Odin (Owain) | Fire Emblem (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shadowglitter) wrote2017-09-04 05:02 pm
shadowglitter) wrote2017-09-04 05:02 pm
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INBOX
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I only drink Chocolate Milk. THE DARKEST OF MILKS!
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INBOX
text / audio / video / action
I only drink Chocolate Milk. THE DARKEST OF MILKS!
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do this
if you want
Like if you want me to keep licking or... talk about what Iβd do with my hands here?
What to touch. like.
stuff
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Still sticking with that? Sticking with oreo? Keeping that thin veil between overt sexuality and standard, regular conversation going strong?
Okay. Um.
So, like.
Okay. Fine. You do this thing - where you drag your tongue over the cream really slowly? From the...
What's a non-dick way to say base to tip?
Sorry. Uh.
Just, like, you drag your tongue. Slowly. And. Every time I watch that, it gets to me. So. That, obviously.
And your hands - just - touching. I don't know.
It's hard to say "sometimes I like to imagine your fingers slowly curling into a fist around something" when that something is supposed to be a cookie. Instead of, you know. What it. Usually. Is. In my head.
Oh my god.
This is stupid? I'm stupid and ruining everything.
Uh.
Okay. You. Would. Be.
Gentle.
With your hands.
And.
I would be firmer. Than that.
With mine.
On the completely innocent cookie that isn't a metaphor.
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so right i have the oreo in my hand. still. like, curling my fingers around the edges of it or whatever - giving a pull. to get the... y'know, creme out. that sounds like though. it's harder to make cookies sexual when you're like, thinking about it? whatever. i uh, am i kneeling doing this or something else? paint that picture so i know my angles here.
but i'd start at the bottom of this - cookie. (hah. cockie?) and do what you like, a slow... drag of my tongue from base to tip. and then around the tip before putting it in my mouth. to suck on it just... as slow?
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[ okay, wait, nervous. nervous and flustered. fuck, okay, fuck. focus. ]
Okay.
Okay.
You're on your knees. My hand's in your hair, fingertips gently scratching through your scalp. Is that reassuring and hot or kind of weird? Scalp's a weird word and I don't want to kill the... mood. Scalp. Scalp. Hold on, let me try again.
You're on your knees. In front of me. I'm on the edge of my bed. And, um, you're doing that to the oreo, and. Woah! Feels great. Nice one.
Um, I'm guiding you a little? Easy tugs on your hair and reassuring strokes and stuff. And...
Eye contact. You're making me feel fucking amazing and I want you to see every bite of my lip and hard breath I take. Because. I'm looking at you and thinking, fuck, he looks perfect like this. I love seeing him like this. Fuck, that's Peter and he's perfect. Kinda thing.
oreos.
1/
this is the first time ive done this seriously
i will kill you?
2/
im not saying oreo anymore
/3 that was it oops
anyway RESUMING with a RECAP:
i am on my knees and you're like, on the bed. sitting at the edge and this is after i parted your legs for a space to sink down into. when my hands aren't like on your NOT COOKIe but in fact cock because we're Adults who can sext and like. real talk i don't know how to legit give a blowjob but like, experimenting here. you're understanding. i'm going slow. and when my hands aren't helping, they're holding on to your hip or squeezing down your thigh.
[Is it weird he's walking through this as if Odin were a chick, making edits where applicable just to feel a little more experienced here? Probably. But it's helping. There are some things he knows a little more about.]
its pretty established i like your hands in my hair, especially if you... pull? i uh, yeah. like that. you can direct me to... do things more - forcefully if you want
1/3
You're still here, I ask? I laugh, callously, as I shoo you from the room.
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Sorry.
I'm still kind of nervous.
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I stare at my phone a little dry mouthed, rereading the part where my boyfriend says he likes getting his hair pulled, because that's maybe the hottest thing he's said to me maybe ever? And, um, I lay down on the bed and shift a little to be more comfortable, and then I realize I'm just narrating my real life instead of sexting, so I slip seamlessly back into character as I clear my throat and try not to be blatantly weird or tell you when I start jerking off or whatever.
Um, so.
Even though I'm forceful, like, I'm gentle about it? At first? Because I'm nice and I'm testing your limits rather than choking you on my dick even though I think you'd probably be into that. I'll, like, gently pull you back down on my dong, and like, be like oh shit, the aching length of my dragon's staff remains as turgid and agreeable to this as ever, I love it.
And then.
