altimit | [Closed] misteaks' mistakes

...I guess not. Not until recently.

[His eyes drift to the picture - it's not a good one. Not in the slightest. Whoever drew it has probably less artistic ability than the average 6 year old. But there's at least some semblance of height, some semblance of whose hair is dark and light. Lucas's glasses, Matt's fur coat, Levi's headphones. Aiden with his phone, Damian with his pile of books. There's two others Morgan may not recognize, a man in a suit next to Lucas and a strange light haired boy by his brother Aiden, who has a long coat. Barrett is the tallest with a sun on his shirt, holding hands on one side with the dark haired boy that carries the scribbliest little crescent moon...

And a little girl, who holds the other.

...

Barrett takes some time at the locked chest to the side of the room - private inventory, as he sits and deposits what he doesn't need right now.]

It hasn't been home. Or... I guess, it wasn't home.

Maybe I don't want it to turn into that. I'm not sure.

Edited 2023-10-10 15:59 (UTC)

( He comes with Barrett toward the chest whether or not Barrett draws him there. His vision traces the figures in the drawing as he goes, his eye eventually turning to Barrett at work instead. )

... You could put things you like in here. It doesn't have to be styled like home.

( A compromise. A personal lounge rather than a private place. )

But I don't like complacency, either.

( So he gets it. Signs of acceptance toward their situation peeve him - not that Mithrun isn't the picture of being difficult toward any and all parties, so. )

Edited 2023-10-10 18:45 (UTC)

[...]

It's okay. I don't think this is where I'd want to keep things that are too important.

[He pulls out a creampuff from his chest inventory, popping it into his mouth before closing the box up.]

I do bring things I like here sometimes, though. Even if I don't put them on the walls. I've always liked being around the things I like, instead of just reminders.

[A pause, as he wipes his own mouth with his thumb of crumbs and sugar.] ...Though... I like you. And you're in here now.

Does that count?

( Hm. Doki. Maybe.

In the shadow of complacency, there is this. Is this complacency, is this distraction? )

... It does to me if it does to you.

( He kneels... down beside him, taking up his sugared hand, the crumbs and sugar smearing, rather intentionally, across both. )

... I can come here again.

( Like a fixture, like a reminder - no, neither of those words seem right. Like a...? )

[He allows it, confused but complacent, stickiness smearing between the heat of their fingers.]

Would you? [His smile is bright despite its weariness.]

I could always keep the door open for you. Even if it isn't very homey... I'd like if we could both be comfortable here.

... Okay. If you're here...

( This room has meaning. Without the people in it, a home is just a house; without Barrett to lend this meaning, this room is just a room.

He brings up their joined hands to his lips briefly like they're cupped, and he lets his lips brush against Barrett's sweet and sticky palm. Not quite a kiss, but a feeling he doesn't have word for - so this will have to do. )

... I think I'm comfortable with you.

[He can feel his heart rate tick up in his throat, hand twitching slightly against the warmth of breath and skin.]

...I... um... I'm glad. For that.

[What was he doing? He suddenly can't remember. He just lets his fingers go obediently slack against Morgan's grip. If that sugar was on his lips now, then...

...

He can feel something deep in his chest heat up like a furnace, fumbling with his freehand for the chest again.]

...Morgan, can... I try something?

( He gazes up at Barrett with a "?," but Barrett's expression not lost on him. A sense of anticipation brushes against his heart, where he feels Barrett touch him. )

... Yes. As much as you want.

( No need to hold back. His words are warm against Barrett's palm, his face lifting from his palm enough that Barrett is his main focus, now. )

[Another creampuff is produced from his inventory... and promptly ripped open. Half goes into Barrett's mouth, but as he swallows it, the hand at Morgan's mouth is pulled away, long enough to scoop out enough filling against two of his fingers.

The creme is held up - pressed and spread against Morgan's lips in the barest of touches, holding there as though to give him an option.]

( He watches Barrett scoop out and swallow the cream a little more fixedly than he intends, his attention drawn to Barrett's other hand once he lets his go.

The cream is cool and a little moist against his lips, and he doesn't know what Barrett wants to try, exactly. But he's been taught habit well enough since his time here, and his lips part against Barrett's fingers automatically enough that he doesn't have to think about how, maybe, this choice isn't just habit, but wanting to know the taste of Barrett's fingers, topped with cream.

