[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

[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.