I guess, okay. If you're okay with it, I'll like, guide? My cock? Into your face. Mouth. More. And I'm all like, yeah, take it. In like a hot way. Breathing in a hot way. I'm really hot in general and you're like, shit, what a hot guy, and I'm like I think you're a hot guy, actually, and then that makes you feel appreciated.
Good? Bad?
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is it weird to ask that am i deviating fro mthe narrative here
PETER MAXIMOFF awkwardly asks you if you are TURNED ON by the events of this chat and if he's supposed to CONTINUE SEXTING AWKWARDLY because he too is nervous.
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What if you don't like what I like? What if we stumble upon this huge sexual incompatibility between us that drives a wedge even further into your own already unsteady sense of self-exploration? I know there are things I've done that you like and things about me you like but what if we find something you don't like and it snowballs into this whole big thing where you end up saying "it turns out I don't like dudes at all" and you break up with me and I get so upset that I set my house on fire and kill both Lucina and Leo because I forgot they were inside and then I go to jail and live alone in a friendless familyless boyfriendless world? What if that happens.
[ typing, backspace, typing, backspace ]
I was hard as fuck until I started thinking about my family dying, if that's anything.
Like, maybe harder than I've ever been?
But then I talked about my family dying.
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(also if ur into snowballing and that's like, a segue with witty wording or smthng just let me know)
and like. okay. so i worried about realizing im not into dudes too but you made me hard, dude. that pretty much defines "into dudes" if you can and currently are making me physically uncomfortable with a boner as i lay alone in a dog trailer, texting you 100% comfortable cybering giving u a blowjob
you dont need to worry
i like you
a lot
i just sort of worry that maybe im not fast enough at this or like you know, good? at it? you probably got great bjs before and im like. shit. im gonna end up gagging on your dick one day and that's terrifying but y'know - if i love you i gotta do shit that makes me cringe and get thru it anyway so dont get hung up on . . . i t o kay
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[ there's a lot that he could say. reassurances, expressions of gratitude. promises that things will come easier to them as they stumble through this together. he shifts in bed and types a few things, only to backspace them away. he takes a breath.
he takes another breath.
okay. ]
Okay.
You're by the foot of the bed. I'm right on the edge of the mattress, one hand curled in the sheets, the other locked in your hair, brushing soft, smooth strokes through it but ready to grab tight at any moment. You're sucking my cock, your tongue fucking dragging over the tip, and my whole body is just tense. My breathing is coming in these short, ragged pauses, all that pressure and all that heat scrambling my brain. I can't focus on anything but you.
You're jerking off for me. There, on your knees, looking up at me as you blow me. I think you're fucking beautiful and I lean down, pulling you off my dick to close the distance between our lips, and - and it's, um. Great. It's a good kiss. Rough. And. Like, you like it. And.
Uh.
Fuck.
Hey.
You can say no. But.
Do you wanna come up to my room?
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And exciting. ] i think I would. i can.
iβll come up right now.
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Okay.
Okay, cool. Another hurdle of emotional insecurity cleared with grace by the ever-attentive and perfect boyfriend, Odin Dark. Suck it, literally every other relationship anyone has ever had. I got this shit down pat.
[ he sends like five different laughing emojis and then puts his hands over his face, embarrassed. stupid. stupid. stupid idiot. okay.
They might not have a lot of time to... see each other, given that Odin's supposed to be working and his break's only going to last as long as his bribe does, but. Fuck, Odin doesn't even know what they're-- what they might do, he just-- there's been months of buildup to this, a slow and steady climb of increasing physical intimacy since space, and now that they're both in a place where looking at each other provokes-- more of that? It's hard for him to stop fixating on the doubts and the reasons why Peter wouldn't actually be interested in him, once they started doing anything, but he just...
He'll be sitting on his bed, standing up as fast as he can once Peter shows up. Just him in some dumb gothic suit, hair a mess as it always is, leg bouncing nervously. The door's unlocked, but once he calls Peter in, he nods for him to lock it. ]
Um.
[ a wave. hey. what's up. ]
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For a moment he leans back against it, hand still on the doorknob as he clicks the lock.] Hey.
[This got real. Again. While Odin looks put together, Peter still feels a bit out of place when stuck in a suit. At Debra's wicked order he's been seeing his casual clothes go missing more and more, until he's been left with the demands to dress accordingly or never see his band tees again. So here he is, suit jacket folded over one arm and crisp white dress shirt feeling like it's going to suffocate him.
Oh, no. That's just nerves.
