[Fuck, fuck, he should've sat down. No wonder Abbacchio's old partner had chosen to do this while sitting at a desk, and not have to worry about the necessity of keeping himself standing while he makes use of Abbacchio's throat. But there's something so good about that, too — towering over him, emphasizing the disparity between them, reminding him of his service — and he can't really make himself complain about it, not when he's pushing his thumb gently against Abbacchio's Adam's apple to remind him of the hand on his throat and giving himself over to the desire to snap his hips into the encompassing heat of his mouth.
Fundamentally, he supposes, he can understand Abbacchio's desire here. On paper, it sounds...nice, to let go and unwind and just reduce down to a body performing a task. But he can't imagine allowing himself to, in practice. There's no one he could possibly trust enough, no one who wouldn't look at him afterwards and remember how he'd looked and know.
It must be nice, he thinks idly, except that notions of his own inadequacy are counterproductive to his ability to get off, and so he makes himself refocus on Abbacchio, instead.
It works, of course. It takes moments of looking at him for the urgency of his arousal to come back full force, sharp in the pit of his stomach, pulsing in his blood.]
Leave your mouth open —
[Another few thrusts, and then he draws back altogether, depriving himself of the heat of Abbacchio's mouth for a few moments in favor of dragging his cock along Abbacchio's cheek and chin, adding to the mess on his face before pushing back past his lips.]
Ah...damn it, I'm — show me. Show me where you want it, when I come.
[The sudden loss from his throat makes him gasp, leading into pants for air; his eyes open, drunk from the experience alone so far. He gazes up, mouth staying open obediently.
Where...
He gives the tip of the cock just past his lips a slow lick. Show, not speak. So he pulls his head back and lets it slide once more against his cheek, his eyes still staring up at Edgeworth.
[The edge of his mouth pulls up in a crooked half-smirk, and he rakes his hand through Abbacchio's mussed, dangling hair, pushing it back off his face.]
Good. It was never really up to you, anyway — but it's nice to see we're in agreement.
[And fuck, that — just that — has him teetering toward his peak, never taking his eyes off of how fuck-drunk Abbacchio looks as his free hand comes down to stroke himself once, twice, again —
He bites his lip, but it's not enough to keep in a low whine of pleasure as the combination of Abbacchio's glassy eyes and the friction of his hand tips him over, and his release spatters in ropes across Abbacchio's cheek, nose, and mouth.]
[Obediently, he keeps his mouth open, tongue out and ready. He's hardly done anything for himself, but there's almost nothing more satisfying than just following orders.
And finally, Edgeworth finishes. He closes an eye, but the rest lands messily across his face. Slowly, he licks his lips before he goes back to panting. His own cock twitches, still untouched, and he squirms with a groan before he reaches down to touch himself finally.]
[Right. Right, yes, now is a good time to get himself over to the bed, letting the mattress catch him in the few seconds he has before his legs turn to rubber and sweet exhaustion starts to set in. Fuck, his sweatpants are still around his knees; he's sticky with sweat, his hair is damp. Fuck.
Fuck, Abbacchio is still on his knees, writhing and seeking to touch himself and he could tell him to stop, if he wanted. He could prevent him, and make him obey — fuck.]
Don't come.
[His words are thick, his breathing ragged.]
Touch yourself all you like, but — don't you dare.
[The command makes him groan, both pleased and frustrated. His hand squeezes over the base of his cock, struggling with himself. God, he wants to come so fucking bad, but he pulls himself back from that baseless urge.
Instead, he idly fondles himself, keeping himself interested but no where close to completion.
He licks his disaster of a mouth, lipstick smeared and glistening.]
C'mon. [It comes out more as a whine than a commanding growl.]
[He rakes a hand through his own hair, panting, and they're so far off-script by now that he's genuinely just making this up as he goes in the moment. They're not going to make it to proper fucking, at least not like this, so that idea has to go by the wayside in favor of something else.
Haphazardly, he kicks off his dangling sweatpants, letting the fabric bunch and fall onto the ground in order to get his legs free. It's a reach, but once his calves are unhindered, he's able to stretch his leg out and draw his foot back at the ankle, letting the sole of his cashmere sock brush up against Abbacchio's cock.]
[No. For a moment, Abbacchio bites hard on his lower lip, his arms shaking from the strain of staving himself off. It's frustrating, but part of it is just so fucking good, too.
