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

[ 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.]

Hold on for me a little longer, [ whispering that gently as he traces his tongue over the beginnings of a bruise, as he presses close so you can feel how much he wants you, there against your thigh.

He's palming you again, and teasing just close enough to where you want him, mouth tracking a path over your chest and giving ample attention to where you're most sensitive.

He already knows where he wants to leave the marks: there, at your hip, where his hand has often lingered; down further still, on the inside of your thigh where the skin is tender. Right beneath your navel, just close enough to remind you of where he loves to taste you best if he can't have your mouth on him, and the last one, later when he does take you from behind, right above the inked moon which is his favorite part of that montage. ]

[He is doing more than just hold on to you, in as much as he can given his position. His legs, for one, have twined whatever they can reach of your body, in a wordless plea to keep you right where you are.

This is, as well, an exercise in quiet suffocation, which you can probably hear rather well in the riddle and hitch of his breath, the little noises he makes against your skin, the flutter of his eyelids, and the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. His need for you is clawing about in his gut, leaving hot and bothered and uncomfortable in lieu of how you're taking him higher, but you're not quite getting him to where he needs to be.

He understands this is deliberate, but by Elaine, the things you do to him just --]

Josh...

[Your name tapers out into a whine, a broken note in the air between the two of you. A little more, and you will have him at that point where he won't even be able to register the fact that he is begging.]

[ And there's the soft and pleased hum as he's curling his fingers around your thighs and maneuvering your legs apart so that he can move.

That's his tongue tracing the circumference of your navel as he's slipping one slicked up finger into you, as his teeth catch on the tender flesh right beneath it, as his mouth clamps down as he sucks.

He's always been a giver, but giving can also be taking -- and he plans to take you to the very edge. ]

I love the way you make my name sound. [ He's not quite satisfied with the color of that bruise, so he's pressing his lips back on that same spot and worrying it a little harder. The back of his other hand is also rubbing along that little spot where your leg meets your hip, before he turns his palm over to rub little circles along the inside of your thigh. ]

[That first move has your boy positively writhing against you, and whimpering out a wordless protest since really, the ability to Words is in the habit, at the moment, of eluding him entirely.

That next move has him arching and has those hips bucking upward all over again, like that single press is enough to drive the air from his lungs. (It is, because it's doing nothing but reminding him of the way you feel when you're in there, and how you're not there yet.)

He finds himself thinking, rather distractedly, how amazing it is how you can be so perfectly cruel in how good you're being to him right now.]

Nn...

[And then there is that sound and then some for you to study, because they're that much louder, and much more desperate.]

[ That very sound sends a shot of lust through him and he just caves and slips a second finger in, mouth moving now to the inside of your thigh.

The nips he does against the skin are light, but the scrape of his teeth is definite. And when he sucks he curls his fingers a little to feel around the walls of you, to trace the nerve endings there in order to make you feel good.

That goes on for a little while, because he wants to feel you tremble some more, he wants to hear you cry out, because when you do he'll move over to take the whole swollen length of you into his mouth where you'll fit perfectly. ]

[Then you'll be more than satisfied with the way he quivers beneath you, and how that is matched by an even more desperate strain of his body against yours when your fingers curl within him. His insides are pressing down against your fingers automatically, as if his body understands that you belong in there, and wants to draw you in and keep you in place.

His voice is also reaching a different and higher pitch, raw in its need and in how deeply lost he is in everything that you're doing to him. It seems as though this is another first, because you've come together often enough for it to be obvious, now, that you're pushing him in ways that you have not been able to push him before.

His cock, you'll note, is twitching and hot, leaking with precum. It's likely as hard as your own is.]

[ Everything with you is a first, but each new first is something that he takes his cues from. You sound different now, you're even trembling in a way that he's never seen you before and that's an incredible turn-on that finds its way into his blood, making him more daring because he wants to take you all the way.

A hand now, across your abdomen, heavy and firm as he wraps his lips around you, tongue sliding over to taste you. He's going to suck you off in earnest at that and move his fingers in and out of you because he wants to hear you all over again. He's also realizing the appeal of having you like this: wrists lashed together, your body at his disposal to love to the edge of reason until you give over in ways that you normally wouldn't. ]

Oh god--

[That bleeds out into a moan, coupled with a jerk of his hips that would have gone as far up as they could go if you weren't holding him down. He is quivering now right down to his lips, and its' more than enough to make his fingers and toes curl and twist up into the sheets beneath you both.

He already feels like he's wound up too tight in his own skin, and the way you've pinned him to place only aggravates that because it's leaving nowhere else for the heat to go but right back to his head, his heart, his gut, and his lungs. You're fucking him, but you aren't fucking him. You're inside, but you're not. And while your mouth is down there between his legs, and it isn't up where you can give him air that he can actually use to breathe right, because the air he's taking in is doing nothing but fuel more cries that are caught somewhere between pleasure and that special grade of agony that you can only experience when you're that far gone.

And since you've taken him into your mouth, you're going to feel the way he shifts against your tongue, and how he tenses right before that moment before the pleasure completely spills over, much against his own will. Interestingly enough, even as you've driven him to a point of release, his breath sobs in his lungs in between the whimpers that are breaking free from his lips, even as he's spilling in your mouth. And no, his cock doesn't go completely soft by the end of it.

