English is not my native tongue, so please be kind to me. I haven’t written anything in english for a very long while. But I couldn’t resist. I just had to.
It’s a Ressler/Red story. And, yes. They fuck. And Red’s bottoming, You were warned.
Don likes to fuck Red face to face, leaning over this rascal and watching the corner of his ironical mouth twitch painfully.Don likes to meet his gaze, which is challenging, mocking or, suddenly intense and cordial, a second before his eyelids shut tightly in response to a first thrust. Don overindulges in taking in the sight of Red tilting his head back, pushing the sheets, since the pillow has been long ago swept away by the action that took place moments earlier. He can’t take his eyes off the way Red bites down his lower lip, or scowls, with a predatory, greedy urge to grab Ressler by the ass, and push him even closer, making him go deeper inside, because that way….yeah, right there…like this…would be just…what he needs. Just fine. Perfect. And a little more harder.
And then his face softens, his look becomes distant and dark…like his past, and the uncanny labyrinth of his soul, ready to capture Don, make him loose what’s left of all of his shattered perspective on what’s right or wrong.
Red’s short moans grow heavier, turning to be more profound and drawling. It feels like he’s slipping away, escaping somewhere far away, into his inner space where Don can’t reach for him. And it’s so painful a feeling, that he can’t help but thrust deeper, trying to physically keep him to himself, getting hold of him, making him stay…and belong.
Suddenly Red gets back to reality and whispers a hoarse “let me turn over”. And it doesn’t sound like he’s accepting a “no”. It’s a demand, not a plea.
Don hates the idea, but something in his guts - a very deep instinct, far beyond any analysis or even emotion, responds to that string in Red’s voice and signals that it’s not the right moment to push on. That’s the most fine line, an edge where one has to thread softly. He can be rather clumsy and straight forward when it comes to relationships and saying things, not too good at taking hints and being sensitive to non verbal communication, but he somehow manages to know, when it’s ok to get hard on Red, to make him go wild, and when it’s not. And it happens to be that kind of a moment.
He frowns a little and pulls himself out, holding the rim of a condom with his hand, while Red turns over and lays face down on the bed.
That treasure of a body, Donald was gifted with, makes Red go wild with excitement. The perfectly shaped shoulderline meeting up with prominent collarbone, strong neck with drops of sweat sliding town to his wide strong chest. That sexy beast, captured by formal suits and duity to defend the law, only free to go wild on a hunt for bad guys and in bed with one of the most dangerous of them all. The look that Don gives him, as if he wants to pin him to the bed, it’s almost like he’s holding an aim on him…it makes Red so high, that it’s hard to control. He loves the rush of adrenaline and fucking with Donald feels as if they both hold a gun at each other’s head. Probably they should try doing so once. For real.
The paradox is that on a moment like this, Red is absolutely in love with his young lover’s lips. Bright and sensual, so unlike his whole masculine and sharp frame, they are urging to kiss them, savoring their softness ever so slowly…But Red restrains himself. And it hurts, to watch only, without getting closer to the softer side of Donald and what can be discovered beyond…But pain is way too close to pleasure when it comes to the ones like him.
He knows what he wants and how to get it. He is familiar with his body and it’s desires, and doesn’t stop when it comes to getting pleased. Even if it’s a guilty pleasure, like luring that guy, who also happens to be an FBI agent, to do him right. Oh, so right. And that’s the best thing about Don – as rigid as he might seem while socializing, he knows how to make Red satisfied when they fuck. And he doesn’t need to be guided or controlled to do so. Much to Red’s astonishment, Don himself, is quite good at leading and controlling when it comes to getting physical.
Don works so good for him, moving just the way it feels the best, hitting the right spot, choosing the right angle, being so hot and full of vitality, that Red can’t help but feel the tight knot in his core loosening, string by string….His breathing grows deeper, chest going up and down, speeding up, and he doesn’t hold back his moans any more. All of his masks fade away, one by one – irony, passion for gambling, triumph, aggression…and when it comes to the last barrier, – detachment, it feels likes it will be torn of his face with all of the skin it has grown in to.
That’s why hiding his face into the comforting coolness of the sheets is a last sanctuary he seeks.
When Donald’s hot and heavy body covers him, pulling him close, pushing him into the bed, thrusting hard and fast….Red is ready. Ready to loose himself in that hot pulsating feeling of being faceless and yet, strangely safe.
Don hasn’t got enough nerve to ask him why he prefers to hide his face from him, when things get really hot and emotional. Red doesn’t mind him looking at all, when it comes to some handjob anyway…
Red would hate lying to him about that, or making a joke to diminish the importance of an honest answer. And he would definitely avoid giving an honest answer to Donald.
He doesn’t want him to know that he craves for a feeling of not only loosing all defences, loosing his face and stop being the one who’s always in control of everything, but mostly to stop being at all. Letting go of everything that is Red Reddington, and probably allowing good old Raymond…get a breath. Like, Ray had to die, to give way to Red, it’s Red’s turn to return the favor. Dissolve in this passion and cherish those sweet few seconds of almost total calmness. Peace in the eye of a storm.
They say, in France, that orgasm is a little death.