icarusalsoflew | Waking the Dead 2.0 || August 27, 2063 || Saturday

I trust you.

[That is his way of telling you that you don't need to worry about a thing. He has had to handle terrible things, and been the recipient of much darker urges, forces and intent that had been geared towards hurting him.

This is a far cry from any of that. Besides, laying himself down like this for you is a big step with one like the Blade King. He hates being vulnerable, and rarely stands for letting anyone put him in a position where he can do little else but take whatever is offered to him. Him allowing that means that he believes that the person he's lain himself down in front of knows exactly how to hold him down, take him out of himself, keep him still long enough to force him to put himself back together.]

[ He feels the weight of those three words like a charge, one that he is ready to take on, just as he is ready to hold onto them like a metaphorical life line.

Have a kiss then, soft and tender over your lips before he takes your hand to lead you both back towards the bed. He'll sit down at the very edge and look up at you with a slightly nervous gaze.

He's never done anything like this before. You'd know. You've given him so many firsts. ]

I saw... [ dammit, how to word this.

( He's also blushing a little bit. ) ]

I've seen you tied down before.

[ Sorry. He doesn't know how to put it any better. ]

Oh?

[That is murmured over your lips, as he's closing the distance between the two of you by putting one knee up between your legs, latching unto your arms with his hands, and leaning in.

He's not too surprised to hear that. He and Makoto had some interesting times.]

I'm... [ he's having a hard time thinking now that your mouth is over his. He's also remembering the way you'd looked in that memory. ] I'm not sure if I can go that far.

[ They're different, he and Makoto. This is different, too. The way you are with each other. ]

But if you want me to... I'll try?

[ It's an admission, in it's own way, that the idea of you tied up might possibly turn him on. After all, he's got that belt in his hand, right? ]

[Pulling back now, to look right into your eyes.]

Use me.

[It's a soft statement, and he's said such a thing before. Not just to Makoto too.]

Use me as you will.

[Because he trusts you.]

[ He's going to pull you down and drag you close before he actually loses his nerve, relieve you of that shirt of yours so that he can track kisses up in a line over your heart. Several breaths later, that's his mouth slanting over yours, fingers curling around your wrists as he guides your arms over your head, as he manages to slide the edge of the belt through the loop before drawing it tight so that you are finally bound.

When he lets you go, his hands have come back down to frame your face and you'll feel that he's trembling, that he's a little shaky, plenty nervous before he's kissing you again: thorough and breathless, teeth catching on your lower lip as he lowers you both onto the mattress. ]

[And he's pliant in your grip all the way until the end, careful to respond to everything that you choose to give him just as he takes pains to show you that you are the one in control and he is the one at your disposal. You'll see it best once you finally have him against the sheets: it's written out in the darkened look that he turns in your direction, in the soft gasp of his breath and the slight flush staining his cheeks.

Has he thought about being in such a position with you? Yes, only too many times. Has he always been too careful, too certain that he could not ask you to do something like this for him, to him? Yes, perhaps he has been.

Maybe another way of looking at it, though, is that he has always been perfectly fine with being vulnerable, of exposing the darkest facets of himself to you. This little exercise is just a much more concrete way of showing it. Of course, the control of the situation is in your hands, not his.]

[ It'a criminal, really, how he finds you so appealing, so beautiful, and so painfully desirable. He has asked himself each time that the two of you are alone together like this ( okay, not exactly like this, but you get the picture ) how is it possible to ache so much fron want, to feel the twist of need in his gut from a single look from yourself.

He's skimming his hands worshipfully over the skin of your torso now, bending down to press his mouth against the planes of your body, each kiss slow and tender as if he were memorizing every inch of you.

That's his hand moving down as well, so that he can feel you up, fingers tracing the shape of you beneath the fabric of your pants, even as he sighs against the area of your ribcage. ]

[And it's like his body - his skin, the nerves beneath it, his limbs - always wakes up and takes on a life of its own much against his will every time your mouth or your hands move over him. It always heats him up, always makes him feel a little too trapped and far too sensitive to every other detail about the way you're tangled together: the contrast of the cool bed sheets beneath him, the stutter of his own breath, your weight over his body, your presence hovering above him, and now the firm, tight solidity of his own belt keeping his wrists lashed together.

Then there's your hand over him and the heat of your breath over his body and it's enough to make the entirety of him tremble. He chokes a bit on his own voice, swallowing it before it could turn into a full-blown moan: it becomes a tiny, needy little noise instead, and a shudder of air in his lungs. What he can't stop, though, is how his hips rose, as if they wanted nothing more but to press closer to you.]

[ There's a smile tugging on his lips as he tracks kisses over your skin when he hears you make that sound, and he can't help the way he nips at your flesh when your hips rise up to meet him, teeth scraping over flesh as he works you up slow.

