Disclaimer: Obviously they don't belong to me. I am just playing with them because there simply isn't enough Moss/Roy fic in this big wide world.
Not drunk enough. Not nearly drunk enough. No, really. Not anything like...
Even Roy's inner monologue couldn't quite hold on strongly enough to complete its train of thought, not with the outside of his skull being battered from side to side, his hair being rubbed out of its follicles, and his lips being vigourously crushed against his teeth. He had tried resisting, tried flailing, tried gentle pushing away, now he decided to try just going limp. In a second or two, the barrage stopped. Moss pulled back a little, his eyes serious, his glasses askew.
'Roy,' he began, matter of factly, 'If you're not going to stand up straight, we need to sit down. If you let your entire weight hang from your head like that, you're going to have a very painful neck tomorrow. Trust the advice of the man who once found himself, courtesy of Ian Riley, the boy with no neck, hanging by his head from a set of monkey bars with his arms tied behind his back. It's flipping painful.'
Roy's mouth started to form a question that might have started with the word 'when?' or possibly with the word 'why?', but which was not going to be helpful to him in either case. He shut it again and simply nodded.
'Do we sit then?' Moss asked, letting go of Roy's right ear so that he could gesture at the sofa.
'Wha?' Roy asked, still slightly dazed from the light concussion of having his brain shaken around in his skull by his best friend. He tried to remember what it was he was meant to be answering, but the memory of Moss' question had vanished, so he played it safe. 'Yeah...?'
Moss grinned worryingly, and Roy's mind screamed at him, Wrong answer! It's always no! Whatever it is, it's... nearly always no!
However, whether the answer had been right or wrong, at least it had made Moss let go. He had gone to the sofa, and was now sitting there, legs crossed, his head tilted coquettishly, beckoning Roy to join him with one, long finger.
Roy regarded him, and a look of confusion crossed his face, before he noticed the beer on the table next to the sofa. If he could have some of that... not that he actually wanted to get drunk in this situation, but it might take the edge off his panic. He headed towards it, but before he could make a grab for it, his own hand was captured and tugged, and he toppled onto the sofa, landing next to Moss, who threw a leg over him, and sat, straddling his thighs and said, in the voice he usually used to welcome people into his latest roleplaying setting, 'Welcome to the sofa of doom.' He paused, frowned, gripped Roy's t-shirt front in his hands, and said, apologetically, 'Well, not actually "doom", as I imagine that would be rather off-putting, given that I am attempting to draw you in to a set of activities which are usually described in less apocalyptic terms – more entertaining, less end-of-the-world.'
'Oh God!' squeaked Roy.
Moss nodded. 'You do have a point: calling on the names of deities may well count towards my original phrasing... But... Oh, I suppose it doesn't really matter right here and right now. Although...' He looked down at Roy, whose mouth was opening and closing in a fine codfish motion. 'No, perhaps you're right. We should just get on with it.'
And before Roy could come up with anything more coherent, Moss was kissing him again.
Actually, Roy thought, as Moss's glasses fell off, and he let go for a moment to put them neatly on the table next to the beer, where they were out of danger of being crushed, this is okay. He froze. Had his own mind really just formed that idea? Impossible... but, not too far wrong, in fact. Now that they were on the sofa, his head was no longer being crushed against the hard wall. The cushions were preventing Moss from shaking it around so much, and even though he was still being pushed back by the force of Moss's mouth on his, now that there was a bit of give, it was actually quite bearable. Nice even. It was a long time since Roy had been in a position to kiss anyone properly, and although Moss wouldn't have been his first choice...
A parade of buxom blondes traipsed past his inner eye, but were followed up by the figure of Moss, backpack swinging from his hand, clouting the last blonde in the line about her naked buttocks and shouting something. Roy concentrated. It sounded like 'and you can stay out!'
For someone who was so fundamentally unable to stand up for himself, Moss could be extremely forceful where Roy was concerned. Roy opened his eyes. Moss was leaning over him again, eyes questioning. Big, dark, brown eyes staring straight at Roy, calm and friendly. Familiar. Pleasant. Nice. Doable. Loveable... Okay, that was enough. Roy shouted down the inner monologue, particularly furious with it now that it seemed to be incapable of sentences all of a sudden. Hard to ignore it though, when it was right. Damn it.
He wondered what Moss actually wanted. They had kissed... no, Moss had kissed him, before. Perhaps never in ideal circumstances, but always equally enthusiastically. It had always been just a... a thing. A distraction. And Moss barely seemed even to remember having done it afterwards. Like it wasn't important to him. Now, on the other hand, he looked like he meant business. Roy thought about his kissing technique and groaned: this could be painful.
'What do you want?' Roy finally managed to croak out.
'I want,' said Moss, in the same, level, factual voice he would use to order the exact dinner he wanted from the takeaway, 'To find out how far you'll let me go.'
