[ Liem's hard hands on his hips tear a wanting, surprised sound from his throat; his husband is so rarely rough with him. Even Liem's bites are nigh-always careful, precisely placed things -- and Cardan had feared, after his fainting fit, that his husband would forevermore treat him like he was breakable.
It is a relief to be wrong. Relief and an immediate, hot spike of lust, pulsing through his cock in the wake of that desperate kiss. His hips jerk with it, against Liem, and he cannot help his half-muffled whine or the way his fingers move on their own, sending terrible relief and aching want through him. How quickly he has gone from languid pleasure to this breathless, needy desperation.
Sometimes he wonders if Liem must think him a particularly excitable man.
He doesn't wonder it now, because every ounce of his attention is taken with his husband: with his closeness, with his scent, with the strange tenderness he forever provokes in Cardan. It is too much and never enough, and when pleasure fills him up again, when it makes him teeter on the edge and then slip over with a shivery, helpless gasp, he can only hope that Liem is coming with him.
And when it rocks through him, so does a thought: never, in all of his life, has he liked anyone with such an awful ferocity as this. ]
[That helpless, eager movement of Cardan’s hips, of his hand, pulses through Liem in a hot, immediate rush. The hands gripping his hips demand more, keeping them captive as he grinds his own hips up, seeking heat and friction, rutting against Cardan’s cock and into the tight grip of stroking fingers. All the while, his eyes remain pinned to his lover’s face—besotted, and greedy with it.
Liem had missed this: not just the pleasure of Cardan’s touch, but the frantic tempo of his racing heart, and the beautiful disarray sex makes of his complexion and his hair, and the pleasure-soaked sounds he cannot quite suppress when need has swept him up. He missed clutching his lover close and feeling him tremble through his release. He missed it, he missed it. He doesn’t want to ever give this up, not for anything in the world.
Though he cannot watch him forever, of course. But even when the unrelenting pleasure of Cardan’s touch drags his eyes closed and shudders through him with a heated sigh, he is so drowned in him that by then it doesn’t matter. He wants, and wants, and wants endlessly, and he can do nothing but indulge his own helpless longing.]
[ In the after, when his breath breaks against Liem's cheek and his eyes are closed -- not that it matters, as the fire has finally chosen to give out -- he considers showing mercy. Perhaps he should let Liem sleep; perhaps he has suffered enough under Cardan's caprice and his tender cruelty.
But what sort of precedent would it set, for him to be merciful when he had promised to be otherwise?
So he isn't. And it is, after all, so easy to want Liem. If Cardan cannot see him, then that is all the more reason to touch and taste and torment him into desire, for so long as Liem can stand it, for so long as Cardan keeps him in his clutches. ]
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It is a relief to be wrong. Relief and an immediate, hot spike of lust, pulsing through his cock in the wake of that desperate kiss. His hips jerk with it, against Liem, and he cannot help his half-muffled whine or the way his fingers move on their own, sending terrible relief and aching want through him. How quickly he has gone from languid pleasure to this breathless, needy desperation.
Sometimes he wonders if Liem must think him a particularly excitable man.
He doesn't wonder it now, because every ounce of his attention is taken with his husband: with his closeness, with his scent, with the strange tenderness he forever provokes in Cardan. It is too much and never enough, and when pleasure fills him up again, when it makes him teeter on the edge and then slip over with a shivery, helpless gasp, he can only hope that Liem is coming with him.
And when it rocks through him, so does a thought: never, in all of his life, has he liked anyone with such an awful ferocity as this. ]
no subject
Liem had missed this: not just the pleasure of Cardan’s touch, but the frantic tempo of his racing heart, and the beautiful disarray sex makes of his complexion and his hair, and the pleasure-soaked sounds he cannot quite suppress when need has swept him up. He missed clutching his lover close and feeling him tremble through his release. He missed it, he missed it. He doesn’t want to ever give this up, not for anything in the world.
Though he cannot watch him forever, of course. But even when the unrelenting pleasure of Cardan’s touch drags his eyes closed and shudders through him with a heated sigh, he is so drowned in him that by then it doesn’t matter. He wants, and wants, and wants endlessly, and he can do nothing but indulge his own helpless longing.]
no subject
But what sort of precedent would it set, for him to be merciful when he had promised to be otherwise?
So he isn't. And it is, after all, so easy to want Liem. If Cardan cannot see him, then that is all the more reason to touch and taste and torment him into desire, for so long as Liem can stand it, for so long as Cardan keeps him in his clutches. ]