[ He wakes at 2 and slips out of bed as gently as he can manage, trying (no doubt in vain) not to wake up Elio who's fast asleep next to him, his curls sticking out above the duvet along with a small portion of his forehead and nose. He looks sweet like that, too. They didn't have sex before they went to sleep but the kissing was nice, regardless. Jean Louis gets to his feet and pads out of the bedroom, naked except for his black pyjama bottoms, movements turning fast and borderline-agitated once he enters the darkened living room. The windows aren't covered, letting in the night from outside, moonlight strewn across the floors and furniture. He hastens over to the coffee maker, blinking rapidly to re-orientate himself - his brain keeps forgetting that his eyes aren't covered.
He stares at the coffee machine mindlessly, then decides that he can't be bothered. He doesn't like the abruptness of it, the sound it makes when it breaks the silence. Shaking his head, he grabs his hair a bit too harshly, giving it a fast pull before he turns around and walks back towards the bedroom. His scalp aches briefly in response.
The fish tank works as a piece of wall, separating the bedroom from the big walk-in closet on the other side. He chooses the closet, then, still hoping that even if he's managed to wake him up, Elio will be able to go back to sleep without his interference in the bedroom itself. He comes to a halt in front of the fish tank and steps close - close - closer - until the tip of his nose is touching the glass, blue light washing over his face and chest. The cold from the glass makes his skin prickle. He rubs his left shoulder, digging his fingers in to loosen the muscle, gaze following a handful of bright, orange fish as they swim between the corals. He keeps his eyes on them for the next several minutes, breathing slowing down only gradually. ]
[ He’s a light sleeper, so he wakes. Of course he wakes.
Usually, Jean Louis will shrug into a dressing gown once he’s out of bed, head for the living room, the kitchen, coffee, his office and all sounds will mute by then, since Elio can’t hear him typing on his phone or work the keyboard of his laptop from in here. At that point, he’ll normally fall back asleep, only waking when and if the other man crawls back beneath the duvet next to him, shifting up against his body.
They didn’t have sex earlier, before bedtime, which means Elio is sleeping all the lighter, careful not to turn after Jean Louis as he leaves the room just in his pajamas bottoms, reluctant to worry him. Simply because you might not be able to tell from his face, just the fact that they’re on this journey towards a better sleeping pattern together is a sign that the other man cares.
To Elio, that’s really all that matters.
So once he hears him move into the walk-in closet, already knowing what he is looking for in there, not his clothes, that’s for sure, Elio finally sits up in the middle of the bed, his usual spot, and inches closer to the edge until his feet are touching the floor and he can pad across it towards the connecting hallway. Everything is lit up in the hue from the fish tank, Jean Louis is, too, where he stands, nose pressed against the glass. Naked and at risk of freezing, but Elio doesn’t mind risks, Elio stops next to him, looking the fish over, their erratic patterns, like Jean Louis. Very much like Jean Louis. Elio leans forward some as well, closer to a big blue one, and mouths at it in mimicry of the cute little bubble lips it’s got.
[ His mind is busy drifting, slipping off in that way it tends to do when he's awake like this and his thoughts won't settle anywhere that he likes. As a consequence, he doesn't hear the rustling of the sheets nor the padding of naked feet - it's only when Elio slips up next to him, seemingly out of nowhere, that he blinks, startled, gaze sliding sideways quickly. He straightens up a little. Watches, bemused, as Elio makes fish-like motions with his mouth, the blue fish in the tank mimicking him back in what looks to be quite an absurd little conversation.
Elio keeps standing there. It's like a dream, somehow, unreal. Not alone, his mind insists, though this time it feels nothing like panic. Instead, the tension in his shoulders actually abates slightly, his thoughts re-arranging themselves around Elio, Elio who's naked next to him, the cold making his nipples look perky and his skin look almost translucent.
Face expressionless, Jean Louis shifts and turns away. Movements completely automatic, almost stiffly so, he picks out one of his own bathrobes - a dark burgundy colour, the fabric extremely soft - and walks back. He drapes it over Elio's shoulders, his hands lingering briefly by either side of his neck. Then, he goes back to his place in front of the fish tank.
