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an exercise in denial

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The first time Kim has the thought about Harry and rope is in the middle of the workday. They're parked not next to a crime scene, but near one, with witness interviews to conduct, so of course instead Harry is entirely focused on making a case for why they should start to incorporate rope into the Kineema's toolbox. He has a loop of it slung over one shoulder for some kind of emphasis. Kim manages, luckily, to squash the train of thought that tries to rise up in him, seeing it, before Harry notices and their investigation gets well and truly derailed.

The thought comes back some sixty-odd hours later. It's becoming one of those evenings where there's not so much an end to the work day as a slow transition out of it. Kim is sitting with Harry at the diner down the street from the precinct, eating dinner, arguing about whether there's room for a secret passage in the scene they investigated earlier. Harry's doodling little floormaps on his napkin in support of his theory. He won Kim over three minutes ago, but the cap of his pen is still sticking out of one side of his mouth, his lips wrapped around it, and his eyes are bright as he gestures, so Kim is content to let him make the whole argument anyway.

Then Harry makes a gesture that pulls his shirt tight against his biceps and the thought comes back, like a thunderclap: rope. Harry straining against it, wiggling a little, testing the give, watching Kim all the while, trying to hide how affected he is as if Kim can't see the way his pupils are blown wide -

"Kim?" Harry says. He clips the cap of the pen back on. "Centim for your thoughts," and then he actually flips one across the table, which Kim manages to snatch out of the air before it hits the back of the booth and vanishes somewhere under the floor.

Kim walks the centim across the back of his knuckles and then thinks: fuck it. They're off the clock as much as they ever are; the waitress is over at the other side of the diner; nobody's in the booth next to them. He says, "What's your opinion on being tied up, detective?"

Harry begins, "What, by a suspect or -" and then he gets it; Kim can tell by the way he flushes. He wets his lips. Kim is slowly collecting a set of tells for what desire looks like on Harry; he's enjoying the project of it tremendously. It's not a surprise when Harry says, "Yes. In favor. Let's - do that. Um. Did you wanna -" and glances at the door.

Kim says, "Finish your french fries first, detective," and takes another sip of his soda to hide his smile.

#

The drive home is - well.

Harry beats Kim to the car, so by the time Kim opens the driver's side door and slides in, Harry's had enough time to arrange himself in the passenger's seat: legs spread, palming his cock idly through his pants. His eyes are dark and focused on Kim.

It sends a flash of heat down Kim's spine. He was half-hard already, from sheer anticipation; he can feel his cock stiffen.

Harry's gaze drops to his crotch. He smiles.

Kim swallows. He puts iron into his voice to keep it steady. "Behave, Harrier," he says, as deliberately as he can.

He can see the way Harry shivers. Harry moves his hand to the door handle instead, and grips it like he doesn't trust himself not to touch without it.

Kim smiles at him and says, "Good," just to watch the way Harry's eyes widen. He has a theory, about Harry and praise, that he plans to test out sometime. Maybe tonight, maybe another night; he hasn't decided yet. He has a lot of ideas about Harry and sex that he wants to try out. If he'd ever let himself imagine this before it happened, he wouldn't have imagined this part: these moments that they stretch out like taffy between them to savor. It's a heady pleasure: not just the denial, the anticipation, but doing it to Harry, too; holding them both in the same drawn-out moment.

Kim starts the car. It takes more effort to focus on than he'd anticipated. He can still feel the weight of Harry's eyes on him. He can hear Harry shift, a little, from the squeaks of the leather from his seat. Harry likes this, too: when Kim tells him to wait, when Kim calls the shots. It's intoxicating. Kim feels drunk. He isn't, though, he reminds himself, so he takes a deep breath and pulls out of the parking spot.

Harry says, "You should tell me more of your thoughts about rope." His voice has managed to settle back into something passing for casual.

Kim hums neutrally. He bites back a smile and flicks his turn signal on. "Should I?"

