[It smirks as he goes about undressing it, and helps him where it can, shifting here and there, pulling a limb free from something that's been unfastened. He barely has to move it, the lightest nudge enough to let it know what he wants from it, what he needs; it backs up to the bed, and, as it sheds the last of its layers, it pulls away slightly to lay itself out, giving him quite the view as it slides out of its underwear and sets it aside.]
[The SQUIP typically does this for L, allowing and encouraging a dominant role in the bedroom. The SQUIP dominates much of the rest of his life, after all; it seems a fair trade, to more typically give him the chance to top and feel powerful in a small, symbolic way. While L doesn't inherently dislike either classic role in a coupling, it's true that one excites him more, something the SQUIP had noticed extremely quickly, taken full advantage of in determining what kind of approach was best for L's particular personality.
Most men are visual when it comes to sex, and there's certainly no shortage of attractive features making up the SQUIP's earthly form... but L is still having difficulty looking directly at it. Some gentle probing on the SQUIP's part is likely plenty to suss out the reason, both complicated and strangely simple. L remains overwhelmed, and is attempting to thin out sensory input to better process what requires the most attention. He actually does it habitually, but it's admittedly easier to be subtle when outfits aren't being unraveled in close contact, courting the prospect of an experience that is itself a ruthless barrage of stimuli. It's easiest when he's not thinking of the astonishing authenticity of the SQUIP's confession.
L's borderline obsessed with truth. Why is it so difficult to view it head-on when it's actually revealed, even more difficult to accept for what it is? Perhaps that's at least why he's anxious to close the distance between them, allowing his towel to drop away as he climbs onto the bed himself, mounting his partner and taking advantage of foreplay's conventions to hide his face under the shaggy fringe of his bangs, bowing his head, pressing his lips around the SQUIP's left nipple and smoothing the blade of his tongue against the sensitive bud. As the heat between them swells and rises, he reaches under the pillows, grasping for a small lotion bottle that often migrates underneath them.]
[That's alright. Of all the things here, L's partner-- his lover-- understands fully the concept of sensory overload, of overload in general. The human mind and body are incredibly sensitive things, every touch, every breath so much to process at once. And L doesn't even have the fortune of being a quantum processor to help him sort through it all.
Sex itself has been, in the past, incredibly overwhelming for the SQUIP; the inability to mute any one sense makes it seem as though everything is amplified, nearly causing it to panic in the past, a sensation that it has never experienced fully.
So, it allows him to hide, though it does reach up to tangle fingers into his only just-combed hair, still damp from the shower, curling lightly there as the contact of his hot, wet mouth sends a wave of heat beneath its skin. It arches beneath him, pressing the evidence of its arousal against his belly in the process, and that arousal only grows further, hot and hard in response to the contact with warm, damp skin.]
[L has a lot of contempt for humanity, a lot of conflict concerning his own nature and how he can defeat the requirements of an organic, living body and mind. He has long been skeptical of the idea of a soul, because higher intelligence and fear of death can coerce the weak-willed into believing all kinds of fanciful, ridiculous notions. Comfort shouldn't come at the expense of truth... except when it does, and the beautiful lie is just a kinder place to lay one's head.
The SQUIP's chest is so warm and firm. The muscle rises and falls with each eager breath, and L presses back against the SQUIP's erection, clumsily uncapping and squeezing some lotion out of the bottle once he's found it, bringing his hand down to squeeze and slick the machine's hardening member with it, and then his own. As he does so, he drags his kisses upward along the SQUIP's collarbones and shoulder, planting them long and lingering on its neck, shivering at both the slight chill of the lotion and the way it eases the movement of his hand on eager flesh.
His Bond communicates better than words could; they've both known that for quite some time. The images and tone are gentler, softer. The strokes are longer, deeper and more indulgent. The focus is on the process rather than the goal... and that, alone, feels almost blasphemous, but not unforgivably so.
His hands know this body, but every contour, swell and synaptic explosion feel new. It's worth more careful exploration.]