He runs his tongue along the length of a finger, finding it larger, somehow, than he expected; the cream is sweet, though, and he finds himself inclined to run his tongue from base to tip, the cream from the other fingers smearing against his soft lips as he gives excess attention to the one. )

[A warm exhale falls from his lips at the sight of it, letting the rest of his fingers go slack to allow Morgan to explore the taste of one. It's tracing more across both of them, a mess against his palm dripping down his wrist, a mess against Morgan's lips that travels to the line of his chin...

Only when Morgan withdraws up to the fingertip does Barrett press both of his coated fingers purposefully back to Morgan's parted lips. He swallows hard, a thick and needy noise that matches how bright his eyes have turned despite the cloud of heat.]

...The other one, too. [It's quiet, voice a little rougher, syllables sharp with anticipation.] Show me what it tastes like.

( Ah, surprise flickers across his expression when he feels Barrett push, a certain sort of warmth catching in him when he does - warmer, still, at his low noise, and an expression to match it.

Some part of him finds itself inclined to trace the cream dripping down his palm, but the rest of him finds it hard to resist the fingers at his lips, the sugar sticky against his lips, skin warm against his tongue. His gaze hoods a little lower and he swallows hard, quiet, still, but Barrett can feel that his breathing's grown slower, hotter. He presses in and draws his tongue broad along the length of the underside of both, dragging it slowly up, like he's savoring it slow, leaving his fingers wetter and stickier than they were before.

Until he reaches near the tip, and it seems for a moment he might double back to taste the rest, but - his gaze flicks up, catching Barrett's bright gaze with his own, and he takes his fingers in, dragging his tongue first along the top, and then again in between, his mouth small but no less hungry as it swallows around him when the sugar's too much to keep in. He doesn't break his gaze; his eye, a deep black, but maybe not so much in indifference, but a steady-building hunger for Barrett's taste. )

[It's something he's never really experienced before - the feeling of someone's mouth maneuvering a part of his body like this, with the scent of sugar noticeable in the space between them. His lips part slightly as Morgan guides them both in, tracing, swallowing, keeping that fierce gaze on him as he does so that makes Barrett's face feel just a little hotter, color starting to fill in his skin.

His own tongue traces against his lower lip, unable to draw his eyes away. The fingers drawn into Morgan's mouth press into that exploring muscle, gently, cooperatively, scissoring open just enough to let him take every drop he could.

But for once, he's feeling impatient. His free hand presses to Morgan's thigh as Barrett shifts his weight, leaning up on his knees with breathing that starts to come a little fast, eyes trained on his mouth. His fingers pull away, sliding down to his chin as Barret leans in to let his mouth take over, a firm lick up the line of his jaw, teeth and tongue following the peppered mess of sugar until their lips meet. The sweetness and heat, the slight salt of skin that vanishes once he enters Morgan's mouth.

The kiss, ravenous as it is, lasts only a few moments at first, before Barrett breaks it to trace up the rest of the sugar on the other side of his face, tilting his head, tongue tracing his chin, down to the bump of his adam's apple - broad and thorough, refusing to waste, letting his mouth and teeth suckle where sugar has coalesced and hardened. Once it's clean, he tilts right back into another kiss, as though to share the flavors.]

( In that brief moment of scissoring, Barrett can see Mithrun's mouth split open just that much wider, his tongue pressing up, hungry, along the taste of Barrett even once the sugar becomes only an aftertaste, his tongue pressing into the tight space between both fingers with wet, messy sounds; quiet, but not silent.

But they're gone almost as soon as he'd taken them in, and before he can feel their absence he feels Barrett's tongue against his skin, his heart skipping a beat in anticipation, a flush building at his ears and threatening his cheeks. He kisses back, hungry, no matter how brief it lasts, and he hooks his fingers into whatever fabric he can find against Barrett's chest, his chin tilting up as Barrett works his way down, his neck exposed bare - as if inviting him to indulge as much as he likes.

He gasps, soft and sharp, where Barrett's mouth lingers and sucks, and this time he seems keen on tasting everything Barrett has to offer when his lips return to him. Deep, deeper; tongues and teeth with a blooming heat in his chest, in his stomach, that seems to hope Barrett will want more in kind. )

[With privacy on their side, Barrett doesn't pull away from how deep the kiss starts to push, pushing right back as though testing Morgan's appetite. Nails scrape back through his scalp, one continuing down the exposed skin of his neck until it meets fabric, feeling Morgan pull his own shirt down past his exposed collarbone, the swell of muscle visible under an already lowe neckline.

