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

[ And your fiancee flinches not out of distress or pain, but from getting a solid reminder that this is, indeed, what he has asked for and you have just shown him that you're truly ready to make good on your word.

He immediately goes as still as he possibly can in your arms, head bowing under the weight of his own need, teeth catching his bottom lip in a futile attempt at biting back the fresh wave of whimpers that threaten to bubble past his throat. He is, much like the first time you ever held him close and told you that you wanted things, now holding back as best as he can, and waiting on your next move.

(...Inasmuch as he can, anyway. You are right. He's hot and uncomfortably hard, burned by his own pleasure, overwhelmed by the way his mind is racing through the many things you could choose to do or not do to him now, and in the hours that follow before dawn.) ]

[ There, that is much better. It is, admittedly, a boost to his confidence that he is doing this right by following instinct and thinking just enough to direct things the way you and he want them to go.

God, it's so criminal how hot you look. That's a stray thought he doesn't mean for you to hear even as he bows his own head, mouth warm to your ear and tongue tracing the outer curve of it. His hand has gentled around your wrist, the backs of his fingers gently caressing the length of your own.

He wants to kill you with kindness and ruin with you with a tenderness as sweet as it is ruthless. ]

One more. Just let me see you cum one more time and I'll tie you up, baby. [ Husky, full of want and rough need. ]

I've never told you have I? [ Teeth gently catching at the topmost part of your ear now, lips clamping down over the skin and cartilage before he worries on it for a little bit. ] It gets me going when I know you want it as much as I do.

[ Did he shift his hips more snugly against your back? You bet. And he is hard. His erection, truth be told, is becoming a big distraction.

Nipping a line down the side of your throat again, and when he speaks, his voice is low, perhaps a touch dangerous. ]

Do you think you could touch me back? [ Whisper-soft, that, with a touch of humor and the wayward thought that if he ruins his pants and gets scolded for it, it's a small price to pay for what he hopes to achieve. ] Just to keep those gorgeous hands of yours occupied while I get you off again?

Edited 2015-03-04 03:53 (UTC)

[ It's in times like these that the little things truly destroy you. He's hyperaware of the slide of your own skin over his own, the precise way your voice echoes in his ear, the solid press of your dick behind him, and your smell. Given that such things are currently enough to get a rise out of him, it should come as no surprise that he's quivering in your arms, and biting down harder on his own lip.

He does not want you to stop though. Please, don't stop.

This is how he defers to your request: by shifting, trembling again when he feels the way you're pressed up against him and so ready to fuck him at your leisure, and reaching around to try to ghost his fingers over your length, through the fabric of your pants. There is, as well, raw need written all over his face. You'll see as much through your reflections in the mirror. ]

[ He makes his pleasure known through the muted moan he breathes into your ear/against your skin. His fingers flex just a little, just enough to grip you better and stroke you with more eagerness.

Perfection so often lasts the span of a heartbeat, but for the duration of that snatch in time the moment can stretch to the equivalent of near-forever. ]

Yes, [ he whispers, breathless, needy, his own hips rolling in response to your shaky ministrations. The effect of his impact on you is heady, beautiful and raw. ] Just hold on for me a bit longer.

[ Those words are strained and drift off into the labored cadence of his breathing as he adjusts to your weight, shifts his grip and strokes you more roughly in the cocooned warmth of his palm and fingers. Let him take you higher, let him drag you to the peak. When you go over, he'll be right there, ready and waiting to catch you before he gives you more. ]

Edited 2015-03-04 04:59 (UTC)

[ Your words ultimately offer the kind of reassurance he needs, if only because there is a promise written in there somewhere, pointing towards you truly taking him apart. As such, at least initially, it's enough to embolden him, and work a little better at getting you off.