[ Although he doesn’t turn his head to follow Jean Louis with his eyes, keeping up the fish mouthing until the fish in question disappears behind a rock, Elio is acutely aware of every move the other man makes, finding the burgundy bathrobe in his hideaways and shrouding him in it like a king, even if that’s by all definitions Jean Louis’ role. Elio catches it around his shoulders with his hands and pulls it tighter around him, feeling how his skin immediately turns warmer, gratefully. His cock feels tiny in the dark and the chilly draft and Elio shifts from one foot to the other.
When he finally turns his head, Jean Louis has gone back to observing the fish and he speaks, it feels, more to them than to Elio. Elio isn’t going anywhere, that’s the point. The fish are trapped in their transparent prison and just for tonight, or in Jean Louis’ case every night, right, the two of them are as well.
There are seas around Italy not half as blue as this aquarium, Elio thinks, you could be trapped much worse places. You could be trapped alone.
He blinks. Straightens up with a small frown. ]
Do you dream?
[ About what happened, he means. The thing that continues to wrap the other man in darkness, even here, even now. Elio’s eyes follow the intricate pattern of just one of Jean Louis’ tattooed bands. It goes on a long way. ]
[ Elio stays next to him, shrouded in his bathrobe, long and lean and delicate-looking. Jean Louis glances sideways at him, meeting his gaze briefly before the other man speaks, his eyes drifting to follow one of his tattooed bands. He watches Elio watching him for a few seconds before he shrugs, some words on the tip of his tongue that he realises he doesn't want to articulate (it's a long time ago it's nothing much it doesn't matter anymore of course i don't). So he waits another moment, frowning. In front of him, a brightly-yellow fish with a pointed... nose? beak? what is it on a fish anyway? hovers in the water lazily, like it's watching him back.
It's probably just the fish-equivalent of stoned.
If that happens. To fish. ]
I don't know.
[ He's aware of the implications, that Elio isn't asking him a general question but a question related to him, being up right now, looking into his fish tank at the dead of fucking night. Do you dream. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment before he remembers himself and stops. Instead, he pokes the glass with his finger, watching as the fish startles at the resultant shock waves and swims off in a flurry of bubbles. ]
It feels as if a part of me does.
[ He looks sideways at Elio. It's impossible to explain this - how he wakes up without any active memories in his mind while his body's screaming on multiple sensory levels, pain and darkness and the wrongness of broken bone. His next question is born entirely of curiosity, no reproach and no annoyance audible in his voice: ]
[ He does. Of course he does. Elio thinks it’s probably self-evident, that even if he isn’t completely aware of it, Jean Louis, his body remembers, like Elio can cram a whole Bach repertory into his fingers, going by memory alone for hours and hours. If the other man has gone so far as to feel the need to control who is allowed to see the aftermath of what happened, when he was abducted, it was most likely because he needed that sense of being in charge. Again. He wrapped himself in that whole experience to own it.
When you need control, it’s usually because you’ve lost it, isn’t it? Dreams can be like that, true.
You can lose a lot in dreams. Better to stay awake.
Elio meets Jean Louis’ inquisitive gaze and licks his lips, feeling suddenly parched, like he could drink the whole tank, just tip it back along with his head and empty it. It’s saltwater, though, he’d die from it. Telling Jean Louis the truth, on the other hand, won’t kill him, but he still feels a bit wrong in his body, too big for it somehow. Maybe those are his emotions, too big for the rest of him, too big for Jean Louis’ own bathrobe. This feeling of tenderness and care. Protectiveness, although Elio was never a fighter, he’d fight for this. For him.
He told Jean Louis he loved him, on the way to Bordighera. That wasn’t hard, but it was vulnerable and sometimes those two things are one and the same. So Elio fixes his eyes on the aquarium again, where all Jean Louis’ tapping has scared the fish out of sight, but there are corals and underwater plants and vividly colored stones. Sometimes looking at the things in the background will show you everything you’re actually looking for.
