icarusalsoflew | 003. and in every raindrop... // open post.

Go ahead.

[ Come: he'll even help you by taking you with rougher, decisive strokes. You've never had him get you off this intensely before.

This time, he doesn't kiss you. He moves back again, because he wants to watch you break apart. He wants to hear your voice. ]

[ And it must be a sight for you to see, Blade King: you boy laid out against those sheets, the lines of his body taut even as he moves in time to your ministrations. You've never touched him like this before, never pushed him this far -- and to think you're not even done.

Every breath taken in past his lips and expelled soon after is ragged. It is as if no matter how much air he sucks in, it is not nearly as satisfying as when he was drinking from your lips, breathing in what you were giving him. The jerk of his hips as he bucks against every stroke of your hand on him is erratic now; his face is flushed, beads of sweat clinging to his brow or slipping along the dips of muscle that make up his chest and stomach. Every inch of him is taut with need and he's also thinking, rather distantly, that the release will not be enough. He wants more.

This is how he looks the moment he breaks down, as he spills onto your hand and onto himself: that precise moment when he body bends like a bow, a sob of intense pleasure torn from his lips in the shape of your name and his eyes filled only with your visage.

The aftershocks will rock him for awhile. This is a first, and he knows you well enough to understand, that the night has barely started. ]

[ And while you're coming down from your high, he's moving the hand that he had used to get you off to your belly, where a bit of you has spilled on your own skin. He scoops some of that off with his fingertips, and then brings said fingertips (and the rest of his hand, really: it's covered in you) to his mouth.

You're going to get to watch him, then, as he laps your semen up, licking at his own skin in an almost feline fashion. He keeps his eyes on you that entire time, and keeps the grip he has on your wrists in place.

Don't worry. You're being allowed to recover because he does want to clean up. ]

[ He's a bit too speechless to do much else than watch you while you do that for a while. It's criminal, really, how beautiful you are. And recover? Really? He's watching you lap up his cum and you think that's actually going to help him recover? ]

Kiss me? [ At least he's recovered enough to reach for you -- or try to, in any case.

He wants you closer. Needs you, really. ]

[ Have a crooked smile, just as he's removing his thumb from his own mouth. ]

No. That would be indulging you too much. Besides, I want to be able to hold you down properly while I fuck you.

[ He says those last few words as he moves his hand back over your cock. He gives it one good squeeze before letting his finger trace underneath of it, and then lets said fingers roam even further down, where he can slip them between the sheets and your body, right up against the curve of your ass. ]

I wonder... should I take you from the front for the first time, or take you from behind?

[ His body responds quicker than he can think, a soft, cut-off whine leaving him so quickly he only registers once it's cut through the air. It's soft, strangled, not quite a moan; more an exhale of desire wrapped with need. There's also a flash of mad white lust going through him, legs parting of their own volition as he's pushing up against your hand while his torso sinks further into those sheets.

He's trembling now -- but he never did stop, did he? It's like his skin is so tight -- to tight -- around the whole of him. And he can feel the twitch of his cock in response to your touch.

Did you really have to ask that last question? He's flushing now. What a sight he must make, looking like he's torn between answering and keeping his mouth shut.

He'll keep his mouth shut for now. ]

[ Ah, that was such a lovely reaction. He's tempted to do it all over again, just to see what will happen. The only thing that stops him, though, is that he's been holding back on the raging hard-on he has had for you for quite some time now. ]

Lift your hips. Keep your hands flat on the sheets until I need them again.

[ Murmuring that instruction, just as he's stooping low and hooking his hand under your left knee. In the meantime, one of the small tables on the other side of the tent is quietly walking towards the bed. There's a single metal bottle on top of it. ]

[ He obeys without question and doesn't try to reach for you like he normally would. He wants this. His eyes follow you as you shifting his limbs at your leisure, and his gaze strays momentarily to the table because it's so strange to see it coming over as if you'd called for it but it's there and then forgotten. His palms are flat on those sheets, his lips are parted as he tries to steady his breathing, hoping quietly that his anticipation isn't too obvious in how his eyes dark and full of need.

