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exitiabile2022-02-19 01:06 am
hastening) wrote in exitiabile2022-02-19 01:06 am
wearing a warning sign;
𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕠𝕥/𝕡𝕚𝕖𝕥𝕣𝕠
ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ
ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ
ᴏᴡɴ ᴍᴇ, I'ʟʟ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏʟᴇ
ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟ
ᴍʏ ᴍᴏᴍᴍʏ ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴛᴏ sɪɴɢ ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ
ʙᴜᴛ sʜᴇ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ sɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs sᴏɴɢ
ɪғ sʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅs ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟʏʀɪᴄs
sʜᴇ'ʟʟ ᴘɪᴛʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇɴ I ᴋɴᴏᴡ
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I do not lie. I haven't - kurva, eliot -
[ he's already wound so tight from touching himself, from toying with eliot, from having eliot so close and yet so far. and now to be forbidden his sight? well. he listens by habit, letting eliot wield the control he's so beautifully made for, even as heat prickles like wildfire along his spine, making his vision got white-hot. ]
Potřebuji tě. Prosím. Nyní.
[ i need you. please. now. ]
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I know. You're already so loose for me.
{ pietro's stubbornness is his honesty. eliot revels in the thrum of his body reacting to his touch and leans back to grab the base of cock, instantly giving himself a few strokes. he has half the mind to come on pietro's beautiful back, but it has been far too many weeks. he's just as needy.
he slips his fingers from inside pietro, settling them on his hip while he moves in to align the head of his thickness right against his entrance. he ends up sinking into the tight heat. as he keeps moving past each ring of muscle into pietro's depth, he outright moans. it's a shameless echo. any coherency leaves him and all he's left with is the mantra of pietro's name while he continues to bottom out until he can't anymore. }
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so he moans on a shuddered breath, his back arching and flexing into the push of eliot's hips, his head falling back, mouth slackened around the sound of a pleased moan. ]
To je hodně dobré.
[ so good.. and so much more wants to come spilling out of his mouth, but instead he dares to look over his shoulder, to try and peek the way their joining looks, even if he feels for the first time in months that he is full and complete and whole again. he impatiently grinds his hips back against eliot, but the move feels like a mistake, making him choke as his dick twitches, his hips buck, all the heat making his blood rush rush rush south.
he bites his lip, sharp and stark, to stave off the impending climax. ]
Show me, nie? [ hoarse, as his body trembles for the want of the man behind him. ] How much you miss me.
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he decides to let go. eliot catches the motions of pietro’s hips and kneads against the flesh as he guides them into a slow trajectory of skin slapping against skin. }
Then witness, love. Feel me.
{ it might be the heat of the water still hot enough that’s causing his feverish slip. it won’t stop him. the water keeps falling and their bodies will strain from standing, but eliot only watches the way his cock slides in and out of pietro. he looks and feels so fucking good all at once. it makes his movements amp with a rougher edge of desperation that can only be one fraction of how much he’s truly missed the speedster. it causes him to dig his nails, enough that little marks will surely form from his tight grip alone. }
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it makes his mouth go dry, makes his skin prickle. the bite of the nails at his hips and the quickening, rough pace as eliot slams in and out of him makes him shudder, makes the most pathetic moans fall from his lips as his fingers curl up against the tile, as his back arches, as he quivers, straining against the pressure building white-hot in his belly. ]
Fuck, I - [ he chokes as his body begins to ratchet tight, as his walls flutter around the healthy girth of eliot's cock, as he rocks his hips back and scrambles his hands against the wet tile. ] - miluji tě.
