[ Adrian's shoulders sag. A part of it is relief that it seems to have been enough to snap Eliot out of whatever spiral he was falling into, and a part of it is just... concession. He doesn't agree — it is his fault — but he isn't going to keep fighting about it right now.
He bites his lip, worrying at it while he considers how to answer Eliot's question. In truth, he doesn't have a clear answer to give. ]
I was... curious. I wanted to see what you liked, and then if I liked it as well.
[ There's more that he could say. He'd been curious about the feelings Eliot had, and the intensity of those particular desires. They don't hate each other, he doesn't think, but Eliot doesn't like him either. That had been a part of what made it appealing to see where it went. There was none of Strahd's flattery, no dark seduction, just — interest.
If Eliot's interest lends itself toward hurting him, then it's a finite and straightforward enough kind of pain, and pain is something he's well accustomed to tolerating in exchange for what he wants.
Carefully, too embarrassed to meet Eliot's gaze, he continues: ] I would... like to learn what pleases you. If you don't mind going a bit more slowly, for now.
You'll help me, won't you?
[ That last bit is purely manipulation, but Adrian isn't trying to hide it in the slightest. It's better if Eliot clocks it, uses it to light the fuse again. It's easier to get out of his head when Eliot is pushing him around.
He's wrung out and tired, but he knows that if he doesn't do this now, he'll certainly lose his nerve by morning. ]
[ Not like it was especially subtle. But damn if it doesn't get him like it got him the first time. Like the words just bypass his brain to hook right into the pit of his stomach and pull. He wants it, and it's easy when all that is is giving Adrian what he wants. It's when his own desires come into it that things get dangerous.
But that's fine. He can go at Adrian's pace. Give him what he wants, show him a good time—
I was... curious.
—and then drop him off in the morning and never think about it ever again. ]
But alright.
[ He goes to stand up. Realises his dick has been hanging out the entire time like this is some slapstick comedy show, and then decides 'fuck it' and stands up anyway so he can sit on the bed. ]
Come here.
[ He gestures to between his thighs with one hand while the other works his dick hard again. Flashes back to what it was like to have Adrian on his knees like this before, mouth stretched wide, cheeks hollow, and, well, it doesn't take all that long at all. ]
[ He can repent for his shameless manipulations later, if at all. Eliot will take him back to the motel in the morning, and then they'll both forget all about this, and perhaps remember why they disliked each other so very much. He's certainly not expecting that this will mean anything. It's just... A trading of favors. An unusual pleasure at the end of an otherwise miserably long day. The less special it is, the better.
He watches Eliot stand up, blushes again as he has the same realization, and politely averts his gaze for a moment like Eliot's dick wasn't just in his mouth.
He gets up and follows Eliot at his invitation, hesitating only a moment before he sinks back down on his knees again, between Eliot's thighs. He rests his cheek against the inside of Eliot's thigh, just past the knee, and he does watch as Eliot works himself back up to attention, gaze shifting between Eliot's hand and his face, waiting for his turn. It's that same feedback loop again, Eliot's pleasure and lack of shame feeding into his own. It doesn't take long at all, but when Eliot invites him forward again he shakes his head.
He can't ruin this again. ]
May I? [ He raises his own gloved hand and taps the back of Eliot's, as if asking permission to take hold of him. ] I can't concentrate if I'm worried about bumping into your hand... but you can pull my hair again, if you like.
[ It seems safe enough, so long as Eliot is careful of where he puts his hand... And Adrian hadn't minded all that much. His locs will be frizzy in the morning anyway, if he's going to spend the night. He might as well get something else out of it.
Once they've settled the issue, he doesn't hesitate to lean forward and take Eliot into his mouth again. Having his own hand there makes it easier to control how much he can be encouraged to take, and that in turn makes it easier to get a full breath when he needs it, and to take more when he's pushed. His free hand settles on the inside of Eliot's thigh, tightening whenever he truly needs a moment to breathe.
He still chokes until tears sting at his eyes, but the overwhelmed panic seems to have receded now. He just wants to make this good for Eliot. He just wants to be good for something, for once. ]
[ He drops his hand, lets Adrian take over, his thinking along the same lines of maybe it'll go better this time if Adrian has control over it.
(If all temptation is removed.)
He lets out a long exhale as Adrian sinks his mouth down on his cock, muscles in his neck going loose, head falling back for a brief moment. He keeps his hands clutching at the edge of the bed to begin with, not wanting to test his control. Offers a lot of yeahs and goods, tells him to take his time with the head, go slowly down the shaft. Focuses on keeping his hips still, breathing steady like he's relieving pressure. Venting heat.
But just hearing Adrian choke is enough for his hand to find its way to the back of his head, flexing against his locs like it's a struggle not to apply any pressure. ]
Fuck. [ That's more of a long exhale too. There's an echo of need between them that means that this is hitting him harder than it should be, a thread of desperation that makes everything more... more. ] Take it easy, sweetheart.
[ He tugs at Adrian's hair but only to get him to ease up, to take his time. He likes the choking far too much to let it continue on like this. ]
[ Eliot's sudden shift toward accommodation isn't unwelcome — if anything, it's a bit reassuring, further cementing the belief that he has no true ill intentions towards Adrian. (Whether he even likes Adrian is a separate question entirely, and not one that is particularly relevant.)
It makes for a very curious dichotomy. On the one hand, Adrian can feel that Eliot likes to hurt him — to an extent — and on the other... this. Guilt.