You're so terribly close and yet so far away -- but on the other hand, he can have his fill of the way you look: more than a touch dangerous, intimidating and so painfully beautiful it cuts him straight to the bone. ]

[ And this is what you'll see: how your boy shifts your body in closer, reeling you in with little effort, sheds the rest of his clothes, then takes a break to lean in and lap up the rest of the cum that's cooling on your belly.

Once he is done (he took his time there, keeping his eyes on yours from start to finish, letting you feel the heat of him brushing up against your own crotch), he's hooking both of your legs over his shoulders, letting his palms smooth themselves just once over the fine curve of your ass. Then reaches for that bottle, undoes the cap, and pours some of its contents - it looks like oil that glistens silver brilliantly even in the low lights of the chamber - first over the entirety of your crotch, then unto his hands.

It'll feel cold, thick, and strange, especially in contrast to how hot and bothered you happen to be at the moment. It will also feel like it sinks quick beneath your skin in a way that no liquid that exists in the Prime Material Plane does. ]

[ He curls his fingers over the sheets and grips tight because he's beginning to find it difficult to breathe again. His eyes are fixed on everything you do and as much as he wants to ask what it is that's in the bottle, he decides that since he wants this, he trusts you and willingly puts himself in your hands.

What he can't help is the sharp intake of breath when he feels you pour the oil over him. It's cold -- that was expected. He figures at first that it's only natural given the furnace his skin has become, but then it feels like it makes it's way down deeper than anything familiar, and while he does his best, he can't help but squirm a little over the way it feels on his skin. ]

[ This is the reassurance he offers you: his mouth covering yours in a far gentler, deeper kiss than he's given you since the both of you started, full not of how much he needs you, but how he intends to make you feel good. Maybe it'll be enough or even poetically apt, since it's coupled with how he slides one of his oil-slicked palms almost worshipfully over the length of your body, and up the side of your face before it gathers your wrists up yet again, crossing them over your head.

Interestingly enough, the spots where his hand touched your skin seemed to heat up, much like the glow offered by a fire. It may also make you hyper aware of how your skin feels on his, especially since the heat generated by the contact seems to be slipping beneath your skin and down into to your gut, your heart, your lungs, your brains.

He's moving his other hand now, taking you by the hilt, handling you with more long, thorough strokes. That place, as you know (or more, at this point, can feel), is covered in that oil too. ]

I love you. [ And then, a sigh over your lips after kissing you again: ] Just feel this through.

[ He doesn't fight the way his body arches up to your touch, the way his insides feel aflame and how he can't shrug off the thought that he needs you so badly. It's interesting though, how it feels like the whole of him doesn't feel like his own and he wonders distantly if you realize how tightly you have him wrapped around your finger. It should scare him, intimidate him, but there's something about surrending to you that steadies as equally as it thrills him down to the marrow of his bones.

His hips roll to the rhythm of your touch and the sob that crawls it's way past his lips when you take him by the hilt is a soft please, please, just take everything. He belongs to you, that's always been fact. ]

Edited 2015-02-23 11:52 (UTC)

[ It is an interesting and thrilling point of reflection how you have taken him in a similar fashion like this before plenty of times. Now you're the one who is spread out and wanting, showing him how intensely you'd like for him to take him hard and rock your body until it gives and breaks.

He moves in even closer, near covering you with his body, as he removes his hand from your dick and shifts down, to tease his finger into the tight pucker of your ass and press inside. It's more than enough to make the grip he has on your wrists tighten, and make him moan against your mouth as he kisses you: your insides already feel glorious to him. It's beyond what he's allowed himself to dream about.

Please believe him later, if he ever tells you how terribly difficult it was for him to hold back in this moment. Your smell is overpowering, especially since it's been mixed in with his own sweat and skin. The look of you is a physical force that has his body and his breath shuddering under the weight of his desire. ]

[ He swallows your moan, breathes it in, because he can't do much of anything else right now. You've not given him enough time to think of how to brace himself for the way you penetrate him, occupied as he is with trying to make sense of the way his body responds tk your ministrations. When you finally push your finger into him, you'll hear the cry that leaves his lips, cut-off as it is as he feels his insides press around you, before it thins out into a sob.

