Telling indeed. And what an irony it is...that Caelus thought he'd be forgotten in the first place. Even without any of the sex--even if they had only ever been simple passing acquaintances, a few words exchanged on the Express and nothing more--Luocha wouldn't have forgotten him, no, that newest member of the Nameless with a stable stellar cancer for a heart, rife with mystery and potential both alike. (Traits a truly simple merchant drifting from harbor to harbor wouldn't have noticed, ever more ironically; here is an intrerest burgeoned as a direct result of the strange interstellar terrorist he's become.) Caelus had been a puzzle it wasn't time to piece together, yet--a puzzle that shouldn't have yet been pursued, really. The temptation to investigate it just a bit more had been a mistake, in the end, indeed due in part to the Trailblazer's handsome face and willing mouth and pleasing body. The sex that had happened anyhow was an indulgence far beyond the necessary, with repercussions he'd thoroughly neglected to calculate...repercussions he's certainly reaping now. ...But none of it was "forgettable". Yes, Luocha had always somewhat suspected their paths would cross again down the line, considering the angle of his own set goal...
But perhaps being remembered isn't the full phrase for what Caelus is seeking here either. Not quite.
The hints are abundant, after all, in the gratingly gentle lull. The soft way Caelus strokes Luocha's cum-slick cock, patiently coaxing it to fullness once more. The unhurried way the boy's hips start rocking at length, already hard again yet apparently briefly content to savor the feeling; languid strums of a slower simmering pleasure that Luocha's gasping breaths can't help but fall in sync with, as the sensation of being filled with cock sinks in all the more thoroughly. ...Though the air does stammer in his lungs when that mouth closes over one of his nipples, hot wet tongue giving way to pricking teeth and bruising lips--sweet jolting sensation and another sear of pain all mingled together, dragging a strained whine from Luocha's throat and a shuddering shiver through his frame and a fresh drip of precum from his tip.
He does tighten again making the noise, too, which makes it all the more mortifying when Caelus goes on to remark on it. Another flicker of anger across eyes unwillingly hazing in new pleasure--shut up, shut up, or so Luocha wants to bite out, except by then the Trailblazer's already lifting his head and kissing him again, swallowing his sounds...and he can still taste a bit of his own blood on the boy's tongue. Can still find a revulsion, yes, in the way that so easily coils a renewed heat in his gut. Revulsion at that, and revulsion at the loving softness of the mouth on his own too, so carelessly contrasting the act it's being paired with.
Knowingly going through the motions of a one-sided affection. Just the same as the arms wrapping around his waist, the enamored breath taken against his neck, the name crooned on his skin. A deceptively heartfelt sort of indulgence, warped into something predatory by the Stellaron's greedy influence. Perhaps what Caelus wanted was to be remembered fondly, but now he settles just for being remembered at all--even if it's blackly, bitterly--so long as he can indulge in a facsimile for even a moment, here in this way that cannot be rebuffed. ...And a facsimile is all it can be, at this point, because Luocha truly couldn't have granted him anything else. Even if this particular encounter in this cell had never transpired. What Caelus wants out of life is something Luocha is indeed entirely incapable of giving him--at least not right now, not like this. Not when it would take a great deal more time, and rather more circumstance, to even begin filling the empty thing currently sitting where Luocha's heart was.
And so, since there's nothing sincerely warm for it to give, Caelus takes instead. ...Takes what is there, anyway. The lasting vindiction of resentment, the easy consistency of bodily pleasure--far more attainable, tangible things.
It's a conclusion Luocha will likely draw eventually. Long after this is done. When his head is finally fully clear once more, and he isn't being--
--turned on top of Caelus's cock, a distinct sensation for a fact, enough so to startle a choked gasp from Luocha as well; there's something particularly degrading about realizing he's already been fucked loose enough and filled wetly enough for this to be done. But the fleeting thought has no time to really solidify before he's being positioned against the back of the chair, knees on the seat and thighs forced apart in this unconventional posture, and--Caelus does rail into him from behind like an animal, a beast insatiable. Gripping fresh bruises into Luocha's hips, dragging him back onto his cock, setting a new vicious rhythm.