He decides that perhaps tomorrow he will feel better equipped to dissect it all, and for the moment he puts his focus toward what is directly in front of him. It's different from the first time, Adrian realizes immediately. Not being quite so overwhelmed means that he can hear the softer sounds of Eliot's pleasure, can adjust according to his encouragement and begin to understand what he likes. Heat stirs in him again, and Adrian mostly tries to ignore it, at least until Eliot starts speaking more.
Being told what to do isn't something he's ever particularly liked, but in this instance it comes with the reward of good in a tone that he's not heard from Eliot before. It is a strange and humiliating thing to be praised for, and yet it warms him all the way through, a slow and steady drip of honey that makes it terribly easy to think of nothing else. Adrian nearly shivers with pleasure every time Eliot tells him he's done something he likes.
He forgets his exhaustion and the little ache in his jaw or in his knees from being on them for so long, even the needy ache of his own cock against the inside of his shorts. He thinks of nothing but that sweet, warm sensation of good. When Eliot grabs his hair again, even the gentle flex of his hand makes Adrian groan softly around him. He can feel what Eliot wants, and how nice it might be to disappear into it.
When Eliot pulls him back, he makes a soft sound of protest at the back of his throat. Adrian pulls off entirely, trying to catch his breath even while he speaks. ]
But that's not what you want. [ He tries to scrape some semblance of coherence together before he looks up at Eliot. This might be a mistake, but it is less risky than pushing too far too fast all over again. ] You like it when I choke and struggle. I can feel it.
[ He likes Eliot's hands on him, more than any of the rest. He likes the pleasure that echoes between them. If there's more too it, he's not quite ready to think about it. ]
All of your sweet words and your concerns... [ He licks the head of Eliot's cock, still looking up at him, his breath ghosting over it as he finishes speaking. ] And you couldn't leave a bruise on me that would last more than a day.
All of your sweet words and your concerns... And you couldn't leave a bruise on me that would last more than a day.
He can still see it. Can see so very clearly the bruises left on Adrian's face, can map the shape to them and reconstruct just how Eliot put them there. How somehow he managed to go so far and no further, left him bleeding and bruised but nothing more than that. Some trick, some quirk or accident made him stop except in his dreams he didn't. He doesn't, and it's indistinguishable from the truth now so maybe he instead all he sees is the moment he decides not to stop. Can hear how Adrian begs him for mercy until he can't anymore.
Eliot's inhale was sharp but his subsequent exhale is even. Measured. ]
That sounds like a complaint.
[ His hand on Adrian's head slips down, cups the back of it, tilts it up until their eyes meet. ]
Is that what you wanted? [ He huffs a laugh, but there's very little humour in it. ] Did you want it to linger? Did you wanna wear something of mine so you couldn't help but think of me? So that everyone who saw you could know what happened? Know how much you liked it?
[ There it is. He can feel the violence rising to the surface like the sharp edge of a blade being pulled from its sheath. ]
I intended for it to be a reassurance.
[ He lets Eliot tilt his head up, fingers still threaded into his hair. That the look in his eyes is dangerous, and it quickens his breath just as effectively as a blade against his throat.
Adrian bites his lip, a not unpleasant shiver running through him. He'd started this, but he doesn't immediately know how to respond, or exactly what kind of response Eliot is expecting. He just hadn't expected to be asked what exactly he wanted.
He answers the only way he knows how, hesitant, but honest: ] I don't want anyone to know, except for you. I don't know... what I like, except having your hands on me. However you will have me. [ He tries to drop his gaze, remembers Eliot's hand. ] If it's pleasant, or of it hurts — if it leaves a mark, or if it doesn't — I don't know that it matters.
[ It feels good to be touched in any way at all, after so long. If it weren't for the curse, he would happily turn his face and kiss the same hands that had nearly killed him all those weeks ago.
Adrian thinks he might leave it at that, but he considers what Eliot is offering again: a mark, like a lingering touch, like a jacket thrown over his shoulders on a cold night. Something of mine. Something offered, instead of inflicted. ] ...No. I think that a mark would be nice. Where would you leave it? How?
[ He wonders if Adrian even knows what he's saying, if he's doing it on purpose, playing him like he's a fucking mark, getting him to give whatever the hell it is that Adrian wants from him.
If it's pleasant, or if it hurts... I don't know that it matters.
He hates that the words get to him, that he hears if it hurts and his whole body tightens, that he hears a mark would be nice and thinks—
—the indentation of his hands at Adrian's hips.
—a heavy hand on his ass for speaking out of turn.
—a ring of bruises around his throat, around his wrists.
Violence begetting violence. Must count for something that Adrian's the one asking for it though, right? ]
Ain't no mark I could give you that would last longer than a day, right, sweetheart?
[ A reassurance, he called it, but that tells him all he needs to know about Adrian, how badly this is all fated to end. And yet. ]
But maybe... [ He fights with himself a second. Gives in. Lets his other hand slip down to Adrian's chest, lets it stop just over his nipple. ] I'd pierce you. Right here.
[ Though none of it is particularly deliberate — Adrian would consider his words far from artful — his offer seems to have an interesting effect. Eliot's response is so strong that Adrian can feel it, a kind of violent desire that he's only experienced fleetingly, himself.
Eliot's voice is rough, even around that sweetheart, sharp and mocking. Eliot most certainly wants to hurt him, but it is novel to be wanted with such intensity for something other than his magic or his nature. His eyes fall half-shut.