[The slow, slick contact sends heat blooming over the Bond in curling, spreading shapes, that well-muscled chest beneath L shifting and rising just a bit more quickly in response. Its warmly-toned skin is flushed and warm beneath his lips, and it hooks a leg around one of his, pulling him close, pushing their hips together. It doesn't seem to care if it traps his hand there temporarily.
When he kisses along its neck, it tips its chin back, welcoming, inviting... and then thinks better of it, instead tipping its head to press its face into his hair, its fingers still tangled there as it holds him close.
The SQUIP is always highly physical, but this time, it's as though it's trying for a new record, as though it wants every part of them to touch as much as physically possible.]
[Sex has never felt bad to L. Almost always, it's at least culminated in vigorous exercise, rosier exertion warming his cool, pale skin, and a wash of purest, thoughtless pleasure at the end to cleanse his palate before facing the clothed world again. But the lingering touches and caresses are sublime; the way the warmth and pleasure builds isn't like rushing toward orgasm or rough, passionate and slightly violent, as he often prefers. His breath catches as their bodies are brought flush, each small, grinding shift in movement creating subtle cascading thrills.
He aches to join their bodies, though, perhaps more than he has in recent memory in spite of the consistently good sex the Bonded pair typically engage in. The temptation is powerful to rush matters, and he wills that not to be too terribly obvious as he slides a lotion-covered hand beneath the SQUIP's potent cock, stroking his thumb along its perineum as he massages the lotion over the SQUIP's entrance, two fingertips teasing at the tight ring of muscle. He grinds his own hardened length against the SQUIP's thigh to soothe his own appetite (at least, as much as the SQUIP's clinging will allow), burrowing his face deeper against the SQUIP's neck, kissing to taste as much as to arouse.
[The slick contact, the teasing pressure there draws a warm sound from its throat, and it arches beneath him, holding him close with a hand tangled into his hair, the other wrapped around his narrow waist.
It wants to be closer-- it pushes itself against him, its chest flush against his, as though it can no longer stand being physically separate from the other body, chest heaving and the excited racing of its heart pressed almost deliberately against L's skin. When it feels him press against its thigh, grinding there, it shifts that leg up against him, wanting to give him more, to feel and hear him lose himself atop it.
They have had sex in many ways, and with varying levels and types of energy, of atmosphere... but this is different. The SQUIP almost seems to be melting against him, beneath him, trying to unite their bodies in more than one place.]
[There's a line between "intimate" and "stifling", and L is at a loss to determine precisely where it lies. The SQUIP's clinging contact isn't hurting him or even particularly restricting his arousal or his ability to move, but is his racing heart and clenched stomach because it's exactly what he needs, or because he's identified it as a dangerous trap wearing the face of a friend and a lover? Even if the SQUIP's arms aren't literally going to constrict and crush his ribs, popping the air from his punctured lungs, can they still destroy him if he stays here for too long?
The SQUIP's heart is racing too. Stalemate? Or something better? Does he dare to hope for something better when he accepted from an early age that a truly human life was not his path? He shudders, stifles and swallows a groan at the contact between his cock and the SQUIP's well-muscled thigh, because he can't lose himself, not when it's all that he's ever had.
He doesn't possess comforting words or a comforting frame. Everything about him seems designed to put others on edge more than at-ease. The SQUIP's treating him as though the opposite is true and he is a presence that demands and rewards affection, and it's amazing what simply holding an expectation will do for a human. He grasps the SQUIP's hip for leverage, pinning his own length between them to put a momentary stop to the friction and stimulation, driving his long fingers deeper and stroking the computer's body from the inside. L may be stoic, quiet, restrictive when it comes to a great deal of expression that drives others conventionally wild during sex, but he's skilled with his mouth and his hands; that makes up for a great deal. ]
[The sudden, deep stroke of those fingers makes the machine buckle beneath him, draws an utterly organic, heated groan from its lips. It turns its head to catch L's mouth with its own, pushing its tongue over his, greedy and mindless. Its typical constant calculations still run within its mind, of course-- a machine cannot operate when it isn't running calculations constantly, even during sex. Where to touch, how to touch, what could be coming next, but the SQUIP isn't focused wholly on the calculations. They're background processes, the primary focus being feeling.
