[ he’s not much of a drinker at all to know that there is actually a drink called—
anyway, he’s sliding in, in slow motion, nice and easy . . . it looks like lazarus isn’t going to be slipping away too soon, once shōyō’s arms have found a drape to latch on to. ]
[ oh, oh—oh. the tips of shoyo's ears have already blasted a rusty red; he could feel the prickling heat beneath his eyes as the tickle of a thumb moves past a barrier in a crafty way. his attention cannot, for the life of him, leave the target sight: the profile of a slender face he's managed to keep at eye level because he's standing on his toes. closer also means they are very . . . back to chest, at this point, and—
this is all suggestions that cannot and do not go over his head. ]
Oh— [ he's struck speechless, and ends up saying, completely and utterly requited: ] You went hard there.
[ both a joke and in good spirits to keep their wordplay competitions alive, even . . . through this. a brave, but major dork. ]
—Wanna try something?
[ bright, elated, and definitely nervous was the bundle he was vibrating through, already growing hot all over. he's never done anything, with anyone.
[L smiles through a groaning chuckle, both humoring and appreciating Shoyo's team spirit when it comes to word banter. On another day, he'd deduct points for lifting essentially the same pun that L used, but it's Shoyo's birthday. He can be generous and giving in more ways than just one.]
I came here hoping that we could. Would you like to? Come, here, that is...
[He turns so that they're facing each other, hooking his other thumb in Shoyo's waistband near the other man's hipbone and the cut, chiseled muscle over it.
It seems like the wrong time to say that while he's never done this, he has spent a long time reading about it in the Archives. An absurdly long time; in all but manual practice, he's an absolute expert on the subject.]
[ alas. shōyō: a complete and utter fool in both practice and theoretical studies. oh, he knew, you know, a basic degree on information that was no more than universal. you do the thing, the thing feels good. ]
Yes— [ his voice cracks into a half-barked chuckle, now face to face, chest to chest once he’s spun to their fronts on the tips of his toes. shōyō follows suit, hands on the man’s hips and sucking in his lips in a soft little inward bite when they go to the small of lazarus’ back. bare, the subtle curve there. the way he just soft of . . . fits in front of him, nothing but from to front. agh. ] If, if that’s a we, y’know, [ his abdomen tickles, slimming with fine hairs that train down as he inhales and tells himself to stupidly stop talking. that much. although he can add, in a hush against the shell of his lover’s ear: ] right here.
[ shoyo is no stranger to a frightening thrill, even though his have generally always been about opposing teams, rivalries and being broadcasted on live tv. someone actually wanting his signature for the first time was so startling as much as exciting that he was afraid it'd come out with the worst of mistakes: too blocky or having the tip of the marker getting caught somewhere like fabric, or ruining paper.
it was alright, but it was the one he was most proud of. the rest were stroked with growing ease. syoyo, the h to his name upside-down to give it personality— and a smiley face at the end.
it brings him here, right now, sharing in the first-time jitters, it seems— but actually glad to be. heat was forming and tension was building, his heart practically drumming out of his chest with anticipation urges him the divide his glances between lazarus' gaze and his lips, before speaking quietly, but resolute in them: ]
Yeah. You and me.
[ the walls, the counter, the table—? and no one else. shoyo adjusts his nose to the side lazarus' to press forth and kiss him, tender and delighted. ]
[A great number of people in L's world probably want his signature. A great many also want to murder him outright, making it dangerous for anyone to know who he is, meaning that even someone knowing to ask would be alarming. He's always been bemused by what he considers easy celebrity, the relative certainty that one can exist in a world where one is seen, and not immediately targeted for elimination by a significant portion of the world's population.
Shoyo doesn't know, of course. He's taken great lengths to keep this from Shoyo, along with most of the details of what he did. He's maybe-French, maybe-CSI, definitely always happy to change the subject back to volleyball and listen raptly with secretive, liquid-dark eyes.
They've been here before, he thinks as there's another entity entirely present, inhabiting the blinking and glancing spaces between their bodies no matter how small. They'd been interrupted then, and perhaps carrying that memory, shy about pressing to that point again, but what if they had? What if they'd been able to?
He tilts his chin down so he can peer through his dark lashes and shaggy bangs at Shoyo, nodding, agreeing to his first time doing something he never has, that amounting to "nearly everything."
