(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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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. ]
no subject
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.)