Archive of Our Own

Chris wanted to do this, and Dean's been very patient, but Chris can tell that the height is getting to him. Dean ventures to the railing and looks down, then takes a step back just measured enough that Chris can tell he's trying not to do it quickly. He moves to stand next to Dean, puts two of his fingers through one of Dean's belt loops. Dean puts his hand over Chris's, and Chris says, "We can go. I just wanted to see it since everybody says you should."

It should not be to anyone's surprise, Chris thinks, that Dean looks like he's plotting something. This can be very, very good, or very, very bad, and it's often difficult to tell which until the inevitable actually happens. "Nah," Dean says. "You enjoy the view. I have an idea." It's late enough, and just chilly enough, that there aren't many people up here, and Dean shepherds Chris to the other side of the platform, down at one of the corners, away from where most everyone else is grouped. "Lean back," Dean says, and Dean's arms come around him as Chris does.

Dean's body is warm against Chris, his arms solid and strong, and the darkness feels like a cloak of privacy. Chris can see the city's lights reflected off the Seine, can see the bright ribbons of the river's bridges, and it's like they own Paris, just the two of them, surveying it from above, close and together.

Dean's lips press against the back of Chris's neck, and Chris shivers pleasantly. They drift over his skin, warm and light, until Chris feels Dean's teeth at the place on the tendon that makes him gasp. Dean's tongue soothes the sting, and Chris hears his breath catch, feels a hot pull in his belly as his cock stirs. Dean's voice is low when he says, "You're getting hard for me, aren't you?"

"Yes," Chris admits.

One of Dean's hands finds the zipper of Chris's pants and knowingly cups itself around the shape of Chris's arousal. The touch is teasing through the layers of the wool and linen, through the cotton underneath, but Chris can still feel the heat of it. He wants to push up against it, but they're in public, in another country—

"Everybody else is down at the other end," Dean whispers. "No one's going to see us." His fingers curl around the shape of Chris's cock, and he sucks gently at the spot his teeth found earlier. Chris bites back a moan, and he feels his hips thrust traitorously into Dean's hand. "I want to make you come at the top of the Eiffel Tower," Dean goes on. "Will you let me do that? Over here where no one can see? Let me touch you and then let me lick your come off my fingers?"

It would take a better man than Chris to say no to that.

Chris gasps, "Yes," and feels Dean's smile take shape against his skin.

Dean undoes Chris's pants just enough to slide his hand inside—but he doesn't touch Chris's cock, not yet. He traces fingertips over the front of Chris's briefs, rubbing through the fabric until Chris can feel the slickness of precome. But Dean just keeps exploring the outlines of Chris's erection, skating his palm over the head, circling his thumb over the slit, but still over the underwear. "Dean," Chris begs. "Dean, please. Please."

Dean doesn't pause, just keeps up that steady indirect touch. "Please what?"

Chris knows this game, and he hates it as much as he loves it: Dean will keep him on edge, hold back until Chris is almost incoherent with need, until Chris asks him for what he wants. "Please," Chris repeats.

"I don't know what you want me to do unless you tell me," Dean says, which is a total lie.

"Please touch me."

Dean kisses the back of his neck again, finds Chris's hand with his left one, the one that's not currently driving Chris insane, and laces their fingers together. "I am touching you."

"Asshole," Chris mutters, and Dean laughs quietly. But he doesn't vary that maddeningly light not-quite-contact, just keeps stroking the shape of Chris's cock, gentle and cruel.

Chris gives in. "Please touch my cock."

He almost moans out loud when Dean does.

They've been together long enough that Dean knows just how to touch him and where, knows how to jerk Chris off when they're going for fast and dirty, how to do it slow and melting when they have nothing but time. This is somewhere in between, and Dean's voice is unrelentingly tender and filthy in Chris's ear: "So hot when you give it up for me, when you beg me to touch you, when I've got your cock in my hand. So fucking gorgeous, so long and thick, want to drop to my knees and suck it right now."

Chris bites back another moan.

"I don't know any of those people. I don't care if we make some noise and give them a show. Let them all see who you belong to. Let them know you're mine." Dean's hand is moving faster, up and down on the shaft, and Chris is trying to keep still so that he's not so obviously thrusting into the slick, tight grip.

He can feel Dean's erection behind him, underneath Dean's clothes, and he manages, "You're hard."

"God, yes. Want you so much, Chris. Want you to come all over my hand, and then I'm going to take you home. Take you back to the apartment, strip your clothes off, and bend you over—no, actually, lay you down on the bed. That's what I'm going to do. Lay you down and open you up with my fingers, touch you some more until we're both desperate for it, maybe suck your cock since I didn't get to do it now."

"Dean—"

"I know you're close. Just a few more seconds and then you can come. Anyway, like I was saying, I might suck your cock for a while, get you nice and ready for me, and then slide right inside you and make you scream my name. Wake up all the neighbors. Would you like that?"

Chris's "yes" is almost a whimper.

"Good. Me too." Dean's grip is just tight enough, the movement just fast enough, but it's not until he says, "Come for me, baby, right now," that Chris does, helpless, Dean's hand clapped over his mouth the only thing that keeps him from crying out. The orgasm is searing and intense, with aftershocks that want to rip sounds from him, and it's Dean's arms that keep Chris from collapsing, because his knees sure aren't holding him up. He rests against Dean, limp and panting, and the only thing Chris regrets about the darkness is that, in daylight, he'd be able to see better when Dean makes good on his promise and cleans his hand with his tongue.

Dean zips Chris back up, and they stand there for a few moments while Chris recovers. "God," Dean says, "I almost came from that."

"Seriously?"

"Are you kidding? That was some strength of goddamn will. Because I really, really want to fuck you tonight. As soon as possible."

Chris turns around and kisses him. "Let's get a cab."

If there is any chill in the air the rest of the night, they don't feel it.