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

[ There is that smile of his right before your lips meet, his own parting to welcome you instinctively. You taste of flavors that bring to mind home and hearth, a fire burning through pine logs to keep the chill away, of evening and moonlight and cinnamon and apples.

His hands smooth over the fabric of your clothes, a sigh leaving him as he nudges your face upwards so he can suck at your pulse. Once this is all over, provided that Christmas hasn't come and gone in the Fifth World, he's going to hunt up a proper Christmas tree and drag you along for the holidays. You have, after all, had a hand in making his family whole again -- and he wants you to be part of that. He wants all of it, with you. ]

Have I told you lately how happy you make me?

[ A teasing nip, at the lobe of your ear, one hand snaking between your bodies and tugging your robe open so he can take you by the hilt. He's feeling you up now, thumb teasing the tip of you, the warm and callused texture of his hand stroking you up with the kind of tenderness and familiarity that'll reflect in the look he sends your way and says without words how much he craves only you. ]

[ And he yields to you, of course, in the way he moves exactly how you want him to move, in the shuddered gasp fleeing from his lips, the fluttering of his eyelids at your touch, the bitten back whimper, the teeth worrying at his bottom lip once you have him in your hand. When he manages to look back at you, you'll be able to see how you've started to replace every coherent thought he might have. You are, after all, the only thing written in his eyes now.

His hands have moved now, because his arms need to feel the solidity of your body around them, and his fingers need to grasp for purchase right at your back, close to your shoulder blades. It hasn't been all that long since the two of you last fucked, but it has, in his opinion, been long enough. ]

I think you've shown that to me often enough.

[ It is, at least, an attempt at wit, even if it's coming out a little huskier and a lot more dazed than he intends it to. ]

[ His grip is tightening around you just enough to make you squirm but not enough to be satisfying. There are, after all, benefits of teasing and working you up ( that's your doing, by the way ) and he hasn't quite had the opportunity to repay you for the first time you ever cut loose and fucked him so soundly ( that time after Kaz's purification of the Wings doesn't count; that was for something else altogether. )

Let him just worry at your lower lip now, free hand curling fingers right along the curve of your ass. He doesn't seem to be any hurry to strip you completely. You see, he's realized that he likes getting you all hot and bothered enough to make you beg. ]

That so? [ He's shifting beneath you deliberately, the movement of his hips sudden and rough enough to imply impatience. He's also nipping a bit more at your mouth, as if he's hungry for the whole of you and nothing will quite ever be enough. ] One more won't hurt.

Edited 2015-04-05 10:36 (UTC)

[ Squirm is precisely what he does, and it's matched with a hitched breath that bleeds out into a tiny noise of discomfort. It's the sort of discomfort, though, that comes with being way too turned on for one's good.

By the time you're telling him that, he's slumping against you, trembling just a little over your body, forehead pressed against your forehead (if he could set it against the crook of your shoulder, he would), breath a little short and getting all the more ragged with each passing second.

He wants you so badly right now. All of this is just emphasizing how, because of your own respective preoccupations and the crowd, you had felt so distant and out of reach to him the entire night, even if you had been right there. Sometimes, having to keep up appearances can be so grating. ]

I really hope that involves fucking me on this couch.

[ Or on the floor. Or the bed. Or against the wall. Or... ]

Edited 2015-04-06 02:05 (UTC)

[ He's breathing you in at that, hovering his lips close and watching your face. Your eyes, love, have always been his favorite; mesmerizing and so utterly unique. The sight of them this close reminds him of your earlier exchange after Titania had offered him her gift, and how you'd hit his thoughts on the nose, even if his natural reaction had been sheepishness and the kind of embarrassment that is akin to getting caught with a hand in the proverbial cookie jar. That him touching you like this leaves you trembling in his arms only makes this whole image close to perfect.

Close, but not quite. ]

That's a given. [ Hands skimming up over the lines of your robes and nudging that fabric to bare your shoulders now. There are lines and angles to you that often remind him of the blades you use -- deadly, but ultimately beautiful because of it. ] You're tense.

[ He says that as if he weren't the cause behind it, but he touches you with the kind of weight that promises comfort. And then he's dipping his head and pressing a lingering kiss over your heart, his gaze turning up to take in the look of you again, your noses nearly touching. ]

I've a mind to give you a massage.