He doesn't move for a moment when Eliot's hand gets to his chest, the material of his shirt thick enough to blunt out anything but the faint pressure. He leans forward, pressing his chest into Eliot's hand, pulling against his hold deliberately. He wants to be touched, piercing or not. ]
You don't like me. [ It's not accusatory, just a plain statement of fact, sharp only because of the shortness of his own breath. ] I thought you would prefer knowing that this was temporary... and now you're offering a ring? You're not thinking with your head. Allow me to help you clear it.
[ Adrian opens his mouth, leans in to take Eliot's dick again. He thinks that will probably be sufficient for Eliot to be eager to shut him up, and perhaps finish.
...but he thinks about that idea. A piercing. A bruise. Being wanted to the point of violence. ]
[ No, he doesn't like him. And he definitely isn't thinking clearly. But Adrian is thinking about this backwards; it's because this is so temporary that the idea of something permanent sounds so tempting. The idea that Eliot can just... etch himself into Adrian's skin. Leave a mark that never fades. Colour everything Adrian does from here on out.
Not that he ever would. They'll do whatever it is they want to tonight and then they'll probably never see each other again and Eliot will move on with his life. Nothing to it. Same as all the other people he sleeps with.
(But to call it 'offering a ring'? Please. Obviously Eliot's not the only one not thinking clearly.)
This time his head bows low over Adrian's body, hand cupping the back of Adrian's head as his mouth sinks back down onto Eliot's cock. He doesn't force it, but he also doesn't stop it if Adrian gets a bit too eager again, starts choking around the head of his cock. He likes it. Knows that Adrian likes it too. And isn't this what it's all about in the end?
Besides, he is close. Closer, for the way Adrian takes direction so very well, for the little blooms of pleasure Eliot feels from him each time he praises him. For his mouth stretched wide, and the fan of lashes across his cheeks, and the needy way he squirms, as though his own pleasure is intrinsically liked to Eliot's. Eliot opens his mouth to warn him, and then remembers that he doesn't need to and instead just lets the feeling rise, feels his stomach tense and his thighs shake before he comes with a quiet grunt. ]
[ He knows when it happens, warmth echoing in the pit of his own stomach. There's no change in the taste on his tongue, nothing he can really feel in a physical sense, only this echo that makes it difficult to tell where he ends and Eliot begins.
The aftermath is nice; the sort of blank, unthinking pleasure he could bask in. He waits until Eliot begins to soften in his mouth before pulling back, almost reluctant.
The rest of the world slowly comes back into focus, and Adrian works his jaw against his own hand, makes a little face when he wipes some of the drool from the corners of his mouth. The uncomfortable feeling in his trousers tells him that he must have come again at some point, but he genuinely can't guess when it must have been. Probably after some sweetheart or good, just like that. With his head a little clearer, it's a bit embarrassing.
He still has a perfect view of the tip of the condom full of come and something about it is pleasing in a different way than words. That isn't something that one can lie about.
He could still go again, Adrian knows, but his stamina isn't endless and the rest of him would only like to go to bed.
Adrian shifts to the side so that he can sit on the carpet (and get out of Eliot's way) with a soft hiss of discomfort. His leg has fallen asleep, and his knees hurt. ]
...We should get ready for bed. I'm sure you don't want me here too late.
[ He swallows against the taste of latex all the way in his throat. He's too tired to think about this too much, but all he has to remember is that it doesn't mean anything, and they'll both forget about it come morning. ]
[ The motions of disposing of the used condom are automatic. Eliot drops it in the trash beside his bed and tucks himself back into his pants. He'd felt it when Adrian came too, just unending pleasure that seemed to stretch out like molasses, almost indistinguishable from his own. And now he can feel that, as tired as he is, Adrian still wants more. ]
We can get ready for bed if you want— [ He's not acknowledging that other comment; as if Eliot's gonna kick him out on the middle of the night with no way of getting anywhere and right after they'd fucked. Please. ] —or you can come here and I can make you come again.
[ He pushes himself to his feet with a faint grimace. He really should clean up and call it off there, but there's a not insignificant part of him that is always too curious for his own good. If it is only going to be one night, shouldn't he try everything? But on the other hand, Eliot is already satisfied, so what's he point?
He stops in front of Eliot, like he's not quite sure what to do with himself. ]
It doesn't really... I'm not sure of how many times I can... [ Gods, why is he trying to over-explain? He makes a vague gesture towards the bed. ] That is, you shouldn't feel obligated. I usually let it go away on its own, honestly.
[ Eliot sits down on the bed and then tugs Adrian down onto his lap. ]
You tell me. Does what I'm feeling feel like obligation to you?
[ It's insane to say the words out loud, the acknowledge the weird thing linking them, but it does have its uses. He's finding that Adrian only really hears what he wants to; it's faster to get him to come to the right conclusion by himself.
His hands settle on Adrian's hips as though magnetised. Eliot almost leans in again for a kiss before he remembers, and then exhales sharply, jaw tensing briefly. Instead, he tears a fresh condom off the strip, holding it up between them with two fingers. ]
[ Adrian goes where he's pulled, tense and careful of getting too close. There's an audible gasp from him when Eliot's hands find his hips, and then his teeth sink into his lower lip. He knows exactly what Eliot wanted to do just a moment ago, and how frustrating it is that he can't.
At the same time, Adrian finds it quietly baffling. Is it his own want, tangled in with Eliot's? Is it this strange bond that seems to have formed between them? Perhaps the most ethical thing to do would be for him to leave, or to put a stop to this until he understood... and yet. Gods grant him mercy, but he doesn't have the strength of will to resist.
