(which is not that different from how he smells on occasion, but alas. he arrives with his clothes still stained, still smelling from substance, and he beelines immediately to the room, only to smile largely at the sight as promised.)
I always want you, Zaia, in all the ways that matter between lovers. It's why I gifted you with a ring. [ he stands from the bed, only so he can cross the short distance between them, bury his face against dazai's throat and inhale the smell of alcohol and ash, and everything dazai. ]
But this is good, it's almost like what it would be like if we were on the same side permanently.
(so ridiculously easy it is to pull fyodor up and wrap his legs around dazai's waist, supporting his weight as he walks towards the bed to sit with the other on his lap.)
I mean more on the philosophical, and theological debate, but as you said. Semantics later.
[ this is good, he likes this position--it makes it easier for fyodor to press his palms against dazai's chest and urge him to lay down. ]
Philosophy and theology debates are welcome in the bedroom in most other situations. [ but not right now, not when fyodor is itching to crawl all over dazai. he drags his hands down, not bothering to properly undress, just shifting clothing out of the way.
(this is new. it's not often that fyodor is the impatient one, the one whose skin is on fire, without dazai actively trying to make him so. it's interesting, it's exciting, and he feels himself being freed from his clothing, just enough, fyodor -- just enough. holy shit, he's going to have a heart attack.
fyodor is not stupid. dazai's sure he's prepared himself beforehand, so he finds no hesitation in positioning himself so fyodor can slide down.)
[ fyodor is not stupid but--preparing, well. well it was certainly a choice not to be so thorough as dazai would normally be with him. just enough that he can press his mouth against dazai's neck while he works on getting those pants open.
this is impatient and hasty and so very unlike himself most of the time; it lacks control, it lacks everything that makes fyodor fyodor. for his part, what little of his clothes are shifting it simply is intended to make room for the act, for some touching, not the careful lovemaking they usually engage in. ]
(who knew a little rebellion would make fyodor so hot and needy. it almost, almost makes him want to act out more often -- if this is his reward. dazai's hand pull, forcefully, on fyodor's pants to get them out the way, mouth moving to attack, kiss, bite, whatever skin he can find with fyodor so close.
and when he can, oh, he's not allowing fyodor second thought. he starts to push in, simultaneously pulling the other until there's no more space between them.)
[ reward, want, need—fyodor makes a needy sound when dazai pushes in; no more space between them. it aches more than usual but it's just the right amount, it's a burn that fyodor craves.
bites, kisses from the other are leaving red marks that stand bright, and in turn fyodor presses his fingers down, the imprint against dazai's skin as he drags them down. but that's not where fyodor stops.
a mere moment to catch his breath and then he rolls their hips together, hard. ]
(it's tighter than usual, there's a mental note to bite fyodor over his own lack of prepare -- even if they've been getting rowdier with it, it's always in his best interest to make sure fyodor never aches for long.
but he's not going to move for a moment, either. it finally feels... right. satisfying as it should, ecstasy instead of apathy, and he smiles as large as his cheeks can support when fyodor moves. his hands move to the cheeks, spreading, gripping.
seems like, after all these attempts, fyodor finally found what he likes. wonderful.)
[ he wanted this to ache more than usual, he wanted to keep those words dazai had whispered in the dark. fyodor is, in regards to sex, fairly simple, he likes everything dazai does and he likes seeing dazai unravel. this is more aggressive and assertive than normal but fyodor is enjoying it. he's not following a set beat, but rather there is something like mania and frenzy and just want. the feeling of dazai beneath him. the wet warmth inside him. ]
(he's going to be sore all over, this is something dazai won't waste, won't take for granted. he's being awfully spoiled here, sounds, attitude, the pleasure that comes in full, and he won't stop his hand from sinking into the black strands to pull, forcefully bringing fyodor's hair into a tilt so he can kiss the sweaty neck.
salty, he can feel the heartbeat against his lips.)
[ a whine drawn by the hair pull, offering his neck and skin everything in sacrifice for dazai: ] Yes. [ then he retakes that frenzied pace that is absurdly demanding for someone of fyodor's physical stamina but it seems that that is not going to stop him or affect him for now.
he fucks himself, eyes half lidded as he watches dazai because he's lost in pleasure but he wants the other to feel good. that's always the point, if they both don't feel it then there is no point.
his eyes slip close, breathless. a whine, then another as he speeds up. his heartbeat is hammering hard, it's making breathing difficult. fyodor knows the two things that follow: that pleasure, and the second, rare one: a complete loss of control. whether he admits it or not, fyodor is always in control on some level, he has to be with cirme and punishment. what he is doing now is too close to losing it.
this is all too much. maybe he's trying to show dazai the limits, what happens when control is well and truly gone, and he feels crime and punishment surface. it will meet the cool blue of dazai's ability, and fyodor wonders if his own feels like anything in particular to dazai.
