[Aventurine's hands are shaking. He wants to say something, but also, doesn't, because he's- they're focusing on the shirt. His shirt, then, they can take care of Aventurine's shirt, then, something.]
Right.
[Shirt, yes. Maybe Aventurine's hands aren't the only ones which are shaking, a little. A slight tremble as he goes top down and he wants to ask why Aventurine seems to be rushing, but, also, doesn't. He's not that much of an idiot.
He licks his lips. Then:]
Your shirt next. [Sunday says it very quietly, as if a louder sound would break the moment, whatever it is, whatever's going on, and his fingers work as quickly as they can. Shirt, cuffs, shirt off, whatever else. The quicker the better.]
{ he's rushing a little, just this one bit, with a need to kiss, bite and suck on his skin some more. sure, sunday had said a mark but if you give him an inch he'll go a mile, apparently.
he exhales once it's off, throws it aside to who knows where. then he's reminded of his own. his own is easier, fingers curling under the hem to pull it up over his head. his hair is already mussed up from sunday's fingers anyway, so he pays no mind to that. throws that off to the side too.
that done everything slows a lot. his hand reaches up, eyes staring at the one mark that has already been left before his fingers follow. his thumb slides across the red mark (and there's a faint noise of appreciation in the back of his throat that he won't linger on), then he's leaning in to press another, this time below his collarbone. his other hand finds its way to sunday's hip, slowly dragging up his side.
if he isn't stopped mark after mark will be made across his skin as he slowly works his way down. his mouth never loses contact, either dragging his tongue or teeth across on the way. }
[He is absolutely not doing a thing to stop what's going on. Sunday's making little noises (a gasp here, a groan there, a little fluttering breath) as mark after mark after mark is left on him. His eyes are half-lidded, eyelids fluttering, his fingers touching the first mark as an afterthought. His every instinct is screaming at him to collapse to the bed and let Aventurine mark every last bit of him. Sunday's learning a few things about himself today. One of them is: he likes this. He really, really likes this- no, he loves this. He loves being treated like...
Something tangible. It's like...
He's something grounded. Not holy, above, not a bastion of order just beyond the grasp of the world, just another Halovian, just another man - unremarkable, unnoticed, unnoticeable, unmemorable, ultimately someone who belongs to the world and not something that hovers beyond it, trapped behind glass windows, watching the world move without him. Not untouchable. Very touchable. Very touched. Like...
Not disrespected, the way Aventurine is marking him hardly indicates disrespect. But not sacred; now that Aventurine's been given permission he's not hesitating. It's not blasphemy, it's just enthusiasm. Which is absurd, given how he'd climbed to the top of his Family and squandered all of that away, and yet-
And yet, the evidence is undeniable. It's right on his skin. And if Aventurine notices his fingertips quivering as they go back and forth against his skin, not quite holding him there, but encouraging (if the little noises, and the not-so-little noises like the one he made just now, yes, that one, that sharp gasp, as if those aren't encouragement enough) him onward, and-
And.
And it's actually profoundly difficult to remain some form of sitting while they do this. Mattress. He needs to be lying down.]
{ thankfully, even if he has no idea what is going through sunday's head, he reaches a low enough point where he can't lower himself further. not when they're sat like they are.
there's a faint noise of frustration as he makes his way back up just enough so his mouth can cover a nipple. his tongue swirls there, teeth press enough to be felt but not to hurt--grind just enough to send jolts of pleasure before they dip into pain. his hands slide up and down over sunday's sides, thinking before he finally, finally pulls his mouth back. }
Ho...Hold onto me a sec.
