001 » with my legs up on the dashboard

[receptacles]

TFLN OVERFLOW.

for caelus at receptacles.

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[receptacles]

[ Does it matter? Does it matter if Aventurine can't feel anything? If Caelus feels so much that he thinks he might be able to breach the canyon of Aventurine's self-disconnect with the depth of his love alone? Maybe it does, and maybe it doesn't; maybe he's stupid enough to convince himself that he can make a difference, or maybe he's just another mark caught in Aventurine's snare. Maybe, at the end of this adventure, he'll be left cold and alone on the Express again, surrounded by his friends and family, who will never understand how the man they once called Aventurine made him feel.

In the moment, at least, he's not thinking about this. He's watching Aventurine for every possible reaction, anxious and attentive in the same measure, moving his fingers with frantic yet careful need. He wants more of them, those sweet, sensitive reactions; he wants to find out exactly what will make Aventurine feel good, wants to know what will make the man come, wants to watch him come more than he wants to come himself. (And Caelus wants to come desperately.) He's trying so hard, but in a way, Aventurine having more experience than he does makes his all somewhat worse; the blond's reactions are all so subtle that he's not sure he's doing anything to please him at all.

How fortunate, then, that Aventurine dangles the promise of a kiss in front of him to distract him instead. Caelus seizes upon it almost apologetically, kissing sweetly and gently, practically nibbling at his bottom lip, entwining their tongues together in slow and sloppy bliss.

Caelus feels like he's sinking into paradise.

Then he decides — with truly herculean resolve — that he's not going to feel this pathetic anymore.

Aventurine feels about ready enough, and maybe Caelus's fingers just aren't enough to please him. Taking a shuddering breath, the Trailblazer extracts his fingers from Aventurine's warm, pliant hole; he takes a little bit of a moment to line himself up properly, wrapping his arms around the man's thighs, pushing slowly in — ]

Tell me if I need to stop...

[ He doesn't actually stop, though. Not unless Aventurine tells him to. His hips push deeper and deeper and deeper until he's hilted all the way in, breath shaking, mind swimming with the dizzying understanding that the beautiful creature beneath him is his to claim, to fuck, to ruin. His, his, all his —

But Caelus doesn't want to ruin him. Caelus wants to see him swimming in ecstasy.

He's shaking from head to toe at this point with how badly he's trying not to come, but even so, Caelus kisses Aventurine one more time, moving his hips experimentally, trying to figure out what the man likes best — ]

Tell me... how you like it. [ So good, so good, so fucking good, hot and wet and tight and — he can't think — ] Hard and fast? Or... slow and gentle?