[ 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.
[ They make comfortable with each other and it’s not a hard feat, because they are comfortable with each other. Elio feels Jean Louis’ muscles flex and move beneath his lips as the other man folds his arms beneath his chin and pushes his hair out of his eyes, he has 90’s boy band hair, although he hides it well, but like this - freefalling? It’s on proud display, making Elio feel young again. Very queer, too.
He glances up at the side of the other man’s face, watching it disappear slowly while he dips lower and lower down across his back. The black ribbon tattoo pales in the light from the fish tank, looks like velvet or silk, soft. Elio licks along a particular intricate line that leads down over his ribs, waist, ending in a flourish above his buttocks. Along the way he maps out every little burn and scar. He won’t be arrogant and say he knows them all, but he does know the taste of them. They all taste like Jean Louis.
You can have it, he said and Elio breathes out heavily over his crack as he settles between his spread legs, a hint of balls further down. There’s the smell of sex and musk and ass thick in his nostrils and it’s making his cock weep. He grabs it hard around the base, as if to teach it a lesson, he’s also a teacher, after all, but then finds purchase with his knees and straightens up, balancing himself against the other man’s ass, pulling his buttocks apart. He’s all lubed up, glistening and wet.
Elio swallows hard. If you like it, Jean Louis said. ]
I like.
[ Just that.
Bending his neck, he presses his face into the other man’s crack and simply... parts his lips, still swollen from sucking cock moments earlier, closing them over the rim of Jean Louis’ asshole, tasting musk and depth, the synthetical note of lube and underneath, the most intimate, intimate scents you can get. With a whimper, he closes his mouth over his ass and sucks slightly, pushing his tongue over his opening a couple of times in quick succession. Oh.
[ Elio keeps going, traces his skin all the way down to the small of his waist and the journey itself settles in his nervous system like a slow, persistent kind of warmth, his limbs feeling heavy and tight from pleasure, simultaneously. He stays as he is, letting Elio claim as he wants, what he wants. For a moment, there's something distinctively otherworldly about them, he thinks, something about the way Elio pushes him past the boundaries of the reality he's always known, something about the way he, in turn, pushes Elio to take what he wants, to take and to enjoy and to please himself.
That thing about transactions, again, and it still doesn't feel precise enough, like he's trying to get a grip on something that ultimately keeps slipping from between his fingers. He's getting closer, though, he thinks. He's... getting a feel for it.
And then, Elio settles between his legs and fuck, he can feel how hot he is for this, how incredibly -- ]
Ah! Oh, fuck.
[ Elio pulls his buttocks apart, leans in and presses his soft, warm lips to the rim of his arsehole. He can't think. He can't speak. It's - lips opening and closing uselessly, he pushes the bridge of his nose against his forearms as the other man starts sucking and it's so close, the proximity feels absolute to a degree that he almost can't understand, it feels alien and new and utterly unexplored.
Breath stumbling out of him as Elio pushes his tongue over his rim a couple of times, he groans, loudly, and twists a little beneath him, incapable of staying completely still. Fuck. Fuck. What is this, what - ]
I - haven't. Either. You should know.
[ The revelation comes out in pants. He doesn't know why Elio should know. He doesn't know anything. His nerve endings seem to be lightening up like the fucking night sky, his toes curling and uncurling against the mattress. His cock is definitely weeping again. ]
[ In the end, it’s not really the taste that gets to him, though the taste is good, too, heavy and warm, no, it’s the way Jean Louis just gives himself over in response, little sounds of pleasurable surprise while Elio just opens him up, tongue dipping into his opening little by little. Going deeper, while Elio keeps the suction up, the tension, the vast amounts of bared nerves flittering in the air between them. He can feel the other man writhe and his cock jerks against his abdomen, wet-tipped and throbbing. He’ll have to touch himself soon. Soon, just... first...
Then, Jean Louis bursts out that he hasn’t either, before. As if a direct response to Elio asking him to make noise, be loud, he gives him this, facts and figures and Elio wants him to release all that, drop it for a moment. He wants him to feel himself so acutely that it’s all flesh and nothing more. Peaches and apricots. We don’t know what we’re doing, he thinks to himself, finally easing on the suction, pulling his mouth away with a wet popping sound, immediately after attacking Jean Louis’ ass again, licking broad trails over his quivering hole, tracing the rim, pushing his tongue in harshly to finish the motion. It’s tight and hot and he can feel the other man’s muscle tightening around the intrusion. The fucking motions are wet and easy, but insistent. Some force.
They don’t know what they’re doing, but they trust they’ll do right by each other, that’s the point.
Elio groans, reaching down and smearing precum all over his cockhead with one palm, giving himself some friction. It’s almost too much, but with Jean Louis, he’s always done too much very well, really. Because with Jean Louis it’s not only allowed, it’s encouraged, expected.
Wouldn’t Elio only be half the classical musician he is, if he didn’t take well to expectations? ]
[ Something about the way Elio fucks into him, his tongue wet and solid and slick, makes him lose track of himself. He groans again, loudly, the sound degenerating into some sort of moan that he can't be certain of and then, Elio groans too and keeps working him with his mouth and it's the most unbelievable thing he's ever experienced, at least in the area of pleasant things. His cock feels painfully hard now and he'd reach down to grab it if he could, he it didn't mean he'd have to re-arrange himself.
He doesn't want to. Maybe for the first time in his life, he wants to remain stationary.
Shifting, he pushes his hips against the mattress instead, small, aborted movements that don't amount to much of anything but it's enough to get the sensitive head of his cock, to get his foreskin rubbing against the mattress. He gasps, pushing his forehead against his forearms, staring at the shadows between himself and the pillow, his hair sticking to his brow still, too long, always too long. Elio's groaning, too, and he rises up on his elbows enough to twist his neck, catching a glimpse of the other man behind him. He's got one arm sticking out at an odd angle, clearly touching himself and that's too fucking much, that's --
With a harsh sound, choked and beyond his scope of definitions, he pushes down against the mattress again and comes, hard, almost overwhelmingly so, his arsehole clenching against Elio's lips, his forehead once again pressed hard against his arms. Everything in his mind is reduced to white noise, to the wetness of Elio's mouth and he's all body then, completely so, but his mind isn't trying to leave it behind in response and that part, at least, would've surprised him if he'd been conscious of it. ]
[ It begins like a tremble, Jean Louis’ hips rising off the mattress and then pushing back down, like he’s fucking into the layers, meeting their resistance desperately and it’s so utterly basic, Elio used to rub off on his bed like that when he was seventeen, that it goes straight in Elio’s balls, like a heavy tightness, iron cast around his fucking testicles. He moans, feels the other man fight his way up on his elbows and Elio follows the movement, fucking his asshole with tight little thrusts of his tongue, only slowly going deeper. The taste of lube is long gone. It’s all Jean Louis from here.
He both hears and feels him come, his climax a clench in his muscles, rhythmic tightening around the thickest part of his tongue and a roar in Elio’s ears as Jean Louis’ body works, spending itself, giving itself up, reduced to just this. This moment. This is Elio’s name in his mouth, even as he’s saying nothing coherent. This is Jean Louis taking him and returning, in kind. It’s so unbelievably hot that Elio has to grab his cock now, stroking himself just twice, three times and the cast on his balls all but explodes out of him. Shattering. Everything shatters. He whimpers loudly and does his best to finish Jean Louis off while his hips jerk helplessly and he’s coming all over the sheets.
Oh.
Oh.
Finally pulling away, his lips feeling even more swollen now and sticky from all kinds of stuff, he sits up, spent cock in his hand, just weighing its slowly softening length in his palm. He feels so close to the other man, so close, like Jean Louis has pulled him inside his body, effectively.
Like he does everything. Effectively.
Gently, he reaches out and runs a sweaty, trembling hand up the back of his thigh, careful not to curve his fingers, hand flat, so as not to tickle. ]
[ It seems to take him hours to re-settle in his mind, to put some thoughts together to form a basic, coherent whole. He blinks rapidly and licks his lips, feeling too dry and too wet all at once, his arsehole clenching a little. Empty. Yes. Of course, because Elio's...
He groans. Turns slowly, slowly onto his side at the feel of the other man's fingers running up the back of his thigh. He doesn't attempt to dislodge or evade the touch, small and gentle as it is - rather, he shifts to the side enough to get out of the wet spot, his cock leaving sticky trails of cum on the sheets as he moves. Resting on his hip, he looks down at Elio. Elio, who's well and truly flushed, his lips swollen, the smell of sex and musk heavy in the air around them.
Fuck, that was...
That was...
Staring at the other man for a long moment, he finally just sinks down onto his elbow and holds out one arm, gesturing for him to come, closer, just. They couldn't possibly get any closer, could they, than they were before? It feels impossible. But he's not one to chase mirages, Jean Louis, he prefers his goals big but tangible, the kind of shit you can aim for and achieve with the right strengths, the right cards.
Like this, he thinks closeness might even be worth a multitude of definitions, that he doesn't know what cards they're playing with or which rules, precisely, they're going to have to work around in order to get where they're meant to go. He really doesn't know. They have them, though, the cards. He yawns, his expression softening half a fraction.
[ Elio half-crawls over Jean Louis' one leg as the man starts to move, giving him room to roll over onto his side, watching him, the way he's sticky with his own cum and sweaty and the taste of his ass is fresh in Elio's mouth, still. This side of him? Elio loves it, the darkness and the musk and the ten thousand leagues that he's been plunged into, the both of them, probably, from the looks of it. There's such a thing as drowning and there are shipwrecks in these waters and Jean Louis is still catching himself, that much is obvious. Finding himself. Underwater excavations.
His father used to say Atlantis might just have been a Greek island, sunk by a volcanic eruption, though he'd always drunk a lot of wine when getting into that whole discussion.
They're not sinking, the two of them, he thinks as he moves up Jean Louis' body, lying down on his side, pressing in front-first against him, their flaccid cocks rubbing together which isn't the most comfortable and there's the wet spot, too, and in the morning, Jean Louis' cum will stick to Elio's skin, a thought he loves. They're claiming the sea, taking what they can from it. It's different.
Slow, long breaths, his lungs filling. His chest rising. His body satisfied. Elio rests his chin on Jean Louis' shoulder, slipping his arm around his waist, slowly caressing his back, the ribbons he can't see from here, but he could trace them by feel alone now. Little imperfections in the other man's skin. He exhales, tries to do it away from Jean Louis' face, but only just.
There's no unpalatable side to him, he thinks. That's a matter of wanting enough. And Elio wants, simple as that.
He wants Jean Louis, his Atlantises and everything. ]
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solosection) wrote2022-01-04 02:53 pm
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
He glances up at the side of the other man’s face, watching it disappear slowly while he dips lower and lower down across his back. The black ribbon tattoo pales in the light from the fish tank, looks like velvet or silk, soft. Elio licks along a particular intricate line that leads down over his ribs, waist, ending in a flourish above his buttocks. Along the way he maps out every little burn and scar. He won’t be arrogant and say he knows them all, but he does know the taste of them. They all taste like Jean Louis.
You can have it, he said and Elio breathes out heavily over his crack as he settles between his spread legs, a hint of balls further down. There’s the smell of sex and musk and ass thick in his nostrils and it’s making his cock weep. He grabs it hard around the base, as if to teach it a lesson, he’s also a teacher, after all, but then finds purchase with his knees and straightens up, balancing himself against the other man’s ass, pulling his buttocks apart. He’s all lubed up, glistening and wet.
Elio swallows hard. If you like it, Jean Louis said. ]
I like.
[ Just that.
Bending his neck, he presses his face into the other man’s crack and simply... parts his lips, still swollen from sucking cock moments earlier, closing them over the rim of Jean Louis’ asshole, tasting musk and depth, the synthetical note of lube and underneath, the most intimate, intimate scents you can get. With a whimper, he closes his mouth over his ass and sucks slightly, pushing his tongue over his opening a couple of times in quick succession. Oh.
Oh. ]
no subject
That thing about transactions, again, and it still doesn't feel precise enough, like he's trying to get a grip on something that ultimately keeps slipping from between his fingers. He's getting closer, though, he thinks. He's... getting a feel for it.
And then, Elio settles between his legs and fuck, he can feel how hot he is for this, how incredibly -- ]
Ah! Oh, fuck.
[ Elio pulls his buttocks apart, leans in and presses his soft, warm lips to the rim of his arsehole. He can't think. He can't speak. It's - lips opening and closing uselessly, he pushes the bridge of his nose against his forearms as the other man starts sucking and it's so close, the proximity feels absolute to a degree that he almost can't understand, it feels alien and new and utterly unexplored.
Breath stumbling out of him as Elio pushes his tongue over his rim a couple of times, he groans, loudly, and twists a little beneath him, incapable of staying completely still. Fuck. Fuck. What is this, what - ]
I - haven't. Either. You should know.
[ The revelation comes out in pants. He doesn't know why Elio should know. He doesn't know anything. His nerve endings seem to be lightening up like the fucking night sky, his toes curling and uncurling against the mattress. His cock is definitely weeping again. ]
no subject
Then, Jean Louis bursts out that he hasn’t either, before. As if a direct response to Elio asking him to make noise, be loud, he gives him this, facts and figures and Elio wants him to release all that, drop it for a moment. He wants him to feel himself so acutely that it’s all flesh and nothing more. Peaches and apricots. We don’t know what we’re doing, he thinks to himself, finally easing on the suction, pulling his mouth away with a wet popping sound, immediately after attacking Jean Louis’ ass again, licking broad trails over his quivering hole, tracing the rim, pushing his tongue in harshly to finish the motion. It’s tight and hot and he can feel the other man’s muscle tightening around the intrusion. The fucking motions are wet and easy, but insistent. Some force.
They don’t know what they’re doing, but they trust they’ll do right by each other, that’s the point.
Elio groans, reaching down and smearing precum all over his cockhead with one palm, giving himself some friction. It’s almost too much, but with Jean Louis, he’s always done too much very well, really. Because with Jean Louis it’s not only allowed, it’s encouraged, expected.
Wouldn’t Elio only be half the classical musician he is, if he didn’t take well to expectations? ]
no subject
He doesn't want to. Maybe for the first time in his life, he wants to remain stationary.
Shifting, he pushes his hips against the mattress instead, small, aborted movements that don't amount to much of anything but it's enough to get the sensitive head of his cock, to get his foreskin rubbing against the mattress. He gasps, pushing his forehead against his forearms, staring at the shadows between himself and the pillow, his hair sticking to his brow still, too long, always too long. Elio's groaning, too, and he rises up on his elbows enough to twist his neck, catching a glimpse of the other man behind him. He's got one arm sticking out at an odd angle, clearly touching himself and that's too fucking much, that's --
With a harsh sound, choked and beyond his scope of definitions, he pushes down against the mattress again and comes, hard, almost overwhelmingly so, his arsehole clenching against Elio's lips, his forehead once again pressed hard against his arms. Everything in his mind is reduced to white noise, to the wetness of Elio's mouth and he's all body then, completely so, but his mind isn't trying to leave it behind in response and that part, at least, would've surprised him if he'd been conscious of it. ]
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He both hears and feels him come, his climax a clench in his muscles, rhythmic tightening around the thickest part of his tongue and a roar in Elio’s ears as Jean Louis’ body works, spending itself, giving itself up, reduced to just this. This moment. This is Elio’s name in his mouth, even as he’s saying nothing coherent. This is Jean Louis taking him and returning, in kind. It’s so unbelievably hot that Elio has to grab his cock now, stroking himself just twice, three times and the cast on his balls all but explodes out of him. Shattering. Everything shatters. He whimpers loudly and does his best to finish Jean Louis off while his hips jerk helplessly and he’s coming all over the sheets.
Oh.
Oh.
Finally pulling away, his lips feeling even more swollen now and sticky from all kinds of stuff, he sits up, spent cock in his hand, just weighing its slowly softening length in his palm. He feels so close to the other man, so close, like Jean Louis has pulled him inside his body, effectively.
Like he does everything. Effectively.
Gently, he reaches out and runs a sweaty, trembling hand up the back of his thigh, careful not to curve his fingers, hand flat, so as not to tickle. ]
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He groans. Turns slowly, slowly onto his side at the feel of the other man's fingers running up the back of his thigh. He doesn't attempt to dislodge or evade the touch, small and gentle as it is - rather, he shifts to the side enough to get out of the wet spot, his cock leaving sticky trails of cum on the sheets as he moves. Resting on his hip, he looks down at Elio. Elio, who's well and truly flushed, his lips swollen, the smell of sex and musk heavy in the air around them.
Fuck, that was...
That was...
Staring at the other man for a long moment, he finally just sinks down onto his elbow and holds out one arm, gesturing for him to come, closer, just. They couldn't possibly get any closer, could they, than they were before? It feels impossible. But he's not one to chase mirages, Jean Louis, he prefers his goals big but tangible, the kind of shit you can aim for and achieve with the right strengths, the right cards.
Like this, he thinks closeness might even be worth a multitude of definitions, that he doesn't know what cards they're playing with or which rules, precisely, they're going to have to work around in order to get where they're meant to go. He really doesn't know. They have them, though, the cards. He yawns, his expression softening half a fraction.
Yeah.
They have them. ]
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His father used to say Atlantis might just have been a Greek island, sunk by a volcanic eruption, though he'd always drunk a lot of wine when getting into that whole discussion.
They're not sinking, the two of them, he thinks as he moves up Jean Louis' body, lying down on his side, pressing in front-first against him, their flaccid cocks rubbing together which isn't the most comfortable and there's the wet spot, too, and in the morning, Jean Louis' cum will stick to Elio's skin, a thought he loves. They're claiming the sea, taking what they can from it. It's different.
Slow, long breaths, his lungs filling. His chest rising. His body satisfied. Elio rests his chin on Jean Louis' shoulder, slipping his arm around his waist, slowly caressing his back, the ribbons he can't see from here, but he could trace them by feel alone now. Little imperfections in the other man's skin. He exhales, tries to do it away from Jean Louis' face, but only just.
There's no unpalatable side to him, he thinks. That's a matter of wanting enough. And Elio wants, simple as that.
He wants Jean Louis, his Atlantises and everything. ]