No worries about leaving him waiting. He's not having to think about his balance or navigating the space without falling over himself, so the sound of rustling clothes and the way air and warmth are displaced, he doesn't have any trouble knowing what Francis is doing. He's left with just his nervousness for company, but that's hardly a new experience.
The room feels unreasonably drafty, but he's almost sure that's his mind trying to throw obstacles in his way, and he refuses. He wants. What he wants right now is more to reward Francis, too unfamiliar with his own little desires to be chasing them just yet.
The hand on his is a welcome distraction. More scars. He knows these very well. He caresses with just his thumb on contact, learning the breadth of them, one more exciting story, this one recorded more roughly than in awls and skin. He's a little slow on the uptake, but Francis clearly likes attention to these painful parts of him.
Here, Xiao Xingchen is being painfully literal. But scars are common as dirt with swords in one's life. There's nothing disingenuous in his easy acceptance. Who doesn't have theirs? He follows that impulse, dipping down in more of a nuzzle than a kiss. The angle is difficult, but clearly a bit of awkward fumbling between them is alright.
These scars, left by the tuunbaq before he strangled the soul from its body, are a shameful part of him. They certainly hurt less than the hand, but there’s more reluctance to show anyone the claw marks left by the beast that hunted and consumed his men. They’re a reminder that he lived and they perished.
They’re a reminder of what he took from the Arctic.
It’s a show of good faith to have Xiao Xingchen now caressing them, treating them as the same as the rest of his skin and not some hideous piece of him. He’s more laid bare now than just being without the clothes.
He takes a shaky breath and pushes his hand carefully through his hair. “Lie with me.”
He's not sure what he did, but it doesn't seem to be the time to ask. There'll be time for the story later, when the air between them isn't thrumming like a summer storm. He turns and catches the palm of Francis' hand to kiss.
If he moves, he's going to lose his last robe and his trousers entirely, and he can't think that'll look striking or enticing so much as extremely silly. And as silly as he's been for, well, probably most of his life, he doesn't want the first time Crozier sees him to be completely ridiculous. She he rolls one shoulder himself, shrugging off fabric that's gone spiderweb-thin from overuse and time, baring more than half his chest. He only waits a heartbeat before the coils his arms around Francis' neck, shivering absurdly when all he can feel is heat. It's different, skin to skin. "All yours," he says, very properly, and grinning to himself. Because yes, it's... striking, but it's still them, a bit absurd and not at all sure of what they're doing and simply dizzy in each other's company.
All his. What a thing to say! What a precious thing to offer him, and Crozier doesn't take it lightly, not at all. Whether it's for just this moment or perhaps something longer - and he already knows himself, knows that he'll want more than just this night, the electricity in the room is crackling in the atmosphere - he'll cherish him deeply for as long as he's allowed.
He presses back against his chest and kisses him soundly, letting their heartbeats thrum against each other for another indulgent moment or two as he parts his lips against his and tastes the inside of his mouth.
And then he reaches for the rest of his clothes, laying kisses along the elegant slope of his shoulder. "May I?" He silently promises to be careful, considering the state of the clothes. Perhaps he can find him something sturdier later? ...best focus on the task at hand.
Xingchen's been mostly focused on the twin challenges of being good to Francis and not being nervous, and feels thus far accomplished on both fronts. He's still feeling mostly self satisfied when he's held, and kissed, and beginning to toy with the idea of involving his tongue.
It's the kiss on his shoulder, for whatever strange reason, that slips under his skin and makes a shocking jump to the base of his spine. A lifetime of cultivation gives him a very literal sense of energy coursing through him, and yet it's still new, the sizzle and shock of it. He outright squirms under Francis' mouth, hears a strangled little noise and takes a moment to realize it came from him. For the first time, he realizes there might be more in this for him than being sweet. He is mostly naked, so it's pretty impressive to have only just started to think about it. But it's about the speed he usually manages on the uptake. "Please?" He sounds a bit throatier than the moment before.