[ he's grateful his native tongue slips as his mind goes fuzzy, full to the brim with static. but the sentiment comes out in the way one hand reaches, falls over eliot's, prying at those fingers digging half moon bruises into his skin and holding tightly to them as he comes, hot and hard. it's fast even for him, but he's been working himself up and up and up for hours now.
to have eliot now, finally, is a blessing.
love you - are the words that still burn on his tongue, in the back of his mind, echoing as his release splashes the tile, his own thighs, the hot shower water washing it away as he arches into eliot. ]
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his body continues to betray him. each thrust is heavy with being on the verge and he's only just a man. no matter how much he holds back, it has been far too long and the fact alone has him reduced to when he first started out having sex: desperate. pietro's orgasm is powerful, riding against him as he finds he's right there. lately, he's always been there, their sexual prowess so close together that they are never too far from one another.
he needs to figure out the sokovian words. one day, he thinks as he wraps an arm around pietro's waist while his other hand instantly takes pietro's and lifts it up against the wall once more. he presses into him and holds him all at once, managing to come not long after. eliot's face buries against the back of pietro's neck, his rhythmic shutters prickling as much as pietro's wet hairs on his mouth. pietro is a tight, warm heat around him. how could he last with all the teasing that led to this? he's breathy through his drawl of his moan turned laugh once he's able to speak again. }
Have I earned the right to your dick? I want to wash you.
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it's coupled with the arm around his waist, the hand pressing over his against the tile, and it takes pietro several heaving breaths to come back down out of the haze. eliot's mouth on his neck, the slur of his moan turned laugh, and pietro finds he laughs as well, breathless and amused. he can't help but swivel his hips, press back into the heat of the man. it takes everything not to drop his free hand from the tile and slide it over the one around his waist to keep him there. ]
You have earned it, yes.
[ a laugh and he turns his head to look at eliot, limited by the way he's being held, but there's something almost sheepish in it. miluji tě he'd said, and that eliot is no connoisseur of sokovian, he is grateful. he'd make this pretty boy run, he thinks, flee far into the deep reaches of places only magic can take him. and where there is no eliot, there is no magic.
not like this.
wanda will know, he suspects, when she sees him. she will know what he's said. he will never hear the end of it. ]
You have been very good, pretty little flower. [ his accent falls heavy and thick around the english words, not unlike the lazy way he speaks when woken in the morning. ] I am yours for the taking, ano?
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i am yours for the taking, ano? such a simple question and it's an answer in one. eliot squeezes their hands before cascading his fingers along his arm as he dips to press kisses along pietro's shoulder, the water dripping off his wet curls and avoiding his eyelashes with the dip. call it post coitus bliss, but he ends up whispering as he nudges against pietro's hip. }
Turn around. I want to look at you, neshama sheli.
{ meanwhile, in the same breath he has the audacity to add hypocrisy as he steps back, his hand catching pietro's so he does not have to stop touching him until he's able to catch sight of the depths of his blue eyes. eliot who has preferred brown eyes has found himself unable to think of anything but finding the rarest color in nature looking back at him with supple want. he is unable to contain his expression shifting when he pumps soap into a hand and places it onto pietro's dick. it's not sexual, rather sensual in the care he takes to make sure he properly cleans through the sensitive of their activities.
there's an allure to taking care of someone when he's never had it fully. no matter what, he's always reserved this softness for after sex and pietro only lures it out of him more naturally than anyone else has managed. }
I would ask, but I'm going to assume you won't tell me what you've been saying.
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the hand in his own earlier, the strong arm around his waist, the whispers against his skin. it makes something swell tight in his chest, makes one hand slide out of eliot's hair and softly cradle his jaw, near loving in its tenderness. ]
I am very pretty to look at. [ but even then the bite of his words falls short, the snarky little quip lost in the lazy wash of his accent and the way his eyes lock with the warm hazel gazing back at him. ]
Maybe if you tell me what neshama sheli means, I will tell you all the stories I was telling, hm? [ but he knows better - even if eliot divulges what the new little name means, pietro isn't sure he can say what he'd meant, what he'd said in the throes of something more white-hot.
but as they stand under the warm spray, he slides his hands down eliot's chest, and leans to kiss softly, slowly, before he in turn pumps soap into his hand and mirrors the other's care, lathering the suds along his chest, his abs, his sides, and even a cursory swipe over his dick, the fingers of his free hand glancing over his hip, round the small of his back to draw him in a little closure, strong arm supporting him.
his mouth falls to the bob of eliot's adam's apple, a kiss pressed there before he speaks again. he thinks to make some quip about handjobs in the shower with pretty men, but his lips linger overlong and pietro can't ignore the odd swell of his chest. ]
You must leave soon, ano?