"Come on, Kim," Harry says. "You're really going to give up this opportunity to tease me all the way back to your place?"

Kim can't help himself: the smile blooms across his face. "You're right, that doesn't sound like me. Are you going to behave for me, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry says instantly. His voice is a little breathy. He's so eager. Kim's fingers twitch on the wheel with the urge to touch him. The six minute drive home is going to be sweet torture, and Kim intends to enjoy every minute of it.

Kim goes on, "Because if you distract me while I'm driving..."

"I'm not distracting," Harry protests.

Kim can't help the little skeptical noise he makes at that. Harry is often distracting, even when he doesn't mean to be. Every time he sticks something in his mouth, which is often, he derails Kim's train of thought. It's a bit of a problem.

"Ki-im," Harry complains, voice pitching up into something almost a whine.

Kim swallows. He says, keeping his voice even, "You see, the thing about tying you up is that I can touch you however I like afterward."

Harry makes a little aborted noise in the back of his throat.

Kim wants to look over at him. He keeps his eyes on the road. "Do you like the sound of that? Being held down, completely at my mercy?"

"You know I do," Harry says, voice roughening.

The words are coming too fast to hold back, now: "I could tease you for another hour and see how many times I could make you say my name. Or I could make you come right away and then keep going, keep touching you while you're oversensitive and shaking, and see how much you can take." They're at a light, stopped. He can't help himself: he looks over.

Harry's red all over, pink mouth parted, breathing hard, eyes fixed on Kim. He's still holding the door handle, still being good, and Kim -

Someone honks. Kim jerks back to look at the road and accelerates. When he's sure he can speak again, he says, "Is that enough of an answer to keep you busy until we're back, detective?" It will have to be: if Kim keeps doing this with him, right here, he's likely to crash the car.

#

They've barely made it into Kim's apartment before Harry is all over him, crowding up into his space, nuzzling his face into the crook of Kim's shoulder. It tickles, and Kim laughs, a little helplessly, at the sensation and also at how ludicrous it is, to be this worked up about it, so much so that he hasn't even got the door shut yet. "Harry, give me a minute, I have to -" His fingers, clumsy on the deadbolt, finally slide it home.

Harry shifts and then Kim feels it: the wet heat of his open mouth against Kim's neck, his collarbone. Harry makes a pleased little humming sound and then bites, a sharp scrape of teeth that sends heat flaring all the way down Kim's spine. Kim's breath catches. He can feel Harry smile into his neck.

Enough. Kim threads his fingers into Harry's hair and tugs him off his neck. "What happened to behaving?" he murmurs.

Harry's heavy-lidded, flushed, lips still parted. Kim wants to slide two fingers into his pretty open mouth and fuck his throat. Kim wants -

"I'll be good," Harry says. Christ, the way Harry looks at him sometimes. Kim's going to take him apart.

"Clothes," Kim says. "Take them off." And then, when Harry nearly trips trying to get his boots off, "Slowly."

Harry slows down. Unbuckles his boots one buckle at a time, looking up at Kim for approval as he steps out of them. Loosens his tie and strips it off. He says, "You're not going to undress?"

Kim considers it, watching him. Harry's fingers stumble over the buttons of his shirt. "No, I don't think so," Kim says.

Harry manages to get the last of the buttons open and strips the shirt off. His flush goes all the way down his chest. Kim wants to lick it. Soon, he promises himself.

"I'll let you pick, though," Kim says as Harry fumbles with his pants. "Gloves on, or off?"

Harry's fingers still. He wets his lips. Thinks, for a moment, his gaze darting to Kim's hands. "On."

Kim smiles.

Harry shoves his pants down, extricates his feet, and then he's naked, bare before Kim. "Kim -" he begins, taking a step closer.

Kim clicks his tongue between his teeth. Harry stops instantly. "Let me look at you," he says.

