Each kiss down your chest is accompanied by two sounds: a slight “mm” from your lips, and the muted metallic snap of a closing internal latch. Their shutting is almost physical, stronger as he focuses on your belly, the reverb blessedly eclipsing those nerve endings.
He pauses, and when you crack an eye open he’s looking up at you, whispering something. It’s sweet and your heart skips before you can help it.
Then he dips lower and there’s a resounding final click, gates and padlocks slamming closed, and you are resealed into yourself. Back on lock. Un-fucking-touchable.
Much better.
You’re kissing him back now whenever he comes within range, pressing up and whimpering a bit like you do. You slide a hand up and bury it in the bedding beside your face, elbow filling in space and a false sense of connection, like touching but not.
He draws back and you watch his mouth work, spilling out sounds, asking obtuse questions you’ve already answered. It’s vague and dull and you’ve a sneaking suspicion he means something bigger than just this scene but wow could he be less articulate. Your face twists with irritation, then heat as he reaches back to cup more of you. You let your eyes flutter closed and groan, find his lips on yours again, glance up and catch his gaze.
God but he keeps looking at you. This is when he’s present, attentive, not listening exactly but as here and with you as he gets. This, you can both focus on, and it’s intimate in ways unrelated to the friction on your cock. That’s good, that’s what you’re seeking maybe, but it’s also foreign and a little nauseating. He isn’t yours and never will be, he’s got other people and you’re never number one no matter what you do, how often you do this. It itches at you and abruptly those eyes are way too close and infuriating.
“damn right you missed me. noww i wwant you to stop wwastin that tongue a yours on wwords,” you growl, a little harsher than intended, too many forms of tension running under your skin. That’s fine, it’s role-appropriate, fitting. “jesus, do you evven knoww howw to play the most obvvious a parts, howw simple do i havve to spell it out for you?”
Fuck your rules and fuck your voice, you’re fine now, breaches secured and not thinking about the past or feelings or anything, and to prove it you reach up and tangle a hand in his curls, tugging as you rock up into his hand. Demand, firmly, or you won’t get a shred. Nobody ever gives you anything you don’t order them to.
“dowwn,” you command.
As Ed begins to return to reality, you feel yourself drifting farther from it. Staring up at him, focused, concerned, you try not to really listen to the words he tosses your way. You know it’s his defenses going back up, or at least that’s what you think, and you feel your breath twist in your throat when he breaks his own rule, just to pull at your hair and give you a command. Staring up at him, you do as he says.
Hand still gripping, holding him in position, you kiss your way back down his curving stomach, free hand gripping at his thighs, and you hesitate. After a moment or two of contemplation, you grip the edge of his pants and you haul them down, with or without his help. Sliding them down, resting on his thighs, you stroke at the bare flesh, the thick thighs, the curl of hair at the base of his cock.
Nosing into the pubes, you can smell the substance of Ed, and it’s something you like about him. He smells like the sea. It’s all the encouragement you need.
Bending forward, you kiss along the thick vein at the root of his cock, allow your wet lips to slide over it, tongue grazing and tracing upwards, but it’s a slow progression with Ed. He wants you to worship him, so you do.
Kisses slipping slowly up to the swollen head at the tip, you graze your tongue along where the length and head meet, the little divide and dip that can be so sensitive. Your eyes raise up to his as you knead it, pay attention to it - before in one slide upwards you’re taking the entire head into your mouth, swallowing around him and tracing your tongue from that dip to the tip.
(Source: terminallycaprichoso)
==> Victoria: Prepare to face the music.
God he stinks. Boozed up, out of his mind. A dope fiend, a waste of space, weight on society… all the words your dad taught you flow into your head.
But wow, there’s just something about the way he speaks that makes you almost lose your grip of him as you help him to the car.
You stand looking for the longest time as Vic literally ties him into the car and then once she walks past you you snap out of it, nodding to words you barely heard.
“Shower? Yeah, sure… uh…” You’d like to say something witty, but you keep glancing back at the other guy and wonder exactly what their history is.
“Yeah… uh, yeah I can cook… a bit… I’ll make some bbq, from your balcony… that cool?”
As she hauls you into the car, helped by the tall young gentlemen beside her, you slump back against the seat. Everything is spinning and it’s really bright out here and you let your head fall to the back of the couch with a thud. Bending in close as she comes near again, you smile, crooked on the edges, and your hand raises to cradle her neck. You smile against her cheek and she’s all around you, all you see, smell, surrounded by her.
Your head tips towards her hand as she pulls it through your curls, your eyes hooded, tired, your mouth a constant smile. Lips graze the side of her cheek and you murmur a brief thank you, jumbled together in a mix of Spanish and English, and you slump backwards onto the seat again.
To be honest, you had been feeling the slightest bit queasy beforehand, but you contained yourself. Leaning to the side, you’re caught by the seatbelt, a magical wonder your car has two of, and you hang in the air for a while, and you hear a stumbling voice, a stuttering tone, and everything is so startlingly familiar about his voice, his confidence, and you lean yourself forward, a predatory feeling rattling through you that you’ve never known - well.
That was a lie.
Exhaling a bit, you press your chin against the back of his chair before the seatbelt can pull you back again, and you slide your hands against the headrest. There’s something about him that’s almost eerie in it’s similarity to another. You stare on, and you try to figure out what’s wrong, really. There’s too much and too little of something. The confidence is absent, the stuttering is there.
And for some reason, you distinctly remember a lot more horn and a lot less body.