He enjoys hearing all of Xingchen's various new sighs and groans, almost as much as he enjoys trying to make said sounds happen. And as much as this is a new experience for the both of them, Crozier can tell that something's shifted by the way Xingchen seems to plead and writhe and whimper.
Jesus.
He swallows hard and slides his hand back under the robes, slipping one side off, then the other, letting it gently drop to the floor. He stares unabashedly, marveling as he moves his hand down his ribs and along the curve of his hip. His trousers are next, and as gently as he can manage, he pulls them off as well to leave him just as bare as he is.
Crozier hooks his left arm around Xingchen's waist and pulls him flush against his body.
Honestly, being naked feels simpler than the state of dishevelment he'd put himself in, with his hair down and the robes falling off. No, this escalation actually doesn't bother him. His eyes are empty holes that leak any time he gets antsy. If Francis saw that and persisted, he's hardly going to be put off by anything else. He sighs, barely voiced, at the hand exploring him, but he mostly feels like he's waiting for Francis to get his fill of the look he wanted.
Being yanked against him is permission to be more than just seen. He groans, low and mostly unconscious. No clever ideas make it through the morass of thought and sensation in the moment. He kisses, and it's not just the way he's determined Francis wants to be kissed, but a hungry, demanding thing that begins with a bit of a nip and ends with a questing tongue. His fingers almost dig in too hard, but he catches it, channeling the energy instead with something resembling grace into running his hand down Crozier's back, learning his way.
There's a groan that slips out of his mouth and against Xingchen's lips as he feels his fingers brush along his spine. It's so new, so tender he feels like he could wrap his arms about him and sob.
But he won't, of course, but it's a revelation to be held this way.
There's only a few steps to his berth, and as much as he absolutely adores having this man up against him like this, he knows it would be a hundred times better if they laid down together. He eases them along until, inch by inch, until the back of his legs hit the bed and he tips back onto the mattress.
In the low light of the oil lamp, Xingchen's skin has a golden glow and deep shadows in the hollows and around subcutaneous points along his body. He wants to put his mouth onto them, slide his fingers along to map him out -- the center of his chest along his sternum, in the dip of his navel, along the ridge of his pelvis, his inner thighs and inside of his elbow.
He maps the world in sound and air currents. Since he lost his sight, only
one person has made regular contact with him, and he liked that, maybe too
much. Definitely too much, the way it ended. But he's certainly never
learned to handle this much sheer input. The space is small, soft, warm. He
fits in it. That's all the usually matters. But tumbling down with Francis,
the onslaught is almost unbearable. Shift of bedding against his knee. His
hair catches on the way down, and the shiver the tiny tug sends through him
burns parts of him he's only ever considered in the context of qi
channeling. And oh, Francis, Francis, Francis. A soft tickle of beard
against his cheek, and he's ready to be overset.
Xingchen lands firmly on top of him, the teasing drag of skin against skin
sharp and heady every time one of them moves the slightest bit. As the
novice here he should be yielding, but he is not now and never has been any
good at that. His shyness has apparently died an honorable death, as his
first deliberate move is to duck his head and kiss a heated line down
Crozier's throat to nip the muscle where it meets his shoulder.
It could be enough, just pressed up against Xingchen with this much skin touching and sliding and rubbing together - ah, Christ, the way it feels when one of them moves just an miniscule amount, the thought alone is going to drive him to distraction later -- it could be more than enough. If this was all Xingchen was willing to give him, if this was how far he'd be willing to go, Crozier would be content, drunk as he feels from the heat and weight of his body bearing down onto him/
But then he starts kissing, and Crozier's breath catches in his throat. "Ah, Xingchen," he hisses through his teeth. This may be his first time ever being intimate - he's never asked, but he assumes - but he's impressed by the ferocity and confidence. He must encourage him to continue, and does so by trailing his hand down along his back - stroking down his spine, his lower back, brushing his knuckles and fingertips in winding caresses along his skin - and then firmly cupping his hip and bottom and rolling the muscles in his palm.