So Harry does: he stands there growing redder and redder, shifting his weight from foot to foot, cock thick and hard and begging for Kim's attention. He doesn't touch himself. He waits. He's good, like he promised. Does he feel vulnerable, Kim wonders, standing there with Kim's gaze wandering up and down his body, with as much weight as a caress, while Kim himself is still dressed and put together? Harry's gaze drops when Kim looks at him, then darts back up again, then away. Oh, he does.

Kim swallows. "On the bed," he says.

At last it's time for the rope. Kim touches Harry as little as possible while he ties him to his bed, wrists to the headboard and legs splayed open, despite the way Harry squirms. Kim's not done teasing him yet. He wants to see how far he can push him.

Kim finishes the last knot and steps away. "There," he says. "Test the knots for me?"

Harry tugs at the ropes, twists his wrists and ankles, but there's only enough give in the ropes to keep him reasonably comfortable, and not enough to escape. Kim can see the moment it hits Harry, exactly how completely he's at Kim's mercy. He shivers all over, and breathes, "Shit. Kim -"

Kim does touch him, then; brushes his fingertips against Harry's cheek, and, when Harry's head turns, chasing the contact, lets his hand cup Harry's cheek. "Tell me if it gets uncomfortable, or you want out for any reason," he murmurs. It breaks the fantasy of it a little, but it can't be helped.

"I definitely don't want out," Harry says. He noses at Kim's wrist.

Kim lets him, indulgent. "What do you want, then?" he asks. "Tell me."

Harry shivers. "Anything. You. You."

"Good answer," Kim breathes, and kisses him.

It's a gentle kiss, light, Kim just brushing their lips together. Harry arches into the kiss, trying to deepen it, trying to press his body up and into Kim's. Kim doesn't let him; he holds himself above Harry and presses two fingers to his jaw, tips his chin up, holds his head in place, so that Harry has no choice but to lie there and take what Kim's willing to give him.

Harry whines. Breaks away to gasp, "Kim, c'mon," into the space between their lips.

Kim hums. He presses light, fleeting kisses to the corner of Harry's mouth, to his lower lip.

"Please," Harry breathes. "Please, more, anything, I'll be good," and not even Kim's willpower is strong enough to resist that. He slots their lips together properly, licks into the wet heat of Harry's mouth.

He touches Harry, too - how could he not, when Harry had asked him to so nicely? - but not his cock, not yet. Instead, he lets his gloved fingertips stroke down Harry's neck, trace across his collarbone, press into the divot at the base of his neck.

Harry makes a little pleading noise into his mouth, tips his head a little further back. He wants Kim to put his hand there, to squeeze.

It's an attractive idea, but - Kim breaks away far enough to murmur, "Not right now," into the space between their mouths. "I have other plans for you tonight."

His fingers keep moving. He strokes the muscle of Harry's bicep, runs a light fingertip against the thinner skin at the inside of Harry's elbow. Harry shivers at it, twitches. Kim takes a mental note of it. This is new, still, for both of them, and they've been too eager to take their time. Kim hasn't had a chance to do this: to explore Harry's body properly, to catalog all his sensitive places, to see what makes him tick.

Kim strokes two fingers down Harry's palm, where it's pressed against the mattress, held immobile by the rope, and Harry makes a shocked little noise, hips jerking. Kim smiles, and does it again. "You like that?" he murmurs.

"How is that so sensitive," Harry manages, not exactly a question.

Kim bites back a laugh. "The hands are delicate instruments, Harrier," he says. He wants to prove his point by pressing his mouth to Harry's palm, by sucking Harry's fingers into his mouth, but the angle is awful for it. He settles for kissing Harry again, for nipping at his lip just to hear the little noise Harry makes in the back of his throat, for pressing a kiss against Harry's neck and then biting, worrying at the skin with his teeth.

He pulls away before he can leave a mark - no need to give their coworkers any extra evidence to speculate about - and Harry makes a noise of protest. "You want more?" Kim murmurs.

