Work Text:
Lysandre was twenty-three when he found out that physical attraction wasn't, as he'd previously thought, part of the great theatre of human interactions, and that other people might be genuinely invested in sex. That perhaps made the discovery sound more dramatic than he'd meant it to, but in his defence, Sycamore certainly seemed unreasonably shocked at this discovery.
They were in the main lab that Sycamore's worked at, late at night with the rest of the staff long gone. Lysandre wasn't technically meant to be here, but since they'd both been so busy in recent years, it had become a habit to try and make space to work together and keep company, and it wasn’t explicitly against the rules. The conversation was sometimes thin most nights, however even silent company was nice.
Tonight, though, had somehow gotten onto a…tangential topic.
"...You think people are playing pretend when they say they feel attraction?" Sycamore said, leaning forward on his elbows with a slightly overdramatic show of shock in Lysandre's opinion. "How?! I know you've had sex! You've got home with a pretty girl or guy on your arm more times than I can count! What are did you think was going on if you didn't think they wanted you in their bed?"
"...I thought it was because I’m rich—It’s a status thing, is it not?" Lysandre tried, sure that they were talking about the same thing from different angles.
“Status?” Sycamore said flatly and made a vague ‘continue’ gesture, staring incredulously at Lysandre. “…Expand on that, please?”
Lysandre didn’t like that tone but drew himself up in his own chair anyway as he gave a smooth answer, sure that Sycamore would see the light any moment. "It’s the same reason my father preaches on the value of networking. It’s why there are gathering of like-minded people in various circles in the first place, same as most high-class clubs of that nature. I’m just pointing out that it’s the primary motivator, not that I’m dismissing other possible secondary motivations, you understand."
"...You think that people have sex because it’s a way to make…social connections. It’s not even that you’re wrong, it’s just your view is just? Hilariously single-minded?" Sycamore pressed his hands into his eyes. "You can't possibly—no—I don't even know where to start with this."
"What do you get out of it then?" Lysandre retorted, not enjoying feeling like he was defending himself, but sure that Sycamore was just being ridiculous as always.
Sycamore always got over-invested too easily when he fell into bed. There was no need to imply that it was any different because Lysandre preferred to act with purpose and not frivolous whims.
"I get a quite lot out of it, and very little of it is business orientated," Sycamore muttered, face buried in his hands.
"Like what?" Lysandre demanded, intent on getting Sycamore to either justify this or admit that he was right. “The mechanics are not that engaging.”
Sycamore raised his face and squinted through his fingers. "…I can't tell if that's a joke or if you're genuinely asking me what pleasure I get out of sex?"
Lysandre winced, only recognising the harshness of his tone in hindsight. Trying to find a simile Sycamore might understand better, he said, "...I apologise for the bluntness, but I...I assumed that this was the same as the romantic gestures? Like the dancing, kissing, flowers and the other etiquette of that manner?”
Sycamore had folded his hands in front of his mouth, elbows leaning heavily on the desk as he silently stared but making no further comment.
“….It’s obviously a…social construct?” Lysandre continued, feeling a little tentative now at this building silence. “Some people, like you, gain a lot of enjoyment from such frivolities, but it’s obviously not…that…deep? It’s about the performed actions within the acceptable etiquette and gaining bonds that you can later make use of?"
"Is this really what you think?" Sycamore said. "You think I’m acting whenever I’m dating someone?”
Lysandre didn’t quite like the vague upset of Sycamore’s tone, but it wasn’t like Lysandre was wrong.
“This is a generalisation on my part, and I’ll admit that some people do get a little over-invested, like you—it’s not a mark against you, Sycamore. Just an observation. My intention is not to offend you? Your commitment and passion for all you do is…commendable, even if I find you bemusing for it.”
Sycamore almost flashed a smile at that before sinking back into his chair, staring a little too intently at Lysandre.
“This is putting a lot in context. And here I thought you weren’t interested in me—Turns out you just think that I’m a dramatic idiot who’s playing pretend. Not sure if that’s better or worse than rejecting me because you're not attracted to me."
This whole conversation was weird, but Lysandre was certain that Sycamore was talking utter nonsense at this point.
“When did I reject you?”
“You don't want to...” Sycamore waved a hand vaguely, and failing to address the question proper, “…There are people you would turn some down based on appearance, right?"
“...I don't understand the question. Are you referring to turning people down based on how I find them unappealing? Like on a personal level, dress sense or hygiene? Because yes, I am not going have sex with someone who thinks plaid is fashionable—”
"—No. Not what I’m talking about; also plaid is fine, don’t derail this into another rant about your unreasonable hatred of it—No, I mean like..." Sycamore pointed at himself. "Explain how I am or am not physically attractive to you as a sexual partner, please? Not on any other axis, just…physical appearance? I'm not like...I'm just trying to understand what you see when you look at people you are attached to versus not attracted to?”
Lysandre took his turn to stare flatly at Sycamore, waiting for him to get to the point.
Sycamore sighed dramatically and clapped his hands together. “—There are people you won’t sleep with, correct?”
“Of course? What kind of stupid question—”
“—And because we’re friends, you have no interest in having…sex with…me?” Sycamore said through his teeth and a weirdly uncomfortable smile.
“There isn’t really a need for it when we’ve already got a perfectly functional relationship? Why would we have sex?” Lysandre said, still feeling like Sycamore was deliberately being obtuse.
“This isn’t a question of if we ‘would’ have sex; it's about what you find appealing or unappealing about the idea.”
“I still do not understand your point. Stop talking around it and get to the point!”
Sycamore threw up his hands. “All I want to know is, are you attracted to me?"
Lysandre resisted the urge to sigh. "And we have come full circle! I’m not going to pretend to you like I would if you were a stranger, even if you demand I do so! I know how to play at the game, but I’m—this is a rational conversation! I’m not going to play pretend with you until you explain to me how my refusal to engage in the same dramatics as you makes any difference, and then I’ll decide if your question makes sense.”
Sycamore was staring into space, "...So even when you flirt—Lysandre? Have you ever...wanted to have sex? Just because you liked the person and not because you were getting something else out of it?"
“…What else would someone get out of sex?"
Sycamore huffed. "Lysandre. My friend. I hate to tell you, but that's not why most people end up in bed together. Usually, the act itself is the end goal."
