(an honest question. a man who thinks so much can have thoughts of altruism on occasion - although, is it truly that altruistic when he's doing it for his own view? to drown in sounds, to watch what fyodor was rather reluctant in letting him see.
there they go, once again flipped, carefully and gently, before his kisses once again attack the fair skin of fyodor's chest.)
In part, but not in a way I can currently explain with words. [ look, dazai what you're doing is making it very hard for fyodor to think or even say anything coherent. a shudder, but he submits to what dazai seeks because it feels good and he--
--he's not sure he's ever been this vulnerable before with anyone. ]
(because he wants nothing distracting fyodor from him, from the way his lips attach to a nipple to nibble, to lick, arms wrapping around the underside of fyodor's knees, simply for comfort.)
[ there is a brief protest that dies on fyodor's lips. intimacy like this does not come easy, even trusting dazai to this extent comes with certain drawbacks. he can't use his ability, he has no knife nearby and he can't do anything but give into what dazai is trying to make him feel, which is good. it's good--he likes it, but how can be return it? with a promise of joint death? is that enough?
fyodor doesn't know what to do with intimacy like this but he trusts that dazai does and that is why he closes his eyes, back arching a little, he feels that hot, wet mouth on his skin and he wants--
(that's what fyodor isn't quite getting, he supposes. dazai is receiving what he wants - fyodor himself, all his noises, his breathing, the way his eyes tear up, how his body arches. these are gifts, these are ways that dazai is taking, taking, taking. a pull of that rosy skin between his lips before he moves to the other, and his hand wraps around fyodor once again to stroke.
what he wants is honesty. often overrated for people like them, but he has it right now, nonetheless.)
[ it will be something that he might understand eventually: the honest of his body cannot be understated, even with others he's not been quite like this, after all. nikolai and himself have a different relationship--their intimacy is fraught with mania, and this is filled with vulnerability.
fyodor appreciates dazai's focus on him, the gentleness. the intimacy and the safety.
those thoughts don't really matter when dazai is set on making him climax again. though fyodor had assumed his body to not be willing to cooperate it seems that he is very wrong. he pants, quiet, and tries to close his legs to pin dazai between them. close as possible. ]
(the challenge fyodor had set him makes him notice it isn't quite a challenge at all with how hard he is against his palm. it's ideal - and rather funny. himself and nikolai is also painted in roughness, desire, lust and the will of freedom. it's almost like dazai finds himself in gogol's bed as a punishment for himself, one he likes, one he craves.
chuuya, it's home. it feels like the familiar, tastes like humanity, where his own is missing. two souls that truly are one coming together.
here, it tastes like choice. like want, but not only for himself. a desire to watch fyodor unravel, and here, there's nothing to deny. it's clear as day, and as it can be, a smear of light and darkness that eclipse and intertwine.
it's with all his want that he wraps his lips around fyodor's cocktail, tongue circling the head.)
[ the moment that sinful tongue swirls around, he bites down--knuckles trapped between teeth to keep himself from crying out. despite being silent though his heavy breaths say everything.
he doesn't know what to do with himself, free hand settling on dazai's head. it's anchoring, warm. ]
(he could make it faster, so he could see that face he so craves to see easier, but he doesn't want to. he wants to taste each inch, feel the warmth within his mouth, so he's taking all his time, tongue focused, slow, feeling.)
[ something in his face, his posture, his demeanor goes soft around the edges—the pleasure is, in itself, overwhelming but the part which causes the softness to be visible is dazai. the gentle treatment of before, the diligence, the consideration that fyodor never expected, and the fact there is nothing behind it. ] Dazai-- [ no ] Osamu--
[ the name is both alien and familiar as it settles on his tongue, his thighs shake and he closes them trying to drag dazai closer. ]
(nothing he wants more than to swallow fyodor whole, until there's nothing left but a panting, incoherent man, but there will be a time, there will be a place. until then, it's learning all these things that make him tick, where does his tongue press and how much his lips suck that make each noise - this is enough.
with his memory and dexterity, it's so easy for him to reach inside to hit that spot he had been exploring formerly. his name like that is so unheard, that it only makes him want to longer.)
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(an honest question. a man who thinks so much can have thoughts of altruism on occasion - although, is it truly that altruistic when he's doing it for his own view? to drown in sounds, to watch what fyodor was rather reluctant in letting him see.
there they go, once again flipped, carefully and gently, before his kisses once again attack the fair skin of fyodor's chest.)
no subject
--he's not sure he's ever been this vulnerable before with anyone. ]
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(because he wants nothing distracting fyodor from him, from the way his lips attach to a nipple to nibble, to lick, arms wrapping around the underside of fyodor's knees, simply for comfort.)
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fyodor doesn't know what to do with intimacy like this but he trusts that dazai does and that is why he closes his eyes, back arching a little, he feels that hot, wet mouth on his skin and he wants--
--he wants to give something back. ]
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what he wants is honesty. often overrated for people like them, but he has it right now, nonetheless.)
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fyodor appreciates dazai's focus on him, the gentleness. the intimacy and the safety.
those thoughts don't really matter when dazai is set on making him climax again. though fyodor had assumed his body to not be willing to cooperate it seems that he is very wrong. he pants, quiet, and tries to close his legs to pin dazai between them. close as possible. ]
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chuuya, it's home. it feels like the familiar, tastes like humanity, where his own is missing. two souls that truly are one coming together.
here, it tastes like choice. like want, but not only for himself. a desire to watch fyodor unravel, and here, there's nothing to deny. it's clear as day, and as it can be, a smear of light and darkness that eclipse and intertwine.
it's with all his want that he wraps his lips around fyodor's cocktail, tongue circling the head.)
no subject
he doesn't know what to do with himself, free hand settling on dazai's head. it's anchoring, warm. ]
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You taste good.
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] Dazai-- [ no ] Osamu--
[ the name is both alien and familiar as it settles on his tongue, his thighs shake and he closes them trying to drag dazai closer. ]
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with his memory and dexterity, it's so easy for him to reach inside to hit that spot he had been exploring formerly. his name like that is so unheard, that it only makes him want to longer.)