He's not the only virgin here, but he's probably the one who's done the most research. So much that he'd felt his trousers tightening in the Archives, face warming as he reached for the nearest unrelated volume to press into his lap. The title had been, conveniently, A Diversion!, by Sir Ruptishus Péne.
He reaches for Shoyo's hand, uncurling his index finger, the same heat creeping toward his cheekbones.]
Let me...
[He leans forward, taking the finger into his mouth to the second knuckle. He's demure about it, almost delicate, running his tongue along the underside of the digit, slowly circling his tongue around the volleyball player's fingertip.]
[ shōyō came terribly unprepared. eager, with a reliance on whatever “felt” right and perhaps following a lead. his hand is being guided, guided to . . . ]
Ah— [ more like an ah? curious— until realization sets, and so does a wetness that slips to the middle joints of his fingers, ] Oh, [ the words, they escape him like a fleeing thing caught in a trap and running wild— only he doesn’t have to run from this, oh no, he hardly wants to do such a thing! the brick red color on his face invades and creeps down his neck. he feels a shiver that starts at his back, ends at his scalp and remains as a heated base at the very apex of his thighs. a start to the fact that this has become a turn on, with how the other’s tongue, hot and moist curl up and around—
shōyō feels his throat dry up. in a very good way. oh, is this how one thirsts—? if imagination had been the trigger, it was working undeniably well. ]
Is that what you’ll do—?
[ he doesn’t put his own breaks on and does not, thankfully, forget that there is no space to keep them apart. it was impossible to forget when the burn between his legs was getting his heart to start its race— all urged by the friction he beckons to create. just a simple pull of the other’s hips inward, and pushing his forward. ]
[L's keeps his gaze down, dark lashes grazing his cheekbones as he nods. When he draws back to speak, he glances up, spreading the slickness over the tip of Shōyō's finger with his own thumb.]
I'm going to take your knees out, so... why don't you lie down for this? The champagne can wait.
[ the my gods will never quite stop doing laps in his head, will they? shoyo feels another tingling slide rise up his spine and burst with the thrill of a great hunt— there is a hit out for him and lazarus is definitely going to take the bounty.
going to take your knees out. take all of him out. shoyo's eyes are growing wide with the rush, and in his quick stumbling he finds a chair to clatter out from underneath the kitchen table—
and sits on the table, instead, pressing slick fingertips into plush lips up to their delicate corners. ]
[The teasing is gentle and playful; this is a side of L that isn't typical to see, but has probably always existed, closely guarded and carefully protected. It's not something everyone can see, after all, because then they'd treat him like other soft, meek, and fragile things.
He brushes up alongside one of Shoyo's thighs, allowing him to press closer to his warm, bare torso for a soft, slow kiss on the mouth as tugs at Shoyo's waistband, beginning to shuck it down lower on his hips. The chill might be startling, but only for a moment, because L's hands warm nicely with the close contact of lips and shared breath. His grasp is also unexpectedly firm and sure, for someone who holds most items in a most finicky and absurd way.]
[ the best and possibly the oddest sensation could be allowing foreign hands to touch you. it was thrilling and, believe it or not, actually scary. he’s never had anyone do it after all, and it makes his heart skyrocket with its skips. shōyō’s breath hitches and holds as they share a sloping kiss once skin is no longer covered by fabric. bare, right there, for a moment— then cupped by heat to an already heated spot.
its impossible not to feel even the slightest bit tense, despite his absolute wish for this. that’s a hand, there, on a part of him that pulses. he realizes the strain in his shoulders and tries to ease up with every slip of his tongue and coax apart from his mouth. steady. feel it. enjoy it.
enjoy every bit of him.
he cups lazarus’s face to bring them to a starting point. he starts with a drag down to his neck, the bone of his collar, under his chin with both thumbs— next would be underneath his shirt. fingers adept in serving balls presses to the softness of his belly and rides up until the fabric hikes past his ribs. ]
[L's prepared for this, mentally rehearsing it to the point where he's sure he could hit all the beats, go through the paces, make sure everything falls neatly into place as planned and all the peaks and ebbs of pleasure are right on cue.
He freezes up a bit, now, because somehow he'd never really thought about his own clothes coming off. In response he squeezes Shoyo just a little harder, as if to make sure what's firm and ready doesn't deflate limply at the sight of what he imagines must be a lot like a bird with all of its feathers plucked.