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You are, beautiful that is. So are your words. Miluji tě, was it? Miluji tě, Pietro. Maybe I pronounced it wrong? Mine is just a pet name. Like I said, you’re a vice for inspiration. You’re not boring like everyone else. I can’t seem to stay away.
{ technically his endearment is used for loved ones of any kind, but it also depends on the context. how could he say what it fully means? that before it went to shit, his mother once gave him hope that he’ll find someone who could see him and know him like no other? or that those words slipped and they mean more than he can voice right now? the direct translation is only an ounce of what it could be. it makes him suddenly doubt if he’s gotten too close. but he doesn’t care. he only wants more.
his other hand roams along a torso, fingers dancing until he’s slipping up and under to grip pietro’s bicep. he’s locking him in or really eliot is locking himself in as he keeps the other under his chin where he can’t see his face, only feel the press of those tempting lips on him. }
In Hebrew it means “my soul”. I thought it sounded pleasing and I’m shallow for pretty things... Silly, isn’t it? I won’t call you it if you don’t want. It’s no Ketzel.
{ his chest is tight and warm all at once. he can’t help the self-sabotage when he should be telling pietro the whole truth. it’s the closest to an i love you and it terrifies him that he may be falling in ways he didn’t intend. pietro will leave one day when he’s had his lush fun to the brim or when he’s seen eliot at his worse. it’s bound to happen. true happiness is not meant for people like eliot. he’s on borrowed time just as he currently is from his duties. eliot’s grip subconsciously tightens even more and with it the water looses some heat. it’s lukewarm. }
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would he run, if he knew? will he run once he looks up those words later? he has a feeling eliot might. they're both ravenously curious in their own rights, and suddenly pietro wonders if he's made a horrible mistake. to have even the illusion of whatever this is with eliot feels like enough. he's been playing with fire long enough, and while he could seek out wild, racy evenings with other pretty things in dark clubs...
he doesn't want to. and that's the most startling of it all.
instead of voicing this, pietro smirks against eliot's throat, presses butterfly kisses gently along the slope of it, mouthing miluji tě once, at the end, as eliot grips his arm, holds him closer. he doesn't need to know. ]
Mm. You speak Sokovian better than me. It is not fair.
[ but the words sound nice on eliot's voice, rich and warm, drawling in a way Sokovian isn't but is also so perfect. his body moves without his permission, strong arms parting from the curve of a cock or hip and instead sliding around eliot's waist and upper back, fingers splaying between his shoulder blades and pressing insistently into the taut muscle there. ]
But your words are prettier than mine. Neshama sheli. Did I say this right?
[ Even he can't help the Sokovian accent, the lilting slavic sounds he lends to the Hebrew, but he tries. That it means something like my soul takes him aback - and sure, he's certain eliot uses it far less seriously than it sounds. like he's said - silly, pretty. but it twists something deep in his chest anyway, something that makes him want to keep eliot in place, to hold him here even after the water has gone icy and cold.
he tilts his head back, lips finding eliot's jaw and he might even be able to feel the tell-tale scrunch of pietro's nose as he huffs, a little indignant. ]
Your words are better, láska. [ love, mirroring eliot's previous provocation. ] Mine made the water cold, no?
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You won’t find anyone more skillful with their tongue.
{ the swell of ego is partly a front in a joke, but he knows his appeal. eliot tries to ignore the way he thinks he hears his heart pounding when pietro rolls the endearment back his way. he takes in the pink of of his skin and gathers it’s probably the steam. eliot leans in and brushes his lips upon his. }
You’re a terrible distraction. That’s why the water is cold. { a flicker of a tongue upon a bottom lip and— } Yes, I like the way you say it. Perfection. I also decided I’m not going to look up what your words mean. { since he was the one keeping them warm with a simple spell, he knows he would eventually lose concentration with the way they’re touching. he lures them into a slow kiss, managing to pause only to affirm further, } There’s no fun in that. Not today, or tomorrow, or even next week. Some day, but not later.