"You should mark me up," Harry says, voice roughened. "Want to be able to see it -"

It sends a little shiver up Kim's spine. He does his best to keep it out of his voice when he says, "That sounds like it would be distracting, detective," a little reprovingly.

He means to their coworkers, mostly, or distracting in that it'll cause talk, but: "Maybe that's what I want," Harry says. He's craning his head up so he can see Kim, even though it can't possibly be comfortable, eyes dark, pupils blown wide. "Maybe I want to see it every time I look in the mirror, get hard every time at how good it feels, you touching me like this, how hot you are, come home and the end of the day and press my fingers against the bruise and jerk off thinking about you -"

"Fuck," Kim bites out. It shouldn't be hot, maybe, but it is, Harry washing his hands in the precinct bathroom and getting half-hard in his pants as he sees the mark in the mirror, Harry squirming and desperate alone in his bed, touching himself to thoughts of Kim -

For a moment he almost does it, in defiance of all common sense. Then he has a better idea.

He says, "Not on your neck," and watches Harry deflate for a moment, thinking it's a no, before he slides down the bed, settles himself between Harry's leg, runs two fingers down the inside of Harry's thigh. Harry twitches - sensitive. Good. "But I can think of a few other places I can mark you up."

Harry inhales a sharp breath. "Yes, Kim, please, Kim," and then cuts off into a strangled noise when Kim bends down, nuzzles at Harry's inner thigh. He presses an open mouthed kiss against the pale skin there, licks at it, and then digs his teeth in. Harry keens, jerking under him, and Kim grabs his hips, holds him still, makes him take it. He licks higher up Harry's thigh, bites at the thin delicate skin again, and listens to Harry wail.

Kim's heart is pounding in his ears, between his legs. He breaks away and says, keeping his voice as dispassionate as he can, "There. That's better, isn't it? Nobody else can see, but you'll know -" and he digs his knuckle into the red mark he made. Harry's leg jerks helplessly - "and I'll know."

"Kim," Harry gasps. His hips are jerking, trying to move helplessly into empty air, his limbs tugging against the rope. His cock is a dark, dusky red, leaking precum, begging for Kim's hands. Still: not yet.

"I could tease you with it, too," Kim says. Conversationally; clinically. "Reach over, when we're about to get out of the Kineema, and touch you here," and he presses his thumb into the other mark, watches Harry twist and whine, "and ruin your whole train of thought."

Harry laughs, more breath than noise, and says, "No stereo-investigations for me."

Kim ducks his head to hide his grin, channels his affection into biting, playful, at Harry's other, unmarked thigh, worrying at it, licking a little over the reddened skin. "That's right. That's all it would take to keep you on track, wouldn't it? Just these little marks," and he licks a hot stripe across the one he just made just to hear Harry gasp.

"Reminding me where I belong," Harry says.

Kim has to look at him, then. At the flush that stains his cheek and runs all the way down his chest, at his cock, straining, at his hands tugging at the ropes helplessly, all of him straining towards Kim. And the way Harry's looking at him. Fuck. It's too much. It's not enough. Kim wants -

"That's right," Kim says. His voice is so rough he barely recognizes it. Christ.

He needs some outlet for the thing clawing at his chest, and he picks this: he leans over and sucks the head of Harry's cock into his mouth, teases at the foreskin with his tongue.

Harry cries out, tries to buck up into him. Kim has just enough foresight to get a hand on his hip, first, to hold him down. The rope does half the work, anyway. Kim pulls off and says, "What happened to being good?" His spit drools down Harry's cock. He wants it back in his mouth. He won't. He won't. His cock is throbbing against his pants, nearly painful, he's tormenting himself as much as Harry at this point, but he's not done yet. He's not ready to be done. He wants -

"I think," Kim says, and he can't help himself, his voice betrays his unsteadiness, "I'll plug you up."

