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

[ There's a sharp intake of breath when you touch him, followed by the pliant way he sinks into those sheets as he feels the weight of your hand over his skin. His fingers are also curling onto the edge of that pillow and he's quietly hiding his face away as the muscles on his back flex with restrained anticipation.

You're like a drug he can't get enough of; a craving that he hadn't realized had sunk into the marrow of his bones.

Have a small sound from him. It's not a protest -- unless of course you decide to stop what you're doing. ]

[ Making a pleased noise at that, and massaging your neck nice and slow. He's also shifting so that he's straddling your body, knees set against the bed, framing your hips.

You have such a perfect ass. You know that now, don't you? He told you as much last night, and showed you as much several times over. ]

I could fuck you into the sheets again, you know. [ That sounds utterly, horribly thoughtful. ] But you haven't even had breakfast yet.

[ Unless, of course, you'd like to have him, or you'd like to let him have you and worry about food later.

Ball's in your court, honey. ]

[ There's a murmur muffled against that pillow now. You'll also feel the way his torso shifts beneath your touch so much that you get the nicest view of how tightly he's gripping that pillow, those sheets.

It's a tell as large as a billboard if there ever was one, but you're free to press what exactly he mumbled into the fabric he's used to hide his face in. ]

[ A thoughtful hum, deep in his throat. His fingers, still kneading gently at the skin of your neck. ]

What was that? You'd like me to get off of you so that you can start your day right?

[ He's teasing you, of course. It's tempered with that gentle undercurrent of tell me everything, I won't ever think less of you, I love you. ]

[ And he's arching up into your touch, turning his face back towards you so that his cheek is resting against that pillow. ]

Stay, please. [ Give him a bit to take a breath and reach backwards to caress your thigh with his fingers. ] I want you again.

[ Once upon a time he would have been a touched embarrassed to voice it, but recent events have had either of you baring your souls to each other; and as strange a concept as it might be to others, there's a comfort in knowing that you could shatter him with very little effort but choose not to. He's seen you fight, seen you take things apart if it so suited you and your cause, but he knows, deep in his bones that you'd never do that to him unless it was to his ( and your ) benefit.

There is a terrifying sense of security in knowing that you can put yourself in someone else's hands and know that they'll do right by you. ]

[ There's what he was hoping for: that look, that particular note in your voice. To keep teasing you would be a terrible thing to do, and it isn't as if he doesn't want you right now, spread around him and all over him, either.

Withdrawing his hand, pulling back, folding his legs beneath him. ]

Why don't you turn around so that I can get a look at you?

[ He does love to look at you. (He did something like this the other night too, only you were stretched out and spread out wide, wrists cuffed to the headboard, ankles cuffed to little rings on the floor, on either side of the bed. There had, as well, been a ring set right at the base of your cock. He had watched you, he had not touched you again once he had worked you up into a frenzy, not until you had started begging.) ]

[ He obeys without protest, even as the motions make him tremble. It's difficult to move with a sense of grace when he's as turned on as he is.

His eyes falter from yours only a moment and then he's lifting them back to look into yours.

No words, just the unspoken cues of anticipation in the way the muscles of his stomach flex, the sudden shallow quality of his breath, and the way his tongue chases the dryness on his lips. ]

[ Seeing you not being able to quite look at him sends a pang of need straight to his gut so sharp that he nearly forgets to breathe.

Nearly. He'll cut loose soon enough. He'll show you, yet again, how he can let go with you. The first step in that direction involves sinking a bit more, hovering just over your body, pressing his nose close to your ear and breathing you in. ]

I like the way you smell right now. [ He's moving back to face you now, and tipping your chin up with just two of his fingers. He's also looking straight in your eyes. ] It's a mix of you and me and the beginnings of this morning.

[ That's him swallowing in the hopes of getting his voice back and then parting his lips and finding that he needs a little bit more before he can actually be coherent. The sight of the way you're looking at him combined with what you've just said is a lance of lust straight to the gut. You've drawn in so close, made him so painfully aware of the way your body fits against his that when he takes in a breath, it does nothing for him except remind him how lightheaded he suddenly feels. ]

Babe... please.

[ Those are the muscles of his stomach flexing again, blood rushing all the way to his nether regions. ]

[ And he doesn't get any closer, not even to let you maybe kiss him. What you're getting, instead, is the soft glow of those rings in his eyes, and a crooked smile. ]

Turn around, go on your knees, and bend forward with your hands on the headboard, wrists together.

[ Everything else can wait. He'd like to fuck you several ways to Sunday all over again now. ]

[ Those words are bringing to mind several moments from last night and robbing him, once more, of speech.

Naturally, he'll obey, but before that, he's pushing himself up to steal a kiss from your mouth, fingers curling tight over that haori. It's quick and desperate, hungry and so full of need that has nothing to do with actual food. And then he's doing just as you've instructed and positioned himself with his wrists pressed together, fingers gripping that headboard.

You'll likely have noticed how his heartbeat has picked up; how every line of his body is taut with anticipation. ]

[ He indulges you in that: he even opens his mouth, all narrowed eyes and an amused noise in his throat, but he does not move any closer. He looks on as you spread yourself out again, following his wishes without a second thought.

