I do really like listening to someone’s heart and having my heart be listened to. I like some darker elements like someone holding a physical heart as they pump away at it to revive it. But it doesn’t excite me as much as breath does.
Listening to someone’s breathing- whether it comes in gasps, huffs, sighs, hard breathing, normal breathing- I’m bewitched by it all. Both in comforting ways and sexual ways- the dominating/submissive aspect of engaging in breathplay where breathing is carefully taken away and rewarded back. Or breath sharing. It’s always been most intimate to me.
Resus is of course the cherry on the cake for me. And mtm is probably the element that gets me going the most (no one saw that coming at all 🙄 lol).
Breathing for someone, having someone breathe for you, saying variations of the word itself. Checking for breathing. The strained exertions of air coming from the efforts of the rescuer as they pump the victim’s chest. The victim’s parted lips begging for more air.
The Prince and the Knight's first meeting. Story under the cut.
M/M, Fantasy setting, Prince/Knight, drowning, both POVs, Resus
The branch sways slightly in the breeze as slim fingers barely graze the bottom of the shiny, red fruit. A pink tongue darts out from between full lips as dark brows scrunch in determination. The young man stretches onto the very tips of his toes, batting at the apple dangling just out of his reach.
The fisherman’s son sits on the bank, pole held loosely above the water as his eyes rake over the toned calves and plump thighs of the dark haired boy he'd been watching all afternoon. A moment ago he'd been lounging with his book, seemingly unaware of the eyes staring at him, when suddenly he'd jumped up and made a beeline up the hill to the apple tree. He's been trying to reach that particular fruit for the better half of fifteen minutes, and he doesn't show any signs of giving up.
The blond shrugs to himself. Better view for me anyway, he thinks, giving his pole a light tug to bob the cork.
The young man bounces on his toes again, batting at the apple. On the second try, his toes leave the ground, but still no luck. When he touches the grass again, his boot slips and sends him tumbling over the edge of the shirt cliff. A yelp and a splash are all the fisherman’s son hears as the other man disappears below the water’s surface.
The blond lets out a deep laugh at the other’s expense, expecting any minute for him to come up sputtering and cursing. The water’s surface remains undisturbed and the man feels his laughter die in his chest.
He should've come up by now.
The first thing the prince feels is ice. It's early spring and the water hasn't had time to warm from the winter frosts. He kicks and claws at the frigid water around him, trying to reach the shimmering surface that seems to be just above his head.
His lungs have already started to burn from the lack of air, his chest twitching as his cheeks bulge with his held breath. His arms and legs ache from fighting the thick cold threatening to swallow him whole, and his brain feels like it's stuffed with cotton.
He can feel his limbs beginning to slow, the surface seeming to shrink away from him as his eyes grow heavy. No longer in control of his body, he can't stop his mouth as it gapes open, the last of his air leaving his body in a rush of bubbles. His sinuses burn with the first rush of water that invades his airway, and his lungs quickly fill with the icy water.
He can feel his heart hammering behind his lungs as his body begins to convulse. Every third beat he can feel it skip and stumble before slamming back into the painful rhythm. Ba-dump, Ba-dump… the skip never comes, his body falls limp and green eyes go dim as he slips deeper into the murky lake.
The fisherman’s son drops his pole and rushes toward the cliff’s edge. He kicks his heavy boots off and dives into the lake. His eyes sting but he forces them open, scanning the water for the young brunet. Through the flurry of bubbles he spots a pale hand and reaches out. His fingers wrap around the delicate wrist and heave him up. Looping his arm around the smaller man’s chest, he kicks his legs and hauls them both toward the shimmering sunlight.
Breaking the surface, the blond gulps in a breath and starts towing the younger man toward the shore. When his feet touch the muddy bottom, he stands and turns to look at the boy in his arms. His heart sinks as he pulls him against his broad chest. His skin is ashen and his lips have turned a sickening shade of blue. The fisher tangles his fingers in dark curls as he steadies the other man’s head.
Every man on the water is taught how to drag someone back from a watery grave at a young age. The Kiss of Life, the man thinks, tilting the other’s head back. He seals his mouth over the other’s and blows deep. Both of their cheeks round before a gurgle deep in the young man’s chest has water erupting from his mouth and nose.
“That's it, get the water out,” the fisher says as he blows in again. He tilts the brunet’s head to the side as more water spills out. He blows in twice more, feeling the other man’s chest rise slightly against his palm.
He slides his hand under the young man’s knees and lifts him easily. His silk shirt is near translucent where it clings to his small chest, and the other man has to drag his eyes away from where his nipple perks through the thin fabric. The boy’s arms and legs dangle and sway as the fisher trudges through the shallows.
On shore, he gently lays the young man on his back. He leans down, pressing his ear to the man’s petite chest, listening for any signs of life.
Shit, he ain't got a heartbeat.
The fisher sits up, bracing his hands over the other’s breastbone. He pushes down, bending the delicate ribs under his palm, and here's another soft gurgle. More water dribbles out over the boy’s lips, so the blond tilts his head again. He holds his head to the side with one hand as he pumps into him with the other.
“How much water did you swallow?” He mutters, brows knit as he continues pushing water out of the man’s slack lips.
When the fisher hears the first small huff of air leave his lips, he leans down, sealing his mouth over the other’s. He breathes out, filling the young man’s chest until air sputters out between them. He does this two more times before finding the landmark between his nipples again.
