9) sender sensually kisses receiver’s inner ankle to start an ascension of caresses up towards their thigh. (Hehehehe Raum and Mads this one?)
AN INCOMPLETE LIST OF NICHE KISSES
@distopea
“Jesus. I know I said to make it tight, but you’re pushing it, Campbell,” came the hissed protest of the blond, his eyes fixed on the top of Mads’ head. The short strands of his dark hair tickled Raum’s exposed calf while Mads wrapped the compression bandage around his ankle.
It was sprained – had happened earlier in the day when the sea was choppy and the ship pitched in a sudden way that caught Raum off-guard. He still wasn’t quite able to predict how the boat would move like the navy men could, and it pissed him off to no end. His ankle was pretty bruised and swollen, the fair skin already turning purple. And although Raum had hidden his discomfort ( fairly well, he thought ) throughout the rest of the day to carry on with his duties, by the time he was back inside their cabin hours later, he was almost struggling to walk from the built up layers of pain.
He despised admitting that he needed help. And yet here they were. There wasn’t much Raum could do to keep up his act anymore. Not when Mads had found him hunched over and cursing, struggling to pull his own damn boot off like some stupid trainee. He’d had to help him out of the boots – but not the trousers. Raum had insisted on doing that much by himself.
Mads fixed him with a look, before muttering something under his breath. Probably something about how he should be grateful he was getting any help at all, or that he was an idiot for not visiting the medic to begin with. Raum sighed heavily. He leaned back on his elbows and tilted his head back, glared irritably at the upper bunk. If anything, it was better to prevent himself from staring holes into the other man who was at his feet.
The image of Mads’ broad shoulders fitting between his knees was a bit too striking for his comfort. Harder to look away than he anticipated – Raum would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about lording it over the disapproving commander, in more ways than one. Yet, even though Campbell was the one in the disadvantageous position – the way his hands curled around Raum’s ankle and calf, holding him in place… somehow Raum was the one left feeling exposed. The confined space of the quarters made it so there was almost nowhere else to look and nowhere to escape to, the situation becoming strangely intimate.
“Well. There isn’t anyone else to cover my team, is there?” A rhetorical question, just to fill the slightly tense, dead air between them. Truth be told, the quiet these days was beginning to feel more alive with something. And yet just like the dead, whatever it was, it was likely better off buried. Raum frowned at the train of his own thoughts. Being stuck on this stupid fucking floating coffin was rotting his brain already.
There was a whisper of a touch at the back of his knee, soft and almost ticklish. Raum jolted slightly, holding back a shudder when the heat of Mads’ palm bloomed onto the inside of his leg and settled there. Oh, you bastard. Don’t try and pretend that was unintentional.
“Hey. You done? Hurry up, I want a smoke.” Finally Raum glanced at Mads, somewhat startled to find him not looking down at his ankle ( already neatly tied, when? ) but up at Raum’s face. Their eyes met, quiet again, and Mads’ expression was unreadable. Slowly, he lowered his head and brushed his lips above the bandage, against Raum’s inner ankle. The touch of his lips was soft, softer than Raum expected. His breath was warm, the graze of his cheek a little prickly. And his eyes, a more stirring blue than the ocean around them, had never left Raum’s.
Frankly, for a moment of stunned silence, Raum dared not to blink. A shiver had travelled his spine, betraying goosebumps over his skin. When was the last time he’d been touched like that, even by a woman? Had he ever?
Mads was still looking at him from beneath his brow, steadfast and silent, almost a challenge. As if to say, what now? That look was like the one he would throw when they sparred, and it lit a match somewhere in Raum’s abdomen. He lifted his ankle and hooked it over the commander’s shoulder, drawing him closer. The bunk creaked when Mads leaned into him, calloused hands sliding their way up over strong thighs. Raum was transfixed watching it happen, feeling surreal. He reached out, palms colliding with the other man’s chest – should push him off – but he didn’t want to. Mads paused abruptly as he leaned over him, whether he was having doubts of his own or sensed Raum’s hesitation, it was hard to tell.
His hands on Raum’s skin burned though, unmoving. Raum wanted more of that touch, arched up towards him, winding his hands over Mad’s shoulders and through his hair to pull him down. We shouldn’t be doing this, he thought he should say.
Instead, what tumbled out of his mouth and into Mads’ was, “...Don’t stop.”
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