For now he refrains from bucking his hips into him, though the temptation to do so is rapidly growing.
He needs one hand to stay upright, not trusting his shoddy balance at the
best of times. With the world seeming to spin around him, the danger of
tipping himself right off the bed is a real one. But wasting a whole hand
when they could both be feasting...
He plants his palm under Crozier's head after a moment of dizzy debate, a
point of contact if not exactly a caress, and then he has his elbow to lean
on. It's enough.
That leaves the other hand free to wander. He finds the scars he's already
been shown, a landmark for his adoring fingers. His hair's fanned out
everywhere, unbound and already a bit tousled. His fingers tangle and catch
occasionally as they travel, finding the rises and falls of chest and side.
There's something studious in his attention, like Francis is a difficult
text he's trying to learn.
All complicated by the way he jumps and shivers at the caresses from
Francis' hands. He's lost track of his own voice entirely. The sounds are
soft, but frequent, breathy little sighs and hisses that cut through kisses
pressed to throat and shoulder and collarbone and...
Occasionally Crozier pauses in his own ardent exploration to bring Xingchen back up to his lips, pushing them both just a little further each time. A kiss becomes deeper with tongue and teeth, the sliding together becomes more deliberate, his lips on his pale neck or along his shoulder tongue at pink marks made from previous kisses.
"Xingchen, my darling," he whispers, unabashedly caressing the curve of his ass. God, he wants to sink his fingers into him and never let go. Would Xingchen let him? "I want to touch you."
He pauses, waiting for the questions. Does he understand what he means? ...has he ever been touched, or touched himself before? These are very big questions.
He's inexperience, but he's not completely ignorant. He wasn't raised in the sort of temple that prized an abstract, ritualized purity, but by a cavalier rogue whose disdain for the laws of society made up the better part of her personal philosophy. There are sorceries, more or less adjacent to his own practices, that make use of sex as much as any other. And he'd spent most of his time off the mountain traveling the countryside. One didn't sleep in the lofts of farmers and shopkeepers with big families and small spaces and remain completely clueless.
But his knowledge is, yes, strictly theoretical. It's likely that without Francis's prompting, he might have stayed in this holding pattern for along time. This is lovely, and brand new, and sweet, and he feels no urgent rush away from kissing and petting. He could live on the shocks and shudders that come with it. A meal of a thousand delicate little bites. Some of them quite literal.
He pushes himself up a bit, at an angle so they're not really separated, and rests his chin in his hand. Just as he "looks" away when abashed, he mimics the gaze he would have now. He's even got his head turned the right way, though it's not much of an accomplishment at a distance of a few inches. His fingers dance an idle circle on Francis's chest. At this point, he's going to need to take direction, not just follow the impulses of his tongue and hands. But he's going to be a bit sassy about it. "Mm? And what do you need me to do?"
"Well," Crozier replies, enjoying his nonsense thoroughly, "I'm going to need you not to punch me in the throat or hit me with a stick."
Natural responses to someone touching your prick, in his honest opinion. His own first time had been fraught and confusing, but that seemed to be the nature of things when one's experimenting in a ship's hold with a fellow midshipman.
"And..." he grunts, sitting up carefully. He pushes Xingchen's wild hair back, though he's admittedly loving the way it falls onto him as they kiss, surrounding the both of them like a sort of veil. "I need you to lie on your back for me, and keep making those noises of yours, because they're driving me absolutely mad."
Fraught is not a word he'd apply to any of this. Francis has been too sweet
for much of that. He's not been entirely free from any concern. But
they're small, gentle things, familiar old insecurities. Like, well, this
one. Taking a bit of initiative let him feel in control and useful, not
like a pity case. It feels natural, showering Francis with the attention he
deserves, even the security that comes with the freedom of movement of
being the one on top.
He's being asked to give that up, trust Crozier a bit more, not to mention
actually inhabit the moment and the attention he's going to receive without
busy distraction. He lets Francis sit up, but keeps the contact unbroken,
looping his arms loosely around his neck for one quick snuggle. He catches
Francis' hand with a tight quickness that betrays the slight resurgence of
uncertainty, using it as an anchor as he lays back.