{ he means it. one day he’ll look it up. better yet, he’ll seduce the translations out of pietro. what they have going on is enough for now. the heat that shoots through him is his own as he rubs his knuckles against pietro’s ribcage. he also searches for the shower knob while he gives pietro less room by continuing to kiss him though the newfound echo of fogged up glass and cold settling with each passing second.
he makes a fruitful sound from the back of his throat. the water has quickly reached a cold that could be uncomfortable if it lasted longer. he shuts it off with one movement. it then brings him closer to the glass, forcing his back against it. without a beat, he mentally feels for a towel, bringing it forth when the sliding doors open and with it he catches it from behind pietro, instantly pressing the softness against his wet skin. both his hands are splayed with palms flat down, leaving the towel to hang and bunch up as he runs it up along pietro’s back.
eliot keeps on tenderly kissing pietro. the sensuality he puts effort in is evident to his body reacting while suckling pietro’s tongue before letting go and loosening his lips back into a lighter kiss. it matches the goosebumps forming from the temperature change. }
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[ pietro's lips curve into a lazy smile as he leans into eliot's front, pressing their bodies close and tangling them together as they kiss. it's sensual and unforgivably addictive, the way the other man catches his tongue or the swell of a lip. but he moves with the man, laughing when they come to a stop against the glass, the sound warm and bright against eliot's mouth before he deepens the kiss all over again, letting one hand trail down eliot's spine to the curve of his hip, tugging him closer, holding him there until he has to come up for air.
there's a tenderness to all of it, even the brush of broad palms the plush towel at his back. even the pretty sound eliot makes draws him in to the point he barely notices the cold water or its sudden absence. he wishes suddenly they had more time - that their lazy shower kisses could see them tangled and walking to the bed, where he could open the windows over the compound and exist in the balmy summer air.
god, wanda really will make fun of him.
he draws back from the delicate kiss on a hum as the towel skirts his back, and he tilts his head, nudging their noses together once so he can speak. ]
I will tell you what the words mean one day. But for now it is my secret, yes? A game. I will give you one word at a time and it will be a puzzle. And when you find out you will think I am very silly. I could have called you something very naughty, hm?
[ pietro kisses him again once, twice, three times, little playful, biting things against his lips as he settles in, letting the other man dry him off. one hand rises to touch eliot's cheek, to reach up and brush wet curls delicately away from his brow. he traces a path down his jaw, shoulder, arm, giving his bicep a gentle squeeze. ]
It is my turn now to dry you. You will catch a cold with wet hair like this if you leave, and that will be no good. Unless you want to get sick and stay here. I will make a very pretty nurse. [ a playful little smirk, the waggle of eyebrows, and he kisses eliot again, like a man addicted. ]
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{ the rambunctious remarks will only continue. he shivers, but not only from the cold, but also from the tingle that runs through him by simple touch alone. it’s easy to dry off pietro while he gets exploratory. sometimes he wants to ask what are you searching for in-between the silences when he’s left to understand the rise of the other’s chest.
his focus shifts with how much he’s able to notice up close. the contrast between dark stubble and silver has always been fascinating to him and he’s seen magical creatures from all over. he shouldn’t be so enthralled. eliot nearly asks, but he holds his tongue when he feels the squeeze on his bicep. does he have a right to ask? there’s too much he wants to know about pietro, on who he was before their paths crossed. usually he’s nosy, but suddenly he’s gone shy about it. strange. }
Oh? I’ll have to figure out what to give you in return for each of those letters? Words? I like games.
{ particularly with pietro, but eliot reserves that comment to finish rubbing the towel across wet strands, giving the man a fluffier look as he peeks from between the movements of a towel partly covering. then he lowers it, grabbing a handle of each side and pushing it all the way down to pietro’s ass. he makes sure to knead and give a hefty squeeze before lifting the towel up against pietro’s face.
eliot leans in and bumps his nose back against his to return the gesture. it’s his tag in moment. he then steals another kiss not even that long after pietro pulls him in. it can’t be helped. especially when he knows once he does have to leave, and he’s stretching it as much as he can, he’s not sure when he’ll see pietro again. fillory runs on different time stream. it could be weeks here and days or months out there. or the inverse. it makes eliot visually pout ever so slightly. }
Here. We don’t want me catching a cold. You will get tired of having me around. I am not cute when I am sick.
