[This is nowhere near the timid one who came in saying that the mask would stay on. Actually, now that he's thinking about it...staying on during something like this? Is this what he was aiming for the whole time? With him? Surely not.]
[And it seems, his own self-imposed rule has been tossed away. He's seen his face, and then some. The uncertain young man of before seems like a vicious fire, now. Lovecraft winces a little as his back hits the shower wall, but the attack continues. He could simply let him have his way, but Lovecraft is a well of sins, it seems. Sloth, gluttony, and of course, pride.]
[So yes, he still can be stubborn, even if he follows orders. Murmuring, he's pressing back a little, tongue pushing between lips as if it can dive deep into him. His hands slide lower, his spine cracking slightly as he bends down closer - he's smaller than him, and yet he holds such strength.]
[What a brilliant little light. How very unlike him at all.]
[That's the thing: Char is the mask— capable and confident even when the man beneath it feels nowhere near as self-assured. If you can't be it, become it. If you can't make it, build it. The ruse has gone on so long that Nishi can't recall who lies beneath, or even who Char is, existing as the remnants of a mask that has, ironically, been forgotten.
Perhaps he's doomed to forget himself over and over, or maybe that's the fate he is meant to suffer. At any rate, it hardly matters now. His hands are a crawling inferno, scaling the vertebrae of Lovecraft's back, commanding, demanding. Fire burns within him, a reminder of the assertiveness built under duress, of the confidence forged from nothing.
His free hand hovers above Lovecraft's heart, teasing bare skin, threatening to penetrate, to slip in and claim the rose in his chest. Fingering the tethers of his soul, toying with it, leaving him unsure of what comes next. Nishi revels in keeping him on edge, a predator savoring the chase, intending to swallow him whole before the water runs cold. Has he always been so animalistic a man? How many times has he been in this position, commanding hearts as easily as he rends them?]
[He's never been one associated with fire. He's the slow sluggish waters of the deep sea, content to hold its mysteries. He's not passionate. He doesn't burn. He simply persists. Life is so exhausting as to not find enjoyment at all.]
[This man seems like he wants to tempt him into it, though. He feels like he's suffocating a little. The fingers press over his gaunt chest, and he's opening his eyes with a little choked noise. So here it is. A claim for the treasure underneath. Nobody has yet taken his rose. He has no idea how it feels...until now, perhaps, teased by a man who seems more cruel by the minute.]
[Lovecraft hisses - the noise comes from inside of him, like the release of gas from a sieve, an entirely inhuman rumble following as he grasps the nape of the man's neck, pulls him back for a moment to truly stare into his eyes with his own.]
[His pupils are so blown as to be black holes.]
Do you wish to...take it?
[Comes the darkened murmur like from some abyssal tomb. Though, even though it is a challenge, he's not running away. He simply waits.]
[Cruelty defines him— not as truth, but as mask. It's only need dressed as malice, the endless hunger to be validated because he cannot validate himself.
He is no comet blazing trails in the sky, but a hollow gravity well, pulling and pulling and never filled. It's easier to pretend otherwise, to surrender to fleeting fantasies like this one. To imagine that in taking, he might finally be.
Their gazes lock, abyss to abyss, and in that instant Nishi catches his own reflection in Lovecraft's eyes. The recognition chills him. Has Lovecraft always known this same yawning emptiness?
He wrenches composure back with force, stealing a kiss between words.]
No. You'll beg me for to claim it.
[And if Lovecraft will not surrender willingly, then all of this was meaningless.]
[He cannot be stopped. What has been put into motion is simply moving further into the pit where no sunlight lies. It's where they belong, don't they? This man seems bright, but his eyes are anything but.]
[His lips are captured. Lovecraft grunts, unable to prevent him from staking his claim. His hands grasp, nails scratching over wet skin.]
Beg...
[He manages to choke between kisses. A folly of a word. As if he would do such a thing, and yet-]
[Didn't he just before say he would trust the man? That he would give himself, and he wouldn't make him regret it?]
[His breath rattles. He moves a little decisively, nipping over the man's jaw as his fingers stroke and grasp through his hair. Everything feels so...overheated.]
[Make me.]
oh yeah this is completely nsfw, beware ye who scroll here
[Begging for release isn't shameful. If anything, there's a kind of liberation in it— in being safe enough to surrender, to hand yourself over completely.
That's a desire they both should understand. One they should share.
