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

[It might be difficult to tell which one of you is quivering between the two of you, at least until your cock hits his prostrate for the first time and he moans in a way that he's never moaned before. A new tremor wracks his spine at that point, making him writhe anew, making him press his bruised skin closer to your mouth and try to bring the rest of him as close to your body as he can possibly go given the way that you're pinning him in place.

You've smudged everything out of his eyes but the image/thought/feel of you: that much will become obvious every time he actually manages to keep his eyes open long enough for you to look into them. All distress and discomfort has left his voice, and the only thing you'll hear now is how each breath he draws is a sob with your name on it, and a whining, wordless plea for you to go harder and deeper into him. It's matched by how he strains in your grip, and how the jerk of his hips matches the twitch of his hardening cock.]

God, Josh... please...!

[You've pushed him back into using his country's native tongue, because it's the one closest to his heart and wound together with his instincts. This moment is all about heart and instinct now, isn't it?]

[ And for all his earlier talk, there is nothing for you to hear but the sounds of his breathing, of the kisses he's pressing against your skin, of the rustle of sheets beneath you both as he picks up the pace and the slap of your bodies as you come together. His grip is tightening over your wrists ( he swears, he'll kiss the bruises that he leaves later ), his body bearing down on you because there is nothing and no one else but you in the moment: the scent of sweat, skin and sex as he pushes into you.

The sound of your voice saying his name, pleading in a tongue that he's had to learn -- those are anchors that drag him further into the depth of you. Hold onto him, please, he never wants to stray far from you, because the dark can come to swallow you both and the odds might be stacked against the years he'd gladly lay down at your feet, but he'll be there, right beside you, if you just tell him that you need him.

No, there is no room for tenderness when want and desire are all-consuming. You asked, he will give until the whole of him has emptied into you. ]

[And when you do let go, when all of you starts spilling into him, it's enough to set the rest of him off, to drag out that particular whine past his lips that only ever comes when he's been completely taken over the edge. This is yet another first for you, and maybe that, in itself, is fucking amazing. You've fucked him before, but you've never fucked him to a point where he could sound and look and feel quite like this.

The crest of his own pleasure comes out in the way he's emptying himself between the two of you, and it dies down in the most agonizing way for him possible: in shakes and tremors, in heat that's more than capable of shredding his will and his thoughts apart as it spreads all over his body and right down to the smallest ends of him. Everything has blended together in that moment, regardless of whether it was nothing but good (i.e. you close, you here, you pushing him over), nothing but painful (i.e. the tight grip you have on his wrists and the press of your other hand and leg on his body, as if those things are the only things keeping you steady), or an odd mix of both (i.e. how the two of you got here in the first place, the way you've marked his skin), and when all of that finally starts to fade...

There's no thought, because you're still inside of him and the rest of you has sunk down past his skin and into his soul, keeping him under. He's the boneless, shuddering heap of muscle and nerves and need beneath your body, because he's only beginning to figure out, yet again, how to breathe right/how to keep himself together in his own body without you holding on to him. (It isn't quite working out the way it ought to.)]

[ There's a part of him that wants to curl up beside you and hold you close, to gather you up and tuck your head right under his chin because there are only so many ways to say that he sleeps better these days with you warm at his side.

Instead, you'll feel him let your wrists go as he eases himself out of you and maybe you'll catch it: the slightly veiled look in his eyes as he pushes himself off the bed to walk away from you.

You might wonder where exactly he's going. Because the tension hasn't left his shoulders in the least. ]

[He does notice, at least partially: it's hard to latch on to much of anything when your body is out to betray you, and the sex-stained moments that occurred only seconds ago are still way too fresh.

The room is quiet save for the shudder of his breath in his lungs, and whatever quiet noises you're making on your own end. His gaze is following your progress as best as he can, but he isn't even wondering what you're doing - you've worn him down far too much for him to care. What thoughts there are in his head, they're only of you and that small, desperate hope that you'll come back down to where you've left him soon.

Whatever you do next doesn't matter. He's yours.]