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what are you searching for eliot might ask and pietro would laugh and say he's already found it. it isn't some simple booty call to him, but he reminds himself all the more that it might be just that to the man across from him.
he hums as eliot's palms slide down to his ass, giving an ample squeeze and he laughs softly against the man's mouth, uncaring that their noses bump or their teeth might click together in the kiss. ]
I can still take a bite of the peach before you leave. When you sit on your pretty throne you will think of me instead of your work. It will be very entertaining. And when you forget I will put it in the letters, in the words to guess.
[ he takes up the towel then and starts first with eliot's hair, gentle in the way he pats the curls, scrunching them instead of ruffling them frazzled and wild. he has watched eliot do just this after showers at brakebills and he takes care now to do the same, letting the soft fabric slide along his face, his neck, where he pauses to take time in traveling the slopes of his shoulders and his chest. ]
But I will leave your peach intact this time, ano? So you can get dry and not catch cold. [ a soft kiss against his cheek before he looks back to the towel between them, broad palms flat on his chest before he delicately plucks up one of eliot's hands and slowly works the towel over his wrist and up his arm, like a man paying his devotions. ]
My matka used to say it was so cold the stars would even jump around. They cannot sit still in the sky because they will turn to gems. [ he starts on the other arm, gentle and delicate, pressing the pad of one thumb into eliot's palm and working the muscles on the way up. ]
So we would run out of our baths like shooting stars and wait for her to come snatch us up in towels like this one. [ pietro smiles, warm and distracted and fond as he the towel comes to eliot's chest again, his abdomen, his hips. ] She would make silly wishes, because it is what you do to shooting stars, no? Do you do those things here? I do not think it is only Sokovia, but I do not know.
[ another little huff, a tilt of his damp hair, and his eyes flicker up to eliot's his nose scrunching. he's too aware of how silly he will sound and yet, boyishly, he says it anyway: ]
So my wish is that you come back. Then you make that tasty drink for me here next time. I am very lazy, you see, I do not want to go to noisy bars after big missions. Then your star can jump wherever you want to go again after that, ano? This makes sense, yes?
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pietro only makes him start to rise those buried desires he has, the ones he's been accustomed to accepting slowly as they kept finding one another. even if it was in the dark club, somewhere in new york, at brakebills; it could be anywhere, but the months grew into not only spicy kisses, but also longer sensual ones. what does it say about him that he started the night he met pietro? his potential has always been there, and all he wants to do is bring it out of the man in front of him with an accent that only touches his ear with dulcet tones. }
Next time, then. You can leave more bites. Give me a letter then?
{ his expression goes through some motions when pietro is too busy drying him off. he's primarily pleasantly surprised that he's being careful to not leave him with frizz. it's endearing, considering he requires product to keep them intact. the attempts are what makes the flush on his body travel and he's sure the tips of his ears are pink now. he hopes pietro does not notice them. it's slightly embarrassing that he's so taken just such an intimate act that is being made out of fogged glass, their naked forms, and words more bare than he's accustomed. eliot loves it.
he brings a hand up to brush knuckles against pietro's cheek, dancing his way down along an arm and then pressing on the pulse point of his wrist before knocking his pinky against his and tapping the middle of his palm playfully. }
My kochav? { star. he didn't miss the your star. he can't miss it. fuck, he can't miss that. } You're making me believe the stars aren't actually bullshit. We do make wishes here. I haven't in a long time. I'll think of one. I'll come back here and perhaps I'll bring you something of Fillory. It's strawberry season over there. I usually make it into lemonade when it gets too hot. Summer is coming.
