"Fast and rough it is," Gonou agrees with a wicked grin, squeezing a generous portion onto his first two fingers and leaning over Jedao to kiss him as he slips them down between his legs. He's not second-guessing the request: he presses right in, smooth and relentless as he deepens the kiss.
Jedao loses track of what he's doing in the kiss; the groan comes from deep in his chest, head tipping back, thighs flexing to either side. It's overwhelming in the best way, sudden and just enough to be a strain, to make him flex and ache and gasp the way he likes.
Gonou breathes in the sound from his lips, a shudder rippling through his shoulders in sympathetic hunger as his slick fingers pump in and out. As he feels the clench of muscle relax around his knuckles, he adds a third finger, and very deliberately leans down to nip at the skin over the pulse throbbing in Jedao's throat.
Jedao whines in his throat, arching up off the bed a little, his hands scrabbling at Gonou's shoulders - not to push him away or even pull him closer, but simple to have something to cling to.
"I want to mark you," Gonou whispers against his neck, not-quite-asking for permission. He knows Jedao likes it, but -- it feels so long ago. He wants to be sure.
"I heal fast," Jedao warn-reminds him, beaming up at him with a punch-drunk sort of delight. "If you want a bruise to last at all, it's got to be deep."
Yes, and don't be gentle about it, is what Gonou hears from that. He hums softly, and bites down, hard enough to be just shy of breaking skin as he curls his fingers deep inside.
The whispered affirmation jolts him into a shiver. He presses his lips over the reddening toothmarks, fingers stilling for a long moment.
Mine, he wants to agree, and feels the weight of that agreement too vast and heavy to risk. Instead, he dares the easier response, the one that feels simple and true, a disposition of what he has the right to arrange.
"Yours," he whispers back, and slips his fingers out, reaching for the bottle again so that he can slick his neglected cock. "Put me where you want me."
Jedao sits partway up, propped on his elbows, watching Gonou stroke himself with dark, heated eyes. After a few seconds, he moves, quick but carefully telegraphed to avoid startlingly him too badly. He flips them both, pressing Gonou's back to the bed with his full weight, gripping his shoulders over the scratches he's already put there. Jedao straddles him in the same rolling motion, sinking down onto him with a deep, indulgent moan.
Gonou's head falls back against the mattress, arching up against the solid weight of Jedao's hands on his shoulders as the tidal wave of sensation rips his own groan from him, lighter harmony to Jedao's deep moan. The hot easy slide of his body, the weight of him across Gonou's hips: the sting of sweat in the shallow scratches on his shoulders reminding him that this is real, and no dream about to twist into nightmare.
He lets the wave take him under, rolling his hips up until their thighs press hard against each other, deep as he can go. The pressure in his chest is almost unbearable, as if it could blow him apart into a blooming flower of flesh, bone-white and blood-red, his most secret parts quivering unprotected against Jedao's touch.
One of his hands clenches against the bedsheets, the other flies up to press over Jedao's hand on his shoulder, where the touch feels like it could sear into him like a brand. Words force themselves out, a hoarse spill to vent the pressure before he shatters.
Jedao crashes into a kiss, all teeth and tongue. When he's with anyone else, he's not supposed to have marks that show, but with Gonou he can, and he wants it both ways, wants anyone else who sees Gonou tonight to know someone kissed and bit his lips until they were tender and swollen.
His hand finds the arm that's only holding the sheets and pins it there in a tight grip as he starts to move, with deep heavy rolls of his hips, like he could grind Gonou through the bed and through the floor into the void. He wants to leave his fingerprints on Gonou's arm, the marks of his teeth on his mouth and throat, wants to change the alignment of his hips.
"Mine," he growls as he trails from Gonou's mouth to his collarbone, dropping mean, bruising little bites as he goes, brave enough to declare the possessive Gonou couldn't. "My Gonou-shei."
He's not trapped by Jedao's weight, by the grip of his hands and the teeth marking his skin: he's confident he could fight free if he had to, and the confidence lets him surrender. He bares his throat to the sting of Jedao's teeth with a wordless moan, letting it pin him in his flesh against the swells of pleasure threatening to sweep him away.
He gets one foot flat on the sheets, knee raised just enough to give him some leverage as he matches Jedao's rhythm, a little harder, a little deeper as his heartbeat threatens to deafen him.
"Yes," he hisses back, hand tightening over Jedao's hard, and tilts his chin up a bit further, tempting Jedao's mouth back up. "Jedao-shei--" his voice breaks, and he keeps moving, wordless and shuddering.
