If he had the space to think about it, he would have a hard time figuring out exactly how he ended up here, from a day ago. But he doesn't have it in him to think about it, doesn't have anything in him other than watching a fucking beautiful man nearly come to pieces just from being in him.
He lets out a breathless moan when Owain first hits his prostate, his back arching. "Fuck--there--" Every sharp thrust making him curse. He's stroking himself quite a bit faster, now.
"Tell me to do it," He groans, and it sounds far more like he's begging than asking, his free hand gripping the mattress below him. "Fuck-- you won't have to wait long, Owain, just-- tell me-- fuck, tell me to come for you--"
He takes to Poe saying there the same way he would take to an order he's been trained for. He pauses, narrows his hips as he shifts, and when he fucks into Poe again, he aims for that spot. Fucking over it faster, as fast as he dare without losing his mind to this. There's so much strain in his voice when he finds it, quiet and hopeless and trying to sound tough and deep and masculine but just sounding-- boyish, new.
"You gonna do it? You gonna come for me?"
He swallows, adam's apple rising and falling, and he plants another quick kiss to Poe's leg, taking a risk by speeding up even further.
"Then-- do it. Come for me. Do it."
It rolls off of his tongue, without his notice, just slips out--
He wasn't really paying attention to the sounds that every thrust into his prostate were pounding out of him, but anyone within a few doors of their definitely would be able to remember them.
He was already right on the edge, just from Owain saying do it, and he was stroking his own cock almost feverishly, until--
Be a good boy for me.
He was coming before he even fully registered why, groaning out Owain's name - brokenly - as the pleasure exploded within him, his whole body tensing and bucking as he came, hard, coating himself in his own come. It seemed to last a fucking year, and Poe lost all concept of time or anything that Owain was doing, shuddering through every last aftershock.
Owain slams to the hilt and shoots his first rope deep into Poe, but then he's pulling out and jerking off as hard and as fast as he can, shooting the rest of his climax over Poe's body and into his own hand. It's still a pretty fucking huge cumshot, given how many times he's already shot his load today, but it's over far sooner than the last time he was in this bed.
He's literally dizzy when he's done, still saying Poe's name over and over in a desperate sort of haze under his breath just because he's allowed to say it, he's been given that respect. He sways in place for a moment and then gently sets Poe's leg back down, flopping down onto the mattress next to him with a thud and staring up at the ceiling.
He's breathing like he's been running for weeks, parched like he hasn't had water for months, and he just-- stares, until all the energy in his body drains and he can find his words.
Poe didn't have any energy to move his own leg so he just let's Owain set it down and then he lies there, utterly spent, eyes closed as he just focused on his breathing for a while. When Owain finally speaks, Poe's eyes are still closed, but he cracks a half smile and then starts to chuckle, breathlessly.
"... Yeah," he finally agrees after he finds his voice, before using the frankly olympic amount of effort required to turn his head to look at Owain. His expression is nothing but warm, fuzzy, soft, afterglow.
Owain's afterglow only lasts for a moment, but fuck, what a beautiful moment it is. He has enough energy to reach out and tuck some of Poe's hair behind his ear and just-- look at him, stunned into silence, not so much by what they just did but the magnitude of Poe allowing him so much freedom during it. All of that warm, fuzzy, golden comfort in his chest is just-- broken into pieces, the longer he looks at Poe. More and more he's just filled with gratitude, admiration.
Love.
But his face falls, and so does his hand, gently curling away from Poe's hair, down his jawline, settling on his neck. He's not sure how to ask this, so he just-- rushes it.
The sated smile diminished slightly as he watched Owain's fade, but he shook his head to the question.
"No."
He was pretty sure of that.
There was a lot of reasons why what he had just done was probably a terrible idea - if not an outright immoral one - but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. It had been impulsive, sure, but it had... felt right. In the moment.
And it still felt right, now.
He shifted, turning onto his shoulder and shifting a little closer, to take a feather-light kiss from Owain's lips.
"No," he repeated in a low murmur, before pulling back to meet Owain's eyes. "You?"
His heart flutters, and he shuts his eyes into the kiss, only slowly drawing them open when Poe repeats his answer. He swallows, shakes his head almost imperceptibly.
"No." He finds Poe's hand and holds it in his own, and--
And it's not true. Not really. Nine years of training are hitting him like a freight train, thoughts are piling on top of each other, all of them calling him disgusting and shameful and a disappointment to his ancestry.
He can compartmentalize it. He squeezes Poe's hand, treating it like an anchor.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He lets out a breathless moan when Owain first hits his prostate, his back arching. "Fuck--there--" Every sharp thrust making him curse. He's stroking himself quite a bit faster, now.
"Tell me to do it," He groans, and it sounds far more like he's begging than asking, his free hand gripping the mattress below him. "Fuck-- you won't have to wait long, Owain, just-- tell me-- fuck, tell me to come for you--"
no subject
"You gonna do it? You gonna come for me?"
He swallows, adam's apple rising and falling, and he plants another quick kiss to Poe's leg, taking a risk by speeding up even further.
"Then-- do it. Come for me. Do it."
It rolls off of his tongue, without his notice, just slips out--
"Be a good boy for me."
no subject
He was already right on the edge, just from Owain saying do it, and he was stroking his own cock almost feverishly, until--
Be a good boy for me.
He was coming before he even fully registered why, groaning out Owain's name - brokenly - as the pleasure exploded within him, his whole body tensing and bucking as he came, hard, coating himself in his own come. It seemed to last a fucking year, and Poe lost all concept of time or anything that Owain was doing, shuddering through every last aftershock.
no subject
He's literally dizzy when he's done, still saying Poe's name over and over in a desperate sort of haze under his breath just because he's allowed to say it, he's been given that respect. He sways in place for a moment and then gently sets Poe's leg back down, flopping down onto the mattress next to him with a thud and staring up at the ceiling.
He's breathing like he's been running for weeks, parched like he hasn't had water for months, and he just-- stares, until all the energy in his body drains and he can find his words.
"Fffffuuuuuuuccccccccckkkkkk."
Good words.
no subject
"... Yeah," he finally agrees after he finds his voice, before using the frankly olympic amount of effort required to turn his head to look at Owain. His expression is nothing but warm, fuzzy, soft, afterglow.
"... Hey."
no subject
Love.
But his face falls, and so does his hand, gently curling away from Poe's hair, down his jawline, settling on his neck. He's not sure how to ask this, so he just-- rushes it.
"Regrets?"
no subject
"No."
He was pretty sure of that.
There was a lot of reasons why what he had just done was probably a terrible idea - if not an outright immoral one - but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. It had been impulsive, sure, but it had... felt right. In the moment.
And it still felt right, now.
He shifted, turning onto his shoulder and shifting a little closer, to take a feather-light kiss from Owain's lips.
"No," he repeated in a low murmur, before pulling back to meet Owain's eyes. "You?"
no subject
"No." He finds Poe's hand and holds it in his own, and--
And it's not true. Not really. Nine years of training are hitting him like a freight train, thoughts are piling on top of each other, all of them calling him disgusting and shameful and a disappointment to his ancestry.
He can compartmentalize it. He squeezes Poe's hand, treating it like an anchor.
"No."