{ he knows there's a shift, one that both of them won't acknowledge right out. suddenly he does not care if it is silly or too raw. he lets it be what it is when he interlaces their fingers together. he leads them out of the shower to the scattered clothes that he bends over to pick up. with them under his arm, him keeps his grip on pietro's hand and leads them further into the bedroom. seeing the rumpled sheets that indicate pietro truly can be self-indulgent when he seeks it makes him yearn to do the same. he does not get it often nowadays.
the story of the stars keeps to the front of his mind and with the bundles of nerves that manifest in his courage boost, he turns to lift their tangled hands and presses a kiss to pietro's knuckles. }
I can stay for another hour, if you want. I also don't want to keep you from a mission. I don't know how the hero thing works.
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[ pietro looks down at their linked fingers and feels the burn of eliot's touch on his cheek, his arm, his wrist. leaving the shower behind means a goodbye he's finally realized he's not quite prepared to make. they make lazy goodbyes usually, all tangled up in bed after a frenzied night of debauchery and alcohol and fucking. but this time he won't wake up aching and pleasantly sore in the same way.
it oddly feels like something deep in his chest is bruising, swelling up from a blow that has not yet come.
yet he follows dutifully, deeper in the bedroom with its bare walls and big windows, his bed rumpled from lazy mornings and afternoons spent napping. his eyes track the delicate rise of his hand to eliot's lips and pietro finds himself dumbstruck, blinking a little dumbly as the other man speaks. ]
Mm. Bring lemonade and I will tell you about these Avengers and their heroes. I am not one of them. The heroes. But I am very fast. [ he is brought on missions to be kept under thumb, so that tony stark and steve rogers can watch him with careful eyes, what with HYDRA nothing but an angry brand on their names. ] But it is not until the morning, so I will take this hour.
[ and maybe he should shove eliot back to the bed, ravish him and leave him all the bites he'd promised before, but instead, he takes the bundle of clothing under eliot's arm, setting the things out on the dresser, smoothing the creases and folds so that he might not look so rumpled when he returns to fillory. only then does he flit his way back to eliot on a little rush of air, snaring himself up in eliot's arms again. ]
Sit down, you are too tall. [ a wrinkled nose and he gives eliot a little nudge to the bed where, once the man has set, pietro climbs up to sit behind him, strong legs bracketing eliot's own, and before his pretty love can protest, he raises his hands up along the man's back, pressing into the tense muscles there, massaging his way up to his shoulders, slow and firm. he does not often get to take care of eliot, not like this. it is usually eliot himself doing the caregiving. ] Maybe I will call you kochav now instead of flower, hm?
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has pietro figured out his game? it's less of a game and more of a ploy.
he likes spending time with pietro, not just as a lover. a friend too. it's this shift that makes him be more lax and honest around him. he follows his eyes to the bed, and he almost has the same thought about ravishing, but it is dashed away by the movement of being settled closer to the bed. his laugh is more full and it easily turns into a little dreamy sigh when he steps back and finds pietro behind him. he finds the end of the bed is comfortable enough and even better when the knots in his shoulders are attended to. it does take him aback that he has to search for his words again.
it's not as if he didn't think pietro wouldn't be capable of the intimacy they sometimes have found is unavoidable, it's just that they haven't slowed down enough. suddenly he wonders how pietro sees his time, knowing everything is beyond slow for him. does eliot ease it? he shakes his head with a fondness edging along his tone. }
You make good bargains. Information for lemonade. You'd be a menace in Fillory, but perhaps I can stand to learn your method. { a pause, then a sweet noise that only indicates getting rid of any tense muscles and just giving way to the relaxation of kneading fingers. } Oh, that feels good.
{ it's just as satisfying as their tumbles into bed. almost domestic in a way he has secretly wanted for a long while. to have it and then have to leave it for a bit, it does not settle well with him. there's a thrum of an ache manifesting under his skin, but he ignores it. it is not its time and he will enjoy the hour he has promised pietro. he lets out another little moan. it's not sexual, just a reaction to the massaging. he reaches down to place his hands on pietro's thighs since he isn't able to look at him. eliot keeps one still, the other making little star patterns as he leans more back. }
Call me what you want if you keep doing that.
{ he's partly joking. he really wouldn't mind hearing pietro call him all sorts of pretty words with his lovely, unfairly pleasing accent. it's also pietro, so... }
I think you are more of star than me, with your core so hot and stubborn enough to keep blinding people with your persistence.