"And I believe that you are overexaggerating. Why are you grandstanding at me on this topic when there’s nothing to be gained from it?” Lysandre muttered, not liking his condescending tone. “People like you commit to the theatre. Same as how socialists would never admit to feeling anything other than pleasure at social engagements. It’s the theatre of it. A show that we all involve having the scripted notes, mutual understanding of the roles—how is anything but a performance?”
“It’s…just….” Sycamore tried to gesture at him and failed, leaving his hands floating about aimlessly. “…It just is?”
“If you're so certain that you experience this in a way that's different to me, prove it. Explain what you find appealing about sex as an end unto itself.”
Sycamore rested his chin in his hands with a nonplussed stare. "…I feel like that’s something that someone usually saves for a sexual partner or someone they’re attempting to seduce.”
“And I’d invite you to try, if I thought you’d have any chance at success.” Lysandre shot back. “You seem to have lost the script, even if you keep attempting to assure me it’s more than that to you.”
The pause was noticeable this time, as was the slight flash of amusement. “…Are you trying to tempt me to try, Lysandre?”
Lysandre folded his arms. “Like I said, it’s not that I find you unappealing, it’s just that I don’t see the appeal of the act, not like you clearly do, and therefore I have no reason to have sex with you. I'm hardly shaming you for this, Sycamore. Your dramatics clearly bring you joy, and I’m saying that you’re reacting to social norms. Not that you’re wrong for your commitment to this theatre.”
"And I’m trying to explain that for me it’s not...theatrics? Not for me? Like I’m compelled or drunk off the emotion even when I should be neither of those things! When I want someone, it’s like..." Sycamore paused, tapping his fingers against his jaw. "—Like I become an idiot. And don't make the obvious joke about me always being an fool, please?"
Lysandre snorted quietly, even as he quietly tried to sort through Sycamore’s other assertations. “…As you wish."
“As you pointed out, I do like social gathering, far more than you, and would you say that it's only…acting that creates that difference in our engagement? Is the fact I enjoy being about people a lie that I pretend to as well?”
“No, but that’s obviously different—”
“And I’m trying to explain that it’s…not? There are plenty about sex and relationships that…has etiquette. But I don’t seek sex out because it’s…expected of me? I like the physical touch, the draw of seeing even a stranger in that…arrangement? I really enjoy it?”
“You…like it. For the…mechanics?” Lysandre repeated, trying out the statement aloud, searching for falsehoods and not finding a trace of it in Sycamore open expression.
“For it all, for the dance of words before, for the closeness of skin after, for the delight of getting to match wits with someone or be ridiculously sentimental over a stranger just because I want to—None of the…theatrics, or me acting a fool, is an act. You should know that it doesn’t take that much to make me act a fool despite my attempts otherwise. Why would you think this is the one time I’m in control of myself?”
"But it’s..." Lysandre gestured vaguely. "But what compels you to want it? As for the rest, I don't—I thought the ridiculousness was part of the...ritual? To show sincerity? Where it’s to show that you're fond enough of a person to risk looking ridiculous for the sake of making clear your intentions? That how you tell apart a potential life partner, or something clearly romantic from just a…one night stand or other arrangements?"
Sycamore rested his elbows on his desk as he stared across at Lysandre. "That is almost adorably innocent, you know?"
“…Excuse me?"
"I mean, I can almost see your logic?" Sycamore continued, ignoring Lysandre's offence like it was nothing. "—I did always admire how in control you were even when flirting with the prettiest girl in the room. Knowing that you wanted to clarify the lack of long-term interest makes it a little less so. Even if it’s still a little cute, in a way? And that’s probably what let you overlook my own stupidity concerning you so easily, if you even noticed that."
That gave Lysandre pause, even if he had to push away irritation to notice it.
There had been a... mention of that before. Of Sycamore’s…interest. But he was still having trouble understanding this apparent difference he'd never even know was there. That apparently both of them had been using the same language for years and never noticed the definition of the words were different.
“Are you…attracted to me?" Lysandre asked slowly.
"Yes, I unfortunately am. I'd probably feel a lot more hesitant to mention that, but for how apparently you think I’m just 'putting on a show' and don't have any feelings worth paying attention to." Sycamore said, and there was an edge of almost...bitterness there.
"...Then explain it to me. I said I wasn’t…judging you, and if it’s truly different—What is it that makes you...want to touch me, even if that’s all you’d gain from it? What do you feel that you’re so sure is different to me? I never claimed the mechanics weren’t pleasurable. But this…wording of yours? It seems a little…overdramatic." Lysandre said, trying on the language that was both familiar and easy to say, but suddenly seemed to have some dimensions that were unseen before.
There was a short silence and Sycamore spun his chair from side to side, staring at his desk, eyebrows furrowed together.
"...Remember when you finally got your growth spurt when you were nineteen?" Sycamore said at last, jerking his chair to a standstill.
Lysandre nodded slowly. "Yes, now explain what that has got to do with sex?"
"—And that I was very surprised you were now taller than me? Do you remember that I acted very odd for a while when I got back from Sinnoh?" Sycamore continued ignoring his question.
“Vaguely," Lysandre admitted, still not sure where this was going.
“It was because I was having a very persistent daydream about how easily you would be able to pin me against a wall and kiss me. It haunted me for months before I managed to...not move on, but at least soak up the urge with a few other...encounters."
Lysandre blinked, and half-opened his mouth.
"—I mean, that's just the tamest version? I'm trying not to be crass, so I’ll not go there, but—it’s the same with most elements of relationships? They dwell with me, hang about so I get drunk on them, like a sweet spirit I keep drinking even when I know I should stop—I do so many ridiculous things for that sweet wine.”
Lysandre nodded slowly. “…I suppose you’ve always tended to feel emotions strongly."
Sycamore waved a hand about vaguely, like trying to summon understanding from the air alone. “Some of it is...a kind of theatrics? But not in the way that you just described to me. Because I mean it completely. It’s myself at my most base, and I'm not doing it because I think it’s a good idea, but because the affection compels me? It’s like I became slave to my impulses, and so many of them are stupid. It’s a physical addiction that ties into everything—Ha, I don’t know if I’m trying to explain love or lust here, but I’m sure I’m failing at it."
