FLINS' GENTLEMANLY CONSIDERATION IS APPRECIATED, TRULY, IT'S JUST. He's been teasing poor Illuga for so long, drawing invisible patterns on his skin, lightly nipping here and there and placing kisses just shy of particularly sensitive spots that he swears he's trying to drive him insane on purpose. Don't get him wrong, the attention is devastatingly nice and he feels so so very loved, but it also feels like he's about to burst at any moment if this keeps up any longer.
It takes him a moment to get his limbs to agree with his intentions and when they do, perspective shifts a lot faster than anticipated; hand pushes against a sturdy chest, fae all too willingly leaning back, falling on his back on the bed and dragging the other with him as well.
Illuga shudders once settled again, body stiff and eyes closed tightly. It's far too late to back down now, though, so all he can do is relax his body and let instinct take the lead. Or, at least, that's what he wants to do. He didn't intend to try to take control, but Flins has been torturing him for so long that he couldn't take it anymore. All that teasing and no thought to actually go through with it.
❝ You are such a cruel person, Sir Fliiiiiinsssss... ❞ end of sentence pitched higher on the smallest of movements. Even still without opening his eyes, he can picture that pale visage, dusted golden eyes reflecting smugness and self-satisfaction.
Amusement dwindles into something softer, gloved hands coming to rub up and down exposed sides. ❝ No need to stress yourself out, Young Master. Take a deep breath in and then exhale it back out. ❞ all the while he continues to trace invisible lines that leave goosebumps in their wake. It does seem to help, though, as he watches his beloved nightingale bend gently, his own hands finding purchase on pristine skin. Slowly, carefully. Illuga rarely puts his wants and needs first, always choosing to help those in need rather than himself.
Another huff, eyes half-opened now; ❝ Truly such a cruel person... Setting me on fire and then continuing to toy with me endlessly, stocking the flame higher and higher while you yourself seem wholly unbothered. You must take so much joy in my suffering. ❞
At some point, Illuga started rocking his hips. Not quite yet in a rhythm, but enough to get some of the friction back, for rosiness to flush his entire face and the tips of his ears and shoulders once more. Vivid blues tinted red hide once more behind heavy eyelids, pink thin lips part to allow melodic sighs to drop from them akin to honey. Sweetly, intoxicating. They tremble once a certain bundle of nerves is so much as lightly brushed, teeth buried in them. Not enough to stop him, but rather further encourage him.
When he picks up speed is when he truly relaxes. No longer is he stiff and awkward, all too conscious of how ridiculously he must be acting in such a hot and bothered state. After all, isn't this all Flins' fault anyway? For getting him so worked up akin to a balloon inflated to its limit. Sooner or later, he was going to pop exactly like one too. The tears at the corners of his eyes have also gathered once more. He feels so so good, but also so so guilty. He's being selfish, he knows this. He also knows that this is something he wants for certain, wants his fleeting useless life to have a spark for once, wants to be one in another's just as badly. And maybe he won't be much more than a blip in an immortal's long life, but selfishly he's content knowing that he did exist in.
❝ I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...❞ though he's not sure what exactly he's apologizing for. Maybe for his selfish desires. Maybe for burdening the solitary Lightkeeper with so much without being asked. A particularly sharp thrust draws a breathless gasp out of him before he continues between heartbreaking sobs; ❝ I love you so much, Kyryll... ❞
From below, Flins can't do much other than watch as the young squad leader works on getting comfortable and then ramping it up; the way he refuses to leave crescent moons on his skin, the way he shifts ever so slightly with each move, the way he shudders and whines under his breath as if being any louder would make him lesser. It took a lot more teasing than he thought it would, but it was all worth it in the end. To see beloved nightingale drowning in pleasure, expression morphing into unrestrained delight is such a rare occurrence. Image that fae is going to burn into his memories for years ( centuries ) to come along with the trill that accompanies it.
❝ If anybody is cruel here, it has to be you, my dear Illuga. ❞ whisper punctuated by that same ghost of a smile always accompanying so much love and adoration held for his lover. Truly, Illuga is beyond cruel to make an ancient heart turned to stone beat so hard and fast again, to invite hope once more where only phantoms of the past linger anymore. His kindness will be the death of him before anything else can get to him, Flins thinks. Such a tragedy is underserved, but such is the fate of those who give and give and give without waiting for anything in return.
snowghoul
tangentwithtanner
dededos
2087
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
turnnoffyourmind
