Title: Love's Just A Four Letter Word - Kiss Of Life part 1
Warning: NC-17 - intercourse and violence
His newly painted lips moved, but no sound came out. He had looked something like this when his Master and his Mistress had dressed him up like a little lady of the time; save for, the colours had been darker with the lack of colour choices in that day. Taking the towel numbly, he stared at his dull reflection in the mirror, eyebrows dipping. He did look very... slutty, didn't he? Even as a younger man, he probably looked more feminine that most, he knew that the evening his creator had taken him out like that, he had passed with flying colours, men all around stopping and turning their heads at the young lady they couldn't have. Thinking that he mustn't show just how brittle his emotions were by breaking down at the remembrance of that not-so-lovely evening, he smiled, looking himself over. "I look like a whore, Tyn...." he laughed, lifting the rag and wetting it beneath the faucet.
"What do you think?" he muttered back, hips lifting and grinding against Lysander the best he could from his awkward position. With his sweater caught on his hands, he tugged it completely off, fingers smoothing down the back of the other man's shirt and then back up over the ribs, pulling the shirt with them. It would seem to Casper, that Lysander's need, his lust, was stronger, thicker than his own, which was seeming to choke him. Another practised moan lifted from his lips as he felt lips at his chest, awakening tender places on his body no one usually cared to acknowledge. With his thin hands slipping over naked skin, he smirked, catching and undoing the button, then on to the zipper at Zan's pants; his hands did not fumble, or tremble even as he completed this necessary task, even though lust shown dark in his deep, swirling emerald eyes.
Taking up the towel he was given, the immortal began clearing away the make-up as well as he could, not wanting any more reminders of his Master for the time being. "Oh, I know, Tyn, I know... Don't get all upset on me, gracious. And plus, what should I expect? You are silly." With a minute sort of wink, the vampire dropped the towel onto the floor and brushed past Tyn, catching his hand as he moved. "Come along, I'll have to think of something terribly nasty for you next time... What will you pick, my crazed little leech? Truth, or dare?" Edvard had once again pulled him into the living room and shoved the boy backwards onto the couch, crawling on top of him and then laying his face on his lover's chest. Turning coppery-golden eyes to Tyn's, he smirked. "Oh, you had best choose wisely." he noted in undertones, lips pressing against the skin of his throat.
With legs spread in true whoring fashion, his toes began to pry off his socks, feeling it very strange and quite useless to continue wearing them. Eyes and mind as a whole, however, were stuck on Lysander's face, pressing eager, heated kisses down his chest still. Impatiently grabbing his chin, Kris guided him back up, a rough sort of meeting mouths following. The youth's eyes were narrowed, a devious look curling his pretty features into perhaps what was meant to be seductive, but looked more... sinister, nearly. Really, though, how could you look sinister with a face like that? When the kiss broke, his body loosened some, spine twisting and curving to move that feverish skin against the new lover's hands.
Tyn whimpered, a real whimper, unlike Edvard’s earlier amateur dramatics, and moved away from the lips at his throat, all too close to his jugular for comfort, eye fixed fearfully on Edvard’s back. He was unable to see the face pressed against his skin, and the two, deep, pale scars; what should have been a clean, flesh puncture wound torn, leaving two ragged lines parallel down his windpipe. "Please…" he managed, fingers clutching at Edvard’s own shirt, missing and then fixing on his belt loops, pulling Edvard’s hips closer, distressed but still turned on. He couldn’t help it, it was Edvard, pressed against him, and kissing him and being.. dominant. Not uncaring but…powerful, demanding. Tyn groaned. He couldn’t help it.
He pressed his own hips down, hard, grinding pelvises together and relieving some of the pressure in his own body, kissing Kris’ mouth hungrily, lapping and biting down, before moving away again, holding the other’s shoulders, forcing the other to lay back, with his head against the arm of the sofa. "I rather enjoy it." The voice was husky, lust-dry, and muffled by Kris’ hip, which was being eagerly licked and nibbled, tongue dancing over the protruding bones, and then moving lower, running a damp trail over the other man’s inner thigh, both hands reaching to pull underwear completely off. Letting his hands move from the knees, having pulled them into a bent position, and then pushed them back, his fingers slipped to the bare backside, rubbing through the cleft as he moved off, his darkened blue eyes moving over the naked expanse of man before him, licking his lips before he pressed his tongue into the tight, puckered entrance.
