latermaybe | (no subject)

(no subject)

From here.

Falling back on the reclined seats, I gripped his hips and dragged him closer, swallowing a strangled moan as the fabric of his trousers brushed against my painfully hard cock.

"You shouldn't have taken that off," I teased him, glancing at the tangle of clothes sliding to the floor. "I had this vision of fucking you with your suit on." I leaned up to bite at the curve of his jaw, grinning as my fingertips dipped below his waistband.

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"You're giving me a lot of credit, if you think I'm going to retain all my motor functions until I come," I volleyed back, nearly stumbling over my feet as he herded me deeper into his darkened apartment.

Chuckling softly, I kicked off my shoes, my socks, and stripped out of my pants, leaving them all in a haphazard pile on the floor. I turned to face the piano and rested my palms on the closed lid. The polished wood was cold beneath my palms, and I felt a shiver work its way down my spine. "Like this?"

"You better, or I might have to punish you," I reply in a playfully low voice that makes it clear that I'm not taking this all that seriously. As he finishes undressing, I take off my jacket and then wriggle out of my slacks and underwear, standing naked as I watch him lean over the piano.

"Almost," I tell him quietly, pressing my hand to the base of his spine and slowly sliding it upward, feeling each vertebrate with my fingers until I get to the nape of his neck. Moving in behind him, I rest my chin against his shoulder and lean over him to grab his wrists, lifting them to rest just above the lid. After sliding the lid open, I press a kiss to the nape of his neck, letting him feel my cock against his hip as I lean over to reach around him and play a few low notes, letting the sound fill the space.

One hand plays a few more slow, lazy notes, drifting along the keys as I bend my knees to crouch behind him. Eventually, my hand falls away and I settle on my knees, sliding my palms up the backs of his thighs and grabbing his ass cheeks. I slide my thumbs up between them and spread him open to reveal a tight curl of muscle, watching it tighten in a greedy clench and smiling as I lightly press the pad of my thumb to it.

"I know your body just as well as I know this instrument," I say fondly, rubbing at his hole as I lean in to press a kiss to the swell of his ass, lightly dragging my bottom teeth along his skin. "I've mastered both, I think. I can make you both sing."

Perhaps that line would have been trite, were I to have heard it from anyone else. Instead, it was so quintessentially him that I felt heat rise to my cheeks. He teased me, played with me, love me, and while I couldn't make music like he could, for him, I was willing to try.

"As much as I love to hear you play, I think I'd like your undivided attention," I managed to tease breathlessly, careful not to scar the wood of his piano with blunt nails as he toyed with me.

I smiled fondly, even if he couldn't see it.

"Greedy," I murmur fondly, reaching up to give one cheek a light slap. "But I suppose you've earned it."

Spreading him open again, I gather saliva on my tongue and lean in to drag it over his hole, feeling the muscle clench, feeling him tense up under my hands as they settle on his hips. We didn't do much of this in Italy. Perhaps it was a line neither of us were willing to cross, too sick, or maybe it just didn't really occur to us in all of our inexperience.

But I love doing this to him. I love how sick it is, licking him somewhere so intimate, somewhere that no one but me gets to see or touch. My hands slide over his hips and down the front of his thighs as I lap at him eagerly, moaning softly and stiffening my tongue to nudge the tip of it inside of him.

"I don't hear any singing," I tease when I pull back to take a breath, slapping his ass just a little harder this time. "I want to hear you, pesca. You make such beautiful sounds."

My knees threatened to buckle.

With a surprised huff, I shifted my weight, slumping further across his piano— the very same piano he'd first played for me in Italy.

"You're going to make me self-conscious," I said breathlessly. Teasing him, yes, but there was an edge of truth buried beneath. I'd never felt so exposed. I'd never expected to enjoy it, or to need more of him so desperately that I already wanted to beg for more. He slapped me again and I gasped, startled, red-faced and shocked and ravenously turned on. "Elio."

"Oh, you don't have to feel like that with me," I murmur softly against his skin, kissing my way up to the dimples just above his ass. His reaction to the slap makes me smile, and I place my hand over the pink mark left behind as I straighten up to stand behind him, sliding my other hand up the length of his spine.

"I'm just as sick as you, remember?" I assure him in a low, fond voice as I press my palm between his shoulder blades to bend him a bit lower over the piano. The sight of him there makes me so hard that I can barely think, but this feels important. It's the first time that we've done something like this, at least the first that he'll remember, and I want to make it good. I know that I could make it so good.

"It's okay," I tell him, squeezing at his ass before giving it another quick slap, letting my other hand slide up toward the nape of his neck. "Tell me, pesca. Do you like it? I want to give you everything you like."

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