Deja View

by Granate, 2005


Disclaimer: Don't own, not making any money!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"It's ok, Eve's asleep."

That's the first thing he always says because he knows that's the first thing Sven will ask when the bedroom door creaks open and then clicks shut again.  Sven sits up.  He wasn't asleep, not yet, and it's not like he doesn't expect this.

Train is already shucking clothing, clearly visible in the light from the open window as he discards shirt and pants carelessly onto the floor.  He must be feeling relatively safe tonight.  He's an ex-assassin, after all.  When he's feeling paranoid, he'll only take of what he has to, or keep his clothes nearby.  Tonight they are dropped to the floor and all but trampled on his way to the bed.  Train moves so damned fast.  He does everything fast.

Well, not everything.  Train is a living, breathing contradiction.  Must be part of being a cat.  He can be so infernally lazy, sloth impersonated.  He whines to be fed, he complains when he's inconvenienced.  But when he's on the move, when he has a target, he can't be caught, can't be stopped.  Sven's made a life as a Sweeper by getting one step ahead of his bounty and his competition, but there's no getting a step ahead of Black Cat.  Even after six months, still all he can do is chase after the kid and try to hold onto his hat.

As a gentleman, Sven has taught him time and time again that sex isn't something that's supposed to be done fast but Train doesn't listen to others.  Another part about being a cat.  When Train wants it fast, it'll be fast and when he's feeling lethargic and horny, then he'll just let Sven do whatever he wants.  And, God, does he want.  On some levels, he knows he should feel indignant that he so readily follows Train's pace, but it turns out the same no matter how they do it - limbs tangled, slick with each other's sweat and saliva, burning hot, and somehow mindless and urgent at the same time.  Sometimes he wonders if he shouldn't feel a little depraved, too, but if it keeps Train's mind off of the things that make him whimper and growl in his sleep, well, then it can't be a bad thing that they do this.  

Besides, Train wants this as much as he does.  Train has this policy of doing things because he wants to, and this is what Train wants.  He makes it more than clear as he gets on the bed.  The weight on the bed doesn't feel like it could possibly be all of him.  Train is lean, yes, but he's also unearthly strong.  Seems like this can't be all there is to him.  He's crawling up the bed on his hands and knees.  Sven just watches.  He hasn't said anything since Train entered the room, but what is there to say?  Train is still wearing the bell around his neck.  Sven doesn't know if he forgets to remove it or simply never takes it off, but he does know that Train took the ringer out of the bell a long time ago.  It's symbolic, he says, he doesn't actually want to be heard where ever he goes and Eve has decided he's not such a naughty cat anymore.

She has no idea how naughty this cat is.  He makes Sven forget to be a gentlemen most of the time, forget the little things he would normally do to make his partners feel comfortable.  Like right now, for instance, he should be pulling back the covers and making room in the bed.  But he's not.  He can only stare like he's never seen this side of Train.  And Train either doesn't notice or doesn't care.  He sits himself down right on Sven's hips over the covers and draws his legs under him.  His amber eyes glint even in the dim light and Sven instinctually meets him half way with a kiss.  Train's fingers clutch at the collar of Sven's pajamas and then claw open the buttons down his front.  Train wants it out of his way.  He wants skin, he wants heat; and his want stokes a need buried so deep in Sven that it lies dormant except during these times with Train.  He kisses Train almost violently; lips crushing and teeth nipping, hungry and possessive.   He never knows if Train understands the meaning behind these kisses, because it doesn't occur to a cat that anyone would own him, or that he could even be owned.

The shirt is hastily shoved over Sven's shoulders and down his arms.  He frees himself and brings his arms around Train's back.  That back arches under his palms in a way that makes him instantly hard.  He breaks the kiss and pulls Train roughly forward so he can yank the covers out from under him.  Train clutches at his shoulders, leaning into his chest for balance, and trapping his cock between their bodies.  He gasps a little and bites at his neck to hold back the moans rubs himself against Sven's abs.  Sven has one arm firmly around his hips, holding him up close as he kicks the covers back.  They finally settle again and Train is still moving languidly, right over his cock.  It feels damn good, but it would feel a whole hell of a lot better without any clothing barriers.

"Hey, help me out here," Sven complains to Train, who is conveniently sitting directly on the laces of his pants.

Train moves back a bit, and Sven can't see Train's eyes through his hair, but the smirk on his face is positively feral as he leans in.  Eager fingers pluck at the laces and delve inside his pants to wrap around his rigid cock, and at the same time Train bites his ear and makes this noise somewhere between a snicker and pant.

Sometimes, it seems that foreplay is a foreign concept to Train, so much that Sven thinks that if Train ever does get with a girl, it'll be a disaster.  But again Train is a contradiction to himself: he loves to tease.  When Train discovered that teasing physically was as fun or even more fun that teasing verbally, oh God that had been the beginning of the end for Sven.  Even at times like this, when they seem to be hurtling towards the end, Train can do something so stupid and simple as breathe in his ear and time will just stop until he can put his mind back together.  

