[ His eyes fall shut for a moment, savoring the contact like it's nothing he's ever felt before. Larus can't say that is true, but like his hunger, everything is iron-clad moderation. Still, Saiph's hands are like a brand against his skin, his own alarmingly cool and soaking up the heat as though it possesses a mind of its own, and he presses against his thigh, his chest, the heat that rolls off of him in waves. Worse than death, he thinks, is this personal hell where his desires can never be satisfied with something so simple. ]
You could have done that when you wanted hold my hand.
[ A pointed reminder of the text that started all of this, and then– then, he grips at Saiph's hair and kisses him.
It's biting, a ravenous thing that borders on how dangerous he can be. He doesn't allow thought to slip through the cracks as he moves, tasting him with his tongue and luring Saiph's closer to explore the sharpness of his teeth and the open pull of his mouth. Larus kisses like a hurricane, fast and harsh and hands slipping to pull at Saiph's jacket. Touching doesn't necessarily mean undressing, but he wants to see him, would think about really taking him apart if he wasn't so drunk on the idea of more. The need is catching, and Larus bends to it. ]
Not by the door. [ He pushes to drag him down the hallway, the safe house empty but for a few token pieces of furniture—a bed being one of them despite his distinct lack of needing to sleep. ]
[ sometimes saiph wonders how cruel and merciless god must truly be, to put an angel a mortal body and strand him on earth for an eternity. he wants and feels too much all the time, a torrential whirlwind of bone-deep need that spins circles around his every thought and action. nothing silences the roar in his head except three 25-ounce bottles of straight vodka, or this, the cool press of larus' skin against his skin, his tongue in his mouth, the familiar lull of his voice in his ear.
it's a weakness. it's shameful and human and he fucking hates it.
but he can't help it, either, following behind larus like a dying man seeking salvation. he doesn't quite allow him to reach the bed, clutching hard at his arm to pull him close and press his mouth to his throat. larus' clothes are quickly becoming an annoying nuisance so saiph yanks his shirt over his head, biting down on his bare shoulder and then following with a tender nuzzle into the hollow between his neck and collarbone. ]
Let me touch you. [ again, harshly and not really a request because he's not waiting for larus to respond; he hitches his leg back between his thighs and slots their hips together to rut up against his cock, once then twice, needy and frantic. ]
[ They're an equal balance, he thinks. Saiph rushes to devour, and Larus wants to savor, allowing him to do as he wants until he decides otherwise. It's somewhere between losing his shirt and the desperate way Saiph tries to crawl inside him, grasping as his wrists and using his body weight to barrel them backwards into the closest wall. If there'd been anything hanging from it, it might have shattered on the ground with the force he uses, but it's nothing in the scheme of things, eyes locked on Saiph's face and unmoving while he slowly begins to undress him. It borders on the side of torturous, turning Saiph's head to expose the length of his throat. Larus kisses at the pulse. Once, twice.
It takes every bit of control he has not to tear into him. ]
I'm not going anywhere. [ The reminder is subtle, though necessary.
Larus doesn't like to stay long in any one place, preferring the anonymity that comes with it, but he's made severe exceptions for Saiph as of late. Whatever they're doing, they can take their time doing it, and he wants to demonstrate that, shoving his hands up beneath his shirt to lightly drag his nails down over bare skin. Further and further until he's free of it and gripping him through the material of his pants, squeezing enough that he really feels it. His lips ghost his ear. ] So touch me like you mean it. [ But that doesn't mean he's going to surrender completely to him either. ]
[ saiph wants him desperately; it's a sickness crawling sweet and slow through his bloodstream, and the infection spreads deeper whenever they come together like this, with larus' hands on his body and his teeth too damn close to this throat. larus doesn't have a heartbeat anymore but saiph touches him like he can still feel it, palm flat on his chest as he pushes him back, stepping away from the closet and wrapping himself around him.
his fingers trace the arc of his spine, from scapula to waist, impossibly tender to counter his rougher and less forgiving mouth. ]
I want to feel you on me.
[ obviously, in any which way, up the wall or on the bed, murmured between little biting kisses to his neck and shoulder. saiph's nature is to take until he's satisfied ( he never is ) and leave nothing behind for anyone, just razed husks and hollow shells filled only with his memory. he wants larus' tongue in his mouth; he wants his teeth in his pulse; he wants him all around him, on his cock, inside him; he wants to ruin him for the next person who looks his way with lowered lashes, shy and coy all at once. mine, in the bruising press of his fingers down larus' back, in the rough tug on his belt, popping open the front button his trousers.
he's impatient, only tugging his trousers and underwear half-way down his hips, enough that he can circle his hand around his cock, squeezing firmly. his forehead drops against larus' shoulder, stroking him dry for a few uncomfortable seconds before he pulls away and shoves larus toward the bed. ]
So tell me you want me, too.
[ selfish and needy, stripping off the remainder of his clothes and sweeping the fabric into a crumpled pile beside him. ]
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no subject
You could have done that when you wanted hold my hand.
[ A pointed reminder of the text that started all of this, and then– then, he grips at Saiph's hair and kisses him.
It's biting, a ravenous thing that borders on how dangerous he can be. He doesn't allow thought to slip through the cracks as he moves, tasting him with his tongue and luring Saiph's closer to explore the sharpness of his teeth and the open pull of his mouth. Larus kisses like a hurricane, fast and harsh and hands slipping to pull at Saiph's jacket. Touching doesn't necessarily mean undressing, but he wants to see him, would think about really taking him apart if he wasn't so drunk on the idea of more. The need is catching, and Larus bends to it. ]
Not by the door. [ He pushes to drag him down the hallway, the safe house empty but for a few token pieces of furniture—a bed being one of them despite his distinct lack of needing to sleep. ]
no subject
it's a weakness. it's shameful and human and he fucking hates it.
but he can't help it, either, following behind larus like a dying man seeking salvation. he doesn't quite allow him to reach the bed, clutching hard at his arm to pull him close and press his mouth to his throat. larus' clothes are quickly becoming an annoying nuisance so saiph yanks his shirt over his head, biting down on his bare shoulder and then following with a tender nuzzle into the hollow between his neck and collarbone. ]
Let me touch you. [ again, harshly and not really a request because he's not waiting for larus to respond; he hitches his leg back between his thighs and slots their hips together to rut up against his cock, once then twice, needy and frantic. ]
no subject
It takes every bit of control he has not to tear into him. ]
I'm not going anywhere. [ The reminder is subtle, though necessary.
Larus doesn't like to stay long in any one place, preferring the anonymity that comes with it, but he's made severe exceptions for Saiph as of late. Whatever they're doing, they can take their time doing it, and he wants to demonstrate that, shoving his hands up beneath his shirt to lightly drag his nails down over bare skin. Further and further until he's free of it and gripping him through the material of his pants, squeezing enough that he really feels it. His lips ghost his ear. ] So touch me like you mean it. [ But that doesn't mean he's going to surrender completely to him either. ]
no subject
his fingers trace the arc of his spine, from scapula to waist, impossibly tender to counter his rougher and less forgiving mouth. ]
I want to feel you on me.
[ obviously, in any which way, up the wall or on the bed, murmured between little biting kisses to his neck and shoulder. saiph's nature is to take until he's satisfied ( he never is ) and leave nothing behind for anyone, just razed husks and hollow shells filled only with his memory. he wants larus' tongue in his mouth; he wants his teeth in his pulse; he wants him all around him, on his cock, inside him; he wants to ruin him for the next person who looks his way with lowered lashes, shy and coy all at once. mine, in the bruising press of his fingers down larus' back, in the rough tug on his belt, popping open the front button his trousers.
he's impatient, only tugging his trousers and underwear half-way down his hips, enough that he can circle his hand around his cock, squeezing firmly. his forehead drops against larus' shoulder, stroking him dry for a few uncomfortable seconds before he pulls away and shoves larus toward the bed. ]
So tell me you want me, too.
[ selfish and needy, stripping off the remainder of his clothes and sweeping the fabric into a crumpled pile beside him. ]