He rolls his shoulders forward and slams the first real compression down into the man’s drowned heart. He can feel the thin ribs bending and popping under his hands as he works, and he whispers soft apologies between each count. “13, 14, 15, come on, breathe!”
He pinches the young man’s nose again, blowing two more breaths into his still lungs. His cheeks bulge and his chest rises with each artificial breath as the fisher continues rescue breaths.
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, come on! Breathe, damn it!” His compressions are deep and fast, rocking the young man’s entire body as his shoulders dip and arms and legs sway.
The next cycle of compressions seem to bring some color back to the brunet’s soft features, his face more pale than grey and his lips have a subtle flush of pink. It gives the fisher renewed hope in his efforts and he continues another cycle of thirty compressions and two breaths.
The young man’s lips are soft against his own and he realizes he'd been fantasizing about kissing them all day. Not exactly what I had in mind, but let’s get you breathing and see what happens, he muses, blowing in another quick breath.
He breaks the seal of their mouths, staring down at the angelic face below him as he pumps one hand into the other’s quickly bruising sternum. “Fight, come on! You can do it, breathe,” he whispers, warm breath ghosting against cool, slack lips.
After fifteen one handed compressions he seals their mouths again blowing in another warm breath. A trail of saliva connects their lower lips as he pulls away again, continuing chest compressions.
The Prince’s senses come back to him one at a time. He can feel the water sloshing in his belly as something slams into his chest. It hurts, but when he tries to lift his arms or move away they feel cold and numb. The next thing he feels is a large hand cradling his neck before wet warmth envelops his mouth and air is pushed into his lungs. It's not really breathing, but right now it feels like the sweetest air he's ever had.
The air rushes from his lungs before he's ready and soon the crushing pain is back on his chest. His throat flexes and burns as he feels more water push its way out of his lungs.
His hearing comes next, slowly. Everything sounds like distant murmurs, like trying to listen to someone on the other side of a wall. Then suddenly, a clear voice.
“Come on! Breathe damn it!”
A man’s voice, from somewhere above him, is the first clear thing he hears. In the dark of his mind, in a body that won't move, he focuses on that voice. It seems to be counting in time with the painful pulses in his chest, every once in a while the voice stops and he feels the rush of air into his lungs again.
“Breathe,” the voice says again. It's the most beautiful word the prince has ever heard. He knows when he hears the lovely voice say that word then he'll be gifted warm air again, filling his lungs to the brim and satisfying the ache in his chest, if only for a moment.
His body suddenly jerks, vomiting up the rest of the water as his throat and sinuses burn. He feels the warm hands from before roll him onto his side before coming down to rub his back. “That's it, you're alright,” the voice from before coos, softer now.
His sight comes last. His eyes sting from the salty water, and he blinks a few times to clear them. When his lashes flutter open and his vision clears, he finally can put a face to the voice.
He hadn't expected it to be the blond fisherman he'd seen watching him earlier in the day, but he can't say he's upset about it. Crystal blue eyes brimming with concern scan his face as the same large, warm hands brush dark curls off his brow.
“You're okay, just breathe,” the fisher says, easing him into a sitting position.
The prince leans his weight into the warm chest, letting his head rest on the other man’s shoulder. His voice croaks as he smiles up at the stranger, “hi.”
The chest beneath him bounces lightly with a laugh, “hi. Y’know, if you wanted my attention there was an easier way to do it.”
The prince hums softly before his eyes slide closed again. “You'll need to take me home, my father will be worried.”
“Who’s your father? I'll carry you,” the fisher says, shifting the young man into a bridal carry.
He nearly drops him again when the brunet speaks again.
“The king.”
The Prince’s breathing evens out as his head droops forward. The fisherman’s son carries the sleeping Prince back to the palace. It takes some work to convince the guards he hadn't injured the Prince, to the contrary, the opposite. When they're satisfied, he's guided to the castle’s infirmary where he leaves the young prince.
He bows lightly to the guards, “I'll, uh, I'll be going now.”
“No,” the guard answers, “his highness wants to see you first.”
Maybe he wants to give me a reward, the fisherman thinks, imagining lumps of gold or jewels as he's led to the throne room.
The king sits on an ornate throne, the queen sitting at his side. The fisher can't help but notice that the prince looks just like his mother. The king stands and the guard places a hand on the blond's shoulder, pushing him to kneel.
“For saving my only heir, I'd like to extend a position to you within my kingdom. Knighthood, if you choose to accept.”
The blond’s eyes widen and he can only nod, his mind reeling as the sheathed sword is dropped onto each shoulder. He's whisked out of the large room and ushered into a room in the Knight’s quarters.
He's put in charge of the young Prince. He's told his job is to never leave the young man’s side, and so that's what he does.
Commission for a friend of a BG3 character moment!
There is actually text that goes with this as well, but here are the full drawings. This was a lot of fun!! I loved playing with the setting and the situation is so dramatic..
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On an unrelated note, I have a few messages in my inbox I need to respond to so if you sent me one I promise I'm not ignoring you and i appreciate all of them very much
"i want to be choked" "i want to be to be tied up" okay well *I* want someone to push my head underwater while they use me like a toy, keeping me down just long enough to feel me tighten around them when i run out of air, then pulling me back up to catch my breath and praise me for being such a good whore, before shoving my face back underwater as they continue to pound me.