He looks at the condom in Eliot's hand, then back to his face before offering the smallest nod. He all but squirms in Eliot's lap. ]
How do you want me? [ He only realizes how that sounds after the words are already out of his mouth. ]
[ A brief smile flickers across his face at Adrian's unthinking comment but he stops himself from saying any of the hundred and one things he could say to it. In fact, for a moment he doesn't say anything, instead pressing his mouth to Adrian's shoulder through, and then his clavicle. The base of his throat. The side of his neck. Nothing much, but he'd seen the way Adrian reacted to his hands on his hips, and if he can't kiss him then maybe this is the next best thing. ]
It's a shame I can't touch you, because I'd have really enjoyed this next bit. [ It's said murmured against Adrian's throat, right where the high collar of his top gives way to skin. ] Take your pants off for me, sweetheart. Lay down on the bed.
[ Every brush of Eliot's lips is one he leans into, the way a greedy lover might chase the end of a kiss. Adrian slips his gloved hand into Eliot's hair, the other resting on his shoulder. He's not trying to pull (yet) — he just needs something to hold on to.
Eliot isn't the only one having certain thoughts, and Adrian lets himself daydream about Eliot's warm mouth on his skin instead of his clothing, his teeth set against Adrian's chest. ]
Hm? [ Adrian is only half-listening, but he gets the latter half. The request, the endearment. ] Oh.
[ It takes him a moment, but he makes himself let go and climb out of Eliot's lap to do what he's told. He regrets the loss of warmth almost immediately. ]
Oh, right, I have... [ He tugs a pair of latex gloves from one of the little pouches strapped to his belt, and passes them over to Eliot. ] For work. But it might be safer, for you.
[ It's much more bare skin than he would normally like to risk.
He's too eager to bother stepping away fully, so he ends up undressing without fanfare, directly in front of Eliot. When he tugs his pants down, he's still wearing silky white undergarments, the buttons on the sides straining against the gentle curves of his hips, the lace trim sporting a small tear. He'd assumed that he would lose what little muscle he'd put on in Barovia, and then he wouldn't need to replace them, but that doesn't seem to be the case... which means that not much is left to the imagination, even if he doesn't remove them.
His legs are lean-muscled and littered with a number of scars, his his socks held in place by the straps of garters that stop just under his knees.
Adrian climbs into the bed and lays on his back, propping himself up on his elbows so that he can see Eliot. ] Like this..?
[ There's something obscene about pulling on the gloves Adrian hands to him. About seeing his latex covered hands on Adrian's calf. His knee. Pressed against the inside of his thighs.
(Bare arms and gloves hands, as though he's here to make Adrian&mdash)
A slight pressure to get him to part them, and then Eliot settles between them, the denim of his jeans pressed up against Adrian's bare skin. He slips a finger under the hem of Adrian's underwear and gives it a little tug. ]
[ Adrian inhales sharply as fabric slides over sensitive skin, freeing him from the confines of his underclothes. He falls back fully onto the mattress, grips the sheets, fighting not to cover himself again. His cock stands at full attention, flushed dark and leaking precome, heedless of Adrian's embarrassment and eager for Eliot's attention.
The gloves are thin enough that he can feel the warmth if Eliot's hands through them. Adrian shifts restlessly, wanting to feel those strong fingers on his hips, on his thighs, leaving bruises in their wake.
He can't bring himself to answer Eliot's question. He looks away, bites his lip so hard that he can taste the faint copper of blood, but he nods very slowly, not trusting his voice. ]
[ Eliot grabs for the lube blindly with one hand, not particularly interested in taking his eyes of Adrian. How someone who wears underwear looking like that can be so shy about his body is beyond him. How someone who can grab Eliot's face and tell him to get over himself can't even bring himself to look as Eliot tugs his underwear down to the tops of his thighs is also mind-boggling. It's fascinating. It's also making Eliot a little insane. Makes him wanna do the kinds of things someone like him has no business even thinking about.
Instead, his fingers close around that elusive tube of lube. If he thought he could get away with fucking Adrian with no incident he'd have his own cock out in a second. But there's no way in hell he's letting that curse touch him again, so he'll go for the next best thing. He squirts the lube out onto his fingers, and then reaches between Adrian's thighs, strokes his fingers over the furl of Adrian's hole as though coaxing him to open up, before he slips one inside. ]
[ Much of this is very new for him, doubly so when he can sense the keen edge of Eliot's interest, the way his gaze lingers on Adrian's body as if it's a physical weight.
He thinks of Eliot fucking him, just like this, his legs wrapped around Eliot's waist, Eliot's body bearing down on him, the heat of his breath close to Adrian's neck. The muscles of his stomach tighten.
They're not going to do that, of course. They can't. Adrian's breath is a little uneven, his lip caught between his teeth so that he can worry at it. He tenses briefly when Eliot touches him, shifts his hips into a slightly more comfortable position and makes himself relax to accept the intrusion.
This much, Adrian has done before, though not very recently and never with anyone else. It was more of a curiosity, and then a means to an end. ] ...You can use more than one. I can um, I can take more.
[ Two or three perhaps; just enough to make him work to accommodate them, for the edge of discomfort to get him out of his head. ]
[ Eliot exhales a laugh through his nose and immediately gives Adrian another finger. Realises that Adrian does better when he's overwhelmed by things and gives him another again, feeling the way he clenches tight around all three of Eliot's fingers as he fucks Adrian with them. Feels the heat of his body too and wishes he didn't need to have the gloves in the way.
Eliot presses his free hand to Adrian's stomach—to ground him, to hold him still, to touch him, whatever—and then crooks his fingers as he thrusts. ]
[ Adrian squeezes his eyes shut and covers his mouth with the back of his hand to no avail. The sounds that escape him are mostly fragments of Eliot's name, when Adrian can't choke them back down.