He's struggling again against your grip, but it isn't because he's fighting you. On the contrary, because you've given him nothing to hold onto by keeping his hands bound the way you have has left him feeling distressingly like he's slipping off the edge of a cliff. ]

Hikaru -- babe -- please-- [ He's never actually hit a point wherein he's begged in bed. If anything was phrased like this, they were actually soft and quivering requests. His thoughts have been full of you before, but never quite like this. It's a little frightening, how much he wants more. How good this feels. How he's unconcerned over the possibility that this might hurt because what discomfort he might feel has blurred into pleasure. ]

Edited 2015-02-23 16:06 (UTC)

[ And he'll give in for this, because this is, after all, your first time, and the two of you are far from finished tonight. Besides, part of riding out the high of all of this, in his experience, means making sure that one is given the opportunity to let loose at the right moments.

He'll let your wrists go as he kisses your mouth again, and also flexes that finger he has in your ass against the walls of your insides, stretching you out a little more. The oil has probably made you feel so hot in there, because it feels, to him, almost like it's spreading over his own hand. Once he's loosened you up enough, he's slipping another finger in, and then he starts to fuck you with slow, careful strokes, emulating, perhaps, the way that he will take you once he replaces those with his cock. His other hand, in the meantime, has gone back to paying loving attention to the skin of your stomach, and to your cock. ]

Tell me when you want me to come in.

[ The look in his eyes as he tells you this is dark, and about just as full of you as your mind is full of him. Whether he will act on it the moment you ask him to fuck you properly, though, might just be another matter altogether. ]

[ Because of the way you're kissing and touching him, it takes him a little bit to register that his hands are free. That happens when he realizes that his fingers have curled around the edge of the pillow above his head, skin drawn over the knuckles as he reminds himself to breathe. His hips can't do much else other than shift beneath your touch. First, to allow him to rub his cock further into the cradle of your palm, and second, to encourage the way that you're currently fucking him.

Each breath taken in and expelled is capped off with the desperate sounds that indicate just how terribly turned on he is, how he's pretty much stopped caring about whether something does or does not hurt because the ache in each nerve-ending in/over/under his skin is as intense as the heat that's settling into the marrow of his bones. ]

Babe, [ the words tremble on the exhale. ] Please.

[ His cheek is pressed against his bicep, face turned away and flushed. He's bitten down hard on his lower lip because the way his voice sounds is so foreign. He doesn't know what to do anymore beyond try to keep his head as you push him higher. ]

[ And that's enough for him. He pulls his fingers out of you, and - with one last rub at the tip of your cock - he's shifting again so that he truly is right between your legs. Then he's reaching for his own dick (and shuddering: by Elaine, he's so hard for you now) and slipping himself into the crack of your ass.

He nudges against your entrance first, breathes out, and reaches up for your hands in order to set his palms against yours and tangle both of your fingers together tight. And then starts to push into you. It is truly a monumental effort to move slowly, and let you feel him come inside inch by inch.

If you were looking, at this point, you might see your boy's expression break, to reveal how hungry he is for you. ]

[ And he's gripping your hands right back, as if you are the only thing that is keeping his head above water. No sound this time from him, though his lips are parted and trembling as he falls back against the mattress, hips rising to welcome you in.

There's apprehension lining his body, because this feels like several things at once: you pushing out the air from the very core of him, a mix of the kind of discomfort that is borne from the knowledge that this is new and he has no reference to speak of, and how you feel much bigger than you are. He's had you in his mouth, in his hand -- but he's never had you like this.

Forgive him, if he tenses up. He wants this, he does. ]

[ And your fiancee shifts gears with commendable smoothness in spite of how worked up he is, slowing that initial thrust, taking time out to kiss you. But he does not stop; he waits at each turn, for that tell-tale tremor of your body giving into his.

Once he's fully sheathed within you, once he's in up to the hilt and his balls are pressed up against the wonderful cove of skin that your thighs have made for him, he's quivering against your body, riding out the overwhelming heat in his lungs and brain, trying to gather the shreds of his control together.

God, you feel glorious. You're so damned tight, and so hot around him, it's testing his resolve in ways that he hasn't experienced in very long time.

He presses in deeper in the next moment, breath ragged, his pleasure humming within his lungs and throat. He goes deep enough to brush the tip of his cock against your prostrate. No one's ever been this far into you before. That's sure to get a reaction from you. ]

[ What... what is--

--his stomach caves because he doesn't know what's going on but he can feel you pressing up against the part of him that distantly reminds him of other nights when he pushed deep inside of you. He's also instinctively pressing down around you because god help him you feel so good, and he feels so full of you.