Biting his lips, he reached up for Edvard’s head, curling the dark hair, messed by his own fondling, around his fingers, pushing the lips closer against his skin, but away from his veins. "Bite me, please." He managed, other hand moving over to his lover’s shoulder, clinging to him as Tyn’s body slipped a little more further down the sofa, his eye swimming in tears that wouldn’t fall, his body trembling with irregular spasms of fear which somehow had become lust, his lungs burning as he searched for air. That hadn’t happened before, as far as he knew. Apart from with Dante. But Tyn had seen that as his only option, his body hadn’t dictated then, just followed in his mind’s orders, but now it was the chemicals and hormones and blood that was in charge, leading him on, along with that little sadomasochistic part of him was cheering, almost satisfied.
His fingers gently reached in, one at first, a second digit a little later, working tight muscles open as he coated Kris’ insides, making his own eventual entrance easier. But for now, Lysander was just enjoying the writhing and groaning his actions were producing, tongue pressing a little deeper, free hand holding one of the singer’s legs still. He didn’t want his head crushed, after all. He gently, carefully, scissored his fingers, pulling them apart and stretching the walls of muscle, tongue flickering around and lapping eagerly, feeling something give a small shudder of desire within him.
Being pressed back down after trying to come up with the lover was nothing new, but Kris submitted, if only too willingly. His fingers grappled for hold somewhere-anywhere; when they caught hold of Lysander's shoulders, though, they slipped, palms too slick to keep his grip. Then there was the couch arm, fingers exploring heatedly behind his head, the boy caught hold of the fabric, finely-done nails scratching at it, long digits digging deep into the plush bit of padding there with another groan. "I never would have guessed..." The singer's lips curled back, eyes shutting, eyebrows dipping; his oversensitive body felt the body heat of the other man rock against him before moving onwards, downwards... the undergarments were gone, laying tossed off onto the floor in a crumpled black heap. His whole body shuddered in a irrepressible way, sensation too strong to hold back as he felt fingertips and a damp, curious tongue slip inside him.
Well, this wasn't what he had been expecting; Edvard had leaned back at first being pushed away from the slender and yet masculine neck of his lover. Now, however, he was being dragged closer to it, literally begged to touch, caress, and rip into the most vital stretch of skin and muscle with eager, cold, miniature daggers. The eldest immortal lifted his weight off the other for just a moment, but was pulled back fervently. Var was slightly taken aback by this shivering, trembling man beneath him, obviously letting his sensual wants and desires take over the rational part of his mind. "What?" he murmured, as though he hadn't heard, face rising to look down upon Tyn's, eye wet and shiny until it fluttered shut, and then open again, something looking suspiciously like tears forming at the corners. Uttering small whines of what would have been concern, the raven-haired vampire nodded.
"Lysander!" it came as a sharp, unexpected intake of breath on Kris' part, knuckles going white as he still held, steadfast, to the couch. He could feel the muscles tighten up in his legs, and then loosen, contractions he couldn't control running up and burning his spine, from his now pink cheeks to his tingling toes. That twitching, excited body whimpered and cried against its restraints, one of Zan's hands, and two the belonged to it. Mind fighting back for control, he uttered stupid little things that should have been sentences, never making it past the check station in his brain. Giving in to the fact he couldn't wrap his legs around the one between them, he threw the nearest up onto the back, levering himself up some, closer to that mouth.
Carefully, as though uncertain this was exactly the proper thing to do, Edvard let his lips trace softly over the Adam's apple of Tyn's throat, fingers trying desperately to push him away from that area at all. There were, consequences, sometimes, with a vampire-to-vampire bite, and Var didn't plan on letting any of them happen; it would seem, that this was the same though in the subconscious mind of his lover, also. Settling his mouth away from a pumping, coursing vein one which his eyes were fixed, the teeth scraped receptive flesh, wondering what his reaction would be with Tyn's shoulders pinned to the couch with one hand, the other stroking back the hair gathering around the neck. Pressing one more sweet, tender kiss to the skin, Var went with his instincts as the deepest, most lasting kiss was spurred past flesh and into muscle.
