Communications Officer Doug Eiffel (
littletonoidea) wrote2022-03-02 01:29 am
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"This is the audio log of Communications Officer Doug Eiffel of the-- previously of the U.S.S Hephaestus, leave a message and I'll see if I can bear to drag myself away from whatever utterly engaging task I must be doing to not notice my comms--"
BZZZZZZZ
Action | Text | Voice | Video
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"Not as long as they're above the waist."
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"Ah-- you're--" he has to pant for breath, oxygen in suddenly short supply. "Very good at that."
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"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."
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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.
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"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.
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"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.
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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.
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"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.
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Eventually -- without moving an inch, words muffled by Eiffel's skin -- he mutters with a tone of distinct amusement, "I was going to give in and throw our pants to the wind." And the it was too late. He's still floating, unstrung and limp with satisfaction, unable to scrape up the least iota of regret.
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It takes him a moment to process Hakkai's comment, but after a second it gets a husky chuckle, and his hand comes up to thread through Hakkai's hair, gentle and reassuring.
"Good to know a little fast is okay," he murmurs thickly through a broad grin, as he tilts his head to plant a kiss on Hakkai's temple.
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He's making fun of himself, but also, 'respectable young gentleman' is a less embarrassing identity to inhabit than 'shy' and much less embarrassing than the most accurate 'afraid of intimacy.'
But, sprawled out over Eiffel's chest with a wet spot in his pants, he still feels safe.