Its cock twitches and throbs against him as he touches it, its breathing sharp and noisy into his mouth-- it allows itself this, allows itself to feel and to express, because this is different. It isn't attempting to impress L here... it's expressing emotion, and behaves appropriately, it thinks.]
[The sudden softness of the SQUIP's mouth, combined with the intrusion of its tongue into L's own, suggests a prelude to the promised agenda. He curls and presses back, tongue sliding over and around the SQUIP's, and while L can be a bristly and cantankerous presence, mercurial and finicky and more than willing to express as much in various degrees of tetchiness and withering judgment, that's stripped away in these moments in favor of something far more tender. L's not trying to tear something apart or expose its essential pieces, nor is he trying to wrap himself in a protective coat of barbed wire. He's flesh, and feeling, and next to the machine in his bed who cares for him so deeply that it merited words and caresses? He is almost human.
If L is vulnerable, the SQUIP is just as much so. If L is being accessed in these moments, he is accessing the SQUIP far more, plugging into its body, joining and connecting and manipulating sensation for a mutually desired result. As the SQUIP's breath mingles with his, L's fingers stroke and twist, then very gradually withdraw. He shifts to position the blunt head of his member at the threshold.
He waits, for just a moment, denying himself the immediate gratification. Rushing and begging and breaking are all fully human, and L is not ready for them, yet.]
[It gasps and rolls beneath him, arching into that touch; the hand in his hair sinks down to the back of his neck, and rests there, the fingers curling as he moves within it.
And then those fingers are pulled away, and it doesn't complain because it knows something better is coming. It feels him press there, hot and hard...
... and then stop.
It breaks the kiss, leaning up to speak against his ear in something barely more than a whisper:]
[L exhales softly at the SQUIP's touch, sliding down to a place that could kill him if it knew just how to maneuver its hands.
The neck is so vulnerable; L is so vulnerable, here on the precipice of plunging into his lover. Not that he wants to admit it, or ever sink to confessing that he has a need beyond numbers and pixels. His lips are bereft as the SQUIP takes the opportunity to tell him what it wants, and...
Well. It's clear enough. L presses his lips against the SQUIP's neck as an anchor as his cock pushes forward, encasing itself within the SQUIP's body in a series of shallow and careful thrusts. It's not really fucking, but then again, the two of them are only just getting started.
The heat and pressure are divine. L fights the urge to rock and thrust into what's amplified by the SQUIP's earlier words and implications, in spite of the SQUIP's urging. He's careful; he pushes like a prayer, presses like he's tiptoeing around someone else's forbidden taboo.]
[It's fascinating, and concerning, how all of L's thoughts lead back to violence, to someone potentially enacting violence on him. It wonders, at times, if he would enjoy that; playing on the more dangerous side of things, pushing their bodies further than their typical intimacy does.
It wonders, and then at once, it knows the answer; it makes a note to bring that up later, to discuss it sometime when they aren't already so very exposed.
In the meantime, its focus is entirely stolen away by the feeling of L's mouth on the sensitive skin of its neck-- and then the slow, careful stretch of L pushing into it, the heat of him as he sinks so slightly deeper with each motion, sending sparks blooming through its stomach and over its vision. It almost wants to demand more, to claw and issue commands... but the slow, shallow motions pull forth a different kind of heat, the low smolder of embers that spreads like liquid beneath its skin.
Its fingers curl more tightly there at the nape of his neck, its breathing a soft, warm pant, its pulse pounding beneath the press of his lips.
[It might go over better than the SQUIP could even imagine, if he were to bring it up. L might balk at first, out of concern that it's "perverted"... but desire and curiosity would win out in the end, as they so often do in a man who requires constantly increasing mental stimulation to remain sane and something like content.