He eats more nutritious food when he's around Shoyo; he's probably turned those nutrients into a bit of light muscle with the intense workouts their dates often culminate in, but he carries years of covering a frame that looks shocking in extremely baggy clothing and curling up tightly, his folded legs forming a fortress for his prominent ribs.
He's about to protest, push Shoyo's hands away, insist that it's his birthday and he's not meant to do any work. He thinks that making Shoyo pant and shake would satisfy him more than losing control so profoundly in front of another human being, when his body feels disconnected from him in so many ways. It's a hindrance, something that gets tired and hungry and messy and sick, and it's a complex private process to even feelShoyo's hands against his skin, as more than objects pressing against another object.
His breath hitches, because he's had more skin-on-skin contact in the last month than he has over the rest of his entire life. The things he touch have never touched back before, and it forces him to reckon with the fact that he is not touching a "thing", but a person, who doesn't struggle the same way to treat others as human.
He tries not to be too abrupt in his descent. He tries to make it seem perfectly natural when he pulls away from that touch, a progression and not a retreat. His kisses are placed on Shoyo's thigh now; maybe there's a trace of an apology in one or two of them, but he doesn't want to give Shoyo time to think too much about it. He doesn't want Shoyo to have the capacity to think at all, very soon.]
[ it may be a sign for lazarus that he's done it correctly when shoyo doesn't seem to notice, and instead takes the dip down as it outwardly seemed to be: gradual. he follows, of course, follows shortly behind in a hungry way until his hands could no longer reach. ah, damn it! but in a seeking way to satiate a curious appetite. he wanted to see and feel, too—
but this was abruptly distracting to that fun little aw ready to drop from his tongue— it actually comes out as an aw—ah. the pecks were electric, and his thighs were . . . something! tan line and thicc. the new, exploring contact, especially how close he was and how low he was and, oh, this view from above, it made his budding growth lift higher. he was brick red as is, his breathing still under control— but not for long.
he's watching his partner quite intently and causes the table to creak when he presses his weight on it. there is one thing he could still do, still keep his hands on shaggy black hair, starting from the side of the face and cheekbones. ]
[Shoyo's fingers grip L's hair, and he wonders if they'll tighten soon, holding him in place. He doubts it'll be necessary, but then again...]
Oh? Thank you...
[He pauses just long enough to answer.]
It turns out there are some things that you can learn from reading books, alone.
[He's worried, nevertheless, about his gag reflex. Does that go away with practice and conditioning, two things he's never actually had?
Shoyo doesn't have anything to compare this to; you could ask for so much worse. Don't forget that.
His gaze lowers, and with it his dark lashes, a sharp contrast with his pale cheekbones. He holds Shoyo firm in his right hand, the other pressing at his thigh, and he carefully begins to take the urgent length into his mouth, thinking of bananas and popsicles and all manner of oblong snacks. None of those pulse, of course; none of those feel pain when bitten, or pleasure when licked. None of them are blood and red and warm, but feeling it so close, and pulling fuller and nearer, makes him more aware of the connection between mind and body that so often evades him. He's stirring, too, secretly but not unnoticeably. He squeezes at the solid base, taking Shoyo as far back toward his throat as he can before pulling halfway back, his fingers taking advantage of the new slickness.]
[ shoyo didn’t have any words for the moment lips encircled his length and left it in a hot, wet place, with pressure and movement, temperature and friction— holy shit? maybe so. shōyō fights the urge to roll his head back, reminding himself to keep his eyes open and be present, since, he wouldn’t want to get so caught up that he’d focus singularly on pleasure.
he’s glad he did. he could have this picture in his mind forever, now. his hand, cradling the curve of his partners head and tousled hair sliding through his fingers. the tips of his digits press into lazarus’ scalp for a delighting knead, surprised that he could actually make the sound he just did as he spoke the shaken, cracking words: ]
They have books oooh crap, [ instruction books pop into a thought for only an instant before lazarus kindly shrouds the rest. he’d probably feel him beginning firm generously once his hand has settled on a better grasp. one stroke up and lazarus’ tongue would be gifted with a drop, just a drop, of something thin and sweet.
shoyo gasps, but allows the short hitch to trickle out into a breathy laugh. ]
[L agrees; maybe a little bob of his very busy head is discernible, but another part of him selfishly wonders what it would be like to discuss something with Shoyo that they both have read. Would it be intellectually rewarding? Would he learn something new? He settles on the notion that he would at least hear a different perspective, but it takes longer for him to work his way around to that than it would for someone like, say, Light Yagami. An intellectual equal is something he's always hungry for, but Shoyo isn't alone in the world for not drawing even with his ideal. Most people can't; L's largely alone, that way.