[ They have developed a routine. Elio thinks about Antonio, not right now, granted, but sometimes - thinks about how they had a routine as well and how it made Elio feel trapped. There are weak moments these days, when Elio watches Jean Louis shaving in the morning (he’s an efficient shaver, an efficient everything) and wonders when this will start rubbing him the wrong way, too. The sponsored, but intimate dinners and the I’ll join you in a second’s and the lazy weekend fucks when they pretend that Jean Louis isn’t always busy and Elio not always training.
It’s not the weekend now, but they’re fucking anyway. Jean Louis came home late, as usual, Elio warming leftovers that they could eat while sitting together on the couch, watching the news. At some point, Elio went to bed, staying up to read and Jean Louis came later and now? Now, Elio wants to feel him come.
He’s bent in over the other man’s lap, naked, they’re both naked, holding his cock by the base with one hand while running his mouth, open and wet and lips swollen up the underside of his length, tongue darting out once he reaches the head, following the ridge of foreskin, before slipping over the moist tip, slit, massage softly... His other hand is occupied between Jean Louis’ legs, fingers slick from lube, left off to the side, forgotten, index and middle fingers filling him, curving slightly and spreading wider to give him a sense of stretch. No prostate-rubbing.
Yet.
Elio groans. It sounds sloppy like this, he likes that. How it sounds like Jean Louis tastes, good. ]
[ He can't remember how long they've been at it by now, his mind floating from all those different, exhilarating sensory impressions. Elio's tongue licking up the side of his cock, over the head, pressing in against the slit. His warm breath against the bared head - saliva, slipping down the shaft - and fuck, the stretch of his fingers, buried in his body. That too. He's been on his back for a while, legs spread to give the other man ample room, but when Elio groans, loudly and shamelessly, he can't help it, he has to fucking watch. Getting up on both elbows slowly, trying not to jostle the other man, he stares down at him with his eyes narrowed into slits, his breathing heavy. Audible.
Elio makes the prettiest noises.
He shifts a little, just enough to also shift Elio's fingers inside his arse, feeling the length of them, the width. The sensation makes him groan, too, his voice little but depth at this point, dark and hoarse. Reaching out, he runs one hand through Elio's curls before closing his fist in them, pulling a bit, feeling the resistance. His lips look pink, swollen. ]
So good. [ A half-smile, shaky around the edges: ] You make me feel spoiled.
[ He shivers very slightly. The combination of pressure against his bared cock and fingers stretching his arsehole open is making the heat in his body feel almost impossibly big and persistent; his cock is weeping at the tip, too, his balls tight and more than half-way to the finish line. He wouldn't mind, he thinks, coming like this. At intervals, his brain reminds him that Elio brought him lunch today and for some strange, inexplicable reason, it doesn't interfere with the flow at all. It goes with the rest.
With Elio, being good.
And finding room for Jean Louis within that goodness which is an impossible thought that he won't even try to comprehend in his current state. It is. That much, at least, he understands. ]
[ They have routines in bed, too, though Elio has no fear that part’s going to get old. Variations over a theme, pretty much, like one and a half hours of Bach’s Goldberg and he likes feeling the shifts as they go through the motions, Jean Louis and him, now this, now this, now this. Once he got used to fucking without condoms, he honestly can’t imagine going back, not with the salty, thick taste of precum and sweat on his tongue as he flattens it over the head of the other man’s cock, letting it carry the weight of it when he takes him inside, opening wide and covering his teeth, swallowing just a few inches, enough that the glans rests somewhere in the middle of his mouth, bathed in saliva and heat, shallow sucking motions, lips tightening around the shaft. He tastes like he sounds, depth and darkness. Elio keeps wanting more of him and Jean Louis in turn is teaching him how you want freely, right?
Bodies for currency. No fees.
Starting to go down, just letting the other man’s length slide all the way to the back, meaning that when Elio opens his eyes, he’s all but drowning in the absolute pool of spit around the base of his cock and he can smell him, crotch and lube and precum and ass, he starts fucking into him harder, curling his index to hit his spot, the good one. All of Jean Louis is the good one, obviously, but this is the easiest button to push to make sure he keeps feeling spoiled.
