[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
[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.]