Maybe that's why Nishi knows he hasn't earned the rose just yet. The sharp exhale that slips from him when Lovecraft's teeth graze his jaw is admission enough, but after a beat he lowers, tongue tracing the cusp of that gaping void.
He would tear the rose free with his teeth if he could. Wouldn't that be the truest form of surrender? To let another devour you, to give yourself over entirely. He'll give that to Lovecraft— but not yet. But only once it's earned.
For now, his hand drifts lower, seeking the man's cock to give it an exploratory tug.]
[Living is already so much. Hell, even breathing is a chore. And this, on top of it, where this man seeks to push the limits of this gaunt body to places he feels he hasn't touched in years, almost threatens to unravel him. The hand finds what it wants, the tongue dips and encircles that area of sheer vulnerability. His soft spot. Like finding the underbelly of an animal.]
[Again, he doesn't remember the last time he had this kind of encounter. Memories feel so fluid, like a draining oil-like splatter that he can't define. He is...twenty-eight. He remembers it from his ID. But doesn't it feel like there are things he should recall from decades ago, hundreds of years ago? No. How impossible.]
[There's a sudden splotch of color in his face that mars his pale skin. How impossible.]
Gh-
[He can't make his tongue utter words. His breath hitches, and he's now returning the favor to scrape his teeth alongside his head, nails truly digging into his shoulders to keep him where he is. Daring him not to pull away.]
[To see if he would dare to sink more than his hand into him to be devoured.]
[Men have lost their minds for less.]
inevitably someone's going to make that when pcs unlock
[Lovecraft's nails pierce his skin, his teeth threaten to incise, and Nishi doesn't flinch. If anything, the desperation pinning him in place only enlivens him, his body a live wire thrumming with the latent threat Lovecraft poses: Pull away. I dare you. As if he would, tangled in him and only seeking to entangle himself further.
His lips brush the petals of that rose, a fathomless purple recalling the deepest reaches of outer space, a memory so precious that Nishi actively yearns for it, teeth snapping around a petal, tearing it from the stem.]
Easy now... or you'll break before I do.
[His grip lingers, steady and deliberate, coaxing rather than rushing. Every stroke is precise, every brush of his tongue a reminder that surrender will come, but only when Nishi dictates. His grip tightens, and he feeds into Lovecraft's arousal in increments, bidding him to come undone.]
[He's removed other's roses, saw their reaction. He has never had this done to him in return. He was curious as to what could make them utter such strange little noises when his hand grasped the prize inside.]
[Here, Nishi's teeth find the rose inside, snap off a petal, and Lovecraft feels sick. Truly sick. Like a fire that is now burning deep inside, causing his limbs to tremble. A fire that licks him, hurts him even, but doesn't destroy him.]
[He always thought the end would be cold.]
[Perhaps it is something more like a heated little death.]
Hah-
[Unbearable, the attention of that hand down below-! There's more energy in his body than there has been for years. His hands are cracking, oddly, as they squeeze the man's shoulder and neck, one gaunt leg jerking upward like a reflex. It's too much. It's so much.]
[He doesn't even know this man's name.]
I-I won't...
[Even as his statement of defiance ends in a low whimper.]
[Until you can't. Until begging is your only recourse.
Cruelty and tenderness dovetail so easily. Nishi's touch unrelenting but warm, callouses rough against delicate flesh, deliberate in the way his fingers seek to unravel Lovecraft into pleasure through firm, unrelenting strokes.
His own needs don't factor in, if he pays any mind to them at all. What matters is the stinging press of kisses scattered across Lovecraft's chest, carving reminders that this is no cold, unfeeling monster before him, but a man starved of touch.
So Nishi will touch him, inside and out, again and again, until it's too much. Until he begs for it to stop— because surely, at some point, he'll want it to stop. Won't he?]
[His breathing is heavy - like the air here seeks to drown him. In a way, he always feels drowned, a fish out of water, and here he almost feels like he should pass out. But he can't. His body wants it all - the fire, the stroking, the kissing. There's a real and honest greed that's been reined in, pulled to the surface in all of its ugly glory. He's so swollen that its almost painful, so close to the peak that he should dive off of.]
[He exhales the word into the man's scalp, teeth scraping there like he means to tear it off.]
More.
[Is this begging? His voice seems deeper now, louder, like it's coming from a throat of another man, another creature. There's something taking over him, like ancient instinct. There's a brief flicker of something in his head - candlelight in the darkness, people in robes, moans and babbling echoing in the air-]
[Tribute. Tribute. Tribute.]