He shudders and yanks his hand away when he feels the foot just barely touch him. It's so soft, and at this point he'll take anything Edgeworth feels like giving him.
Abbacchio pushes his knees further apart, exposing himself more.]
[...Says the guy who isn't being edged just for the sake of being difficult, but at least it'll hopefully be worth it in the end. Having Abbacchio's knees spread wide makes for a better sight and a better angle, and so Edgeworth settles in and gets comfortable, flexing his toes and stroking more firmly against Abbacchio's aching cock.]
I won't even make you ask permission. Keep your hands off, but — other than that, as you see fit. I want to watch you.
[The words are far from biting as he might like them to be, his voice strained yet airy as he speaks. Abbacchio curls his hands around his own thighs, fingernails digging, keeping his hands to himself as instructed.
He huffs, then he rolls his hips, rubbing himself against Edgeworth's foot, enjoying how the fabric feels against his cock. It's not enough to get himself off, but it's at least something. Abbacchio peers up at Edgeworth, not taking his eyes off of him, peering from under the mess of his hair and half-lidded eyes.]
You were right. It would've been such a waste not to put you on your knees.
[This won't last forever, he knows. Perhaps only until he's able to catch his breath, and work some of the sated numbness out of his own limbs. But it'll do for a little while, letting Abbacchio ache and simmer and wait for the chance to finally get free.
Something like this, he decides at length, really doesn't do much for him except the power of it. Abbacchio likes the feeling of being used. He likes the feeling of having this go at his pace, according to his schedule. He likes taking the time to memorize the glitter in Abbacchio's half-closed eyes and appreciate it in a way that tactile frenzy will soon override.]
How would you like to come, I wonder? In my mouth, on my face? Inside me?
[He bears down a little more firmly still, timing the strokes to the cadence of his voice.]
Do you no longer care? Your own hand would suffice, if I'd only just let you do something?
[Hips buck forward at the firmer contact, desperate and eager. He can hardly think to speak as he listens to Edgeworth, his voice even and more in control than Abbacchio is, but that's the way he prefers it. Getting unraveled under the direction of someone else, someone that can be relied on--
He bites his lip and lets out a frustrated whine.]
[He makes him wait, because of course he does. A little more, a little more. Until finally he's the one who can't wait any longer.]
I suppose you've suffered enough.
[He draws back, pushing himself back a short way on the mattress to make room for Abbacchio to climb up and sit over him, and still have enough space for the both of them to balance.]
Up. I'm going to kiss that filthy mouth while you come.
[Up. He breathes in sharply, his body tense as he prepares himself. Slowly, he gets into his knees, body trembling with absolute need, so fucking hard that it hurts but it's so good.
He crawls up to the bed, stopping only to finish kicking off his pants, too sweaty to keep them on. Abbacchio kneels over to Edgeworth, staring at him hungry.]
[He says, softly, and reaches between them, curling his warm fingers around Abbacchio's cock one by one as his other hand draws him down, unmindful of the lipstick and sweat and mess on his face.]
You've done so well. You've earned it.
[And whether he means the use of his name or the permission to come is anyone's guess, but he closes the distance between them and kisses Abbacchio firmly, filthy and wet, and starts to stroke him at a satisfying pace.]
[Miles. It's so stupid, but being given permission like that makes him numb for a moment. Not necessarily in a bad way, but he looks at him with clarity in his eyes, at least long enough before the hands touch him.
Abbacchio shudders and buries himself into the kiss messily. His teeth drag over Edgeworth's lips, drowning the other man in his whimpers and groans as he chases after the hand finally touching him. He breathes hard through his nose, focusing purely on the warm hand gripping him.
And finally, he comes; a strangled noise is pressed against Edgeworth's lips, his hips thrusting once more before his cock jerks, finishing messily between the two of them.
It's then he finally breaks off the kiss, trying to catch his breath.]
[It's hard not to get a little aroused again at the feeling of Abbacchio on top of him, shaking and writhing and chasing his peak; it's not enough that he needs to do anything about it, really, but it's nice nevertheless to get swept up in it. The kisses come messy, the noises soft but more than enough to fill the otherwise quiet of the room. It covers his hand when Abbacchio finishes, but that's a problem for later; in the moment, he strokes him gently through it, milking the full experience out of him until the kiss breaks away.]