It's the ache of knees against the floor that get him to break away, panting for air - not wanting to stop, but having enough of a braincell still left to realize they have a better place to do this.]

...Mn. Bed. Will be more comfortable. [Except they're still close, slightly entangled, and it tastes so delicious... he can't help but let his lips drift, mouthing up the line of his cheekbone, breath ghosting his ear as he noses at the rim of it - planting a kiss, then another, before his teeth and tongue start to take up the cartilage like the gentle knawing off meat off a bone.

It's in between the motions of his mouth that he whispers.]

...I want more. [Another gentle press of his teeth, catching the soft skin at the earlobe and letting the warmth of his tongue ease the pressure away.] If I gave you more... more of that cream to guide my tongue...

Can you show me where I can taste you?

Edited (typos) 2023-10-11 05:51 (UTC)

( Ah, ah, ah, before he can even think to bother answer Barrett's mention of the bed, he's wholly distracted; the gasps come soft and wet if audible at first, before they become a little bit louder, a little bit more - and sharper, still, with the teeth, his nails digging into Barrett's exposed skin, dragging down sharp there with slightly trembling touch.

His voice against his ear while it's teased only draws a sharp inhale from Mithrun, who exhales shakily, audible - enticed that much more by a promise by more, an anticipation that knots hot in his stomach, and lower still.

Where can he taste? Anywhere, anywhere - don't make him think while Barrett's getting his head all hazy, the remark about the bed by now forgotten. )

... Yes... ( His answer comes an exhale, a flush worked across his face. ) ... If you follow the trail down, as it drips...

( Where would he let it start, where would he let it go? If he began at the fingers again, they could begin again what had been paused at the picnic; else - could start at the neck, start at the chest, start at the stomach - but all that drips down, down between the legs, if Barrett would even follow it that far, and Mithrun hasn't even thought that deep about it. He's still stuck on the sensation of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth at his ear, each sensation a distracting shockwave that rushes across his body and reverberates back, leaving him sensitive. )

... I told you... you could have all of me. ( He swallows. ) So it's just... it's just a matter of where you want to start.

[There's a tight hum, low in his throat, at the nails that dig red against his chest, at the sounds that echo from Morgan's mouth. A new language he's just starting to learn, enticing in its tones. It has him pressing himself slightly more flush into Morgan's touch for a brief moment as a shiver goes down his back, heat already gathering tight in the pit of his hips.

Easy. Easy, he presses at himself, an urging through the rapidly climbing fog. Don't do anything stupid.

One of his hands grips at Morgan's touch against his chest, skin hot, pulling him with a gentle urgency as he adjusts his kneel to push up onto his feet.]

Bed. Please. That's where we start.

[He's already shedding his own jacket to toss to the side as well as kicking his boots off, though his hands hesitate as he tries to guide Morgan to sit against the mattress, thumbs catching against the neckline of his top. He lets his fingers pull slightly, as though to bring the clothes to attention.]

...Can I? [They can start small. He doesn't need to see Mithrun bare before him if Mithrun isn't ready for it. But some bare skin was required if they wanted to chase the melting trail of sugar.]

( Mithrun had at some point had fully come to rest his weight on the ground against his thighs, and he doesn't resist as Barrett tugs him up, tries to guide him to the bed. He really doesn't get the fascination with the bed, but he doesn't have protest against it, either. Barrett wants it, so he will.

He shifts onto the mattress however Barrett would find it easier to have him on there, whether over the edge or on it proper, gaze better fixed on Barrett dropping layers. He'd never particularly thought much of the act of disrobing - or clothes - or nudity at all; it was all about the same to him. But there's something about seeing Barrett strip down a layer that makes a sense of anticipation rise up in his stomach - even though he's seen him already in his beach skin. He already knows what's there. It's strange.

He exhales soft when Barrett returns, tugging at his top. )

... As much as you want.

( He reiterates with a murmur, his ears a blazing red and his face filling in flushed. Was this anticipation, too? He's not embarrassed or ashamed, and doesn't even mind that his body is covered in nicks and scars. And still, he swallows, his ears still burning with the faint memory of his teeth.

But there is intention behind the phrasing. Mithrun has no limit here, so Barrett can enforce his own - he doesn't need to take more than he's comfortable with. Because... )

... I trust you.