[ He won't leave you waiting long. He was originally planning to just grab his cigarettes when his foot catches on the belt he'd discarded. e's staring down at that for a long, long while, before his hands come to press on the shelf that has little on it ( he hasn't bought enough for his room, there hasn't been time, really, in spite of the shore leave ) and he's attempting to breathe in deep because there's not enough oxygen in his head just yet.

( Terrible, isn't it? To uncover desires you never had, dark as they are. )

There's a shy slant to his shoulders now, you'll recognize it. There's something that he wants but he's a little afraid to want it. ]

[And of course those collection of gestures and the possible meanings behind it are enough to draw him back a little more. He watches you a moment, though, as he lets his own breathing even out enough for him to speak. When he does, it's quiet and a little weak from the way you've just dragged him down and fucked him.]

What is it?

[English again, because he's at least recovered enough to speak to you on a level that the both of you won't have difficulty with, outside of the way that your bodies have been speaking to each other.]

[ He says nothing in response to that, because articulating the thoughts in his head are a mess right now. He is, however, bending down to pick up that belt, hesitating only for several heartbeats before he rounds back to you and drags you close for a near-scalding kiss. When he does break away, his lips find their way back to your neck, and his arms are coming around you before he lashes your wrists together at the small of your back. ]

We're not done.

[ He can't quite meet your gaze when he pulls back to say that. Give him a moment, he's trying to calibrate these new wants and needs with all the other things that ring familiar. ]

Edited 2014-05-29 13:58 (UTC)

Mm...

[The force of your need doesn't bother him in the slightest. In fact, the sound he makes against your mouth and the way he parts his lips to let you taste him might show you how, in light of the number that you've done on him, he's still perfectly attuned towards letting you take whatever you want from him. (He can, it seems, find pleasure in submitting to you after all.)

Later, though, when you've gone back to enjoying the arch and taste of his neck, once he feels you draw his wrists back together again and he registers the heavy, biting certainty of the leather against his skin (bruised and raw as it is in the wake of your touch), he's going still under the weight of your grip and your gaze.

This is how he looks to you now: head bowed, slick with sweat and smelling of both himself and of you, lips bruised from all of your kisses, skin mottled by the marks of your affection and still flushed from the afterglow of how you've started to completely break him down, body tense with anticipation, eyes dark and begging as they turn up towards your face. ]

[ This shouldn't be too much of a surprise for him: he'd glimpsed that memory planted in his head by Makoto, and he knows what he saw to be true. You've done more, had allowed more to be done to you with your express permission than the simple act of your wrists lashed together by a belt. He knows it turns you on. He understands as well, that this is rooted in trust. And isn't that what the two of you have been all about.

He's tipping your face up to his now and looking down on you with a mix of apprehension and want as his hands drift down over the planes and angles that make up your torso.

He's still so deathly quiet even if he looks like he wants to speak. Overwhelmed doesn't cut it in this case. ]

[He's pliant in your grip, and very firmly fixes his gaze on your face against his better instincts. Your hands have always felt good on him, and the fact that his body's still humming from your latest fuck only aggravates that for him. As such, what he can't stop is the raggedness of his breath, nor the subtle shiver of muscle under the skin beneath your fingertips.

You've robbed him of his voice, it seems, because he's hanging on your every movement and every word. That includes, of course, waiting on everything in between.]

[ What you're getting next, at that point, is his mouth fitting itself over yours, his tongue sneaking past your lips to coax yours out; his hand coming to rest over your heart before it moves lower and lower. He stops, however, just inches before his hand wanders too close because you're still so sensitive and he suspects that touching you now will leave you spent before either of you are actually, truly satisfied.

So he's drawing you close instead, knee braced on that mattress as he draws your hips right up against his; the length of you brushing up against him. ]

I want, [ that's him breathing over your lips now. ] I want things from you.

[ You can probably tell that this is difficult for him, by the way his eyes close and the crease forms between his brows. Asking's difficult for him as well. You giving him this much control over what goes on between you both frightens him. ]

[The sound he makes at the contact of your cock against his is a mix of a choked breath and a shuddering sigh. Give him a moment: he has to figure out how to talk over the dryness in his throat. It's back again, together with the heat building up in his gut.