As his name was gasped into the musk-scent again above them, Lysander’s tongue flickered, snake-like, inside the other, going deeper and licking a long, heavy swipe over the muscle before withdrawing, pressing several kisses over the damp, stretched opening, and over the thighs, sliding his own boxers off. As he knelt, carefully between the spread legs, he reached for Kris’ hands, pulling them from the sofa (which was going to end up shredded if those cat-like claws kept scratching at it) and around his shoulders, and then letting Kris wrap his legs about Lysander’s back, letting blue stare into blue, both darkened with desire, with lust. His body was eager, too eager, more eager then he had been for a long time. It was then that the thought came to him, that this was sex, not making love. Making love would come later, this was just about bodies, about chemicals and release and pleasure, not about joining and love and souls. That, if this was love, would come later. No, this was pure, animalistic sex. And, surprisingly, the man who never had sex but always made love, was enjoying it more then he could ever remember enjoying anything else.
Tyn groaned, a deep, reverberating noise that set his mind on fire, and made his pulse rocket, his back arching as the hair on the nape of his neck stood up. The fingers in Var’s hair tugged a little as they pressed the other man’s head closer to his flesh, teeth deeper as his hips bucked, once, wantonly, eye closed tightly, other hand breaking free and searching for Var’s hand, clutching finger fingers into the longer, more elegant ones, holding tight. "Oh yes…" he managed, almost orgasmically, shivering, and then let his grip on Edvard ease, head tipped back against the cushions as he looked sated, wide grin on his face. "That was almost better then sex…" he said, fingers coming through Edvard’s hair again. "I wouldn’t mind getting Turned by you, you know…" he smirked, devilish cast coming over his face again, and his tongue brushed over his swollen lower-lip. "Can I call you Master?"
"Are you ready?" Lysander asked, steadying his voice as he moved his arms to around Kris’ back, holding him up at an angle, his lips close to the other’s ear, before be began to mutter soft, dirty adjectives directly into the other’s mind, all the words he’d thought when his tongue had been so busy; all the words that described how tight, how hot and how delicious Kris was. How much Lysander wanted to eat him, swallow him whole, or at least, keep him forever as his own, as his partner and has his love, and how delicious each night would be when they could be together. And as he did, one hand left the other’s burning flesh, loosing curling around his own stiff erection and pressing the tip against the damp entrance that lead to all that heat, the epicentre of all that molten desire, and he leant into it, keeping his body under the tightest, tightest control. It might not have been making love, but that didn’t mean he could hurt the other, not if he did want to make love to him in future.
Edvard's jaw clenched tightly, seeming to milk that muscle with his fangs like a snake trying to inject poison. His lips were curled back, tongue working against the edge of his canines, licking away the blood spilling into his mouth, eyes shut tightly, mind working to keep his composure no matter how the other bucked and whined his name; even though that part had been quite pleasing to his ears. With a little groan of regret, the minute daggers released their grip on the throat, tainted wine with blood, small rivulets of it dripping down his chin before he could lift his mouth and catch Tyn's. This quieted any further talk for the moment, the other words said, hanging on the air and waiting to be answered. Slowly, Edvard lifted his mouth, leaving Tyn's smeared with his own blood, eyes that had been dark now returning to their normal golden sheen. A small smirk playing over the curves of his full lips he answered, "Oh, you wouldn't, would you? Call me anything that pleases you, my love..."
The thought that what was happening /was/ just sex never crossed Kris' mind. It was apparent, it was... probably what he wanted. Even though sex was addictive, it could be very impersonal, detached, if you would. With just this primitive need, you didn't /have/ to get attached. That's how Casper's mind worked, wondering relentlessly in the sober, sane part how this would be forgiven if it would have not worked out between the two. He shouldn't have stayed, he should have just... gone home and slept, waking early to get back to the grindstone; which was, more or less, the same thing happening here and now on this couch... except much less intense. How could this /not/ be personal? Something inside blurted, his body on fire, steam having to be released through slightly louder moans of ecstasy. It didn't have to be... he could just pretend this wasn't Lysander, make believe it was just another man... but then again, why would he want that? Because it was easy; that way, he couldn't be hurt. Maybe that's what Kris wanted, something free of emotional scars, something safe and familiar and oh-so-very forgiving.... But, but... Lysander was beautiful, he admitted that he wanted Kris for reasons other than his body; was it true?