He was going to try to loose one hand from yours because he needs to draw you close, to drink from your lips, but the attempt is half-hearted at best. What you're making him feel is overwhelming it's robbed him completely of speech.

And to think you haven't begun to... move... inside of him.

He probably shouldn't have thought about that, considering that it's what prompts the hushed whine that leaves his lips. ]

[ What that one sound you make does to him, he really won't be able to tell you straight. At this rate, though, he's going to end up showing you instead.

Letting one of your hands go, because he wants to have a hand free to lower your right leg down from his shoulder in favor of pressing his palm down on your thigh. That significantly changes the angle of the way he withdraws from your body and thrusts into you again.

He will start to take you now in long, deep and decisive strokes while keeping the grip he has on your body firm and hitting up against the deepest parts of yourself each and every time. He is a little rough, if only because - beyond the fact that he knows that you can take it and at this point it's highly likely that it will only make you feel good - it's near impossible to control himself completely now.

Go back to kissing him, if you like. He'll return the favor with a fervor that reflects just how much he loves/wants/needs you, and let you swallow the sounds of building satisfaction and a cresting need for release that are leaving his throat. ]

[ There's a soft, shuddered 'ah' when you change the angle by which you're taking him, and the hand you've let go reaches up weakly so he can cup your cheek. His body is lined with the tension of not quite knowing how to process how this all feels. Because you are right,. This feels good. So good that he's unable to help the way he shifts beneath you, attempting to match your rhythm with his own. The tables have turned, he's where he would normally have you, and the force of how much it makes him want sends that hand on your cheek to fall away just as his head drops back to the bed.

He would kiss you if he had the strength. As things stand, all he can do is bite down on his lower lip, breaths trembling into the air.

( The tent feels so hot it's become hard to breathe. Still, the way you feel inside/above him is a heat he can't resist. )

His fingers are curled over your stomach. You'll feel the tremor in his touch as he attempts to slide his palm around your torso, as if to urge you you closer so he can rub up against you. ]

Babe-- [ is that really his voice? ] --Kiss me, please.

[ There has always been something poetic about the way the two of you come together in the more intense throes of your lovemaking. Your bodies tangle up so much that the both of you seem like a single creature with two minds resolved to do the exact same thing: press close, stay in, and ride up towards the same high.

He gives in to your request, and, in the moments that follow, his thrusts get a little quicker and more erratic with the way that the rest of him starts to feel positively wound up with need. He is almost unapologetically rough with you now, all tight grip and demanding lips, hissed breath and deep thrusts into your body. There is no need to drag things out now: he wants you to break, and he wants to be fully inside of you when he breaks well, so that he might fill you up with his cum and truly mark you as his own. ]

[ There's not much left for him to do but get swept along with how you're making him feel: desperate and tight and pushed to the brink. He's hitting the point where your name is the only thing he can mouth onto your skin/against your lips. Where your presence is the only thing that really matters.

The way your cock brushes up against his insides combined with the force of the sensations that lance through him reduces each breath into gasped almost-sobs. His body writhes beneath you, overwhelmed and yet wanting more at the same time. His mind is a mess of desire.

( Break him down, take him apart, do what you will with him; he did say that he wanted to be yours -- mind, body and soul. )

At the moment right before he slips, you'll feel the drag of his fingertips over your back and the way that his nails dig unintentionally into your skin, the spill of his cum between your bodies hot and slick. The only sound that leaves him at the end of it all is the cry he helplessly attempts and ultimately fails to swallow down.

Your fiancee has now collapsed back against that bed: flushed and weak-limbed, throat dry and lungs desperately aching for air. ]

[ That small, delicious indiscretion on your part only adds to the glorious high of pressing in close and groaning over your body as he cums inside of you, following the crest of your pleasure from start to finish. This was well beyond what he had imagined it being like, taking you for himself.

He lets himself sink down in the aftermath, showering your face, neck and mouth with small kisses that are far more chaste and loving than the ones he has given you since he started working you up and fucking you. This helps him recenter himself, because - while his body might need a bit of time to recover - the rest of him has not had its fill of you. ]

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