( He's not carried away, as much as he feels like he is. He wants to melt in Barrett's mouth, but he's not gone yet. )

[Barrett drags him up onto it proper for a moment with Morgan's legs still hanging off the edge - it's a lot of leather and should probably be the first to go. But he takes in the whispered words, the shade of red, and he can't quite fight the smile that spreads, a soft and quiet and unassuming thing.]

...If anything hurts, or you need me to stop, just say stop. Okay? I... um...

[He exhales - hot, heavy, with the slightest shake in tone from both excitement and nerves.]

I want this. But I feel like I might get carried away. So... don't let me do that to you.

[He's seen Morgan clobber a dummy to pieces. He might as well clobber him for being a dummy if it came to it. Maybe this reminder wasn't needed, and maybe they would be fine. But with Morgan... Barrett feels the sentiment is important to voice, even for what might feel obvious.

Once the idea has settled, Barrett kneels down against the floor to start removing the long length of Morgan's boots. A careful start of stripping, one at a time, with his hands carefully feeling out the bare skin underneath as it's removed. Once both legs are bare, he spreads one out to nose at the tender flesh of the thigh, mouthing it briefly, recognizing the heat. This was for later. He would come back.

The boots are discarded as he crawls up to join him on the bed, taking up his arms in tandem, repeating the same with his gloves as he did with his boots. A careful removal, like the peeling of a fruit, letting his hands and mouth briefly touch against what was left exposed. The ring against one finger gets a glance, noticing the color that seemed different to the last time they'd been together. But it's carefully removed, long enough to take off the fabric underneath it, holding the jewelery carefully in one hand as his other guided a bare wrist against his lips to kiss at his pulse.]

...Do you want to keep this on? I didn't realize that it changed colors.

( Where he might have normally suggested that he doesn't mind if Barrett gets carried away - not when it comes to Mithrun as the meal - even in his hazy state of mind he hasn't forgotten the events of earlier in the day, and Barrett's want of temperance; at least, in these things that seem to matter for him.

He reaches up to brush his fingers light through Barrett's bangs before his palm presses light against Barrett's cheek; a gesture to punctuate his answer. )

... Okay. I will.

( Mithrun doesn't doubt he can get Barrett to stop if he somehow finds himself unfond, but he thinks it's very like Barrett to stop and remind him, to be so conscientious. Mithrun doesn't mind it. And he understands it comes from a place of care.

He lets his touch slip as Barrett sets to work on the boots, and the gentle rush of heat from where he feels Barrett's mouth against his thigh causes his heart to skip and stumble, a soft ah when he feels him - so close. They'd spoken about eating; he'd even fantasized it before, but - his imagination is only so broad when he's still learning the shape of his wants, when it comes to this. He swallows as he pulls away, but doesn't protest. As much as he wanted Barrett to eat him, he wanted, also, to know - how Barrett would have him.

He glances at the ring, the color a vibrant pink, when it's referenced, having forgotten about it; his pulse is quicker than even Mithrun knows at Barrett's lips, each touch and brush against his mouth driving his anticipation higher. )

... I could... ( It doesn't really matter, he guesses, but...? ) ... It tells you what your mood is. And... the description says it's accurate. Deep pink is...

( What was it, again...? He'd memorized it, but he's a little distracted by Barrett; by his lips... )

... "Interested, passionate, aroused."

[A mood ring?

If this were real life, he'd be a little more suspicious. But if it came from the game, then...

...

He carefully fits the ring back to Morgan's finger, letting the color flourish. If Morgan had been equipping it, it must be for a reason, whether to test it out or simple curiosity.

Barrett's expression grows fond, eyes warm at the idea that Morgan could in fact be passionate about this. Even with all the evidence he should be able to see, the heat and noise and hunger... feelings still were a difficult thing to label, especially from another.

He gently brings his hands to Morgan's stomach, a slow press that runs up to his chest as Barrett eases him to rest fully backwards against the blankets. Fingers work on the buttons at his collar, a very gradual reveal of pale skin with every clasp undone down his neck, his chest.]

Well... we can test that, right??

Do you think it's telling the truth right now?

[He'll give the question just enough space, cocking his head slightly before impatience takes him over again.

He leans in to press his lips to the pit of his neck, teething at the collarbone, peppering his way down Morgan's sternum behind his fumbling fingers. His mouth opens to drag his tongue up the firm line of bone under rising and falling breath... and then scraping his teeth straight back down as the last of the buttons come free.]

