[ From accident, combat or self infliction, Kaspar runs along each one his fingertips find on the way. They twitch, dig, at the compliment. But more the way Steinbeck is looking at him. It's addicting, like the scent of the forest in the early morning, before the sun is bright. When the flowers still have dew. Finding respite, he can almost imagine him spread out on a field of wildflowers. Blue and yellow petals, his bare skin caressing warm, welcoming green. Legs spread with the same look in those blue eyes as he does now.
Kaspar's smile doesn't waver in the face of pure want. He courts it, bathing in it just for Steinbeck; like moonlight or the flash of his skin between shadows and linens on a sunny day. Kaspar's eyes languidly follow his, until lips press to his neck. The tickle of vines, openly presented with a weak point. Kaspar actually twitches against him, breath hitching.
He swallows, tilting his neck to give Steinbeck more access with a soft sigh. But the sound changes, peaking sharply to a surprised rush of a moan at the squeeze. A new sound, flushing him with delight. ]
Ah--
[ Kaspar's glow brightens again. He knew the touch was coming, but not what it would actually feel like. The surprise itself is so rare that it pulls a laugh from him.
But it is more than that, he moves to cup Steinbeck's face and steal a kiss from his own neck; a press as peaceful as the sway of the trees on a passing breeze. His hand slides to the other's chest, his heart. His fingers curl, nails slightly grazing. Kaspar wants him to feel the words against his lips. ]
You understood again. Without knowing.
[ With that, his hand drops to bring the rest of his clothes down to pool at his knees. The glow extends over every inch, bared from his knees up. At his hip, is the dim exception, hinted at above and below hemlines. It is as dark as Steinbeck's skin at night, like a punch from a card, a black hole among stars or burned into crisp bristol. The sloping outline of its petals and leaves are branded at his hip. Wispy silhouette following the curve of his body, the skin raised, smooth, depressed with the rise and fall of the outline of every detail. Too intricate a design for branding anyone unable to sit still. Done in one go, by a steady hand to unprepared flesh, it isn't perfect, but it is healed.
Kaspar pulls a bottle from his pocket, moving to press the cool container against Steinbeck's lower back when his arms loop his waist again. Warming the contents against his skin as he kisses him. He tips it, letting it coat his fingers with it where the other can feel it as he grazes a slick trail down his spine, teasing a finger farther. As if there is no hurry. ]
[Steinbeck has never been the type to rush. Of course, even in the Guild, he did his work as requested, but he would take his time on it. There, it had partially been to the nature of it, distasteful like an acid aftertaste of a pill that had to be swallowed. Here, however? Its something sweet and soothing all at once. He wants to drink it all in slowly to the point where it spills out of his mouth, burning over his chin and dripping over his bare chest to form more scars (now wanted).]
[He wants to take his time, and enjoy every second of it. Kaspar's glow, burned in an afterimage on his retina. That kiss on his neck, which make Steinbeck shiver and gasp, sinking into his skin. Although Kaspar is seemingly soft, like a wisp of a cloud, the way he moves is anything but. He doesn't think he could have predicted it. Purposeful, solid, like the roots of a mighty oak, staking claim on land and twisting into it to never let go.]
Did I? [He murmurs, his mouth moving up into a pleased little smirk, words infused with warmth.] I'm glad.
[He is glad. He's glad more than anything. Damn. He's been that lonely, hasn't he? So used to lack of connection outside of a single person that he naturally would cut himself off, like snatching grafts of vines from where they were hungrily twisted around others. Perhaps that's the inherent sadness of a plant confined to a pot. There's no room to grow. No other roots to entwine with, to become part of the forest canopy of life.]
[His eyelashes flutter with some muted surprise at the appearance of the bottle, before he grins at it.]
How very prepared you are. [His voice is thick as anything, like syrup poured. Sap, more likely. He offers another squeeze down below, before a hand scrapes lightly over ridges of spine bone to the shoulders above. The finger makes his heart rate spike, biting down on his lower lip before he licks over the side of the other's jaw.] I bet you'll put that to real good use.
[ Kaspar only hums in response, one that rumbles up from his chest, effusive as a tender eruption. The trail of lava, pressing, circling and teasing as his free hand loses the bottle blindly beside them. Kaspar, long oppressed beneath rock and ore. Tempered need and purer affection, long kept to himself and never fully sated by his own hands and thoughts alone. Heat, pressurized by repressed wants and imaginings, finds scalding release in the breaking of ceramic and clay. Freeing roots only to singe and entangle. Steam rises in feeling alone from his fingertips when he reclaims purchase on one cheek, spreading and gripping.
Changing the landscape again, Kaspar's knees part wider and he fluidly slides forward as he sinks back. Lifting, effortless with more than average human strength to take the weight of Steinbeck's legs in the crooks of his elbows with both hands cupping him firmly by his ass. The dip and rise of softly glowing abs flex to greet his cock, the heat of Kaspar's own a heavy promise grazing sensitive skin between his legs. So close to its final destination that Kaspar pauses for a deep breath, a heady drag of air against his skin.
His hips still, even when excess lube drips thickly from his fingers. Kaspar eases one slowly into him, fingertip rough but softened by the clear and viscous fluid; the pressure is agonizingly gentle, whole body melting towards the push inside him, holding him like a precious grove in the night.
There's meaning in the reverant and careful sinking of his touch, the slow slide of his tongue up Steinbeck's neck to every sense with the other man. Hazy warm tone, still hoarse, Kaspar presses deep and starts to move, curling his finger, rotating to soothe resistance. Somehow, playfulness slips into the undercurrent of his very delayed answer-- ]
I will. ... but have you never touched yourself, surrounded by beauty?
[ Admitting nothing while explaining why the bottle was already opened, face still flushed. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninetydegrees
no subject
2023-02-01 15:27 (UTC)Kaspar's smile doesn't waver in the face of pure want. He courts it, bathing in it just for Steinbeck; like moonlight or the flash of his skin between shadows and linens on a sunny day. Kaspar's eyes languidly follow his, until lips press to his neck. The tickle of vines, openly presented with a weak point. Kaspar actually twitches against him, breath hitching.
He swallows, tilting his neck to give Steinbeck more access with a soft sigh. But the sound changes, peaking sharply to a surprised rush of a moan at the squeeze. A new sound, flushing him with delight. ]
Ah--
[ Kaspar's glow brightens again. He knew the touch was coming, but not what it would actually feel like. The surprise itself is so rare that it pulls a laugh from him.
But it is more than that, he moves to cup Steinbeck's face and steal a kiss from his own neck; a press as peaceful as the sway of the trees on a passing breeze. His hand slides to the other's chest, his heart. His fingers curl, nails slightly grazing. Kaspar wants him to feel the words against his lips. ]
You understood again. Without knowing.
[ With that, his hand drops to bring the rest of his clothes down to pool at his knees. The glow extends over every inch, bared from his knees up. At his hip, is the dim exception, hinted at above and below hemlines. It is as dark as Steinbeck's skin at night, like a punch from a card, a black hole among stars or burned into crisp bristol. The sloping outline of its petals and leaves are branded at his hip. Wispy silhouette following the curve of his body, the skin raised, smooth, depressed with the rise and fall of the outline of every detail. Too intricate a design for branding anyone unable to sit still. Done in one go, by a steady hand to unprepared flesh, it isn't perfect, but it is healed.
Kaspar pulls a bottle from his pocket, moving to press the cool container against Steinbeck's lower back when his arms loop his waist again. Warming the contents against his skin as he kisses him. He tips it, letting it coat his fingers with it where the other can feel it as he grazes a slick trail down his spine, teasing a finger farther. As if there is no hurry. ]
no subject
2023-02-05 23:54 (UTC)[He wants to take his time, and enjoy every second of it. Kaspar's glow, burned in an afterimage on his retina. That kiss on his neck, which make Steinbeck shiver and gasp, sinking into his skin. Although Kaspar is seemingly soft, like a wisp of a cloud, the way he moves is anything but. He doesn't think he could have predicted it. Purposeful, solid, like the roots of a mighty oak, staking claim on land and twisting into it to never let go.]
Did I? [He murmurs, his mouth moving up into a pleased little smirk, words infused with warmth.] I'm glad.
[He is glad. He's glad more than anything. Damn. He's been that lonely, hasn't he? So used to lack of connection outside of a single person that he naturally would cut himself off, like snatching grafts of vines from where they were hungrily twisted around others. Perhaps that's the inherent sadness of a plant confined to a pot. There's no room to grow. No other roots to entwine with, to become part of the forest canopy of life.]
[His eyelashes flutter with some muted surprise at the appearance of the bottle, before he grins at it.]
How very prepared you are. [His voice is thick as anything, like syrup poured. Sap, more likely. He offers another squeeze down below, before a hand scrapes lightly over ridges of spine bone to the shoulders above. The finger makes his heart rate spike, biting down on his lower lip before he licks over the side of the other's jaw.] I bet you'll put that to real good use.
no subject
2023-02-06 21:29 (UTC)Changing the landscape again, Kaspar's knees part wider and he fluidly slides forward as he sinks back. Lifting, effortless with more than average human strength to take the weight of Steinbeck's legs in the crooks of his elbows with both hands cupping him firmly by his ass. The dip and rise of softly glowing abs flex to greet his cock, the heat of Kaspar's own a heavy promise grazing sensitive skin between his legs. So close to its final destination that Kaspar pauses for a deep breath, a heady drag of air against his skin.
His hips still, even when excess lube drips thickly from his fingers. Kaspar eases one slowly into him, fingertip rough but softened by the clear and viscous fluid; the pressure is agonizingly gentle, whole body melting towards the push inside him, holding him like a precious grove in the night.
There's meaning in the reverant and careful sinking of his touch, the slow slide of his tongue up Steinbeck's neck to every sense with the other man. Hazy warm tone, still hoarse, Kaspar presses deep and starts to move, curling his finger, rotating to soothe resistance. Somehow, playfulness slips into the undercurrent of his very delayed answer-- ]
I will. ... but have you never touched yourself, surrounded by beauty?
[ Admitting nothing while explaining why the bottle was already opened, face still flushed. ]