The delicate little freckles that dot the insides of his thighs and the sliver of stomach visible below the hem of his shirt pulse brighter every time Eliot's fingers find his prostate, timed to the movement of Eliot's hand. The stretch is almost too much; Eliot's fingers are thicker and stronger than his own, and Adrian tries not to think of how obscene it must look to be speared on them like this, discomfort and pleasure intertwined.
His back arches obscenely so that he can press up against Eliot's hand on his stomach and bear down on his fingers at the same time. He's so close— ]
There we go, sweetheart, come on. You're so close.
[ He's just so goddamn responsive. Every touch like it's his first time all over again and it's making Eliot insane. It's not even an act; Eliot can feel how every touch seems to echo through Adrian like the aftershocks of an earthquake, how the pervasive sense of embarrassment that seems to underscore everything else makes the pleasure that much sharper. He needs it, and Eliot can't see that and not want to be the one to give it to him. Maddening.
He also never seems to fucking stop. Eliot knows Adrian has come a couple of times already tonight and still, his need hums in him like a high-pitched whine, a string tuned way too tightly. Eliot might have started to wonder if he's not doing a good enough job if he didn't think it was some weird magical bullshit.
Seeing him like this is enough to spark a heat in him too. Eliot feels his insides twist in sympathetic need as Adrian writhes under his hand, desperately chasing his orgasm.
(And there's something about feeling him push futilely against his strength that—) ]
[ When he comes, Adrian bites his wrist, muffling a moan. Pleasure washes through him as he pants to catch his breath, still spread open in Eliot's fingers, half sprawled in his lap.
The other times had been pleasant but quick; this one was slower, indulgently fulfilling, and Adrian feels a bit drunk with it. He doesn't really care that there's come on his shirt and on his skin. That he can feel a drop of lube run down the back of his thigh. ]
Thank you. [ He breathes, finally letting his hand fall to his side. He's so tired he could fall asleep right where he is, but he looks up at Eliot with half-lidded eyes. ] Do you want me to, um..?
[ Adrian makes a vague gesture. He doesn't know for sure if Eliot is hard again, but he can definitely feel... something.
As much as he would like to be more helpful at the moment, there's not a single bone in Adrian's body that's interested in moving from where he is. ]
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no subject
He bites his lip, worrying at it while he considers how to answer Eliot's question. In truth, he doesn't have a clear answer to give. ]
I was... curious. I wanted to see what you liked, and then if I liked it as well.
[ There's more that he could say. He'd been curious about the feelings Eliot had, and the intensity of those particular desires. They don't hate each other, he doesn't think, but Eliot doesn't like him either. That had been a part of what made it appealing to see where it went. There was none of Strahd's flattery, no dark seduction, just — interest.
If Eliot's interest lends itself toward hurting him, then it's a finite and straightforward enough kind of pain, and pain is something he's well accustomed to tolerating in exchange for what he wants.
Carefully, too embarrassed to meet Eliot's gaze, he continues: ] I would... like to learn what pleases you. If you don't mind going a bit more slowly, for now.
You'll help me, won't you?
[ That last bit is purely manipulation, but Adrian isn't trying to hide it in the slightest. It's better if Eliot clocks it, uses it to light the fuse again. It's easier to get out of his head when Eliot is pushing him around.
He's wrung out and tired, but he knows that if he doesn't do this now, he'll certainly lose his nerve by morning. ]
no subject
[ Not like it was especially subtle. But damn if it doesn't get him like it got him the first time. Like the words just bypass his brain to hook right into the pit of his stomach and pull. He wants it, and it's easy when all that is is giving Adrian what he wants. It's when his own desires come into it that things get dangerous.
But that's fine. He can go at Adrian's pace. Give him what he wants, show him a good time—
I was... curious.
—and then drop him off in the morning and never think about it ever again. ]
But alright.
[ He goes to stand up. Realises his dick has been hanging out the entire time like this is some slapstick comedy show, and then decides 'fuck it' and stands up anyway so he can sit on the bed. ]
Come here.
[ He gestures to between his thighs with one hand while the other works his dick hard again. Flashes back to what it was like to have Adrian on his knees like this before, mouth stretched wide, cheeks hollow, and, well, it doesn't take all that long at all. ]
You wanna open up for me?
no subject
He watches Eliot stand up, blushes again as he has the same realization, and politely averts his gaze for a moment like Eliot's dick wasn't just in his mouth.
He gets up and follows Eliot at his invitation, hesitating only a moment before he sinks back down on his knees again, between Eliot's thighs. He rests his cheek against the inside of Eliot's thigh, just past the knee, and he does watch as Eliot works himself back up to attention, gaze shifting between Eliot's hand and his face, waiting for his turn. It's that same feedback loop again, Eliot's pleasure and lack of shame feeding into his own. It doesn't take long at all, but when Eliot invites him forward again he shakes his head.
He can't ruin this again. ]
May I? [ He raises his own gloved hand and taps the back of Eliot's, as if asking permission to take hold of him. ] I can't concentrate if I'm worried about bumping into your hand... but you can pull my hair again, if you like.
[ It seems safe enough, so long as Eliot is careful of where he puts his hand... And Adrian hadn't minded all that much. His locs will be frizzy in the morning anyway, if he's going to spend the night. He might as well get something else out of it.