Take your time...
[He murmurs the words into the sliver of space between their lips, already halfway planning how he's going to deal with it on the off-chance that Abbacchio just collapses on top of him in his exhaustion. A problem for later; it's fine for right now.]
[Truthfully, Abbacchio's arms are shaking with effort to keep himself up, not wanting to crush the other man.
Then he huffs out a soft laugh at the last part.]
I haven't felt this nice in awhile. So yeah, it was pretty all right.
[He's still a mess, but he does lean down and press a kiss to Edgeworth's forehead, unable to help a bit of affection that comes out of him. But Abbacchio is feeling really damned good, so to hell with it.]
[Not that he fears being crushed but...yeah, no, he doesn't want to be crushed. There's room on the mattress, they'll just have to curl up together or spoon or something.]
Truthfully, and with full candor, I...
[He clears his throat, turning a little red.]
I've...not quite had my fill of you yet. If it were up to me.
[Yet, he sounds a bit fond despite how he says it. Regardless, he follows Edgeworth's order one last time: he sighs and lets himself fall down onto his side onto the mattress.
He feels like a big fucking mess, sweat and come and ruined makeup on his face alike, but that kind of sensation of also being thoroughly used by someone he respects is what makes it that good for him. It's not just following orders, but putting himself into the hands of someone he wants to follow.
Abbacchio smiles crookedly, resting a hand on Edgeworth's hip. The blushing is actually really damned cute, but he keeps that to himself.]
You take to it so well. It's been some time since I've been with someone so...responsive.
[Good, good. The imminent threat of crushing removed, he can at last relax and unwind a little, basking in the last remnants of his fading afterglow and the warmth radiating off of Abbacchio's body beside him. It's such a small thing, the feeling of a wide palm coming to press against his hip, but it leaves him feeling grounded, wanted. It's reassuring.]
I suppose we'll both need a few minutes to recover. But I don't mind.
Ah. I don't usually...that is, I tried to rise to meet you. As it were.
[He clears his throat again, fully aware that he's essentially said nothing with that remark, but having to sort of get his head around his meaning before he can actually push the words out.]
I don't go into an encounter expecting obedience. My aim was to please you.
[He lets out a slow breath, his head falling comfortably to one side.]
I enjoyed it, too, make no mistake. But I wouldn't...demand that. Had you not set the pace first.
[Hm. Does that mean Edgeworth is someone who needs approval, or to be desired? It's something he didn't stop to consider before. Maybe that's his fault for getting in so deep with all of the attention he was being given.]
That's fair.
[His hand roams up to Edgeworth's shoulder before stroking down his side to the hip again.]
Just-- you know. If there's something you prefer, you can tell me that.
[His eyes fall half-closed as he basks in the — petting, almost. Lazy, languid touches that feel just right against his sensitive nerves, steady enough that he doesn't need to keep his eyes open in order to track them because the movements are predictable.]
It's not easily given. Certainly not anything I would insist upon out of a casual encounter.
[He seems to drift a minute, wavering, but then regroups and just takes the risk.]
I barely even know how to put it into words. Just — to be wanted. To not be...interchangeable with anyone else. As I said, that's too much to ask of anyone, but. It's a nice thought.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
teaserving) wrote2020-12-11 08:54 am
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Fundamentally, he supposes, he can understand Abbacchio's desire here. On paper, it sounds...nice, to let go and unwind and just reduce down to a body performing a task. But he can't imagine allowing himself to, in practice. There's no one he could possibly trust enough, no one who wouldn't look at him afterwards and remember how he'd looked and know.
It must be nice, he thinks idly, except that notions of his own inadequacy are counterproductive to his ability to get off, and so he makes himself refocus on Abbacchio, instead.
It works, of course. It takes moments of looking at him for the urgency of his arousal to come back full force, sharp in the pit of his stomach, pulsing in his blood.]
Leave your mouth open —
[Another few thrusts, and then he draws back altogether, depriving himself of the heat of Abbacchio's mouth for a few moments in favor of dragging his cock along Abbacchio's cheek and chin, adding to the mess on his face before pushing back past his lips.]
Ah...damn it, I'm — show me. Show me where you want it, when I come.
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Where...
