( there's one huff of a laugh, quiet, his eyes closing, then opening again. he hadn't expected any other reaction, really; this guy is about as proud as he is handsome, and what would it say about someone this pretty that they found solace in fucking around with some gutter scum monster? he wouldn't admit to it, not in words, anyway, and he doesn't have to.
the way that he leans into him, forcing him onto his back on the mattress, says plenty. the way that he curves over his body, the way that he leaves the lube up to him, the way that he presses into a kiss--none of it screams any kind of disgust, none of it seems to be finding pity in him, only satisfaction and curiosity. he doesn't have to tease him about it, either: he's sure that esi knows.
so he kisses him, firm, hard, lets his lips part to rake a blood-splotched tongue across esi's teeth, into his mouth, marking it with the copper taste of him; his hand blindly works the cap of the lube open, smearing it between them, onto the bed, onto his stomach, mopping it up with his fingers. there's a little breath of a laugh into the kiss, too: what a lazy fucker, this guy is. almost as lazy as he is.
but he'll see to it--dipping his own hand down between his legs, a distracted touch that jerks up onto his cock, for a moment, a few languid strokes, before he lets his fingers dive down with practiced ease; it's not the first time he's done this to himself, and it's obvious that he likes it, his mouth parting with eager ease into the kiss as he fingers himself, moving with precise fervor to both work himself up and work himself loose. )
cw(???) does this count as bloodplay. he's a freak idk warning for that
( It's nice. All of it is. Having Dabi stretched out beneath him, the shifting and squirming as he works himself up, and the taste of his blood— that last one in particular gives him a rush that he can't fully describe. Everything about these encounters in this resort was intimate, right? By design, of course. Sex, kissing, learning about one another in those small subtle ways. But blood is something that comes up more rarely, or at least has come up more rarely for Esikko, in his (mostly) comparatively chaste little encounters.
He doesn't find the context of it gross— that Dabi is coughing it up, that it's mixed with other bodily fluids when he does. He isn't worried about it being contagious, about bloodstains, or about the flower petals. Esikko can only think of the taste lingering in his mouth, a subtle sweetness beneath the bitter, the bite of metal more of a background to the assortment of sensations he can focus on. Blood can be magic, after all, and blood is life. They're one and the same.
Closing his eyes, he breathes in deep, but the taste is fading too quickly. It feels like a tease, allowing him to have that small piece of something so important and then taking it away. He kisses harder still, tongue searching, scraping, until he opens half-lidded eyes to watch Dabi's face as he bites down on his tongue, eager to make him bleed.
He realizes near immediately that he should have tempered that desire a little, that he's noticeably out of hand for a "doctor" here— but his hand cups Dabi's face in such a gentle motion that he hopes to offset it, breathing out a gasp of air he'd forgotten to take for a while now. A little chuckle, more like a breathy giggle, comes out at the end like he's having the time of his life. )
You're making me a little impatient, looking like that.
( As if it's entirely Dabi's fault, he accuses him, shifting the way he curves over him, thumbing across his cheek, a gentle swipe beneath his eye. )
Since you're so keen on hearing me say such things... ( Out of breath, he kisses again, rocking his hips down so that they can touch, if only just for a moment. ) I want you already.
( it's those touches again, betraying and gentle, that make him look up at esi, dubious, wondering--waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for his mouth to curl up into a cruel grin. he hasn't seen him do it: for as fucking annoying and aggravating as esi is, he's never been outrageously cruel, at least not when it comes to things like this. he's never mocked him for anything, never teased him to the point of it being a pointed dagger, rather than a few idle scratches; he's never given any outward indication that this is all a game, that he's twisting in for something much crueler than a few bloody flowers. even if the sex is just mutually beneficial, he's never been like that.
it's not something that he can allow himself to feel, or allow himself to accept. esi's thumb brushes against his cheek and he hollows himself out against it--doesn't matter how he touches him, how he looks at him, how he kisses him with fervor; this is just sex, and it doesn't matter, anyway. case in point: esi's husky words, breathy against his mouth, saying he wants him, that he's impatient--that much, he can believe. that much, he can lean into.
but there's a glob of something, stuck in his throat, and he can't tell if it's real or not, can't tell if he's just gearing up to vomit or if it's words there, trembling and agitated; his tongue passes over his lips, wetting them, but he can barely feel it. with a soft rumble of a cough, he twists his head, a sopping pile of petals that he hacks up onto the mattress, blood dribbling down his chin, smeared at the corner of his mouth. )
Do you? Too bad. ( the grin he gives is stained pink, blood smeared over his teeth: neither of them care. ) I'm enjoying myself.