Once they've settled the issue, he doesn't hesitate to lean forward and take Eliot into his mouth again. Having his own hand there makes it easier to control how much he can be encouraged to take, and that in turn makes it easier to get a full breath when he needs it, and to take more when he's pushed. His free hand settles on the inside of Eliot's thigh, tightening whenever he truly needs a moment to breathe.
He still chokes until tears sting at his eyes, but the overwhelmed panic seems to have receded now. He just wants to make this good for Eliot. He just wants to be good for something, for once. ]
no subject
[ He drops his hand, lets Adrian take over, his thinking along the same lines of maybe it'll go better this time if Adrian has control over it.
(If all temptation is removed.)
He lets out a long exhale as Adrian sinks his mouth down on his cock, muscles in his neck going loose, head falling back for a brief moment. He keeps his hands clutching at the edge of the bed to begin with, not wanting to test his control. Offers a lot of yeahs and goods, tells him to take his time with the head, go slowly down the shaft. Focuses on keeping his hips still, breathing steady like he's relieving pressure. Venting heat.
But just hearing Adrian choke is enough for his hand to find its way to the back of his head, flexing against his locs like it's a struggle not to apply any pressure. ]
Fuck. [ That's more of a long exhale too. There's an echo of need between them that means that this is hitting him harder than it should be, a thread of desperation that makes everything more... more. ] Take it easy, sweetheart.
[ He tugs at Adrian's hair but only to get him to ease up, to take his time. He likes the choking far too much to let it continue on like this. ]
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It makes for a very curious dichotomy. On the one hand, Adrian can feel that Eliot likes to hurt him — to an extent — and on the other... this. Guilt.
He decides that perhaps tomorrow he will feel better equipped to dissect it all, and for the moment he puts his focus toward what is directly in front of him. It's different from the first time, Adrian realizes immediately. Not being quite so overwhelmed means that he can hear the softer sounds of Eliot's pleasure, can adjust according to his encouragement and begin to understand what he likes. Heat stirs in him again, and Adrian mostly tries to ignore it, at least until Eliot starts speaking more.
Being told what to do isn't something he's ever particularly liked, but in this instance it comes with the reward of good in a tone that he's not heard from Eliot before. It is a strange and humiliating thing to be praised for, and yet it warms him all the way through, a slow and steady drip of honey that makes it terribly easy to think of nothing else. Adrian nearly shivers with pleasure every time Eliot tells him he's done something he likes.
He forgets his exhaustion and the little ache in his jaw or in his knees from being on them for so long, even the needy ache of his own cock against the inside of his shorts. He thinks of nothing but that sweet, warm sensation of good. When Eliot grabs his hair again, even the gentle flex of his hand makes Adrian groan softly around him. He can feel what Eliot wants, and how nice it might be to disappear into it.
When Eliot pulls him back, he makes a soft sound of protest at the back of his throat. Adrian pulls off entirely, trying to catch his breath even while he speaks. ]
But that's not what you want. [ He tries to scrape some semblance of coherence together before he looks up at Eliot. This might be a mistake, but it is less risky than pushing too far too fast all over again. ] You like it when I choke and struggle. I can feel it.
[ He likes Eliot's hands on him, more than any of the rest. He likes the pleasure that echoes between them. If there's more too it, he's not quite ready to think about it. ]
All of your sweet words and your concerns... [ He licks the head of Eliot's cock, still looking up at him, his breath ghosting over it as he finishes speaking. ] And you couldn't leave a bruise on me that would last more than a day.
[ That much is, in fact, true. ]
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All of your sweet words and your concerns... And you couldn't leave a bruise on me that would last more than a day.
He can still see it. Can see so very clearly the bruises left on Adrian's face, can map the shape to them and reconstruct just how Eliot put them there. How somehow he managed to go so far and no further, left him bleeding and bruised but nothing more than that. Some trick, some quirk or accident made him stop except in his dreams he didn't. He doesn't, and it's indistinguishable from the truth now so maybe he instead all he sees is the moment he decides not to stop. Can hear how Adrian begs him for mercy until he can't anymore.
Eliot's inhale was sharp but his subsequent exhale is even. Measured. ]
That sounds like a complaint.
[ His hand on Adrian's head slips down, cups the back of it, tilts it up until their eyes meet. ]
Is that what you wanted? [ He huffs a laugh, but there's very little humour in it. ] Did you want it to linger? Did you wanna wear something of mine so you couldn't help but think of me? So that everyone who saw you could know what happened? Know how much you liked it?
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I intended for it to be a reassurance.
[ He lets Eliot tilt his head up, fingers still threaded into his hair. That the look in his eyes is dangerous, and it quickens his breath just as effectively as a blade against his throat.
Adrian bites his lip, a not unpleasant shiver running through him. He'd started this, but he doesn't immediately know how to respond, or exactly what kind of response Eliot is expecting. He just hadn't expected to be asked what exactly he wanted.
He answers the only way he knows how, hesitant, but honest: ] I don't want anyone to know, except for you. I don't know... what I like, except having your hands on me. However you will have me. [ He tries to drop his gaze, remembers Eliot's hand. ] If it's pleasant, or of it hurts — if it leaves a mark, or if it doesn't — I don't know that it matters.
[ It feels good to be touched in any way at all, after so long. If it weren't for the curse, he would happily turn his face and kiss the same hands that had nearly killed him all those weeks ago.
Adrian thinks he might leave it at that, but he considers what Eliot is offering again: a mark, like a lingering touch, like a jacket thrown over his shoulders on a cold night. Something of mine. Something offered, instead of inflicted. ] ...No. I think that a mark would be nice. Where would you leave it? How?