Sycamore had returned to spinning his chair back and forth in sharp little movements, not quite glaring at his desk now, but definitely sunk into his mind.
He was utterly serious about this, speaking on this as if real impulses were behind his actions, rather than calculated moves. Even in the middle of the act, Lysandre found that he was rarely engaged in…specifics. Or even arousal. The mechanics were arousing some of the time, certainly, but it was only in the briefest flashes.
But there had been…moments. When Lysandre had known his partner better than usual and felt flashes of feeling the interest to kiss them only for its own sake—but that was a rare thing. Not something that was arousing, but more just…compelling for the contact itself.
Sycamore seemed to find such revelations based on no physical interaction at all and only the vaguest visual stimuli.
"From that admission, I take it that you've thought about having sex with...me?" Lysandre asked, testing this uncharted water.
Groaning quietly, Sycamore buried his face into his hands. "...Yes?"
"Just for the sake of...sex."
"That's why most people do it!" Sycamore said through his teeth, still not looking up.
Lysandre pressed a thumb under his chin thoughtfully, eyeing Sycamore carefully. "...Are you sure?"
"Am I sure that I’ve jacked off thinking about you undressing me, of tasting your skin, of you climbing on top of me and—" Sycamore jerked a little and tried to cover that with a profoundly awkward smile and dark colour rising on his cheeks, "And, uh, doing...things with me? Yes, I'm sure I have."
"...I meant more enjoying sex as something other than mechanics,” Lysandre replied.
He knew Sycamore better than almost anyone else but had never considered him further than that. There was a sense of…stability, and there had been no impulse to question that beyond it. The idea of Sycamore bringing himself to climax based on nothing but an imagined encounter with him—
That had knocked away the foundation of his image of Sycamore, and he now found he was interested in seeing what else could be displaced.
The long, drawn-out groan as Sycamore dropped his face onto the desk was amusing at least.
“Please. Just…stop asking questions before I admit to anything else incriminating? For the sake of whatever dignity I have left?” Sycamore muttered into the wood.
“…Why? Weren’t you bragging a few moments ago you could seduce me? I see that you were only bluffing on that point.” Lysandre said and leaned an elbow on the desk. “You even set yourself up to the point where you could offer to show me and prove your point with a practical demonstration.”
Sycamore’s head jerked upright, and his eyes were almost narrowing at this point as he considered Lysandre.
“…Alas, if only you were better at picking up on cues. Still. That was still enlightening. I'm not sure I’ve ever had sex that I wanted. I’ve certainly never thought about it much outside of the act, and never enough to bother…jerking off. As you described it." Lysandre mused quietly.
Sycamore twitched a little but focused into a curious expression despite it. "I...why would you do it then?"
"It doesn't feel bad, and often it’s harder to avoid than it is to just...keep going? And people really take the strangest things as invitations." Lysandre said. “Though I see you’re not capable of that quirk even if you claim to be part of the masses.”
Sycamore snorted and rested on his elbow, leaning forward a little over his desk. “…I see that you have the same subtly as the ‘masses’, even if you claim to have no interest in sex for its own sake. This is an oddly sudden shift in opinion considering five minutes ago you thought I was just an amateur actor whose appearance was neutral to you five minutes ago.”
“Ah, but this is not just sex for its own sake. This would be with you and your extremely unsubtle expressions of interest.”
“…Explain that to me again using more descriptive words,” Sycamore said, mildly doubtful but still listening.
Lysandre pointed a finger at Sycamore’s chest. “You’re compelled by mechanics, or perhaps they merely overlay your…emotional investment.” Turning the finger back to himself, Lysandre added, “I understand the appeal of the latter, more than the former at least, and…I’m intrigued by your approach.”
“Why, Lysandre,” Sycamore placed a hand over his heart in a way that almost managed not to come off as purely sarcastic. “I didn’t think you’d take it that way, but here you are, pressing me to prove my argument with my body? How forward of you.”
“See—” Lysandre narrowed his eyes. “This is why I thought it was all theatre.”
“Maybe I should take your suggestion on how to prove my point," Sycamore replied, tapping at the desk in a quick staccato motion.
"Do you intend to show me that my point about mechanics is wrong, or are you going to prove me right instead?" Lysandre said, mildly interested now to see what Sycamore might do to convince him he was right.
Swing himself out of his chair, Sycamore pointedly stretched, twisting his shoulders as he did so. “You underestimate me. You’ll find my togue is tricky even if I keep it off your skin. I can be very convincing.”
Lysandre covered a laugh with a cough. “I’ve rarely heard someone make such an arrogant assertion on so little basis.”
“I never make baseless assertions,” Sycamore said cheerfully and walked about the desk, tapping his chin thoughtfully with each step. “…You seem to have trouble with the difference between impulse and control. Since you don’t feel much of the former, and everyone has some control over it anyway, you’ve assumed it to be ultimately meaningless. Well. Let me act on my impulses to show you what they might feel to live with.”
Sycamore pushed out Lysandre’s chair and leaned down with his hands on the arms, a breath away from their mouths touching, and it was only then Sycamore hesitated.
“Do you mind if—?” Sycamore asked, eyes tracking over Lysandre’s face, searching for something in it.
Lysandre lets their lips brush, just for a moment without it being a kiss, interrupting Sycamore as his eyes widened at the touch. Breathing the same air so much that he could feel Sycamore’s quick intake of breath.
“—Prove me wrong, if you can,” Lysandre replied, keeping his voice only just loud enough to be felt, challenging Sycamore as he waited to see if Sycamore would rise to meet it.
Sycamore teeth flashed in a smile, and the kiss filled his next breath like a lungful of water.
Lysandre cupped Sycamore chin, letting muscle memory partly take over this while he mused about what Sycamore was seeking to prove here. The conscious awareness that Sycamore felt the desire to do this was…distracting. This wasn’t part of a social dance or going down a checklist. Sycamore was truly feeling a need to act.
Apparently.
Sycamore's breath was ragged when he moved back, and this close Lysandre could see how dark his pupils were. That was a typical enough look for someone that had been kissed, but he was now looking at it through the lens of it being...well. Sycamore.