Edited 2023-10-11 20:41 (UTC)

( He sinks into the bed as Barrett presses him back, the vision of Barrett a welcome and hungry eclipse above him; the heat of his palm run up against his chest, even through his clothes.

Does he think it's telling the truth...? He curls his fingers into the blankets. His feelings are a feverish swamp; is this interest, passion, arousal? Is that the name for this anticipation, for the way he inhales sudden as he feels his teeth at his collarbone, the way he swallows wet feeling his lips and tongue along the sternum, tasting - maybe, even, relishing? His gaze is fixed on Barrett, his heart quick, quick, a shiver rushing down his stomach and his spine with each sensation.

Is that what this is?

He releases his grip, and slips his hands around the back of Barrett's head, cradling, and he leans in just slightly, his skin pressing against Barrett's lips. And then - he presses his tongue at the base of Barrett's horn, and runs it slow and wet along the ridges to the tip, his lips closing around the tip, sucking it almost like he might a kiss, before he lifts his mouth. )

... I think so.

[Ohhhh boy

It's an unexpected sensation, the sudden warmth and wetness against a part of his anatomy in game that he so often forgot about. He sucks in a breath, tense and sharp, fingers wrapping against Morgan's exposed waist as Barrett tilts his forehead against Morgan's chest with a shaking groan from deep in his throat, quiet and restrained, the tips of his horns tracing against bare skin as he leans into the sensation.

As Morgan's mouth closes over it, Barrett shudders bodily, his breath hot and his mouth working, a rumble deep in his chest as his teeth start to work at what flesh he can grab along the slender muscle of Morgan's chest, biting down with a gnawing pressure at the same time his hands scoop around to his back, tucking behind the fabric of his now-opened shirt to drag nails down - one at his shoulders, one at the curve of his lower back, pressing him up into the trail of Barrett's mouth.

It's so hot. He's starting to feel so, so hot. He should probably take his own shirt off - its starting to annoy him. But his hands, his mouth, his mind, are all far too occupied, tracing and teething scar tissue and muscle, testing out a harder and harder bite when he has enough to gather into his mouth.]

Edited 2023-10-12 00:20 (UTC)

( Ah, the teeth and the nails earn a sharp and breathy sound from him, but not one of pain, not at all. The way Barrett digs into him front and back does something to him; Barrett's low groan does another; both send shivers through him, arching him into Barrett's lips, his teeth.

Barrett earns a sharp whine of sound as he teeths the scars along him, his voice no longer so quiet at all every time he bites into him, the heat between his legs wet and palpable, enough that reflex forces his legs to press together on either side of Barrett, each sharp sound accompanied by his lips kissing sloppy along his horns because he hasn't moved his lips - they press there, shuddering, teeth scraping against the slick and hard texture when Barrett bites into him hard enough. )

Keep... Keep— going...

( He speaks hot against his horn and hair, chin pressed into his locks. He's no longer cradling Barrett's head so much as he's wrapped his arms around it, his body trembling; ah, it feels good, it feels better than he imagined. )

[Keep going.

He wants to keep going, tongue tracing over the bite marks that now sit red and deep in Morgan's skin. Noises pitch and skin presses and the tastes roll as though they're meant for his mouth; salt and skin, fabric and leather, the scent of musk and sweat and the starts of sex that flourishing hormones bring... and that lingering sweetness beyond it all.

He noses further, wanting to find that sensitive nub beyond the fabric of Morgan's shirt. But with Morgan's arms wrapped so tight against his head, there's no way to maneuver, leaving him unfulfilled, nipping just shy of his goal with a growl of displeasure.

With Morgan's legs already tucked up against him, Barrett rocks himself up just enough to bury his teeth against Morgan's neck, pressing their hips flush and hot in the process. A strained noise of need echoes out, still quiet, still caught in the back of his throat -- but he doesn't take action to the sensation that floods through his hips and legs like firecrackers. No, he pries Morgan's arms off of him, gripping at the edges of his top where they bunch at his shoulder and peeling them down, desperate to get the fabric out of the way. The teeth at his neck stay clenched, like a predator pinning its prey.

It's unceremoniously tossed to the floor in the .5 seconds it takes for Barrett to let go, sliding himself back down to trace his tongue against a freed nipple, pressuring it between the hot muscle and the edge of his teeth out of a needy curiosity as his hands slide to take Morgan firmly by the hips. Stay close. He's here. He won't stop.]

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

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cw: NSFW it begins etc etc just gonna slap that up to be safe

(hungry)

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