dalishious | - IC CONTACT -

The compliment actually makes Merrick let out the softest of gasps, as he stiffens even more inside his hand. His body responds, but he himself can't quite handle it. It feels so confoundingly good to be the recipient of those words-- not Cyril. Him. It makes him start to move his hips a little, really get into what they're doing.

His vocal response, however, is full of doubt. "He says with a full view of my ass," he snarks back.

Metaari laughs at that and slips his hand from Merrick's hip to grasp the ass in question, giving it a good squeeze under his hand. "Well, it'd be a lie if I disagreed." His hips snap forward harder, once, before settling back into their rhythm again. "But it takes more than a nice ass to get me to remember someone night after night."

He sits back up again, staring down at the body beneath him, and he reaches forward to bunch the fabric of Merrick's top under his hand, using it as something close to a handle. His other grips the elf's hip, hard enough he'll probably be bruised in the morning, skin patterned with finger-shaped purple marks, before he starts to lay in to him harder.

Merrick just straight up groans in response to that, his own fingers clutching the bedsheets even harder. His other hand starts jerking himself faster, no longer able to hold back, his climax beginning to build.

He's more vocal than last time. They don't have to be quiet now, so Merrick lets himself pant and whine as he squirms on the bed, as his body is held and maneuvered and positioned just so.

"I want--" He has to struggle to find words. "I wish you could fuck me..."

The words make him groan, make him want to slip out from between Merrick's legs so that he can bury himself in what he really wants. The restraint he shows in the moment surprises even him, and his grip on Merrick's hips grows ever tighter as he continues to fight down the urge to give in. "Don't tell me that," he growls out, his voice strained. "Don't tease me with what I so desperately want."

He pushed a hand against the space between Merrick's shoulder blades and pushed down, wanting to get him to rest his upper body against the bed. Maybe this way--well, it'd be easier to pretend. "The next time I see you," he said, his hips starting to move in earnest, sliding in and out between Merrick's thighs, "you won't move for a week, prior engagements be damned."

It only takes the barest bit of force for the huge hand to push Merrick face down, and he offers no resistance. His eyes close and his mouth falls open, sweaty curls of unkempt hair falling over his face, and he can't remember the last time he's been so fucking turned on. It's just his hand pleasuring him, but it's as if the words themselves are what's really getting him off.

It's those last ones--the idea that they'll see one another again, and what Metaari promised if they do--end up bringing him off. He comes hard, and it's a short and brutal thing, causing a sharp gasp and staggering breaths as he spills on the sheet below.

He's a bit more pliant now, but he can keep his thighs tight, can try to bring Metaari to at least as satisfying a climax as his own.

Edited 2016-01-01 05:09 (UTC)

It's the tension, the sensation of Merrick losing himself to the moment, that makes Metaari come undone. He snarls low and deep and practically lifts Merrick off of the bed with the force of his movements. A few more wild snaps of his hips and his own orgasm breaks like a twig, the pleasure crashing over him in powerful waves. His own release joins Merrick's, makes the bed beneath them a mess (he'll have to launder it in the morning for the old woman; he wouldn't wish this on her) and he hangs still in the moment before his body finally releases.

He's careful to shift to the side before he collapses back down onto the bed on his side, his back pressed against the wall once more, and his breath coming in quick, short gasps. One hand rests lightly on Merrick's back, drawing lazy circles on fabric, as he tries to still the thrumming in his chest.

It takes a little while for Merrick's brain to resume functioning, and for him to regain control of his limbs-- but once he does, he makes a noise of disgust and rolls over so he can press himself against Metaari.

"I am not sleeping in all of that," he grumbles.

A faint, sleepy grumble rumbles through Metaari at the complaint and he lets out a faint breath. He wraps his arms around Merrick's body and rolls until he's flat on his back with the elf laid on top of him. There's some awkward shifting after that as Metaari works the top layer of bedding is out of the way from under his body, and he finally settles down once it's on the floor.

His hands rest lightly on Merrick's back, eyes closed as his body starts to give in to rest. "Better?"

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