Hands still resting on the arms of the chair, Sycamore took another shaky breath and said, "—I want to do so many things to you. To undress you until I can bite down on your shoulder, to see if you like having my hands in your hair or in your shirt—I’m not consumed by this, but it’s...distracting. Holding together my thoughts like a tightrope so that I remain in control despite those impulses. It’s a contestant balance between those—Between consideration and care and need and desire."
"I usually think solely in terms of the sequence of actions. There's never a risk of drowning, only of...boredom." Lysandre admitted.
Sycamore looked oddly satisfied at this and took a handful of Lysandre’s shirts in hand as he leaned back in. The pull was light and barely even crumpled it, but the weight of his eyes was heavy against the skin of Lysandre’s throat.
“I assure you that you could do nothing but stare at me, and I’d still not be bored,” Sycamore said.
“…You’re mostly convincing me you’re easily entertained,” Lysandre replied but did feel his attention flicker down a little to the edge of Sycamore’s collarbone.
Would Sycamore like teeth on his skin? He’d mentioned it a few times, and he always left the first few buttons of his shirt undone. There was a certain appeal to the idea of leaving a…mark. Would Sycamore button up his shirt to hide or leave it undone tomorrow, if such a mark was left there?
Sycamore slid his other hand under Lysandre’s throat, making him shift his attention back to his face.
“I am very easily entertained, but that is the point.” Sycamore grinned and dug in his fingers just enough for Lysandre to feel them when he swallowed.
“True. Your attention span is likely a factor here,” Lysandre said, a little distracted as Sycamore leaned so his breath just brushed his ear.
“Ha, fine, fine. Then let me ask another question of you.” Sycamore said into his ear, so close that Lysandre couldn’t see his face now. “Which do you tend to, when you take some to your bed, Lysandre? Do you prefer to dominate them, or do you like it when your partner is the one who makes those annoying little decisions for you?”
“…I react to them?” Lysandre said, tentative now as he felt an almost shiver going down his spine as the feel of Sycamore breath. The hairs on his neck were standing a little on end, and for a moment, he found he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing with his hands.
Nervousness? About something so ridiculous?
…Why?
“Is there anything you desire, that sticks with you like it has claws in your mind, when you take them to bed?” Sycamore asked softly, his voice warm as his breath.
“There are things I could suggest, but I believe that it’s not a…need. More a curiosity of how they’ll react.” Lysandre replied slowly. “…I am beginning to see the difference now. This is not just curiosity for you, is it?”
Sycamore’s mouth rested above the skin below his ear, and he clicked his tongue. The sound was a little wet, as was the brush of his lips against his skin. “Well, a bit, but my curiosity is tied up with desire, something that I assure you is quite real for me. But that’s fine; let’s see if that distinction helps our little experiment. What things are you curious to see? We’ll track the differences that way.”
“…I find that I’m curious to see what you’d do with teeth marks over your collarbone, left to darken from the pressure of a mouth there,” Lysandre said slowly, after turning the words over on his tongue.
Lysandre felt the catch of breath, the way Sycamore’s movements stuttered in the shift of his shoulder. It was a subtle change, but a notable one, considering how controlled Sycamore’s movements had been until that point.
“—Oh?” Sycamore managed.
Cupping a hand about the back of Sycamore’s leg Lysandre added, “—And with the way you demand and verbalised your every impulse, I think you the sort to come on strong and yet beg for a touch when that control is put to the test. I find myself very curious about if I’m right on that point."
There was a quiet laugh against his skin that created goosebumps in its wake, and Sycamore leaned back into Lysandre’s hand and so he could see his face again. The flush didn’t look embarrassed this time, not with that edge of excitement so visible.
“You have drastically misread me,” Sycamore said, shifting a little as Lysandre palm cupped his thigh. “I beg easily and often with little provocation. I’d almost dare you to see if you could manage that, though my imagination will aid you no matter where you take this. I'm going to be thinking about that kiss for days no matter what you do next.”
Lysandre wasn't yet sure that be believed that, but still...That had been the thought bouncing back and forth in his head since Sycamore’s breathing had first become a little uneven. How else did he act when he grew…desperate?
Lysandre moved his hand a little so that his fingers could slide between Sycamore’s legs. “I was little wrong, it seems. You are managing to tempt me. What would you think of being held, carefully, teased a little at a time, until you leak from it?"
"You offering?" Sycamore said and moved back enough to be able to look down at Lysandre. "I’m not interested in anything not freely offered.”
Lysandre quirked an eyebrow and pulled Sycamore to stumble to stand between Lysandre's legs, his fingers making themselves at home in the warm space between Sycamore’s thighs.
"I assure you, I find myself genuinely intrigued. You are correct; the actions themselves don’t mean a lot to me, but seeing you flush like this? You are appealing, as always, for the honesty of your face."
There was a quiet snort, and Sycamore let himself be pulled close enough to lean against Lysandre.
"...Should have known. You like taking people apart, and you know? I think I'd enjoy you doing that to me. How would you like me, seated on you, or would you prefer me hanging onto you desperately? Or stuck against the wall while you render me incapable of standing?" Sycamore said casually, but Lysandre could feel Sycamore shifting as the fingers teased the inside seam of his pants where it was warm from his skin.
"...The chair will not support both of us, and I refuse to be the one to explain how it was broken." Lysandre told him flatly.
Sycamore tried to hide the laughter and utterly failed, leaning a lot more heavily into Lysandre as he snorted through his hand. There was a slightly alarming creak from the chair, and Lysandre decided that if Sycamore wasn’t going to take the threat seriously, then he would.
Sycamore wasn’t that heavy, and it only took a moment to lift him by his waist and drop him to sit on the edge of the desk, even when he pushed his work over to Sycamore’s desk that backed onto his.
Leaning into him, not quiet nose to nose, and hands planted either side of his legs, Lysandre said pointedly. “You can figure out what surface you want now there’s no danger of breaking the chair.”
Sycamore repressed the final edge of his laugher and leaned an elbow casually against Lysandre’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t have been the first time a chair broke about here. Though last time it was because we were playing at jousting with the wheely chairs and brooms. I’ll happily lie and say I talked you into trying to hit me with a broom—”
“You will do no such thing,” Lysandre growled and noted to his almost surprised that he felt the shiver that went through Sycamore.
