Christmas Present for Sin [ @diiablerie ] ♡♡♡~
And how easy had it not become to simply undress? To be bare before another and be so comfortable [ without any second thought ] in it?
He’s twisting to remove the long black shirt tightly clinging to his form - muscles shifting beneath the woven fabric, meant entrancing the man sat close behind him; watching with dark, devouring eyes whatever comes to light. He holds no mind to it, holds no thought about it all. Let’s the cherub get lost in the fine movements and motions fluid with a mind that was completely unfocused on it at all. “Come here a moment.” It’s a demand he knows. It’s a way of speech that he is quite so surely mindful to. Eyes blink in understandable confusion, but figure heeds request when sauntering closer in the still half-bared state, expecting explanation and receiving none the like at all - as words, discardable, unneed, were never meant to set them to a knowledge attained by useless human structures. Left to learn: with touch and eyes and smiles awhole.
Head tilts when he stands tall and regal just before the slender spirit that had captivated him so. Tilts to left, trials to decipher the summon’s reason, and finding none, none in the darkness of depthless eyes - swallowing desires, needs and ideas whole.
And so all he perceives - is one delicate hand that reaches out to him, curl long fingers in the hard leather still slung tight around the warrior’s waist. Feels strength coil around that one grip, and feels it just when Camio moves him. Pulls him forward. Pulls him near. Shifts that slender physique of his own by margin on soft and pliant grounds, to have his favourite human follow along those unexplainable whims - have him take a place desired so. And Kishou himself? Succumb to unspoken vagaries [ amused he truly was ] that find themselves solely portrayed in this or that twist or turn and newly found arrangement of toned form now finally, surely, lying calm and still and submissive beneath guidance heavenly sure.
So Kishou wants to ask and asks only with those smoke grey eyes blinking up into face of pulchritude. Coming closer [ teasingly near ] before placing distance between them yet anew. Movements fulfilled before his ever-attentive eyes, were embellished by the Angel taken seat upon his waist, spreading legs to either side of body - meant to keep the warrior down and in place - as caught off-guard he was, not done with much a mass or strength or power, bequeathed all alone by a sudden mirthful smile.
He’s seen that only a few times before. Few and far in between. Their numerous little meetings setting reason to it, they bring this or that newly found piece of bliss to those that seemed so otherworldly, quite forlorn [ one was, as the other was truly not ]. And how certainly utterly captivating by mindful ring. Catching breath in throat that was meant to find itself mingled into words and dying on a thought’s precious last instance.
“Good.” That mocking set of four letters that Camio offers up to him, just during fluttering seconds spent and felt - feels that powerful figure relent beneath grasp and feels even more than that. In those moments same hand commanding him, would reach out anew in trailing along what all the cherub’s own to behold. Finely shifting muscles of abdomen below that skin that is chased and searched and carved into memory. The tingle of enlightening nerves per touch of cool tips of fingers. So the soldier feels them draw out pleasant shifts of heat in answer to the chilly perception of something laying hand on him anew. As it is a fresh little spectacle in their common togetherness, that this holy little creature was quite so bold, quite to brazen, quite so demanding. With words that were all the more brash, more abrasive in that silent singsong of a velvety voice. It was a stark contrast in of a spirit so divine - one that only Kishou would be able to hold [ not now, not yet, soon - soon enough ].
But it is not him who would captivate and capture breath. Lingering with silent inhale in depths of his chest. It is not him, now exploring higher and higher, pressing against that small palm when spine arches and moves against something so feeble and breakable—
—that could so easily break him apart. [ No, it is not him, and how pleasurable this knowledge truly was ].