[ He draws you in at that, the faint hint of roughness in the way he drags your ass over where he's beginning to grow hard. Did his hips just rise a little? Why, yes they did. ]

Edited 2015-04-06 08:56 (UTC)

[ Did you feel the way his heart's ramming in his chest out of need for you, and how his pulse only quickened further from the way that you're close, and the way that you're touching him? Did you hear how his breath hitches, thinning out into something rather close to a whine.

You're right there with him, but you're also very, very far away. Every inch of him is starting to follow you, inasmuch as he can. Just look, for one, at how his lips quiver and stay parted, as though they thirst for yours.

And by Elaine, the way you feel beneath him. ]

You could also fuck me.

[ The "please" is in how young his voice sounds. ]

[ Have a kiss then, because he misses your mouth just as much as you miss his and hearing you sound like that is such a goddamn turn-on.

There's something so breathtakingly beautiful about you when you're like this: needy, trembling, wholly attuned to him. You make him want more than he thought he could ever want and that only makes his desire to give you everything within his power so much greater.

He's smiling against your mouth as he draws your hands to his chest to settle your fingers over the clasps of his own tunic. Then he's pulling at those robes, pushing them aside until you're as bare and naked as he can get you without you leaving his lap.

He'll cup your ass now, slip his hands beneath what remains of those robes to palm your flesh. Those lips of his are pressed, once more, over your beating heart. ]

No. [ He isn't going to fuck you just yet. He wants you helpless and consumed by sensation first befoe he gives in and offers you release. There's a unique high in watching you come apart in his arms. He wants that tonight. ]

[ He's pliant in your grip throughout that, gaze shifting first to where you've drawn his hands and then later towards the quick work you've made of his clothes. He's fighting for calm, because the need is starting to claw at his insides and his lungs are starting to feel like they're on fire. As such, while he knows that he ought to help you out of his clothes, it's incredibly hard for him to focus on that task.

No, he won't be able to stop the way his expression breaks a little at your words, nor will he be able to stop the small noise of protest that hums out from behind his lips and how he's pressed them tightly together. ]

Then...?

[ Please tell him what to do. He's yielded to you: every little gesture he's making now - every slight shift - and the note in his voice plus the look in his eyes all point towards submission. ]

[ Just as he'd hoped.

Have an affectionate peck at the corner of your mouth as he lets his hands move up your back, heavy and starved over muscle and flesh. The contrast is deliberate. He wants you to let him love you down and take you however high he can manage. ]

Strip, and stretch out on the lounge. [ Casual, easy, as he's letting his fingers come around to knead at the flesh above your navel. ] I just need to fetch something from one of the bags.

[ ...Hopefully, you're not going to take the fact that he actually turned his cheek a little at that kiss, all in the hopes of you catching more of his lips and less of his skin. Hopefully.

He isn't so far gone as to wonder what exactly you're going to get. But he isn't going to ask: he's going to do as he's told the moment you release him, unfolding from your lap, shifting off the robes that you've already loosened, letting them pool on the floor as he steps out of them. Once he's naked underneath your gaze, however, your finacee is moving in to kiss you full on the mouth just for a few heartbeats before he's glancing back at the lounge you're still seated on. ]

Should I lie on my front, or on my back?

[ Asking, as he's letting his fingers skim down the length of your arm, over the cloth of your sleeve. His cock is stirring between his legs, by the way, and it's all your fault. ]

[ He gives into that kiss, lips parting to let you explore his mouth as much as you want, one hand finding its way between your bodies so that he can palm you lovingly. When you break away, he takes the moment you're asking him that question to take the sight of you in -- and the look in his eyes leaves very little doubt over how much he'd like to put his mouth places. ]

Lie on your stomach first. [ He says that softly, free hand coming up to toy with the ends of your long hair right before his gaze flicks back up to meet yours. ]

I promise I'll make it worth your time.

[ He knows you will, and that's precisely why it's hard to keep his anticipation and building excitement over the possibility from choking him.

So he's moving past you, stretching out just like you asked him to. There's a small wince and a tiny noise of discomfort the moment he feels his cock slide over the mattress: he's already growing hard, and you touching him just now hadn't helped matters in the slightest. Nevertheless, he's pillowing his head with one arm under his chin, and folding the other arm just in front of that one. Once he's flat on his stomach, he's turning his cheek just enough in order to look up at you.