“Ah, well, you better work a little harder to distract me, so I don’t get any ideas,” Sycamore said, leaning close enough to nearly kiss him but not closing the gap completely.
Sycamore was almost bleeding repressed excitement, just how he looked when on the edge of figuring out a problem. It was something Lysandre had experienced closely many times, but he’d never been the subject Sycamore was burning to get his hands on.
Lysandre put a firm touch against Sycamore's chin to lift him into a kiss. Sycamore put an arm up and about Lysandre's neck to pulled him it to deepen it instantly. With a hand keeping Sycamore mouth to his, Lysandre slid the other one back between his legs. He didn’t even move them much, just let his hand settle there, heavy and present, keeping Sycamores legs a little further apart than he’d started.
Sycamore hooked a foot about his legs and shuffled forward on the desk, hot breath against Lysandre’s as he resettled himself on the edge of the desk. Lysandre found the side of his hand was now pressed against Sycamore, flush against the base seam of his pants.
“Well done, you’re almost convincing me you know what you’re doing,” Sycamore said, and eyes bright as he grinned.
Lysandre found that he was irritated again, though not in a way that made him want to stop. Mostly he was determined that he was still going to prove something from this, even if he’s lost some ground to Sycamore. Because this hadn’t made Sycamore magically attractive in the way he apparently found people; it was just that Lysandre knew him.
Apparently, that was enough to make it enjoyable in a way that sex rarely was.
Lysandre cupped a hand over Sycamore’s jeans and noted that they had a slight tautness to them under his hand.
“You’re convincing me that you just lack control of your libido.” Lysandre and ground his hand against him.
“But I thought that was going to help you prove your point that it’s mere mechanics I’m enjoying here?” Sycamore retorted breathlessly and with mock offence, his eyes flashing as he glanced down to where Lysandre’s hand rested against him.
Lysandre ignored that and teased a finger into the waistband of Sycamore’s black jeans, feeling the edge of the button and nothing more.
There was a slight intake of breath, and Sycamore wove a hand into Lysandre’s hair, holding his stomach in to let Lysandre undo that button. Lysandre took that as a sign and obeyed the implied suggestion, sliding the button through the hole, taking a moment to tease at the skin below it.
He shifted about the rest of his waist from there, untucking Sycamore’s collared shirt and pulling it free inch by inch, before running his hand up Sycmaore’s back until the fabric pulled away, giving him access to the skin below.
"…I don't know which of us lost control of this, but one of us has definitely lost control of this," Sycamore said, as the edge of a whimper escaped just from Lysandre’s hand skimming up his back.
"…Do you want to stop?" Lysandre said, stilling his hand as Sycamore’s shirt pulled up above his stomach, wondering if he’d gone too far.
"Absolutely not, it just usually takes a little more than a weird conversation to go from being friends to having sex," Sycamore replied as his fingers worked the edge of Lysandre’s shirt from where it was tucked into his pants.
Sycamore’s fingers were cold against his back as they snuck up the skin of his back, but his touch was lighter than expected. Testing rather than teasing, and Lysandre found he didn’t mind the touch.
"Your preoccupation with labels bemuses me as always,” Lysandre said, testing and feeling out the bumps of Sycamore’s spine, mirroring Sycamore’s own movements. “I’m still good friends with most of my business partners, even after the sex stopped being necessary to provide reason…for our meeting..."
Lysandre trailed off, feeling a little like he’d just walked into a trap.
It was probably funny to someone that it was only now that he said it aloud that the stark difference of language he used and that he'd heard other's use became...visible. Sycamore raised his eyebrow and didn't say anything to that.
But he didn't really need to at this point.
"...The more I say aloud, the more I wonder how I failed to notice this difference in my experience to other’s," Lysandre muttered.
Sycamore's expression shifted from amusement to something a little soft. "—Well. You've never been that good at people and extremely talented at justifying your assumptions about them. I'm more surprised you've had sex and not noticed people enjoy the physical act."
"I am aware of the pleasure the mechanics have," Lysandre replied a little flatly.
"Oh? Which ones?" Sycamore said brightly. "You should prove that you do know what you're doing, oh innocent one."
Lysandre dislodged Sycamore, pressing him back until he was pinned under Lysandre on the desk. The only things preventing him from being flat on his back was his elbows and one of Lysandre’s hands at the base of his spine. They’d knocked at least a few objects to the floor this way, but there were no breaking noises, so it would only be a matter of picking them up after and, therefore, not important.
Voice low, Lysandre pressed himself between Sycamore’s legs and pinned him with his other hand under his chin, lifting it up so that Sycamore had to look him in the eye. “I am not innocent—I’ve had at least as much sex as you—”
It wasn’t a retort that ended up stopping him but the way that Sycamore’s eyes had gone wide. There wasn’t even a moment to pause before Sycamore’s mouth was on his again, smothering a noise that had almost sounded…needy. Sycamore’s mouth was hot, and movements were a little sloppy like he was having trouble coordinating, and it was captivating.
Still unsure how Sycamore was getting that sort of desire from this, Lysandre found that he wanted to see more of it.
Lysandre’s limbs were almost shaky at the breaking point of the kiss, and Sycamore had utterly forgotten he needed to breathe until he had to gasp for air.
“Would you like more? If you so request, I can but comply to your will, Sycamore." Lysandre said, finding to his mild irritation that he was falling back on over formal habits of speech that didn’t fit here.
“Please?” Sycamore replied with a quick but sharp nod.
Lysandre breathed out, too, glad that was the response. Teasing down Sycamore’s zipper slowly, he made sure his hand was placed tightly against Sycamore’s lower back to prevent him from sprawling further backward. Lysandre pressed a kiss to Sycamore’s neck and then his mouth as he continued to slowly dislodge Sycamore’s tight black jeans from his hips, one inch at a time.
He’d dealt with tighter clothes even if he's not been the one wearing them. Besides, Sycamore probably enjoyed the time it to slowly work about them. Sycamore kissed him whenever his mouth was near enough for it like he was desperate for the contact.
Sycamore was noticeably hard under Lysandre’s light touch now, and the slight traces of dampness Lysandre could feel even through his briefs suggested that he’d been aroused for a while.