He focuses on not feeling alone, now, with a warm cock in his mouth and the appreciative moans of his partner encouraging technique he's diligently studied before this point. This is another human being, one who thinks highly of him, admires him, and wants to please him, too. What more could he possibly want?
He's lucky to have this. He lets that thought form a pearl, nestling it for safekeeping in the front pocket of his mind as he works the mechanical components, connecting them, taking more time than he needs to for one long, slow, indulgent stroke.
He knows, from his studies, that stimulation is important, but variety is what turns simple pleasure into delight. His left hand slides from Shoyo's thigh toward his toned buttock, squeezing, digging in uneven fingernails as he takes Shoyo deeper, opening and relaxing his throat the way he's practiced with bananas.
He's learned the dimensions of his own mouth and throat, the place where his hard palate gives way to soft, and then to velar and glottal and uvular. He can envision it in his mind's eye, with the detachment of a spectator, even as he feels the blunt nudging of firm flesh against an impulse that makes him want to swallow.
He will, he's sure. He's decided upon it in no uncertain terms. He'd just prefer to refrain until he actually needs to.]
[ shoyo had the drawback of being an intellectual only where his sport was concerned. how many books has he read about meditation, the physiology of a good night's sleep, nutrition, biomechanics, and one center of balance. languages. volleyball monthly. so on and so forth! he could go on about that sweet spot. fine literature, mathematics— not so much. too active of a man to find enough time to relax and read a biography, or fantasy, although if given the instigation he'd surely want to give it a try.
he was getting too hot, here. he felt his cock pulsing and begging to have mercy, inclined and high in his throat, feeling the sweet, sweet pressure of being squeezed so gingerly between soft, slick tissue and only the reminiscent brushing of teeth protected by soft lips. shoyo feels that prickling heat beginning to rise too high. his cheeks burn, the apex of his thighs do the same, building up a tremendous tickling that— ]
—Wait, [ it's too soon, oh no it's way too soon. shoyo tenses from head to toe and could feel the curl of his digits, high and low, in his shoes and tousled in black hair. he wants to pull back he wants to stop he wants to— ] hold up, holdupholdupholdup—
[ continue, and lazarus could easily guess the repercussions. ]
[L considers himself a merciful man, and all systematic dispatch and goal-oriented achievement, he is prepared to make sure that Shoyo is ended, very completely and with sublime happiness.
That's why he's surprised when Shoyo asks him to stop. He does so as soon as he's registered the curl of Shoyo's fingers and the sound of his choked voice.
He raises his hollow eyes, uncertain, trying to figure out what kind of partner would ask not to come. Isn't that the goal? Not necessarily a speed-run, but it's some kind of achievement, right?]
Hey, uh... is everything OK?
[A sleeve comes quickly to his chin to wipe saliva, pre-cum, any remnants from view. L's not vain, but he seems to adhere to a certain standard of decorum when it comes to having things on his face. His eyes flick between Shoyo's flushed face and a cock that seems uncomfortably hard, still grasped in a loosened right hand.]
[ he's swollen and thicker than he's ever felt himself, seen himself, the tickling, pooling pressure at the base of him declining from the rapid oncoming almost-release. he just thought about this. he just thought about this, and first of all it was coming unbelievably fast, but! ]
I forgot to ask where I should— Go? [ is it impolite to shoot one in your boyfriend's mouth if they hadn't planned for it? huffing and between ragged breaths, shoyo keeps stupidly talking: ] I didn't know if I could, like, do it, if you weren't expecting it, and—
[L's large, dark eyes just stare for a moment, at Shoyo breathing hard and thinking to ask about a logistical issue, the propriety of it, the thoughtfulness of every possible emission.
He offers a slight smile, because laughing would be unkind; no response at all would be cruel.]
From the beginning, Shoyo... I was expecting "it."
[He says this gently, as if to point out the slight ridiculousness of putting something loaded in one's mouth, fiddling around with the trigger, and not expecting something to come out eventually.]
I'd prefer for it not to be in my hair, or on my face. Otherwise... I don't prefer or oppose anything else, but the neatest outcome seems to be finishing inside. So... I'll continue, then? If that's OK?