Wind like breaths trail over exposed expanses of skin. They forgot, surely, they so easily forgot - about the opened windows permitting air of upcoming night in. To experience them both in their mutual delight, dancing around them, holding out for the light. These hands that could tear out his very heart [ placed above the even, heavy beat ], in comparison - were gentled, cool and calm. “Truly just—” Blunt as always, with how the words are near a mockery of a moment’s sensual notice. “—you have quite a favourable design.” And if he hadn’t been drawn in by the motions of trailed muscle twitching beneath each stroke to find them anew - Kishou would have nearly laughed about words that tumble innocently through. Fill the air with a lighthearted want. A thought process, as pure and raw, as the benign hunt of each subtle sound.
And oh - how he answers. In concords of all else. In breaths and sighs and fine shifts of fabric, twisted and fastened fingers around it, his wrist to turn and grasp upon the sheets again. He makes those sounds, those that were like a symphony true. Hums those tunes upon an unknown song, Higher and brighter, with each new chord strung. “Bold.” Single answer, towards unspoken questions. A low, rough and hoarsen reply, strangling itself from an opened smile. “How would I be~?” Oh, does he not know?
Does he not feel? Merely ignore? The rising desire of hot burning feel, set deeply in pits of stomach, heaving him up with deepened breath once each peeking rib would be traced, sitting marvellously beneath pale and untouched skin [ surely powerful the noble was, and not a single scratch could be laid upon him ]. “Touching me like this.” And his voice was barely above a whisper worth, in the room that was howling with the air pressing itself through. It’s dancing around them. Permitting each and every touches’ feel, to turn that smallest shade warmer whenever Camio tires of one shape, to place it upon him on another again - all done in these few fleeting moments trickling fine sand, running through the aperture of shattered hourglass.
It’s enough to make the warrior groan when a hand would trace lower once again. With how those slender hips press back against his own. Finding another. Being more comfortable. More expecting place upon subdued grandness that budges and pushes and still lays calm and flat beneath that searching hand. Those searching lips that suddenly replace themselves upon sought out path. And he nearly growls with this given knowledge [ it was a game. they knew. nothing would happen ] and the way each string upon his limbs would be pulled and plucked to have that puppet move dancing to a song serenaded by puppeteer’s gentle hum.
It’s the very same that now trails itself upon iliac furrow. Rides itself lower, lower. Even lower. Brushes right above the hem of sturdy fabric and hard leather, still diligently hugging tight around his waist. “As if you mind, my dearest warrior~” And so he wonders, wonders just - with the sudden thrill, of their secluded night: how much does the Angel know and want? How much - was their adoration worth?
And it comes - with clarity upon its simplicity.
He wants it all - and knows nothing about it.
Mindless ideas - a beautiful experience it would turn out to be. When Kishou finally succumbs, leans back upon those silken sheets. Welcomes that warmth, soon stolen away. Elicits all needs anew, in the depths and throws of rising pleasure [ controlled, such picture perfect sense he was ]. Each and every breath deeply filling lungs until they sting, was filled with the want of something promised gracefully, until again taken away. Dangled above his very head. Arms that had lifted above head arching into softened mattress would twist anew, hold on hard enough that it could tear the frail material to tatters torn.
So he’s laughing nearly. A breathless sort of a little tune, when those soft lips have set to wander again. An attentive, observing kiss [ right above abdominal muscle ] upon the smooth transition made into his chest. And that laughter peels as equally amused as it was chiming with the finest slivers of obvious mirth. “Maybe just—” When Kishou finally reacts again. When eyes that had closed to drown out all else but sound and touch, would open to stare with a lit fire in the depth of smoke like grey. When he finally reacts and reaches and even more just: reaches out - with long and lithe fingers curling into the silken strands. When he does so, and twists and turns that soothing darkness, around one elegant palm. He does so just, to all but bring down to his lips something quite so holy, blessed by the devotion of a kiss [ so truly enamoured. wanted this Angel in his grasp. wanted him whole ]. And all else that was spoken in the cooling chill of the ever-growing night - would be captivated by rising beauty of proud and glowing silhouette—
“—I should admire you a little more at times.” — was all he would ever need to know.