He could spent an inordinate amount of time, it seems, reflecting on the effect you have on him.]

Then take what you will.

[Weakened as he has been by his own desire, it would be impossible for you not to notice how earnest he's being. He means every word, and he wants you to do what you like to him, and for the both of you.

Since you've effectively kept him from reaching out to you, he's settling for shifting in, and bringing his lips back to yours. The kiss he gives you is open-mouthed and gentle, meant more to lure you in than anything else.]

[ He sighs into that kiss, hands coming up to frame your face. ]

Are you sure?

[ Lips gentle over yours as he draws you close. ]

Yes.

[That comes out a touch breathless and incredibly reverent. He's still trying to keep his eyes right on yours, even if his lips look like they want nothing more than to have yours back on them.]

[ There's a faint tremor in this one's hands when you utter that single word of assent and a shift in his eyes when your gaze doesn't so much as move from his.

It's a little jarring, really, realizing that the most powerful ibdividual in the vigil shares your bed, readily hands you control and likes it. It's frightening in its own way, being handed so much and coming to the conclusion as well that the pleasure Hikaru feels over this turns him on immensely.

Hands falling now to your hips, Blade King, and a barely there whisper as he brushes his lips to yours. ]

I... I want your mouth on me.

[There's a smile at that, and a downward turn of his gaze that might have told you, in another setting, that your words and the meaning behind them have hit in a way that's humbling, terrifying, and beautiful all in one breath. Then he's leaning in, and kissing you full on the mouth before moving on to press smaller kisses at the side of your lips, then down your jawline, then your neck.

He'll move lower in a moment. Right now, he seems rather focused on showering you with gentle affection that's oddly in tune with the raw, rough power of the way the two of you just were in bed.]

[ And he's shuddering at that, eyes shutting to a close as he holds that image of you face in his mind.

He's blocking out everything else except for the way your lips feel on his skin. His hands have also fallen to your shoulders and pressing his nose into you hair, inhaling the way that distinct scent that he's come to associate solely with you has mixed in with that of sweat and sex. ]

[This one only speaks after he's kissed the entire length between your lips and the skin just over one of your nipples, with a significant amount of time spent worrying at your collarbone and a notable amount of time spent tracing the circle of said nipple with his tongue. Note: when he does speak, he's turning his gaze back up to your face.]

Lie down?

[Of course, you are more than welcome to do what you like. He'll adjust accordingly.]

[ He does his very best not to grip too hard on the flesh of your shoulders, but the heat of your breath and your lips on his skin, of your tongue on that hardened nub isn't too far from a brand.

There is lust coiling down, deep in his gut, and he shudders as he presses up close to your mouth, with the odd flash of wonder what it would be like if you'd so much as scrape your teeth over that part of his body.

When you finally speak, when your eyes have turned back to his, you'll see how the top row of his teeth have caught on his lower lip, and how there's the faintest hint of a tremor there as he breathes.

He'll obey and lean back, a leg hooking behind your thigh, his hands falling to your waist as his back meets the mattress. You'll also note how he's becoming hard again between his legs, and how the skin on his arms have prickled with gooseflesh; how his hips can't quite keep still. ]

I think of us like this sometimes. [ His voice is soft, hoarse, and strained. ] When I listen to you talk. And last night, while I was watching you eat. [ When you were both at Kibo, sharing the meal delivered by a man who had wanted you and who Josh had been all-too happy to put in his place.

The heel of his foot is kneading gently at your calf now, just as his palms have moved to skim over the front of your thighs. ]

Please don't take this the wrong way... I know there's nothing to be embarrassed about, but it's... it's easier for me to put my mouth on you than to ask you to do the same for me.

[ Yes, this is a confession. Yes, he has Needs and is apparently too shy to articulate them your way. Yes, opening up about this is a touch uncomfortable on his part.

