[ He's making the sweetest sounds, his Elio-elf, writhing against him and taking his thrusts, telling him he won't break, you won't break me and the words resonate within him (will i will i will i get to keep this will i smash it to pieces it's my fault and now it's broken) until he can't feel any remnants of that dream anywhere in his body. All he can feel is Elio, around his fingers, against his body, beneath his mouth and it's glorious, it's fucking beautiful. When Elio licks the side of his neck, he leans into the touch of his tongue, the wetness of it, working his fingers in and out, feeling the muscle loosen in response. ]
Oh, don't worry. I will.
[ He smiles, pushing his fingers in deep and bending them to catch Elio's prostate, giving it a few, good rubs before he slips his fingers out entirely. He grabs the lube again and squeezes the last of it onto his fingers. ]
On your side.
[ It's not a question. Elio's not the only one who can pose demands. Besides, he's discovered that whilst Elio isn't at all a push-over, he rather likes a firm approach in bed. Personally, Jean Louis isn't very keen on people ordering him about, not in general and not in bed, either, but the other way around is more or less instinctual to him; another thing that came before the rest.
He leans in and kisses the slope of Elio's neck where it transitions into shoulder and collarbone. Then, he runs his other hand down his side, stroking the skin there and waiting for him to get positioned. His cock aches and he's almost loathe to touch it - his hand, after all, isn't at all what he actually wants. Regardless, anal sex without sufficient lube is messy and boring and unattractive, none of which he'd ever willingly burden Elio with so he reaches down and grabs himself roughly near the base, stroking lube onto the shaft and trying not to think about the tightness in his balls.
[ The thing about Jean Louis is that he'll certainly do as he's told, if it suits his own purposes, in his own time, and otherwise you'll have to make a good argument to convince him why he ought to do anything that he isn't naturally inclined towards. Elio likes that about him. It tastes a lot like strength. Feels like it, too, when the other man tells him I will and rather than fucking him harder, hooks his fingers into him and rubs over his prostate. More than once. Multiple times and Elio's vision is blackening near the edges, his breath coming out in heavy pants. Oh, oh. He moans, feels his whole body shake upon impact.
Then, he withdraws, pulling back in order to lube up and Elio lies there for a moment, panting and blinking uselessly against the bluish light filling the room, the shadows of fish moving across the walls in enlargened silhouettes. Eery. Eery and also, somehow sacral. It reminds him of the huge stained glass windows in many churches throughout Paris. It's probably the same in Luxembourg, he just hasn't had a chance to visit, to see. He's had other things to look into. Elio turns his head and watches Jean Louis slick up his cock, looking desperate, still, and impatient and wanting badly.
So, Elio turns onto his side when told to and draws up his top leg, opening himself up naturally, showing off his slick asshole and twisting at the waist to look back at Jean Louis, still working himself, oh, it has to be enough now, it's got to be enough, right? The kiss at the slope of his neck lingers longer, because at this very second, it's all the connect they have. That, and the promise of Elio's lubed up ass, Jean Louis' lubed up cock and those are the parts that are going to fit together. They're going to be like one body, they're going to be that close.
As soon as Jean Louis slips up behind him, Elio reaches backwards and slides his arm around his neck, drawing him as near as possible. It's awkward and a little bit painful, this position, but it doesn't hurt half as much as the emptiness does. The fact that Elio isn't full of him yet. ]
Like this - [ This close. His breathing's erratic and shallow, his voice full of air. Elio looks at every part of Jean Louis' face he can see from here. ] - our skin's just symbolic borderlines.
[ Elio draws him in yet again, the same way he opened his arms earlier, the same way he drew right into his orbit earlier yet and mouthed at his fish. There's something incredibly precious about it, something he wants so badly that he almost can't breathe for it. The other man holds him close, his arm around his neck and he rests his chin against Elio's shoulder and slides up against his back, his cock hard and slick now as it pushes up between his buttocks.
When Elio speaks, his voice sounds like air. ]
You talk like you play. Did you know?
[ It's not truly a question. He's well aware of Elio's artistry, an aspect to his character that Jean Louis could never hope to truly understand or fully appreciate, though he takes what he can from it, takes and tries. It's never been important, artistry, except as a means to buy himself influence, to support and enhance the right people. Doesn't mean he can't understand that it takes a special mind to comprehend these things, the melodies and the visions and whatnot. Good artists are a bit like Olympian sportsmen - admirable, impressive but alien (and more often than not, a waste of his time).
Elio plays the piano sometimes when they're both home. Bach, he thinks, though the name means absolutely nothing to him. He's starting to recognise some of the tunes - melodies - ?? - and when Elio plays them, it's as if his fingers never quite touch the keys. Light. Air.
Angling his hips, Jean Louis buries his face in Elio's curls and breathes him in, deeply and thoroughly. He reaches down and grabs his cock, running the head up between Elio's buttocks and smearing lube over his skin in the process, long, wet trails of it. He groans. Feels the heat of his arsehole against the tip of his cock and presses in, the muscle giving after a few seconds. And then, he sinks inside, inch by inch, and everything is darkness in front of his open eyes, darkness with a touch of Elio's brown hair and the whiteness of his skin. ]
[ Did you know? Jean Louis asks, saying Elio talks like he plays and Elio wants to tell him, yes, he knows, it's the only language in which he's completely fluent, musicality. He speaks it with his hands on the keys and when there are no keys, he's just fingering the air awkwardly, trying to recreate the same meaning. He never quite manages, he knows, but he's doing his best, his utmost, he's reaching desperately with his words. Just like Oliver, but endlessly better, and he isn't thinking about Oliver now, Jean Louis not only understands, but interprets him, too. Translates.
Elio never knew, but apparently he needed a translator.
Feeling the other man slip up behind him, his hard cock leaving trails of lube between his buttocks as he pushes up between them, aiming for his asshole, the slightly puffy rim of it, his hungry insides, Elio tightens his hold on him, feeling how he's burying into his hair, pushing so close that even if it sounds awkward on the ear, no right notes here, Elio still thinks they're defeating all their own barriers. He'd tell Jean Louis this, too, follow up, but the man didn't ask and isn't asking now either as he angles himself for Elio's asshole, minimum prep, the stretch making him gasp, then groan as Jean Louis pushes in, forcefully inserting himself in his ass, pushing in inch by inch, until he's this huge fullness inside him, this sense of girth and block and not alone, not alone, not alone. Elio drops his head forward, pushing back in time, meeting him, meeting it, that feeling of togetherness and space claiming. He listens to his body as Jean Louis sinks in to the base, pausing a couple of times underway when the invasive sensation of getting filled overwhelms him, leaving him trembling slightly, panting, whimpering incoherently.
Although he wants to touch himself, the fingers of his free hand ghosting down across his stomach, Elio doesn't. It would be too much, too many impressions, he wants to savor this, savor this moment, stay in the moment. Don't rush it, don't run from it.
As the other man finally stills, Elio blinking against the shadows, tremors along his shoulders, he hears himself whispering hoarsely, voice a little bit thin, a little bit pleading: ]
[ He can feel Elio pushing back at him, the way he's working with him to accommodate his cock, panting and whimpering as he takes it which makes it all so much better. A different kind of music, you might say, and one Jean Louis understands a lot better if he's honest, it's a language he could speak if he wanted to, if he hadn't unlearned it many years ago. He likes listening to it, though. He basically likes listening to Elio. Breathing out harshly as Elio settles on his cock, his arse warm and completely tight around him, he pulls back only enough to make himself heard. He still gets Elio's hair stuck on his lips when he speaks. ]
I'd rather listen to you, though.
[ He groans and pulls back slowly, not much further than a couple of inches, before he pushes back in. Even this amount of friction makes his head spin and he blinks, forcing himself to hold it together. Then, he repeats the motion, feeling Elio's arsehole give and take around his shaft, the slide growing somewhat easier with each thrust. Pushing himself up on his elbow slightly, he reaches down with his free hand and pushes Elio's leg up by the back of his thigh, just a little. Like that, he opens him further, too, and when he pulls out partially, the angle is perfect for a harder thrust.
So he pushes in, thinking give me more of that sound and he could say it, too, but he thinks he already has. Jean Louis rarely wastes words - it's not that he doesn't have them in spades but in private, he's never been overly talkative and between the two of them, he likes how they don't pretend. They don't lie. His left shoulder gives a slight twinge and he ignores it, fucking Elio at a steady pace now, shallow but forceful thrusts. He's panting a bit himself, his breath making Elio's hair dance in front of his nose. ]
[ As Jean Louis draws back, the tension in Elio's arm, holding him, intensifying and he breathes out harshly, he wants to grab onto him harder, ensure he doesn't disappear, because that's the most experience Elio has with these things, fuck and run, right? Except, they've fucked so many times already and Jean Louis has only ever snuck out that first time and Elio was only bitter about that, because the other man beat him to it. That was then, this is now. Now neither of them run anymore. So he listens for the other man's voice when he mumbles I'd rather listen to you, though into his hair, making his balls draw up a little, it's that hot. Being given a voice. Being listened to. Wasn't that why he became a musician in the first place? A few shallow thrusts follow, until Jean Louis shifts and Elio shifts with him, feeling his hand grab his thigh and push him open by it. He groans, low and keen.
After that, the thrusts get harder, longer, more forceful, forcing him open around the shaft of Jean Louis' cock, taking his length to the hilt, the other man's front slapping against his buttocks at each forward motion, pushing in, taking, filling him. Elio decides to let his honestly weeping cock wait a bit longer, instead running his free hand up to his nipples, pinching one of them lightly just as Jean Louis pushes over his prostate and he whimpers loudly, the double pleasure making stars dance against the backdrop of his closed eyelids. Shaking his head once, panting harshly, he shifts in Jean Louis' hold, feeling his thigh muscles protest a little and not caring even one bit, before forcing himself back over the man's shaft, feeling the head sink into him, pushing over his prostate again.
The whimpering sound leaving his mouth seems to never quite cease at this point.
Pinching his other nipple, too, his whole system feeling overwrought and tense, tingling, Elio finally raises his other hand, too and feels for Jean Louis' head with it, more accidentally than not running his fingers through the man's hair and cradling the back of his head. They're pressed so close together this way, there's no empty spaces left between them. Only the volume of their bodies. Combined.
If there was ever someone who'd deserve to own his name, Elio thinks, Jean Louis is it, isn't he? He's it. His breathing's erratic and desperate, wanting to breathe it out between them, up for grabs. Elio, Elio, Elio. ]
[ It's too good already, really - but then, Elio's actually pinching his own nipples and just the sight of it... He's staring down the other man's shoulder, watching that fucking spectacle unfolding and it goes straight to his cock, along with the sounds Elio keeps making, the way he's pushing himself back onto his shaft, fucking himself and taking what he wants. Fuck. Fuck, that's incredible. Breaths coming out as shallow pants against Elio's neck, his head more or less locked in position by the other man's grip in his hair, he speeds up a little, seeing how Elio's cock looks red and needy, slick and naked and slim without the ridge of foreskin to break up the lines.
Eatable, truly. Unfortunately, reaching with his mouth from his current position would be a little too fantastical so he chooses the next best option and releases Elio's thigh. He pulls his hand up and spits in his palm quickly, just to give it a bit of extra slickness, and then he folds his fingers around Elio's cock. He makes his grip loose, though he takes care to get the underside properly, in particular, finding a rhythm that goes with the movement of Elio's hips back and forth.
Closing his eyes, letting himself disappear into that massive flood of pleasure running through him, from the visual of Elio pleasuring himself on his cock to the heat and tightness of his arse around his length, Jean Louis finally just gives it to him. Hard and fast, focusing on reaching his own edge just as he's pushing Elio towards it thrust after thrust, pressing him into his grip and letting him slide right back down onto his cock, back and forth. He's burying his face in Elio's neck, each harsh exhalation progressively closer to a moan, as he chases that high, right in front of him - right -
There.
He gasps, Elio's name on the tip of his tongue, unspoken, but known, known in a way he hasn't known anyone else. And just like that, he lets himself drown, spending himself deep inside the other man, his cock pulsing and his climax burning through his muscles. ]
[ He can feel Jean Louis watching him, he can feel him looking at him while he pleasures himself, impaling himself on his cock again and again, hips snapping back and pulling out on repeat, until it's a blur of physical impressions, the hard stab of heat whenever Jean Louis slams over his prostate, because it's slamming now, it's nothing less than that, especially not once the other man reaches down with one spit-slick hand, the sound of him spitting in his palm making Elio's balls draw up further, and curls his fingers lightly around his cock, letting it slide naturally into the hole of his fist. Elio whines, trying to balance the need to push back onto his cock with the need to push forward and have his own cock stroked.
It doesn't take long, it takes a couple of thrusts at most, then they've built it up perfectly, just right. Elio can feel Jean Louis' gasping breath stirring his curls, damp against his neck and he feels every shudder of their movements in his arms, locked around the other man's head and he feels every thrust in his ass, taking up space, filling him to the brim, his asshole clenching slightly around every outstroke, like it's saying, stay. Please stay. Please.
Jean Louis' orgasm hits first, Elio feels it, hears it in his breathing, trembling out of him and in itself, it's almost enough to push him over the edge, but then there's the feeling of his next thrust, harder, burying into Elio's asshole and his cock pulsing, that strange, new sensation of being come inside, now, without protection. Elio whimpers, shifts a little and reaches down blindly, closing his fingers around Jean Louis' hand on his cock, tightening his grip a little bit, just so he can feel - along the underside - the head... He groans and thrusts forward once, twice, into the slick hole of his fingers and then, he's coming, feeling his whole body shake somewhat, his cock leaking cum all over the mattress, his asshole clenching rhythmically around the other man's cock, only a few seconds behind.
When he whines, it's more release than desperate chase and it's beautiful and it's so good. He keeps shaking for maybe ten seconds, his whole body giving over to it, then everything stills and his muscles feel light as air, like there are no bones left in him, he's been hollowed out. Elio loves that feeling. It means room, room for someone else to claim, room to rent out to another person and he knows who he wants it to be, too. He knows. ]
You do this thing to me when we fuck where I forget myself. It's nice.
[ His voice is raw, his tone lax, lazy. Slowly, he reaches up again, cum all over his hand and everything smelling like sex, slipping his fingers into Jean Louis' hair again, stroking along his scalp.
[ Elio follows right behind him, his hand locked around Jean Louis' fingers to make his grip tighter, to make it fit and it doesn't take very much at all which is incredible in itself. Then, yes, he's coming too, groaning and thrusting forward, his arse milking Jean Louis' cock until he's pretty sure it might possibly kill him and he makes a harsh sound into Elio's hair, something that could have possibly been a whine in a different life. He snaps his hips forward a couple of times more, just to follow the impulse of his body - then, it all goes quiet.
Still.
I forget myself says Elio and slips his fingers into his hair, his arse clenching a little around Jean Louis' cock. Elio, on his part, is growing flaccid fast between his fingers so he gives him a light squeeze and releases him, spreading his fingers out over his abdomen instead. He leans into the touch of Elio's fingers against his scalp, eyes closed and breathing slowing gradually to something nowhere close to normal, something that feels like a pathway to sleep. Imagine that. He never goes to sleep when he wakes up at night, particularly not after... well. Do you dream? asked Elio, and...
He sighs. Shifts his hips a little and pulls out carefully, his cock slipping free from Elio's arse with a soft pop, wet still, and slick around the tip. It comes to a rest against his thigh. Then, he does the opposite of what he'd normally do - normally, he'd turn onto his back, re-create at least a touch of distance between their bodies once more to get reality re-aligned once again. Instead, he shifts closer, just a fraction, resting his chin on Elio's shoulder and settling in. ]
I know.
[ He yawns. His voice is rusty around the edges, like he's swallowed something sharp and unyielding. ]
[ Imagine, being the thing to tether someone, Elio thinks, listening for Jean Louis’ breathing, his voice behind him, settling in so close to his back, chin on his shoulder, they could as well be the same. Merging in some fantastical, mysterious, divine way. Jean Louis releases his slowly softening cock and spreads his fingers out over his abdomen, keeping him near, keeping him tethered. Elio breathes out slowly, feels the chest behind him mirror that motion, in, out. He also feels Jean Louis pull out, a momentary sting to his asshole, the rim contracting once the other man’s cock is completely removed from him, leaving him a little bit emptier. Another deep inhale, exhale.
Jean Louis yawns. It’s contagious, after a second, Elio’s yawning, too.
Leaning his head back, he feels the outline of cheek and the side of Jean Louis’ face, his hair, he feels all of him. He feels like home. Imagine being the one to tether another person, how much you’re losing, if that bond breaks.
He doesn’t want to think about that. Instead Elio nuzzles in, lets himself be held and closes his eyes, sinking into the utter grayness behind. His body feels comfortably his own and comfortably Jean Louis’ at the same time. ]
It’s so you don’t leave.
[ A mutter, almost inaudible, but he lets Jean Louis have it anyway, this constant fear he nurtures behind his openness of approach. If not because of it. Because his openness changed something once, but hasn’t changed since. Elio still has to unlearn that being open means you lose.
He brushes his fingertips along the curve of Jean Louis’ skull. With him, he’s willing to be a student once more, even if he thought that time was long gone. The miracle is that they’re both staying now, long enough to be taught. ]
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solosection) wrote2022-01-04 02:53 pm
no subject
Oh, don't worry. I will.
[ He smiles, pushing his fingers in deep and bending them to catch Elio's prostate, giving it a few, good rubs before he slips his fingers out entirely. He grabs the lube again and squeezes the last of it onto his fingers. ]
On your side.
[ It's not a question. Elio's not the only one who can pose demands. Besides, he's discovered that whilst Elio isn't at all a push-over, he rather likes a firm approach in bed. Personally, Jean Louis isn't very keen on people ordering him about, not in general and not in bed, either, but the other way around is more or less instinctual to him; another thing that came before the rest.
He leans in and kisses the slope of Elio's neck where it transitions into shoulder and collarbone. Then, he runs his other hand down his side, stroking the skin there and waiting for him to get positioned. His cock aches and he's almost loathe to touch it - his hand, after all, isn't at all what he actually wants. Regardless, anal sex without sufficient lube is messy and boring and unattractive, none of which he'd ever willingly burden Elio with so he reaches down and grabs himself roughly near the base, stroking lube onto the shaft and trying not to think about the tightness in his balls.
Fuck, but he needs to get inside him. ]
no subject
Then, he withdraws, pulling back in order to lube up and Elio lies there for a moment, panting and blinking uselessly against the bluish light filling the room, the shadows of fish moving across the walls in enlargened silhouettes. Eery. Eery and also, somehow sacral. It reminds him of the huge stained glass windows in many churches throughout Paris. It's probably the same in Luxembourg, he just hasn't had a chance to visit, to see. He's had other things to look into. Elio turns his head and watches Jean Louis slick up his cock, looking desperate, still, and impatient and wanting badly.
So, Elio turns onto his side when told to and draws up his top leg, opening himself up naturally, showing off his slick asshole and twisting at the waist to look back at Jean Louis, still working himself, oh, it has to be enough now, it's got to be enough, right? The kiss at the slope of his neck lingers longer, because at this very second, it's all the connect they have. That, and the promise of Elio's lubed up ass, Jean Louis' lubed up cock and those are the parts that are going to fit together. They're going to be like one body, they're going to be that close.
As soon as Jean Louis slips up behind him, Elio reaches backwards and slides his arm around his neck, drawing him as near as possible. It's awkward and a little bit painful, this position, but it doesn't hurt half as much as the emptiness does. The fact that Elio isn't full of him yet. ]
Like this - [ This close. His breathing's erratic and shallow, his voice full of air. Elio looks at every part of Jean Louis' face he can see from here. ] - our skin's just symbolic borderlines.
no subject
When Elio speaks, his voice sounds like air. ]
You talk like you play. Did you know?
[ It's not truly a question. He's well aware of Elio's artistry, an aspect to his character that Jean Louis could never hope to truly understand or fully appreciate, though he takes what he can from it, takes and tries. It's never been important, artistry, except as a means to buy himself influence, to support and enhance the right people. Doesn't mean he can't understand that it takes a special mind to comprehend these things, the melodies and the visions and whatnot. Good artists are a bit like Olympian sportsmen - admirable, impressive but alien (and more often than not, a waste of his time).
Elio plays the piano sometimes when they're both home. Bach, he thinks, though the name means absolutely nothing to him. He's starting to recognise some of the tunes - melodies - ?? - and when Elio plays them, it's as if his fingers never quite touch the keys. Light. Air.
Angling his hips, Jean Louis buries his face in Elio's curls and breathes him in, deeply and thoroughly. He reaches down and grabs his cock, running the head up between Elio's buttocks and smearing lube over his skin in the process, long, wet trails of it. He groans. Feels the heat of his arsehole against the tip of his cock and presses in, the muscle giving after a few seconds. And then, he sinks inside, inch by inch, and everything is darkness in front of his open eyes, darkness with a touch of Elio's brown hair and the whiteness of his skin. ]
no subject
Elio never knew, but apparently he needed a translator.
Feeling the other man slip up behind him, his hard cock leaving trails of lube between his buttocks as he pushes up between them, aiming for his asshole, the slightly puffy rim of it, his hungry insides, Elio tightens his hold on him, feeling how he's burying into his hair, pushing so close that even if it sounds awkward on the ear, no right notes here, Elio still thinks they're defeating all their own barriers. He'd tell Jean Louis this, too, follow up, but the man didn't ask and isn't asking now either as he angles himself for Elio's asshole, minimum prep, the stretch making him gasp, then groan as Jean Louis pushes in, forcefully inserting himself in his ass, pushing in inch by inch, until he's this huge fullness inside him, this sense of girth and block and not alone, not alone, not alone. Elio drops his head forward, pushing back in time, meeting him, meeting it, that feeling of togetherness and space claiming. He listens to his body as Jean Louis sinks in to the base, pausing a couple of times underway when the invasive sensation of getting filled overwhelms him, leaving him trembling slightly, panting, whimpering incoherently.
Although he wants to touch himself, the fingers of his free hand ghosting down across his stomach, Elio doesn't. It would be too much, too many impressions, he wants to savor this, savor this moment, stay in the moment. Don't rush it, don't run from it.
As the other man finally stills, Elio blinking against the shadows, tremors along his shoulders, he hears himself whispering hoarsely, voice a little bit thin, a little bit pleading: ]
You take me like you speak.
no subject
I'd rather listen to you, though.
[ He groans and pulls back slowly, not much further than a couple of inches, before he pushes back in. Even this amount of friction makes his head spin and he blinks, forcing himself to hold it together. Then, he repeats the motion, feeling Elio's arsehole give and take around his shaft, the slide growing somewhat easier with each thrust. Pushing himself up on his elbow slightly, he reaches down with his free hand and pushes Elio's leg up by the back of his thigh, just a little. Like that, he opens him further, too, and when he pulls out partially, the angle is perfect for a harder thrust.
So he pushes in, thinking give me more of that sound and he could say it, too, but he thinks he already has. Jean Louis rarely wastes words - it's not that he doesn't have them in spades but in private, he's never been overly talkative and between the two of them, he likes how they don't pretend. They don't lie. His left shoulder gives a slight twinge and he ignores it, fucking Elio at a steady pace now, shallow but forceful thrusts. He's panting a bit himself, his breath making Elio's hair dance in front of his nose. ]
no subject
After that, the thrusts get harder, longer, more forceful, forcing him open around the shaft of Jean Louis' cock, taking his length to the hilt, the other man's front slapping against his buttocks at each forward motion, pushing in, taking, filling him. Elio decides to let his honestly weeping cock wait a bit longer, instead running his free hand up to his nipples, pinching one of them lightly just as Jean Louis pushes over his prostate and he whimpers loudly, the double pleasure making stars dance against the backdrop of his closed eyelids. Shaking his head once, panting harshly, he shifts in Jean Louis' hold, feeling his thigh muscles protest a little and not caring even one bit, before forcing himself back over the man's shaft, feeling the head sink into him, pushing over his prostate again.
The whimpering sound leaving his mouth seems to never quite cease at this point.
Pinching his other nipple, too, his whole system feeling overwrought and tense, tingling, Elio finally raises his other hand, too and feels for Jean Louis' head with it, more accidentally than not running his fingers through the man's hair and cradling the back of his head. They're pressed so close together this way, there's no empty spaces left between them. Only the volume of their bodies. Combined.
If there was ever someone who'd deserve to own his name, Elio thinks, Jean Louis is it, isn't he? He's it. His breathing's erratic and desperate, wanting to breathe it out between them, up for grabs. Elio, Elio, Elio. ]
no subject
Eatable, truly. Unfortunately, reaching with his mouth from his current position would be a little too fantastical so he chooses the next best option and releases Elio's thigh. He pulls his hand up and spits in his palm quickly, just to give it a bit of extra slickness, and then he folds his fingers around Elio's cock. He makes his grip loose, though he takes care to get the underside properly, in particular, finding a rhythm that goes with the movement of Elio's hips back and forth.
Closing his eyes, letting himself disappear into that massive flood of pleasure running through him, from the visual of Elio pleasuring himself on his cock to the heat and tightness of his arse around his length, Jean Louis finally just gives it to him. Hard and fast, focusing on reaching his own edge just as he's pushing Elio towards it thrust after thrust, pressing him into his grip and letting him slide right back down onto his cock, back and forth. He's burying his face in Elio's neck, each harsh exhalation progressively closer to a moan, as he chases that high, right in front of him - right -
There.
He gasps, Elio's name on the tip of his tongue, unspoken, but known, known in a way he hasn't known anyone else. And just like that, he lets himself drown, spending himself deep inside the other man, his cock pulsing and his climax burning through his muscles. ]
no subject
It doesn't take long, it takes a couple of thrusts at most, then they've built it up perfectly, just right. Elio can feel Jean Louis' gasping breath stirring his curls, damp against his neck and he feels every shudder of their movements in his arms, locked around the other man's head and he feels every thrust in his ass, taking up space, filling him to the brim, his asshole clenching slightly around every outstroke, like it's saying, stay. Please stay. Please.
Jean Louis' orgasm hits first, Elio feels it, hears it in his breathing, trembling out of him and in itself, it's almost enough to push him over the edge, but then there's the feeling of his next thrust, harder, burying into Elio's asshole and his cock pulsing, that strange, new sensation of being come inside, now, without protection. Elio whimpers, shifts a little and reaches down blindly, closing his fingers around Jean Louis' hand on his cock, tightening his grip a little bit, just so he can feel - along the underside - the head... He groans and thrusts forward once, twice, into the slick hole of his fingers and then, he's coming, feeling his whole body shake somewhat, his cock leaking cum all over the mattress, his asshole clenching rhythmically around the other man's cock, only a few seconds behind.
When he whines, it's more release than desperate chase and it's beautiful and it's so good. He keeps shaking for maybe ten seconds, his whole body giving over to it, then everything stills and his muscles feel light as air, like there are no bones left in him, he's been hollowed out. Elio loves that feeling. It means room, room for someone else to claim, room to rent out to another person and he knows who he wants it to be, too. He knows. ]
You do this thing to me when we fuck where I forget myself. It's nice.
[ His voice is raw, his tone lax, lazy. Slowly, he reaches up again, cum all over his hand and everything smelling like sex, slipping his fingers into Jean Louis' hair again, stroking along his scalp.
They lie like that. Together. ]
no subject
Still.
I forget myself says Elio and slips his fingers into his hair, his arse clenching a little around Jean Louis' cock. Elio, on his part, is growing flaccid fast between his fingers so he gives him a light squeeze and releases him, spreading his fingers out over his abdomen instead. He leans into the touch of Elio's fingers against his scalp, eyes closed and breathing slowing gradually to something nowhere close to normal, something that feels like a pathway to sleep. Imagine that. He never goes to sleep when he wakes up at night, particularly not after... well. Do you dream? asked Elio, and...
He sighs. Shifts his hips a little and pulls out carefully, his cock slipping free from Elio's arse with a soft pop, wet still, and slick around the tip. It comes to a rest against his thigh. Then, he does the opposite of what he'd normally do - normally, he'd turn onto his back, re-create at least a touch of distance between their bodies once more to get reality re-aligned once again. Instead, he shifts closer, just a fraction, resting his chin on Elio's shoulder and settling in. ]
I know.
[ He yawns. His voice is rusty around the edges, like he's swallowed something sharp and unyielding. ]
Except in reverse. You tether me, somehow.
no subject
Jean Louis yawns. It’s contagious, after a second, Elio’s yawning, too.
Leaning his head back, he feels the outline of cheek and the side of Jean Louis’ face, his hair, he feels all of him. He feels like home. Imagine being the one to tether another person, how much you’re losing, if that bond breaks.
He doesn’t want to think about that. Instead Elio nuzzles in, lets himself be held and closes his eyes, sinking into the utter grayness behind. His body feels comfortably his own and comfortably Jean Louis’ at the same time. ]
It’s so you don’t leave.
[ A mutter, almost inaudible, but he lets Jean Louis have it anyway, this constant fear he nurtures behind his openness of approach. If not because of it. Because his openness changed something once, but hasn’t changed since. Elio still has to unlearn that being open means you lose.
He brushes his fingertips along the curve of Jean Louis’ skull. With him, he’s willing to be a student once more, even if he thought that time was long gone. The miracle is that they’re both staying now, long enough to be taught. ]