[He's hugging the man so close as if he could subsume him into himself and become one.]
[—Ha. Haha. Nishi can't fight back the laughter that claws its way out of him, the latent danger seeping off of Lovecraft's every word threatening to drown him in the abyss.
Lovecraft reminds him of who he really is: a man who courts near-death like an old lover, who thrives with a blade at his throat. This is no different. The peril still riles him. Still thrills him. He still wants to drive headlong into certain doom and laugh when he breaks out the other side, cracked but grinning.
So he does. He ups the tempo, rough enough to border on sadistic, jerking at Lovecraft until the tension between them feels ready to snap. Nishi props himself between the man's hips, steadying his weight but making it clear he's hardly less affected, breath shaking with unhinged laughter.
There really is a monster lying dormant in him. In both of them. Two beasts in the deep, gnashing teeth and daring the other to bite first. Nishi's lips test the thorns of that rose, aching to snatch it and claim it for himself. But not yet. Almost, almost, almost—]
[He remembers Fitzgerald. A brilliant blazing man. Where Steinbeck was sunlight, he was gold in all shapes and forms. A spectacle. And in his eyes was something quite distinct, something Lovecraft feels he's seen time and time again.]
[Madness.]
[Those who have asked for him have always been mad.]
[He can't begin to understand why. Even he told that young child at home that he didn't understand what insanity looked like. And then he had unfurled, and-]
Ghk-
[Whatever mental image he was trying to put forward is interrupted by the mouth over his rose, nipping and teasing. ImHe has never seen it, but it must be a gnarled, inconceivable thing, thorny and uncomfortable. And this man wants it, wants to take it for his own.]
[Only someone who was mad would do such a thing.]
[He, too, is mad for allowing him to do it.]
[The pace is too much. Gasping, gaping, and sending pitched little moans into the air, he feels it coming. Lovecraft pushes the man's head as far as it can go, to grab what he sought for. What he gave.]
[A gift from monster to monster.]
Please-
[And he feels himself bowl over, eyes almost rolling back from the intensity of the release shooting over the man and his hand. There is no name to moan. Simply a wordless, guttural cry that comes from deep within.]
[Lovecraft nearly overwhelms him. Nearly. It's the pressure he exerts on Nishi when pushed to his limits that urges Nishi to heed his call— sunk into his depths, blinded, but hardly lost.
The rose fits neatly between his teeth. Its thorns prick at his lips, drawing beads of blood to the surface. In one deft motion, the rose is pulled free from Lovecraft's chest, and he leans back to show off his quarry— an almost animal instinct.
It's a simple matter to rinse his hand clean, simpler still to take that rose in hand and twirl it by the stem, the color of it entrancing him.]
...Beautiful, like the sky at midnight.
[When he says this, he's looking at Lovecraft, not the rose.]
[Just like that, the exhaustion that was kept at bay seems to rush in. The strength - the power - of before seems so far away now, leaving shaking, gaunt, weak limbs. The heat of before is petering down. Lovecraft feels his breath become even more haggard, gasping in air, as he finally gazes at what was pulled from his chest between bloodied lips and shining teeth.]
[His eyes trip over Nishi's gaze, instead.]
[Beautiful, like the sky at midnight..]
Hh.
[Another gasp of breath - and then he finds some spurt of energy, some pettiness that makes him surge forward. His body, with dark hair cascading like an oily curtain, crowds the man into the shower wall. Tit for tat. His slender hands press over the tile above him, staring down.]
And do you...not wish...for more?
[Surely he wants pleasure? More than a quarry? One hand detaches, grasping the man by the hip, settling there.]
[Nishi grins. He'd been hoping Lovecraft would come to him. Letting himself be pressed back against the shower wall, he laughs, low and self-satisfied. His arms wind up around the back of Lovecraft's neck, a moth caught in a spider's web.]
I wish for many things... but I try not to be too demanding. Are you telling me I should demand more?
[They always ask. They always want. Everyone is so greedy. Everyone wants something they can't have.]
[What does...he want?]
[Him, and this man. What do they want? He feels wanted. Not in the way Fitzgerald wanted him, a man to kowtow to his desires for a book that could grant the world, but something...different.]
[Nishi smiles and nearly chuckles— the answer should be obvious, but he'll spell it out for this man, one hand curled about his nape while the other guides Lovecraft's fingers to wrap around his cock.]
Don't be silly. Do you see anything else here that I might want?