The words filtered through to Roy's brain, where they washed around for a few seconds, trying to work out whether to go through the door marked 'rational thought processes', or just to hit the panic button under the desk. In the end, they couldn't make up their mind, and sat down in the waiting area, which set the expression on Roy's face to a pleasantly vacant shrug, and left him there, without any further instructions.
There was a moment when Moss just watched him intently, calm before the storm, then suddenly, the storm broke, and Moss crashed back into Roy with the intensity of a hurricane.
Roy's mind disengaged, re-engaged, lost its nerve, and disengaged again. He was aware of Moss's lips on his, then of his tongue pushing insistently at his teeth, while his hands scrabbled at his shoulders, his neck, his ears. Roy's own arms were flat along the sofa, but as Moss's tongue finally forced entrance and twined, snake-strong around his own, he felt them lift of their own accord, as instinct overcame panic and he wrapped them about his friend.
Moss pulled back again, his face slightly abraded by its close and enthusiastic contact with Roy's stubble. Roy felt a horrific urge to kiss it better: which he totally failed to crush. He raised his head and pressed his lips to Moss's cheek. The pressure on his thighs increased as Moss sat back, grabbed at his t-shirt and dragged it over his head, catching his nose in the process; then turned his attention to his own shirt, carefully removing his tie, then taking it off and folding both articles neatly, before putting them on the table with his glasses and the beer.
Suddenly he scooted backwards and Roy yelped as a mouth descended on his left nipple, sucking hard, then biting at it, stopping only just short of really hurting (a fact that Roy ascribed more to luck than intent). Moss's hands slipped around him, hugging him tightly, digging his fingers deep into his puppy-fat. His mouth moved rapidly to the other nipple. Now that hurt.
'Moss!' Roy shuddered and clutched at the fuzzy ball of hair that was all he could see of Moss's head. He dragged it back until he could see eyes, a nose and those delicious cheeks... No. No, no, no. 'That hurt!' he said, firmly, wondering why that was all he was saying. Moss looked ashamed.
'Sorry Roy.' He looked down. 'Got a bit carried away.' He was still looking down. In fact, his eye-line was directly into Roy's crotch. Roy dragged him up by his head again, then sighed, and pulled him all the way up to eye-level, with the intention of telling him that was enough. Unfortunately, before he could get the words out, he had accidentally kissed him again.
Moss's enthusiasm did not seem to be lessening, and now, while one hand rubbed Roy's scalp away from his cranium, his other hand shot down to the waistband of Roy's jeans and slipped the button and the zip with unfeasible ease. Does he practise that at home? Roy wondered vaguely, with the minute part of his brain that was still functioning.
His hand slipped round to Roy's buttocks, grasping and kneading, lifting him off the sofa, and into Moss's grinding crotch. Roy registered the fact that Moss was very, very hard. Then he registered the further fact that he himself was also very, very hard. Perhaps that was why he was having so much trouble thinking.
Then Moss insinuated a hand between them and he felt the brush of his fingertips at the opening of his boxers. In an instant, his brain clicked in, finally catching up with his body, and he snatched at Moss's hand, stopping it from going any further. Kissing was one thing. That was explainable, it was... Well, in his own head, he could excuse it to himself. It was practice. That's what it was. After all, girls were allowed to have practised French kissing on each other as teenagers, that was sexy, not weird... he supposed. And if you got most men drunk, they'd admit to having practised on their own hand at some point. This was just like that. Just like that. But any further, and suddenly there would be no excuses possible. There was no way he'd be able to persuade himself that letting Moss take a hold of his traitorously erect... bits, was 'just practice' or 'insignificant'. At least, not when he couldn't use intoxication as an excuse.
'Stop!' he squealed. 'Moss, really, no. No!'
Moss stopped and sat back, looking slightly hurt. He seemed to be calculating something. Then he waggled his head from side to side in acceptance, and his eyebrows raised with his grin.
'All right, Roy, kissing it is then.'
He returned to his assault on Roy's mouth, and it was no good: Roy just couldn't make his brain work quickly enough to object. Inwardly, he sighed in relief. Kissing he could deal with. Never mind that it had been a more difficult issue not ten minutes ago. That was neither here nor there. At least he had avoided being given a hand job by Moss. Could you imagine it? If the enthusiasm and lack of co-ordination Moss put in to kissing were to be replicated in his approach to masturbation... Good God! That hand that was currently trying to roll his ear off his head; imagine it doing its damnedest around other parts of your body? A man could lose something important like that. It would be so fast, so rough, so intense. So, so intense, so... Oh, no. More blood rushed to his groin at the thought. He wished he could get rid of Moss for a few minutes, so that he could at least loosen his trousers, which were now so tight that if he moved, he was going to...