( a slight arch of his hips up, pressing them in against esi as he works his hand down between them--there's another panting breath, a firm push of his wrist, and with some effort, he finally winds his arm back, wiping his lube-stained palm all over the sheets next to him. )
( Too bad, he says, after that. Esikko exhales hotly, catching the wrist of that lube-messy hand after it smears. His other hand dips between them so that he can stroke himself, line himself up and press teasingly against his entrance. This motion is accompanied by the slow drag of his tongue from Dabi's chin to the corner of his mouth, words muttered against him. )
Enjoy yourself without wasting that.
( Esikko isn't forceful when he finally presses himself into Dabi, but he's hardly gentle, either. In the end, his movements are selfish, chasing his own pleasure even if it means rocking his hips in a little too soon, and holding himself there, pressed in as far as he can go, for a little too long. It's in that moment that he slips his fingers up from Dabi's wrists, lacing them together with the other man's in a pin against the bed. He doesn't care for this mess or any other when they're like this. He only wants to feel good.
As for why holding hands is apparently part of this, he can't answer— but he's not stopping to analyze it anyway. Instead, he pulls back and then rocks forward again, falling into a steady rhythm, his mouth constantly seeking out Dabi's to bury his soft groans, fingers squeezing tight. )
( it's not the first time he's fingered himself, and definitely not the first time that he's ever been fucked like this, but it's been a long time--a long time since he's been the one on his back, a long time since he's been the one not fully in control. there's a part of him that wants to resist, wants to resist the sheer feeling of pleasure that washes over him; there's a part of him that even thinks it's a little embarrassing, how eager he is for it, for the pain that stretches itself along the inside of his body, melting away into pleasure. it's one of the few things that he can still feel, in all its painful glory; his hips press in, chasing it, guiding esi in until they're pressed skin to skin.
he doesn't care how fast he goes, doesn't care if he's impatient, doesn't care if he's just there to seek the pleasure that he can get out of the situation. his head presses back into the mattress, a soft gulp of breath passed between them, and it's only once esi starts moving that he winds his legs up, the battered skin on his shins and calves brushing up against the backs of esi's thighs as he keeps him close. stupid, really: stupid, except it all just feels good, and so whatever happens, happens.
it's somewhere in that haze of pained pleasure that he realizes they're holding hands: that esi has him pinned to the mattress that way, and it makes him feel a little sick; this is the kind of fucking that he thinks people with feelings might do, desperate for that romantic intimacy, and he's not that kind of person, and he's scared of what being that kind of person would even mean. fuck that. still, he doesn't want to listen to esi bitching about it--better instead to focus on the rock of their hips, the taste of the blood between them, the fervent kissing that smears blood and saliva alike between them.
his hips slide up, meeting him with every push, forcing him in deep with every thrust; he's taking as much pleasure from it as esi is taking from giving it, and maybe it's okay if they're both selfish, like that. at least it means they're evenly matched. )
( 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
the way that he leans into him, forcing him onto his back on the mattress, says plenty. the way that he curves over his body, the way that he leaves the lube up to him, the way that he presses into a kiss--none of it screams any kind of disgust, none of it seems to be finding pity in him, only satisfaction and curiosity. he doesn't have to tease him about it, either: he's sure that esi knows.
so he kisses him, firm, hard, lets his lips part to rake a blood-splotched tongue across esi's teeth, into his mouth, marking it with the copper taste of him; his hand blindly works the cap of the lube open, smearing it between them, onto the bed, onto his stomach, mopping it up with his fingers. there's a little breath of a laugh into the kiss, too: what a lazy fucker, this guy is. almost as lazy as he is.
but he'll see to it--dipping his own hand down between his legs, a distracted touch that jerks up onto his cock, for a moment, a few languid strokes, before he lets his fingers dive down with practiced ease; it's not the first time he's done this to himself, and it's obvious that he likes it, his mouth parting with eager ease into the kiss as he fingers himself, moving with precise fervor to both work himself up and work himself loose. )
cw(???) does this count as bloodplay. he's a freak idk warning for that
He doesn't find the context of it gross— that Dabi is coughing it up, that it's mixed with other bodily fluids when he does. He isn't worried about it being contagious, about bloodstains, or about the flower petals. Esikko can only think of the taste lingering in his mouth, a subtle sweetness beneath the bitter, the bite of metal more of a background to the assortment of sensations he can focus on. Blood can be magic, after all, and blood is life. They're one and the same.