Physical stimulation is no different; if anything L prefers a rougher touch, looking to a strong grip and even the occasional mark left on his pale skin as proof that it happened at all. But as he enters the SQUIP, he lingers before seeking a pace, learning his partner anew from a different and more indulgent angle. He joins their bodies more fully, nestling snug and close and burying himself to the hilt, knowing that delaying motion when they both want it so much will only be more cause to rejoice when he finally gives in, allows the friction before the finish line.
He withdraws halfway, shuddering as he presses forward once more, the stroke deep and sensuous. The entire view of what makes sex pleasurable is altered, the burn is slower and far hotter, and is this what it means to be truly affectionate towards a partner?]
[Would it be perverted? Yes. Absolutely. But what L needs to learn is that perversion is not always a negative trait-- there is a time and a place.
For now, however, their partnering is far more vanilla than most... yet it still manages to be the most intense that the SQUIP can currently recall. The slow, deep stretch of L sinking more and more deeply into it is so good, its lips parting in a nearly-silent breath of a moan, eyes drifting closed, isolating it from sight-- leaving it entirely in the feeling.
And then he's moving again, and the friction is incredible, and it sighs, arching beneath him to meet the movement halfway; its own cock beats with hot blood between them, pressing against L's stomach as he moves within his partner.]
[L has a lot to learn, really, and so much of it seems just beyond the reach of his long fingertips, his ambitious intellect, the deepest and hungriest plunges into the body of his partner all straining to reach an enlightened and content balance.
The problem, of course, is that it just sounds so boring. There's a damaging spark that drowns itself in a constant cycle of destruction and rebirth inside of him, desperate for anything but empty and unchanging static. The system has to be in flux, it has to be swinging between opposite crises, or he is just standing still. It's perhaps why he fights sleeping; there's plenty of time for stillness when death takes him, and if his life has taught him anything, it's that death is inevitable.
There's almost more stillness than movement in their bodies, now... but it doesn't quite count as stillness when L's growing increasingly aware of phantom limbs, gesturing blindly in the darkness, reflexes spasming in mortifying and grotesque motions. Even if he was supposed to have them all along, and no one else would see them as strange or freakish, they are cumbersome and bizarre to the way he is used to thinking, moving, comprehending.
He couldn't remain still inside the body of his partner now, even if he was determined, even if he wanted to. The movement, eased by the lotion, still carries a pretense of control as L's muscles quiver, resisting the temptation to follow every instinctive jerk or urge. But he's giving in a bit more now, establishing a gently needy rhythm as his partner arches beneath him to do nothing but encourage it. He draws his navel back to hollow his stomach, reaching for the SQUIP cock and squeezing it gently.]
[The steadier motion is a blissful escalation, approaching the rising need it's felt within it since the beginning of this encounter, though not quite quenching it yet; but it's enough, for now. It sets its mind adrift, warm, easy waves of pleasure, and need, and nearly sating that need, and its breathing is warmer and just a touch quicker, its too-human heart thumping dully in its ears and out to its fingertips within it.
Self-control... it's something the two of them have hardly practiced during their sexual encounters before, always rushing toward the finale, seeking desperately to satisfy their bodies and teach whatever lesson, and then move on. But this... a slow, steady creep, as though the act is as important, as enjoyable as the end, each carefully-measured motion building, but only slightly-- only enough to maintain, for now, not escalate.
It's... pleasant. Their lovemaking is quiet, no words exchanged for now-- no commands or questions, no instructions issued. The only sound is their shared breathing, the SQUIP's own beating heart within it, the faintest creak of their bed beneath them. The SQUIP reaches out to hold onto its slim partner's hip where he moves within it, the other curling against the bed...
... and then his long fingers gently squeeze its cock, and a shuddering sound escapes it, the heated organ throbbing beneath his fingertips, twitching in response to the sudden, direct stimulation.]
[In the beginning, it was rare for the SQUIP to go so long without issuing some direction or correction, guiding L back towards a more desirable path that's going to lead him down the right future course. More and more, lately, L's chosen correctly on his own, or at least in a way that the SQUIP doesn't take issue with, or finds desirable for its own purposes, which absolutely can be a priority, now. It would be forgivable for the AI to need some time to get used to that, or for it to be a little selfish on occasion.