...Initially, anyway. He has, after all, been thrown completely by this entire exchange, and feeling how hard and thick and perfect you are only reminds him of what it's like to have you pushed deep into his ass, rocking against his insides, pressing against that spot that make him shiver into the mattress. Thinking on that, of course, only elicits more sounds of desperate need from your boy, and make him move with far less finesse and capability than usual.

He is trying, though, even as you make it more impossible with each passing moment for him to think about nothing else but your own hand on him, or fantasizing about the moment when you finally choose to fuck him properly. As such, it'll be some five minutes before he's losing it for real, his breath sobbing out in between more whimpers as his shoulders curl in, hips rolling up of their own accord, eyes fixed on the motions of your hand between his legs, cock twitching and aching and leaking with precum.

He could be spilling all over your hand now: he's already slipping, cresting up towards another high. But he wants to hear you tell him whether he should continue to hold off or let go. You did, after all, say that you wanted to watch him, and he wants to make sure that you're happy, you've had your fill. ]

[ Your confidence in bed is one of the most amazing things he's ever had the privilege to experience. It's made him feel safe to try new things and to pursue darker desires he hadn't felt brave enough to express as he gets a better sense of himself. There has been very little fear that either of you would overstep in bed; true, it's taken time, he's learning to ask just as easily as giving comes naturally. Recent events have also given him a glimpse of the kind of will you exert to control your desires, to make sure that you keep yourself in check -- and largely because you were always, always weighing the considerations over how he would feel.

Tonight is not about him. Tonight is about what he can offer you, what desires he can fulfill to take you to that brink, all the while reassuring you that he won't break or leave you hanging and wanting. And admittedly, there is something about seeing and feeling you so unsettled that your finesse is near-nonexistent that sends his lust skyrocketing. That is why kisses turn rougher over your flesh, why his teeth scrape hard enough to leave marks on your skin, why the suction of his lips are greedy enough to bruise. His grip is tight; you're leaking, you can break at your will or he could tell you to let go.

But he won't. You will feel that keenly through the link, even as he teases and torments your body in a manner that he hasn't allowed himself to before; in a way he had been apprehensive to, before. It is a high, you see, knowing that you are waiting for his word, your trust in him so concrete that you hold back, utter faith that he will give you permission to let go.

You like this. This is something that really gets you off, isn't it? You don't need to answer him. He's just always been so vocal about his wonder over all the things that make up who you are. That is followed almost instantly by the silent offer that he is leaving you this choice; that your pleasure is up to you. You know your limits better than he does, and he has absolute trust in you to push past established comfort zones if that is what it takes to give you what you need.

He is right here. Right. Here. He won't leave you, he will catch you. Just take that leap of faith, he'll meet you on the other side. ]

[ And that is all he needs in order to make him take that leap and let go of the shredded remnants of his control. Far and enough that you've made it a point to lavish such rough and thorough attention upon him, that the brush of those words over his brain were about as palpable and absolutely to him as physical touch.

It's your name that whines out past his lips when he cums this second time around, and yes, those are tears squeezing past his eyes just as the waves of this latest high crash over his body, leaving him writhing and trembling after each drag. He's a boneless heap of hot skin, quivering muscle and boy in the moments after, chest heaving from the effort of breathing and not getting enough air each time around, mind shattered by the pleasure you've given him.

Yes, he's still not soft. His own cum glistens against the skin of his crotch and belly; his lips are already bruised from the kisses that you have taken from them, and the marks of your teeth and tongue have started to flower on his skin. ]

[ You are possibly the most breathtaking, utterly beautiful thing he's ever laid his eyes on. And you are his. For as long as he breathes, as long as his heart beats -- you're his. His shoulders have curled around you now, following the line of your body as he smooths his cum-slick palm over your stomach. His free arm has wrapped around your torso, holding you up and keeping you close as he whispers kisses along your temple. ]

I've got you, babe, [ he sighs. ] I'm right here.

[ You feel of you slumped against him, all pliant limbs and warm flesh makes something click into place and he moves gently, rearranging your limbs and easing you down onto the mattress before he starts to pile a handful of pillows together.