Slowly, the vampire let his chin rest on the other's jutting clavicles, eyes hooded with something more like a dazed, lazy stare rather than the piercing, questioning one he was intending upon. He wanted to see his lover's soul, see what he wanted, see how he thought... everything about him, he wanted. With that cooled, oozing blood seeping like a toxin into his own veins, he felt the need to know everything of Tyn. "Tell me more about you, no silly games right now.... Just your past, tell me of your death, your rebirth... anything you can remember. I want to hear it all."
That question! It would have been laughable if the young man wasn't drowning in a pool of insane, irrepressible desire and heated lust. How could he be anything but ready? It was, caring though, sweet to not force onto him too fast; however, that thought was lost in his swimming mind. Nodding feverishly, he wiped his face against Lysander's shoulder quickly, trying to get the hair sticking to his forehead off with the sweat; however, that was useless, seeing as his lover was wet with salty perspiration too. The cool of the room seemed more invading now, had he moved from the comfort of their small bubble of warmth. Gasping slightly as he felt the other inside him, he pressed his cheek to Lysander's, scarcely moving without some prompting from Lysander that it would be all right. Groaning gently the lover's name, he shut his eyes, fingers digging at the flesh under his hands.
Tyn was still swamped, still recovering from the heady sensations, as if his human, younger self had got drunk again, and was intoxicated to the point of believing his universe was made up of warm, soft cotton-wool. He heard the words, although they seemed unreal to him, his arms still wrapped around Var’s shoulders, chest still rapidly expanding and then contracting. "Eddy, wha…? Everything?" He sat up a little, suddenly sober, if he had been drunk before, and gave a soft laugh. "You can’t mean everything, Eddy. There…there isn’t enough time…" he looked down at the other, at the cast in his face, and realised it wasn’t a joke, that Eddy meant it, up to a point at least. He swallowed, his own blood mixing with the salvia in his throat, and he nodded, and muttered in the most submissive tone he could manage, "yes master…"
He pressed himself deeper, hips coupled to those of his partner, breaths still as steady as the rest of his entry, hilting himself in the heat, feeling it consume him, cover him all over, making his whole body shudder in delectation. "Kris… does that feel good?" he breathed softly, teeth catching the other’s ear, sucking on the lobe before his body began to withdraw. "Because it feels fucking brilliant to me" and with that, he pulled out all most all the way, and slid back into the pure heat of his lover’s body, the movement slicked by his own salvia, cutting down the friction between them. Lysander was being honest though, it did feel, for want of another word, fucking, brilliant. They fitted together so well, Kris tight around him, so hot and wonderfully soft and it felt like there was hardly space at all between their flesh as Zan’s hips moved in again, steadily, carefully, and then his hips moved away again, teasing every time with the lack of thrust, the lack of grinding, just the smooth penetration. It didn’t occur to Lysander then, or for a long time after, but in Kris’ ‘’profession’’ it must have been a nice change, to fit so well with someone, not be forced by a man who was far too big, and too impatient to take the time, or feel too loose, and hardly feel it at all. He would smile and blush slightly when this thought hit him, but seeing that wouldn’t happen for a few years yet, he was now just too concerned for the job in hand, literally.
"My mother… my adopted mother, made it very clear to me that I was her heir. To everything, to her money and the land and whatever. She told me that, when I reached the right age, that she would formally become my mother, and then it would… be mine." He face was turned away, not looking at Var, but keeping his attention fixed on the laminate floor as he spoke, voice still submissive, soft, reflective. "So, when I turned 18, I had dinner with her, like we did on all my birthdays, on the big, long old dining table that sat a hundred people, or felt like it. She asked me what I wanted to do with my life, if I was going to university or if I was going to marry and what sort of job I wanted, and I… I didn’t know. She seemed really disappointed. But… I didn’t think much about it then, because I was 18… my friend, we had arranged to go out, you know, get drunk, because…" he smiled, slightly embarrassed, "that’s what you do when you’re 18. So… I went out. And that’s it. I woke up at home, I’m not sure if it was the next day or the next month but… I woke up," his fingers went to his neck then, to the torn scars over his jugular, "and there was dried blood there, and on my face, and mother was gone. All the servants too. And most of her things. Everything from her bedroom, even the furniture, but the other stuff she took was just… small things. Stuff that she liked the most, and the rest of it was just left. The house and the stables with all the horses in and… everything. I hope…she meant to leave it to me. That she meant to leave, you know? I feel so guilty…" his voice faded.
