#conorarcher

[beyondedenton]

The idea of making Volya feel good was making his head spin. To be wanted, to be adored, that was even more riveting. To have this come from someone he felt deeply about, someone he trusted, someone who made him feel safe. Here, he was not an option, not an afterthought. Here, with Volya, he was important. He mattered.

He sighed heavily, warm and struggling, against Volya's throat, kissing him until the skin became red. His own need was starting to be felt. His own desires were being made known in his underwear.

"It feels good, Volya?" he breathed, his hand slowly increasing in pace, just a little, just testing the other's reaction.

To feel everything at once. The instinct to spread his legs, the urge to squeeze his thighs to give friction against his scrotum and stimulate his prostate. To want Conor's mouth, tongue, and sounds, and the urge to taste what ached between his lover's legs. There was little hope of masking his erotic thoughts in this uncensored place.

"Perfect," he nodded. Heavy breath warmed and dried his throat. "I'm close." Conor deserved a warning. If he didn't want anything to do with the outcome, it was his right to retreat. "Conor, kiss me. Please."

With or without his lover's hand, the clothes he wore would be wet and stained, hips rolling like modest waves, riding out a high experienced in the waking world, spilled into the sheets.

[beyondedenton]

Conor closed his eyes only to regret it, it allowed him to sink too far into the feeling and into his thoughts. No, he needed to stay anchored in the moment. In Volya's face. In his sweet touch and the sound of his encouragement and direction.

He dared to look down, Volya's erection (which he could feel filling with desire) visibly outlined by his hand and the thin layer of material. He stared as the hand became fluid under the other's direction, obeying what was asked of him. Come to the tip, his thumb swiped over feeling the outline of his orifice. The dip and curve. He had to force himself to exhale.

He was not frightened of this. His feelings towards sex had never been fear. It had not ever been born from an anxiety. So, it was not stress nor nerves that had his spine stiffening. Something else entirely. Something that felt quite foreign.

"Keep... talking to me like that," praise. He wanted to be praised.

Sharp brows narrowed inward, before smoothing in realization. This was new. Different. If it was guidance which pleased him, then he would stumble victoriously.

"You're doing well." His tone remained light, gentle. "This is what I want. I want you."

It was just his body. A sensitive, receptive part of himself. As appreciated as every kiss Conor had willingly offered to his lips, hands, and neck. The significance was unshakable. No other was allowed these affections, but it was and always should have been their choice. Just as now, Volya served to honor every conscious choice, down to the pace of his lover's breathing.

"I like... the way you touch me."

[beyondedenton]

Ah, the answer made Conor laugh, breathless, faint. "Don't think about that. I'll tell you if I'm not alright. I'm fine, Volya. I'm... exactly where I want to be."

What should have been reassuring, and briefly was, soon made Conor feel a little insecure. Volya was thinking about that? Not the pleasure? Was he not doing this right? Did it not feel good?

"Teach me," his palm continued to roll back and forth over the other's cock.

Utilising every bit of his will power, every ounce of his mind over matter, his almost trembling fingers lowered and wrapped around it. This way, he could pump properly. It made him swallow thickly, his chest jittering with his breaths.

Now Conor was being silly. As though here, in their shared dream, his thoughts were somehow barred from him. Was his soft expression, parted lips, and heavy breathing not obvious? His cock, still strong and alert, not apparent?

His thoughts were returned in kind. A quiet breeze of assurance, followed by the cupping of his face, cradled by a single, impossible soft hand.

And as his thumb stroked his lover's cheek, his body shuttered with delight at the pleasant revision, rewarded justly with a kiss.

"Like that. Not tightly." His free hand guided from the middle of his shaft to the tip. Slowly, at a rhythm bordering on frustrating.

[beyondedenton]

Even with the guidance, there's a split second Conor does not know what Volya means. For a moment, he has no clue was 'it' is. There's a brief moment where there's more confusion than any other emotion, and it was a brief relief from the heavy tension he felt.

He lowered his lashes, bashful, looking down at Volya's thigh, his thumb that caressed it over material. His gaze slid to the other's knee, settling there as he dared to move his hand. He was not innocent, and he was not stupid; on top of that, he was a man himself, with every part belonging to one. He knew what he'd feel, but some part of him hadn't been prepared.

He let his palm run over it, his fingers too timid to meet it. To ease himself, to soothe himself, he lets his lips capture Volya's over and over again. It helped him sink into things more.

"How does it feel? What are you thinking?" as if every thought didn't sway Volya's dreamscape. He wanted to hear it properly.

This was as safe a place as they could possibly be. No one to interrupt them, no distractions, no threats. Volya watched Conor's hand, and then his eyes. He watched for fear, for disgust, for a quickening rise and fall of his chest. Any reason in any measure to remind him this was safe; he was not beholden to touch, to do anything.