{ one hand shifts to press to the bed, the other dragging up along his side to hold him along his back. whether sunday registers it yet or not though, he'll be moving anyway. he'll get his wish as he pushes with his legs and twists to roll them over.
there's a sharp gasp of air as it means their bodies align better, and he indulges just a little by grinding down once, twice. then he's pulling himself back before he gets too caught up in it. he sits back long enough to gaze down at sunday, drinks in the sight for a long moment, before he's dipping down to kiss him on the mouth again. just a little treat before he starts making his way lower again. }
[He holds onto him for a moment, very obedient, very eager to go along with whatever Aventurine has in mind, and yet somehow makes a surprised noise as they're rolled onto the bed. And then a pleased noise as they're better aligned, and then a-
A noise as Sunday's ground into, once, twice, and he desperately chases after it before he's stilled by three things: remembering who he is, remembering where they are, but mainly the look in Aventurine's eyes. He wants to say something. To talk and talk and drown whatever-this-is in words. If he was actually good at this sort of thing, he'd suave out some kind of line. Something flirty and witty. Yearning takes on many forms. Sometimes it's just wishing you were good at this sort of thing and generally knew what you were doing.
So. He bites the inside of his cheek, opens his mouth, and out comes this breathless little noise which- well, if Sunday had been flushed before, he's even more flushed now. Bright red. A terrible shade. Doesn't flatter his pale skin at all, apparently.
Fortunately, this is the point in which he's kissed.
And it's a good thing because he was on the cusp of saying something dumb. He's kissed, words are gone, he's blinking like an owl surprised by the light, swallows down the words and Sunday doesn't quite writhe, but he does wiggle in a way which implies that maybe Aventurine's finding one or two more sensitive spots on his way back down.]
I think you're getting a taste for-...
[Actually, no, that's really embarrassing, nevermind, he's petting Aventurine, stroking his hair, Sunday's biting his free wrist, nevermind, no no no that's so very embarrassing.]
{ it's for the best that he doesn't try and say something suave, something out of character that would likely break the moment--even if maybe it shouldn't be going on as long as this is. but that's because he's done enough of that for them both, and right now honesty is forcing some level of vulnerability and openness to step past that lines that have been drawn in the ground.
even after he breaks the kiss to move down his mouth feels like it's on fire from how he drags tongue, lips and teeth over skin. he'll pause on any spots that do seem to have more of a reaction, looks up when sunday starts speaking.
it's a bit silly, a bit embarrassing, sure. it's embarrassing enough that he's laughing under his breath, just a small little laugh that shows how absurd this is. because he's right. apparently, he's right. }
For you? Maybe... Maybe I am.
{ maybe there was something more specific there, but he'll let that hang in the air instead. lets it hang in the air as he shifts to reach and pull at sunday's belt buckle, but doesn't start opening it yet. consent is important. }
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no subject
Date: 2026-01-24 12:53 am (UTC)Right.
[Shirt, yes. Maybe Aventurine's hands aren't the only ones which are shaking, a little. A slight tremble as he goes top down and he wants to ask why Aventurine seems to be rushing, but, also, doesn't. He's not that much of an idiot.
He licks his lips. Then:]
Your shirt next. [Sunday says it very quietly, as if a louder sound would break the moment, whatever it is, whatever's going on, and his fingers work as quickly as they can. Shirt, cuffs, shirt off, whatever else. The quicker the better.]
no subject
Date: 2026-01-24 07:06 pm (UTC)he exhales once it's off, throws it aside to who knows where. then he's reminded of his own. his own is easier, fingers curling under the hem to pull it up over his head. his hair is already mussed up from sunday's fingers anyway, so he pays no mind to that. throws that off to the side too.
that done everything slows a lot. his hand reaches up, eyes staring at the one mark that has already been left before his fingers follow. his thumb slides across the red mark (and there's a faint noise of appreciation in the back of his throat that he won't linger on), then he's leaning in to press another, this time below his collarbone. his other hand finds its way to sunday's hip, slowly dragging up his side.
if he isn't stopped mark after mark will be made across his skin as he slowly works his way down. his mouth never loses contact, either dragging his tongue or teeth across on the way. }
no subject
Date: 2026-01-27 05:33 am (UTC)Something tangible. It's like...