His hips moved again, more fluidly now he’d found his rhythm, ending the slow, teasing withdraws and hilting himself properly, keeping his hips aligned with Kris’ as he thrust deeply, hands holding tightly to his lover’s back, holding him and nuzzling into his shoulder, pressing their chest together, muttering incoherently about how prefect this way. It was, Kris was perfect, beautiful in very aspect, and desirable. Oh yes, Lysander knew why Kris would work as… that sort of person. He knew the other could go better, but it was too soon to introduce that idea, too soon and too… possessive. Too controlling to dictate to the other what he could and could not do. So until the time was right, Zan was going to do his best, to understand, to love and to put it to one-side. But this man, the one he was holding now, was stunning, jaw-dropping and heart-stopping. Even normally, he made Lysander’s chest ache, and now, now, Zan was sure he was close to death. How could you steal a piece of heaven and survive the wrath of the angels?
"You shouldn't feel guilty anymore... even if your Mother has... branded you with these memories for all eternity... You should let it go." And wasn't he a hypocrite? Here he was, laying over his lover, listening so intently to the words he had spoken, earnest interest flooding between them; yet, the advice he was giving was just.... advice. There was no experience to back up his reasons for comforting words and the want to let go. He had, and would forever, remember his Master. There was no doubt of that. Who could forget the first one to say, "I love you"? Who could forget the one that gave you all you wanted? Who... who could forget the one that made you... a monster? Edvard was certain he couldn't forget the pain and anguish that went hand in hand with these memories, and he knew it would be crazy to ask Tyn to do so also, seeing as his lover was raised by the one who change him instead of found. That lady must have been that boy's world, his cornerstone... Isn't it funny how everyone important in your life will abandon you sooner or later? Even if their time stretches out on into eternity and they have forever to find you again?
All the boy could do was hold on, arms clinging with the last fibre of his being tingling, fit to snap into shards, busted up along with every bit of his control. Voicing his most secretive, unbound pleasure with each touch he was given, the young man continued his trembling, trying to press himself right up to Lysander so that their bodies would not part. "Lysander, you couldn't have described it better..." he purred, nails dragging red-marks up his lover's back, the nape of his neck, and into that even messier mat of muted brown rolled and shifted beneath eager, latching fingers. Taking hold of him, one hand in his hair, the other wrapped under one arm and around beneath Zan's shoulder-blades, rubbing small circles to occupy his fingertips, even though they eventually gave in and started stroking up and down the other man's spine. Another slow, slick thrust into him sent Kris' mind reeling, teeth nipping hungrily at the man's lips, legs tightening around his middle. He felt so... so, hot all over, so... alive, so... God, he was on fire, both of them were.... The heat between them, the cavern between their abdomen's was sweltering air, like that bottled straight off a mid-day, summer parking lot, tar causing shimmering air to contort the vision of an onlooker. Crying out loud now, with no real care for neighbour or any other, he still tried muffling his mounting pleasure into the curve of a sweaty neck, trembling lips pressing half-done kisses there.
Edvard's fingertips ran slowly through the locks of midnight blue, sighing faintly. "Thank you... for telling me." he uttered, nuzzling his lips against the man's jaw, a kiss landing on his cheek. "I just want to know... everything about you, you fascinate me, you know. Every bit of you makes me curious, makes me want to have every last fibre of knowledge you do...." he stopped then, blinking and lifting his face. There he was again, saying things he knew he himself could not fulfil if asked the same in return... or could he?
There was no more plateau now, the half-said words of perfection being muttered into Kris' shoulder, this slow, constant rhythm making him feel like he could implode, or better yet, explode. With watering eyes and gasping, desperate lungs, he drew himself hard against Lysander, grappling for the last grip he could get, back arching forwards into the pocket of sweltering air, his own heated words beginning to flow to his current lover, the ones that might come in the peak of excitement, just before a quick, quaking orgasm hits.
