The feel of skin did it. Nothing in the universe turned Harper on more than when it pressed to available inch of him. The perfect fuck happened when he was completely warm, completely eneveloped, feeling his partner's reaction with skin first and brain later. Clouds and open spaces were nice, but tight enclosure within someone else--this was heaven.
Tyr had beautiful skin. It gleamed and shifted shadows when his tremendous muscles moved in any random direction. It was healthy skin, unmarred and innocent, covering his gargantuan frame and making paradoxes. Tyr was so dangerous, and yet constantly vulnerable--skin always showing.
It was tempting.
It smoothly curved over Tyr's face, curtains of braids resting across taut, eternally bare arms, all so unmarked that something frustrated screamed in Harper. That kind of territory needed mapping, and often. He had a hard time resisting reaching out and stroking something. When Tyr was there, always practically spilling out of those leather wrappings, practically offering himself, it was a strict game of restraint for Harper to keep his hands to himself. And then he'd go back to his quarters and let the hands free, would pant and sweat beneath his sheets with that skin dancing in his mind.
But sometimes he had excuses, because they were often in danger and Harper was the panicky sort and Tyr had to hold his arm or something, to make him snap out of it. Or grab him by the neck to make sure he understood orders. Tyr's hands were always smooth and comfortable, and did calm him down. Hell, he didn't even mind the periodic strangling.
It was fortunate that Tyr had such a habit of popping up in front of him. Then Harper had to touch him; startled people couldn't be held accountable for their actions.
Once he'd been running down the hall for some reason and had bumped face-first into Tyr's chest. The shirt was particularly open that day, and he'd closed his eyes for a split second and inhaled and it was so perfect and warm that he had to spew indignations right aftewards, lest his skin's flush be mistaken for lust under Tyr's unblinking gaze.
He could lie and bed for hours and imagine stroking him, imagine his hands pressing to that body, that body pressing to his body, Tyr's giant arms over his chest and the front of him, closing off any empty space. There was enough of Tyr to totally cover him. Enough to make heaven.
He thought he'd go mad if he didn't get a chance to touch him. Maybe it could work out, a direct proposition. Tyr was strange; he could be easygoing about unexpected things. Like the fact that Seamus Zelazny Harper of Earth needed to get into his pants, NOW. Maybe he wouldn't slap him and laugh.
Or, he could present a logical argument. Tyr was smart, remarkably smart for someone who looked so hot and dressed so slutty. Maybe if Harper made it clear that a regular routine of mad coupling would be nothing but beneficial for both parties...Right. And he'd say what? "Well, it's not like you can reproduce on this ship anyway...why not waste your sperm on me? I may not have bone spurs but I do know several exciting blowjob techniques!"
It was hopeless. "Like mr. Uber Slut Pants has nothing better to do with his spare time," he sighed.
A voice cropped up. "Uber Slut Pants?"
Oh shit. Tyr.
It occured to Harper that he was sitting in the corner of the workshop daydreaming. What a GREAT idea. Especially with no privacy lock, when objects of secret lust who probably hate you could walk in at any given moment. He banged his head against the wall. Idiot. Idiot! How long had Tyr been there anyway?
He didn't dare turn around, but heard Tyr's approaching footsteps. His body, radiating onto Harper's. And a gorgeous hand, on his forehead, another on his shoulder. Feeling him. He closed his eyes and leaned in...
"Have you been drinking?" Tyr asked.
Harper crashed to earth. He must be acting like a total space case. Tyr was staring down, curious.
"No.." Harper uttered, his voice a croak. He noted that a large hand still rested on his shoulder.
"No, no, I'm fine...no fever."
Tyr nodded. He moved to take off his hand but Harper's shot up, keeping it in place. Now his hand was on Tyr's, which was on his shoulder. Double contact. In spite of the voices screaming at him to suck it up he couldn't help but caress Tyr's fingers lightly. Tyr's gaze grew more intense. He moved in closer.
There was no barely an inch of space between their torsoes. Harper could feel his skin grow heated in trails. It was spreading quickly and he wondered if Tyr could sense anything.
"Harper, what do you want?" Tyr whispered.
"Don't let go. I--I don't have a fever, you just feel so...nice."
There was something like reciprocation in Tyr's gaze. He smiled, the beautiful skin of his lips shining. He pulled Harper up until he was flush against the wall and moved the arm behind his neck in hypersensory patterns, fingers in the hair behind Harper's ear. Harper leaned his head to the side to rest on Tyr's forearm and rubbed his cheek along it like a cat, smelled the soft fragrance of it. His own arms were down in the darkness somewhere, forgotten. Tyr's eyes and face were full of shadows with the highlights focusing on him.
Tyr ran his thumb along Harper's jawline. Both arms now framed Harper's small form.
He pulled Tyr closer in, barely reaching around his ribcage, remembering to breathe.
The dark head descended with a slow motion that made it even more a shadow, and sensation replaced vision. Tyr was kissing him. Tongue, lips slick, colliding with Harper from every direction, probing his mouth until the lines between them were indistinguishable, and the hard breaths were hard to trace, and he was just standing, trembling underneath a dark curtain with skin everywhere.