Time to try and will himself to relax, even a little. Operative word being 'try'. ]

[ And he's rising even as you stretch out on that mattress, watching you with hooded eyes and slightly parted lips before he bends down just to kiss you on the brow. His hand moves indulgently down the curve of your spine, stopping right before he touches your ass. And then he's leaving you for a little bit, walking over to where his things have been laid out alongside yours for the bag that holds a particular set of bottled oils. He doesn't deliberately hide the one he picks from your view -- but you know these oils, don't you, down to their scent.

That's the sound of him pulling the cap before he tips it to the side so that a tiny drop falls to the center of his palm. Perhaps you'll feel the rush of memory that prompts the shudder that goes through him -- one that has nothing to do with the chill and everything to do with all the times you've taken him/he's taken you to bed in the last few weeks.

He tips a bit more onto his hand, just enough to slick both hands up before he's making his way back to you, the bottle dangling by the neck between his fingers before he sets it down on the floor as he settles down beside you.

Have a kiss to your shoulder, babe, as he smooths is palms over the expanse of your back. ]

[ ...And now he knows exactly what he's gotten himself into with you, and he isn't entirely sure how he feels about that. Maybe you'll be able to pick up as much, given how your fiancee tries - and fails - to swallow the sudden dry lump in your throat the moment you come close. He has also tensed up, body reacting to the way his mind is now racing through the haze and heat of the possibilities of this exercise.

There's another swallow once you're smoothing your palms out over his back, and the slightest shiver of the skin underneath your hands. The next breath your boy draws in is ragged, and he's screwing his eyes shut. That might just be the curl of his fingers over the cushion. If you're going to use a lot of that oil...

No. Full stop. Thinking about it is just going to make him fall apart faster. (But how can he not think about it when those are your hands on his body, your presence up in the air, just within reach?) ]

[ If he were actually sorry about this whole affair, he'd apologize -- but he isn't, so you'll catch the pleased sound that leaves his lips as his hands begin to knead the tension out of you.

He'll start things slow. It's entirely possible that you'll work yourself up right on your own, and if you don't, well. It's a good thing that bottle has a lot of that oil. ]

Just relax.

[ He's murmuring that as he admires the tattoos that move over your skin, as he lets his fingers work at your back. You've such a beautiful form ( he's letting his palms follow the arch of the base of your spine now ) it's several degrees of sinful. His touch, you might note, is equal parts loving and possessive. ]

[ And how is he supposed to relax like this? Everything in your touch is soothing and comforting, but the heat of the oil is spreading wherever your fingers go, making him hyper-aware of the warmth of your body and the feel of your fingers on his skin. It is also magnifying just how good you're making him feel, which subsequently goes straight to his gut, stoking up the fire of lust in his belly --

-- which only grows worse once you're going up the ridges of his spine, so much so that this one has started to quiver in earnest. The room is starting to feel so large and so suffocating now, like its walls are gradually closing in; it's getting harder for him to breathe by the second.

A slight shift from this one, as he's sinking his forehead into his arm. The gasp of his breath is partially muffled by the cushion and by his own skin. ]

[ It is such a treat, watching you move beneath his ministrations and feeling the way you respond. He moves one hand up to your neck, lets his fingers knead at that spot right where your shoulders slope upward. He'll let his fingers go all the way up to your hair to fist in it before he leans down to nip right behind your ear. ]

I need you to turn around, babe.

[ He trembles from his scalp right down to the end of his spine at the push of your fingers against his skull, and doesn't manage to suppress the small whimper that leaves his lips the moment he feels your teeth teasing at the delicate skin of his ear.

There's a long pause from this one's end before he's pushing himself up and turning, like you asked him. Once he's settling back on the cushion, though, he's swallowing, and turning his face to one side, eyes catching your face then ultimately sliding away.

Is he blushing? Yes. He's also quivering in earnest now, fingers clenching against the cushion, toes curling over the top, lips panting into the air between the two of you. His knees are drawing up ever so slightly, limbs shifting in a futile attempt at dispelling that uncomfortable and hard knot of lust between his legs, stomach caving, muscles flexing underneath heated flesh, his body a tense line that's right about ready to snap underneath the right amount of pressure. The oil, by now, has done its magic, and has made quick work out of shredding his composure to shreds. ]

[ You're a gorgeous sight: flushed and needy right in front of him. It's honestly enough to prompt him to shed the clothes he's still wearing -- high collar, robes and all, because that is what your personal tailors recommended, yes? But no, he'll see this through and he's quietly grateful that you can't see ( even if you can probably pick up the scent ) how turned on he is.