Better than the gentleness. Yes, better, preferable--even as it's not, even as a renewed sense of humiliation twines with the vindicating burn of it. It somehow feels even filthier, being fucked like this, between the base irreverence of the new position and the obscenely slick way the Trailblazer's cock pumps into his hole still damp with cum--on top of being yet another new angle for his prostate to be struck against. Each pulse a renewed spike of painful pleasure, forcing sharp breaths from Luocha that eventually can't help but warm into ragged reluctant moans anew. Belly periodically pressed against the back of the chair, and his own flushed and leaking cock brushing against it too with every thrust, a maddeningly paltry substitution for the touch of a palming hand that still might--be enough--isn't that blasphemous? When it feels all the more as if he's being used like a cocksleeve, a pretty toy for Caelus to fill as he pleases, all under the watch of invisible eyes...
Dignity loathes it, yet his body revels in it, every nerve alight like a live wire, relishing the ache of oversensitivity. Caelus's harsh grip would have ensured it regardless, but Luocha's hips still mindlessly grind back against the push of that hard cock of their own volition...and that's even before a hand reaches up to fist in his hair. Seizing long locks, pulling--yielding a new and particularly filthy moan, a shudder running through his entire body. Luocha's back arches prettily into the tugging, the hollow of his throat exposed like an animal's to a predator as his head's tipped back. It shouldn't--feel this delicious--yet it does, something in the vulnerability of it, the careless leverage of it. Paired with the pleasure still being pounded into him--]
Fuck--n-no...I don't-- [He's going to come, again, for all that a large part of him doesn't want to--not this soon, not like this, on Caelus's cock once more, like he can't get enough of it. How he'd begged for something harsh and punishing earlier--how he's receiving it now, just as he'd wanted it--yet Luocha truly is always at war with his own body, and at this point he's barely aware of the choked words spilling from his lips himself. The weak protest aloud can't override the ecstasy of being manhandled in this sort of way; he wants to stop himself (touch himself), the hands still bound immobile in front of him curled into fists tight enough to dig crescents in his palms to no avail. A particularly deep thrust rolls his hips, brushes him against the back of the chair yet again.] Caelus--
[Half a plea, half a moan, as green eyes flicker shut and he spills over the seat, body shivering, tight and hot around Caelus a second time.]
no subject
Telling indeed. And what an irony it is...that Caelus thought he'd be forgotten in the first place. Even without any of the sex--even if they had only ever been simple passing acquaintances, a few words exchanged on the Express and nothing more--Luocha wouldn't have forgotten him, no, that newest member of the Nameless with a stable stellar cancer for a heart, rife with mystery and potential both alike. (Traits a truly simple merchant drifting from harbor to harbor wouldn't have noticed, ever more ironically; here is an intrerest burgeoned as a direct result of the strange interstellar terrorist he's become.) Caelus had been a puzzle it wasn't time to piece together, yet--a puzzle that shouldn't have yet been pursued, really. The temptation to investigate it just a bit more had been a mistake, in the end, indeed due in part to the Trailblazer's handsome face and willing mouth and pleasing body. The sex that had happened anyhow was an indulgence far beyond the necessary, with repercussions he'd thoroughly neglected to calculate...repercussions he's certainly reaping now. ...But none of it was "forgettable". Yes, Luocha had always somewhat suspected their paths would cross again down the line, considering the angle of his own set goal...
But perhaps being remembered isn't the full phrase for what Caelus is seeking here either. Not quite.
The hints are abundant, after all, in the gratingly gentle lull. The soft way Caelus strokes Luocha's cum-slick cock, patiently coaxing it to fullness once more. The unhurried way the boy's hips start rocking at length, already hard again yet apparently briefly content to savor the feeling; languid strums of a slower simmering pleasure that Luocha's gasping breaths can't help but fall in sync with, as the sensation of being filled with cock sinks in all the more thoroughly. ...Though the air does stammer in his lungs when that mouth closes over one of his nipples, hot wet tongue giving way to pricking teeth and bruising lips--sweet jolting sensation and another sear of pain all mingled together, dragging a strained whine from Luocha's throat and a shuddering shiver through his frame and a fresh drip of precum from his tip.