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he's grateful eliot can't see him, what for the blush that even rises up into his ears. he is good with words in a way pietro isn't and he envies it - envies the ability to use the english language so prettily. he wishes he could understand whether it was spider's webs he gazed upon or a safety net - whether eliot's words mean as much as he takes them to mean, or if he's simply imagined it.
he was always told he has an overactive imagination.
but his hands word the tight knots in eliot's shoulders and back, his thumbs sliding down the line of his spine to his lower back, to the dip he knows as well as the sound of his own name by now, and presses in at the tight muscles there, spanning his hips. he dips his head to brush his lips against eliot's shoulder, then nuzzles his neck softly, breathing him in. ]
I could call you many dirty things, then, if I keeping doing this? It is a fair trade. Better than lemonades. [ a little tease, though his voice comes out softer, less coy and sharp like he might when making those quips. but the curve of his smirk presses against eliot's skin all the same. he presses little butterfly kisses to the skin, letting his stubble leave little patches of red in its wake, tilting his head to nose against eliot's nape, against the damp hairs there and he drops another kiss all the while his hands trip their way back up his spine, mapping each notch and ridge and muscle. ]
You do not see how bright you are. You shoot across the sky and do not know what we see down below, but it is a very beautiful sight.
[ he cannot say that he'd be happy to stay by his side, he cannot tell him what miluji tě means, but while eliot cannot see the pink of his cheeks or the seriousness behind his eyes, he can say this much in the leftover haze of the shower. ]
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pietro sometimes gives him that, when reality is as sweet as a dream itself. it's better than the chocolate sunshine and colors of highs he indulges. although he likes getting high or buzzed, he knows that his vices have always been entangled in more than just what they are meant to be. now that he thinks about it, does pietro...? he drinks, yes, but there's something more satisfying in escaping into a sensation of heightened complexities when it's a good one. high off of life has never been his mantra, but at the hands of pietro, he might just have finally found it. }
You already made a slut out of me. What else will you make of me? Maybe I'll also call you dirty things and trade you my secrets. My mother language for yours?
{ my beating heart for yours? he's not done, he's only more compelled and itching to cherish all that pietro gives him. his tone is enraptured in a perpetual sensuality that evens his voice out, projecting a calmness even if there might be a storm in him. the calm actually matches this time around. }
Careful. Your shooting star could just end up crashing into you. I might ruin you.
{ he's glad pietro can't see him or he will see the shift of his face betraying the truth of his honest devotion. when pietro gets low enough down his back, he takes advantage and leans into it, turning his head to land a kiss onto the corner of his mouth. it's what eliot can manage with the way he feels the slight burn of what had been stubble and ghost kisses he'll feel tomorrow to only wish he can have them while waking up next to pietro. }
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[ pietro smiles against eliot's skin at the pressure on his knee, something so simple and intimate in it that makes his skin prickle with goosebumps. they are still naked, yes, sitting sprawled on his bed and somehow it feels far more sensual than their wild meetings in the shower, in the dark of a bedroom, and more.
he scoots back on the bed after eliot's lips brush his, just enough to assist eliot's lean, so that when pietro dips his head to return the sentiment, he's able to take the man's weight into his chest. it's a better kissing angle, too, and he slots his mouth over eliot's in a slow, exploratory kiss, his tongue swiping for entrance to seek another taste of him, to commit the heat of him to memory.
one hand abandons its noble work on eliot's back to slide round his waist, palm resting low on his belly. the other reaches for the fingers over his knee, giving them a soft squeeze. ]
Už jsem zničený, srdíčko. Do you know what this means? [ he presses his lips to the corner of eliot's lips, then his neck, then the rise of a shoulder. ] I think I have already been ruined.
