[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. ]
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ninetydegrees
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. ]