They could do that thing again where they just stare at each other from opposing ends of the room, but right now Peter... feels drawn to Odin. So after a silent pause he starts to walk toward his boyfriend, dropping his suit jacket onto the bed blindly and standing in front of him. Close. So close.
His breath feels thick. He looks to meet Odin's eye.] Well?
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That well? hits Odin like the fist of an angry God, and it's the only thing that snaps him out of what he's doing. Staring at the way Peter's hand lingers on his jacket as he drops it on the bed, staring at the way that shirt fits him so perfectly, staring at the way he walks... Odin's mouth is dry, but he tries to wet his lips regardless, and he-- panics, just a little. What if this is too soon? What if he's asking for too much, or-- or if he won't be what Peter's hoping he'll be? The same old anxieties start to build up in his chest, until-- until--
Actually, hey, here's a thought?
Fuck this.
He grabs his boyfriend by the collar and pulls him up into a kiss, nose pressed uncomfortably to Peter's cheek as he catches at his bottom lip to urge him into this. He swipes carefully at his tongue with his own and the fists curled in Peter's shirt tremble with nerves, but he pushes through it, the kiss rough and careless and aggressive, almost hard enough to bruise. He pulls his lower arm around Peter's waist, the other settling on the side of his neck, and when he tugs the Unknowing Cookie Slut(tm) closer to feel the weight of his body against his own, he doesn't hide how hard he is, his cock grinding a shallow drag against his thigh.
He pulls back, an uneven pink flush around his lips, but he keeps Peter held close. ]
Um, hey. S-so. I thought-- if you were comfortable with it, we could-- like-- wait.
[ Wait, fuck. He takes a breath. Tries again, lowering his voice an octave or too. Keep the mood going. ]
... So. You gonna be the one to get on your knees... or am I? (Nailed it.)
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But instead he gasps in a breath, blinking open his eyes to look at Odin when he slips words back in between them for a breather. He listens, attentive if not a slight bit glassy eyed from brewing lust and at first he doesn't answer. He just slips his fingers under Odin's tie, pulling it free from the waistcoat and tugging it taut toward him.]
If we pick up where we left off? I think I remember you being on the bed. [He punctuates that sentence by placing one hand on Odin's shoulder, pushing him back down towards the bed him while also giving him a downward pull of the tie. He can feel his heart inching its way back up his throat and it's part of why he needs to act before he loses his edge. He leans over Odin, meeting gaze with him.]
Do you want me on my knees?
[He slips his palm up the center of Odin's chest, loosening his tie.] Or do you want a little bit of plot deviation? I'll give you some time to consider.
[Peter lets his tie hang loosely through his collar, working on unfastening the buttons of that next after opening the front of his waistcoat. While he does this he sinks to one knee, all the better to facilitate dipping in to kiss at the bared skin of Odin's throat and work his way down his chest as he pulls open his shirt. He thought he might have more reservations about this but he doesn't, not with how much he gets out of the harsh nips and bites he makes against Odin's neck - decidedly beneath the collar after a moment of mindless hickey-making. He does have a twist in his gut at the thought of blowing his boyfriend but - that's nerves, a sense of the unknown. This sort of buildup he at least can tackle with gusto.]
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Speechlessness never quite suited him, but here, an inch away from Peter with wide eyes and flushed skin, it's all he has. He looks straight up stunned by every word that rolls from his boyfriend's lips, and barring the bare twitch of a smile that hits him when Peter asks if he wants him on his knees, he just looks amazed that someone he's so god damn into would actually him like this. Amazed that Peter even knows how to talk like this. ]
I-- ah.
[ He's on the bed, and Peter's hand is rising up his chest, and that stupid, stunned, stupid, stupid horniness slips from his expression. He darkens, clouded by a lust that's more primal, more needy, and the second Peter drops to one knee, Odin makes an involuntary, deep grunt from somewhere at the back of his throat. He lets Peter bite him, doesn't even care about the marks they might leave for the cameras, every new splash of pink pulling throaty, rolling moans out of him - but he tries to speak through it, even if words are kind of impossibly hard to focus on right now. ]
I... want.
[ Odin takes a breath, straightening his back, looking down at Peter. He takes a second to collect himself, his cock achingly hard and tenting his suit, and he slowly brushes his fingers through his boyfriend's hair, tucking loose strands behind his ear. ]
I... want... you. I want you on your knees. I want to see the kind of face you'll make when you're sucking my cock. [ His grip in Peter's hair tightens, and he tugs - not enough to hurt, barely enough for him to feel it, but a sign, maybe, of things to come. ] I want to hear the sounds you'll make when I'm pulling on your hair. Making you mine.