They don’t spoil you nearly enough, then, he’d say if he could talk. Instead he sucks, loving how full and obstructed and speared it makes him feel. Fuck. He can see the motions of his own wrist. Around his fingers, Jean Louis is tight, like his ass is holding on. Elio can feel his own cock leaking.
The idea comes spontaneously and because Elio likes the naturalness of it, he doesn’t even stop to think. Easing up slowly, he lets Jean Louis’ cock pop out of his mouth, wet noise, sexy, holding it still by the base as he gently pulls his fingers out of the other man’s ass. The air is full of him. ]
I want to rim you.
[ He sounds like a porn, really, with the hoarseness and the drop of pitch, but that’s just another variation. ]
[ All sensations start bleeding together until everything feels like one, continuus stream of pleasure. When Elio hits that spot, that one, and sucks his length all the way to the back of his mouth, he can feel his breath getting lodged in his throat, his orgasm just on the verge of washing in, of sweeping him along.
And then, Elio actually releases his cock and removes his fingers and Jean Louis definitely isn't releasing his hair, quite the opposite, as he stares at him, blinking stupidly, wondering what sort of fresh hell this is. Fuck, he was close. So close. What kind of game... but Elio doesn't play those. Games. Not like that, never like that. As proven, yes, once again, when he tells him he wants to... ]
What?
[ It comes out sounding equal parts breathless and stupid. He shifts a little on his elbow, the hand in Elio's hair loosening somewhat. The quality of the other man's voice - hoarse, low, thick from sex - goes straight to his cock and it jerks between Elio's fingers. With effort, he gathers what little brain cells he's got left, arousal and the broken built-up making him feel slower than usual, like he's somehow under water. He clears his throat. ]
You want to - right.
[ Pause. He runs his hand more gently down the side of Elio's face, then rests if on his shoulder. Thinks about the other man's fucking tongue in his arse and wondering how he's supposed to survive that. Sure, abduction, torture, his childhood, street business and backstabbing politicians - peanuts, obviously. What the fuck. What the fuck.
But he can. Survive.
Elio's giving him nothing but survival.
Tilting his head to the side for a second, bangs sticking to his brow and eyelashes, he finally nods. Shifts away, out of Elio's grip, his own hand losing its hold on his shoulder. He considers asking Elio how he'd like him, then immediately decides that he won't - Elio's already offered, he's supposed to either accept or decline. Doesn't have to be anymore complicated than that.
So he takes another deep breath, squares his shoulders just slightly and slips onto his stomach. Showing him his back and offering the rest of it, too, because Elio asked and he thinks between the two of them, there'll always be an answer.
[ He can still taste Jean Louis' very impending orgasm on his tongue and kind of regrets pulling him out of it so abruptly. If he'd at least done it to be a tease, right (although Jean Louis doesn't like teasing, not that kind, so of course he wouldn't have), but rather it was an impulsive, enthusiastic move, not a lot of sexy about it. Now, the other man is looking like he's trying to catch a herd of wild horses, chest heaving rapidly and his hand cradling Elio's hair, like the reins on a galloping stallion. Easy, boy.
Patiently, Elio waits.
When he finally releases the death grip on a handful of his curls, Elio waits for him to gather his wits about him again, feeling the palm of his hand caress the side of his face, going down. He smells like sweat and sex and Elio turns his face briefly into the darkness of it, nuzzling his nose against his heartline, half-open mouth, lick-kissing. Right, Jean Louis tells him, sounding like it's only right because his brain's melting out his ears, but he smiles and looks back up at him, loosening his grip around his cock gradually until the other man starts moving to the side and he lets go of him entirely. What follows is that awkward moment in sex when you go from one thing to the other, when it's all limbs and fitting things together and not enough direct stimulation to make it effortless or just unimportant, the mechanics.
Except, then it is unimportant, because Jean Louis rolls onto his front, baring that long slope of his back along with the swell of his ass and Elio actually licks his lips, not nervously, but hungrily, getting on his hands and knees and crawling up behind the other man, sliding up along his backside easily, hard cock nestling in between his buttocks. ]
I haven't done it before. Be loud with me, so I know, okay?
[ When I do it right, it means.
