maculategiraffe | Yves and Jer redux

morgan_cian, this is for you, and for

wickhouse2005, who said, ages ago, "I think we need to see Yves lose it."

This is the first time Yves and Jer have sex.

When Jer went looking for Yves, he expected to find him in the library with his nose in a book or bent over some bizarre string of symbols. He didn't expect to find him in the library weeping silently over said bizarre string of symbols, wiping his eyes periodically and in a businesslike manner with the back of his hand. Higher math must have been a hell of a lot sadder than it looked.

"Uh--" said Jer, and Yves looked up, smiling as calmly as if there weren't still tears streaming down his face.

"Hi," he said, and cleared his throat. "Come on in. Don't mind me. How are you?"

"Why are you crying?" Jer asked, coming in.

"Hyperstimulation of the nicotinic and muscarinic receptors," said Yves. Jer ignored that, as he generally ignored it when Yves started gibbering.

"What's wrong?" he persisted.

"Nothing," said Yves.

"Uh-huh," said Jer. "I can see that."

Yves' face spasmed suddenly mid-attempted-smile, his mouth twisting into the horrible grimace of someone trying too hard not to bawl outright. He turned his head away, which was so pointless-- as if you could hide the fact that you were that miserable from anyone who wasn't deaf, dumb, and blind-- that it almost made Jer angry. Well, a lot of things made Jer angry these days. Holden, for one. Sweetheart this and darling that, and where was he when the supposed love of his life was sitting here sniffling into his algebra or whatever the hell? Out on some business errand with his boy toy, was where, leaving Jer here with a crying mathematician on his hands and no fucking clue what to do about it.

He crossed the room in a few hesitant strides and put a hand on Yves' shoulder, which stiffened at his touch. Great.

"Please just leave," said Yves in a small voice.

Jer sat down next to Yves.

"I said--"

"Yeah, I heard you," said Jer. "Or what? You'll tell the master on me?"

"You know what?" said Yves between his teeth, his wet blue eyes suddenly snapping alarmingly. "Yes. And don't think I can't talk him into whipping you good and hard and letting me watch, if you don't leave me alone. I don't care," he said to Jer's involuntarily widened eyes. "I am so very sorry it is such a fucking burden and a misery to you, to have to come and live in my house and sleep with my master who fucking worships the ground you walk on, that you have to slump around the house like someone's been sticking needles under your nails and come mess with me when I am in the fucking library and trying to have a nice quiet moment of self-pity without bothering the master or his precious baby boy or his poor maladjusted ex, and refuse to leave when I ask you nicely, but I am having a very bad afternoon, and I'm not running off to my room, I want to be in the library and I want to finish crying in peace and I want you to leave me the fuck alone to do it, please."

"Can't believe you got through all that without losing your place," said Jer after a moment. "Must be all that reading you do. Good at long sentences."

"Here's a nice short sentence," said Yves. "Get out. Oh, and another one: Fuck you."

This probably wasn't the best moment for Jer to develop his first real, non-politically-motivated interest in having sex with Yves. But cocks were funny that way.

"What's so bad about this afternoon?" he asked peaceably. He didn't think Yves would hit him, and even if he did, it might not be the worst thing in the world. Holden whipping Jer while Yves cheer-led might not be the worst thing in the world either, at that. Less unnerving than all that saintly unselfishness, anyway.

"I don't know," said Yves, and slammed the textbook shut, hurling it across the room-- not at Jer, but Jer jumped anyway as it crashed into the wall. It must be pretty bad, for Yves to be throwing his precious books around. "It just suddenly occurred to me, I guess-- that I don't get my life back, not ever. That this is for good, this-- this-- I can be a good sport about it or I can be a bad sport about it and it's still never going to be over, you're never moving out, I never get my master to myself again. I never get to--" Yves' face was contorted, his voice coming out in wrenched bursts. "And he said if I ever needed-- time-- with him-- but he's gone, he's out, with Bran, and I don't understand why you won't fucking leave me alone."

"Come here," said Jer firmly.

Yves stared at him for a second as if he'd turned green, and then, abruptly, lunged forward into Jer's arms, buried his face against Jer's shoulder, and started to cry in earnest.

Jer patted the shaking back gently. A pretty man sobbing in his arms, he could handle; it had been the math part that had thrown him off. He didn't mind a bit holding the warm, solid-but-quivering body of his fellow slave close while Yves cried himself out, fisting his hands in the breast of Jer's tunic like a child, and then subsided to hiccups, and to stillness.

Jer hoped he'd fallen asleep; otherwise he'd probably be chatting again in a second. Though Yves, unlike Holden, did seem capable of shutting up occasionally. Maybe he'd take this opportunity.

He wasn't asleep, anyway; he was moving, a little, in a snuggly way.

And now seemed, in fact, to be licking Jer's neck.

Jer wondered if it would get him hit-- or otherwise lose him his armful of snuggly Yves-- to ask if they could fuck now. Normally he was pretty sure Yves wouldn't mind being asked, at least-- he'd offered once, after all-- but Yves was obviously in a weird mood right now.

Obviously, since now he was kissing Jer on the lips. Not that they didn't kiss, sometimes. Yves liked to, and Jer didn't mind. Yves was sweet. Now he tasted salty with tears, and his lips were hot and swollen, and he seemed a bit more aggressive than usual, which was absolutely fine by Jer.