His hair is hopeless. He gives his head a quick toss to get the worst of it
out of his face, and becomes aware as he seldom is of the binding over his
eyes. He cleaned away the night's minor leaks hours ago. They're not
bandages right now. They're a mask. And that's not fair. He's beginning to
develop a smear of pink where he keeps worrying at his lip. (Not that it's
terribly obvious with the number of marks Francis has left, or the color
he's bruised into his lips.) He bites down one more time, twisting the
blindfold up as he lies back.
The grip is enough to make Crozier give some pause. Is he asking too much of him? Was he going too fast? He turns to press a kiss to his cheek, soft in his attempt to be reassuring. He's going to push him, as he's done this entire time, but never to his detriment. He hopes Xingchen knows that, and that he'll speak if he ever goes too far.
He'd opened his mouth to say something to that affect when he sees the blindfold go up, quickly stopping himself with a sharp inhale. It's significant, isn't it? The last true barrier between the two of them. They're both physically marred by hardships and traumas; there's no hiding it from each other. There's no use covering it up.
He feels a surge of affection for him that threatens to overwhelm entirely. His chest feels full, his throat thick; god, he's enamored by him, isn't he? He moves between his legs, sliding one up to rest on his hip, and then bends down to kiss him again with a soft groan against his swollen lips. All desire and want and need for him.
It is a different sort of intensity, as he anticipated. Removing the
bandages is paradoxically helpful. Surely he's justified in being a bit
uncertain about this, and it drowns the smaller flickers of nerves
over being pinned on his back and letting Crozier take more control. His
lashes flicker a bit, but the lids stay closed, twitching with flighty
energy over the nothing at all underneath.
He groans at the bottom of his voice, feeling Francis settle over him,
accepting he's going to have to yield for a while with more readiness than
he expected. It's almost too much, but too much of something hot and sweet
as-- Here he's stumped himself, not a poet and tending to eschew wine, take
even his tea very plain. No good analogies. He hooks his arms around
Crozier's back, hungry for more.
He takes advantage of their positioning to kiss along Xingchen’s jaw and cheeks and chin, and just above where his eyes would be along his expressive brow. He doesn’t speak aloud all the compliments he wishes to pay him; kissing and holding him like this seems to be all the expression he needs.
“Push your hips up into mine,” he murmurs huskily, bearing down in turn on him. Pressed together in the most intimate way, he begins to grind his hips slowly, trying to find the right pace and pressure that makes both of them sing.
Unsurprisingly, once he begins to relax a bit, the enthusiastic virgin isn't very hard to impress. Just like the kiss to his shoulder, somewhere in the scrape of beard and the sudden exposure where he's used to three or four layers between him and the world, woke him to possibility. Having ceded everything and let go, the pressure alone does a lot of the work. He gasps noisily and it turns long, low, and pitchy before that breath even ends. His back arches, which just pushes him harder against Francis, and his fingers dig in hard where they hold on, pressed sharp into Crozier's back. Finding the rhythm takes a few tries. The shock of it is too much on his first few attempts, trying instinctively to bite down on the moans, restrain his jerking and his muffled cries--
Once again. Why? Realizing there's no reason to restrain himself from exactly what Crozier wants, he hooks one of his legs around Francis' and tips his head back, letting himself be loud.
"God," he whispers, bracketing Xingchen's head between his arms. He leans into him, kissing along his bared throat to his heart's desire. "That's it, Xingchen, just like that. God, it's perfect -- you feel so good."
He wants Xingchen to rock the bloody Barge walls with his moans, wants the already creaky bed to whine each time their bodies come together, wants him to leave love marks in his skin that he's able to feel for days after. He fumbles a little in his kissing, the friction a little too much, groaning softly against the hollow of his throat as he moves just a little faster.