(Source: anodynousgrip)
==> Mada: Contemplate things
People have told you that Gamada is difficult to understand, but he’s an open book to you. Fidgeting, avoiding your gaze, the tight line of his shoulder as he tries to appear nonchalant yet fails utterly — then he opens his mouth and, really, could he be any more obvious? You let out a derisive snort.
It doesn’t really matter how often you tell him you want him here, he won’t get it until you show him. He’s thick like that.
“So, what, you’re threatening to leave just as soon as you get here?” you ask him, and your shoes scuff across the pavement as you turn to face him, meeting his gaze levelly. “Did you think I asked you to come all the way out here just so I could have the pleasure of watching your ass as you turn tail and run away from me?” You lean in and lower your voice. “I’ve got bad news for you, hombre. You don’t have an ass worth watching — so get it over here and give me a hug before I go batfucking bananas from this passive aggressive bullshit.”
You hold open your arms. “Come here.”
You don’t want to hug him. You want to avoid it with every fiber of your being and you want to hold fast and you want to look him in the eye and say no, no I’m not going to hug you, you’re just going to leave me. But your feet are already moving and your hands are pulling and throwing the cigarette and you’re coming so close to him, you’re basically on top of him, and Equus is right there but you don’t care.
Reaching out, you touch his shoulders and you linger, before you pull him close, you pull him in, and you just hold him there. You’re quiet as your face nuzzles into the crook of his neck and it’s nice, it’s so nice, he feels real and he is real and it feels permanent, like this will stay, but nothing stays in this life, so you cherish it. Fingers run through his hair, just for a second, a soft run through soft locks.
Eventually you shift back, but you don’t want to. You keep your arms around him, one around shoulders and the other around his waist. You bump your temples together, and you sigh. “WhAt HaPpEnEd MoThErFuCkEr? YoU lOoK sO mOtHeRfUcKiNg PaLe, Ha eStAdO DuRmIeNdO?”
(Source: terminallycaprichoso)
Gamada Headcanon 05: He’s only had a few Christmases in his life.
he had a couple with his dad, but he was absent most of them, and a couple with his foster families, though he never really got anything.
but he never really cared about it! to him, it was just another day!
… 8ecause I can. :::;) Hello, Mada~
WhOoOoOoOa Ed Is In ThErE wHeN dId He LeArN hOw To PlAy ThE mOtHeRfUcKiNg GuItAr!
Fuck it, we should start a 8and, play on street corners. I need a jo8 anyway. ::::|
i AiN’t No GoOd At MuSiC!
… 8ecause I can. :::;) Hello, Mada~
WhOoOoOoOa Ed Is In ThErE wHeN dId He LeArN hOw To PlAy ThE mOtHeRfUcKiNg GuItAr!
==> Mada: Contemplate things
The call from Gamada is both a relief and a worry. You stare at the blinking numbers on the screen: Call ended at 0:03 minutes. Does he not want to talk to you?
No matter what he wants, you need to go down to meet him. You heave yourself off the couch and exit the apartment quietly, leaving the door unlocked. Teresa is curled up John’s — the guest bedroom and you’d moved Dave to his own bed, so they should be sleeping now. No need to disturb them.
You step out of the elevator for the third time tonight and walk through the silent reception area, weaving on your feet. You’re exhausted in spite of your powernap earlier, or maybe because of it, because your dreams are still swimming through your head. Mada is standing just outside those doors and if you just manage to hold out a little longer…
The night sky is heavy with humidity and unshed rain.
“There you are, Gam, I was worried about you,” you say, shuffling up to your best friend, and you hold out a hand to pat him on the shoulder. You really shouldn’t let this guy out of your sight, what with the kind of shit he gets himself into when you’re not around.
Speaking of. “And I see you’re alive,” you add to Equus, who seems to be watching the exchange carefully. You lean against the car with your arms folded against the hood, trying to appear nonchalant as much as you are trying to take some weight off your unsteady knees. “I’d see about sending you home tonight, but the buses don’t run this late, so we can give you a place to crash before we drive back to Austin tomorrow morning.” You stifle a yawn. “Sound good?”
And there he is and you can’t breathe. You watch him come close, swallowing, and you want to grab him and scoop him up and just hold him close to you, smell his hair, make sure he’s alright. He looks alright. But you can’t be too sure. As he comes closer, the bags below his eyes seem darker, heavier, and his footsteps seem uneven. You’re about ready to reach out and grab him when that hand falls on shoulder instead of waist and you swallow the tightness in your throat.
Leaning back on the car too, still smoking, you look at the skyline. You close your eyes halfway. With a long drag, you face Karkat again, exhaling. “LoOk, YoU bE wAnTiNg Me GoNe, I’lL gO.” you murmur to him, looking him in the eye, before yours turn away. “i KnOw YoU aIn’T tOo KeEn On Me MeEtInG sU nOvIo.”
You sigh and tip your head against the top of your car and you can hear Dog puffing against the glass and you turn to face him, giving him a smile. His tail wags back and forth quick and fast and he shifts excitedly in the seat until you look away. And you know how he feels, you can relate to the beast, but you don’t say anything about it because it’s weird.
And Karkat still looks really fragile and you grunt to Equus, giving him a look, and step away, dropping your cigarette down on the ground. “YoU wAnNa TaLk In PrIvAtE, gEt To StEpPiNg.” you turn to face Karkat, stopping, waiting for him, because you will, you always will, you’re there for him and he’s all you have and you’ll wait however long it takes.
(Source: terminallycaprichoso)
Gamada Headcanon 04: He wears one of those three hoodies every day.
((holly hell, come do laundry @ Victoria’s man. o_O;; ))
((oh he could do that………..))
(Source: terminallycaprichoso)