"Mmm," he risked, hoping approving noises weren't going to throw Yves out of whatever groove he was in, since this particular groove seemed reasonably likely to get Jer laid.

It had been a while since he'd thought like that, he realized as Yves' tongue ran along the ridge of his teeth. Generally, these days, he thought more in terms of getting fucked than getting laid. It had also been a while since he'd held a miserable, furious, fiercely clutching boy in his arms till the shivering stopped. Did things to you.

And yeah, it crossed his mind about this all being maybe some kind of trick, but somehow Yves' snarling, more than his weird niceness, had made that feel really unlikely. Yves would throw books if he was pissed, but he wouldn't try to get Jer lynched. Yves wasn't used to being sneaky. Had never had to be. Had belonged to Holden. All this time.

Yves, unlike Holden, didn't seem to feel the need to narrate, so things were nice and quiet as they progressed. Hands. Mouths. Little gasps, soft moans. Inconvenient clothes.

"Bedroom?" Yves whispered finally, which was exactly the length of sentence Jer was interested in hearing right now.

He stood up, armful of Yves and all. Yves wasn't too heavy to carry to Jer's bedroom-- Jer's bedroom, that was still a laugh, with a door that closed and everything-- and he kicked the door shut behind them, and laid them both down on the bed, and recommenced with the hands/mouths/gasps/moans part. Yves was squirmy as a kid, antsy almost-- eager was the word, really, wiggling all up on Jer, wanting him in mouthfuls. Clothes came off in short order, followed by hands in more places. Good hands. Jer had figured Yves would have good hands. Holden was turned on by big brains, but not seventeen years' worth of turned on.

Jer knew a thing or two himself-- twenty-six years' worth, in fact-- and as far as he was concerned things were going extremely well when Yves suddenly seemed to come to a halt. He wasn't pulling away, he just went still against Jer. Fuck. This was exactly the kind of thing Jer was bad at. This was where you needed someone like Holden, who would no doubt somehow magically figure out exactly what the fuck was up, from the angle of the suddenly motionless body, or the rhythm of the breathing, or whatever. Whereas the reasonable and obvious things to say, like "Why'd you stop?" were likely to turn out to be wrong, and probably get the crying and gibbering started up again.

"Take me," said Yves softly.

Jer could do that.

He rolled the passive body-- passive, but not limp or dead-feeling, just-- surrendered, maybe-- over on its stomach, eyeing the ass that he'd been groping and squeezing. It looked just as good as it felt. He went for the lube, slicked up a finger and slid it in-- tighter than he would have thought, but not hard to work with-- and then another. Yves liked that.

"Yes," he said softly. "More-- Jer--"

Hearing his name got Jer even harder, with Yves belly down, eyes half closed the way they were, because he fucking hated it when people pretended he was someone else. There'd been one lady, a friend of Argounov's, always made him put her on her stomach and started yelling "Oh, Grisha" at extremely mood-killing moments. Jer wouldn't have blamed Yves for trying to forget whose cock was about to plough his ass-- even for pretending Jer was Holden. Wouldn't have blamed him and wouldn't have minded, too much, as long as Yves didn't yell about it-- but that "Jer" was hot.

"Fuck me," Yves demanded, getting better at the "short sentences" thing by the minute. Jer grinned and palmed his own erection, got it good and slippery before he went for the stretched and gleaming little hole, the blunt head of his cock looking too big for Yves' pert ass to take-- but only for a second.

"Sif's fucking golden--" Yves moaned as Jer sank into him. Wouldn't you just know sweet little Yves would swear by Sif. Jer buried himself deeper inside the heat of Yves' body, wanting to hear him say "Jer" again, but Yves just whimpered incoherently and bucked back against him like a wild thing until Jer, who'd worked up a decent rhythm of escalating intensity, slammed in hard and said over Yves' groan, "Say my name."

"Jer!" Yves cried out immediately, and damned if that little piece of obedience didn't send a hard pulse through Jer's cock and make him whimper a little himself as he kept fucking, make him feel like coming already.

He made it last a little, though. Not too much. Didn't want to wear the boy out on his first ride. He was careful after he shot, staying still and petting Yves' back for a bit until he was fully soft and then easing himself out of the wet little hole. Fuck, but there was nothing like the sight of a dark red asshole dripping your cum. Jer wanted to keep looking, but he rolled Yves over on his back to check on his cock, instead. It was hard and straining, leaking with need, and it didn't take but a minute, once Jer had wrapped his hand about it and started jerking, to spill out over his fist.

Yves didn't say thank you, which was a relief-- being thanked for a fuck was creepy, and nearly thirty years of having to thank his master hadn't convinced Jer any different-- but he did, it turned out, want to cuddle again, which was fine, if a little hot and sweaty. Yves nuzzled at his neck again, and they kissed a bit, and Yves sighed softly, sounding happy, and pulled back to smile at Jer.

"Better?" Jer asked without even thinking, as if Yves were Holden and they were both twenty. Shorthand he hadn't used in decades. Gods, how you fell back into habits.

"Yeah," said Yves, just as if he were Holden. "Better. Thanks."

And that was thanks for something else. Thanks for that was fine.