[He kisses the tip of Shoyo's cock, pressing it with his tongue and starting to take it back into his mouth, his grasp firming once more around its length.]
[ at the very least, lazarus has helped in not allowing him to feel stupid about the question. being on the same page was important, wasn't it? and if that was all under mutual agreement and he was sure of that— novice mistakes be damned. or maybe, forgiven. shoyo nods with flush rusty cheeks ready to look purplish in their deepened hue, but the corners of his bitten lips are curving upward and abashedly showing more teeth. ]
Okay. Yeah, I just wanted to . . . [ a shiver, brief, small but visible in the pause he gives erupts from the kiss to his susceptible member. ] Make sure, good to, good to knoh—
[ and that's the end of the conversation for him, shortly cut but sweetly taking his breath away, the chill from being out in the air and slick is enveloped with wet heat and gently pressured lips. no more interruptions this time. ]
[The more L thinks of it (and he can think, like this, it's in fact impossible for him to turn off the impulse), he's glad and grateful that Shoyo cared to ask. It says something about his partner, so much that L can't help but put his boyish virtue on even more of a pedestal.
He hums his understanding and acceptance, quickening the pace, the gentle vacuum in his mouth and throat dark and waiting as his left hand presses reassuringly against the other man's ribs.]
[ shōyō allows this to, as he had asked from the beginning, to finish him, and god had it been a climb. it wasn’t a difficult one, to get back into focus, now when he was so thoroughly teased to the point that, could he really meander his thoughts over to anything else? not with the hair between his fingers, a scalp being massaged and accompanying his dips up and down his slicked cock, pulsating in his mouth with each stroke from the base to the shaft. with eyes on the man and highly, highly visual (lazarus would notice, it’s not just his eyes shoyo was after), what softly dribbles from his mouth his an open gape.
the tremble and strain underneath was significant. shōyō never knew there was such a sound in him when it burst from his throat hoarse, high and fluttering with the highest chime of ecstasy. with one of lazarus’ deeper intakes, lips so tenderly sweet with his friction, he spills himself into the mouth that cups him. his knees give, his legs want to buckle down. when he pours, he feels like he could slip into a pile of gelatinous shōyō, and that he nearly does, had he not planted a hand behind him.
flushed, hot and released, the recovering gasp inward he gives follows the gentle cradling of the face crouched before him, careful to thumb for thick saliva or an accidental spill from lazarus’ lip line. just— ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ he’s not much of a drinker at all to know that there is actually a drink called—
anyway, he’s sliding in, in slow motion, nice and easy . . . it looks like lazarus isn’t going to be slipping away too soon, once shōyō’s arms have found a drape to latch on to. ]
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I've never had a sense for rhythm, but if you wanted to try to teach me, I'd try my very hardest to learn.
[He hooks a thumb in Shoyo's waistband; L's suggestive in a sly way, rather than particularly overt or forceful.]
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this is all suggestions that cannot and do not go over his head. ]
Oh— [ he's struck speechless, and ends up saying, completely and utterly requited: ] You went hard there.
[ both a joke and in good spirits to keep their wordplay competitions alive, even . . . through this. a brave, but major dork. ]
—Wanna try something?
[ bright, elated, and definitely nervous was the bundle he was vibrating through, already growing hot all over. he's never done anything, with anyone.
there was an undeniable thrill to it. ]
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I came here hoping that we could. Would you like to? Come, here, that is...
[He turns so that they're facing each other, hooking his other thumb in Shoyo's waistband near the other man's hipbone and the cut, chiseled muscle over it.
It seems like the wrong time to say that while he's never done this, he has spent a long time reading about it in the Archives. An absurdly long time; in all but manual practice, he's an absolute expert on the subject.]
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Yes— [ his voice cracks into a half-barked chuckle, now face to face, chest to chest once he’s spun to their fronts on the tips of his toes. shōyō follows suit, hands on the man’s hips and sucking in his lips in a soft little inward bite when they go to the small of lazarus’ back. bare, the subtle curve there. the way he just soft of . . . fits in front of him, nothing but from to front. agh. ] If, if that’s a we, y’know, [ his abdomen tickles, slimming with fine hairs that train down as he inhales and tells himself to stupidly stop talking. that much. although he can add, in a hush against the shell of his lover’s ear: ] right here.
[ dangerous. oh, he felt a skip there. ]
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"We...?"