Pushing at the side of his jean, Lysandre slowly worked the waistband over Sycamore’s hips. His bulge that had been half-hidden by his skin-tight jeans, even with the zipper half down, became a lot more visible, but Lysandre didn’t move to touch it directly yet.
Sycamore shifted forward on his elbows, the flush of his face now lighting the edge of his throat too, a darker shade even in the lower light of the lab.
Moving his hand back, Lysandre let Sycamore try and follow his hand with his hips, trailing his fingertips over his bulge. Then Lysandre deliberately shifted the hand away, kissing under Sycamore’s chin as he did so. Sycamore hips twitched a little where he’d been abandoned and left untouched, and there was the edge of a disappointed breath, but there was no other objection.
In compensation, Lysandre absently undid the top few buttons of Sycamore’s shirt and then kissed the edge of his throat, bitting lightly enough to gauge Sycamore’s interest.
“Yes—” Sycamore hissed, dropping his head back, wobbling on his elbows as he did so, “Harder, please? I want to be able to feel it later.”
“How so?” Lysandre asked before applying enough pressure to leave a bruise along with the teeth marks. This time he got a gasp and Sycamore hooking a foot about his waist, the heel of his shoe digging into him a little.
“Ha—I’m going to press my fingers into it and feel the ache. Every time I move and pull at it, I’ll feel a little tug of arousal and remember the heat of your mouth and where the edges of your teeth left a mark.”
Lysandre paused, considering that. He’d wondered at the appeal of leaving marks beyond just a tangible sign of the engagement. Feeling arousal from just because dull ache…that was difficult to comprehend.
“…Lysandre?” Sycamore inquired, the edge of a question in his voice.
Shaking off the thought, Lysandre added a kiss to the mark, asking tentatively, “…Do you often think about it…afterwards?”
Sycamore dropped his head back, closing his eyes as he visibility had to try to think. “Often. The sorer I am, the more it distracts me. Like a sensory memory I can carry on my skin.”
Lysandre hummed against his skin and added another one a little lower where there was more skin to bite. Brushing a hand over the open zipper of his jeans, he tugged it a little lower, in time with sucking hard against the skin, producing a squeak from Sycamore that was only just audible.
Adding a kiss to the now deeply bruised skin, Lysandre said quietly, checking to see Sycamore’s face as he did so. “Do you like showing them off?”
Sycamore’s whimper was cut off by a choaking laugh, “Can’t—I work with kids, and I’m not explaining why I’ve got bite marks on my neck to thirteen-year-olds! I’m going to have to spend the next week with my shirt buttoned up.”
“Mm.” Lysandre hummed, “You should have said.”
“But I like them—and you’re not leaving them that high—” Sycamore retorted.
“Ah, but I could be leaving them lower. I would be ill-mannered to not, now you’ve enlightened me.” Lysandre replied and undid another button of Sycamore’s shirt so he could push it off one of his shoulders.
Sycamore breath shook as Lysandre’s mouth closed over the tip of his shoulder, gently at first and then slowly increasing the pressure. “At this rate, I’m not going to have any clothes on by the time you’re done with me.”
“If that’s a complaint, then I should button up your jeans again—” Lysandre mused and added another bite on the meat of his lower shoulder.
“Not a complaint! Observation.” Sycamore said, shifting his shoulder so that Lysandre reach more of his arm. “If anything, it’s a complaint that all you’ve done is unbutton them.”
“Then you’d better educate me on what you want then,” Lysandre said, tracing his fingers back up Sycamore’s stomach and then lower again.
“Your hand on my dick—please?”
Letting his fingers touch, drift away, and then rub at his tip through his briefs got him a soft yet delightfully needy gasp and one of Sycamore’s elbows slipped.
“Is that all you wanted?” Lysandre asked, just to annoy him.
“Yes, that—No, I want more? Please?" Sycamore breathed out, bunching a hand into Lysandre’s shirt and using that to keep himself up too.
Pulling away Sycamore's briefs at last, Lysandre took a moment, seeing if there was enough precum for him to gather. Slowly making sure that precum was spread out over the whole of his length, Lysandre took him in hand.
Sycamore whined, high and almost silent, jerking a little at the motion.
He was so much quieter than Lysandre had expected, even with his every breath a shaky gasp. But whenever Lysandre slowed his hand, there was cut off noise of need. One that got a little louder every time he repeated the gesture.
Leaning in a little to whisper against his ear and nosing aside the hair that had fallen into Sycamore’s face, Lysandre asked, "How are those impulses that you had so much to say about before?"
He got a proper whine from Sycamore as he slowed his hand again, running his thumb over his tip as Lysandre waited for an answer.
"I—Can't think why you'd need to ask—" Sycamore hissed, "—About that? Why? Need help checking the—the difference between my dick and a spreadsheet?"
Lysandre found himself fighting the urge to smile at that. "You can be crass. Fascinating."
Loosening his fist Lysandre slid it down to just barely cup his tip, and Sycamore jerked his hips, trying to find the friction again. Lightly bushing back his length a moment later, the whine was a little louder, followed by a cut off almost-laugh from Sycamore.
“Crass? I talked about jerking off thinking about you earlier, and that barely got a raised eyebrow, but that was crass? I clearly need to try harder—”
This time the stroke of his fist about Sycamore was a little tighter and a lot faster, and his words were cut off by the high whine he made.
"If you have enough time to nit-pick me, then you’re clearly not invested enough," Lysandre replied.
“Oh no, this is a vital part of the experiment," Sycamore said, smiling even though his breath shook, leaning up to brush his mouth against Lysandre’s. “I must continue to educate you, boy who thought sex was a social construct.”
“It is.” Lysandre snapped back, and this time he added a little more energy to his next stroke. “It’s just…whatever you’re feeling too. Nuance. You like that word. Just because you also like imagining me with a hand about your dick doesn’t mean there still isn’t nuance to this.”
The noise that Sycamore made was halfway between needy and embarrassed, but his dick twitched a little in Lysandre’s grip. Sycamore squeezed his eyes shut. “—I’m going to end up with an awful reflex to kiss you every time we debate something if you keep this up.”
“Half our conversations are a debate of some sort,” Lysandre replied, flatly raising an eyebrow, hand stilling as he did so.