He had a good view of the souvenirs he had left for you last night, on the front: your swollen and bruised lips, the hickeys on your neck, that bite mark on one shoulder, the rope burns around your wrists and ankles, and the bruises on your chest, your rib cage. There are more bruises along your back, and the diagonal scratch of his nails down your shoulder blades.

He really, really likes you this way. He also likes the fact that you took his words that he had growled out in your ear about this to hear, hours before, when there hadn't been anything else but the shadows in his room and his body to cover you as he had gotten you off with his fingers.

"Don't make any of these disappear. I don't care if anyone sees them. You're mine, love. mine." ]

Spread your legs a little wider, close your eyes, and open your mouth.

[ He sounds dreadfully, dangerously calm. He also hasn't moved an inch, hasn't gotten close to you. ]

[ There's only the minute hesitation before he shifts his weight between his knees to spread himself out a bit more at your request. His eyes have slid shut, his fingers have flexed over that headboard and he licked his lips before parting them.

Being in this position should make him feel utterly exposed, but there's something incredibly soothing about the calm in your voice, in the fact that he can't really say for certain beyond the obvious, what's going to happen next.

There's a slight tilt to his head though, as if he's trying to listen for you and whatever movements you make. It helps him keep his mind off the fact that the room feels suddenly warm, the way his heart is starting to hammer inside of his chest out of anticipation.

To think you haven't even touched him, much less come close. ]

[ If you ever bring yourself to ask him about why he does this, he'd tell you that it's because it often isn't the acts itself that kill you at the end of it: it's the anticipation. The anticipation, the expectation, makes everything that much better. Perhaps you already know this intrinsically, though. Perhaps he's threaded it deep into your bones already, and written it down on every blood cell in your body.

There will be nothing for about a minute, and that minute, he is certain, will feel like an eternity. Then there's the shift of his body over those sheets, the heat of the precise way he fills the air hovering closer. It's followed by the sensation of just the tips of his fingers ghosting along your jawline, shifting up, tracing your lips. Then he's hooking those fingers of his in your mouth, sliding over your tongue. ]

I don't need to fill this mouth of yours up for you to know when I want you to be quiet, do I?

[ These are the little things you'll pick up in that minute that you've left him to wait ( the same minute that stretches long enough that his thoughts start racing because he knows you're there, he's even turned his head just a fraction to listen better to the sound of you breathing because his skin is humming with the need of your hands on him ): the muscles beneath his flesh shift and flex, as if he's attempting to adjust the distribution of his weight on his knees without moving too much. Each intake of breath is also shallower than the last, as if with each second passing he's forgetting how to breathe at a steady pace, anticipation building.

It's not impatience. He knows -- he trusts -- that you'll touch him eventually, but the silence yawns all around and the room, given that he's closed his eyes, suddenly seems so large. In the last few seconds before you come close, you'll note how he's shifting his grip on that bedpost, as if the way he'd been holding it has only added to the tension along his arms.

When you finally come close, it will be impossible for him to hold back the exhale of relief to feel your warmth close to him. And he's leaning into your touch and parting his lips wider to let you hook your fingers over his tongue.

That's a failed attempt at him swallowing, by the way, because it feels like his throat has gone dry even as he is hyper-aware of the way his tongue moves just beneath the pads of your fingertips.

You could gag him, the way you did last night. But he'll obey. He'll do precisely as you've asked. ]

[ You're rewarded with a pleased noise, then a very small kiss right on the side of your face. It will barely count as a kiss at all.]

Good boy.

[ Then those fingers leave your mouth. You'll hear a drawer opening, then - after a spell - you'll feel the soft whisper of silk over your eyes, followed by the knot of this new blindfold being secured behind your head. Once that is done, he's securing your wrists to the headboard, tying them together, then attaching the silk ropes to a little hook just behind the board.

Your fiancée, he's still so quiet as he moves over your body, wraps one hand around your neck. He pushes your mouth shut by keeping that hand firm on your jaw.

There's the sound of him above you, the hover of his nose close to your ear, breathing the scent of you in. There's his free arm snaking around your middle, palm spreading out over your belly. ]

You're so perfect like this.

[ His teeth catch the top of your ear and tug, just once. Then: ]

I want to see if I can make you cum just by talking to you. You won't even have to ask if I push you that far.

[ The moment that blindfold is in place, the tension begins to gradually seep out of him, because giving over control of this whole situation to you is something he's realized he enjoys and looks forward to. The trust he offers you is without reservation or hesitation and writes itself out in the way he doesn't resist, even as his fingers are flex over that headboard again. His skin has begun to hum with anticipation. It's such a relief to feel you pressed up against him; your warmth and your shape so familiar over his skin.

When you say those words though, it's like he stops breathing for a moment, but he says nothing, just swallows again and presses his lips together because he knows very well, the effect that your voice has on him. ]

You'll try to keep it down for me, won't you?

[ Saying that sweetly in your ear, as the grip around your neck flexes almost possessively underneath your chin. ]

I'll make it worth your while.