That goes on for a while, because he wants to stretch this out as far as he can let it, he wants to feel you grow hard beneath his palm, feel your body writhe beneath his ministrations, even as his tongue occasionally flicks out to taste the salt of your skin, as his lips brand you sweetly as his.

He's not going to thank Makoto for that little memory in his head just yet. You had your thing, and that, like with the others is yours and theirs as it is rightfully so. But you're with him now, and he wants to give you something new to remember, at least, as best as he can. ]

[He tells himself, initially, that he is fine with the pace that you've chosen for the both of them, that he can let you have him as you will.

That changes somewhere down the line, as he heats up beneath you, as his own body betrays him in favor of its desperate need for you. Said change must be remarkable to watch, because it rises to the surface slowly, writing itself out in the way the look on this one's face shifts to match the crumbling of his will in the face of the (torturous) way that you're working him up, the erratic buck of his hips, the raggedness of his breathing, the pant of his lips and the shadows in his eyes. He has also started to tremble in earnest, right down to the helpless grasp of his fingers in the air/the way he involuntarily tries to tug at the belt keeping his wrists together and is met full on with resistance.

A broken noise leaves his lips the moment he's impossibly hard in your grip (it matches the way the lust is clawing at his lungs, spilling over into everything else), and then he's biting down on his lip, pressing the side of his face against the bedsheets in a desperate attempt to find some way at cooling down, or maybe hiding the fact that he's blushing.

He shouldn't beg, he shouldn't ask. He's yours: he's said it himself. He's at your disposal, for you to do as you please.]

[ He feels the way you move, the way your body arches upward into his touch and it takes a supreme effort to not just take, to resist the urge to strip you completely bare in front of him. But your pleasure has always been his, he has always wanted to give than just take because you've given him so, so much and yet ask for so little in return. ]

Look at me, [ that whisper sounds loud in the silence of the room, that hum of the airconditioner the only other thing filling the silence above the sounds you've been making, and the rustle of the sheets beneath you both. ] Hikaru, I need you to look at me.

[ Need, not want because wanting is a choice sometimes, but need is more visceral and encapsulates better the way he feels when he thinks of you. It puts him at your mercy as much as you say you are at his.

He'll wait for you to look his way before he whispers again, over your skin, gaze unblinking: ] Ask.

You're not the only one who's tied up. You're not the only one bound.

[ He is one of yours now, remember? And he put that rope around his neck willingly. ]

[He obeys even if he's fully aware of the fact that it's going to ruin him a little more, and he shudders when he feels the cadence of your words over his skin. It takes more than a bit of time before he can finally manage to speak past the dryness and heat in his throat.]

Stop holding back. Please, I want you to do exactly what you want to me.

[And perhaps that is another form of begging, and the look in his eyes will tell you that there's no possible way that you could go wrong. This is also his way, perhaps, of seeing how far you'd be willing to take him, or take the both of you.]

Make me forget today.

[Make him remember nothing but you, so that he can deal with things properly tomorrow. Show him what he hasn't had in too long/what he's never had with anyone else, regardless of the similarities.]

[ It's the only thing he needs to hear, because today was terrible and tomorrow and the days after might just get worse, but tonight you have each other and that is more than enough.

He's tugging those pants ( and your underwear ) off you now, and making short order of his own clothes before he moves to snatch the bottle of lubricant from where it's hidden in a little box on the shelves that make up the frame of his bed.

This is him drawing you up to his chest with just one possessive arm, and his mouth sucking at the flesh of your chest right above your left nipple. ]

Arms around me, babe, [ low and breathless and right under your ear now, the sound of that cap coming off, followed by the way he palms your ass so that you're flush up against where he's hard and erect.

And then he's ghosting a trembling kiss over your mouth, lips parted as if he's not getting enough air. ]

I won't hold back. [ He's close enough so that all that's in his line of vision are those gorgeous violet eyes of yours. You'll note the steadiness in his gaze, how he won't turn away, if you won't. ] But I don't want you swallowing your voice either.

[ Have a finger sliding between the valley of your butt cheeks, Blade King. You've made love enough times for him to know what turns you on. ]

The room's soundproof, Hikaru. I asked Kaz just to check back on the 18th. [ Kissing you now: tender and sweet. ] No one's going to hear you but me.

[Complying with that, of course, means that listening to you brings the two of you a lot closer together than usual, and pretty much ensures the fact that he's going to need you to keep him steady --

-- not an easy task, given how he can feel you pressing up beneath him, and it does nothing but remind him of his own building need. Still, he listens and sets his arms over your shoulders: you'll feel the brush of leather and skin right behind your neck. And then there's little else for him to do but stare back at you, overwhelming as that is all on its own --

-- and then he falters, just nearly, because fuck, did you have to --]

That's embarrassing enough.