[He seems, genuinely, not to have expected that, and walks the line between intrigued and kind of scared.]
Is that what you want for your birthday?
[He shivers appreciatively, the puff of breath against his ear doing more to him than it really has any right to, for something so small and subtle.]
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it was alright, but it was the one he was most proud of. the rest were stroked with growing ease. syoyo, the h to his name upside-down to give it personality— and a smiley face at the end.
it brings him here, right now, sharing in the first-time jitters, it seems— but actually glad to be. heat was forming and tension was building, his heart practically drumming out of his chest with anticipation urges him the divide his glances between lazarus' gaze and his lips, before speaking quietly, but resolute in them: ]
Yeah. You and me.
[ the walls, the counter, the table—? and no one else. shoyo adjusts his nose to the side lazarus' to press forth and kiss him, tender and delighted. ]
no subject
Shoyo doesn't know, of course. He's taken great lengths to keep this from Shoyo, along with most of the details of what he did. He's maybe-French, maybe-CSI, definitely always happy to change the subject back to volleyball and listen raptly with secretive, liquid-dark eyes.
They've been here before, he thinks as there's another entity entirely present, inhabiting the blinking and glancing spaces between their bodies no matter how small. They'd been interrupted then, and perhaps carrying that memory, shy about pressing to that point again, but what if they had? What if they'd been able to?
He tilts his chin down so he can peer through his dark lashes and shaggy bangs at Shoyo, nodding, agreeing to his first time doing something he never has, that amounting to "nearly everything."
He's not the only virgin here, but he's probably the one who's done the most research. So much that he'd felt his trousers tightening in the Archives, face warming as he reached for the nearest unrelated volume to press into his lap. The title had been, conveniently, A Diversion!, by Sir Ruptishus Péne.
He reaches for Shoyo's hand, uncurling his index finger, the same heat creeping toward his cheekbones.]
Let me...
[He leans forward, taking the finger into his mouth to the second knuckle. He's demure about it, almost delicate, running his tongue along the underside of the digit, slowly circling his tongue around the volleyball player's fingertip.]
no subject
Ah— [ more like an ah? curious— until realization sets, and so does a wetness that slips to the middle joints of his fingers, ] Oh, [ the words, they escape him like a fleeing thing caught in a trap and running wild— only he doesn’t have to run from this, oh no, he hardly wants to do such a thing! the brick red color on his face invades and creeps down his neck. he feels a shiver that starts at his back, ends at his scalp and remains as a heated base at the very apex of his thighs. a start to the fact that this has become a turn on, with how the other’s tongue, hot and moist curl up and around—
shōyō feels his throat dry up. in a very good way. oh, is this how one thirsts—? if imagination had been the trigger, it was working undeniably well. ]
Is that what you’ll do—?
[ he doesn’t put his own breaks on and does not, thankfully, forget that there is no space to keep them apart. it was impossible to forget when the burn between his legs was getting his heart to start its race— all urged by the friction he beckons to create. just a simple pull of the other’s hips inward, and pushing his forward. ]
no subject
I'm going to take your knees out, so... why don't you lie down for this? The champagne can wait.
no subject
going to take your knees out. take all of him out. shoyo's eyes are growing wide with the rush, and in his quick stumbling he finds a chair to clatter out from underneath the kitchen table—
and sits on the table, instead, pressing slick fingertips into plush lips up to their delicate corners. ]
Please end me.
NSFW lol
[The teasing is gentle and playful; this is a side of L that isn't typical to see, but has probably always existed, closely guarded and carefully protected. It's not something everyone can see, after all, because then they'd treat him like other soft, meek, and fragile things.
He brushes up alongside one of Shoyo's thighs, allowing him to press closer to his warm, bare torso for a soft, slow kiss on the mouth as tugs at Shoyo's waistband, beginning to shuck it down lower on his hips. The chill might be startling, but only for a moment, because L's hands warm nicely with the close contact of lips and shared breath. His grasp is also unexpectedly firm and sure, for someone who holds most items in a most finicky and absurd way.]
no subject
its impossible not to feel even the slightest bit tense, despite his absolute wish for this. that’s a hand, there, on a part of him that pulses. he realizes the strain in his shoulders and tries to ease up with every slip of his tongue and coax apart from his mouth. steady. feel it. enjoy it.
enjoy every bit of him.
he cups lazarus’s face to bring them to a starting point. he starts with a drag down to his neck, the bone of his collar, under his chin with both thumbs— next would be underneath his shirt. fingers adept in serving balls presses to the softness of his belly and rides up until the fabric hikes past his ribs. ]
"serving balls" hhhhehehehe
He freezes up a bit, now, because somehow he'd never really thought about his own clothes coming off. In response he squeezes Shoyo just a little harder, as if to make sure what's firm and ready doesn't deflate limply at the sight of what he imagines must be a lot like a bird with all of its feathers plucked.