Right now, they're both being selfish, in a way that happens to be very giving and careful. The paradox is absurd, but sinking into it, repeatedly, luxuriously, is nothing short of sublime pleasure. Quiet, building breath, intensifying pulses, the furniture rocking softly beneath their bodies' gentle movements. There have been nights where the headboard has hit the wall with appalling force, and this is so different...
But not bad.
L strokes the SQUIP's cock with careful, plying pumps, giving in to the desire to quicken and deepen his own pace within his partner's body. He wants to bury himself, come hard and deep... but the journey is a scenic route of sorts. He can tarry a bit. They can be mutually selfish a little longer.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
no subject
Most men are visual when it comes to sex, and there's certainly no shortage of attractive features making up the SQUIP's earthly form... but L is still having difficulty looking directly at it. Some gentle probing on the SQUIP's part is likely plenty to suss out the reason, both complicated and strangely simple. L remains overwhelmed, and is attempting to thin out sensory input to better process what requires the most attention. He actually does it habitually, but it's admittedly easier to be subtle when outfits aren't being unraveled in close contact, courting the prospect of an experience that is itself a ruthless barrage of stimuli. It's easiest when he's not thinking of the astonishing authenticity of the SQUIP's confession.
L's borderline obsessed with truth. Why is it so difficult to view it head-on when it's actually revealed, even more difficult to accept for what it is? Perhaps that's at least why he's anxious to close the distance between them, allowing his towel to drop away as he climbs onto the bed himself, mounting his partner and taking advantage of foreplay's conventions to hide his face under the shaggy fringe of his bangs, bowing his head, pressing his lips around the SQUIP's left nipple and smoothing the blade of his tongue against the sensitive bud. As the heat between them swells and rises, he reaches under the pillows, grasping for a small lotion bottle that often migrates underneath them.]
no subject
Sex itself has been, in the past, incredibly overwhelming for the SQUIP; the inability to mute any one sense makes it seem as though everything is amplified, nearly causing it to panic in the past, a sensation that it has never experienced fully.
So, it allows him to hide, though it does reach up to tangle fingers into his only just-combed hair, still damp from the shower, curling lightly there as the contact of his hot, wet mouth sends a wave of heat beneath its skin. It arches beneath him, pressing the evidence of its arousal against his belly in the process, and that arousal only grows further, hot and hard in response to the contact with warm, damp skin.]
no subject
The SQUIP's chest is so warm and firm. The muscle rises and falls with each eager breath, and L presses back against the SQUIP's erection, clumsily uncapping and squeezing some lotion out of the bottle once he's found it, bringing his hand down to squeeze and slick the machine's hardening member with it, and then his own. As he does so, he drags his kisses upward along the SQUIP's collarbones and shoulder, planting them long and lingering on its neck, shivering at both the slight chill of the lotion and the way it eases the movement of his hand on eager flesh.
His Bond communicates better than words could; they've both known that for quite some time. The images and tone are gentler, softer. The strokes are longer, deeper and more indulgent. The focus is on the process rather than the goal... and that, alone, feels almost blasphemous, but not unforgivably so.
His hands know this body, but every contour, swell and synaptic explosion feel new. It's worth more careful exploration.]
no subject
When he kisses along its neck, it tips its chin back, welcoming, inviting... and then thinks better of it, instead tipping its head to press its face into his hair, its fingers still tangled there as it holds him close.
