( Though Esikko pushes away any acknowledgement of the intense hold he keeps of their hands— the curling, the squeezing, the gentle and occasional swipe of his thumb over Dabi's— he can at least recognize one thing as he pulls back for a breath, just enough to get a fuller view of Dabi: he's cute like this. Isn't that interesting? That a man so scarred, falling apart, so sour, and blunt, and a little mean... that he could be kissing him so hotly, holding him in with his legs, matching his every move with just as much eagerness.
Fondness and excitement mix in his eyes before he leans back down, pushes back into him harder, and steals those lips again. He'd thought it before, back during the first time, that he could stand to enjoy something like this again. That it wouldn't matter how as long as their bodies were pressed together and he could feel his warmth like this. But now, without the influence of a game, he feels like he's confirmed it for himself; he'd like to keep this.
Isn't that a dangerous feeling?
Incredibly so. As his fingers tighten white knuckled into his grip of their joined hands, he hums into his mouth, kisses again, open-mouthed on the lips, and then at the corner, and then to his jaw, before he pauses there. )
...Can you feel it, when I do that?
( The question is soft, out of breath, a little distracted. It's something he's been wondering for some time now, but it seems all the more relevant now that he's trying to push other thoughts away, trying to angle himself in the perfect way to make Dabi's body tense around him just right, trying to catch the look in his eyes when he does.
Regardless of whether Dabi answers or not, he thinks he knows. It must be a no. He wonders, briefly, if he might be able to make something for that, if he'd even want it in the first place. And so he moves, back to his lips, his teeth gently scraping in a nip over the top before he curls his tongue hotly into his mouth, pressing his hips down sharper, harder, longer. It feels too good. )
( that feels like something he can understand--the bid to possess, to bid to keep something close, to have it within arm's reach. the way that esi grips at his fingers, the way that he presses into his palm: that at least feels more like things that he can recognize and appreciate for what they are. even if he's just using him as some kind of fucked up experiment, when it comes to this stupid blood disease, he can understand wanting to keep something right where he wants it, pushed under the weight of his thumb. it's like pinning a squirming beetle to a corkboard for display--it's easier to watch something if it's trapped, easier to possess if there's no option for escape. funnily enough, that puts him more at ease; he doesn't mind if esi wants to trap him there to fuck him until he's satisfied.
that makes more sense than anything else.
it's somewhere, lost in the middle of it all, that he realizes that esi's trying to talk to him--that he's asking him some asinine question in the middle of it all, in the middle of the pleasure, enough that he gives a half-hearted snarl of displeasure, his head rocked back into the mattress. he can't put the pieces together until he goes back to where esi's mouth is--some warm pressure south of his lips, to his jaw, and then his eyes squint open, vivid blue and annoyed. )
Your mouth? No.
( there's a small press of his lips together. it feels wrong, somehow, like admitting a weakness here, where he's at esi's mercy--his tongue laps over his own lips, tasting blood and spit there, the iron tang something that helps root him in the moment. )
Your dick? Yes.
( as if it should be forgiven, then--besides, esi's going back to his mouth and he accepts it, even lets a moan be smothered into the kiss, his hips rolling up, meeting esi's rhythm with a firm demand for control; oddly enough, he doesn't feel that budding need to vomit, yet, just that burning need to come. )
Fuck-- ( through gritted teeth, as he snakes away from the kiss to pant into esi's mouth. ) There, there--
That's the reaction he's been seeking— that moaning, that desperation, that need. Esikko moves to meet it, allowing the heat of their breath to mix together, a kiss in its own right. Even if it's only for this moment, and even if this moment was manufactured, manipulated into being by a selfish desire twisting around a golden opportunity, he can feel needed in this moment. That he can give something, answer a cry like that, is something that makes him shudder, his forehead touching to Dabi's as his hips rock forward again, deeper, angling himself just right. )
There?
( The word is exhaled out like a song, teasing in the way it lifts up towards the end. But he doesn't have the patience, right now, to follow through on any actual teasing with his body. He wants nothing more than to meet those words, and the soft, breathy way he almost-laughs just afterwards is a sign of his enjoyment. It's cute, his foul little mouth, the way he speaks through gritted teeth, the way he cuts himself off. He's beginning to wrap himself too much in this feeling, he thinks, but it's just a little indulgence... Just a little fun.
