#frenchizy

[karuinekom]

[2022.10.19] 19th day || Stripping + Partial nudity

Before sliding into bed, Izzy has this dragging ritual of undressing, taking his time and not bothering to rush his movements, and Frenchie has no voice in the matter and can only tie to his habits. In reality, the lad has no right to complain, considering it gives such a sense of calm and tranquillity rarely attributed to Izzy.

He’s so meticulous in everything he does that Frenchie can’t dart his eyes off his hands, skating preciously on his linen shirt as he lets each button pass through the slit of the eyelets, unties the black laces bracing his sleeves at the elbows or even sits to slip out of his leather boots, briefly massaging his achy feet after a long and tiring day of work, barely getting the time to sit down and rest. Sometimes, Izzy turns to meet Frenchie’s gaze as if he knew the other would be mesmerisingly staring, a thin smile painted on his lips, and slows his motions, a tease for the lad, who’s patient, but not this patient.

Still, Frenchie hasn’t the nerve to interrupt. He doesn't want to, prefers to taste the wait on his tongue, taste with his eyes, enraptured by his rigour while getting undressed.

Next, Izzy undoes his necktie, the silver ring secured on his writing desk, on top of a satin handkerchief, and passes to undoing his trousers. And as he’s watching him, Frenchie starts feeling his eyelids heavy, much heavier than before, one fluttering close gradually and without his notice, the other following, swallowing a big and wide yawn while covering his mouth with the heel of his hand.

“Oi, sleepyhead,” rudely shouts Izzy, stumbling towards the bed with his shirt open, falling loosely from one shoulder, making it look even more billowing than when it’s buttoned up. Frenchie shakes his head, blinking out of that drifting phase quite dopey and smiles dreamily, just getting the tattoo under Izzy’s left eye to twitch huffily in return. Despite knowing he’s anything but truly angered, there’s something in his glare that makes him slowly swallow, another yawn fading before it's even in the back of his mouth. Hence, Izzy grabs Frenchie’s striped shirt, still gentle, and pulls him up, leaning in to make their foreheads almost touch, hazel-grey eyes fixed on his. Now Frenchie’s sure to be fully awake. “You sure you want to fall asleep like this?”

Frenchie’s mouth opens, then quickly closes as he's unsure what to tell him. “Wasn’t my plan, but you were takin’ way too long stripping. You know, it’s kinda late, Iz.”

Izzy snorts, amused, “Fine. Don’t come crying to me later, Frenchie. It won’t work.”

And as he finishes talking, his voice trails off in a soft kiss, first on his lips, second on his chest, over his shirt, and as he tantalises Frenchie with his knee, on purpose nudging between his legs before dropping by his side, tugging Frenchie closer.

[karuinekom]

everyone is thinking about izzy giving frenchie fencing lessons but when are we gonna talk about izzy giving the other fencing lessons because for sure frenchie's a virgin.

that man nailed himself to the ship and tripped on his own feet trying to run away, do you really think he knows to use his fucking penis?

[karuinekom]

izzy: what the fuck are you doing!?

frenchie, scratching under izzy's chin: mhm, oh nothing. just wanted to check if you were able to purr since you're already good at hissing

izzy, hissing: i'm sssso close to throw you overboard

[karuinekom]

that's already the "missing ouizzy content" and reading some fanfics i've started to realise the main headcanons about them are basically always the same

and i'm not saying it in an offensive way, not at all, rather, it's so pleasant because we as a brainrot community share one braincell and those are CANONS and not just in our heads. things can just go that way, so david are you considering them for S2?

and also, every crumb of ouizzy wherever is like the finest melted gold, we all feed from the same sources. like those gifs of con and joel omfg

after seeing those scenes in ordinary lies i just wanna see them laughing together

and singing. because no izzy singing would be a crime

[karuinekom]

[2022.10.18] 18th day || Multiple orgasms

Izzy has his face squashed into the pillows stacked against the head of the bed, a bed wherein they’ve been sleeping together for months unbeknownst to the rest of the crew by now, and it shouldn’t feel so cramped and small as it never has before. If they had a larger and more comfortable cot, perhaps a softer mattress, Frenchie would be able to handle him, with more ease, without worrying about how much space he has to move on top of him— because Frenchie’s tall and lanky and always need to bend in such uncomfortable positions not to see the older become bedridden due to aches and pains.

“What if we got a proper bed?” Asks Izzy, a little breathless, not realising how ridiculous his question is, and he’s still feeling so blissed and spinny and also reasonably oversensitive as he's just orgasmed on the sheets for the second time, hot and messily, and now he’s grinding his cock on the mattress with small movements.

“As if there’s the space for a bigger one, babe,” says Frenchie against Izzy’s back, a laugh stifled as he’s daintily peppering kisses along his back, starting from the middle of his shoulder blades and sliding down to his tailbone. “How come?”

Izzy groans before answering, his elbows slightly shaking at the loss of the pleasant sensation of Frenchie rubbing his cock between his buttocks. He turns his head, trying to get his voice to sound less softened and muffled by the cushions. “This one’s way too small for two, it’s uncomfortable— yer too tall for it in any case, and it's creaky, fuckin’ annoying when yer fucking me,” murmurs Izzy, gasping when Frenchie’s sucking at the back of his hairy thigh. “M-moreover, ah— yer heavy when you sleep on top of me.”

