he was right next to his friend. Once more his hands found their way to Jordan; his palm cradeled the back of the younger boy's skull and with his free hand he batted away the arms that he was clearly hoping to hide behind. "And a liar too, huh? Don't kiss me and then try to say you 'didn't mean to'. You did it because you wanted to, just like I'm going to kiss you now - because I want to." His strong hands turned Jordan's face towards his and he swiftly closed the gap between their mouths, bestowing upon the boy a much deeper kiss than Deacon had been given before pulling back an inch or so and nudging his nose against the other's cheek. "Done wigging out yet?"</font></div><b>
</b><div style="background-color: transparent;" id="542">Jordan cringed instinctively as he felt the couch shift next to him with the weight of his friend. He wanted to just sink into the couch and avoid the whole "it's alright, it happens, we're still friends" speech he knew was coming up. He waited, dreading the first hesitant words to come out of Deacon's mouth and explain that he didn't feel that way and bla bla bla... but they never came. Instead, his arms were moved away from his face for the second time it what felt like a few seconds and before he could process what his best friend's mouth was saying it was back on his, and this time for more than a moment. "Not just yet," he muttered, threading his fingers through Deacon's hair to pull him back in for another short kiss. He held the tan face between his hands after pulling his head back, looking into his blue eyes intently as if to make sure that he was still ok with it. "I'm done now," he bit his lip and let a hint of a smile form on his lip, reassured.</div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;" id="578"><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">When those eyes turned to peer out at him from beneath a mess of dark hair, Deacon had to admit to himself that he was a bit taken aback by the turmoil that seemed to have welled up inside Jordan, and all he wanted to do was help erase that. <i>I don't get why this is so difficult for him</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">, he mused even as the boy gave into his gentle nudges and silent suggestions; Deacon placed two fingers under Jordan's jaw and shifted on the couch so that his body was positioned parallel to the other. His eyes fell shut and he tilted his head responsively against the still-tentative kiss, using the two digits on Jordan's chin to keep those porcelain features turned upwards and to discourage him from pulling too far away again. Deacon figured that since his partner-in-crime had been the one to suggest this in the first place, he must have understood the logicality of it - two best friends that could help each other out, fool around every now and then, and not get awkward around one another afterwards when things went back to relative normalcy. Even as Jordan broke the kiss Deacon was dipping his head forward to capture the other's metal-laden bottom lip between his teeth and drawing it gently into his own mouth, his hand drifting from the boy's jaw and coming to rest at his waist, thumb rubbing at the smooth skin there.</font></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;" id="607"> Inside, Jordan was practically exploding with happiness. Obviously, the situation he thought he was in and the situation he was actually in were two completely different ordeals. Deacon had no idea that the kiss meant more to Jordan than just a one off deal, and that by further he was giving the younger teen what he'd wanted almost since they'd met. If anyone had asked the dark haired boy how he felt about his best friend at any point over the past decade, no doubt he would have shrugged the question off, but the word on his mind was love. He leaned into the kiss, letting his hands go through the motions he'd practiced countless times with other men. All those times finally leading up to this, 'the real deal', he thought. He ran his hands down Deacon's back, letting his fingers hook under the hem to slowly pull it off. </div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;" id="622"><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">There was no denying it, Deacon was enjoying this and his body was definitly responding accordingly. The warmth of Jordan's fingers pushing through his hair and moving to glide over his heated skin made him smile into the kisses that had grown a little more urgent. Of course, he'd imagined a scenario like this on a few occasions - for the most part, any remotely attractive dude in Deacon's life found their way into his fantasies at some point or another. Lately he had noticed that those thoughts involved Embry more and more frequently, but his best friend's lithe body and creamy skin had made their fair share of guest appearances. He supposed it made sense, since they were around each other twenty-four/seven whenever possible. Deacon reluctantly backed off from the kiss long enough to lift his muscular arms above his head, letting the younger boy slip the worn cotton wifebeater over his head to reveal yet another handful of tattoos. One arm snaked around Jordan's waist as he pulled him closer against his own body.</font></div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="623"><span class="remoteName0"><b class="screenname">
</b></span>Closer wasn't close enough. The younger teen pushed his friend away from him just long enough to lift himself off the couch and straddle the boy instead. He let his hips rock slowly against the one's beneath him, a small moan escaping his throat. With all the times he'd imagined himself having sex with Deacon in various positions and kinky places, not once had he ever thought it would end up happening in the sibling's apartment... on the living room couch, no less. Either way, it was fine by Jordan. Patience was never exactly Jordan's strong point, though, and as much as he had promised himself he would savor the moment if ever it came, he shifted his weight back so his hands were soon working the low-slung jeans he wanted to see lying on the floor instead of containing Deacon. Never one for subtleties (unless they were explicitly suggestive), his hand rapidly found it's way down his best friend's tan stomach and into his boxers. </div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="624"><span class="localName"><b class="screenname"><font color="#008080"><font size="2"><font face="Tahoma">
</font></font></font></b></span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Deacon allowed himself to be pushed against the backrest of the couch, the fine layer of sweat that had gathered along his spine causing the leather to stick to his skin. The level of forwardness that Jordan was displaying was an undeniable turn-on, especially when only moments before he had been too timid to even look Deacon directly in the eye, and he felt a familiar tightening sensation in the pit of his stomach as his hands moved to grip the boy's small thighs. He arched his hips upwards in a bid for more contact, the heated friction hitching one corner of his mouth into a smirk. <i>Didn't even realize I wanted him this bad,</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080"> he thought inwardly while dragging both hands around the curve of Jordan's waist and pushing his fingers under the waistband of his tight jeans. "Shit," his breath caught in his lungs for a split second when he felt the intimate touch of Jordan's palm where so much heat had pooled beneath his zipper, head tipped back and his teeth scraping over his lower lip when his friend elicited a soft groan from somewhere deep in his chest.

</font><div style="background-color: transparent;" id="1"><span class="remoteName0"></span>Jordan worked his hand inside the cotton boxers, his tongue exploring the hidden regions behind Deacon's ear and making it's way down the curve of his neck. He let his teeth softly close onto the tan skin, nibbling lightly and then letting his mouth find it's way back to his friend's. His breath was already coming in shorter intervals, and it took him all the will-power he could muster to prevent himself from taking the rest of his and Deacon's clothes off immediately --he wanted the older boy to take some initiative as well, after all. Despite this, he slid off the lap he'd been rocking against and placed a hand in back of his best friend's neck, pulling the other over him as he leaned back on the couch. He stopped kissing and bit his lip, slipping his hand from the front to the back and tugging at the waistband. He kept his eyes on Deacon's, as if silently hoping for a sign that it was alright.</div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="2"><span class="localName"><b>
</b></span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">While Deacon was thoroughly enjoying the intensity of the other's administrations, tilting his head towards one shoulder to allow the boy better access to the places he sought out, part of him was already growing impatient. When Jordan shifted onto the couch and coaxed him along with a hand against his neck, Deacon was able to clear his head momentarily and acknowledge his desire to shower the younger boy with the attention he clearly deserved. Just like he had done prior to that first kiss, he used a hand against the armrest beneath Jordan's head to brace himself, supporting all his weight so that his torso hovered inches above the other's. "I can't touch your tattoo," he muttered in a strained voice, busying himself with the prominent collarbone that had been attracting his gaze ever since Jordan had first pulled off his shirt. Deacon's lips and teeth trailed a gradual path alone the line of bone, arcing upwards to the hollow of the younger boy's throat until he reached the fluttering pulse point. The hand at his jeans pulled him back for a moment and he rolled off the other, batting Jordan's hands away and instead working those tight jeans and briefs over his friend's slender hips, motioning with a jerk of his head that the boy should kick them all the way off. The rest of his own clothing was slowly and metheodically stripped off, left to pool on the floor uncerimoniously while his eyes remaining fixated on Jordan's features.</font></div>

<div style="background-color: transparent;" id="341">Jordan wanted so badly to be close to the boy hovering inches over him he'd almost forgotten about the fresh lines of ink on his hips. Before he could respond to Deacon's comment, however, he was biting his lip once more as his head pushed back against the strong arm behind it. An electric shudder traveled from his friend's lips to somewhere deep inside the pit of his stomach, where he usually felt butterflies whenever they met. He tried not to grin at his tattooed friend's apparent eagerness to take off the remainder of Jordan's clothes, and dutifully sent them to the floor where, for the moment, they belonged. He watched attentively as another set of jeans joined his own, and shamelessly admired Deacon's body. With the two of them now fully exposed, the small distance between them felt huge and unbearable. The smaller boy, determined to close the gap as quickly as possible, sat up to grab his best friend by the waist and pull him back on top of him. His lips went back to the other's intently, the kisses getting harder and a little more desperate. </div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="342"><span class="localName"><b>
</b></span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Deacon had been extracting what he needed from the carrying case that housed his supplies when he felt Jordan's soft hands on him again, and he chuckled softly at the boy's blatant inability to wait any longer for what they both wanted. Unfortunetly for the younger teen, Deacon wasn't going to make it that easy. While he allowed himself to be tugged back onto the couch above the other and leaned into the hungry kisses, his tongue taking a moment to explore the curve of Jordan's lower lip, he pulled back and sat up before he settled himself astride the younger boy's hips. Deacon wanted to make it very clear who was in charge, and so with his free hand he gathered those slender arms and moved them one at a time to the armrest above the boy's head where he effectively pinned them against the cool leather. In his other hand was a large square of gauze and a roll of surgical tape, and it took him only a few moments of fiddling to spread it over the completed half of the tattoo and quickly tape it in place. Regardless of how quickly he wanted to proceed or how unbelievably <i>hard </i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">he was, pressing into Jordan's thigh, he wasn't about to risk an infection on his most important client. When that matter was taken care of he kept Jordan's arms pinned a little longer, bending over the boy's chest in push-up position and nudging his nose across the pale expanse of his chest before his mouth came to linger above a nipple. "Jor," he breathed huskily, voice hitching slightly as his hips ground against the other's. "I don't want you here, like this." The faintest of smirks flickered behind his eyes and his tongue swiped across the small, pink nub before he went on in a low murmer. "I want to fuck you on my bed."</font></div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="343"><span class="remoteName0"><b>
</b></span>Jordan didn't resist as his arms were lifted up and placed strategically behind him. He didn't immediately grasp what the gauze and tape were for and wondered what exactly Deacon had in mind, and he was unable to hold back a smile as he saw how carefully he covered up the tattoo... although the attention the tan hand was giving to his hip only seemed to make the attention other parts of his body weren't getting that much more unbearable. Expecting his arms to be released immediately afterward so he could proceed with some 'inappropriate' touching, his eyes narrowed in frustration when Deacon continued to hold him down. He watched as the other boy's face slowly moved it's way along his chest, his breath coming quicker as the almost-closeness became unbearable. He vainly struggled against his friend's grip, pulling and trying to wriggle his wrists free. He opened his mouth to protest, but only the sound of a moan managed to escape as he felt Deacon's hips thrust against his. He arched his back in an attempt to wordlessly urge his friend into stop holding back. Patience wasn't exactly Jordan's virtue, to say the least. "I don't want you here, like this," he heard, and his face fell. He swallowed hard, thinking the other teen was having second thoughts and assuming he would be pulling his pants back on any second now. But then he saw the familiar mischievous look in Deacon's eyes and grinned. "Then what are we waiting for?"</div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="350"><span class="localName"><font color="#008080"><font size="2"><font face="Tahoma">
</font></font></font></span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Deacon was endlessly amused by his friend's obvious frustration at being held down, and as result only tightened his grip. Clearly, the younger boy was going to need to be taught a few things - <i>patience is a virtue after all</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">, he thought inwardly when he felt the rebellious tugs and flexes of Jordan's forearms. The sound of that moan only served to send even more heated blood to the places where their bodies pressed urgently together, and a shiver worked its way up Deacon's spine and filtered into his brain as a strange lightheadedness. His teeth closed over Jordan's nipple and he tugged on it gently before finally releasing his wrists and reluctantly peeling himself away from the bare skin that he so desperately needed to claim. As he gathered up his discarded clothes with one hand and hastened down the hall towards his bedroom - damn, but the air was chilly when he wasn't wrapped up in his best friend's warmth - he realized that the move probably would have been a good idea regardless. After all, his older brother was not famous for sticking to schedules and could very well have shown up at the worst moment. At least Deacon's bedroom door had a lock.</font></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;" id="358"> Jordan let out an exasperated sigh to point out his impatience --as if it wasn't obvious enough already-- as he watched Deacon pull away from him and pick his clothes off the floor. The other boy was halfway down the hall before he snapped out of watching his friend's seemingly perfect features and finally peeled himself off the couch. He stared momentarily at his jeans, debating whether or not to just leave them there and finally deciding he might as well pick them up. He walked into the room after Deacon, his striped shirt lying forgotten on the couch, and lay eagerly down in the center of the bed, his head propped up on the pillows so he could go back to admiring his friend's body, eyes lingering on the colorful tattoos. "Take your time, I'm in no rush," Jordan said sarcastically. He crossed his arms childishly and widened his eyes, sticking out his inferior lip in a way that made the silver rings seem more prominent. </div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="503"><span class="localName"><b class="screenname">
</b></span> <font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Deacon couldn't help the grin that tugged at his mouth when he realized that, what with his friend's total lack of patience, the several long seconds of no noise behind him as he made it into his room could only have meant that Jordan was staring at his ass. Despite this delay the younger boy managed to slip by him through the doorway, and Deacon heard the rustle of bedclothes while he kicked the door shut and flipped the lock, enabling himself to breathe a mental sigh of relief. In three strides he was able to join his friend on the bed, sliding over the topmost sheet and arranging himself above Jordan, sliding one leg over and pushing himself up so that he sat astride the boy's thighs. Leaning forward ever so slightly he found both their erections with one broad hand, his mouth falling open in a silent moan as he slowly stroked himself and Jordan together, tip to base and back again at a painstaking pace. Once more he was amazed that, not for all Deacon's bravado and machismo, had he ever thought to try this before.</font></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;" id="553"><span class="remoteName0" /> Feeling Deacon lean against him on its own was enough to make Jordan bite his lip and push his hips upward, but feeling the long, slow strokes pulled a decent moan from his lungs. His arms uncrossed themselves to guide one hand to the older boy's shoulder and the other to his waist. The attention to his hard on had him more turned on than ever, shudders of delight trembling up the length of his spine and out his mouth in heavy breaths. His small thighs tightened around Deacon, his hips thrusting beneath him. He threaded his fingers into the blond hair and pulled the head toward his own, meeting it at the lips and closing his eyes. He pushed his tongue into the other's mouth, kissing hard and deep to show his impatience hadn't waned. He ran his fingertips down the length of his friend's back, pressing lightly with his nails. He moaned into Deacon's mouth before pulling away, his blue eyes intense despite lacking their usual artificial spark. "Where's that fuck you mentioned?" he smiled.</div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="560"><span class="localName"><b class="screenname">
</b></span> <font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">The soft sounds of appreciation that were filtering from between those pierced lips were heavenly to Deacon's ears, and his own hips rocked in gentle rythym against those beneath him. He blinked, his long eyelashes barely touching together in slow motion, mouth drawn into a coy smile. So very gently he returned the more frantic kisses, parting his lips to allow the impatient boy the access he wanted and slowly lowering himself down once more until his stomach touched the firmess of Jordan's, his chest met the smooth skin of Jordan's, and a fizz of static charge worked through his limbs. He touched the tips of their noses together and now moved both hands to take his best friend's head in his grip and tilt it, taking the younger boy's lips away from his own and giving him access to Jordan's neck. His skin was soft, salty from the sweat and hot from the friction between them. He dug his tongue into Jordan, below his chin, forcing his head back further with a calm strength, a peaceful strength, using only enough force to let him know that it was he, Deacon, that held the power over Jordan. He then slipped his arms under the younger teen, his mouth beside the soft lobes of his ears. "Roll over."</font></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;" id="584">Deacon's calm, dominating strength made Jordan writhe with impatient desire. His restlessness was slightly subdued with the new sensation of having the tone upper body pressing against his own. He wrapped his arms around his friend's waist in a desperate attempt at being as close as humanly possible... which even then wasn't enough for what he really wanted to feel. He barely resisted when he felt his head being drawn back, almost immediately feeling Deacon's tongue and renewing the still air with a new moan. The hot breath on his ear sent a chill through his body, reminding him of other beds and older men. He quickly pushed the thought of his mind, reminding himself that he was with Deacon and had nothing to worry about. After all, it was the moment he'd been waiting to happen for years. He finally obeyed the command and slowly rolled onto his stomach, unable to mask the uncertain look on his face. </div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="597"><span class="localName"><b class="screenname"><font color="#008080"><font size="2"><font face="Tahoma">
</font></font></font></b></span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">While Deacon held himself up off the bed long enough for the other to twist first his torso and then his legs so that he was on his stomach, he couldn't help but spot the hesitation on the boy's perfect features. From his crouched position he could see along his legs, toned and with only a soft covering of dark hairs, to the small mound of his ass tempting Deacon closer. He slid up the length of the younger body beneath him until he reached the nape of Jordan's neck, bestowing a row of chaste kisses just past his hairline while he fumbled for the drawer of the bedside table and extracted a condom. "Are you going to relax," he murmered between kisses and playful nips that were now trailing down between Jordan's shoulderblades. "Or am I going to have to torture you with a few more hours of foreplay?" Deacon dipped his head and planted a soft, sweet kiss on the other's mouth with a smile to show he was teasing, before moving to grasp at those narrow hips with both hands and pulling them upright and towards Deacon until the other was on his hands and knees.</font></div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="598"><span class="remoteName0"><b class="screenname">
</b></span>Jordan closed his eyes as he felt Deacon graze his neck. He kept his mouth shut, jaw clenched tightly and responding to the question with a single nod of the head. He tried to concentrate on his friend's lips lightly kissing his back, his strong body just inches above him. <i>Relax, what the hell is the matter with you?</i> he scolded himself, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as Deacon kissed him. The softness of the kiss calmed him immensely, finally letting up on some of the tension which he had let build up in his shoulders and back. <i>When's the last time you did this sober?</i> he asked himself as vague memories of the previous night resurfaced. He gave up on trying to remember an actual approximate date when he felt Deacon pulling him up, but his mind flashed quickly to the E in his jeans. He mentally debated asking his friend if he wanted a tab, but changed his mind almost as quickly as it had entered it. It would take forever for the drug to kick in, and the few minutes of foreplay the pair had already seemed infinitely long. Jordan bit his lip, eyes closed and hands tightly gripping the bedsheets.</div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;" id="730"><span class="localName"></span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Deacon's breath had been reduced to uneven pants as his hips pressed up against the younger body from behind. Picking up the foil packet from the bedspread and tearing it open with his teeth, he extracted the condom and rolled it onto his desperately hardened length. In the meantime, the index and middle fingers of his free hand found their way into his own mouth until they were thoroughly coated with his own saliva. He silently admired the way Jordan's torso narrowed into perfect, small hips as his slick fingers went to gentle work at preparing his best friend for Deacon's invasion. Though every muscle along the older teen's tensed body was screaming for the last of their pleasure, he busied himself with the slow stroking of his nails along the small of Jordan's back and took his time - <i>this</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080"> wasn't the part that Deacon wanted to hurt. When finally he felt that the slender body was ready - or that he himself was dangerously close to passing out from lack of blood to his brain - he used one dark hand to clutch the other's white-skinned hipbone and one at the base of his own straining erection to line himself up, carefully pressing against the tight heat that drew a strangled moan from within his chest.
</font></div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="733"><span class="remoteName0"></span>The second's only seemed to stretch out as Jordan heard the familiar sounds of the condom being pulled out and put on. His arms began to tremble with the weakness of desire as his hard on throbbed, the constant blood flow not letting him take his mind off how the older teen was purposefully taking his time. A moan escaped him as he felt Deacon's long fingers slide into him, worsening his impatience to feel the rest of him. A shudder of delight shook through him as he felt the careful scratching on his back, but he quickly moved away his friend's hand in attempt to urge him to go further. He could tell Deacon took pleasure in driving him up the wall with frantic sexual energy, and the tension was reaching a point where he didn't think he could handle it any longer. He gripped the strong hand clutching his hip in attempt to make sure it wouldn't change it's mind, and felt the pleasurable tension inside him mount even more as the other boy pressed against him, so close to penetration. Jordan leaned back, trying to get Deacon to go all the way.</div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="734"><span class="localName"></span> <font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">
The other boy's arsenal of impatient sounds was proving to be very effective at weakening Deacon's ability to control himself, as each moan resulted in the muscles along his thighs and lower stomach twitching beneath his skin. Shifting his weight slightly on the mattress so that his knees nudged the younger boy's thighs apart a few inches wider then before, the hand that wasn't at his best friend's side moved to grip Jordan's shoulder tightly and urged the other back against his body while he pushed forward. His head was already reeling when he wordlessly willed the lithe teen to allow him inside, and pressed harder against the resistence he met after he'd worked himself past that first ring of muscle. He tried and failed to relax his hold on Jordan, and with one slow, endless push that sucked the wind from his lungs he drove himself home. Deacon's spine arched like a cat's and his forehead pressed against the smooth curve of ropy muscle between the boy's shoulderblades, wordlessly sliding his hand over that narrow shoulder and around to Jordan's chest as if to keep the teen pressed flush against him while giving both of them a chance to adjust.</font></div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="736"><span class="remoteName0"><b>
</b></span>Jordan gratefully accepted the hand on his shoulder, the pressure as he was pushed backward augmenting until Deacon finally pushed through and slowly kept his way in until the younger teen was panting with pleasure, his fingernails digging into the palms of his own hands. The relief from finally having his friend inside him was only momentary. He trembled slightly, pushing himself up so he could properly feel the stronger boy on top of him. He clasped the large hand, his slender white fingers moving up the tan forearm and dragging their way back down. He tried to contain himself, to let Deacon keep the control that drove him, but he was unable to prevent himself from slowly rocking his hips. He wanted to feel the other teen thrust into him, he strived for that dominating figure. "Fuck," he moaned desperately, wanting the pleasure to continue. </div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="737"><span class="localName"><b class="screenname">
</b></span><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">Deacon's vision had darkened with sheer pleasure as soon as the other boy began to move against him, his hand turning over because he felt a warm grip plying at his goosebumped flesh and laced their fingers together in a tight weave. "Fuck, Jordie -" he gasped when he felt the boy's muscles clutching at him from within. Deacon's chest was now flat against the other's back and he started to reverse the motion of his hips, breath catching as his swollen head was drawn back along Jordan's searing insides. Thankfully there was no release, and he drove back down on the boy until he'd forced himself back in to the hilt, lids falling shut over his blue eyes. <i>This is too fucking much</i></font><font size="2" face="Tahoma" color="#008080">, he would have moaned if he had the breath left in his lungs. And then he was pulling back again, all the time his strong hands holding Jordan around his waist. The force of his next thrust lifted Jordan's hips a bit, lowering both their heads towards the mattress until Deacon uncurled one arm from around the other and braced the two of them against the shifting surface of the mattress.</font></div> <div style="background-color: transparent;" id="738"><span class="remoteName0"><b class="screenname">
</b></span> Jordan's head lowered, his dampening hair falling into his closed eyes as he bit his lip, the taste of cool metal on his tongue the only thing keeping him from thinking he was dreaming. He felt himself tighten as his pleasure grew, gripping at his friend's cock and drawing him back in with every thrust. His breath came out in quick, jagged bursts accompanied by the occasional groan of pleasure. The pressure on his prostate was already almost driving him to the edge, but if there's one thing the boy had learned over time it was self control, and he could hold back as long as necessary. A particularly hard thrust from Deacon pulled an even louder moan from the slender teen's lungs. He let go of his friend's hand to lean it against the wall, his small arm bent at the elbow to absorb the shock of each thrust. "Go harder," he panted, his free hand clutching Deacon's as he leaned back into him.</div></div>