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{ his playful is wrapped in abysmal depths. he’s willing to sprawl here naked and without a need to have just sex. he likes the simplicity more than he intended. eliot wants to uncover all of pietro’s quirks, the habits he’s acquired over the years, his bite in every size, his past and future. he already revels in the present.
his chest rises, seemingly more relaxed when pietro kisses his shoulder. rarely does he allow anyone to capture him, and what are pietro’s arms but a well-adjusted cage to be snug within. eliot could leave it, but he chooses it. those arms alone are the weight he craves. eliot caresses along the hand on his belly, across the knuckles to encourage the hold.
the way he parts his mouth is shameless, pietro’s taste addicting. when eliot has no choice but to be at his whim and wait until he’s in his reach no matter if he turns his head, it’s new. more trusting. he wonders how much more they can inspire within one another.
there’s a crinkle to the corners of his eyes when he smiles. }
Good. { he speaks in hebrew next: Then I will know what gem to keep. his translation comes out modified, but true regardless. } Even gems keep when you cut into them. Desirable, translucent. It’s how I want you to ruin me.
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a selfish part of him wants to keep him like this, to hold him up into his chest and cradle him close. their meetings are so frenetic and playful, that to be this quiet and intimate has shaken pietro. it makes him want to tend to eliot, makes him want to curl their fingers together and twine their bodies so they can just exist an hour more. he gives eliot's abdomen a soft pat, something final in it as he begins to shift behind him. ]
Lie back with me.
[ not a command or demand, but a request as he shifts on the bed, careful not to let eliot's weight betray him and send him falling. pietro takes up one side of the bed himself, huffing as he fusses with the pillows he doesn't use. ironically, the side eliot is already settled on is where he sleeps, the pillows and sheets disheveled from his fitful sleeping. ]
You want me to ruin you? [ his words are soft, a little coy as he turns onto his side to kiss eliot, slow and open mouthed, a hand falling to the bare skin of his chest to rest near his heart. again he chases the spiced taste of this man, the nectarine sweetness, licking into his mouth and humming like a man who has finally broken the surface after a long swim. ]
I can do that, but you will have to let me. [ then, in sokovian: you deserve so much more than me. ] You deserve that much, hm?
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he can appreciate the quality of the bed when he idly follows up, finding a comfortable position. especially in knowing he’s laying on the side pietro often sleeps on. for some reason, accessing more knowledge makes him happier. }
I do. Are you asking me to trust you? Then have me.
{ his fingers curl around pietro’s wrist, bracing an invisible weight that surely is there from his beating heart alone. he kisses back, but ultimately leaves it to pietro to do what he seeks, acting on the trust he so often takes from him when he’s around. eliot has no qualms if he reaches out the most. he likes their chase and spoiling pietro is one of his favorite pastimes. since he knows elaborate gifts won’t impress, most often he is physical with his spoils.
eliot’s mouth is pliant as he catches the hum, making one of his own to match. he then moves from his wrist, tracing along his arm and ends up settling on pietro’s torso, keeping to the dip right before it’ll be his hip. }
Give me what you can. { he nudges his nose to his, kissing between words. his languages switch, still speaking what he wished he could say and being close to it. this time: If I can’t truly have you, then let me possess you when you’re with me. }
I want to taste you through tomorrow, neshama sheli.
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I want you to feel me through tomorrow, too.
[ said on a huff against eliot's mouth, biting at his lips, then his jaw. his free hand leaves eliot's chest, slides down the plane of his side, to his hip, where he rests it as his mouth works its way along his jaw. he's tempted, really, to leave a mark on the underside for everyone to see. a little note that pietro was here all over again, unable to be hidden by clothing. he bites the skin there as a promise he might, before he nips at the soft of his throat. ]
I will spoil you with my mouth first, hm? [ a laugh as he shifts beside eliot, sucking gently at his collarbone, a spot that might thoughtfully be hidden beneath clothes. ]
Or would you like my hands? [ another little laugh, as his free-roaming hand slides to grip eliot's ass, giving it a firm squeeze. ] How is it you said? There are many ways I can service?
[ eliot's words always sound ridiculous on his tongue, never as elegant or smooth and he will envy the man's easy way with everything. he floats through life, and although pietro knows the shadows of the pretty man beneath him, he knows he loves them all the more for the light in him.
A breath, then, in his mother tongue: I want you to know my love for you, in case we do not meet again. ]
Let me take care of you, Kochav. Before you go.
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