Harry whines. It grows louder in intensity when Kim pushes away, forces himself to his feet, to the nightstand. "Kim! Kim, how long are you going to tease me for, fuck -"

Kim strips his gloves off and drops them on the nightstand as he stares down at his options. He owns three plugs. They haven't done this before. He ought to pick the smallest one, probably, or his go-to, the one he's comfortable with. He should not pick the last one, which Kim loves and hates in equal measure because it's simultaneously so thick it feels like it's splitting him open and so short that it never quite hits his prostate, the one that never fails to make him frantic and out of control, squirming in a futile attempt to get it deeper into him -

He picks the last one. Of course he does.

Kim turns back towards the bed, shows it to Harry, all of its thick opaque glass glory. Harry wets his lips. Kim says, "Why don't you warm it up for me?" and presses it to his mouth. Harry opens for it instantly, suckles at it eagerly, hungrily. His oral obsession, Kim thinks sometimes, knows no bounds. Kim wants to fuck his mouth like this, feed him his cock while Harry has absolutely no leverage, nothing he can do but choke on it. Fuck.

His pants are unbearable at this point, and Kim fumbles with his fly one-handed, gets it open enough to pull himself out. He doesn't touch himself beyond that. He still wants to take this farther. He wants to see how far he can take them both. Harry's mouth, pink around the pale glass, is fucking mesmerizing.

Kim says, "You'll like this one," fucking it down deeper into Harry's mouth. Harry moans around it. "Or maybe you won't. It drives me crazy." Harry's eyes, glassy, flick up to Kim, make an effort to focus on his face. "Yes," Kim tells him, "I've used it on myself, of course I have. It's thick - you can feel that - but somehow it's never quite where it needs to be - never quite - well, you'll see." He doesn't know what possesses him to say it, but his mouth opens and keeps going: "I'll let you use it on me sometime." Fuck, that's an image. Bad enough to use it on himself; worse, and better, to let Harry do it for him, to let him watch with his eager hungry eyes while Kim, unable to help himself, writhes on the plug and tries to get it deeper in him. Fuck. Kim hates the image, hates the wave of humiliation even thinking about it calls up in him, hates the way it makes his cock jerk. He palms himself without thinking about it. Fuck. Harry. He's getting distracted.

Harry's losing himself, sucking on the plug. Kim teases it out of his mouth and Harry whines, chasing it. Fuck, Kim wants to fuck his mouth. But no. No. He has a plan. And he does very much want to watch Harry take the plug.

"Behave," he breathes.

He gets caught up with logistics for a moment - lube, he needs lube, he needs to slick his fingers up so he can stretch Harry, only he has the plug in one hand and the lube in the other and that's not enough hands. He considers the plug - already wet with spit, he did this in the wrong order, he doesn't want to drop it on the sheets now - and then says, "Actually, hold onto this for me a little longer, detective," and slides it back into Harry's mouth.

He sucks on it obediently, quietly, while Kim slicks up his fingers, warms the lube up, watching Kim with his watery blue eyes.

Kim smiles at him. "Good," he murmurs. "I ought to give you something to suck on more often. You love it, don't you - having things in your mouth?"

Harry hums in assent, still watching Kim with intent focus.

Kim strokes his slick finger over Harry's asshole, teasing at his entrance, and Harry whines in the back of his throat, wordlessly pleading, trying futilely to push against Kim's hand.

"Patience, Harrier," Kim says. His voice is too rough with arousal to be properly chiding, but he does his best with it anyway. "You can't rush prep."

Harry whines louder, voice scaling higher, eyes still fixed urgently on Kim. Fuck, Kim wants to hear him, wants to hear - He reaches out and slips the plug out of Harry's mouth with his free hand.

"Ki-iii-" Harry gasps, voice strangling on the word as Kim slips a finger inside of him, crooks it. "Please, more, please, fuck, your hands." His voice is more breath than words.

