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One last stroke, and Silver is coming apart under him. Flint is a little proud that he has reduced him beyond words in these last minutes. And a little concerned for the way he whimpers when he pulls out. He smoothes his hands over the suntanned, muscular, overheated, quivering, beautiful back that presents itself to him.
"Shh. Did I hurt you?"
Flint's worry surges when Silver's shoulders shake even more at that. Until he realises belatedly that it's with laughter.
"Captain." The raw rasp of his voice tears at Flint's heart. "When I told you to take me I didn't mean take loving care of me after I've spent."
Flint remembers now why it had felt such an achievement to fuck this man speechless.
Silver half turns around to fix an intent gaze on him. "Christ. You're not even touching yourself anymore."
Flint holds his gaze while he deliberately drops a hand to his own cock. He has half a mind to go for Silver's softened, seed-coated one instead, watch him shake with overstimulation and maybe, just maybe, shut him up another short while. But he has been taught the etiquette of sharing a bed with a man from the kindest person he knows, and that is hard to shake. Even when this particular man provokes anything but a kind touch.
"Now I am," Flint says, dead-pan. "Satisfied?"
"Technically, yes," Silver admits, "But I had rather expected to have you come inside me, you know."
Flint runs a finger over Silver's well-oiled hole, watches him flinch away, strokes himself faster. "Pity you are still too sensitive for that, then."
"Really?" Silver sounds genuinely disbelieving. "I can't deny your being gentle ever holds its own disconcerting appeal. But is this the time?"
Flint cannot fathom a better time for being gentle, with another person so open and vulnerable and pliant before him, and himself pleased and shot through with slow, simmering desire at having brought him into that state. A better person for it, he has no difficulty at all imagining.
"You sure?" he asks, lining himself back up.
"Seriously?" Silver asks back.
"Yes, seriously," Flint hisses. He takes a deep breath. "I seriously want to know whether you are all right with being overstimulated, probably painfully so."
"What do you think being in love with you is like all the time? Yes, I'm sure." Silver's tone is a mixture of petulant and earnest that usually quietly amuses Flint, but in this case he finds the content more interesting than the form.
"What did you just say?"
Silver rolls his eyes as if what he said hadn't been the slightest bit momentous. "I said get back to fucking me."
Flint is, as so often with this man, lost for words. So instead of replying, he obliges, one hand insinuating itself between the sheets and Silver's body while he pushes him back onto his front, stroking over Silver's semen-covered belly and keeping his core slightly lifted from the cot, the other guiding the way in. For a second he is entirely focused on how deliciously enveloped his cock is. He enjoys the friction of drawing out slowly, of pushing back in with force, and wasn't that what Silver wanted, to be used by the man he had just admitted he-
And then Silver whimpers again. It's a beautiful sound and Flint wants to hear more of it. And yet he stays exactly where he is, cock driven deep and aching for movement, forehead pressed against Silver's shoulderblade.
"Are you -"
"Yes, I'm alright, for the love of God, Flint, please, just go on. What's wrong-"
Flint decides he has heard enough of that and clamps a hand over Silver's mouth. If his sheer sexual ability is no longer enough to shut Silver up then this will have to do. And Silver will still be able to make more of the incoherent sounds Flint has learned to appreciate recently. He'll get to hear many more of those, if not long-guarded truths slipping out involuntarily. Moreover, he'll be able to feel them against his palm like he is Silver's wet panting right now.
He starts to move again. Silver lets out a sharp breath, but he won't break his rhythm again to look for further reassurance. Whatever his reasons, Silver wants this, and has said so clearly enough. And even now he is spurring him on with little movements of his hips and then, deliciously, licking and suckling at his palm, which makes Flint groan a few desperate noises of his own to match Silver's mewling.
If he allowed himself to think about it, he might come to the conclusion that he not simply just loves this moment. That Silver isn't the only one in love here. But he feels too good to think about it, too good to worry about hurting Silver anymore, too good to hold back. He just barely manages to bite Silver's shoulder to muffle the dangerously loud sound that wants to wrestle itself free out of his throat as he slams into him again. Silver sobs into his palm and shivers despite the heat of the Bahamas and of physical exertion and Flint draws his hips closer and is coming, teeth digging in harder into his shoulder, Fingers digging in harder into his cheek and his hips.
"Wow," Silver says as soon as Flint's hand falls away from his mouth, suddenly too postcoitally heavy to hold Silver's words in. "That was more like it."
"Like what?" Flint manages to ask while he extricates himself from Silver and flops down next to him inelegantly.
"Like I imagined being fucked by you when you had me against the hull of that fucking warship, for instance. And not that seldomly since." Silver tentatively, appreciatively strokes the bite marks on his shoulder with a fingertip, turns his head at an improbable angle trying to see them.
Flint doesn't know how to feel. The admission that Silver had wanted him for a long time was appreciated, but not surprising. It had already been implicit in the way Silver threw himself at him when given but a small indication that it would be welcome. Silver's other, earlier, farther reaching admission feels very far away now, and somewhat unreal. But he mostly feels satisfied, and warm, and only the slightest bit mystified and irritated, which probably makes this the most successful Silver has ever been at making him feel things. Which is why Flint lets him get away with looking so very pleased with himself - fair enough, in this one case. Nothing at all to do with him being tired out.
Also, if he's already being fair, he's pretty pleased with himself as well, and not up to hiding it for these last moments before he'll inevitably nod off. He grins a slow grin at Silver.
"So it's not too bad that being in love with me feels like that all the time, after all," he states, the backs of his fingers trailing down Silver's arm lazily and aimlessly.
"I never said it was," Flint hears him answer, his eyes already having fallen shut. A hint of the grin still remains on his face even as he falls asleep.