and here i was thinking of waking you the other morning with my head between your thighs having my breakfast in bed and savoring it until you woke and then having seconds
i like getting your shirt off of you though up to your chin and watching you squirm when you can't see me around the fabric cleaning up the mess i make on you after with it
oh? walking around with it on parade are you? well then.
Were you? That'd be I wouldn't mind it I mean, I'd like it.
I know. I had it in my mouth this morning, to keep it out of the way. Make sure nobody walking by heard me. They might've anyways, though. Maybe not the first time, but the second, when I stopped being careful.
noted. i'm certain i can find a time to surprise you. put your shirt in my mouth to keep it up sometime, perhaps. though i will be gravely disappointed if you try and hide the little noises you make what if i could have heard them down the hall? robbing me of sweet, sweet music.
why wouldn't it be? it's your body to tell the stories you want. i'm honored to make people wonder a little bit.
oh, really? like what? if was there, where would you have me put my mouth?
i'm sure i'll hear you i know the way you get when you're worked up but i don't mind do you tell people how you got them? how you keep ending up with more?
On mine, for starters. All the places you left marks, all the places you didn't. Lower. Take your time, like you always do.
[There's a pause before the next message, sheets kicked away, shirt left open, because Koby was serious about round three. The next photo is blurry, the unbuttoned shirt framing his marked-up chest, his stomach, his hips, hand slipping down, just out of frame, between his legs.] Can you hear me right now?
Some people. People I trust. It's not that I'm embarrassed, its just I only want to share it with people who deserve it.
[ the picture is infuriating - makes him impossibly hot beneath his skin and makes him slide a hand over his own aching need. so he sends a picture back - the broad palm low on his belly, over the rising black fabric of his pajama pants. ]
i don't hear you yet. take your hand and touch yourself - but you're not allowed to the little button you like so well? don't touch it. think about my tongue working you open tasting you working you up and loose
deserve it? and what makes them worthy? love bites must be serious business.
[That photo-- Koby very nearly just abandons his phone and goes striding purposefully down the hall, half-naked, to resolve that subtle rise of fabric himself.
But he's too intrigued by this new back and forth, written word, rather than spoken, like sending letters that arrive within seconds, instant gratification. So:]
Understood. But you can't touch yourself either. You always take care of me first, so if I'm imagining that, you wouldn't be using your hands anywhere but on me. Deal?
They'd need to be happy for me, I guess. Understand that it's Special. To me.
[ though it’s no complaint, considering a few moments later, it is indeed a nude picture. he’s wriggled out of his pajama pants, nothing beneath, and if koby looks closely he can see the flared tip of his cock resting on his belly, untouched. ]
it’s my turn for more pictures, isn’t it? and we’ll have to arrange training sessions lots of things to go over i need practice, too.
[Of course he looks closely -- he'd requested so nicely and Quentin had been so kind as to oblige. And there's the smooth plane of his chest, his stomach, the tip of his cock that, when he swallows hard, Koby can still feel nudging at the back of his throat.
And, a few moments later -- another photo in kind, Koby also on his back, knees bent, thighs pressed together, though it's easy to see the soft curls of pink, damp and gleaming in the low light, along with the streak of wetness where his legs press together.]
See? Following orders. You certainly do not NEED the practice, you're a veritable expert already. Practically an admiral of bite marks.
and what am i to do if i cannot touch you? i wish it was my mouth on you now spreading you open with my tongue or maybe i would just make marks on your thighs never get where you want me to be
You say that like you couldn't make me finish just by marking up my thighs. By saying all those wonderful filthy perfect things and making me beg for your mouth. Like I couldn't come right now, just from imagining it.
[The reduced grammar, the lack of punctuation is a clue to what the next photo proves -- thighs spread, fingers slick to the knuckle where they're pressed into slick, wet, unfurling pink folds.]