But the weight of Frenchie’s body, in reality, feels wonderfully against his back, against his sweaty body, warm as a quilled blanket, bundling him up as if he needed to demonstrate he's loved and safe when wrapped in his arms.

“I could go back sleepin' in my hammock—”

“F-fuck not, Frenchie— Christ... D-don’t think ‘bout that. It’s... good—” Izzy cuts him off, making Frenchie inhale slowly, hot air blowing against his back and involuntarily sending sparkles to his spine. Izzy starts whispering the words as if he doesn’t want to be heard. “Yer weight’s good...”

Then, just after slipping those words difficulty from his mouth, Izzy’s knees feel excessively weak and begin to tremble, aching for how they’re bending as his arse is pulled up in the air, making him writhe fervently, Frenchie’s hand sprawled over the spread of his back, moving in rhythmical circles and making the older man’s spine arch and stretch. His other arm is looped under Izzy’s thigh, and Frenchie bends over his hole, saliva dripping from his lips – the coolness making Izzy helplessly cry out in the pillow – and fingers digging into the flesh at the level of his hip bone.

Izzy starts mewling... fucking mewling when he feels Frenchie mouthing him, tongue lapping at the puckered, unshaven muscles, unhurriedly pushing inside. His cock is already leaking, throbbing with unbridled desire, and he's whimpering helplessly, grinding his hips subtly on Frenchie’s tongue to get more friction. Frenchie groans, his fingers curling tightly on the hairy skin, and the muffled sound vibrates throughout his whole body, making Izzy’s insides clench when he comes, sputtering on the bed sheets.

He’s still panting heavily on the pillows when he shudders because of Frenchie’s chuckles through his nose, blowing air between his cheeks, and trying to turn, he yells as his face flushes hot and red. “D-don’t fucking laugh when yer mouth’s full—”

“I like our bed, Izzy. I get to have you all curled up against me in the morning, or I can block you from wakin’ up too early,” murmurs Frenchie giving another lick at Izzy’s wet hole, and, pulling himself up, Frenchie rolls his hips forward, carefully sliding inside and fucking some whines out of Izzy’s throat, his eyes sliding close in pleasure because, fuck, fuck, he just came and his balls feel dry and empty, his cock spasming in pain. “You know, the only things needing to be changed are the bedding.”

[karuinekom]

[2022.10.09] 9th day || Hair-pulling

The lamp in the living room is flickering its feeble light, the half-lit bulb, which no one has ever minded changing, not bothering either Izzy or Frenchie. It’s Saturday evening, the second of the month, meaning it is Izzy’s choice for the weekly movie.

They both are semi-lying on the yellow wide enough sofa, Izzy’s resting his head against Frenchie’s chest, his body framed by the younger’s legs, and almost all the pillows are on the other side of the couch, just one, behind Frenchie’s back. It'’s cosy and tender, domestic, even if they moved together just a couple of months before.

The movie Izzy has chosen isn’t even half-bad, a light comedy, getting some tiny laughs and chuckles out of him, and Frenchie can’t help but feel blessed by it, the sound of his laughter as a beautiful tune.

Suddenly, Frenchie feels one hand caressing his thigh and can’t avoid looking down at Izzy, who, in the meantime, seems calm and isnt’t very subtle in what he’s doing. Still, he’s not doing more than this, and he doesn’t try to initiate anything, just some light touches on his leg between one sip and another from his mug. Frenchie’s almost astonished by such composure, and it’s impossible to say the same thing for himself. So, while he’s propping his chin in the juncture between Izzy’s neck and shoulder, he grabs the remote control.

“Iz, you’re still watchin’ the movie?”

“Not really,” replies Izzy, taking another sip of his herbal tea, and then he pivots his head, the slightest movement only to exchange a half-lidded glance with Frenchie.

“Should I turn off the TV—”

Izzy doesn’t add anything else, doesn’t even let the other end his sentence, and simply slides out of Frenchie’s tender hug, turns and stares at him for a brief moment. Just after, he sets the cup on the coffee table, joining Frenchie’s already empty one, and clings back on his lap, straddling his waist. He’s not waiting for the lad to think about doing something, so he’s already crushing their lips together, messy, too messy for Izzy, who doesn’t really seem himself, his fingers fiddling with the buttons of Frenchie’s shirt and unusually struggling in what he’s doing.

“Babe, have you— er, did you take something weird tonight?” Asks Frenchie, lightly pushing Izzy, unwillingly breaking the kiss. “You're more— pushy.”

“Who cares.”

Frenchie's lips quiver with an amused snort. “You're right.”

In one moment, Frenchie’s fingers are dug into Izzy’s hair, feeling smooth after he’s showered, the pomade not oiling and thickening his locks, and Izzy’s still trying to unbutton Frenchie’s shirt with much better results.

Then, a meow interrupts their erratic movements, Frenchie jolting in his seat and knotting tight his fingers in Izzy’s hair, and he unconsciously yanks his head back, surprised by the kitten which is roaming in the house, demanding some food. Even though the cat has been living with them for more than a month, Frenchie is still not used to the little presence, scaring the shit out of him almost every day. Izzy can’t keep a loud and wanton moan from escaping roughly his lips, the violent tug fucking the noise out of him.

And Frenchie’s starting, his face flushing in the dark and his jaw a little loose, and then, he pulls again.