(the love of his life, always so restrained, reserved, concerned, for once letting lose. everywhere dazai's hand touches grips, they'll bruise, they might hurt, and he is also giving fyodor all he has, the rhythm dictated by what the other brings out in him. it's all maddening, too much that he has never had from fyodor in such a moment where contact felt dull for what felt an eternity. even he, who tends to be quiet, long gasps and whispers, finally whines back, gasps louder, and his revenge is to fist the hair harder, sink his teeth into the neck hard enough to draw blood.
he feels the push, the way 'no longer human' agitates within him. it's cancelling, numbing whatever comes to him in contact, but fuck-- he's so focused he did let it go. it's good that he can, it's good that he does. dazai wraps his arms around fy, keeping him in place as he takes over some of the work, fast, hard, as much as he is able to.)
[ they're being unusually loud for them, sorry anyone in the vicinity.
another sound, like he's being punched and he comes between them; wet warmth spills between their stomachs as fyodor keeps moving. it's not enough--he can never have enough of dazai, yes but this is a line. a boundary as the cooling sensation skims his skin and silences crime and punishment.
it hurts, everything hurts but it's not an unwelcome pain. when he told dazai that if he could, he would feel it for him, he meant it--he will feel the pain so dazai doesn't have to. ribs exposed, crime and punishment eating his insides as it does, so often, so alive, so its own entity within.
what are you sigma had asked, and fyodor did not reply because he does not know. a void, a whole, everything about him as if it had been penned down in the same way sigma was.
he lets dazai take the burden of the movement right now, just follows and tries to facilitate. dazai needs to feel good, fyodor wants this body to be used for dazai's pleasure until they're both satiated and exhausted and can't move. ]
(in his mind, there's nothing more beautiful than fyodor after climax. his reddened cheeks, his breathing, his expression, he sounds he can make, the way his heart beat is so loud he can hear it even from a bit of distance. it's divine, it's worship, it's godsend, and he can't ever believe in the supernatural as fyodor does, but if he did, this would be the closest he'd get to seeing what it feels like to believe.
it's the ideal time to switch positions, have fyodor on his back against the mattress as dazai finds his home between his legs. the pace is hardly different, but like this is easier to kiss, to kiss, and to kiss, like he's confessing each and every of those thoughts with how his lips move. it doesn't take too long for him, either, but--
he doesn't even want to leave once he fills the other.)
[ use me, use me, use me, break me, stay with me, don't leave me, kill me, kiss me, have me, break me—a myriad of uncontrolled thoughts that don't usually leave fyodor because of his level of control; stripped of it, both him and his ability are open for assault, for touch, for this. he goes willingly, scalp already burning after dazai's pulling.
the bed is comfortable, the angle more familiar and still so good. fyodor feels dazai come inside of him and he responds with a cry, way too loud and he grabs onto dazai with trembling limbs. he wants the other to stay close, even if he doesn't have his ability under control.
fyodor is shivering, like a fawn, sweat slick and flushed. everything is too much, and this is what he wanted to show dazai. what he is like without any shred of control and why he can't allow it. there is wetness clumping on his lashes as he blinks up at dazai.
he'll feel pain for dazai, he'll feel it for both of them, but if fyodor allows himself to feel fully--to the range he is able too, with that endless empathy--crime and punishment is no longer stable. ]
(once they're both satisfied, he can allow himself to slow down, to breathe, suck in air and finally open his eyes to look at the scene beneath him. he's so lucky - it barely matters if fyodor could kill him if he were anyone other than himself. he is who he is. with him next to fyodor, holding his hand, he can control it even when the other cannot. he's satisfied in more than a single way, and his hand moves to rid those eyelashes of the tears.
his cheeks hurt with how his smile blinds, large, teethful, genuine as he finally has to leave, lying next to the other to pull him into his lips. fyodor is going to ache, dazai will too, but they can take care of one another.
a laugh, though, escapes him.)
I'm going to act out more if you're going to ride me senseless when I do.
[ he swallows: ] It's dangerous [ to become senseless like that but dazai already knows, knows that fyodor cannot do this with anyone else and expect them to live. he turns on his side to face the other, a small smile when their mouths press together.
he's still shivering. ] You're lovely, Zaia. [ this is only for dazai to see. in the same way fyodor is not basking on how genuine that smile is from his lover, he traces it with his fingertips. ]
But please do not get in trouble.
[ which...hypocritical to ask after doing this as a reward but you know. ]
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you know what we can argue semantics another time. i'm in your room, in your bed.
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cw fucking
(which is not that different from how he smells on occasion, but alas. he arrives with his clothes still stained, still smelling from substance, and he beelines immediately to the room, only to smile largely at the sight as promised.)
Look at you getting horny by my rebellion.
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But this is good, it's almost like what it would be like if we were on the same side permanently.
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Ah, are you coming around now?
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Not exactly, but please get on the bed, let's not discuss my own issues of inadequacy in regards to my ability.