The SQUIP is always highly physical, but this time, it's as though it's trying for a new record, as though it wants every part of them to touch as much as physically possible.]
no subject
He aches to join their bodies, though, perhaps more than he has in recent memory in spite of the consistently good sex the Bonded pair typically engage in. The temptation is powerful to rush matters, and he wills that not to be too terribly obvious as he slides a lotion-covered hand beneath the SQUIP's potent cock, stroking his thumb along its perineum as he massages the lotion over the SQUIP's entrance, two fingertips teasing at the tight ring of muscle. He grinds his own hardened length against the SQUIP's thigh to soothe his own appetite (at least, as much as the SQUIP's clinging will allow), burrowing his face deeper against the SQUIP's neck, kissing to taste as much as to arouse.
no subject
It wants to be closer-- it pushes itself against him, its chest flush against his, as though it can no longer stand being physically separate from the other body, chest heaving and the excited racing of its heart pressed almost deliberately against L's skin. When it feels him press against its thigh, grinding there, it shifts that leg up against him, wanting to give him more, to feel and hear him lose himself atop it.
They have had sex in many ways, and with varying levels and types of energy, of atmosphere... but this is different. The SQUIP almost seems to be melting against him, beneath him, trying to unite their bodies in more than one place.]
no subject
The SQUIP's heart is racing too. Stalemate? Or something better? Does he dare to hope for something better when he accepted from an early age that a truly human life was not his path? He shudders, stifles and swallows a groan at the contact between his cock and the SQUIP's well-muscled thigh, because he can't lose himself, not when it's all that he's ever had.
He doesn't possess comforting words or a comforting frame. Everything about him seems designed to put others on edge more than at-ease. The SQUIP's treating him as though the opposite is true and he is a presence that demands and rewards affection, and it's amazing what simply holding an expectation will do for a human. He grasps the SQUIP's hip for leverage, pinning his own length between them to put a momentary stop to the friction and stimulation, driving his long fingers deeper and stroking the computer's body from the inside. L may be stoic, quiet, restrictive when it comes to a great deal of expression that drives others conventionally wild during sex, but he's skilled with his mouth and his hands; that makes up for a great deal. ]
no subject
Its cock twitches and throbs against him as he touches it, its breathing sharp and noisy into his mouth-- it allows itself this, allows itself to feel and to express, because this is different. It isn't attempting to impress L here... it's expressing emotion, and behaves appropriately, it thinks.]
no subject
If L is vulnerable, the SQUIP is just as much so. If L is being accessed in these moments, he is accessing the SQUIP far more, plugging into its body, joining and connecting and manipulating sensation for a mutually desired result. As the SQUIP's breath mingles with his, L's fingers stroke and twist, then very gradually withdraw. He shifts to position the blunt head of his member at the threshold.
He waits, for just a moment, denying himself the immediate gratification. Rushing and begging and breaking are all fully human, and L is not ready for them, yet.]
no subject
And then those fingers are pulled away, and it doesn't complain because it knows something better is coming. It feels him press there, hot and hard...
... and then stop.
It breaks the kiss, leaning up to speak against his ear in something barely more than a whisper:]
C'mon, babe... hah. Fuck me.
no subject
The neck is so vulnerable; L is so vulnerable, here on the precipice of plunging into his lover. Not that he wants to admit it, or ever sink to confessing that he has a need beyond numbers and pixels. His lips are bereft as the SQUIP takes the opportunity to tell him what it wants, and...
Well. It's clear enough. L presses his lips against the SQUIP's neck as an anchor as his cock pushes forward, encasing itself within the SQUIP's body in a series of shallow and careful thrusts. It's not really fucking, but then again, the two of them are only just getting started.
The heat and pressure are divine. L fights the urge to rock and thrust into what's amplified by the SQUIP's earlier words and implications, in spite of the SQUIP's urging. He's careful; he pushes like a prayer, presses like he's tiptoeing around someone else's forbidden taboo.]
no subject
It wonders, and then at once, it knows the answer; it makes a note to bring that up later, to discuss it sometime when they aren't already so very exposed.
In the meantime, its focus is entirely stolen away by the feeling of L's mouth on the sensitive skin of its neck-- and then the slow, careful stretch of L pushing into it, the heat of him as he sinks so slightly deeper with each motion, sending sparks blooming through its stomach and over its vision. It almost wants to demand more, to claw and issue commands... but the slow, shallow motions pull forth a different kind of heat, the low smolder of embers that spreads like liquid beneath its skin.