“I know—” Sycamore said, his deprecating laugh catching on another whine, jerking his hips up into Lysandre’s closed fist.
Lysandre quirked his eyebrow a little high and lifted his hand a touch further away from Sycamore. “…At least I am used to your lack of boundaries. It would be amusing to see if you attempt to prove a point in discussing mega evolution by kissing me in front of your colleagues.”
“Ha—You’d verbally destroy me if I tried that—” Sycamore was arching even more now, still chasing Lysandre’s hand.
Lysandre opened his hand and caressed Sycamore’s length with a feather-light touch. His palm was wet with precum by now, and Sycamore shuddered.
“Mm. I might try it for you then. See if I can use those impulses against you. Wonder how much I’d even need to use my mouth before you crumpled in my hands,” Lysandre said and finally gave Sycamore complete and tight contact with his hand again.
That got almost audible mewling noise, and Sycamore’s other elbow finally gave out. Only Lysandre jerking his hand in the way prevented them from accidentally slamming Sycamore’s head into the desk.
Both of them froze, Lysandre leaning heavily on his own arm to save himself from falling on top of Sycamore and his hand now trapped between his head and the desk. Face’s a fraction apart, he could almost feel the warmth from Sycamore flushed face as he panted for breath. Sycamore’s hand was clenched tightly into Lysandre’s shirt, tight enough so that he could feel the edges of his fingernails against his skin.
His dick was also pressed against Lysandre, and when he shifted, trying to push himself back up, Sycamore whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut at the friction against Lysandre’s leg.
“Fuck—” Sycamore whispered, shiver cutting through him as he tried to arch his hips. “Lysandre, please just—Damn it, I think I underestimated your ability to test me—”
Sycamore rarely swore, probably habit due to working about kids, and Lysandre had been amused at keeping track of what could inspire it. He found he was riveted by the fact he’d curse now, already wanting to know how much more he could compel Sycamore with just a touch.
Staying resting on one of his arms, close enough to see what he was doing, Lysandre got a hand between them and back around Sycamore. Lysandre gave him a few quick pumps, then stilled his hand again, and Sycamore's caught his breath, trying to silence himself.
“…I believe you’re convinced me.” Lysandre breathed against his skin, and then once Sycamore whined again at the loss of his hand, returned it.
“Of what? You’ll have to specify—” Sycamore managed to almost sound pedantic, an achievement in the circumstances Lysandre nearly praised.
Lysandre felt this in a way that he’d not often felt sex. Not physically, but…something smouldering in his chest, leaving a warmth there.
“You’re not feeling this the same as me. I think I believe you now.” Lysandre breathed into Sycamore hair, shifting his hand about so that he could curl his fingers in through it and slowing the hand on his dick again to see how he’d react now.
“Great! Lovely—Good to hear, I’m happy for you, really I am, now will you please, please move your hand before I give up and do it myself?” Sycamore panted before dragging Lysandre into a kiss by his shirt.
Lysandre snorted into the kiss and enjoyed the taste of his desperation and the uncoordinated movement of his mouth. He liked how Sycamore couldn’t move well now, leaving Lysandre utterly in control of how much friction he got.
Just to start again, he teased until he was sure that Sycamore must be near again, and soon as Sycamore went quiet again, Lysandre pulled his hand free, and this time it was more than one curse he got out of Sycamore.
“Please, Lysandre, you bastard, fuck—”
“I thought you said you liked begging. You were lying.” Lysandre said, feeling his breath shaking a little as he breathed against Sycamore’s mouth.
That got a laugh even if it was a strangled one, and Sycamore said between his teeth, “Lysandre? I swear, if you don’t finish me soon, I’m going to find an opportunity to tie you to my bed and tease you until you weep, and I will do it. If the mechanics are all that stimulate you, then I’m going to make it so that your cock turns purple with need, and then I’ll still draw it out for hours!”
Lysandre’s eyebrows rose, a little surprised at the sincerity of his voice. “…There is now the temptation to continue to see if you can make good on that threat.”
“Lysandre—” Sycamore growled, but his voice didn’t manage to hold as much threat with such conspicuous desperation colouring it.
“—Another time, perhaps,” Lysandre said.
Slipped his hand back over Sycamore cock, he enjoyed the quiet falling apart from Sycamore as he did so. He was still much quieter than his constant stream of words would imply, and Sycamore had managed to get a hand into his hair as well as his shirt now.
“Please—Yes, now just keep going—Yes that, perfect, wonderful, brilliant, good—keep going, Lysandre—"
The tug of his hands on his shirt was nearly enough to help give Lysandre the same urgency as Sycamore felt, along with his ankles locked together behind his legs holding Lysandre close as physically possible on this angle.
Lysandre hadn’t even had time to get a good rhythm with his hand before Sycamore’s cum was drenching his hand and splattering through his closed fist. Sycamore had gone basically silent until that, and a high whine was pulled free as Lysandre worked him through his climax.
Sycamore went a little limp, dropping back onto the table, hands still clenched in Lysandres shirt and hair, as he breathed hard through his nose.
It was only moving back a little and taking a moment to stretch his fingers that Lysandre remembered that this was going to have made a mess.
“Damn it—” Lysandre muttered and worked to tug his hand from behind Sycamore’s head and trying to make sure he didn’t get any more cum on his shirt. “Where’s that tissue box you keep on your desk? Did the damned thing end up on the floor?”
Sycamore’s laugh was more of a shake than a laugh, but was still very present.
Lysandre hissed at him and finally found the tissues to clean his hand with, trying to figure out the most effective way to get the rest off his shirt and the traces that had even got on his trousers.
“This shirt is tailored—” He snapped at Sycamore.
A hand clasped over his face and still unable to get even breath in, Sycamore vaguely tried to pat at Lysandre. “Bit—Late? To notice that?” He got out between wheezes.
“I was distracted—” Lysandre said and only then paused to notice the word, and how true it had been.
He…didn’t get distracted during sex. There had been times he’d even had a partner leave when Lysandre had got a little too insistent about either cleanliness or other minor pedantic points.
Stuck, still with his hand half clean and brain feeling oddly static, he checked Sycamore almost absently. A half-smile, red cheeks and his shirt now back up his shoulder even as it utterly failed to hide the bite marks or his softening cock.