[ the picture is enough to make his mind spin, make his whole body alight with heat. that koby is taking care of himself so expertly makes a strange sort of possessiveness rush through him. and so there's no answer to the message. only enough time passes for quentin to slide of his bed, throw on some loose fitting pajama pants and head down the hall.
his whole body hurts with the want of it and it's a miracle he makes it to koby's room. he opens the door with little preamble, wastes no time in shucking off the tented pajama pants and moving to climb on the bed. koby laid out on his stomach, rutting into a pillow like something feral has captured him makes his cock absolutely ache with want.
the mattress shifts around him and for a moment he simply admires koby's work - the delicate arch of his hips, the swell of his ass, the very bloom of his pussy slick and pink and puffy from all the work that's been done. he'd taste like honey, he's sure, and as much as he wants to dive in, to press his face between wet folds and drink from him like a man dying of thirst, he doesn't.
he plasters himself along koby's back, letting the hard line of his dick catch some of that slick, pressing between folds but with no intention of sinking into the divine heat. he mouths along koby's back, beard burning the skin as he bites and sucks marks all along his spine, uncaring that the bristle on his jaw will leave angry red marks come morning. he presses his weight against koby's back and breathes hot and husky against his ear, barely able to control the way his hips grind into the pretty flush of koby's cunt. ]
Tell me again what you want. Beg me for what you need, Commander, and I will bend.
[Had this been exactly what Koby had hoped would happen? Yes, of course -- that's the ultimate goal of such text conversations, as he sees it. But between the teasing words and the photos, he's not about to wait any longer, not when his cunt is throbbing and insistent and unbearable, and he's so wet it's puddling in his palm and streaking down his wrist as he works two, three fingers inside himself and damn it, it's not enough, not anymore, not when he's gotten used to the blunt, thick fullness of actually taking a cock inside him, not when he has the photo of Quentin’s still pulled up, on the phone beside his panting mouth, even as he whines and ruts against the pillow, his hand, and chokes out obscenities against the sheets when it isn't enough, when he still needs--]
God, Quentin, I-- [The ragged words break off in an open-mouthed, needy whine at the slip of Quentin’s dick through the mess of his cunt, pulling his slick fingers free to fumble at the thick, hot length, guide it to grind up against his clit, because the rules just said Koby couldn't touch himself there, not that Quentin couldn't. And it's good, it's so damn good, and Koby doesn't think about the door being open, doesn't think about anyone hearing the way he moans into his pillow or seeing how he arches his back and ruts the weep of his cunt along Quentin’s dick snug between his shivery thighs, but it's still not fucking enough. Maybe with another few minutes of movement, of the rasp of teeth and tongue against his back, of Quentin's voice in his ear, but Koby needs it now.
So he does as he's told, he grinds his ass back against Quentin and clutches at the sheets and twists to look teary-eyed and desperate over one shoulder and he begs:] In -- inside me, please, please Quentin, I ne--fuck, I need your cock inside me, please.
[ there’s nothing left in his mind that’s decent or human, not with the way koby’s fingers circle him, drive the aching tip of his cock against his swollen clit. his own hips jerk, rutting hard against that precious pearl between koby’s dewy lips, letting the drag of slick and hard flesh make him moan raggedly against koby’s shoulder blade where he sucks a hard, red mark - letting the little imprints of teeth bloom red beneath his mouth. let him feel it tomorrow, let him earn the soreness that comes with all those teasing commands.
he huffs, wanton and amused, curls already sticking damp to his forehead. ]
Good, good. You asked so nicely.
[ one hand slides between koby and the bedsheets, sliding down to the pretty vee of his front and letting his fingers dip into his weeping folds, forefinger and middle finger gently bracketing the sensitive little nub they’d been working at but seconds ago. the other aligns his cock after smearing it once again through the mess between koby’s thighs and with little preamble ruts his hips forward in a sharp, hard snap. there’s no gentleness here now, just the grunt turned moan of a man tortured by the searing tight velvet wrapped around his cock.
his pace doesn’t stall, doesn’t ramp up - instead he begins to fuck hard into koby, wet skin slapping, the fingers gently framing his swollen clit only applying pressure with each thrust. His free hand slides up, catches in the soft hair at koby’s nape and pulls, sharp and hard to keep him looking at him over his shoulder. ]
Your cunt is immaculate - fuck. Like a voyage - want to see how deep we can get. How full you can be before you will - ah, Koby, shit -
[ a hum as he shifts his hips, gaining more leverage to fuck into him, going as deep and hard with each thrust as he can. ]
- before you cannot take me. Watch my… my seed pouring out of you and let you say I’m not here next time. M-make you walk the manor with me leaking from your thighs.