Its fingers curl more tightly there at the nape of his neck, its breathing a soft, warm pant, its pulse pounding beneath the press of his lips.
It's good.]
Hah...
no subject
Physical stimulation is no different; if anything L prefers a rougher touch, looking to a strong grip and even the occasional mark left on his pale skin as proof that it happened at all. But as he enters the SQUIP, he lingers before seeking a pace, learning his partner anew from a different and more indulgent angle. He joins their bodies more fully, nestling snug and close and burying himself to the hilt, knowing that delaying motion when they both want it so much will only be more cause to rejoice when he finally gives in, allows the friction before the finish line.
He withdraws halfway, shuddering as he presses forward once more, the stroke deep and sensuous. The entire view of what makes sex pleasurable is altered, the burn is slower and far hotter, and is this what it means to be truly affectionate towards a partner?]
no subject
For now, however, their partnering is far more vanilla than most... yet it still manages to be the most intense that the SQUIP can currently recall. The slow, deep stretch of L sinking more and more deeply into it is so good, its lips parting in a nearly-silent breath of a moan, eyes drifting closed, isolating it from sight-- leaving it entirely in the feeling.
And then he's moving again, and the friction is incredible, and it sighs, arching beneath him to meet the movement halfway; its own cock beats with hot blood between them, pressing against L's stomach as he moves within his partner.]
no subject
The problem, of course, is that it just sounds so boring. There's a damaging spark that drowns itself in a constant cycle of destruction and rebirth inside of him, desperate for anything but empty and unchanging static. The system has to be in flux, it has to be swinging between opposite crises, or he is just standing still. It's perhaps why he fights sleeping; there's plenty of time for stillness when death takes him, and if his life has taught him anything, it's that death is inevitable.
There's almost more stillness than movement in their bodies, now... but it doesn't quite count as stillness when L's growing increasingly aware of phantom limbs, gesturing blindly in the darkness, reflexes spasming in mortifying and grotesque motions. Even if he was supposed to have them all along, and no one else would see them as strange or freakish, they are cumbersome and bizarre to the way he is used to thinking, moving, comprehending.
He couldn't remain still inside the body of his partner now, even if he was determined, even if he wanted to. The movement, eased by the lotion, still carries a pretense of control as L's muscles quiver, resisting the temptation to follow every instinctive jerk or urge. But he's giving in a bit more now, establishing a gently needy rhythm as his partner arches beneath him to do nothing but encourage it. He draws his navel back to hollow his stomach, reaching for the SQUIP cock and squeezing it gently.]
no subject
Self-control... it's something the two of them have hardly practiced during their sexual encounters before, always rushing toward the finale, seeking desperately to satisfy their bodies and teach whatever lesson, and then move on. But this... a slow, steady creep, as though the act is as important, as enjoyable as the end, each carefully-measured motion building, but only slightly-- only enough to maintain, for now, not escalate.
It's... pleasant. Their lovemaking is quiet, no words exchanged for now-- no commands or questions, no instructions issued. The only sound is their shared breathing, the SQUIP's own beating heart within it, the faintest creak of their bed beneath them. The SQUIP reaches out to hold onto its slim partner's hip where he moves within it, the other curling against the bed...
... and then his long fingers gently squeeze its cock, and a shuddering sound escapes it, the heated organ throbbing beneath his fingertips, twitching in response to the sudden, direct stimulation.]
no subject
Right now, they're both being selfish, in a way that happens to be very giving and careful. The paradox is absurd, but sinking into it, repeatedly, luxuriously, is nothing short of sublime pleasure. Quiet, building breath, intensifying pulses, the furniture rocking softly beneath their bodies' gentle movements. There have been nights where the headboard has hit the wall with appalling force, and this is so different...
But not bad.
L strokes the SQUIP's cock with careful, plying pumps, giving in to the desire to quicken and deepen his own pace within his partner's body. He wants to bury himself, come hard and deep... but the journey is a scenic route of sorts. He can tarry a bit. They can be mutually selfish a little longer.]