[But it isn't a protest. It is merely tight in his throat, tight like the rest of him feels since he's still trapped in his own skin.]

Edited 2014-05-27 06:30 (UTC)

Why embarrassing? [ That's whispered over your mouth as he lets his tongue slide over your lips. ]

Don't you know that hearing you talk to me is a huge turn-on?

[ He's teasing, just a little bit, but it's also honest truth and you know how bad he is at lying.

That hand on our ass is coming around now, just to feel you up. ]

Ah...

[That tapers out into a shudder of air in his lungs, one that's accompanied by a full-body tremor and a brief darkening in those eyes that you love to look at so much.]

Can't really guarantee that I'll end up talking to you.

[At this rate, you're going to have him moaning/groaning/whining/whimpering/crying out in your ear, or against your mouth, or over your skin.]

[ Chuckling low at that, just before he nips at your lower lip in time to the stroke of his palm against your length. ]

I'm okay with that, too.

[There should be a much better response to that beyond a soft expletive in the air, a quiver, and the entirety of him buckling against your body and the hand that you have on him. He shuts his eyes because he can't help himself: looking at your face is dangerous, but looking anywhere else (read: at what you're doing to him) will ruin him.

His hands are clenching from where they are at your neck, and you'll probably be able to feel that together with the tension running down the length of your boy's arms. He almost wishes you'd just keep kissing him to keep him quiet, or gag him --

-- And he really, really shouldn't have thought of that. How did you get so horribly good at overwhelming him, and making him perfectly fine with being so utterly exposed, with thinking that it would be wonderful to let you ruin him?]

[ His grip is firm around you even as he continues to watch the changes on your face, before he leans in to kiss you again. ]

You never have to hide from me. [ Mouth on your neck now, his breath warm as the hand at your back skims up your spine. ] I never want you to.

[ His fingers fisting in your hair now as he tracks a path of kisses down your shoulder, the movement of his mouth and the way he sucks on your skin perfectly timed to the way he has you. ]

Edited 2014-05-27 08:06 (UTC)

[And since you busied yourself with that, what you'll see the moment you look back at him again is the delicious mix of that special sort of discomfort that comes with being utterly turned on together with the actual pleasure that comes with being pushed to the edge in the first place. He can't breathe right anymore; the heat has finally gotten into his lungs and nerve endings, and that means that every shift your body makes over/against his own makes him tremble all the more.

The words have fallen away for the moment, leaving nothing but the stutter of air in his lungs and the way nearly each and every one of them tapers off into a helpless whimper.]

Edited 2014-05-27 10:38 (UTC)

[ It is so tempting to give in. You're straddling his lap and the swell of him is pressed up right against you, but you asked him to make you forget, to tear you away from your cares even just for the night and whatever you ask, he has always been so prepared to give.

He's tightening his grip around you as he catches your mouth with his again, and each stroke is slow and agonizing as he shifts beneath you. ]

I don't know why but I want to mark your skin with my mouth -- and no one but the two of us will know that they'll be there under all those layers.

[ He's also pulling you closer, pressing you near so that you can feel for yourself just how he needs you -- and all that by just watching you, feeling you up and listening to the way you sound. ]

This is what you do to me. And you didn't have to do a thing.

[You didn't have to do much either, in his opinion. You stole quietly into his heart just by being around, and you were echoing in every part of him before he even knew it.

The pace you have said is beautifully cruel, because it's doing nothing but pinning him in place, and keeping him right on the edge of going higher. His hips buck up futilely against yours, matched with the whine of his breath close to your ear.

Feeling the way you're hard for him doesn't do anything but make him think about how wonderful it would be if you could just fuck him. Hard.]

Then mark me.

[Mark him as you spread him wide open, as you hold him down and take. His words are edged with his own need for you, roughened by desperation, and closer to a plea than they would be to anything else.]

[ His hands skim upwards at that, to guide your arms off of his shoulders before he pins you to the bed. His kisses start right under your jaw, with the faintest hint of teeth scraping against skin, but it is only in that patch of flesh beneath your collarbone though, that he begins to suck in earnest.

You'll feel his hand moving as well, the soft sound of the lubricant leaving the tube as he squeezes it out onto his palm once more. And then his fingers ghosting down past the length of you, one slick digit teasing a circle at your entrance but not quite going in. ]

[And he automatically arches his neck up, and can't be bothered to stifle the gasps of pleasure that are hitching him up and setting the rest of him off. You'll be able to feel it well enough, how he squirms beneath your grip, how his body strains towards yours.

You will feel, as well, how he tenses the moment your hand has moved between his legs and close to his asshole. This is an exercise, it seems, in distance that kills, in being close to somewhere that matters but too damned far away for it to count for anything.

Yes, it's enough to make him turn his gaze down towards you, and whimper.]

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