His attention doesn't stray very long from you, even as he manages to do all that: his body covers yours, his lips meet your lips, breathing in the air from your lungs and offering his own for you to take. His actions in the aftermath of your lovemaking have always leaned towards tenderness, as if by touch alone he would like to lull you to sleep while he kept whatever nightmares you've had at bay.

He offers you that familiarity now, even as he picks you up, sets you back against the softness and the sheets, body pulling away just briefly enough as he tugs loose one of the bindings on those drapes, letting the curtain fall to obscure the view of one side of your room.

You are free to watch the way he's measuring that cord in his hands as he shifts towards you, weight on his knees. There's a look on his face: thoughtful, considering -- but he doesn't utter a word. Not to ask if this would be okay, not to tell you what he plans to do. Technically love, he doesn't really have to, does he? You got a pretty glimpse of it earlier. ]

[ There's no resistance whatsoever on this one's part, and no words. He seems content, as it is, to let you move him as he recovers, and only really starts kissing you in return once you have him on his back. Ironically, at that point, the attention you give him goes ways towards relaxing him. Maybe it's because such things are good distractions from how terribly hot and bothered he happens to be right now.

All of that comes to an end, however, when he finds himself staring up at the cord you have in your hands. The sight of you with that being measuring between your fingers is enough to make his throat go dry. He licks his lips, shudders over those sheets. He does not, however, move away. In fact, you're going to be treated to the sight of your boy's limbs starting to relax on those pillows.

His eyes are back on yours, and there is nothing in his gaze but you. Moments later, he's swallowing, and sliding his palms down his legs, hooking them underneath his thighs, spreading his own legs apart. A position of submission, all bodily cues pointed towards yielding.

You are free, of course, to move him as you will again once you've figured out what you want to do. ]

Edited 2015-03-04 16:04 (UTC)

[ He has, in all honesty, half a mind to indulge you both and take you like this once before he ties you down. Still, patience has it's merits. You'll see the tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth as he crawls over on all fours, his body covering yours as he kisses you full on the mouth.

His fingers are also catching your wrists, the weight of his forearms pressing your legs aside. He makes it a point to rub the bulge of his own erection up against your cock, hands making quick work of looping one end of that cord around your wrists to bind them together before taking the other end, hooking it along one of the decorative hooks on that headboard ( he noticed them; hard not to, since he does share this room with you ) and drawing it back to lift your arms overhead.

Withdrawing now to oversee his handiwork as his right hand rotates to wind the rope around his palm. His eyes are dark but shuttered. He's also tucking away his thoughts, experimenting with figurative doors to keep you from seeing what he has in store for you. ]

We'll take this slow. [ He says that evenly. ] I want to take my time enjoying you.

[ And his mouth was already opening before you could come around completely, lips parting to welcome your lips and tongue on his. You'll end up swallowing the small, pleased noises he makes, and you'll also end up feeling the way his hips roll up, to better let his own dick slide against yours in a bid for a little relief. Once again, though, there is no resistance. He knows, of course, that you're tying him up. It does not matter.

He is breathless in the aftermath of you ravishing his mouth and heating him up, his gaze faltering only a little as it falls back on your face. The anticipation is threading up in his arms now, tensing him up before he can help it. That's just one of the lovely side effects of this position. The other happens to be the fact that binding him this way forces him to arch up a little, thus pushing his chest up. Obediently, he is keeping his legs spread, not hiding away from you in the slightest.

Those telepathic doors you have placed between him and your thoughts are holding steady. They are also adding to the whole experience for him. ]

[ He keeps his hold on that cord steady, even as he shifts over you, bending low enough to breathe gently over your erect cock. No, he's not going to touch you, yes, there's a purpose to this -- and then he moves lower and lets his breath pass over your exposed balls, down to where your ass is only half-obscured by the sheets.