[Nishi shivers, his nails digging into the grouted seams of the shower tiles for purchase. How long had it been since anyone touched him like this? He can't remember—his days consumed with busywork, real work, the endless demands of Sayla and Ray. No time, no privacy, no reprieve. It makes this feel... almost novel. A first, even if some part of him knows it isn't.
His breaths spill like shivering ghosts against Lovecraft's lips, ceding to the kiss while the pull of those hands steadily unravels him.]
...You already have.
[Vague, but enough to let Lovecraft know he's doing well. Nishi seals the sentiment with another kiss, softer, firmer— reassurance in return.]
Though... you'll have to forgive me if I can't endure your touch for long. It's been a very long time.
[A kiss in return. He returns it with payment, a quickening of his pace down below. His wrist cracks a little as he flicks it, the water running between the both of them like a meager little waterfall.]
I hardly believe. It's been a long time...for you.
[Because of his confidence...or maybe, was that frightened unsure man from before not an act? He doesn't know.]
[He hums as he kisses him again - hardly sweet, but fascinating all the same.]
But. Regardless. This is yet another offering to me.
[Nishi feels a little offended— ah... but these days, he guesses it's kind of a compliment when someone judges you by the number of people you've bedded. Times like these make for strange measures, after all.
Still, his body betrays him: he presses his fist to his lips the moment their kiss breaks, wary of how his voice might echo in the bathroom. Embarrassed? Out of practice? Probably a bit of both.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
insistence) wrote2025-08-18 04:41 pm
no subject
[And it seems, his own self-imposed rule has been tossed away. He's seen his face, and then some. The uncertain young man of before seems like a vicious fire, now. Lovecraft winces a little as his back hits the shower wall, but the attack continues. He could simply let him have his way, but Lovecraft is a well of sins, it seems. Sloth, gluttony, and of course, pride.]
[So yes, he still can be stubborn, even if he follows orders. Murmuring, he's pressing back a little, tongue pushing between lips as if it can dive deep into him. His hands slide lower, his spine cracking slightly as he bends down closer - he's smaller than him, and yet he holds such strength.]
[What a brilliant little light. How very unlike him at all.]
no subject
Perhaps he's doomed to forget himself over and over, or maybe that's the fate he is meant to suffer. At any rate, it hardly matters now. His hands are a crawling inferno, scaling the vertebrae of Lovecraft's back, commanding, demanding. Fire burns within him, a reminder of the assertiveness built under duress, of the confidence forged from nothing.
His free hand hovers above Lovecraft's heart, teasing bare skin, threatening to penetrate, to slip in and claim the rose in his chest. Fingering the tethers of his soul, toying with it, leaving him unsure of what comes next. Nishi revels in keeping him on edge, a predator savoring the chase, intending to swallow him whole before the water runs cold. Has he always been so animalistic a man? How many times has he been in this position, commanding hearts as easily as he rends them?]
no subject
[This man seems like he wants to tempt him into it, though. He feels like he's suffocating a little. The fingers press over his gaunt chest, and he's opening his eyes with a little choked noise. So here it is. A claim for the treasure underneath. Nobody has yet taken his rose. He has no idea how it feels...until now, perhaps, teased by a man who seems more cruel by the minute.]
[Lovecraft hisses - the noise comes from inside of him, like the release of gas from a sieve, an entirely inhuman rumble following as he grasps the nape of the man's neck, pulls him back for a moment to truly stare into his eyes with his own.]
[His pupils are so blown as to be black holes.]
Do you wish to...take it?
[Comes the darkened murmur like from some abyssal tomb. Though, even though it is a challenge, he's not running away. He simply waits.]
Shall...you claim it?
no subject
He is no comet blazing trails in the sky, but a hollow gravity well, pulling and pulling and never filled. It's easier to pretend otherwise, to surrender to fleeting fantasies like this one. To imagine that in taking, he might finally be.
Their gazes lock, abyss to abyss, and in that instant Nishi catches his own reflection in Lovecraft's eyes. The recognition chills him. Has Lovecraft always known this same yawning emptiness?
He wrenches composure back with force, stealing a kiss between words.]
No. You'll beg me for to claim it.
[And if Lovecraft will not surrender willingly, then all of this was meaningless.]
no subject
[His lips are captured. Lovecraft grunts, unable to prevent him from staking his claim. His hands grasp, nails scratching over wet skin.]
Beg...
[He manages to choke between kisses. A folly of a word. As if he would do such a thing, and yet-]
[Didn't he just before say he would trust the man? That he would give himself, and he wouldn't make him regret it?]
