[Closed] misteaks' mistakes - the sequel (catchall)

[gluttoning]

Who: Mr_Misteaks and also some other people
What: In person catchall + dungeon runs
When: October thru November
Where: various, please note in headers
Content Warnings: nsfw, ED discussion Please cw in headers.

[overflow and log space for October and November]

Comments

[tablescraps]

( For all his experience, it's a very different thing to be led on than to be asked to lead. Barrett takes up his fingers and begins to work his tongue along their length and licking clean the hand with such agonizing care, like stripping meat from bone. The shiver it sends Mithrun tells him - ah, no, I should have asked him to start here and here, I should have placed it there, and - not in regret, but in, some way he doesn't recognize yet, desire. He wanted Barrett's lips on him so badly it's almost overwhelming, and the sugar on his lips only whets his appetite worse.

It makes his kiss in turn messy, and deep, Barrett's sucking and biting only feeding into it, and getting the same back out - stealing Barrett's mouth selfishly, when he still wanted it all over him. It's greedy and self-contradictory. He wouldn't mind it, if Barrett's kiss left marks there. He wouldn't mind if he left Barrett marks in turn, too.

He hooks his arms around his neck, an audible breath escaping him as Barrett presses his )

... I will. I will.

( He exhales, warm-cheeked, for a moment finally taking in Barrett, half-nude, above him, before Barrett comes down to eat. He'd meant to say something a little meatier, but he can't recall what. He's too impatient to bother with himself, and it's better that Barrett starts instead. He doesn't disappoint.

What feels better than his lips and tongue and teeth is how much Barrett enjoys it. Mithrun's voice is quiet at first, but it builds; not loud, but louder, his breath audible, his voice wet and in concert with every jolt and tremble - always pressing into his mouth, and never away. Barrett likes it. He does. And the way he moves him to teeth him down to shreds, to want to taste him so badly and to murmur his praise and his name the way he says it with such hunger and want, that drives him just as badly wild as the way Barrett leaves his neck and chest feeling raw. Keep going, keep going, it's for you, this meal is for you - his murmurs falter, and punctuated with hushed litanies of his name, but never with a plea to stop. He's happy, he's happy.

It's when he feels Barrett's fingers press up his shorts, his lips at his hem, that he's shaken briefly from his daze, his breath heaving heavily, his expression flushed and heady. Barrett... looks good from this angle. A hand loosely clinging to his shoulder brushes the side of his face with a palm, banishing some messy hair from his face so he can adore him a little better.

More... He swallows. His lips part, slowly. )

... Mm. As much... as you want. ( Ah... He exhales. It feels - so tight there. ) Do you want it that much...?

[gluttoning]

[Just the sight of Morgan so flustered and breathless in response has Barrett's own body rolling tight with anticipation, face and neck and chest all flushed with the tinted heat of arousal.

Wordlessly, he nods, letting one of his hands dip underneath the meat of one of Morgan's thighs, slipping that leg up to hook against Barrett's shoulder even as the redhead kneels himself deeper between Morgan's hips. Face now caught against the tender flesh of Morgan's inner thigh, Barrett's mouth starts to work, a wordless begging of his own. Close, close, delicious on its own right, but wanting more.

His free hand leaves the hem of Morgan's shorts and spreads - inward, inward, a palmed press to heat unfamiliar underneath layers of fabric, slow and firm and rhythmic with the sucking bites from his mouth. In comparison to his mouth, his touch seems to be less aggressive - betraying his inexperience, showing a desire for permission, for reciprocation, for curiosity of what sat below and what Morgan wanted done to himself.

For now, he just lets it settle in the moment. Rhythmic presses, humming bites, a mouth that wants to travel inward and inward and noses the hem of his shorts as though he wishes to tear the obstacle away with his teeth.]

[tablescraps]

( His arms free, they fall back over his head, not covering his face, because he wouldn't deny himself how Barrett looks as he eats, but - half obscuring it, like he doesn't know what to do with himself when he feels so good. Not between Barrett teething, which sends a hot shiver up his spine - not when he feels the friction of Barrett's palm at the fabric, and this sensation sends a hot impulse into the pooling heat at his stomach, his voice escaping him. His thighs press against Barrett's head, not - painfully, but in a sort of instinctive need.

He swallows. )

... You don't... have to stop there. Not... Not if you don't want to.

( It's an offer, seeing how Barrett seems to rail against the hem, Mithrun's heart beating faster in - anticipation? Is that it? He's had people between his legs before, but, it's - different, wondering if Barrett will, wondering if Barrett would.

But Barrett does like to keep to a slow and steady pace - and that's something he often likes about him, too. So... he won't plead for it, if Barrett's really sure he'd rather keep to this. There are things Mithrun will insist on with Barrett, but feeling wet between the legs isn't one of them - not right now. )

[gluttoning]

[He doesn't answer at first. Mithrun's thighs clench around his skull and Barrett exhales hot past the motions of his teeth, grip pressing tighter, the palm against that hidden erection pushing a little more insistently, needier. Fingers fumble for clasps and zippers, undoing - an intention, perhaps a relief of some of the tightness for Morgan in the moment. But for the moment, it's left at that - mere extra space.

As his hand leaves the hot core of Morgan's hips, Barrett lifts up his weight, just enough to take Morgan's lower half up slightly with him, practically kneeling with one knee pressed between spread legs. Both hands have Morgan's unbitten thigh, one braced at the knee and one at the tender spot where fabric still covered the meeting with his groin - like grasping at the edges of a chicken bone in preparation to gnaw it clean. Unlike the other leg, he starts higher, tongue tracing the tendon and soft pit of skin on the underside of where his upper and lower leg connected, teeth taking over at the more familiar give of muscle and fat. Biting and biting and biting, tongue and lips following suit as though to make sure he's cleaned up, to make sure his affection still comes through. Down and down, bites coming faster and more insistently, adjusting his grip lower and lower as he eases that leg over his shoulder and back and leans and further in.

By the time he's right back to that unruly hem of his shorts, Barrett's hand returns right back to the press of Morgan's erection, kneading it slightly before his fingers grasp intentionally for the unfastened waistband. But he falters. Eyes flicker, and the face that had stayed so buried against hot skin looks up, messy and flustered and still so hungry as he swallows, searching and cautious.]

You're sure?

[It feels so foolish to ask with his face practically buried between his legs. But this felt incredibly important - a line he can't cross without knowing for sure. So he lets his breath stay hot against the fabric between leg and groin, keeping heated eyes to Morgan, hands momentarily stilled to nothing but a sensual pressing motion - wanting, hoping Morgan was still wanting in return.]

Show me... w-where you want me.