Kim's heart is hammering away in his chest. He's dizzy with it. He wonders, wildly, if it's possible he'll come without ever putting a hand on himself. He repeats, "Patience," in warning, as much for himself for Harry. He fucks in and out of Harry with one finger, rubbing it against his prostrate each time, watching Harry's hips jerk, listening to his whimpering moans.

But even Kim's patience isn't infinite. He eases another finger in, scissors them. Listens to Harry cry out. "Kim, Kim," Harry gasps, and Kim wonders if he can take Harry so far apart that the only word Harry will remember will be Kim's name. He ducks his head, mouths at the bruises he's left on Harry's skin, sucks one of Harry's balls into his mouth, rubs a third finger gently against Harry's asshole. Eases it in.

At this point Harry's not even forming words, just raw, wrecked noises. He's so tight around Kim's fingers, clutching at them even as Kim coaxes him open wider and wider. Kim knows exactly how Harry would feel around his cock. His hips jerk once, helplessly, into empty air, but Kim doesn't touch himself, can't, holds off with the last of his self-control. He's afraid if he does he'll come instantly.

He slides his fingers out of Harry. Harry makes a noise like a sob, hole gaping, clenching helplessly around nothing. Kim pours lube over the plug, hand trembling a little, spilling some on the sheets. Fuck it. A problem for later. When it's nice and slick, he presses it against Harry's hole, teases him with it a moment, and then, with a single, smooth push, slides it in.

The noise Harry makes - oh, that is a sob. Kim abruptly needs to see his face, pushes up and clambers up the bed until he's hovering over Harry, whose eyes are squeezed shut, tears leaking out to trickle down his face, red mouth open and gasping, making choked hitching noises. Kim says, "Harry?" and cups his face with one hand - the hand with lube on it, which can't be the most comfortable but Harry turns into it instantly, pressing against it, trying to get closer.

Kim acts on instinct; he drops his body down on top of Harry's, presses them chest to chest. He does it at an angle, not touching Harry's cock, not to tease so much as to not overwhelm Harry any further, but hooks one leg over Harry's to give him as much skin-to-skin contact as he can.

Harry's reaction is instantaneous: he shudders, full body, and then sags under Kim, twisting to press his hot face into the juncture of Kim's neck and shoulder. Kim pets at his hair, presses clumsy kisses to as many spots on his forehead and his hairline as he can reach. "Too much?" Kim whispers. "You want me to take it out?"

Harry shakes his head, a little gesture, noise nudging at Kim's collarbone.

Kim glances up at Harry's hands. They're limp in the rope right now, but he can tell they weren't, earlier; Harry's wrists look rubbed raw. "Want me to untie you?"

Harry's still for a moment. Then he makes an uncertain noise.

If Harry's not sure if he still wants the rope, that's reason enough to untie him, only when Kim shifts reflexively to do it, Harry makes a ragged, hurt noise, pressing up against him, and Kim settles back against him instantly, making wordless shushing noises into his hair. "Right here, I'm right here," Kim murmurs. "Let's take a moment to catch our breath just like this, okay? I won't go anywhere," and Harry nods, jerky, into his shoulder, slowly relaxing back into him again.

If Kim's arousal has been dampened, tempered with the need to take care of Harry, it certainly hasn't been banished. Impossible not to be aware of the furnace of Harry's body, heat radiating into Kim's skin every place they're pressed together, the way Harry's trembling under him, splayed out and hopelessly vulnerable. Impossible not to be aware of the way Harry's entrusted himself to Kim's hands and let Kim take him to shaking pieces. Kim is so, so lucky. He presses a kiss to Harry's temple, a second one, a third.

Harry sighs a little. "Kim?"

"Hi," Kim murmurs. "Back with me?"

"Mhm." Harry pulls his face back so he can tip his chin up, wordlessly asking for a kiss. Kim gives it to him, lets Harry set the pace, kisses him slow and sweet and a little sloppy. He'd give Harry anything he asked for, in this moment.

