[This wasn't--supposed to become something so raw, so singular. For someone with whom lies and one-sided games are as habitually natural as breathing, this encounter was not intended to be any sort of exception. ...Which is to say, that Luocha was not actually expecting to find his own grasp on his self-control loosening quite like this, quite this soon. Not entirely relinquished, not yet, but.
It really has been too long, since someone last tread upon his particular relationship with pain quite like this. ...Too long in general, since he last felt like this. Caelus is both a quick study and an intent one, as it turns out--now that doubt no longer holds him back, and all that remains is a clear single-minded pursuit of a weakness discovered, an eagerness to tear it open and savor how it yields. A beast with prey indeed. --As Luocha had encouraged, he knows. It's simultaneously thrilling and infuriating, how deliciously that bruise at his throat sears. How promptly that spark of pain-pleasure leaps under the harsh mouth working over his chest, driving an instinctive craving that has him arching into the heat of those wandering lips with another gasp of sound. No doubt it's quite a sight--no doubt Luocha's quite a different sight in general, about now--as restraint frays, and crimson marks bloom on pale skin under Caelus's teeth, hair tugged loose and messier over his shoulders, vest and layers still half-worn but askew. A further and further cry from the immaculate, untouchable image he carries by default...
And that's before Caelus is reaching down, tugging buttons and zippers apart, tugging them both out--
The stroking is haphazard and graceless, yes, and that only adds to the intensity. The sudden well of sensation that crests under the curl of those fingers sends another jolt up Luocha's spine, hips bucking of their own accord before inexorably, irresistibly, rocking into the erratic rhythm the young man sets. Long eyelashes flutter, and Luocha's breath catches on half a moan. --Too quick. Not quick enough. There's still some semblance of coherent thought attempting to rally despite the onslaught of multiple pleasurable stimuli at once, but it's tenuous. ...This isn't a sort of thing a person wins, necessarily, but it could be said there's a balance of control tipping back and forth here--and it's becoming more of a challenge than Luocha had anticipated.
There's, constraints, to this position. It's a pity that Caelus's shirts cannot be pulled open as Luocha's layers are, and he has no patience for tugging them up at this point. Satisfying as it's been to touch his chest, and draw out sweet responses with strokes of healing, it's no longer enough. So, instead--Luocha's left hand and the cross upon that wrist slip out from there, fingertips raising to ghost along the side of his throat. (For the briefest moment, it might almost seem as if they were tempted to close over his windpipe, but--) They drift from there to the crook of his neck, and the exposed stretch of his shoulders over his shirt's neckline. Following Luocha's mouth, as he presses in to nip marks of his own into the young man's skin, in time to the pumping of that grip over both their cocks. ...Only for his healing to soothe the marks promptly away, as he goes, contrasting sensations of stinging and mending...
Before he's lifting his head at length. There's a hunger of a different sort in the still-darkened intent of Luocha's eyes, as he focuses on Caelus's features anew. Tugs against the grip upon his hair--too arousingly restrictive in its own right--to lean in close again, take Caelus's chin in his other hand again. This third kiss is rough, biting--perhaps enough to draw blood in its own right--then, not yet healing this time, instead laves at the coppery traces upon the Trailblazer's lips and tongue, strives to rob him of breath.
I'll give you more, Caelus says, as much as you want. As if he truly could. As if he has any idea.]
--Careful. Promises like that... [Low and rough, panted against his mouth.] You don't know what you're offering.
[After all. Caelus isn't the only one here that so very much craves, to take something apart...]
no subject
It really has been too long, since someone last tread upon his particular relationship with pain quite like this. ...Too long in general, since he last felt like this. Caelus is both a quick study and an intent one, as it turns out--now that doubt no longer holds him back, and all that remains is a clear single-minded pursuit of a weakness discovered, an eagerness to tear it open and savor how it yields. A beast with prey indeed. --As Luocha had encouraged, he knows. It's simultaneously thrilling and infuriating, how deliciously that bruise at his throat sears. How promptly that spark of pain-pleasure leaps under the harsh mouth working over his chest, driving an instinctive craving that has him arching into the heat of those wandering lips with another gasp of sound. No doubt it's quite a sight--no doubt Luocha's quite a different sight in general, about now--as restraint frays, and crimson marks bloom on pale skin under Caelus's teeth, hair tugged loose and messier over his shoulders, vest and layers still half-worn but askew. A further and further cry from the immaculate, untouchable image he carries by default...
And that's before Caelus is reaching down, tugging buttons and zippers apart, tugging them both out--
The stroking is haphazard and graceless, yes, and that only adds to the intensity. The sudden well of sensation that crests under the curl of those fingers sends another jolt up Luocha's spine, hips bucking of their own accord before inexorably, irresistibly, rocking into the erratic rhythm the young man sets. Long eyelashes flutter, and Luocha's breath catches on half a moan. --Too quick. Not quick enough. There's still some semblance of coherent thought attempting to rally despite the onslaught of multiple pleasurable stimuli at once, but it's tenuous. ...This isn't a sort of thing a person wins, necessarily, but it could be said there's a balance of control tipping back and forth here--and it's becoming more of a challenge than Luocha had anticipated.
There's, constraints, to this position. It's a pity that Caelus's shirts cannot be pulled open as Luocha's layers are, and he has no patience for tugging them up at this point. Satisfying as it's been to touch his chest, and draw out sweet responses with strokes of healing, it's no longer enough. So, instead--Luocha's left hand and the cross upon that wrist slip out from there, fingertips raising to ghost along the side of his throat. (For the briefest moment, it might almost seem as if they were tempted to close over his windpipe, but--) They drift from there to the crook of his neck, and the exposed stretch of his shoulders over his shirt's neckline. Following Luocha's mouth, as he presses in to nip marks of his own into the young man's skin, in time to the pumping of that grip over both their cocks. ...Only for his healing to soothe the marks promptly away, as he goes, contrasting sensations of stinging and mending...
Before he's lifting his head at length. There's a hunger of a different sort in the still-darkened intent of Luocha's eyes, as he focuses on Caelus's features anew. Tugs against the grip upon his hair--too arousingly restrictive in its own right--to lean in close again, take Caelus's chin in his other hand again. This third kiss is rough, biting--perhaps enough to draw blood in its own right--then, not yet healing this time, instead laves at the coppery traces upon the Trailblazer's lips and tongue, strives to rob him of breath.
I'll give you more, Caelus says, as much as you want. As if he truly could. As if he has any idea.]
--Careful. Promises like that... [Low and rough, panted against his mouth.] You don't know what you're offering.
[After all. Caelus isn't the only one here that so very much craves, to take something apart...]