[ They've reached intermission without either of them coming in their trousers which Lucifer regards as quite a power show, just - the sheer, mental aptitude required not to is bloody impressive at this point. He's rock hard again which has been more or less the status quo since they left the apartment, Elio's trousers snuck around his buttocks, the outline of the buttplug faintly visible mostly because Lucifer knew - oh, did he know - about it. He's had fun edging the other man throughout dinner, an experience only topped by getting him off in the restroom before dessert.
This beautiful man.
Right now, Elio's pulling at his hand a bit, gently, trying to get his fingers closer to his crotch. His voice, when he speaks, is full of air. Lucifer smiles and glances sideways at him, gaze roaming over the bulge in his trousers, the flush in his cheeks. His own cock gives an interested jerk. He groans, shifts a bit in his seat. He'd go down on him right here if it wouldn't get them thrown out on their arses, thus missing out on the second half of Aranya's surprisingly worthwhile recital. Shifting, he runs his palm up the inside of Elio's thigh, obligingly, pressing his palm very gently over his crotch. He doesn't rub or grab - instead, he simply curls his fingers over him, feeling his heat underneath, the hardness of his cock. He thinks about that buttplug, lodged inside him, about the way it must be pressing against his prostate.
Shift, shift, shift. ]
It was atmospheric. [ A loud, outdrawn breath. ] Fuck, darling, I can't actually think about that. Can you? Did you even hear anything?
[ Carefully, no rubbing or grabbing, Lucifer runs his hand up the inside of Elio's thigh and simply curls his fingers over his cock, the hard bulge in his trousers, clearly just feeling him out, the weight of him, how he's all but quivering from arousal at this point. Elio wants to lean in and lick his face, just... feel his stubble against his tongue, kiss his ear, bury his nose in his hair. Mess him up good, the way he's messing Elio up good now. Instead Elio turns his head and looks at him in the golden light from the overhead chandeliers, how he's breathing ragged and trying his best to focus on a recital that's not even to his taste. No showstoppers. ]
If I don't move, it's almost unnoticeable. [ The plug, he means. The pressure of Lucifer's hand is making him feel overheated and restless. ] It's just the sense of stretch and fullness, nothing more, but every time I happen to change my weight distribution - [ And like that, he shifts from one buttock to the other, effectively pushing up against the other man's hand, the buttplug in turn pressing over his prostate and this time, he gasps, a bit louder. ] - every time I forget and lean forward to catch the way she plays up the tempi, it's there - [ He bites his lip, inhales deep through his nose, exhales through an open mouth. ] - and it's pressing inside me just right, so I forget.
[ For some reason, he's reminded of their first time, the phone sex, listening to Lucifer's voice, hearing him come. It feels like such a long time ago, yet it isn't. As always, they create their own bubble, don't they, out of time and space. ]
About the music, Lucifer. I forget about her. All I can think about is how I want it to be you, I want it to be you inside me.
[ On the last couple of words, he kind of loses his breath, going full-on airy and wanton-sounding. He thinks it's fitting, because he feels exactly like that right now, airy and wanton. Desperate. He looks forward to Aranya's Waldstein, but he's glad it's the first of the two sonatas coming up, because he imagines he might be too horny to hear anything after the first fifteen minutes have come and gone.
Seeing as he's looking forward to being fucked by Lucifer even more. ]
[ Elio responds by telling him what's basically a pornographic anecdote about the buttplug and the fun he's inevitably getting each time he forgets about it. Lucifer licks his lips, like his teeth might actually be watering, and when Elio pushes up lightly against his palm, he closes his hand more firmly over him, feeling his hard-on moving beneath the fabric of his trousers. He thinks, briefly, about just getting him off like this, leaving a big, all-too-visible spot of cum on his trousers for all to see. His own cock is leaking a bit, he can tell, though the wet spot's not as noticeable in his dark suit. He shifts. Spreads his legs a little, just giving Elio a nice view of what's happening here.
I want it to be you says Elio, inside me and thank you, they're in complete fucking agreement there. Sexy as it's been, watching Elio making it through dinner like a thirsty man, scrambling his way across the desert, that handjob in the bathroom really wasn't enough by far. He very purposefully doesn't reach for himself because that won't be enough, either, and he's not made it through the last eons by settling for scraps.
Instead, he breathes out slowly. Deliberately. Then, he curves his hand around what he can grasp of Elio's cock, feeling the shaft out, the fabric stretching between his fingers. He could buzz him, of course, if that was the sort of game they're playing but it isn't. Instead, he tries out something else - something a little new but suitable, he thinks, for what they're actually doing: ]
Keep still.
[ He turns his gaze away, looking over the stage instead. Seeing nothing, if he's honest, and he always is. ]
I'll give you my cock when we get home if you can stay still for the rest of the performance. [ A small squeeze. ] Like this.
That's always the criteria of success, for Elio. Getting people to answer, getting people to respond, so that he isn't yelling into an abyss. He's been yelling into abysses so many times, he knows the difference, between that and this, Lucifer's hand tightening around his cock, holding him. Still, it means. Elio's had people leave and he's had people chase him off, being met somewhere in the middle is rare, at least with the kind of men he's used to - well, calling for. Being with.
Giving himself to.
At Lucifer's words, he pauses completely, instantly. It's almost a freeze, if he'd been a fumbling virgin who couldn't recognize a domination scenario when presented with it, that would certainly be what it was, right? Instead it's like a shut-down in his body first, then in his mind, secondly. His shoulders relax, the tension in his muscles seeping out a bit. His entire lower body is aching and throbbing and screaming for him to move, push, take, but as long as he stays like this, the buttplug's just intrusion and stretch, nothing more. Lucifer's hand is just pressure and heat, nothing more, he can take it. He can bear this.
Elio glances sideways at the other man, lets his eyes run down his front, to the enormous bulge in his pants and it's so evident, so visible how he wants him, how he wants to give him his cock when they get back that Elio's own cock actually jerks against his palm. Oh. Like this? Just like this?
Swallowing hard, he fixes his eyes on the stage. People are beginning to return to their seats, although they don't truly register, as if they're in another world and Elio's here, wherever the heat of Lucifer's voice has taken him. The weight of his palm. Commanding, commanding. ]
I'll be still.
[ And he is, very still, very good, his voice only shaking a little bit, as the lights start dimming above their heads. ]
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no subject
This beautiful man.
Right now, Elio's pulling at his hand a bit, gently, trying to get his fingers closer to his crotch. His voice, when he speaks, is full of air. Lucifer smiles and glances sideways at him, gaze roaming over the bulge in his trousers, the flush in his cheeks. His own cock gives an interested jerk. He groans, shifts a bit in his seat. He'd go down on him right here if it wouldn't get them thrown out on their arses, thus missing out on the second half of Aranya's surprisingly worthwhile recital. Shifting, he runs his palm up the inside of Elio's thigh, obligingly, pressing his palm very gently over his crotch. He doesn't rub or grab - instead, he simply curls his fingers over him, feeling his heat underneath, the hardness of his cock. He thinks about that buttplug, lodged inside him, about the way it must be pressing against his prostate.
Shift, shift, shift. ]
It was atmospheric. [ A loud, outdrawn breath. ] Fuck, darling, I can't actually think about that. Can you? Did you even hear anything?
no subject
If I don't move, it's almost unnoticeable. [ The plug, he means. The pressure of Lucifer's hand is making him feel overheated and restless. ] It's just the sense of stretch and fullness, nothing more, but every time I happen to change my weight distribution - [ And like that, he shifts from one buttock to the other, effectively pushing up against the other man's hand, the buttplug in turn pressing over his prostate and this time, he gasps, a bit louder. ] - every time I forget and lean forward to catch the way she plays up the tempi, it's there - [ He bites his lip, inhales deep through his nose, exhales through an open mouth. ] - and it's pressing inside me just right, so I forget.
[ For some reason, he's reminded of their first time, the phone sex, listening to Lucifer's voice, hearing him come. It feels like such a long time ago, yet it isn't. As always, they create their own bubble, don't they, out of time and space. ]
About the music, Lucifer. I forget about her. All I can think about is how I want it to be you, I want it to be you inside me.
[ On the last couple of words, he kind of loses his breath, going full-on airy and wanton-sounding. He thinks it's fitting, because he feels exactly like that right now, airy and wanton. Desperate. He looks forward to Aranya's Waldstein, but he's glad it's the first of the two sonatas coming up, because he imagines he might be too horny to hear anything after the first fifteen minutes have come and gone.
Seeing as he's looking forward to being fucked by Lucifer even more. ]
no subject
I want it to be you says Elio, inside me and thank you, they're in complete fucking agreement there. Sexy as it's been, watching Elio making it through dinner like a thirsty man, scrambling his way across the desert, that handjob in the bathroom really wasn't enough by far. He very purposefully doesn't reach for himself because that won't be enough, either, and he's not made it through the last eons by settling for scraps.
Instead, he breathes out slowly. Deliberately. Then, he curves his hand around what he can grasp of Elio's cock, feeling the shaft out, the fabric stretching between his fingers. He could buzz him, of course, if that was the sort of game they're playing but it isn't. Instead, he tries out something else - something a little new but suitable, he thinks, for what they're actually doing: ]
Keep still.
[ He turns his gaze away, looking over the stage instead. Seeing nothing, if he's honest, and he always is. ]
I'll give you my cock when we get home if you can stay still for the rest of the performance. [ A small squeeze. ] Like this.
no subject
That's always the criteria of success, for Elio. Getting people to answer, getting people to respond, so that he isn't yelling into an abyss. He's been yelling into abysses so many times, he knows the difference, between that and this, Lucifer's hand tightening around his cock, holding him. Still, it means. Elio's had people leave and he's had people chase him off, being met somewhere in the middle is rare, at least with the kind of men he's used to - well, calling for. Being with.
Giving himself to.
At Lucifer's words, he pauses completely, instantly. It's almost a freeze, if he'd been a fumbling virgin who couldn't recognize a domination scenario when presented with it, that would certainly be what it was, right? Instead it's like a shut-down in his body first, then in his mind, secondly. His shoulders relax, the tension in his muscles seeping out a bit. His entire lower body is aching and throbbing and screaming for him to move, push, take, but as long as he stays like this, the buttplug's just intrusion and stretch, nothing more. Lucifer's hand is just pressure and heat, nothing more, he can take it. He can bear this.
Elio glances sideways at the other man, lets his eyes run down his front, to the enormous bulge in his pants and it's so evident, so visible how he wants him, how he wants to give him his cock when they get back that Elio's own cock actually jerks against his palm. Oh. Like this? Just like this?
Swallowing hard, he fixes his eyes on the stage. People are beginning to return to their seats, although they don't truly register, as if they're in another world and Elio's here, wherever the heat of Lucifer's voice has taken him. The weight of his palm. Commanding, commanding. ]
I'll be still.
[ And he is, very still, very good, his voice only shaking a little bit, as the lights start dimming above their heads. ]