He tries to find some meaningful answer, but neither words nor control over his voice seem likely to materialize. He whines his answer. His hips move more jerkily now, sharp and, like his hands, stronger than they look like they should be. It's really only his shoulders and his heels flat on the bed now, the rest of him moving with effortless grace as Francis bucks down against him. He may not know anything interesting about stars, but he's got all the physical control he could want.
One of his hands slips down, cupping the back of Francis' head rather than grasp at his back. He doesn't really know if he's demanding more or just anchoring himself wherever he can to friction, connection, hot breath on his skin.
In Xingchen he's found a very eager partner, an athletic one at that, and Crozier with his creaky knees and shaky balance finds himself now just trying to keep up with him.
His movements become erratic, pace fast and rhythm uneven, pushing back to try to find them both some relief, and he lets out the softest whimper against Xingchen's shoulder. He doesn't want it to end quite so soon; being with him like this has been a luxury, a delight. He adores the way Xingchen looks sprawled out on his bed --
He'd be a lousy cultivator if he couldn't sense a shift in his partner, as much now as in sparring, and he tries to match it. He is, however, a bit distracted. He bucks back against Crozier easily enough, pulls him tight--
But his own relief doesn't hit in the same moment. He makes himself relax his grip and drop against the bed, not at all bothered, completely willing to fawn over Francis a bit, but the tightness in his breaths quashes any attempts at forming a thought. He can't do much but nuzzle into Francis' hair and groan a wordless request.
Detached from his own body as he is, Crozier has to take a moment to catch his breath and slow his heartbeat before he can even consider moving himself off of Xingchen. He presses idle kisses to his neck and shoulder, overcome in the best sort of way and feeling like he'd might want this man in his bed for the foreseeable future.
The groan stirs him though, and he murmurs a soft sound of encouragement before sliding into the small space between Xingchen and the wall to find a little more freedom of moment. Still kissing a line along his skin, his hand snakes slowly down his lithe body until he wraps his fingers around his length, delicate and gentle as he begins to stroke him.
He'd never leave a lover unsatisfied, and especially wants to please this man beside him.
He enjoys the slower moment, even if he's not up to saying so just yet. He could catch his breath if he wanted to, but letting it run wild seems more the thing. He keeps his arms around Francis, focusing on breathing him in, tangling fingers in his hair only to extract them before he pulls.
It doesn't take much concerted effort. He's not trying to hold back; he wouldn't know how. He's much noisier when he lets go than Francis was, whole body shuddering and not trying to hold back a mess of a moan. He lets go in the weightless exhaustion that fallows, slumping into the bed with a thump that sends his hair fluttering. For a few seconds, he can't even think about the space he's taking up.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 12:24 am (UTC)The room feels unreasonably drafty, but he's almost sure that's his mind trying to throw obstacles in his way, and he refuses. He wants. What he wants right now is more to reward Francis, too unfamiliar with his own little desires to be chasing them just yet.
The hand on his is a welcome distraction. More scars. He knows these very well. He caresses with just his thumb on contact, learning the breadth of them, one more exciting story, this one recorded more roughly than in awls and skin. He's a little slow on the uptake, but Francis clearly likes attention to these painful parts of him.
Here, Xiao Xingchen is being painfully literal. But scars are common as dirt with swords in one's life. There's nothing disingenuous in his easy acceptance. Who doesn't have theirs? He follows that impulse, dipping down in more of a nuzzle than a kiss. The angle is difficult, but clearly a bit of awkward fumbling between them is alright.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 12:52 am (UTC)They’re a reminder of what he took from the Arctic.
It’s a show of good faith to have Xiao Xingchen now caressing them, treating them as the same as the rest of his skin and not some hideous piece of him. He’s more laid bare now than just being without the clothes.
He takes a shaky breath and pushes his hand carefully through his hair. “Lie with me.”