The boy nodded. He would forget, to heal, to let go of the heaviness that had weighted him down since then. Or at least, outwardly so. No more desperate tears or walking in and out of rooms that she had never seen, never known, searching and calling for her, just like the child that after nightmares, had crawled into her bed. How many times now, as an adult, or rather, as an eternal teenager, had he woken, in the day, and stumbled out, eyes blinded by sunlight that managed, somehow, to seep through the blackout curtains, only to sob mindlessly when he couldn’t find her? No, there would be no more of that, openly. Instead, now he would search his heart for her, the deeper, darker recesses of his existence, places he could loose his soul within his body, and never wake from a dreamless forever. To privately morn, that would be better, perhaps, now that Eddy was here. Let Eddy have his nights, his evening and dawns, and his mother would always have the light. "I will do Eddy. I have you now, anyway…"
One hand gently eased from about Kris’ back, using the other to cradle them together, ribs pressed tightly to one another, his heart pounding just as his lover’s was, although now there was a more urgent need that ebbed and flowed in Kris’ pulse. So, with this free hand, and instinct he didn’t realise he possessed, he reached down between them, fingers probing that area of intense heat at Kris’ abdomen, and fingertips finding the source, curling around it and gently stroking in time with the slightly wilder, more desperate thrusts, still trying to keep from paining the exquisite creature within his hold. La petite mort, the French called it, the little death during sex at the height of pleasure, it took you to heaven and then back down, gave a taster of the afterlife. Lysander was almost there, teeth gritted together, every breath seemed like fire in his lungs, and then flowed around his body in his blood, thick, burning rivers of fire, hot, too hot, and yet, not yet consuming. He was not ash yet. He was still alive, still here, still holding tightly to Kris, to Casper, to his dearest, fragile and beautiful like a porcelain doll.
"Eddy…" he began, uncurling his arms to stretch, sliding a little further under the other male, before moving his hands to the shirt-covered shoulders again, his face looking sated, happy, and somewhat…sly. "You know that thing… that you wanted to do to me before. Do you still want to?" he asked, legs spread slightly around Var’s hips, mainly for his own comfort. After all, the other man was taller and heavier then he was, and besides, he was more seductive.
With a strained gasp, Lysander’s stroking began a little more concentrated on the pinnacle of the heat-source, his hips bucking madly now, thrusting forwards with what little strength he had left, his own length twitching and painfully swollen. God, this was going to be… be something everything and anything. He pressed forwards, fingertips mocking the stroking Kris was administering to his back, and his hips moving in time to those fast, dictating caresses.
Head thrown back, black spikes of hair drenched and clinging so damp to his forehead, his temples; there was another soft ache expelled from his lips, and then he felt it boiling up in him, that last bit of pained pleasure surging through him like white lightening. The heat, the slick, wet body, the continual, astounding movements... it was more than he could handle. If that had been promised at the beginning, he knew it would be more than he could have handled anyways.
Casper's back arched inwards again, trying to move back against Lysander's teasing fingertips, and finding it too intense for his twitching muscles still ever particle of them alive with some electrical current, some burning heat he couldn't stop, he just let it happen. Fingers were still spread, still digging at the other's back, even though not drawing blood, or making any more of those raw red lines; the other hand was clutched in damp, clumped brown tendrils and the grip tightened slightly when he cried out one last time. There was no stopping that build up of ecstasy bursting from him like a too-full dam that could handle no more; even as the warm ooze spilled over his stomach and thighs and Lysander's hand, he kept up his soft murmurings of excitement, head leaning forwards to begin thanking the other more for what he had just been given. Gentle, not so urgent and not so needy kisses graced over the slightly swollen lips of his lover, eyes shut faintly as he merely clung on.