He does tighten again making the noise, too, which makes it all the more mortifying when Caelus goes on to remark on it. Another flicker of anger across eyes unwillingly hazing in new pleasure--shut up, shut up, or so Luocha wants to bite out, except by then the Trailblazer's already lifting his head and kissing him again, swallowing his sounds...and he can still taste a bit of his own blood on the boy's tongue. Can still find a revulsion, yes, in the way that so easily coils a renewed heat in his gut. Revulsion at that, and revulsion at the loving softness of the mouth on his own too, so carelessly contrasting the act it's being paired with.
Knowingly going through the motions of a one-sided affection. Just the same as the arms wrapping around his waist, the enamored breath taken against his neck, the name crooned on his skin. A deceptively heartfelt sort of indulgence, warped into something predatory by the Stellaron's greedy influence. Perhaps what Caelus wanted was to be remembered fondly, but now he settles just for being remembered at all--even if it's blackly, bitterly--so long as he can indulge in a facsimile for even a moment, here in this way that cannot be rebuffed. ...And a facsimile is all it can be, at this point, because Luocha truly couldn't have granted him anything else. Even if this particular encounter in this cell had never transpired. What Caelus wants out of life is something Luocha is indeed entirely incapable of giving him--at least not right now, not like this. Not when it would take a great deal more time, and rather more circumstance, to even begin filling the empty thing currently sitting where Luocha's heart was.
And so, since there's nothing sincerely warm for it to give, Caelus takes instead. ...Takes what is there, anyway. The lasting vindiction of resentment, the easy consistency of bodily pleasure--far more attainable, tangible things.
It's a conclusion Luocha will likely draw eventually. Long after this is done. When his head is finally fully clear once more, and he isn't being--
--turned on top of Caelus's cock, a distinct sensation for a fact, enough so to startle a choked gasp from Luocha as well; there's something particularly degrading about realizing he's already been fucked loose enough and filled wetly enough for this to be done. But the fleeting thought has no time to really solidify before he's being positioned against the back of the chair, knees on the seat and thighs forced apart in this unconventional posture, and--Caelus does rail into him from behind like an animal, a beast insatiable. Gripping fresh bruises into Luocha's hips, dragging him back onto his cock, setting a new vicious rhythm.
Better than the gentleness. Yes, better, preferable--even as it's not, even as a renewed sense of humiliation twines with the vindicating burn of it. It somehow feels even filthier, being fucked like this, between the base irreverence of the new position and the obscenely slick way the Trailblazer's cock pumps into his hole still damp with cum--on top of being yet another new angle for his prostate to be struck against. Each pulse a renewed spike of painful pleasure, forcing sharp breaths from Luocha that eventually can't help but warm into ragged reluctant moans anew. Belly periodically pressed against the back of the chair, and his own flushed and leaking cock brushing against it too with every thrust, a maddeningly paltry substitution for the touch of a palming hand that still might--be enough--isn't that blasphemous? When it feels all the more as if he's being used like a cocksleeve, a pretty toy for Caelus to fill as he pleases, all under the watch of invisible eyes...
Dignity loathes it, yet his body revels in it, every nerve alight like a live wire, relishing the ache of oversensitivity. Caelus's harsh grip would have ensured it regardless, but Luocha's hips still mindlessly grind back against the push of that hard cock of their own volition...and that's even before a hand reaches up to fist in his hair. Seizing long locks, pulling--yielding a new and particularly filthy moan, a shudder running through his entire body. Luocha's back arches prettily into the tugging, the hollow of his throat exposed like an animal's to a predator as his head's tipped back. It shouldn't--feel this delicious--yet it does, something in the vulnerability of it, the careless leverage of it. Paired with the pleasure still being pounded into him--]
Fuck--n-no...I don't-- [He's going to come, again, for all that a large part of him doesn't want to--not this soon, not like this, on Caelus's cock once more, like he can't get enough of it. How he'd begged for something harsh and punishing earlier--how he's receiving it now, just as he'd wanted it--yet Luocha truly is always at war with his own body, and at this point he's barely aware of the choked words spilling from his lips himself. The weak protest aloud can't override the ecstasy of being manhandled in this sort of way; he wants to stop himself (touch himself), the hands still bound immobile in front of him curled into fists tight enough to dig crescents in his palms to no avail. A particularly deep thrust rolls his hips, brushes him against the back of the chair yet again.] Caelus--
[Half a plea, half a moan, as green eyes flicker shut and he spills over the seat, body shivering, tight and hot around Caelus a second time.]