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 01:14 am (UTC)If he moves, he's going to lose his last robe and his trousers entirely, and he can't think that'll look striking or enticing so much as extremely silly. And as silly as he's been for, well, probably most of his life, he doesn't want the first time Crozier sees him to be completely ridiculous. She he rolls one shoulder himself, shrugging off fabric that's gone spiderweb-thin from overuse and time, baring more than half his chest. He only waits a heartbeat before the coils his arms around Francis' neck, shivering absurdly when all he can feel is heat. It's different, skin to skin. "All yours," he says, very properly, and grinning to himself. Because yes, it's... striking, but it's still them, a bit absurd and not at all sure of what they're doing and simply dizzy in each other's company.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 01:45 am (UTC)He presses back against his chest and kisses him soundly, letting their heartbeats thrum against each other for another indulgent moment or two as he parts his lips against his and tastes the inside of his mouth.
And then he reaches for the rest of his clothes, laying kisses along the elegant slope of his shoulder. "May I?" He silently promises to be careful, considering the state of the clothes. Perhaps he can find him something sturdier later? ...best focus on the task at hand.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 01:57 am (UTC)It's the kiss on his shoulder, for whatever strange reason, that slips under his skin and makes a shocking jump to the base of his spine. A lifetime of cultivation gives him a very literal sense of energy coursing through him, and yet it's still new, the sizzle and shock of it. He outright squirms under Francis' mouth, hears a strangled little noise and takes a moment to realize it came from him. For the first time, he realizes there might be more in this for him than being sweet. He is mostly naked, so it's pretty impressive to have only just started to think about it. But it's about the speed he usually manages on the uptake. "Please?" He sounds a bit throatier than the moment before.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 02:24 am (UTC)Jesus.
He swallows hard and slides his hand back under the robes, slipping one side off, then the other, letting it gently drop to the floor. He stares unabashedly, marveling as he moves his hand down his ribs and along the curve of his hip. His trousers are next, and as gently as he can manage, he pulls them off as well to leave him just as bare as he is.
Crozier hooks his left arm around Xingchen's waist and pulls him flush against his body.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 02:59 am (UTC)Being yanked against him is permission to be more than just seen. He groans, low and mostly unconscious. No clever ideas make it through the morass of thought and sensation in the moment. He kisses, and it's not just the way he's determined Francis wants to be kissed, but a hungry, demanding thing that begins with a bit of a nip and ends with a questing tongue. His fingers almost dig in too hard, but he catches it, channeling the energy instead with something resembling grace into running his hand down Crozier's back, learning his way.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 03:26 am (UTC)But he won't, of course, but it's a revelation to be held this way.
There's only a few steps to his berth, and as much as he absolutely adores having this man up against him like this, he knows it would be a hundred times better if they laid down together. He eases them along until, inch by inch, until the back of his legs hit the bed and he tips back onto the mattress.
In the low light of the oil lamp, Xingchen's skin has a golden glow and deep shadows in the hollows and around subcutaneous points along his body. He wants to put his mouth onto them, slide his fingers along to map him out -- the center of his chest along his sternum, in the dip of his navel, along the ridge of his pelvis, his inner thighs and inside of his elbow.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 02:37 pm (UTC)He maps the world in sound and air currents. Since he lost his sight, only one person has made regular contact with him, and he liked that, maybe too much. Definitely too much, the way it ended. But he's certainly never learned to handle this much sheer input. The space is small, soft, warm. He fits in it. That's all the usually matters. But tumbling down with Francis, the onslaught is almost unbearable. Shift of bedding against his knee. His hair catches on the way down, and the shiver the tiny tug sends through him burns parts of him he's only ever considered in the context of qi channeling. And oh, Francis, Francis, Francis. A soft tickle of beard against his cheek, and he's ready to be overset.