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Alright. [The word slips past his lips as eager as he suddenly feels, sinking to both knees with a nudge to Odin's leg to part wider to allow him further in. He can see Odin's cock through his pants and he feels that hot ebbing tension in his own pants at the thought he could rile him up this way, a playful enjoyment that this is happening.
Peter leans in again, pressing his lips back to Odin's stomach and trailing his kisses lower before his hands slide up his thighs toward his belt. Peter feels a bit of nervousness in fumbling to undo it, channeling his anxiety into drags of his teeth against Odin's stomach and hard sucks against the skin most especially when he unzips his pants.
Easy, Peter. You got this.] Tell me...
[His voice is low again, thick with heavy breaths and a slickness as he drags his tongue around Odin's navel as his hands pull his pants lower on his hips. And then, so simply, he slips his hand in to pull out his cock with a tentative touch that quickly regains faux but convincing assertiveness. Fake it 'til you make it, Maximoff. Ignore the beating of your heart and the dire, dire fear that you will fuck this up - and look up.
He looks up to catch Odin's eye, fingers curling around his cock and giving it a slow pull towards him.] Tell me more things you want. That I can do.
[Things like what Peter does next, after taking a deep breath. He drags his tongue over the length of Odin's cock, brow furrowing in an anxious way - his brain won't shut up about how he hasn't done this before and how he most definitely wasn't prepared for it. But that's the allure, in a way, it's a sense of vulnerability that grounds him to the moment and makes his flickering glances upward connect him with Odin on a deeper level. All he wants to hear is a noise of approval, it's all that will assure him that he's doing... any of this right.]
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Peter reacts to the tug to his hair and Odin's cock throbs in his clothes. He's stunned, almost, by just how receptive Peter is to all of this, and when he falls to his knees Odin steels himself and spreads his legs in slow, stopping motions, nerves in his stomach convincing him that Peter's about to laugh, say he's kidding and leave. But he doesn't - he kisses down Odin's skin and his body reacts to the touch; he flexes his abs, muscles tightening, everything tensing, and he breathes a sharp intake of air through his nose.
Electricity floods through his system with each touch to his thigh, and once Peter actually sinks his fingers beneath his belt, Odin takes his hand from his hair to grip tighter onto the edge of the mattress. He raises his hips to help Peter pull his pants lower, but it takes effort and too much time to do it, because he's-- terrified, still, equal parts terrified and excited, and all his reactions are coming too slowly, all clear thought lost in the overwhelming need for this.
Peter's hand touches bare flesh without enough warnings, fingers curling around his cock and exposing it to the air, and he looks up and Odin feels like that could be enough to make him blow right there. ]
Holy-- holy shit--
[ He's instantly affected, instantly red, peering down at Peter from behind his other hand, which he brings to his face and shields himself with. He peers through gaps in his fingers as the heat that hits his cheeks burns his palm, and fuck, it only gets worse. Peter drags his tongue and it looks so fucking different to how he always imagined it would, and that alone is enough to make him moan, far too loud and so capable of being overheard by anyone who passes the door to his bedroom.
He sinks his teeth into his knuckle to keep himself quiet, but he keeps his eyes on Peter, watching everything he's doing. There's a bead of pre already gathering at his tip, and he feels-- embarrassed, nervous, a fluttering in his stomach that's never really been there before when he's done something like this with a person. He leaves indentations in the skin of his finger when he bites down, and only when he feels like he might make himself bleed does he actually let go.
Fuck, fuck, okay. The hand he'd screwed up in the mattress brushes through Peter's hair again, smoothing it from his eyes and holding it back so Odin can really see him. ]
You're doing good. Fuck, you're-- you're doing good. Just keep doing what... feels... what feels like something you can do. [ There's a nod, a shaky attempt at being reassuring instead of just stupidly dopey from dumb teenager-esque horniness, but-- he tightens his grip in Peter's hair, running his thumb in a smooth stroke over his forehead.