Have a palm, warmed by that oil, moving up your shin. ]

I love you.

[ The declaration is steady, soft and earnest. That palm has come to rest on your knee. ]

Drape your hands on the arm above your head for me, will you?

[ He's going somewhere with this. Indulge him a little. ]

[ And of course he's imagining that hand going higher, riding up his skin towards --

-- anyway. Your boy's looking up now, through the fringe of his hair (disheveled as it now is, much like the rest of him), and it's all he can do to not lick his lips at the sight of you above him, still clothed, still as painfully handsome as you were hours previous during the fete.

Quietly following your request, which leaves him spread out with his wrists against that arm and hands turned upward, gaze averted yet again, cock standing at attention, still breathing like his lungs are slowly but surely closing up on him from the inside. ]

I just want to try something.

[ He's never used his powers like this before, but now is a good a time as any to see if it will work. Arcadia is old, as are the things in it. While out on the field, he'd hesitate to stretch his abilities too much, given the unpredictability of the faerie realm. Here though, in a space ruled by an ally... it feels alright enough to try.

The arm of that couch is warping beneath your wrists, the shape of it turning into two cuffs that will keep your hands right where they are.

While that's happening, you'll catch the pleased smile that graces his lips as he's reaching back down for that bottle. ]

[ You stretch him out for real and cuff him in place, and he suddenly feels utterly, totally exposed beneath you. Your gaze, in fact, is like a physical force to him at this moment, especially since he's so worked up and wants nothing more but you close, you touching him, you coming inside.

As such, you're going to have to excuse the whine of protest from this one, and that helpless flex of his fingers as his arms tug at those restraints. He could break out of this easily, but he wants you to take him, and you've made it clear that the only way that you're going to fuck him is if he lets you have your way with him first.

(That's a big turn on for him, by the way. You know the extent of how much he'll place himself in your care, how far you can actually go with him in bed and, by extension, in just about any matter under the sun.) ]

Josh...

[ He's watching you now, plaintive and pleading. He feels as if he's gone on for too long without you kissing him. He needs your air. He needs you. ]

Mm? [ A brow lifted your way as he's pouring a generous amount of that oil onto his palm. He doesn't look at you, not yet. Looking at you means potentially giving in and he wants to do this for you, make you plead, make you cum ( because he won't tell you that you can't, watching you resist the urge to will be amazing to watch ) and push you right up to breaking apart by the mere touch of his hands.

He's rubbing his hands together now and turning to you as he stands and leans a knee onto that lounge so that he can better hover above you.

He'll start with your legs. Yes, that seems a good place to begin. You've been on your feet the whole night, doing the rounds and mingling with your subjects. ]

[ And you positioned over him like that without actually sinking down to cover his body with yours is the most infuriating and tantalizing thing in all of Arcadia for him right now, especially since it just reminds him of how much he really, really wants you to fuck him.

Anything he might have said becomes a hiss and a full bodied quiver instead, once you're spreading more of that oil on his skin, as you're touching him. You're in the perfect position to see the way his head tosses, eyes fluttering, eyebrows knitting together, fingers grasping helplessly at air, expression threatening to break down even more than it already has.

He's trembling from the tension that's knotted up in his limbs now just as much as he's trembling out of need. The heat has completely invaded his lungs, and is spreading throughout his nerves, leaving his skin tingling and his mind collapsing under the strain of the needs of his body.

Forgive him, love, for the way he's now trying to shift his legs out of your grip. He's too hot and several touches too sensitive, and your hands are everywhere without being anywhere that he needs them to be all at once. ]

[ Oh no, you don't. He stops moving his hands and curls his fingers firmly instead into your flesh, gaze steady on your face and almost deathly quiet as he waits for you to quiet down.

He won't tell you to stop squirming -- mostly because it's thrilling to get you worked up like this. Instead, he'll be patient. ]

I've barely touched you.

[ Understatement, that. No, he's not putting too much stress on his choice of oil. He knows your skin is likely on fire. You made sure he knew the many ways one could feel so terribly trapped in one's own skin and he's fully committed to returning the favor. ]

Tell me what you want. [ That's whispered over your lips, right before he indulges you and covers your mouth with his own. ]

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

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