[The sound Koby makes – half whimpered into the heated, hazy air, half moaned against the pillow as his head drops, tips forward from the force of that delicious, devastating first thrust inside him – is nearly feral, broken and splintered and pleading and so greedy that he almost (almost) feels ashamed. But there’s not room for shame, not with the smack of Quentin’s hips against his ass, not with the tight snarl of Quentin’s hand in his hair, and Koby gasps, shivers molten-hot and slick around the cock plunging inside him, driving to the hilt in a way that his fingers can’t, that nothing else can, nothing in this world or any others. He might actually come from that alone – it’s hard to tell, hard to say, hard to think about anything but arching his back and propping himself up on his elbows so he’s at a better angle, so that Quentin can fuck down into his needy, dripping cunt without hesitation, can fill him up again and again and again.
And his words –] God, Quentin, y-you – can’t just – say that, you – [It’s breathless, laughing, tears in his eyes and a grin on his gasping mouth, one hand slipping down to cover the one teasing at either side of his clit, feeling the throb of each almost-touch in his bones, in the clenching pulse and weep, the filthy, messy sound of Quentin plunging inside him. He’d be sobbing against the pillow if his hair weren’t tangled in Quentin’s fingers, giving him nowhere to hide, nowhere to muffle the words that stream out, filthy and shameless:] Your fault it’s your fault I’m l-like this, you m-make me so wet and leave me empty, need you to f-fill me up so I can taste it, so I can f-feel – fuck, feel you in my throat, please–
[One particularly deep thrust gets a sharp, shuddering gasp, and Koby’s toes curl and his thighs quake and there’s a sense of something building, building in the way his usual climaxes don’t, stirred into a frenzy by the thought of sitting in the library, at breakfast, in the garden and feeling Quentin’s spend dripping down the insides of his legs. He’s almost at something, somewhere, and his thumb slips, disobediently circling that aching bud and the words just tumble free:] W-Want you to, want you to f-fill me up, Quentin, please, please, please come inside me, please, I need it, f-fuck me full, please–!
[ koby props himself up on his elbows, changing the angle almost instantly of the way his cock presses inside the tight heat of him and he groans loudly, hand leaving his sopping cunt to grab at his hips, to hike him higher and harder back against him. it gives him enough leverage to lean hard over him, weight against his back, fingers yanking hard at his hair to keep himself balanced as his hips jackrabbit into a needy frenzy.
the sounds of their joining fill the room - wet and sloppy, skin on skin. quentin is so close to cumming himself but it takes a great deal of tightened muscles and will to keep from absolutely blowing it all when koby begins to prattle on and on about feeling his cock where he shouldn't like this.
but there's the disobedient little hand, sneaking down between them where his own was and he growls, leaning to bite hard at koby's shoulder. ]
I won't - you won't get what you - if you keep -
[ he's panting hard against his skin, hand sticky with koby's mess sliding back down and pushing between them, replacing koby's frantic fingers. his thrusts grind to a halt on a deep, throaty groan, his cock pulsing in a way that's begging to be released, but instead he lets koby suffer the consequences of his actions. grinds his hips slowly into him, head of his cock nudging hard against that little sweet spot, finding the shuddering, clenching walls of his cunt absolutely unbearable. ]
You want fingers so bad then?