He keeps that up for a bit, stretching this out and clearly observing how you react to the almost but not quite contact. ]

[ His reaction is written out in the helpless twitch of his fingers, the breath he sucks in, the way his eyes immediately drift down to where you're going and stay on you. He shudders when he feels you breathing, pleasant and warm and so far away, over between his legs.

Swallowing again, because lust is a goddamned bitch that overrides his ability to function. That includes speaking. ]

[ He can feel the weight of your gaze on him, but he doesn't look up, just keeps at what he's doing alternating between breathing gentle warm air over your cock and down and back up again, his skin far removed from yours, his grip not faltering once on that cord.

And then he's leaning in close and letting his tongue lick one long, lazy line along the inside of one thigh, which he punctuates with the clamp of teeth over your flesh, his cheek brushing against your crotch. ]

Close your eyes. [ He murmurs that almost absently, before he goes back to worrying his teeth over your skin. ] Don't open them unless I tell you to.

[ Shuddering at that, stomach caving as his hips try to arch up and press more of his skin against your tongue. The whine that leaves his lips tapers off into a little gasp, and in the aftermath of that, his breathing has quickened. You would have also felt the resistance in his limbs, the knee-jerk attempt to struggle against the way you've restrained him.

At your request, your fiancee's lips tremble on the brink of protest. He wants, though, to obey you in this. As such, that lovely face of his is half-turning into the pillows, and he's closing his eyes. ]

Just ride this out with me. [ And that's a gentle nip over your skin as his fingers move to trace that patch of skin just centimeters from where he'd like to take you. He tracks a line of open-mouthed kisses towards your cock after that, fingers rubbing lazy circles all the way until he's teasing your entrance. When he finally starts to kiss your dick, the sigh that leaves him is reverent, as if he were worshiping your skin.

There's a thoughtful noise as he breathes over you, thumb now pressing up against you just enough for you to welcome the tip of that digit inside. ]

You know, I think I'll let you hold the cord, so that both my hands are free for me to have my way with you.

[ You're incredibly quick on the uptake, Hikaru. You holding the cord means that you're complicit in your own binding, and would therefore have you keep yourself in place as he makes good on his promise to make tonight all about you. ]

[ And it's like every touch of your lips or tongue on him drives more air from his lungs, leaving him dizzy and short of breath. It does not help, of course, that some of the breaths he takes end up tapering out into more whimpers, or shaky expletives that have absolutely no heat in them - not discounting the heat of his need, anyhow.

He is sweating in earnest now, writhing over those sheets from your ministrations. He is also quivering around the beginnings of your finger inside his ass. There's an earnest whine at your statement, matched with him turning his head towards the sound of your voice.

You'll be pleased to note, though, that he isn't exactly saying no. ]

[ The sound of your whimpers, of those soft mutterings under your breath prompt a quiet smile from his end as he withdraws what little of his thumb has pressed into you shortly after that final whine. Maybe you'll pick up the hushed laugh that leaves him -- he's enjoying this, he won't deny a minute of it -- as he moves over your body and leans in close to steal a hungry kiss from your lips.

His hands slowly maneuver that cord through your fingers, folding them over and around it with an unspoken command in the way he lingers a little longer than usual before he finally lets go. ]

Hold that for me for a bit, will you babe? [ His breath is warm over your cheek, and he lets the smile slip into his tone before he pulls back again to rearrange you over those sheets, your legs bent and pushed up close to your chest so he can stretch out and proceed to set his mouth on you.

If he sounds like he's enjoying himself -- it's because he is. You spread your legs for him earlier in an invitation, and now he's taking you up on it and eating you out with the kind of patience that mimics a cat playing with it's food. ]

Oh G--

[ Those words cut off into a helpless gasp, and matched with your boy's hips jerking up towards your face. The rest of him is arching into himself or sinking into the mattress, and the fingers you curled into the cord are now gripping unto it for dear life.

