[ 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
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]