Hakkai would win in any serious fight; he would lose if Jedao decided to kill him without fighting, but it would take truly terrible circumstances for him to be so cold-blooded, and Jedao wouldn't need to hold him so close, or so tight. That's just for them.
Jedao groans deeply as Gonou thrusts with him. He feels so full he can barely breathe; he feels molten inside, white-hot and liquid, unbearably alive. His body only halfway feels like his body most days. It's a shape that carries him about, that he knows how to use. But right now he feels like he's in it, of it, filling it from his curling toes to the backs of his teeth, like he's nothing but heat and want and motion. He kisses Gonou hard again, hand flexing on his wrist, and moves faster, rough and close and desperate.
Release crashes through him as a shock, sudden and overwhelming: his mouth falls open under Jedao's, losing the kiss, and his hand on the sheets tightens with such force the fabric creaks warning. It's the only noise he makes for the space of a frozen breath, before he finds Jedao's mouth to resume the kiss, open-mouthed and easy. His hips roll in a last few shuddering thrusts as the tension bleeds from his muscles to leave him unstrung, floating for a moment with his thoughts perfectly silent, knowing only the language of touch.
He's so beautiful, Jedao thinks, lust-addled himself enough to be entranced by Gonou's face lost in pleasure rather than thinking it looks slightly silly. He rocks more gently, devouring kisses turning soft and lazy and sweet. He feels painfully hard but not necessarily urgent, all of a sudden. Gonou is still inside him and the idea of staying just like that makes him feel deliciously, wildly dirty in the very best way.
Gonou frees his hand from the fabric, reaching up to cup Jedao's cheek as they trade lazy kisses back and forth. His thumb smooths over Jedao's cheekbone, dips down over the soft scratch of his moustache, presses at the corner of his mouth as Gonou nips gently at his kiss-swollen lip.
"I don't know how I could live without you," he murmurs, and breathes through the almost overwhelming sensation of the slow rock of Jedao's weight above him, the squeeze of his body around Gonou's softening cock. He lets his hand slip down further, over the sharp angle of his jaw, mapping the lines of his throat and shoulder by touch.
Jedao tips his head up, shuddering all over as he offers his throat.
Coldly, Jedao thinks, a shred of innuendo wrapped around a heavy core of truth, a flash of memory: Gonou's smoothness when they first met and his muted surprise when Jedao declined to press on fresh wounds; Hakkai's chilly unwillingness to be known when he hadn't recognized and remembered Jedao, his careful self-contained opacity, his resentment for the glimpses Jedao had of him anyway.
"You have me," Jedao says instead, voice rough and husky.
"I do," Gonou murmurs, fingertips finding the place where the big vessel beats in Jedao's throat and resting there, softly curled. His thumb draws a line down over the gentle bumps and hollows of trachea and larynx. Bone, cartilage and blood, muscle and tendon -- or very good facsimiles, more resilient. He remembers the butter knife pulling free without any arterial fountains, remembers Jedao still speaking through a ruined throat, still standing.
It's an image he holds close in his heart, the jagged edges of it snagging on his own soft parts. The terror of loss, the shocking precious relief of seeing him stand, wounded but living. The greater relief, almost too big to hold all at once, that Jedao can be loved and not lost....
He's still moving with Jedao, slow and sweet. Carefully, he presses his lips against the offered throat, just above his thumb.
"I love you."
He remembers Sebastian, urbane and smiling and smooth as a knife between the ribs, saying it is rather fascinating, how one can somehow survive losing people one can't live without, as long as one finds new such people.
Maybe it's true. But, Gonou thinks, he only had one such survival in him. It's lucky that he won't need another.
He is alive -- they're both alive -- and they're together: Hakkai takes a deep, trembling breath, kisses his throat again, and slips his hand back to catch Jedao's hair as he bites another mark into the soft skin. His other hand is curved around his hip, drinking in every tiny twitch and flex of muscle. He loosens his grip there, and slides his fingers over and down, featherlight as he closes them around Jedao's straining cock, presses the pad of his thumb against the slick head.
He twitches and shivers and arches for every touch, but most especially for the bite, gasping and whining at the brush and grip of Gonou's hand. He feels a little bit flayed, oversensitive and overexposed, soft and wet and quivering.
He's so close, or he could be close.
"You want...?" This overwhelmed, it's hard to finish the thought.
"I want you to come on me," he murmurs against Jedao's throat, and bites another mark into it, tightening his hand enough to let Jedao fuck into his grip at his own pace.
Jedao whines high in his throat, hips jerking in tiny, tight, desperate movements. He can't move much without Gonou slipping out of him, and he doesn't want that, not yet.