[His breath rattles. He moves a little decisively, nipping over the man's jaw as his fingers stroke and grasp through his hair. Everything feels so...overheated.]
[Make me.]
oh yeah this is completely nsfw, beware ye who scroll here
That's a desire they both should understand. One they should share.
Maybe that's why Nishi knows he hasn't earned the rose just yet. The sharp exhale that slips from him when Lovecraft's teeth graze his jaw is admission enough, but after a beat he lowers, tongue tracing the cusp of that gaping void.
He would tear the rose free with his teeth if he could. Wouldn't that be the truest form of surrender? To let another devour you, to give yourself over entirely. He'll give that to Lovecraft— but not yet. But only once it's earned.
For now, his hand drifts lower, seeking the man's cock to give it an exploratory tug.]
do have sex lovecraft.jpg
[Again, he doesn't remember the last time he had this kind of encounter. Memories feel so fluid, like a draining oil-like splatter that he can't define. He is...twenty-eight. He remembers it from his ID. But doesn't it feel like there are things he should recall from decades ago, hundreds of years ago? No. How impossible.]
[There's a sudden splotch of color in his face that mars his pale skin. How impossible.]
Gh-
[He can't make his tongue utter words. His breath hitches, and he's now returning the favor to scrape his teeth alongside his head, nails truly digging into his shoulders to keep him where he is. Daring him not to pull away.]
[To see if he would dare to sink more than his hand into him to be devoured.]
[Men have lost their minds for less.]
inevitably someone's going to make that when pcs unlock
His lips brush the petals of that rose, a fathomless purple recalling the deepest reaches of outer space, a memory so precious that Nishi actively yearns for it, teeth snapping around a petal, tearing it from the stem.]
Easy now... or you'll break before I do.
[His grip lingers, steady and deliberate, coaxing rather than rushing. Every stroke is precise, every brush of his tongue a reminder that surrender will come, but only when Nishi dictates. His grip tightens, and he feeds into Lovecraft's arousal in increments, bidding him to come undone.]
no subject
[Here, Nishi's teeth find the rose inside, snap off a petal, and Lovecraft feels sick. Truly sick. Like a fire that is now burning deep inside, causing his limbs to tremble. A fire that licks him, hurts him even, but doesn't destroy him.]
[He always thought the end would be cold.]
[Perhaps it is something more like a heated little death.]
Hah-
[Unbearable, the attention of that hand down below-! There's more energy in his body than there has been for years. His hands are cracking, oddly, as they squeeze the man's shoulder and neck, one gaunt leg jerking upward like a reflex. It's too much. It's so much.]
[He doesn't even know this man's name.]
I-I won't...
[Even as his statement of defiance ends in a low whimper.]
no subject
[Until you can't. Until begging is your only recourse.
Cruelty and tenderness dovetail so easily. Nishi's touch unrelenting but warm, callouses rough against delicate flesh, deliberate in the way his fingers seek to unravel Lovecraft into pleasure through firm, unrelenting strokes.
His own needs don't factor in, if he pays any mind to them at all. What matters is the stinging press of kisses scattered across Lovecraft's chest, carving reminders that this is no cold, unfeeling monster before him, but a man starved of touch.
So Nishi will touch him, inside and out, again and again, until it's too much. Until he begs for it to stop— because surely, at some point, he'll want it to stop. Won't he?]
Does it feel good? Does it hurt?
no subject
[His breathing is heavy - like the air here seeks to drown him. In a way, he always feels drowned, a fish out of water, and here he almost feels like he should pass out. But he can't. His body wants it all - the fire, the stroking, the kissing. There's a real and honest greed that's been reined in, pulled to the surface in all of its ugly glory. He's so swollen that its almost painful, so close to the peak that he should dive off of.]
[He exhales the word into the man's scalp, teeth scraping there like he means to tear it off.]
More.
[Is this begging? His voice seems deeper now, louder, like it's coming from a throat of another man, another creature. There's something taking over him, like ancient instinct. There's a brief flicker of something in his head - candlelight in the darkness, people in robes, moans and babbling echoing in the air-]
[Tribute. Tribute. Tribute.]
[He's hugging the man so close as if he could subsume him into himself and become one.]
More.
no subject
Lovecraft reminds him of who he really is: a man who courts near-death like an old lover, who thrives with a blade at his throat. This is no different. The peril still riles him. Still thrills him. He still wants to drive headlong into certain doom and laugh when he breaks out the other side, cracked but grinning.