“Distracted? You? Must have done something right then.” Sycamore said as he finally started almost breathing normally again.
“…You look like a disaster,” Lysandre told him because it was true, and it was a way to change the conversation.
Sycamore grinned a little wider and leaned back on his elbows, making no attempt to sort out his clothes at all. “Of course, I do. It’s not good sex unless the walk home is at least a little shameful.”
Lysandre clicked his tongue and finally got the last of the cum off his hand. “Ridiculous.”
“You’re just noticing that?” Sycamore said, with an edge of almost energy now even as he lounged back like he was putting on a show.
“Just more obvious now.” Lysandre retorted and resettled up Sycamore’s shirt so that he could at least make sure his idiot friend didn’t look like a complete mess walking home. There was an almost whine from the post-orgasm sensitively, and Lysandre made sure to be careful, using the gap of talking to try and sort back through his thoughts.
That sex had emotional aspects wasn’t much of a revelation, but…that he’d felt anything but his typical detachment was…new.
Sycamore still wasn’t anyone but himself, but there was an…edge in Lysandre’s mind that hadn’t been there before. New knowledge and curiosity that he shouldn’t want to sate but nevertheless still did. Sycamore could get attached easily, and if his dramatics were felt—He didn’t want to hurt Sycamore, and that had never been something he’d had to think about.
That was…unnerving.
“…You were right too, I guess,” Sycamore said, and some of the amusement had faded in that silence, into something wry. Even without looking at his face, Lysandre could hear the change in mood. “You didn’t get much out of that, even if I was a bit of a distraction.”
Lysandre bit down on his automatic response back, trying to find a way that conveyed how he’d been compelled by this without resorting to flowery lies that were only true for other people.
He knew how to give false flattery or words like that, but now, he wanted to speak from an emotion that he couldn’t quite hold right like they were sliding between his fingers even as grasped at them. Lysandre wanted to be able to say that Sycamore was beautiful, but that word tasted sour on his tongue even when it was still unspoken.
Something was disconcerting about finding out that the grand declarations he’d been making had been a lie of ignorance now that he wanted to try and give them to someone.
“…Lysandre?” Sycamore sat up on the edge of the desk, and Lysandre stood back to give him room to do that, still trying to work through his thoughts.
Wanting to try this again, to see what else could be dug up, enjoying getting to just…see Sycamore in new ways—Was any of that a justification for continuing this?
“…In your opinion.” Lysandre started, still not looking to Sycamore as he tried out the words. “Is curiosity a worthy or equal match to…desire? When it’s described as so much…lesser in all your descriptions of it?”
“I don’t—?” Sycamore started, confusion evident in his voice now.
“I can’t—” Lysandre felt a bite of tight discomfort present in his throat. Maybe this trouble was why Sycamore had thought having sex with a friend was a bad idea. “I don’t want to have to… I still want something, but I can’t—”
Pinching his nose, Lysandre cut himself off and tried again to pick a reaction that wasn’t either leaving or offering to get a meal sometime. Neither seemed appropriate, and this was beginning to be annoying. A lifetime of having a nice, neat set of options to hand had…helped smooth things like this.
Finding his own words was difficult, and he didn’t like it.
“—Ignore me. You obviously already knew this wouldn’t work if you could tell at a casual comment that I had no understand of this even before I did.” Lysandre said at last and leaving that open for Sycamore to have an easy way to reject that frankly appalling attempt at a sentence.
There wasn’t a response even if there was the light rustling of clothes being shifted about.
It took a few longer moments for Lysandre to pull together his now raggedly resewn poise and glance back to Sycamore.
Sycamore was sitting cross-legged on the desk, chin resting in his hands as he stared at Lysandre was a silent but yet painfully direct intent. His unbuttoned shirt forced Lysandre to press down the urge to resettle his collar of it, unsure if that was pushing boundaries right now.
“…You want something from me, but since I just accidentally pulled the rug out from under you concerning your whole concept of relationships, it’s not clear to you what that is,” Sycamore said slowly.
Lysandre pressed a hand to his eyes for a second and snorted quietly. As always, Sycamore had words for everything.
“…An apt summary.” He admitted
“Considering that is my fault, it would be rude of me to push. Figure it out in your own time, and feel free to ask for me to help with anything you want.” Sycamore said was a half-smile and leaned back on his hands. “Can’t say that I’ll be a lot of help, but if you what to…test any of your theories? I’m always going to be happy to help.”
“…Still cannot believe that I’m the outlier here. Are you sure you’re not the odd one?” Lysandre said.
Sycamore gave a floppy shrug. “I’m about…eighty percent sure? I mean, most people I’ve slept with were in it for the sex?”
“…Mm. I’ll look into it. We’ll see who’s right in the end.” Lysandre murmured. “Now, get off the desk? We’re still got work to do.”
“…You seriously—Who am I kidding? Of course, you’d want to go straight back to work,” Sycamore said and dropped to the floor, even if he leaned a little against the desk as he straightened out his legs.
“Your papers are due tomorrow.” Lysandre pointed out and pushed Sycamore out of the way so he could sit down at the desk again and start trying to pick up the papers he’d shoved to the side.
Sycamore leaned over his shoulder, resting his chin in Lysandre’s hair. “Aw, come on, don’t be cold?”
Lysandre batted at him gingerly. “I’m not acting cold! If you have to stay up half the night to finish your report, you’ll complain all day tomorrow! I’m doing you a favour.”
“Ha! Fine, fine—” Sycamore slid off his shoulder and walked back about the desk to his own chair.
“And straightened your collar, will you?” Lysandre added, already with his pen back in hand.
“Yes, yes, stop nagging me—” Sycamore said, dropping back into his seat and picking up his own pen with a flourish. “I’m working now. So that maybe we can made time in future to…test some more theories?”
“Yes, I’m sure that you must be wrong on a few key points.” Lysandre replied, not looking up.
There was a quiet laugh from Sycamore, one that sounded delighted with itself, and they fell into silence, pens scratching on paper. As he looked down at the form, Lysandre found a slight smile tugging at his mouth.
He wasn’t sure where this would go, but he was curious to find out.