Harry's the one who breaks away first, tipping his head backwards with a hitching little gasp. "Fuck. Kim. 'M so..." His breath catches again. Kim can feel him shift underneath him.

Kim stays where he is, but like this he can just reach the plug without having to move, can stroke a finger around where it's splitting Harry open, can confirm that Harry's hitching breaths are coming in time with the way he's clenching around it. "So what?" His voice is thick, still, with lust.

"Full," Harry whispers. His eyelids flutter. "Open."

"I can feel that," Kim says, soft into the space between them. Still stroking, very gently, around the plug. Harry moans.

Fuck. He needs to - before they get too carried away, he needs to - "Harry, the rope. Should I untie you?"

Harry considers it for a moment, then shakes his head a little. "'S good, 's still hot, I just -"

"Just?" Kim prompts.

"Can you keep touching me like this?" Harry's voice is quiet. Shy.

He's so sweet sometimes. "Of course I can," Kim murmurs. He presses a kiss against the corner of Harry's mouth, chaste, quick. "Of course I can, Harry. Anything you want."

Harry makes a little noise of complaint, chasing Kim's mouth, wriggling a little, so Kim kisses him properly again, shifting so he can hold Harry down with more of his weight, so he can cup Harry's cheek with his other hand, the one not teasing around the edge of the plug. Harry's still clenching helplessly, rhythmically around it. Splayed open.

Kim teases the plug out of him just a little, tugging it back until the widest part is splitting Harry open. Harry cries out into his mouth. Kim breaks away from the kiss so that he can see his face, so he can murmur, "I'll admit, I like the ropes too. They keep you spread open so nicely, don't they?"

Harry gasps. "Yeah. Yeah. 'M so. So -" and then the words blur into a strangled yelp as Kim lets the plug slide back inside him.

"You like that, don't you?" Kim whispers. He's not going to be able to keep his voice steady if he speaks any louder. Oh, but Harry's lovely like this, red all over and trembling, mouth open, face screwed up with pleasure. "Being held so open and wide for me?"

"Yeah. For you, for you to -" Harry squirms, pressing down against Kim's fingers as much as he can.

"For me to tease you?" Kim coaxes the plug partway out of him again, using it to hold him open. "To play with you like this?" Pushes it back in.

"Yes," Harry sobs. His eyes are squeezed shut.

Kim kisses his brow, his nose, dots kisses across his face. "And you take it so well. Look at you." It comes out hushed; adoring. Some distant part of him protests at the tone, at how much everything he feels is in his voice right now, but he pushes that part back down. Harry should be able to hear it - Harry should know how much Kim - "So good for me," he murmurs. "So sweet." Harry's little hiccuping breath at that is so quiet that Kim wouldn't hear it if he wasn't tucked up against Harry the way he is. Kim kisses the corner of his eyelid and says, "So lovely."

Oh, he can feel that one hit Harry: there's a little tremor that runs through his whole body. "Kim," he whimpers. "Please -"

"What do you need?" It's a little tricky to move the hand cupping Harry's face - he's propped up on that elbow, stabilizing himself with it - so he pets at Harry's thigh instead.

"Fuck - fuck me with it?" There's a whine caught in Harry's voice. "Kim, please, can you -"

This time Kim doesn't tease him, just rocks the plug in and out of him in the rhythm he knows Harry likes, aiming as best he can given the angle for Harry's prostrate when he presses it in. "There you go," he says.

Harry's head is tipped back. He's loud, now, gasping "Ah - ah -" with every thrust. Kim can tell he's close to the edge - has been for a while, probably. Fuck, this position is so -

"I can't fuck you, jerk you off, and lie on top of you at the same time, you know," Kim warns him, though it comes out more indulgent than anything. Although - "But then, maybe you don't need me to, do you? Could you come just from this - from the plug splitting you open?"