So he does. He ups the tempo, rough enough to border on sadistic, jerking at Lovecraft until the tension between them feels ready to snap. Nishi props himself between the man's hips, steadying his weight but making it clear he's hardly less affected, breath shaking with unhinged laughter.
There really is a monster lying dormant in him. In both of them. Two beasts in the deep, gnashing teeth and daring the other to bite first. Nishi's lips test the thorns of that rose, aching to snatch it and claim it for himself. But not yet. Almost, almost, almost—]
no subject
[Madness.]
[Those who have asked for him have always been mad.]
[He can't begin to understand why. Even he told that young child at home that he didn't understand what insanity looked like. And then he had unfurled, and-]
Ghk-
[Whatever mental image he was trying to put forward is interrupted by the mouth over his rose, nipping and teasing. ImHe has never seen it, but it must be a gnarled, inconceivable thing, thorny and uncomfortable. And this man wants it, wants to take it for his own.]
[Only someone who was mad would do such a thing.]
[He, too, is mad for allowing him to do it.]
[The pace is too much. Gasping, gaping, and sending pitched little moans into the air, he feels it coming. Lovecraft pushes the man's head as far as it can go, to grab what he sought for. What he gave.]
[A gift from monster to monster.]
Please-
[And he feels himself bowl over, eyes almost rolling back from the intensity of the release shooting over the man and his hand. There is no name to moan. Simply a wordless, guttural cry that comes from deep within.]
[All that he asked for.]
no subject
The rose fits neatly between his teeth. Its thorns prick at his lips, drawing beads of blood to the surface. In one deft motion, the rose is pulled free from Lovecraft's chest, and he leans back to show off his quarry— an almost animal instinct.
It's a simple matter to rinse his hand clean, simpler still to take that rose in hand and twirl it by the stem, the color of it entrancing him.]
...Beautiful, like the sky at midnight.
[When he says this, he's looking at Lovecraft, not the rose.]
That was well worth the effort.
no subject
[His eyes trip over Nishi's gaze, instead.]
[Beautiful, like the sky at midnight..]
Hh.
[Another gasp of breath - and then he finds some spurt of energy, some pettiness that makes him surge forward. His body, with dark hair cascading like an oily curtain, crowds the man into the shower wall. Tit for tat. His slender hands press over the tile above him, staring down.]
And do you...not wish...for more?
[Surely he wants pleasure? More than a quarry? One hand detaches, grasping the man by the hip, settling there.]
no subject
I wish for many things... but I try not to be too demanding. Are you telling me I should demand more?
no subject
[They always ask. They always want. Everyone is so greedy. Everyone wants something they can't have.]
[What does...he want?]
[Him, and this man. What do they want? He feels wanted. Not in the way Fitzgerald wanted him, a man to kowtow to his desires for a book that could grant the world, but something...different.]
[Lovecraft swallows, still staring him down.]
What do you get out of...this? Just me?
no subject
Don't be silly. Do you see anything else here that I might want?
no subject
[He doesn't. There is nothing keeping him here except....him.]
[He doesn't know why that feels so unbelievable. Maybe because he has self-awareness that he's not some shining prince, some gorgeous model.]
[His hand is guided - he grasps what he finds, slowly pumping it upwards. Release. Pleasure.]
[He bends down, pressing his lips against the other's, tasting iron on his tongue.]
I can...help.
no subject
His breaths spill like shivering ghosts against Lovecraft's lips, ceding to the kiss while the pull of those hands steadily unravels him.]
...You already have.
[Vague, but enough to let Lovecraft know he's doing well. Nishi seals the sentiment with another kiss, softer, firmer— reassurance in return.]
Though... you'll have to forgive me if I can't endure your touch for long. It's been a very long time.
no subject
[A kiss in return. He returns it with payment, a quickening of his pace down below. His wrist cracks a little as he flicks it, the water running between the both of them like a meager little waterfall.]
I hardly believe. It's been a long time...for you.
[Because of his confidence...or maybe, was that frightened unsure man from before not an act? He doesn't know.]
[He hums as he kisses him again - hardly sweet, but fascinating all the same.]
But. Regardless. This is yet another offering to me.
no subject
Still, his body betrays him: he presses his fist to his lips the moment their kiss breaks, wary of how his voice might echo in the bathroom. Embarrassed? Out of practice? Probably a bit of both.]
...You make it sound like I'm giving you a gift.
[The gift of nut.]