He's already said the words, but straight up saying I want you to suck my cock is a bit too much for him now that he's actually being touched, and he doesn't want to voice that, doesn't want to lock Peter into taking him in if he's still not ready. He's not rough, he's not ready to be rough, but he tugs Peter's hair in a way that's firm and a little too eager, too urging. He guides Peter up until his lips are closer to the head of his cock, and he tries to speak a few times, voice dying with soundless cracks every attempt. ]
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When he slips forward to try and find a rhythm to a motion he's wholly unfamiliar with, his knees dig into the carpet and he grunts as he shifts his weight to stay comfortable. The only thing going through his head besides a gentle disbelief that this is his reality right now - is the desire to not choke which results in more sucking than bobbing of his head. He does gradually take in a little more, easing back when he feels a nervous twinge at the back of his throat or the need to suck in a deeper breath. He has no grasp of how good or bad he's doing aside from the noises out of Odin's mouth, the more audible of which make his own dick throb to hear.
He feels sloppy and it seems appropriate, somehow, remembering equally messy kisses on Christmas and how he wouldn't have ever figured this is where his life would be in a few month's time. Sucking Odin's cock with spit on his chin while wearing a really fucking goddamn tight suit. His hand applies a bit more pressure, pumping in sync with the motions of his head as best he can align it.]
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He rests both of his hands in Peter's hair, and he's not quite holding him in place, but the warm pressure of his open hands is there against his skull, brush throughs of his fingertips reassuring him and wordlessly telling him he's doing good. Odin's knees are shaking a little and he keeps finding his hips rising off the bed, and soon he has to shut one eye to focus all his energy into staying still and letting Peter have control here - this is his first time, and Odin wants to let him be exploratory, figure out what he likes, figure out if he even likes this.
Peter sucks hard and it hits too sensitive a nerve, and Odin grunts louder than he has so far. He bites down on his lip and it cuts open, the tiniest pinpoint of blood beading just off-center, and with a quiet fuck he raises his thumb to his mouth to wipe it away. His other fist grips onto Peter just that fraction tighter, and he's not as gentle as he should be, as gentle as he wants to be, as he pulls him up off his cock--
He cranes Peter's neck back with one decisive tug that exposes his throat, pulling his hair as hard as he thinks he's allowed, and he leans down, dragging his teeth over sensitive flesh, lips to skin. He leaves a bit of a mark on Peter's throat, a rash of pink that might darken as time goes on, a miniscule dot of Odin's blood mixed in with the hickey he gave him. He scoots forward on the edge of the bed and spreads his legs a little wiser as he sits up straight again, laughing nervously as he rubs at his eye. ]
Fuck. Sorry. You just looked-- I couldn't help it. You should see how good you look from here.
... Though, ah. After this-- um. You're gonna see how good I look on my knees, at least. If you're okay with that. [ He pauses. ] Spoilers? Very good. I look very good. Always. In every situation. This one especially, though. The one where I'll-- blow you next. If you want.
[ nailed it. ]
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However he's at an impasse when it comes to what he wants to do when Odin's hips shift, because he knows they do - he feels them under his palm and he can tell just how he's holding back. Peter's partly relieved, because he's not sure he's ready to encourage him on, but for a moment he considers it. If only he had a little more certainty over his gag reflex?
None of that matters when Odin pulls him back by the hair, the sharpness of the gesture sparking a reaction not unlike that of when he's pulled him around by the tie - Peter groans, breathing shallow with a flush of color on his face. His hand lifts instinctively to reach for Odin's wrist but changes course, cupping his neck while he's close and while his mouth is on his throat, before slipping away once he sits back. He reaches back down for Odin's cock, almost - annoyed by the disruption.
But this is fine - he sucks in a shaky breath, heat of his face not making him shy but eager to continue. So is the - suggestion of what will come next, to which he nods. Or tries to. He thinks about wiping at the slick sheen of drool on his chin but doesn't, licking at his upper lip absently instead.] Yeah? Yeah. Okay.
[He swallows hard, momentarily distracted by the thought of Odin blowing him before:]
Can I finish you off now? [That impatience from before comes from a stubbornness - he's not going to have come this far not to make Odin come. It's a desire to do good and well, he wouldn't mind being able to get off soon after as well - it'd be a better option over blowing load in his pants. Which are too tight to ignore now, and so he clumsily loosens his belt and tries to alleviate a little stress by undoing the zipper.
He meets Odin's eye, as if waiting to dip back down.] I want to. That okay?
[He gives Odin's cock a pull for emphasis, but lifts his other hand to untuck his tie from its clip and without breaking eye-contact, Peter holds it up toward Odin. He hopes the message comes across clear as day for what he'd like his boyfriend to do, what he's offering him the power to do, a flicker of vulnerability behind brown eyes twisted deeply into trust.]
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