[ he doesn't touch his clit, no. instead allows his long arm to hook over a hip, their bodies slick with sweat, and presses his fingers against koby's entrance, sliding his fingers to where his cock shifts and grinds into him and presses. just the tip of a finger, stretching him carefully, nothing more. ]
That what you're after, love? [ a hoarse laugh, his fingers giving a last little tug on his hair before leaving, using koby's body as his stabilizer, his newly freed hand reaching to circle his clit once, twice. ]
[God, he’s so close, he’s clutching at the sheets and arching back into every deep, punishing thrust and he’s going to feel this tomorrow in a thousand different ways, the fucked-out, weary, delicious exhaustion that lingers into the next day, and when Quentin bites him, Koby almost comes right then and there, whining open-mouthed and going tight and shivery around the cock inside him – so much for remaining demure about the marks, about being bitten, because the press of Quentin’s teeth into his overheated skin is deliriously good and then –
– and then he slows, he stops and Koby makes a sound halfway between a gasp and a growl, hand jerking away too late, too slow, because he’s been caught disobeying and must suffer the consequences. And he knows it, whining pathetically and glaring over his shoulder, a mutinous pout on his face as he fists both hands in the sheets too late, too little.] That’s not f-fair, I was almos– [But then Quentin’s shifting inside him, pressing deeper, gliding his fingers through the slick, dripping mess and Koby’s words cut off in a shivery gasp at the press of one inside, just slightly, just the subtle shift of pressure that sends a jolt up his spine.
And suddenly all the fight is gone, all the scowling brattiness, and everything is molten hot and liquid fire inside Koby’s body, in the shivering, shuddering grip of his cunt around Quentin’s cock, Quentin’s finger, and his stomach goes tight and his breath shudders in and in and in, and there’s the tease of one finger at his clit, the ghost of a circle that makes Koby jerk and whimper brokenly and gush around Quentin’s cock inside him, everything white heat and light and he’s only barely conscious of himself choking out:] Y-Yeah, yes, yes, yes, please–
[ koby's body goes pliant and warm and desperate, his words becoming a litany of nothing more than desperate agreement. it's intoxicating, grinding his hips hard down into him, feeling the way his walls clench around him, the way his own dick hurts for the way he's holding back, just barely.
and koby goes utterly wet around him, hot and sticky and drenching the sheets and something about it is so wildly fucking hot he cannot think straight. he cannot deny this precious, wonderful man a single thing. he leans hard and heavy against koby's back, begins to finish thrusting hard to the point the slapping of their skin is almost louder than their moans, his fingers working desperate circles around his swollen clit.
his hand slicked by koby's need goes back to koby's hair, gripping hard as one more thrust brings him to his hot release, hips stuttering, filling koby up hot and full, his cock twitching desperately and a low growl coming out against koby's nape. ]
So good - you - the sea took you, brought you to me - [ a panting little laugh, his whole body twitching and burning from the orgasm, hips grinding still through his own to bring koby to an even higher peak in his once he crests over the wave. ]
The way I wanna taste you right now... you're so perfect.
[Part of Koby wants it to go on forever, wants the dizzying, aching, wonderful heat plunging inside him over and over and over for hours – wants to beg Quentin to keep him on edge for hours, keep him wet and wanting and ready and pleading. But the messages, the photos, Koby’s own fingers working himself open to both, the frustration seared away by Quentin’s chest pressed to his back, Quentin’s fingers replacing his own, Quentin’s cock inside him – there was no way he could’ve held on that long.
Besides, Quentin gives him what he wants, what he’s begged for, what he’s vaguely aware he’s getting accustomed (addicted) to – the heat, the release, the sense of Quentin filling him up, cock pulsing inside his clenching, dripping cunt. And Koby is gone, he’s gone from that alone, the tormenting bliss of Quentin’s fingers at his throbbing clit just keeping him there, thighs shuddering, breath coming in gasping, whimpering, sharp sounds. And everything is heat and light and bliss and Koby coming so hard he sobs and clutches at the sheets and moans Quentin’s name loud enough that they can probably hear it in the dining room.
Somewhere, he’s aware of how soaked he is, how the angle of Quentin taking him from behind and the relentless pressure circling around his clit had his climax accompanied by a release he’s never felt before, and Koby whimpers shakily, hazily, one hand slipping down to feel the ticklish trickle of Quentin’s cum and his own dripping down his thighs. A breathless sound, half-laugh, half-moan, and he doesn’t think, just presses his slick fingers into his own mouth, sucks them clean, his own taste and Quentin’s coating his tongue as he turns, reaches, tangles his fingers in dark curls and tugs the other man closer to kiss him, to share the sweet-salty-tang.]