And Dabi is just tolerating it, after all. Even if he can earn these reactions out of him.
With each roll of his hips, he can feel Dabi growing closer, feel himself losing the grip on stretching this out any longer. Esi's eyes are half-lidded as he tries to focus enough to watch Dabi, as close as they are, foreheads touching— and his hand relaxes into a gentle squeeze. Here, just like this, he presses deep into Dabi with a shudder of his final release, groaning as he rides out the feeling. )
( it would be better if he could separate--if he could snarl at him for that tease, because yes, obviously it's there, obviously that's what he wants, what he's asking for, and esi's teasing him the same way that he's always teased him, in these situations; it would be better if he could drag his mouth away, if he could find some solace in berating him. but there's not enough breath for that, when it's shared between them--and he doesn't have the effort or the drive or the resolve to tear himself further away. trapped in this cloying heat between them, he feels like he can really feel something, now, his nerves alight, the tension between them forcing his body to curl and clench.
it would be better if he could just flatten himself to the mattress and ride it all out. but esi's on top of him, esi's touching him, esi's inside of him, and he can't rid himself of that feeling, either, or the fact that he's pressing in deeper, guiding himself in more and more, taking him in with deeper strokes. it doesn't even register, when esi finally orgasms, until he can feel the heat there: until he can feel his own body clenching in answer, teeth locked together, his voice a quiet, strained sound of desperation.
it feels so stupid, doesn't it? so cliche. but his head rocks back into the mattress, and fuck cliches, anyway, esi won't care: his hips press down, riding in against that feeling of him, his own orgasm taking him in quick lances of pleasure, his hips rolling to ride them out as the mess of feeling spills between them, sticky and warm against his own stomach. )
Fuck... ( panting, trembling, swallowing--he tries to find himself in all the warmth but can't, can't push esi off or even make up the excuse that he wants to. oddly, it feels good like this; oddly, he can't feel that tangled knot in his stomach anymore. )
Did it...? ( he has no idea if it worked. shouldn't mister magic know, here? )
( It's even better like this, feeling Dabi beneath him, around him, even after the fact— he exhales shakily, waiting for the last of their movements to slow to a stop before he allows his body to sink over Dabi's, laying half on top of him. He doesn't care about the mess, about the warmth now pressed sticky between them— or, he rather likes it. He hears those words as he tries to catch his breath, pressing his heavy exhales into Dabi's ear, his neck, as he does.
Did it work? He turns his face slightly, into Dabi a little more, and remembers their joined hands. Slowly, he slips his fingers from the grip and down to his wrist, instead, resting down gently. )
Didn't it?
( He realizes now, as he comes down from this high, that it had been some time since Dabi had coughed up any blood or any flower petals. Esi's lips curve into a small little smile, his fingertip tracing something on Dabi's wrist, idly. It seems like... he might have just gotten away with this little indulgence. )
You haven't coughed lately. ( It's only now that he finally slips out from him, reluctant as it is, and pulls his hand away along with it. He rolls a little more off of him, to his side, but the warmth and his own exhaustion (not to mention this tiny ass bed) keeps him close, his hand moving to rest over Dabi's chest, instead. Honestly, it would have been nice to stay like that for a while— but admitting that to himself, let alone to Dabi, is another story. And he already feels like he's pushing it by not immediately pulling away or distancing himself. )
How do you feel? Need to go a second time? ( It's like, mostly a joke. Half a joke. )
( he doesn't even realize it until it's gone--until the weight of esikko's hand shifts, and then it's just fingers that gently press down, fingers that idly trace at the scarred skin along his wrist. it feels like being released from a spell: it feels like he's suddenly free, and it's worrying that he doesn't like it, that he doesn't like the curl of esikko's voice or the idle way he touches him. that cloying, heated pressure isn't there anymore; with a slow swallow, he brings his own hand up, touching at the length of his throat.
maybe it did work. what a fucking ridiculous notion.
his legs part, bracing, to let esikko slip out from inside of him--his thighs ache, tensed too long, his whole body a warm, sluggish weight, and it feels a little embarrassing, a little like weakness, to be so blown out, to sag into the mattress. there's no cruelty in the way that he plucks esikko's hand off his chest; he's just moving it away so it doesn't slip on its own accord as he slowly eases up onto his elbows.
his head hurts. with a narrowed glance, he tilts to look down at esikko. )
I'm fine. ( his jaw locks, a grumbling sound in the back of his throat. ) ...Thanks. I guess.