Xingchen lands firmly on top of him, the teasing drag of skin against skin sharp and heady every time one of them moves the slightest bit. As the novice here he should be yielding, but he is not now and never has been any good at that. His shyness has apparently died an honorable death, as his first deliberate move is to duck his head and kiss a heated line down Crozier's throat to nip the muscle where it meets his shoulder.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 03:06 pm (UTC)But then he starts kissing, and Crozier's breath catches in his throat. "Ah, Xingchen," he hisses through his teeth. This may be his first time ever being intimate - he's never asked, but he assumes - but he's impressed by the ferocity and confidence. He must encourage him to continue, and does so by trailing his hand down along his back - stroking down his spine, his lower back, brushing his knuckles and fingertips in winding caresses along his skin - and then firmly cupping his hip and bottom and rolling the muscles in his palm.
For now he refrains from bucking his hips into him, though the temptation to do so is rapidly growing.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 03:29 pm (UTC)He needs one hand to stay upright, not trusting his shoddy balance at the best of times. With the world seeming to spin around him, the danger of tipping himself right off the bed is a real one. But wasting a whole hand when they could both be feasting...
He plants his palm under Crozier's head after a moment of dizzy debate, a point of contact if not exactly a caress, and then he has his elbow to lean on. It's enough.
That leaves the other hand free to wander. He finds the scars he's already been shown, a landmark for his adoring fingers. His hair's fanned out everywhere, unbound and already a bit tousled. His fingers tangle and catch occasionally as they travel, finding the rises and falls of chest and side. There's something studious in his attention, like Francis is a difficult text he's trying to learn.
All complicated by the way he jumps and shivers at the caresses from Francis' hands. He's lost track of his own voice entirely. The sounds are soft, but frequent, breathy little sighs and hisses that cut through kisses pressed to throat and shoulder and collarbone and...
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 06:11 pm (UTC)"Xingchen, my darling," he whispers, unabashedly caressing the curve of his ass. God, he wants to sink his fingers into him and never let go. Would Xingchen let him? "I want to touch you."
He pauses, waiting for the questions. Does he understand what he means? ...has he ever been touched, or touched himself before? These are very big questions.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 06:27 pm (UTC)But his knowledge is, yes, strictly theoretical. It's likely that without Francis's prompting, he might have stayed in this holding pattern for along time. This is lovely, and brand new, and sweet, and he feels no urgent rush away from kissing and petting. He could live on the shocks and shudders that come with it. A meal of a thousand delicate little bites. Some of them quite literal.
He pushes himself up a bit, at an angle so they're not really separated, and rests his chin in his hand. Just as he "looks" away when abashed, he mimics the gaze he would have now. He's even got his head turned the right way, though it's not much of an accomplishment at a distance of a few inches. His fingers dance an idle circle on Francis's chest. At this point, he's going to need to take direction, not just follow the impulses of his tongue and hands. But he's going to be a bit sassy about it. "Mm? And what do you need me to do?"
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 07:16 pm (UTC)Natural responses to someone touching your prick, in his honest opinion. His own first time had been fraught and confusing, but that seemed to be the nature of things when one's experimenting in a ship's hold with a fellow midshipman.
"And..." he grunts, sitting up carefully. He pushes Xingchen's wild hair back, though he's admittedly loving the way it falls onto him as they kiss, surrounding the both of them like a sort of veil. "I need you to lie on your back for me, and keep making those noises of yours, because they're driving me absolutely mad."
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 07:57 pm (UTC)Fraught is not a word he'd apply to any of this. Francis has been too sweet for much of that. He's not been entirely free from any concern. But they're small, gentle things, familiar old insecurities. Like, well, this one. Taking a bit of initiative let him feel in control and useful, not like a pity case. It feels natural, showering Francis with the attention he deserves, even the security that comes with the freedom of movement of being the one on top.
He's being asked to give that up, trust Crozier a bit more, not to mention actually inhabit the moment and the attention he's going to receive without busy distraction. He lets Francis sit up, but keeps the contact unbroken, looping his arms loosely around his neck for one quick snuggle. He catches Francis' hand with a tight quickness that betrays the slight resurgence of uncertainty, using it as an anchor as he lays back.