He gives the tip of the cock just past his lips a slow lick. Show, not speak. So he pulls his head back and lets it slide once more against his cheek, his eyes still staring up at Edgeworth.
On his face.]
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Good. It was never really up to you, anyway — but it's nice to see we're in agreement.
[And fuck, that — just that — has him teetering toward his peak, never taking his eyes off of how fuck-drunk Abbacchio looks as his free hand comes down to stroke himself once, twice, again —
He bites his lip, but it's not enough to keep in a low whine of pleasure as the combination of Abbacchio's glassy eyes and the friction of his hand tips him over, and his release spatters in ropes across Abbacchio's cheek, nose, and mouth.]
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And finally, Edgeworth finishes. He closes an eye, but the rest lands messily across his face. Slowly, he licks his lips before he goes back to panting. His own cock twitches, still untouched, and he squirms with a groan before he reaches down to touch himself finally.]
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[Right. Right, yes, now is a good time to get himself over to the bed, letting the mattress catch him in the few seconds he has before his legs turn to rubber and sweet exhaustion starts to set in. Fuck, his sweatpants are still around his knees; he's sticky with sweat, his hair is damp. Fuck.
Fuck, Abbacchio is still on his knees, writhing and seeking to touch himself and he could tell him to stop, if he wanted. He could prevent him, and make him obey — fuck.]
Don't come.
[His words are thick, his breathing ragged.]
Touch yourself all you like, but — don't you dare.
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Instead, he idly fondles himself, keeping himself interested but no where close to completion.
He licks his disaster of a mouth, lipstick smeared and glistening.]
C'mon. [It comes out more as a whine than a commanding growl.]
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[He rakes a hand through his own hair, panting, and they're so far off-script by now that he's genuinely just making this up as he goes in the moment. They're not going to make it to proper fucking, at least not like this, so that idea has to go by the wayside in favor of something else.
Haphazardly, he kicks off his dangling sweatpants, letting the fabric bunch and fall onto the ground in order to get his legs free. It's a reach, but once his calves are unhindered, he's able to stretch his leg out and draw his foot back at the ankle, letting the sole of his cashmere sock brush up against Abbacchio's cock.]
You can have this.
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He shudders and yanks his hand away when he feels the foot just barely touch him. It's so soft, and at this point he'll take anything Edgeworth feels like giving him.
Abbacchio pushes his knees further apart, exposing himself more.]
Then give it to me.
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[...Says the guy who isn't being edged just for the sake of being difficult, but at least it'll hopefully be worth it in the end. Having Abbacchio's knees spread wide makes for a better sight and a better angle, and so Edgeworth settles in and gets comfortable, flexing his toes and stroking more firmly against Abbacchio's aching cock.]
I won't even make you ask permission. Keep your hands off, but — other than that, as you see fit. I want to watch you.
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[The words are far from biting as he might like them to be, his voice strained yet airy as he speaks. Abbacchio curls his hands around his own thighs, fingernails digging, keeping his hands to himself as instructed.
He huffs, then he rolls his hips, rubbing himself against Edgeworth's foot, enjoying how the fabric feels against his cock. It's not enough to get himself off, but it's at least something. Abbacchio peers up at Edgeworth, not taking his eyes off of him, peering from under the mess of his hair and half-lidded eyes.]
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[This won't last forever, he knows. Perhaps only until he's able to catch his breath, and work some of the sated numbness out of his own limbs. But it'll do for a little while, letting Abbacchio ache and simmer and wait for the chance to finally get free.
Something like this, he decides at length, really doesn't do much for him except the power of it. Abbacchio likes the feeling of being used. He likes the feeling of having this go at his pace, according to his schedule. He likes taking the time to memorize the glitter in Abbacchio's half-closed eyes and appreciate it in a way that tactile frenzy will soon override.]
How would you like to come, I wonder? In my mouth, on my face? Inside me?
[He bears down a little more firmly still, timing the strokes to the cadence of his voice.]
Do you no longer care? Your own hand would suffice, if I'd only just let you do something?
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[Hips buck forward at the firmer contact, desperate and eager. He can hardly think to speak as he listens to Edgeworth, his voice even and more in control than Abbacchio is, but that's the way he prefers it. Getting unraveled under the direction of someone else, someone that can be relied on--
He bites his lip and lets out a frustrated whine.]
Just wanna come. Stronzo.