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I mean more on the philosophical, and theological debate, but as you said. Semantics later.
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Philosophy and theology debates are welcome in the bedroom in most other situations. [ but not right now, not when fyodor is itching to crawl all over dazai. he drags his hands down, not bothering to properly undress, just shifting clothing out of the way.
impatient, impetuous. ]
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fyodor is not stupid. dazai's sure he's prepared himself beforehand, so he finds no hesitation in positioning himself so fyodor can slide down.)
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this is impatient and hasty and so very unlike himself most of the time; it lacks control, it lacks everything that makes fyodor fyodor. for his part, what little of his clothes are shifting it simply is intended to make room for the act, for some touching, not the careful lovemaking they usually engage in. ]
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and when he can, oh, he's not allowing fyodor second thought. he starts to push in, simultaneously pulling the other until there's no more space between them.)
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bites, kisses from the other are leaving red marks that stand bright, and in turn fyodor presses his fingers down, the imprint against dazai's skin as he drags them down. but that's not where fyodor stops.
a mere moment to catch his breath and then he rolls their hips together, hard. ]
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but he's not going to move for a moment, either. it finally feels... right. satisfying as it should, ecstasy instead of apathy, and he smiles as large as his cheeks can support when fyodor moves. his hands move to the cheeks, spreading, gripping.
seems like, after all these attempts, fyodor finally found what he likes. wonderful.)
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Dazai...
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salty, he can feel the heartbeat against his lips.)
You feeling good, Fy?
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he fucks himself, eyes half lidded as he watches dazai because he's lost in pleasure but he wants the other to feel good. that's always the point, if they both don't feel it then there is no point.
his eyes slip close, breathless. a whine, then another as he speeds up. his heartbeat is hammering hard, it's making breathing difficult. fyodor knows the two things that follow: that pleasure, and the second, rare one: a complete loss of control. whether he admits it or not, fyodor is always in control on some level, he has to be with cirme and punishment. what he is doing now is too close to losing it.
this is all too much. maybe he's trying to show dazai the limits, what happens when control is well and truly gone, and he feels crime and punishment surface. it will meet the cool blue of dazai's ability, and fyodor wonders if his own feels like anything in particular to dazai.
another whine, vulnerable this time, wounded. ]
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he feels the push, the way 'no longer human' agitates within him. it's cancelling, numbing whatever comes to him in contact, but fuck-- he's so focused he did let it go. it's good that he can, it's good that he does. dazai wraps his arms around fy, keeping him in place as he takes over some of the work, fast, hard, as much as he is able to.)
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another sound, like he's being punched and he comes between them; wet warmth spills between their stomachs as fyodor keeps moving. it's not enough--he can never have enough of dazai, yes but this is a line. a boundary as the cooling sensation skims his skin and silences crime and punishment.
it hurts, everything hurts but it's not an unwelcome pain. when he told dazai that if he could, he would feel it for him, he meant it--he will feel the pain so dazai doesn't have to. ribs exposed, crime and punishment eating his insides as it does, so often, so alive, so its own entity within.
what are you sigma had asked, and fyodor did not reply because he does not know. a void, a whole, everything about him as if it had been penned down in the same way sigma was.
he lets dazai take the burden of the movement right now, just follows and tries to facilitate. dazai needs to feel good, fyodor wants this body to be used for dazai's pleasure until they're both satiated and exhausted and can't move. ]
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it's the ideal time to switch positions, have fyodor on his back against the mattress as dazai finds his home between his legs. the pace is hardly different, but like this is easier to kiss, to kiss, and to kiss, like he's confessing each and every of those thoughts with how his lips move. it doesn't take too long for him, either, but--
he doesn't even want to leave once he fills the other.)
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the bed is comfortable, the angle more familiar and still so good. fyodor feels dazai come inside of him and he responds with a cry, way too loud and he grabs onto dazai with trembling limbs. he wants the other to stay close, even if he doesn't have his ability under control.
fyodor is shivering, like a fawn, sweat slick and flushed. everything is too much, and this is what he wanted to show dazai. what he is like without any shred of control and why he can't allow it. there is wetness clumping on his lashes as he blinks up at dazai.
he'll feel pain for dazai, he'll feel it for both of them, but if fyodor allows himself to feel fully--to the range he is able too, with that endless empathy--crime and punishment is no longer stable. ]
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his cheeks hurt with how his smile blinds, large, teethful, genuine as he finally has to leave, lying next to the other to pull him into his lips. fyodor is going to ache, dazai will too, but they can take care of one another.
a laugh, though, escapes him.)
I'm going to act out more if you're going to ride me senseless when I do.
... That was lovely, Fy.
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he's still shivering. ] You're lovely, Zaia. [ this is only for dazai to see. in the same way fyodor is not basking on how genuine that smile is from his lover, he traces it with his fingertips. ]
But please do not get in trouble.
[ which...hypocritical to ask after doing this as a reward but you know. ]
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