His face is pushing in against the side of Jean Louis' neck, before he starts pressing kisses against his right shoulder, moving downward slowly, the big scar on either side of his spine looking like miniature valleys in the landscape of his back. Depths no one else can reach, probably. Elio doesn't know what happened to Jean Louis when he got abducted, no one does, at least not in any place Elio has looked, though admittedly he hasn't looked closely, because it's Jean Louis' story and he alone has any right to it.
Besides, what's been left behind says enough, really.
He traces the scar with his tongue, just the tip, before licking over it in broader strokes. A mutter against spit-slick skin: ]
[ The other man crawls up behind him and settles along his backside, his body hot and firm against him - steady, yes, from the flatness of his chest to his hard cock, pressed up between his buttocks. He's quite adept at keeping his cool, Jean Louis, at least on a superficial level and most people are satisfied with that, aren't they, with whatever they glimpse in passing and nothing more. He doesn't want them to know anything beyond that and they prefer it. He's felt safe like that, actually, for many, many years. But for some inexplicable reason, Elio insists upon going down layers and layers until he isn't even sure what comes next and the thought should probably make him feel afraid but honestly, nothing much does anymore.
It's not fear.
Elio tells him that he hasn't done it before, to be loud which, shit, ask for another piano instead, Elio, please. Then, he pushes his face against the side of his neck, smelling like sweat and cock and something less situational, something very distinctively him - and down he goes, along his shoulder, pressing kisses against the marred skin there.
Sighing, breath coming out strangely ragged, Jean Louis shifts to folds his arms beneath his chin, tilting his head sideways and pushing his hair out of his eyes with one, shaky hand. Elio's presence feels like embers dropping along the length of his spine, between his shoulder blades and then, oh. The right hook went in better than the left and consequently, the muscles there have healed better without any nerve damage of note. So he feels it, yeah, Elio's tongue, as the other man traces the scar, his skin tingling as the resultant wetness goes from hot to cool. ]
I - [ He breaks off, swallows heavily. His voice, when he continues, sounds even, almost conversational: ] - if you like it, you can have it.
[ He shifts a little against the bed. His cock is hard as fuck, caught between his abdomen and the mattress and when he moves, the friction goes straight to his balls, his buttocks tightening in response as he holds himself back from actively thrusting forward for more. Not yet. Not yet.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
solosection) wrote2022-01-04 02:53 pm
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Though, both those examples are tombs, so I don't know how well they apply.
no subject
not sure about the sound studio - do you actually want that? the man i consulted with seemed to find it quite essential.
no subject
If I'm going to start practicing more for concerts, a place that's sufficiently insulated and closed in will be an advantage. For the both of us.
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
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
He stares at the coffee machine mindlessly, then decides that he can't be bothered. He doesn't like the abruptness of it, the sound it makes when it breaks the silence. Shaking his head, he grabs his hair a bit too harshly, giving it a fast pull before he turns around and walks back towards the bedroom. His scalp aches briefly in response.
The fish tank works as a piece of wall, separating the bedroom from the big walk-in closet on the other side. He chooses the closet, then, still hoping that even if he's managed to wake him up, Elio will be able to go back to sleep without his interference in the bedroom itself. He comes to a halt in front of the fish tank and steps close - close - closer - until the tip of his nose is touching the glass, blue light washing over his face and chest. The cold from the glass makes his skin prickle. He rubs his left shoulder, digging his fingers in to loosen the muscle, gaze following a handful of bright, orange fish as they swim between the corals. He keeps his eyes on them for the next several minutes, breathing slowing down only gradually. ]
no subject
Usually, Jean Louis will shrug into a dressing gown once he’s out of bed, head for the living room, the kitchen, coffee, his office and all sounds will mute by then, since Elio can’t hear him typing on his phone or work the keyboard of his laptop from in here. At that point, he’ll normally fall back asleep, only waking when and if the other man crawls back beneath the duvet next to him, shifting up against his body.