He's something grounded. Not holy, above, not a bastion of order just beyond the grasp of the world, just another Halovian, just another man - unremarkable, unnoticed, unnoticeable, unmemorable, ultimately someone who belongs to the world and not something that hovers beyond it, trapped behind glass windows, watching the world move without him. Not untouchable. Very touchable. Very touched. Like...
Not disrespected, the way Aventurine is marking him hardly indicates disrespect. But not sacred; now that Aventurine's been given permission he's not hesitating. It's not blasphemy, it's just enthusiasm. Which is absurd, given how he'd climbed to the top of his Family and squandered all of that away, and yet-
And yet, the evidence is undeniable. It's right on his skin. And if Aventurine notices his fingertips quivering as they go back and forth against his skin, not quite holding him there, but encouraging (if the little noises, and the not-so-little noises like the one he made just now, yes, that one, that sharp gasp, as if those aren't encouragement enough) him onward, and-
And.
And it's actually profoundly difficult to remain some form of sitting while they do this. Mattress. He needs to be lying down.]
no subject
Date: 2026-01-27 11:55 pm (UTC)there's a faint noise of frustration as he makes his way back up just enough so his mouth can cover a nipple. his tongue swirls there, teeth press enough to be felt but not to hurt--grind just enough to send jolts of pleasure before they dip into pain. his hands slide up and down over sunday's sides, thinking before he finally, finally pulls his mouth back. }
Ho...Hold onto me a sec.
{ one hand shifts to press to the bed, the other dragging up along his side to hold him along his back. whether sunday registers it yet or not though, he'll be moving anyway. he'll get his wish as he pushes with his legs and twists to roll them over.
there's a sharp gasp of air as it means their bodies align better, and he indulges just a little by grinding down once, twice. then he's pulling himself back before he gets too caught up in it. he sits back long enough to gaze down at sunday, drinks in the sight for a long moment, before he's dipping down to kiss him on the mouth again. just a little treat before he starts making his way lower again. }
no subject
Date: 2026-02-13 05:41 am (UTC)A noise as Sunday's ground into, once, twice, and he desperately chases after it before he's stilled by three things: remembering who he is, remembering where they are, but mainly the look in Aventurine's eyes. He wants to say something. To talk and talk and drown whatever-this-is in words. If he was actually good at this sort of thing, he'd suave out some kind of line. Something flirty and witty. Yearning takes on many forms. Sometimes it's just wishing you were good at this sort of thing and generally knew what you were doing.
So. He bites the inside of his cheek, opens his mouth, and out comes this breathless little noise which- well, if Sunday had been flushed before, he's even more flushed now. Bright red. A terrible shade. Doesn't flatter his pale skin at all, apparently.
Fortunately, this is the point in which he's kissed.
And it's a good thing because he was on the cusp of saying something dumb. He's kissed, words are gone, he's blinking like an owl surprised by the light, swallows down the words and Sunday doesn't quite writhe, but he does wiggle in a way which implies that maybe Aventurine's finding one or two more sensitive spots on his way back down.]
I think you're getting a taste for-...
[Actually, no, that's really embarrassing, nevermind, he's petting Aventurine, stroking his hair, Sunday's biting his free wrist, nevermind, no no no that's so very embarrassing.]
no subject
Date: 2026-02-16 09:52 pm (UTC)even after he breaks the kiss to move down his mouth feels like it's on fire from how he drags tongue, lips and teeth over skin. he'll pause on any spots that do seem to have more of a reaction, looks up when sunday starts speaking.
it's a bit silly, a bit embarrassing, sure. it's embarrassing enough that he's laughing under his breath, just a small little laugh that shows how absurd this is. because he's right. apparently, he's right. }
For you? Maybe... Maybe I am.
{ maybe there was something more specific there, but he'll let that hang in the air instead. lets it hang in the air as he shifts to reach and pull at sunday's belt buckle, but doesn't start opening it yet. consent is important. }
May I?