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I suppose you've suffered enough.
[He draws back, pushing himself back a short way on the mattress to make room for Abbacchio to climb up and sit over him, and still have enough space for the both of them to balance.]
Up. I'm going to kiss that filthy mouth while you come.
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He crawls up to the bed, stopping only to finish kicking off his pants, too sweaty to keep them on. Abbacchio kneels over to Edgeworth, staring at him hungry.]
Edgeworth.
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[He says, softly, and reaches between them, curling his warm fingers around Abbacchio's cock one by one as his other hand draws him down, unmindful of the lipstick and sweat and mess on his face.]
You've done so well. You've earned it.
[And whether he means the use of his name or the permission to come is anyone's guess, but he closes the distance between them and kisses Abbacchio firmly, filthy and wet, and starts to stroke him at a satisfying pace.]
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Abbacchio shudders and buries himself into the kiss messily. His teeth drag over Edgeworth's lips, drowning the other man in his whimpers and groans as he chases after the hand finally touching him. He breathes hard through his nose, focusing purely on the warm hand gripping him.
And finally, he comes; a strangled noise is pressed against Edgeworth's lips, his hips thrusting once more before his cock jerks, finishing messily between the two of them.
It's then he finally breaks off the kiss, trying to catch his breath.]
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Take your time...
[He murmurs the words into the sliver of space between their lips, already halfway planning how he's going to deal with it on the off-chance that Abbacchio just collapses on top of him in his exhaustion. A problem for later; it's fine for right now.]
I. I hope...that was all right.
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Then he huffs out a soft laugh at the last part.]
I haven't felt this nice in awhile. So yeah, it was pretty all right.
[He's still a mess, but he does lean down and press a kiss to Edgeworth's forehead, unable to help a bit of affection that comes out of him. But Abbacchio is feeling really damned good, so to hell with it.]
And how about you?
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[Not that he fears being crushed but...yeah, no, he doesn't want to be crushed. There's room on the mattress, they'll just have to curl up together or spoon or something.]
Truthfully, and with full candor, I...
[He clears his throat, turning a little red.]
I've...not quite had my fill of you yet. If it were up to me.
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[Yet, he sounds a bit fond despite how he says it. Regardless, he follows Edgeworth's order one last time: he sighs and lets himself fall down onto his side onto the mattress.
He feels like a big fucking mess, sweat and come and ruined makeup on his face alike, but that kind of sensation of also being thoroughly used by someone he respects is what makes it that good for him. It's not just following orders, but putting himself into the hands of someone he wants to follow.
Abbacchio smiles crookedly, resting a hand on Edgeworth's hip. The blushing is actually really damned cute, but he keeps that to himself.]
Well, that makes two of us. Lucky then, huh?
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[Good, good. The imminent threat of crushing removed, he can at last relax and unwind a little, basking in the last remnants of his fading afterglow and the warmth radiating off of Abbacchio's body beside him. It's such a small thing, the feeling of a wide palm coming to press against his hip, but it leaves him feeling grounded, wanted. It's reassuring.]
I suppose we'll both need a few minutes to recover. But I don't mind.
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[He snorts softly, giving Edgeworth's hip a squeeze. There's no hurry from him.]
I can wait. Kinda wanna wash my face anyway.
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[He clears his throat again, fully aware that he's essentially said nothing with that remark, but having to sort of get his head around his meaning before he can actually push the words out.]
I don't go into an encounter expecting obedience. My aim was to please you.
[He lets out a slow breath, his head falling comfortably to one side.]
I enjoyed it, too, make no mistake. But I wouldn't...demand that. Had you not set the pace first.
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That's fair.
[His hand roams up to Edgeworth's shoulder before stroking down his side to the hip again.]
Just-- you know. If there's something you prefer, you can tell me that.
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[His eyes fall half-closed as he basks in the — petting, almost. Lazy, languid touches that feel just right against his sensitive nerves, steady enough that he doesn't need to keep his eyes open in order to track them because the movements are predictable.]
It's not easily given. Certainly not anything I would insist upon out of a casual encounter.
[He seems to drift a minute, wavering, but then regroups and just takes the risk.]
I barely even know how to put it into words. Just — to be wanted. To not be...interchangeable with anyone else. As I said, that's too much to ask of anyone, but. It's a nice thought.
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