#{spot x frenchie} {pulchramortis} whatever our souls are made of his and mine are the same

[voiceofmany]

Tag Drop - Liam “Spot” Conlon

[voiceofmany-a]

♢ // frenchie @ spot smh

[acts of affection] - accepting!

♢ Straddling their lap and holding their face to yours for a deep kiss.

@pulchramortis

Just as Spot’s promised, he’s the soul of goddamn decorum. Do the kids still know something’s different? Yeah, of course - they’d be fools if they didn’t see the way Spot watched Frenchie, how Frenchie was sometimes a little pinker than usual. But there’s no touching. Sure as hell no kissing. Just business as usual.

Spot gets his reward more often than he ever could have dreamed of. Like tonight, when Frenchie heads to his own room off of the bunks, looks over his shoulder, then disappears inside, and Spot does a quick skim to make sure all his kids are indisposed with their card games, their few books, their storytelling, before he saunters down the hall himself.

When he steps inside, Frenchie quietly shuts the door behind Liam. Liam turns, watches, waits, following Frenchie’s command. A hand on his arm guides him to the bed, then ushers Liam to sit on the edge of it. And then there’s a lapful of the most handsome man Liam’s ever seen, rising so tall above him that Frenchie has to crane his neck just to kiss him.

Liam melts. Plain and simple. Breathes a quiet, shaky moan that no one else will hear as he finally gets this silent permission to touch. He runs hungry, desperate hands up Frenchie’s waist, his ribs, until he can wrap his arms around him and crush their bodies together.

He breaks the kiss only for a moment. “Y’worth waitin’ for, Frenchie,” he breathes with a rough chuckle. “Worth waitin’ a fuckin’ lifetime for.” And then he twists them, puts Frenchie on his back, and sinks his hands into his lover’s hair as he kisses him like he’s the only thing keeping him alive.

[voiceofmany-a]

“I saw that. You just checked me out.” // frenchie @ spot!

[nsfw meme] - accepting!

@pulchramortis

“Oh yeah?” Spot’s voice is light, barely there, as soft as a breeze as he lifts his eyebrows and smirks. “You saw that, huh?” He saunters forward, every step practically an invitation, practically a threat. He gives a quick glance around, just to make sure that they’re alone in the lodge house, then gets his hands on Frenchie without a hint of shame.

“What is it, French?” He nuzzles into his chest, breathes in the scent of how clean he is from his bath yesterday, feels the softness of his shirt against his cheek. “Ain’t I allowed t’check out my own fella, huh?” He eats up the trim waist under his palms, the sharp hips, and the swell of his ass - what he squeezes with a hint of possessiveness he still can’t fully shake. At least he’s allowed to touch now, after spending years with tingling palms and hating himself.

“Ey. I’ll tell you a secret.” He tips his head back, rests his chin on Frenchie’s chest. “Y’can check me out all you want too.” And, with a quick tiptoe kiss to his collarbone, Spot steps away, lest they waste their entire day off in bed.