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If it's pleasant, or if it hurts... I don't know that it matters.
He hates that the words get to him, that he hears if it hurts and his whole body tightens, that he hears a mark would be nice and thinks—
—the indentation of his hands at Adrian's hips.
—a heavy hand on his ass for speaking out of turn.
—a ring of bruises around his throat, around his wrists.
Violence begetting violence. Must count for something that Adrian's the one asking for it though, right? ]
Ain't no mark I could give you that would last longer than a day, right, sweetheart?
[ A reassurance, he called it, but that tells him all he needs to know about Adrian, how badly this is all fated to end. And yet. ]
But maybe... [ He fights with himself a second. Gives in. Lets his other hand slip down to Adrian's chest, lets it stop just over his nipple. ] I'd pierce you. Right here.
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Eliot's voice is rough, even around that sweetheart, sharp and mocking. Eliot most certainly wants to hurt him, but it is novel to be wanted with such intensity for something other than his magic or his nature. His eyes fall half-shut.
He doesn't move for a moment when Eliot's hand gets to his chest, the material of his shirt thick enough to blunt out anything but the faint pressure. He leans forward, pressing his chest into Eliot's hand, pulling against his hold deliberately. He wants to be touched, piercing or not. ]
You don't like me. [ It's not accusatory, just a plain statement of fact, sharp only because of the shortness of his own breath. ] I thought you would prefer knowing that this was temporary... and now you're offering a ring? You're not thinking with your head. Allow me to help you clear it.
[ Adrian opens his mouth, leans in to take Eliot's dick again. He thinks that will probably be sufficient for Eliot to be eager to shut him up, and perhaps finish.
...but he thinks about that idea. A piercing. A bruise. Being wanted to the point of violence. ]
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Not that he ever would. They'll do whatever it is they want to tonight and then they'll probably never see each other again and Eliot will move on with his life. Nothing to it. Same as all the other people he sleeps with.
(But to call it 'offering a ring'? Please. Obviously Eliot's not the only one not thinking clearly.)
This time his head bows low over Adrian's body, hand cupping the back of Adrian's head as his mouth sinks back down onto Eliot's cock. He doesn't force it, but he also doesn't stop it if Adrian gets a bit too eager again, starts choking around the head of his cock. He likes it. Knows that Adrian likes it too. And isn't this what it's all about in the end?
Besides, he is close. Closer, for the way Adrian takes direction so very well, for the little blooms of pleasure Eliot feels from him each time he praises him. For his mouth stretched wide, and the fan of lashes across his cheeks, and the needy way he squirms, as though his own pleasure is intrinsically liked to Eliot's. Eliot opens his mouth to warn him, and then remembers that he doesn't need to and instead just lets the feeling rise, feels his stomach tense and his thighs shake before he comes with a quiet grunt. ]
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The aftermath is nice; the sort of blank, unthinking pleasure he could bask in. He waits until Eliot begins to soften in his mouth before pulling back, almost reluctant.
The rest of the world slowly comes back into focus, and Adrian works his jaw against his own hand, makes a little face when he wipes some of the drool from the corners of his mouth. The uncomfortable feeling in his trousers tells him that he must have come again at some point, but he genuinely can't guess when it must have been. Probably after some sweetheart or good, just like that. With his head a little clearer, it's a bit embarrassing.
He still has a perfect view of the tip of the condom full of come and something about it is pleasing in a different way than words. That isn't something that one can lie about.
He could still go again, Adrian knows, but his stamina isn't endless and the rest of him would only like to go to bed.
Adrian shifts to the side so that he can sit on the carpet (and get out of Eliot's way) with a soft hiss of discomfort. His leg has fallen asleep, and his knees hurt. ]
...We should get ready for bed. I'm sure you don't want me here too late.
[ He swallows against the taste of latex all the way in his throat. He's too tired to think about this too much, but all he has to remember is that it doesn't mean anything, and they'll both forget about it come morning. ]
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We can get ready for bed if you want— [ He's not acknowledging that other comment; as if Eliot's gonna kick him out on the middle of the night with no way of getting anywhere and right after they'd fucked. Please. ] —or you can come here and I can make you come again.
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He stops in front of Eliot, like he's not quite sure what to do with himself. ]
It doesn't really... I'm not sure of how many times I can... [ Gods, why is he trying to over-explain? He makes a vague gesture towards the bed. ] That is, you shouldn't feel obligated. I usually let it go away on its own, honestly.
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You tell me. Does what I'm feeling feel like obligation to you?
[ It's insane to say the words out loud, the acknowledge the weird thing linking them, but it does have its uses. He's finding that Adrian only really hears what he wants to; it's faster to get him to come to the right conclusion by himself.
His hands settle on Adrian's hips as though magnetised. Eliot almost leans in again for a kiss before he remembers, and then exhales sharply, jaw tensing briefly. Instead, he tears a fresh condom off the strip, holding it up between them with two fingers. ]
So? You gonna let me?
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At the same time, Adrian finds it quietly baffling. Is it his own want, tangled in with Eliot's? Is it this strange bond that seems to have formed between them? Perhaps the most ethical thing to do would be for him to leave, or to put a stop to this until he understood... and yet. Gods grant him mercy, but he doesn't have the strength of will to resist.
He looks at the condom in Eliot's hand, then back to his face before offering the smallest nod. He all but squirms in Eliot's lap. ]
How do you want me? [ He only realizes how that sounds after the words are already out of his mouth. ]
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It's a shame I can't touch you, because I'd have really enjoyed this next bit. [ It's said murmured against Adrian's throat, right where the high collar of his top gives way to skin. ] Take your pants off for me, sweetheart. Lay down on the bed.