The touch came as a surprise, his attention fixed on Conor's eyes, until they closed, allowing himself a moment of acceptance. In the conscious world, Volya rocked in his sleep. Here, he melted into their kisses, submissive, patient, mindful not to take any lead that was not encouraged.

Volya breathed deeply, leaning back just enough to find those eyes again. He wanted so much to reciprocate, but he dared not. It was his turn, helpless to know what was appropriate for his hands. He almost wanted to apologize for throbbing.

"I'm thinking about you. Are you... all right?"

[beyondedenton]

So, there was no pressure either way. Volya would not demand to enter nor be entered. That eased him, a little. He didn't know what he preferred, so the fact that, if they were to ever arrive at that bridge, it would be one they could slowly take together eased him. He nodded,

"You said... to start with exploring and kissing, right?" that he could do. That they done a million times before. However, this time felt different. As he leaned in, the anticipation settled in as if it was their very first kiss all over again. The deep impending... something. Bliss? Doom? Something else entirely? His mouth found Volya's, his hand holding on tighter to the other as the other carefully placed their precious stencils aside so they would not crumple the paper.

"You'll teach me how to make you feel good, right?" he whispered.

They had eternity, and yet his hands yearned to be everywhere at once, as if he might awaken to find Conor Archer a figment of his broken imagination. To fall upon his whims would be to overwhelm the man he loved most. Knowing this, he placed his hands on Conor's chest, caressing down his ribs with the same careful intent as their kiss.

The question was met with a smile. He placed Conor's free hand between his legs, just shy of his tightening bulge.

"You already make me feel good. When you're ready, you may touch it. If you wish, you may look. Touching it will be enough."

[beyondedenton]

Conor tried not to think about the last time he'd experienced such things. Being 'explored'. Being unclothed. Being touched where the other pleased. Being tasted against his will. It made his skin crawl when his imagination, his memory, drifted. But those gentle words, It stops when you want us to stop, I won't force you to do what you cannot, pulled him back to where he was. To who he was with. The image in his mind was replaced. The idea of it being Volya's hands on him - then a hand truly came, and easily eased his worries. His fingers stroked the other's thigh.

"What about..." he cleared his throat, looking away, "going inside..." phewww was it hot in here, "if we get that far... how... who...?"

The question of intercourse had been expected, which was why he had tried to get ahead of it. Conor's continued concern squeezed something in his chest. He didn't want sex that felt like a series of mechanical motions, and he was certain it wouldn't be; the question was for peace of mind. An understanding of desires.

"Do you want to? It doesn't have to be. If you want to... inside of me, then you may. If you wish to experience," he turned his fingers around each other, "I would be gentle."

[beyondedenton]

"It can be here. It can be now." before he loses his courage. Changing his mind was not on the table, he had been trying for years to work his way to this point, he had thought about trying this for months. Changing his mind and chickening out were two different things.

"How do people usually start...?" he truly was a useless man. He didn't mind, it meant Volya got to sculpt him to his own whims. The very thought made him so shy he couldn't look at the other's face, turning in to those pretty palms.

"They..." The question was considered a second longer, and answered with a shrug. "It comes naturally. To... explore. Kiss. When that's not enough, you take my clothes. When that's not enough, you touch where you please, and I do the same. We tease each other, caress each other. Exploring, fondling, letting our mouths taste, kiss. It stops when you want us to stop. I won't force you to do what you cannot."

Conor's hand was placed on his thigh, his expression studied.

"Sex is anything, if it makes your lover soar. I want to make you soar."

[beyondedenton]

Although Conor could not hear those thoughts, could not decipher word for word, he could feel them. The wave of affection rolled over him that could only be attributed to Volya and his love. It almost made him want to cry again. Such a warm, kind feeling, for someone who had spent so long being cold.

Those words did not help Conor's fight against his tears. He took a shaky breath in. Protection. The one thing he'd always wanted, needed, but always had lacked.

"Thank you, Volya. I will return it all to you ten fold." he leaned into that hand, kissing Volya's fingers before they could stray too far. "But I included... be one, physically. I want to try it for you."

His laughter was quiet out of habit. Mirth reached his eyes, bringing youth to what his species would call an old face. Letting him go felt impossible. His fingers had to touch bare skin at all times. Where better than his face?

"One in body and soul, yes. We will go at your pace." A promise he was certain Conor would feel as though his own intention; this was their shard universe, after all.

"Should it be here?" Here... we can speak. I don't want to make a mistake." If his eyes closed in a state of bliss, he might miss a vital sign. Conor's first experience needed no room for a slip.