Edvard's hand travelled to one naked hip, lips curling into a knowing little smirk that was quickly stowed away, a curious set to his mouth replacing it. "What is 'that thing' you speak of, my love?" he asked innocently, as though he did not know. The immortal's eyes co-operated in this pitiful illusion of ignorance, the eyebrows curving gently, golden spheres widening a tad. The fingers resting on that hip ran up towards the bent knee, pulling it closer to his side and then back down to rest on Tyn's chest; from there, he leaned both of his hands on either side of the other's shoulders, distributing his weight better as the black spirals fell into his line of vision and he turned his head quickly to sling him back over his slender neck. "Hmmm?" he repeated, lips dipping to peck a kiss at his lover's.
Kris' legs loosened their death hold around Lysander's middle, waiting for the other man to slowly ease back to his less-tensed state; when their muscles unbunched and oxygen was able to reach the places that had been starved of such a necessity during their fiasco, they would be better, the fire receding in their veins. Wrapping still slick arms up around the other's back where the forearm rested over the shoulder blades and the fingers clutched over the shoulder, the singer let his cheek rest in the slight hollow where muscle and skin had parted, the clavicle making a little valley. The tongue flicked out to lap up a bit of that salty substance still running from his lover's neck, warm breath ghosting up his skin. He didn't know what to say, or how to say it... So he settled for the easy way out-not to say anything at all.
Rouge fingers slipped from their place on the couch, stroking over the muscles in Tyn's neck before curling beneath it, feeling the hair at the back of the other's neck prickle slightly. Kisses descended upon his love's forehead as the rather pointed nose-tip edged away blue bangs, seeing them fall back into the messed mat of it. The socket where golden eyes should have been no longer caught his attention, he had seen much worse deviations of the human form, why should this bother him at all? Tyn was still beautiful, and would always be.
Feeling this hot, wet, sensation over his hand and over the other’s skin, and then the groan of relief and pleasure that accompanied that, Zan’s breath hitched. As the other man’s body tensed, he felt his own body squashed, clenched from every angle by strong walls of muscle. He trembled, the pressure enough and clearly too much, letting his own release flow through him, his lips pressed heatedly against the nearest piece of Kris’ bare flesh, biting down to muffle his own cry, marking the other unintentionally on the curve of his shoulder.
Tyn held his breath as the fingers moved over the goose-pimpled skin of his leg, making his whole body shudder again in delight. Mewing softly, he nuzzled against his lovers cheek, his own burning brightly as he was asked. Oh, he knew Edvard was messing with him, playing with him like a cat would with a mouse. He wasn’t going to rise to the bait so easily though, arching his back and sending his hips to grind, with some difficulty, up against Var’s, letting his arms hang loosely around the other’s neck, playing with the strands of coal black silken hair. "Eddy, don’t tease." He said, pushing his hips up against Var’s abdomen and then across the other’s body, over hips and the tops of thighs, the fastenings of Edvard’s jeans catching on bare skin and scraping, adding to this odd lust for pain.
"You liked that, did you Kris?" Lysander breathed, carefully pulling his hips away now that they were not being forced, pressed by other limbs into the smaller man’s body. He didn’t pull away completely, however, as although it would give them both a little more physical comfort, the mental and metaphorical significance would be hurtful after all the endearments they had shared. He let his breathing slow, returning to normal after a few minutes of laboured control. Letting himself enjoy these soft, careful kisses, tender almost, swollen lips meeting swollen lips searchingly, mapping, Lysander’s blue eyes open to watch every muscle in the younger man’s face shift in expression, from lust to satisfaction to weariness. After a few moment, he pulled himself up completely, kneeling with his legs either side of Kris’ thighs, and passed the other man back his unfinished drink.
Tyn pushed himself up on his elbows then, catching Var’s lips in his own, and biting, not gently at all, and pushing Var’s head down, the kiss becoming more demanding as the blue-haired youth began to grate his teeth along Var’s tongue, before he released the other, leaning back down. "That was your punishment. Don’t make me do it again, because it won’t be your tongue, Eddy." He almost purred, and then pulled his body a little way out from under Var’s, and then totally away, slipping his legs over the edge and standing up, re-buttoning the shirt. "I suppose if you don’t know, we can’t do it." He said, voice a soft drawl. "A pity. I was looking forwards to it, but if that is the way the world works, then I’ll live without, won’t I love?" He leant his chest up against the doorframe, fingers curling in the ridges. "I’ll be in the shower, if you want me…"