They didn’t have sex earlier, before bedtime, which means Elio is sleeping all the lighter, careful not to turn after Jean Louis as he leaves the room just in his pajamas bottoms, reluctant to worry him. Simply because you might not be able to tell from his face, just the fact that they’re on this journey towards a better sleeping pattern together is a sign that the other man cares.
To Elio, that’s really all that matters.
So once he hears him move into the walk-in closet, already knowing what he is looking for in there, not his clothes, that’s for sure, Elio finally sits up in the middle of the bed, his usual spot, and inches closer to the edge until his feet are touching the floor and he can pad across it towards the connecting hallway. Everything is lit up in the hue from the fish tank, Jean Louis is, too, where he stands, nose pressed against the glass. Naked and at risk of freezing, but Elio doesn’t mind risks, Elio stops next to him, looking the fish over, their erratic patterns, like Jean Louis. Very much like Jean Louis. Elio leans forward some as well, closer to a big blue one, and mouths at it in mimicry of the cute little bubble lips it’s got.
They’re surrounded by suits on all sides.
Fancy. ]
no subject
Elio keeps standing there. It's like a dream, somehow, unreal. Not alone, his mind insists, though this time it feels nothing like panic. Instead, the tension in his shoulders actually abates slightly, his thoughts re-arranging themselves around Elio, Elio who's naked next to him, the cold making his nipples look perky and his skin look almost translucent.
Face expressionless, Jean Louis shifts and turns away. Movements completely automatic, almost stiffly so, he picks out one of his own bathrobes - a dark burgundy colour, the fabric extremely soft - and walks back. He drapes it over Elio's shoulders, his hands lingering briefly by either side of his neck. Then, he goes back to his place in front of the fish tank.
Stares. ]
You should go back to bed.
no subject
[ Although he doesn’t turn his head to follow Jean Louis with his eyes, keeping up the fish mouthing until the fish in question disappears behind a rock, Elio is acutely aware of every move the other man makes, finding the burgundy bathrobe in his hideaways and shrouding him in it like a king, even if that’s by all definitions Jean Louis’ role. Elio catches it around his shoulders with his hands and pulls it tighter around him, feeling how his skin immediately turns warmer, gratefully. His cock feels tiny in the dark and the chilly draft and Elio shifts from one foot to the other.
When he finally turns his head, Jean Louis has gone back to observing the fish and he speaks, it feels, more to them than to Elio. Elio isn’t going anywhere, that’s the point. The fish are trapped in their transparent prison and just for tonight, or in Jean Louis’ case every night, right, the two of them are as well.
There are seas around Italy not half as blue as this aquarium, Elio thinks, you could be trapped much worse places. You could be trapped alone.
He blinks. Straightens up with a small frown. ]
Do you dream?
[ About what happened, he means. The thing that continues to wrap the other man in darkness, even here, even now. Elio’s eyes follow the intricate pattern of just one of Jean Louis’ tattooed bands. It goes on a long way. ]
no subject
It's probably just the fish-equivalent of stoned.
If that happens. To fish. ]
I don't know.
[ He's aware of the implications, that Elio isn't asking him a general question but a question related to him, being up right now, looking into his fish tank at the dead of fucking night. Do you dream. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment before he remembers himself and stops. Instead, he pokes the glass with his finger, watching as the fish startles at the resultant shock waves and swims off in a flurry of bubbles. ]
It feels as if a part of me does.
[ He looks sideways at Elio. It's impossible to explain this - how he wakes up without any active memories in his mind while his body's screaming on multiple sensory levels, pain and darkness and the wrongness of broken bone. His next question is born entirely of curiosity, no reproach and no annoyance audible in his voice: ]
Why do you ask?
no subject
When you need control, it’s usually because you’ve lost it, isn’t it? Dreams can be like that, true.
You can lose a lot in dreams. Better to stay awake.
Elio meets Jean Louis’ inquisitive gaze and licks his lips, feeling suddenly parched, like he could drink the whole tank, just tip it back along with his head and empty it. It’s saltwater, though, he’d die from it. Telling Jean Louis the truth, on the other hand, won’t kill him, but he still feels a bit wrong in his body, too big for it somehow. Maybe those are his emotions, too big for the rest of him, too big for Jean Louis’ own bathrobe. This feeling of tenderness and care. Protectiveness, although Elio was never a fighter, he’d fight for this. For him.
He told Jean Louis he loved him, on the way to Bordighera. That wasn’t hard, but it was vulnerable and sometimes those two things are one and the same. So Elio fixes his eyes on the aquarium again, where all Jean Louis’ tapping has scared the fish out of sight, but there are corals and underwater plants and vividly colored stones. Sometimes looking at the things in the background will show you everything you’re actually looking for.
With a smile, small, soft, Elio cocks his head. ]
Because it belongs to you.
(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)
(no subject)
no subject
It’s not the weekend now, but they’re fucking anyway. Jean Louis came home late, as usual, Elio warming leftovers that they could eat while sitting together on the couch, watching the news. At some point, Elio went to bed, staying up to read and Jean Louis came later and now? Now, Elio wants to feel him come.
He’s bent in over the other man’s lap, naked, they’re both naked, holding his cock by the base with one hand while running his mouth, open and wet and lips swollen up the underside of his length, tongue darting out once he reaches the head, following the ridge of foreskin, before slipping over the moist tip, slit, massage softly... His other hand is occupied between Jean Louis’ legs, fingers slick from lube, left off to the side, forgotten, index and middle fingers filling him, curving slightly and spreading wider to give him a sense of stretch. No prostate-rubbing.
Yet.
Elio groans. It sounds sloppy like this, he likes that. How it sounds like Jean Louis tastes, good. ]
no subject
Elio makes the prettiest noises.
He shifts a little, just enough to also shift Elio's fingers inside his arse, feeling the length of them, the width. The sensation makes him groan, too, his voice little but depth at this point, dark and hoarse. Reaching out, he runs one hand through Elio's curls before closing his fist in them, pulling a bit, feeling the resistance. His lips look pink, swollen. ]
So good. [ A half-smile, shaky around the edges: ] You make me feel spoiled.
[ He shivers very slightly. The combination of pressure against his bared cock and fingers stretching his arsehole open is making the heat in his body feel almost impossibly big and persistent; his cock is weeping at the tip, too, his balls tight and more than half-way to the finish line. He wouldn't mind, he thinks, coming like this. At intervals, his brain reminds him that Elio brought him lunch today and for some strange, inexplicable reason, it doesn't interfere with the flow at all. It goes with the rest.
With Elio, being good.
And finding room for Jean Louis within that goodness which is an impossible thought that he won't even try to comprehend in his current state. It is. That much, at least, he understands. ]
no subject
Bodies for currency. No fees.
Starting to go down, just letting the other man’s length slide all the way to the back, meaning that when Elio opens his eyes, he’s all but drowning in the absolute pool of spit around the base of his cock and he can smell him, crotch and lube and precum and ass, he starts fucking into him harder, curling his index to hit his spot, the good one. All of Jean Louis is the good one, obviously, but this is the easiest button to push to make sure he keeps feeling spoiled.
They don’t spoil you nearly enough, then, he’d say if he could talk. Instead he sucks, loving how full and obstructed and speared it makes him feel. Fuck. He can see the motions of his own wrist. Around his fingers, Jean Louis is tight, like his ass is holding on. Elio can feel his own cock leaking.
The idea comes spontaneously and because Elio likes the naturalness of it, he doesn’t even stop to think. Easing up slowly, he lets Jean Louis’ cock pop out of his mouth, wet noise, sexy, holding it still by the base as he gently pulls his fingers out of the other man’s ass. The air is full of him. ]
I want to rim you.
[ He sounds like a porn, really, with the hoarseness and the drop of pitch, but that’s just another variation. ]
no subject
And then, Elio actually releases his cock and removes his fingers and Jean Louis definitely isn't releasing his hair, quite the opposite, as he stares at him, blinking stupidly, wondering what sort of fresh hell this is. Fuck, he was close. So close. What kind of game... but Elio doesn't play those. Games. Not like that, never like that. As proven, yes, once again, when he tells him he wants to... ]
What?
[ It comes out sounding equal parts breathless and stupid. He shifts a little on his elbow, the hand in Elio's hair loosening somewhat. The quality of the other man's voice - hoarse, low, thick from sex - goes straight to his cock and it jerks between Elio's fingers. With effort, he gathers what little brain cells he's got left, arousal and the broken built-up making him feel slower than usual, like he's somehow under water. He clears his throat. ]
You want to - right.
[ Pause. He runs his hand more gently down the side of Elio's face, then rests if on his shoulder. Thinks about the other man's fucking tongue in his arse and wondering how he's supposed to survive that. Sure, abduction, torture, his childhood, street business and backstabbing politicians - peanuts, obviously. What the fuck. What the fuck.
But he can. Survive.
Elio's giving him nothing but survival.
Tilting his head to the side for a second, bangs sticking to his brow and eyelashes, he finally nods. Shifts away, out of Elio's grip, his own hand losing its hold on his shoulder. He considers asking Elio how he'd like him, then immediately decides that he won't - Elio's already offered, he's supposed to either accept or decline. Doesn't have to be anymore complicated than that.
So he takes another deep breath, squares his shoulders just slightly and slips onto his stomach. Showing him his back and offering the rest of it, too, because Elio asked and he thinks between the two of them, there'll always be an answer.
If nothing else, he can give him that. ]
no subject
Patiently, Elio waits.
When he finally releases the death grip on a handful of his curls, Elio waits for him to gather his wits about him again, feeling the palm of his hand caress the side of his face, going down. He smells like sweat and sex and Elio turns his face briefly into the darkness of it, nuzzling his nose against his heartline, half-open mouth, lick-kissing. Right, Jean Louis tells him, sounding like it's only right because his brain's melting out his ears, but he smiles and looks back up at him, loosening his grip around his cock gradually until the other man starts moving to the side and he lets go of him entirely. What follows is that awkward moment in sex when you go from one thing to the other, when it's all limbs and fitting things together and not enough direct stimulation to make it effortless or just unimportant, the mechanics.
Except, then it is unimportant, because Jean Louis rolls onto his front, baring that long slope of his back along with the swell of his ass and Elio actually licks his lips, not nervously, but hungrily, getting on his hands and knees and crawling up behind the other man, sliding up along his backside easily, hard cock nestling in between his buttocks. ]
I haven't done it before. Be loud with me, so I know, okay?
[ When I do it right, it means.
His face is pushing in against the side of Jean Louis' neck, before he starts pressing kisses against his right shoulder, moving downward slowly, the big scar on either side of his spine looking like miniature valleys in the landscape of his back. Depths no one else can reach, probably. Elio doesn't know what happened to Jean Louis when he got abducted, no one does, at least not in any place Elio has looked, though admittedly he hasn't looked closely, because it's Jean Louis' story and he alone has any right to it.
Besides, what's been left behind says enough, really.
He traces the scar with his tongue, just the tip, before licking over it in broader strokes. A mutter against spit-slick skin: ]
Don't stop giving me this side of you.
no subject
It's not fear.
Elio tells him that he hasn't done it before, to be loud which, shit, ask for another piano instead, Elio, please. Then, he pushes his face against the side of his neck, smelling like sweat and cock and something less situational, something very distinctively him - and down he goes, along his shoulder, pressing kisses against the marred skin there.
Sighing, breath coming out strangely ragged, Jean Louis shifts to folds his arms beneath his chin, tilting his head sideways and pushing his hair out of his eyes with one, shaky hand. Elio's presence feels like embers dropping along the length of his spine, between his shoulder blades and then, oh. The right hook went in better than the left and consequently, the muscles there have healed better without any nerve damage of note. So he feels it, yeah, Elio's tongue, as the other man traces the scar, his skin tingling as the resultant wetness goes from hot to cool. ]
I - [ He breaks off, swallows heavily. His voice, when he continues, sounds even, almost conversational: ] - if you like it, you can have it.
[ He shifts a little against the bed. His cock is hard as fuck, caught between his abdomen and the mattress and when he moves, the friction goes straight to his balls, his buttocks tightening in response as he holds himself back from actively thrusting forward for more. Not yet. Not yet.
Hold it together. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)