His hair is hopeless. He gives his head a quick toss to get the worst of it out of his face, and becomes aware as he seldom is of the binding over his eyes. He cleaned away the night's minor leaks hours ago. They're not bandages right now. They're a mask. And that's not fair. He's beginning to develop a smear of pink where he keeps worrying at his lip. (Not that it's terribly obvious with the number of marks Francis has left, or the color he's bruised into his lips.) He bites down one more time, twisting the blindfold up as he lies back.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 08:37 pm (UTC)He'd opened his mouth to say something to that affect when he sees the blindfold go up, quickly stopping himself with a sharp inhale. It's significant, isn't it? The last true barrier between the two of them. They're both physically marred by hardships and traumas; there's no hiding it from each other. There's no use covering it up.
He feels a surge of affection for him that threatens to overwhelm entirely. His chest feels full, his throat thick; god, he's enamored by him, isn't he? He moves between his legs, sliding one up to rest on his hip, and then bends down to kiss him again with a soft groan against his swollen lips. All desire and want and need for him.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 09:02 pm (UTC)It is a different sort of intensity, as he anticipated. Removing the bandages is paradoxically helpful. Surely he's justified in being a bit uncertain about this, and it drowns the smaller flickers of nerves over being pinned on his back and letting Crozier take more control. His lashes flicker a bit, but the lids stay closed, twitching with flighty energy over the nothing at all underneath.
He groans at the bottom of his voice, feeling Francis settle over him, accepting he's going to have to yield for a while with more readiness than he expected. It's almost too much, but too much of something hot and sweet as-- Here he's stumped himself, not a poet and tending to eschew wine, take even his tea very plain. No good analogies. He hooks his arms around Crozier's back, hungry for more.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 09:36 pm (UTC)“Push your hips up into mine,” he murmurs huskily, bearing down in turn on him. Pressed together in the most intimate way, he begins to grind his hips slowly, trying to find the right pace and pressure that makes both of them sing.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 11:08 pm (UTC)Once again. Why? Realizing there's no reason to restrain himself from exactly what Crozier wants, he hooks one of his legs around Francis' and tips his head back, letting himself be loud.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-03 11:59 pm (UTC)He wants Xingchen to rock the bloody Barge walls with his moans, wants the already creaky bed to whine each time their bodies come together, wants him to leave love marks in his skin that he's able to feel for days after. He fumbles a little in his kissing, the friction a little too much, groaning softly against the hollow of his throat as he moves just a little faster.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-04 12:41 am (UTC)One of his hands slips down, cupping the back of Francis' head rather than grasp at his back. He doesn't really know if he's demanding more or just anchoring himself wherever he can to friction, connection, hot breath on his skin.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-04 02:28 am (UTC)His movements become erratic, pace fast and rhythm uneven, pushing back to try to find them both some relief, and he lets out the softest whimper against Xingchen's shoulder. He doesn't want it to end quite so soon; being with him like this has been a luxury, a delight. He adores the way Xingchen looks sprawled out on his bed --
He'll have to make it a habit.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-04 06:05 pm (UTC)But his own relief doesn't hit in the same moment. He makes himself relax his grip and drop against the bed, not at all bothered, completely willing to fawn over Francis a bit, but the tightness in his breaths quashes any attempts at forming a thought. He can't do much but nuzzle into Francis' hair and groan a wordless request.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-04 07:12 pm (UTC)The groan stirs him though, and he murmurs a soft sound of encouragement before sliding into the small space between Xingchen and the wall to find a little more freedom of moment. Still kissing a line along his skin, his hand snakes slowly down his lithe body until he wraps his fingers around his length, delicate and gentle as he begins to stroke him.
He'd never leave a lover unsatisfied, and especially wants to please this man beside him.
no subject
Date: 2023-03-04 07:43 pm (UTC)It doesn't take much concerted effort. He's not trying to hold back; he wouldn't know how. He's much noisier when he lets go than Francis was, whole body shuddering and not trying to hold back a mess of a moan. He lets go in the weightless exhaustion that fallows, slumping into the bed with a thump that sends his hair fluttering. For a few seconds, he can't even think about the space he's taking up.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: