I admit I'm not...overly practiced in this particular area, but — giving direction is something I'm familiar with. As is expecting my directions to be followed properly.
[He takes a deep drink of his spiced rum, polishing off a good portion of it and letting it burn smoky-sweet down the back of his throat before arranging his footing around Pess and standing up.
He's shorter than Leone Abbacchio. He wonders if that will detract from the other man's fun, or perhaps in some way enhance it.]
[There's a brief, crooked smile on Abbacchio's face at the command. Rolling his shoulders back, he bends down slightly, reaching out to take Edgeworth by the chin.]
See, just like that.
[Genuinely, he doesn't care how Edgeworth wants to go about this. Right now, he's pleased by this alone, and he leans in to press his lips firmly against Edgeworth's, completely uncaring of how it'll smear his lipstick across his mouth. If anything, he plans to mark him up as much as he's allowed to.]
[Too late, he realizes what Abbacchio is up to; the force behind the kiss is pleasant, just the way he likes it, but it isn't until he feels the slip of something tacky on his lip that it occurs to him — the people he tends to kiss don't usually wear lipstick, but this is what he's going to have to contend with now. Muss and fuss and mess.
Well, at least he's wearing casual clothes instead of something more important. At least his work suit and cravat won't get stained.]
Oh, no. That was nothing.
[Long hair, too, isn't something his partners usually boast. But there are advantages to it — namely, the ability to reach up and twist his fingers through the strands, exerting enough pressure to be felt without actually forcing him to move his head away.]
Tell me about the best sex you've ever had. What did your partner do?
[It's the smallest pressure on his hair, but he likes it. Just enough to pry him back, his lips not even inches from Edgeworth's.
The best sex he had, his partner. He thinks of Florentino and his kind face, his unwavering sense of justice. It's a sharp pain in his chest, but it's also a fond memory. Abbacchio lips his lips, smeared with dark purple, its clean edges now ruined.]
He was writing a report, and I was getting impatient. So he had me suck his dick, keep it ready for him while he finished up work. I couldn't touch myself, but he'd grind his boot on me off and on. Just to edge me along until he was done.
[There's just something about hearing it put so bluntly that appeals, in a moment like this. It's got just the right edge of crassness to make a little thrill of something forbidden race down his spine. Manners and courtesy come to him like a reflex; he slips into them like a glove and wears them effortlessly, whatever the occasion requires. It makes for a pleasing juxtaposition, his own composure against Abbacchio's coarse description.
And more importantly, now he's got a thread of an idea to work off of — good. He's not altogether interested in experimenting and fumbling like an inexperienced teenager when it's all the easier — and in its way, kinkier — to just make Abbacchio tell him outright.]
I'm not the sort who feels the need to be competitive about matters like this, for the record.
[He reflects a minute, then releases Abbacchio's hair in favor of unceremoniously pushing his thumb past his lips instead, holding Abbacchio by the jaw while he leans up and in toward his ear.]
But I wonder if I can train you as well as he did. Shall we find out?
[Briefly, he wonders what it would take to flustered Edgeworth in this kind of situation. Probably public displays of intimacy, he reckons; Edgeworth's the kind of guy to keep it behind doors. That's fine.
He tongues at his own canine, letting out a pleased little growl at the voice by his ear.]
Well, as they say, one trains best with both carrots and sticks.
[He hums, lightly biting Abbacchio's earlobe as he stays close, as much for the sake of keeping his own facial expression hidden as to keep up the steady stream of warm words in his ear.]
So, bärchen, tell me: which did you like better? Performing oral sex, or the feeling of his boot?
[There's a moment of consideration as he thinks about which he definitely preferred. The slip of German is interesting; he doesn't think he heard much of an accent in Edgeworth's voice, but perhaps that just has more to do with the prosecutor's sense of professionalism.
He opens his mouth a bit more, nipping the thumb still pressed against his lips.]
I liked both. [That's the truth, but also:] Liked sucking him off a bit more. Felt like I was doing something worthwhile.
[That's an interesting choice of words — worthwhile. Another point to note for himself and add to his list of plans. Leone Abbacchio, for all his forceful exterior, seems to be considerably more partner-focused than he'd previously expected. His own gratification derives from that of others. It's a different dimension to wanting to be told what to do, but it's certainly one Edgeworth can work with.]
I'm going to take care of Pess, so that she won't feel the need to disturb us. In the meantime...
[He presses his thumb lightly past Abbacchio's lips, staining it with lipstick as he fucks it shallowly in and out of his mouth.]
My bedroom is down the hall. Sit on the edge of the bed, facing the door. Open your pants, but don't remove them. And toy with yourself until you're hard.
[There's the temptation to just grab Edgeworth and kiss him hard enough to make real bruises -- but he likes granting the control over into his hands, someone who evidently values that not unlike he does. His teeth bite down just a bit, just so, but hardly enough to hurt.
Then he pulls his head back to let it slip from his lips.]
Don't keep me waiting, bello.
[Reluctantly, he pulls away, but he completely obeys. It's easy enough to determine which is Edgeworth's room even without his instruction; he saw the immaculate care to the room before and concluded at least there was no way Caesar was staying there specifically.
He does as he was told, sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the door as if he's waiting for Edgeworth -- which he is, of course. Breathing in, he opens his leather pants, cupping himself before he starts to squeeze and encourage his cock to harden. It's not just a matter of letting him feel good, but he thinks about Edgeworth assuming control, even if it was just starting.
Sure, he's had sex since after Florentino, but nothing has really been satisfying, not even remotely. This could be different, could be good.]
[Of course, this move was never really about Pess; she's too good a girl to make trouble, and could've behaved herself just fine while he was otherwise occupied. But she's also an easy excuse to make Abbacchio wait, and power transfer really isn't about the physical so much as it is the mind game that comes attached to it.
Abbacchio wants to be told what to do. Wants to serve. Wants to please. So, let him have one direction to follow, and let him wait for the rest. Let the physical sensation of stroking himself get tangled up with the anticipation of what might be coming next. Let his mind do the work for him.
After all, there's nothing that Edgeworth could come up with that will ever be half as enticing as leaving it fully up to Abbacchio's imagination.
So he takes care of Pess, finding one of her toys and settling her with it, rattling around so that Abbacchio will be able to track his movements by hearing. What must the man look like right now, Edgeworth wonders idly. Perhaps he's not the only one susceptible to the allure of the imagination.
But finally, finally, he walks at a leisurely pace down the hall, and pauses in the doorway to admire the spectacle that's waiting for him.]
My. Aren't you filthy.
[It's hardly a chastisement. Everything about his tone says well done.]
[There's a soft snort at Edgeworth's words. He pushes his hand down the front of his pants, squeezing himself with a soft grunt.]
And it was your idea. Guess you're worse than me, huh?
[With his chin up, it isn't said with any sense of defiance -- just with a challenge in his eyes as he peers at Edgeworth. He's still touching himself, shifting his hips so he can tuck his dick out, letting it jut out from his pants.]
Naturally, I wanted to see. And from the looks of it, you'll do nicely.
[It's a challenge Abbacchio offers, and it's one that Edgeworth ultimately accepts, looking him over only another minute before stalking into the room and positioning himself between Abbacchio's spread knees.]
You did say, after all, that you wanted to be useful.
[He leans forward a touch, resting one hand on Abbacchio's shoulder for balance while the other goes between his legs, taking him confidently in hand.]
[As soon as Edgeworth makes himself comfortable between Abbacchio's legs, his hand moves away to let him do as he pleases out of instinct. He lets out a sharp breath at the contact, hips twitching. Fuck, Edgeworth's hand is soft...]
You are impatient, aren't you. Well. I'm familiar enough with my own preferences to know what's capable of satisfying me, and I expect this will suffice to make me see stars.
[Even as he speaks, there are tells that he's hiding his own attraction behind composure — the occasional hitch in his breath, his too-steady words. It's not boredom or disinterest or even cruelty that's keeping Edgeworth sounding methodical and considered; it's duality, the image he's crafting, perfect Miles Edgeworth and wrecked Leone Abbacchio taken in tandem, in opposition.
He continues stroking Abbacchio easily, too slow to really be satisfying, but steady enough that he can't be ignored.]
I was thinking of tying your hands to the headboard and riding you. But what a shame it would be to let so much of the rest of you go to waste. You couldn't be satisfied with just that, could you? Not with this pretty mouth.
[The smallest tells are enough to inform him of Edgeworth's own enjoyment, even if he's masking himself. The appearance of a man who is in control. Frankly, that's exactly what Abbacchio wants out of him.
He shudders, testing the boundaries as he lets his hips roll forward to chase after Edgeworth's hand, especially after the description. Sinking right into this man and letting him ride wouldn't be bad, it'd be enough, but there could be more. He's glad he sees it.
So he licks his mess of lips, enough purple there to still wet and shine them.]
[The hand on Abbacchio's shoulder moves up to rake fingers through his hair, petting it back from the side of his head while he takes in the feeling of Abbacchio fucking up into the warmth of his hand. That's attractive, to say the least; it's a strange sensation for Edgeworth to feel wanted, but in a moment like this, there's absolutely no denying it, even to himself.]
You wouldn't feel right if I didn't put you on your knees. That's what you need, isn't it? What you're waiting for.
[His hand stills briefly as he says it, like he's testing to see if Abbacchio's cock will jump at the words. Or maybe he just wants Abbacchio to focus fully on them, without any distraction.]
[When it was just him and Florentino, his hair had been too short for this. The hair petting, fingers combing through, almost a form of physical praise. It's new, but he likes it, leaning his head slightly toward the hand touching his hair.
Fuck, it's true. He wants that, wants to be useful, more praise. There's a decisive twitch in his cock and he bites the inside of his mouth.
It's like permission given: Abbacchio is sliding down off of the bed, kneeling in front of Edgeworth. Regrettably, his dick slips free of Edgeworth's warm and soft hand, but that's fine. This is better.
[He takes a minute to swallow a faint lump in his throat, his eyes never leaving Abbacchio as he slides down to the floor. Edgeworth shifts back a bit to help make room, and it's probably going to be a bad idea to try to stay on his two feet while this unfolds, but that's a problem he'll deal with later.
Abbacchio on his knees, eager, obedient. Already the front of his sweatpants is tented by his hardening length, so close to where Abbacchio is nuzzling.]
Once. He had blond hair and long eyelashes. Not as pretty as you, of course.
[He pets Abbacchio again, breathing shallowly as he tries to keep up the facade.]
[It's impossible to ignore the way that Edgeworth's sweatpants outline his hard on, but Abbacchio doesn't immediately give it his attention. Instead, his eyes go half-lid as he leans into the hand petting his hair, finding how much he enjoys the contact. Verbal praise really gets him going, but this is the kind of physical touch that almost feels comforting.
His fingers curl into the front of his pants, working them down bit by bit. Abbacchio is slowly kissing at his hip and thigh, smudging purple along the way. Clothing is not stained, but skin is marked accordingly.
Finally, he pulls it down enough that he can free the other man's cock. Opening his mouth, he gives the tip a wet kiss, his ombre eyes peering up at Edgeworth almost curiously.]
[It's almost a playful taunt, the way he remarks it; as though anyone could think Abbacchio was shy at a time like this, mouthing at another man's cock while bent on his knees. But there's something about the look on his face that's just attractive, the way he looks so content with the attention he's receiving. He'd said something similar when describing what he'd previously done for his partner, hadn't he? Wanting to feel useful. Or wanting to feel used, maybe.
His breath hitches. It's surreal to meet Abbacchio's upturned gaze in a moment like this, to make and hold eye contact when he's so close and so indecent.]
[There's a soft snort at the suggestion, but he surmises it's mostly part of role Edgeworth is playing here. Shy? Oh so far from it. He opens his mouth and slides his tongue over the tip, then opens his lips wider.
This part, he's a bit more careful on, not just taking Edgeworth all the way at once. He sticks out his tongue and slowly begins to take him into his mouth inch by inch, pausing to swallow before he keeps taking of him in. It's oddly familiar like this, again something of a comfort; he's only too glad that Edgeworth is indulging him like this.
His hands settle onto Edgeworth's hips, bracing against him as he finishes swallowing him down, Abbacchio's nose bumping against skin. His throat is so full, and he can feel his own cock twitching eagerly with the position he's in now. It's good.]
[Ideally, he wouldn't make any embarrassing noises while Abbacchio sets to work; it doesn't altogether fit well with the role he's supposed to be taking on, or the cool confidence he's trying to project. But it's not as though anyone could stay fully quiet while watching a display like that — the obscene movements of Abbacchio's lips, the way his throat bobs when he swallows — and that's not even taking into account the other senses, the sound of it, the heat.
At first it's just a half-sigh, a shudder of breath, but before long the breathiness of it rounds out into a deeper, richer moan, and without even thinking he moves his hand around to the back of Abbacchio's head, giving only the suggestion of guiding him along and encouraging it by touch alone.
Oh, it would've been such a waste to skip right to riding him. He would've missed this, and what a shame it would have been.]
Good.
[And he thinks about the memory Abbacchio had described — sitting, finishing paperwork, while all the while having this knelt before him, warming him, waiting...
Oh. Oh, how decadent.]
I'm...I'm going to move. You're allowed to pull back if it's too much.
[He waits a moment, just to be sure the meaning sinks in, and then rocks his hips shallowly forward, testing what he can get away with.]
[Just servicing alone is enough to make him satisfied, but it's always gratifying to hear his partners enjoy themselves. Edgeworth is no different, that smooth voice of his moaning, making Abbacchio huff in approval through his nose. Good, even Edgeworth can't keep up that mask forever. It'd be hell of a sight to watch him unravel.
His eyes gaze up, and he lets Edgeworth move, slowly rock into his mouth. It isn't too much, and he keeps his jaw as relaxed as possible.
But Abbacchio reaches up for one of Edgeworth's hands, tugging it down so that he can cup his palm over his throat. Just to feel the way Abbacchio swallows around him.]
[There's a touch of color that rises in his cheeks when Abbacchio moves his hand, when there's a bulge sitting beneath his palm where it presses against Abbacchio's throat; it only gets worse when he rocks his hips again and feels it move, leaving no room for doubt about the cause.]
Close your eyes and focus. I want to see you lose yourself in this.
[He gives Abbacchio's throat a faint, fleeting squeeze, before his hand darts up to stroke along the underside of his chin, like teasing a cat.]
Show me there's nowhere you'd rather be right now.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
teaserving) wrote2020-12-11 08:54 am
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[He takes a deep drink of his spiced rum, polishing off a good portion of it and letting it burn smoky-sweet down the back of his throat before arranging his footing around Pess and standing up.
He's shorter than Leone Abbacchio. He wonders if that will detract from the other man's fun, or perhaps in some way enhance it.]
Come here and kiss me, then.
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See, just like that.
[Genuinely, he doesn't care how Edgeworth wants to go about this. Right now, he's pleased by this alone, and he leans in to press his lips firmly against Edgeworth's, completely uncaring of how it'll smear his lipstick across his mouth. If anything, he plans to mark him up as much as he's allowed to.]
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Well, at least he's wearing casual clothes instead of something more important. At least his work suit and cravat won't get stained.]
Oh, no. That was nothing.
[Long hair, too, isn't something his partners usually boast. But there are advantages to it — namely, the ability to reach up and twist his fingers through the strands, exerting enough pressure to be felt without actually forcing him to move his head away.]
Tell me about the best sex you've ever had. What did your partner do?
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The best sex he had, his partner. He thinks of Florentino and his kind face, his unwavering sense of justice. It's a sharp pain in his chest, but it's also a fond memory. Abbacchio lips his lips, smeared with dark purple, its clean edges now ruined.]
He was writing a report, and I was getting impatient. So he had me suck his dick, keep it ready for him while he finished up work. I couldn't touch myself, but he'd grind his boot on me off and on. Just to edge me along until he was done.
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And more importantly, now he's got a thread of an idea to work off of — good. He's not altogether interested in experimenting and fumbling like an inexperienced teenager when it's all the easier — and in its way, kinkier — to just make Abbacchio tell him outright.]
I'm not the sort who feels the need to be competitive about matters like this, for the record.
[He reflects a minute, then releases Abbacchio's hair in favor of unceremoniously pushing his thumb past his lips instead, holding Abbacchio by the jaw while he leans up and in toward his ear.]
But I wonder if I can train you as well as he did. Shall we find out?
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He tongues at his own canine, letting out a pleased little growl at the voice by his ear.]
It'd be fun to see you try.
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[He hums, lightly biting Abbacchio's earlobe as he stays close, as much for the sake of keeping his own facial expression hidden as to keep up the steady stream of warm words in his ear.]
So, bärchen, tell me: which did you like better? Performing oral sex, or the feeling of his boot?
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He opens his mouth a bit more, nipping the thumb still pressed against his lips.]
I liked both. [That's the truth, but also:] Liked sucking him off a bit more. Felt like I was doing something worthwhile.
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I'm going to take care of Pess, so that she won't feel the need to disturb us. In the meantime...
[He presses his thumb lightly past Abbacchio's lips, staining it with lipstick as he fucks it shallowly in and out of his mouth.]
My bedroom is down the hall. Sit on the edge of the bed, facing the door. Open your pants, but don't remove them. And toy with yourself until you're hard.
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Then he pulls his head back to let it slip from his lips.]
Don't keep me waiting, bello.
[Reluctantly, he pulls away, but he completely obeys. It's easy enough to determine which is Edgeworth's room even without his instruction; he saw the immaculate care to the room before and concluded at least there was no way Caesar was staying there specifically.
He does as he was told, sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the door as if he's waiting for Edgeworth -- which he is, of course. Breathing in, he opens his leather pants, cupping himself before he starts to squeeze and encourage his cock to harden. It's not just a matter of letting him feel good, but he thinks about Edgeworth assuming control, even if it was just starting.
Sure, he's had sex since after Florentino, but nothing has really been satisfying, not even remotely. This could be different, could be good.]
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Abbacchio wants to be told what to do. Wants to serve. Wants to please. So, let him have one direction to follow, and let him wait for the rest. Let the physical sensation of stroking himself get tangled up with the anticipation of what might be coming next. Let his mind do the work for him.
After all, there's nothing that Edgeworth could come up with that will ever be half as enticing as leaving it fully up to Abbacchio's imagination.
So he takes care of Pess, finding one of her toys and settling her with it, rattling around so that Abbacchio will be able to track his movements by hearing. What must the man look like right now, Edgeworth wonders idly. Perhaps he's not the only one susceptible to the allure of the imagination.
But finally, finally, he walks at a leisurely pace down the hall, and pauses in the doorway to admire the spectacle that's waiting for him.]
My. Aren't you filthy.
[It's hardly a chastisement. Everything about his tone says well done.]
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And it was your idea. Guess you're worse than me, huh?
[With his chin up, it isn't said with any sense of defiance -- just with a challenge in his eyes as he peers at Edgeworth. He's still touching himself, shifting his hips so he can tuck his dick out, letting it jut out from his pants.]
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[It's a challenge Abbacchio offers, and it's one that Edgeworth ultimately accepts, looking him over only another minute before stalking into the room and positioning himself between Abbacchio's spread knees.]
You did say, after all, that you wanted to be useful.
[He leans forward a touch, resting one hand on Abbacchio's shoulder for balance while the other goes between his legs, taking him confidently in hand.]
Mm. Yes. This will do very nicely.
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Hm. Glad that it meets your standards.
What're you thinking of, then?
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[Even as he speaks, there are tells that he's hiding his own attraction behind composure — the occasional hitch in his breath, his too-steady words. It's not boredom or disinterest or even cruelty that's keeping Edgeworth sounding methodical and considered; it's duality, the image he's crafting, perfect Miles Edgeworth and wrecked Leone Abbacchio taken in tandem, in opposition.
He continues stroking Abbacchio easily, too slow to really be satisfying, but steady enough that he can't be ignored.]
I was thinking of tying your hands to the headboard and riding you. But what a shame it would be to let so much of the rest of you go to waste. You couldn't be satisfied with just that, could you? Not with this pretty mouth.
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He shudders, testing the boundaries as he lets his hips roll forward to chase after Edgeworth's hand, especially after the description. Sinking right into this man and letting him ride wouldn't be bad, it'd be enough, but there could be more. He's glad he sees it.
So he licks his mess of lips, enough purple there to still wet and shine them.]
I'd want more.
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[The hand on Abbacchio's shoulder moves up to rake fingers through his hair, petting it back from the side of his head while he takes in the feeling of Abbacchio fucking up into the warmth of his hand. That's attractive, to say the least; it's a strange sensation for Edgeworth to feel wanted, but in a moment like this, there's absolutely no denying it, even to himself.]
You wouldn't feel right if I didn't put you on your knees. That's what you need, isn't it? What you're waiting for.
[His hand stills briefly as he says it, like he's testing to see if Abbacchio's cock will jump at the words. Or maybe he just wants Abbacchio to focus fully on them, without any distraction.]
If that's what you want, then do it.
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Fuck, it's true. He wants that, wants to be useful, more praise. There's a decisive twitch in his cock and he bites the inside of his mouth.
It's like permission given: Abbacchio is sliding down off of the bed, kneeling in front of Edgeworth. Regrettably, his dick slips free of Edgeworth's warm and soft hand, but that's fine. This is better.
He leans in, nuzzling at Edgeworth's hip.]
Ever fuck someone's mouth before, Prosecutor?
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Abbacchio on his knees, eager, obedient. Already the front of his sweatpants is tented by his hardening length, so close to where Abbacchio is nuzzling.]
Once. He had blond hair and long eyelashes. Not as pretty as you, of course.
[He pets Abbacchio again, breathing shallowly as he tries to keep up the facade.]
I wonder if you can make me forget him.
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[It's impossible to ignore the way that Edgeworth's sweatpants outline his hard on, but Abbacchio doesn't immediately give it his attention. Instead, his eyes go half-lid as he leans into the hand petting his hair, finding how much he enjoys the contact. Verbal praise really gets him going, but this is the kind of physical touch that almost feels comforting.
His fingers curl into the front of his pants, working them down bit by bit. Abbacchio is slowly kissing at his hip and thigh, smudging purple along the way. Clothing is not stained, but skin is marked accordingly.
Finally, he pulls it down enough that he can free the other man's cock. Opening his mouth, he gives the tip a wet kiss, his ombre eyes peering up at Edgeworth almost curiously.]
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[It's almost a playful taunt, the way he remarks it; as though anyone could think Abbacchio was shy at a time like this, mouthing at another man's cock while bent on his knees. But there's something about the look on his face that's just attractive, the way he looks so content with the attention he's receiving. He'd said something similar when describing what he'd previously done for his partner, hadn't he? Wanting to feel useful. Or wanting to feel used, maybe.
His breath hitches. It's surreal to meet Abbacchio's upturned gaze in a moment like this, to make and hold eye contact when he's so close and so indecent.]
Show me you can take all of it.
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This part, he's a bit more careful on, not just taking Edgeworth all the way at once. He sticks out his tongue and slowly begins to take him into his mouth inch by inch, pausing to swallow before he keeps taking of him in. It's oddly familiar like this, again something of a comfort; he's only too glad that Edgeworth is indulging him like this.
His hands settle onto Edgeworth's hips, bracing against him as he finishes swallowing him down, Abbacchio's nose bumping against skin. His throat is so full, and he can feel his own cock twitching eagerly with the position he's in now. It's good.]
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At first it's just a half-sigh, a shudder of breath, but before long the breathiness of it rounds out into a deeper, richer moan, and without even thinking he moves his hand around to the back of Abbacchio's head, giving only the suggestion of guiding him along and encouraging it by touch alone.
Oh, it would've been such a waste to skip right to riding him. He would've missed this, and what a shame it would have been.]
Good.
[And he thinks about the memory Abbacchio had described — sitting, finishing paperwork, while all the while having this knelt before him, warming him, waiting...
Oh. Oh, how decadent.]
I'm...I'm going to move. You're allowed to pull back if it's too much.
[He waits a moment, just to be sure the meaning sinks in, and then rocks his hips shallowly forward, testing what he can get away with.]
no subject
His eyes gaze up, and he lets Edgeworth move, slowly rock into his mouth. It isn't too much, and he keeps his jaw as relaxed as possible.
But Abbacchio reaches up for one of Edgeworth's hands, tugging it down so that he can cup his palm over his throat. Just to feel the way Abbacchio swallows around him.]
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[There's a touch of color that rises in his cheeks when Abbacchio moves his hand, when there's a bulge sitting beneath his palm where it presses against Abbacchio's throat; it only gets worse when he rocks his hips again and feels it move, leaving no room for doubt about the cause.]
Close your eyes and focus. I want to see you lose yourself in this.
[He gives Abbacchio's throat a faint, fleeting squeeze, before his hand darts up to stroke along the underside of his chin, like teasing a cat.]
Show me there's nowhere you'd rather be right now.
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