"Harder," he whispers, so damn close, and he nearly has to bite his tongue on saying anything about Gonou's hands. Hakkai doesn't have new callouses. Of course, they way they heal, he wouldn't.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"I like it rough and I can take it really rough. Start with two."
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
"Yours," he whispers in the moment after, hands shifting to stroke down the long muscles of Gonou's back.
no subject
Mine, he wants to agree, and feels the weight of that agreement too vast and heavy to risk. Instead, he dares the easier response, the one that feels simple and true, a disposition of what he has the right to arrange.
"Yours," he whispers back, and slips his fingers out, reaching for the bottle again so that he can slick his neglected cock. "Put me where you want me."
no subject
cw grotesque imagery
He lets the wave take him under, rolling his hips up until their thighs press hard against each other, deep as he can go. The pressure in his chest is almost unbearable, as if it could blow him apart into a blooming flower of flesh, bone-white and blood-red, his most secret parts quivering unprotected against Jedao's touch.
One of his hands clenches against the bedsheets, the other flies up to press over Jedao's hand on his shoulder, where the touch feels like it could sear into him like a brand. Words force themselves out, a hoarse spill to vent the pressure before he shatters.
"Hold-- tight. You can bruise me."
Don't let go, don't let me forget this is real--
no subject
His hand finds the arm that's only holding the sheets and pins it there in a tight grip as he starts to move, with deep heavy rolls of his hips, like he could grind Gonou through the bed and through the floor into the void. He wants to leave his fingerprints on Gonou's arm, the marks of his teeth on his mouth and throat, wants to change the alignment of his hips.
"Mine," he growls as he trails from Gonou's mouth to his collarbone, dropping mean, bruising little bites as he goes, brave enough to declare the possessive Gonou couldn't. "My Gonou-shei."
no subject
He gets one foot flat on the sheets, knee raised just enough to give him some leverage as he matches Jedao's rhythm, a little harder, a little deeper as his heartbeat threatens to deafen him.
"Yes," he hisses back, hand tightening over Jedao's hard, and tilts his chin up a bit further, tempting Jedao's mouth back up. "Jedao-shei--" his voice breaks, and he keeps moving, wordless and shuddering.
no subject
Jedao groans deeply as Gonou thrusts with him. He feels so full he can barely breathe; he feels molten inside, white-hot and liquid, unbearably alive. His body only halfway feels like his body most days. It's a shape that carries him about, that he knows how to use. But right now he feels like he's in it, of it, filling it from his curling toes to the backs of his teeth, like he's nothing but heat and want and motion. He kisses Gonou hard again, hand flexing on his wrist, and moves faster, rough and close and desperate.
no subject
no subject
no subject
"I don't know how I could live without you," he murmurs, and breathes through the almost overwhelming sensation of the slow rock of Jedao's weight above him, the squeeze of his body around Gonou's softening cock. He lets his hand slip down further, over the sharp angle of his jaw, mapping the lines of his throat and shoulder by touch.
no subject
Coldly, Jedao thinks, a shred of innuendo wrapped around a heavy core of truth, a flash of memory: Gonou's smoothness when they first met and his muted surprise when Jedao declined to press on fresh wounds; Hakkai's chilly unwillingness to be known when he hadn't recognized and remembered Jedao, his careful self-contained opacity, his resentment for the glimpses Jedao had of him anyway.
"You have me," Jedao says instead, voice rough and husky.
no subject
It's an image he holds close in his heart, the jagged edges of it snagging on his own soft parts. The terror of loss, the shocking precious relief of seeing him stand, wounded but living. The greater relief, almost too big to hold all at once, that Jedao can be loved and not lost....
He's still moving with Jedao, slow and sweet. Carefully, he presses his lips against the offered throat, just above his thumb.
"I love you."
He remembers Sebastian, urbane and smiling and smooth as a knife between the ribs, saying it is rather fascinating, how one can somehow survive losing people one can't live without, as long as one finds new such people.
Maybe it's true. But, Gonou thinks, he only had one such survival in him. It's lucky that he won't need another.
no subject
"I love you," he gasps in turn, the muscles in his belly and thighs flexing faintly, uselessly amidst the tiny motions. "Keep touching me," he begs.
no subject
CW gorey imagery again
He's so close, or he could be close.
"You want...?" This overwhelmed, it's hard to finish the thought.
Re: CW gorey imagery again
no subject
"Harder," he whispers, so damn close, and he nearly has to bite his tongue on saying anything about Gonou's hands. Hakkai doesn't have new callouses. Of course, they way they heal, he wouldn't.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)