Moss stopped kissing him. Stared into his eyes and dropped a hand down to rest, guiltlessly, on Roy's bulging crotch. He was suddenly very serious, that look he got when he very definitely needed to do something, however irrational, and nothing on Earth was going to stop him. Something important, like making sure all the teaspoons were the same way round in the drawer. Or like making sure all the boxes he was throwing away had been stacked inside one another in the optimum arrangement, to create the smallest overall volume of box for disposal. That kind of look. Roy knew it too well.
'I think you'll agree, Roy, that you are being flipping unreasonable. You're not only foiling me, but you're also making life very uncomfortable for yourself, I notice.' He shot a questioning look at Roy, who thought that Moss was absolutely right, but that there was no way he was going to admit that. Unfortunately, the first thought was the one that made its way most clearly into the expression on his face. It was a sort of smiling, nodding, 'yes' sort of look, albeit a very confused one. Moss grinned.
'Good,' he said. 'I really want to do this, actually.' Then he pulled at Roy's trousers, dragging them down as far as his thighs, making him squeak and bury his head in his hands, as if the problem might go away if he just closed his eyes tightly enough.
The hands around him were firm and quick, not as painfully slapdash as he had imagined, but certainly more vigourous than anything Roy had experienced before. He tried to think back to girls who had done this for him. Not many to chose from, but it had happened, and it had always been... Just a little disappointing. They never much seemed to want to do it. It was more like they were doing it because they thought they were meant to. Too much porn, he thought. Girls shouldn't watch porn if it was going to tell them they had to do things they were no good at. They should only watch it if it was going to persuade them to let you do odd things to them. But then, Roy wasn't really all that experimental, he didn't want weird, he just wanted nice, and, preferably, good.
This was nice. This was, actually, good. Bizarrely, Moss seemed to know what he was doing. Perhaps this activity was just technical enough to interest him enough to do his research... Or perhaps Moss was 'one of the quiet ones', and all those evenings Roy had thought he was spending at home with his mother, had actually been spent secretly sharing sexual favours with a whole raft of faceless people.
'Ha–' he attempted. He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath to try and make up for his increasing breathlessness. His voice came out higher-pitched than he would have liked, but otherwise sounded commendably calm, he thought.
'Have you done this a lot? With other... Other men, I mean.'
Moss's hand stilled and he gazed up confusedly, squinting to try to bring Roy's face into better focus at this distance, without his glasses.
'Why would I want to try this with any other man?' he asked conversationally.
'I...' Roy decided, on reflection, not to answer that. He didn't really want to know, anyway.
'Where would I even meet another man on the sort of terms that could lead to me kissing him?'
'No, Roy, I haven't. Now please be quiet so that I can concentrate. Concentration is very important in this game, I am led to believe.'
Roy shut his mouth and gulped as the whirlwind descended on him once more. He looked down and watched in amazement as, instead of returning his hands to their work, Moss, lowered his head and did what none of the girls had ever offered to do for him. Moss's hands, freed from one delicate task, were now everywhere: raking the skin on his belly, pinching his nipples, sliding down his arms to twine their fingers together, while his mouth kept up its fairly accomplished work. There would be bruises. No doubt about that, but, all things considered, he couldn't really bring himself to care all that much.
His mouth dropped open again, and he tipped his head back onto the sofa cushions, his eyes rolling back as Moss did something quite unexpected with his tongue.
'Ungh...' he said, and Moss muttered 'Mmmm,' around him. Which was just one bit of stimulation too much.
He surfaced a few moments later, to find Moss right in front of him, staring straight into his eyes. He stared back, hoping Moss was going to give him some sort of instructions to follow, since he couldn't think of anything for himself right now.
'I believe this is the bit where you kiss me tenderly and tell me that was either "nice", "wonderful", or "uninventive", depending on how well I did,' Moss said, puckering up for him. Roy was in no condition to argue, so he swallowed, to get some moisture back down to his vocal cords.
'That was...' he tried to remember the options, but couldn't. 'Amazing,' he said, truthfully. He pulled Moss's head towards him and kissed him gently, because his current condition didn't allow for anything else. Moss let him kiss him, didn't do anything in return, just let him press their lips together and then pull away. Now that, Roy thought, was extremely nice. Without the physical assault, kissing Moss was quite friendly-feeling; familiar, even. He couldn't actually snuggle into him, he just couldn't, and he didn't think he could deal with Moss snuggling into him, so they ended up instead in a sort of bear-hug, flat out on the sofa, side by side. Really, they ought to get into bed before they both fell to sleep, but this was nice, just here, and he was very sleepy, and Moss was starting to make those little whiffly noises he made when he was dropping off.
No doubt he'd regret it in the morning, even without the aid of a hangover, but right now, wrapped around a warm, lightly snoring Moss, with the wash of endorphins making him feel snuggly and safe, Roy thought he could get used to this.
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