#p:river

[matteo-emerson]

“Hey Birdie” Matteo said with a grin as he sat down next to River. “Gotcha a present” He tossed an apple gently from his right hand towards him.

@volitants​

[matteo-emerson]

“River, open the door” Matteo whisper shouted, knocking on the door with his knuckles. This hadn’t been how he was expecting his night to go, but here he was, trying to stop relationships from imploding.

[bones-wilde-blog]

The Setup || River & Bones

@river-adams

On any other day, Bones would’ve said no to even the idea of a blind date. He had gone on a couple before and decided long ago that they just weren’t his scene. Maybe there was something in the air on that afternoon he had agreed to Mrs. Keane’s offer to set him up, or perhaps it was simply in the way she had been so engaging and confident in the idea (”You’re gonna love her, Bernard. Really. She’s exactly what you’ve been looking for, trust me.” --Not that he had been looking for anything in the first place), but Bones accepted the date and showed up to Port & Starboard the next week, twenty minutes early. It was too early to be sitting alone at their reserved table, but he would rather face a few moments of extra wait time than to show up late and start off on the wrong foot.

 When he finally spotted the hostess leading a woman his way, Bones stood up from the table and pressed down the front of his suit jacket. He felt more nervous than apprehensive, but couldn’t help but notice how young the woman looked, and for a brief moment toyed with the idea that Mrs. Keane didn’t actually know that he was in his thirties. Still, he extended a hand in greeting once she got close. “Hey, you must be River,” he said, offering up a pleasant smile. “I’m Bernard. Or Bones-- I’m not sure which name you were given.”

[jau-ne]

Glass Skin | River & Jaune

He didn't have a dildo. Oh god.

How did this happen?

Tate had made plans tonight. He was going to turn in his laundry, maybe clean out the fridge. He was going to cut his hair and maybe watch that movie he'd rented about a week ago--yes, the one that was surely already overdue. He'd learned to live by his schedules but in six texts or less River had undone him completely, in a way that Tate was ill-prepared to deal with. In more than one way.

The cold late-January air didn't do much to calm the insistent erection rubbing uncomfortably between his thigh and jeans on the way to Bare Lust. Neither did the cold shower--though that certainly got closer. But damn it all, it didn't help that the only thing he could think about when he was supposed to be objectively preparing himself for what was to come--was still fucking River.

Knowing he was out there somewhere on his knees or on his stomach, maybe drilling some woman or sucking off some man. He could see it in the insides of his eyelids, River's lips pulled taut over someone's cock or fingers, maybe just one building over, maybe just one floor above, maybe right there in the next room over the exact same spot on the wall as Tate was. Tate mewled against the wall of his shower as he worked his fingers more aggressively into his ass, then shook and reeled it in, reminding himself he couldn't come and focusing on the beat of the ice-cold spray rolling down his spine.

It was torture in every sense of the word. And what was worse, it was a form of torture River had essentially conned him into doing to himself. There was nothing stopping Tate from working out a quick wank and lying about it later. Essentially, Tate could have his cake and eat it too if he wanted--and he did, he wanted it, so bad. But wouldn't. Somewhere along the line, Tate's desire to obey and, perhaps even more so, excel at River's instructions had surpassed his more natural desire to come. It frightened him to the core that the blonde had that kind of power. And endlessly, timelessly, turned him on, of course.

Tate stumbled weakly around his apartment after that shower, his body already feeling more that ready--loose and tempered and open and burning deep down on a low fire. It seemed like time wanted to work against him. He checked his phone almost constantly, paced the length of the kitchenette, circled his dining room table and tried again to force the lid down on his trash can to hide the vulgar packaging of the obscenely large toy he'd just purchased. To no avail. Eventually he learned not to look at the clocks and spent the rest of that waiting time laying face up on his bed, mapping the pattern of the ceiling shadows and lazily, mechanically fucking himself on his fingers until those first few noises reached his keen ears.

He twitched. It distant, too distant to really hear or even feel, but he knew the bass, the vibrations, as light as they were. Footsteps down the hall, meant for him, they had to be. A shaky breath left Tate's lips but otherwise he kept still, eyes wide, throat bobbing, the energy in his wrist picking up to push his digits deeper into his body, keeping his desire rooted firmly where it was since the time his phone had gone silent. He listened. And he listened and they got closer and his cock--half-flaccid from all the neglect, began to harden again from that alone. He picked his head up from his pillows to stare at it as it thickened. The closer the footsteps got, the harder he seemed to raise, until it was heavy again and resting on the skin just barely beneath his navel, the fabric of his t-shirt bunched up under his rib cage, the peaks of it collapsing silently with his breathing.

"...mmhn," Tate mumbled, throat worn from disuse, clearing the smog from his voice early as he shifted some on the bed, staring through his raised knees at the opening of his bedroom doorway, at that toy standing upright on the table, glinting pink in the overhead light above. Fuck, he'd never felt anything like this. Tate's fingers crooked deeper into his ass and he bit down on his lip to keep silent. He'd kept the door open, just barely cracked, for a reason, and the sound of the bottom scraping gently across the carpet almost sent his eyes rolling back into his head.

He saw the shadow move towards the table in the main room and dropped his head back to the pillows, breathing heavily, heart hammering against his rib cage as he shifted on the bed--god, he couldn't look. After two hours without any sort of stimulation at all, just the active presence of that blonde in his apartment was dragging him quickly back under, his cock leaking against the indents of his belly as he reluctantly removed his fingers from his ass and tightened both hands in the sheets beside his hips. "River," Tate called in a pathetic murmur, and his cock gave a single light throb that made him shift again, shoulders arching upward for a second before settling back to the bed. "Here."

[loreleipetrandeactivated-blog]

You have to eat it like a lady. 

[loreleipetrandeactivated-blog]