There. [Breathless, between the press of his tongue to Quentin's, between shuddery breaths, whole body liquid and shivery.] G-Good? [Monosyllables is about all he can manage, still riding the aftershocks, the continued throb of his cunt around Quentin's cock, hips shifting slightly to keep him buried inside. The sheets are soaked, but it's a big bed, and Koby doesn't mind where they go, where they rest long enough for round two, as long as Quentin doesn't let go of him.]
[ koby is perfect in all ways, their bodies heavy and burning together, his cock aching and twitching against every pulse of koby's dripping cunt. but the kiss is what does it, makes him moan heavy and low into the other man's mouth, chasing the taste of them and chasing for more even though he's molded and pressed against koby's back.
he wants to face him, wants to devour him again already even though his own body is wracked with sensitivity. it doesn't stop him though, from dragging away, chest pressed against the other's back, but his dick slips free. it's short lived, what for the way quentin reaches and encourages koby onto his his back. he can't be away from him long, refuses to, and slots himself between koby's thighs again, nudging inside him again, feeling the wet rush of where they meet and humming low.
the sheets are soaked beneath them, their bodies sweaty and sticky, but it changes nothing about the way he kisses koby, slow and deep, licking languidly into his mouth and chasing the taste of him on the boy's tongue. he slides one arm under koby's head, pillowing it against his forearm so his fingers can tangle in his hair again, the other braced on the bed so that he can grind his hips down against koby once again. ]
So good.
[ he breathes against koby's mouth, nudging their noses together and chasing little kisses over his lips. ] Wanted to see your face. [ a little breathless still, hazy in the afterglow and the simmering burn of more. ]
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no subject
having my breakfast in bed and savoring it until you woke
and then having seconds
i like getting your shirt off of you though
up to your chin and watching you squirm when you can't see me around the fabric
cleaning up the mess i make on you after with it
oh? walking around with it on parade are you?
well then.
no subject
I wouldn't mind it
I mean, I'd like it.
I know. I had it in my mouth this morning, to keep it out of the way.
Make sure nobody walking by heard me.
They might've anyways, though.
Maybe not the first time, but the second, when I stopped being careful.
A bit, maybe.
Is that okay?
no subject
i'm certain i can find a time to surprise you.
put your shirt in my mouth to keep it up sometime, perhaps.
though i will be gravely disappointed if you try and hide the little noises you make
what if i could have heard them down the hall? robbing me of sweet, sweet music.
why wouldn't it be? it's your body to tell the stories you want.
i'm honored to make people wonder a little bit.
no subject
[Pause while Koby screams into his pillow at himself, it's fine, it's a canon event, he's new to sexting.]
All the way down the hall?
I could go for round three, I guess. Since you're preoccupied. See if you can hear me.
Really? You don't mind it?
I mean, I don't mind it either.
I like it. A lot.
no subject
if was there, where would you have me put my mouth?
i'm sure i'll hear you
i know the way you get when you're worked up
but i don't mind
do you tell people how you got them?
how you keep ending up with more?
no subject
Lower. Take your time, like you always do.
[There's a pause before the next message, sheets kicked away, shirt left open, because Koby was serious about round three. The next photo is blurry, the unbuttoned shirt framing his marked-up chest, his stomach, his hips, hand slipping down, just out of frame, between his legs.]
Can you hear me right now?
Some people. People I trust.
It's not that I'm embarrassed, its just
I only want to share it with people who deserve it.
no subject
i don't hear you yet.
take your hand and touch yourself - but you're not allowed to
the little button you like so well? don't touch it.
think about my tongue working you open
tasting you
working you up and loose
deserve it? and what makes them worthy?
love bites must be serious business.
no subject
But he's too intrigued by this new back and forth, written word, rather than spoken, like sending letters that arrive within seconds, instant gratification. So:]
Understood.
But you can't touch yourself either.
You always take care of me first, so if I'm imagining that, you wouldn't be using your hands anywhere but on me.
Deal?
They'd need to be happy for me, I guess.