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Eliot isn't the only one having certain thoughts, and Adrian lets himself daydream about Eliot's warm mouth on his skin instead of his clothing, his teeth set against Adrian's chest. ]
Hm? [ Adrian is only half-listening, but he gets the latter half. The request, the endearment. ] Oh.
[ It takes him a moment, but he makes himself let go and climb out of Eliot's lap to do what he's told. He regrets the loss of warmth almost immediately. ]
Oh, right, I have... [ He tugs a pair of latex gloves from one of the little pouches strapped to his belt, and passes them over to Eliot. ] For work. But it might be safer, for you.
[ It's much more bare skin than he would normally like to risk.
He's too eager to bother stepping away fully, so he ends up undressing without fanfare, directly in front of Eliot. When he tugs his pants down, he's still wearing silky white undergarments, the buttons on the sides straining against the gentle curves of his hips, the lace trim sporting a small tear. He'd assumed that he would lose what little muscle he'd put on in Barovia, and then he wouldn't need to replace them, but that doesn't seem to be the case... which means that not much is left to the imagination, even if he doesn't remove them.
His legs are lean-muscled and littered with a number of scars, his his socks held in place by the straps of garters that stop just under his knees.
Adrian climbs into the bed and lays on his back, propping himself up on his elbows so that he can see Eliot. ] Like this..?
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[ There's something obscene about pulling on the gloves Adrian hands to him. About seeing his latex covered hands on Adrian's calf. His knee. Pressed against the inside of his thighs.
(Bare arms and gloves hands, as though he's here to make Adrian&mdash)
A slight pressure to get him to part them, and then Eliot settles between them, the denim of his jeans pressed up against Adrian's bare skin. He slips a finger under the hem of Adrian's underwear and gives it a little tug. ]
This for me?
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The gloves are thin enough that he can feel the warmth if Eliot's hands through them. Adrian shifts restlessly, wanting to feel those strong fingers on his hips, on his thighs, leaving bruises in their wake.
He can't bring himself to answer Eliot's question. He looks away, bites his lip so hard that he can taste the faint copper of blood, but he nods very slowly, not trusting his voice. ]
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Instead, his fingers close around that elusive tube of lube. If he thought he could get away with fucking Adrian with no incident he'd have his own cock out in a second. But there's no way in hell he's letting that curse touch him again, so he'll go for the next best thing. He squirts the lube out onto his fingers, and then reaches between Adrian's thighs, strokes his fingers over the furl of Adrian's hole as though coaxing him to open up, before he slips one inside. ]
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He thinks of Eliot fucking him, just like this, his legs wrapped around Eliot's waist, Eliot's body bearing down on him, the heat of his breath close to Adrian's neck. The muscles of his stomach tighten.
They're not going to do that, of course. They can't. Adrian's breath is a little uneven, his lip caught between his teeth so that he can worry at it. He tenses briefly when Eliot touches him, shifts his hips into a slightly more comfortable position and makes himself relax to accept the intrusion.
This much, Adrian has done before, though not very recently and never with anyone else. It was more of a curiosity, and then a means to an end. ] ...You can use more than one. I can um, I can take more.
[ Two or three perhaps; just enough to make him work to accommodate them, for the edge of discomfort to get him out of his head. ]
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Eliot presses his free hand to Adrian's stomach—to ground him, to hold him still, to touch him, whatever—and then crooks his fingers as he thrusts. ]
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The delicate little freckles that dot the insides of his thighs and the sliver of stomach visible below the hem of his shirt pulse brighter every time Eliot's fingers find his prostate, timed to the movement of Eliot's hand. The stretch is almost too much; Eliot's fingers are thicker and stronger than his own, and Adrian tries not to think of how obscene it must look to be speared on them like this, discomfort and pleasure intertwined.
His back arches obscenely so that he can press up against Eliot's hand on his stomach and bear down on his fingers at the same time. He's so close— ]
Please... Ah... Eliot..!
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[ He's just so goddamn responsive. Every touch like it's his first time all over again and it's making Eliot insane. It's not even an act; Eliot can feel how every touch seems to echo through Adrian like the aftershocks of an earthquake, how the pervasive sense of embarrassment that seems to underscore everything else makes the pleasure that much sharper. He needs it, and Eliot can't see that and not want to be the one to give it to him. Maddening.
He also never seems to fucking stop. Eliot knows Adrian has come a couple of times already tonight and still, his need hums in him like a high-pitched whine, a string tuned way too tightly. Eliot might have started to wonder if he's not doing a good enough job if he didn't think it was some weird magical bullshit.
Seeing him like this is enough to spark a heat in him too. Eliot feels his insides twist in sympathetic need as Adrian writhes under his hand, desperately chasing his orgasm.
(And there's something about feeling him push futilely against his strength that—) ]
Let me see it.
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The other times had been pleasant but quick; this one was slower, indulgently fulfilling, and Adrian feels a bit drunk with it. He doesn't really care that there's come on his shirt and on his skin. That he can feel a drop of lube run down the back of his thigh. ]
Thank you. [ He breathes, finally letting his hand fall to his side. He's so tired he could fall asleep right where he is, but he looks up at Eliot with half-lidded eyes. ] Do you want me to, um..?
[ Adrian makes a vague gesture. He doesn't know for sure if Eliot is hard again, but he can definitely feel... something.
As much as he would like to be more helpful at the moment, there's not a single bone in Adrian's body that's interested in moving from where he is. ]
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