( with another breath, he pushes to sit up fully, immediately reaching for his discarded clothes. experiment complete. )
( Just like that, and the warmth that was shared between them is already fading. It feels especially noticeable in these lower levels— or maybe Esikko was just a little extra worked up from all the blood. That had to be it. Still laying down in the shadow of their created warmth, Esikko's now free hand runs fingers through his own hair, idly, as if to fix it a little, and his eyes slide to follow Dabi's reaching arm.
It's not as if he didn't expect him to leave right after. He did, it would be weird if he didn't— so why does he feel disappointed? )
Mm.
( Ridiculous, he's being ridiculous, even as he smiles with his own words. It's making him antsy, is all— like he wants to fidget, move, do something. But there's no space to do it in this hole of a room, anyway. He looks back to where Dabi had been laying just a moment earlier, allowing his hand to drop back there. )
Well, if you find yourself with the same issue again, you know where to find me.
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no subject
Fondness and excitement mix in his eyes before he leans back down, pushes back into him harder, and steals those lips again. He'd thought it before, back during the first time, that he could stand to enjoy something like this again. That it wouldn't matter how as long as their bodies were pressed together and he could feel his warmth like this. But now, without the influence of a game, he feels like he's confirmed it for himself; he'd like to keep this.
Isn't that a dangerous feeling?
Incredibly so. As his fingers tighten white knuckled into his grip of their joined hands, he hums into his mouth, kisses again, open-mouthed on the lips, and then at the corner, and then to his jaw, before he pauses there. )
...Can you feel it, when I do that?
( The question is soft, out of breath, a little distracted. It's something he's been wondering for some time now, but it seems all the more relevant now that he's trying to push other thoughts away, trying to angle himself in the perfect way to make Dabi's body tense around him just right, trying to catch the look in his eyes when he does.
Regardless of whether Dabi answers or not, he thinks he knows. It must be a no. He wonders, briefly, if he might be able to make something for that, if he'd even want it in the first place. And so he moves, back to his lips, his teeth gently scraping in a nip over the top before he curls his tongue hotly into his mouth, pressing his hips down sharper, harder, longer. It feels too good. )
no subject
that makes more sense than anything else.
it's somewhere, lost in the middle of it all, that he realizes that esi's trying to talk to him--that he's asking him some asinine question in the middle of it all, in the middle of the pleasure, enough that he gives a half-hearted snarl of displeasure, his head rocked back into the mattress. he can't put the pieces together until he goes back to where esi's mouth is--some warm pressure south of his lips, to his jaw, and then his eyes squint open, vivid blue and annoyed. )
Your mouth? No.
( there's a small press of his lips together. it feels wrong, somehow, like admitting a weakness here, where he's at esi's mercy--his tongue laps over his own lips, tasting blood and spit there, the iron tang something that helps root him in the moment. )
Your dick? Yes.
( as if it should be forgiven, then--besides, esi's going back to his mouth and he accepts it, even lets a moan be smothered into the kiss, his hips rolling up, meeting esi's rhythm with a firm demand for control; oddly enough, he doesn't feel that budding need to vomit, yet, just that burning need to come. )
Fuck-- ( through gritted teeth, as he snakes away from the kiss to pant into esi's mouth. ) There, there--
no subject
That's the reaction he's been seeking— that moaning, that desperation, that need. Esikko moves to meet it, allowing the heat of their breath to mix together, a kiss in its own right. Even if it's only for this moment, and even if this moment was manufactured, manipulated into being by a selfish desire twisting around a golden opportunity, he can feel needed in this moment. That he can give something, answer a cry like that, is something that makes him shudder, his forehead touching to Dabi's as his hips rock forward again, deeper, angling himself just right. )
There?