Closing his eyes, he breathes in deep, but the taste is fading too quickly. It feels like a tease, allowing him to have that small piece of something so important and then taking it away. He kisses harder still, tongue searching, scraping, until he opens half-lidded eyes to watch Dabi's face as he bites down on his tongue, eager to make him bleed.
He realizes near immediately that he should have tempered that desire a little, that he's noticeably out of hand for a "doctor" here— but his hand cups Dabi's face in such a gentle motion that he hopes to offset it, breathing out a gasp of air he'd forgotten to take for a while now. A little chuckle, more like a breathy giggle, comes out at the end like he's having the time of his life. )
You're making me a little impatient, looking like that.
( As if it's entirely Dabi's fault, he accuses him, shifting the way he curves over him, thumbing across his cheek, a gentle swipe beneath his eye. )
Since you're so keen on hearing me say such things... ( Out of breath, he kisses again, rocking his hips down so that they can touch, if only just for a moment. ) I want you already.
no subject
it's not something that he can allow himself to feel, or allow himself to accept. esi's thumb brushes against his cheek and he hollows himself out against it--doesn't matter how he touches him, how he looks at him, how he kisses him with fervor; this is just sex, and it doesn't matter, anyway. case in point: esi's husky words, breathy against his mouth, saying he wants him, that he's impatient--that much, he can believe. that much, he can lean into.
but there's a glob of something, stuck in his throat, and he can't tell if it's real or not, can't tell if he's just gearing up to vomit or if it's words there, trembling and agitated; his tongue passes over his lips, wetting them, but he can barely feel it. with a soft rumble of a cough, he twists his head, a sopping pile of petals that he hacks up onto the mattress, blood dribbling down his chin, smeared at the corner of his mouth. )
Do you? Too bad. ( the grin he gives is stained pink, blood smeared over his teeth: neither of them care. ) I'm enjoying myself.
( a slight arch of his hips up, pressing them in against esi as he works his hand down between them--there's another panting breath, a firm push of his wrist, and with some effort, he finally winds his arm back, wiping his lube-stained palm all over the sheets next to him. )
Fine. Better be good.
no subject
Enjoy yourself without wasting that.
( Esikko isn't forceful when he finally presses himself into Dabi, but he's hardly gentle, either. In the end, his movements are selfish, chasing his own pleasure even if it means rocking his hips in a little too soon, and holding himself there, pressed in as far as he can go, for a little too long. It's in that moment that he slips his fingers up from Dabi's wrists, lacing them together with the other man's in a pin against the bed. He doesn't care for this mess or any other when they're like this. He only wants to feel good.
As for why holding hands is apparently part of this, he can't answer— but he's not stopping to analyze it anyway. Instead, he pulls back and then rocks forward again, falling into a steady rhythm, his mouth constantly seeking out Dabi's to bury his soft groans, fingers squeezing tight. )
no subject
he doesn't care how fast he goes, doesn't care if he's impatient, doesn't care if he's just there to seek the pleasure that he can get out of the situation. his head presses back into the mattress, a soft gulp of breath passed between them, and it's only once esi starts moving that he winds his legs up, the battered skin on his shins and calves brushing up against the backs of esi's thighs as he keeps him close. stupid, really: stupid, except it all just feels good, and so whatever happens, happens.
it's somewhere in that haze of pained pleasure that he realizes they're holding hands: that esi has him pinned to the mattress that way, and it makes him feel a little sick; this is the kind of fucking that he thinks people with feelings might do, desperate for that romantic intimacy, and he's not that kind of person, and he's scared of what being that kind of person would even mean. fuck that. still, he doesn't want to listen to esi bitching about it--better instead to focus on the rock of their hips, the taste of the blood between them, the fervent kissing that smears blood and saliva alike between them.
his hips slide up, meeting him with every push, forcing him in deep with every thrust; he's taking as much pleasure from it as esi is taking from giving it, and maybe it's okay if they're both selfish, like that. at least it means they're evenly matched. )
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. )
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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. )
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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.