[ 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. ]
[ Who says 'thank you' after coming? Eliot can't help but be a little amused at that as he slides his fingers free. Still, he can feel the way satisfaction suffuses every inch of Adrian's body, the lazy haze of pleasure, so maybe he'll let it slide this time. He carefully rolls off the gloves and then sets them aside in case Adrian wants to keep them.
(He catches himself thinking Next time, I'll— and puts a stop to that very quickly.) ]
Nah, I'm good.
[ He could go again, if he really wanted to, but alongside the hum of pleasure is a bone deep exhaustion. He's pretty sure Adrian's gonna fall asleep before he even gets Eliot's dick back out. ]
[ It's a testament to how tired he is that Adrian doesn't put up a fight. ]
You're very kind, Eliot... [ He murmurs. He keeps thinking he ought to get up, ought to be helpful somehow, but by the time Eliot circles back to the bed he's fallen into a light dose. He's vaguely cognizant of taking a shirt and a pair of shorts and changing into them, but after that he's out for good. Everything else can wait until morning. The last thought he has before drifting off is that everything smells like Eliot, and it's actually quite nice...
Good luck finding a safe place to sleep though, Eliot. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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. ]
no subject
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..!
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
(He catches himself thinking Next time, I'll— and puts a stop to that very quickly.) ]
Nah, I'm good.
[ He could go again, if he really wanted to, but alongside the hum of pleasure is a bone deep exhaustion. He's pretty sure Adrian's gonna fall asleep before he even gets Eliot's dick back out. ]
Here, lemme find you something to sleep in.
🎀
You're very kind, Eliot... [ He murmurs. He keeps thinking he ought to get up, ought to be helpful somehow, but by the time Eliot circles back to the bed he's fallen into a light dose. He's vaguely cognizant of taking a shirt and a pair of shorts and changing into them, but after that he's out for good. Everything else can wait until morning. The last thought he has before drifting off is that everything smells like Eliot, and it's actually quite nice...
Good luck finding a safe place to sleep though, Eliot. ]