( The word is exhaled out like a song, teasing in the way it lifts up towards the end. But he doesn't have the patience, right now, to follow through on any actual teasing with his body. He wants nothing more than to meet those words, and the soft, breathy way he almost-laughs just afterwards is a sign of his enjoyment. It's cute, his foul little mouth, the way he speaks through gritted teeth, the way he cuts himself off. He's beginning to wrap himself too much in this feeling, he thinks, but it's just a little indulgence... Just a little fun.
And Dabi is just tolerating it, after all. Even if he can earn these reactions out of him.
With each roll of his hips, he can feel Dabi growing closer, feel himself losing the grip on stretching this out any longer. Esi's eyes are half-lidded as he tries to focus enough to watch Dabi, as close as they are, foreheads touching— and his hand relaxes into a gentle squeeze. Here, just like this, he presses deep into Dabi with a shudder of his final release, groaning as he rides out the feeling. )
no subject
it would be better if he could just flatten himself to the mattress and ride it all out. but esi's on top of him, esi's touching him, esi's inside of him, and he can't rid himself of that feeling, either, or the fact that he's pressing in deeper, guiding himself in more and more, taking him in with deeper strokes. it doesn't even register, when esi finally orgasms, until he can feel the heat there: until he can feel his own body clenching in answer, teeth locked together, his voice a quiet, strained sound of desperation.
it feels so stupid, doesn't it? so cliche. but his head rocks back into the mattress, and fuck cliches, anyway, esi won't care: his hips press down, riding in against that feeling of him, his own orgasm taking him in quick lances of pleasure, his hips rolling to ride them out as the mess of feeling spills between them, sticky and warm against his own stomach. )
Fuck... ( panting, trembling, swallowing--he tries to find himself in all the warmth but can't, can't push esi off or even make up the excuse that he wants to. oddly, it feels good like this; oddly, he can't feel that tangled knot in his stomach anymore. )
Did it...? ( he has no idea if it worked. shouldn't mister magic know, here? )
no subject
Did it work? He turns his face slightly, into Dabi a little more, and remembers their joined hands. Slowly, he slips his fingers from the grip and down to his wrist, instead, resting down gently. )
Didn't it?
( He realizes now, as he comes down from this high, that it had been some time since Dabi had coughed up any blood or any flower petals. Esi's lips curve into a small little smile, his fingertip tracing something on Dabi's wrist, idly. It seems like... he might have just gotten away with this little indulgence. )
You haven't coughed lately. ( It's only now that he finally slips out from him, reluctant as it is, and pulls his hand away along with it. He rolls a little more off of him, to his side, but the warmth and his own exhaustion (not to mention this tiny ass bed) keeps him close, his hand moving to rest over Dabi's chest, instead. Honestly, it would have been nice to stay like that for a while— but admitting that to himself, let alone to Dabi, is another story. And he already feels like he's pushing it by not immediately pulling away or distancing himself. )
How do you feel? Need to go a second time? ( It's like, mostly a joke. Half a joke. )
no subject
maybe it did work. what a fucking ridiculous notion.
his legs part, bracing, to let esikko slip out from inside of him--his thighs ache, tensed too long, his whole body a warm, sluggish weight, and it feels a little embarrassing, a little like weakness, to be so blown out, to sag into the mattress. there's no cruelty in the way that he plucks esikko's hand off his chest; he's just moving it away so it doesn't slip on its own accord as he slowly eases up onto his elbows.
his head hurts. with a narrowed glance, he tilts to look down at esikko. )
I'm fine. ( his jaw locks, a grumbling sound in the back of his throat. ) ...Thanks. I guess.
( with another breath, he pushes to sit up fully, immediately reaching for his discarded clothes. experiment complete. )
no subject
It's not as if he didn't expect him to leave right after. He did, it would be weird if he didn't— so why does he feel disappointed? )
Mm.
( Ridiculous, he's being ridiculous, even as he smiles with his own words. It's making him antsy, is all— like he wants to fidget, move, do something. But there's no space to do it in this hole of a room, anyway. He looks back to where Dabi had been laying just a moment earlier, allowing his hand to drop back there. )
Well, if you find yourself with the same issue again, you know where to find me.