Understand that it's
Special. To me.
no subject
very well then, hands off
i’ll imagine what i’d be doing to you
i can almost taste you on the back of my tongue
[ he almost wants to ask more lewd questions, press on and on and get koby wailing a few doors down. but the next message takes him by surprise. ]
special?
well then. i’ll have to make it my priority that you don’t ever go without those marks
and i expect you to repay it in kind.
no subject
But I need proof you're obeying, of course.
[nudes plz~
Though he does pause a moment before replying.]
Yeah. Special.
Deal. I'll take it as a solemn challenge.
I might need a lot of practice, though.
no subject
[ though it’s no complaint, considering a few moments later, it is indeed a nude picture. he’s wriggled out of his pajama pants, nothing beneath, and if koby looks closely he can see the flared tip of his cock resting on his belly, untouched. ]
it’s my turn for more pictures, isn’t it?
and we’ll have to arrange training sessions
lots of things to go over
i need practice, too.
no subject
And, a few moments later -- another photo in kind, Koby also on his back, knees bent, thighs pressed together, though it's easy to see the soft curls of pink, damp and gleaming in the low light, along with the streak of wetness where his legs press together.]
See? Following orders.
You certainly do not NEED the practice, you're a veritable expert already.
Practically an admiral of bite marks.
no subject
i wish it was my mouth on you now
spreading you open with my tongue
or maybe i would just make marks on your thighs
never get where you want me to be
no subject
By saying all those wonderful filthy perfect things and making me beg for your mouth.
Like I couldn't come right now, just from imagining it.
Do you want me to?
no subject
what have you done to earn such a delicious prize?
i can't touch myself and the thought alone of you coming so empty
why it makes me quite sad for you.
no subject
you should come
and stop me
[The reduced grammar, the lack of punctuation is a clue to what the next photo proves -- thighs spread, fingers slick to the knuckle where they're pressed into slick, wet, unfurling pink folds.]
or help
up to you
no subject
his whole body hurts with the want of it and it's a miracle he makes it to koby's room. he opens the door with little preamble, wastes no time in shucking off the tented pajama pants and moving to climb on the bed. koby laid out on his stomach, rutting into a pillow like something feral has captured him makes his cock absolutely ache with want.
the mattress shifts around him and for a moment he simply admires koby's work - the delicate arch of his hips, the swell of his ass, the very bloom of his pussy slick and pink and puffy from all the work that's been done. he'd taste like honey, he's sure, and as much as he wants to dive in, to press his face between wet folds and drink from him like a man dying of thirst, he doesn't.
he plasters himself along koby's back, letting the hard line of his dick catch some of that slick, pressing between folds but with no intention of sinking into the divine heat. he mouths along koby's back, beard burning the skin as he bites and sucks marks all along his spine, uncaring that the bristle on his jaw will leave angry red marks come morning. he presses his weight against koby's back and breathes hot and husky against his ear, barely able to control the way his hips grind into the pretty flush of koby's cunt. ]
Tell me again what you want. Beg me for what you need, Commander, and I will bend.
no subject
God, Quentin, I-- [The ragged words break off in an open-mouthed, needy whine at the slip of Quentin’s dick through the mess of his cunt, pulling his slick fingers free to fumble at the thick, hot length, guide it to grind up against his clit, because the rules just said Koby couldn't touch himself there, not that Quentin couldn't. And it's good, it's so damn good, and Koby doesn't think about the door being open, doesn't think about anyone hearing the way he moans into his pillow or seeing how he arches his back and ruts the weep of his cunt along Quentin’s dick snug between his shivery thighs, but it's still not fucking enough. Maybe with another few minutes of movement, of the rasp of teeth and tongue against his back, of Quentin's voice in his ear, but Koby needs it now.
So he does as he's told, he grinds his ass back against Quentin and clutches at the sheets and twists to look teary-eyed and desperate over one shoulder and he begs:] In -- inside me, please, please Quentin, I ne--fuck, I need your cock inside me, please.
no subject
he huffs, wanton and amused, curls already sticking damp to his forehead. ]
Good, good. You asked so nicely.
[ one hand slides between koby and the bedsheets, sliding down to the pretty vee of his front and letting his fingers dip into his weeping folds, forefinger and middle finger gently bracketing the sensitive little nub they’d been working at but seconds ago. the other aligns his cock after smearing it once again through the mess between koby’s thighs and with little preamble ruts his hips forward in a sharp, hard snap. there’s no gentleness here now, just the grunt turned moan of a man tortured by the searing tight velvet wrapped around his cock.
his pace doesn’t stall, doesn’t ramp up - instead he begins to fuck hard into koby, wet skin slapping, the fingers gently framing his swollen clit only applying pressure with each thrust. His free hand slides up, catches in the soft hair at koby’s nape and pulls, sharp and hard to keep him looking at him over his shoulder. ]
Your cunt is immaculate - fuck. Like a voyage - want to see how deep we can get. How full you can be before you will - ah, Koby, shit -
[ a hum as he shifts his hips, gaining more leverage to fuck into him, going as deep and hard with each thrust as he can. ]
- before you cannot take me. Watch my… my seed pouring out of you and let you say I’m not here next time. M-make you walk the manor with me leaking from your thighs.
no subject
And his words –] God, Quentin, y-you – can’t just – say that, you – [It’s breathless, laughing, tears in his eyes and a grin on his gasping mouth, one hand slipping down to cover the one teasing at either side of his clit, feeling the throb of each almost-touch in his bones, in the clenching pulse and weep, the filthy, messy sound of Quentin plunging inside him. He’d be sobbing against the pillow if his hair weren’t tangled in Quentin’s fingers, giving him nowhere to hide, nowhere to muffle the words that stream out, filthy and shameless:] Your fault it’s your fault I’m l-like this, you m-make me so wet and leave me empty, need you to f-fill me up so I can taste it, so I can f-feel – fuck, feel you in my throat, please–
[One particularly deep thrust gets a sharp, shuddering gasp, and Koby’s toes curl and his thighs quake and there’s a sense of something building, building in the way his usual climaxes don’t, stirred into a frenzy by the thought of sitting in the library, at breakfast, in the garden and feeling Quentin’s spend dripping down the insides of his legs. He’s almost at something, somewhere, and his thumb slips, disobediently circling that aching bud and the words just tumble free:] W-Want you to, want you to f-fill me up, Quentin, please, please, please come inside me, please, I need it, f-fuck me full, please–!
no subject
the sounds of their joining fill the room - wet and sloppy, skin on skin. quentin is so close to cumming himself but it takes a great deal of tightened muscles and will to keep from absolutely blowing it all when koby begins to prattle on and on about feeling his cock where he shouldn't like this.
but there's the disobedient little hand, sneaking down between them where his own was and he growls, leaning to bite hard at koby's shoulder. ]
I won't - you won't get what you - if you keep -
[ he's panting hard against his skin, hand sticky with koby's mess sliding back down and pushing between them, replacing koby's frantic fingers. his thrusts grind to a halt on a deep, throaty groan, his cock pulsing in a way that's begging to be released, but instead he lets koby suffer the consequences of his actions. grinds his hips slowly into him, head of his cock nudging hard against that little sweet spot, finding the shuddering, clenching walls of his cunt absolutely unbearable. ]
You want fingers so bad then?
[ he doesn't touch his clit, no. instead allows his long arm to hook over a hip, their bodies slick with sweat, and presses his fingers against koby's entrance, sliding his fingers to where his cock shifts and grinds into him and presses. just the tip of a finger, stretching him carefully, nothing more. ]
That what you're after, love? [ a hoarse laugh, his fingers giving a last little tug on his hair before leaving, using koby's body as his stabilizer, his newly freed hand reaching to circle his clit once, twice. ]
What was it you wanted?
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– and then he slows, he stops and Koby makes a sound halfway between a gasp and a growl, hand jerking away too late, too slow, because he’s been caught disobeying and must suffer the consequences. And he knows it, whining pathetically and glaring over his shoulder, a mutinous pout on his face as he fists both hands in the sheets too late, too little.] That’s not f-fair, I was almos– [But then Quentin’s shifting inside him, pressing deeper, gliding his fingers through the slick, dripping mess and Koby’s words cut off in a shivery gasp at the press of one inside, just slightly, just the subtle shift of pressure that sends a jolt up his spine.
And suddenly all the fight is gone, all the scowling brattiness, and everything is molten hot and liquid fire inside Koby’s body, in the shivering, shuddering grip of his cunt around Quentin’s cock, Quentin’s finger, and his stomach goes tight and his breath shudders in and in and in, and there’s the tease of one finger at his clit, the ghost of a circle that makes Koby jerk and whimper brokenly and gush around Quentin’s cock inside him, everything white heat and light and he’s only barely conscious of himself choking out:] Y-Yeah, yes, yes, yes, please–
no subject
and koby goes utterly wet around him, hot and sticky and drenching the sheets and something about it is so wildly fucking hot he cannot think straight. he cannot deny this precious, wonderful man a single thing. he leans hard and heavy against koby's back, begins to finish thrusting hard to the point the slapping of their skin is almost louder than their moans, his fingers working desperate circles around his swollen clit.
his hand slicked by koby's need goes back to koby's hair, gripping hard as one more thrust brings him to his hot release, hips stuttering, filling koby up hot and full, his cock twitching desperately and a low growl coming out against koby's nape. ]
So good - you - the sea took you, brought you to me - [ a panting little laugh, his whole body twitching and burning from the orgasm, hips grinding still through his own to bring koby to an even higher peak in his once he crests over the wave. ]
The way I wanna taste you right now... you're so perfect.
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Besides, Quentin gives him what he wants, what he’s begged for, what he’s vaguely aware he’s getting accustomed (addicted) to – the heat, the release, the sense of Quentin filling him up, cock pulsing inside his clenching, dripping cunt. And Koby is gone, he’s gone from that alone, the tormenting bliss of Quentin’s fingers at his throbbing clit just keeping him there, thighs shuddering, breath coming in gasping, whimpering, sharp sounds. And everything is heat and light and bliss and Koby coming so hard he sobs and clutches at the sheets and moans Quentin’s name loud enough that they can probably hear it in the dining room.
Somewhere, he’s aware of how soaked he is, how the angle of Quentin taking him from behind and the relentless pressure circling around his clit had his climax accompanied by a release he’s never felt before, and Koby whimpers shakily, hazily, one hand slipping down to feel the ticklish trickle of Quentin’s cum and his own dripping down his thighs. A breathless sound, half-laugh, half-moan, and he doesn’t think, just presses his slick fingers into his own mouth, sucks them clean, his own taste and Quentin’s coating his tongue as he turns, reaches, tangles his fingers in dark curls and tugs the other man closer to kiss him, to share the sweet-salty-tang.]
There. [Breathless, between the press of his tongue to Quentin's, between shuddery breaths, whole body liquid and shivery.] G-Good? [Monosyllables is about all he can manage, still riding the aftershocks, the continued throb of his cunt around Quentin's cock, hips shifting slightly to keep him buried inside. The sheets are soaked, but it's a big bed, and Koby doesn't mind where they go, where they rest long enough for round two, as long as Quentin doesn't let go of him.]
no subject
he wants to face him, wants to devour him again already even though his own body is wracked with sensitivity. it doesn't stop him though, from dragging away, chest pressed against the other's back, but his dick slips free. it's short lived, what for the way quentin reaches and encourages koby onto his his back. he can't be away from him long, refuses to, and slots himself between koby's thighs again, nudging inside him again, feeling the wet rush of where they meet and humming low.
the sheets are soaked beneath them, their bodies sweaty and sticky, but it changes nothing about the way he kisses koby, slow and deep, licking languidly into his mouth and chasing the taste of him on the boy's tongue. he slides one arm under koby's head, pillowing it against his forearm so his fingers can tangle in his hair again, the other braced on the bed so that he can grind his hips down against koby once again. ]
So good.
[ he breathes against koby's mouth, nudging their noses together and chasing little kisses over his lips. ] Wanted to see your face. [ a little breathless still, hazy in the afterglow and the simmering burn of more. ]
Missed you.
(no subject)