Sven shivers.  Train is good with his hands, he knows how to manipulate objects.  Every stroke up and down Sven's cock is confident and skilled; every brush over the head is deliberate yet playful.  Train's kind of playful - the kind of playful that borders just benignly on mocking because Train does love to drive Sven to his wits end.  And he's there, too.  Train finally lifts up onto his knees, just enough to allow Sven to push his pants down and kick them the rest of the way off.  Sven's hands gravitate immediately to Train's hips and ease him back down, and they are skin to skin, cocks rubbing against one another.

Before he knows it, he's flat on his back and Train is bracing a palm on his chest, leaning over him to dig through the drawer by the bed for some kind of lube.  Train makes instantaneous decisions like that.  Sven does not mind, but when Train's found what he wants, Sven does insist on dragging him down for a kiss.  Train kisses back and then sets about his self-appointed task of lubing Sven's cock.  When he's done, the bottle is dropped thoughtlessly to the bed and hands are wiped impudently on a nearby pajama shirt.  Sven would not dream of protesting.  Train rises on his knees again and positions himself over Sven's cock.  Sven remembers to be a gentleman and assists, holding the base of his cock with one hand and guiding Train with the other.

The truth isn't that either of them are bad at foreplay, it's just that they don't need much of it.  Like it?  Sometimes.  Need it?  Not really.  Train most likely had his mind set to fucking before he even came in the room, and it's not like Sven is a difficult person to convince.  Not for Train.  How long has it been since Train walked through his door?  Sven doesn't know but he's sure it hasn't been very long, and now Train is lowering himself methodically down onto the full length of his cock.  Train hisses and Sven tells him to slow down, but he won't.  When Train is finally all the way down, Sven holds him forcibly still, though he's not sure for whose benefit.  

He finally eases up and Train begins to ride him.  There's no denying that Sven loves having Train underneath him, either on his knees or on his back, but there is something special about this position.  There's something about just letting Train go wild and enjoy himself - and getting to watch.  He needs this.  This way he can show Train that he'll be anything Train wants, all he has to do is ask.  He doesn't know how well the message is coming across but here in the bedroom, at least, Train seems to be getting the picture.  And most secretly, when Train rides him, it makes Sven feel needed.  Somehow it's come to be that he needs to be needed by Train.  

Train rides hard and fast.  He bites his bottom lip and does his best to hold back the moans as Sven plays with his nipples and begins to stroke his dripping cock.  He slows and leans down for a kiss and in hindsight, Sven will think he should have known that cat was up to something, but when Train pulls away from the kiss, he brings Sven's eyepatch with him.

"Train!" Sven rebukes, catching a glimpse of the younger man's smirk before closing his eyes.  Train is moving again, working up to his previous pace.  He's leaning his hands on Sven's abdomen and letting his voice out, just softly, and there's no way Sven can stand not to look at him.  It just can't be done, there's no helping it.  He opens his eyes and gets about fifteen seconds before it hits him.

It's not exactly five minutes like he typically says when he explains the special vision of his right eye.  He can see up to five minutes into the future, the very immediate future.  Train's immediate future is, not surprisingly, orgasm and Sven sees it all before it happens.  His face upturned to the ceiling, mouth open.  The drop of sweat that trickles down the side of his neck and gets caught under the red collar.  The light and shadows from the window on his skin.  The erratic, uncontrollable movements of his body.  He can even hear Train's hoarse, strangled cries.

Sven's realtime vision is impaired during this phenomenon and sometimes he can't tell what's really happening and what hasn't happened yet.  Right now, all he really knows is that he grasps Train's hips with bruising strength and thrusts up into him again and again, wanting to fuck Train until he comes like that, desperately wanting to push Train over the edge.  The Train he sees continues to writhe, but what he's seeing does not quite match what he feels.  Finally, the vision blurs and then ceases altogether when Train's voice brings him back, gasping his name out.  Just when Sven has become sure that what he is seeing is the current world, the vision repeats itself.

"Yes, Sven," Train chokes as he lets his head fall back.  He is stroking his own cock in a frenzy and Sven feels him tighten appreciably just before the first streams of come spurt from the tip.  Sven grits his teeth and holds off his own release until Train is done, focusing on his upturned face, the droplet of sweat, the shadows splayed across his skin.  Finally Sven's resolve begins to unravel and he can't hold back anymore.  He holds Train and spends himself mindlessly in that tight, hot body.

His arms finally fall to the side and Train slides off of him.  Train hits the bed and looks like he never intends to leave.  Sven elbows him weakly.

"Where is my eyepatch?" he asks, voice rough and scratchy but not at all as annoyed as he thinks maybe it should be.

Train just hums and shrugs before stretching in a suitably feline manner and then curling up with his eyes closed.

"I hate it when you do that," Sven grumbles exhaustedly as he sits up and gropes around for his eyepatch.

"No you don't," Train yawns impassively.

Sven finds the eyepatch and is relieved that it appears to be intact.  He looks at Train one more time before putting it on and, future or present, what he sees is a sleeping cat.