Sometimes, you see, it's so easier to give than to receive. You already know that he never had much before, which is precisely why he works hard, and why while he does have more than he could have even envisioned for himself, all of that was earned. Brennan Pride, you're familiar with it: he was brought up to remember to work hard with a goal in mind, but never to presume that the win is yours; and should it come to you, to be humble about it because the experience is reward all on it's own. ]

I... [ The way his eyes shutter as he breaks eye contact to take in the whole of your body above him is a tell, because at every turn there were always lines between you two that he has thought beyond because he wanted to walk at your side as a friend. But really: how could a newly initiated oni-tsukai presume to ask the Blade King to bend down and pleasure him just so? What right does he, someone so mortal and painfully human, even with the intervention of a geist, ask a relatively immortal god of death to come to his knees and take him into his mouth? You were his teacher once, in multiple senses of the word and you are, in ways, still that.

It's not a lack of self-worth or putting you on a pedestal -- this is just hard. Your exchanges in bed were, in ways, simpler than this.

This? This is complicated and terrifyingly new. So yes, he's a bit frightened. And asking was always so hard anyway. ]

I... I can't.

[ He's going to try to push up fron those sheets now. Taking charge makes so much more sense to him than this. ]

[This one, though, has already settled his body's own weight quite firmly over yours. It's not about keeping you in place: it's an offering. That much will probably be made obvious in the way he listened to you, and the way he looks at you now.]

Josh.

[That's spoken softly, with a smile.]

You can. Practice makes perfect, right?

[Because learning, breaking habits, and making new ones goes both ways regardless of who someone happens to be in comparison to the person they happen to be in love with.]

[ His hand is reaching out at that so that his fingers can drift along the curve of your cheek. Your weight is steadying, your voice reassuring.

There's a look in his eyes in place of a quiet "okay," and his thumb passing over your kiss-bruised lips as he murmurs again: ] I want your mouth on me, Hikaru.

Please.

Edited 2014-05-31 03:08 (UTC)

[The first response you get is this one kissing you full on the mouth, taking just a bit of time out to enjoy your taste and show you, from the way he moves his tongue against yours and from the way his eyes slide shut, what you might end up feeling on the rest of you soon.

After that, he's moving down, letting his lips/tongue/teeth/the hush of his breath trace his progress over your body. When he's finally between your legs, he's taking a moment out to try and steady himself (it doesn't quite work; you'll probably be able to tell, from the way he's blushing, and how his lips tremble) before slowly taking all of you in.]

[ The heat and shape of your mouth around him makes him press his head back against the sheets. His own body is still needy in spite of him fucking you earlier, so it shouldn't be a surprise when his hips rise up in greeting, when a shudder goes through him as the heel of those hands ( this looks startingly familiar, how long has it been since that first tine at Seigi ) press against his forehead.

Not shutting his eyes this time, though. He's watching your head between his legs without so much as faltering. His skin feels feverish right now, and he can also feel the flush creeping around from the back of his neck because the thought comes without warning in his head: how he loves the way your mouth moves and how its not so much you taking him deeper ( which he won'y deny though, he wants that as well ) that is a turn-on, because the truth of the matter is, what he really wants is to fuck that mouth until your violet eyes are turned back up to him.

You'll feel Josh tremble and shift uncomfortably beneath you. You'll also hear the ragged breath that leaves him as he turns his eyes away, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. The muscles along his thighs and his stomach have also gone tight, his body's way of telling you that his mind is having trouble with reconciling himself with darker, and ultimately unfamiliar needs. ]

[The quiet realization that you're watching him brings its own kind of thrill, one that lances straight through his gut. It's enough to make his tongue falter from how it's been sliding over you just once, and draw a small, needy noise from his throat.

Still, he's always and ever aware of every little move that you make, especially in moments like this. That is why he's taking you as slowly and as thoroughly as he can manage, trying to coax you into setting a pace that suits you. He goes all the way down, bringing you into his mouth up to the hilt, and whenever he slips you back out, he never strays far, because he swirls the tip of your cock with that tongue of his (because your taste is something he's terribly addicted to), and he also lets his mouth move around your balls, perfectly tracing the entire shape of you for himself (he has no plans of leaving any part of you unattended).

It isn't too long before he's watching you too, fixing those eyes of his right on your face even while you're pressed between his lips, keeping them apart.]

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