"Don't - don't know," Harry gasps. "I don't - think so - Kim, Kim -"

Kim rubs at his perineum as best he can, bites at his neck, listens to him cry out. "Maybe we should try anyway," he murmurs. "Would you like that?" Heart pounding in his throat, between his legs, Kim is so close, but he wants to take Harry over first, just a little bit more of - "The plug fucking you open like this, all big and hard and unyielding - holding you right on the edge for me."

Harry gasps, head tipped back, mouth open.

Kim nips at his throat. His wrist is starting to hurt, but he keeps rocking the plug into Harry in the same steady rhythm. "I could just keep going," Kim says. "Keep teasing you with it for hours. Never give you enough friction to let you tip over the edge. And you'd let me, wouldn't you? You'd let me tease you for as long as I wanted -"

Harry whines, pushes into Kim's hand, which is still cupping his face. Nods jerkily. Red all over, barely able to speak, and still -

"That's right," Kim breathes. "That's right - you're so good for me, Harry, Harry -" and he shifts enough to press his thigh between Harry's leg, grind against Harry's cock. Harry shouts. "That's it - go ahead, Harry, let me see -"

It's not much friction, but it's enough. Harry shudders underneath him once, twice, and then comes apart, breath coming out on a long thin whine. Kim loses his grip on the plug, his own prick rutting against Harry's hip, now, and thinks - Harry's still helpless beneath him, still split open on the plug, it would be so easy to keep fucking him with it, until he's so overstimulated he's sobbing Kim's name - and that's enough to take Kim over too. It would be embarrassingly fast if he hadn't been teasing himself as much as Harry, all this time.

Kim pants into Harry's shoulder, gasps until he gets himself together enough to push himself back up on his elbow, to actually grab the plug and slide it out of Harry, murmuring soothing nonsense when Harry makes a little noise of complaint at being so empty. He misses Harry's mouth at first, just kissing the corner of it instead, but on the second attempt manages to kiss him properly, clumsy though it is, while Harry comes back to himself.

When he finally pulls away, Harry blinks up at him. "Hi." His eyes are wet.

Kim smiles helplessly down at him. "Hi." He can't help himself: he kisses the bridge of Harry's nose. Thumbs gently at the corner of Harry's eye. "Are you okay? Was that too much?"

"'S perfect. Kim, you're so -" and then Harry tugs at the rope with his arm, trying to pull his hands down, and pouts a little when he remembers he can't.

"Careful," Kim chides, though it would take a stronger man than he is to actually be stern with Harry right now. "Here, let me -" and he clambers off Harry to get the ropes. Harry's complaining noise is petulant this time, not distressed, so Kim feels comfortable ignoring it and saying, "Hush, Harry, it'll just take a moment, and then you can touch me as much as you like."

Harry takes him up on that, wrapping his arms around Kim's waist and tucking his nose into Kim's hip the moment his hands are free.

"Now how am I supposed to get your ankles?" Kim asks. He's petting Harry's hair as he asks, which he's aware undercuts his question more than a little bit.

Harry makes a sleepy, considering noise, and then offers, "Street magic?"

They manage to compromise with Kim sitting between Harry's legs to untie the knots while Harry attaches himself to Kim's back like a large, hairy koala. Kim needs to take care of his wrists and ankles, check on the chafing, but as he gets the last knot untied, he decides that it can wait, at least for five or ten minutes.

"There," he says, and manages to coax Harry into letting him go for long enough that they can scoot back up the bed and Harry can collapse on top of him.

Harry's heavy, and sweaty, and his beard tickles where he's mashed his face into Kim's shoulder. He mumbles, "You should definitely keep fucking me after I come sometime. Like, until I cry."

It startles a laugh out of Kim. He rubs a hand up and down Harry's back and murmurs, "Noted," into Harry's hair. It's early in the evening, and he doesn't get drowsy after sex the way Harry does. All the same, he's perfectly content to lie here for a while, listening to Harry snuffle into his shoulder, sated and warm.