You're welcome to let him continue to try to fuck himself on your mouth and tongue, or stop him. You'll have to decide: he can't really help himself, just as much as he can't help the way he's moaning/whimpering into the skin of his own arm. ]

[ There is a high in this: in letting his tongue tease your entrance, flicking over your hole as he breathes warmly over your exposed skin; in lightly rubbing the tip of it in rapid succession just to get you to jerk and squirm even as his fingers curl into your flesh in an unspoken command to keep still.

He widens his mouth and covers you completely, hands shifting to better cup your ass as he breaches you. He wants you not gasping, not whimpering -- but begging. He wants your inhibitions dropped, his name a prayer and a plea on your lips because your body has become a cage that only he has the key to.

It's a little while into that, that there's the distant, frustrated thought of being caught between wanting to get up and dig out the oil you so lovingly subjected him to the last time and staying right here at a stalemate.

He feels a cool, solid piece of curved something by his knee when he shifts his weight. And that's what makes him stop enough to give you temporary reprieve, because he looks down unsure over what to expect and... huh. ]

Edited 2015-03-10 15:23 (UTC)

[ Another shudder goes through your boy when he registers the fact that you've pulled back and away from him. His grip on the cord, however, remains tight. He also isn't entirely succeeding at getting his breath back.

If he was a little less strung out, he'd ask after you: he had not missed the shift on your end. As things stand, though, he can barely get his thoughts together.

It seems as though you're being left to put two and two together on your own, Josh. It isn't too hard to figure out, though. You are the Blade King Izanagi's Betrothed. He is yours, you are his, and everything at his disposal is yours. ]

[ He takes all of five seconds to realize that you are too distracted by far to have called that bottle towards the bed. He can feel how tightly wound up you are, how scrambled your thoughts are -- and it all clicks into place.

So he sets you back down onto that bed and unfolds his body from how he tangled his limbs with your own. What you'll hear next, is the soft, sighed chuckle followed by the sounds of him uncapping that bottle and the drop of that oil onto his palm. The feel of the liquid seeping into his skin makes him take in a breath, then he's rubbing his oil-slicked palms together and smoothing both hands over your inner thighs, over the whole length of your cock and down along the valley of your ass. ]

This has got to be my favorite thing in Arcadia. [ Those are his warm lips over the skin right beneath your navel. ] After the way you look, of course.

[ Your finacee recognizes the smell immediately, and that, in itself, has quite the effect on him. A tremor of anticipation runs down the full length of his body, gutting through his already less than coherent thoughts and pooling down in his belly --

-- then there's hardly any time to recover from that, because you're touching him, and he can feel the way the cool burn of the oil as it sinks past his skin, bringing his nerves to life. It's intense enough to make him whimper. Another whimper quickly follows that one when your lips whisper over his body.

What good are lungs if they decide, quite simply, not to work right? Like so. ]

[ Have the scrape of teeth over your flesh, just as he rubs at your entrance, tracing it's circumference in order to tease you.

You wob't see it, the way his eyes are hooded and dark, but maybe you'll be able to make out just how much you're affecting him by the way he has to pause and breathe; the way his touch lingers, fingers curled into your flesh as if in anticipation for the need to hold on.

Not breaching you just yet. He wants to see how far he can torment you without providing you what you need. ]

[ And here is what you are going to get, since you are out to indulge your curiosity: your boy quivering a little more underneath your body, as if you the entirety of him was a string on an instrument that you've decided to pluck at idly, without any real rhyme or rhythm. The tight clench of his bound hands, and the way their knuckles are rapidly turning white from the strain. The raggedness of his breath, as his lungs fail to still the way the air shudders through them with each pass of your teeth. The tiniest whimpers that make it past his lips as the oil does quick work of his sanity.

He's tensed up to a near painful degree now, because he's torn between trying to urge you on and trying to get away. All of this is simultaneously not enough and too much. ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject