littletonoidea | IC Inbox

"Ah, I was just--"

Hakkai is going absolutely brilliant scarlet, sitting up the rest of the way with an indecisive flail of his hands. He'd certainly been planning on kissing Eiffel today, and he's entirely happy with vertical and horizontal makeouts, and, all right, feeling him up as well.

Taking clothes all the way off moves this into a new category all at once and he's not sure he's entirely ready for that.

He notices the little flail of panic on Hakkai's part, and immediately he hitches his coveralls back up over his hips (maybe a little self-consciously, but only because he'd rushed in so readily).

"Too fast?" he asks, genuine concern in his voice. He doesn't want to scare Hakkai away, because he was really enjoying those make-outs too and he doesn't wanna ruin it for him.

"A little too fast," Hakkai admits, sounding slightly strangled, and rubs a hand over his face as if he can erase the still-scarlet blush with sheer force. It doesn't work: the red shows through between his fingers just as brightly.

"My plan only went as far as kissing you in the doorway." And now he's in uncharted territory: never the best place for strategic certainty. He hadn't been sure Eiffel would react well, much less this well, so. So. "I don't -- mind, but -- just shirts off? For now?"

If possible, he's actually going redder as he makes the request, his hands moving to his own carefully-done-all-the-way-up shirt buttons.

Seeing Hakkai lose his composure actually helps solidify Eiffel's a little more; it's nice to not be alone in being visibly flustered. So he pushes up on one elbow so he can rest one hand on Hakkai's to settle him.

"Hey," he mumbles, warm and affectionate. "You can take yours off when you're ready, alright? But I'm good to take mine off, if- that's not gonna be too much, is it?"

"No, that's-- shirts are fine," Hakkai agrees, and lets his unbuttoning attempt go with the top three buttons undone to take Eiffel's hand. He squeezes it, drawing a deep breath and trying to will the blood making his face burn back where it belongs.

It's slightly more successful an effort than shoving a hand into his own cheek had been, but only slightly. He lifts Eiffel's hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles before he lets it go.

"And," he says with more certainty, "if you're taking yours off I want mine off too. I'm competitive."

The delicacy of the hand kiss makes him blush and fluster anew, and he tugs at his t-shirt with both hands for a moment, before he lets the moment take him and he mumbles, "Fair enough," and tugs his shirt over his head.

Hakkai doesn't get to see him naked much at all, but the level of dark, curly hair on his forearms is met with the same on his chest and stomach; he's fitter than one might expect from his general lifestyle, but that's largely incidental rather, not an active choice, and there's still a light layer of chub covering any sort of definition on his chest.

The look that Hakkai gives Eiffel's chest is decidedly appreciative. Now that he's made a decision, he's making quick work of his shirt buttons, shrugging it off and pulling his undershirt off over his head as well. It's the first time he's been shirtless around Eiffel; he's normally religiously careful to keep his clothes on, even wearing a shirt to swim.

His build is all lean muscle and sparse dark hair, liberally speckled with scars: knife and sword slashes, a few distinctive crescent-moon bite scars as if he'd been mauled by an animal, nearly a dozen round marks like healed bullet wounds. A big, old, puckered scar twists high over his belly; his hand hovers for a moment as if to conceal it, but he forces himself to pull it away and reach out instead.

Smiling -- ruefully, well aware that he's not much to look at -- Hakkai runs his fingers down over Eiffel's chest in a light caress, tangling his fingertips playfully in the thicket of curly hair.

It's almost uncanny, compared to Hakkai, how Eiffel has no scars whatsoever. His own hands rest on Hakkai's hips, dragging his thumbs lightly up his hips, before he moves to trace delicately around the edges of that huge scar across his stomach; not touching it directly, just ghosting sensation around the skin that still has it.

"D'you know you look really badass?" he comments, trailing his hand up a meandering line of unmarked skin until he has a hand on Hakkai's neck, tracing his jawbone.

"You should see the other guys," Hakkai says in a very serious tone, but his smile is softening into something smaller and more genuine. He tilts his chin up, just a little, baring his throat to Eiffel's touch.

It is odd, that Eiffel has no scars: he hasn't exactly lived a life free of danger. When Hakkai had first met him, almost two years ago, he'd been emaciated, frostbitten, half-dead....

Firmly banishing those thoughts, Hakkai lifts a hand to Eiffel's jaw, mirroring the one on his own.

"Do you know you're gorgeous?"

Eiffel's face goes dark red, contrasted by the ginger halo that Hakkai's mussed it into, and he'll get the joy of seeing how Eiffel's chest blotches with colour when he does, like it can't all be contained in his face. Unlike Hakkai he tilts his face into Hakkai's hand, bringing his free hand up to cup it there while he gives it a soft kiss.

"I don't think I'm gonna be Miss Texas any time soon," he comments dryly, but it's only a little bit self-deprecating. It's just weird being told he's attractive at all.

"Obviously not," Hakkai teases, shifting his hand just a little so he can run his thumb along Eiffel's lip. "You'd be Mr. Texas."

He leans in, curving his other hand around the top of Eiffel's shoulder to reel him in for a proper kiss.

The tingling brush of Hakkai's thumb over his lips stops more than a slightly strangled gasp escaping, but he leans up into the kiss readily, bracing himself in the sit-up by wrapping his arms around Hakkai's waist, hands trailing up his spine so one can brush through Hakkai's silky hair.

Hakkai has to brace himself, too, against the extra weight, getting his knees under him as he settles down over Eiffel's thighs. His fingers ghost delicate caresses over Eiffel's throat, his shoulder, down his arm as Hakkai keeps kissing him. Sensation is slowly washing away the last sandbars of embarrassment: he lets himself sink into the moment, pressing himself close as he explores the unfamiliar planes of Eiffel's body and learns his skin.

He's glad Hakkai settles into his lap, even if it does make the press of fabric and weight across his groin incredibly cruel, because it means he's craning slightly less to lean up into the kisses; his neck might be sore later, but he can ignore that for now if he focuses on his hands coasting up Hakkai's back, fingers lingering and tracing the scars he finds, delicate and almost reverent in his gentleness, trailing up to comb through the long hair at Hakkai's nape, holding it just tight enough to keep him in place so he can kiss under Hakkai's jaw and down his neck.

Hakkai lets out a startled moan at the press of Eiffel's lips against his neck, the tug of his grip at the base of Hakkai's skull, and his hips hitch forward involuntarily. Both of his hands tighten, one on Eiffel's bicep and the other still wound through his curls, as if to anchor himself in place against the swell of an unexpected wave.

It shouldn't be a surprise that Eiffel touches him so gently, but it is anyway, shocking and new, entirely distinct from Jedao's touch, or -- so much longer ago now -- from Kanan's.

Hoarsely, he manages, "I -- don't mark my neck where it'll show, but I like to be marked..." It's not a conversation he's had with Jedao yet, not when he'd come here expecting to stop at a kiss, but -- sticking with the same rules seems safe, for now.

He tries to stifle his own surprised whimper when Hakkai half-jerks into his lap, and he has to pant briefly against Hakkai's neck, but there's a faint grin that follows with his instruction.

"Marks aren't going too fast?" he mumbles into Hakkai's collarbone, threatening teeth with his next kiss but not biting just yet.

Hakkai grins at him, a flash of boyish insouciance, and gives Eiffel's hair a tug.

"Not as long as they're above the waist."

The tug makes his head tip a little, sends a hot thrill down his spine as he grins right back, leaning back in to ply more tender kisses against him, opening his mouth to tease with his tongue - and clamps his teeth down on Hakkai's collarbone, sharp and unexpected as his hands hold firm on Hakkai's spine to hold him in place.

The bite pulls a hoarse yell from Hakkai, back arching as the hot sudden sting of teeth jolts electric fire down his nerves, tingling to his fingertips and curling his toes. His fingers close hard on the springy handful of hair he's tugging, abruptly careless of how rough he's being.

"Ah-- you're--" he has to pant for breath, oxygen in suddenly short supply. "Very good at that."

And that sound goes straight to Eiffel's dick, making his hips buck into Hakkai a little as he moans around the yell, and when he releases he runs his tongue delicately over it again, less soothing the bright, dimpled mark and just tracing it.

"That's, uh." And he ducks his face into Hakkai's shoulder for a second, as he mumbles a bit bashfully, "Jedao showed me how to leave really lasting marks."

"I should've guessed," Hakkai teases, smiling again as he takes advantage of the way Eiffel's hiding in his shoulder to turn his own head a little to the side and nibble along the upper curve of his ear. He's achingly hard, the sting of the bite ebbing to a deep throb that he knows is going to bruise spectacularly across his collarbone -- he doesn't heal like Jedao; he'll have the mark for a week and a half if he leaves his limiters on as usual.

His dick and his shyness are engaged in a knock-down, drag-out battle regarding whether their pants coming off at this point would really be too fast, but both sides of the argument approve of Eiffel's mouth.

"I've seen them on him," he adds, light tenor dipping down to a throaty rumble.

The feeling of Hakkai's hot breath and gentle tugs on his ear, the way his voice sounds like liquid fucking chocolate when he purrs directly into Eiffel's ear makes him whimper as his hips buck hard and involuntary into the weight bearing down on them.

"I-I, um..." He's panting himself, and mouths at where Hakkai's neck meets shoulder, low enough that his shirt will definitely cover it. "Mn. Bet he'd like how they look on you too, huh?" And he barely has to move his head to open his mouth and leave another enthusiastic bite.

At the second bite, Hakkai moans, his hand tightening against Eiffel's neck, and leans into it; he grinds down against the jerk of Eiffel's hips, rubbing against him with far more desperation than thought.

"Yes," he groans, only half in answer to Eiffel's question, and gathers both his hands into the tangled tumble of curls at his nape. He drags Eiffel's head back by the hair, leaning after him even as he does, all the way back down to sprawl back onto the couch. Ducking his head, he mouths Eiffel's neck, kissing and nibbling his way down it in a messy line; his hips are still moving, still riding the hard line of Eiffel's arousal, not caring in the moment just how close he is to coming in his pants like a schoolboy.

Eiffel readily lets gravity and Hakkai take him down, head tilting back from the hands tight in his hair, the kisses and bites down his neck getting ragged huffs and moans in response.

His feet scrabble for a moment, finding purchase on the arm of the couch, and without thinking he pushes into it, rolling up into Hakkai grinding down on him, trying to find his rhythm as his own desperate heat gets closer and closer.

Hakkai pants harshly against his collarbone, his head tucked in close under Eiffel's jaw and hard shudders running down his spine as they move together.

"You-- feel so good," he manages, his own voice as ragged-edged as the sounds Eiffel is making. One of his hands moves restlessly, caressing what he can reach of neck and shoulder, while the other keeps its handful of curly hair: both his wrists are caught under the weight of their bodies, locking them together. Sweet frustration is winding his every nerve tight, his thrusts rubbing the soft knit of his underwear against exquisitely sensitive skin but not quite hard enough, not quite in time with the throb of his hunger.

"Is this oka--aah!" Halfway through the question, they move together and suddenly the rhythm is perfect, Eiffel's rolling hips are perfect, and his voice falls apart into a wordless shout as orgasm picks him up and shakes him to pieces against Eiffel's chest.

IC Inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)