Work Text:
It’s not much like masturbation, is Four’s first thought.
First and foremost there is the texture difference. Four has never considered how his hands feel thanks to his work. Twelve hours a day of manual labor has made his hands thick and calloused, with a firm grip and short nails. Completely different than the softer, more delicate ones that hold him now. Shadow’s fingers are a little thinner, with longer, painted nails that make Four shiver anytime they scrape skin. His hands are somehow colder than Four’s, too, which is a whole other layer to their differences.
Then there’s the element of the unknown. When Four works himself with his own hands there are no surprises or unexpected touches. He knows what is going to happen at every moment, and knows where and when to press for maximum efficiency. With Shadow’s hands, it's all a big mystery. Will Shadow squeeze harder, press firmer, tease along the veins? Or will he pull back and massage rather than tug, turning the motions languid and slow? Four doesn’t know and Shadow’s smoldering expression doesn’t give it away.
The blonde wets his lips, not sure if he likes it or not. On one hand it’s a bit exciting to not know what’s coming. But on the other hand the loss of control takes him out of the act, with his head impossibly loud with predictions and wonderings about what’s coming next. It’s distracting.
Four feels his lips twitch upward at the thought. How funny, he muses, that someone’s hands on him during sex is a distraction. He thinks that on another person, this might be considered the main event.
Shadow thumbs over the tip of Four’s dick and bumped their foreheads together, “Pay attention, Rain. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’m here.” Four says, although he’s not fully sure what he means by it. Yes, he is here physically and mentally. But he’s not sure he’s exactly where Shadow is. In the moment, perhaps? The heavy breathing and thin line of amethyst around blown out pupils indicates yes. Four isn’t sure how to join him.
Four leans back into the cracked leather seats and tries to relax. He doesn’t need Shadow’s teasing look to know he’s thinking too hard.
But it’s hard to sink under when Shadow's hands start wandering.
A while ago, when Four had more time and energy to experiment, he used to feel out his own body. He’s read that there are erogenous zones all over the body that can make someone get aroused; the nape, the palms, the backs of his knees. He spent a few self-care sessions running his hands along his own body, trying to find those sensitivities and hot spots. And when he couldn’t find any, Four decided that it was something that requires a partner.
Now that he feels someone else’s hands running around his body, Four thinks it’s safe to assume he just doesn’t have any of these secret places. Either that, or his spots are all deeper than the surface of his skin.
Shadow’s hands are more distracting than before. Four has always avoided skin contact - long sleeves even in summer to avoid sweaty arms on trains and busy sidewalks - but it’s even more uncomfortable now that he’s being touched in places only before touched by cloth. His stomach, where one of Shadows hands roams over his abdominal muscles, feels scratchy and dry. And when that hand goes higher, dancing around his pectorals and nipples, Four gets the same sensation at the back of his neck that nails on a chalkboard gives him.
Four pushes Shadows' hand off his chest gently. “No touching.”
Shadow puts his hand back on Four’s hip. “Just there? Or everywhere?”
Four lets Shadow experiment for a while longer. His dark-haired friend tries figuring out the puzzle that is Four’s body, running his hands over patches of warm skin. Four takes hold of himself in the meantime and gently strokes to keep himself engaged. It’s a little difficult with Shadow’s distracting touch happening in the background.
After a few minutes of unfruitful labor, Shadow pulls away and hums low in his chest. “Nothing?”
“No.” Four tries not to feel disappointed. He knew starting out there was a high likelihood this would be the outcome. Still sucks though. “But it feels good when you touch me here.”
Shadow takes Four back in hand and strokes him back to full hardness. The mechanic lays back and lets him, allowing his legs to spread further.
As his climax approaches, Four thinks of all the romance books he’s read and all the raunchy, poetic sex that’s spilled off the pages. How every orgasm is earth-shattering in the eyes of the authors. Descriptors of two lovers entwined and in the throes of passion, using terms like come undone, fall apart, unravel to describe the apex of their pleasure. As if the passion of two people in love could break down every physical barrier between their souls and bring them together on another plane of existence.
Four has never experienced anything like that. Typically an orgasm is just his legs locking up for a moment and momentary release of endorphins. Maybe the tight sensations in his lower abdomen releasing, quick and simple. A feeling that lasts the length of a hearty sigh, and then fades away as quickly as it came on. He had always thought that the secret ingredient he was missing was a partner.
Guess not.
“It’s good,” Four says, even though he privately believes it's better when he’s by himself. Not that Shadow isn’t following his instructions to a tee. But it’s just. Different.
Four wouldn’t say the sex is bad. He can’t - not with Shadow being as patient as he ever is, as solid as he ever allows himself to be. For maybe the first time ever, Four isn’t worried about Shadow disappearing if he closes his eyes. Four isn’t afraid he’ll wake up by himself, in an empty bed that’s only warm because he’s in it. And that makes him feel Something.
Not arousal. Not quite love. But Something.
The orgasm isn’t anything special, but Four holds Shadows gaze the whole way through.
It’s not like in the romance novels, but it’s Something.