[ He like to take this opportunity out to see how you'd fare if you had to swallow your own pleasure down, and take it into yourself. ]

[ It's that possessiveness that makes him pliant, so much that the nod he manages is wordless and silent even as he attempts to turn his ear more against your mouth. There is a high to this, feeling trapped in his own skin with your voice the only thing he can focus on outside of the way you feel so warm and so good pressed up against him. He can feel the ache building, his cock hardening even more than it already was when he'd been reluctant to move from where he'd lain over your sheets.

His breathing is soft, shallow and hinting slightly at erratic. Do as you will with him, he's yours and he's all to happy to leave himself in your care. ]

Edited 2015-04-19 07:34 (UTC)

[ Ah, if only he could take you down a little trip through his head, and let you experience all of the little, powerful things that move his world. Maybe he will try that on you, someday. Make you feel a bit of what he feels. Make you see the beauty in being able to catch the slightest movements and the tiniest sounds, the subtler things that make up a single scent. Maybe it will help you understand that he worships at the temple of your body just as much as you worship at his. ]

I want you to imagine that I'm mouthing down the full length of your spine right now, open and wet with just the hint of teeth, tasting at your skin, paying extra attention to the marks I've left on you.

[ He keeps his voice low in your ear, calm and even and steady like the way he's keeping you locked in place. ]

I'm taking my time because I'm lazy. Lazy like the hand I have between your legs, letting my palm admire the fact that you fit rather well into my hand.

[ Let's start with that, then, shall we? ]

[ There's a breath leaving him and a shudder moving over his skin as he hangs his head, teeth catching on his lower lip. He remembers, all too well, the events from last night. The scratch of your nails over his skin, the pressure of your lips and the bite of your teeth on his flesh. Pain, he's realized, can be pleasure as well.

It's this contrast to the way you usually handle him that makes him shiver. He loves the care you take when you find yourselves getting lost in each other, no doubt about that. But the high is exquisite -- there's no other word for it. Through the haze of you taking him over and over, that's the only thing he could think of when he moaned out your name. ]

[ But the grip he has on your neck and the fingers propping up your chin is firm. giving you very little slack. From the way your fiancee keeps talking, though, it's almost as if you hadn't reacted at all. ]

I reach out once I feel the way you shiver just beneath your skin, slipping two fingers past your lips. My voice is as close to your ear in that moment as it is right now, and you're going to hear me tell you to fuck my fingers with your mouth. While you're occupied with that, I start jerking you off in earnest.

[ His palm is now massaging your belly lightly, worrying at the smooth planes of your stomach. ]

I get you off slow, painfully slow, and stop every time you so much as try to push yourself into my palm or do anything else to urge me on. My turf, my time. You know I like to be in control, don't you, love?

[ His lips tremble at the way your voice echoes in his ear and his stomach instinctively caves at your touch, the muscles there taut and quivering.

It's not the words, actually, that turns him on, but the cadence of your voice, the distinct way that it winds around what you're telling him and how you describe the things he knows you could do if you set your mind to it.

Another swallow then, as he wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, the firmness of your grip on his jaw limiting his movements. It's always fascinated him, so much that he prefers not to dwell on the fact that for all that you're shorter than him and seemingly frail to the eye given the amount of layers you're so fond of wearing -- you could overpower him without a second thought.

His heart is beating faster now, and he's struggling to keep his breathing even. You're going to draw this out and he loves you for it, but he can't deny how frustrating it is that you paint him the image and yet you're not touching him enough. ]

I pick up the pace because you sound so pretty, whimpering around my fingers. You try your best to stifle them, but not a lot of things escape my notice.

[ He moves his hand downward, sliding his palm past your belly and very, very close to your crotch. He shifts it to the side at the last possible moment, and lets his nails scratch lightly over the tender skin of your inner thigh. ]

As I'm jerking you off, I'm pulling my fingers from your mouth, brushing them over your lips, and then using those same fingers to drag down the valley of your butt cheeks. It will be my thumb that'll push into your ass, just up to my nail.

[ There's a pause before he's shifting, and letting his tongue trace the inner curve of your earlobe. He said that he wasn't going to touch you, but he didn't any anything about not doing things like that. ]

I'll flex that thumb inside you, just like that. And I won't finish you off. I'll stop for good, once you're hot and hard and leaking all over yourself. I'll keep my hand cupped around you, to keep you in place.

[ The fingers he has curled around that post are gripping tight, his knuckles white from the strain. He can feel his cock leaking, his thighs trembling and a thin sheen of sweat has broken out all over his skin. There's a tiny sound of protest when your hand misses the place he needs you the most right now and a whimper/gasp escapes him when your tongue traces the curve of his ear.

He feels tight all over, muscles quivering from keeping still because as of this instant, the slightest movement feels like it could only make him feel worse.

Since he can't move his head, it's his spine that curves like a bow, as if he were both leaning into you and caving in on himself.

This is torture, love, but he's holding off as best as he can and biting down on his lip to keep his word that he'll not make a sound. But for God's sake, it would be such sweet relief if you would actually touch him. ]

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

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