He eats more nutritious food when he's around Shoyo; he's probably turned those nutrients into a bit of light muscle with the intense workouts their dates often culminate in, but he carries years of covering a frame that looks shocking in extremely baggy clothing and curling up tightly, his folded legs forming a fortress for his prominent ribs.
He's about to protest, push Shoyo's hands away, insist that it's his birthday and he's not meant to do any work. He thinks that making Shoyo pant and shake would satisfy him more than losing control so profoundly in front of another human being, when his body feels disconnected from him in so many ways. It's a hindrance, something that gets tired and hungry and messy and sick, and it's a complex private process to even feelShoyo's hands against his skin, as more than objects pressing against another object.
His breath hitches, because he's had more skin-on-skin contact in the last month than he has over the rest of his entire life. The things he touch have never touched back before, and it forces him to reckon with the fact that he is not touching a "thing", but a person, who doesn't struggle the same way to treat others as human.
He tries not to be too abrupt in his descent. He tries to make it seem perfectly natural when he pulls away from that touch, a progression and not a retreat. His kisses are placed on Shoyo's thigh now; maybe there's a trace of an apology in one or two of them, but he doesn't want to give Shoyo time to think too much about it. He doesn't want Shoyo to have the capacity to think at all, very soon.]
i'm a serious adult
but this was abruptly distracting to that fun little aw ready to drop from his tongue— it actually comes out as an aw—ah. the pecks were electric, and his thighs were . . . something! tan line and thicc. the new, exploring contact, especially how close he was and how low he was and, oh, this view from above, it made his budding growth lift higher. he was brick red as is, his breathing still under control— but not for long.
he's watching his partner quite intently and causes the table to creak when he presses his weight on it. there is one thing he could still do, still keep his hands on shaggy black hair, starting from the side of the face and cheekbones. ]
Y-You're really prepared— like, good—
[ that is 100% a compliment. ]
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Oh? Thank you...
[He pauses just long enough to answer.]
It turns out there are some things that you can learn from reading books, alone.
[He's worried, nevertheless, about his gag reflex. Does that go away with practice and conditioning, two things he's never actually had?
Shoyo doesn't have anything to compare this to; you could ask for so much worse. Don't forget that.
His gaze lowers, and with it his dark lashes, a sharp contrast with his pale cheekbones. He holds Shoyo firm in his right hand, the other pressing at his thigh, and he carefully begins to take the urgent length into his mouth, thinking of bananas and popsicles and all manner of oblong snacks. None of those pulse, of course; none of those feel pain when bitten, or pleasure when licked. None of them are blood and red and warm, but feeling it so close, and pulling fuller and nearer, makes him more aware of the connection between mind and body that so often evades him. He's stirring, too, secretly but not unnoticeably. He squeezes at the solid base, taking Shoyo as far back toward his throat as he can before pulling halfway back, his fingers taking advantage of the new slickness.]
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he’s glad he did. he could have this picture in his mind forever, now. his hand, cradling the curve of his partners head and tousled hair sliding through his fingers. the tips of his digits press into lazarus’ scalp for a delighting knead, surprised that he could actually make the sound he just did as he spoke the shaken, cracking words: ]
They have books oooh crap, [ instruction books pop into a thought for only an instant before lazarus kindly shrouds the rest. he’d probably feel him beginning firm generously once his hand has settled on a better grasp. one stroke up and lazarus’ tongue would be gifted with a drop, just a drop, of something thin and sweet.
shoyo gasps, but allows the short hitch to trickle out into a breathy laugh. ]
I need to read more.
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He focuses on not feeling alone, now, with a warm cock in his mouth and the appreciative moans of his partner encouraging technique he's diligently studied before this point. This is another human being, one who thinks highly of him, admires him, and wants to please him, too. What more could he possibly want?
He's lucky to have this. He lets that thought form a pearl, nestling it for safekeeping in the front pocket of his mind as he works the mechanical components, connecting them, taking more time than he needs to for one long, slow, indulgent stroke.
He knows, from his studies, that stimulation is important, but variety is what turns simple pleasure into delight. His left hand slides from Shoyo's thigh toward his toned buttock, squeezing, digging in uneven fingernails as he takes Shoyo deeper, opening and relaxing his throat the way he's practiced with bananas.
He's learned the dimensions of his own mouth and throat, the place where his hard palate gives way to soft, and then to velar and glottal and uvular. He can envision it in his mind's eye, with the detachment of a spectator, even as he feels the blunt nudging of firm flesh against an impulse that makes him want to swallow.
He will, he's sure. He's decided upon it in no uncertain terms. He'd just prefer to refrain until he actually needs to.]
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he was getting too hot, here. he felt his cock pulsing and begging to have mercy, inclined and high in his throat, feeling the sweet, sweet pressure of being squeezed so gingerly between soft, slick tissue and only the reminiscent brushing of teeth protected by soft lips. shoyo feels that prickling heat beginning to rise too high. his cheeks burn, the apex of his thighs do the same, building up a tremendous tickling that— ]
—Wait, [ it's too soon, oh no it's way too soon. shoyo tenses from head to toe and could feel the curl of his digits, high and low, in his shoes and tousled in black hair. he wants to pull back he wants to stop he wants to— ] hold up, holdupholdupholdup—
[ continue, and lazarus could easily guess the repercussions. ]
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That's why he's surprised when Shoyo asks him to stop. He does so as soon as he's registered the curl of Shoyo's fingers and the sound of his choked voice.
He raises his hollow eyes, uncertain, trying to figure out what kind of partner would ask not to come. Isn't that the goal?
Not necessarily a speed-run, but it's some kind of achievement, right?]Hey, uh... is everything OK?
[A sleeve comes quickly to his chin to wipe saliva, pre-cum, any remnants from view. L's not vain, but he seems to adhere to a certain standard of decorum when it comes to having things on his face. His eyes flick between Shoyo's flushed face and a cock that seems uncomfortably hard, still grasped in a loosened right hand.]
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[ he's swollen and thicker than he's ever felt himself, seen himself, the tickling, pooling pressure at the base of him declining from the rapid oncoming almost-release. he just thought about this. he just thought about this, and first of all it was coming unbelievably fast, but! ]
I forgot to ask where I should— Go? [ is it impolite to shoot one in your boyfriend's mouth if they hadn't planned for it? huffing and between ragged breaths, shoyo keeps stupidly talking: ] I didn't know if I could, like, do it, if you weren't expecting it, and—
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He offers a slight smile, because laughing would be unkind; no response at all would be cruel.]
From the beginning, Shoyo... I was expecting "it."
[He says this gently, as if to point out the slight ridiculousness of putting something loaded in one's mouth, fiddling around with the trigger, and not expecting something to come out eventually.]
I'd prefer for it not to be in my hair, or on my face. Otherwise... I don't prefer or oppose anything else, but the neatest outcome seems to be finishing inside. So... I'll continue, then? If that's OK?
[He kisses the tip of Shoyo's cock, pressing it with his tongue and starting to take it back into his mouth, his grasp firming once more around its length.]
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Okay. Yeah, I just wanted to . . . [ a shiver, brief, small but visible in the pause he gives erupts from the kiss to his susceptible member. ] Make sure, good to, good to knoh—
[ and that's the end of the conversation for him, shortly cut but sweetly taking his breath away, the chill from being out in the air and slick is enveloped with wet heat and gently pressured lips. no more interruptions this time. ]
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He hums his understanding and acceptance, quickening the pace, the gentle vacuum in his mouth and throat dark and waiting as his left hand presses reassuringly against the other man's ribs.]
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the tremble and strain underneath was significant. shōyō never knew there was such a sound in him when it burst from his throat hoarse, high and fluttering with the highest chime of ecstasy. with one of lazarus’ deeper intakes, lips so tenderly sweet with his friction, he spills himself into the mouth that cups him. his knees give, his legs want to buckle down. when he pours, he feels like he could slip into a pile of gelatinous shōyō, and that he nearly does, had he not planted a hand behind him.
flushed, hot and released, the recovering gasp inward he gives follows the gentle cradling of the face crouched before him, careful to thumb for thick saliva or an accidental spill from lazarus’ lip line. just— ]
Oh, oh, crap, that, wow—
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