If those aren't solid indicators of the fact that he's far from done even after you've made him cum once, one could only wonder what it'll take for it to be painfully obvious.]

[ He feels the hot spill of you in his mouth and he drinks you down, laps it all up because fuck you taste so good and you're so tight around his fingers.

No, he isn't done. Far from it. ]

Ask.

[ There's a difference in the way he utters that syllable. Its not a request nor a plea, but a command. He wants to hear it straight from you. Over and over again.

He's withdrawing his fingers now and curling that hand around where you're not nearly done. His grip is firmer than you've ever felt it before, and he's not the least bit shaken the way he normally would be. ]

Tell me what you want, babe. [ There is his mouth, sucking at your hip, teeth more evident this time because the flesh there isn't nearly as thin as everywhere else. He said that he'd mark you as his and you know him: he makes good on his word. ]

Tell me that you need me as much as I need you.

Edited 2014-05-29 03:54 (UTC)

[It's terrible and maybe a bit frightening how his cock immediately stirs against your hand in an uncomfortable reminder of the fact that he's effectively still his skin rather than himself, and still off-balance and hot and wanting yet completely incapable of doing anything about it on his own. There's a small, broken noise at your words and a vehement shake of his head, gestures that make him look far younger than he actually is. Involuntary resistance, borne mostly out of the fact that this has wrung him out even if he's far from spent.

Fucked up as he is, the words that come to mind through the haze of his desire are ones that he's still afraid to say out loud, because saying them will make it real, and it's always a difficult exercise, confronting the full breadth and depth of the way you love/how far you're want to go for it beneath someone else's hands.

That, and you're so different right now. You're completely in control, completely capable of being as dark, as perfect, and as intense as he wants you to be, or maybe you could be even more than that. You could destroy him, and he wouldn't care. Maybe he really does need to be broken down, because once you've put him back together, he'll be able to deal with whatever tomorrow chooses to bring to him.]

Hikaru... [ You'll hear the warning in his voice and feel the tremor in his hands as he works you up, the desperate edge to the way he clamps down on your hip, feeling the resistance of bone buffered by muscle. He's also shifting, and you're in the near-perfect angle to see the way the muscles beneath the flesh of his shoulders have tensed.

You're still holding back and he wants -- needs -- you so badly to let go. So alright, he won't play fair in this, he'll slide his fingers away, thumb tracing firmly, the vein beneath the length of your cock as he slips two fingers into you.

And then softly, in complete contrast to everything else, his voice strangled with a plea of his own: ] Ask, goddamnit.

[That is more than enough, at this point, to make him sob. He's flinching under your touch, and squirming from the slow burn of the heat that's building right back up in his gut. The nerves you've only recently set on fire are coming alive again, and shuddering just beneath his sweat-slicked skin. When he finally manages to turn his gaze towards you, you'll note how dark his eyes have gone and how the look in them has shattered, trapped as he is in his love for you and the frustration that comes with being tormented this way.

It's hard to speak over the dryness and tightness in his throat, the static in his brain. He tries to anyway.]

P-please... please don't make me.

[Yes, he is begging now. Ruin him as much as you like, but don't hold him down and make him say, for himself, just how far he's willing to break down for you, and all of the other things that he wants you to do to him.

(Granted, if you push him hard enough, he will. He'll fold and he'll break and he'll give, because it's you. He believes in you so perfectly, trusts you so completely, that the mere possibility of you failing to take him where you both need to go or for you to rebuild his world in exactly your liking for his benefit is the furthest from his mind.)]

[ One day, he might just tell you how impossible you try to be: you ask him to take you to the edge, to make you forget everything but him, and yet you refuse to yield, you cling to the edge like the fall might kill you, as if he isn't right there offering to catch you on the other side.

He's pulling those fingers out now and lifting you ( albeit roughly ) off that bed and back onto is lap, crushing his mouth to yours and hands skimming feather-like over skin that he's kissed and caressed and pretty much worshiped. ]

Tell me. [ That's spoken between kisses that demand instead of ask, plunder instead of coax. He's learning, you see, to play with contrasts. Yes, the memories will overlap and nothing he can do to you is truly 'new', but he is greedy enough to do his best to make sure that when it's you and him in this bed or wherever else you two decide to fuck, you'll think only of the weight of his hands on you, of the way he kisses you the way he chooses to, and the way you will eventually give over because he won't stop until you do.

The blood is his head is pounding because this has become a thing between you two, tied in so tightly with the way your dynamic works: you run, he gives chase; you push away in all the senses of the word and he pulls you back because god fucking dammit the middle ground it is.

That belt is loosening just a bit so that he can slip one of your hands out of it's loop so that he can guide it down the length of his body so you can feel for yourself what you do to him. Those are his fingers over yours, curling your hand around where he's hard, aching and ready. And all this time his eyes, dark and turbulent as they are with need, are fixed unblinking on yours.

He's trembling as he fists his free hand in what he can of your hair, as he whispers, right at that spot where he'd really like to mark you best ( because he's heard you whimper in his arms when he'd lapped with his tongue at that spot and if he did leave a bruise on that tender flesh right where your jaw bleeds into the slope of your neck, the fact that you're his now, in this life, would be visible for anyone to see. ) ] You've already ruined me for anyone else. When the hell will you see that.

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